Cheraw chronicle. (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, April 22, 1915, Image 2
The Call of the
Cumberlands
4
By Charles Neville Buck
With Illustrations
from Photographs of Scenes
in the Play
(Copyright. 1913. by W. ]. Watt & Co.)
0
SYNOPSIS.
On Misery creek Sally Miller finds
George Leseott. a landscape painter, unconscious.
Jesse Purvy of the Hollman
clan has heen shot and Samson is SU8
pected of the crime. Samson denies It.
The shooting breaks the truce in the
Hollman-South feud. Jim Hollman hunts
with bloodhounds the man who shot Purvy.
The bloodhounds lose the trail at
Spicer South's door. Lescott discovers
artistic ability In Samson. While sketchIns
with Lescott on the mountain. Tamarack
discovers Samson to a Jeering crowd
of mountaineers. Samson thrashes .him
and denounces him as the "truce-buster"
who shot Purvy. At Wile McCager's
dance Samson tells the South
clan that he la going to leave the
mountains. Lescott goes home to New
York. Samson bids Spicer and Sally
farewell and follows. In New York Samson
studies art and learns much of city
ways. Drennie Lescott persuades Wilfred
Horton. her dilettante lover, to do a
man's work In the world. Prompted by
her love. Sally teaches herself to write.
Horton throws himself Into the business
world and becomes well hated by predatory
financiers and politicians. At a Bohemian
resort Samson meets William Farblsh.
sporty social parasite, and Horton's
enemv. Farblsh sees Samson and Drenide
dining together unchaperoned at the
Wigwam roadhouse. He conspires with
others to make Horton Jealous and succeeds.
CHAPTER XI?Continued.
Samson did not appear at the Lescott
house for '.wo weeks after that.
He had begun to think that, if his
enlnr thorp cnvo omharrnssmpnt to ?
the girl who had been kind to him,
It were better to remain away.
"I don't belong here," he told himself.
bitterly. "I reckon everybody 8
that knows me In New York, except 1
the Lescotts Is laughing at me be- c
hind my back." ?
He worked fiercely, and threw Into c
his work such fire and energy that it *
came out again converted Into bold- ^
ness of stroke and an almost savage
vigor of drawing. The instructor
nodded his head over the easel, and c
passed on to the next student without c
having left the defacing mark of his *
relentless crayon. To the next pupil, *
be said:
( "Watch the way that man South J
firaws. He's not clever. He's elementally
sincere, and. If he goes on, the
first thing you know he will be a por- 1
character J
^^^^^ WmuvTrtues and vices showing out J
through them." '
\ And Samson met every gaze with
smoldering savagery, searching for
some one who might be laughing at ^
him openly, or even covertly, instead ^
of behind his back. The long-sufTer<n?
flcVitlni" lust in him oraveri nnnnr
tunity to break out and relieve the
pressure on his soul. But no one
laughed.
One afternoon late In November, a
hint of blizzards swept snarling down
the Atlantic seaboard from the polar
floes, with wet flurries of snow and
rain. Off on the marshes where the !
Kenmore club had its lodge, the live j
decoys stretched their clipped wings,
and raised their green necks restively
into the salt wind, and listened. With
dawn, they had heard, faint and far
away, the first notes of that wild
chorus with which the skies would ring
until the southerly migrations ended
?the horizon-distant honking of high
flying water fowl.
Then it was that Farbish dropped
In with marching orders, and Samson,
yearning to be away where there were
open skies, packed George Lescott's
borrowed paraphernalia, and prepared
to leave that same night.
While be was packing, the telephone
rang, and Samson heard Adrienne's
voice at the other end of the wire.
"Where have you been hiding?" she
demanded. "I'll have to send a truant
/vffl Aon o ftnr vrin "
vulval UUVI J vu.
"I've been very busy," said the man,
"and I reckon, after all, you can't
civilize a wolf. I'm afraid I've been
wasting your time.'
Possibly, the miserable tone of the
voice told the girl more than the "
words.
