A business man who had recently made a study of agnostic literature,
had become involved in certain complications, which resulted in a
quarrel with his wife. His means not being sufficient to the support
of a double establishment, he took the train to London with a bottle
of sulphonal in his pocket (not a drug to be recommended for his
purpose) and swallowed tabloids all the way to town. When he had taken
seventy-five grains, and the bottle, as I saw, was two-thirds empty,
he found that the drug worked in a way he did not expect. Instead of
killing him, it awoke his religious susceptibilities, which the course
of agnostic literature had scotched but not killed, and he began to
wonder with some earnestness whether, after all, there might not be a
Hereafter which, in the circumstances, he did not care to face.
In this acute perplexity he bethought him of the Salvation Army, and
arrived at the Bureau in a state of considerable excitement, as
quickly as a taxicab could bring him. A doctor and a fortnight in
hospital did the rest. The Army found him another situation in place
of the one which he had lost, and composed his differences with his
wife.
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