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 if you don't tell the rest of the brethren, there's always a couple of bottles of beer on the ice. Like one?"

"Would I!" cheered Elmer. "You bet I would! Only—I cut out drinking and smoking quite a few years ago. Oh, I had my share before that! But I stopped, absolute, and I'd hate to break my record. But you go right ahead. And I want to say that it'll be a mighty big relief to have some folks in the church that I can talk to without shocking 'em half to death. Some of these holier-than-thou birds— Lord, they won't let a preacher be a human being!"

The Rigg house was large, rather faded, full of books which had been read—history, biography, travels. The smaller sitting-room, with its log fire and large padded chairs, looked comfortable, but Mrs. Rigg shouted, "Oh, let's go out to the kitchen and shake up a welsh rabbit! I love to cook, and I don't dast till after the servants go to bed."

So his first conference with T. J. Rigg, who became the only authentic friend Elmer had known since Jim Lefferts, was held at the shiny white-enamel-topped table in the huge kitchen, with Mrs. Rigg stalking about, bringing them welsh rabbit, with celery, cold chicken, whatever she found in the ice box.

"I want your advice, Brother Rigg," said Elmer. "I want to make my first sermon here something sen—well, something that'll make 'em sit up and listen. I don't have to get the subject in for the church ads till tomorrow. Now what do you think of some pacifism?"

"Eh?"

"I know what you think. Of course during the war I was just as patriotic as anybody—Four-Minute Man, and in another month I'd of been in uniform. But honest, some of the churches are getting a lot of kick out of hollering pacifism now the war's all safely over—some of the biggest preachers in the country. But far's I've heard, nobody's started it here in Zenith yet, and it might make a big sensation."

"Yes, that's so, and course it's perfectly all right to adopt pacifism as long as there's no chance for another war."

"Or do you think—you know the congregation here—do you think a more dignified and kind of you might say poetic expository sermon would impress 'em more? Or what about a good, vigorous, right-out-from-the-shoulder attack on vice?