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:":^7C"i''50C'
jV ^CHRISTIAN SOCIALIST
-^'-V-i^i^«3LJioT7 0-5;
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MvRVALE Eastman
CHRISTIAN SOCIALIST
JBooHb bs aibfon M. Uourgee.
A Royal Gentleman. [Master and Slave] 1874,
Figs and Thistles. [A Typical American Career.] 1879.
A Fool's Errand ; by One of the Fools. [The Recon-
struction Era.] 1879.
Bricks Without Straw. [Bondage of the Freedman.] 1880.
John Eax, Mamelon, etc. [The New South.] 1882.
Hot Plowshares. [Rise of Anti-Slavery Sentiment.] 1883.
An Appeal to Caesar. [Illiteracy and Education of National
Voters.] 1884.
Black Ice. [Tale of a Northern Winter.] 1885.
Button's Inn. [Western New York.] 1886.
The Veteran and His Pipe. [An Old Soldier's View of
Politics.] 1S87.
Letters to a King. [Addressed to Young Voters.] 1888.
With Gauge and Swallow. [Legal Reminiscences.] 18S9.
Murvale Eastman: Christian Socialist. [Wealth, Pov-
erty, Capital, Labor, Speculation, Journalism, etc.] '1890.
*♦* See end of book, for special list of Tourg^e's
works published by
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT,
30 Lafayette Place, New Tork.
k^
I
'*
MuRVALE Eastman
CHRISTIAN SOCIALIST
4
BY
Albion W. Tourgee
a ^
i
Montreal
WM. FOSTER BROWN & CO.
Nkw Yokk. KoRDS, HOWAHD, & IWumiT
London SAMI'SON LOW, MAHSTON & VO.
* ■*• ^•
Copvmr.iiT, IN i88q and iSoo,
Bv K.MMA K. 'lOUkllEK.
Entf
RKl) AT SlATIONF.Ks' HaUU,
Lntulcin, EnRlaml.
All Rights Kt>si'>v,ul.
PREFACE.
Inheritance and environment are not only reali-
tics, but are the most important elements of every
life. The thought of yesterday fixes the tendency
of to-day: the conditions of to-day arc the back-
ground against which every life is projected.
The impulse of our yesterday was one of achieve-
ment; the most notable miracles of the world's his-
tory have been accomplished within a century.
Self government has not only grown to be a fact,
but has inspired a universal impulse for control.
The individual clamors for self-direction, equality of
right, of privilege, of opportunity.
In the mean time, to-day's conditions-its material
tendency and development— have opposed the ful-
fillment of yesterday's aspiration. The most tre-
mendous forces have moved with unprecedented
energy toward the subjection of the individual.
During the last half-century, the segregation of
capital in a few hands has been equaled only by the
restriction of opportunity. A few already control
one-half the valuation of the country: the many
11
PREFACE.
\\
must be content with the other moiety. But fewer
still control the opportunities for labor— the ave-
nues of profit. Not only is the ratio of self-employ-
ers rapidly diminishing, but the proportion of em-
ployers tc employed has already become so small '
as fo awaken universal alarm. Organization has
practically eradicated the individual. The small
manufacturer has almost disappeared. The small
dealer has been absorbed. The small manufacturer
has become a foreman; the small merchant an
agent.
During the last ten years the manufacture of
pig-iron has increased three hundred per cent, in
the United States, but the number of establishments
engaged in its production during the same time has
diminished more than one-fifth ! Transportation, by
far the greatest business of the country, is controlled
by fewer individuals than any other. There are
many railroads, but all are parts of or dependent
upon a few "systems." Probably less than a score
of men actually control the transportation of the
United States, the earnings of those engaged in it,
and the profits of those dependent upon it. So
much power over the comfort and prosperity of so
many has never before been wielded by so few.
But what exists is as nothing to what promises to
be. Projecting the future on the lines of the imme-
PREFACE.
HI
d-ate past, and the dullest mind perceives that the
concentration of power by reason of the control of
opportunity must, in a very brief period, increase
the rat,o of dependency to an extent perhaps
never equaled in any civilised country. Already a
new feudalism has been developed in which poJer
.3 transm, d, not by blood, but by bequest, and in
«h.ch vassalage >s secured, not by an oath of alleffi-
ance, but by dependency. The barons of wealth L
to-day more potent in molding the destinies of
o hers than the feudal lords ever were or ever could
be. rhe strong arm is potent only as far as d,e
sword can reach: the controller of opportunity
cables h.s will around the world and grapples 1
depen ent by the throat even at the" an p d
Feudal stnfe reduced the number of lords but
rarely mcreased the privileges of the feudatories
In hke manner competition between the great lords'
of production of trade and transportation, lessen
the number of controllers of opportunity but in.
creases the power of the remainder
With these conditions come others-moral and
pol.t,cal social and intellectual, which color every
l.fe-h,gh and low. Those who serve and those
who control are being separated by sharper lines
nd more mflexible barriers. " What shall'the end
be ? .s the universal refrain of thought to-day.
IV
PREFACE.
The past offers no parallel; it knew no similar
conditions. Tho conflict between the many and
the few has heretofore been one of personal right;
the citizen has been evolved from the serf; the free'
man from the slave. To this end all the forces of
civilization have been shaped. The present is not
a question of personal right, but of just oppor-
tunity. Wage-earning is not slavery, but when it
becomes a fixed condition it is one of sheer depend-
ence. The control of opportunity means the sub-
jection of the individual just as much as did the
control of his energies, but it does not trench upon
the domain of personal right. No individual laborer
has a right to demand work and wages of an indi-
vidual employer. It is a question between society
and the employer as to the control of opportunity.
We have simply come upon a new era. The
maxims of the past are no longer safe landmarks.
The social bases of the past are too narrow for the
demands of the present. The domain of personal
duty has been enlarged. The relations of the indi-
vidual have been extended. The area of mutual
obligation has been amazingly increased. The citi-
zen has become responsible for direction as well as
allegiance. The function of government has been
newly defined. The wisdom of the wisest ancient
monarch is folly to-day. It is no longer a defensi-
PREFACE. ^
ble theory that ''what is good for the hive is good
for the bee;" the converse, rather, is the measure
of pohcy. The welfare of the governed is acknowl-
edged to be the supreme function of government.
Already the " wealth of nations " has proved a delu-
sion. The individual is the pivot of progress. Per-
sonal mdependence is the test of social forces A
nation may grow rich beyond all precedent, and at
the same time individual opportunity be constantly
restricted and the area of self-direction and control
be rapidly diminished. The man who labors for
himself is a master; he who is dependent for op.
portunity upon another's will is half a slave.
It is against this background of fact that the au-
thor has sought to trace certain characters. He
claims for his work only that the background is a
real one, and the figures such as one meets in real
life, shown under familiar conditions. He has not
sought to indicate specific methods of amendment
or predict particular results, but merely to point
out the spirit which must animate and precede any
successful effort at amelioration. The general pur-
pose ,s the most important element of social pro<r.
ress. "Where there is a will, there will ahvavs be
found a way." is an adage peculiarly true of popu-
lar impulses. Method is .econdarv. and d.p.n^s
^^ PREFACE.
largely on the agencies the popular will must em-
ploy and the conditions under which it must act
The moral tendency from which amendment must
arise is a fact: millennial possibilities and soecific
remedies are at best but dreams.
"We cannot do without Christianity," said
Matthew Arnold, "and we cannot endure it as it
IS. He uttered half a truth. We have applied the
basic principle of Christianity to half the relations
of life: the result has been personal liberty-the
equal right of every individual to control his own
energies. Is the world ready to apply the same im-
mutable principle to another field of human rela-
tion-the field of opportunity as well as freedom of
endeavor } This is the question formulated in ^hese
pages, simply because it is the paramount question
wbch IS struggling for answer in these our time^
the most real fact of every life.
Mayville, N. Y., November, rggo.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. A Chronic Grumbler, .
II. The Church of the GotUEN Lilies,
III. Lalein, ,
IV. Plusius and Penes.
V. Garden Square, .
VI. Gold AND Porphyry,
VII. Taking the Verdict, .
VIII. The Consecrated cJp^ .
IX. An Expert Opinion, .'
X. A Chrysalid's Retrospect.
XI. ANEW Doctrine,
XII. S.VARES FOR Unwary Feet,
XIII. Attacking the Supply Train, .
XIV. " Number Forty-six "
XV. The Eyes of Argus, .
XVI. Too Natural for " Realism. " '
XVII. A Devious Way, .
XVIII. The Glow of a Fateful Gem.
XIX. The Thunderbolt " Scoops " 'the
XX. Dodging the Blow,
XXI. Dawn in THE Desert. .
XXII. The Gate OF Palms,'
XXIII. Out OF THE Smitten Rock.
XXIV. Fresh Blood, .
Breeze,
PAOB
9
33
42
52
. 66
76
84
97
106
112
116
125
129
142
rsr
'54
x88
20Z
213
233
247
257
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£75
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vin
CHAPTER
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.
XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
XL.
XLI.
XLII.
XLIII.
XLIV.
XLV.
XLVI.
XLVII.
CONTENTS.
A Modern Miracle
Alas! Poor Ghost
Poaching on the Devil's Preserves,
Taking Note of Time, . .
An Ungrateful PRorfeofi,
An Illiberal Definition of Liberality,
God's Anointed Phue
Ultra Vires, ....
Behold a Perfect and an Upright
Love's Gii eed Headstone, .
An Unreasonable Conscience, .
How Giving Blesses the Giver, .
The Product of Evolution, .
In the Light of Public Fame, .
Uncovering a Crater,
Trustees of Divine Purpose,
Is Faith Hostile to Humanity?
The Ultimatum
The Twig Bueaks, ....
The Protest of Dfspair, .
Nature Greater THAN Art, .
'Twixt Dream and Waking,
The Aloe Blossom
Man
FACE
. 285
296
. 300
322
. 329
334
• 345
356
. 362
370
. 384
395
. 406
419
. 4^8
437
• 449
464
. 473
480
. 491
508
. 513
MURVALE EASTMAN.
CHAPTER I.
•v chronic grum15lkr.
"Hannah!''
It was a man's voice, strong and Hrni despite the pecu-
l.ar husk.aess wh.ch tells of bronchial diseL. Thoth
Presently a door opened and a woman entered crav
haired but still coinelv Her fl„d,,vi ( ,'^' S'-'iy-
ahnvP fh« n , '■'^ "^'^''^<' ^ace, sleeves roed
above the elbow, and traces of Hour on the plumn arm.
showed that she had been engaged in son^ n'ar;: '
Wlirt is it, Jonas? " she asked
^__ ••Hannah, don'. y„„ ,hi„k .e ,„,,„, „o .o .he paric .o.
The man who asked the question sat in a l»ic red
.,.1™ bo,to„,ed rocking-chair in the •• second-stor v fro , "
> . ..or,, and.a-half hot,se in one of the poorest quarters
"f a great c„y. „ would have been called a suburb bS
10
MUI<]\\I.I: /-.AS /MAX.
that the city stretched away on either side of it, dense
and crowded. A valley running down to the river, too
broad to be conveniently built over, had baen seized upon,
before the growth of population too greatly enhanced its
value, as a convenient means of ingress by the half dozen
railroads converging in the city. This fact had con-
demned it to smoke and squalor. The houses built along
its sides were small and cheap. It would not pay to erect
costly structures in such a locality.
The room was of medium size, and though next to the
roof, not uncomfortable nor altogether ill-furnished. That
from which the woman came was smaller, but served very
well for a kitchen. The entrance was by an outside stair-
way at the rear. A quilt was thrown over the chair in
which the aian sat, evidently taken from the bed in the
back part of the room. The one window in the front
was at his right. Before him was an old-fashioned nar-
row hair-cloth lounge, much worn; behind him a table.
A newspaper, limp and worn from much handling, lay
across his lap.
"Go to the park!" repeated the woman in surprise.
"Why, Jonas, what do you mean? "
She sat down upon the lounge and took up a piece of
sewing with that habit of constant occupation which be-
comes almost a disease in the woman compelled to labor,
hardly removing her eyes from her husband's face except
to note where first to set her needle.
"Just what I say, Hannah," answered the husband.
" You know to-morrow is your birthday, and I thought it
might do us both good to get a bit of air with a little less
cinder in it than what we have to breathe here."
He glanced at the blackened panes of the one window
as he spoke.
./ C//A'(>.\7(' (/AT.U/i/ /-a:
" Do you think you could walk as far as that, Jonas? "
suggcstt'd his wife.
"I suppose not." A sj)asm interrupted him. He
co.ighed w.tli a sort of angry vehemence, as if protesting
agamst what he could not avoid. His wife ke,,t on sew-
ing. Not a great way at a time, at least," he added
finally, pantmg as he wiped his stiff mustache.
" It's a long way, as much as three miles," said the
wife ho])elessly.
" Oh, I don't mean the big park. Of course we couldn't
go there. You know that little one up on the avenue
not more n a mile from here. If we should start early "
He did not finish the sentence but his voice was full of
pitiful yearning.
" You mean Garden Square? "
"Yes, next to Kishu's church."
"Perhaps we might go there-if you flunk you couM
stand It?
"We could take our time; 'go early and get good
seats,' you know." ^ ^
"Yes; and it's in the 'dress circle,'" said the woman
smding, the very swellest part of the city."
" We shouldn't exactly harmonize, you think ? "
The woman glanced at her dress. It was of cheap
material, faded, patched in places, yet worn with the un-
mistakable air of gentility.
"Twenty-five years going down hill has been pretty
hard on you, dear, but you're a lady yet, as good as any-
of ^them," said the husband almost fiercely.
"Oh, ril go, Jonas," answered the wife in a tone of
hasty conciliation. "I was only wondering if I could do
anything to freshen this up. You know I hkc to look re-
spectable."
i »
12
MrRWU.r. EASTMAX.
"Yes, Hannah, I know just how you feel, and T
wouldn't ask this, only— well, I've a special reason for
wanting to go there, and as soon as I get able to take my
'run' again, there won't be any chance, you know."
"Yes, dear, I do know," said the wife, furtively wiping
her eyes, "and— and -tlie winter's coming on, and you're
so fond of trees and flowers. Of course I'll go," she
added with a cheerfulness that was evidently forced.
The husband was silent for a little while. The wife
looked up, but her eyes dropped on her work as soon as
they met his gaze, fixed mournfully upon her. Tears fell
on her needle, but she sewed on busily.
"You think it'll be my last chance to see such things,
don't you, Hannah?" said the husband tenderly.
She raised her work to bite oflf the thread. The action
partly hid her face. She did not answer.
" Like as not you're right," he continued after a mo-
ment. "And I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for you. We've
had a hard time, dear. Life hasn't brought us much
comfort except what we've got out of our love, and I've
thought sometimes that only made it all the harder to
bear."
" Oh, don't say that ! " exclaimed the wife.
"I am not comjilaining, Hannah, [t's all we've got,
and worth more than all we could have, but it does make
the load heavier; there's no mistake about that. You'd
be willing to die if it would ease my pain; and I'd be
happy to swap my expectations of life for an assurance
that you'd be comfortable the rest of your days. I don't
think I ever wanted to be rich— very rich, I mean, but I
did want you to have a good home and ordinary comforts,
and never had an idea but I could always provide them
for you J but somehow I haven't been able. It's been
-vi.ho>„ any hone U a ^"',? "' ""'"'' ^"'"^ """=.
"Bu.,..„ave„o,,„s,„„pe?"saia,he,vife„,ea„-
ne::r;i'„,po.X"'':°itraj''V'";' "■.'■ '''"" "'^
Perhimthnf J "'scourage. I just aini give up
remaps that s been the trouble wifh m^ v , '
"'-n. I aon t know why— I c idn't carr a c„ 1,
the comnanv's nronprt,, :. . u , I "S about
don-, dream otrhin!^!:/""""' '"' ""'»' >™
"■e are, and fear try d 7„1, ?' "'' '"T" "" """
befoi-e. You expert If ^ *^ Z™''" "'^" "'= ""^
sharper and ha k „„' , tTe'T '", '"" "" «"""8
being .hankfult r /" , ''' ''"''•'"" '••'"= ^''on.
WeV-e done i, ^^2^^']^""""" "' "• »--"•
-ork when I could vo k a. al " "" "'""'' ' "^^'^
chance .0 earn and I" I do, . k ""'""; '" ^''^ "
wha. we've go. .0 show for i.of . "' "■ •^"'' ""'' ''
thine educa.in^ ,h. 1 ,' "''"' "'"^ "P'^"* some-
-a,ooddea,or:hf-.h:;r;^-:r;:i
»4
MUNVAl.E EAST MAX,
i:
\
s.iries. Now, I say it isn't fair. We've deserved better
than we've had, measuring our work, our savings, and our
good-will with others, an(! putting what we've had beside
what they've enjoyed."
" But if it is the Lord's will ? "
Hut it isn't the Lord's
will. It's blasphemy to hint
that the Lord wishes such things to be.
The man spoke with impetuous heat.
" You know you haven't been sfong since— since— our
trouble, Jonas," said the woman soothingly.
"Very true; but I've done a man's work all the time,
Hannah, until just lately. I haven't shirked on that ac-
count."
"Well, well, dear, don't blame the Lord, whatever you
do. We haven't ever been grumblers: don't let us begin
now."
"Oh, I'm not blaming the Lord; only I'm not thankful.
I've no cause to be; that's all. I don't think it's the
Lord's fault, nor his doings, except in a general way. I
do think society is wrong. It ought not to let a willing
man fall into helpless poverty. There have been a liun-
dred times, since we started ,bwn, when a helping hand,
or even one little finger, would \v<. set me 0,1 my feet
and made us comfortable. '';.at s wi.it I find tault with.
Society is good enough to them that have nothing. It
feeds its paupers, and I suppose feeds them well. They
ought to be thankful. But we aren't paupers and never
will be— never can be. Sometimes, perhaps, the world
will learn it's better, and in the long run cheaper, to help
men who don't want to be paupers, than to let them drag
' i until they lose hope and are fit only for the poor-house
or the prison. Pauperism and crime are like disease:
the best way to cure 'em is to prevent 'em— to treat them
.1 i7/A'(>.\/( (;/,'/ Mf^i ,.,.
»5
tlmfs 'expend- as ud! as ,|,nn that's sirk, just as they
ilii will, sin:ll|.|>,ix. '
Tliac was a kn,„k at tl,c l,a,:k door. The wife ,„
::;:::;'," '■'" '^r^ """ -^ '-«■" -vei,,,.. a :,„■;:
e.,gers .an . I he envelope was .„Mresse,l ,o " |.,„a.
Ln.lerwoocl." The ,„a„ opene.l i, an.l .„„„,„ Z
money it coneained.
"Six days- woik-nine doUars!" he said, holding the
".oney n, one l,an,l and the card in ti,e other. "K |
.me an,l no ,lo,:king for nristakes: th.fs hetter'n IM
avedo„eif,dl,ee„al,le,o,ake,r,yM„/I ::J'
^o„ »ee they ra.sed the wages twenty-five .ents a du a
™on as the stnke was 'ofr; I, is„., ,„ had now: am,
conid ,,rol,ahly average seven or eight dollars a week
s.anc.s or old age. Iletter |.ay ,he rent a,„l get s„,„e
drUd.'"""'- " -■- "O' -' ~ eaL-hanc:
He signed the card and handed it to his wife
"Now, isn't that something to be thankful , >r?" she
asked ahnost gaylyas she kissed his forehead an i went to
give the messenger iiis receipt.
When she returned her husband said: "Ti it's the
queerest thing, Hannah, that's ever happened to me, and
1 ve had some strange experiences, too. 1 can't make
out why that man should do the work and send me the
money Of course he's young and strong, and probably
has got lots of property, but it's no light job that h. 's un-
^lertaken. He said he'd do it for a n.onth, and I m s
he meant .t. Strange enough, I haven't any object.on to
btmg helped that way. It's the sort of thing I'd be will-
mg to do myself.-have done a little of, now and then-
though I d die before I'd accept charity. But I'm not
;
i6
MUR Va r E p. A S TMA.W
going to tax his kindness to the limit, and mean to take
my 'run ' Monday or Tuesday if I can."
"Don't think of it, Jonas! You know you're not able "
said the wife, dropping her work and clasping her hands
pleadingly.
"I know, dear," answered the husband, "that I ain't
able to work if I could aflford to lie still. But I'm not
hkely to be much better unless I can get rid of this thing
here, ' touching his right breast with his left hand.
That's all the trouble; and every time I've coughed for
the last two or three days, I've thought sure I was going
to get it up." ^ ^
The wife's face assumed at once that look of vacuous
assent with which we listen to the fancies of others when
we do not wish to contradict, but do not in the least be-
lieve.
" This thing here " was no unfamiliar topic to the wife
of Jonas Underwood, though always a far from pleasant
one. He believed that the cough which had troubled
him so long was caused by a foreign substance in one of
his lungs. Nobody else thought so. The origin of his
belief and its history were both curious and sorrowful.
As an act of kindness, while serving as a private soldier,
he had taken the place of a friend detailed for picket-
duty, without the knowledge of his officers and in viola-
tion of military rule. In an attack made during the
night, the pickets were driven in, and Underwood shot
and taken prisoner. As the man whom he had obliged
was afraid to divulge the truth he was reported as "absent
without leave." Six month, afterward he was exchanged,
and being much reduced in flesh and troubled with a cough
was discharged from hospital without returning to his
regiment, on account of " pulmonary consumption." The
•V C///?OX/C CRV.UBI.F.h
«rwce, and for some years, except for occasiona L of
uS7' 'S,:^r" "° 1«" ■" *^ -i"y wS'h 'a
i™X by'cre tceS :"T '"^^T ^° ^"P^^"" *-'
pension. "''^' '"' '™''= application for a
leatT' dlslaTedT" "™' "''°"''' "^^-"' wi".ou.
*ot ■ he h„rn consumption ; " no one saw him
were set on his trail to disprove his allegations H.
examined by the medir;,! h.o a ''^^,^^'°"'- ^e was
Indians," was rigar,,:,, ^rj't, ^ ^^ 7o" ^1'^ "'
llf
I'
!,i
'i..i>f
■r
1
iS
M('R\\\r.r. r.ASTM.uv.
half a century ago, was looked ujx-ii by the wiseacres of
the national bureau of rewards and punishments as a
piece of phenomenal efTrontery. After several years of
investigation his application was denied in language none
the mildest, and with an imputation which caused the
sensitive and suffering veteran to shrink from all associa-
tion with his former comrades. " 'J'his thing here " had
become, therefore, a sore subject in more^;-enses than
one. His wife knew that her husband's bei-.f was en-
tirely sincere, but even she had long ago concluded that
it was only one of tlie peculiar hallucinations of the dis-
ease from which he suffered. Her husband read this
conviction in her face.
"I know you don't believe in it, Hannah." he .said,
apologetically, "and I suppose it must seem foolish; but
I can't hell) it. I know the thing's there, and I can't get
well as long as it stays. If I don't get rid of it before
the cold weather comes on, I'm afraid I'll never do any
more work; but I mean to get it up."
The wife understood her husband's character, so she
made no reply. His dark face, strong-featured, with
heavy brows and beard, short neck and broad shoulders,
showed that his was one of those natures which do not
easily yield to disease, and never quite succumb to mis-
fortune. He turned and looked out of the window where
the sun was lightening mto fleecy waves the mingled
steam and smoke that rose from the engine of a passing
train. i • s
"Sick people always have fancies, don't they, Hannah?
My fancy is that if I could get rid of this thing and not have
to expose myself during the winter, I might get strong again •
not as I once was-that ain't to be expected; but well
enough to do regular work of some sort— not too heavy,
./ ciih'oxfc CA'c.y/i/ /■:/,;
19
you know-so that wc neodn't lack for necessaries and
have a few comforts. Now I've got an idea "
"Please don't get to making any new plans, Jonas,"
said the wife plaintively. She knew how absorbed he was
apt to become in such things in his enforced idleness.
1 here was a moment's silence.
"I've had a good many, haven't I?" said the man
submissively-" a good many that came to naught I
know It, dear. Sometimes it has l,een my fault and
sometimes my misfortune. But should we have been any
better off if I had just sat down an<l taken things as they
came? I haven't always got up by climbing, but I've
kept myself from sinking down. You've prayed and I've
planned; and if neither one has done any good so far as
be tering our condition is concerned, I s'pose they've
both helped us to hold out and keei> on workin- "
"Oh, I didn't mean that, Jonas, at all,'" said'tlie wife
sobbingly "I',n sure we never coul.l have got along il
> hadn t been for your planning. I think it ,juite won-
derful, the resources you, have shown. As quick as one
dependence fails you always have another, so that in spite
of all we have never come to real want. But it troubles
me to see you making plans that you haven't the strength
nor the means to carry out. I know you will be dis;p.
pointed, and that always makes you worse."
"Well, it is hard, of course, to be tied "down by weak-
ness and poverty, and see the doors open all around
thmugh which, with a little help, one might get on, and
not be able to do a thing, and then perhaps months or
years afterward see the very thing one has thought out
urning a little river of gold into some rich man's pocket
th 0^"' ;': "'•'"'" ' ""''^ ^ ^^^^^^ -'^^'^ke once
through not knowing what couldn't be known. I have
[l^
I .
^ 4^ '•a
io
-'/'■^■/V///. /r.^sTA/.^y
"■"8 .s jus. as good as pr!ll IZ '" f '' ""« P'^""
Don t say that, Jonas, d„„V l ' ^ °' ""•■'" ''°-"
Go.1, don't jouf » 3,„ asked I ■ ? ""'^^ ''<''«™ in
;el.gions views had ,„ I ed C'l '^ , "" ''-''-^'
'ecent injury. "" " good deal since i,is
J'gion a theory Th. "'"^^^"^e. God is a fact- r.
""'' .-3 a necessi. 'Uv l:^ f ™=;. "'= °»>-ht,a T
l;e.ng of ,a,v; religion a ,1 ™ „, T'r"°"- ^od is a
"« -.Ifishnes., SI, *1 succe d t, ''"!'°"- ««''' 'aw is
s.mply a misapp,iea,i„„ of flee o ' V ""' ""'""■ '> '^
"'■■=• The man who gives iHl , >""■' °' ">'^ "ea-
°'" -ow he can overreach I , " ■'"■"'8* '» finding
««1 .n acguiring weahh. I^^°2 ' "'"'^^"y ^'''■
«f tl.e continued application of t "''''°"''^'' '•^sult
One who thinks of others and i/'° " ""'e'" I'°">t.
*-'. w^ll naturally lose chaZllT""': "°' '" '"J"<=
'^ll', and so falls behind he '^ ''" ^ """ would
"» ftuig unfair about it I I "" °' "fc- There's
""■versal law that strength 1 d'T '" "'""''''°'^ "' ">e
™1- And strength and c „Ti^ ""'"« "'O'Where pre-
";»«'- «.e resufts are ^^ '^f ^JT" '"^'"""-'^^
man who uses them " '"''' ''"'P™* upon the
''■«t'?"'::f;,r= *'■"■'' ^™" -^^aH ,heseth-
"u ^sked the wife **" "^"^se things,
We made the forces r?«o
7^" strong and wise tint thl'" ''"' u^'' '''''■ ^^ made
y they might m or tvfor'f * '^^^ ^^^ ^^'^^ "o
own selfish gratification ^^^^^"^^^ ^^^"^ ^or their
I i
A C///WXIC GRLMIU.rR
21
"I haven't any quarrel wit], religion, except as it ten.l,
to make the strong stronger and the weaj weaker
palliates the failure of the strong to do ri..ht ami ,,! '
hesthe tendency of the weak to'do w™ I '' ■ ■ ' i SI"
ruth .s that ,n extolling n.erey I, „„ fo°rg„,te„ j
To the ktnd y ntan ,t is a snare, to the hard one a^o ,
por untty. I, honors achievenrent and ,les,.ises fair
r es eems the strong an.l pities the weak. I. b ,d,
churches for the r.ch and chapels for the poor, . 'jve
alms to the helpless and advice to the smtggling 'bu
one that .s worth saving will die before he l i7acc!n
et^yrnd"":. tij:. ^'"-- '= -^ -- -^"C
"In a sense I will ad, ,it, Hannah, that relirion is a
good ,h,„g, ,t enables men and women to endtre what
ehey would not otherwise submit to. That is the wav i
guards the peace of society. I, sometimes restrains [he
desperate. It often tnduces the wrong-doer to adont
more tolerable methods, and always compel! the o ^resse'd
take more cvth^ed means of righting their iron's
n other words, it makes men endure wro'g ml he! '
ly and seek to right it more peaceably. Without ,"."
fluencethe p*r would kill the rich who create pole,,
and grow fat upon want." Poverty
shuddet' '"^ "°'"''"'' '''" ^°'" ^^'■'' "- "-"^ wi'l' -
don, bear anybody tll-wi,,. j.-, „,i^,^^,^^
did not know these things Ion- a.T„ r, , i
wli,l.i ,^ 1 *" S 3go. it takes a cood
ii „r '?™„tT!^-,°- -^'« - ''"o-v at the' he.
rii
Kiiil
ginning
I ought to have known better, for instance, than
f
22
■'^fCh-rA/.E F.AST.VAW
to give up my chance of success, ,n K •
«"<! I had ,l,a. q„eer notion i, seemVlo f 'Tf'
for one ivlio his l„,i , r • aimost irapossib e
H,« .r T , rehgious training to cet ri,l of
that the Lord will somehow or other loot ,L .1 '
who tries to do right llhat I , nL . , "" ""'"
stead of going to be L, ,? f '° ''""^ ''°">-'. "-
profits, hLdt s ,, .ti : in:;:""?''^" ""• ■" "^
-. Then r sho,„d ^V^'Z^Xn^i^V'"
she started toward the InT'ro , ''" assnr.ngly, as
l<e=ping dnties. A 1 fit o7 eo" T™' '° "" '■°"»^-
invali<l, which was so voTent and If ','f "=''"' ""=
.U"-.,and in a tone of allt. "stc* H n t 7
Do you feel worse, dear? " "'^
inra'h'and' '' ^^^''f '"^^^^' ^^^^^^^"8 his breath and press-
ing a hand to , his chest. "No. I'm better'n r ,
for years. I tell vn., T'^, • " ^ ^^ '^^''^n
-^v/.^' I am r ^ ^""'"^ '° S^^ that thing up-I
, 1 am— came pretty near doing it then n^ ,
about It. Being hauled over the pav'ement bvTh" 7
and run over by a carriage is tie ^Ii^!'^:JT''
pened to me since that piece of 1. i ? ^hat s hap-
Of discover, into .„, vitals'. '"ri.leXr.trV^r
doctors yet; see if I don't' " *^°'^
of cotning • o" Ihe r ; """'= >'°" '"""s'« "'°f«
nng It oMr the doctors than anytliing else."
" ^VeIl, Hannah," he (rasntvl cfiii ^^ r
'■.'• with a glean, oi n.irS ll f .? "'f "'1" •"■-■"-".
now unti I've shower? th^c^ *i speakjng of just
neither a fool „o T Ir Z V" """"' "''"'^ """ ''■»
.'>i4 «« a„'j;: "J /---/'•-- .^^^^
"o.,hat there's any really ,JoX,iaI,"; """:"""
;;•;. since I gave np ..y cVance't't r™:":";";^
foolish no^bV T e I orTdo'T;"^ '"'T^- " ^^^' ^
outside of natural laws he does thro., f I "^
menfs Tfc ■ • through human nstru-
p an:f;o:Lrr;:ni;ra:fs-' -
buffers to soften the jolts otLi ? '" ^^^ ^'
'■slowup'the strongVhent e/'et o ; " 'r'" ^"
That's mv idea of tv. ? ^ " *°° ™"^h steam.
^yiiyicleaof religion and society. The favnr r i
extends to tlie good man who runs against ll
laws and eets hnrf Jc .i -against these natural
'lau gets nurt, is shown on y by inclinincr fi.« i
of men to sym,)athy. For the vveak TlT^ , '"''''
ahvays human." ' ^""^ ' Providence is
lit
¥\
J
■/'
#--#-^
24
■yrKr.u.E /usr^rAx.
I ■
-..I who, despite 1 IrZ! •""' ""? "'■''»">■ not new,
Sether deny '.l,ei ' fo" "^. '"f" '"' ^°"''' ""' ""'-
times, but you cannot deny , ha, T"!" ^f. '""' ''""'
ilential for us Af,„ ,.„ , ""''^ ^^ Provi-
".= '-^ utii-inr bo!:! °T. ^r;;r::- "v--"'™ -'
•so to hear you roii-h u-I^.n "'•''^'^^ss'-^'l the directors
'■t <i.<i seen? as f th L^ v^ '1^' I'' "^' ^'"^^" «^-->
house." '"' "°''^'"S f^'- ^'« l>i>t the poor-
^jNot. so bad as that, Hannah, -it cant ever con.,,
get better? " "' "'^''k^ng for nothing and you don't
^"oir\r;Lr-:^:r^;Hannah,you ought to
settled close above the b;oad JZ 'T'?""' "^•"^^^'^^'
resolution can.e into the .^ ' ^ "c^'l^.'^^^ ^[ '^^^^^
help being buried as a paupe bu t T, " '""^ "'^^'^J'^
for living as one." ^ ' ^^^^'^ ''" * ^»>' ^"-^cuse
" But, Jonas, you wouldn't ?" „v j •
her lips as ashen as the ha,r abov , ""'^^ '^'' '''^'^
" There'll h. ""^ ^'^^^ temples.
husband rignifi:;:,/"""'-^ °' "yn..n,e,^-an.ve,cd the
.lo'lhl;r^°""' ^™"' Y™"'"<I"t-you couldn't-
The woman fairly shrieker? ,.,., t
at the enormity of X ,f f ^'r ^'''' ^"^ "^ ^g""^
inspired. ^ ' ''.'""^lu her husband's words
'•i^^;r:;:rm:;^^^^^^^^
India, where tlie s.M, ^^^'° ^ story of the mutiny in
the soldiers swore to kill the ladies of the
-■/ a/A'OX/C CRUMBl.KK. ^
enemy? Vou sa,d „ was rigl,l_thal no man ougl,, To
let tl,e woman hcd pr„n,i.,e<l ,„ protect sufTer a a e
worse than death." "^
" But that "
"There aint anything worse than charity, Hannai, "
he n,,errnp,ed gravely. ..When one is sick it i t>
^hame: ,, ,s snnply ,he debt hunrani.y owes to one whom
God or human carelessness or wrong has stricken. Bu"
» en one havmg strength and willingness cannot get .1 e
chance to earn a living, i, is because son.e clast have
Ob an.ed more than their share of power and privilege
and use ,t to restrict others' opportunity. 11,en tte
pauper becomes a slave, and he who accepts cha ity a
dog. 1 lien It IS a man's duty to die ' "
"But It would be wicked-how could you think of any
and did not live in a Christian land."
"I don't want to worry you, dear, but do you think
your Christianity much better than my heathenism ? How
long IS It since you have been to church, Hannah?"
1 he man spoke tenderly.
"A good while," the woman answered, looking down
and picking a thread from her rlress
chlXCnP^' ^ ^'^^^ ^^"^^ -' '-y --^ ^»-
ba Jk'::d t;'h°°' ''' ''-' ^^^ ^^^^^ ^° ^°'^ ^- ^p-
"Now, what was the reason, dear?"
dowJ°o"n^"r ^T''' ' '°"^^"'^ SO where I'd be looked
tha '' 2 . '' "• ^°"' '■' '"^ ^^ '"y^^'f' -^ ^° do
cnat, sue answered passionately.
"So you did; but don't you see that what you blame
26
AWRl'AU-: I-IASTMAX,
even ,„ .avc you from »l>a„K^ 1, "l^ct, ;""*''''-
my hca,l,e„is,„ are ..enainly off e Z,e , ,'' "'"'
pose both r.,„ back .„ .„e I,„^.Z, 721 ^ '""■
t.mes we call i, „nde and .o,„e.i„,es sc"f"e„ ec ' ,. ""
not tauL'ht us hut ,,..., , respect. It was
If. a vtr^;„;:r""'':'^ '">■'■""' ^'O o,. na,„res.
poor-bo,.:. ' , aveV plCr'T" ,?" ""' "'^ '" =•
o/:r::::^'bLl:;;:'1^tJ;;^7'«.-d.a„,
strike was, anyhow " ' Providential the
pe:x^:c;:t;'Tb,:;:r*
tnovv as I would have roLT^ '' '"°"'=>'- ' <!«''
gain that day, b , I su,™ ' ',", '"T" ""' "'"''" '-
'o in a little while tT , ,'°''''' '""'•' '"'™ '<=ady
."•elve ho rVf a dl ri"" '''""^'■>'™ ''"<>-. 'or
five cents for dayT w e, "l ,' '""f ^"^ '^^^'^
No man can live in ,"e d'v ^'■*" ""'' "'""■ "8'"-
and decent, on anyhlge, 'a.td', "'T- " '"'"'>■' ""^
■he purpose God 'had ' „ " ub b " t'"' ,°' '°''"''
'r'ff"«.h~'r.r -"' --:^^^^^^^ -
company i::^^^:^^:^:::^^: £: '7- ^-"e
r rofttr to'"'- "'-'^ A'tt^aTs J
job and you were out of food. I helped the
CIIKOXIC UKUmir.KK,
»7
0>v„ers to grin.1 ,he workers down ,o ,k-no„,lenre ,n,1
wc-ak„css. It was the meanest tlnnR I ever ,1 H ,,
b.,. as „„ick as I ,,, it ,,ovi„e„,.o t'.rn ':; ^^J
fe I smtply obeyed ,l,e natural, ,n,iversal law «; in
... f.o n,e :;tar;,:''^'::;r::,;:- -::':::
worse than I had served them. IJut 1 was 'lin ^
of Number One and so Vr • i ^ '•''"'''
because 'Prov en^he nA ' 'T' "'' °" '">^ '^''^'-''
rovuicnce helps them that helj) themselves '
If they .,,-, mean. That is really the lesson of o, r ri
t.amty: take what you can get so lonrasth Z cWt"
interfere, no matter who's hurt by y'ur taking it I
doesnt mean to encourage evil- L\„ ^ ■ *
beneficent- bnf ,•„ , ' 'ts ///r>w is entirely
stron. it h I "' '° '"""'" '^'^ patronage of the
strong It has to be a little blind to their fo.blts T
company finally conceded part of vvhat th- I
only right and they could wdl afford to :vbr:tr
stuck to us 'scabs' because we'd sold ou e 7;^ to I'
them refuse the whole. That's what men cal ho, '
among thieves, you see: they let us keep o" p ces ^
cause we had helped them keep what eve ybody kn t
they ought to have yielded That'. fl.« ,
■W. yc„,n« rellow ta/e nty • rt,„T'::'aM.r " '"^^ '"
.He re/::^::: ■•»:',.*?, -^-^ "-'^ -- -* -■
The w,fe spoke with an air of triumph now.
an. ;o::r::ar wT; feTot^d ri^- / ^^"'' -=
tecttve, and what other reason he can have for mixing „p
('. • \ 1
a8
An-Rl'AU.: /-.iSTAfAX.
in the rriatrer I rm't <if> i-r
and so„K.,i,„„ ,.„■ „ ,H ;; „.^':,;'t;;"' -"« every day
'l>e lioitest of ii. ,ve talked ? . ^ ' " ""k during
™me Cher thing,,, too '1 l *- ' """"" """ ""d
'-est in .he affair '.„":,r:r;r'",'^'^' ^"'-'' -
the stde-valk and stood I I'w L 7 I , '^'^ """ ''^"='' ">
When it was over I ... e « ll" "'' """■"""« 'I""'
ous-like, and hoing afraid hl-'d '*'' " ""^ ''"^''^ =="•
would have been too™ et f '' '°"'"'""« '<"'■ "'"'^h
--;:-"--..at;er.;:,::j;r''''-'-^
were clenched, and o„ o h f I ^t *'"''• ' ^^'^ ^- "^'^
from which the blood wf ^ " "" °" ""^ knuckle
langhing, pretty wheezv-lie ,„"'""''■ ' '='"■'''"'' ^^Ip
suppose, thinkfng 0?,! ft i"' '"f °/ "^^'-''^y '00, i
""ing if he hadn't go I't f ''™''' ^^ ''™-
hnrt pretty ba.l and thoull ' '"• ' ''"=" ^ ™s
iol-. but I wasn't go gt ' „"""' Probably the end of „y
-i"- -Yes, it ^JrZ^X^:tlT' '''"'"■■ - •
^erve.' -How's that?' , ' ll "" ' "7 "">«•" I de-
men were getting j,„, enoni , ' '""'■ '^h^e
and wanted a littfe „,ore Ttv "T" ^°""""ably on
Pu> in an,l g„, .h,. J'Z f^ ""* " '" ''"'^ ''a<i «. I
'•• ought to be, o tZ. """' •'" W w- «'hat
hadn't anything to\o,7o '"""'"'■ ^'" ''^-''^e '
''-P tnyself fr^on, ZZt:° :rrth°e ""■""■"^- ^^
"P «s slaves' hours nnd «,. ' '"^'Ped the company keep
>h.-s is what I've got for ^,7 °" ™«" '°' ""■^'^ And
' i-nno.vic anvA/nr./iK.
» nkcs „ves-,vomcn ar.. always worse'n men at suH,
. "cs -a ways egRi„K V,„ on. .S„„,e of .he men coo
" ,"'l'', "■'■" »■"" "Sh""!,' .11- tl,e car, said: 'Well I
vow -only, you ,„K,crs>a„,I, it wasn't ■ vo.; • he said" all
>". one „n,st he polite these days if he has to li ol ,'
- )o . re a cool one/ said he, -,/,„„ ,„, „ ,,,„,,
rhen a queer thing happened. The wotnen turned
right aronn.l as soon as they hear.l the ,nen snelkinTw
chief at the wateruig-trough and washe.l n,y face an,l
"hers brushed .l,e dirt ojf and sort of rigiLd °'e
where I was su.ing against the telegraph p.tle. , "w,"
».^y much, for I hadn't any breath to spare-seemed a i
every one I drew woul.l cut me right in'.wo. K a fy'ne
of err, asked ,f I wanted anything. I. struck ,„e a 1^
for I thought everybody could see I wanted abot a^
n any ,h,„gs .as a man could at one time. I knew ha
scf T:^ ' r-f,"' """ ™- '- "- "■" *» any,:! g
CISC, said. Is there a minister here? ' Then thev all
-holding the, incMoXdrat'tTiiLr.::^^^^
-nop:rt';LrL':pro;^;;t'°:r.-
heab, r eachave^edifyi,.^gd-::r::frrt,rtop;:
to a lull-fed congregation! '
"Then there went up a shout, and one man said ' H.'«
noch.kenrandanothersaid,'Ifheiriraga:e
I
m
3"
tnmi-AUi KASTafAff.
'"" 'he nex I knew I t " "7 "'"" '""PP^""' *<=„,
The conductor had 'sHnned I ''™= " '° *"'''Wes.
.*e superintendent <Iid, " e l^ To ff "",""' ™"'=''' """
'ng himself. Then the v„„„ '*' "'" J"'' °' driv-
driversare right, h'i""' iC '"^ "'' ' ''""""«-
'*e brutes; hut they had no rlt t™'"'-'"^ "■""'«' ''"^'"
drive his car for him ,„?,. , ^ '° '"J'"'" ""'* "»". I'll
if .Vs a month /;:,', '?'''^ ^"'^ '» 'a^e his place,
" Then the ^rowd "het e<l ad T '°"' ""''■'
'"e how the land lay saTd 'tr "",r'P'="«endent, see-
book, and asked th^' e,t Js „re "''''^''•.•"f ""' <>«
want no pay-just send ,1,. "" """' ^^ didn't
*em to ^an o'« t Toli f™ h? fr " 7"=" "= '°"
stables. So the police teD„"d f ' "' *" ^'' "> '^e
"omen on the sLwalkl^s. f' ' "' '^ "^"' '° «-
•Come on, ladies, and tike a ide HhT '"' ^'^='-
Pense. I'm the first driver the I -^on-pany's ex-
could treat his friends to I rid T'""'^ '""" '''«' "^o
"There was a dea on t" "",:" '"^ °' " ^P°""'
™d we started on. Evervh 'd """" ""''"' '"'
turn things had taken tul^fl ""'' '" P'^^^ed at the
".ey took me 0, t a "h stll 1 ^ ° f""' =' ^"- ^-n
-« thing I kne; I'trt': .'';i°/ th"'- ^"^ '"^
I s'pose he^ould ITo^ trTlS" b.: I^^"' '«"' °"-
to let h,m, if I can help it So n!, '" "°' «°'"S
look after a little business at Gar f"'"^ "'•'"°™" 'o
-ch I can stand a. th::.!''.-:';;; ''"" ^"'' ^" '>»
But to-morrow is .Sunday, Jonas.'- .
Jer^thaff '" '' ^^--'^' too," sa,d the husband jo-
cosely, t a is as near one as we're ever likely to get to
one again, he added bitterly. « There's Brother Kishu's
c urch right handy by. We can hear the a.usic Zl
think how nice it would be to go to heaven in that kin
of J elevator-and attend to my business at the Square,
"What kind oil>nsiness have you got at the Square
Jonas? asked the wife with good-humored increddity '
_ It s public business, Hannah," answered the man
with suspicious gravity. " You see, I've become a pubhc
man since I was hauled around in the mud on a pubic
sreet public characters always have to get dowi into
he mud, you know. Just now, the city fathers are trying
o open a street across the Square, and they have inWted
me^to^go and look at it and say wliat I think about the
"You!"
"Yes."
"Jonas Underwood?"
"The same."
" Now you're making game of me "
" Did I ever? "
_ "Did you ever miss a chance to! Who sent vou the
invitation, I'd like to know? " ^
"It was sent me by special order of Judge Riggs "
;; Who brcxight it?" asked the wife i'ncre^dulously.
^ It came by special messenger," evasively
'It must, for the carrier hasn't stopped her^ for months
I suppose I was out when it came? " "onms.
"Jonas Underwood, you fcno«. W, „ot so. I l^vcn't
3»
MUJiVALE EASTMAjV.
brought a letter or any other scran of n
old ^.-../into this hc^.e in a ZtM "'''" ""^^ ^^^^
"That's Zti" ''''''''■''^'^ -- the' invitation."
mats another of voiir ram,..! cu
you dare," the wife re,„„„!l ^ f ', ■ " "> ""= ""^ 'f
threateningly '=^P™<l=d. -^Imbng her finger at him
" Well, if you won't believe me, there it is! "
ban,r:rn°grprtli''%r' ^^' '-^"'^^-eherhus.
for certain pe'so and | ! T'^ '" »"-«!—"< calling
"and all others hlvin™ j^ret^ ^.7"°^: ''"^°"''
come in and show catise TiZ, ''!""«««" hereby, to
Avenue should not be exenTed ^h "^' "'"l ''°'''""«=
-iaid Garden Square " ""«'' ""'' ='"°« ««
d.sf/prtll*™^'' "'^'""^ -0 "-- -•" - a .one of
•'Vour name isn't here, Jonas."
.here Zl'X It? 'h';".^ °' '""^^ ^"o^ "-« -e
mother, and't 1':^" ' ^ tTft^L"""!, ™^ ^-^■
«nt her, it devolves on me J """' '" '''^P'-'-
family. Now a I ca „r, n 7'"'"" '^'' '"'"'" <" 'he
RockLge Av'eZe ;:• l?l°f "'"" ' ""^ •"
how much it would hurtl T . '"'"' ""'" ' ^«
«-nd before I itw^eTth^ llZ^ f -<> "-- '"»
" I /o°Sk "<;'*:, f=''>^'"-8'™s -<f half-angry
hved. I real V LI "'°" ''™™'''"8 ">=« "•-' -=;
were dyLg '" ' "' ^°" "■'""" '""^ y«<^Joke if you
.■-T:::ryT:'ntho?"'r"'' .he husband dryly, -u
Whose wifeTaTsri:::,::^: xi^t;;r."-^^v
■Mlsl.
THE CNO-J^Cir OF THE aoLJJEA' LILIES.
J5
CHAPTER II.
THE CHURCH OF THE GOLDEN LriJES.
The Church of the Golden Lilies had been closed for
more than two months. The dust of th. . T
u^A ^i.1 i • , '^^ °^ tne broad avenup
z\7^ r.x'" v ""' ' «- '■' "•' '» -
me twice ten thousand pieces of stained cdass which
enects rather than grandeur or simplicity. Only when
he eve„,ng s„„ flashed through the window high above
the pulp., m the western gable and fell upon the thorn
crowned head, with the wreath of golden lilies ju t abo:e
silent and empty by day and by night. All the oTef
.ndows were carefully screened lest even ,h r tteed
hght m,ght d,m the freshne.ss of the matchless .Wrior
Bu, tw,ce m ail the sultry summer had the softly modu
ated chimes told aught except the hourly me sar o
"me-s fl,gh,. The fitful breezes of the dawn TheXer
nigh ':fr;";',*^ """'"« "°°"' -<> *^ »"« « ^
night ahke had borne to the ears of the city's toiler!
g«tmgs from the tower of the Golden Lil es tell ng ha
h^d dl f T'- ■ ■'"" "^^ '•" *= -™« *e ch ch
had done for humanity during this time-
the
leveuue
:i4
^rCrA^r^f.l, /.ASTMAI^.
«oo<l. Perlmps not ail r, "™"-lot "n wi.icl, it
•"«<1 Christ ,tas ,"t "1,0. W "f '^^ "■? '«»" "f 'he Pi -
*n|ier spires ,p,i„ „„hS ' "" ""^ ^""""8 °' "«
™ especially beautiful wL?,, ' ° "?"S" '"'•»»'=i It
^"arble towers and .e„,p r , J ' "'?"'«'" '''' "P™ "^
"■hat garish whiteness o ,t „ °" """'""" 'l>e some-
'°o, that the full Zl ' ""' ""'■ " -'' known
"- sun's triclc and ^ el f:r';r\^T"'™^ ""■''"«
">'"atio„, by shining thro, I """' "' '""^™' iHu-
-'I casting its „,ellow Igt , t°tT ""^"""^'' "■'""<'-
-th an absolutely rapturw^eff H i""" "'rist-head
"'ghl after nigh, for these rarfdt >'"*'* '""' «'="'«'
-gh. brot,ght consolation o lo ' f H ' ^" "^ ''"P^ ">=
of ><.e faithful bells were nonTb;;;:' T" "" '™-
<;hord ,n some weary soul thVt , """^ "" answering
'-ed impulse or hig'her rlsoCl *"" '"" ^" ^^^^ »' "et?
1 mce only i„ all those weeks h»,1 ,1, ^
I'een opened-once to welcome fh I "'"'"'''"' ''""^
accdent or economy had cowde/ " "''°'^'' ""P"'"»
'"'"■" It was a dull, deprelt' T" '"'° "" '■'-»'^''
'.our was „,„r„ing and'the br I fstr-v '/ """='' ««
The unused church seemed fu of '"' ''' "■ <l«am.
volunteer ushers perfo „! I ''"«'='"' ='^''o». The
but awkwardly. The white ribbc'n'wrr"""""'^'' <"""<'»
off the invited guests fromlhTc "„ ' f""=«ly fenced
'"I'-ously out of place The 1 '°"' ™ "°'"' "PP'-«'
''o- an,l waiting carriages ami 't!|"f """"" "« °l"=»
and ".opped their swea,/b ows " ! ?"""' ""=""'='™
ty brows ' they languidly watched
TifE cHUf^m OF TffE Gor.r>f:.v ///./a-.v.
the cer mon,, commenting, in what coul.l hanllv he c-alle<I
whok affair .1 "'", "*' Plainly stamped o„ ,l,e
miole affaii and one conid almost hear the unpleasant
omraens of absent friends npon the „„„st,al , Z td „"
Jnly weddmgs were not looked „po„ ,vith f.'vor b ,l,e
;;s"z°''"^ T'"' '■"'-• Poor bridT: "i, \ ;
dead man's succet '"7 '™^ fo homage to the
-e did no. :ero J^^^eT^itrVeT'-;-''
;;:,n-e:-r::rr-s:sr
:ifrr^i:d^':i^---x--
.-co„,e"r ::„st!i:,''z„": The s rir" '°
joyous invitation, both to those tho have ,«„L and
.t'tttirter::^. ^^r."^"'-^ ciosed\mr-:
ucctitu term, ihp Sf>nfo.^^^„_ ro,'„c, u , ,
rams have washed
ll
its white front. The golden
text upon tlie door has been
3<J
^'^rUPl'AU-: EASTAfAK
retouched. TUt. a ,
»>- been freshi; ^' '^ZtZ'''^ """^'' "'^ ''tar,
«ancl like heave'nS.po", •,*""" ^"""-^ ^P''", .ha
"f '"= eorgeou, front, „";";' «:f"'"t '" "•">" "ngle
-d newly-painted fran's ZI h "''"^"''""-'^d .Fps
*ow like peep-holes am , ,11', "","' ''°™"'' "hi 1.
-n<low, which 0, itsel, o^V' °" "' ■''!'«■ ^e famous
"■ortal in the wori,l of art, , ™''' ""■" '^'"■^^ m-
componon. piece Jl^X^^^^ "'""' """' ""^
a'sles have been recarpe.ed an.X "T?' '''^'"- The
"•■gan a„„ p,„pi, ,,„ J.^/" ^.~' 'he "Pholstery about the
green where there was blue and .ol r," ""' °' ""'" ="'1
tnmming, were not i„ theTasf "'''■ '""^ '°™"
f *y nap show a .race of pre s nl I'T'-'-^'Hy "« the
•good form- for , church le^he'r'r.r'"; " "^'^^ "«
always the same uph„|„erv p'^\'^'°''^'"' Ldies ,o use
-a- to bedespi,4d,a d'soofhn'inV''"''"'^ "' ""
•end .o a devcional frame of mnd t""^""^ "o """b.
SOM were out of harmony witirL , . ' ""'• '""' ""d
"■armth of religious fervor could 1,^" "^'"' ^"^ ™
congregation like the GoWe^r T '" ""^ '^<"« of a
•".a setting of blue and gol" J^t'th: '"' ""'''^ ^' "-
ol've and brown. One nLh, I , '' ''"'^ ''^"scd in
a bank of periwinkle 1?' """ P'"' ^ '""Aower in
"■an spirit, it was needful, at'thT\'° f^'"^ ^ ^hris-
ons surroundings. So ft fit i' "r'" ''"^ "^™°"i-
b-n made to conform with the ,T *' "'""''' ''ave
o"l=r ,ha, no sense JT ''?"''='"=nts of fashion in
^bipers. devotio intt re:'™'^ ^'-" -r the w'o^
The streets h.v« .i, "'"^ >'^^'"-
'•-;be arsirthtrr ;rt%*^^ ^^---
good and rich are all afield and , f '""' '"''=" "■"
-"aimlessly along .::^-™t:ei-7hr::^^
i'l!
TU£ c„r„cu OF T,n, aouu-.v uur.s. 3,
pav,:;r ia,. :n :xt ^f"*-^ *"= ^^"-'^ "-^
the so„„d of foots e,« Tl!^ ' "?"'; """cuseo.ned ,0
flanks the cl,„rd Zi, ,J f '" ""^ '""^ P^* "«>
show to„cl' , „ ' *' '°"""™^'' ^'■'= beginning ,0
yelIo,v e ie Ibo" 1T""° "" T^" '°"^«^- '"f,
green above ,e w elr d d-HV^'' .^''°" "'^•' '»"'
It is one of the citv. I ,, ''"' "'"'"='' "' ="""■"<-■'■■
dressed lot taTe 1' r^^'"="' '"" ""'^ '-l»«ahly
elderly gen^ „':.';:" 'l^^ " """="'■ ^°"-
enjoying .he sunshine. I^k; are 1?™, ""• 1'="="''^
caps and pretty faces ,„! , """'e-giris, with white
canes, who'watd, e „ s^sTj'.C"' Tl ''■"" '="'«=
with their charts TI./l u '^ ^° ''^'='' ""<' '""h
are shedding dS blot hedT""'""'^ ^'°"« «>= -="-
ping their gfeen LlL . t' '™°"-*'"'ed leaves and drop-
The leav s r„ t e D 1:: „'""" ""'^ """ "« Pavement.
dresses br, g KlTT^.t. Vf'' T' P^='' '^=-
them daintily. ^"'' "'"" """"'^ crushing
wh!:h;:u,:'dtt:fft,r"tar:i'd"" °' ™'^''"'-'
vestibule of the Cht^rch of ^l^^Z"",^"' *"
mer sun and wmri 1,0^ • ^'"cn unes. I he sum-
change had" dTven' tfth: Cef of "st -r; '"' '""
and over-work "R,Vi; ! ? """'^^ dissipation
theverdicto the n.o a :f '"'""' "^ ^-^ ^-n
them mount th sh^ n..! r"' ^''" ^'^ "^^^^ed
the waiting ushers Th """r'f '''" ^'^^ ^^^^^'"^^ -^
every mien The!" ' '°"''^'"^^ °^ «"--^«« -as in
of thL^a l^asTiUin'th"' gaudily dressed-not many
there was a richn ss Ind "7 "'"""* '' '''' -^^--'
richness and costhness which was more im-
il'i
- f-
,.[
3»
^nrA'i:,u.: .v/.v/^a./.i:
Press.ve than the gleam of jewels V. ,
'^ck.ng; but they were notice" ,e f '" l^''^ ''''' ""^
profusion. •oiiLtahk for qualuy rather tJ.an
Tlie men werp Int.. .,.
on,K.„,„j:;l\: ;::;--;- *e.™„,e, an,, „„,
lllcre was a dass who scen.c.,! if. . ' ' '""'K" '"'■•ii.
tl..ln ,1,0 „,l,ers. One wo .1 T '' '''"' """' »^-'f-a»»"re<
=0".e „,rif,j. seekers oVI,,r' >'""""">"= were no,
"- Golden i.iii..s „e^a,le oT L .'Cj^ir-;' ->" '-"-^i
me,nbersl,ip. n|,o can 1,1 , ciiaracer of its
"f A'.an,„,,;„ if ,;,:;•,„":': '^^ '^^""""-i -,.,„,»
••>«|„ai„,ance muler favo al,k° ,, °l'l'°'"""t>- lo n.ake
x---e.,,,e„.a;^:-:~-f;;r-
«- :.:;f r ;i:; r.^
going season, AI,, (Vil,o„ Ki , T"!^ °' ""^ <^l""-d.-
"■-^ congregaeion. Ti "cMce ' ,'''"'''"« '^''""'" "f
ferre.l,oas " KisI,,,'., ch„ ^^ T" f'"°'' '' °f"=" ^'-
hat: been ,ie,lica,ed. InJee.l ,l! '° ""'"' by^yhich it
been given i. a. his snggeS or ,"""' "' '"''' '" '«-e
e»ce ,o his leadership h e '««!, "' ''™''"'^ "' ''e'er-
^'".Cion. He was no I Z "" '"''T' '° "^ ""■
on the roll of me,„bers, Zutll "''°'" '"'™ "■«
t've turn ,ha„ ,heirs ,o el ,",,'""' '""^ " '"°" ^'^'■
more ,ha„ any „,|,er .oLr ,he . "" ''"" S'ven
and was indefa.igable i, a,l ' r "°" °' ""= ehureh,
furnishing and a<Lr„,!,e,u ,„""« .'" "" "=''-"'^ of i,'
'f influence ,ha, some half a sco 'e'lr '='"'='''"h""gl'
church had decided to remov! , , ''""■' """"e the
e'iifce „po,> which sil^TZ^Zl "'"' '"'™-'°™
-no.,ngeo„fide„ce,,oa,„oreelU.:;:a:r?he1,';
.he historic «™c.u., > ,r :,::t; '-""r' =:"■'
of the will of T>r,^. • 1 , '^ '•'^*^'' i»'I'c-ition
aba„,ic,„c,l .■.„., ,„e altar „f ,|,e ,„„ , " , : ';' 7"'',^'
more convenient to Ins fav„,x,l d,l. he , ,;,'"■""*■
some ivlio shed tears ,f ,1,, """"i-i.. I lieie ivere
sa„ctif,e,l i,y o , ,v ,w !t"™?"" "', '''""I' ' »""'
.hose „HoL ,e:;;:;::sio:": ::;;;,';;:"'i;:;7-'- °'
Of course the^ cc^^W n . '''^'' '^"^ ^^^^ «''^"t-
"f .he new lifi r'.! 7 "'"" """' ■"'''<''= "'e walls
I !
40
^/CA'f
about hi:, former bretl-
•'/■/• /■:.is/\)/\
i.v.
grette
th
a^i lie was not only
ren. It
■IS a Io:;s very deeply
emostliheral, ofti,
It
e c
f^ne of ti.e richesi, but
re-
^'^"grt'gation
;va.s kno„.n that some of \\,
among
"""Wo ,„ ,„„.„„ „„ ;,,„;,;"."-■; ';''' "■-.,!..» „.„„,,, (,,
they sh
'"•"<!, It was not hkely tl
le I)
l^rove altogetlier J
roposcd h_^
''at the new edific
"f tlie old structure
'^'"^'J'kc to those to whom th
t^iJira. Jf
woul(
"t'ss of their att
^vasawelcon.eslueld to th
e duskiness
■hurch
sliould forevei
"■«-'< and it was k
MK
'1^ order that these
niamtain a "ch,u.„-tow
time surfer U
""pecunious memi
sliahbi-
■">' agreed that the
'1 niission,
Life.
'"• want of one to l,reak
'*-"'■« '"iglit at no
to them the Brea.l of
The price ,l,e l.rewer paid 1"; ' '7'," "' "'■•"■• « '"=•■
->°"gl. lo b„il<i „„ ne' 1„ 1"'\°'" ,!""«"->■ «a. half
""trigh,_a„ ace of .,,;„■" '':; . J''- K.^lu. gave ,l,e |„,
"«aWe pro„,p„,,,3. l,y It :■', ,"r "•"■""^'< -'1.