"You are having a season with the
blue devils," she announced. "You've <
ben cooped up too much. This wind <
ought to bring the ducks, and?" 1
"I'm leaving tonight," Samson told !
her. '<
"It would have been very nice of I
you to have run up to say good-by,"
6he reproved. "Hut I'll forgive you. i
if you call me up by long distance. '
You will get there early in the morn- I
lng. Tomorrow, I'm going to Philadel- <
phia over night. The next night, I '
6hall be at the theater. (Jo.ll me up '
after the theater, and tell me how
12 lrsv 2t " i
Jf'UU 1IIVC K. 1
It was the same old frankness and
friendliness of voice, and the same 1
old note like the music of a reed in- 1
6trument. Samson felt so comforted
and reassured that he laughed through i
the telephone.
"I've been keeping away from you."
he volunteered, "because I've had a <
laps-1 into savagery, and haven't been :
fit to talk xo you. When I get back, 1
I'm coming up to explain. And, in the
meantime, I'll telephone." 1
On the train Samson was surprised 1
to discover that, after all, he had Mr.
William Farbish for a traveling com I
panion. That gentleman explained i
that be had found au opportunity to ?
k
play truant from business for a day
pr two, and wished to see Samson
pomfortably ensconced and Introduced.
The first day Farbish- and Samson
lad the place to themselves, but the
lext morning would bring others.
The next day, while the mountaineer
was out on the flats, the party of
nen at the club had been swelled to
i total of six, for in pursuance of
:be carefully arranged plans of Mr.
Farbish. Mr. Bradburn had succeeded
n inducing Wilfred Horton to run
lown for a day or two of the sport
le loved. When Horton arrived that
lfternoon, he found his usually even
emper ruffled by bits of maliciously
proached gossip, until his resentment
igainst Samson South had been
'anned Into danger heat. He did not
enow that South also was at the club,
ind he did not that afternoon go out
o the blinds, but so far departed
rom his usual custom as to permit
limself to sit for several hours In the
dub grill.
And yet, as is often the case in careully
designed affairs, the one element
hat made most- powerfully for the
luccess of Farbish's scheme was pure
iccident. The carefully arranged meetng
between the two men, the adroitly
nclted passions of each, would still
lave brought no ciasn, naa not wiired
Horton been affected by tho flushng
effectof alcohol. Since his college
lays, he had been invariably absterai>us.
Tonight marked an exception.
He was rather surprised at the corliality
of the welcome accorded him,
or, as chance would have it, except
or Samson South, whom he had not
ret seen, all the other sportsmen
vere men closely allied to the pollti:al
and financial elements upon which
le had been making.war. Still, since
hey seemed willing to forget for the
ime that there had been a breach,
le was equally so. JuSt now, he was
eellng such bitterness for tho Kenuckian
that the foes of a less per
;onal sort seemed unimportant.
In point of fact, Wilfred Horton had
ipent a very bad day. The final straw
lad broken the back of his usually
inruffled temper, when he had found
n bis room on reaching the Kenmore
i copy of a certain New York weekly
>aper, and had read a page, which
ihanced to be lying face up (a chance:arefully
prearranged). It was an item
>f which Farblsh had known, in adranee
of publication, but Wilfred
vould never have seen that sheet,
tad It not been so carefully brought
o his attention. There were hints
>f the strange Infatuation which a
:ertain young woman seemed to enertain
for a partially civilized stranger
who had made his entree to New
fork via the police court, and who
vore his hair long In Imitation of a
dbllcal character of the same name.
The supper at the Wigwam inn was
nentloned, and the character of the
raceable to Adrienne's 111-jua^ *
rlendshlp for the mountaineer, amf
le bitterly blamed the mountaineer,
tnd, while ke had been brooding on
hese matters, a man acting as Far ish's
ambassador had dropped into
lis room, since Faibish himself knew
iii# ^
sSmfc^BtJ8?x '
'Don't You See That This Thing Is a
Frame-Up?"
:hat Morton would not listen to his
confidences. The delegated spokesnan
warned Wilfred that Samson
South had spoken pointedly of him,
ind advised cautious conduct, in a
fashion calculated to inflame.
