§ 33 There Spoke Envy’s Voice
The town drunkard of a small Scotch community went on an especially vehement tear. The village authorities locked him up.
On the second day of his captivity, as he sat in his cell, thirsty beyond words, the minister, who was of a full habit of life, came to give him consolation and good advice.
They sat down side by side and the dominie read the parable of the Prodigal Son. The prisoner seemed to hang on the words. He nudged up closer and closer, bending forward until his face almost was in the minister’s face, and listened.
“Please read it over once more,” he said when the dominie had finished the chapter and started to close the Good Book.
Touched by this further sign of penitence, the minister read it again.
“Tell me, poor man,” he said when he was done, “what was it held you so close the while I was reading—was it the lesson of the Scripture or was it the words?”
“Nay, nay,” said the tippler—“’twas your grand breath!”