'he value of realty i^ Z Lm. r ' '' '^"''""■^-'men, of
- accident «-o„W„a *,,!;';? '-^'htorltood, which,
Besides this, he defrave, ihe ', ' '''" '" ''" «'*"
<low which covered nearVt l/,: r?' °' "" ^'"' '™-
™ etther side the great por-l °'"' '■'"'""S rt"""
^'■o' up with (i„e effect E '"' ""'■°"' P^"^'-' 'h"
"e central arch, which ttreT 1, ••■ "'''' "'«"»^ ^^ove
"e gothic roof, where a ctwn' J, " "" ^"^ '«'"' "<
"'omswere almost hid by.oldin Tl ™'' '" "■'"'='' "'e
"f 'he suffering Christ "^f" t" '"'"'"'"B ""= head
»"lhm,t the knowledge of thl d' """^ "P^e, the artist-
and rieiicately traced fncrvsl r'' 1 """-^e-had deftly
^°"--<^'hehvcrow„wasa"d:^;:::X"^;
ruH c,n;c,r <./•• na-: <;ou„y ,„.,r.s. ,,
■nent f„ |,i|ia„, ,l,„ f;„|,|e„.|„i„,| ,,„, .
'""k care ,l,a.', t , 'T " "'— .«"<!. Kenerally,
gooda„,l worthy .vorkr'r-tru"''"' '" ""^ ^^" "' ""
i-iuK. ,„„s, favor, ;,:;•",::!'""; '"" "^ »""■"<'
«« dimrl, „.as „„„, f- "'' """ ""-' ™'l< of
•heir salaries „t:''"' "-""r'""' "1>°" h'- for
either before or a^Lf .^ ^Sr ,!: ,;: '° "^ ""^
was enabled to nm fh « • '" ^'^''^ manner
ci.eaply ,l,a„' „ ^Z^t '\ '*""," "-" ™-
'he clerks, ,hey „.ere nf ! °'-'" ''""'^- '^^ 'or
employer'.; favor h; ""■'' ""'""^ '° '=''"" 'heir
'o serve. He ,i d „« .J "';™', "" "''"'= " 8"o<l ma,,
variabiygaveMi": f :,; ;tn" ^^ ^""'=' ^'"■•"•
mas ,vl,icl, was nearly «,,! o X /r'""™' "' '^'"■'"-
'his „>ea„s he oi,.ai„e,I 1 L^°, ''! '"''''"' '," =»'"'^ ^y
of bei„g a very libera : rZ /"'Hi" "".'^'""-'°"
his clerks were em„ln., , ' *^"- "'" 'avontes among
paid by .he z:^t:i:^:2::t r- ^--^
vice was very nearly faultless ' ' '" "'"^ ="•
earof'^t:r,i;'';t;ir^t ^°°^ ^-^ "*°-"
'■"..ffected warmth." He ta3„oVr,"7'«""°" "''*
Golden Lilies but 1,^ hi , ^^^ ''''™'«' 'o 'he
"■es, but he had a genuine affection for every
i.
43
yrAT.i//-: /:.isr.)/,ix.
one who added to it either h>-.I.i. r •
not move from this nla ..t I [ T''' "^ ^'^
pass through the do ^ , 'j'^^''^^''^' -^ '^-'e to
a «hake of the hand, or, if ^i'^ iT; .T^r''^"' ^'^^
contented then.selves with the Zl ''^'"^''^^'y ^'"yaged,
ture .l,icl, showed l,is r I ilof tl" ""''■""■"^' ^^^^■
So the bells rang ot.t a Tl ' ,'"■ '"■'■'^'""^^■
of the Church Of ^:^or7-"t;;;:;°"^^^^^
;nto the,r accuston^ed places. Th we" 1 ,!"" ""^^
faces; some empty seats- h„f .i ^^"^ "^''•'^"gt^
--ennghty wave of ,nj" h iri '"''^'"' ^^'^'^^ ^^^
the splendid aucliton„m h "' ^""^^"'"^ "^^^^^
while the soprano r 1 i:f:r "t:';^"^'^"^ '^''^
of the coming opera season ' " '^' ^'"'"'^ '^^''^'^
CHAPTER III.
LALEIN.
The pastor of the Church of the Pni^ t •.•
catch a ghmpse of the assen,b mg o^ LtL i" ""^^
•ng a finger's brea<hh the door that led f'T" ^ ^P'""
the pulpit, though his vir.v w.s / ^"" ''"^^y *°
the flora: ^.lecora\ions ^ e pltZT Hetr^ ''
these hiuself, almost -ivina ^^„''''- "^ had directed
ioners whose ^ore^, tr^/^ .^ -^ "^ his parish-
by declining their offers R, I '"'" specimens,
the desk, tlfrough :S gilTe^ f^r ' '^"^^^
-h and spikes of fruit-laden t o n ^, heT'T °' ''^
l.ALErx.
tuberose, not a 1,1, 1? ;''■""' ''"'"""^ "' H'^'
Theco„«rega,i„„t.e,. ve;;::^'o'rr' ^^ '™"'"^^-
welcome to his people. It w.s with H « "^"^'
gathering .orshijj could 'e tr in an f'"' ''^
applause. ' '" ""^ inclination to
.^"scles Hkewhipco H '° ■""■ '"°"-'--<i. with
<>«•„ habitats. He « a ' a„ . 'r T^ *'" ''" "-''
as sunshine, and tho.^h ,' ^" '°'"'""'' ■-'°-"' « "-"^l'
- on .hon, -;iX:::::.: ;r ;r^::;'-^'-''
-et. He tfl, ef .ro"1"a.""""= °' "" ''■-
<^our.se, beina -,„ v *°o-that was a matter of
,-achts,;,ano7; „r„"'™"e:;:d'r" ^"°"'"'^" "'^ '^
h™- Mentally l,e w;= W™ ''l-f ''"n; women admired
"il3-,he seemed : L/forTT """ """■^"'^ ""•-
upon God and an „„„ co':.:;!' rS"^ ""^""
'"«
44
MURVALE EAST.UAM.
was „ teaching which they soughf? Jf J''^ 'T "'■ °'
des.re that impellecl their assembn,' w t"l """ ""■'
was it, and what was his rehtilly!, l?''^'"' ^''="
only "a f„™ of worsib " al7, ""' Christianity
'orm? A cloud se" 7,,,,^ 'l! f "^^ «=""-« .hat
.loubt, had ..everdo„bted :;• ;f "^G "? ^°f "ot
and truth were fundamental post t„r ,''"'"'=="«•
And tlie Christ-ah if hli ' °", ^'" °f i"^ existence,
be quite conte t. Did e uZ ^ "r'"""' ''= """
"led hi„. He turned .y" ■ h a JX' "T't '""■
Pa« up and down the spaciou! ! J^f ''"'^ '"'«" ">
^^'hy should he question I T e path ord'TV'""^-
not the Word clear? Was vj ,< ? '"^'^ ^^^
no. Christianity the sa,e-a rays':,,!™: ''''"' ''''
foreveri' Had it not been oneZ „ ' "°"' ""''
peoples for countless ge "era. „„s> t "T ""'"S "> ^"
-»W Was the Word' a,„a s Went caTiL r' V '"=
was ,t one thing to one aire n ,. "'Sn.ficance. or
more or less to'anoth r? ^ii! if™;; ?"" T'*' '"'
not seen all that he ourf,. ,„ i '"^ """ •>= had
ought to have lnow,?f ', "e'r ''"I """"^ "" *^' l-^
.0 declare-of theTlL 1 ''''*'' ' '""^ undertaken
sion Play of life? " "''""'^'^ '" "« ««« Pas.
ab'vVThrrr wh- ttrr;?' •"! ^""-^ ■'-- -«
inBolden letters in thVol;:"^,,!': ':■'•,/;;: 'f' '""d
servants, that with il! h^i i , " ^"^^"^ ""^o tJiy
He ceased .f,:r:s':s-:-:s-:t:
Ulmtn.
«'ho placed the leeendTll''""' T"'" '"'''' '»' '^" ""■■
day when Mu™ L !"„» T ,f """""'°"' °' *-
-dbe troubled by ,hetLpo«>°' '"" "^ '""-''^^
■"-red with that instinct ;e trl ' ", '° '""''." "' ""-
-"lich characterizes t\T\' ^. "'''"" ^'SniAcance
"Hardly ' boldnesl^Ie :;r " '"= ««=" 'ongue.
Lave «y,„>.<,y . boldness ll?' ""' ""'""■ " ™»''
<" speech they prT, ed )T T"^'''"" ™ *= ^-ality
needed 'boldness', hat, ht T'^" '° "■""''"■ They
He walked more s 'Lk'td r',7 ""."""-■"
said musingly. " What / ., "''• ^<"'"»' " he
of it before' It was r t,kl f "™'" ' "^^ *°"ght
■beloved ph.sician^Ltristreril'eTr"''*'
caned upon .o^^.'U tTXTT^^ '^"^ '
' have been set as a ,1, T f T '^™1''' °'''"' "'hom
all that I believe abou; ' ;'^ ''"-'"" *« ' '«'■
P-pose, the n, ssion : t ""^•■''■°"«'"' "^ Christ-
^aw I?" "^ '^''"'^' to man? Can I?
troubled Vcl;:rth:-;:;i:r" <:r r ^"-^ -p™ '-■•^
grew white. His hand h . ' '''""'^^ "'"' '"'^ "ps
and wind, grew sudd ult'coirH "m^T ''"' '' -"
as if upon the deck of L ,- "'"'""''' ""''" '"gether
«orm. The bel L j i^^ jf , '" *^ ^'"■" "' a summer
-• Upon the ta^: ^ ",1 fd IL^'hl" ';,"= f'""
i.ic lay njs hat and gloves.
46
■VUKI-A1.E EASTMAN.
i
Before hira was his sermon neatly tvne-writt,n •.,. •
lelter, creased and worn. He took ,1,!' "^ " ^
hand and mechanically turned ts^l -n '"'"" '" "''
begun its creetinff to ,(,. u ' ^ ' '"^ '"'S'^'' h»d
the summer vacation *"/"*'»"'' rea.sen,bled after
boird h! !,'"'^"°"- A" "rt.st (.resided at the kev-
hoidm/trrr^nltrZ "1r^, """" ^" ^"-
door from the audience-rol « "P""""' *"
attitude of „rayer, Clrd . S ^d Sr"; 'V''
confusion, whispering to Mr Kiln '""^'' '"
speak a last word to I is ! '.o^ t^ H "'" ™."" "^ '°
" was this good mans'h b A tr kinT™' '"^'""
<l.ought-always to give the m mster a s nd ^ff T """"'
»aid r;^„':;;rr;''::i;rh'o';r"''r''°"' "-'•'■
before him. He'th'o ; 'o ' ,i bloodv'd "T" ""'^^
wouici it have ::e:ti °f rM::,::^::;--' % '--
the faith he had inherite.I or for """ '° ''" '°'
of the Golden I ilie, ,„ I ?' . ''^"" °' "'' Church
barred his l-a^lo :rdtsr;'1"^''"1'°" """^"
the wail of Gethsemtne "m ., , '^B'"" '"= ""ered
he finally murmu S '^'""'"eless, not my will! "
...o!;s?or:frp:Latio?i'"i "" ''-' '°"' '-^ '-"-
pastor's cominr How or;".,"'"''™"' '° """M "-^
ommg. Howoften had he waited for it! Never
LALETN.
47
before had u be., dreaded. He rose to his feet, the
let^r m h.s eft hand: with it the card containing th
hymns and selections for the day. He looked at his ser^
mon as ,f questioning what disposition he should make of it
Lalan he murmured, " s|)eak freelv, artlessly: ' Bv
the mouth of babes and sucklings.' " ' '
He laid the sermon on the table, noiselessly swung 'nek
the door walked througl, the rifts of homel/ flowers, and
ouTa ,: T t-T. ''^""' ^'^' '''^- ''''^ -g^" --"e
out a peal which has st.ll something of the military flavor
of the age ,n which it was composed, and the congrega-
t.on rose and jon.ed in that grandest of Christian melo-
dies, the clarion notes of a soldier's exultant pa,an of
j^raise and aspiration. As the echoes died away the pas-
or raised his hand, the audience bowed their heads; a
few words of reverent invocation; the congregation re-
smned their seats an<l a hymn was announced
The opening exercises were brief. Many noted the
pallor of the pastor's visage, and some wondered at the
huskmess of his voice. The lessons which he read seemed
s rangely inappropriate. The collection was omitted
though the ushers had taken up the silken bags which
were the badges of their office and waited for the accus-
omed opportunity. The pastor did not or would not see
that the official suggesters of charitable desire onlv
vvaited for him to resume his seat before beginning the
task of public solicitation for means to carry on the work
of the church. He stood looking fixedlv at the congre-
gation. Ihe closed Bible lay upon the desk before him
upon It the hymnal. His left hand rested on them, hold:
ing the crumpled letter; his right wandered aimlessly
back and forth over the smooth, velvet surface of the
newly-upholstered desk.
4«
'-^VRy.^fg F.ASTMAX.
i J
"Speak freeh- with^ »
'he tl„„ci, of ,|,,. c;„|,,^. '' ,7^" "' 'he congregation of
;;;"'■ Tl,e a„,li,.n<,. ,„ok 1 'V ' "'■'"' '"" ""''""«■
'"S o< ,u„.o,i..,i„,,, alnu.!^ t, ! """" "™''""'' ■•' '-'■
vas u„.li„,„-l,o,l. A look „f^ """■ "'»)■ Mr- Kisl,,,
'"«• He had l,=a,,l of „, „" " '"'"^'''"-y "as on l,is
"efore entering the „ul„i ' '" " '""''" ^""on.en,
o-^' to hin,soif ,l,e co, ,,,!«; " ''''"""'B »"" .nd
For Sa,a„ ,„„„,,„,„,,
He>vas.,j ;::t:;7".» '""-
'•«';lts „-o„Id foM„,v. ""•(."•""ig Ins ye:,r', task, g„at
''he one thing that rl„. r- i i
P'«ei,,,„no„.„;n,o I ' . ",:;^" ""'^ "-I-' ."co,„^
"<»'S efforts to secnre on ■ h "■■'■■' '■* "'"■■'<■ Stren-
^Pecal work a.nong ,,,e "l^t f ''"'" "''"P""' ^r
;'-)".."gme„ of The CO eiL.r°' ■V'"™"'"S "-eby
'■" larger „„r,ion of the you ,?',"■ ^"S'""'^- ™°ugh^
l«7 "f .he ch„rch. I, see, «, "T" ""' »'^"''>' "«">'
-•"'> '"en,, as if i, ,vere Wd, ° "' ' '"•^"" "' course
; >0"M ren,ain out.ide the o ' T/T "^ "'« ""^^
Lalmlv,
4f
? VVJiat
[ation of
to hesi-
Kishu's
barrass-
' a feel-
• Kisliu
on his
loment
!r and
!tnian
great
coni^
tien-
, hut
for
eby
'gb,
em-
irse
ley
ed
;rs
sn
"f 'hcuMvcaltl, and social position Of
*'f -eans could not be expected ^o ?' f T ^'^""S men
^■'^o'i'os. Such things <io not ''' '''" ''^'^'^ '^f ^n-
^^-Kishuhad^:,^^;f^-";'-- clays.
^vo"'<I glacliy give five tL,,,!,, ' '° '''^>' ^'''^' ''^
•^^^"''J '>-^ve "a real of" ! "' '^ ^'^^ ^'"'<'^"" J'^'-es
^'^'^t he could W r" .^^•^'^■^'■" ^■--•'iering
"'•'"-'^all the meL s'Z:V"^T' '" ^'^^ -'^"-'
-s wont to say, already ■< ., ^'T^'' ''^''^^ '^ ^-
;ji« - considered an ^trl t,:^]^,^ ^'^ Johl,"
bicssnig. But neither tlr'. „ ^'-' ^^"' ^ ^''^ine
■•raiilt. More tiian onrs iJ ' '" ""= '''^'^''"1
fU "'m,il",'l' '°"«>"-'"'°" "V" '""^m to "run ■•'1™"'' ""
GoMc, Lilies, i.^ declared ™m " ""■'■'^'' "' ">=
to call ,l,e,„ sueh-:„.|,icJ, 11^1 l' "■""«'" '« ^"°"ed
cl...rcl, occupying a fe T '""'■"'>' l™P" '"' a
''>""gl.H,ere',ni^U litroT'""" """"■'■"■ «-"-■
--t.n8.s, he doMl„e if C ,r?i ^"'"''""^ « »-"
-.,1.1 l>eof „„c„ a.Iva ag Torln °r ?. """ """
was a slirevvd ohserver of T ^"t' ™"^'=''- He
'•e had l,i„,self see o M,''" «" "'""' ""'' '™" -''«
''>ecus.o„.,.aca.ion;::ir;.;r,';!Lrrr
4 " '^ 'nroimation
t;o
^'f'/^'i'.i/ /: /■•.Is /■}/ IX
.>atecl U,o,ofn>„, the ven-^;!^'':;::, ;--•-■
Ivisl.i.-s Clunrh " Sn . ^"-^at Revival in Mr.
vfimui. ^<^ while oihcis wondered If fN«
barrassniont of ♦!,« • . '"""ntd at the em
'"We.l his hand, a.,o vo .Ik- r :„i """"'■
-'«' -"■■^' ...::::Li: ri.;;": ;:t';"" -^ --
was al)out to experience. . ^""Srcgat.oh
The congregation of the (Minrch of thn To' i r •,•
"'ere very proM.l of ueir p.stor f "'" ^'° ^^^" '''«'««
^P'-ung fron, a fan.il v hot " , ' •?' ^"""«' gifted,
perfect gentleman "T '"^' nch. and witiuil "a
noted ,ii:!:Cf thr:h :: xff,""^^^ ^'-"-
-orn.ons expense, he^,:''!';:^::^---^
Contract law to do I..., . ''^■'^ «''"<-" Alien Labor
■ cl,„rcl, i„ J ;„e lat " , " """" °' "''' '"'"-
• , land, winch in trreat !>nrf l-m.i i ■ ..
-'^'^ the money of the rich hrewc' Tl m ''" ""'
ti'ought, when Dr. Ku.limon" , o Iv ""■' '"'"'^''^^
newpuipitahathewou.d::e^:^t;ri:rn"^
the brown sT^eo'JZ. '"■'"'', "'"'■ "^ '"'" -'"' '-W
of Go,!, n..ceml,ei- - „n,V- •, T °'''''''™"
-ve.i ,„e Cl„„.ch of .he Gol.len Uhe, "S:' '" '"f
-..e,uhech4hr:::s.r-:^rTf::;
I ■u.rjx.
^\
ait u) n.ivc It iiiiders oo( t i;it flu. r\.M i -i-
was Mr. Kis,,„.s .,,„„„ ,,„,„ ,„„„ ' - '•.<.-
fnu, „ ,|„s wise |,olicy of •■ l,„„,„i„. ., ,," ' " ^- '^ V'
l"M..„uyofrc,„r„i„,,„e avor I \ , t' "" ""■
^>.. Ki»,„. I,....„„, , l,.,„sel,o ":,■',?!", """■"■
revered name. iMuIiinon a
wh!,":,;,:^:';:; i:-':;:;;:,,:,:' r'";"""'"-' ^"""« "-•-
-- .i.at Mr. Ki.,„„ o,/,.: . ; ,::>,i -™;.'i-'-
ory, an,l the Church of ,hc C;„l,l,.„ T ''"'™'-
Never before ha I hT^ •""•■"' ""'' ^"'* ^ l»»'°'-
t'uwic or .h™ r No n;;:'::::'""^"™ "> -'^ ---•".
..lous a„,l hroke,, as he „ ,, 7 '*''"' '""""''■'^^'' '"""
•e«, while the cr.:,, ,'L 'Tvi:-. 7'.: r";'Tf °' "■■»
sliookso,>er,e,,tiI,lJ,l„. '''''' *"=fore him
faees .va„, befo:e hi ^Mr S . Z "" """ '"^■■'
mixed u,, with the s»-eVf t. / '"^^ '"'^"S'^'j'
'laughter and a Irl- ff , "'""tfnance of hi,
nc rim the u urms were gnawing
s«
yVRVALM KASTMAN
>n a costly tomb across fl,e river I.'.,=,
man to lmvc wiv fn ...J ," ^'''f'""" «'" not the
I" i,'^c na) to nervousness, however M,« „„• i
'"•I'lcup. The color came bick to h!; , '"^ """^' ^^^«
to l>is eye and hf. v.; , ''^'*'^'''' steadiness
the word:'of his ;::r ^^-^ ^•^"" ^'-"«'> - '- -pcatcd
.i,.^:xr" /.. ... ., .,, ,,,,., ^^ ^,^^ ^ ^^^^^
Mr. Kishu'seycs opened; so did his mouth A M, n
"f s"'P''se, ahuost of horror, ran thrond, 1 1, ^''
'n>e sensation the n,ana,Jr p S d '"'''T'""'
"•as not of (ho sort he expected What ' ' ' ^^"'"^' ^"^ '^
"'c Church of the fV,i I i ''"' ''"-' ''''=^'o'- "f
.extatat,:^^ t^^^^^^
-ci the strike wh::;;r::.^^^^^^^
was only half settled ? ° '""^ '" ^''^ ^'^X
CHAPTER IV.
PLUSIUS AND PENES.
If the conq:regation of the Church of the TnM r •,•
- were startlo, bv the tevf fi, • (^olden Lihes
were still mor. .. U t ,! ". '"'" """""^^'^^' ^'->'
rented his subject Tier 'T" '" "'^'^'' ^^^ P^^^
unruffled flow of well rt ' "?''""^' "^ '^'^ '^"^"^^^
•>een accustom: .""I^^.^^/^^V" ""■^' ''''' '^'
^ient attempt to lead h he ^rs Lfr;""' ^"" '^" --
famih-ar to his own feet Hio ^ . '"^ ' "°' ""'''■^'>'
recent forgin. Hi. ! ^"^^'^ ^''''' '^'^ '"^-^rks of
presented. ' ^""" '" ^^^"^'^ they should be
"'There were two men in one citv '-fh.
w'lc uiy —the jaw^ citv.
l'»v= ,io„.,, „,„ ,4 -..^U . ' : ""' ""'>■• I"" i" "n ll,ae
'"" "' •"' 'li"'" ami ^'•■^ '"!' '" "'«-■ '-"•< alone,
""-■ "cA ■•.,,,1 U,c poor. aT " :' ''*■ "'''-•• "■^"- ""-"
I"-„ke.I .1,0 .,a,„ in out : " "'-,■■ J"«a,„.i,io„ l,a,,
-"I ll.e o,l,er Poo, ? Mn„ ll /"" ""'>'■ ""^ ""<^ >^" '.
-"' 'limine, an,I .l.vCl A t ;' T """" '""' «■'-»'=
" These -..•,> • ^^^^^ '" the same city? '
a... civn,: a^. ,r;',r; .a"? ""■■'-"'■'■>■• •'-■.,,
"ft-> ccl,oo,I, ..„no, , I :' -"""■■^" ^^'-""ni-y has
>vitl. a ,Io.vn,var,l infl,.dion on .'■''"''■' '■""' ""'"•^""K:
""'- Provokcl m,l, i* "o'n,e i " '"'"'' ''»'= -"-
■n.c-y co„3,i.„,e ;„e ir,:, , ;:;:/;';''--;'i -vr„„g.
fcra which cad, groanin,. To l '^ " ""''''"y P™!'-
and el,e Poor ,„ g,o.v focvt , ' ''''■""' ''■'"-•' '<"■"",
•'« Poor, ,i,e w„,:.;7,'c ,^s:"^ ■'""'" '^'^'^^ • ••"'"
-ae chief s„ppo„crs v!,: J" ^^ ^'"''^^ -sa,.,e„
I'Kion, socieey, and (he Poor t ' So«i-n,nenf, re-
o' discon.™? and I,- " rj^Tr^l '"= ""^''"«'
l-^ttcr to he rich than eo be w ,1 '" '" ^«°"'no,l
';■-.■ <lollar.n,a,.k .he rea n,ca 1 oH '"'""'' °' '""^' '»
""^-'•ongof TcdayforeTer bl? ,7""'"""=^' '""'"
'"»■? Is charity .he onlv on ' '"' "' To.,n„,.
y 'he only obhgat.on that attaches ,„
54
MVRVArr EASTAfAy
ways wi.l, blood and ,c"rs I't ! ,""l'^'''^''^ll)-. al.
;;..^« o, ,„e.e™a, „m::;, h' Its, ,7 ^'inT'", ""
t'le obstae es if « ■«> . i .1 -»'uc.>>[ 01 all to so ve,
Kac,.neJ:a;:ce':::L:,:s,:';''r;i'.T:-r"'^'
after which s to.o ',,"", """'S', '"•■• ^""agedclo,,.
of an evil i. f,„al„ „':,; ^ '^Z^^^' '"= --
fl'c, between Labor and Capital Ih '^' ""^ ""■
na..,es for convenient abs,7 ^, ' '""" ""^ ""'V
'1- Juggler with w:: I tot: ' rairr':' '^"^ "■'"^•'
"f gaping n„,l,itudes. iCe i ' ' ' '^ ""^ ^™"»'='>'en,
hood in them Thev .rT , ' ™»<:'ence, no man-
force. Whose rela^Ts ar^trr/fo,;. d''b"^;'' T^''''""^
mula, regardless of ,„^„ , .°e'°""' '')■ algebraic for-
'."n.an wfal a, d „o Th 'l";;™"""- ''""- ^-'^ .-".d
".ere is no such fa t as Ca, i.^l ""rT" =""?- ^^^or,
™ntras,e<l conditio,. „f h„:Clife '' ""'"'- "P"^^"'
1 lie prophet was wiser than we ar^ H , , •
the concrete. Men werp .!,„ ^ dealt with
able-' the - „„ I^i ' ,TT "" °' '"' '"""°"^i Par-
Greek .ongne/.h':';, '.',,;', ^'^'^'^-ds of .he
■ng. burdened with abtnidanc: „e o ; "p '° """'°"-
a >vorter for his daily bread, he cMd of l ~'"^'-
one, a ,„an having more than hi '^''"""^- '"'«
baviug always to st Zle for enor'h "T""' *' "*"
•ion define,! the relation of H * ""^ ''^ """^^
" e care for the /I^! ' T" "™ '"" ' "'''X ■'^bonld
"' "^^ ^'^'''<^'''^L)oiit which we nrafP? \\r u. •
"- ^ eoat, the bedi„ening of a son,: Tr is'X'n
application .,n„„„^„ , 'S
"■•y tl,o inevuable res,- If ""f" '" "'I'l'l-g P<:n.
" I'Insius and Penes- K '",'"'■'"''= '" ^^^ Hien,?
"eit'l-bor,: thcy 'd.vcll i,,, L '""""."'="' ^ 'hey are „„r
'""« in ,he ,,a„,e J A, T"" ",''' "'* "»-»"--
alike. They iove and a.e • A ]' !''">' "° ''">■ "'"-1>
like Ihe oeher. riu h, ' ' " "".'' ''"'■• '^d '^"'^'. each
or Penes n,ay be , and P, ■ "'" ^"" ''^"" f°o>-h-
be good and Penes bad "fr P r' '" ""■ '''"^''^ -'^y
»i"S foul. Man for man P "^^ ''^ '""•= »'"! Plu-
Penes and his friends Kr^a.lv , '^""f ■""' "' ''''■ b-t
Wends. P,,„i„, i, ap,lri« r r"""-" '''""■"^ ^"d his
he is better fed. P^i s s ' ""^'-e-natured, because
Penes the braver. .ene, S ' "" ='"-"'e'. an.l
»d Plusius pronts hv the „ ™ ■'™;'"'"' ^'i^^vcries,
children and delights 'to e" '.h ,"", """ '"' ""'"' -"''
Penes loves whom he lots i « ' '■'-^" '" ^^^ ^I'l-e'-
"ches to sec them over-Jo ke,/r , '■™""'''- '"'» hear,
grovs wild when ragV a, di ,' ■''"''-■'' ^ ^"'' hi-" brain
change places son.e.in e, t H '°'"^'' "'""■ ^hey
contradictions. Then Pl'JZ T"^"' "' "'= is full of
have been like Pe e'sand """' ''"''= '"■o"''' evc-r
have been like Vl^^ ' """' '""^='' 'ha, he should
"oi'cll';::;:: *~etwee,, ^ese classes, „„
are alike. You re, tXrT ' '"^T '"' «^""'- *ey
--"--• -hast;,;^„:!r--he-|..
5^'
Alil^l'Af.E /:.IST.]/ ,.v
Poison..,i„g, i„ babyl,oo< ha e If,™ T" """' ^^
-la,„. fr„,„ ,„e ,.„„„,. Z.n^m"^'"'""'^'' «?
watched continimlly o>or l,cr T ,.' ' '""'')■«""''
■•'y "- forced u ,o„ '■ n' "^ 'T':^ '" ,"- --
>v.ilins.,en.a„e, in.U.ed upon d i ' 7 ; he; SoT"'""'
"P a queen, sleek and briY-hf n„ 1 , , '''" «'^"
•i'-, .ha. pay cou „ t; b ,.„"; '"""■■"'■"« '»
iTown, ,n,c„„,ely ,v„rl/e°s Lan • °"'"' «'■•■'" '""'
"■',-■ labo. co,t .;;:':':::: 'i-,t' "-•;- '™,.
'^'>:: -"-n be like .hen, ,oo, al, b„, ,h' drol^ '^"""'
1" like manner Pl„sh,s differs from pl.
natine, character, or word, P. '^"^'' "°' ">
Ws hands .hat he n" I ve p""" '""''"" ^"'^ -i.h
Take .awav that ,m '"«• '™« ""«/. That is all.
".e one f:L,?,t"::f:,r'-^ "'■>- -'"" no.dis.ingnish
-7be1;;;,:::^'h:""*"" ''^-"^ "-"-<' "-■..
rtividna. exer.;„ / f ■"" "''"'T''* """" "»■ ''- ">■
order .ha. he n hi id' " "";'"' "'■■" ''' "'""W i"
labors i. is M 1.0 ' „ T- ""' '"' "' ''"""'"<■ " '-
luxury, power, or d.spi;" p" e, Z^l^'lr'] "'""' '"
1 )• ^ <-"es, on the Other hand, WW/
work— work or suffer ,> t "
!'-"se fro,,, a „„„„■ ,,„;' f ° '" 'he hope of ,,eo,„.
■nay „u,„ber ,! e ,|ay„ o: hi, | ,j , "'" ■''••""<^- I'lusiu,
,"- 'ee,, or .„e chL of ye . , rh':" °' ?•"">■ Wngt ,.
I>= •>■ rehevccl fro,,, the hard „ i '" "'"'"' '"'^ "^'J^.
Penes' .ho„l,lers. B„. fo.l""''"™' "■'"■■=" '«' o,
be Penes, and Penes, rti,," " """'' '''"»'- ""fc'ht
So they dwell ' in th
between ,he,„_,his waillhtlrpf "'' "''•"' ""''' ""' "'all
be torn down, and „,,ich P e , T"" '""'" ^"•■"' "<«
»"Ie, only ,0 join with Plul^ |' 1'"'>"' '^"'''■"•oring ,o
«eds. Plusins says he Z °"'"y' '< be suc-
-« Keh-gion, .ha,'socta l:::^: f '""'• °'"-"°".
he barner between hi,„ an, T ^ '" '••■'''«'°" *at
In .his he is right, if b; • ^ L ! ^ """ '""'" '™ain.
>nd conditions, to-,lays lifeT„i 'J] """ "''^""8 'om„
^ "But is Society right 1 ," ,"" "'°"e>"-
has always claimed to , ; S^ "^hf entirely right? j,
accepted the same standard orilr* " •'"" "™ ''"'^'y^
P'-oved the same forms. J,"'"' ' T '" '" '■"■* 4"
^-ncLonedalle ,1, at one ti^," „r V"' """"'e"' it has
every crime. Evil is often ,1 . !"°', '" " '''' "Pbeld
"-• Only a few cen.ur es a" «• '" ''°°" "^ °"en
measure of Righ,, Then tl el ^ ' '''"' ^e "teral
jecfs only safeguard. Not it'"," '"'" ""'' *e sub-
'he virgin to the'lord's emb ,ce "s a'", ''°' '""'^'^ ^ave
'ime ,„ our own land the n^^, "^ "• ^^'"'i„ a life-
'be soul he owned to t^i H: T' '""'""^ ^™PeI
"" 'o his lust, or take life for
I i
hi n
58
MaSr.llE K.IST.MAff.
disobedience. Soaety has l„,r„ed men and defiled wo-
men; beaten, crucified, slain old and young, fair and fou"
the man crowned with a noble purpose, tlS clnl," t Ja
and woman b,g with young. These things it did a hvayl
m the name of Right, of Law, of Mercy,! order to pre
■serve ,ts mst.tutions and to save .he w„ d from ev 1 me„
who taught that Society was not infallible
In the old days Society made martyrs of those who
questtoned ,ts dictates, in these latter'times, it brands
hem as v,s,onar,es. And many there be, in g^od sooth
that deserve ,t. Of them that were slain, not all were
martyrs. Of the.n that clamored for change, no a fl
soreZr""" '°* ^=' - °"-ll thfr; has com:
bes?:::ig'::v:::ry:;'^'^:"s:"' 'vr/"- ""'"'=
than they who seek for change, because the many fre
apt to be wtser than the few. Sometimes the few in'oct
late the many, so that then the multitude come over to the
stdeofthefew. Then Society changes front and diae
and denounces what it yester.lay revered. By and byte
ook back at the change and call i. Progress. Somedm:
US and sometunes it only seems to be Change fo X
sake of change-,ne:e experime„t-is always evil- onlv
that whtch weaU-ns wrong or strengthens right is wise '
T';™'. '». Society is most likely to be right because
..has Rehgton on its side. Sometimes it is one re igion
he idell of T 1 ""'"'" '' "°' "'"^J'^ 'he same;
^1e Ideal of manhoo,l not universal. To<iay there are
twtce as many Buddhists as Christians, and half as Lnv
Mahometans Society is Christian, Mahometan, or Bud
dh.st, accord.ng to the prevailing ideal. It leans by turns
J'LUS/US AND PEXES.
b"a„.e theyare or profess to bi^""' P"'"''
precepts and ideals which eaci f,iM , ■"'"""^ "'"' "«=
We and divine. Two elel„,s , 1'""" '" ^'^ "'faMi-
"on of perfectibility , he chrV"™""^ '" ""'^ -^"'"P-
conception of that ideal The ;; " °' "".^ "-' »d *e
conception false, or the idea, fee :;!": ^'^ ^"^ '"=
He was wise who san^- ^ ^''^ °"e-
••• Human hopes and human creed,
""""'"'•'■oo.s in human needs.'
"All religious ideals are no dn„l„ ,i u
"d people which cherish the™ a eLr ' '' "'" "' "''
"after what their origin o chlac tef r^ T"''"'' ""
■nan is capable of annr.i """«'■ The best that anv
Divine to be. TleTe« ft" "* ""' "' '■=""" "-
«>s up as its religions ideal '"^ '^' '"'"'■°''"' ">« "
Our own age in its vital forces is n.- .■
Jty .s builded on Christian ,e 1 ^Ti °" "='■
/'« mterpreted. Is i, nerfec? r , "'" "'' ''^'^/"■"
exemplification faultless i> The idea^f '" '""==""' "»
0' hut: ri;s :: ^tt^Lr: *^ °"^ '™= -"«p«-
"% pause to argue? r't 1 "'"' ^"">' ■•«"
'-uits: -B,. thefr fruit 'rslSf '" J'"''«™^"' '»
eighteen centuries last nast'I, ','"'"'""='"■' I"*e
any and all other forms ^fh ' r ."S" co,npari.,o„ with
'ione to human ty and th!'"'"f. ''"'"''^<' » 'he good
">a. would impea'ch t' ^rV^l^'^'y. "P™ any
claim. It has
s not al
ways been
V i . i
(
60
MUJiVALE EASTMAN.
gh , nor always the same. (Let us speak the truth whether
he heavens fall or not; that is ail we little ones can do
for human betterment.) It has worn many guises- the
cowl of the monk, the robe of the priest, the mail of the
oldier. It has shed blood for error; crucified for unbe-
.ef; burned at the stake for innocent dissent: and sanc-
tioned the sum of all villanies.' Every age and people
have colored It w,th their vices and their weaknesses ; but
It has exalted the virtues and glorified the strength of
each Jnder its influence man has grown in stature, in
iberty, m aspiration, and in courage to demand his rights
It has sometimes upheld the wrong; but much oftener
sustained the right. In form and interpretation it has
often changed; m spirit and the claim of beneficent de-
Xabir"' '' ^^' '""''"'""'^ '^'' ''"''' ''^''^^^'' ""^ ""
"Society, builded on its infer/>ntafion of the Christian
Ideal, boasts ever the immutable character of its require-
ments, forgetful that Religion teaches what we believe
raU.er than what we know. Society is but the shell of
religious belief, its visible form and expression. Every
bursts. Then another grows, only to meet a like fate
Forms are never eternal. The shell that is big enough
for to-day is too narrow for to-morrow. In correcting one
line anod.er is deflected. Our society is the visible'forn'
of our Idea of Christianity; nothing more, nothing less.
It I the popular concretion of Christian ethics, of the
good enjomed and the evil prohibited by Christian philos-
ophy^ Is It perfect? Examine your own measure of what
answering"' "' "''' ""' "°^ '^ '''' ""^°-' ^^^-^
"One thing is indisputable: Christianity has fitted itself
fLUSlUS AND PENES.
to iiuman needs hptfi^r *\.^
*o.,gh, and I b': t ndeTi 1 7 /°™ . °^. -"=--
t.on ,o.,1ay than ever brfor" .I ' '"^ '" "^ ^'l^^"-
'l«eiope(i a truer better n,,„l , f '^""s'^qiienee, it ha,,
l..evi„tsly known The , H °, ,""" "'= ™-'' '«^ ^'ver
in .I>e fact .ha. the 'eard^rn ""'"■'" ""^ '»'■-""
and demand it more honejf f """"= °' ""^ ^'">"K.
.hey ever did be Je B« S ' ? T' '■'"°""'^'>'' '"^'
of .he accepted Chrtian idealH '", "■^"^' '^ '"^ "P°"^nt
angry prop.!;t to beTol? e S^f t^''^ °' '"=
gard to iruntan conditions. Is i, , " j T,? T '" "-
;'jur Christian .i.,_.,,:,;riich"a':dtX'
ing with Peter and To'm w 7 T "'^^'^^ '^^"^ fish-
Wis-ered. His :!• s "ere btc 'Tnt ^'T '""'• ^^"°"^^'''
ish gaberdine coarse and gnW "n 7?' """'^ J"''"
Ws feet, and sweat and d, sTrf..r,"^?""?'"''™S"l''''-'i
in peace, after the Tetrar-^V r ^',' ''°'''- "<= ««d
for his daily bread T^ ' '°' """>' >-^"= 'storing
«'>ere he mi^hr^d asl",.'^, ™^,^:;« ^^";'. 'ivi-f
among the people. Society di^wn^'H ^ "^f content
nized interpreters of th^ rv • ^"® ^«^cog-
The Roman's des ised Z T, T" '°"''=™='' "-
tnisted him A lover ^T' I'-l ''°°' "'""^•i but dk-
cou„tedi,ima,ramp relli" '"'"" '""■ Society
Poh-tically he was regard f™ TT'' "™ ^ ^=°''"'
Hardly one in this a„die„c wo„M „ ""-T' """"''"■'
<" enter the front door, l" a 'st IT" ^ -'""""P^"
"Whip, we would not tat,. „ ^" ''""« "=<^n we
■We have no use for rai a , °" "'^''' '"'"^ ">'^^'"a.e.
He wore poverl^afa ::?:,:.",'' ^""= ^"' '" P"^ "-.n.'
6a
MUR VALE EA STAfAA'.
i
A startle:! look flashed over the upturned faces of the
congregation as they hstened to this picture of One whom
then- fancy had so i<lealized that the stern facts of his
envH-onment seemed almost sacrilegious. Not heedin^
the effect of h.s .vords, the speaker continued •
1 h.s IS our Prophet, Son of God, Deliverer of the
World, the 'Word that was with God in the beginning
It matters not what we call him. He is our ideal. His
words are our religion. He is the head of what we call
^church,' a body w.th many creeds though but one
Chn t. It IS on h,s precepts that society is founded, by
h s doctrmes that cit.en and subject, people and soUr'
e.gn profess to be guided. He is the standard of right
for all and m all things. ^
of Tp-"f '"?!' ^'^'"^' ^'" ^^ '^''' h^ ''' ^he God both
of the R:ch and the Poor, putting the Rich in the lead as
IS but natural Thev assure ns th^f h\o . u-
thf. Ri.h cj 1^ I ^'^ teachmg is that
he Rich should be reconciled to abundance and the Poor
o poverty; that the Rich should be consent with what
hey can get and the Poor with what they have. Thev
tel us that he who was cradled in a manger, and sweated
m a Galilean carpenter shop until thirty years of age is
especiaHy fond of costly temples; delights in luxuri;u
surroundmgs; and since his crucifixion, has become a
gentlernan,' qui^e fit to be received into good society so
ong as he remains invisible. Upon the same conditUn
hey are willing that he should visit the hovel as we 1 a^
the palace, and even be on intimate ter^ • v .h the Poor
Vou see this condition prevents any bi a h of social
order. An invisible friend cannot intr.duc .■ .<scred table
a quamtances. He may assure the dw.tler in the hov 1
^ at he sits at rich men's tables and is cheek-by-jowl w U
Plusius and his friends; they do not mind thit as long
PLC'srr/s .'t.vD pexes.
«3
as^he doe. no, bn„« e„e man of rags and gnm. „.,o their
'■ Piusiiis admits it t. be his duty to be kind and pitiful
to the poor. He is bound to give free aims /.!
.I.e poor are starving, to found' hositsrecarZ
poor are s,cl< ; to build churches, because the Lord L h
a cheerful g,ver, to support the preached Word, that tl^e
poor may have the 'good news ' preached unto them to
support .he charities of the church, that su,7,-i„g may' be
reheved By so doing he claims that he fumis Ae Mas
-r s mjuncon, . Do good to all men,' and exempMes
tliat righteousness greater than the righteousness of the
cnbes and Pharisees,' which the Master malces the t
^:^:l. "■^'="^" "-^ -" *^ '-"-"e col
too that ,s, the major par, of them. Some wonder how
he can reconc. ^uch conHicting ideas, and others reiecT
hnn because, as tney say, 'he gives evervthing to the Rkh
and exhorts the Poor to be content with whatis lef.^ W
must be pattent with them. These friends of Penes can
,h "" r"f;' "■"•' "■'■' '^■^■•>- God,' who reguLtes a"l
on?re H f ™ '°, ""■= ^''""''^"" S'-'- "■'■an he ca
assuag™' Th;° '"°' " "^ ^PP'="'^ '^ - ""- hope to
assuage. They may be very unreasonable, but a ht^nirv
man shou d be nardon..,) :f i,; i ■ ■ nungry
fauUless. P^don.d if his logic is not absolutely
"Plusius regards the matter quite otherwise. He ex-
P am,, that wealth and poverty come by divine ordainmen,
each being to Rich and Poor respectively a mea^s of
grace, poverry being given to one as across and weahh
.0 another as a temptation. Of course he would rath r
be among the tempted than one of the tried , but it i' no
1 [
°4 MURVALE f, A HTM AN-.
a matter of choice. God, who knoweth all things hath
he contends, 'ordained ,.ne to sickness and ::Sher to
tiealth; one to riches and another to noverty,' ^.n merely
X ^1^^f''"^^'^^'^^^^^'^^^^^^"-^^^--'
&lor3. A^ealth and poverty, he maintains, aro essential
condmons of the divine order, without which Society
could not exist, and consequently he who seeks to limit
Of remove ..ther of these co-ordinate and immutable con-
'^mons, IS guilty of sacrilegious a.-^ault upon the divine
Purpose: is in short, the enemy of Society and the foe of
God. Hath not 'he whose word can ne'er be broken'
said, The poor ye have always wiih you'? and if the
poor of course also the rich ; since it tollows, as the night
the day, that where the one is the other alu^ays nuJhe
So the two men dwell 'in the same city,' and if Plusius'
view IS correct, must forever remain, ' the one rich and the
other poor, types of the eternal will, examples of divine
justice, love, and power!
IS a true, of to-day's appointed task as it was of yester-
day's. Plusius and his friends may be in error, Penes
and his friends may not have sought aright. The angry
eye IS rarely a faithful guide, and the to^ch borne by T
bloody hand seldom shows the road to truth. Thus far
P usius and Penes have indeed dwelt together ' in the ame
There have been many changes in their relations-and
^t IS not yet certam that there will no^ oe many more-
wu out shock to Society or harm to i..n,;ion. uTs for
us to determine whether there shall ho , or whether the
pitifu; . .ry of the past shall be t.r.. n .^peated "
Murvale Eastman had stood with . u. crumpled letter
PL USIUS AJVD PEAr£s.
ff5
common I .„., „,, ,„ ,„. Xy -; - I^
light. A moneh ago [ received this letter Th. ^ j
•hat penned it was already cold when i relched me A
a n,e™her o, this congregation, the wri;^:rb4ed nie ft:
should Cess uto^the r°""' """^ "^"'""^ "'^' '
Ti,. . , "^ "^ P°°'' <:°ntentment with their lot
rhe demand troubled me. Of the poor-the weak hd„
le. poor to whom the Master referred when he I d'-T "T
Why shonld f reach to the R^h of ■."hett-Trpr,
retur" tot? T " 1"",' ''" ™™»™'' ' '* ™P="eTt «
Tr ^* "■ ' "'■■""''' ''"^»' ''hat Plusius thoud,,
From chddhood I have been familiar with his v ews r
hough, ,. needful that I should know also what Pene
'elt. Dunng the period that has intervened since The
rece,p, of this letter I have tried to learn. I have led I
poor man's hfe, in a poor man's home; but I have not
learned much. The heart n* = „. i ■
book Th. 7 P^°P'^ '^ "ot an open
.-«e];rrl^;rr^^u:rct„-t
66
.vc//^r.j//c /-asta/ajV.
h i J
f
itk )i
L'lies has placed before the eves of il ^"
know that there are \]U tr.r . i • i ""'"^^n ills. I only
been found and i I Ir " ""^ '""'"'^ ^^^^ ^'^"^ ^'^r
<iivine t::h s sh n n 7e. :i;T"^r^" ^'^^ ^■■^"'^^ °^
follow ihP i.n ' 1 ^ ""^ ^'"S^'*' ''^"^1 that if we
dispersed to ..,«, sevetltots " "-"'" '™"'^"'"S'^
CHAPTER V.
GARDEN SQUARE.
Church one G^: t r " "" ^°""' '■■°"' "' *'
GARDE.V SQUARE.
<57
)-""'l .l.e ,v„,er„ bo, mct of ,"' "?"""' " '"* I'-
t'>e edifice. ,lr„„pe,, fr"™ ,' ,H 1 ^ '":^" P^^^'^' »■'>"<=
>vinB in which '4 ,he" i Vof to ■"-" ""^^'Wown
tor's study. The soLh , f ?"' ''"°™ "^ >!« pas-
t'onal pane of heve e iX f T' """' """ ''">'« "«"-
like edges of which te, ed , V r '• ""= "'""""■"•
polished surfaces „„^ "''' ""^ '"'""'""'^ f™"' H.eir
<lTo„gh ,o hXs'ore Z :™''"=^ "°-' --"Kh =,'".
■'•he entrance ,o he si dv "'""'r«"'--'"''"K«l inter,,
wiiere a quaint ostnn,^ ,'' "'" '"""""^tern angle
'- -ep^ thir,: i:';j;'t.7' ":""°"' -""^ --
and on the otl,or oneld , I "' ''' """" °"<' ^M^.
spanned the allerinXertr "" ^°'" "'""'■' ""-'>
^'.^e:!;';,„::,:t':::r.:-':r, '■'^"' '-^^ ^ ~" -^
«one. which\„.':T,;^:^--' ""'"• "^'- -"«-
'narked the setni-privlte chari 'T'""' '^°""-="'' l^"'
«» not a parsonag TI cl , ,": "'=""''•"<=''■ "
'lid not .legrade its n =, I ''' °' ""= '^'°M=n Lili-s
'eady-„,ade ho m ?„d ' ?/ """'"S '"™ '"'o ^ oas.-ir, ,
<" .-tl parlor rd'ir;;;t"«j,'";V» '™-'--win both
allowed him to choose sc'lnd ' ^'"' ""' ^'"='''' ^"''
"as only his otScial residete "'"" " "' '" "'■ ^I-
city'^'^SotethSS^rr^aZ-'f,'"^ '■""''"■■''- °' -e
italn^o-tasanextescencT 1 r'"' "'"^^^^^^^-J
>vas <aken of it neonl '^^ Accordn,g to the view which
foolish man's wL'Ltlt' :'■"•'"""'' '°"''«''' "' a
tlonated to the X u™ ' ' " ™- ^' ''"d ^^^n
An-.ong these were .hat ir f'T," "^P"'" ""'^'•--■
ore, that ,t should always be kep, sur-
68
!irURVALE EASJArAX.
n>ght, and not opened UL^ai,, nmTi ^^''^'*^'" hour every
"corning. No Sn!f , ' "^^^'^'''^ '^°"'" '" ^^e
plants and trees wf^r^ *^ , ' °"v native
walks of the ;" c," „™ ' „! h'"''' """^ ™''- ^--''ed
Heed „re .oV. lived LtT^ r^' " *'
dey a,e.i, and was ,o contain „„ s.rucu re's e' c n T
cte;:f,rt-; -seconder td.er„:^
Hens;,a.e:;„,s:ar"„rc?;:r"^^*°^™''-^-
close he had Jitile kftl . u"' "•■"' ''"'■ A' "^
skirts of the c ' Jr. '? '"" '"'"'=«-■-=«' ™ the on,.
end of the park l I °"" '"'' '^'■'" »' «>^ ^O'-lh
of acres which t'h o. " '""'"'"■ ^™= ^""''«'''
sorbed. Al ,vb^ ,„"" "« metropolis li„l, by l.ttle ab-
which ran y rte'io?,,*' '^'^'"''^ "< "'<•■ " -» «ree,
>vi.h co„ve„ir„?::r, ,rr:,d™ i'^a?" ■" '"°^*^
prices for residenr^ ,. b^'iares and sold at remunerative
buttheparkheh,d,f7r^^! '^^^^^ the owner's death;
park he had stubbornly refused either to sell or to
0.4A'/)/<X .SQf.lAV-:.
69
The owner being an entluisiastic naturalUf n.^
rather than ehe sapling which he Xs '" " ™'"'=-
.re« and flo-vetanTlub?:";^'/"?"' "'"'^
r:erar;rrord--
ec„a.i.eff...a„dha„,ho.'^^he!:;r3i::H,:rdg:
70
^^fCATALE EASTMAN.
!l A
1
peculiar folugc or siriking gro,vtl,s, planis of th= most
ordmary a„,l so„k..,„,os ,„„io„s character. ,lo« , Z
were. fo„ncI ,„ every f,ci,l, an.l vine. .l,ae claml.ere a on '
the he,Ige-rows-,hese he ga.here.i will, assiduo,,, .°"
..... .even hefore ,he sca.a-re,! con.n.uni.ies ha I Ism '
varieties. I hcse tlungs his neighbors recarde.l wifh n .«
.en,,,, a„„ refeired ,o .heir coi.e'cor wi.i^idtr's J
of t hen, compla.ne<l ,ha, their grounds were i„j„re<l by e
eecls of noxtou, plan,, which the win,! clrove fron, ^
nclos,.re upon theirs, and i,y nearly all the denies o
he cty wh.ch now l,„asts of his patriotisn,, learning and
sagacy, he „» regarde.l as a self,.,h, f„. y "cratfk"
whatever may have bee,, the eighteenth-cenLy synon™
for ha, ,erm-and "the large., collection of^American
plants and tree., e,er „,a,Ie " until a century af" r ,rd
rt happened that his neighbors on the west were ear
.leners_p„sh,ng, enterprising „,e„ who grew frui f nd
flowers and vegetables for profit instead of sent Len
Wh, e he was d,ea,„,ng of honor for his country andTan,e
for h,n,se If, they were schen,ing for present advan ag'
Beyo,,d the Angling Road on the norlhwest, about ,fd:
way o the tract he designed for the park, the^ estabii ed
a pubhc market, known ,o this day as Garden Marke,
and by legal process cunpelled the opening ofuvo "ee.s
across th,s tract, one that which now ran past the churct
and d,e other, two squares to the sou.hward-in orde ,o
facihtate access to the same.
This naturally irritated the ner, to whom the park
was as the apple of his eye, and who no doubt .hougt
h.. chantable ,nten, ought to outweigh any present in
CAi/niix sor.i/!/
71
convenience hi, neishbor, „,ig|„ suff.r. Besides, he was
cueoflf bythestree, nearest bis resi.lence fr™„ hatm,
e^.«e,, fteedon, wi,b which he bad been acc„s„ e 'o
s , h„ fav„r,,e bann.s. He was not a man ,o be ,le!
eated ,n h,s ,.„r,,oses, however. He bad alrea.ly s„ „,
consulera Ic sum in planting trees and shrniJi, ' ,"
par. l,eyon,i .be present linms, which lay between t e
Anghng Road and the main street and wh b was kno n
.hereafter as the " Hat iron Tract." The city a„U,or I
annoye.1 nodonb. by his captious opposition o ,h m '
needed .horoughfares, in very despi.e, had na.ned o™ o
hem Garden S.ree., and the other, which p.assed by bl
house Blalocl< Lane-.he latter after bis enemies and
the other advertising .lieir business
I. was .ben that he set himself to devise a plan which
^hould at once crcumven. his neighbors and gratify "is
own aspnatmn. He inclosed the pentagon rema^^in'
..h an tron p,cket.fence, laid on, the paths, estaZed
the gates, and then offered it to the city upon condition
natned ,„ the deed. This ,lee,I incbnied also a "2Zl
portion of ,he river-front, ce-half the income froti w ct
.. was provtded, should be devoted to the care and imi
provement of .he park; the other half to go to .he"
after pajmrg .he S.a.e and coun.y .axes o„' .be Fla.-S
Tract, wh,ch w.as .o remain in conmton for a bund e
years, and .en p.ass .„ .he neares. living descend. o
.he deceased: or, m def.aul. of s.,cb kinsman, ,o .he ci.y
Bo.h .racs were .o be forfei.ed upon any infrac.ion of
the cond,.,ons named in .be ,leed. The park was "o re
mam ,„ .he donor's con.ro, un.i, his deaih, .be moie;
of he income from .be river.fron. proper.y was also
o be expended under his direction The gates „te
<o be forever kept open during such portions of a"
72
• '/ .' ■/>' /■.//. /;• /:V/ s r. ?/.•/ AT,
"■ork a forfeiture of the bequest. ^ '^ ' "^ '°
The gift was a verv hberal one aiirl tl,. ,i
becanre as popular as the prev.^^s onfl tf™" " ,°""
way across his .and had n^a'e hi u„ f ™ ^ VJ! f'"'
ene„„es, the ntarke, gardeners, could no ' admi , J!
■t was a very pubhc-spirited thin.> to ^„ u- '
;ain that it wo„,d inu^e to .h^l^ad^ntg T/a^hL-t:"
:";'f:cnt^'Tj:sr r'"" r- '""—■'
produce was sold One of "hem t" /' '" "*''='' ''"''
Ciey Council the acc^ptle of"h rift ,' "7'" '" *=
Of .hanks to the dono!^. "iZ t i "e s h rA™"
completed, and the deed of gift enrolled o„n
executed in duplicate by both par ess was tr T"'
;n those days, an ordinance L paLed d c ein^'l";
he plat of ground thus conveyed aid accepted s"Lt
forever known as Valentine Park. When all waVdl .
etrxt f' r """ '°'''«' '--' "sa^^t i It
except when he chose to open them to the public Th?'
occasioned no little dissatisfaction, hut as the 'i't
already deriving a handsot^e incom from hi doc ' "'
erty, the public concluded to put up w tZl k i ■'"■°''"
what it deetned its rights un.if ^ZL^'^TZ^^
as he ™s already well advanced in .ears, ctld 'nl^'t '
J"d:Lt:,,t™xei?L:'l''°"""r"^^^^
iiherality and patriotism T "'""*' °"'" ^"^ »'
sentiment, howCr 'len uZ irr^^l'ar.r'T "'
««« in his will for the opening a'rc'lotinro'f fh'e g^
GARDE X SQUARE
cent enemies, tl,e .ardenerfp ,1 i , "'"''«" '''■'' ^"-
cus,„„,e,-s to go am tr , °'';' "^J' '=°"P'--"ing their
»iuare. The city in e , 'T °' "'""='' "'<•■ <i""We
". this direct o" a ",r """" ""-M-'e,lly, too,
--es,,o„.h:'i,^h:r,':: !*::■- f-'«'"
seated t. AH tli^«» „. •''iieets that inter-
<^ious dotarj ,vho ,!,„ I ■ ,* '" ""^"k)' "nd mali-
-*"-e.;:;;;it:^re:::tt;L!:::;f-=^^'^^
■!-■ so,-ereig,u, of'the p o le ov!r th'e ^^'■^^"'>^«'• -'l
-Phaticaily as.erted 'by 'chri::: i g T GaX sf ''"
^.::[te::::;t:d r -' ''"^""■"" •'- >'-"-„?::,:
"ouM be Efficiently CO ,,, tL,"rr" °' """ ^'"
part were opened and cio ed at tht ' «"'™ °' '"=
"■ill one day in each ST., "" "^"""^ '" "'e
.-Biectfor L-: e J^ i;'!?;" """"^' -''^ "^
con,p„a„ce ,vhich shon.d ,vork i for e, t,™"^: .°' "T'
man on th s beat wn« fU c '^'^^"^- -Tne watch-
«ates "every tl: ^u^'^: I' ^ ^^^ - ,^'- -he
"pen tliem the Fir.t ,1.„ ^ '"= °'''°<=''' and
without fail" /h t! '"7'."8 "' "^» of 'he dock,
■ vented, an.l ,1,' c ,'. '"'""'' '''"'°'- "'« -^i"--"'"-
oteerving tetero c" vT'"^ "'^ "^"^'"^ -*o„t
The fa„ o r """'"^ '° "" ''"I""'-
"■ill. P..W c ben It "' " Tr™' '"f-'P'-")' the case
•stanc s, and bram, bv dr'' t "" ''" ""'"•■■" -««-
by and by dropped o„t of sight, four-scr,.
rl
74
•VC'RV.-tLE EAST3IAX.
DortL T • ' ""*■"■ ""P'°>"'' '° '"« ""^ "U' re-
ported hat there were no heirs in the male line, and that
had been unable to find any living representatives upon
the female s,de. A daughter had given birth to a daugh
ter, who had marne.i somewhere at the West, after which
no trace could be foun<. of her or any descendants
The park had been well kept up because of the fund
provded for that purpose, not after the manner prescribed
however and the gates had hardly been closed for fi,,:
years. After the probable failure of lineal descendan
was ascertarned little heed was paid to the conditions o
the bequest Why should there be? Only heirs could
clatm a forfe.tnre, and of them there were none left
The old walks were paved; new ones made, many of the
■nd,ge„ous trees were cut down and showy exotics sub-
o Blalock, a dozen telegraph poles supported a network
of wires to make way for which the donor's favorite trees
were defaced and beheaded without scruple. Fi!,a ly I
splendid group of tulip-trees, which he had planted with '
h.s own han.ls as a centre-piece, were cut ,lown ilort
o afford a convenient location for an electric-light tower
Year by year the income from the dock propertyTn:
creased; year by year the park was " improved " by „"
expenditure of a moiety of this fund upon it, and year bv
year the people enjoyed the dead man's generosity fn" heir
own way As for the Fla.-iron Tract, i, had Lg ago
reouired Z ""."' T'' """™"=- ^"^-Sh the cifv Z
axe " n„I ' °[ «'" '" "^^ ""'' State and county
taxes nothing was said about municipal taxation. When
SOW and bought in by the city, again and again. Final ,
Ihe cit,, by advice of counsel, e.xecuted a quit claim to
GARDE y SQUARE,
company .o .uf.h'eifcrdt" ^^K^ ^'-^'-"-^
stead of having ,o „,alce n Z> ? '" '""''■^"h in-
i" o.der,o pafs .h !.„;„" "'f ^'°=^ «"- "X
people who proeested f,^T "^ '""" scientific
called "^pie,:::. . o", Ta4°:r' ''T' '-^ -
sacrilegious, and now and then ilL , """"S ^'"'°='
'hat the course the citv hid ? ''''^'''■' ''''"' '''"cd
breach of trust '^ ^ ^""""^ "^' « outrageous
But the press laughed at such " old fogies ", ^ ■
out how necessary it was that th. .7 ° ,' '' P°'"'c<l
-'both for the credit?/ h, ' 1"^" '''""''' ^'= "^'k
citizens," The c' so it ' '"" *' """°« of the
p-eed with cer^fn^'ri:- •t::::fr'^^-'°
surviving heirs.a,-larofce"ar„Zr f"'""^' ^"^ "«
toerests which ™ight be a^teT ^ewTo' T""'"^^"'
court an,l show cause wh, the needed fl,„, u. " '"'°
not be established. The citv sni; / "J^""" '''°"'<'
intrusted with the n„ J'^ solictor's clerk, who was
.ncluded a„: „;'o „ Xhe I '^f ^''-«-™nts,
y^lentine Lett! datghlr o D iel Xi '"\°' ''^"^^
'Icc'd, if any such there be" '"" Valentine,
76
MCRVALF. I-ASTMAX.
