A tide of sudden feeling swept
him clean out of his body. He soared. He contemplated the secret of the
hereafter. It commended itself to him. It was excellent; he loved it,
himself, all hands, and Jimmy. His heart overflowed with tenderness,
with comprehension, with the desire to meddle, with anxiety for the
soul of that black man, with the pride of possessed eternity, with the
feeling of might. Snatch him up in his arms and pitch him right into the
middle of salvation... The black soul--blacker--body--rot--Devil. No!
Talk-strength--Samson.... There was a great din as of cymbals in his
ears; he flashed through an ecstatic jumble of shining faces, lilies,
prayer-books, unearthly joy, white skirts, gold harps, black coats,
wings. He saw flowing garments, clean shaved faces, a sea of light--a
lake of pitch. There were sweet scent, a smell of sulphur--red tongues
of flame licking a white mist. An awesome voice thundered!... It lasted
three seconds.
"Jimmy!" he cried in an inspired tone. Then he hesitated. A spark
of human pity glimmered yet through the infernal fog of his supreme
conceit.
"What?" said James Wait, unwillingly.
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