ould not go on if he did, and I told him that when I got
through I would give him a chance to talk. Now there were over four
hundred men looking at me, wondering what I would do. Some of my old
pals shouted, "Put him out, Danny!" and the meeting was in an uproar. I
knew if I did not run that meeting, or if I showed the "white feather,"
I was done as a leader or anything else connected with that place. I
said to him, "My friend, if you don't keep still I'll make an example of
you." I could have called the police and had him locked up, but I didn't
want any one to go behind bars and know that I had him put there. I had
been there and that was enough. I've never had one of these poor men
arrested in my life. I used kindness.

I began to talk again, and he started in again, but before he got many
words out of his mouth I gave him a swinging upper cut which landed on
the point of his jaw, lifting him about two feet, and down he went on
his back. My old pals came up to help, but I said, "Sit down, men; I can
handle two like that fellow." I called out a hymn; then I told him to
get up, and if he thought he could behave himself he might sit down, if
not, he could get out. Well, he sat down and was as good as could be.

That was the making of me. The men all saw it. They knew that I was one
of them, they saw that I could handle myself, and I never had any
trouble after that. And the man I hit is to-day one of my best friends.

I told the men that the Devil sent in one of his angels once in a while,
the same as to-night, to disturb the meeting-place of God. I said, "You
men would be a marker for God if you would only take a stand for God
and cut out your sins. I never in my palmy days disturbed a meeting,
drunk or sober. I always respected God's house. If I didn't like it I
went out, and I think, fellows, that's one of the reasons He picked me
up when I was away down in sin and made me what I am to-night. He will
do the same for any one here; why not give Him a chance?"

SOMETHING NEW

This was something new for the men. Here was a man that they knew, no
stranger, but one of themselves eight years before. He had been in
prison with them, drunk with them, stolen with them, and in fact had
done everything that they did, and now here he was telling his old pals
how they could be better men, how God would help them if they would only
give Him a chance.

God was with me that night. It didn't seem to be Ranney at all. I asked
w