CHAPTER VI.
CiOLD AND PORPHYRY.
" Here's a good place, Hannah."
Jonas Underwood pressed tlirongh a hedge of arbor-
vit^ as he si)oke, into an unused path in Garden Square
and ponited with the black cane he carried toward a seat'
almost hidden under a dense cluster of low-branchin.
^yassa, that had grown up about the stump of a giaiu
progenitor, against the bole of which the back of the iron
seat had once rested.
"Looks as if it had been forgot, doesn't it? " he added
m iHs whee^y tones, as he parted the branches so that his
wife might walk under them and then seated himself bv
her side. Couldn't have suited us better if it had been
niade on purpose, could it, Hannah.?" he continued glee-
uh.ch nad odged against the bench, and looking up at the
panned fohage through which the sun glanced warmly
down upon them. " With that hedge in front, the wood-
bine c ambering over the high railing, the big cedar on
one side and dense balsam on the other, we're almost as
nnich alone here in the corner of the park as if we were
•n the heart of a forest. Here we've got a peep-hole on
the avenue and there on the side street. We haven't a
very good view of the church, but we can hear the music-
see the people coming and going, and get a glimpse oi
the minister when he slips into that queer coop at the
COLD AXn PORPHYRY
U , 77
Dack corner of the chnrrh r ,. j i
such a cosey nook I i '. '' ^'°^" ^ ^""^<^ ^"^ ^P^
I.Jnfh'' J°" "/"'"'* '"= •■"'■'"■^' """">'-• There isn't a
"P .here fort , '. L 4 ,e „d "th": tP"" "" ''™='''''
grandest thing I ever saw j!V .*,'"" *"
Christ.'" ^'" )'"' '">' ">« o' 'the
eaferalu, t,'""*' "" °' "'= '™-> *= -^"'^ voice was
depress!, "h.! u f"'^' "■'""'' " ''■'<= »' """^uallv
depress,,.,, c,-a..-.cter had not been able wholly to eradi-
'■r"do*t'* '' \ """'■" '''" ""= '"'" "i'h a shudder
.he tc-a.iL"'"; rLrL'-rti r' '-, *"^ ^■=°«
■'hiver It see,„s to ,,, f '^ "^^ °' " "■'"""" »
Ocspels isMTb r ; t so'lS " ', 'T'"' '" "-^
know." *'"^^ ^^^^ ^t^out it, you
P|!i
73
MURVALE EASTMAI^.
submit to death I,cca.,sc it • s ,e i n ' " "'' ^"""'^
1-1 ass„n,ed, but ,. u;:;; t';:.:;^ ;;^^^^^
novo, surrculered to its wofuinc s ' . • \ '^""^'
of the noss was nu.hingl o ni V, ,''"''' '"''"^^
-ould have smiled at it pa h^s Tn I \ ' '""' ^"^ '^'^
dark hour in Getl,sennne Th '""'/'"'■'^"" ^^'^'> ^'^at
have o(„,„ ,„„g ,,„j^, ,,^^ ^1^^ s„re ho 1
cv . „ any sign „f agon, ,„ „„. ho',, ^^ ...f '^' "!'
UKinic, >l„l „„t c-.vult ,„ the failure of his fonitudt Vt
<lul not 'iLin^',,,, 11,^, ,.,, "=■""'» lie. He
-vl.on referring ,0 ,he CI,"" He 1 rj" ," ""'""*■«'
;;™-..ehnn.,.h:::;„^s:s^t^::::i
na.re.„,.he;tr:;„e;;;:;li:rr^^^^^^^^^
He parsed ,o cough, wi.h a sort of vehemence »-hid.
GOLD AX/) roRPffYj^y
79
seemed lo resent cv.m. .I.i. ,
>".•»». Tl.c wife „'| „ , 7 ' ^'"■'^"' """k-
■•."ist.ia.M,rl',!,;,',:'';:.,:7,::. ''''""■■• •''"'=
"<--ss ,vhich seems I, I,., I I'-""'"' l"'ifiil-
ll".' lilies almost lii, e .]„■ ,l ,' ™' '= "'•''-■'i
d« lo ,l,e glass , ■ , ' "'"' ''^ """^' "'"^I'-^'T,
linos ..canlN :. , ffe";r ' "" '".'"^ ^'"""'S. "-
cneanesr^i,,; 1 ,,i' ,•»''''= -»'«! down „„„„,„■,
va,n„hiso„„°„„„:;','-,.'"' """■ '^"'"'•"'o Godlike .„
<-':!;'«,:■ 'wSirr^ri'^''^ »'■'*-"''•'-
above il,e,„. fro s ^ , "" ■"""■"t''""! I.:aves
'i.e avena, .M> a^ J, I^ "7"^ "^ '-^- ^long
two were alone in a ten ,le ■'„'"'''.'""'"' '"" "'"=
"'S of the Cl.rist fori' f I nf ;; '""''-' "'"' '■""<''-" 'alk-
of I.'e;:i'if,;;:,^::'4'i'™™" "-"s'-'-ny - the son„d
one, instead of the u.eek ,^i,i ? '"" ""= ^"^"P'^d
" Don't say ' ,11!^ ^"" ',;''"'' >•"" ^"-^° 'li^like?-
sionately. "', t^^ ""'"='• «< '-'"-d the ntan pas-
"«e,tr >t makes the Christ a weak, sniv.
fio
^rCRVAl.E r.ASTMAl^.
" ncd ,„ induce men ,o endure curaUeevi ,o"" '""'"
w..h wl,a, we call CnMian .ubmis.on v a Inch aS
a» .n,„e >vo„ld connt it a »l,ame not o resist nid
ever think how little show of weaknel ,1 ''°"
p^C:;'-i-i^h;h--i:5r^
:^^r^rfr::t::t^-rt?---
;or .he weakness or his frieZs'ind^nr? T^nX^
The event was so startling tha, the Evangelist Zt"'
special note of it. So pitiful „,„ the Brief of ,
»o terrible the impending fate of 1 e S ct v .ir "'
Jesus wept! That is the idea-Jesus fhl, ^' u """
Perturbable, the unassailable, the beTn. of ""*' *' '"■•
fortitude -even /„ wept ! He wa, ■ Iman o;""""'""'^
acquainted with grieP but C ^ "»" "' ^""ows and
What would have bee, ,1 re „7th"°! ,*"'" '° '^"=-
i;ad prevailed from thefgi^in V"Vt ■ '^e?""
that would be different," he pointed JZ , '"«
sidewalk-" there wouldn't be th^e Im „ "ronr^^"
going to church! " ^° °"^ '"^^
;;i don't know but that is so," said the wife niusin.Iv
There is no question about it," was thp n.c".- ,
."There's another thing that ^u^ be c ' ged rj^^;
jerkmg h,s thturib over his shoulder toward fhl' '
church, whose bells were again beginning tTound ''Z
b.g churches would be built ,fe„„.town tnstead of '
town, to accommodate weak souls and tir,.H h^- ^
slender purses mstead of bank accountsl "" "''
'■'OLD AXD POA/'//y/^y^
Every rich man saved in that way means a smr. .r
Uhat ,s ,t? Just buildmg a wall of partition in God^.
^ouse- nay makn,g God's house itself the partition
G.vmg the nch the choice cuts and the poor he c Z
.ind scraps from the I ord's tnhu t. • crumbs
proxmiity to the wicked n^ „^ oiicncied by
thnt .1 1 '^'^"^ecl. Do you remember the reason
that church yonder was moved up here? U . T
vesterdnv fl,nf t j • • /"" "P nere;' it seems but
yesterday tliat I read it m the newsnanpr<= ti.
iney said, that the congregation were greatlv annov^rl Jn
°tL, T """; ""S'" '" ""''"P. """'W have Lid
rto ,s .l,e very place to plan, my cl.urch ! • And L oTj
was ever n.-h enough to dare demur ,o such a Chris 'I
command. Obedience or rebellion would be theol
a ternat,ves. Obey his behests or leave his chu cM Id
the church would he stronger to-day if it carried fe
ornaments The church 1, f„r .1, ", '^^"
rich c.„ , 1 "'* I'"'"'' *« weak. The
nch can take care of then.selves! They moved Z
church up here simply becaus. the Chrisfof Zthfp
cords has been forgotten, an.l a namby-pamby c e! re
thaulara not look a rich rnan in the face'e.a,fed ^ hi
ge"e?cS *7;'/°"-^^" '.f '■- wife soothingly, .-don't
I suppose not— I supno^e - t " TTn^ -^^cepted.
wearily. ''uppo-ct, Underwood responded
'ill
Ba
^rCIiVAlE EASn/AU.
I il
1 1
Ml I
His excitement had taken away his .fr.n .u . .
^vas again s.ized ui.h one of tho !fi of ' ' ' '"^ ^'
racked his frame so terribly In ,h ^'"'"^ "'^'^'^
ysm his face sudden yrhtld ^u " '' °^ ^'^'^ P^^°^-
tovvard the one nT L.I' ' ' P°^"'^"' unsteadily
whichtheenr o tetst'T;!^^'^'^^^^ ^^^°"^^
wife lookerl -,n^ ^ ' ^^"''>' "'^s ^ 'sible. The
I oughtn't to have said ih,t h, i. .. ,
l«"gll.. His voice trembled an V f ' '" '""^ ''
now. " I o.,gl,tn't to a e sa , it 7t^ '"" ''"""^
«"ck in the human ZT ,^l ' ''™ ' ""'"= """^h
^o„b. often sh "you by ,t w7"'\' '"-''' '"" "»
'■Ion', often doubt'^: 1 ::4VrTsV''°"' "' ""'
V«, Hannah, I ,/, believe hV, """ ""'''°°-
-a, .vi,, be^ccepL^rrc ;:■".•„: r if "•';'" -j
ar:ir^rbe{:r:i™n'"t, t :■> "''-
her faded shawl as she spoke ' '°°'""' """^ ^'
n>igil:;::m:b";^ ;:;•:!=/---'' -««... -and i.
His cough interrupted him
.Ji'S'" ■"■" >-' '-■• "■ ^TO.™,-
GOLD A,VD PORPtrYRY_
«3
L nderwood closed his eyes and listened. His wife watched
and 7r''' TT '" °'^' ^^^^•^- -- fi"-hed
and the sern.on hud ev;dentl> ^un, he opened his eye.
and met her anxious look. ^
;; I feel better now," he said. " That rested me "
Have you found what you came here for, Jonas? '•
asked the wife after a long silence, desiring to divert his
attention from the subject which seemed to excite him
too much for his own good.
;;No; I haven't found it," he answered carelessly.
VV Jiat did you expect? "
"I don't know as I really .a^.r/../ anything. I didn't
know but this might be a park n,y great-grandfather gave
to the aty_at least that's what I've heard. I don't kLw
What Its name was, nor where it was; but I've heard that
the conditions of the deed were that it should never have
any walks in it only those he laid out, and they made the
nitial letters of his name. I've seen my mother mark
them out plenty of times. He meant it for a sort of
monumeiu, you know. Let me see-the initials were
T,, • ^•' """^ ^^^ l^aths made a monogram like this "
Ihe man brushed away the leaves with the end of his
cane and traced a design in the damp, loose gravel
And If you had found this wa. the place?" asked the
wife with a trace of eagerness in her tone.
"I should have gone into court and told them thev
njustn t spoil the old man's monogram," he answered sim.
"Oh!"
There was a world of disappointment in the wearily,
uttered monosyllable. Her husband noticed it and looked
at her keenly for some seconds.
- "So?" he said with a low, meditative sibilation. «I
<p^
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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1.0
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oiuujgiapillu
Sciences
CoiDoration
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4503
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^rURVAt.K P.ASTAfAN.
84
never thought of that, Hannah. Perhaps the matter mav
be worth looking after." ^
CHAPTER VII.
TAKING THE VERDICT.
MmvALE Eastman, in the sermon which had startled
he congregatron of the Golden Lilies, had sooken ess
f^m ™p„,se than he imagined. He did no.' covet the
ole of reformer, did no, deem himself wiser or better
.han others, and would have stood aghast at the though
of proposmg any senous modification of the Christfan
■dea or any materia, change in social forms and 1:22.
Jt I ?? "'•>''*'"'°"» «y- *= Power which rules
line „;"f^ \ °r« ''''" *"'"8 1™ 'o pursue the very
Ime of though, wh.ch he believed a particular event had
awakened. Like all knowledge worthy of the ma:^ hi^
conv,ct,on of the paramount importance of the sub'iec
evolution, an unconscous growth, rather than an intended
self, he had not stud.ed theories except from the mere
des,re ,0 know the thoughts of others, not from an^ Ze
of hndmg m them a specific remedy. The statements of
cond.nons wh.ch he found in the works of sociaT pM
losophers and professional reformers had interested ht
greatly He seemed to find in all of them, religious pol-'t
■cal, and even anarchistic disquisitions up™ exist ng'con
d.t ons, some things which his own observation and ex
penence confirmed. But when he came to the remed^s' '
pro|,ose<l, the best .seemed unsatisfactory Some aw " ened
h.s p-.y, very many his contempt, and a few his alg;;
'.-lA7.\r; TFIE VF!:DiCT.
H
A man of vigorrus qualities of body and mind both
faeandtnclination had thrown hi™ ,„Lh in Ae tay of
other men not as a mere observer, but in dose compan
tons ,p ,,.h different classes in widely distant locaTife
He had hved among the crowded factory toilers of the
East long enough to understand their thought- he had
come to com,,rehe„d the dual existence of the miner
which touches the world's interests most nearly the" en
arated most completely from it. The weird pa'hos o that"
«"7'= 'f "^f ™-de an impression upon him vh l U
needed the breadth and sunshine of he gre« W s .o
remove. Here again he had met the problLs o a new
and wonderful civilization staring hinf i„ the face a„d
stk™: to 1 '°T ""'"■"" "'""^ *^ P-'> oni'story
rst^rconii:::: "'"^^°°^ " "^^ " «'- °' ->'°«-
There 'are two ways of studying history. The one is to
find somebody who has or professes to have abili°y o u °
1 Xion^of i yt'tlXrTt'f "'"'-^""^""'=
edge, but better thr": 'au ' nrjinT'th^r'-
whoarecaned-studentsofhUry-'CuilypLess "r
other way is to master the facts so far as mayTe witht";
exhaustive balancing of detail, and form, fill out, lud com
Plete the picture of an epoch, feel its life and d -cover Ts
gnificance. History is never a trustworthy gu de o ll e
ble one at th.-.t. Despite the well-known ada<ve it never
rurnish, but^atterns ^^J:^^^^^::!
og.es. .0 be of value, must not depend on simUarities o^
if:
86
ATURVALE E.1Sr.VAA\
tics c, ,vagcs and p„fi,s' He ' sleZ. "' "^ '^■
.>.an subject or cui.e„, and .„e formTg n;::.";^."?
;_^ one age ™ea„s „rann,„,a,i„ .,e ne^. oleTrj^:';
The truths of history ^vhich are valuable ar. tl..
=%;^;t'tarr7;-£SXrs
of attainable comfort of his da^ So ,00 Z '""«=
who owns tl;e land of a country - „f 1 ''"""°" °'
who derives benefit from™ 'a l.n '27"""^' """
-n. is unimportant in compa risC; t , t™:,!:"""
TrTe;rrtt-i::rrre'-''"-^^-^
apprehension of these trn, s F^m P a.o"";"""'-';'""
present, he had noted the absolute f'?°^''f ™""l«
gove:n,„e„. and oct y nS i^? T'"'"' ^'■^'^"» °'
-re s,r„c. with its^:i;r,n nd'simZirinT;""
not wnl, methods, but with men- n^ T\ "''"«'
.vithindiwdttais, not with cZ;i::r:^:~:
TAKIXG THE VERDICT.
Individuals and motives-these are the only static forces
n society. " Whatsoever ye would that men should do
to you, do ye even so to them," is a universally benefi-
cent principle, subject to no variation because of age
condition, race, or clime. Whatever government, form'
Of society, or economic condition promotes the practical
application of this idea is good; whatever hinders it is
bad. This was Murvale Eastman's philosophy. It went
no farther. He would care for To-day, and not try to
put a yoke upon To-morrow.
He was by nature and training a conservative. He be-
leved that civilization was an eternal approximation to
the highest ideal in manhood and womanhood. He did
not think society ought to be torn down because it was
not perfect; he did not expect human nature to be radi-
cally changed by a political experiment, or believe that
evil would be obliterated by a single spasm of virtue He
had no specific for the cure of wrong, nor did he antici-
pate a millennial condition to follow the adoption of a pet
Idea. He th-.ught, as he turned from his desk and made
his way back to his study, after he had preached of Plu-
sius and Penes, that he had been very moderate both in
language and suggestion, but he knew that moderation
was no shield against animosity. He did not wish to
assail the church, but to strengthen and uphold it To
his mind, the church was the mainspring of civilization.
He did not wish to remove it or substitute anythin.r else
for It. He only thought the action of the spring might
be rendered more effectual and its results be made more
beneficent.
He knew, however, that he was liable to be miscon-
ceived, and might be classed among the "visionaries" and
cranks ' who would tear society down in order to
88
-'/rA'/-./zA- /■■.isr.u.i.v
build it up anew. He hoped by goinc back tn
LToiind T.1.1 io,M., 1 • ■^ b*J"ig oack to common
ground and laymg Ins course by Christian landmarks to
He was „o, easMy frigl^neH, hcvever. He ZdZ
;;;r' ""= '-;'l.i-peopie, but he,oved .„e igL. bee ;
e^., co,„„,e„da..o„, a,K, bu,„aniey better t,..a„ a'„, „a" "
He was not willing n.erely to /,, right; he wished t„
Lenefit others by inducing them to ./.right. tttil
credu.o know what is the right thing o be o,« he
real tnnrnph of the thinker is ,„ .nduce other ,„ act unnn
h.s conclusions. Very often of late he had tho ' .'of
Erasmus, the great scholar, and Martin Luther «'m
We pnest. Krasmus saw the church's error and co m,o
e.on ,ust as clearl,- as Luther, but he feared toLperi fe"
good „ embodied by boldly attacking the evil it contrined
Luther was not afraid that tl.e overthrow of evUwou,
"upertl what was truly good. Now, Luther is Icl „,
a santt and a hero by half the Christian world -Fa ,";
a coward and a malingerer by the whole of i, He
'hought ■•silence better than schisn,.' He „°.s wron/
^^rf"''' "™"« "•"=" =«-« mean" rr;2'
! .ether ^ ''"■ ""^' """ ''^''"' '"'---•'' - eas iy
L He'drr",'-" "" "'"" '" ="' E-smus or I
Luther. He di.i not ,mag,„e himself able to be a Luther
TAKIXC Tim U-EKDICr.
«9
tnat rel.ition was to destrnv oii * . au sever
mtur'T" ''^*' ^■^''"•"' '-"■ "'"^ 'ooJ :;;•;
mignt take the same view nf h;^ o .• , mnerit,
tion of the Golden Ufe f,° ^" !'" '=°"S'-'^Sa-
«ill be the ReverlnH » , J" "'"="<^''=d, he would
not see anythi g else Y ^^^^T^ T'"""' "= ""^
.he'Se'' m::"":! '"r-"*^^^"'™ °' "- ch..ch o,
tial members old .r;' '" "°'' "'"■= ^"" '"«--
the r„orninT;erWce oT;i '° "' ""'"'^ """>' '"-
after the sul^ "cat^.r^rrs^ror ^ "'"^"•'
reception, incMin, almosl the llITe l:^^ r/i^^r
90
M UK VALE /:ASTA/aa\
Coming in at the door upon the nVht fi,»
a. .he one upon .he left, Lli'X^'^n^JZ'C.
word 0, greeting as they passed by. The ZL P sir
took h,s accustomed place beside the table and await d he
usual ovat,on. An usher opened the door,™! e he
^ the Sabbath-school, as soon as the door was opened
He was a favonte with children, and the warmth o thet
greeting moved him almost to tears. A few o the con
A couple of women who had known better days and
ound ,t h.,rd to hide the bitterness of pover y elm- n
hank ,m, ear.ily but hopelessly. They^eer expected
o e tho.^ . as well of in poverty as they had been': en
rch. A gruff-votced stranger came to say he admired
the m.mster's courage, but was afraid he hid "bten off
more than he could chew." He desired to leave hear/
T'XT't *" '^ ""■«'" "^ "°"«^<' whenerer d wa'
required, i wo young men and a young woman with note
books ,ns,sted on asking questions, which showed thT.;
hey had not comprehended the sermon, they at Tas,
scented a sensat on. Thev were rp,wt. I
the use of tl,. I ; ^ reporters who wanted
he cultol „ r ' ™»"^"iP«. as has come to be
ine custom, m their reports. Thev wpr.. ,•„ ^ • ,
they learned that the sermon wat LT mau^Xt II",
a profitable scoop." A jolly friend who admired Mur
vale Eastman m the role of yachtsman quite as muc^a
^cu.'iui."^^""" ^-^'^'^ "'" '*" ^ '-"^-Cp:
" Well, you /u.ve shaken out your jags, haven't youf "
9'
with a sco™f>„'„tsl, I, he'~S e^f "' ^ '^""'^ "'•^•™"
were „o rich churches?' """'P "' '' "«=«
this courtesy to the n/J , T' "'"' ''" f^""' '° '^'"end
had been pCen a. T ' ''°'''™ ^'""'^ "h- '-
official memberrcame bur 7"""* ""'"■ «™'= "' ""'
and formal. ' " ""'"•«'-<^«'"g^ were constrained
Murvale Eastman answered them M
some seriously. When liZV ' "'" P'^^^amly,
he closed the doo anV r 7"^" ''™"''^'°" *^^ <'"ded
had been rendere" a"d was "" '°,""'"'- '^"^ ^"'^^^
of the Golden Li esLn """f ^''^''le. The Church
indorse the vLs he hr'e ""' f °" *"^ P^^'"' ""■■
Should hesubnr.o.h ver r::!" '""""'^ ' ■*"='■
Erasmus or Luther? w, , ^''^ ''" ^I'P^"'? '^"ow
-he loot upo?wslce!:::r. : ;?"• '^"■'':. - "°'
forego his purpose becauselfontrebuff" "°' "'^'^ '"
nanlattW ^I'ta?''' ': 'f '^«" P'=^-Swi.h his
as .hey lay :;o:;hlTb;;b:f rh.m^ t" sliced "'t'
-arred by dark, hard catusel ™"'"' """'""^ -'
sn,IrtXy"o:',>?r 'rr;' --'8-' - m ^or the
"I was noVcompelled f lab ""f "'* «™ ''™-
--'-.afaU:\';--r/rttifsr
92
Mi-Rr.u.r: /-asi \r.\.\\
The temporary discomfort but made the luxury of ease
and abundance more thoroughly annreciihle r T
ho. I should feeUf compelled to e^ ^ til/^t
tim manner. That is the test of duty " ^ '"
that'he wend f ^t^^^r "'' '"^ "^^ '''' '^-^^"^'^ ^^o-ed
hat he wotdd fight. Any one who had seen his face settle
hat he id tT """ "; ''^ ^"^"^ ^^°"^'' ^-^ ^^-->
tnat he did it unconsciously, but that in the mean tim,.
his mmd was busy on a plan of campaign. Afu "le Fast
man was go.ng to fight, not outsidj tl^e chu b in"
the Gibraltar m wh ch he would m^i-„ i • T '
Hearsed hiri' V "' ^' '^ '■= '"<^"«' ""' inclusion
He c osed h,s kn.fe wi.h a snap, dropped it in his pocket'
and stepped to the window. He seemed «ai,in7,
expected thing to happen. How bea^iM w "t . ^ir
n the. fohage of golden light against the dark e rgree"
m the park across the strpf.fr t-i, , ^^^^^^^'^
•h-gh the. with a steld r:: n Z^^^
tiie trees? She seemed to be greatlv distnrK.^
i?,irei'':r'"°'"""-"--^^^^^
vent re h ^t'""""' "•""« °"' '" ^^^-''' -' °' ad-
venture, but of opportunity to do his devoir for the
As Murvale Eastman made these observations h, ^=h
so"car'eTur;T ""'^ '"^ ""^ ^ he td" 'r ..
carefully and now would never deliver. There canre
TAKING Tl/t: VERD/Cr.
93
a tap at the study door h;« f. i- . ,
<•' open the door. ' '' °' '^'^^^ ^"'^ ^^"^ quick),
'•Come in," he said in a glad, tender* tone
His countenance lost h^ i!^ i r
-P°" i>i.s visitor. 1 von ; :,: '' T-^^^""' '' '^'^ ^>'- ^^"
•>y the hand a child f ^o 1" " """"'■"^' '^'^^""•^^
threshold. '"^ ^^^''s. stood upon the
" Come in, madam, pro v come in " j.
tone, but still cordially at tT. '"^ '" ^" "'^^^^^'
;-nd. The woman m,;: ^ "r '"T "^^^"'-"^ ^^'^
''-nd in. his and entere rlZ T' '^"' '^'^^^'^ ^^^
"Truly."
>opz:^:::^:;zr"' "°""" " ^"^ ^^'^ '''* ^
'Very probably."
"At a time wlien i h, „.iii „„a ,,,
" Trouble never con.es a , •'■°" '"""•'• '""^ "
■ninister with a Zi^TZ'^ "™"""' "^^'"'•" ^^^ 'he
iari^'" ™"'^" '"■•"^^ ^-^ - W". pleasantly and fami,. "
giadToree'iets' rw7' ""'""^"'' "*^ ^°" *-" be
."ce::a-tir;;rii™^!z!™i»v°^^''-
tion— and-and you " " '^"'^''' "i>' Posi-
3a/^ «::,:£:.: ::,rfo°,: *r "°'"- "--
emvmg to her hesitation, with a
touch of pride
lis \'oice "wii^.. /-ii • .
u hat a Christian
04
M(rR r -.4 /. /T /'.'f .V 7VIM A^
iiKin may properly do, I am not to ho forbidden. If you
tell !nc there is any reason "
"Oh, no!" she said, interrupting, with a flush on her
cheek, " of course there is no irnsoti.'"'
" I would have staked my life on it," said the pastor
earnestly,
" You are very kind," answered the woman simply, her
dark eyes lighting up with pleasure. " I only wished to
save you from annoyance."
"It is you who are kind," he said with a bow. " When
may I come? "
"Any day — after to-morrow."
"And wliere shall I tind you, Mrs. Merton? " taking out
his note-book.
The woman flushed as he spoke the name.
"After to-morrow I shall be— there."
She opened her hymn-book and handed him a card.
He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
" You are going to "
"Assert my right," said the woman firniiy.
The cliild, who carried her parasol, had been holding
sometimes the woman's hand and sometimes the long
crape veil which hung over her shoulder, during this con-
versation. Evidently the man and his surroundings had
little interest for her. " Come," she whispered, pulling at
her mother's arm.
" This is my daughter, Clara," said the woman, as if in
response at once to the child's insistence and a question
she read in the pastor's eyes.
The minister took the child's hand.
" She has grown since I saw her," he said. " Will she
attend the Sabbath-school?"
" I wish she might," said the' mother wistfully.
T/tKrya y-frr. vr.Rnrcr.
95
"I will go with you now to Mr. Hanson, tlic superin-
tendent. I am sure he— I mean, I sli II be glad to intro-
duce you."
"Oh. no, not now— pic ^e," said the lady almost pite-
ously, drawing the child away as she spoke.
"Very well; any time," said the pastor with derision.
•' I'll call on Tuesday, then, at ten o'clock, if the hour is
convenient."
The lady bowed and half-turned to go.
" You recognized me at once," she said, halting and
looking backward. She was a beautiful woman, and the
position showed her attractions to the best advantage to
one looking in at the door.
" I expected you."
" But not just then ?" she asked archly.
" Perhaps not," he answered with a smile.
"You were not surprised, howcer?"
" I saw you in the congregation."
" You must have good eyes and a good memory to pick
out one you have not seen in so many years amon^ so
many!" ^
" I was looking for you."
"You knew I was in the city, then?"
" I expected you would be about this time."
There was a peculiar significance in his tone.
"Then it was you who put the advertisement in the
Herald V
She turned back and offered him her hand impulsively.
" I wished to prevent a crime," said the minister gravely,
" and hoped I might do some good. Besides, I am greatly
your debtor."
"Oh, that is outlawed," she said lightly.
" But I have another oblii^atinn, if that were waived."
96
AfUR VALE EA STMAA'.
"Indeed! What is that?"
" I will tell you when I come to call."
" Well, I will give orders that you be admitted," she
said. " I suppose there will be a— a great commotion,"
she added.
"No doubt. You have my sympathy."
" You are a brave man."
The lady looked up in the young minister's face with
evident admiration.
" Thanks," said he with a quiet smile. " You ought to
be a judge of the article. It is not so common a quality,
either. I was just thinking myself an arrant coward."
" You will need all the courage you have, I should say,"
she continued, not noticing his allusion to herself
"No doubt."
" I wish I could help you." The words were heartily
spoken, as one might address a brother.
''N'iniporte;' with a shrug. " You will have need for a
good deal of the same thing yourself, I think."
" Oh, a woman is always braver than a man— in such
ways, I mean. Besides, I have Clara, and am willing to
suffer anything for her s^ke. You are right and deserve
to succeed, but you will have a hard fight. God help
you!"
" Heaven help us both," he said reverently.
They had moved gradually toward the door. He held
it open, bowed low, and the woman and child passed out.
As they did so the bell rang and there was a loud knock-
ing at the outer door of the study. He hastened to open
it. ^
" If you please, sir," said a pale youth who stood on
the threshold, "there's a man dying over there in the
square who wants "
T/IE COXSECRATF.U Cl.r.
97
The
minister snatched up his hat and followed the mes-
senger without a woid
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CONSECRATED CUP.
A FEW moments aftc. ihe pastor left it, a little proces-
sion entered the door of the study, bearing among them
the form of Jonas Underwood. The young minister had
mipressed some of the passers-by into the service of
humanity and brought the unconscious man to the first
refuge that occurred to him.
The sufiferer's eyes were closed, the face pallid as
death, and a little stream of blood was oozing from one
corner of his mouth. He was breathing softly but weakly
and there were drops of sweat upon his brow and stains
of blood upon his face. By direction of the minister, he
was placed on a broad, low couch, and one of those who
had assisted him hurried off for a physician. Mrs Un-
derwood, despite her very natural alarm, laid her parasol
and the lunch-basket she carried carefully upon the table
before giving her attention to her husband. This done
she asked for water, and began her ministrations with that
instinctive deftness and entire self-forgetfulness which
characterize a woman accustomed to trying scenes There
was no haste, no trepidation, no shrinking from the pros-
pect of imminent dissolution, as she knelt beside the
couch and bathed her husband's face. After a time a
little flush came into the pallid cheek; then the eyes
opened. For a moment the man seemed dazed at the
unfamiliar surroundings. Then catching his wif-'« eye
w>-
98
ATURVAfF. r:.t.ST.]r.t.V.
he smiled, struggled with the obstruction in his throat,
and said in a reassuring whimper:
"I've— got— it— up!"
He raised his right hand, in which a blood-stained hand-
kerchief was tightly clenched, and gazed meaningly toward
"I understand, Jonas," said his wife calmly "You
mean^ that you have gotten rid of what has hurt you so
long. ^
His face lighted up with a smile, but when he attempted
to speak the red, frothy blood bubbled through his lips
and he swooned again. But the heavy-knuckled right hand
still clutched the handkerchief. The minister brought
towels and fresh water from his private apartment and
ottered what assistance he could.
" If we only had some restorative," sighed the wife when
the man was once more breathing regularly but feebly
Murvale Eastman put down the bowl he was holding
took a key from his pocket, opened the door of an adjoin-
ing room, and soon returned carrying a heavy gold-lined
silver goblet half-full of dark, rich wine, the fragrance of
which filled the room. The woman raised her eyes in-
quinngly to him as he handed it to her.
"Yes," he answered solemnly, "the blood shed for the
healing of the nations."
He lifted the man's head very gently as he spoke, while
the wife held the goblet ^o his lips. Then the pastor
folded his elegant fall overcoat so that its silken lining
was uppermost, and placed it under the head, as if appre-
hensive that the cylindrical leathern pillow of the couch
might not be comfortable. After a moment they gave
more of the wine, moving him very gently. He breathed
more easily, but his eyes remained closed. The wife put
THE COA^SECRATED CUP.
99
the goblet on the floor and began chafing his hands. She
tried to remove the handkerchief, but the muscles grew
more tense when she did so and there was an impatient
gesture which warned her to desist.
In a short time the physician came, a quiet, alert man,
who greeted the pastor in that gentle undertone which is
habitual with the profession, and removing his hat and
gloves turned his attention at once to his patient ; felt his
forehead, touched his wrist, noted the blood-stained towels,
glanced approvingly at the goblet of wine, listened to the
story of the seizure and hemorrhage in the park, and said
to the minister in a tone of earnest commendation:
" Your promptness gave him a chance for life. He is
fortunate in having been stricken in sight of your win-
dows."
A flush came to the young pastor's face as he replied:
" I did only my duty."
" But you did it," said the physician warmly. " That is
the point, did it promptly and without regard to possible
objection or questioning as to others' scruples. More of
your sort would incline us who are mere materialists to
respect Christianity if we cannot believe its doctrines. I
would not touch that goblet now for anything, lest it
should hurt your feelings, but I think you sanctified it
when you placed it to this man's lips beyond what any
form of word-consecration could do. He might possibly
have lived without it, but it was exactly the gentle stimu-
lant he needed to prevent him from sinking after the
hemorrhage, and has greatly improved his chances. It
is a pity he should have to be removed immediately."
" Why should he be? " asked the minister.
The physician cast his eyes about the room significantly
and shrugged his shoulders. He had been holding his
m
roo
■•^rUKVALE EASTMA.Y.
patient's hand and watrhinrr k;.
he spoke. ^ ^'^ countenance narrowly as
-re need bl slI'C Z ^e::^ ^ ^ ^^ T "^^^^"^
" Hp i"c fi,^ , question of removal.
streets a few week, Lo " ". i ?"' ^"'^ ^"^""^
.he wo^an could el' " ^ waVS° ""''T'" "^'^'^
«.-ee,s and very badly jfurt." '^^''' *'""" *^
his'bloT' "" *' '"'^''"^" '^"" ^ P'-'^d 'rown upon
Mrs. Underwood looked ud af fh« c i •
He ..ned „. face away as Z l^bVC .t'" ="-'-
'o.ef"Va';d\;?;ocr.'""^^'''™-''-^-"'be.
swerldlhfwif: '°sL'i"d' "" 7'" ""'"= ^° '>""••»-
Physician can,e\nd waf o^l rs.-: """^ -^"^ '^'^
a great arm-chair the mLTte h^5 V? "'' "'^«" "'
couch for her holding,!,? u . ''•='"' ''"''''« 'h^
band. She to d :? 'ttTn f "*" """'' °' "" "-
■in response to the doc.'o^.s IstionT T '"'' """ """'^
---"ness and his curr r:;l-Xr • ;
.o:e";::r,t:«nTa:;yr:;r,t.^r'''« ^" ^
•she repeated. ^ ^^''^^ ^" ^^e statement
.he'X:^t;:: ttiieS i;:tr , *r '-^ »
fall toward the meHi.=l f '' ''""''>' and let it
the handkercWef" iHo"' '"^"^ "'^^'"^ ^''-'
"What?" asked the physician, quick to interpret the
77/A COXS/-:CA\t TED CUP.
loi
' You think it is
looks rnd acts of those under his care,
there?"
The man's face hghted up; and nodding his head
slightly but affirmatively, he said in a harsh whisper:
" Know 't is."
"Keep still! Don't stir! Don't try to speak!" said
the physician with quiet imperiousness.
It was too late. The exertion brought on a paroxysm
of coughing, and the red tide was soon pouring again over
the man's lips. When its violence had been checked and
another sip of the wine administered, the physician said
after a moment's thought:
" Well, now, let us see about this ' thing ' of yours."
He took the handkerchief, which was surrendered wil-
lingly, and with a significant look toward the minister,
retired with him to the lavatory.
"See here, dominie," he said as soon as they were
alone together, " you have some peculiar interest in this
case?"
" Well— perhaps— " hesitatingly, "—yes, I suppose I
have."
" That is enough. I don't want to know what it is, and
haven't time to hear if I did. If he could remain where
he is a day or two he might get well ; perhaps about as he
was before. If he is removed now he will die before he
gets to the hospital."
" He mus! not be removed, then," said the minister em-
phatically.
"But your services? "
" Nothing but the organ can be heard here, and that
can be dispensed with if necessary."
" If not too loud it might soothe and quiet him. I will
ask his wife about that. I suppose I shall have to lie to
him."
ilifi
loa
MVHVALE EASTMAN.
"Why so?"
sm.le We doctors have to minister to minds diseased
« Tl administer truth or falsehood iust as
we find the patient's condition to require "
" rh,s man seems hke one who could bear the truth "
said the other pleasantly. '
"Bear it! He could fo,r anything. He is one nf tl,„=.
men who would bear the rai witliou. flinXg i° e
question IS no. what he can bear, but on what "Lid e
thrive most heartily. Now, his idea that there wis a for
eign substance in the lung is no doubt a del,I^„ Z
one whtch ,t might be fatal to dispel. He ha nrntbl
not long to live, though it i, possiL, if h m X 1
be prevented, that he may last several months-possiblv
a year or two, but if he should be convinced that the e
was nothing in this notion of his, he would probab'y g ve
to'p hr.""' ^"" *^ "'" "' "»'•' ^'— " -aX;'
"I see," said the minister musingly
"I thought I would tell you," continued the physician
apologetically. "Of course I shall have to looktr ,Ws
foreign substance, which he thinks is in the handkerch e
here, and equally of Course I am going to find Ta!
your countenance might betray you' I hope you J „ nt
emain where he can see you while I am telling him abou
t. He watches your face like a dog, anyhow. ' Wha
have you been doing to him?"
thJ^ ^^''T't'" ■""' P"*'=<' "P his sleeves and placed
the handkerchief in the basin while he snok, IS
without waiting for an answer he turt^U rheVo t^::
Though he did not at all believe in his patient's idel, Ihe
THE COXSECRATRD CUP.
T03
habit of doing things well jnade him watchful and thor-
ough. He separated the adhering parts of the coarse
linen with the utmost care. All at once he started; held
something up to the light; whipped a small lens out of
his pocket; opened it with a touch of his forefinger and
examined his discovery with interest.
" I guess, dominie," he said with his eyes still glued to
the object he was holding toward the light, " I guess you
won't have to hide while I am making my report. If the
man isn't right about the thing that troubled him, I am
greatly mistaken. Just look at that, will you? "
He handed the other the glass and extended toward
him the hand holding the object of his scrutiny.
" ^Vhat do you think that is? "
" It looks like a piece of bone," answered the minister
thoughtfully.
"And is a piece of lead, a long, narrow piece, not heavy
enough to make its way downward through the lung, and
too jagged to become encysted in matter so unstable,
which his fall over the bench in the park probably loos-
ened so that the paroxysm threw it up."
He held the substance to the light again, scanning it
keenly through the glass, the minister peering curiously
over his shoulder.
"You see it is lead plainly enough," he said, gashing it
with his thamb-nail, showing the bright metallic cleavage.
"It's a c" iously-shaped piece, but there is no knowing
what forms lead will not assume when it is thrown with
force enough against the human body. That, now, is a
segment from the base of a conical bullet, a sort of a sub-
contrary section too, I should say, though I have nearly
forgotten my mathematics. The man has certainly got
the better of the examiners this time. But it is so com-
I ©4
AfCI^VALF. I-ASTMA.W
he added quizzingly as he held , I ■ f ™"'='8= <" "s."
open fa,.:. a„>f ^oked st^htl^'.^'aT t ™'^' '"'
"You gentlemen are never wranZ-c, ^ ll r'""'
and if you were, you wouldn'e dare ow„ i' ' fn" T"'";
hard^. know whether ,o envy or pity yl ''■ ' ''^'='"^' '
Pernaps „ deserve both," said the divine ^ravelv
y=l I am almost certifn t ,i , , "'^^ ^' ) <»"1°. and
M certam I should p.ty mvself if r j- 1
Now, you would probably .,» ,^,^, h;L I ■ '
..ai/ To me it is only th'e resul":, t^Z^'"'"'^-
wentt^Lren'irortrentr.tTir? '--=
"Perhaps," answered the physicUn bt . t""" s
here, domm.e," he continued after a moment "'wonV
just take this elass anH t«ii „ ,. ''•'""nienr, won t you
»ide of that bif oTlead?'^ "*'' ''°'' ^" ™ "« """"
" It looks like a letter C " r^i^Uo^ *u
moment's scrutiny. ' ^ '^ ''^^ °^^^^' ^^^^^ ^
"And to the right of that?"
h..ei:^sti:iC:v;rd'e;*:'''!.'?^r -"^ '"-"■^-
sustains the tru'h of thrr '. ^ """""* "■'"'ch
. amendmen he cordwrh\''T '"" '"" '""P^' «'=
him down so ,Jg^';"°"' "■■"<=" has depressed and dragged
"You think he will recover? "
" Oh, I don't know about that but if h^ v
W.11 be the happiest hour of his',,' Dom tafe ""ht°s"- '
turntng and lading his hand impressiver™ *e otheS
Tin-: COXSEfR.lTKn ccp.
shoulder, "if you ^v^x should h^ inclined to donh^ ^
vou now believe fliini- «f .1 • , "^" ^° ^^oubt what
even, which ,;;,°'' '"r" "' ''"'"' i-ig-ficant
in-oxvsm r • ''"■^' y^"'^*^'' >'°" ^vitnessed h-'s
to me. hough we d,d not see this substance eiertcd
alone .,a<, wi,„e.ed i, „„ one Z:^. hiV' e,™ "-^ ""^
Why not?" asked the other
seem almost incrf>dihi,» v^ '"dives it
thing abouttl. , ' ^'' '''° >'°""^ *° know anv-
tning about the war in which this man served ? "
j he minister nodded assent.
"I was in it— all through it, I mav s;,v v^ i ,
Drised T an. ni . & w i may say. ^ ou look sur-
lunate. j\ot only was I voiin.r K.,< t 1
,.i..i, ...,,.;„. ..,„::■:£' , ■;: z.:^tz
fear f„. .he .„.„„ . „.„ as rorfhLt. f Thllr ll
»a.ea„,„ano..ot.^hrh;---Crh':
zo6
MURIAI.E /-ASTMAX.
lung for a quarter of a century. You wonder how I know
he has done so? It tells its own story. You never kncJ
about the bullets we used then. I was nu.ch interested
n them. In fact, I think I may trace my professional
bias o my army life. I made ,uite a collection of these
deadly n..ss,les, which I picked up on a score of battle-
helds. Some of them have curious histories. They were
blunt lead cones with hollow bases, and these hollow bases
used to do remarkable things. I have one now that struck
the i-ed corps-badge on the cap of a soldier, passed through
his head, and through the shouldei of the man behind
him, lodgmg m his knapsack. Yet it still holds, pinched
m between those basal edges, a bit of the red worsted of
the corps-badge on the forehead of its first victim
" Th>s piece of lead tells even a more won.:crful story
Those letters which you can still distinguish are the
trade-mark of a buried nation. At the upper part of that
hollow cone were always stamped in the enemy's ammu-
nition the letters C. S., surrounded by a little raised ring
You can distinguish the C, a part of the S, and a segment
of the ring which inclosed them. That is his justifica-
tion; and if there is no more where this came from, and
no pieces of bone in the lung, and if the disease has not
yet got too firm a hold, he may recover."
"God grant it I " said the minister with simple fervor
CHAPTER IX.
AN expert's opinion.
Jonas Underwood showed neither exultation nor sur-
prise when informed of the discovery the physician had
made. He had already been warned of the danger to be
AJV EXPEA'T'S OPlXIOiW
107
ai)prehen(lecl from excitement or exertion, and only his
eyes expressed the gratification which he felt. The few
moments which had elapsed since he had choked while
eating his hmcheon in the square had made a great
change in tiie strong-willed, masterful man. Now that
he had seen with his own eyes the fuliilniont of his oft-
repeated assertion in regard to the cause of his ailment,
he did not seem to be as confident of recovery as he had
been before. It, is curious how quickly the loss of a little
blood in this manner demoralizes the strongest nature.
The hemorrhage may hardly amount to an ounce, but the
victim feels at once that the fountain of life has been
tapped, and from that instant confidence and self-asser-
tion vanish. This transformation had taken place in
Jonas Underwood. He knew the danger of hemorrhage
and gave all his thought to avoiding it. Even the knowl-
edge of his redeemed honor as a soldier was not enough
to divert his attention from this purpose.
To the physician this state of mind seemed very hope-
ful. He interpreted it as meaning that all the force of a
strong nature would be exerted to avoid a recurrence of
dangerous symptoms. The wife, however, regarded it as
the apathy which so often precedes dissolution. When it
was proposed that the patient should remain in the study
until better able to be removed, it was gladly assented to
by both. The wife had feared that she might be separated
from her husband by his removal to a hospital, a thing
hardly leas painful to her than the prospect of his death.
The only question raised by either was as to the incon-
venience of the congregation. Murvale Eastman at once
put an end to all scruples of that sort by declaring that
the evening services would be dispensed with if necessary
rather than interfere with the comfort of the invalid. The
loS
^^/CA-r.i/./i /:.isTVAX
^'.fe was confident that the music of the organ would he
benehnal rather than harmful, and the sick man himself
declared ,n a vvh.sper that he would especially like to hear
he sermon. It was decided, therefore, that for a time ■„
least, Jonas Underwood should become the f.astor's mK '
and arrangements were soon completed which transforn.ed
tiie study into a temporary hospital.
"How did you come to venture so far from home?"
asked the physician when this was decided, as he entered
the place of residence with the ordinary b/ief history of
the case in his note-book.
There was a half-smile on the patient's visage, made
alHhe more grim by unusual pallor as the wife replied-
He claimed tl.at he had .some business here in the
square, something about a street that is to run across it "
Rockndge Avenue?" suggested the physician.
"That is it."
"What interest had he in that?"
" Oh, he hadn't any-just wanted to try himself and see
how much he could stand. He meant to take his «run'
again to-morrow if he found he was able."
The patient shook his head smilingly.
"He says that is not so, Mrs. Un<'erwood," said the
physician, catching the silent remonstrance
"Ah, that was all a pretence!" .,.nswer.ci the woman
with good-humored confidence. " He found an advertise-
ment for a lot of people to come into court and say whv
a street should not go through the square, and he sai.i
one of them was his grandmother and pretended that h-
ougMt to come and represent her."
'So?" s.id the physician. "Who was his grand-
li other? f ihought you were AVestern people."
" So we are," said the woman with some warmth. " But
W \' A.\77;A'/".S 0/'/.\/0.\.
109
Jonas' folks used to live here, and one of them — his
;:;ian(lf:ither or great-grandfather — is said to have made
;ht this might
d he til
tlie city a present of a i)ark ; and ne
be the one. Of course it was only a notion."
"Indeed! and what was the ancestors name? Asa
pliysician and a scion of one of the old families. I tliought
I knew them all, I do not remember your name among
them."
"It wa; through his mother; she was a Lott, and her
mother was a Valentine."
"A Valentine! Not a relative of old Ximene: Valen-
tine?"
"That's the name. Jonas is the only one of the family
left."
"Daniel Ximenes "began the invalid in a loarse
whisper.
"Sh!" said the doctor wurningly. "You must not
speak a word that is not absolutely necessary ; and do
not need any one to tell me the name of one who lid
the country so much honor, and to whom my own fan ily
o'.ved a special grudge. My mother was a Blalock, an ' I
am very glad to be able to pay off a debt of malice n w
some generations old; but such obligations are never o. :-
lawed. I have you in my power, sir," shaking his finger
at the sick man, " and mean to avenge the wrongs of my
ancestors on the child of their old enemy. Don't it make
you feel at home to meet one who has a spite against
you? You're right in your guess about the square; that
is the very park Ximenes Valentine gave to the city, and
most shamefully has his generosity been requited. • I will
admit that, even if my own kin 7oere at the bottom of a
good deal of it. By the way, I wonder — dominie, do you
know if Metziger is in the city?"
i
V
I
!l 1
IIO
MUKVALE IlAHTMAN.
"Yes, he was at church to-day and came in here to
shake hands with me after the services "
" He ,Iid ! Well, you must have done or said somethin.
very unusual for a minister lately, if he did that Thone
you ve not been getting into any troublei' m risk vT
ocTa ly" ""^ '^ r ^°" "^''" -'" '^= ^^^
jocularly. But I must go now, for I must see Metzieer
at once. It's allowable to do good on the Sabbat !"
isn t It, dommte? That's the only time I get to induli
such .ncl,nat,ons Do not be troubled, madam, ju.tep
your husband qu,et. I will send everything yoi till need
and a nurse to relieve you."
"But the expense, doctor? " asked the womau doubt
My, nnndful of her husband's sensitiveness upon tha."
.er'in a brrtr""' """ " "'" ''°'- ■"'>--" -" ™'--
lidf buf he """!'' '''',""'" ^""^ '"" ^""^ •'"-'«" the
Ms, but he made no objection. The wife tried ro phrase
her thanks, but with poor success. The physidan hur
nedly took his leave, and the pastor stepped out X h m
into the quamt vestibule.
"See here, dominie," said the physician, putting a hand
on the other's shoulder, "my wife was us. te LV me
when your message came, of the hornet's nest youslirred
.p h,s mormng As near as I could get hold of ," you re
on the nght track. I don't know how the matter ifever
gomg to be straightened out, but one thing is sure-mat
t::'lrV T '^ --^-■'ydoefn-tstar: to set
them nght. Im not much on religion, you know thaf
but I m strong on humanity. The profession alway h";
been smce Galen's lime. And nobody sees the evLo
our c,v,h.at,on or recognizes them more fully than we do
.■LV /•;.\7'AA'7".V O/'/X/OX.
1 1 1
But we are cautious— conservative, we call ourselves. It's
a foolish term, for, given a clear diagnosis, and we are the
most daring experimenters in the world. Now, I've only
one thing to say to you: don't try to get ahead too fast.
That's the trouble with these fellows who seek to cure the
ills of humanity with a nostrum. They forget that a per-
fect knowledge of disease, at least the most perfect possi-
ble, must precede any use of remedial measures. And
very often the knowledge of the cause is all that is neces-
sary to make a cure not only possible, but the easiest thing
in the world. For instance, I can't help that man in
there much beyond telling him what it is necessary for him
to abstain from doing. That lacerated lung must have
time to heal, and must be relieved of all possible strain in
order that it may heal. When I have convinced him of
that I have done the main part of the physician's duty.
It is so, in a great measure, I take it, with collective social
evils. The first thing to be done is to study the cause of
disease. Poverty and crime and drunkenness are only
the external indices of moral evil. They indicate bad
blood, lack of nutrition, disordered functions in the body
politic, just as scurvy and typhus show malign hygienic
conditions. The least of the physician's business is to
cure: his greater function is to show how disease may be
warded off by observing healthful conditions.
" I think the same thing is true of the church, only per-
haps more so. It may bring salvation to the dying, fes-
tering, diseased soul even at the fifty-ninth minute of the
eleventh hour of hfe; but every time it does so it con-
demns itself. The church by its slothfulness, its unwis-
dom, its refusal to promote the right and disapprove the
wrong, has let that soul slip down to the edge of hell, and
publishes its own shame and condemnation when it holds
113
J/ i-/f V,l L E EA S 7 MA .\ '.
the Saviour up before the sin- bleared eyes and says, 'Be-
lieve and ye shall be saved ! ' You are on the right track
domnue, in my opinion, but don't go to concocting rem '
edies until you are sure-reasonably sure-that they will
at least not do more harm than good. I don't know as
I can be of much assistance, but I can assure you, you
may look to the medical profession for countenance and
approval ; and as for me, if you see any place for me io
help the matter on, all you have to do is to ring me up or,
the telephone, and— say so."
He wrung the hand of the pastor, who had no voice for
thanks, and started down the steps.
" By the way." he said, turning back when half-way to
the sidewalk, " I may be mistaken, but I shouldn't wonder
jf you had gone into the angel business- unawares, you
know-in that man in there. There is fine blood in that
old Valentine stock, wonderful fine, and fate has a curious
way of avengmg the wrongs of the just. Nobodv sees
that oftener than a physician. If it .hould happen, now
— but I must see Metziger. Good day."
CHAPTER X.
A chrvsalid's retrospect.
When Murvale Eastman reached his lodging and sat
dovyn to his luncheon, he could hardly realize that scarce
an hour had passed since he pronounced the benediction
over the bowed heads of his congregation. Not so much
had happened in the mean while, but somehow he felt as
If he had lived a long time in that brief interval This is
A CJ/A'VSAJJD'S RKTROSPECr.
113
often the case. The soul does not measure time by sec-
onds, nor yet by heart-beats, but by modifications in its
own quality and character. The watches of the world
may slop ; the planets may cease to measure the flight of
time; the body may retain its pristine vigor — but in an
hour, a moment almost, the heart may grow old, the man
be transformed.
It is this fact that the mere scientist is sure to neglect
in his estimate of humanity. He says of a man, of a
people, or a race, given food, climate, and physical condi-
tions of a specific character, and certain results will follow.
Presently the conditions are all fulfilled and the results do
«(?/ follow. Why? Simply because the mightiest part of
the human being was left out of account in the scientist's
estimate. So, too, that pessimistic philosophy which calls
itself "realism " in art and literature, always is, and always
will be, at fault when it tries to solve the riddle of human-
ity. It says human nature, human cliaracter, is a result
of the operation of natural laws. So it is ; but those laws
are not all physical, nor purely mental. The soul must
be taken into account if one would comprehend humanity
or truly portray character. Impulse, affections, sentiments,
convictions, emotions — these are more potent than all
other forces in shaping the man and, if general in their
application, the multitude. Every man's knowledge, al-
most every man's experience, is full of transformation
scenes. It is a literal fact that "love works miracles;"
so do hate and fear and the continuing power of cumula-
tive ill. There is in truth no miracle about it. It is in
these soul-forces, even more than in physical laws and
conditions, that the secret of progress and the highest
truth of human life lie hid. In a man or a people, the
crises of sentiment or conviction are more important than
III
114
MURVALE EASTMAX.
physica conditions in determining character or prescrib-
ing the hnes of truthful delineation in literature or art
A ive dog is better than a dead lion." is an artistic
as well as spn-,tual truth. The artist who forgets the soul
may carve with unerring skill the "dead lion," but he who
with many faults of line and curve portrays the " live doe "
wil ever rank as the greater artist, when the whimsicll
aictate of fashion is forgotten.
Murvale Eastman was conscious that some such change
had been taking place in himself. The man who had first
en ered the pulpit of the Golden Lilies, only two years
before, seemed to him strangely unfamiliar, almost a life-
time away in thought, sentiment, character. He was emi-
nently a healthy man, however, in body, brain, and soul.
There was no more morbidness in his thought than flaccid-
ness m his muscles. So he ate his luncheon with hearty
rehsh wondering if he really was the self-same man who
had hesitated to do so commonplace a thing as to speak
his own thought, only a few hours before. Was it hours
or ages? And was he the Murvale Eastman of that re-
mote past, or was that only a vision, a remembrance, an
impression from some other state of existence?
The bells of the Golden Lilies did not ring for evening
service that mght, but the crowds that pressed through its
artistic portal found the pastor already in the pulpit! and
the organ sending out a low, quavering strain of dreamy
restfulness. When the time for opening had come, thi
crowd was still pouring in through the open doors the
pews were crowded and people sat on chairs in the ai;ies,
until the great auditorium could hold no more. Some
even stood around the walls, and there were little groups
about the doors that led into the vestibule. They were
an eager and excited throng, for the story of the morning
A CIIRVSAI.ID'S RETROSPECT.
i'5
sermon had gone abroad through the city and created a
sensation. Many had come merely from curiosity, some
in hope, and some to see a man who was foohsh enough
to take the course the pastor of the Church of the Golden
Lilies was reported to have adopted. Much to his own
surprise Murvale Eastman felt neither pride nor trepida-
tion. If many came, it but enhanced his responsibility ;
and whether many or few he felt no longer any question
in regard to his duty. The one soul that would listen
almost breathless in the darkened study to his words oc-
cupied quite as much of his thought as the sea of faces
the electric Hghts lit up.
When the organ strain had ceased and the opening
prayer had been made, he told the congregation that the
services would be brief because of the accidental presence,
in an apartment of the church, Cx one whom it was not
deemed wise to remove at that time, and whose safety
might be endangered by excitement. The door into the
study was ajar, and somehow every one in the vast audi-
ence seemed suddenly to be aware that a critical scene
in the tragedy of Hfe was being enacted in the darkened
room beyond.
A hymn was softly sung by the choir, and in the won-
dering hush that followed, the m.inister announced his
text in the simple, unpretentious manner which had marked
his morning discourse.
" ' The Sabbath was made for man'
" Not merely," said the speaker, " for his individual re-
freshment, not merely for physical cr spiritual recreation,
but for the welfare and advantage of mankind. To that
it was particularly consecrated, and to that it should be
especially devoted."
N
Vl-*''*i
ri6
-^/^■^'/W/.A J^ASTMAX,
CHAPTER XI.
A NEW DOCTRINE,
•ha. aler. -pec.ancy which geedW,T'"' '"" "'
from the contented, matter ff '"''''• ''° <"""'=>"
-"ally been accorded, 1^"^^ '"""°" ""-^^ ''^^
k emphatically the re%i^,f " '^^ """"""=• "Christianity
are its themes Jusri eTr ^ "r""^'' ^arth and tna„
-ealc-thesewere Teslon Ch ?'""" ""^^ '"' *=
not concerned mth forms-anH '" '"<^"l<=ated. He was
-church, he orga„rno "[rT'"- "^ "'^Wished
of worship. . Thf Twelve and Th' T""'"'" "" '°™
they? They named themUe' ^!'^ S^™')-.' -"at were
ward, but the Master- ha I G " ,"\"T' ""'' ^""-
■nclination for such trifle 't„,' ''! '""' ""' '™<= "or
bands of disciples to whom ,' i"T *'=>' """mply two
sons of human bettermen Pe '^'^ '''^ «'"' '<=»■
"•' p::c:"^^r r-^ ■■"«---'o?hi:~: '"^"^
h=;vSher::r" "°"^^-^ =''^" --. -; Peace
.10 ™;f ;:::r ye Jv^rrs ;™"" "'^' -- ^--'^
.0 .hosTt'h^t d«:,- :;xrf;;:. - *^-''' ■ ^o go„d
vvora,,. Of creed and prayer
-^ .\'/:ir nocTRiXE.
"7
there is hardly enough to enable us to guess the desirabil-
ity of profession and liturgical form.
" The /^/-//W part of Christianity is of man. However
anoent, however worthy of regard the organization of the
Uuu-ch may be, it must be admitted that the .nac/nncrv
of Christianity is of human devising, or was comnnmicated
through human agencies. It is intended to promote
Christiamzation, the conversion of sinners, the profession
and encouragement of Christians. The Master's purpose
that to which /«> thought, self-sacrifice, and devotion were
given, was the beUerment of human conditions.
"'Come unto me all ye weary '-'smitten with toil' is
the radical significance of the Greek word he uses— 'and
I mil give you rest.' ' My yoke is easy and my burden is
light, is his message to those same toilers. What does
the Master mean by these words addressed to his disci-
P es? Evidently that the adoption of his principles, his
philosophy of human relations in government and society,
would make the condition of the toilers, of the masses
more tolerable. His disciples fully understood this to be
the prime purpose and idea of the Master's life. But how
It was to be carried into effect they did not know It
was the central mystery of that revelation which has been
unfolding hke a flower from the hour he taught on Olivet
until the present. His disciples comprehended its pur-
port, but not its operation. They could not. The human
mind does not ripen in an instant. The Master's words
required the light of ages to be cast upon them before
the world could grasp their significance. He did not em-
barrass human weakness by prescribing methods He
did not say /unv this yoke was to be made which should
make the world's great burden light. That he left to
them, to us, to find out.
ii8
MURVAI.E KASTMAX.
" The disciples showed their appreciation of this mes-
sage by estahUshing a communistic association immedi-
ately after liis crucifixion. Probably his personal followers
had practiced community of goods during his life. How
long it continued we do not know. I'he believers of
Macedonia and Achaia proposed, Paul tells us, to make
' a comnnmity of goods with the poor saints at Jerusalem '
We have translated it 'a contribution,' which originally
meant the same thing, A> 7oit, an equal share of a common
burden, but has now come to mean a mere voluntary dole
"In a more or less perfect form the communistic idea
probably attached to the Church in Rome in its early days
There is httle doubt that the Christians of the Catacombs
were communists-not, I judge, compulsorily, but volun-
tarily. This early Christian socialism, indeed, seems al-
ways to have been voluntary. Freedom of thou-ht and
action was the first great lesson the disciples learned, and
they learned it well. 'They that believed,' we are told
'were of one heart.' ' i^Jeither said any of them aught of
the things which he possessed was his own !' ' They had all
things in common.' ' Neither was there any among them
that lacked.' ^
" This is the picture of Christian communism after the
Pentecostal outpouring of the Holy Spirit. How like an
echo it seems of that earlier Scripture, 'The earth is the
Lord's and the fullness thereof! ' Even then, however, it
seems to have been purely voluntary. Those who chose
entered into this community for mutual aid and support •
those who did not, retained their individual possessions.'
