Nor was the preacher possessed of
great learning nor endued with the gift of eloquence. He had, however, a
shrewd knowledge of his people and of their ways and of their needs, and
he had a kindly heart, and, more than all, he had the preacher's gift,
the divine capacity for taking fire.
For a time his words fell unheeded upon Cameron's outer ear.
"To every man his own endowments, some great, some small, but, mark you,
no man left quite poverty-stricken. God gives every man his chance. No
man can look God in the face, not one of you here can say that you have
had no chance."
Cameron's vagrant mind, suddenly recalled, responded with a quick
assent. Opportunity? Endowment? Yes, surely. His mind flashed back over
the years of his education at the Academy and the University, long lazy
years. How little he had made of them! Others had turned them into the
gold of success. He wondered how old Dunn was getting on, and Linklater,
and little Martin. How far away seemed those days, and yet only some
four or five months separated him from them.
"One was a failure, a dead, flat failure," continued the preacher.
"Not so much a wicked man, no murderer, no drunkard, no gambler, but a
miserable failure. Poor fellow! At the end of life a wretched bankrupt,
losing even his original endowment.
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