She turned quickly. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. "Let me see him. I am the cause of his ill-usage. ‘That’s a loud one. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination.
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