The sin of Ananias and Sapphira was not in retaining the
value of their lands. ' While it remained,' said the sturdy
fisher-disciple, 'was it not thine own ? And when thou
hadst sold it, was it not in thine own power ? ' They
A .\v-,/r nocvA'/A'/-:.
119
desfrcd to share the benefits of the community of goods,
without performing the one condit.on that entuled them
to support out of the common fund, /. 7.//, the surrender
of what they possessed. Their act was fraudulent; that
was their crime.
"This experiment,under tlie direct control of the Apos-
,les, was a failure. We do not know how long it lasted
nor why it failed; but we have certainly a right to mar
that if community of goods and obliteration of individual
possession, attempted under the direction of the immedi.
ate disciples of the Christ, proved a failure with the early
devotees of the new rdigion, it at least was not the means
bv which -le Master expected his benign purposes to-
ward men to be carried into effect. Christiamty, even
n.ore notably than Judaism, is a ^^^^^ f^^^^'"^^
There are but two essences in it, ManandGod-the Indi-
vidual and the Creator, the Finite and the Infinite. There
is no machinery, no substituted representative of the
Divine Will. The Master says nothing about obedience
to the Church, and gives no man or set of men the power
to command another's obedience or re leve another oul
of doubt or responsibihty. Christ's words were uttered to
all men, and must be obeyed by each for himself, accord-
ing to his own conviction.
"Community of goods implies not merely a lessening
of individual burdens, but a restriction of the domam of
individual duty. The tendency of Christianity is m ex-
actly the opposite direction, toward the expansion of
U I'vidualism'Ld the extension of individual responsibd-
itv All healthful progress in the Church and m the
civilization that Christianity has colored, has been m tha
direction. This was only a first experiment by which
Christian believers sought to find out a way to carry into
J .
U'
f, Vi
■i^
120
ML-RVAU: JlAS'JWfAX.
effect Christ's teachings as to human conditions Thev
sought for a way by which man might cast the greater
part of Ins ,ncHvi(h,aI duty upon his fellou's collectively
ri.cy failed because, tiiough they heard his word, t!,ev did
not con.prehend its import. They were in error, just as
m the common belief of that time that Christ uould come
again while one of the Apostles was still alive. Since that
tl^ere have been many experiments in the same direction!
They have all failed, as such experiments will always fail
because the crown and glory of humanity is individualism'
and Christ s religion is always an appeal to the better
elements of humanity.
"After that, for ages we find the Church insisting on
a ms_« charity,' we cal! it when we trv to stretch the
blanket of our good works so as to make it cover the
Divme requirement-provision for the aged and poor, as
the sole measure and limit of Christian duty as regards
the physical conditions of others. This is, in the main
the present position of the Church: each man has a right'
to hold whatever earthly possessions he may lawfully ac-
quire; he has a right, within certain limits, to bequeath his
accumulations to whomsoever he may elect. The dutv of
society is to give every man a fair education; to care' for
the infirm and enfeebled; to punish and restrain crimi-
nals. As to preventing impoverishment-making the
yoke easy and the burden light to those stricken with toil
the doers, the burden-bearers of society, we acknowledge
no duty of betterment, of sympathy, of regard or encour-
agement in this direction. The rich man is more wel-
come in the Church than the poor man, and the rich Chris-
tian finds himself under no obligation to see that his
schemes to obtain wealth do not result in the impoverish-
ment of others.
.•/ .\7:ir />(>(■ /'A'/ /v/-:.
121
"Actention has sometimes been given to the idea of
equalizing conditions. Methods have been proposed to
keep the poor from growing poorer, and to make it easier
for some of them, at least, to grow richer. 'i"he purpose
is no doubt akin to the fundamental idea of the Founder
of Christianity, th;it it is the duty of the strong tu assist
the weak— //^/ to devour them. It has assumed various
forms in the development of civilization, sometimes
through governmental action, sometimes through volun-
tary association. Both are merely approximations to the
Christian ideal, that the duty of the strong is to help the
weak. ' Jiear ye one anotiier's burdens ' did not mean
l)rayers and symi)atliy and tears alone : not merely offering
food and shelter to tiiose whose burdens have already
crushed them. It meant, anel it means to-day, that the
strong should devo!:e a part of his strength to enabling his
weaker brot her to carry his burden more easily, more suc-
cessfully, more profitably, if you will. If Christianization
were the only aim of Christianity; if it stood on a level
with Mahometanism, andhad for its sole function the con-
version of mankind to its tenets, it would still be the most
])rofound wisdom that should adopt this princijile as a rule
of action, since it is the surest method of securing the
acceptance of the religious system it represents, by the
masses of mankind.
"Society punishes crime and feeds the man in absolute
need of bread. Government goes farther sometimes, and
conditions the power of the strong so that it shall not op-
press or discourage the weak. It not only relieves want,
but seeks to prevent dependency and depression. Bank-
ruptcy laws, homestead exemptions, laws against usury,
the limitations of corporate privilege, the regulation of
traffic— these and many other laws are intended solely to
.f[
■Ai
laa
.yfRlAI E EASIMAX,
prevent the rich from using the power of accuniulatcd
wealth to make the poor poorer, more dependent, and
consequently less peaceful and contented citizens. This
is not done for the benefit of the weak alone, but for the
common welfare and advantage.
" I'hc social function of Christianity is not merely to
relieve want or exercise 'charity,' but to incibie the hearts
of men tn their individual, corporate, and political relations
to refrain from doixg evil, and induce them to assist rather
than oppress the 7aeah. It is well to organize ' charity ' to
relieve destitution, but it is a thousand I times better to
practice that charity-' kindliness ' is the true rendering
-'Love thy neighbor as thy.self— which tends to prevent
destitution. Thus far the Church has neglected to a
great degree the consideration of this phase of human
duty. We have reversed the Master's lesson, and given
more prominence to the divine than to the human element
of Christianity. Chiistianization has been its chief aim-
the betterment of human conditions only an incident!
Yet the Master has laid down one rule by which alone the
value of Christian belief may be measured: 'By their
fruits shall ye know them,' and the 'fruits ' of Christianity
are not merely the graces of Christian character, but the
practice of Christ's teachings in regard to Christian duty.
Religion is no le.-if of faded j^reen.
Or flower of vanished fragrance pressed between
The pages of a liible.'
" Profoundly convinced of this. T believe it is the present
duty of the Church to turn away for a time from 'the mint
and cummin' of religious theory, forget for awhile 'the
selfishness of salvation," and consider what we mav do for
human betterment, to lessen human woe, to increas: the
sum of human happiness, and advance the standard of
.4 XEW DOCTKIXli.
«23
human duty; to labor, in short, for human elevation on
earth both as an end and as the surest metliotl of effect- •
ing the eternal salvation of man.
" Thus far we have allowed the discussion of these
questions to remain chiefly in the hands of those who are
hostile to Christian belief, sometimes mere buccaneers
who fly the flag of human betterment in the hope of ad-
vantage by some great eruption. The Church has no
right to allow its enemies to outstrip it in the study of
the means by which civilization may be fully consecrated to
the improvement of human conditions. No set of ranters,
whose only idea of progress is the disruption of Society
and the destruction of all that the past has achieved with
such lavish expense of blood and tears, should be allowed
to claim credit for being more interested in the welfare of
society than is the Church, which should not set limits to
progress, but point out new lines of advance. The Church
should be the support of Society — not as it />, but as it
ought to be — the staunch, unflinching champion of all
there is of good, and the unrelenting enemy of all there
is of evil in it. It does not do its duty by singing hymns
with half-shut eyes, or dreaming dreams of heavenly bliss.
Wide-open eyes are needed — eyes that smile upon the
good in life and seek out and blast with the heat of fierce
disapproval all that is bad.
" ' The Son of Man is Lord also of the Sabbath,' said
the Master, and this Sabbath, this rest-day, this* green
oasis in the arid desert of heated life, lie expressly conse-
crates, not to religious speculation, not to formal worship
or the rhapsody of religious emotion, but to Man : ' The
Sabbath was made for man.' Not merely for the physical
or spiritual enjoyment of man, but to his advantage and
benefit. As the Lord of the Sabbath devoted his life on
il
124
MURVAr.E EASTMAN.
earth to doing good, so he demands that his followers, of
• all classes and conditions, shall make the welfare of their
fellows the first and highest object in life, after their own
wants and the comfort of those dependent upon them.
This is Christian Socialism.''''
The pastor saw a flash of gratified expectancy sweep
through the audience as he uttered these words. A couple
of reporters who had secured places at a table just at the
right of the pulpit, exchanged glances as their hands flew
over the pages of their note-books, and each in his oivn
peculiar manner marked the pastor's words as an effective
head-line in their reports. An exultant " I-told-you-so "
expression came into the eyes of some who had listened
moodily to his words, while a pained, apprehensive look
passed over faces which had been lighted up with appro-
bation and hope. Both the apprehension of his friends
and the exultation of his enemies was short-lived. The
speaker continued:
" The Church has no right to permit this term, which '
should mean the science of practical amendment of social
conditions, to be appropriated by men whose only notions
of progress are either impossible changes of human nature
or the overthrow of all existing social conditions. Chris-
tian Socialism should 'hold fast all that is good,' while
bending the energies of all believers to the attainment of
that which is better. It demands a nobler ideal of duty'
toward humanity as well as a higher standard of indi-
vidual character. For eighteen hundred years the Church
has devoted its Sabbaths mainly to the work of Christiani-
zation, the inculcation of doctrine, the assertion of theo-
logic dogma, the contemplation of divine excellence, and
the portrayal of Christian graces. Profoundly convinced
that the true interests of the Church, the cause of Chris-
SNANIiS FOK rwr.lRY FEET.
125
tianity, and the spirit of the Master's teachings demand
that we should follow his example as well as study his
precepts, your pastor has decided to devote the morning
service during the ensuing year to the consideration of
Christian Socialism, the study of the relation of the Chris-
tian behever to the conditions attaching to to-day's hfe
and affecting to-morrow's welfare. In this effort to trace
more clearly the line of Christian duty he asks the cordial
co-operation of this church and congregation, and on their
joint endeavor invokes the blessing of Almighty God."
CHAPTER XII.
SNARES FOR UNWARY FEET.
The plan of action thus simply announced brought
consternation to the minds of some who were already
considering in what manner the young minister's vagaries
might be most easily repressed. The sermon of the
morning had showed him halting and undecided as to the
course he should pursue. In that of the evening there
was no trace o^ doubt. He had made the announcement
of his purpose as if it were the most natural thing in the
world that he should declare in advance the subject
of fifty-two consecutive sermons. And what a subject —
Christian SociaHsm! The very idea brought thrills of
agonizing apprehension to many a pious soul. What did
it mean? Where would it end? In the Church of the
Golden Lilies too, of all places in the world ! And he
consulted with no one, asked nobody's advice, but went
right on as if the wishes of the congregation were noth-
1. ' ■' »i
rti [11
126
MURVALE EASIMAW
ing to him. Of course, it would attract the rabble. In-
stead of being the most aristocratic church in the city,
the Golden Lilies would now be filled with an unfashion-
able multitude of beggars and "cranks "'—people with
whom its membership might be willing to associate in
heaven, but desired to put off the pleasure of their ac-
quaintance as long as possible.
This declaration made it very difficult to take active
measures against him. It tvas evident that the multitude
would be on his side. The size of the congregation
showed that; but what sort of a congregation was it for
-the Church of the Golden Lilies? More than half of
them were people nobody knew and whom nobody who
was " in society " would speak to on the street. Thus
far Murvale Eastman had said nothing that could be used
to his detriment, though some thought he had several
tmies come very near doing so. What he would say in
that year of speculation upon such a topic it would be
impossible to foretell. Of course, they could not proceed
against a man for what he was expected to say, and it
would be useless to attempt to boycott him, for the church
was sure to be fuller than ever before, even if all of its
members absented themselves. So, too, it would be
foolish to attempt to starve him out. Tl^p laboring poor
would contribute of their poverty to make up his salary
if he should appeal to them, just to spite the rich mem-
bers of the church. They might increase its membership,
too. Of course, that might be prevented by proper ac-
tion of its members, but suppose people came with letters
from other churches? It looked as if the Church of the
Golden Lilies was in danger of being broken up and
Its members driven out of the beautiful home they had
built. Almost unwittingly, Murvale Eastman had played
S.YM/^l-S FOR iW'lVARY FEET.
127
the strongest possible card in thus taking the public into
his conhdence. In answering the challenge of the morn-
ing he had silenced his enemies before they had time to
open fire upon him.
These facts were admitted by a few of the leading men
of the congregation of the Golden Lilies, as they saun-
tered homeward after the services were over. They were
solid men, whose consciences hid behind charters which
enabled them to serve God with pure hearts on the Sab-
bath, while they also enjoyed the pleasure of handHng
the clarified wages of sin during the rest of the week.
Things it would not do for an individual Christian to up-
hold, were well enough in a soulless corporation made up
of individual Christians ; because " business is business,"
and " corporations are organized not for charity, but for
profit." They were shrewd men, these magnates of " the
street," and admitted that the young divine, whom they
had never suspected of such vagaries, had not only stolen
a march on them in his morning's discourse, but had made
the best possible use of his time in the interval between
that and the evening service. He had taken the verdict
of his people, and finding it unfavorable to his views had
instantly and confidently appealed to that larger congrega-
tion, the great body of Christian believers throughout the
world— from the Church of the Golden Lilies to the
Church of Christ. At the same time the shrewd and
soHd magnates of the church did not question their abil-
ity to neutralize his influence. They believed in the
power of money. They saw the daily miracles it performed,
and h.ad no doubt that with its aid they could overthrow
the young athlete who had dared to match his manhood
and a strained sense of duty against the dictates of pru-
dence. Some of them felt a little sorry for him^ but self-
MMMMOMi
128
MURIA/.E EASJ\][A.y
preservation is the first law of nature, and he must take
what he had brought on hin.elf. The .question was-^nci
V^^ '-' '""^^^'""-^^'-^ -- ^^> '- 'lone in tl,e
They stopped at Mr. KishuV. house. ar,-e,.tin.^ his in-
vitation to come in and talk matters o^.er for a littfe while
and sat hat n. hand, on the wide chairs of brown em'
bossed leather m his library, while they discussed the situ-
ation. I here was no argument in regard to the pastor's
theorJ^ whetlier it was right or wrong. It was not the
Bort o doc:trn.e the (iolden I.ilies w.vnted, and that was
enough. 1 hey paid the highest market price for minis-
tenal serv,ce,an<l h.d a right to say what they wanted and
have what they paid for. It wouldn't quite 'do to say so,
and of course some other reason must be found for oust-
ing hnn from the pulpit he had filled so acceptably be-
fore bec-ommg possessed of this craze. AH the same he
must go-that was the unanimous opinion. Even silence
or acknowledgment of error wouUl not save him now he
had gone too far.
They concluded finally that the best thing to be done
was to provide for a verbatim report of his sermons, ..nd
have si,ec,ally damnatory passages selected and submitted
to e.xperts with a view to catching him in some theological
net of skepticism or error. As Mr. Kishu had special
conveniences for that sort of thing, the matter was left to
l^nj to carry into effect. He rubbed his soft hands to-
gether unc-tucusly, and assured his auditors that he would
set one o h.s young men " at the matter without delay
addmg with a quiet smile, that probably the best way to
ettle the whole thing would be for something to happen
that would induce the pastor to take a long vacation-"
abroad for a year or two, for instance.
td
ATTACK IXC THE Sl/'P/.V TRAIN.
129
A succession of winks and slirugs went around tlie little
circle at this suggestion.
" Beats us all," said one of the deacons, thrusting a
thumb against the well-cushioned ribs of another. " What's
the use of an official board in the Ooidcn Lilies? Let
Brother Kishu alone to take care of its inter;,sts: "
"The very thing for a wedding-trip," said another,
ducking his head and explosively applauding his own per-
spicacity. The laugh was echoed suggestively by all the
others. It was an o[)en secret that the pastor of the
Golden Lilies was in love with Lilian Kishu.
Mr. Kishu smiled blandly at these compliments and
intimation!?, but made no reply. One of the secrets of
his success was his ability to leave unsaid what there was
no need of saying. He bowed his guests out with that
cumbrous deference for which he was noted, which took
the place both of grace and courtesy with him.
The good brethren need not have troubled themselves
to set snares for the feet of their young pastor. Events
were hastening on which would give both him and them
enough to occu]^ thei- attention, and already while they
were conspiring against I.im the representative of a great
newspaper was endeavoring to secure from Murvale East-
man the sole right of publishing the promised sermons.
CHAPTER Xni.
ATTACKING THE SUPPLY TRAIN.
The day succeeding the first Sabbath of his new yesx,
Murvale Eastman might have counted himself famous, if
the newspaper were the accredited herald of fame, for
every morning journal in the land had some sort of notice
9
130
■^n-h'lAl./: /■.AS /MAX
some, i.tterlv ahsinvl . c^ '''^' ""''■'' ^'-^'''v <<)n(vt
import. ^''''' '^ ^' ^ "'^tter of serious
reporters rto we;;:;,'";''''' """'"' '"^ "-™" "
gleaned i„ regarT,„ Z , '"•"'""'••""" ""■s'- '-e
cr no,,Murva,e Ea«„,a„\va '"go 'f:.^ ;"";"'" '-'
any paper of the city and frn.» '-olumn m
in the great dailies Tt^^^^^tl '" " ' n" "'""""
»".etl,i„g .„ fin ,„e ,„„„,' w ; ,: ,1?;"'' °"')- 8«
'.is firs, work I M J r'':?' ''^ ".'«' «-<'e.1, rl,at
village, where he made ,0 erio "•"' '" " ~"' '-■"«'-"'
in a Pennsylvania minin;::,::;;:'!;:?'?"' "" "■""''
and his thini, after a year's k e !, '°'" """''''^ •■
congl„„,erates, a Colo,ado e ,1 ' '" °"'' "' "'°"' '^"■'''
ci'y while its boom L!rt:T",' """'' '""' l^"" -
neath the limit of Lrtate 2 ,' f'"'"'' ^'"'°'' l^^
these were facts easil^Xintbr' T "."f"" ''^~
to be anything mote to b. , ' ''"' ""' ^eem
»an of fair .4ili,y 1, ! 'L^'f "^'"" '""'• He was a
leadership or notoriety a" "7 "'"'"'"" '''''" '»'
101 to be at his lodgings, and a
.■t ■/■■/: I CA'/xt; ■/■///■■ sr/'/'/y VA'.t/.v.
131
card hung on tlie door of his study at tlie rhurc-.h gave
the information th;i,t he would not be there during the
day, but that a sick man hiy witiiin, whose hfe would be
endangered if disturbed. Callers were, therefore, refjuested
not to ring the bell. Though many believed the man
in the pastor's study was somehow at the bottom of his
transformation, none of the reporters failed to comply
with this courteous recjuest. Several, it is true, hung
about the place for hours. The only bit of information
they secured was that the famous lawyer, Mr. Herman
Metziger, called in company with Dr. Farwell. The lat-
ter, on being questioned in regard to the matter, said that
his patient was a man by the name of Underwood, who
had been seized with hemorrhage in the park the day be-
fore, and was taken into the study to wait for an ambu-
lance. He was a poor man, but as it was thought his life
would be endangered by immediate removal, Mr. East-
man insisted on giving up the study until he could be
taken away without peril.
The Reverend Miirvale Eastman, himself, had suddenly
disappeared. Mr. Kishu, who had sent a note to his pas-
tor the night before asking him to call at his office at a
certain hour, found on his desk a brief reply, regretting
that an imperative engagement would render it 'impossi-
ble for him to do so.
To say that the magnate of the Golden Lilios was dis-
turbed by this unexpected response to his request is to
state his feelings very mildly. Few men ever declined
o;,e of Mr. Kishu's invitations to call at his office. One
of the arts on which his success was based consisted in
always meeting friends and foes u])on ground of his own
choosing. He never consummated a trade or conducted
a negotiation except in his own office, if it were possible
132
'^n-ATj/j.; A,/.sy')/../.v.
Hoc. j.i,, trj::::-"--;,*;.^ -^^ *^
c«„f 1 ■ • required to meet elsewherf. u^
telephone th.," v 'm T^ J'l ' '"' ""'' ■="" "" ™ *«
attention. " "' *" ■"" '^'"■« "> """er by such
in<li':c'et«s'"'tecr " °"r!" '■" '"^ "'°'P™>"c.-ng
deed, i, was said of hin, ,,, ^ enemies if .'""
re::ni:::n^r;ir;- " -'' "> -™eU'ie:ir ,:
an^ c-e.'":::: r;o p;;.-,°;:e '° "■^^^v^" -"'^
•he office, the ne.vt thing waf og^de^l^ 'r"',*^''
enter ,t. To acco,n,>lish this he !1, u ^ "^'^ ">
modest enough ifrair ,, '""; '"= J-et up h,s carriage, a
pretext or anote , t in" ..."f he'-sor:"-^'^"' "'"'" ""^
to allow themselves <lZl, ^ '"=" °' 'he city
again for the ,! nose of '?" '° ^" """^ ""'^^ ^aci
matter that^ ^'Z": Id^Lr I ^ t' ^rlT r-r"-'
apologized for .naking such a reaue« a ' "'^
can>etoheu„dersto^od.Ha.\:T/o;:;ed^;;-::^.^J^
ATTACKING THE SIP PLY TRAIN.
^11
much for the convenience of those having business with
him, as his own, and it was looked upon as a good-na-
tured way of economizing the time of both. By careful
study he was able to arrange it so that a number of lead-
ing men of the city should be seen to enter and leave his
office every day, thus creating an impression of his own
importance which, if hardly based on actual facts, was
not the result of actual misrepresentation. This habit
gradually shaped itself into a system, so that for years
one of the most important features of Wilton Kishu's
daily business was to determine whom he would have at
his office the next day, and in what order his callers should
arrive.
In a man of less solid qualities, such things would have
been only the arts of an adventurer. But Wilton Kishu
was no adventurer. He was merely a man of unprepos-
sessing personality without compensating intellectual
culture, who took advantage of a shrewd knowledge of
human nature to make up for these deficiendies by the
skilful use of externals. He was neither witty, nor
learned, nor polished in manner, but he knew men, and
played upon them with a nicety and precision of touch
that was altogether admirable. By constant attention to
such details, he had made himself not only one of the
richest men of the city, but also one of its best-known
characters. He knew how to make himself talked about
without saying anything of importance himself; and, with-
out incurring the risks or expense of office-seeking or
office-holding, contrived to be generally referred to as
one who would confer an inestimable blessing upon the
city and the country if he would only consent to abandon
his business, forego his leisure, and show how a municipal-
ity or a commonwealth could be run, if a man of supreme
♦
J
'34
'^rUKVALE EASTMAX,
II)
tegrity and im.lotihted abil
to the task. Nobody knew exactly
ty chose to devote hnnself
views, and he had n v beerhe. r^" ""' ^'"'''^^'
nounced conviction upon nllt '''"'■'' ""^^ 1'^°"
-re than once been Zsi^ : VsTI'^^"'^.; /^^ ^- ^-^1
tial contingency -ind l,i. , r '''''"''''^ presiden-
by the o4-s o'r' ,:;!. ';;:::;;,';. '-;,;--- c,.c„.e<,
J»cl from the mass of readers aP ', '" V'"^'' ^ ^''•^^Uy that
e. "lI,!:'.';:-:!?:::;";,:" " "^ 'r "-•- -^ "- now.
- a rig,,,. The goo , ;";"'" ''" ""■'™« "'""'"
fulto i.onor .hesfdll ;,",". ""'' '"■■'^" ^''^O- care-
the company ,r™,, """',"'■' """■' """' "—
•o ..e ag„eL,e, a!:.; il::^:^::^- "" --
serve tiie wishes of one who ,li,l , """^ '" ''"'^
Mnrvale Kas.man ha done ' T" ''" '"'' "='"■«''•
only by sincere rega <1 for ' t'"""','!""""' '"-<^<i "o.
■"ore powerfni .nagteli of ili'""; •■?""' ""' ""^ '«
'oved in .he sa.e Lar.Xif ^ '^^^ ";^ ^f-'^.- "^
and never once thought of makin. T """«''
"iraeion. That M. Kishu honH 7 ''"" °' '"'' ^<'-
unexpected declination he recevedt '\''"'"'^'' ^' "'e
once in his life he acted n„ .^ "' "^'"'■^'- I'or
".her than prnde ce t n,e"ri \"Tl"" °' ^^^"
>';e ,nin,s.er.s lodging; dete™7„ 7,o ;:, itf"' ""^ '"
what he thongh. of the conrse he was taki^t T"* """" ■
as he saw a number of renorfp™ "' '^'""S- He smiled
AT/JC/C/XC; THE scpp/y tka/x
'35
al
1-
(1
1-
d
t
t
being assured that the young man was out, he smiled
blandly, gave the girl a quarter, and asked to see the land-
lady. Ho was shown into the i)arlor, where after a few
moments the lady came and greeted him with no little
trepidation.
" You know me, I suppose, madam? "
" Oh, yes ; you are Mr. Kishu."
" Mr. Wilton Kishu," he corrected, for he made a point
of using his full name.
"Mr. Wilton Kishu," repeated the lady submissively.
" It is of the utmost importance that \ should see Mr.
Eastman without delay."
"I am very sorry, sir," said the woman, " but Mr. p:ast-
man— really, I cannot understand what could have induced
hmi to go off so— so unceremoniously just now. He must
have known there would be hosts of i^eople to see him
to-day. Don't you think so, Mr. Kishu.= "
" Really, madam, I cannot say what he expected," an-
swered Mr. Kishu. " But as for me, I must see him at
once."
"But he is not in," said the lady in surprise.
" Oh, I understand all that," rejoined Mr. Kishu with a
knowing smile. "You need not admit anything; just
show me to his room. I will take all the blame."
"But, Mr. Kishu," remonstrated the woman, "you are
niistaken. I am accustomed to speak the truth. Mr.
Eastman left the house this morning very early, before
five o'clock, and has not since returned."
" He left word as to where he was going? "
" Not a syllable, sir."
"Nor when he would return?" asked the bewildered
magnate.
" You know as much about it as I, sir."
I.?^>
vi/r/' /'//,/•; j: \s7\\/.i.\.
"He ;/„/./ have left son.e n,e.ssage-for ,nc," inrredu-
loiisly.
"You can go ami see for yourself," said the landlady
angnly. I ,rst floor, second door to the right," she added
as she opened the door into the hall.
Mr. Kishu went doggedly along the passage, climbed
the sta.rs, knocked at the door indicated, and receiving
no response, after a moment opened it and went in
It was the room „f a man who evidently enjoyed life
A comfortable dressing-gown hung over an easy-chair,
and rods and guns were intermingled with books and pic-
tures. The desk was open. For a moment it seemed as
If Mr K.shu was going to inspect its contents, but h^-
drew back as if resisting temptation, and cast his small
gray eyes about the room in search of some indication of
the owner's whereabouts. The apartment was apparently
that of a health), clean-minded man, who took no pain,
to conceal anything, receive.! ti.e world open-handedlv
and treated it in the same way.
And this man had neglected his summons, ;,nd proposed
to run the Golden Lilies without his advice! Mr. Kishu
was not a , entful man and, to do him credit, did not
have any sdly scruples about the notions Murvale East-
man had propounded. What troubled him was the fact
that the matter was attempted without his advice and
consent first had and obtained. He liked the young min-
ister very well indeed, and had looked forward to havino
him for a son-m-law with pleasant anticipation; but Wil"'
ton Kishu was always in the foreground of his thought,
and he had no use for one who did not esteem that worthy
one of the most essential features of the plan of creation
He very naturally felt an,^r^■ at what seemed a slight to
his dignity by this young man whom he had discovered
^■" '- life „. „., „.«::.„;;" f j"v!""° """'■• '"
""!-■ s(|i,arel}' wbicl, lie c(ml,t „„ ■■ i " ""■■ "''^•-ivcd
' '■"<"» llmiself, "ilie rid, » III I Of course,"
>»kes, a„,l e|,e „,a;,,e, ,,,,"" ''f ^f "••^i 'i'e view he
-"y .lay. Has „„ !a '" ,r ,■'"""-'"'• " '■' """e
comn,i„eeof his par," r.,r,V ""''■''"'"''' '° "-
"';hic„ par., „al r,,^ ,;;::, , : ■;^- ■-™P'y a ,ues.io„
Jefiantly asserted lliat an ■■,. ' "' "'" -'nolher
one per cen,. „„ e ;," rT:,'" "' "'"■'"'"''^-'•'' "^
eonn.ry would secure 1,™ > ' ■"■"■ouaires of ,„„
rfe.ri„,en,al to rheir irl.eles,"? """ "«''"'^' '^S'-"""""
Ah, money is a wonderful' power I 4
"■" outweigh a thousand souls', .^ ,^, •""""' "' S^W
e^'eem, and the nran who de.^r o „. f l'"" °' ''"'">■
power, or achieve success th!, °"°''' '^^'ei'^e
of 'he n,„s, dollars. Co 7ca„ ,',"'" T"" '"■ °" "" ^'"e
ambition, defy ,],e stron! a^, T" "'""■''"»'■• ^'a'-e
weapons are va,„ ^g IS ' T "'' T^' ■^-"'V
make dull the sword and ml' , , " ''"'"= "'"-' <='-<™0".
--a.i„gora'::;!rsitrrt\\''""™^^^^
-"«H Of.,, and the Slaves „.t\et:u::rC3'ht
(jl
138
fore their fears
MrRi'Ai.i: i:.\si\-\[A.\\
leir tears are excited. Had the time come when the
few rich could defy the many poor? Was Plusius strong
enough to prescribe terms to Penes?
Mr. Wilton Kishu thought of the elements of power in
their hands. He had seen a good many figures on the
subject, but somehow cast them all aside and rested his
faith securely on one declaration of a profound philoso-
pher: "No aristocracy was ever overthrown by popular
power, unless it was too greedy or too careless to buy the
support of the majority. As long as an aristocracy of
wealth chooses to use its vyealth to secure political ascen-
dancy, the only enemy it need fear is the concentration
of power in one man's hand. A monarchy may exist
without an aristocracy; but a king is the only power that
can overthrow a rich and determined aristocracy."
He mentally reviewed the growth of the money-power
m the land within his own memory. It was nothing,
even forty years ago, in comparison with the present. The'
States would hardly average a millionaire apiece in his
boyhood, and now there were hundreds in a single city—
perhaps a thousand! Then, nineteen-twentieths of the
people lived on farms and in the small towns. It took a
hundred hands to do the work one pair accomplished
now; but there was little idleness, almost no want, and
hardly crime enough to talk about. There were not many
small farms in those days, and not nearly so many large
ones as now; but the average was greater, and that was
all that was needed to satisfy the public conscience. An
average is a divine truth in political economy, no matter
how great the lie it represents.
Mr. Kishu actually chuckled as he thought how Mur-
vale Eastman's argument would be overthrown by wise
men, armed with averages and aggregates, who were will-
ATTACKfXG T/fF. SCrPr
y TRAIX.
39
so many b, on ' of dol •."""'' '"""°"' <" "™1>'^- ->"
can ehere be for con,„Iai„. „.„i|e ^ , L ..TT' "="''=
and aggregates? So loo with acres -T '""'' /^'''S^s
Ve. no.vo„e.«„ of ^^.Z^Z^^T
Averages and aggregates would settle the Z^^lT^t
young ,>astor would soon find hin-self I .\ "
and enlarge the opportunity of i\^^\Z7 \\ V^""
will be. '^ y "' I'le many, and always
Mr. Kishu's mind was madp nn tr,, ■ , ,
--e Kastn,a„. no. ope„r;.: ntr t:X:
^"S-.:i:^:K:-r:i;otsr^
Kirkwood, t„a. Mr.Eas/,„r,':\'eti„grrr: r;^'^-
Iiarly, of late? " ' ^^''^^J^ pecu-
he"iu"u:i' t'- ' "'P°"'^' ^^^^ ^-^^'-^y -rmly. <^ Here
^ J"«t walked monme Saturday night after t.. 2
out a moment's warnincr just as if l.// I t^a, with-
town for two months ami ore O fV" r "'^ "" ^'
for him, but it looked as if T ? '^' ^ '"^' ^^^^'>'
acly appropriate in a bachelor' , an ^1!%^" T
" "' -="—1 "K onsiderate," coltcUtded ' "'°'""'
lady,
e\-
140
MrRVAI.E F.ASTMAX,
citedly smoothing out a plait in the front of her dress as
she spoke.
"But I understood he had been in tlie city for some
time," said Mr. Kishu.
"I don't know, I'm sure, where he's been. I never saw
him until Saturday."
"And the rooms were quite unoccupied in his ab-
sence?"
"Why, certainly, Mr. Kishu," smiling blandly. "Of
course, I can't say the girls may not have gone in there
occasionally, but as for occupying them— to say 'occupy'
—that's all nonsense. Then, here this morning," she
continued, " rushing off before it was light and leaving no
word as to where he has gone or when he is coming back!
I should say he is acting strangely! It seems as if every-
body in the city wanted to see him, and everybody out-
side of it wanteil to hear from him. Why, there's been
no end of telegraph messages! Just look at that," she
said, pointing to a pile of brown envelopes on the desk,
"twenty-seven since breakfast! And that's another, I
suppose," she added as the door-bell sounded again.
Somehow this confirmation of the pastor's absence had
a peculiar effect on Mr. Kishu. He could not help feeling
a sort of admiration for the man who could thus run awav
from his own renown. He was not altogetl/er mercenary
ni his character; he loved success even more than wealth,
and though the odds were all against the young pastor,'
he could not deny that these were indications of approval
that might have flattered a much older man. He was
none the less determined to oppose him; but decided, Is
he followed the voluble landlady down-stairs, to do it v^ry
cautiously. It might be that the time had come for mak-
ing a start in the direction Murvale Eastman had indi-
^TTArKiXG ///E SUPPLY ThaIX. , ^
catecl. If that were the ci^p nf
.e ha,l seen a mob raging throngl, ,„, ,„,,„ „f i,'/ f
u.y.he.ba.n:r:^;,„,^ ,r^^Ll:;r;/'''='^"-
Ho„b■ed God's po«r to do «»,I^, .jr-;,::
to have a par„cular thing done. Once convinced oHI^
.heDeit,,va„ea,,/i„e:r:tnf:;:4"''-"^--
On h,s way back to the office, he happened to tlnnk of
he aunt on .hose kindness Murvale I'Lt.nan's e ect
utLentlT, """'-''■ . "" "■••" >■=' " "- --I- :,
to him h' '"""''<'»'■%' ^"">e sohcitnde in regard
to nm He responded by letter to the reply received
haf an honr afterward, briefly excusing himieff, by h^t-
vdf:on:i,'7"'T ""'•■■'"■""'■" '■>'" ---^'Wo^ ^-
welf re of h,s .laughter ; and was not at all surprised when
tne nature of her nephew's delinquencj-. She was fond
to the se raons of the coming year, and when she left
a'htefed- e t?cr:;:r"^ '"* '""' "^'-^ "- ""''
Plicsl Hereafter M urfa, kCar ':"m^ h"^*^"^ T
i -HU.1C r^asiman wuuid have to de-
i4a
■yrk'Wiii: l-ASi-M \\\
^.i"t. H,s salary .is the pastor of the (lol.lcn I,ilies was
;;->--, a in>enUoncJ.„t would ,h.dHnd.s..b,n to
tl.cspohauon of, IS lilies? That was the question.
CHAI'TKR XIV.
"numukk lourN-six."
"NirMPKR FORTV-SIX! "
s.''or" ':"■''■,'""""■"!;• '"" >''^« lisl". an,! d.illy for ,|,e
H U, Ka, wa,. wee B,.,„„.in« a, >!,. srea, .s,al.U.s.,„ ,|,e
"iner of H.ckory Slrcet ;u„l Jackson Avon,,... wlior,
;vcn,y-„ve i,„„,,,,., „„,,,, J^ „„„^^_, J\J;^^^
make tl e pui,l„- feel ho>v eoinplelely ll.ey were at tl,e
;"-y of , e HeU an.l Cr„,,s-C,„ line.' The. driverfw
about n, bt le groups on the wi.le expanse of track-ut
u.en,e,,t „.h,..b constitute., .be ear-slte,,. The stable
^e. and cleaning ,„„„„ were all above. The superin
etulen, s .Hice was on the left of the entrance g^t^^^ ,
ana the tnne-keeper's lodge on the right. The feeder
and cleaners were hard a. work, an.l ,l,e horses fo , "
ear y tnorntng cars were being inspecte.l by the foren a
as^ they catne ,lown the long wharfway that le.l to Z
The lielt an.l Cross-Cnt Cotnpany were very proud of
'be,r horses, an.l ha,l go„.l reason to be. One o[„e lead-
ng ,ne,nbers of the .S.,ciety for the .reventi.™ , f Cn.
tl.> to ..\,„n,als was on its boar.l „f .lirec.ors, all of who I
*i.
■\ I Miir.h' ioirry.s/\
M3
r
.i...r ,■„„,„ s^vi :'■'', :';::,t,";^ "■ ^"'^^■^^•^^'^,
l„„«,.. ■ ,/ • ''"■'' •""' ""rli iiL' of IfiL-ir
• "- ...sc «„,„„ of „. „„,,„,„ ,,„,,„^ „,, „|^,;'
-y wcc .„„„,. ..„„, ,,;,,,„.,, ,,,, „„„„,,^, '' ;
i 0,1 ,,„,e „.,,,„ ,„ |„-,,„„ „„„,., f„,„^ ,„■„„ Lnkcc"
c l,„»,„al for ,l,e ,c.,„|.or,,n> .lisal.lo.l was o " Hn '
,7, , ""■ ,""-■ """I.a..y l„,asl«l ,l,at tl,cy rcouird „f
■Jors l"o reasons: fns,, because ll,e man-
bn s "nfl" ""f' ^""' ""-niyt" overwork dnn, ,
wutts, an 1, secon.l, l,canse they ],a,l ,le„,onstrate<l that
™^«.l ,-o.,cy ,„ give .„en, p.en.y of res., a ,
tood, and careful attent on. Tlicv hst,.f1 l,>,w
mure re„al„e, „e„er.,e„„.ere.,, -Z ^tJ^TlJZ
diseased, rf lh„s treated. ' '«<:<"iie
Kvery intelligent man approve,! these view, Pennl.
->".et,mes hin.e.l the wish that a similar enirhtene^l ? ,
.cyoht,a,nedwi.h regar,! to the cars the company !
b, as e,r condition only affected the heal.lf and .'
fort of the passengers, they could hardly be expected to
be as careful of thetn as of the sto.A they owne I H ^
mantty winch is based on profitable rettLs ,"1. o"i;
T^:4
.MUJiy.tr/: /:.-i.s/'.i/,i,v.
the easiest to practice, hut the one most likely to be pop-
".ar with uuestors. In the present state of the law and
med.cal science., it does not make a fig's difference with
the treasury whether a street-car becomes a vehicle for
contagion or not The profits are just the same, and the
cost of purification that ought to be done and is no
clear net gam. The managers are, of course, sorry th.t
people sicken or die, but " business is business," anc men
and women must take their chances in this world, an
this happens to be one of the chances
Until the recent strike, the company had required its
Invers to woi-k from .velve to sixteen hours for a da^'s
work and had paici the very lowest wages at monthly L
ervals. None of the principles applied to their sLck
were regarded as applicable to their human servants.
^IZ :r' "'"' "' '''' ^^'^^^^"^^ '"-'^^^'^J "PO'^ this
policy. hey were not, he maintained, in any manner
responsible for the health, comfort, morality, contentment,
or longevity of the men whom they en^ployed. Labor, he
declared, is a mere commodity; so the text-books on
political economy teach, and if that be true the managers
were manifestly right. Being a commodity the only just
and natura method of regulating wages was, they con-
tended by "the universal and divine law of supply and
demand." There could not be too much labor in the
world for the demand ;..;,./ always regulate the supply.
Just how the rule operated was not exactly understood,
but here was no doubt about the fact. If there was a
surplus of labor at one point, or the price was too low to
permit the laborer to live and support his family, he must
go into some other business or take his labor to some
other market.
How shall he get there? That was a question for the
id
le
is
:t
n
".\V'.W,7:7.- /0/.Vr-.S/.V."
Bel. a,;, Crot-C rwtrn^n;' '^e s,„cU,o,„e.: ,„„
i« >r„e tl,ey used tl,e r.^vV ? '"""' P'"'"^'':^- h
elusive pd'vi =" , e"rb> r^r^ "'' ""^ 8'™" » "-
».ocl.hoi;.ers, „°o, fafte oil; '"^ ""■"• ^"" '" "'=
i-e^e-r^ j:\ttf-';: "rr ^ '- - -^^ -'»
.er-.ha. ,, „ c„,„,ac" .W^' .rTZ T" ^ ^'''^-
Ihlng they chose for a cettain „1 I ^''""^ ^"J""
could not be " beat ■■ o^f f m "' y""'' ''"'' 'l"v
.i>eiro..,ay,b„tt'a;:bey„' ;,;.::: -'f- "- ""'y <-
action or bv anv avoir?., '''^"^ make by any sort of ex-
"f the .a„,r Tie, ;,:;,: °''*^ ''"""« "H- pendency
them, but thev »We ,h ' °? ''""'P' '"'"'^•= ^""ce of
aw, they said, and they s.'ood upon t" aw T,™ M
-tc-crpi--^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
■ntendentwas a graduate of We, X nt ,h/ , ?""
wh,ch the republic educates an a is toc 1 ,„ '"'' "I
her armies whirh mni .u ^'^'^tocracy to command
so unend? able to a self ''"™'' '"'"'"'^ '"' '" '"-
ten deserls^earlv Vh '"■"'"« """ '"'" ™^ i" =very
a rigid diiTp t; J :r:.""="''™' '™^'''■^' - '--d
^^ 1 -a.-.., Hard a, granite and cold as ice.
1.(6
I'lKij//-: /•;./. S7-. I/. /r.
1 i.orc >ycTo t„„ class™ nf poopl. in li.o ,v„,l,l. ,„.nnli„..
Lose classes ,. „,.»,„„„, ,„ ..„„,.,„„ ,„„, I,"; -
'■-M, ." ..v,l lifo ,„,„,„,„,,„,„,„ ,,^. ,, ,J^
KTs l.-'l.";.an,l„,„sowl,os„l,.isM,/.l,eirl,
>v..s a very cMhac, ,„a„, wl,„ :.,,,,|,„| ,|,e principle, of i
>.. o.,s ox.,mK.s Sin«. ,l,e ,.,.„. sMile l.eha.lnu
« sta„e,l ,„„. ri,oro «.ere sliil nnn,orin,s „f ,lis,„„-
2t™ons,,,onK. an,l I,,.,, i,, no, propose Le,i,np
•no ,ev„l, agan,. Every n,an who showed si«ns of i„.
» .bord,na„on wonid he discharged. The co,„, ,ny warn-
f(l no nnwillint,' servants. i ' '; ^^a^l
''Number Forty-six!" bawled the sleepy clerk coming
out „Uo the shed with a pen behind his i anc ^ hie "'
mg a crowd of drivers who were waiting fo ^^^i^Z
A young man who was squatting agai-^ttlJ^^::;
t e outgon^g track in conversation with three or f" ,r
others, ros.. and answered the hail '
^^.^-rhe superintendent wants you," said the clerk snap-
The young man took up l,is dinner-pail an<l started
oward the office. He walked briskly but no urHedl '
and wore a pa,r of In-own glasses as if to protect his :^^^
Hurry up! shouted the clerk. " Do you think the
supermtendent can wait all day? "
" He'll wait until I get there, won't he? "
"Not much he won't. We don't hire men to move at
that gait around here." ^^
; "That's so, partner," said one of the other drivers
^ u re a new hand, or yot.'d have known that «the cot
onel learned double-quicking at West Point, an do,^
^^V'J//.7,7,. /OA'TV-S/.W"
i;7
/ row ran go home as slow as you're a mm, I . r
you (Ion f fr,.i .,.;i,.„, ,, y ^^ ii-inind to if
y uon t get ask-e|) on the way; hut when ho n,- 1,;
ne ::::.!;,;';;:.;•,;:;:' t'^""- "■"'-"'■ ■"'-» '"^ »'-'•
pLted: ■'' '"•■ '■""^' ""■ "'-•• -•■"•■• '^1-^ re.
you.""''' '"" '"■■" ""^" ' ~"''" ■'■'-• -P-in,c„,lc.„, wants
>f Oil II get a fiver on it if yoi, dot "
Here s Niimlicr I'orty-six sir "
^JGoocl-„,or„i„g ,.■ sai,l ,l,e young „,an with .he dinner-
"Are you Number Forty-six?" a^ic^A fi
effective in n,a!n.li:t;d- :;,„::;! "' ™"-'-=" ■■' ^'^
hull'ldly.""' '"' "™=."-"'ere<, .I,e young n,an good-
a. ;ord!^a.'o:^„:;Ll"::' ^'■^' ^"" -^-^ - "■'"'■ ■^'-" ■■<
"Don't know! Weren't vou -iven - ^.-1 i ,.
,MJu t,ivtn a card, and told
14$
MVRVA / E i:a ,<r 7j/. /.r
that the company knew no names, but kept the accounts
with its men bv numbers? "
" I think I was."
"And what have you done with it? "
" r am sure I don't know, sir."
"Don't you intend to comply with the companv's
rules?" ^
" I have done the company's work faithfully, but am
not aware that this fact gives its officials a right to change
my name or assign me a number as they do their horses,
or as a prisoner is served in the penitentiary."
" See here, young man, it's your business to do the
company's work, not to criticise its methods," said the su-
perintendent severely.
"I know of no reason why I should not do both*" re-
joined the other with a smile.
" Well, you can't do it heie," retorted the manager an-
grily.
" I think I can," was the re])!)-, with a pleasant and
amiable inconation.
"You do! Well, I'd like to know on what you base
your opinion? "
" I am a free American citizen, who has the right to be
addressed by his own name, and no gentleman will think
of giving him any other designation."
" Do you mean to be impudent?" asked the manager.
"On the contrary, I was trying to be polite."
" I have half a mind to kick you out of the office."
" I am glad it is only half a mind."'
"Why?"
"Because it would not be wise to undertake it."
"Ross!" to the clerk. "Tell the foreman to come
here — immediatelv."
.VCW/iEfi FOR T V-SfX.
149
ts
The clerk started to perform his errand.
" Better not set your bully on me, Mr. Temple," said
the youncf man coolly.
"Why not?"
" Because you will he out of a job before night if you
do "
"I!"
" You, sir."
" What do you mean ? Who are you, anyhow? "
" I am the man who saved the life of the president of
this company from the mob, and for whom he has adver-
tised ever since."
"The devil! " exclaimed the superintendent.
" Oh, I hope not."
"Well, I'm sure," said the other apologetically, "no
harm was intended by the number business. It's just a
custom of the company— merely for convenience, you
know."
" It is a most debasing custom and a very inconvenient
one, an injustice to the drivers and an inconvenience to
the accountant^ Viewed from the men's standpoint it
is only an arrogant display of power."
" You had better say that to the president," said the
superintendent, smiling.
" I intend to do so," replied the other. " I have an ap-
pointment with him at twelve, and was about to come and
ask you to put some one else on my run."
" For the afternoon, I suppose? Very well."
" I shall have to ask you to make it permanent," an-
swered the \ oung man.
"Ah, you've got another job? Never mind, Mike," to
the foreman, "I shall not need you. You may get your
breakfast now, Ross."
'SO
MUR VA r.E EA STM. \\\
" Let mc know when my car is ready, if you please, Mr.
Kennedy, said Number Forty-six.
"All roiglit, sorr," answered the bruiser-foreman re-
spectfully.
"See here, Mr. excuse mc, I have forgotten your
name, said the superintendent, " I 'ike you. Could you
be mduced to come into the office here? We need just
such a man." "*
" I could hardly give up my present place for it "
"What is that. >"
The young man put his han(l in his pocket, took out a
card, and handed it to the superintendent.
The latter glanced from the card to the face of the riian
who confronted him, flushed, whistled, and exclaimed:
''Well, I wdl h^—bicssed!''
II I certainly hope you may," said the other,with a laugh
I hope you will say nothing to the president about
our interview."
" Certainly not, if you will agree not to mention it to
any one else." ,
" It's a bargain."
The two men shook hands, good-humor'edly.
"By the way," said the driver, "as a matter of policy I
would abolish the numbers. A man likes to be called
Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith, or even J«nes or Smith, but he
doesn t like to be called ' Number Forty-six! ' It's hard
enough to be a driver, without being addressed as a jail-
bird. •"
"Here's yer car, sorr," shouted the foreman at the
door.
"Thank you, Mr. Kennedy," said the young man as
he turned to go.
"Well, good-day," said the superintendent. " I guess
.,
r.
7/i£ i:yi.s 01 AKdvs.
»5«
you're right, sir; but I hate to sec you take that car
"Oh, that's all right- -my last trip, yuu know "
" Ni.,:.ucr ; orty-six " took the reins from the helper with
a wor of thani ., steppe.l on the platform, clmner-pail in
hand sh.,k the lines an.l drove out of the shed, whist-
Hug shrJv to 9 cAickman who was obstructing his track
chaptp:r XV.
THE EYES OF ARGUS.
A HArP-nozKN men sat at as many small tables in a
long bare room writing steadily. An arc light hung over
each table. There was a sharp whistle at one of a set
of speaking-tubes at the end of the room.
"See what the 'old man ' wants, won't you,Searle?-
said a man at the farther end of the room, glancing up
from h,s work "You seem to be the only one that hal
nothing to do.
The young man thus addressed had been sitting for
some time with his feet on one of the tables, rolling a
piece of paper carefully about his pencil and then unroll,
ing n only to repeat the process again, in the mean time
whistling softly.
"It will give you a chance to rest that whistle, too"
said the man who sat next to him, a big-shouldered, big-
headed fellow with brown hair, close-clipped, which iood
out from his head in all directions, whose pencil flew over
his paper with a furious haste, as if it required the full
force of the muscular hand to push it
"Never mind, Flagler," answered Searle, while he rose
15 =
.VCR VALE EASTJ/AX.
and kicked a chair out of his way as he sauntered toward
the si)eaking-tube. "The fact that you can't tell the
difference between an aria from the latest opera and the
snore of a hippopotamus shouldn't make you object to a
little music. If the rest of i^s don't complain of your
trotting that thirty-two foot on a squeaky boot you ought
not to say anything about our little peculiarities."
" Don't stop him," said another. " Flagler can't work
unless he pumps his ideas by foot power. He served a
term on the treadmill when they had him in ' quod ' for
choking hi.s grandmother. It didn't cure his stublforn-
ness, but he got a habit of working his heels whenever his
brain is a little empty, which we all know is pretty
often."
Flagler, who had been leaning forward in his chair, his
feet balanced on the toes, busily working them back and
forth unconscious of the squeak, suddenly ceased his cus-
tomary movement, thereby starting a laugh at his expense,
though no one stopped work even to look up. By this
time Searle had reached the speaking-tube, which he
opened and lazily called :
"Hello!"
There was aa indistinct rumble in the tin tube and
Searle said, without looking around:
" Burrows, the ' old man ' wants to know if you got the
Rev. Eastman? "
"Thought likely," replied a dark-haired, sharp-faced
young man at one of the tables who held an unlighted
cigar in his mouth, and had an unsatisfied frown on his
brow. " Tell him I didn't," sharply.
Searle applied his mouth again to the tube.
"Better come and explain it yourself. Burrows," he
said a moment after. " His hair is beginning to curl and
..
THE EYI;s OF AKGUS.
Wend"*'"^ in a very familiar strain about his particular
"Hasn't got to the devil so soon, has he?" asked the
"Hurry up, Burrows," said Searle languidly "He
wants to know why you di„n'. get him-, bes.-known man
'betterT' 'T ""' '-''''^^^'° P"""^ f"" °f him •!!
better hire a dog to lead you about the streets '-'couldn't
h-ie'lruif'''""''^™'^^""'' ^--he'sworkt:
h.'lt" '?\^'' *"'' '""'"«• "'"' •=<= here as soon as
herr^et' ^""P^''^ — ' g« Pas. Flagler's feet;
.he'::;': ;:' *„;:; ^ '°^" ''"'"'■' "« -p'^^ -" '-^^^
A laugh went around the roon,, and the elderly man
who had spoken first said, seriously
"Better lookout, Searle, the -old man ' won't stand
foohng w,th. You,, „,fe, „„ ^„„,^ _, ^^ 'a-
concMed to take a tearful farewell of you and your jokes '•
vices a Ihf "T "'•'■'" «='-" ""' '--'-ble ser-
vice at the present moderate figure," answered Searle
coo ly, as he reseated hi.nself on the table and resumed
his former attitude. auuicu
the^'^Z ^^' 'r* ™'r' "' "'= "'°=' ™'',able men on
the /„,„„,4, s.ee.e, and knew that fact, as did all of his
y u r'th *"<'"'."--.-''. n-iet ,„an, consider^
a most dull, expression, he.was one of the last men an or
tZZtZ"" ™"'f "''" "■"'"• '- ^ city reporter.
W i V to ? ""■■' *' '"'"'"8 fi^l'-alifications of ina-
bthty to take stenographic notes and never being in a
»S4
.UfA'i-.i/./: /■:.t.s7 M.LW
,
hurry. Rut he knew the city from ciul to cml ; never
UKide any mistakes as to his route; was aetiuainted with
nearly everybody worth knowing; never talked about his
business; had a memory as hard to rub a fact out of as ;i
steel ])late; wielded a caustic i)en, but never got himself
or his i)ai)er into dilliculties; never made any seri(.)us
blunders; was ahvay' ready to imdertake anything re-
([uired, anil seldom failetl to accomplish what he under-
took, ilewas popular with his associates, simply because
he never blabbed; was a(-c*ommo(lating. quiet, and gen-
erally accounted dangerous to meddle with.
The roaring at the speaking-tube still continued, ami
presently Hurrows left the room to go up-stairsand explain
his failure, fa* e to face with the " t)ld man."
One by one, while this had been in progress, the other
men had finished their work, all but one at least, and had
rushed to the slide hole, thrust their copy into a box,
slipjied it into a i^neunuitic tube, ami it had been whisked
away to the managing cilitor's room. One after another
they lighted their cigars and awaited that functionary's
])leasure.
"What's the matter, Searle? You don't seem to be
brisk to-night. I'm afraid the Jhrvzr won't be very stiff
in t' e morning, so far as you are concerned."
"About as dry a half-column as 1 ever wrote, but I'll
bet a suit of clothes it'll be read by more peojile than any
other bit of work in it.''
" I'll take that,"' said the heavy-set man, with a sneer
on his face, who was still at work.
" How's this. Jones? Have you got something good? "
"Juicy," answered the worker sententiously.
"And you're doing it up in your best style?" asked
another blandly.
THE EVES OE .h\'(;i-S
^$S
" Von l)ct."
;' ''"'H-n ni g„ ' l.av-v.rs ' with Scarlr," said (he other.
steldily/ ' ' '""''' '"' •'""■■^ ^""^"^^ '"^
" ^^^I^'it is it, J,.nesey? Tell „s now/' nske.i the roih.k-
wii;:^;!;;:" '" ^'^""""' "^^"''^"'" -^---' >--»
"Have you seen him?"
"No; I)ut I know where he is."
•'Von do?" rhoriisfron, all the others.
" ' do that; and I've seen //r/-."
" Is there a woman in it?"
"There isn't anything else," exultantly
Joul;!?"'"^^^"^^""^^^- "-''1 y- .ct onto it,
The writer lapped his head and winke.i
JOUl Oh I Oh!" groaned the other; in discordant
"Why, that's the very thing Burrows is 'taking his
medicme up-stairs for not getting hold of."
Jones shrugged his shoulders.
"And you mean to say that you found it, tracked it out
cl.scovered U,Jone.sey?" asked the boyish tease. "S
you a dozen a newsboy put you up to it "
nel^nd^^Cr''^ '"'''''''■ ^ "Jones stepped on a banana
peel and sat down on it."
" No, sir, I tracked him to his hole, myself "
^; Must have been a pretty strong scent if you found it "
Of course, I duln't find it exactly-not to say>./
that ,s-for ,t wasn't my <letail. I Just stumbled acro'sf "
Another chorus of " Ohs ' "
■ii."
IS6
^fc^/^p\■u./■: /■:.is7:v..iA\
" Own up now, Jonesey, and tell who it was put vou
up to it." ^
"Well, I got a hint ^ust a hint, you know- from old
Kishu."
"You (lid? Well y,>„ ,,;-, f,esh. i)i,,„.t you know
that If Kislui had anything worth giving away he'd give it
to the mmdcrholt? Why, man, he's got stock in the
Thumiahol/, and no man ever knew how to butter his own
bread better than Wilton Kislni. You'd better be mighty
sliy about what you get from him."
"Oh, he didn't mean to give it away-nothing of the
kind. He just let it slip accidentally and I caught on to
the clew and followed it up, that's all."
"Accidentally, eh?" said Searle sarcasticallv. "Now
Jones, you aren't half a bad fellow, though I 'believe on
my soul, you'd like to be, or at least nave others tliink
you were, but you seem to have no more idea of human
nature than a i)ig of aerostatics. Don't you know that
Wilton Kishu never does anything by accident? Why
man, he parts his hair with a compass, and never draws a
breath without stopping to consider whether it would be
better to breathe or not to breathe. He's a very good
sort of a man— I've nothing to say against him. but nothing
ever happens with him ; he never does a thing by impulse
He wouldn't know himself if he should make such a
"break."
"Come now, I think you're too hard en T'jshu," said
Jones, stopping his work and turning w; ■. , elbows on
the arms of his chair. " I think he's a .eal c d fellow "
"Tell us all about it, Jonesey, tl".,-'-; a dear," said
Marsh, his smooth-faced, curly-haired tormentor, who was
stretched out on one of the tables. He kissed his fingers
to Jones as lie spoke, and though the others roared, Jones
c
c
a
o
n:
'f'fff^: fiVKS OF AMGUS.
the chronic hlundpr/.r of .i
'° l'^ a„g,y. "" "' '": ""-'^- "•- too R„o,l-na,„ro,l
l>i» firmest convictL vl 1 fh ' ■'""" '° ''''"™"
.l.e -fil:::,:;^;.,.;-;;;;;;'-' "e. evi„.„.„ eo,„e
Mr. Klshu's hairwas of a sil|.v?,h,.l- ,i
the utmost i>.eci,ion f,,,,,, '''"''• "'™>'''Pa"ed with
hi^ little ear , th Sel " ', "', "' ""''™'='-'" ™- -er
•'.an., c„Hi„ .;o„,;:r ;::;:/■;:' r'^'^ -^'-^
evenly tucked into the ere ,se I, f "' "" ^"*
Ins short neek Hi, ,!l ? ''•■" '""• '■■'")' ™"s of
'".^s fro,,, ith n 'r :L:r ;™'^- "'•"™ -' s^'"
tlie likeness of hi, aII "'"taming on one side
that o. .,ri,°ce ,o ha u °" ""= °"'"' '' »'^- '^aid,
Ins I.ospitalit7fo a mt ,, 1 , °"°"" '""" ''^ --P""g
h'» lordly I. 'o u.: a? e;trre'"'';;" ■;■'"' f™^"' "'
no doubt, thouirht he h, I ,' "^ '''ssolnte lord,
and was wel, satisfied with hifba'^ai ^y'; Z^Tl
O. Tj.s more from forrnnf h.^ ■. ^P* ^^^^ f-
expeeting ,.ayn,en, Z "off ".'=■" ^'")"'""Seise; never
convenient in """''"S >"•>■=" thev might b»
ance abroad whie\ 1,; ha set ;e f hL::,* ''"" '"
of money and self-re^n^n^ n i ^ ""' ^vestments
one fore[.n ca ita, I ' ^ ':; hlTe.?; "'^' '" "'"='"-
a just estimate of tl,,. i, Aniericans who had
over the s^prj elti r^r^rrt bit"' r*%'""""«
-det.,e,ordh,,,sins.r„me,,tst:eX:^rhistJi:U'
f5«
Ml'R T '.I / /; /■:,.-! S J-.'iM A •
tance in the eyes of his ounntryn en. lU^ snobbery was
entirely of the inferentia< i 'nd. He s.:ud nothing on which
his foreign gnebi! could r.i-e their conclusiOi>s, but loaded
them with gifts and took care n. ver >h contravene any-
tliing they said abcat themselves or uis country. By this
means, he managed to have his ecu itrymen see him as
ieflected in the favor of his forcMgn patrons. It was a
sh^-^vd way to secure a unique distinction, that of being
hand^n-glove with distinguished foreigners ; a device
vhtrii neiHier those who contribute t to its success nor
those who were dazzled by; its results ever dreamed of
.suspecting.
"You might as well tell us, Jones/' said Mather, the
one middle-aged man who, by virtue of n streak of gray in
his black whiskers, seemed to assume the post of dean o/
this convocation of scribbling gossips. " You know you're
apt to put your foot in it whenever you try to do anything
startling. You do very well on plain work, there's no de-
nying that, but when you try fancy figures, you're always
in danger of a bad fall."
" See here, fellows," said Jones desperately. " You're
all wrong; I know you are, but just for the fun of the
thing, I'll tell you all about it."
"That's right, Jonesey, tell it all— tell it all— tell it all,"
squealed Marsh, imitating a parrot's crackling tones with
wonderful accuracy.
" You shut up, Pretty Poll, or I'll throw an inkstand at
you, ' exclaimed Jones, beginning to show irritation.
