Elderkin?" he
stammered, seeming very awkward, and hardly responding at all to my
vigorous hand-shaking.
"I am delighted to see you again," I continued. "I have had no news of
you these five years. Do you live in this neighborhood?"
"I--I reside in the next house, Sir," he replied, not looking me in the
face, but glancing around uneasily, as if he wanted to run away.
"What! are you the prophet?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.
"I am, Mr. Elderkin," he said, blushing until I thought his white hair
would turn crimson.
We stared at each other in silence for ten seconds, each wishing himself
or his interlocutor at the antipodes.
"I congratulate you on your gift," I remarked, as soon as I could speak.
"I will see you again soon, and have a talk on the subject. We have
discussed similar matters before. Good day, Doctor."
"Good day, Mr. Elderkin," he replied, drawing himself up with a poor
pretence at self-respect.
He was greatly changed. Heterodoxy had not been so fattening to him as
Orthodoxy. When I knew him, six years before, as pastor of a flourishing
church, Doctor of Divinity, and staunch Calvinist, he had a plump and
rosy face, a portly form, and vigorous carriage. He was a great favorite
with the ladies, as clergymen are apt to be, and consequently never
lacked for delicate and appetizing sustenance. He was esteemed,
self-respectful, and happy; and all these things tend to good health and
good looks.
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