The Tent Read Online Free Page B

that the way it works? Their faith does the rest?"
    "Well..." The bald man nodded. "You might say that. But they need a little help now and again, to get what you might call a clearer picture of their faith. They need some assistance. Me and Davis here like to think of ourselves as God's helpers. We sit in the congregation and when you call for the lame and halt and 'flicted I gets up and drags my leg—maybe you saw it when I came in here, the limp?—and come up with my hands all raised and crying, and you touch me and heal me and I walk away straight as a new pin."
    Corey nodded. "And that gets the ball rolling?"
    He shook his head. "One ain't enough, usually. There are them to waver in their faith, but two always does it. That's where Davis comes in. He has a good grating cough. Cough for 'em, Davis."
    Davis, who had been silent all this time, nodded and coughed deep from his lungs. Even Steven had to admit it sounded serious, although he
seemed none the worse for wear when he was done.
    "That's a good cough," Corey said, nodding.
    Jamey nodded. "He's got him a good lung cavity there. He was born with it. You can't just cough normal—anybody can do that. You've got to sound good. Davis here, when he's rolling good, sounds like he's about to heave a lung up. Then you lay hands on him and he breathes deep and that'll do her."
    Steven was almost laughing out loud. It all sounded ridiculous and he expected Corey to throw them out any second, but when he looked at his father he was surprised to see interest.
    "And you say this will help me increase the take—the flock?"
    Jamey nodded. "We worked with a reverend name of Simmons down in the Corpus area, and he almost doubled his collections in a week. They come to see the miracles—they like them miracles more than anything."
    "But won't they know you? I mean, you live around here...."
    Jamey shook his head. "Naw, we're from over in East Texas. We thought we'd come over here and see what there was to offer for a gimp and a lunger, and we seen you down below day before yesterday and liked the way you worked, so we thought we'd offer our assistance in the making of miracles."
    "About that," Corey said. "Your assistance. How much ... assistance ... are we talking about here? How do you figure into the financial end of it?"
    Jamey nodded, smiling. "I told Davis you'd get right to business. Well, I tell you, we used to just rely on the compassion of the trade, so to speak. But we found some ministers was more compassionate than others, and a lot of them weren't compassionate at all. So now we have a rate—we take fifteen percent of the collection."
    "Fifteen? Isn't that a bit high?"
    Jamey shrugged. "Depends on how you look at
it. If we double your collection then fifteen percent ain't so much, is it?"
    "A good point."
    "Let's do her this way," Jamey said. "You try us for three nights—one might not be enough—until the word gets out ahead that you found the power and you're doing some healing. If there ain't a good increase we part company and that's it. How does that sound?"
    Corey nodded. "It sounds worth trying."
    Corey and Jamey shook hands, Davis coughed, and the two men went to the door. Jamey stopped with his hand on the knob. "Are you open to some advice?"
    Corey nodded. "What is it?"
    "Your hair's too flat."
    "My hair?"
    "Yeah. You'll find them parishioners like a good head of hair on their reverends. You got to get it poofed up so it makes your head look big. It'd be good if it was silver or white, all combed up and
back, but if you don't want to color it at least get it done to make it look bigger. You've got to have big hair to really get 'em into the faith."
    "I'll see what I can do."
    "Also you might want to buy some cheap shoes at a pawn shop and sand a hole in the bottom so they look worn. Then you want to sit down now and then and make sure they see the bottom of your shoes, so's they'll think you ain't doing all that well."
    "Really?