Samson, it was falsely alleged, had
tccused him of saying derogatory j
things in his absence, which he would
liardly venture to repeat in his presence.
in short, it was put to Horton
to announce his opinion openly, or eat
the crow of cowardice.
That evening, when Samson wgnt
to his room, Farbish joined him.
"I've been greatly annoyed to find,"
:ie said, seating himself on Samson's
tied, "that Horton arrived today."
"1 reckon that's all right," said Sara:r>n
"Ilo'a n mnmhpr Isn't hp?-'
Farblsh appeared dubious.
"I don't want to appear in the guise
jf a prophet of trouble," he said, "but
fou are my guest here, and I must
nam you. Horton thinks of you as a
gun-tighter' and a dangerous man.
He won't takes chances with you.
If there is a clash, it will be serious.
Ho doesn't often drink, but today
He's doing it, and may be ugly. Avoid
id altercation if you can, but if it
-tea?" He broke off and added serl
; "
oi.s'y "Tor win have to get bira, or
he will get you. Are you armed?"
The Kentuckian laughed.
"I reckon I don't need to be armed]
amongst gentlemen."
Farbish drew from hla pocket *1
.magazine pistol.
"It won't hurt you to slip that Intern
your clothes," he insisted.
For an instant, the mountameeq
stood looking at his host and with eyes
that bored deep, but whatever was in1
his mind as he made that scrutiny
he kept to himself. At last, he took
the magazine pistol, turned it over in
his hand, and put it into his pocket.
"Mr. Farbish," he said, "I've been in_
places before now where men were
drinking who had made threats against
me. I think you are excited aboat
this thing. If anything starts, he wfll
start it."
At the dinner table, Samson South
and Wilfred Horton vere introduced,
and acknowledged their introductionawith
the briefest and most formal
nods. During the course of the meat,
though seated side by side, each lgv
nored the presence of the other. Sam.
son was, perhaps, do more client than
usual. Always, he was the listener eicept
when a question was put to him
direct, but the silence which sat upon
Wilfred Horton was a departure frooq
his ordinary custom.
He had discovered in his college.'
days that liquor, instead of exhllaratlug
him, was an influence under which
he grew morose and sullen, and that
discovery had made him almost a total
abstainer. Tonight, his glass was constantly
filled and emptied, and, as he
ate, he gazed ahead, and thought resentfully
of the man at his side! v
When the coffee had been brought,
and the cigars lighted, and the aerv-,
ants had withdrawn, Hortoc with-the
manner of one who had been awaiting
an opportunity, turned slightly In hhi:
chair, and gazed Insolently at the Kentuckian.
Samson South still semed entirely!
unconscious of the other's extatencv
though In reality no detail of the brewing
storm bad escaped him. He was
studying the other faces around this
table, and what he saw in them appeared
to occupy him. Wilfred Horton's
cheeks were burning with a dullflush,
and his eyes were narrowing
with an unveiled dislike. Suddenly,
a silence fell on the party, and, as
the men sat puffing their cigars, Horton
turned toward the Kentucklan. For a
moment, he glared In silence, then'
with an Impetuous exclamation of din-gust
he announced:
"See here, South, I want you to know'
that if I'd understood you were to l>d"
here, I wouldn't have come. It has
pleased me to express my opinion of
you to a number of people, and now I
mean to express it to yon. Uipersot^B
/Samson looked aroug^yJH^H^|
same instantaoi^^^^^^^H
Lter said nothing, the
and expressive. It seBg^^HMpT
and goad him on, as tnough^p man
had said:
"You mustn't stand that JBo after
him."
"I reckon"?Samson's voice was a
pleasant drawl?"it doesn't make any
particular difference, Mr. Horton."
"Even if what 1 said didn't happen
to be particularly commendatory 7" inquired
Horton, his eyes narrowing.
"So long," replied the Kentnckian,
"as what you said was your own opinion,
I don't reckon it would interest
me much."
"In point of fact"?Horton was gazing
with steady hostility into Sam
son's eyes?"I prefer to tell you. I
have rather generally expressed the
belief that you are a damned savage,
unfit for decent society."