"Go on, Jones, I'll shut his wind .'^ for you," said
Flagler, reaching over and drawing .. "I's head and
should J 1 off the table and int his ' j, where the fair-
faced :.;.■ lay, puffing smoke intr 'is . .i|)tor's face. The
giant ran his fingers through the .. v/'s curly locks and
THE r.VES- OF ARCrF;
Pe._^ed ,, i,„ a. if ,,.,.,,.„. a «ir,, while Jones .01.,,,,
officr^'n'aCldt'ttf IT' ' "r «°'"^ ^'°"« '-' '^-"u's
the Po„ OCo ,1 ' r"''' '^ ' '■"" ""= '^'■'y "-" •■'"I
o'cloci, so iT ? ' " "' ''"'"'■"S °" '°""d three
wt-iocK, SO 1 had no time to Ins^. Tf .„ ,
for I hadn't gone half ! Zl2 \ ?•"' ^' '^^" "^*^'
retary " " "" ^^°"^ ^"^°^^ ^"« P"vate sec
"Goggles, you mean?" interrupted Searle
i mean that lame fellow he has ^n l.in.11 •
Ployment to;, answered Jones l^Zt^^"" ^"^•
At about half what he's worth-that's right-igo on "
Why doesn't he go somewhere else then K ,
can get more?" '^"^'^^ eise, then, where he
" Kxactly the question half the work^rc \r. f i
are asking about themselves to-dly Jone, if """"^
know in this cicip. i,„. , "^ "'^>^' JO"es. I happen to
goon." ' ' ^^°"' '^^i^ *° ^«k conundrums-
" Well, the secretary said "
and the crowd Ztimi , u"^ ">e managing editor,
«iTzzle,l f, J " '""S^ '"^ thev saw in Jones's
"t,Z] r""""="°" °' *^ --l'"g cynic's g"es3
son,i ^ /;r,rY'7'',=^'"-^■■™•'•^'^™'"-
ten itP _Vo„ ^a^^Lt ::;.•"'"' >™' '^^"^ SO on and
"Can't go nny farther," answered Searle '^fnr t u
imagme wha^ on PnrH, fi i , -V ^^'^"^'e, for I can't
"ThJ f '^ ""''' spider wanted of you "
i hat's lust whnf nn,,i^,i , . ,. . . ■'^""■
just what puzzled me: but I'd hardl
!y got in-
t6o
Atr-RVAr.r. r..isT.u.i.v
side the door when he out u ith it. The fact is, he was
so worried he didn't half-know what he was saying."
" Well, what was he saying? "
" He wanted to know, the very first thing, if anybody
had found him."
"Found whom?"
" That's just what I asked. ' Why, found Eastman— the
Reverend Eastman,' he answered. He said all the re-
porters in the city were on track of him, and he knew if
one had found where he was they'd all know it, and so
called me in to inquire. He was so anxious and troubled
about him that he couldn't wait. You know, he just runs
the Golden Lilies."
" Keep your tenses right, Jones—Z/rt-j- run it, you mean,"
interrupted Searle.
" Yes, and will keep on running it, if this fellow East-
man doesn't smash it up entirely."
"You're strong on facts, Jones, but don't prophesy.
That's your weak point. Go on."
" Well, it seems nobody had been able io find him all
day. Kishu had been to his boarding-house, and was
shown into his room. The landlady said he left before
daylight this morning, and nobody's seen hide nor hair of
him since."
" That's all straight so far. We didn't need any of old
Kishu's palaver to find that out,"
It was Burrows who spoke, snappishly enough, too.
The "medicine "he had taken evidently had not agreed
with him.
"True enough," said Jones eagerly, "but Kishu went
into his room, and something he saw there— he didn't tell
me what it was— satisfied him there was a woman in the
case— in fact, that she had been in that very room, though
THE EVES or ARi.CS.
r6f
the landlady assured him not a soul had entered it for two
months untd the minister came in Saturday night This
naturally troubled him. You know there's been some
talk about h,s daughter and this Kastman. He says
there s nothing in it; but it troubles him all the same " It
seems the minister was heard to make an engagement
yesterday with a strange woman. From the description
1 knew at once it was a Mrs. Sandlord, who has been
stoj.pmg at the Glenmore for some weeks. I tried to
work her up once, when things were dull in the dog-days-
but all I could find out was that she was a client of Met-
ziger. who came to see her at the hotel now and then.
It seems tha't Eastman's aunt has got wind of t: <« matter
too, and had just been up to see if Kishu could tell her
anythmg about the delinquent, who, instead of bei;, oil
yachtmg, as everybody supposed, turns out to have been
hiding here in the city for a month past. Now, if that
isn t enough to start a fellow, what is?"
den°a?' ^"'"''^^ ^'''""'^ °" ^^' ^"'''^°'' ^' '^ challenging
" ^Vell— you started," said Searle.
" That's about all I did do, too," answered Jones, "for
luck put the key of the situation in my hand before I had
gone five blocks. I was trying to decide what J -.LuuM do
next, when what should I see but a cab stopping just
ahead of me. As I came up I saw Metziger get out and
elp this very lady and a child to alight. They went up
the steps, he opened the door with a pass-key, and thev
all went in. Presently a servant came out, took some
parcels from the cab, paid the driver and dismissed him
After a while, Metziger reappeared and stopped a mo-
ment in the door, giving some directions to the servant
I wasn't near enough to hear the first of them, but the last
^J»«%
i6:
Uf -A' (■.■!//■ riASTATAX.
was to ad.nit no one wJio didi.i l.ring a written order from
I'lm, except the Reverend Mr. Kastuian! Now, what do
you think of that?" >"w, wnat do
"Jonesey," exclaimed Marsh, wriggh'ng himself around
on I-laglers la,,, so as to face the narrator, "Jonesev
shake! Wessed if it don't look as if you had finally tret'l
game worth watching. You dear old lunkhead, I con-
gratulate you! "
"Oh, it's being watchod-no trouble about that,'" said
Jones enthusiastically, "and I'm expecting word every
nnnutethat the Reverend Kastman has been run in where
he can be found when he's Wanted.'
"You went back and told Kishu what you Ivad learned
1 suppose," said Searle quietly. '
"1 thought it wouldn't he any more than fair," admitted
jones reluctantly.
" Of course. Well, you've let the Thunderbolt in for as
nasty a mess as it's had to swallow in some time "
" What do you mean? Do you know anything about
this woman?" ' ^
"Not a urr,i N er heard of her before, but the
Jfiunilcrbolt "
"Ah, he promised it should be credited to the Breeze
all fair ^\ii\ square," interrupted Jc( es. " '
" He did! - exclaimed Searle, springing to his feet, his
eyes flashmg with exultation. "Jones, you've done it»
Your fortunes mar'e! . ou'll be on the way to Europe
mside of twenty-^ ho' s ! Good pay nd expenses, for
SIX months at lea ^ iVe struck a nonanza! Have
your grip packed and be ready! "
"That won't take long," said Jones with a bhrug "Do
you think the Thunderbolt ^\\\ make a place for me?"
"'I'he 77//^//,/,.r^^/// You dunderhead. 'Y^i^ Thunder-
tl
a
rrrf: eves of ARctrs.
^H
^.'// would give a thousand dollars for your sral|. before
the ink IS dry on their morning's issue! Oh, my, what a
sell l„ve me your copy, Jones, every bit of it! Never
mmd what I want of it. You've made your Jack ! "
There was no more languor among the group of report-
ers; every one was awake now.
"What dp )u know about the matter, Searle?" asked
Marsh, with childish eagerness. " Have you stumbled on
a soft snaj), too?"
" I have had the best and the wr^st luck to-day I ver
heard of, and have made the most unexpected and most
unfortunate * scoop ' of my life."
"Stop! " exclaimed Flagler, "a 'scoop' may be unex-
pected, but never unfortunate. Here's Jones's, now "
"He hasn't made any 'scoop;' he's hecn 'scooped.'
That's where his luck comes in," said Searle. " He's
made a big strike by being 'scooped;' I've made a stu-
pendous 'scoop' and saved the ^/-^..v from nobody knows
how much trouble; and I won't get a cent for it. Con-
found the luck! "
" What is it, Petrus? " asked Marsh. " Have you found
Tascott?"
"Or Murvale Eastman?" added V .rrows.
"Gentlemen," said Searle excitedlv. " Tv,.; been with
Murvale Eastman for four hours this very day, and know
alUbout his life during the past month— and the devil of
It is, I can't say a word about it ! "
"That />— a— go! " said Flagler seriously.
"Who is she?" piped Marsh.
^^ "Strangest of all, fellou's," continued Searle gravely,
"there isn * any woman in it, nor any wrong- only just
the simplesi bit of straightforward manliness I have run
across in a long time."
164
ML'A'rALE /.yfST.U.iy,
" Voii never
.. u',!!""' ' ■'""'• ""''«'-«^"«l it yel," sai<i Jones rnef.lly
Uhat are you talkmg ai,„ut, anyhow? ■• ''
cabbage .ea/ o'L 1 ,.h - " '„1:i; ;': '/n' " " >■"• »
«« vvnif .11 ^"*' "'"t^r sarcastic speeches
Vvait until I see the 'old nm-. ' n «• • ^^"-"cs.
icy neard him going up the stairs, three stens at -, ;m«
-y .an ,-nr:^t'::xr:'f ;::r tnt'
the Iniihling on any account. '
This meant ^xtra pay, according to the rules of fh.
oftce, and all Nvere well satisfied wifh th« ^
v-'i oausnea with the arrangement.
IK
CHAPTER XVI.
TOO NATURAL FOR " REALISM."
<« ur „ ' ^' "^ '^^^'e yours."
u-s .„ type before .his ,i„e a., Jon^s 'vonTrhav: bet
rOO XATl-RAl. FOR " Rt,AI.liiMr
^(^l
spared the trouble of working up his material, and of
course you wdl have to receive it on the same terms."
" What does he take us for? " asked Burrows.
"The honor of a reporter!" exclaimed Marsh as he
blew a cloud of smoke in Flagler's face.
"All right, little one," said Searle approvingly «• We
all know you've got it. There's no knight-errant of tlie
'pull can be trusted with a secret more securely than the
' blushing baby of the Breeze: "
" Hear! hear! " cried the others with a laugh.
" Fellows," said iMarsh with serio-comic gravity, releas-
ing himself from Flagler's arms and sitting upright on
the table, - to ease the conscience of Mr. Searle, I pro-
pose that we take a solemn oath never to reveal the se
crets he may impart. Hold up your right hands, gentle-
men ! Shut your right eyes ! Now, in nomine Pohpheme,
you do solemnly swear not to speak, write, or indite any
of the thmgs you may hear, under penalty of having your
sole remaining peeper put into everlasting mournin-
S help ye Sullivan, Hyer, et id omne genus. Go on, Bubo
J ve tied their tongues and palsied their hands. You can
croak to your heart's content now. Your honor is safe
m their keeping. But do hurry; we're getting sleepy' "
The frolicsome boy-for Marsh was one of those men
who never outgrow their boyhood-closed his eyes, emitted
a snore, and fell back into Flagler's arms.
"Now, -entlemen," continued Searle, " if Flagler will
choke the boy, I'll tell you a bit of hard-pan fact, which
If a novelist should use he would have the whole pack
of so-called 'realists' at his heels before the ink was dry
on his pages. You see, the 'realist' is always ready to
believe anything mean; but anything decent and manly
iie declares at once to be unnatural. We. who see lif<^ as
i66
'^L-ATj/.i: A.isyj/JA;
it is, know that it is iust n^ c;ii., *.
are bad as that ail a e'^c llu 'h "'" '"'' ^" "="
aiize. '' *"" ' "'J "°' "".-an to mot-
pr::ia:.i7;tr,ra::,t,::t;.7- '^^' °' ■'"^^- "•^'
tie surprise partv he Jl „ ™'"''^"" .'■"«. «> report a lit.
rectors' to-d ; 'I'V: Icr'tl "'" '"'^ '""'' °' <'■-
«rike. yon Ly reZt Id^d'd"'' ""' "' "''
' .l.ot,gh,, ,o bri/g about a I 'ttle^nf ' /;';;'"""«• "->■
.-.;:;;raTor,r,;:;rtT
liead toward the comnanv'! , ^ '""' ""'"<'<' "'
Hickory Avenue rhn/ 'f =" ''"'''"'" »"•«' an.l
"'em .o^he/:;„r";r ';"!"'-" r •^-"-^
I'ent point of attack andT. m' '"■''^' "'* '"°" »=>-
why they were left ul,; te7 Th":"V''"''= """""^"O
" .» true, guarding .lt= c s .he 0!^ '"w:"^^" '"^'
run, and had their hands pretty ful at thi, , ""« •"
very few of the men hve near The « T, ""PP"'"
trouble, it seemed to he Tr ''' ''"'' "«= ^^ef
crowded <<ow„.tot„':hot;r;:r''c;o?r" ■" "-
new drivers had met with ^r^^l , ' "''" '™«> the
Fifth Street, more thin "°,''"*'"'"y ""'il they reached
So there wa next to nod," ""' "°"' ""= '^""^'-'^ds,
"oingas they S a, t 'Tabfes'Tr;'" ""' '™"
to interview Tahor about , hi ^ '^ '"" ^one up
»a cars, When a Ce^ktn' o^'LI^.^THr "r^^^^
coming to the stTl.I^c . i , • ^ ^"^ mob were
-y whicl/opens^r'Fr ' ? '"'" '° "'"°"' "- back
an opportunity ^■"'" *"■"'' """' ">"- "■■'»
TOO XAVCA'.IL 10 A' " A/:AL/S.]/r
167
" I never had much opinion of Tabor until that day-
thought he was a good enough fellow, but had no idea
there was any sand in him. You know he is a little but-
ter-ball sort of a chap, whom one naturally expects to
reach his highest level in concocting a salad or cultivat-
ing some amiable fad. But if he flinched a hair that day
I didn't see it, and I believe you will admit I'm a pretty
fair judge of nerve."
"O, a man that's had six weeks in Bedlam can claim
anything he chooses in that line," said Marsh.
A flush came upon Searle's face, for he had won fame
and a foremost place in his profession at the same time
by having himself sent to an insane asylum and, after a
few weeks, being released by legal process and recounting
his experience.
"It never seemed to me that lay required so much nerve
as It did brain," said Jones. "I could never see how
Searle thought of just the right things for a crazy man to
do. I m sure I couldn't."
,,, '" Jo"es— ^j. ./ " exclaimed Marsh, springing up excitedly.
" Don't, for pity's sake, don't overload us with unbolted
fact! We all know you couldn't do it— it isn't likely any
of the rest of us could -but you had no business to im-
peril Searle's life by absolutely compelling him to blush.
It's too great a strain on his nervous system."
Flagler's big hand closed about the shapely throat and
crowded the curly head back upon his knee.
"As I said, Tabor didn't flinch," continued Searle with
a smile. " The Belt and Cross-Cut had good reason to be
proud of their president that day. He stood by his trust
like a man. I went out with him, not intending to stand
by him at all, but just to see the fun. The mob was tak-
ing the whole broad street to itself. You've most of you
fr
r 1
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1 68
'^n-R]-:.U.F. I-ASTMAX.
seen such crowds from the rear or fh« fl , .
when comin.^ head on l,i . , ^ ^^"^'' ^""^ ^^ is
'"'fo iicaa on, like a mad hull ♦i,^*. -^ ■
one most. Tliere vva. \ .^v a ' ""^ '' "^P^esses
ning, but pushing on in fhnf ' "^^ ^""-
<ie.e™„„a'e,o„ af .", T. t e/" ^^l ™m """" ^""-^
liad made a foi,v,l marph ]% '^''"'"" "'« ""^r
shou d touch flif. ,.v^ . '• ne said they never
•'■|>ose in , ,I°^r L"'; "">' ''^" "'"«• '""■■
-'"■"B ...on o, an,;,-, -s '::::^L^^":b :f ;^ ^^ '
--cbbed!:ij;-ra:.r;-:r^^^^
i here were a dozen or so of us ahonf T i
;n his rear, and all ready to retre.t at 1 , ' '""''^^'
but he stood his cn-n„n,l • ] , ""^ ^ '"oment s notice:
ti- street, and f'Xc H "'"" '" ^'-'^^'^-^ ^"-- ^'^ of
Hen.,htiusttt:nL^^:;;;-7;"s^
told him to net out of W f ""^ '^''^^' ^hey
opened on hm w th 1 '''^' /"^ ^^^^"^ ^^^ ^'^ not
.nuich as paX paS:r Ta, '"^"""' ^^'^^^^^"^ ^
«-«.e,fonunaLyfrhS;air^::i^^7-^'-
^^^n nuich-.just stunned and .fven " ''"'"'
think he's prouder of fnH T ^ beauty-spot I
sesses. ^ '^'^""^ *^^" ^"y^^^ing else he pos-
•ihe black crest of fii« „
^teps of us I drew n , ^^'^' ''^^" ^'^^ ^^'^^in ten
^- I cirew my pistol and stooped down to drag
TOO XATURAL FOR '^ REAL/SM.- ,69
Tabor Off. Just as he fell somebody called out his name
It was like a spark in a powder magazine. I think every
tongue in that struggling n.ass of hate reeked with curses
when they heard it. I knew they would kill him if they
aul hands on Inm, and so kept tugging away to get him
bac m o the office. The stones tlew pretty thick, and
I thmk there were some shots fired at me. I had just
made up my mind to return the fire when some one
grasped my arm, wrenched my pistol away and threw it
across the street, at the very feet of the mob. A shout
went up as they saw me disarmed.
"'Go! 'said the man who had robbed me, in a stern
whisper. Leave me to deal with them! '
" ' But ' said r, glancing at Tabor.
"'Go!' he repeated. ' My life for his- Vou only in-
crease the danger! ' ^
"I turned and ran back to the stables, not at all sorry
to be relieved. Her. I found that Kennedy and a few
o the men who stood by the c:ompany, or more probably
daie not try to get away, had closed the gates, were turn-
ng the horses loose, and getting out the hose. I went
hrough the office into the yard and asked Kennedy what
t meant He sa.d that at the last minute they intended
toturn the hose on the horses and when they became
thoroughly fr,gh.ened, open the gates and let tlfem dash
out upon the crowd.
''^' Who told you to do this? ' I asked.
"'The man out there,' said Kennedy.
"'And who is he.?' I asked.
tak'e'iU ''' ^ ^'' "^^ ' ^"°"' '°"^' "' '^' ^''^^'•'' ^^"^^^. I
''It was a terrible idea to turn more than a thousand
maddened horses against that human wave, but there wa,
pi ■
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Mitfl
11
I70
MUK]-ALK KASTMAX.
\ :
t
no doubt it would be effective. The man who proposed
It had not only sense, but sand as well.
"My curiosity about this matter made me miss the
speech the man who was standing guard over Tabor made
to the crowd. I think some of you reported it in
extenso the next morning; perhaps Marsh,-he was j«A
posed to have been there, you know.'"
There was a laugh at the expense of the curly-headed
Adonis, whose protest was drowned in a gurgle by Flac-
lefs throttling clasp.
"I've no doubt the report was substantially true, though
until to-day I have been inclined to think it mythical. It
seems that a good portion of the crowd recognized this
man, especially the women, who are always the hardest
part of a mob to deal with, though nobody knew who ho
was or anything about him beyond the fact that his name
was Merrill. He had taken great interest in the strikers
and was said to have visited the home of every one of
them and assisted the most needy. While approving the
strike, he discountenanced violence, but counseled firm-
ness in their demand. He had somehow managed to cre-
ate a general impression that he was able to do much more
than he promised or even intimated. When, therefore
he commanded them to halt, and accused them of folly
and cowardice, he spoke with the authority of one whom
they knew to be a friend. He did not deal in soft words
with them, either, but rated them, as near as I can learn
in good sound fool's English, the chief beauty of which
was that there wasn't too much of it.
"The trouble in dealing with mobs usually is that men
want to make speeches to them. That is not the way
A few words that sting and burn; and then something
must be done or proposed to turn them from their pur-
If
rOO XATIKAL I'OK ■■ KEAU S.M.- ,,,
pose. This man hardly used ten sentences, they sav but
I have no do„bt that he „„t into then, al hi, Xl'a 1
crowded ,n^ half a column o, eloquence and mo^e t^:'
Uh . Oh ! groaned the reckless culprit
G,ve ,t to him, Searle," said Jones. " He deserves i,
all. and more than he'll ever ge..' He's a disgrace to he
craft I remember that speech. He got a dfal of "e
for h s courage m reporting it, and now it turns out c
wasn't there at a,,, i. ,vas just a .fake' of ^C^l^:,
"As I was saying," continued .Searle, "the stran.'er di,I
no. g,ve them any tin,e to recover fr'om .LtsX,s
hey d,d not w,sh to be prosecuted for murder and
r ally wanted to gain the object of the strike, to pick "
er^d 'ttdl "" '^""^ ''"' "'° '"^ "«^=- The res
ordered to disperse at once. Then he turned his bark-
on them and helped bring Tabor in
if I?had t' °\"T' '""" ''"'"^ ■'■^''" - '^"derly as
.f he had been a baby, and dispersed without having done
an, harm and m reasonably good-humor. It wa, o, c ,^
the finest ih ngs I ever kn,-w n„f ,■
he had dn„„ ,. ""^ "■•= '■eahzed what
no a'tentr, *"■■"","'" «°"" ■■"'"= ">''«er attracted
no attenion because he made no fuss about it- but f
:„t if "t,;:;'^ '^T-r '- '- ^"^ -- -^-'^ «-
ha.ias 01 a select committee of the strikers, to b- used
"ll ,"thTf "' r"' ''""•''■ ^o- "< "--vo M
i'u,. 7, T"' "''"' " '""" "°"'' •"" everybody at.
^^ ^u..d .t to the man who had headed otT the lb As
ihe settlement -.vas ni the main due to the letters of tki-
-n .0 the board of directors, and also to the 0^;.^
i
i I •
» 1
r
T72 MURVALE EASTMAN.
of the strikers— plain, business-like, sensible letters, which
made it easy for the two parties to deal with each
other.
"Now, the funny thing about it all is that nobody could
find this man Merrill. The police hunted for him, the
company advertised for him, and I spent some time'my-
self in trying to get on his track. The men thought he
was a workman, and got his money from the company;
the company thought him a business man and a philan-
thropist. The police, I think, concluded he was a myth.
As for me, I was much nearer the truth than any of
them." ^
"What did you take him to be?" asked Flagler inter-
estedly.
" Well, after I had hunted down all the Merrills in the
city, and found none of them filled the bill, I was satisfied
that he was working under an alias and concluded that he
must be — a reporter! "
A mingled chorus of groans and laughter greeted this
announcement.
"Who solved the riddle finally?" asked the irrepressi-
ble Jones, when the clamor attending Searle's last state-
ment had subsided.
"Nobody," answered Searle quietly, "it solved itself.
Tabor had a letter from the stranger the other day, saying
that if agreeable he would like to see tlie members of
the board of directors at their regular monthly meeting.
Of course it was agreeable, and it was to report this meet-
ing tlkt Tabor sent for me to-day. The board meets at
twelve o'clock, and promptly at that hour, into the room
where they sat expectant in all the dignity of corporate
power, came one of the company's drivers! Tabor knew
him only as ' Number Forty-six,' a driver who had attracted
TOO X AT URAL FOR ^'REALISM.- ,73
some attention by the fact that he took a man's place
who was hurt by the strikers, and sent his earnings to the
disabled man's family.
" But despite the colored glasses which he wore, I recoR-
told you, Tabor had laid himself out for a surprise-party
on .own hypothesis that the unknown was 'some' '
lionaire philanthropist who had a pet theorv about labor
and capual which he wished to ventiiat; You may
guess the surprise was on his side when he found that the
man to whon. he owed his life, and to whom the company
were mdebted for the saving of its property, was one of
heir own drivers, whom he had last met as a member of
a committee of conference, sent by the employees to
urge some further concessions on the compln/s pa
The president was a little confused at first, bit made his
a knowledgments handsomely, both on his own behalf
and for the company, and then asked what they could do
o further express their gratitude, anticipating any request
he might make by the statement that he was^ust th^kind
of a mara they wanted in their employ, and if there was
no suitable vacancy, they would make one for him He
concluded by asking the man plumply if be would take
he place of assistant superintendent, an office he was
ure the board would gladly create in order to testify
their appreciation of his services. All the other members
made haste to give their approval to Tabor's bright, off-
hand proposal; which was not strange, for the m^n had
as little self-consc.ousness as if he had been in such au-^ust
company al his life. He thanked them pleasantly; ^aid
he was glad to have served them acceptably, but' as he
was about to leave their employ he had come, not to ask
anything for himself, but if th^y won'-' -r^f -^-r^; ' •
. n. 11 ...w^ >voutu not cunsiuer it an
.MM
It
'.iff
174
/!// 7,' /-.//,/■; AV/.V7"J/./.\'
intrusion, to have a few moments' talk with them about
the strike and things connected with it.
" Of course they could not refuse so modest a request,
and Tabor very heartily insisted that he must not think
^ of leaving— the company could not permit it-they stood
ready to offer a salary which would make it impossible
for him to r-jfiise.
" The man thanked them again, and said that if he
was at liberty to confuilt his own preferences he would
like nothing better than to accept the proposal they had
made. It was just the sort of work he would like, but, he
added with a smile, he had another job on hand just now,
which it would be impossible to relinquish, for a time,'
at least, so he would be obliged to decline their very flat-
tering offer. Tabor insisted on knowing what the job
was, and the young man, taking out a neat card-case,
handed him one of his cards. It was better than a play
to see Tabor and his associates as they passed that card
from one to another. At the same time the young man
removed his glasses, and there, disguised only by the ab-
sence of the mustache he has always worn, stood the Rev-
erend ]\Iurvale Eastman!"
Despite the fact that some revelation concerning the
pastor of the Golden Lilies had been promised at the out-
set, this announcement created a genuine surprise among
the little group of hardened caterers for the newsmonger
ing public.
" Had he really been driving a horse car.? " asked Bur-
rows as soon as he recovered his breath.
" Every day except Sundays for a month or more " an-
swered Searle. "I've seen his time-cards, regularly
punched and canceled, on file at the superintendent's
office."
TOO XATCA'.U, /OA' '' RKAIJSM." ,75
"Well, I vow! "' exclaimed Jones.
" Think of it, fellows !" continued Searle ; " here the man
has gone by this very office from four to six times a day
on the front end of a car, carrying his parishioners back
and forth, and not one of them has recognized him
A\hile others were studying the strike from the outside
he went to work and studied it from the inside."
"He's certainly a brick," said Marsh. "I'm almost
wilhng to forgive him for being in love with Lily Kishu."
" What IS that to you, sauce-box? " asked Flagler, play-
fully snapping the ears of the young jester.
"What is it tome? Why, I'm jealous-if you must
know. You see, I intend to marry her myself "
"You do!"
" Nothing less. Grumpy."
" Why, you dunce, Wilton Kishu wouldn't look at you! "
" I don't want him to; it's his daughter I want to look
at me. But you're mistaken there. I'd make a much
better son-m-law than this man Eastman with his new-
fangled notions. All Kishu would have to do with me
would be to stick a check under my plate every Monday
mornmg—just a reasonably fair allowance, you know—
and I wouldn't be a bit more trouble for a week. He
nee 's something docile and ornamental-just in my line
you see." '
"Oh, shut up, rattle-pate," said Jones. "You know
there's no more chance ot your marrying Lilian Kishu than
if she were the daughter of the Grand Mogul.-
" Isn't, eh? Now, see here, I'll bet you a supper for
the crowd I marry her before you get back from vour
European trip. What do you say? "
^^ "Don't be silly, Marsh," said Mather reprovingly.
"You go too far in >'0l foolery sometimes."
.1 )
"'I!
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MURVALF EASTMAX.
"Do you take the bet?"
" No, sonny. I don't want your money, but I'll get you
a pass to San Francisco and back on the wedding journey,
whenever she consents."
"Shake! " said the young fellow, springing up and ex-
tending his hand. " That's one of the things that troubled
me. It wouldn't do, you know, to go half across the con-
tment and get stuck. I've always thought a wedding
journey in two -ctions would be-well, rather unsatis-
factory, you know."
"But how did the Reverend Car-driver get on with the
board?" asked Flagler, again suppressing Marsh.
^ "Just as well as he did with the men," answered Sear'e,
**and for the same reason— he did not assun..' anything!
lit merely said that for a month he had associated with
the drivers, boarding with them, working with them, and
studying their actual relations to the labor they performed,
to their employers, and to society. He did not propose
to teach the board their duties -did not assume to know
what they ought to do. He merely desired to suggest
some things that had occurred to him during his month
or more of association and service with the company's
employees."
" What were his notions on that subject? " asked Ma-
ther,^ the eldest of the company. " In view of his recent
pulpit-utterances, it would be very interesting to know his
views on such practical subjects. I suppose he dealt in
glittering generalities of the gushy Gospel sort, which
ministers insist should regulate the relations of Labor and
Capital?"
"On the contrary," replied Searle, "his views were the
plainest common-sense, expressed in the fewest possible
words. He said he supposed the purpose of the com-
TOO WAT URAL FOR "RPALlSM.
U I
pany was to make the most out of its investment during
the whole ti.ne of its cliarter with the least risk of loss
and that the object of its - loyees was to get as goo<'
wages as they could with y and . eliable employn.ent'
labor graciously assented, v. ith the trite remark that 'the
interest of the employer and the employed is always the
^ame. « Number Forty-six ' quietly replied that he doubted
the truth of that idea, and that if true at all, it required
one defmition of the term 'interest' in its application to
the employer, and an entirely different one in its applica-
tion to the laborer. The ' interest ' of the employer was
to pay the lowest rate of wages, and the 'interest' of the
laborer was to get the highest rate of wages. This was
n^ing the term 'interest' in the same signiiicance as to
botii, and these two interests were diametrically opposed
to each other and could never be reconciled: it was the
interest ' represented solely by the company's pay-roll
There wrs another sort of interest, applying partly to the
.ndivKlu.l stockholders and partly relating to the compar-
ative reliability and efficiency of labor. The charter had
yet, he said, twenty years to run. The company could
not afford to lose two weeks out of each year, nor one
'veek even. Certainty of operation was not only legally
but economically important to them."
" He was right there," interposed Mather.
"Of course. So too, he said, efficiency, carefulness,
and good-will on the part of their employees were import-
ant m various ways-tending to certainty of service
security of j.r operty, care of material, and also to promote
the popularity r " the line. The hostility of their employ-
ees might, as they had seen during the strike, result in al-
most irreparable damage to their property. But mere
lack of personal interest constantly tended to impair the
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(716) 872-4503
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value of the plant and lessen the popularity of the line.
He might be mistaken, he said, but he thought if a per-
sonal interest and pride in the line they served could be
awakened in their employees, it would result in increased
patronage. Competition was constantly increasing; and
attractiveness, regard for the comfort and convenience of
their patrons, he thought, would constitute a material ele-
ment of advantage to the road.
" One of the board remarked there was no use of try-
ing to interest the employees in the company's business
— all they cared for was to make as much as they could
out of the company, and do as little as they could for the
money. Tabor promptly backed this up by saying that
if they could keep their men from stealing they would be
satisfied.
" I expected to see the minister fly off the handle at
this; but he didn't. To my surprise he admitted that if
all restrictions were at once removed, the company would
probably lose money; Lxit he thought it largely a matter
of training. Give a man a bad name, he said, and every-
body knew he was apt to deserve it sooner or later. He
had no doubt that suspicion on the part of the employer
was one of the most fruitful causes of the dishonesty
on the part of employees. There were a good many
others, however, and, he had no doubt, an immediate and
sweeping change of policy would be dangerous to the
company. Yet he could not resist the conviction that,
by wise methods, the men might come to have an actual
pride in their service and a sincere regard for the com-
pany's interests. At the same time, the company might
come to have a pride and interest in their employees also
—a state of feeling which he thought would be advanta-
geous to both, just as the humane and enlightened policy
TOO XATURAI. /OR " A"/-.'.// /.9,)/,"
179
of the company in regartl to its liorses liad proved profita-
ble as well as creditable.
"This was hitting Tabor in a tender place, and he
came down as gracefully as a winged duck. From that
time on it was easy to see that he had a soft side for the
parson's ideas. After a while Murchison, who had all
along been inclined to think Tabor's gratitude a little too
spontaneous, and had a sneaking notion that it was he
who furnished the money to the strikers, blandly inquired:
"'If it is not impertinent, Mr. Eastman, may I ask if
you know anything about the thousand dollars that was
paid the strikers for not burning our property and mur-
dering the president of this company?'
" ' I know something of a sum that was given to aid the
suffering families of men who had been a long time out
of work.'
"'You are sure it was so applied, I suppose?' said
Murchison, with a close approach to a sneer in his tone.
" • I zxi\ ; for I directed that only necessaries should be
|)urchased, and I have received the tradesman's bills for
nearly every dollar of it, with the name of the family to
which each parcel was delivered.'
" ' I suppose you would have no objection to telling us
from whom you received this money?'
" ' I cannot see that it makes any difference to you,'
said the minister with a look of surprise, ' or what interest
you can have in that fact.'
" ' Oh, of course, a man of your profession must exercise
prudence.'
Prudence? I do not understand you, sir! '
"'Certainly— not let the left hand know what the right
does, you r-ee.*
" Murchison, who is a cad with money, shrugged his
t8o
MURVALt EASTMAS'.
\
Shoulders and winked at Tabor, who is a gentleman despite
his money. Tabor flushed r.nd said :
" ' iMr. Eastman, you will remove some misapprehension
among the members of the board if you will kmdly tell
us w^hose money it was you dispensed in this manner.'
Why— my own,' said the honest fellow, blushing like
a schoolboy.
" I think I never heard so spontaneous a round of ap-
plause as the little company gave this declaration. Tabor
trotted over and shook hands with him again, and the
rest followed suit, he all the while protesting that it was
not a matter worth mentioning.
" ' I'm just as much obliged as any one,' said Murchison,
'but I can't quite understand why you gave a thousand
doHars to save property you have no interest in.'
"•Ah, I didn't give it to save your property,' said East-
n^an, with a smile.
What did you give it for, then ? '
"'I hardly know.'
"'Not mere charity, of course, for there are always
people who need help just as much and probably more
than these did.'
Very likely,' replied Eastman.
Then why did you give it? ' asked xMurchison, puffing
out his cheeks like a big toad, and looking arourd as if he
had the divine on the hip.
"'It would be hard to tell all the reasons,' answered
the young man candidly. ' I certainly did not do it for the
sake of the company, nor entirely for the sake of the men
or their families; but I had a feeling that this money,
which I had laid by for the expense of a summer trip and
refitting my yacht, would not only do more goor". but give
me more satisfaction, if used in that way than in any
I'OO X.!7CA\^Z. FOR ''RE.lIlSMr
iSi
Other; and I think it did. It probably prevented some
crime and inclined both parties to the settlement which
came afterward.'
II I Vou expect to get it back, I suppose,' said Murchison.
I. have no doubt the men would repay me if I should
ask them, or even if they knew I had given it, but I hope
to get my pay in another way,' answered Eastman with a
smile.
"'You expected ih* company to foot tlie bill, eh?'
"Then the minister's face flushed and his eyes had an
ominous gleam in them; but he kept his temper and re-
plied:
" ' I had no idea of receiving one penny from the com-
pany, directly or indirectly.'
"'Indeed!' said iMurchison incredulously; 'then how
did you expect to get your money back? '
" ' I did not expect to get it back, but I thought I had
never done anything in my life toward helping to solve
the most difficult problem of our time— the relation be-
tween the man who works for a living and the man who
hires for profit. I did not want to see it go on from bad
to worse, and wait until it was solved by violence and
blood. I think God has given us brains and hearts on
purpose that we may apply reason and justice to such
difficulties and find a cure for them. I was afraid if I
did not do what I did there would be more trouble. So
I gave, in the first place, to prevent farther difficulty; in
the second place, in the hope that it might open the way
for a better state of things. I can hardly expect you to
understand, sir.'
"There was the slightest possible emphasis upon the
pronoun.
'Well, I don't, that's a fact,' replied Murchison doer-
ti <
i
182
MriOAl r r.ASTMAX
gedly. ' But I'm glad you did it, all the same, and as we
received the benefit of your action I think the company
ought to make it up to you.'
"'The company cannot pay me — not a farthing! ' said
Eastman emphatically. 'But,' he added after a moment's
pause, 'if they choose to allow me to direct the api)ropri-
ation of a thousand dollars of their money, through Mr.
Temple here,' with a gesture toward the superintendent,
' they will please me very much more than the return of
the money could, and I think I can promise that it will
be a good investment for them.'
" This was at once agreed to.
"'Now, what will you do with it?' asked Murchison.
"'I should want to consult Mr. Temple about the de-
tails,' replied Mr. Eastman, "but the first thing I would
do would be to pay for extra clerk hire, enough to keep
the men's accounts in their own names and not by num-
bers. A number does very well for a horse, and in prisons
men are so designated, though it is doubtful if there is
any legal right to deprive even a convict of his name. It
is a mark of degradation, and does not incline one thus
treated to be manly. I was not proud of being called
" Number Forty- six,'' though it served my purpose well
enough. It never does a man any good to lessen his self-
respect.'
"'You are right, Mr. Eastman,' said Tabor enthusias-
tically. * Mr. Temjile spoke to me about it this morning,
and I told him it njust be stopped at once. That won't
cost anything ; you must find other use for the money.'
" ' If it can be done without interfering with your con-
venience,' said Eastman hesitantly, ' I vvould be glad if
you could arrange, here at the stables, a comfortable wait-
ing-room for the men, and keep hot coffee or bouillon for
TOO X.ITCA'.U. /-OA- ■•/>■/•..// /.sj/.-
i«5
tiKNu at mgln, and during cold weather bv day also, for a
year, or long enough to note the effect at least. The
brewers g.ve their n,en all the beer they can drink, and
find ,t pays in the added interest they take in their ;ork
I suppose I don-t know as you would get any positive
advantage from u, but I think it would keep so.ni of the
men from gomg to the grog-shop to warm up. n\ like
to see It tried, anyhow.'
" This was assented to. The superintendent said an old
harness-room cou d be fitted nn fr^r fi, ,.
exnen.P TK , " "^ ^""^ ^''^ purpose at little
expense. fhey concluded that four hundred dollars
would cover the cost.
;;;Now what win you do with the rest.:>' asked Tabor
Really, gentlemen,' said Eastman cheerfully ' I had
no Idea so much could be done with so little money. I
don t know-would it be too much to ask you to make
the balance a sort of guaranty fund for some e.xperiments? '
Of what sort?' asked Murchison, not over-pleasantly.
W e re not fond of experiments."
"'I suppose not; and I don't believe I know enough
about the business of the company to define what I wou d
do clearly. I t mk the board might devise some plan if
they thought well of the idea '
paused. '°" '''' ^^^,^^'"— ' '''' ^^'- - Eastman
"'What I had thought of is, whether it would not be
better to institute a scheme of rewards for good conduct
It might be made more effective-more profitable, I mean.'
fiedbvth ?"-t J^''''^''^ Murchison, quite moUi-
nert by the minister s deference.
"; Of course, it needs thought and experience to devise
such a system. Then, too, if you could ,.ive some pubHc
184
^rCRVALE EAST.UA.y.
recognition to your employees. I have u-ondered, crentle
men, ,f ,t uoul.l not be a good notion-good policy I
mean -to give them the proceeds of one day in each
year call it Employees' Day; just divide it among then,
on some fair |.lan -service and good behavior durin. th •
year being taken into consideration.' "
;;;The wlu,!e day's receipts, you mean?' asked Tabor,
riie wliole or such part as you could aflford. The
whole would be a little more than one-fourth of one per
cent, of your gross receipts. I think-of course, it is only
an opinion-that the good-will of the men would add that
amount to your yearly aggregate.'
"Theresas a moment's silence, and tiien Tabor burst
out m his imjjetuous way :
"'I say gentlemen, let's try it! Let's give them Christ-
mas Day!
";it would be a new style of Santa Claus,' said the
minister laughingly, though the tears glistened in his eyes
but I can think of none that would bring joy to more'
homes, or more fully illustrate the "good-will among men "
which should prevail at that season. I believe if you
should do it, you would find that thousands of people
would nde that day just to add a nickel to your generous
Christmas gift; and the added patronage, I am sure,
wou d make you whole during the next year; besides the
good you would accomplish by a commendable example
and a practical step toward the solution of the labor
problem.'
Queer as it seems, it was agreed to. The Belt and
Cross-Cutw.ll divide its receipts on Christmas Day equally
between those who have been in its service a year and
proportionately to those who have been with it a' less
time, without regard to rank, pay, or duties.
TOO XA JURAL FOR "REAUSM." ,^5
Pirious moisture ,1 • his I' ' [Tf'"' ""' -""'"^ ' '"»•
Nicholas Resu.ra„ ',: , r rZlTr '," """ ''■
in .he mean time, and wi,en we cam t '/',"" ''"''
there was Kennedy will, Ihe s ableT T ? "" ^■''"'•
.0 cheer the board! the Rverlndf^:"'""'' ^^'^''^--V
Forty-six! ' reverend Rastman, and ' Nninl.or
" I don't know when IVe ^^..i, ,= „i
- we had at that lunch, or a ma, . n Tm"'^ T'"""'^
» much practical good in a „,Z "mu ta" ^f""'
He means just what h. says, boy, an.Il' . "'
'f he'sgoine to run fl,> r \ , . , '"" >'°" "hat,
-£, hUri;VdS^:,r:hr,^! "... m
.e?rad^irt:ior:Ltr:^^^
accents: ^' '" ^I'gubrious
"Won't some fellow here please --kick-me. "
Never mind, Jonesey," said Marsh " we'll ^
works, rn kick you for maligning one 'of t e ^ ^"^!
ra:a;':iirgtr -^^^^ - -^^^
M^^tZr^/^-rcS-Xsaid
- w r;: c^:'s' -nttc^o:;? ''^:r^^: ^
I^-.^nha.etodoi.fortlJpubltgo'oI'rurr
i86
M UR I' A L E EAS 7MA U.
ought not to be allowed to marry. It would be a public
misfortune. Besides, a man of such serious views of life
wouldn't suit Miss Lilian. She isn't made for such things.
She's as good as gold; but she was made to enjoy, not to
suffer. Such a man would kill her, just by shutting out
the sunshine! "'
" See here, boy, how do you come to know so much
about Miss Lilian Kishu?" asked Searle rather sharply.
" How do I know her? Why, we were kids together,"
replied Marsh. " She'd have been my sweetheart instead
of Eastman's if Father Kislni hadn't been so rich or I so
poor. You see, Eastman will be rich when his aunt dies,
and at any rate is distinguished. Father Kishu wants
money or distinction in a son-in-law, and unfortunately I
have only good looks and the sweetest of tempers. These
just suit a wife, but they're no sort of good to catch a
father-in-law with.''
There was a call on the speaking-tube.
" You're wanted up-stairs, Searle," said Mather, who an-
swered it.
" Well, good-by, fellows," said Searle as he rose to go.
" We've had some pleasant times here, and I hope you'll
miss me sometimes."
•' Miss you? What do you mean? " echoed the others.
" I shall be managing editor to-morrow."
" OiihQ Breeze r'
" It is not settled yet whether it will be the JSreezg or
the Thunderbolt:'
" I hope it will be the Breeze for all our sakes," said
Mather earnestly. "The 'old man' ought to let go.
He's had his hand on the tiller for a good many years ;
lifted the Breeze from practical insolvency up into the
milHons, and he ought to retire. It's all nonsense for a
TOO A-ATi-A-AL fOK " KliAUSAr.- .g,
man .0 go o„ li„i„g ,„■,„,,„ ,,.„ „^, ^^, ____^^^ ^^^_^
.ime-«oinror!' "*'' ""f "" "''•' '^ "'= "--= °' our
"But tl>c.y are no. Ms Meas, as you have just sho„-n
n.a;.eH..e;rusj:;:.;;--^^^^^^^
What IS that?"
less amassinir of weilfh n= ,• . regards the need-
"That />an ideal"
"It will bear thinking about," said ■^-'arle
.hebui,.i„rrrrti::tirt;;r:^:,:r:'^''T
men in the composing-room of th.™ J' ! , ™*"
cwheir Sleeve an/ p„tti;;i:';;efrr";::t^
1 88
\
AnA'i'.i/ /■: /:.i.s/.}/,i.v.
how faithfully these chroniclers of fart and fancy, storm
and sunshine, have catered to their desires.
CHAPTKR XVII.
A DKVJOUS WAY.
"How do you do?"
Lihan Kishu started from a reverie and looked up into
the bronzed fare of a jjlainly-dressed workman who stood
in her path. Her great blue eyes opened wide, and the
smile which had been upon l.er fare as she walked in the
balmy autumn sunshine across Garden Sipiare failed out
as she heard the salutation and recognized the s|)eaker.
" Why, Murvale! " she exclaimed, "how you frightened
me ! "
" I beg your pardon," said the young man, " I only meant
to give you a surprise."
"What is- that?" she asked, pointing to the tin pail
he carried, and looking him over coolly as she spoke.
" That ? That is my dinner-pail." he answered with
a comical look, holding it up for her inspection. She did
not seem to share his gayety.
" Do you take your dinner along when you go out for a
walk?" she asked with a constrained Httle laugh.
" Not any more, dear. This is only a relic— a sacred
relic," he answered gravely.
"A relic! Of what?"
" Of the age of wonders."
" Indeed? Has it any miraculous quahties?"
" It is a thaumaturgic marvel."
" You don't say! What are you going to do with it? "
^ DF.rmrs u:n.
1.S9
A rel.c should have a shrine -cspcci.UIv a relic havin,
the power of working miracles-and I a.n goin. to n
"•-•^ the shrine of the Oohlen Lihes-h^^ t ovj ^
-!csk in the study, you know." b 't over the
i^'e e was a touch of sarcasm in her tone.
had tl.ought of doing so," he ansu-ered, ga/inr rev
erentlyat the long, square can with its tin a. fit n^
.ottom upward on the cover, as he spoke. ^'jf
I- ^ dents though it had evidenti;not been log ::"
"Relics are not always ornamental," he rejoined " f
tiur^k^U would don. good, and my hearerV;^^^^
^_J It would haru^onize so well with the rest of the inte-
;; I do not think it would be much out of place "
You don t? A ter.-thousand-doIlar window and a ten-
cen .lmner-pa,l! Only think of the combination! "
anx^l!;"^''"' uneasily and her eyes scanned his face
"Oh you under-estimate its value," he answered in the
-tenng tone she had a..ume.l. " That pail cost 1 dob
iar. It IS a marvel of mgenuity in its way; a luxury al
"ost an extravagance, to the workingman It took'^ou
trips to pay for that pail." ""^
"Trips? What do you mean?"
"Why, don-t you know? But of course you don't
Let us go over to the church, and I will tell youaboutit "
unet" ;::kf ^" '"', ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ -^'^'-^- -- -
! I
i li
rgo
L'URVALE EASTMAX.
"What does this masquerading mean, Murvale?" she
asked almost tearfully.
" Come and I will tell you."
"But the study is occupied."
"Have you been there? That was very kind." He
smiled fondly down upon her. "We will not disturb
them. I will only leave my relic there, ".nd we will pass
through into the church. It seems an age since I have
seen you."
" That is not my fault." She spoke reproachfully.
" Nor mine," he rejoined carelessly. " Come."
He dropped his dinner-pail. to his side and touched her
arm lightly witli his left hand. She turned, half-unwil-
lingly it seemed, and strolled back with him along the path
across the park.
"Isn't it a lovely day?" he asked as they sauntered
on. He drew her to the side of the walk where the wind
had heaped up the yellow leaves, and kicked a path through
them as he went. Everything seemed to afford him de-
light.
" You seem to enjoy it," she said, smiling at his boyish
abandon.
"I do, I do, Lilian!" he exclaimed, looking at her with
beaming eyes. " I believe I am the happiest man in
the world to-day."
" Yes ? " she said doubtfully. " Why " She looked
up at him timidly,, but at once turned away her eyes and
did not finish the inquiry. She did not know that he had
just come from his interview with the managers of the
Belt and Cross-Cut Companj', and that the joy of the
successful worker for others' welfare was th'rilling his
heart.
" What makes me so happy just now, you mean? O,
'4 DEVroUS JV.t Y.
igr
everything; the day, the sunshine, you-evcrything! I
feel hke a boy out for a holiday,"
"You act like one."
There was a hint of disapproval in her tone, but he did
not notice it.
" I suppose so. You will not wonder when you know the
reason. I have ever so much to explain, and was just on
my way to see you." •'
;; You were.?" she asked, glancing at h" clothes.
\ en, I was hurrying to the study to c..nge these. I
should have had my uniform on by this time if I had not
met you-black coat, white tie, everything quite unex-
ceptionable, I assure you."
He laughed contentedly.
"I should hope it would be a little more conventional
than— what you have on."
" These are all right," he answered carelessly. " Four-
htths of the men in the city do not wear any better."
" But they— it suits their station."
"Well, it suits their occupation; I don't know about
he station. They are workers, and it would seem as if
those who make luxury possible had about as good a
right as anybody to enjoy it. But I have been very happv
wearing these clothes. If I could only have come and
told you about it! You have no idea how hard it was to
stay away."
" You seem to have endured the privation."
She was looking down at the leaves upon the walk be-
fore her, stirring them with the tip of her parasol.
"I knew it was unavoidable; besides, I saw you al-
most every day."
"Saw me?" .
"After your return to the city, T mean."
< I
It*
1
Mm
'i i
19:
J/ [ -A' I 'A Lf: j:a stman:
But— I don't undeistand-
"On the street, you know. At first I was afraid you
would recognize me. Afterward I enjoyed watching your
happiness, knowing myself unrecognized. Haven't you
sometimes thought it would be pleasant to obsv^rve the
happiness of those you love, yourself unseen? It was like
an invisible companionship. Sometimes I used to think
you must feel my presence."
" Why, I have hardly been out at all. Papa had to
return to the city, and I came to keep him company; but
it was so ridiculously early in the season that I hardly
showed myself abroad."
" I knew that was why you rode so much on the street-
car."
" On the street-car? " She started and glanced quickly
toward him.
" I thought it very brave of you to sacrifice so much."
"Sacrifice? I don't — understand you."
Her face was like flame, and she looked steadily away
from her companion.
"To return with your father, I mean."
" Oh — of course. But where were you? "
" Let us hurry on. You shall play my favorite anthem
on the organ, and then I will tell you a story."
"Can't you tell it here — on one of the benches?"
" I am afraid we should attract too much attention."
His eyes rested an instant on her charming suit in which
the early autumn tints were so deftly blended, and then
with a smile he glanced down at his own garments.
" The combination is unusual," she said with a laugh.
" That is why people stare at us so, I suppose."
" Do they? I hadn't noticed," he said carelessly. "No
matter, we shall have the church all to ourselves."
.-/. DEVIOUS WA V.
'95
"But it is so gloomy. I always think of spooks when
I look into an empty churcli."
" Have you ever seen the sunshine through the oriel,
lightmg up the Christ?"
"No."
He noted her indifference.
" I understand," he said.
She looked up inquiringly.
"That you should think the church gloomy, I mean.
It is a pity it is ever closed. I love to sit in the dim
light and watch the golden disk creep upward to the hal-
lowed head. To me it is always a sanctuary, a place of
refuge, full of sweet thoughts. I have so often dreamed
of havmg you with me there that I forgot you might not
enjoy it as I do."
There was a trace of disappointment in his tone, but
no reproach. She looked searchingly at him, but made
no reply. His head was bent down watching the little
billow of leaves which rose before his footsteps, but the
boyish glee which had been in his face had departed.
Suddenly he stopped. They were just opposite the great
cluster of nyassa.
" Why, what am I thinking of? " he exclaimed. " Here
is just the place."
He pushed aside the branches which met above the
neglected walk and signed for her to enter.
I' Oh, no, not there! " she exclaimed with a start.
"Why not? It is a very pretty spot, and entirely se-
cluded."
"Yes— of course," she stammered, "but I— I would
rather go to the church." She looked up appealingly.
"As you prefer, certainly," he said in a disappointed
tone, lettmg go the branches, " but I assure you "
13
1 ''
I
it
194
MURVALE EASTMAX.
"Isn't that where— wliere the man was taken sick?"
she interrupted hurriedly.
" Mr. Underwood? Yes. Did his wife tell you? "
" I haven't seen her."
" I thought you said you had been at the church."
"I didn't go in."
"That's a pity; it would have done them <;ood, I am
sure."
" I— I don't like sick people," petulantly.
" Of course not, but they aie entitled to sympathy," he
answered gravely,
" Oh, I am sorry for the sick; and for the unfortunate,
too," she added apologetically.
" I am sure you are."
" But T don't like to see them, to be near them, to have
anything to do with them."
" I suppose some are so constituted," he replied. " For-
tunately, the sick are not the only ones .who need to be
cheered, and one who makes so many happy need not re-
proach herself for shrinking from the sight of suflfering."
"But I— whom do I make happy?" she asked in sur-
prise.
"Every one who sees you," he answered warmly.
"Beauty is a priceless gift; it blesses all beholders."
" You do not think it wicked to love pretty^ things,
then?"
"Assuredly not," he answered with a mischievous glance.
"I should be a great sinner if it were."
"Ah, I didn't mean that,'' she said with a conscious
blush ; " to desire to be pretty, I mean."
" Do you not suppose the butterfly enjoys his beauty
as well as the bee her sweets? And does it not bring us
as mudh happiness? "
A DEVIOUS WA Y.
'95
" But if a woman should be— should like to be ad-
mired? "
" It is her duty to be attractive," replied the lover earn-
estly. "God gave woman beauty to lighten the world.
With it she is able to exorcise evil and strengthen the im-
pulse for good. Man docs not need it. He is the doer,
the achiever. Woman is the inspirer, the consoler. Her
beauty is the complement of his strength. A woman
should rejoice in her beauty just as a man exults in his
strength. It is her kingdom. Man seldom possesses it,
and when he does it rarely inures to his own or the world's
advantage."
They were still standing before the opening in the
hedge through which the seat under the nyassa could be
dimly seen. Lilian had often sat there with her old play-
mate Marsh, and his handsome face rose before her as
Murvale Eastman uttered these word.s.
" Let us go," she said with sudden irritation of manner.
They moved quickly on, through the gate and toward
the study, Eastman wondering what he had said to give
her annoyance.
The reporters had gone. There had been two or three
loitering about the church when Lilian walked by an hour
before, Marsh among them. She had intended to call at
the study, not from sympathy, but out of curiosity. See-
ing Marsh, she turned into the park, and more from habit
than deliberate purpose, had gone and sat down in their
old haunt. He had followed her, and his rollicking humor
had driven away the gloom which oppressed her. She
had thought herself very unhappy; but the gay young
fellow soon made her smile. Everybody knew of her en-
gagement to the young minister, but Marsh ignored it,
and gave her an amusing account of his disappearance,
li,
\%
il--
if
1
I ;
!
196
AfUR VALE EASmr. \ Y.
making a thousainl ridiculous surmises about the missing
pastor of the Golden Lilies, but taking care to say noth-
ing that might oflfend. She had just left Marsh and saun-
tered down to the entrance on the avenue when she met
Murvale Eastman. The contrast between the handsome
young reporter and the sturdy, matter-of-fact minister
clad m his workingman's suit had appealed to her un-
pleasantly. She did not love Marsh, though she had liked
him almost ever since she could remember, and she did
love Murvale Eastman-so she said. She was certainly
very proud of the fact that he loved lier. She wished he
would not take so much for granted, however; that he
would not forget that a woman loves always to be wooed
even after she has been won. In short, she could not
help wishing that he was more like her old playmate and
ess like himself. Somehow, she could not understand
him— or perhaps he did not understand her.
"Can we not get into the church without going through
the study? " she asked as they approached the entrance
"There is the door to the organ loft," he answered
hesitantly.
" Let us go that way."
" The key is in the study."
" I will wait for you here."
She sat down on one of the stone benches in the atrium
while he opened the door with his latch-key. When he
retu-ned she was tracing figures on the stone floor with
her parasol and did not hear his approach until he said:
" A penny for your thoughts! "
She started and looked up at him. What a splendid
specimen of manhood he was, so strong and resolute!
She could not help comparing him with Marsh. She had
been thinking of the two all the time he was away He
-•/ D/-:r/ocs HAY.
197
his attire, and held a small key in his
had changed
hand.
" Don't you think we'd better go through the study? "
A shadow fell upon her face.
"As you wish," he said lightly. "You will find the
other a crooked way, and I fear a dusty one. Nobody
uses it but the organist, and he but seldom."
She looked up as if to make some reply, then turned
and started down the steps, raising her parasol as she did
so, though the sun was not shining In the alley. Arriving
at the door, he opened it, she stepped within, and he fol-
lowed.
" Shall I leave the door open? " he asked
" No."
Her voice sounded strangely hoarse in the narrow pas-
sage. He shut the door and groped about for the stairs.
" Dark as the pyramids, isn't it? " he said. " Give me
your ''and, Lilian, and let me strike a match. Where are
you? "
" Here "
Close beside him came the answer. The word was
spoken in a whisper. He almost felt her breath. At the
same instant his arm encircled her. He had not thought
she was so near. He felt with his left hand along the
wall, still holding her with his right.
" Here are the stairs. Come on, dear.'*
There was no need for him to whisper, but he somehcw
did not thmk of speaking abov : his breath.
" Be careful," he said anxiously. The stairs were nar-
row and they walked side by side, his arm around her
still. Yet he was afraid ! She was so slight, so precious '
How terribly dark it was ! Why had he let her come that
way? Yet he was glad that she had insisted on doing so
198
. 1/ i -R I •--/ L£ EA S TMA N.
I \
It showed her confidence in him. It was so sweet to be
alone witli hor, so utterly alone! He almost lifted her up
the winding stairs, testing each step before he trusted it.
How silly he was! He had never clasped her in his arms
before; he would not have done it then but for the narrow
stairway and the darkness.
They emerged at length into a narrow space behind the
great organ. \ little round window like that in a ship's
side let in the sunshine above them. A heavy curtain
shut the recess off from the body of the church. They
stopped and listened. Tlii,re was no sound save their
own breathing. He released her as they reached the top
of the stairs, and she entered before I'.im. She stepped
across to the curtain, drew it aside a little, and peeped
down into the silent churcli, then turned and glanced up
at him. His face was Hushed.
" I am afraid, Murvale," she whispered, " Let us go
back."
She crept toward him, trembling and pale, as if to regain
the stairs. He reached out his arm and drew her to him.
She turned away her face and struggled, half-protestingly.
" Murvale! Murvale! Let us go back! "
She still spoke in a whisper. He drew her closer. Her
hat fell back. He kissed the wavy tresses as her head
lay on his breast.
" Lilian! My own, my very own! " he whispered. She
turned her face upward and offered him her lips. He
kissed them again and again. Her hat dropped down
upon the floor and her hair fell hke a wave of burnished
gold about her shoulders. He put her off at arm's-length
and gazed at her, intoxicated with her beauty. Her eyes
fell and her bosom heaved with quick breaths.
He hfted her upon the one stool that stood in the narrow
A DEVIOUS \VA Y.
199
passage, and suddenly knelt down before her, bowing his
head upon his clasped hands, which rested on her lap. She
looked down at him ^vonderingly. He held one of her
hands clasped in his. She put up the other and threw
back a wave of hair that had fallen on her bosom. Still
he d,d not move. She drew back a little way and sought
o release her hand. It was as if hehi in a vise. When he
looked up his face was aglow with a calm, quiet light and
nis lashes were wet with tears.
"Lilian, my own Lilian," he said as he rose and kissed
her forehead. She shrank from him shudderingly.
'I Why did you bring me here? " she asked.
I, Lilian? It was your own suggestion."
He spoke in his ordinary tone. She started as she
heard it echo through the empty church.
" Hush! " she breathed, holding up her hand.
" Why should we spc .k in whispers, Lilian ? " he asked •
nevertheless he moderated his tone.
"I wish you vvouldn-t call me Lilian," she said pettishly
" I'm not a child." ^'
" But you are my-my " stammered the poor fellow
m amazerr ent.
" No, I'm not your— your aiivthinq ! "
She sprang ofif the stool and began to coil her hair. He
picked up her hat and brushed the dust off the ribbons
gazing at it admiringly.
" Do you know this is a very pretty hat, Lilian ? "
"Lilian again!" she exclaimed with a httle ancry
"But you are going to be my wife, dear."
^^'1 Well, we're not married yet; perhaps we never shall
I
.1 I
i !
1' , ■
III !
!
200
A/CA- 1 -.I /./■: /;./ STA/AAT.
" What do you mean? "
" No matter; let me go! "
She tried to pass him and go down the stairs. He put
his arm about lier, but she twisted away from him.
" Let me go! '' she repeated angrily.
" I cannot understand you, dear," he said wonderingly,
"but you must know that you cannot return that way. It
would never do. I was wrong, j)erhaps, to let you come
by it. But we can never go back where we were a little
while ago. We have crossed the bridge which separates
two souls, and cannot repass it. I have kissed you, and
you have received my kisses. Henceforth we belong to
each other and I must protect you from the shadow of re-
proach."
He would have taken her in his arms again, but she
pushed him away, and stood sobbing and trembling before
him.
" Let me go! " she said beseechingly. " Oh, why did I
come?"
" You can go, certainly, if you wish," he said coolly,
" but you cannot go the way we came. For your sake and
mine, we must return through the study."
She made no answer, but her eyes fell before his earn-
est yet respectful gaze. What a strange man he was!
Would he always be better than she? Yet she almost
hated him for his thoughtfulness.
" We will open the organ," he continued. " I will work
the bellows, an J when you have played as much as you
like we will go. Come."
