Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 17: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PROGRESS tence. He was deeply preoccupied, mut- tering to himself, and occasionally throw- ing out a word or a gesture seemingly ad- dressed to some invisible third person. As a reminder of my presence I cleared my throat and thanked him for his timely aid on the village green. At my address he stopped short in his rather rapid pacing forward, seeming greatly surprised, and stared at me as upon a precipitate stranger. But then he recognized me and said ab- ruptly: . # “ ‘Youth—I know not thy name nor sta- tion, save as by thy dress th’art a trooper of Noll’s division, a brother-in-arms for righteousness. But a great question bur- dens my mind. Have ye any faith in the ways of Providence?” ; ‘““T warrant ye!” I assured him. He sighed. ‘“ Ah!” said he. “If I could have faith. But I am not as some— a dolt, swallowing camels with an open mouth. In me an angel and a devil do fu- . riously rage together. Now ’tis the angel is on top; now ’tis the devil has the thrap- ple-hold. And ’tis for Jack Bunyan they wrestle.” “Strange!”’ I murmured, amazed and amused. : “Very strange. Very strange,’’ Hob- goblin agreed. ‘“ Yet what is strange about it, young sir? Maybe I be more hopeless- ly stewed in sin than the ordinary, with less hope for salvation. Yet none of us are born in grace. We are all predestined to hell. Only by selection are we admitted to _ the elect.” “But the infinite mercy—”’ I began; but he went on, unheeding me, as if, in- deed, he were talking for his own benefit. ‘There was a time, sweet youth ’—he was no older than I, yet talked as if he were at least my grandsire—“ there was a time when I believed that by righteous liv- ing I might escape this dark destiny. Blind youth, would ye think it to look at me?” He stopped again, gripped me by the arm, and forced me to study his red, rugged, almost comically grave face. ‘“Would ye believe, to look at me, that F’have read Scripture till my head ached? Aye, that I have!” I laughed—could not help it. A pained -am to choose before it is too late? OF J. BUNYAN, 7 look entered his eyes, Then he grew angry at what he took to be my incredulity. Out of his right jackboot he whipped something which he held up under my very nose. ‘“ Does that prove it?” he roared. The thing in his hand was a small, well- worm, Geneva Bible. . ‘““*T would seem ye carry it ever,’”” I said. ‘““T do,” said he solemnly, sticking the Bible back in the wide top of his boot. Then he hooked an arm in mine and pro- ceeded to walk me at a furious gait toward the camp, talking all the while in keeping ‘with our pace. . ‘ Tell no man what I reveal to thee, young sir. The time is not ripe; the mean- ing is not clear. But what think ye it means? Who am I that an angel and a devil should wrestle night and day for pos- session of my soul? Who am I that should be visited by revelations—visions of angels and archangels and cherubim and seraphim and all the hosts of heaven with harps and lutes and— aye! Beautiful visions, lad; beautiful visions! Milk and honey to the soul. .But then— | “ Ah, but then! Again I am plunged into the pit—and more visions—hobgob- lins chained to stakes, being roasted and boiled in the flaming abyss. And mark ye, Master Innocent, all those damned hob- boglins ha’ the face o’ Jack Bunyan, so .that I suffer the agonies of ’em all, waking up in a hot sweat, roused from the dream by my own anguished howling!” As the torrent of words poured from his lips his stride increased with his mental ex- citement, so that I was half-dragged into a half-trot to keep up with him, which the powerful arm cleeking mine made sure that I would. ‘“ What does it mean, lad? Is it that I But what must I do to be saved? Mark ye, I ha’ striven time and again to be righteous;: but whether ’tis that Heaven reads in my heart, finding there not a true desire for righteousness but merely the selfish wish to escape the sulfur pit—for this I ha’ been refused nomination to the elect.”’ ‘Of late,” he went on moodily; “ of late I ha’ been happier. Why, lad, why? I shame to tell it. COMICLMOO Convinced of predesti- S C@