Samson's face grew rigid and a trifle
pale. His mouth set itself in a straight
line, but, as Wilfred Horton came ttr
his feet with the last words, the mountaineer
remained seated.
"And," went on the New Yorker,
flushing with suddenly augmenting
passion, "what I said I still believe to
be true and repeat in your presence.
At another time and place, I shall be
even more explicit I shall ask you to
explain?certain things."
"Mr. Horton," suggested Samson in
an ominously quiet voice, "I reckon
you're a little drunk. If I were you,
{ I'd sit down."
Wilfred's face went from red to
white, and his shoulders stiffened. He
leaned forward, and for the Instant
no one moved. The tick of the clock
was plainly audible.
"South," he said, his breath coming
in labored excitement, "defend yourself!"
Sahison still sat motionless.
"Against what?" he Inquired.
"Against that!" Horton struck the
mountain man across the face with
his open hand. Instantly, there was a
commotion of scraping chairs an<J
shuffling feet, mingled with a chorus
i of inarticulate protest. Samson had
risen, and, for a second, his face had
; become a thing of unspeakable pasi
sion. His hand instinctively swept
j toward his pocket?and stopped halfj
way. He stood by his overturned
chair, gazing into the eyes of his asl
sailant, with an effort at self-mastery
, which gave his chest and arms the
appearance of a man writhing and
stiffening under electrocution. Then,
he forced both hands to his back and
gripped them there. For a moment,
the tableau was held, then the man
from the mountains began speaking,
slowly and in a tone of dead-level
monotony. Each syllable was portentously
distinct and clear clipped.
"Maybe you know why 1 don't kill
you. . . . Maybe you don't. ... I don't
give a damn whether you do or
not. . . . That's the first blow I've
(ver passed. ... 1 ain't going to hit
j back. . . . You need a friend pretty
! btd rust new. . . . Fcr certain reason*
Tm going to be tbat friend. . . . Don't
you see that this thing is a damned
frame-up? . . . Don't you see that I
was brought here to murder you?"
He turned suddenly to Farbish.
: "Why did you Insist on my putting
that In my pocket"?Samson took out
the pistol, and threw it down on the
table-cloth in front of Wilfred, where
?it struck and shivered a half-filled
wine-glass?"and why did you warn
me that this man meant to kill me?
I was meant to be your catspaw to put
Wilfred Horton out of your way. I
may be a barbarian and a savage, but
I Can smell a rat?if it's dead enough."
For an instant there was absolute
and hushed calm. Wilfred Horton
picked up the discarded weapon and
looked at It in bewildered stupefaction,
then slowly his face flamed with
Distressing mortification.
I' "Any time you want to fight me"?
feamson bad turned again to face him,
land was still talking in his deadly
?"ov^ont fonlcht vnu pan
BUOii. vyiw wavv)/? ?wM.0...p
llnd me. I've never been hit before
Rlthout h. ting back. That blow has
got to paid for?but the man that's
Kally responsible has got to pay first.
'I'm Ready Cither to Fight or Shake
Hands."
Vhen I fight jrou, 111 fight for myself,
Ot for a bnnch of damned murderers.
. . Just now, I've got other business.
Tut man framed thiB up!" He pointed
< lean finger across the table into tbe
tartled countenance of Mr. Farblsh.
tHe knew! He bas been working on
ftt^obfor a month. I'm going to
case now."
Bn started toward Farblsh,
Btor rose, and. with an ex
Sfl^^Hperf&t insulted, virtue,
k indignantly exclaimed,
^Hf^^H^B^ ttilembrol^ine In your
Bpoloelze. You
j^YbSPB^^pPK1
HBHBed a short distance from Farish,
a^ drew from his pocket a
rumpled scrap of the offending magaIne
page: #?e It m that had offended
1 [orton.
"I may not have good manners,
1 [later Far jish, bat where I come from
v e know how to handle varmlntB." He
t -opped his voice and added for the
p otter's ear only: "Here's a little
a after on the side that concerns only
a l. It wouldn't Interest these other
g intlemen." He opened his hand, and
a Ided: "Here, eat that!"
