opened when the chief clerk came in. It was a Monday morning, and his
first words were:

"Well, what did you do yesterday?"

"I taught a Bible Class, led a people's meeting, and preached once,"
was my reply. He looked dumbfounded.

"Do you do that often?" he asked.

"As often as I get a chance," I answered.

An abiding friendship began that morning between us. This man might
have been a member of the firm and a rich man by this time, but he had
a conscience, and it would not permit him to dishonestly keep books,
which his employers wanted him to do, and he quit.

My next job was running an elevator in an office building on West
Twenty-third Street. It was one of the old-fashioned, ice-wagon
variety, jerked up and down by a wire cable. It gave me a good
opportunity for study. In the side of the cage I had an arrangement
for my Greek grammar. This of course, could not escape the notice of
the business men, and if I was a few seconds late in answering their
bell, they always looked like a thunder-cloud in the direction of my
grammar. One of my passengers on that elevator was sympathetic. His
name was Bruce Price, an architect; a tall, fine, powerfully built
man, who had a kindly word for me every morning, and the only
passenger who ever deigned to shake hands with me as if I were a human
being.