A TRYING SITUATION.

THERE was a time when Mr. Bilderback was almost persuaded to cut off his pew rent, renounce his religious convictions, and become an atheist or a pagan, he wasn’t very particular which. He was for many weeks in great distress of mind, and professed the greatest hatred of all churches, on general principles. This state of affairs, which fortunately was not permanent, was brought about by a very annoying, though perfectly innocent occurrence. One beautiful but rather warm Sunday morning he was dozing comfortably in his pew, in the church of which he is one of the main sleepers, when he became aware of an apparition gliding solemnly down the aisle with a collection basket in its hand. Mr. Bilderback braced up into an erect posture, cleared his throat in a ponderous tone of Roman firmness, as one who should say, “Who’s been asleep?” And as the basket was extended toward him, he felt in his trousers pocket for his wallet. It wasn’t there, and as he withdrew his hand, and felt in the other pocket, he felt that the eyes of the congregation were upon him, and that was all he felt, for he certainly didn’t feel any pocket-book. He nodded the basket man to wait a second, and leaned over to the left while he felt in the right inside pocket of his coat, from which in his growing nervousness he drew half a dozen chestnuts which rolled over the floor with a rattle that sounded in his hot ears like the thunders of the Apocalypse, and made him warmer and more nervous than ever. Then he leaned over the end of the pew and felt in the other inside coat pocket and drew out a bundle of letters, a lot of postal cards, a circus ticket, a photograph of an actress, a funny story printed on a card, a pocket-comb and a long string, and his face grew so warm his breath felt like a hot air blast. Then he squared his elbows and went for his vest pockets, and strewed the pew cushion with quill toothpicks, newspaper scraps, street car checks, a shoe buttoner, some lead pencil stubs, and crumbling indications of chewing tobacco, a bit of sealing wax, a piece of licorice root about an inch long, and three or four matches. Then he leaned forward and, stung to madness by the smiles which were breaking out all around that church worse than the measles in a primary school room, dived into his coat tail pockets, and drew forth a red silk handkerchief, two apples, a spectacle case, a pair of dog skin gloves, an overcoat button, and a fine assortment of bits of dried orange peel and lint. Then he stood up, devoutly praying that an earthquake might come along and swallow up either him or the rest of the congregation, he didn’t much care which, and went down into his hip pockets, from which he evolved a revolver, a corkscrew, a cigar case, a piece of string, a memorandum book, and a pocket knife. By this time Mr. Bilderback’s face was scarlet clear down to his waist, and he was so nervous and worked up that he nearly shook his clothes off, while the man with the basket couldn’t have moved away, if he had died for staying. And when Mr. Bilderback, in forlorn despair, once more rammed his hand into the trousers pocket where he began the search, the congregation held its breath, and when Mr. Bilderback drew forth the very pocket-book which he had missed in his first careless search, and had since all but stripped to find, there was a sigh of relief went up from every devout heart in that house. But Mr. Bilderback only dropped into his seat with an abruptness that made the windows rattle, and registered a mental vow that he wasn’t going to come out to church again to be made a fool of by a man with a long handled darning basket.