Farbieh with a frightened glance
a the setJace of the man who was advancing
upcd him, leaped back, and
diew from his pocket a pistol?It was
ai. exact counterpart of the one with
w iich h??j?ad supplied Samson.
!. With a panther like swiftness, the
Ktatucklan leaped forward, and struck
ui the weapon, which spat one inef
ective bullet intc the rafters. There
piP! tfi a momentary scuffle of swaying
belles and a crash under which the
ta >le groaned amid the shattering
of, glass and china. Then, slowly, the
conspirator's body bent back at the
wc fat, until its shoulders were
< sti etched on the disarranged cloth.
I ahl the white face, with purple veins
swBlling on the forehead, stared up
be ween two brown hands that gripped
its throat
, ,'Bwallow that!" ordered the mountai
leer.
1'or Just an Instant, the company
atosd dumfounded, then a strained
unnatural voice broke the silence.
* Stop him, he's going to kill the
map!"
7?he odds were four to two. and
witc a sudden rally to the support of
their chief plotter, the other conspirators
rushed the figure that stood throttling
his victim. But Samson South
was in his element. The dammed-up
wraih that had been smoldering during
these last days was having a tempesAous
outlet. He had found men
whet in a gentlemen's club to which
he lad come as a guest, sought to
use nim as a catspaw and murderer.
Ak they assaulted him, en masse,
he seized a chair, and swung it flail
like, about his head. For a few moments,
there was a crashing of glass
and china, and a clatter of furniture
and a chaos of struggle.
Samson South stood for a moment
panting in a scene of wreckage and
disorder. The table was littered with
shivered glasses and decanters and
chin^iware. The furniture was scattered
and overturned. Farblsh was
weakly leaning to one side in the seat
to which he had made his way. The
men .who had gone down under the
heavy blows of the chair lay quietly
where they had fallen.
Wilfred Horton stood waiting. The
wholo affair had transpired with such
celerity and speed that he had hardly
understood it, and had taken no part.
But, a_* he met the gaze of the disordered
figu/s across the wreckage of
a dinner-table, he realized &at now.
i
1
i *
I
?
I
1
with the preliminaries settled, he who
had struck Samson In the face must
give satisfaction for the blow. Horton
was sober, as cold sober as though he
had Jumped Into Ice-water, and though
he was not In the least afraid, he was
mortified, and, had apology at such a I
time been possible, would have made
It. He knew that he had misjudged
his man; he saw the outlines of the
r>W an nlalnlv na Samson hsd seen t
Mw r*? ^
them, though more tardily.
Samson's toe touched the pistol
which had dropped from Farbiah's
hand and he contemptuously kicked It
to one side. He came back to bia
place.
''Now, Mr. Horton," he said to the
man who stood looking about with a
dazed expression, "if you're still of the
same mind, I can accomodate you. 1
You lied when you said I was a savage?though
Just now it sort of looks ,
like I was, and"?he paused, then !
added?"and I'm ready either to fight
or shake hands. Hither way suits
me." 1
For the moment, Horton did not
speak, and Samson slowly went on:
"But, whether we fight or not, you've
got to shake hands with me when we're .
finished. You and me ain't going to
start no feud. This is the first time J
I've ever refused to let a man be my
enemy if he wanted to. I've got my
reasons. I'm going to make you shake '
hands with me whether you like It or 1
not, but if you want to fight first it's :
satisfactory. You said awhile ago you ^
would be glad to be more explicit with '
me when we were alone?" He paused '
and looked about the room. "Shall I 1
throw these damned murderers out of i
here, or will you go into another mom '
and talk?" ^
"Leave them where they are," said '
Horton, quietly. "We'll go into the ^
reading-room. Have you killed any of '
them?" '
"I don't know," said the other, curtly,
"and I don't care." J
When they were alone, Samson 1
went on:
"I know what you want 10 ass me about,
and I don't mean to answer you. *
You want to question me about Miss j
Lescott. Whatever she and I have <
done doesn't concern you. I will say '
this much?If I've been Ignorant of
New. York ways and my Ignorance has 1
embarrassed her, I'm sorry.