He held out his hand. She placed hers in it, her eyes
still downcast. He drew aside the curtain and they
stepped out into the little gallery where the singers sat.
The sun flamed through the oriel window in the western
■rni: glow or a fateful gem. ,^,
gable and lit up the head of the Christ in the fan,o„s win-
do^v. Murvaie Eastman removed his hat with a look of
profound reverencx>. Lilian Kishu, after one swift glance
bowed her head and pressed her hands tightly over h.l-
CHAPTER XVin.
THE GLOW OF A FATKFUL GEM.
The disk Of sunshine liglued up the circlet of golden
hhes that hung above the thorn-crown.d head, when
Murvaie Eastn^an left the bellows and can.e to ell hi
betrothed the story of his month's experience as a work!
ingman. She turned away, half-regretfully as it seemed
from the keyboard of the great organ whose re^^re
still quivermg-^with the dying notes of the exultant anthem
her touch had evoked, and seated herself in o e of the
spacious chairs of the little gallery, to listen to the prom-
ised revelation. In the softened light her delicate fea-
tures and hthe form stood out like a cameo of matchless
grace against the richly-upholstered chair on which she
half-rechned He was silent for a moment, overwhelmed
wuh her loveliness It was not her beauty-at least he
did no tnink of that-Dut the gracious abandon of her
pose that paralyzed his tongue and choked back the
jords that struggled to his lips. His heart was full of a
delicious gratitude. She was his, his life, his queen and
she accorded him an audience in the solemn lle.l of
u orthtr''^' "'''' °"^^ '^' ^''"'"'""^ ^^''''' ^^^''"^S down
She glanced up under the brim of the broad hat, the
1
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shadow of \\ hicl> set off with rare effect the gray-blue eyes
mth their long lashes and ever-api)ealing expression of
rhildisii innocence, and seeing the rapt look upon his face,
dropped her lids, and begun to trace the figures of the
carpet with the tip of her jjarasol. She did not liiange
her position. \Vhy should she? In a year's practice she
could not have found one whose unstudied grace so well
displayed her peculiar charm. Siie was hardly beautiful;
at least not many won>en thought her so. Neither form
nor feature were of notable perfection; yet both were
good, and tlie harmony between them was complete. The
slender figure, somewhat below the medium height,
matched exquisitely the delicate face, the soft golden hair,
and the tender, childish complexion. Only one feature
seemed out of harmony with this eiiseiiihle, the great round
eyes with tlieir dark fringes, and the clearly-marked eye-
brows, always arciied as if in constant wonder at what met
her gaze. Men admired her openly, and women were
never jealous of iier charms, for united with them she had
a trustful graciousness of manner that disarmed suspicion
and held even love at bay. Murvale Eastman's glance
followed her downcast eyes, and he watched in silence
while she continued to trace the figures on the carpet.
" Well? " she said at length without looking up. There
was a hint of amusement in her voice, and the dimple lu
her cheek grew unconsciously a trifle more distinct. She
evidently knew and was pleased with the effect produced
upon her simple-hearted lover.
He to] ' his story without any of the animation he had
imagined z would throw into its recital. Poor fellow!
He had OJ, •; - ..diearjed his part, and dreamed of the
sympathv riiit voi'id light he* eyes, of the tenderness that
v.'ould erf '='}:; iri. > ler voice, -xa she listened to his tale of
I !
i I
TUH CLOir OF ., FATEFUL ULM,
nianly duty manfully performed. He loved thU r,; \
sosimpIvfh.M ho hul n..v..,- .1 "^.'"^'^^l this fair girl
nature' might t "pi d '7' ' J^'^^^''''^' ^'-t her
beeacharmedv h hr"^ , ^'^ l'^^'^'^^'^''""^- He had
N^M iiLr to Ins ideal~]ie was not conscious fhnf i,
'^ad any. He had never been a «• ladies' m n . '
J^eepm^r ],„„ at school. She wis rich Tr i , ^
been Jus home- hut d, . 7i "'-''' ''°'"'-^ ^^^i''
during his ca'io' 'f ;"" "^"''^'■^'^ •^' ^-^P-'-^^y
-e:hatp:::ridej^::.;:::y'^v^--^"-;^^
ically a man's man Ife liked " "''' ""^•'''■^'-
*hece were sH-rn I ' '"^^''^°^^' '"otherhood-
^ne.e wcic sacred reahns, over whicli woman rei.^ned su
=l.ne in which pure an.l beau.if„l b me :s . 'J, .7"
ported .h=,„.e,ve. ,vho„ relieve.! ,ro,„ theie " d' .e„
fe dm.es „npo.ed „p„„ ,he„, as pries.e.se. in .11;^
When lie came fn l,^,■.. t ii;„„ t-- , ^,
Ionian Kishu, therefore ho
placed her on th
I'd
iiiM
; f'l
e \-
ery pmnaclc of
iniag;r,able jJcrfection,
I II
*',
M!
204
.1/[/J^ VA LE EA S T^L-\ X.
He never thought it possible tht.t she could be smutched
with so much as an evil thought. He did not deliberately
believe her incapable of doing wrong, but simply never
thought of evil in connection with her. His faith was in-
stinctive, and so beyond the realm of doubt. They had
been betrothed nearly a year, but he had never embraced
her, never felt himself alone with her before. And that
embrace— the kisses— how they thrilled his being! How
good she was to grant him such rapturous privilege! No
wonder she was afraid of him! He had been a boor -a
bear! And she? She was a saint— a lamb!
Thus the simple-hearted fellow reasoned with himself
as he worked the bellows, while the fair girl's fingers swept
over the keys, and the great hollow vault echoed and re-
echoed the strains of praise which the ear of genius had
caught out of the depths of space which to other souls are
cold and dull as the void of eternity. Jonas Underwood
had had his couch moved so that through the open door
behind the pulpit he might look up at the figure of the
Christ he loved with such str.-:.nge, harsh fervor. He lay
holding his wife's hand while they watched the transfor-
mation, and the tears sprang to both their eyes as the
volume of sweet sound came echoing through the spacious
church already full of tender symphonies. All unwittingly
the puzzled lover and puzzling maid were ministering to
bruised souls who sat in shadow waiting for the end.
Murvale Eastman had never dreamed that it would
seem a thankless task to tell the woman he loved what he
had done, what he hoped to do, and what he wished
might be done. To him the betterment of human condi-
tions had become the very highest form of praise. The
act of worship was to him only the human soul's passionate
indorsement of the beneficent purpose of the Divine. He
TfTE CLOW OF A FATEFUL GEM. ,^^
worshiped God because he believed in CodV i
animate ,„e „ea« or >l ^::oZ''1u::iJ:t\ T'
nature was one of exquisite sensib.li.y h" , ,' ' ! ''"
lips quiver and l,er eves -tow soft „;,l , ^"
lie told .he story of •tl,e°Chi,„rHT"'"°"=''^''''
To him the Master Jr,, ' 'Imne mission.
-10.., so i-i^'sriri .:„rrr::r ^ t"'''°
humihation and death could :;.', Lor"- J"^ -™";
he know th^^ u-i,,-],. i 4^'t;ncii u. How shou d
grandeur U,' , ^./f '--^""""S "^ ^'-S'>. and
in whose ceruloll ; : , '""' "'= S''=^" "-''"'^i- eyes
*e holy ii ' of ijt ' "f """' '° ^'='-' '■••"".ed all
suffering rt 1° i^^e HoK. O " 7 °""' """" P"'' '°'- "«
ijnow tirat the git "^iH,';;,.::," ^r L ;f "• ^r"" "^
hanced its spiritual beauty tl.al I,, s ,• ""'' '° ""
heart worshiped her =v 'b fote Ws ™ """ '"""'' "'»
reflection of his own entln, iat P If d" ^T °"'V'"
things, and because he <lid not he l , . """^ ""'=
rewarded a thousand fo I,: h eZtr.rh "l' "T*
better existing conditions, in h s.nmn" ! i" "^ '"
■ ful appreciation. "=' "■""dcnng, tear-
But she did not smilp cJ->« ^; j
length the time ca, e N'otgettrr T"' "'"" ="
into her eyes as he told thfston of r """ '""""«
desert of toil. She sat s HI ' '"J""" '" "'e
*e carpet, breaU ig eVe ^^1^"" '"f '-^"^"^ °'
ing up at him inqtn'ig;; '' °"'^ "°" *■'"' '"=" '°*-
Yet how lovely she°was! The soft Inir ,t, i
cTSei :„™ti'"r - '--"c.iig't::rz
'If ^
If
fl
'■I
1
il
306
MCRVALE EASTMAW
Strange experience to him. She no doubt regarded it as
a matter of course, one of tlie things a man ought to do,
especially a minister. He wondered if he ought not to
have done more — so much that she would have been com-
pelled to smile approvingly, at least. What had he done,
after all? What an egotist, to think that one so good would
be stirred by the bungling story of his awkward effort to
solve even the simplest postulate of the great problem of
human life !
She looked up at last with eyes full enough of wonder
— wonder and something else, he could not determine
what it was. But she did not unbend, her cheek did not
flush, her lips gave no word of approval. Her eyes seemed
to grow larger, their blue depths to become gray. Her
cheek was cold, and the hair that formed so soft a crown
for her brow seemed to lose something of its golden
luster. Of what was slie thinking? Had he failed in
the telling as miserably as in the doing of his self-appointed
task?
When he had concluded he held out his liand, saying,
" Now you know it all, dear Lilian— why I could not
come to you, how I saw you so often, and why I have
said and done the things at which you wondered. Will
you not tell me — have I done right?"'
She did not take his hand, but drew away a lit;le and
answered in a strange, constrained manner:
" I suppose so," adding as she saw the look of wonder
deepening in his eyes, " You are very good, you imist be
very good, much better than — than I could ever be." She
was toying with a ring upon her finger as she spoke. "I
cannot understaml how you should enjoy such things."'
"I don't suppose I do enjoy them," he said; "at least
I never thought of them as a source of enjoyment. Prob-
THE GLOW OF A FATEFUL GEM. ^07
ably one does enjoy doing what he thmks ought to be
" You like to be thouglit brave? "
"I suppose so,-' sn.iling; "at least I slun.ld hate to be
esteemed a coward. I think any n.an would "'
^^ Are all nien brave? '• She was thinking of Marsh.
>Vell— ye.s, I suppose so; in some sense "
'^But all do not seek to <lo such-such unaccountable
tilings? She was sure Marsh would not
Perhaps not," laughingly; "not just the same; but
rh y may do thmgs requiring a good deal more courage"'
As what? "
" Well, a great wrong, for instance. Every wicked man
must be very brave."
from the Church of the Golden Lilies more than a month
before, and of the black-veiled figure Le had met in the
study only yesterday?
Lilian shrank still farther away at his words
' Did any one ever tell you that you were brave-very
brave, I mean-unusually brave?" she added after a
moment s pause.
" I don't know. Why? "
"Oh, nothing. I suppose no one ever said to you,
You are a brave man! ' "
"By the same person?"
"Curiously enough, yes."
" Did it give you pleasure? "
I] h'^rdly think so; certainly not the first time "
It was a person whose good opinion you prized?'
20<
MURVALE EASTMAN.
" Very highly."
"And one capable of judging?"
"One of the bravest women that ever lived," he spoke
with enthusiasm, adding more temperately, "and one of
the best."
There was a moment's hesitation, and a hint of tremor
in her voice as she asked:
" Who was it, Murvale? "
He did not note the tone nor the strained look in her
eyes. The shadows were gathering in the church.
"It was a good v/hile ago— the first time, that is"— he
answered with something like a sigh. " It was Mrs.— that
is— perhaps I ought not to tell you just now. You will
probably know all about it to-morrow." His manner was
hesitant, but without confusion.
"Ah, so soon?" she rejoined lightly, starting upright
in the chair. "Then 111 wait. Shall I learn everything
about her, do you think?"
"Oh, I suppose so."
There was no mistaking the disgust in his voice.
" How delightful! I must be going now."
Her tone was one of contented cheerfulness. Murvale
Eastman did not love the lady in black whom she had
overheard conversing with him in the study. This was
enou<^h. She was not always sure that she loved the man
to whom she was engaged, but she was positive that she
did not want him to love another. If he were only not so
good, or rather not so fond of doing good— a little more
like Marsh— she would be entirely happy.
She rose, letting her gloves fall from her lap. He
stooped and picked them up. She took them with her
right hand, changing them at once to the left, ^/hich held
her parasol, and whispered her thanks, looking up into his
TSZ GLOW OF A FATEFUL GEM. ,^
«y", h« right hand raised cxpKlantly. Another man
would have kissed her, seeing that look i„d bdn ' so n"ar
,",, , , ™ ^°'-'' '^••''""S sl"> ''--Kl been of th-
,lundso„,e ,vo,.an ,v,th ,vhom he seo„,ed to be '
suci fannnar ternis; that she was ashamed to lava
doubted h,n,, and proud of his unconscious flitMtd!
But Mur..ale Eastman sa>v none of this. The unr-tised
h nd and expectant eyes gave him no hint. He m e y
t rned and led the ,v.ay down the steps to the plTfortl
She followed moodily She could not help thinki ft ,«
her old playmate would never have slighted he prefv
littll KM ''^ '" ""' "='" '<'^-" '-r since they've^
.tte cMdren at dancing-school together. M'hat aTal
ant httle lover he was then ! She cared nothing for \t
0- she thought, and she tried so hard to lov' tr b"
ro l,ed, but he was so-so blin.l - Yet how he loved her
proud of h,s love, only she wished it were-well a little
different, somehow. ' '"''
The door into the study was closed. As they reached
l.e foot of the stairs, he said hesitantly: "Yon wiU p at
to-to-the good people in there? " ^
" If you wish."
"Thank v-ou."
intfodttd 'hi! " *' '°°'' '"' "■''^" '"^^ -« admitted
quietly but the look npo,; his face was of that pathetic
emery. He took the young girl's hand and looked with
tender raeantng from her face to that of his friend.
She ts^to be my wife," Mnrvale Eastman responded
¥ II
310
.Ifrj^l -A L E r.A S TMA S\
to the unspoken question. His tone was very tender.
Lilian's face thished scarlet.
" How like a man," said Mrs. Underwood, noting the
girl's embarrassment and wishing to relieve it. "You
must leach him better manners, miss." Yet the look she
cast on the offender was one of open admiration. There
is nothing a woman so much admires in a lover as the
frank avowal of his love for another.
" You are a very fortunate woman," whisjjcred Jonas
Underwood, still holding her hand and turning an earnest
look upon the young man as he stepped a little aside talking
in a low tone to the wife abput her husband's condition.
Lilian lifted her eyes from the invalid's face and let them
rest upon her lover. Why could he not have been as
picturesque-looking as this man with his long beard and
magnificent dark eyes! Shi know Murvale Eastman was
strong and supple, a man whose physique was envied by
other men, but there was nothing striking in his appear-
ance. If he only had this man's eyes it would be so much
easier, she thought, to love him — as he deserved.
As this thought passed through her mind the sick man's
eyes fell upon an opal that shone upon one of the fingers
of the hand he held. His face showed an almost childish
pleasure as he watched its fitful iridescence, turning the
white hand back and forth that he might catch the gleam
of fire which tiie gas-jet shining above the head of his
couch awoke in the mysterious stone. Lilian watched
him wonderingly. She did not like sick people, but this
man with his flowing beard, dark eyes, wade brow, and
tender, pathetic look, attracted her greatly. She liked
to have him hold her hand. She wished she might do
something to give him pleasure.
" The only gem I ever fancied," he whispered with a
smile, " was an opal."
rriE GLOIV Of ,^ FATEFCL CK.y.
2rr
"I lialc them ! ■ s|,e a„„v„«l pettishly.
n... >vi.h h,„, to thi„n.:::,.:7f,n"'"'™' '■" ^'■^- *''
^ e.s, I Juve," slie responded .^avlv • «' r n
it to you." 'Hiea^axly; I am going to give
.ered those words ^: ^l^' "■"^'»-' ^'- -
hour ,vhe„ he declared Lotf':"" '''\«^™ »"
almost a year before She V °" ''"' '""'"'»>'>
iiernewnC- and , "">' '"■°"'' "'="■ I'M'' of
Hentiy ..nconsdot.:"-;;" : »":;„::„::?= """"'•?'■ ^■^■'-
onlyulad thnt she „..,. '»""=■•'"« of her words, and
friencled tl "''' '-'""-■"^"""g 'he man he had be-
fnended. She was angry because he wo„id no, remcl
jo.t^.^;rrv™!rx"'^H""''''T"
look Of gratified surprise ""■'" " "■'* ^
-Ha„dis\° ft':::::;,:':' '"t- "^'-^ "°"^^'-<'
or made in acL^^i ::,::i r';:r'v^''''r'''
met the conditions, and this has b o ^^.t "u good7™ ""
m spite of yourself T hn,.<. i °"\>°" gooo foitune
than its value "'"'^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ «^'^^ «^ore
"You have?"
"Wait! wait!" he said meaninglv.
J: ri
»li
AfURFALE EASTMAN.
" You must not talk so much, dear," said Mrs. Under-
wood, hastening to the side of the couch, anxious to spare
the invalid. " He means," she added, looking up at the
girl and then glancing around at her companion, "that he
has made your husband that is to be " she paused in
evident confusion.
" Richer than he ever dreamed of being," interposed
the minister, instinctively recognizing her embarrassment
and naturally misconstruing it. "I should never have
owned that dinner-pail but for him, Lilian. I have told
her all about it," he added with a smile to the invalid.
" But I meant •" bega,n Mrs. Underwood. A look
from her husband checked the explanation.
Murvale Eastman and Lilian Kishu soon bade the oc-
cupants of the study good-night and sauntered toward her
father's house in the early autumn twilight. Not much
was said upon the way; his heart was too full-— and hers?
They climbed the marble steps and entered the vestibule.
It was spacious and dimly-lighted. Though deemed a
marvel of architectural elegance a score of years before, the
house was already growing old-fashioned.
"Shall I ring?" he asks.
She shakes her head, searches in her pocket for a latch-
key, and inserting it in its place, says:
"Will you come in?"
It is not an invitation, only a courtesy. He feek it to
be such.
" I think you have given me enough of your time to-
day."
There is a grateful tenderness in his tone. She takes
the hand he extends.
" Good-night,"
She looks up into his eyes. " Murvale, I am not good
rJfi^riWA-DF.J,BOLT-SCOOrS- ■:■!„< n^EEZE. ,,^
=no,,gl, to_,o be your wife," she whispers. Sl,e lifts |,is
l'a.Kl eo her l,ps; kisses i. once, l>vice. Lice, with to
passionate ardor, opens ,he door, and wi.h \ li L a t h
dlsap|)cars wilhin. "*>"
The paslor of the Golden Lilies stood without, speech
less w„h rapture. He walke.l on air, his head kn'ekt
agau,st the stars, as he tnade his way ho„,e,vard. Never:
Aelcss he d,d a„,ple justice to the bela.cl tuealhat
awatted h,,„, notwithstanding ..he landla-b's frowns He
was a healthy ruan, though a purblind lover. Son-e hour^
afterward he fell asleep and slept until the daw , i Z
on e dreanttng that the nigh, was but a narrow istlZ
s. etched between a blissful pas. and an ocean of iZ
blackness that lay beyond, ^
CHAPTER xrx.
THE THUNDEl^BOLT " .SCOOPS " THE BREEZE.
aade a h,t. It was a very attractive scandal, and the
edtfon went off like ho. cakes. Every man one met upott
.l.e streets had a copy i„ his hand, or in his pocket. The
s nntd y ''"''°"'"' '" ^' '^^"='' "" ■■"formation
supphed by a reporter of the B„cze, but not a hint of the
^candal was to be found in the columns of that journak
The mmderboll had evidently "scooped" its rival, and
reaped the rew.ard of enterprise. That was the verdict of
he pubhc. No la<ly was willing to be seen with the pape
.n her possession, bu. an unusually large number of serv-
ant guls displayed great anxiety to secure the 'atest
Si
214
MURVALE EAST MAX.
news. The newsboys understood the situation and
winked at the housemaids, but never offered the T/iun-
dcrholt to a lady. Yet, somehow, the mistresses seemed
to have divined what the paper contained. So, all over
the city, the Church of the Golden Lilies, its pastor,
Wilton Kishu, his daughter Lilian, and the mysterious
woman in black, were curiously intermingled in the gossip
of the day; while the wires that led to other cities were
hot with the racy revelations which were already being
set up with many an irreverent jest in hundreds of com-
posing rooms throughout the land.
It is the fashion of the time. Linocence is no longer
deemed a desirable ipiality; and there are many good
people who declare that familiarity with vice is not detri-
mental to manly worth or womanly i)urity. It is only
romantic notions of love and virtue that we fear to-d^j ;
and these we seek to forestall by prescribing for the young
soul the carefully elaborated daily record of the world's
infamies, and substituting " realistic" impurity as a motive
for "healthy fiction," instead of the silly scntimentalism
of old-fashioned love. No matter ; a generation to whose
lips the pessimistic foulness of Tolstoi and his imitators
has been commended as an inspiring cordial, not only by
the high -priests of literature, but by ministers of God, is
perhaps beyond fear of peril from the highly-spiced narra-
tives of social peccadillos which abound in the daily press.
News is the most important element of knowledge; and
naughtiness the most important feature of news. Such is
the verdict of to-day.
So the hum of scandal filled the city, and the leer of
shameful consciousness gave a zest to the general dis-
course.
Even the blush on the cheek of innocence told how
THE nn ■xDi.KiiOL T - SCOOPS " mr n/.^/rz'- , , -
thoroughly the city was enjoying the feast of foulness (he
echtor o the 7W/,v-/W/ had spread for their delectation
r was the b.,gest kind of a hit. Twonty thousand more
of the papers sold than of any edition of the T/nau/rrMf
ever pruned before. All the men conm.ended the jourr.al
for us boldness and enterprise. Jiut thank God, no man
opened his l.ps to any woman in such vein! It may not
be much to be grateful for, but even the most insignifi-
cant blessmg should not be overlooked. And there were
son,e, too--how rare they seemed to the hopeful observer-
-who with sad<lened eyes and anxious tones, sometimes
feafu and sometnnes resentful, asked: «' Do you suppose
th.s dreadful story can be true? " And there were fewer
st.ll--ah, so very few!-who drew down their brows
angrily, and pinning tlieir faith to poor self-slandered
humanity, resolutely said, "It is a lie! " Blessed be the
remnant who can still believe God's noblest work not
wholly foul !
Yet many of the good people who deem the depiction
of vice the diief means of promoting virtue, praised the
r/...^.^W/ for the innuendoes it flung at the pastor of
he Golden Lilies, and at the woman who had ,)resumed to
become a householder in the city, and assume the guise
of gentdity, without furnishing evidence of abundant
means or, at least, influential connections. If she had
been known to be worth a million dollars, society would
have asked ao questions about her past, and the editor
would as soon have bitten off his own head as have given
currency to such aspersions.
When he went down to his breakfast that morning,
Murvale Eastman found himself the center of a curious
circle who strove in vain to conceal the conscious glances
that sought his face while he read the account of his own
1
i'4
n
!!'
%
\^\-'
^M^-
!l6
MrKl'.U F. r.lSTM.lV.
"sliaiu^<U-ss (oiulu.t ■■ ns it was " cxposod" in tlic ncws-
paiuM- whuh l.iy lu'^ido liis pUilc. Most iiiu-Npccteilly
to till- olisiMvi-rs it di'l not sfom to affect liiui seriously.
Sometimes Iiis fare I>.'eame i;iavo, l)iit more fre(|iieiUly it
was smiliiti; and mirthful. Willi most reprehensible ilis-
regard for the feeliii;.;s of others, he sai<l nothing' about
the matter he must have known was iipi>crm(jsl in the
minds of his fellowlod-ers, but ate as hearty a breakfast
as if he had not been slrucl, by the Thiimio bolt. The
watchers were disappointed, dissatisfied. It was shame-
ful, Ihev saiil, such callous inihfference. V-ven if inno-
cent, he would natm-ally h.ave been pained at such a
pul)lic scandal, for tliL- sake of liis church, if not for him-
self. So his very lack of guilty ccmfusion was taken as a
proof of guilt; and the clieerful appetite with which he
discussed his breakfast was held by the gossips of the
house to be proof positive of a hardened conscience. ^
Of half this feeling, Murvale Kastman was unconscious,
and of the rest, indilVercnt. The matter, so far as he was
personally concerned, seemed H> him rather amusing than
serious. The whole tiling was so plain --his relation to
it so absolutely blameless • that he could not imagine
anything more than a candid statement of the facts neces-
sary, not merely to free him from suspicion of evil, but to
estalilish the fair lame of the lady whose name had been
so recklessly associated with his. lie would have pitied
the 77///;/^A77'('// for its absurd mistake, had not all his pity
been given to his innocent partner in imputed evil. He
could not but think of the tears she would shed. Poor
woman ! She had known a good deal of sorrow, but until
this time had always found sympathizing friends. Now
she was alone, alone in the great city except for him and
her lawyer. But Metziger was a host in himself; he would
be
sure to turn this Imital
■Si\M>rs" /•///■: /w/-r://:.
that would only be to
iiltack to hiT a<Iv,-uil
transfer the load of sh
''J,'i-'.
217
J't-arts. Whit' \Z "l 'i;7"''" ;'" '"•'" "^ •'^'' "'^' t" "thor
'->-oi,earthe,l;.d ;;;;:,;''''--''•' '-
"Kmger had sought to r tst o l , •'""■ ^''^' •^^^■'"^''•il-
hca.l. ^ ''^'^ '"' ""^ 'IcJcnseless woman's
^V'ould people guess the truth? Tl,
^'-'^''ne.I tohuu, ,oM IS nil , ' '' ''"•'' ^'^ ''
»'^^>1 been knou. -u tl^ ""''''' '""''' '^'" '^- ^''«
Witty reporter stated, "frou. n.otiv -s '""''•'^'''r. ' tl'e
of J. Sandford Me ton , • '""'"^ '"''^^""""3'- ">c name
There was a ron ,'""'' V' """' ''^' ^'--l''-^te/'
iife in tlu,se wo 1 " ^ ti "T '' ''"•"''-' •'^'"^>' ''^ ^^^^l
"• Would othc^^ ht J ,;r '■' v'r-'^''"^^ ''''' "^'^ --
And if they were :j^r;;:^;:j;:i':^;-'vr'^^
the church-of the reh-gion he proa^.^l ? "' '^"' "^^^
-hich the landlady no'te" s V"." -" '" '" '^"'
card was handed 'ohm a I. '" "' '" ^°^^^- ^
Searle was the name it lore If , '^"'"-^-I^-cy W.
Golden Lilies rin. out nine ' 1'''^' '''' ^'^'' ^^ ^^^-
stairs to meet the Z "^ ''' ^'' '''^' "P the
church! He Iw vs T^'r^'',"^ ""' ^'" ^''^-- f^--
to think that .^ Jt^ Lo r "' '^'"""- '''' ''-^^ -'--^1
of its renown ^;^°,o;r'^, "'^'" ^^^'" ^^^^ ^-^'^-^ '
Morton is at ten H \' ^"'^ ^"S^^'^'^^'nt with Mrs.
needofallh r rend" o:" nTI ''''''' '''' ''' ^-
has in the city. H n^^^'n ^^-f " ''''' ''''' °^ ^" ^'-'
n-t, nor be a m«tt:tfr" ''^T ^'^-PP-^-
Pang. He cannot .IvVtl ?' '\ '''''' '^^^ °"e more
give iMr. Searl
■' T
■I
e much tiinc; d
; loriu
ar:,.:„t,^-^^,-, ,.„^„,,.-^|,y
2jg MUEVALE EASTMAN.
nately, it is not necessary. So he says to himself as he as-
cends the stairs, and there is a pleasant smile upon his
face as he extends his hand io the reporter who waits his
coming in the hall.
"You can give me a minute?" asks Searle, testmg the
genial fa<:e before him with those calm gray eyes which
are trained to read the hearts of men, while his counte-
nance gives no hint of the verdict heart and brain are mak-
ing up- , , • u •
"About forty of them," is the hearty reply, which is
easily heard in the adjacent parlor.
" Is that all? " with a smile. " Well, I guess the Breeze
can get along with that. I^ presume your time will be
pretty well taken up to-day."
They are walking along the narrow hall toward the
stairway in the rear. Searle is conscious that more than
one face is peering at them through the parlor door, and
cannot resist a smile at the discomfiture he thinks they
are sure to meet. But the minister's answering words
overwhelm even his impregnable equipoise, and stun him
into silence with astonishment.
" Oh I don't know," responds the minister gayly. He
is just rounding the turn in the stairs at the landing, half-
way up the long first flight. He has one hand m the
pocket of a black velvet smoking-jacket faced with crim-
son silk, and caught across the breast with crimson cords
which confine it to his supple form ; the other holds the
Thunderbolt, half unfolded. His face is toward the f'-ont
hall door. The morning sun shines through a window at
his left and falls upon it. His voice is audible over all
the house. • ,, •
"I do not know that I have anything especially import-
ant to-day, except an engagement at icn-with Mrs.
MertonT'
THE THUKDERBOL T ^'SCOOPS" THE BKEEZE ,
The words were rlpflr ciicfjr,^*. i
n«f K 1 ' ^''^^'"ct, emphatic. Searle ronl.i
not help a start and a ciance tou-ir,? fi,„ , !
Innc if , 1 -• ^^^"^^^'^^ the parlor door Ver.
Searl Toolt'r """ , ''"■ """"' ' Shameless, •■
^ou are going to see xMrs. Merton oh?" c.; i c ,
Yes, indeed; I have an appointment with her for .i •
mornmg, which it would never do to clelay-now th. f
IS in trouble especially." ^ ° ' ^^^^ '^^
"You know her, then?"
"Oh, very well, indeed."
;;And have met her-frequentlj-, I suppose?"
Years ago, yes; but I had not se^n h«. f
time until last Sunday." ^'' ^°'" ^ ^""g
"She was at church ?"
shr!nHS'"V'T' ^"''^ "'^' '^"^y ^f^^^ the service-
she ^and I.er daughter, who was only a baby when I saw
"Do you remember who was present at that time?
There were others there, I suppose ? "
"There had been-I think she came in alone."
"oVrolr!"" '" ""'' ^'^ ^"^^^"^"^^"^ ^- ^-d^y? " .
factlTllS t'o-orlfl^Tr^^?^ ^°'"^ ^"^' - ^^-
"It seems so. I had not thought of it before "
Now that he did think of it he rcn^n-^ a ^
^' "^ remembered that Lilian
I I
'. ^
I, :«
220 MURVALE EASTMAN.
had more than once alluded to it in their conversation the
day before.
" Have you any idea who it was? "
Murvale Eastman did not answer. Searle's countenance
gave no hint that he noticed his silence.
"Who is she— this woman-^trs. Merton, I mean?"
he continued.
" Did you not see ? Do you not understand ? It is tolcl
so plainly I thought every one must see it."
He took the paper, which he had thrown upon the pile
of letters that lay on the desk by which he sat, and handed
it to the other, crushing i^ together so that his thumb
pointed to the allusion made to the door-plate. The
journalist read it with that practiced ease which enables
one of his profession to extract the meaning of a column
at a glance, allowed his eye to rest a moment on the
strong, shapely thumb which held the paper without a
trace of unsteadiness, and said, raising his eyes to the
ministers face:
" Well ? "
" Don't you see?"
"An odd coincidence— certainly.'"
" It is more than a coincidence— she is Mrs. Merton."
" A widow, I suppose ? "
"A widow! She is Mrs. Merton— Mrs. J. Sandford
Merton, I tell you."
He spoke with that natural emphasis one uses m point-
ing out a fact he is surprised that another has missed.
Not a muscle of Searle's face stirred; there was only a
hint of new light in his eyes. ^^
" You know what you are talking about, I suppose?
" Know? " The tone was fresh and breezy. " I ought
»to know; I married them."
^"^rr"-''..-'^orr -SCOOPS- tm, n.,,,,.
221
"Married- whom?"
r baptized their child " "'''^"^e. More than that,
i"" The reponer's Ton "1 ^ ""' """""S ''"°»'" °f
crimes. ""^ '"""^'^ "-''"^h are worse than
The minister tnrnpr? f^ i
a small flexible-co™- LlC 7 °' '"'' '""'''' '°°'< °"'
leaves, he said, ' '""' '"= «"«« b"«en the
youThe;^2::''/»PP-«'--/ -- ™'r'-e to give
■n <--oIorado, : ien tl e stir' '"" ""'"' "'" => '^'--h
flock scattered o tl . '"""™ "'»= and my
' .me for proftlp l^Z""'^ T^ ""= '"r health and
' «nt .0 Leadvil,:'^: ," « t',P™P7''"S. >- ^no..
camp which was then i„ the he°<^h if ' ^"'"^ ""'"'"S-
was crowded with all s„r s „f , P^sperity. It
r made myself one o t « crowf s'o f' "^'"^ "" "-'"■•
concerned, at least- snent Y ^' appearance was
"- camp, workinl; p^, 1 1. o^ '" ■""'"'"« ^•'-'
my nights -on the ^wi^Jt-wt^ I, "■'"=-'"' "^^^^'^
ings were scarce and del s t C'"' '^=™- ^odg-
"•ere the ordinary acco,„mo<kX„s T '"Tl.'™'^'"'
tamed better quarters b,„ r T , ""S'" l^ave ob- -
probably because was "'T *" ""'' "-
so. For some reason™ Tans ""^r""'- '° 0"
in profanity-they calfed ^ ''.TaZn"'? TV^''''^^
tiiought of quittinjr mv .1. ^ arson. I had some
"yownamolg thJrZ, ' ^dttlf ''"=" "" ^ ™* "<
= '^rond, and have often regretted
f(|l
!'
.«}|
!l>-'l
itC
322
MURVALE EASTMAN.
I
that I (lid not. I think I like common men — strongmen.
Somehow, I seem to understand them — better than some
do, at least.
"One night the owner of the 'shebang' in which I
lodged called me aside and asked me, with many winks
and shrugs, if I could ' manage to hitch a couple.' He
explained that there was a man in the house who wanted
a minister— or at least 'one who coidd act the minister'
— to perform the marriage ceremony. 1 did not think of
the significance of his words at first, ami when I did,
thought 1 might prevent a crime. So I told him I had
frequently performed this duty. He assured me the man
was all right"— would be 'down with the tin,' and all that;
and almost before I had time to think, ushered me into
another room, where, in the presence of a modcy crowd
of witnesses, I united in the bonds of matrimony a man
I c;;:ue afterward to know as James Sandford Merton and
Letitia Espey, who now bears his name."'
"But why was this fact so long concealed?" asked
Searle. " He was not generally supposed to have a wife."
" No one had any suspicion of the truth until just be-
fore his death. The man whom I united in wedlock to
this woman was known as James Sandford. He was a
noted gambler who had just 'struck carbonates,' as the
saying then was on account of the peculiar character of
the argentiferous deposit at Leadville. She had become
enamored of him as a school-girl. He was a highly-cul-
tured and attractive man, you remember. Her parents,
knowing nothi g of his family or connections, very natu-
rally objected to his attentions on account of his dissolute
habits. When the shaft of the Evening Star reached
' carbonates ' and became at once worth millions, his first
act was to telegraph to her the news of his good fortune ;
position :',";.';;'"';*;'' '"" ■""'■•■" ^' ■'>'"" °' °p-
wishes. S m ' ' r '"■' '" ™'"l'"""ce wi.h the r
ing to the girlis ,7t " '"""'8-"™P' »'^'» "" 'loubt allur-
That he had anv i , / ' "°' ''«"«"""-"J 'o luxury,
'-dly to be s,2o ; °';"""-'i"S -^ >egal ..artiage [s
sham ceremonv ° " ,"' "'' '°'"" '■""•'""<■■" i' 'o '« a
whether „n,°7„f,' """"''>' ''" ^""l''«- I <i"..b,
more. SI Tva ''■""'^'^''-.''^li-ecl it to be anything
beautifur-aJl ,i d not "" '■' ™'"— »'- - ^^
-val<e„ing he ar or T T '° "'•■■' '"'^ '"'''»"^« ''^
wished her tn l '•■■' '"^'' '° 'l=si'on<lency. He
enhltj' s' „ ;n:r '"hT'" '"- "^ '-ppines^ntight
-ony as a roar ng "re „ " In'"? "^',"''"' "^ —
impressive- and wl , / " "'^ ''=" '° "ake it
the fly-leaf' of U, "'"r"' """"-' '^ '^^■"'•"■-'<= °"
the audien e XZTZ T f"" '""=■ ^ """"^^ <"
T-T^ K , ="^nea it al.so, as witne.sses. There it i-? '■
He handed the boolcto Searle as he spoke. ■
will fo 1 ,h"' '"°"^''" "•■™'"'" '"-■ """"-". "but you
Pt tyw , ,lr"-„-':"- "hich have since becom
governor of T; ," """ ■'' '"''8"=' """^ became the
itr se^iti ."*;h;ne;:r:s::t"r" "r ^'=™ ^"■"^'' "
now but there was ^IZ'T^ T:^ :::^ ^^'^
™oru.„g and never returned. , se„,1;:r%?';„:JrC:
934
MCKVArE EASTMAX.
Denver, however, a duly-authenticated certificate of her
marriage.
" A year afterward James Sandford disappeared. Not a
trace of him coulil be found. He left his wife two thou-
sand dollars; informed her their marriage was a sham;
that he had ' blown in ' the entire sum he had received for
his share of the Evening Star, excei)t four thousand dol-
lars, of which he left her half. He advised her to make
the best use she could of it, as she would never see him
again. Very few believed these statements, which he
took care should be made public. Made desperate by
this exposure, and too proud to appeal to the sympathy
of her i^eople, the deserted woman came to the place
where I was settled, to ascertain whether the marriage
was a fraud or not. I was absent— camping in the moun-
tains with a friend and his family. Not deterred by this
unexpected difticully, she followed our trail and found our
camp a hospital. I was delirious ; my friend, his wife, and
the youngest child, a boy, were also prostrated with moun-
tain-fever, which was epidemic in the region that year.
The other child, a girl of twelve, was the only one able to
bring water from the spring hard by. Mrs. Merton (Sand-
ford was the name she then bore) installed herself as
nurse. My friend and his boy died.
" When we returned, she found a home with the widow.
There her child was born. It was baptized, and the
mother joined our church. Half the money she l^-d left
she spent in searching for her husband. Getting J trace
of him— she had in fact no clew —she came East, donned
a widow's garb, and began the struggle to support herself
and child. I heard of her occasionally, through the widow
of my friend, until I came here. After that I knew noth-
ing of her until I saw hei in church last Sunday."
ever k„o„ „K. , Te! Iv 11 , *" '"""'"''• ' ''""'" " '>=
l-arson,- whid, ,^ ! 1 ' ""' ""'"' "'""■ "■■^" '"'=
havini. heard th-,t l„. ' ' ''" ^member
Lili- Til, ^ I'l.T '''*' "'" '° 'h= ""Men
c;.n,.^o„,.h,':,^t::;rv:r;;r:'''""';''^'°-
of detection must have hi "'"■'^> ^'^^ ^^ar
occurred to ,„e Vo, l ll ' ""T"" "' '"'^ '"""'y
sandfo,.,,, attache,,: tr ::;:/;: '"" "-™ J--
liook here, is written in , ,■ carnage in my
"■!■" 'he first:'; a,. I the t™""'""' ">' " ''ack s.rolce
effort .vi«.o„tVi;,::i;" ;;::r,r tr'""'"^" " ™^-
'00, a peculiar boWnis and ren! h /'T"' " '"''•
tention. "l-he same H,i •^'^engih, which attract at-
^f li
:! if
m
AM.
126
.1/ UR VALE EA S TMA N.
singularly, I learned that this was not his usual signature;
and on looking through the church records, I fuid that
whenever he signed as an officer of the church, it was in
a strained, angular l',and, very unlike this signature. Per-
haps the fact that he was laboring under some excitement
on account of the strike may have led him to revive the
old habit. Association of ideas often produces singular
results, and the riot which had been going on before his
window all day when this letter was wiittcn, must have
powerfully stirred the latent chords of memory of the
rough times he had witnessed zX Leadville, when he bore
the name of James Sandford."
" How did Mrs. iMerton learn of this?"
" I telegraphed at once to the lady with whom she had
lived in Colorado. She had lost sight of her; so I put an
advertisement in the Herald which brought her here in
time to attend her husband's funeral. Perhaps^she saw
him before his death— I do not know about that."
" And that is all the— the acquaintance you have had
with her?"
'■' Every bit. I have often felt ashamed for having done
so little in acknowledgment of my obligations to her.
Many women, finding us in the condition she did, would
have left us to die. So, in a sense, I owed her my life, and
would have been glad to do something to show my grati-
tude; but she is not one for whom it is easy to do favors."
" You do not know where she has been since she left
Colorado?"
" Haven't the least idea."
" Nor what has been her character or occupation? "
"I have no doubt her life has been quite above re-
proach. She is not one of the women who go to the bad;
she might die of overwork or starve, but she would never
deteriorate."
THE THUiVDERDOL T "SCOOPS" THE BREEZE. ; .7
'• You seem to have great conndence in her? "
The journalist watched the man wliom he liad been
subjecting 10 such searching, but unrecognized, cross-
exammation, with an expressionless scrutiny that was al-
most lireathless.
"She happens to he one of the few women I can un-
derstand-~or think I can, at least. That is why 1 feel
sure of what she would do under given circumstances."
" What stand are you going to take in regard to her—
now? "
" I am going to go and ask her if I can do anything
that may 'to her do ease, or grace to me,' as Shakespeare
puts It. '
"You realize, of course, the position in which this arti-
cle puts you with reference to her_in the public estima-
tion ? "
He touched the 7/nmderbolt, which had fallen to the
floor between them, with his foot, as he spoke.
"Seeks to put me, you mean? Well, yes-I suppose I
do.
"You know that if you visit her now, such an act will
be hable to misconstruction? "
"Probably: just as the fact that I did not might be
considered a proof of guilt."
"So you persist in going?"
"Of course, man! She is a woman-?^ good, pure
woman, as I believe-a Christian woman, battling for
her good name and her chikrs inheritance! Have I, a
Christian minister, any right to stand aloof and leave her
to fight it Qut alone?"
"It may cost you a good deal-the loss of your posi-
tion— m society, perhaps in the church."
"So much the more reason I should not hesitate. I
1 1
I
I.' J?
MCrR VALE EASTAf.lV.
might truly be cbtcemed a coward as well as a hypocrite
if I did."
"What are you going to do about — that? " nodding to-
ward the Thunderbolt.
"That!" said Eastman, picking up the paper and
glancing at it with a p.eculiar smile. " Nothing, Why?"
" You ought to bring suit — an action for libel, you know
— or at least publish a denial."
" I suppose people will expect something of the kind."
" No doubt : and if you will allow me to say so, I think
you owe it to your friends."
"You think they will believe those — those imputations?"
" Some of them, no doubt."
"Dojw^;"
"Well— no— I don't! "— e.nphatically.
" Thank you " — laughing. " I thought not ; you are too
much of a man."
"But others "
" Excuse me ; would you give much for the frieiidship
of a man who would believe such a report about your-
self?"
"Candidly, I wouldn't; but the Church — you know
people are very sensitive."
" Yes ; the cmuttiest sheep wants a very white shepherd.
I suppose Merton, now, would have been greatly shocked
at such a thing."
"But ought you to allow the Church to suffer for your
misfortune?"
" I am responsible for my arts, not for others' supposi-
tions. When I entered the ministry, I pledged myself to
do and say nothing unbecoming my position and to devote
myself to the Master's work. I have tried to do so ; and
I haven't time to go about explaining imaginary appear-
THE THUXDEKBOL T "SCOOPS^ THE BREEZE. 22<)
ances or throwing stones at every puppy that chooses to
flirt mud on my vestments. I am not responsible for men's
suspicions or their effect on the church's prosperity I
will try and steer clear of evil in word and act, and the
Lord must lookout for my reputation, if indeed," he
added reverently, "it be a matter of any consecjuence to
him. It is,,u.te possible that his cause may be better
served by my debasement than by my justification If
so, why should I demur.> At least he has made my duty
plam m this matter. If I should fail to visit Mrs Mer-
ton now, ,t would be a cr .vardly imputation upon one of
his flock, to whom he has sent me to minister, and of
whom I know nothi, g e.xcept what is creditable and
worthy; and I am go\r\g~ng/,f now .^"
He unbuttoned the velvet smoking-jacket, as he rose
and stepping into his bedroon., came back in a moment'
dressed for the street. '
"I beg your pardon," he said pleasantly, "I quite for
get to ask you to excuse me. I suppose there is nothing
more? °
" Not much," answered Searle, standing hat in hand be-
side his chair. " You have seen the Breeze?''
" I merely glanced at it."
^ "You observed that it did not have any of that-that
" I noticed that; I suppose I am indebted to you "
"On the contrary, I am your debtor," said Searle, his
face losing its professional, non-committal aspect, and
hghting up with pleasure. " I came around this morn-
mg to make my acknowledgments."
"How is that?"
"I saved the Breeze from making a bad « break' last
night in this matter and was made managing editor in
consequence this morning." "
I
230
MiRVAl.E EASTMAN.
"Accept my congratulations. If I have to leave the
Golden Lilies, I shall come to yon for a job."
"You sluiU have it, if the Belt and Cross-Cut don't
outbid us."
The two men laughed as tlicy shook hands. 'I'hcy were
as unlike as possible, but they understood earh other.
"And now," continued Seaile, "how mm h are you
going to allow me to imblish cif what I have learned yes-
terday and to-day?"
"That depends," answered the minister, " entirely on
yourself. You are a better judge than I of what ought
to be said, under the circumstances. You know my sen-
timents, and I leave tiie matter in your hands. So far as
I am concerned, I have nothing to conceal. I have not
always been wise, Init I have tried to be honest. As for
Mrs. Merton, I have, of course, no right to authorize you
to publish her story. You had better see her or Metziger
about that."
" Would you object— I mean do you suppose she would
consider it an intrusion— if— if I should accompany you
— now— to call upon her, you know? "
The hardened reporter actually blushed as he faltered
this request. He was so afraid that his auditor would
see through his transparent stratagem, and under- tand
that he did not w,-nt him to go al e. But the simple-
hearted minister did not imagine that the request was
proffered for his own sake, and that the Master whom he
had just bluntly declared must look out for his reputation,
was taking heed for his servant's good name, while he
performed his duty unmindful of the consequences to
himself.
" I am sure she would be glad to see yci, and I should
be glad to make you acquainted; you are certain to like
each other," he answered.
THE TffuxDEj^noi.r"scoors" nrr. BRrr.r.n. ,3,
In his heart Murvale Eastman saiM : '« r am kLuI of t hi. .
.t W.1I he a great advantage to lu-r; an.l I shall Lei as
she were not so n,.K:h alone in this stru.-le Now if
What n l.lun.lorer l,e was, to he s,uo! Almost the last
thing he ha.l .lo.,e the nigh, hofore, in the exnheran,. o
h.s . chght, was ,., w,i,e a note to J.ihan asking her t, go
w..h hnn ,o,-a I n„o„ M„. j. .Sa„,l,„r,, Mer.on! Surely s„ch
a .nan ne,,le, the speeial watch-care of heaven, and i,
g.,a,vl,a„sl,„, he reeeive.l all u,„„nseio„sly to hi™ elf whe
ten m.nmes later, he r.aug the hell at Mrs. Merton's do"
and was nshered ,„to her |,resen,:e witi, the ,na„.aging editor
of he Uon,„,, /.v,,,. The Press ha,i ex.endtd its „ o
«c„o,, to the faithfnl hut imperiled representative of the
"Good-hy," said .Searle as he s,.,„,i. hands with Murvale
Eastman on the street eorner an hour afterward. " I wish
I^eou d tell ,.ot, how nntch I respee.you-how I like you!
m fact. There s not many men I care for, but it's done
me good to know you-h ,., of good."
There was a hint of m„is,„re in the fellow's eves and a
tremor ,„ h,s tone tl,,:t surprised the yo.u.g ,nini;ter
I don t belong to any church-never did, ' he con-
^nued nnpetuously, "but I want to; I want t^ join ," e
Golden L,l,es-,f you'll let me-n,e and ,ny wife. I don-
know much about doctrine, but I believe in religion-
such rel.g.on .as yours, that is. ] ,|„„-. k„<,„ ^, ^,^
much of ,t ..yself, but I'd like to have n.ore, and I-
wantyoutohelpme-ifyoucan.
"Don't trouble yourself about this matter." he con-
tmued, jerkmg his thun,b over his shoulder tc .ard Mrs.
■■l»Wl'lfHV-r-iaiaa-.',...^j|m.^,».w..^^^^,
iflT*
232
J/ CR VA LE F.AS TMA A\
Merton's residence. "She's all right; I know a good
woman ; can't anybody take me in on that line of goods.
We'll manage that matter — don't you be afraid— Metziger
and I. The Thunderbolt will find out they're at the
wrong end of the gun. We'll attend to her, too. Met-
ziger's got some clients — ladies, you know— and there's
his wife and mine, and my sister — wife of a bank presi-
dent — and perhaps the ' old man's,' too—sure, if I can
get a minute with her. Oh, we'll straighten this out!
There's my car! Good-by."
He shook the minister's hand again, swung upon a
passing car, and ten minutes later was in consultation with
his subordinates on the staff of the Breeze.
Murvale Eastman stood looking after him with a heart
full of grateful surprise. He thought as he walked home-
ward what a mistake it is to say that the age of chivalry
is past. The knights do not now wear helmets and carry
swords, but wear derby hats, whistle for street-cars, and
fight dragons whose leaden teeth are fastened on great
cylinders which crush and tear sheets of milk-white paper,
and stamp black lies and foul scandals thereon. The
self-forgetful dunce never thought to add that they some-
times wear chimney-pots and white neck-ties, too!
The city was struck dumb with amazement later in the
day, when the evening papers announced that " Mrs. Met-
ziger, wife of the eminent lawyer, Mrs. Musgrove, the
banker's lady, Mrs. Windvale, the wife of the proprietor
of the Breeze, and Mrs. Percy Searle, the wife of the new
editor of that journal, called to-day upon Mrs. Merton ; "
and expressed the "fear that one of our distinguished
morning contemporaries has made an unfortunate mis-
take."
DODGIXG THE BLO
W.
m
CHAPTER XX.
DODGING THE BLOW.
When he reached liome Murvpl. r .
'Siting hi,n a note f,-o.. TK„../.'^'' ^^^^"^^^ found
-^Hnghnnanotef,-on.LiHanKishu
it eagerly, not doubtinc. that it r^^"' a . '^''"'^ "P°"
"f ^^er love. He did'' not f TT""^ ^''^'^ '^'^^''^"^«
-cisatdo.ntothin.;vh:';' ^^:^--^!-^^^
was very brief m^i-,.i„ • c ■ ^ " ^° ^-""- It
■'-en j^e,,;::;-;:::;^ r°;::r'. ::;v'" '"^^^^ "'^'
save no reason aske.l „„ . , '"mmate. She
-kes, and re. u' ■ , ,r, ;:,'e:;;::.'™; ■■^•*"™«' - ''«1>
hi"> above all o 17?, ";, ^"' "*""■«' -"' «.eemed
<iM si,e love h, r ";y . rr:r "° •'""'" °' '"^'^ ^"'
'- companionship .1,1 wo , d "..fr '°"''' '°"«'"« '"^
aud his absence a nol , '"M'resence elysiun,
rather pass ,e life >WH ^"<=ave,„e„t? Would sl,e
-eco;,,ere:oit::\'i';:;r„::n-r"^ "^"
"ri-,:raTrdr«''-f"'V.;t;':he^r;-
ques.,o„s;oubkdhf ""' '""' "•"^' ^^ ''»'' Thie
;jj
-""■^■'**"7[ffri'-rrr-',r^rr-,-v'r-" ;
234
M i -R J 'A /./•: EA S 7 'MA X.
She had been torn with jealousy on account of the con-
versation she had overheard between Murvale and Mrs.
Merton, of which she had, half-unconsciously, given her
father a hint in her anxiety to discover the- identity of the
beautiful lady. Her lover's manner in their conversation
upon the subject, however, set her suspicion entirely at
rest. Whatever might be the relation between him and
the lady in black, on whose supposed intimacy with the
young minister the Thunderbolt had based its sensational
cxposd of his hypocrisy and unworthiness, Lilian Kishu
felt perfectly confident that time would show it to have
been not only without fault on his part, but entirely cred-
itable to him. She even wished, and almost expected,
that her unexplained dismissal would bring him to her
full of angry resentment at the imputations cast upon him,
imperiousy demanding the retraction of her words and
the renewal of their plight. To such a demand she
would have yielded glad obedience. She liked manhood,
power, and a love that would not brook denial.
Lilian Kishu was not mercenary. She liked money for
the ease and comfort it brought, but she had as Httle sym-
pathy with her father's worship of wealth, as with her
mother's insatiable desire for social distinction. She ap-
preciated to a high degree the manly qualities of Murvale
Eastman. She felt that he was worthy of any woman's
devotion. How quietly, with what undoubting compo-
sure, he sought the path of duty and, when found, fol-
lowed it as if it were the common thoroughfare of life.
But when he had accomplished his purpose— done what
he conceived to be his duty— there was an end of it all.
He did not seem to care whether the world knew how he
had done it, or even whether he hcd done it at all.
Ah ! if he would not be quite so composed, so matter-
DODGING THE BLOW
,0 1^ ' r° f '"-' '""•'" "'"<' '° acknowledge his ,i 'h
to dceate what her thought shouW be. If hf hac 'n ,
ask«. her adviee, ,„ade hi., action ,o,„eh„w lep; I
ra' oLl a d fr'^^'V' ^'' "''= ''••"' "'"-l out-
ja^cuusiy; aim had enifivprl if f^-^ t- 1
pleasant fellow! Of ourse he HI " "" "''^' ^
b> It. What was Marsh to her or she to him ? On y two
children, just a boy and girl who had played to^et ler 111
tilt For,. . '°^'' ' ^°"^' ^^^"' °f ^^--^ ^I^eknew
ti-t. For that matter she liked him, too, He was about
SI I
II a
;-8^!'-i^"«i9?'^"''
236
MUR VA L E EA S TMA A^.
*
the most agreeable man she had ever known— for an
hour's chat, that is. That was all. He did not amount
to anything, would never accomplish anything. He was
not only poor, but he lacked striking qualities, was con-
tent to enjoy, rather than do. Yet he was an audacious
lover. He would run away with her in a moment if he
had but half a chance. She was certain of that, and was
not sure she would nut enjoy it if he should. But as for
marrving him— the'-e' really had never been any more
prospecr of that than— than of her marrying the Prince
of Moraydin with his empty coffers, empty head, and
empty life, which had so long been at her disposal.
She had, wiihout really knowing it, the universal Ameri-
can contempt for the man who does not achieve, do
something for himself. It is the inheritance of our dis-
tinctive individuality. With all his snobbery, this was at
the bottom of Wilton Kishu's character. He could not
have loved himself or enjoyed the adulation of others, if
he had not felt that it was in great measure due to his
well-attested power of achievement. He had wrested for-
tune from adversity. No man could have started in life
with poorer prospects. As for family, all he ever owed to
his ^'as the fact of life. PLducation— he had what he
coulc <-'et. How he got it he could hardly tell; and what
was its extent would be still more ditficult to define. He
had picked up knowledge, especially knowledge of men,
as he went along. He had not found it necessary to know
many things. It was easier and cheaper, lie thought, all
things considered, to pay other people to do his thinking
for him. What he did not know, he hired some one to
find out, and then used the knowledge for his own advan-
tage. In this consisted his power; upon this rock his
pride was builded. Why should not men flatter him?
D0r>GJXG THJT BLOW.
his slaves were not l,„„„,l l . ' ''''""' '^ """"s
much ,he ,„ore : „ ; Z::^z " ""r"""""- ^°
them ,0 serve by sheer fo ce of, ;, "T "''^ """'P^"'^'^
consciousness of^uhjeirnr.heir;:,^'"' """°"' ^^
coal baron for l^x^T f, '"""' Mindly serve-a
by the iLn. in ;:i°:r'" ,;---- ^'™=^ "p
m.nefonght for the privilege oflell ''"'' "' "'^
to-' '"V paltry penc'e, for", is be, ;."'' I?'"""' "'s'"
hun 10 reap profitable harvest, fr",i,„'"^"' '="'=*'
ncg!c-ctofothers-harve,t, fl!! weakness anH
or their hearts ,00 ZZ °"'" ''""* "''='''= ""^ "''-■^'k
a.y .nen sold "" " '"■■""" ""■■™ "> P''"'^-- Liter-
*e.T brain and';; ;:,;::; rt^/'-'-'e--^^ of
"nder the stamp he affixtd He h-.f ° "'" ""'''
un.n for the rj^w..,./; „ h , f"'',:!?'' "'"'" " "'"
as the inspiring genius of L v. "•'"'S"*''
eunuchs of the nen W ,[ '"''"' P""'''-- Timid
unrecog„ij'j:-tiSd ™;:::;;r^°'''-=--'^
wear out life in anon,„„„ ' "l'Po"unity to
secretary was a fa ri^rr "y ""°'- "'^ '""-'■hacked
deno,ninate,l "! 1 , ','° '''^''^"^f''.''- "ole he grimly
brains he fed fat J
generosity" to deluded victi
of some note in literature, ih
"« ]>ndc. He thus had beco
nis on whose
'me a man
tave written in a decad
and could not h
which would ha
^%nng editor. Men did well
quered so many realms, and
ough he had read few book
e passed the censorship of h
e a hundred pages
to praise one who had
IS own man-
con-
. .^ ...auy leamis, and none the less thnf l^. j, a
done much of it by nro-v T- ;f ^ ^^"^
law that whaf one does by
s it not a
principle of the
another he does himself?
238
A/Ch-rjiJ-: P.ASTAr.-iX.
% ■
Wilton Kishu not without reason was proud of his
achievements; and his daughter, knowing but half the
truth, delighted in them hardly less than he. In this
respect, Murvale Eastman fuhy gratified her pride. His
sturdy manhood went squarely across the line of pre-
cedent, unconscious of the fact that he was breaking down
the most sacred barriers and trami)ling on theories which
had grown reverend with the lapse of centuries. But why
did he not boast of his achievements? He would utter
no word of exultation even to her. Where was the glory
of winning battles, unless one called upon the world to
v-ount the slain? Why rend- the lion if no one were to
know whose hand had done it?
If he were only a little more like Marsh, le could
worship him ; but if he were, he would never take her de-
votion for granted as he did. She would teach him a
lesson, she would bring him to her feet, if she had to
scourge his soul to do it!
So when informed that it was her father's wish that she
should sever all relations with the young minister, she as-
sented, with apparent sorrow and many sincere expressions
of incredulity in regard to the aspersions cast upon him,
but with secret joy at the thought that slie was free. She
did not expect to be free for a great while— she did not
wish to be— but she meant to enjoy her freedom and give
her pursuer a long chase before she yielded again. So
she posted at the same instant the letter which told
Murvale Eastman that his love was vain, and a playful note
to Marsh, which she believed would bring him at once to
her side. Her mother, thrifty woman! wrote a letter to
the Prince of Moraydin, advising him of a favorable
change in the situation, and counseling that he make hay
while the sunshine lasted.
Do/Muxa T///C nroiv
almost envious „f her da„ghter fo W ," I ™'
ciety she eould not hoW J. 7^ place ]n so-
and his cla„sh.e"ra^.„ ,r:i,T°1hf ,"f ■ J"''"
great fancy to the I-rinre of « r '' '"'"'" '
l>er to the ton , fl, -Y"™y<l,n. who had flattered
her H,r '^ °"'' •■■"'' " Ha<l been the dream of
her a,„ ,„ j^,,,^^^,^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ sliKhted 1 er
by bnngtng abo,„ a n,arriage betu-een her da,f uIt ami
th. .mpovertshed desce,„Iant of a balf-royal ho" e She
v,s ed to adorn her American won.anhoid „ tl the tMe
She I ri ''"'' '''^^'°"'«' °'> ••"' ^Mtting mis rls '
-^tf.^o:t:;t Sir:: ''-"'■-'- '-'-^^^^^
speculated in regard to her motives at all She vas hi
.■t:^ivfti:r:;^rer.;::,rrL^vr°'™^^
meltto'Z/;! ^'■^""- ■^-'' ^ •'-"" "-""-
thrallLnV 1,?""°"'™"'- ""'«''• '"" Hardly disen-
Hirallntent. If he could have believed the truth in reA 1
*eaLd iJtT'b'e. ::rth^:re" nrniro;;:"
her actio,.: r:as'^:'ttirr^'"«'°^° "■'•'■
I.
think
so ni
eanly
340
MunVArn eastmak.
!i
of him as to give credence to such imputations. No; she
had just wakened to the knowledge that she could not be
happy in a life-union with him ; this was his thought. He
remembered her words the night before. He saw now
that he had misinterpreted tliem. They were only an-
other evidence of inherent dissonance betweei their na-
tures. Now that he thought of it, there had been many
such. He wondered that he had never recognized them
before. She had sought to love him, believed she did, no
doubt, but finally her eyes had been opened to the con-
sciousness that hfe with him would not be that intimate
and perfect harmony which marriage should insure. He
did not blame her. He was inclined to beli ve she was
right. It was not her fault, however. It was not his fault,
either. He had sought to make himself in all things
worthy of her love. The very thought that she loved him
had made him especially careful to do or think nothing
unworthy of such high privilege, and had stimulated his
wish to achieve whatever he might that should reflect
honor upon her choice. His was a knightly and chival-
rous nature, and she had been the lady for whom he had
been glad to do and dare.
