he Push moved to the kerbstone, and, with a derisive grin,
awaited the performance.

The wavering flame of the kerosene torches, topped with thick smoke,
shone yellow against the whiter light of the gas-jets in the shops. The
men, in red jerseys and flat caps, held the poles of the torches in
rest. When a gust of air blew the thick black smoke into their eyes,
they patiently turned their heads. The sisters, conscious of the
public gaze, stood with downcast eyes, their faces framed in grotesque
poke-bonnets.

The Captain, a man of fifty, with the knotty, misshapen hands of a
workman, stepped into the centre of the ring, took off his cap, and
began to speak.

"Oh friends, we 'ave met 'ere again tonight to inquire after the
safety of yer everlastin' souls. Yer pass by, thinkin' only of yer
idle pleasures, w'en at any moment yer might be called to judgment by
'Im Who made us all equal in 'Is eyes. Yer pass by without 'earin' the
sweet voice of Jesus callin' on yer to be saved this very minit. For 'E
is callin' yer to come an' be saved an' find salvation, as 'E called me
many years ago. I was then like yerselves, full of wickedness, an
gloryin' in sin. But I 'eard the voice of 'Im Who died on the Cross,
an' saw I was rushin' 'eadlong to 'ell. An' 'Is blood washed all my
sins away, an' made me whiter than snow. Whiter than snow,
friends--whiter than snow! An' 'E'll do the same fer you if yer will
only come an' be saved. Oh, can't yer 'ear the voice of Jesus callin'
to yer to come an' live with 'Im in 'Is blessed mansions in the sky?
Oh, come tonight an' find salvation!"

His arms were outstretched in a passionate gesture of appeal, his rough
voice vibrated with emotion, the common face flamed with the ecstasy of
the fanatic. When he stopped for breath or wiped the sweat from his
face, the Army spurred him on with cries of "Hallelujah! Amen!" as
one pokes a dying fire.

The Lieutenant, who was the comedian of the company, met with a grin of
approval as he faced the ring of torches like an actor facing the
footlights, posing before the crowd that had gathered, flashing his
vulgar conceit in the public eye. And he praised God in a song and
dance, fitting his words to the latest craze of the music-hall:

"Oh! won't you come and join us?
Jesus leads the throng,"

snapping his fingers, grimacing, cutting capers that would have
delighted the gallery of a theatre.

"Encore!" yelled the Push as he danced