Elmer Gantry by 1885-1951 Sinclair Lewis

described the beatitude of real ungrudging prayer, in which a man was big enough to be as
a child. He made them tearful over the gentleness with which he described the Christchild, wandering lost by his parents,
yet the next moment he had them stretching with admiration as he arched his big shoulder-muscles and observed that he would
knock the block off any sneering, sneaking, lying, beer-bloated bully who should dare to come up to HIM in a meeting and try
to throw a monkey-wrench into the machinery by dragging out a lot of contemptible, quibbling, atheistic, smart-aleck doubts!
(He really did, the young men glowed, use the terms “knock the block off,” and “throw a monkey-wrench.” Oh, he was a lulu, a
real red-blooded regular fellow!)
    Jim was coming down with the grippe. He was unable to pump up even one good sneer. He sat folded up, his chin near his
knees, and Elmer was allowed to swell with hero-worship. Golly! He’d thought he had some muscle, but that guy Judson
Roberts—zowie, he could put Elmer on the mat seven falls out of five! What a football player he must have been! Wee!
    This Homeric worship he tried to explain to Jim, back in their room, but Jim sneezed and went to bed. The rude bard was
left without audience and he was practically glad when Eddie Fislinger scratched at the door and edged in.
    “Don’t want to bother you fellows, but noticed you were at Old Jud’s meeting this afternoon and, say, you gotta come out
and hear him again tomorrow evening. Big evening of the week. Say, honest, Hell-cat, don’t you think Jud’s a real
humdinger?”
    “Yes, I gotta admit, he’s a dandy fellow.”
    “Say, he certainly is, isn’t he! He certainly is a dandy fellow, isn’t he! Isn’t he a peach!”
    “Yes, he certainly is a peach—for a religious crank!”
    “Aw now, Hell-cat, don’t go calling him names! You’ll admit he looks like some football shark.”
    “Yes, I guess he does, at that. I’d liked to of played with him.”
    “Wouldn’t you like to meet him?’”
    “Well—”
    At this moment of danger, Jim raised his dizzy head to protest, “He’s a holy strikebreaker! One of these thick-necks that
was born husky and tries to make you think he made himself husky by prayer and fasting. I’d hate to take a chance on any
poor little orphan nip of Bourbon wandering into Old Jud’s presence! Yeh! Chest-pounder! ‘Why can’t you hundred-pound
shrimps be a big manly Christian like me!’”
    Together they protested against this defilement of the hero, and Eddie admitted that he had ventured to praise Elmer to
Old Jud; that Old Jud had seemed enthralled; that Old Jud was more than likely—so friendly a Great Man was HE—to run in on
Elmer this afternoon.
    Before Elmer could decide whether to be pleased or indignant, before the enfeebled Jim could get up strength to decide
for him, the door was hit a mighty and heroic wallop, and in strode Judson Roberts, big as a grizzly, jolly as a spaniel
pup, radiant as ten suns.
    He set upon Elmer immediately. He had six other doubting Thomases or suspected smokers to dispose of before six
o’clock.
    He was a fair young giant with curly hair and a grin and with a voice like the Bulls of Bashan whenever the strategy
called for manliness. But with erring sisters, unless they were too erring, he could be as lulling as woodland violets
shaken in the perfumed breeze.
    “Hello, Hell-cat!” he boomed. “Shake hands!”
    Elmer had a playful custom of squeezing people’s hands till they cracked. For the first time in his life his own paw felt
limp and burning. He rubbed it and looked simple.
    “Been hearing a lot about you, Hell-cat, and you, Jim. Laid out, Jim? Want me to trot out and get a doc?” Old Jud was
sitting easily on the edge of Jim’s bed, and in the light of that grin, even Jim Lefferts could not be very sour as he tried
to sneer, “No, thanks.”
    Roberts turned to Elmer again, and gloated:
    “Well, old son, I’ve been hearing a lot