once more. But I knew now that I was "in the way." After graduating from the Bible Institute (today known as Biola Col lege) I took some work at North Park College in Chicago, and then in the spring of 1925 I returned south and decided to enroll at Co lumbia Theological Seminary, then located in Columbia, South Caro lina. When I got there my new roommate told me he had just heard Dr. Torrey preaching in Asheville, North Carolina. I wrote Dr. Torrey at once and learned that he was living in Asheville. Then early in 1927 it was announced that he agreed to come to the Univer sity of South Carolina in our city for a series of student meetings. The great crowd filed in at noon and there was a good deal of flip pancy and joking in the audience, especially during the hymn singing. Then Dr. Torrey came to the plat form, and his appearance had its effect. There I saw the same majes tic, serious, impressive man of Cod I had known. He announced his subject, "Why I Believe the Bible to be the Inspired Word of Cod." When he was finished there was prolonged applause. After his lecture I was appointed spokesman to invite Dr. Torrey to the seminary, but he declined. However, he invited me to his hotel room, and that afternoon I called on him. As I entered the room I noted that he was dressed in his Prince Albert coat with white bow tie; but he seemed unusually tired. He was now 70 years old. "Have off your coat," he said. "Put down your books. Have a chair." He had been pacing the floor. I continued to stand. Now he walked up to me, placed a hand on each of my arms, and seemed to
look right through me with those piercing eyes. "Oscar," he said, I have been praying for you and ask ing the Lord what I should say to you. This may be the last time I shall ever see you. I have been thinking about your studies and your work. It is well that you study Hebrew and Greek, but I want you to promise me that you will keep studying the English Bible. And when you get through at seminary I want you to go out and preach the Word." He repeated it firmly, "Preach the Word." Then he raised his voice until I knew people could hear it down the corridor, and I was almost embarrased. "Preach the Word!" That was all. I never did remove my coat, nor did I sit down. He prayed for me, and we said good bye. A year and a half later, in Octo ber, 1928, I boarded the Illinois Central train in Chicago for New Orleans, where I was to preach. As the paper boy came through the train I purchased a copy and my eyes fell on the announcement, "World Famed Evangelist R. A. Tor rey Dead." I was stunned. As I con tinued reading, my vision became blurred with tears. There arose in my mind images of the man I had loved and admired. As the piston rods pounded the steam while the engine sped us over the clicking rails toward our destination, it seemed to me that with every sound I heard them say, "Preach the Word!"
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