She had been a potent influence in the resolution he
had taken to study the life which was about him. He
had often dreamed of the rapture he would feel should
good result from the course he had taken, in saying to
her :
" This I did for your sake. Your beauty, your purity
and innocence have brought happiness to these homes,
good to these souls. Because of the inspiration of your
love, I did these things, and the fruits of my endeavor are
the tributes of my love."
This was what he had meant to say in the park the
i
^ODG/XC THE BLOIV
241
they are Kooti men .,!h , f """■" '°°' * '"^<:^''«
natures; or ff XyTrr ",""°' '""'"'= '"-""
'ie.ec.d a„<, per,.,.' ■ Ld ""Z'^^Z X! "T
even have resented i> M.^ 1 i • ''^'^^'^"^ss. He miglu
«-have,...er:;rr:i::;:r°-°'*---
>vas that „e had never ,I,ough, o Li, L k^I '
human being; he had only dreamed nf h *' '
.he.o.a„he,oved..ej.a::;i:L^:-rjs
feared his slng.h no^r Is^r ht :ti n'^l "^H-rfl
no desire to do ,,im harm, and was verv f!r * ,
to humiliate him. He on v ^v\lT^ 7\ ?"" ""'""^
ter qualities of his natu 'a' ' iVe" l^ „"' i " T '"'
of good .0 others. He wa's no. o e vh " e . "d tM'::' '
16
;! i
"'*'*''"' -~r'iriiiiTii-(niw>iiini«
242
Mrk\At I: lAstwrAW
This was what growth in grace meant, to him, a steady
development of better tendencies — not a miraculous con-
dition, but a natural one — just as natural as dod's love.
Had he applied the same reasoning to Lilian Kishu, she
would have ..een wax in his hands, would have rt'( ailed
her dismissal, and if she had not justified his ideal would
at least have submitted to his guidance. Hut l.e never
thought of her as an imperfect being. She satisfied his
desire; she rested his vision, and the soul which he fan-
cied informed her loveliness, fulfilled all his longing for
companionship. He thought of her as the twin of his
soul, the complement of his simple, upright nature. And
it is by no means certain that she was not, if he could only
have discerned the truth in regard to her.
This power was denied him. Ashe jiaced his room dur-
ing the long hours of the night that followed, he never
once thought of appeal from her decision, any more than
he thought of the watchful scrutiny of the landlady, who
counted his steps and construed his sleeplessness ac-
cording to the measure of her own moral nature. She
could only translate the pitiful wofulness of those wake-
ful hours on the hyjiothesis of conscious guilt; for, unlike
her lodger, she not only believed in inherent evil, but she
did not believe in inherent good.
To Murvale Eastman, this blighting of his fondest
dream was only a supreme affliction which was to be borne
manfully and uncomplainingly. He no more thought of
murmuring at it than he would at any other inscrutable
dispensation of Providence. He would have suffered
hardly more had death robbed him of the object of his
devotion ; but even then he would not have murmured.
So now. the rejected lover, not less bereft, folded away
the visible mementoes of his lost love; turned down the
•n
/'<v.,,7.i-,,- ri,r nrou. ,
find' ;Ik r:r;,::r^ir;'™ f"'' ''s-'^s i-y^-.- ."
•ibout hi. I„v, ,h ' • ■ "^ , '"' "'""«'" >"«' "" entered
the s reels ,vcre throngcl with cruel memoes ti>-
gran,: ,vork he ha,. u„,Ier,ake„ was conTcra.ed I ^
afraid i.e coVid" :or°t;:i,trr'h'"Tr' "^ --^^
-d in hi. ,.ee .He.™;';::::,; ™ if;v:™'™'''
could he meet his friVn^ic , ., neart. How
enemies;. wL co ,1 1 '°" "' "'°"°"'' ''"' '■^'^'= "is
Wsgl„o,n> H c "no,^::;,,:""";? "'^ "^--on-
to lell the truth He lX>, , '" ""' '°° P™'"'
•"-t have sornl'tin" HT. ""'" ^° ='«'^)'- "=
God and „Zl nfrJ "' " least-alone with
did not wish "hid 'f ""' "'"" •" »>"■"< W^ <i,„y-
'on.e::,:;;;^.:::^'::— -.-^^^^^
should best perform it. ^ "^ ''"'^ '^^
But where could he co' His f.v«e / n
tackle har^ging on the wall fs LTl . "^°" ^^' ^^^^"^-
tfon, and hi ttug wl 'bac o th! 1 Tf'^ '^'' ^"^^-
had enjoved with it h! ''* "^^^^ ' 'P^'"* ^e
Hver wLVe t::fe le^^f :Trn^^^^ ''-''' ^'
Hashed and snarkle^ n. u " f' ^"^ *^^ ""^^^^ stream
, .- le.. ... ,t raced over rocky shoals with
rt
f i|
HA
}n;Rl'ALE /^.-tsr.ifAAT.
i
quiet stretches between, full of dark ^eep haunts where
the gamy bass loves to hide. Tie timber had been cut
away; the rocky hillsides were almost bare save where
the undergrowth timorously clung and hid among the gray
granite ledges. It was nature— stern, denuded, pitiless
nature— but though man had marred it, he had not re-
mained to destroy its charm. He himself had blundered
on it — if it is ever a blunder to follow a sportsman's in-
stinct — and in the bright autumn weather, wading the
ripples and casting from the shore into the shaded pools,
had passed a day full of lu)pe, fear, and triumph, a day
still rich in memories of straining rod, clicking reel, and
hissing line, of thrilling strikes, doubtful struggles, disap-
pointing escapes, and gratifying captures. How pleasant
had been his thought when, weary but successful, he
sought at night the shelter of a lonely farm-house! How
grateful was the silence, how restful the thought of isola-
tion from the world! Thit!;er he would go, coming back
only in time for his Sabbath service. He hunted up a
time-card, and found that a train which left in the gray
of early morning would take him to his destination in sea-
son for a day's sport.
He took down his rod, examined the reel, tested the
tips, turned over the pages of his fly-book, hunted up his
sporting-suit, not forgetting his long wading-boots, threw
a few needed things, including a book or two, into a hand-
bag, pushed aside the heap of unanswered letters on his
desk, a^d wrote two notes, one to Searle and another to
Metziger, informing them of his determination, and telling
them where he might be found in case it should be neces-
sary to communicate with him. Then he wrote another.
Over and over again he essayed to frame a satisfactory
reply to that delicately-perfumed note. He loved Lilian
DODGING TIf'E BLOW
K-isJui too tendpflv ».^ ..*.
effort rnully " olve.l i ""' '"= '"'' '"" ''•■=!• His
" r 1„ "•'."'"'•■'l "self mto two sliori sentences-
I have received your leli^r i, : , ""^'"^e'-
solely for your decisLn " ' "' °' ''"'"=' " ™'«'"
-w.Meda„y.o4u.,,:;;L;.t.;:'':::-~
.aHies:":;:^;:" "■= "-'™- ^^ "eara .he c o, the
n,::t;T;;;:;:::;;:;:"it"f.' '^" ^^^^ "^ ^-- e--
-tXcrti;;:::Vtti:::;:;.:rrr'*=
"fver thoimht of ti,« • 1 "'' echoes. He
or .>o. it t:,/a r to" ,r "I*"' °' "".""^^
l>=lladtl,n„,.|,tonvofh,W^ ; .'°'^™<^= '" '"^ "fe
»I.a. he reared t'va «, '" "'"'"'' '■•■" ""'^y <"""
composure Had he . , T '"°"S'' '° ^"dure with
-.1 ..e couH"t^r:.:r'r: ':■ rr-;; "--
toieara wh, new! "^ ''eard the cry a„,l n,ade haste
yet with dice, 0^.17 ■' *' "■'"' """^"' f"™--. ^"d
friend, >v,th just 4 hint of regret that inex-
'■•' "'"^"^■»«'^''-^'- - ■
•rSm^iiff'MaaS
iT
246
.VL'Kl'A/.I-: /-ASTMAX.
!•!■
- \
cusable misapprehension had linked his name discredita-
bly with a lady who was destined to be an ornament to
the city's best society, the good woman's cheek was wet
with tears. She went and rapped lightly on her lodger's
door, intending to tell him that his breakfast would be
kept warm and that he would better sleep late.
The empty room frightened her. She feared — she
hardly knew what she feared — but before night it was
known throughout the city that Murvale Eastman had
again disappeared, leaving no iiint of his destination. The
only information the Thunderbolt had ujion the subjei t
was an indignant denial that there was any engagement
between the pastor of the Golden Lilies and Lilian Kishu.
There were a few to whom this paragraph gave a key to
Murvale Eastman's flight.
If the tide of public sentiment had set strong against
the young divine the day before, tlie refluent wave was
overwhelming. It was well for him that he was not pres-
ent to feel its surge. Letters, telegrams, invitations,
came pouring in. The callers were numbered by scores.
The world was making apology for the wrong it had done
him. Praise is far more perilous than blame; and the
Power on whose wisdom Murvale Eastman relied, all un-
consciously to him, had again saved him from danger of
demoralization. The flood of adulation poured harm-
lessly by, while nature built up and strengthened the
dikes of manly purpose.
n
^■"r.v y.v 77/^ ^^s^^,.
247
> I
CHAPTER XXr.
T>AWN IN THE DESERT.
»ul is like .he mold f^^ ." , ';: ,!:'""''^- Tl.e hu,„a„
'"g stream of molten ,« J ,1 " " "''■ Th^ glow-
m a hundred Ty m 'and mT TT '"''' ""'' "-"mg
*e equilibrium o'f ab o e lo ^l" """ '""™' ""
tl- seething mass ,0 harden i o form So' i^ m '"^"^■
"ito (vhose life the «rp,„, ""°™- So it is with a man
heart and bram ach "h J""?" '"" ''°"^'' ""'"
'voes owiress and he demand "r"f"'"« '"""'''' ""="
hope is almo.. los Id 1", ''"['^ -"-helm, when
then the soul crie ou wW °"'"'.''^'''"- "'e future^
need, for silence Lokdl 'TT"" ''"°"''=''8-= "< "^
"-•"■alequilibr um It rinbes ^T*'"''™-' <" 'he
vacuum where the lub.le " .'""■"'' ""'>' '" "'« "'"'^l
alone is felt. ' "^Snetism of God and nature
wa^i t™ iore:sTso;:;:de""%rir''' "'""- '-^ -
auire it, they need ofte fbe r ,:: ""T 'k ,T "-
Wes trickling rill i. enough or tliem T" ^ "' °'
graver mystery than fl„.„ „ , ' " ''""S" a
overwhelms or r,„sbvhenr-,r'' "' "°'"'»^^^ ^'"P'r
souls cannot Jm gfea tl 1?' tT " ""''• '''"'
Ae problems that confron !manil V^"' ""' ""
'hreaten nations and peoples .1 eTrnotl'jt IsH: f
ill
i»Ma«Bai «ii,M<.it„-,^.-.. r-»m i r'i^-"r riii-iTtr!^^
= 48
MURVALE EAST^FAX.
save themselves from the impulse to lessen or to heal.
To such natures solitude is the antechamber of the In-
finite, the place where the soul renews its strength. They
may mingle with the multitude, may feel its sorrows, share
its joys, and seem to be of its life ; but when the heart is
full of molten, glowing, hissing thought, they must have
silence, absolute exclusion from all disturbing forces, or
the mold is broken, distorted, or perhaps consumed, and
the statue which sliould have been a thing of beauty
comes forth shattered, malformed — a shapeless monster,
fit only tobe broken up, refined, and lost in the glare of a
new blast. Life is the field of action in which the world's
heroes win immortality, but the armor of proof they wear
and the weapons they wield must be forged in solitude.
In the Norse legends, the maker of the weapon of magic
temper wrought always underground, where even his ham-
mer-strokes could not be heard by the world.
The greatest of the world's lives have gathered strength
for their work from solitude. Moses in the wilderness of
Horeb first learned the will of the Divine, and in solitude
upon the Mountain of the Law was enabled to define and
adjust the forces of the weak and debased Israelites, so
as to develop the noble fabric of the Jewish republic and
sow the seeds of Christian civilization. The Christ lived
with humanity enough to feel its impulses, but in se-
clusion taught his disciples the mystery which was to re-
deem and purify the earth i Te, and communed with the
Father in solitude. Buddha and Mahomet generated in soli-
tude the forces which have for ages controlled the thought
and life of nations. In the silence of the monk's cell
Luther grew into the thought-shaper of centuries. Crom-
well, diking the marshes where the hissing sea broke
through, gathered strength to say, " Take away that fool's
J^-^iy.V W -am DESERT.
baublel" Washington 2re>v ,„ ,. "^
'" the shadow of°he forel, , "''''^''■'=°'»"°'tal"y
■^'"g'ed with n,ono„/re' .n.' ;'""°"^<^' »<i Lincoln
"' f-opeless in,„ote„c/to pS: T ' "'""''"^ '^»-
sohtude his perfenid nature saw ° " "'"='' ''»
To this quaiit. of ,,,, " '■^" ""'""« to be done.
'-. .ha. fe.: ;; ;l ^zz^r r''"-- '^ ^'- *e
>'orld's life have been wL l, '^"""'"'"'>' effected the
The "practieal" n,a„ ^ ' e o /r' ,""'•"""'" "-•
"""Ch we are so assi. uoL. s ap nl T "' ''"'"■''"" ™
not he who evolves great idcL L ''■ 'T"""'"'' '»'=' '''
'he forces of nature" the ten!',,. "7'*' °"' "^^ '"^"d=
Cdents of life to tnere 2 "a "? '°'="'^' °^ "« --
■nvented the steamboat sfplo '","«" ''""°"' ""'o
way, and thousands of mher^w 1 ° "'"'«' ""^ «"-
"S of nature by the era Z ' ""'""=<' "'= Pow-
Kfe is blessed w,^h ' . r^'^:;, ^ ;hich the un.ve'rsa,
joys-these are little e teemerr "" "'"'«^™=d of
"Pracical-raenwho h ied ,rr'™" "'"" ""
t'ons and <:on,pelled the world , f™ ""'' »™n-
S'eed. We build monaner to t ,"/''' "''"'^ '" **
*ey are dead; but we ,rTZ 1 sometimes-when
■ng. The buccaneer who steals h""."" ""='" ""''"^ """
merchandise of their btoodt ' '^°"='"= ^"" "*''«
£ve„ those who redeen „atio„: 'T" ''«'"^ ""'^"^d-
nations are accounted bad no l,f "'"'"'^'' "">' <='"li-
""'ess they are also ™C ^ f 7 ""= ^°"* "' '"-day
;fr;::r-or^'.i-^-hoshowed
There ,s among the vonth „f .7 ^" ^rew rich,
cealed contempt for Lincoln , ■"■''""' ^ '"'■'">' ""-
be poor, and o Gra , bee ° s '""'' ''= "= '^°"'en' 'o
-«-.han.ooutsreXsi:rer:,:*-°r
liic bfruggie lor wealth.
.' M
^i^
J' .
2SO
MURVAL^ EASTMAN,
\
A mother of to-day would count herself unfortunate, if not
accursed, to know that her son would be a dreamer, a
forerunner, a Columbus, a Fulton ; but if assured that he
would be a Cortex, a Pizarro, a bold seizer of other men's
lands; or an American railway magnate or millionaire
monopolist— a potentate who should seize the treasures of
light and heat and power whicli God has treasured up for
ages agai.v.t the hour of humanity's need, and dole them
out to the poor for pence coined from their sweat-drops and
blood-drops— ah! such a prophecy would make her heart
throb with joy, and once made known, would compel her
envious sisters to greet her with the ancient acclaim:
" Blessed art thou among women ! " " Practical " men, not
heroic ones, are the ideal of to-day s life. Nay, we have
gone so far as to laugh at heroism as well as love. " Gold,
hard and heavy and yellow and cold," is the only material
out of which To-day constructs tlie standard by which it
measures human worth. The milled edge of the dollar is
the accepted unit of comparison betwixt soul and soul.
We know that the man of great wealth is rarely one
from whom humanity derives good, never the one from
whom it derives the greatest. Now and then one scat-
ters his massed stores, when he can control them no more,
or even while living devotes them to specific uses from
which good may come, and we make such exceptions an
excuse for all the ills resulting from the selfishness which
finds enjoyment only in possessing more than anotner.
We know that Uberty, intelligence, justice, and all those
principles of equity on which the welfare of mankind de-
pend, owe Uttle to the munificence of the rich, and much
to the persevering efforts of those to whom necessity has
taught the need and glory of self-sacrifice ; that it is from
such that mental, moral, and political progress springs, and
it is to such that humanity looks for their perpetuation.
t-
n^lH^'JV IN THE DESERT.
We know too, that noe and suffering and want and
cnme and misery rarely arise from any lack of beneficence
on natures part. The earth yields enough for alT^^d
hunger and want prevail largely because the rich circu
their HKhvulual excess. Poverty and crime might be
almost dnnmated if the strong were willing to succor th
weak and stnnulate the fainting to fresh endeavor Pov!
erty and crime are, in truth, only the scourges by wh.ch
7atW n '" "^"'^^ ''' ^'''''' "^^^^'"^^^ ^hat the All-
Father should everywhere be worshiped-the types of
greed and selfishness, the lusts of envy and doL'n on
which ,nake the Dollar of to-day the equivalent, as a
symbol of power, with the S^vord of yesterday
The feudalism of the past was that of birih and rank.
The righ to rule, won by the father, descended to the son.
of more thousands than were ever '.eld in vassalage by
any lord descends by inheritance o. request from the
master of millions. The nobility of wealth to-day repre-
sents^ more power than the sword ever controlled. Is it
less dangerous? Is the power of life and death less peril-
ous because the weapon it wields is measured by Troy
weight rather than by Avoirdupois .> The rich are not all
bad, nor were the feudal lords ail tyrants. The nobility
of feudalism no doubt represented a much higher level of
m eligence enterprise, and what is often termed public
spiut, than those who were subject to their control. They
stronL.??.' '" ''"" '^ '^ ^^" ^^^^' ^h^ ^r--t, thi
strongest, the sweetest life of that time. The trouble
was not in tli^ men, but in the power they represented,
the power to restrict opportunity and compel subservience
f : '/
■»«fj.«i.-^3i*«t;^*ii«.-,
252
MURVALE EASTJ AN.
I:
The evil lay in the power of the few and the helplessness
of the many — the ability of the few to control and of the
need of the many to serve. It matters nothing •,\ ; nher
this power is attested by the crest of a noble or i!i.;. seal
of a corporation, the effect is the same,_ Whatever pro-
motes nia^'eiy and enlarges the domain ox subserviency
and dependence, that imperils liberty. The fact that he
who wields this po.v-r is a saint may make its exercise
less irksome, but the evil is .tihanceii rather than dimin-
ished thereby, because of the lethargy which results. In-
justice is bad enough, bi!.t r-ubmistion to wrong infinitely
worse. i
Ah, but each one has now a chance to be the greatest!
Such is the lottery of power which we call liberty ! There
is no privileged class, we say. All are freebooters on the
■;igh sea of prosperity. A short life and a merry one for
us! Here's luck for the man at the top, and a curse for
the poor devil at the bottom! Competition cures all ills!
What if men are crushed? What if one man does hold a
thousand by the throat? Have they not the same right
to throttle him if they are brave enough and strong
enough? Tliis is liberty! This is civilization! This, we
teach our children, is the best God offers or Christ prom-
ises to man! Is it true? We know it is false. Never-
theless, this we say is civilization. It differs from barbar-
ism chiefly in the fact that it uses daintier weapons and its
results are inheritable. In moral and purpose it is the
same. Wilton Kishu is the type of its best results, a type
much more highly esteemed than that represented by the
silly Murvale Eastman, who ran away from his enemies,
filed from the crowded city to determine what could be
done, and to study in solitud>: ' 'e relations of his own )■
dividuality to the common wt • e and advantage; to de-
termine, in short, some foolish question of duty.
ni
DAmv /X 77//; DESFRT
253
a wh rl ,vl,e„ he sped out of the slun.bering ci.y on h^
oil 4.U 1 • enemies he must encomtpr
„„! • ""'• '"• ™' ""•■ knowled.-e that the
h m off H-"*" 'T' '"^ '"'"^-'^ "■ '- -"- do*
h.™ off. His aunt had notified hi„, „ot only of disinher
-n, but of what affected hnn nn.ch tnore k e y e" d""
P eas„e his condne. and distrust of his petii f h .'
acter. riiere was something ludicrous about the weak
R^ i« A , ^"e "Olid, but It hurt him none the less
make t showed how widespread were the snares in n
wh.h he n,ight fall. If she lost faith. whoUTdTeh':::
f«n,ped„panddoT:^h:■;:,I;r;:,;;^',::!ha;
lows, whrpptn. the pools, ta.kfng with the bl^foLtd Ud
i : n
I '
I I
li
#1
254
MURVALE EASTMAN.
who caught his bait and carried his captures, laughing at
his own mishaps, exulting in his successes, breathing the
fresh air, lounging in the sunshine, feeling all the time
that God was near and the world afar off.
True, he saw strange sights. The shining ripples of his
lost love's hair would float down the dashing stream, get
tangled with his line, make his eyes unsteady, and almost
paralyze his hand when he felt the swift strike of the fish
and saw the surprised and angry victim leap into the air,
shaking his head savagely, while the sparkling drops fell
off his shining sides as he dropped again into the laughing
stream, and shot back and folth across the swift current,
seeking by every possible device of finny cunning to re-
lease himself from the fatal snare. Sometimes he saw
her image reflected in the placid pool where he dropped
his fly; and when he threw himself down among the fra-
grant autumn leaves to rest, his dreaming eyes were sure
to see her drifting hopelessly away into the infinite depths
of the blue autumn sky. Love will play such freaks even
yet with men who are silly enough to believe that love is
not incompatible with civilization. When he hunted out a
quiet nook among the granite rocks in which to eat his
plain but abundant mid-day meal, it is true his cares came
trooping over the gray hillsides, perched in the painted
foliage about him, and began to babble in the little rill at
his side. But they fled away when he had finished his
repast and stood up and laughed at their dolorous insist-
ency, shouted until the hills echoed, sang until the birds
and squirrels wondered, or seized his rod and began again
the patient, absorbed quest of his prey which characterizes
the true sportsman.
It mattered little whether his luck were good or bad,
his captures many or few— when the night came and he
DAlViV IN THE DESERT
had eaten a hearty supper, chatted a while with the farmer
folks listened to the owls on the hillside, watched the
weird moonhght as it cast fantastic shadows over hill and
dale, and caught the nn.sic of the rippling stream which
danced and sang under its curtain of white mist, though
he saw his cares mustering to assail his pillow, he fell
asleep before they could touch his eyelids. He had hardly
time to pray for guidance, but the All-Father knew that
every moment a brave soul was struggling for victory over
Itself. So the night breeze and silence brought healing
Every morning he said to himself that he would thbk
the matter out that day; but each succeeding ni^ht he
s ept without having stated premise or conclusion. Never-
theless, when Friday morning came the load had lifted
■Nature s song of praise found an echo in his heart as soon
as he saw the sunshine kissing the frosted leaves. All
day long he sang amid liis sport as if trouble had always
been a stranger to his heart, songs of thankfulness and
exultition, sometimes under his breath, when the line
hissed hot through the boiling eddies, and anon in sonor-
ous tones that echoed from the hillsides while he rested
after the struggle. The uncouth lad who shared his sport
v^ondered at his glee, but caught the sunshine from his
face, and when, tired but cheery, they dragged home at
night, thought he had never known so happy a day or
seen so admirable a man. It is curious how little it needs
to form an ideal and fix the aspiration of a young life
When he reached the farm-house that night, Eastman
tound a telegram awaiting him :
" Come by first train to-uiorrow without fail.
" Metziger."
It did not give him any anxiety. He did not try to pic-
II'
i >
256
MUR VA LE EA S PMA N.
m
ture what reception he woultl meet. He was ready. He
had thought it out. When? He did not know. What
had he concluded.? To do whatever he might frr ■ 's
betterment that God might open the way lor him to do.
With what instruments? Such as God might place in his
hands— provide for his use. And his love— Lilian Kishu?
He had given her up. He believed that her happiness
demanded it, and 'lis love was too loyal to repine at what-
ever might in< rrase her joy. He had thought he loved
when he only desired her love himself. Now he felt that
he loved much better when he had yielded up that desire.
He did not know when the conquest had been made. He
had not argued with himself, nor undergone th. mythical
agonies of self-dissection which the rage fur morbid anat-
omy makes the chief ingredient of to-day's fiction : but,
like a healthy-minded maw as he was, he had been true to
his love and true to himself, and put it out of his life be-
cause she wished to be free. He felt that he could meet
her now without a tremor. It even shocked him a little
to find that he was beginning to feel that she was not al-
together wrong, that she could never have 1 en quite
happy in a life-companionship vvi'i him. Hew. sorry; it
was his misfortune ; but he was glad she had found it out
in time. As for himself, he felt thp.t the path of duty was
plain. He would do— whatever opportunity offeitl. He
did not doubt but he would do some good, and he did not
think that the face of man would ever terrify him . -ain.
In that very moment he began the tas hus jlf-im-
posed, and talked long and earnestly that ,at rh the
parents about the future of their son, the oy \\i,o had
shared hi'-, veek's sport and who had fallen asleep in
weariness with his head upon the knee of his new friend.
How light his he-art was when he sought his bed under
Tin: a A te or palais.
»57
the rafters of the crumbhng homestead that n.Vht and
sank to sleep with the n.oonbeau.s and the niusrc of the
murmurng river steilln^ In .y ,\ ^^^
e,- I , I'^trsreaimg in at tlic open wndow' Hnw
simple and how sweet-yet how sure are Nature's m.H
caments to the worn soul ! ^ ' '"^'^'•
CHAPTER XXII.
THE GATE OF PALMS.
If the young pastor had spent the night in the most
approved paroxysms of self-conscious imagining, he .voula
''••n as t tram ghded mto the station, and, with his ro 1
;n hand and. creel upon his hip, he started a o g h p at
t In nf .r^ °' ''' '''''^ ^''^' ^"^'y ^''^^^^tor; a delega-
tion of the drivers and the wives of a good n any mofe •
a great crowd of the members of his lurch with Tde'
vou eacona, their head; many of his brethren in the"
" es'a alT^r "^'^^"^^-^ ^" ^^--ches and no
c.uirches at all-,vhat were they here for? What did it
-ean? Hand-shakings, congratulation., cheers, lau'it
commendations, smiles, flowers, tearsi What' coldd U
mean? He turned from one to another in amazement
His evident confusion added to the zest of their gr et ng
mg a crowd hkes so well as the unexpected.
And the news that was poured into his ears as he was
passed from one to another, from hand . , hand a it were
- the crowded station! Dr. Farewell gave him asstrce
^58
MURVALE EASTMAl^.
that Jonas Underwood was steadily iin[)rovingj Merton's
sister thanked him for his kindness; the drivers clieered
for "Number Forty-six;" their wives greeted him with
blessings; Murchison assured him that the Belt and Cross-
Cut would stand by hii! ; Tabor, that " there couldn't any-
body jump on a man who was doing a decent thing in
that way while he was around! " And when, finally, Met-
ziger had steered him through the laughing, tearful, shout-
ing crowd to a carriage which was in waiting, old Deacon
Goodyear, the saintliest soul tliat ever worshiped at the
Golden Lilies, leaned over and with tears in his eyes
whispered in his pastor's ear: .
" I do believe we're going to have an — an awakening.
Never have known such a prayer-meeting since we've been
in the new church as we had Thursday night. The lec-
ture-room \vas full and all seemed to have you in their
hearts. You ought to have heard the prayers — seemed
as if you must have heard them! "
Thursday night! He knew now, whence his peace had
come — the manna that had fallen on his soul while he
slept !
The carriage drove away with one of its occupants
stunned and speechless with surprise. Metziger was hur-
riedly explaining what had happened; how the reaction
had set in as soon as the truth was known ; that Jonas
Underwood had insisted on being carried into the prayer-
meeting and having a paper, written at his dictation, read
to those assembled — the effect was " immense," Metziger
said; that the Mertons were so pleased with the pastor's
tact in saving the family from disgrace that, finding their
brother's widow a really accomplished lady, they had taken
her up, their mutual interests had been harmonized, and
what seemed destined to prove a scandal to the church
THE a,\ TE OF EALMS. „
was likely ,o be a blessing, l,„.v Searle had planned the
he s a,io,T° "'"' ""■■ P"'" °' ""^ «°'<'^" Lilies a.
tne station on his return.
abouTa-'l'n V7 ■' "°"'^ "°' ^^ " '^"'"^^' but it was
abou a... much of a surpnse-party to us as to you. We
duln t expect such an ovation as that "
;• I don't deserve it," said the disconcerted fisherman.
Wei. answered the other dryly, "you'll have to try
and put up wuh it; it's your own fault; you shouldn'I
I you d.dn want people to act silly when they found i
out. It can't he helped now."
The lawyer hated shams and would not doff his hat to
reason to be such as any one, since he saw into so many
irrnit';^^" "^^ '- '--' - --> -^ ^^^^-ed i^
Murvale Eastman was dumb with thankfulness, yet
Wilton Kishu and his daughter were not amon,, the
crowd who came to welcome him. Of course it wa's no
to be expected, and yet it gave his heart a wrench that he
should have received such a greeting and Lilian no have
Com ''"tT '° ''"^ '^'^ ^°>'- ^''- Ki^hu, too-could the
Golden Lil.es rejoice without him.:> At length Eastman
-en loned his name. Metziger grew grave at once
comLr ' '''''' ' ^'""^'^ °" ^^''^^'" ^- ^he only
But when the young minister fell on his knees in the
;t:d:-;:;:r^°°"^'^^----^^«--esti^:^
»6o
MURVALE EASTMAN-.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Out of the smitten rock.
The pastor's eyes were dewy the next morning when
be rose before such an audience as had never crowded
the Church of the Golden Lilies, and with uph'fted hand
gave the signal for the invocation. He could not join in
the words of praise as had been his wont. He was striv-
mg to master his emotion. Every seat was occupied and
all the aisles were filled with chairs. Some familiar faces
were missing. Mr. Kishu, one of the deacons, and several
of the leading members were absent. The pastor's heart
ached, for he counted them among the sheep given into
his care by the Great Shepherd, and he feared lest any
act of his might bring peril to any soul or enmity to any
heart. He did not think at all of thg strife he knew to
be mipending. He had put that into other hands ; but he
did not wish needlessly to awaken anger or distrust. Lil-
lan Kishu was the only member of the family in her
father's pew. Her eyes sought Murvale Eastman's with
wistful inquiry. He thought it very kind of her to come
and show that there was no enmity between them ; and he
thanked her with a glance for her thoughtful friendliness.
His heart was very t-nder toward her, but he did not feel
one throb of love or hope; and did not once think of re=
gret. The "woman in black" sat with other mourning
wom in, peaceful and resigned, in the accustomed pew of
the Mertons. Many eyts scanned her face, and there
Ol^T OF T1,E S.UJTTE.V A-OCA:
were whispered words of resentment ,!,„,
pure should have been so defan^ed ""' '° ''"''""^
wo'c:,r,ttife' 1;!':;/ V"' -- ^°'- "">'-
p;-ys.ianhad';rdMir:i:tS':,;:: "'=
If his improvement continued for o 1 ? ''''^'^^•
to go to a milder ciin.e^fo jols uT "'f ', '^ "^^
come a capitalist since the ast s'l ^^"^f^™^ had be-
pension had been "L ed .f f'^ ^'^^ '°"S--ferred
press which had ^al-^ "his 1^', J b " ^"7^ °^ '''
charge the distribution of t L ' ^ ^^'^ '"''"^^ '"
clared itself unable toresi/ttt./"' ''°""'^' ^^"'^ ^^-
of lead he had so on^c h ^ Tr^'^'l ''' '"^"^'^^
the jeers at its evid.nt^ t t ad V'' n ' '"' '' ^^^^
pension with arrears ThT "'^'^^ ^^^''t^^ the
ous insistence o;e,nbrof'r' "" '"V° ^'" ^^^--
sense of the situation T V F"'' ^'^° ^^^ taken a
thecerti.cater;recuSi::::j;:?^rT^^-ed
ment. The hope of seeiuL^ hil 7 '^ ^''^ P^^"
him new life. The audienf. ! \" '°"'^°^'^ ^^^^ S^^^"
curiositv for the Zte^ '"" f ^^"" "^^^ ^
nau.e agains'tle citato ' '"' '"^ ^^^" ^^S^^ ^^ his
his progen tor I 7e ! 'm""- ''' '^^'^^'^"' ^"l^-ts of
f-'o^v:;entu^;:::^,n:tv'^^^r°^'^^-^^
health, therefore, was a m r':^:,^,:^ ^^^^ "^^
people. , interest to very many
'aiMaced, wi.h 'rha. strnro^Zre' St' ^"'
!ea .3 o,d <.o.r;:i:;;:tr,e: r: .r '^' '-'
-ce 0, the wea,.V .en who contrihldt t sTZT
If
■i -4 "■•
1r
iiriirirlifiiJitiihait
J ".^ ' ^^ -q r
!
HI
ili
262
MURVALE EASTMAN.
He had never been inside the Golden Lilies before, and
his advent created a sensation. With his stiff, bristling
hair standing out from his high forehead, he faced the
pulpit, turning neither to the right nor left, and apparently
indifferent to the curious glances cast upon him.
But the most striking thing in the congregation was the
number of new, serious faces, faces of men and women
who did not represent great wealth or high station, earn-
est-minded people who had evidently come to hear the
new doctrines the preacher was expected to promulgate,
or to testify approval of the course he had pursued.
Murvale Eastman's voice trembled as he folded his
hands in prayer, trembled with gratitude and fear that he
might not fitly discharge the obligations resting upon him.
" Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law
of Christ! " was the theme on which he spoke. Strangely
enough he had little to say about sympathy and benevo-
lence, and less still about the duty to " feed the hungry,
clothe the naked, and succor the distressed." The
words were intended, he thought, to be taken in a literal
rather than a figurative sense. They ilid not enjoin so
much the duty of pitying one who was sinking under bur-
dens too great for his strength, or giving him alms and
food after he had broken down, as that of lending him aid,
strength, support, in order that he might not succumb.
Ti/.e great duty the command was ^iesigned to inculcate
was that the strong should share with the faltering their
surplus of strength and wealth and so prevent collapse,
demoralization, hopelessness, despair, crime. The pri-
mary reference in the Epistle was to spiritual burdens; but
the whole argument was in favor of " the law of Christ "
—mutual love and helpfulness— rather than the cere-
monial law of rites and forms.
The common duty of mir, i,. i , '""^
-"l«t he conid .spare ,,"=', '';'°'^'"'S=''-'"d»-ealtl,
health, comfort, grov,h a r I """" '° '"'' °'"'
fan.,l,a„d dep^^dent! ' To l'"!; " ""'^'^ "'^ ™"
d'v.ne injunction. This was , ,„ ™' '° ''''°''e>' "«
^i'le of tin's behest, .1 1^1,1 n I"'™"'' ""= ■"*"d«al
"eliever as to his own „" ° af ' ' ^ '"ro™ upon every
"O' merely to enjoin rZ^^ ^T"- . ^'^ text meant
Pnmarily and equally „,at ' i^ "'"« '""■<''»^' ^ut,
weighted energ,. ^' '""' P'')'^""' '"PPort of over-
■4:;erasTc;:::;t;r::f'-^^''- ti.
"« Apostle Paul to the ChurS ''""' ^""'"^^^ "^
^oeiety. It laid upon the ' , ' T '" "'"'^"'"^'^ '"« i"
obligation of PREvCv ts o. " IT, '^ P"'"^' ""'/> *e
"°t mto sin merely, but into ^r, , ""'■■' fr°™ '^"'"g.
w-th little to God or man" "'f^' ^^'l "'" =^'"'= "•-
comparison with the same man « '" '™'"'' ''"=' '"
tnrbed by the fear of ™ T"' , "T ™'"'°"-Me, undis-
one had strength to give Jo Ls , T' "' ""' The
The other >vas a drj- tn>on t e "'",''°'' '"'' •"™ "eed.
'"e material stores of o ,ers ,v"""' "'"'"^ ^ '-» -
"■-t against the peace 7 be IZ TU """V" "'^^ ''
■ng from such lives are 1,1,. V '^'"^ ^O"'* spring-
o< '^P'-osy, aperi to , vIo°"c?°'" '"'" "'^ "'"'e 'etter
"■'■ether with kind or ma ^ ent" '" ""'"" "'* "-"•
""ieh allowed one of TtsZ f ''"''""'■ ^'-e church
264
M UK VA LE EA S T. MA X.
and women to believe certain specific propositions, but to
make it easy for them to live according to the behests, to
practice the teachings and emulate the example, of our
Lord. Belief should come naturally, healthfully, cheer-
fully, according to each one's character and individuality.
Righteous living is not only possible to all, but is the duty
of all— believers and unbelievers alike. There are thoii-
sands who are doers merely, neither teachers nor ex-
pounders, nor conscious believers, but men who love the
Saviour of the World with an unrlying ardor, because he
first loved man and taught the lesson of divine love and
truth. J
The duty of the Church is to incline men to 'V^ the
will of the Father," naturally, easily, unconsciously even
not only because it is his will, but because it is s7oeet and
pleasant to do so. Her duty is not only to show sin and
wrong to be perilous to the soul, but to make evil unpopu-
lar, unpleasant, loathsome. We have too long taught that
sin and pleasure are synonymous. It is not true ; 'or if it
be, It is the fault of the Church. God meant the Church
to make the path of duty pleasant, not by mere decoration,
but by general environment and universal inheritance
Children should be " born into the kingdom of God " in lit-
eral fact, born with such inherited impulses that the path
of duty would be as natural to their feet as the brute's in-
stinct to him.
We have been Christians, he said, for nineteen hundred
years, almost, and the Christ-spirit shoidd begin to be in-
stinctive. Each Christian parent's child should be a
Samuel, answering with glad impulse, " Here am I," to
every call of duty, because it deems truth and duty pleas-
ant and tweel.
It is instinctive, he declared, and most of the children
'"'■ "' »'' ^^'TT,. .OC
f Christian homes wouJd . '^5
'^'thout conscious .n^ ^^'^^'"^ soldiers in r.^.
t ^°- S"^ vv each r '"'' '■' "^ -"^J Perm^-t H '""^
«e^^es vile; that th ^ ""'^^^^ ^^ey first h.r ^^"^
that thev^, fV^'^'^"«tsin before ,,[ ^^^^ *h^'«-
Parity. we% ^' ^°""g ^ou', vve make h ''^''"- ^^
t-e and Icrifi^^'"^^ ^"'^''J'ation, de^,' ^'^ '° ''"'" '''
^he greatest part of '^ ^'^'"''^'^ ^n duty ^ '^^
" face-horse ri, ' '"^'■''■' of the fl,„ y^'" 'n
»» ordinances oT'r , '" ^'="-''' "le Chur,^ ! !' ""'"
-" fiber, as we»at«t "''"=" '" ''~st, ° "''f--
"Ingersoll ■• •? ^'= engrossed o„ „m ' ™ ^rain
■Glared fhTMfV T "" '"»'"« l«s,o "„ '" °' ^'™<'-
'-'y C dt'r' ^-'"> -e inherrbTe t™' *'^"'''-
"f his children ;„ f ^"' P'" *- weapon ■f'^'s'"^
Kener,,; ° ^e used ti • ""^ "> the hands
generations of Kpi.- . ' '' ''*^'PUise «f
^"^s it mean nnH '■' '' ^^^'^^ < evt,?l "»<^ounted
"Then"s?Je".^' ^^^^-^^h-tzan child.
sentiment th ^^^^ ^''^- general en •
^^t- r,,^ child .should n.. .... ^\ '^'"'^'^ be
f'ot onV be
inclined
i j:
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266
MURVALE EASTMAN.
to be truthful, honest, self-sacrificing, brave, helpful, from
the first ; but should fear to be otherwise lest it might cam
the scorn and contempt or, still worse, the pity of others.
It is the Church's duty to its members to make the en-
vironment year by year better and sweeter, so that the
inherited tendency to good may become stronger wi'h
each succeeding generation. Evolution is the law of at-
tribute, whether it is of species or not. We are Avhat we
are to-dav, because our fathers were what they were, in
the innumerable yesterdays. The dead hand of an an-
cestor reaches often across even a century and grips us
by the heartstrings. God has consecrated this law to hu-
man progress. He expects us to make that dead hand a
Christian force, and commands us to spread about the
young life an environment — to bless it with surroundings,
conditions, influences — that will incline it naturally and
easily to speak truly, act justly, and be ready, willing, and
anxious to ' bear one another's burdens.'
"But grace! temptation! sin! what of these? Never
fear; there will be room enough for grace! Do not be
afraid your children will not be tempted! You need not
begin to tremble lest sin should disappear. Only make
the work of grace easy; the task of the tempter difficult;
the way of sin loathsome! This is the duty of the Church
to those within its fold, and to all who may be born to
those who have felt the water of baptism. A Christian
driven to despair by the woes of life is a testimony against
the churches — the Christianity, the sincerity of all who
profess His word in any city and in any land.
" But there is another duty," added the speaker, wip-
ing away the sweat-drops whicli intense feeling had
brought to hia brow, "there is anot'er duty, which the
Church as an organic force owes to God and man, beside
"iA'
II
OUT OF THE SMITTEN ROCK g
whicl. i. is but a trivial part W,i Hit '""", f T"'*' °'
^ parent's, is firs, always to its o vn "^.Clu,rc ,'s duty, like
feith or creed; it is to'h J ole™ .".r' '""""'■' ''^
.^, and to every one that is to be '' "^ ""' '"''
In this work, however the ri.,,. i •
tory force, a co-ordinate l^Ly I ' i't' T ' ' '°"""'"-
respects himself or loves ,„ '„ "'■>' '""" ''''o
triot .vho loves W, °I , " ="" ""''■ "''^"y Pa-
rishes ,vell Tl is elIoT'7' '"?■ P'"l-"'ropist",o
^ight, every hero^w: 'se^L' h m:t,f '^'''^ '" "^
statesman who labors to nj ! 'fe to liberty; every
"I.O studies the I ws of STo: T"'' ''"' ''''"''''
every lover who counts Mm ,f V hT.rit"' "'""='
woman's hps; every fafh^^r «. ' ''"''^ *" ^^^^^ a pure
'^is Offspring^ eve^'J: T:,:t u r, : h'^ ''' T'^^^ °^
every woman worthy the crown o u "'^"''°"^' '"^"^^
are conscious or uncons.i^ ^^ ^'^"^^"hoocl-all these
in the noblest work com n"'."'^ °"" ^"'^'^ ^'^ ^'^urch
Divine. ^on^mitted to the hand of Man by the
which theDivfne hasd.rlt d '"".^''^'''"^ "«>' °' '-ces
's - compass, a: Zn^'t:!ZT "Y '"'™"^'^'
mental, „,oral, and physical heir ""*" ^P'"'™''
equalise opportunit a'n" r i.e IdT^ '"'Tf' '°
envtronment and chance ol rtoiesom ? ^""""'
human being. "nolesome growth to every
^i^ensit'y":; z Zf^t " ^'"r ■"■■"" ''-"^ *=
'that can never be! *^''''"''™'' °' ""e result,
11
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268
MURVALE EASTMAN.
"O fool, and faint heart! What is impossible with
God, and who shall set limits to his power? Does he not
work by law a million times where once by miracle? Has
he not made man the instnmient of his beneficence to
man ? Was not the Holiest required to take upon himself
the form of man? If God's glory was subserved by provid-
ing for the spiritual redemption, shall it not also be sub-
served by promoting the entire betterment of the human
race? Is God's power exhausted by the 'plan of salva-
tion?' Is 'regeneration' the only means by which he
may touch and uplift humanity? Is the life beyond the
grave the only life loved by the One who put man to live
on earth? Shall he not use his own laws to make salva-
tion surer? Must the devil have his will of every human
soul before God will allow it to taste his grace? I speak
not now of salvation, but of earth, and man, and God,—
of the succor and beneficence God brings to man on
earth, of v;hat he wills the human life to be with respect
to other human lives, and of the powers and forces by
which he expects us to carry out his will. God's laws,
written in nature and stamped on the human soul, are not
less sacred than his revealed word— which, indeed, itself
came through human hearts as moved by the Divine
Spirit.
" And why should it be thought impossible that God
through human means should work out human betterment?
Shall not the Divine select his own instruments? Is he
meaner than the tinker who patches your broken wares?
Shall he not shape and sharpen at will the tools he uses?
Has he not done so? Is not man better and stronger to-
day than ever before? Does not every fact of human
history show that God designs him to be better still?
O fool, to limit and blaspheme the mercy to which you
o^r oj.- ns sMrrrw kock:
weal I IfGodlovelh th. I, ' '
-"e /or i„ eternal sa va.bn TT] ="'"'«'' '" P™-
enough .o provide for i.eta.ro^,:''';;''' '"■' "^ '°- "
'"S "Pon earth? Does r„H , ' '*'"'' ""'' «'engthen.
•■'■.«.t.ehu™an.o°: „o:t 7! '>"™» "e.ra/ation ?
can love or pity i,) „ ,, , ""''= °' "ee before he
^-all he not',o:e"tLtwht re::r^' ^"i'^' ^ '»'-
Such fancies are vain! Becau e r ?r"' "=" '>'^""?
^'.on of „an on earth as wel Is ut T "'■"" *' ='-
he has ordained that magnrficenT,, "'""""= «ivatio„,
-htch we call civih.a.ion/Jht""' "'' "'"^'"'' '<"«»
""'h which to work out bitter eoL^r ""' '"'°°'" '""<'»
ernment, law, literature, ar' a iT '' ^'=''="^<'> 6°'-
he.seelcs fo hft us up, i we wHl bur "t'""^ ''^ "'-'>
Learn to see his ,1, , "*= ""em aright
salvation. Thri^iJe ^ ^T^ ^ «" - i".' pian of
by the seed which grows fol noli "'' °™ °' "<^^^™
beauty and strength and usefl ! t'tl"' '" ""^ ""'= '»
'But the best, you sav i, "'''"'"''"s'line.
does no, indeed, It.U to l^fi ™: '^f "'f. . ^ "'«'-"
of .mprovement lies before us p ""' ^'""'tless realm
fi bronze, from universa iZr "" *" "«' <>' «■>"=
degradation, God has push d " ' '"" ""'''""' """
-e deny his power anSturporrd"':'"''"''- «">"
*-"83 .n the same directioCld bt ,1 " """ «""'"
He has made human betterment H . ' '™«' '°'"'^'
P"Pose and human knowllle H "k ""^^' °" ""■"»
cond,t,„„s by human forces Th^?"^^"^-) on hur„an
'finable, because human knowled " '' '"<'"'' ""^l-
better is always attainable rlatlh J' '"?"""^'^' •"" -
»nd sweet as the human mind ca„ c ''•* " ""' "' P""
be, ,s only because each nnl ""'"^ 'bat it might
be knows to rest upon i" Thtd"'"'"* '° "" "« "t
This does not excus- el,,,,,
r,ii
iij
"■f^^S
370
MURVAIJ- EASTMAX.
but makes it all the more incumbent on him that be-
lieves.
"Collective obligations are the greatest of human
duties, because they touch the welfare, no; of one alone,
but of millions of human souls. The Christian who
claims to do his duty to God and shirks his duty to man
is a sad failure. Tlie soul that does not love mankind
cannot love God, who « so loved the world that he gave
his only begotten Son to die for it.' Whatever the mystery
of man's eternal salvation may be, it is not left to us to
unfold. But human betterment, progress, growth, the
development of ameliorating conditions here on earth:
these things God has made dependent entirely on man's
willingness to do good to man. All that He does is to
coax and scourge man to .villhigness and activity. And
this willingness he has -,.!, the touchstone whereby
alone the work of his Si.mu v.x each heart may be surely
tested. ^
"Poverty and wealth are the chief sources of vice.
The man who has not enough is ever under the glare of
temptation. And a full stomach is not always enough;
very rarely, indeed: there is a hunger of heart and brain
and soul that is even more deadly and dangerous. The
man who is shut out from knowledge; to whom domestic
comfort is an unattainable luxury; he who is denied
equality of right and parity of opportunity, whose utmost
effort only saves his loved ones from shame and starva-
tion, that man is ready to hate, and only the mighty power
of inherited Christian impulse saves him from being will-
ing to harm those whose superabundance represents
healthful suffic ncy for thousands. The woman who feels
herself and her children ignored, contemned and avoided
because the tide of prosperity has not flowed past her
cause her ,„ore fortunate' '«' ' *'"' " ''' ""t l^e-
f power ro drive her ,o dls,"! ' "°' ''""' "" "> "■ -
>= f'-ir in profession, hones" in S"' '" '"'^ '"">* ""'J'
''""^^y; but he has har"ie '? t u"^ "' ""= '^^ -"^nes
l"s fellow's welfare .n ' ""="'' ='^'" '"» eye, to
Every soul is responsihle for ,h, ", '"■°"'"''' ''«P<^--.
'-"• 'he sin resultiuK f o,„ t, f "'' " "'«* '"ve .lone.
"">ve,i. f„, thejust'ceT ntvT"""" " '"'«'" '>-'= re-
every man are of mfyu./.L^ ! ' ""'' "<"='3l ''"ties of
fif'^. .ore -..^.J:t^^;z;ar:' ""-'■ •"" '■'■■
We have the „or,l of ChriLTnT^ .'' '''""" '■^f"-l'nces.
^ "And what is the rl ^ o „ ^c '"T" '" "'^'•
forces which shape the envirn "''' '" "'°''« S^al
»>us. color the LCCZiT"' ° =""^ "fe. '"d
betwi« us and the hi he shore ^ T '°'" """ '''"'" ^"">d
Love is the key-note of f ! """^' The Duty of
"en, to pro,„o[e Z 1" wT ''" ''^ ^°°^ '° ^«
*^;in' tivc quality as a religious cr' P "' """' '' "^
and cree.l are all subordinatr! \ '^"^^ ""'' Pwise
end. To ,/„ is the ac ve ■; °"'^ '"='P^ '" 'h''' great
*e Cl,rist-tl,.,ught. ,"?„ '"■'"?''' "' *^ Christ-mesfage
God's purpose, «,;:;* n,t 'V".-; *e fuMlhnent'o
so far as man's conduc; ttrer f '^"' ^■"' "'^ ''^'■«'
i ^^e function of flip ri,. u
^^■>hest duty, is ther te rsti" \ '""^" ^"^ ^^'^"*-- '^s
-'»; to imitate God's/ust e ot'' "'" ^" '^ ^^^'«
« justice,, to Illustrate God's mercy.
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272
M UR VA L E EA S TMA N.
to fulfill God's purpose and screen God's children from
temptation and despair! Its function is to be, not the
controller, but the mainspring of civilization; to see to it
that in government, in business, in society, the underlying
impulse is that which is enjoined for the regulation of hu-
man life, ' Bear ye one another's burdens.'
"Does our present civilization need this force? Are
the economic and social conditions of to-day conducive
to the moral, intellectual, and physical well-being of our
fellows? Look not merely at the tale of crime and the
record of poverty, but go beneath them to the provoking
causes, the temptations, the injustice, the despair. Let
us not shirk the mighty problem. The more difficult it
is, the grander is the duty it enjoins and the more glori-
ous will be its solution. In our land to-day there are
thirteen millions of families. Of these one-quarter of a
million possess an average of six hundred thousand dol-
lars each ; eleven million families average less than one
thousand dollars each. Of these latter, how many have
only five hundred dollars, only two hundred, only one hun-
dred, nothing beyond to-day's bread and to-morrow's ex-
pectation? God only knows! No statesm.an dare inquire!
No Christian dare guess !
" Let us admit that these vast accumulations represent
no personal wrong, no individual infraction of legal right
on the part of the possessor. It is not our duty to assail
the rich or excuse the poor. The only inquiry we have
to propound, the question every Christian soul in the
Republic must help to answer, is this : ' Is a civilization
which yields these results a safe one? Is it a civilization
pleasing to God and promotive of his will to man? Is it
inspired by the Christ-spirit, ' Bear ye one another's bur-
dens '? If not, it is our duty to make it so.
OUT OF THE SMITTEN ROCK.
273
" How shall this be done?
.ion" nVr"' """"■' ""^ '"' "'" before „s for .,ol„.
'■Let us pray that we may learn."
274
M C Vi' FA I. E EA S TMA N.
ing the spread of knowledge of a saving faith. The the-
ological expert would have found little that was new in
iMurvale Eastman's words, exi^ept the correlation of these
forces and the sturdy insistence thct both were equally di-
vine, the one enjoined by the revealed Word, and the
other by divinely ordered causes and consequences. Sci-
ence has taught even the most inciedulous of saints, with-
in the life-time of many now living, to admit what was
before esteemed blasphemous, not merely as a fact, but
as a beautiful and harmonious revelation; so that we
read to-day the record of God's work in veritable tables
of stones which his hand has traced and his wisdom pre-
served for our instruction and delight. We have learned
to come reverently into the temple of Nature, realizing
that the ground whereon we stand is holy, and that every
bush is aflame with his presence and power. But we have
only -ust begun to comprehend that, as he has made na-
ture an eternal testimony of his wisdom, so too he has made
man a constant witness of his purpose; that if the rocks
abound with evidence of his infinite power, so human his-
tory is eloquent of his beneficence. We have come to
admit the testimony of Nature as to his omnipotence; we
are only beginning to admit the testimony of man as to
his omniscient justice and mercy.
But ihe congregation of the Golden Lilies wer*.' des-
tined to witness on that eventful Sabbath events so sur-
prising that the sermon would almost have been forgotten
by them, but for certain notable results that flowed from it.
FKESII BLOOD.
'75
CHAPTER XXIV.
F^-ESH BLOOD.
foUowed .he sing „" of , wl''^' "'! **"' ™' «'« -hich
paseor approached 'he tekTo^r """'""■"'"" *»
haud. A hush came over .ealer"' '"""' '" "''
very naturally supposed .ha/ is" X "d"^ °'r"r™'
■on and disaster. Such, indeed Jistl e ^ °' *"'■
of .he pastor's first r-mark He o , ,'''"'""' '""P°"
Missal had been apphX a! Z^'Z ITT' "-
bers of the church, „ho„, he „a, Td tLT '"''""
many, .hough raos. of .hem were ™„ of T r ""',"°'
fluence. The pas.or stated franklv ,1,,/ , ^ ^"« ""'' '""
cause of the withdrawal of the emejw "'"r"' "''
m the events of the past weel WMe L '" ", ""'"■■'
any should have felt called uno„ ,T ^l"'^"="<'<^ "lat
that there were so fe^ Th' ? ' ''" "' 8"'^'"'
l-icn to hin,self or tL elentsTr"''^ "° '""''" >'-
the minds of his hea ers 2 f """ "W"mos. in
i.a;nowa™orep;::i7;-,:;; -^^^^^^^^^ t.>at he
grown in nlbl fs t^ aTd" r'"-"'^' " "»"
made was chiefly by letter A' ^ , ^'"' '"'^ "'«"
theSunday-schoolfthec ildt'V™ rb'r,''"""',"'™'"'"'
-omen, so far as .he young Ir^e^rrtrZ
ilti
■is*
276
MURVALE EASTMAN.
I
church had mainly been recruited by letters from country
churches — young men coming to the city and commended
to their watch-care by sister churches. The Golden Lilies
had been glad to take them by the hand and help them
to resist temptation and lead worthy lives. Until within
a short time, however, it could not be said that the
church had seemed to represent a specific, tangible force
in the life by which it was surrounded. Now, however,
at the very moment when it seemed least likely because
he felt that it was least deserved — upon his part, at least
— the Holy Spirit had come upon them, hearts were re-
joicing in a new-found love and light, and those v.'hich
had grown cold were awakened to a new zeal in the serv-
ice of God. The knowledge of God's truth was not new
to the souls who were asking admission to the Church.
From their earliest days they had been acquainted with
the things of God. They did not need to ask, " What
shall I do to be saved?" The inquiry that came from
their lips was, " What can I do for the cause of him who
gave his life for us? How can I aid in the spread of his
Spirit among men?"
The most pleasing duty of his pastorate was to an-
nounce that during the past week a large number of ap-
plications for membership had been received — more than
during any other week in the history of the church in its
present location — the greater number of which were on pro-
fession of their faith, and he was glad to say that they in-
cluded all ranks, and classes of society whose lives religion
was least apt to touch, those who complacently termed
themselves " the highest," and those who were pityingly or
contemptuously classed as " the lowest." He believed
these applications were in answer to prayer, the yearning,
importunate prayer of faithful souls who had long be-
FA'ESff BLOOD.
277
sought the Lord for a visible token that their faith was
not in vain. The answer had not come, perhaps, as he
had expected. Sorrow and humiliation had attended it.
Hearts had been wrung with temptation and souls beset
with doubt. A week before, he had trembled at the
thought of undertaking what seemed a plain duty To-
day he recognized that God had testified his approval,
and he felt humbled and contrite before Him that he
should liave hesitated to follow the leading of the Spirit,
the promptings of that inward monitor given by the Di-
vine to every soul for its guidance in the path of duty.
Then he read the names of those asking to be admitted
to the church. At first there was a solemn silence. As
one well-known name after another was reported sobs
began to ne heard, and men tried to hide their emotion
while Momen openly wiped away their tears. But when
the pastor uttered brokenly the names of Jonas Under-
wood and Hannah, his wife, a sudden wave of passionate
feeling swept over the congregation; the pastor bowed
his face upon his hands and Deacon Goodyear, in his thin
quavering voice, struck up a hymn, by which for centuries
the saints have been accustomed to express their joy over
souls redeemed-a hymn rarely before heard in the Church
of the Golden Lilies. The choir and congregation took
It up with instinctive accord, while the voice of the great
organ surged above them, hiding discord and mingling all
m one great wave of soulful melody, and the face of
the Christ, glorified by the midday sun, looked calmly and
approvingly down upon the tearful multitude. Every or.f'
knew the relation which the young minister had sustained
to Jonas Underwood, and looked upon this as a part of
his reward for duty manfully performed. The hymn
ceased suddenly, leaving its echoes to die away among
2jS
.VTA'! -.1 1. K KA S TMA .\ '.
the resounding arches, as Dr. Farewell, fearing for his
patient's safety, stepped to his side and with the aid of
his wife moved back into the study the chair on which
Underwood reclined.
In the hush that followed, Mr. Townley was seen to rise,
nodding his gray head vigorously toward the pastor, who
was striving to master his emotions, and extending toward
him a paper which some one sitting near handed up to the
l)ulpit.
Kzekiel Townley had been the />^fe itoir of the Church
of the Golden Lilies. He \yas the product of an unbroken
line of stalwart believers dating back to the time when the
Covenant was first proclaimed among the hills of Scot-
land. He was a type of that race and faith, the biggest
word in whose lexicon is the potent dissyllabe, "Duty;"
a man who would go contentedly enough to the stake, if
need were, but would not countenance evil nor cease to
denounce wrong, in high places or low. Sharp-tongued
and unrelenting, he had not only withdrawn from the
church, but had said many bitter things about it. The
utmost curiosity was therefore aroused to know what his
communication might be.
The paper, creased and worn, was the letter of with-
drawal he had taken from the church years before, and
when it was read, the old man, standing erect in the aisle,
said simply:
" I would like to surrender it, sir, and resume my mem-
bership, if the church think me worthy."
This was too much for the older members. Deacon
Goodyear would no doubt have broken out into song
again, but the fear of disturbing Underwood kept him
silent. He, with one or two others, crowded about the
old man, however, and shook his hand with tears. Mr.
I-'KESII Jii.oon,
279
iowiiley (lid not weep. He was nnf nn« t .,
emotions lie upon tlie surf.rV T . '''"'" ^"''"^^
of what l,e fe t h' , k . ^ '^'" ^''''-' ''''' ^'' '"^'^"^
::::.Sf sr;— ^^^^^^^^^^^
Still .notK '^^'"'^ ''">' <listi.rl,ance.
T.f::r t:; rrwi™ 'Tm;."' '"= -"--•™-
and, .aking „, l-lacc' in ,o„f ^f rS^rTt Tr"'
liie suriirisc^ tint ?, . ., 1 """«"'•'•■• So intense was
fore tl,e e.'.o e L Tf " '''""" """""''' '"■
take .,o:„r;™::,s:"""'"" '""""■'™^ ^'"^-""^ '°
sneik for fi • ^ ' '''■^''^ auiiiorized me to
ligious n,e„, that is, noneTl ^1 '""," ''™'''' ''^-
connected witl, an; Zt or T """ "'"" ""'''='>'
been baptised, C^ Z^ZTZ T- '"™
faith, while other, lit ,r ^ profession of
.;nc4sirj::t;r;e,^c:d;:2;:„:--t:n'""'i
l.ad lonf e e ™d "0 rj"' "^'l'-^^''' ••' J""-- *ey
Christianit ■ they ta ,° ,f' """*"™' ""<' '">'^"'=e<I a
''.e LOW .^^ount^ties in'-tt I::: ll T .'l^;; I^" '^
behevers b. , ra:^^ '' '''■*"" '"^'^" "°' "actly „n.
.>o-.t;:irtir-r^-;:X
i
w
28o
M UK VALE EASTMAN.
have grown shy of formularies; yet some of them have
carric 1 in their very names the evidence of an inherited
faith that readies back, in an unbroken line, to Nazareth.