"I supposed you know that she's too
damned good for you?just like she's '
too good for me. But she thinks more
of you than she does of me?and she's '
yours. As for me, I have nothing to 1
apologize to you for. Maybe, I have '
something to ask her pardon about, 1
but ehe hasn't asked it. (
(TO BE CONTINUED.) '
? (
SLEEP WAS NOT FOR* HER |
Little One Got What Consolation 8he '
, The parentally Imposed afternoon '
nap has long been childhood's bane.
Harry S. Smith, secretary of the park '
board was telling the other day of
difficulties of afternoon napping expe- '
rienced by his offspring.
A youthful daughter is especially
given to insomnia ai me umo m u? (
afternoon when It is insisted that she
shall nap. It is no fault of hers She
strives strenuously to woo Morpheus,
but to no avail. The sleep god is co- J
quettish and he comes only when he ]
can steal upon his victims.
The other afternoon the tot was do- 1
lng her best to sleep. Dutifully she
closed her eyes, breathed rhythmically j
and counted sheep jumping over the
fence, as instructed. Sleep would not
come. Out it would never do to disappoint
a parent. So when the question
came, "Are you sleeping, daughter?"
6he murmured slumberously.
"Uh-huh."
But her message was not convinc
ing. So she was offered a dime as s
reward for sleeping. Time and again
she made the effort, but always it wai
fruitless. Then she began to squirm.
Finally she sat up in her bed. Het
manner was eloquent of conviction ol
the futility of further effort, after res
ignation of claim upon the reward.
"Oh, I don't care; I don't want the
dime," she said. "My bank is a penny
bank, anyhow."?Louisville Times.
Hundred-Foot Standard.
The Western Society of Engineers
has had prepared a 100-foot length
standard, which it has presented to
the city of Chicago. This standard la
a steel rod 102 feet long, two inches
wide and half an inch in thickness,
which rests on rollers secured to substantial
brackets fixed to the wall. The
graduations, which were established
? ~ - * ?* * it. -
by Pror. L*. A. Jnscner 01 ine uuucu
States bureau of standards, Washington,
were at zero, one foot, one yard,
one meter, ten feet, 25 feet, 50 feet, 68
feet, 20 meters, 30 meters and 100
feet, and at each of these points a disk
of an alloy of 90 per cent platinum and
ten per cent iridium 5.16 inch in
diameter was inserted in the rod flush
with its surface, the exact division
point being marked on the disk. Tha
work of graduation proved remarkably
accurate, as is shown by the correction
table furnished for use in connection
with comparisons of measures.
Chicken Thief Wrote Verse.
After cleaning out a chicken coop in
Birmingham, Ala., the chicken thiei
left the following note: "Lord, have
mercy on my bouI, how many chickens
have I stole, last night and the night
before, coming back tonight and get
25 more; remember coming back to
night"
Whale a Victim of War.
An enormous whale drifted ashors
near Margate, England, the other day.
It had been killed by a mine In tlu
North bba.
IffllJMlONAL
SMOKE
Lesson
By EX O. SELLERS, Acting Director of
Sunday School Course, The Moody Bible
Institute, Chicago, 111.)
LESSON FOR APRIL 25
DAVID AND GOLIATH.
LESSON TEXT?I 8amuel 17:1-51.
GOLDEN TEXT?If God be for US, who
s against us??Rom. 8:31 R. V.
For forty days (v. 16) Goliath defied
Saul's army, encamped near Betblelem.
Three of the sons of Jesse were
n Saul's army and to them David Is
lent with food (vr. 13, 18,19). These
irothers scornfully reproached David
nrhen he expressed a willingness to
ight Goliath, accusing him of pride and
reminding him that he waB but a shepherd
(vv. 26-29). David's words are
carried to Saul and he is introduced to
the king.
