“Why not? What has this age got to do with it?”

“It is just sheer nonsense. Why argue? Only, I say, this story of yours is not like you, Barnes. And while it’s mighty good stuff, it does not ring true. I don’t believe it, and I won’t stand for it.”

“You stand for a lot of things you don’t believe in every day, and they go into the Gazette every day.”

“Maybe they do,” Carter retorted, red in the face, “but this does not go in the paper. So that is settled. Strike out all this about ‘firm convictions that this remarkable person is Jesus,’ et cetera, and we can use the rest.”

“You can strike them out, Mr. Carter, but I shall not, because I believe every word I have written here.”

“Oh well, what is the difference? When is that photograph going to be ready?”

Barnes looked at the editor of the Raymond Gazette with the same look that had been on his face when he came into the office from Mr. Grey’s on that memorable Saturday. “It is never going to be ready.”

“What? Do you mean to say we can’t get a picture of this—this—person?”

“It is my honest conviction that you will never get a picture of him for your paper.”

“You have a lot of ‘honest convictions’ lately, Mr. Barnes.” Carter spoke with a sneer. “Where did you get them?”

Barnes was on the point of saying he had never gotten them in the Gazette office, but after a moment, he spoke with an unusual hesitation and with a heightening color in his face. “Mr. Carter, I am ready to say to you that I have come to have a firm believe in this—in Jesus Christ, and I am going to try to be a Christian.”

An awkward moment followed. Then Carter said, as he broke into a short laugh, “A Christian, eh? Well, that ought to make a good story, Barnes.”

“It is a good story. The best I have ever heard.”

“You don’t really mean it, do you?”

“Yes, Mr. Carter, I do. The greatest thing in all the world has come to me. I never knew what life meant before.”

Carter frowned at him. Barnes had been a cool, hard-headed, unscrupulous news-getter, Carter’s right hand for story writing, a man of varied mental equipment, invaluable in certain situations, not troubled with too much conscience or sensitivity. A professional journalist of the sort that regards no man’s privacy and is willing to ruin a character or pull down a reputation if necessary to get a good story. All in all, a tireless worker, loyal to the Gazette and its policies.

Now, as Carter looked curiously at him, what did the editor see? A new man. In two short days. The miracle of transformation had come to Barnes as he sat there in the First Church, looking at that tremendous personality there on the platform, listening to his words, smitten down, and then lifted up again by the prayer that closed the service. He could see it now—the great throng swelling the galleries, sitting on the platform, on the floor, wherever there was a spot allowed by the fire regulations. And after the meeting, out on the church steps, he came out there and the same unearthly hush fell over the street at the sight and sound of the Man?