It was Saturday afternoon, a time for study and preparation for the activities usual on Lord's Day. The quiet of the room was suddenly broken by the phone ringing. Mr. Arthur picked up the receiver and uttered a questioning "Hello.”
From the other end of the line came a rush of questions: "Are you Mr. Arthur, and did you use to teach Sunday School on Gladstone Street about twenty years ago?”
Mr. Arthur confirmed the questions with a quiet, "Yes, that's true.”
The unseen interrogator continued: "Well, you ought to remember me. I am Paul, the bad boy of the class. I went to Sunday school only because my dad made me go, and I was determined to make everybody concerned as miserable as I was. And, boy, I guess I did!
"And didn't I get paid off! You see I wouldn't listen to anybody's good advice. I had no respect for religion and no love for God in my heart. Mr. Arthur, I just have to tell you, chickens sure do come home to roost.
"I guess I was as wild as they come. Then when I grew up, I got married—married a girl as wild as I was—and we both followed the downward course. But, Mr. Arthur, she drank; and when she was drunk, even I couldn't take it. I had to leave her.
"This was a hard blow to me; but worse was coming. My brother—you remember my brother?— was killed in a railroad accident; and just a year later my dad was killed instantly in the same way. Wasn't this enough to make a fellow stop and think? I began to feel responsible, Mr. Arthur, and to think maybe God was speaking to me.
"One Saturday afternoon not long ago I was at my mother's home, just sitting alone in the living room. I was completely discouraged and depressed. What a wreck I had made of my life! My sins just welled up before me, pile upon pile, and I realized my sinful condition before God. I knew I was lost; but what could I do? Then there came to me memories of the little Sunday school, and how you used to say: 'Boys, ONLY BELIEVE! ONLY BELIEVE!' I remembered too, a part of a chorus we sang there, though I couldn't get it just right—something about 'Say it again, say it again' These words kept running through my mind: 'Only believe! Say it again.'
"Man, I was in an agony. There for about a couple of hours I was face to face with God. I saw my own wickedness as He did; and I couldn't do a thing about it. But at last I just fell on my knees before Him and told Him what a sinner I was, and that I did believe on His Son; and if He would have me like that, then I was His. And, Mr. Arthur, from that hour I have been sure that I was saved.
"But some others were not so sure. On Monday at my work one of my mates spoke to me about accepting the Lord. I told him I was saved, and he wouldn't believe me. He said: 'Why, only last Friday I heard you swear and take God's Name in vain a number of times!'
"I was glad to tell him that I had been saved on Saturday. He too was glad and invited me over to his house. There I met his wife and told her about `Say it again.' I knew there was something more to it about a tent, or a camel, and a little boy dying, and she knew it right off. But, Mr. Arthur, I just had to tell you about it!'
"Into a tent where a Gypsy boy lay,
Dying alone at the close of the day,
News of salvation they carried. Said he,
`Nobody ever has told it to me!'
Tell it again! Tell it again!
Salvation's story repeat o'er and o'er
'Til none can say of the children of men,
`Nobody ever has told me before.'”