I. Boastful Pride, w. 38-44. Fear
ind dismay were aroused at the very
sight of this proud Philistine (vr. 11,
24, 32), yet such fear was foreign to
David, for his eyes were not upon man
but upon God (v. 37). He related to \
Saul his exploits not as boasting but \
is giving him assurance that God was
ible to deliver him out ot the hand of
this Philistine. Saul, who had once
been a man of like simple faith, is now
as much in fear as any of his army.
David was perhaps about twenty years
jf age and verse 56 calls him a "stripling,"
hence it was that Saul's armor
would not fit him (cf. 10:23). Human- .
iy speaking, It was an Impossible thing
David offered to accomplish singlebanded.
Even Saul (v. 32) sought to
llssuade David, but David was not
trusting in man nor depending upon
the armor of the king (v. 39; Ps. 27:13;
Isa. 12:2; Rom. 8:31). David toqk
bis familiar staff and sling (see 1
rhess. 5:2') and sallied forth, "strong
in the Lord, not in himself; armed not
with, steel but with faith." Crossing
'the valley" (v. 40 marg.) he prepared
bis sling, with which every Israelite
was skilled (see I Sam. 13:19-23). On
same the giant, a man about nine feet
tall (v. 4), "a stalking mountain, over:
laid with brass and iron," preceded by
bis protector (v. 41). Why such a soldier
after his period of triumph should
desire this added safety Is not quite
clear. It suggests, however, the sinner's
timidity which reveals his essential
^weakness In that he trusts himself,
takes no chances, and Is even suft?
his ruddy-faced, unarmed youth, carrying
only the staff, Wherewith he was
wont to fight wild beasts, and his
sling! When God calls a man he uses
that weapon with which the man is
most familiar, and when the church or
the Christian soldier seeks to fight in
the armor of another, or by using the
weapons of the world, it Is foredoomed
fn fnllnro fVix. 4:2: Judeea 3:31).
II. Conquering Humility, w. 46-51.
David acknowledged pollath's superior
armament, yet armed with the
name of the Ood of the army of Israel
which Goliath had insulted, his confidence
overtops that of the Philistine
and he hurls back his broud boast.
Furthermore, the victory was to be an
immediate one, "this day" (Zecb. 4:6;
James 4:7). With calm assurance he
informs Goliath of the outcome of
their conflict, but takes no credit to
himself. David had naught but naked
faith and the sense of a Just cause to
strengthen his arm. He would do to
Goliath and the Philistines the things
that Goliath had-boasted he would
to David (w. 44 and 46) "that all the
earth may know that there is a God
in Israel;" see also v. 47. David's
Beemlngly insufficient preparation Is
now revealed to be abundant, for he
had four stones more than be needed
(v. 40). It is thus that God chooses
the weak things to confound the mighty
(I Cor. 1:27).
III. Summary. We have before us
three lessons. First the lesson of individual
responsibility. A sinful king had
paralyzed the effectiveness or ine
army of Israel. David, "a man after
God's own heart," refused Saul's armor,
crying out "I cannot go In these."
Saul, bound by tradition, must use
conventional weapons. Every great
advance in the history of the church
has been led by some man who struck
out boldly, insensible alike to the conventionalism
of his friends and the
gibes of the enemy. God would have_
every man work according to himself,
not copying, not imitating, but with bis
own equipment. Second, all the giants
of sin have not yet been overthrown.
We still have the giants of Intemperance,
Unchastity, Graft, Selfishness,
Ambition and the Inequalities of our
civic and social life. These can only
be overcome In the strength of God.
Bunyan mentions three giants,
Pride, Grim and Pagan; to these we
may add, Anger, Untruthfulness, Selfishness
and Sullenne8s.
Third, Our Helper. See Golden
Text. Of all the graces David posdfessed,
faith was the root of each one
?faith in a living God.
His active faith caused him with
nimble feet to attack this blasphemous
enemy (v. 48j.
His faith in God characterizes his
entire life, resounds in his songs and
strengthened his life of service for Jehovah.
It is such faith that Strengthens the
arm of the true saint of God, that enables
him to "overcome" in his own
life, to undertake for God and to go to
the ends of the earth in his name.
/