the gates. The two Presiding Elders, supported by a dozen of the older
preachers, resisted the change, and they had the backing of the more
bigoted section of the congregation from Octavius. The controversy
reached a point where Theron's Presiding Elder threatened to quit the
grounds, and the leaders of the open-Sunday movement spoke freely of the
ridiculous figure which its cranks and fanatics made poor Methodism cut
in the eyes of modern go-ahead American civilization. Then Theron Ware
saw his opportunity, and preached an impromptu sermon upon the sanctity
of the Sabbath, which ended all discussion. Sometimes its arguments
seemed to be on one side, sometimes on the other, but always they were
clothed with so serene a beauty of imagery, and moved in such a lofty
and rarefied atmosphere of spiritual exaltation, that it was impossible
to link them to so sordid a thing as this question of gate-money. When
he had finished, nobody wanted the gates opened. The two factions found
that the difference between them had melted out of existence. They sat
entranced by the charm of the sermon; then, glancing around at the empty
benches, glaringly numerous in the afternoon sunlight, they whispered
regrets that ten thousand people had not been there to hear that
marvellous discourse. Theron's conquest was of exceptional dimensions.
The majority, whose project he had defeated, were strangers who
appreciated and admired his effort most. The little minority of his own
flock, though less susceptible to the influence of graceful diction
and delicately balanced rhetoric, were proud of the distinction he had
reflected upon them, and delighted with him for having won their
fight. The Presiding Elders wrung his hand with a significant grip. The
extremists of his own charge beamed friendship upon him for the first
time. He was the veritable hero of the week.

The prestige of this achievement made it the easier for Theron to get
away by himself next day, and walk in the woods. A man of such power