there personally and intimately so that he spoke to no inchoate throng‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe spoke to them individually, and they listened awestruck and fearsome.
‚ÄúGod is done sent me,‚Äù he declared in passionate tones, ‚Äúto preach His acceptable time. Faith without works is dead; who is you that dares to set and wait for the Lord to do your work?‚Äù Then in sudden fury, ‚ÄúYe generation of vipers‚ÅÝ‚Äîwho kin save you?‚Äù He bent forward and pointed his long finger. ‚ÄúYes,‚Äù he cried, ‚Äúpray, Sam Collins, you black devil; pray, for the corn you stole Thursday.‚Äù The black figure moved. ‚ÄúMoan, Sister Maxwell, for the backbiting you did today. Yell, Jack Tolliver, you sneaking scamp, t‚Äôwil the Lord tell Uncle Bill who ruined his daughter. Weep, May Haynes, for that baby‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
But the woman’s shriek drowned his words, and he whirled full on the preacher, stamping his feet and waving his hands. His anger choked him; the fat preacher cowered gray and trembling. The gaunt fanatic towered over him.
‚ÄúYou‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚ÅÝ‚Äîornery hound of Hell! God never knowed you and the devil owns your soul!‚Äù There leapt from his lips a denunciation so livid, specific, and impassioned that the preacher squatted and bowed, then finally fell upon his face and moaned.
The gaunt speaker turned again to the people. He talked of little children; he pictured their sin and neglect. “God is done sent me to offer you all salvation,” he cried, while the people wept and wailed; “not in praying, but in works. Follow me!” The hour was halfway between midnight and dawn, but nevertheless the people leapt frenziedly to their feet.
“Follow me!” he shouted.