§ 206 Sure Damnation for Somebody
As a boy, I had this one from my father. I seem to recall that he said it actually had happened before the Civil War in the remote Southern settlement where my forbears lived for upwards of a hundred years.
Into the community there came a dashing stranger. He had no visible means of support, but such was his ingratiating personality that speedily he became a favorite among the simple pioneers. Shortly after this advent the local Methodist circuit rider organized a protracted meeting.
The last night of the meeting was devoted to foreign missions. The preacher rose to inspired heights of eloquence. In vivid colors he painted the forlorn and ignorant state of the heathen and the crying need of funds with which to spread the Christian doctrine in far-off pagan lands. At the psychological moment, when the assemblage had been worked up into a fit frame of mind for contributing heavily, the preacher called upon the fascinating stranger to pass the hat. It developed later that upon that very day the latter had gone to the minister and volunteered for this service.
He passed the hat. He passed it until it was filled to the brim with the offerings of the multitude. When his round of the pews was completed, instead of marching up to the pulpit and depositing the funds there, the newcomer began to edge toward the door of the church, and, incidentally, toward where his horse was tethered outside. Observing this suspicious maneuver, the preacher was filled with a horrid dread.
“My brother,” he called out, “if you go away from the house of God with that there money you will be damned!”
On the words, the stranger vanished out of the door. The voice of a resident in a back pew broke the horrified hush which followed.
“Well, parson,” he said, “ef he ain’t went, I’ll be damned!”