too. So there!

Captain Eben called for more testimony. But the testifiers were, to use
the old minstrel joke, backward in coming forward that evening. At an
ordinary meeting, by this time, the shouts and enthusiasm would have
been at their height and half a dozen Come-Outers on their feet at once,
relating their experiences and proclaiming their happiness. But tonight
there was a damper; the presence of the leader of the opposition cast a
shadow over the gathering. Only the bravest attempted speech. The others
sat silent, showing their resentment and contempt by frowning glances
over their shoulders and portentous nods one to the other.

"Come, brethren," commanded the captain sharply; "we are waitin' to hear
you. Are you afraid? If your faith is real, nothin' nor nobody should
keep you from cryin' it out loud. Now, if ever, is the accepted time.
Speak up for the spirit that's in you."

An elderly man, grave and quiet, arose and said a few words, dignified
and solemn words of prayer and thankfulness for the comfort this little
society of true believers had been to him. Ellery realized that here
was another sort of Come-Outer, one of the Hammond type. Evidently, they
were not all like Ezekiel and the shrill-voiced woman.

Then, from the settee in front of him, rose the lengthy and fishy person
with the cowhide boots and enormous hands. His name was Josiah Badger
and he was, according to Trumet's estimate, "a little mite lackin' in
his top riggin'." He stuttered, and this infirmity became more and more
apparent as he grew eloquent.

"I--I ain't afraid," he proclaimed. "They can call me a C-C-Come-Outer