" I am not authorized to speak of the religious belief
of the other signers of this paper, farther than to say that
we are each and all of us firm believers in a just God who
desires the welfare and uplifting of mankind, who loves
truth and equality and hates iniquity, and that we all be-
lieve that the principles which Christianity ])rescribes for
the regulation and adjustment of human relations — the
rule of love to our fellows, and the obligation to bear one
another's burdens — constitute the only true basis of so-
cial ethics and should control and govern every relation
of human life.
"We cannot justly be said to be disbelievers in atiy
Christian doctrine, but some of us would hardly desire to
profess a positive belief in some of them — they seem to
be as yet beyond our grasp, our specific and positive de-
termination. Whether we shall ever reach a clear con-
viction of their truth or not we cannot say. I will not
conceal from you, also, that we do not desire to discuss
these questions, feeling that it would be unprofitable if
not absolutely harmful to do so. Some of us, at least,
have a very clear impression that there has already been
too much controversy in regard to the will of God and the
means by which he may or may not accomplish his pur-
pose, and not enough consideration given to man's nature
and the means by which we may perform the will of God
on earth and discharge the duties toward humanity which
we believe he has laid on all, whether those whom the
Church recognizes as believers or not. We desire most
earnestly to promote the acceptation of the rules: ' Love
thy neighbor as thyself,' ' Do unto others as ye would that
fif
^^Hlisl/ n/.oo/K
"ley should do to you- and. n ' '
"-' '" evcr/relT ,:"™- "."^ "' """- ™n.
""' any imputalion o h!' ."^"'''^f'-- '" <lo •!"» wiih-
'Church, or Of any indivdu.! ^ ",''' "' '^"■"' <" ""•■
" While we l„„e 2 " ^ ""••"•l^ership.
and „,,•.,.„„ 0, Cc,,™:"' ^'""!'"''^-"' "lework
•ion of j„„ioe and me Ta ,' •■■: •" '""■'"'' ""•■ P'"n.o.
-n. of hu,„a„ ir ::«,,::; 7' r" "■: ""''™-
■ng to be receiyed as n.e „Ier „, "' J""'""' '" '^^•
"hose tenets we could „« ,, . , " "=""'""'nion, all of
an aggregation of fones , m „1 T'T'''''''''''^^""
'ion to a much greate, 1 T '°' '"™^° ""^'iora-
n .l.e promotion of h,I rjelf™ ^h l^a ""''7'''"'^^
fcel, too, that a iust and ,„ ^"'' °"'"- We
whereyer they tiay 1," f™ ', '!,°"°"'^ "' "'«= 'orces,
iTought into sincere harnin."™"* """ *ey be
as an an.eliorating L uTe [/,", ^'T "'* "-^ Church
" WiMi nr^ „ • u '"""^"^^ '« "fe and society
hoanrdes^tircrr'-r "'.''■*-•■ •^■■' "•«■ a
P"»e to weak „ Christianity h", T'" "' ^ "' "<> 1""-
"■e number of beheylrs 2 "'"' " ""'"■'■'•■ ''"pe hat
ask this church if Ce J ?, '""'^'^ ' "= '-- ™- to
others of like yiews an, u,l '"' ""^ ''^ "''''='' >"'' ="<!
«'!> it in the promo'bn '' ° ''', ""'' ""'"'"'' ™-°P"a.e
l^eing bound by i s oft' tn . "''' "' '" "'"*' "i'"o..t ■
---. :"Vt:'r:Stt- ri: rr-
f.
ii
283
j/r/i" /.//./•; JiAs/A/AA'.
Many of us luivc long sustained tliis ill-defined relation to
some cliurch organi/.ation, and I think ;i!l the names on
this paper will be re<oj;nized as liberal, a tive, and earnest
promoters of public charities, public morals, and all those
movements which tend to the relief and elevation of our
fellows. Oiu- only reipiest is, whether something cannot
be devised which will make the Church a more elfc( tivc
force in this direction, and at the same lime enable us lo
do more good.
"We will make this application to the Church first,
because it represents the largest nund)er of professed lie-
lievers in these |)rinc.iples, and we think the inlluences
making for this pr;icti(-al adoption ought to be concen-
trated rather than dissipated. We think t!ial societies
for the extension of these principles, or for applying
them to one i)arti(-ular jihin of Inunan relation, while by
no means insignificant, are of far less value than if they
represented the combined i)opular opinion of those who
really desite such results, ^\'e think that this is largely
due to the fact tl^at the Church has to commend, inspire,
and co-operate with those forces which do not subject
themselves entirely to ecclesiastical control.
" With these views we ask this church to consider
whether an organization may not be formed in connection
with it, and recognized by it, luiving for its sole jiurpose
the ]iractical extension of the Christian theory of human
relation, the Christian idea of vkvi's duty to vuvi, without
ecclesiastical control. There are few who do not believe
that such movements without the co-operation of the
Christian Church must fail.. There are, we believe, few
intelligent Christians who do not bewail the undoubted
fact that Christianity has tluis far failed to make these
ideas of human relation the popular ideal of any nation.
'
y-A'/:.s7/ /;/()o/).
283
K.u,„,.«„m wl,icl, sl,;u: ,.,„„i,|,, ,,„ ,„',,',;"' 7-
vi,l," we ,;,;;' "r""^" '-^ I-'-'-K .1.. in,li.
•la" nv:,;tp:':i:r;i:';;;iT''''' ''''''"'"'^"^•'^' ■^"'' "''''^
. i ■ i,"vc , ' ; """'"•'"'• ■■' ''"■«-''''^-' »'eh. wi,id,
' " '■• •""' "'<•■'■<-• "'.IS a rmirinural •• Amen " from li, =
."le acctoine,: .„ |,io„s oj.cnlaiio,,. „ 'i, ,, .
,a ,c .„.,.,wal. W„..n Mr. MeUiK.r l,a,I ™, ',„ J .f
rea.l ,l,o names „f the signers of ,|,is ,„,us„al netiti,.r,
y"....K n,anwl,„was known as one of ,l,e mo' " If
Tte will of rL' 'o'^"! ''■'i'" ""d no. fear superse.h,re.
Whatever made men and wo.nen better, whatever tended
284
MURVALE EASTMAN.
to ameliorate human conditions was an adjunct of Chris-
tianity. He agreed with the memorialists that a closer
union of all such forces was desirable, and he thought
that the Church in all its branches should lead, animate
and inspire such a union.
He therefore moved that the thanks of this church
and congregation be extended to these gentlemen for
their earnest and respectful overture, and that a commit-
tee of five be appointed by the pastor to meet a like num-
ber of the petitioners, the pastor to preside at the joint
meeting and consider what might be advisable to do in
the premises; and in the mean time he trusted the church
would make it a matter of especial prayer, that they might
have the divine guidance in their deliberations.
The pastor put this motion, which was briefly but earn-
estly seconded by one of the deacons— requesting all who
favored it to rise. Hardly had the words left his lips when
Mr. Townley was on his feet nodding his head in approval
as he shot his thumb vehemently upward above his closed
fist:
"Up! all up!"
The vote was unanimous, so far as appeared, for no one
arose in response to the summons to "all opposed;" and
after the committees were appointed and a night desig-
nated for the meeting of the church to hear their report,
the benediction of peace which ages have sanctified floated
over their heads, and the organ pealed out a tender and
jubilant dismissal, for the physician had reported that his
patient's agitation was only a burst of grateful joy, and
not in any degree perilous.
The pastor waited in front of his pulpit to exchange
greetings with the members of his congregation. Among
those who shook his hand was Lilian Kishu. His face
A MODERN MIRACLE.
285
word or tone that told J I T "'*'^^ 8^^"^^' "«
He was no longer her lov^r H t''"'"''^ ""= situation.
i-;i 'his fact. %erh: :X didi T' 't^ '"' ""■
^•elyas she might have wished but . J,uJ'^''°"-
that he Should have accepted t tlti Ti^r'
I
CHAPTER XXV.
A MODERN MIRACLE
him removed to a hlit! ' '"" """^ ""'" '" ^-^<'
dure the fatL ^ ''^ , P""' "^ »°" as he was able to en-
da/tX Sit had'™?'?"' ''^■' ^'''""^^ " '™™
would be Lei. d tr ' """' ' ^"'^"°" ""- i'
rcndings thaHl^ed o ^r^ 7ef 7- ^''°"' "^ ™'-
of the ,.an so thoroughly thirDrFan ,;"""'' ""'"™
day to day, to reco'mm „d fhe co Tse ' twr'' '""J
proper and reasonable. Now that Hnd . '"'""''
to provide for himself, thereTee™". no T "' '""'=
lie should continue ,„ „ ? 8°°'' '=^^0" why
tended for "he personar"'' T T"" "'■"''• *™«'> »■
longed to the churl Tr'. '"' P'^'"''' """^"y he-
was' not strong entghTor're?'" ,'"'"'■"• '''^P^'"™'
though he had'et f:^ o e r."- """^ "'"""''
if
that sort. So, too.
It
286
M UN VALE EASTMAiV.
would not do to take him to a hospital, where he would
be separated for the greater part of the time from is
wife. He would have there the best of care an.l treat-
ment but ,t was more than probable that the wife herse f
would sink under the separation.
There is something very wonderful in the oneness which
grows up between two loving souls in a life-time of urt
and Hannah Underwood ,t would be difficult to find
Every one saw that at a glance. She lived for him Hers
another, f ,t ,s to attam ats highest development. If she
had only herself to care for she would have done it quietly
contentedly, and without any painful yearning for L un
a^^nable._ At the same time she would iLe en oyed
bttle happmess. There are natures, especally amon.
nXs I "'°" '""V^' ^^ self-obliteration, demotion to
another s happmess, ,s so much above all other joys that
band s nature was above her comprehension or, more
properly above her definition. She could not folbw h m
m h,s thought, yet she understood by a sort of instinct
even when he spoke of things entirely beyond her grasp
n her younger daj. she had loved him with an undoubt^
mg faith in his power of achievement. She had never
any fear that he would fail to accomplish what he under-
ook. She was not very ambitious. She had never cared
to be rich, except to gratify his desire. Given her hus-
band, a quiet home, and her children, and she would have
been content.
.Sr ^Z ^"'^'"'^ '"'"'"^ '^' ^^^^^■^^' ^he was rather
felad than otherwise. She knew, of course, that he would
be exposed to danger; but she realized his ecstatic devo-
'' i"OI)KK.V MIK.Icrr..
287
tion 10 ll,e idea of right, an,l tl,o>,glu he .vouhl l,n h ■
in the performanee of .i ,„l,iier\ , , 7 '''"'=''
preme gran.le,. of ,he t^^J^^?^^^ ''^ -
the idea of <loi„g goo,l to h„m,^ ,7 "''" ""'''"■°'''
evil fro,,, being tie" H 3 'n T ' ° '"'""'""8
-tr:r.!;nart:£r9^-
because he wis nof h. ? * ' ^ '''''' flisturbed
peared ^.Z^1^\^T '" '"'^^^^^^ ^"^^P'
n^isfortune can e and the h ^^^^^^^P^thy, and when
from him without sorrow ifT,„ 1 ii ? "''' *" """=<'
to fill his heart and H \ "'°* '" ''°' ""^'hing
to think th:t :: ™ :j™;!;'p^^^ f-'-" ^^e ha,!
served by other \Z^ T ''"' '°"S'"8 for her,
wise phylictn n w IhTt h""' ""'^^'" ™"'" ™--' '^'^
faihire, that
goes
288
MURyALE EASTMAN.
unitv aid \ '''""'"'""• """'"« •■""'•'■^ness into
un.ty, and working ont the infinite problem thronsl, the
operatto'no Divine law which brings a vastly bmt o
of an nnperfecble worse. Thus love is forever the d vke
nfent WhT? ^"^ ""; ''"«^'^'' "^"^ °' "™- better!
ment. When domestic love sinks into insignificance be
TiWh ' •'"' f V^"""'"""" '""'^'P'' '"-heetlihor
ultn rr " " "" ""' """ ■™^' <!"" "ackward
unt,l ,t finds new moorings. Love alone can keep the
human soni from decay, the human heart from deW
ment, and socety from demoralization. Love makes a
man a hero, loving not himself alone but others. Isde!
basemen, renders him a brute, and makes him the s re „f
brutes who delight not merely in the gratification o self
1 rnstmcts but m the degradation of their fellows. It
.s the key of all that is grand in humanity-the one touch
of God that casts out fear!
"See here, dominie," said Dr. Farewell, meeting the
young pastor upon the street, a few days af er W srLrn
wood?" ' " """ ' "^"' '° ^'^- "- ^^"^ Unde":
" He's not worse, I hope? "
"A long way from it ; doing splendidly. In fact I had
no Idea he could gain so much in so sh'ort a time It's
the church, you see." '* ""ic us
''The church? You don't mean to say the Golden
Lihes IS a healing shrine? " ^^uiuen
" Not exactly ; yet it's about the same in effect. I have
never doubted that wonderful cures were effect d n he
old shrmes to which men crowded in the hope and be ief
t?:i::zr;re^^-^^^
"How is that?"
yl MODEJt,v MWACLE
^ Have you seen Uno.rvvood lately?"
•er spot ;;:e;',:„r°'"^"'^ """ " '™^^-" ^"-^ ■»■--
■•vo^htTdtorr:;' '^"i*^ ""^^■"^ ''"""^•
That is a good deaT"o av .n ' '™ "■= '''''"8 " «»•
- large a contra" Not ol isT ° '" ■'"""•^''»
agood maxim, but, •Everv„„e ^ '' °"' "> ""'^ ''^'^^'
he can do best ' is the, "' P"" ""''^ "«fe Aat
Specialists ina 'J^ofe 1 s" T""^ °' '•'"^' '"«•
world forward andTrfoH , *.^ ""''^ "''o move the
-akeafairge;:ra1;:S„r'';';'°°'' ^'"^"^''»' '»
to a specialist, on' " Tee that !t'°" 7'' '"' °"'
weren't made to go around ,1 . ^ «'^°"- '^^
weak bodies every div and ■'"■""""">' ^''^'' ^""'^ °'
^P-ritual -othingUTtoeacf'r'H"'"^"^ "^^^ "'
'•ng anything agfinst t'hose "ho ca^ tT"' "" ""' ^^^-
who always keep their sympathies oTtaD^r "'^ P'"'"'
IS to turn the spigot and .,, , , f ' ' °"' "eeds do
■■'•^ a little stal^aXr, of enZth t°"-- '™"-'"">-
of good nevertheless Lm. T ^' ''"' " ''"'^^ » deal
died, need to heithe Z ", " "''=" '" ''^ "d-
Vou-re not the ki L tn r Ih "Tf "« '^"P""^'
that you are any better o^ V ' ''°° ' ""=='" '» ^ay
of these men. The"n ' who"^ "T' '"■°'=' "■» "^"y
truly a benefactor tharhri^Td'' f '"^'" '^ "° '«'
disease and suggests a cure " "'' ** "''<''" ™' »'
a sit." ":?Dt tTout; vr'",V' '-'''' ^-•"- -•«>
era! practitioner?" ^'"'"'" * ^P'<^«1'« or a gen-
Well, I am something of hnfj, ^
a specialist and a good d'eal 0'?;::^!":^ '""« °'
can g,ve sweetened water-haven^t'^ Lr:^:-;-- J
ago
Mi'NVALE EASTMAN.
doing it. In fact, I l)elieve it one of the most effectual
and desirable remedies in the pharmacopoeia. I am per-
fectly willing to sit still, prescribe harmless nothings, and
furnish sympathy or apprehension, just as the patient's
condition may require. Strange as it may seem, there
are patients who would never get well if they did not think
themselves incurable. The idea of being the subject of a
miracle is amazingly inspiring to some peoi)le. At the
same time I like to study a hard case, to trace some hid-
den and mysterious pathway of, disease into, and perhaps
clean through, the realm of the specialist."
" And how are you treating Underwood? "
" I was talking about you, not about him. He's a
curiosity. Have you ever studied him? Ah, yes, I know
you have— on a street-car. That was a good piece of
work, too. Not many men would dare do it ; but it didn't
trouble you any. You simply wanted to know something
and took the direct way to learn. You're all right if you
don't make the common error of the specialist."
"What is that?" asked Eastman earnestly.
"Get into the habit of standing in your own light,"
answered the physician gravely. " You see, a specialist
who is worth anything keeps building up theories. It's
his business, you know; and the great danger with such a
one is that his theory may get so high and cast so strong
a shadow on the facts he is investigating that he won't see
them exactly in their true light."
" Well, I've no theories, and don't mean to have."
"Don't say that," replied the physician earnestly.
"Theories are the diamonds of truth. Experience crys-
tallizes always into theory, and only when it has done so is
the world really enriched by it. The trouble is that some
people will never wait for their experience to crystallize ;
A MODERN MIRACf.E.
291
they are visionaries. Others think their diamonds are the
only true ones in the market; they are bigots."
" You are in such a philosophical mood, this morning,
doctor, that we are getting a good way from Underwood,"
laughed the minister.
"On the contrary," said the man of simples with a shrewd
look, " I have had him in my eye from the first, and we
have been going straight toward him all the while. I was
afraid if I asked you to come with me you would jiut up
some excuse of an imperative duty you had set out to per-
form ; and I understand your conscience too well to ex-
pect it to give way to solicitation."
"So you wheedled me —played the general practitioner
on me, eh? "
"Exactly; I meant to make you come anyhow, don't
you •^ee?" The physician spoke with gratified positive-
ness.
" Well, you need not have been so deep. I was quite
willing," was the laughing reply.
"How was I to know that? After I had toled you
along about three squares, I was sure you would not back
out. I want to talk with you further about Underwood
before we reach the church ; so if you are in no haste we
will walk slowly,"
" Only necessity could make me willing to lose a mo-
ment of your society, doctor, ' said Eastman, banteringly.
"Thanks; you are so little given to comphment, that
I prize even a forced one very highly. But about Under-
wood, now, I don't know what to do with him."
" la what way do you mean? "
" Why, of course, he can't stay there in the study— al-
ways."
" I suppose not."
292
MURVALE EASTMAN.
pt-
" And it would be entirely safe to move him now."
"To a hospital or Florida, you mean?"
" Well, somewhere ; he couldn't stand much of a journey
yet. But here is the trouble: I really believe the church
has actually curative qualities for him."
"How is that?"
" Has it ever occurred to you that the man is a poet,
unvoiced, but full-souled? His range of perception and
power of self-forgetful exaltation are surprising. There is
something stately. Oriental and unique about him, too.
You have seen the harsh side of him more than I, per-
haps; and I can well imagine that he may not have been
so impressive in tjie mingling of humor and sententious-
ness that help) ssness evoked. But he is a changed man
now.
^ He has made application to join the church," said the
minister gravely.
"I didn't mean that," rejoined the physician, impa-
tiently. " He had religion enough before, just as much
as he has now— I am not sure but more. But it was a
diflFerent kind. I tell you the man who keeps up the fight
against want and doom, year after year, never once losing
his grip, nor allowing the loving woman for whom he
» would give his heart's blood to despair— that man is the
best possible exponent of the Christ-spirit. He may never
consciously pray, nor ever join in worship, but he lives a
Gloria Patri that makes the paeans of an angel-choir
seem weak. That is what this man has been doing for
years, fighting fate, not once thinking or caring for himself.
He has had no backing, help, or sympathy, simply because
he was too brave to ask help and too proud to whine for
sympathy."
" Of course."
A MODERN MIRACLE.
293
" This made it hard. It is always harder for a man to
carry a load which he thinks is hopeless, especially if he
does it alone and has to conceal his trouble. He had
neither sympathy nor support from outside until he struck
you. Then he was too far gone to realize the extent of
it. Now, his coming into the study here and the attend-
ant conditions of his life since have been like a foretaste
of heaven to him. The quiet, restful, shaded light, the
solemn silence, the removal of the stain upon his honor,
the very image of the Christ which he worships with
a fervor that would surprise an anchorite— all these took
his mind off the past, filled it with new ideas and brought
a rest he would never have obtained ^n any other place.
So you see the church '^ really a healing sanctuary."
"It would seem so, indeed," answered the minister.
"Why not let him remain?"
" That's the very thing I wanted to ask about. I don't
know whether he will consent, especially if any fault
should be found with his doing so. Of course the study
is for your occupation, but the church provides it for a
special purpose. Now while the church has taken Under-
wood up and the ladies have made his wife happier by
kind attentions than she had been in years, there may be
some who might naturally look upon this unusual occu-
pancy of church property as— well— as not exactly the
thing, you know."
"I don't think there are many such in the Golden
Lilies," was the grave reply.
" Probably not; but if Jonas Underwood got the notion
there was one, it is doubtful if anything could keep him
in those rooms an hour."
" But it doesn't incommode me a particle. My aunt
has just returned to the city, and is clamo . to atone f ^ ,
r
^r
i ■ ;]
■Mi
; ■:]!
IL
n
^'
li
w
H
mH
t.
\
1
294
MURVALE EASTMAX.
her su p.cons. She insists on opening the old mansion,
and I have agreed to transfer n,y belongings there as soon
as she makes some j.roposed repairs. So I have room
enongii and to spare."
" i^'ut that's not the question. Underwood isn't the
.nan to stay where he is not wanted. Now, wlut I won-
clered was, whether U coul<l not be made to seem a sort
ol tavor to you for him to remain."
" It is a great comfort, indeed, to know that he is therel
I ve no doubt rhe rehgious awakening we are now experi-
encmg ,s m great measure due to his presence-his pres-
ence and liis words." '
"Haven't a doubt of it. And take him away to a hos-
pitul or to Hampton Roads, for instance, and I tliink-
well-I thmk the prayer-meetings would lose a -ood deal
to say the least. But ti,e trouble is to make l"im see it!
I shall have to rely on you for that; he would suspect me
at once. There is Mrs. Merton, her daughter, and Mrs.
Underwood, he exclaimed, turning to a passing carriage.
I declare, they look enough alike to represent three gen-
erations of the same family. I never expected to see
that vvoman look so happy when you called me to prescribe
for Underwood. The other-Mrs. Merton-has taken a
great fancy to them. Good woman, though she had a
narrow escape; owes a great deal to vou and Metziger "
To me?" in surprise.
" Yes."
" Why, I did nothing."
,, " rf' T, '^f ^°" ^"^"* *° ^^^ ^er the next day after
the Thunderbolt assaded her."
"What of that?"
" Nothing, only you avouched her honor. I repeat she
owes you a great debt." '
A MOnr.KX MIRACUi,
295
"Well, I forgive it."
"Of course, but she will never forget If ti . • .
she is looking after your protOges.'' ' ''' " "'^>'
" Voii lliinlt so?"
"Cerlai„ly, „.l,at o.Ikt reason co„!,l ,|,erc l,c?"
.hey 'I'olr^r"' "" •""""" '■" '™"' °' "- ''"-<• -
i"t.y spoke. A carnage containin.r ti, . i r
m yonder, nodding toward the stndv, "is ,1,„. i„ „
^p;... .on, it, HoJL/,,.frjn7«:r,r;:
ZM'.toire;;;^:.":":^''"™" '-" - •— e
lawytZ-Ldl":''; '"■"^' "" '"= ^'"'"'*'**.".sa:d .he
woo'di^i^^rryriX^rdtft:!
lawyer has ll.an a n,ni,.ter and doctor boll,, I'M j„st tell
[
,t i
iflM
m
' '%s
iiki^H
W^^l
^
396
M UR VA LE KA S TMA N.
you that the matter is settled. Mr. Underwood would
not leave here now, if you both ordered him out. Woulil
you? " turning to his client.
" I shouldn't want to go quite so far as that," said the
sick man huskily, " but I won't, by any one else's orders,"
" What does this 1 lean? " asked the doctor. " I can un-
derstand why I should feel anxious about the matter, but
what you have to do with it, I can't see."
" Well, doctor," said the lawyer, rolling his great head
j,'Ood-naturedly from side to side, " you would hardly un-
derstand if I were to tell you, and I guess you'll find out
about as soon as I could explain."
A meaning smile passed between the lawyer and his
client. After a little time Metziger and the doctor passed
out, leaving Murvale Eastman with the man of whose
evident happiness Providence had so mysteriously made
him the instrument.
CHAPTER XXVI.
" ALAS, POOR GHOST ! "
" I WANT to ask you about a matter of importance to
me, and perhaps of some moment to you," said Jonas
Underwood, as "oon as they were left alone. He spoke
with that he.-it; "[^ reverence of manner with which he
had always add.-e. . •." U" -* yo".v g minister, since he had been
brought into the .tv, *• he revelation that the man who
had taken hispitc- i'.. diiverand J ; pastor of the Golden
Lilies were one and the same person, seemed to have
done much to subdue this brave spirit whom all the woes
of life had been unable to dishearten.
".4L.'1S, POOK i7//<\S7\>"
" I am quite at your service," said Eastman cheerfully
as he drew a chair to the side of ihe couch.
" I wish to have a delicate and perhaps difflcult inquiry
prosecute,^ wh.ch I do not care to intrust to other
hands. The nivalid spoke in the |.cc,diar lal.ored manner
wh.ch md.cates bronchial disease, and pi.-kcd uneasily at
he knitted rug of red worsted wl,i,h was thrown over
nmi, as if to liide some eniharrassnifnr.
" I shall l,e glad to undertake it for you, though I cannot
promise anything brilliant in the way of .vsults. I don't
think I vvus cut out for a detective. Wouldn't von better
put It in Metziger's hands?"
" It is just because this is not work that a detective can
be trusted with that I ask you to help ine. It may lead to
knowledge that no one-well, no one but you-should
possess, or it may lead up to a sone wall which none can
overleap. It may lead to mercy which should never be
forgotten; to wrong that should not be forgiven, or
merely to darkness that cannot be penetrated" \t all
events, I do not care to intrust it to another. Wijl you
take charge of xt} G-t such help as you will, but keep it
in your own hands. Don't ever let go the reins.'
The sick man spoke excitedly and the glare of his great
dark eyes made his wheezing tones all the more impres-
sive. *
" What is it? " asked the minister cautiously. " J don't
like mysteries."
"There is no mystery about it. Vou see that>" He
held out the ring Lilian Kishu had given him as he spoke
I had forgotten it," said Eastman flushing. " It ought
to be returned to her."
"^ But she will not take it," said Underwood.
"Why, hat she been here?"
■Hi,
;:l
II'',
mm w
298
M UK VALE EASTMAX.
Half a dozen times. She and Mrs. Merton are in-
separable, almost. I can't understand it. It seems as if
she wanted to make amends for her father's haste- in re
gard to Mrs Merton, you know. Indeed, it would almost
seem as if her father were willing she should. Metzi^er
says he ,s usuig his daughter to draw the plaintiff's teeth
.n the libel suit he fears. It does look so. I can't un-
derstand Wilton Kishu, anyhow. I used to know him
when he was foreman in a printing-office and carried his
dinner in a tin bucket. That was before he set up in
business as a speculator. I don't think he is a bad man
only just one who took advantage of the chances the law all
lowed him. But Metziger thinks he's b^d : that's one rea-
son I haven't told him of this matter. Then too I
hadn-t any right to do so. It was your secret as well'as
mine.
"And Miss Lilian's!" suggested Eastman
" She hasn't anything to do with it. She says she doesn't
want_ the ring-is glad to have the uncanny thing out of
her sight. You wouldn't think there could be such differ
ence in it, would you?" he asked, turning the jewel
around on his finger. Do you see how it glows and flashes
in my hand, and do you remember how dull and expres-
sionless it was on hers? "
His companion did remember, and wondered, not
stopping to infer, as Dr. Farewell perhaps would, that it
might be caused by a difference in temperature
^;'Her father gave it to her," said Eastman musingly,
or at least arranged for it to be bought and given to her
by another."
"Who was that?"
" I think I was the half-unconscious instrument of good
or evil, whichever it may have been," answered Eastman
"ALAS, POOR GHOST'"
299
"Ah, then you saw it before it was set?"
"Hardly. The ring had been made. Mr. Kishu took
tlie gem from his pocket and it was fitted to it pLe in
our presence." ^ ^ ^"
]^' You did not see the under side of it then?"
I suppose I did. My impression is that it was black
—black and shining."
" Yes ; and the jeweler? "
" He had evidently been let into the secret before-or
ome secret. He slipped the stone into place, bent do™
he clasps soldered it, or at leas, held it over a lal"
handed ,t back .0 me, and I paid for the mounting." ^'
And sent it to Miss Lilian? "
" I addressed the parcel to her "
dZ'^ Underwood had listened to this narrative with
breathless attention.
" Who'' M '7- TT"' ^^^ «°^ 't ? " he asked at length.
^;^ho-Mr. Kishu? You don't suppose he-he-came
T^:::^^' ^'^''^' ^---^ - ^e ga.e;-u:
ine SICK man s biazmg eyes.
"I don't know what to think," interrupted Underwood
pantmg with excitement. iucr«ooa,
bought It over a counter as one naturally would "
Then we must know what counter. There are not
.nany jewelers who could handle that gem and not know
Its history, not in this country, at least "
" Wiat do you mean?-' asked Easiman, beginning to
;.a..e^ the matter was something morLt^n a ^i^
"Twenty-three years ago a life vanished, a child-Iifc,
r-
h
II ■
if
300
MURVALE EASTMAN.
tions." lamiiy for genera-
peZ'o/rX' " ^° ^^^"^'^^ ^ ^^°"^ ^^-"^^ ^^ - the
"But it was hidden; only a jeweler's skill could find it
ll d I^d'd T ;" T^- '^"^^'^ "^"^^ -h-h looked ie
ead. Indeed, I th,nk it must have been some curious
alloy, for it never was bright." curious
;; And you have heard nothing of it since? "
Not a word of child or trinket rinM. a-
1 ,as from a house opening „„ a quiet street. IVe had
jns. moveJ there, then. There was no water near noth
.ng to destroy. The child was one of n,arked dS Lt ^
rSe::":,tt d ''^r^ °"= "' '"= »-■ --* e
tnnke s in the land, and yet not one to attract attention
or e.c„e cnp.dity. I alone of hving n.orta.s k„e v ^ ^ e
atp::r»" ™"" "^'"^ '■"■^ "■■^'"'^ " "P-*-v
"And you could get no trace?"
"Not a hint. It was as if God had taken her out of
"Ofcourse-you-you-advertised?"
Jlnrvale Eastman's face flushed as he made this ,„„
gest,o„. He feh as if he must say somethf„; an ^S
«asall he could think of, but he knew i, was almost ,'
" •^•''■"•'^^ ' " Underwood repeated. "Our whole life
.'//,,
'c^'^/' crro.'^rr
life
301
since has been one Ion- «;e-,r.-i, \a
operation to learn the child's iJe\ ^een put in
has walked more th.n . . ? ^ '"PP°'^ "^""^h
child rZy '°"''"^ "^^'-^^ searching for that
cniid, not because we loved it «;n mn.i, fo *"r uiat
cAers perhaps, bu. because iv" ^ oTco /"'
awhile I k„e,v ,he child would „ , be ioj %' '"
ou.nio,/'Bu:itri:ta:sri;;,r'r"°'^
child, so far at lew « , '"= Je"^!. Hannah gave up the
sl^e d'oes n^t tl: .'tr 7 7 ^^^ f "'f "P ^ c"*' *at
'Hat the;e„.e> would lead t';o e/g :.:°o;°ti:e ^l""":
of her murderer T r>,i, r j ^ b'^a\e or the throat
.he jewel. bt^Teve « ll ted::/" V™'" ^"" *'■="
sent a descrintion nf fi ? ^^S^^her. Every year I have
eler in UntT' , , T,r is';:;'? "T^'^'^'^ '•--
'.ave.cogni.editas,„ic^i;rthrK:;;,ut."°"""°'^
And you have never heard of it^ '•
an:iet:LtVC't':;;-trfiir"^^^- restless
of the stone.
'And you found "
' There
emnl, ' '"'' '' '"^ '"'='^''^'" ^-^ Underwood
|i'
li
fl
,in
sol-
• 'mfi : m\ m m m . *m
30a
■vr-A'['.i/./r /^.■i.^r.v.^.r.
" And you think the child was stolen for the sake of the
jewel?"
" I don't know. The track of the jewel leads back to
the child, or more probably to her grave, if it can only be
followed. If I were young, I think I could do it; but
there's no use of talking of that now. My son might have
done It, perhaps, though it's not likely that he would have
the incentive. Yet I can't give it up. You are the last
hope. Will you try?"
Jotias Underwood's beseeching words would have im-
pelled a more emotional nature to ready promise, but
Murvale Eastman was not accustomed to give light pledges
or abandon easily those he made. So he inquired cau-
tiously, before yielding to this man's importunity, whose
brain might be half-crazed by his long sorrow and ab-
sorbed dreaming:
" Why should one value the trinket if it was as dull and
unattractive as you say? "
" I could never imagine until lately. It is mentioned
in my great-grandfather's will."
"As a jewel?"
" As a keepsake, only. It seems to have had some re-
ligious signification, and had been in the family for ages.
I don't suppose anybody had known its value for genera-
tions. I happened to find how to open it one da)-— in-
tended to keep the gem for a time of need, and thought
the leaden trinket was as good a place to hide it in as
any; the more, as it had held it so long. Just then the
httle one disappeared. I suppose somebody else must
have found how to open the case."
" What was the shape of the trinket? "
" It was about two inches long and half or three-quar-
ters an inch wide, shaped like a fish. The stone was on
•
■
"ALAS, POOR GHOST!" -q.
the inside, and showed only when the two halves were
sprung apart. Jt was imbedded in a dark, hard wax
which I melted out and in which I hid it again after I had
examined it."
"Why do you think it was regarded as a charm or am-
ulet? "
" My ancestor styles it an ' ichthus,' supposed to have
been of Roman origin, and to possess peculiar healing
virtues." ^
"And how do you know this gem is the same one? "
"If you will take it to the light you will find certain
letters on the under side yet filled with the black wax
which IS almost as hard as the stone."
The other examined the gem with curious interest
"You are right," he said at length. "Christ, the Son
of God, IS what the inscription means. It is not proba-
ble there is such another stone in the country, perhaps in
the world. It may date back to the Catacombs."
"What did you say the letters mean? " asked Under-
wood, earnestly.
" ' Christ, the Son of God.' "
"There are but three?"
" No, but "
"And they are D X V?"
"Yes, Latin letters were frequently, perhaps generally,
used in such inscriptions to indicate or rather to hide
Greek words. Taken with the form of the trinket, the
fish. It is evident this was intended to be a confession of
faith which might avouch the bearer to other believers
while not betraying him to their enemies. The fish itself
was a hieroglyph, meaning the same thing as the letters
on the engraved gem." '
"I suppose you must be right," said Underwood, dubi-
ously.
Ill
II
11
3^4
MURVAir. E.^.'iT.VAA'.
" WJiat did you suppose they meant?"
" I thought no matter."
"Well, what do you wish me to do?"
"I want you to trace that jewel until you find whose
hand took it off our baby's neck," exclaimed Underwood
excitedly. '
"And then?"
"It will be time enough to answer that question after-
ward."
" You should put this into Metziger's hands," said the
pastor, rising and ^^ alking back and forth across the study.
" He would be more apt to succeed in it."
"I suppose he would-but-don't you see, it might in-
volve Mr. Kishu?"
" Suppose it did, what then? "
" What then ! " repeated the other warmly. « Why I
wouldn't harm one dear to you for all the world."
"But you know, you understand, that Miss Kishu is
not— we are no longer engaged? "
"I know her father says so, and people believe him;
but I don't. I can «ee as far into a millstone as the man
that picks it, at any rate."
"Bl^ r assure you, Mr. Underwood "
" There, there-don't assure me of anything. You love
her just as well as ever, and don't need to tell me. Now
what I want to find out first, is how this came into Mr'
Kishu's hands. If innocently, why didn't I hear of it
from the jeweler who set the stone in this ring? If not
which I am afraid is the case from the care taken about
the setting, why, then, of course I don't suppose he stole
It or knows anything about the child, but he must have
known It wasn't his, and may have had a special reason
for wanting to keep it, and so it may help to reconcile him
,
i
''ALAS, POOR Cr/OST!" ^q-
to your marriage with the daughter. A club is a good
thing to have when you're dealing with a stubborn man
and If he didn't steal this gem he certainly did not come
by It quite honestly. See? "
" But, Mr. Underwood, I cannot do this, indeed, I can-
not, unless you permit me to ( onsult xMetziger."
"Oh, do what you have a mind to," he responded
wearily, "only don't let go the thread; and remember I
don't want to hear anything about it. I don't want to
think ill of the man, nor have to recall, when 'Lilian is
your wife, that I did anything to make her heart ache I
believe I am almost as much in love with her as you are
though Hannah likes Mrs. Merton best. That's natural
enough. The one is always trying to do something for
somebody's happiness, while the other seems to think she
does enough by just being pretty and talking sweetly-like
a bird as she is. It rests and heals me just to look at her."
"^ But Mr. Underwood— you must understand »
"Hush! there they come."
The door opened and Mrs. Underwood, Lilian, and Mrs
Merton entered.
"Clara was tired, so we left her at home and brought
Miss Lilian instead," said Mrs. Merton.
She addressed her words to i\Ir. Underwood but looked
at Eastman. Both tone and glance were significant, and
her cheeks were aflame as she spoke. It was evident that
she had purposely brought the lovers, whom she regarded
as wrongfully estranged, together for their especial de-
light.
Mun^de Eastman had put the ring hastily in his pocket,
and greeted the ladies not without embarrassment. Lilian
seated herself beside Underwood's couch, and her pretty
prattle soon brought smiles to the sick man's lips, though
t
:.< \h'
3o6
MURVAf.E EAST MAX.
he look wuh which he regarcle<l her was not without a
trace of apprehension. « Shall we not have some music? "
asked Mrs Underwood, after a while, glancing mean ngh
at Mrs Merton. ''Jonas is very fond of the organ, and
especially of yo.ur playing. Miss Lilian "
The whole by-play was one of those feminine farces
evKlenly planned by two of the participants and quiet"
^ibmmed to by the third. Its significance flashed on
Underwood n. an mstant, but if Murvale Eastman pene-
trated the httle plot he gave rio evidence of the fact
But one cannot play the organ alone," said Lilian with
suspicious demureness.
vo7 *p"t '"^^^f^^" ^^'^'^^^ here on purpose to assist
>ou. Perhaps he knew you were coming," said Under-
wood playfully, with a shrug of his great^'shoulde. and
a flash of his dark eyes upon the minister
_^ L.han looked up at him, too, expectantly, half-appeal-
"If Miss Kishu will permit me," he said cheerfully
A as there was no hidden meaning in his tones,' no
throb of rapture at the privilege of being alone with her
none of that fervid tenderness which had permeated ever;
syllable when she had last heard him speak in that room
when he said to the then almost silent man upon the
coiK:h, proudly, humbljs exultinglj, "She is to be my
Lilian felt a shiver as she rose and followed him to the
organ loft.
The concert was not a long one. Lilian soon tired of
playing and called Eastman to her side. He came and
sat down on a chair a little way off. He did not seem to
seek nor yet to avoid her. His manner was friendly, ap-
preciative, pleasant— that was all.
"/iLAS, POOR C fro ST.'"
1"7
" Miirvale," she said at length, in a pleading tone, " vou
don't know how miserable I am."
" I am very sorry," he answered with honest but un-
emotional concern. " What is the matter? "
" How can you ask that? " looking up at him under her
l)rows. « Oh, everything- everything! " she added, clasp-
ing ner fingers together and pulling them away from each
other with that queer feminine gesture which' seems like
tearing cloth, as if it were an unconscious inheritance of
ages of attendance on the looms.
" I am— very sorry— I assure you."
"No, you are not!" There were signs of tears now.
Lilian Kishu was bound to win back her lover. She was
not quite sure she wanted him, but she did want to sub-
due liim, recapture him, have him at her apron-string
once more. " No, you are not sorry, else you would do
something— something to— to conciliate! "
" Conciliate! Whom should I conciHate? "
" Why, papa, of course. He only needs to be concili-
ated, asked, invited, urged a little— that is all. He'd be
back here in the Golden Lilies at once if you would ask
him."
" But you forget, Miss Lilian, that he has published that
about me which no honorable man forgets until it is re-
tracted."
"But you know he will never retract— never! You
have no idea— how— how immovable he is. I think he
wo*ld die before he would admit himself to be in the
wrong; I do really."
" I am very sorry." This was all he seemed able to
say.
"Couldn't you tell him that— that you would forgive
him?"
3o8
■^n'RVAir r.-i.^r.v..t.y.
"I have long since forgiven him "
they were before? " "^^ ^^ ^^
She did not look up.
" I have forgiven your father whatever iniustfr. h.
ave done .e, Tha. was „,, d,„,, an" J !h '^ ' ™I
na s i, hv r°' ""' '^'■"' '" ''^■■""' ™= 'o forge, i, ,o
CI ''V? "' ='P°'°«)- w retraction on hi, par r
:':"»' resp'c."^: ' """ " ' *' '"— -ortH/^ran,'
eye;x;:?4r.:\e;^,anr::e'rL"--'''"
sake, Murvale?" " foi-for-niy
"Not even for your sake, Miss Kishu/'
<..n,r.,eKa.-^:;;r,;::;rrc"':i:r:::
"Would we not better return? " she a«ked
POACJIIXG OX THE DEVILS PRESERVES.
309
CHAPTER XXVir.
POACHING ON THE DEVIl's PRESERVES.
Two things went on together at the Church of the
Gohlen L,l,es ,n the weeks that followed, with a harmony
tha surprised some and irritated others, the rehgioul
bociah.to. 1 hat a genunic reUgious awakening should
co-ex.st wuh a deliberate and avowed attempt to establish
an organization for socialistic reform, seemed to very
any altogether inscrutable, and there were not lacking
se who denounced both as unquestionably the work of
the devil. Who had ever before heard of a church allv-
n.g Uself wuh Socialism? It was only another n^I.e tr
vice, immorality, murder, anarchy and all sorts of crime
some said; while others declared that "a league of dev is'
and saints miglit just as well be called Christian a a
league of Socialists." '"!>"an, as a
Many of those who said these things were good people-
some of them were ministers, and nearly aH were reh!'
|ous, or at least, "favorably disposed toward religion, a 'd
hberal patrons of the church and church enterpri;e "
There were men and women who had made inLen^e
fortunes out of stock-gambling, out of false reports out
o 'cornered " markets, out of necessities of the'poor ou
of dangerous mines and depen.lent miners; out of grog-
shops and over-crowded tenements, and other even moi^
questionable methods, who could not find words harsh
I t
1:1,
■It
' I'
11 'Vi
111!
li
■ill
310
MCRl'AU-: F.ASTMA.W
enough to express their horror at the sacrilegious union of
those two ideas, Christianity and Sociahsni. The thought
that Clinstianity should lower its ecstatic gaze from the
gates of the New Jerusalem, to consider the condition of
those who were striving to get there, and endeavor to make
the cities of earth more conducive to the welfare of the
Pilgrims who were striving to i each the better land, was a
tlung of inexpressible horror to some. What would be-
come of business and governments, men asked trium-
phantly, if Christian principles were to be applied literally
to trade and politics? Religion was imijortant in its
place, but was never intended to apply to commerce
and government.
This view seemed to be the predominant one "on
'Change," in the press, and generally among what are
termed "successful " men. And indeed it is not without
force, if mere accumulation is the true measure of pros-
perity and the chief end of man; but it is a most degrad-
ing admission for a Christian to make, that the Son of
God was sent into the world to introduce a religion so de-
fective in its regulation of human conduct, that the two
greatest spheres of human activity have to be exempted
from its operation; and that in order to be successful and
become able to do good in the world, a man must first be
given a considerable leeway in doing wrong. Luther at-
tacked the sale of indulgences, but it, is hard to see how
a special license to do a particular evil, sold for cash,
could be more demoralizing than a plenary one given away
for nothing more than a vague hope of charitable bequests
upon a death-bed.
Yet, strangely enough, they were not bad men and
women, not those who desired license and anarchy and
hated law and righteousness, who crowded the aisles of
POACH I \a ox 7///.; nrrrrs rRr.si-Rvrs. ,,i
the Golden Lilies, either as Christian worshipers or as
seekers for light in regard to the new and strange idea of
Christian Sociahsni.
As to the reHgious awakening, it aroused not a little
ruriosity witli sonic and something of disgust with others.
The promoter of intcnniiteni energy in all i)hases of col-
lective action and regarding all matters of p.iblic interest,
IS a peculiar American development. In business, we call
him a " boomer;" in politics, a "spell-binder; " and in the
church, a "revivalist." There are other namer; for each
of these classes, but these will serve as types. The relig-
ious "boomer," is sometimes an evangelist; sometimes a
" boy-preacher; " sometimes a man who is supposed to be
especially good because he has aforetime been especially
bad ; sometimes one who makes statements in the pulpit
tliat no sane man would make out of it; sometimes a man
who uses language in public which no gentleman would
use m private; and sometimes a man who is supposed to
know a great deal about Ood's will and i)urpose, because
he evidently knows little of anything else. The especial
function of all such is to manufacture or excite religious
energy. They are the dynamos which awaken latent
emotional fervor. They are not peculiar to Christianity.
Other religions have them under various names. They
are entirely legitimate forces, more valuable in some peri-
ods of the world's life than at others; apt to be too much
relied on by those who think God manifests himself only
in miracle rather than by law, and naturally inclined to
esteem themselves approved and necessary conduits of
grace, if not essential elements of the plan of salvation.
Very many thought the religious awakening in the
Church of the Golden Lilies unnatural and anomalous be-
cause it lacked apparent cause. The young pastor did
< s
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312
MURVALE EASTMAX.
not seem to have mnHp r.v «-^ u
effnrf" T^i .'^^.'"^^^ ^^ to be making any "special
people ,„.e,es,ed in Christian Socialism. That was a
yet the results were astounding. The number TT
love for ,na„_th: "es- e o t ;,: S :tir'°d' ^^ "
rct^n''?'-^^^"''''^-''^'' ^""- •i'rn, atrr
nuence m this unexpected revival nf r^i; •
PeoDlec-mf^ ^r.A A \ f '^^' °* rehgious mterest.
they had disMiJ^lIat all. <"=^^--<'-P">"Ps whether
Many of the pastor's ministerial brethren watche,! th.
as'ItanT"'"""" ''""^ '" ''"-""-"• Sol offered
assistance; some counseled a special effort ^„ > j ,
."terest ,0 all the churches, severa r^Wva^ts of '7
attested fame offered their service, some in " '"
oof .r:ront'rn'4rSe r^vT-: tt
Lords work, he said, begun in the Lorfs way carr d
MasYerrem;; 'o r'""""' ^"^ '" ^ ™™"" "'>'""
iviasrer seemed to have especially desicnated R. ^-^
xfcrrch TnT"" " """^■■^"'"'^ "' car;:f cha" ctt^
ine church and congregation seemed to be worlci„„ i„
singular h^mony. The meetings were theirs , T^^^
fOAClllAG ON TirE DEriL's rHESERVE^. 3,3
only acting as their servant. TI,c awakening had begun
assume to direct ,ts course or prescribe its limits. When-
ever the church and congregation should desire a change
of plan, ,t would be for them ,„ indicate such wish and
then to prayerfully consider its character. So fa as he
was co„cer,,ed, he felt inclined ,0 stand humbly by and
let the work go on as God willed.
From this position he could not be moved. He asked
no adv.ce, sol.cited no aid, assumed no control, cl.^' ed
no credit and rejected no co-operation. The ^ne ting
workr„,d"'°r:"-*'" ""' '"'^""■''' -rfemonstra !
work should not be mterfered with. Some of his minis-
tena brethren blamed him; some commend dll
Neither praise nor censure seemed to disturb him H s
nature was one to which decision is not dilSculf and it
was easy for him to abide by a decision once madl! Ha"
.ng determined upon the character of the subjects he
would discuss upon the Sabbaths during the yea he d d
not vary from the plan he had announced beca ise of th s
un ual religious interest. There was only a tenderer note
m his prayers; more fervent expressions of grati-ude per!
phases o man's duty to man; and still the number in-
creased of them that believed.
J'7, .^ '"''• "■''"' ""' '"'"S'™' -iwakening, had pro-
ceeded the organization of the Christian Sociah ts. T^icy
had moved slowly. Nothing h.ad been done in haste or
at a venture. There had been many meetings of the oin
committee on organization, and weekly reports fo the
public meetings held in the lecure-room. Murvale Ea t!
man had pres ded a. both, saying little; taking si all , a
m the discussions, only counseling patience, deliberat 01
f ;
!
i :
i
t iu
II j
1 1
314
Jn-AT.iuc /;.isyj/.-ix.
d-arity and advising al«-ays tl,at tliey should seek le„ l„
do all .l,e good tha. needed ,0 be done, than Z^^J^
.0 avoid do„,g hann ; cautioning them that the evil grow
of cennnes cannot be peacefully or entirely remedie in
a day but that each life „,ay do something'oward ef^ ct
mg the infinite uplifting all desired.
All propositions relating to name, purpose phn of or
gan„.at,o„ of the proposed association were o . ly a^d
f eely chscussed at these meetings. All sorts Speo, e
attended and ,00k part in them. Only one restricln
was put upon the e.vpressioh of opi„L-the Teake
i-reens and no creeds: mm sters r.f aii i
1 T • "iiuiMLcib or all ( enonnnationc
publ,c,s,s and thinkers of all parties, and crowds ,2
even the spacous lecture-roont of the Golden I.I e as
msufficent to accomn.odate. gathered ,0 listen anj . ke
pa.t m the cons.derat.on of the questions involved. Rec!
ogn.ztng the gravity of the moveu.en, proposed, the Wnt
comnmtee presented the matters to be determ ed L
orferly succe.,s,on, and asked their free and cahn iontide"
atton. 1 he order of procedure was as simple as the town-
meettng on wh.ch the An,erican Republic is based-a
)ymn, a prayer, the ntinutes of the previous nteetin. then
-he d,scuss,o„. A n,eutber of the joint commit.. "Stated
and °' *=;°'"™.'««. g-ng «l>e reasons for their action,
and then f,ve-ram„te speeches were in order upon this
ubject and n, . other. These .speeches were always "ead
Men who had studied the great questions Tf 'today^s
oc.a dynamtcs m the library were an.azed to find ll
regard to them. The advocates of universal remedies for
the mult,far,o„s tils of humanity were disgusted with these
POAcm.ra o.v the de vn:s rjuc.E, , y,,, 3 , 5
too much in earnest to pay nLh heed to ,, ^ "■"■°
lation as ,0 ,vha, ,„igh, 'have bee, ' "''"'"' '^"'''-
of civilized society are camble of , ™"''""««
-o„d that theyo^h. to^Ttln e^Io "rt'ie t
.ht"ri:"r "'= -'■-™"-—
mat™'! :^^^r'°" '"-y -"^'-^ - "-id" .vas,
as .t may seem, i, was conlendedf with no ,; 1 "'''
ness, that there was „o need fo'r al , g" '^' rsTn"
pohticians :p;is:d'it ■ sr;,:. :,::'itt;e :'°"''r
*e representatives o, accumulated ve^^^dXf.i
progress ivas due to the feet fl„f . '"sisted that all
to Ret the better of ! ">' "=■" '™ '"'"led
a4a„^btrtL°:rhi-:xit-— -^
cess,ty; profound political economists declared ,,°/
restncted co„,pe,itio„, in doing evil as Je , , in do""'
good, was absolutely necessary I the stabli ty of ci 7
tte'tire ':/""" ^'"■"'«' '""> "- utmost'veh e ce"
f^lheLtr^^'" """"" '''^^^"' conditions was ::
It took several meetings to determine these matters
and some starthng facts were brought out inX diS
I ',"
■' ii
HI
1'
!.!
I
316
Ml-ki:u.E JUSTMAAT.
».on showmg how far behind ,he lho„ght of the common
peoplo were .he h,cul,ra.io„s of .he poh.ician. a„d™n-
..S.S who s.„<l,e< ex,s„„g condi.ions a. long range .hro, gh
books and .heones, and wi.l, ,he idea .ha. all knowie ke
must be sought for in the past. i-noiiledge
Then came the question of the relation which such
an organization should sustain to the Church 1. ^^
upon tins .ha. the hardest battle was fought, there be
UB .wo classes of opponents: those who had o f ^h h
.' e supernal elements of Christian .loc.rine and .ho e
who could believe in no.hing else. The forn r p o. .ed
agairsr being required .0 adnn't the divine origfn o .h
suhme rules of human du.y which fell from ,he ^fa . '
..ps, w., le .he latter stoutly insisted ,ha. no organization
botiid be allowed to bear the name "Christial" . n
s dec .ared purpose w.as the salvation of souls, a^d a be-
I.ef m the miraculous origin of the .Master was made an
essen.,al pre.requisite of membership. It was a c'l"
tuingto hear men arguing i„ Christ's name .agains I,
oi^anization m.ended .0 carry in.o effec. Chrisf's .eac"
r, 1 , j ? ™ '"""S''- "«=)' said, only ,he
Church had.henght to use the Masters name, and tie
c^nlior '""""'" " '■''' ""'-' ""' •" -«"'- '--
I. was when this controversy seemed likely to grow .00
warm, .ha. Murvale Eas.man, in adjourning one ofTh«e
meerings, s.a,ed some ques.ions which he desired tie
profound excitement. They were-
recte/dHo ■■ "",?"""' "" "' P''^^'^"' "«^"''^=d and di-
2. Whether a man might not, so far as any creed or
POAcm.va o.v rnr. or:rn-, P,Es,,r,s. 3,,
confession of failli is conceriip.l !,.„«
'^'■"-1. "MLo.,. fonj,; : Lin . "1' '"™'" °' '"y
Chmfs r„lo for ]„,n,a„ . o„< , c • Ho . "T''"""^"-' "'
"OHid tl,a. they sl,„„..l <,„.:;:;, ■■',"' ""'° ""-^ - )0"
.0 accept ciLu^r^^TeL::::;::;::™' 'r- '™"«"'
this rule to •ill nnl,i;,. /^^"'''-'"^'^ by the application of
"...er ™e.„::' ir";:e:ir:;;:r t";r '^ -^
human conditions wis nn^ , , "^,^^''^ betterment of
believe, but .::,: I, 1 fj l^, ^'S'^' ''-yo. the
redemption of ■.ankin,!? Promot.ng the
.iotofr^;:;:,^:^;:-^^^^^^^
.^e„, as .he';;;;::;;;::::-::!----^ -- - ^^-'
^^^^rs^fSi:^:::;:^---*-^'
™por=a„., and its supernal piLe W „'eed JL"' ™"
srrr;r::;e^t:,-:rt^o^.,r-- --'-
^ac. that ChrisLl^^tht'rrolttJ^^^^ "-
-nt^and of so restricted app,ioatio„1;U:i:^'a':r
myZrZXZTo "'""'■ "«=-<'"-■■"- had been
accepted its permanent presidency. The organi-
^iS
MUR VAI.E EA STMAA'.
\ '
zation was simple ; its declaration of principles brief. It
simply asserted :
" I. That the true function of Christian civilization is to
equalize conditions and promote the general welfare of
mankind.
" II. That ' Bear ye one another's burdens,' is a princi-
ple applying to collective as well as individual relations.
" III. That ' My yoke is easy and my burden light,' was
meant to be the key-note of Christian civilization, which
should have as its chief object the improvement of indi-
vidual and collective conditions.
" IV. That the burdens of society, so far as practicable,
should be principally borne by the strong, in order that
the weak may be strengthened and prevented from growing
weaker.
"V. That to prevent pauperization, so far as possible, is
the surest method of reducing crime, and the restriction
of degrading influences the surest method of curing vice;
while the relief of want and the punishment of crime are
necessary but subordinate agencies.
" VI. That the duty of promoting the personal welfare of
others devolves on every one these obligations: (i) That
he shall individually, do as much good and as little harm
as may be; (2) That he shall, so far as he may, promote
voluntary organized effort to prevent pauperization and
weaken the tendency to crime ; (3) That the power of the
citizen in a Republic, like that of the king in a monarchy,
can properly be used only to promote the amelioration of
general conditions, and that this can be done only by en-
larging and securing the opportunity of the many and limit-
ing and restricting the power of the few.
" VII. That the motto of this League shall be, * Ben-
eficent ends by lawful means.'
POACmXG ox THF. PF.Virs PRESERVES. ,ig
" VIII. That, believing the pontive purpose to ' do unto
others as you would that they should do to you,' is a far
more efficient force in the improvement of human condi-
tions than any restraining power, this League will seek to
promote Us objects (i) By endeavoring to shape and di-
rectpubhc sentiment; (2) By seeking to obtain desirable
legislation; (3) By securing the enforcement of just laws
and the modification or repeal of bad ones.
_ " IX. Believing that the hearty co-operation of all those
m our country, who believe or profess to believe these prin-
oiples, is easily able to secure, in a decade, a betterment
of general conditions which has never before been
matched in a century, we cordially invite the co-operation
of all in the study of the causes of present conditions and
the elucidation of means by which such results mav be
effected.-' ^
The mechanism of the League was equally simple It
was divided into three Sectioivs, each under control of a
Managing Committee, one member of which was a mem-
ber of a Supervising Committee, of which the President
was ex officio chairman.
The work of the First Section was to consider to what
extent 'they might /mw^/ the impoverization of members
of the League and of the congregation of the Church of
the Golden Lilies. This was not intended to supersede
organizations for charitable relief, but to consider how the
pro,spects of deserving parties of narrow means might be
promoted, or those in danger of falling into dependence,
saved from disaster and the loss of self-respect— an or^
ganized application of the principle, " Bear ye one an-
other's burdens."
The Second Section was devoted to the consideration
of methods by which local public opinion or business
\\\
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k
ill
320
MUI^VALE EASTMAN.
le
weakn^ig,,, be , . 'SteLr""* '^ "■''■^" '"
strong, and the seronffres rabM , '"'^'""■''=='' '° Bro>v
weak. °S restrained from oppressing the
con^s'i:„,;t";tf.co™r'"^= °' *- '""^^^ ^-«<»
«. .0 appo,-ri~r.eT x'rn''"" ""■•";""™'-
sive™onth,top.:otr.i%roAL;;i*^'°
i
m.rif ;Ldfa,t"rtS?' '"™"^ '^=' ™* ^°"= o*"^
<I.e organisation 4 'Lf"™" °' '"^ "-""e'" "''■■•ch
Mur.JeEastra„:tVtt'lTo7h1n1'oTit Sf ■•"« ""
have gone? " ^ '^' ^^ ^^^ as we
lecttve as well as individual relatt" s jf t h ' '" l"''
find the world ripe forso„,e snch ^e^" ^^i;" '"'"
Wise enough to search nut r^^' y^raent, and if we are
toaceo^pLh much good •■ ' "'""''^ "' '''" "^ ="'le
place whenever I neej it'.' """ ^'"""'"^ "= "
" It's ready for joi.,' said the president nf ,1,,, „
of ,ou in ,„e Golden I.ilS " [ snrt an .!d '" T'
church and run i, on our o.v„ hook " ■"''^P^"dent
nevefb^thfcate'';,'?-'"" '''"" """ ''"'™"' "' -"
If I ant hrus tout I "' °\ "'""°'"'y ™ "»= <=h"r<^l>.
church I sTt\ , "^ P'''" "^ "'" P'>«°'- of this
n IVe ret Z:rT ''°" "^^ '''' - '"• "«
'^■-^aandXr;^;^:^?'"''-'-"^-
p.ea°t:if:::„S''^°'''^"''*'"^'«"'---'x
"So might I under other circumstance.;" nnc
Eastman, ■.„„. I have no theoiogicrrvV: r::
ictXr/iTeerdr 'r-r''^'-^^'-"^' *-
no. arraign fL^t^lrtlr^tre^'^^^' ' -^
And If you are disciplined?"
;'I will quit the work of the ministry."
All nght," said the lawyer, grasping his hand. « We
III
t' tl
322
ATUR t '.-I r. /■: /-A S TATA \\
siuill nce.l you in the League -uk! uill „•;,
, . '-"-''o'ii., .111(1 will oive vou wort
enough to do. ' ^ ^ ^^
"I think you are ,ig|,t," said Un.lerwood, lookin., „„
'™::^~"^'''"''"'''-M-.wMI,..v.a«;„cl.W,,!.
" I shall hope to bear it like a man "
W^on:"''""'"'^"""'' ''^^^'^^'- ^^"''^« -^ to
•'Let me know when the axe fails, and J will fi„d a
Pl^-^ e for you. I suppose we shall want you for our Gen-
eral secretary even before you are free to come "
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TAKING NOTE OF TIME.
Hale a hundred clocks were striking the hour of nine
^vhen Mr. Kishu entered hi. ollice the next mornin.^
lie continuing imperfect is u.sed advisedly in this ca ^^
Mr. Kishu had a weakness for clocks, and his office was
l.ne with al sorts of horological mechanisms with all il
me oiTll ?'""'■ r' ''^' -->-^ niechanical watc !
men on the shores of time were so tricked and tampered
ley had to deliver; so that the telhng of the hour was
^ve l-imitated barking of a distant fox, taken up by tlie
ordinary wheezing cuckoo contrivance, and carried on for '
a good quarter of an hour by successive striking enormi-
TAky.Vi; xoTf: of 7/ mi:.
ties, each one serving to intensify tl,e fact, imnl
enough in itself, of the Hight of
.?3,?
pleasant
time. It was a curious
notion, but u had served Mr. Kishu's purpose very well
In the days when he had felt it necessary to do somethin.^
out of the ordinary to attract people to his office, it had
occurred to him that there could he devised no cheaper
or more effective inetlu .1 of turning attention toward him-
self and his undertakings, without giving occasion to in-
vidious remark. In this he had proved liimself, as usual,
a profound student of the ordinary impulses of humanity.
-Mr. Kishus clocks told something more than the hour;
they told of their owner's harmless eccentricities, and toled
mto Its unique an.l notable precincts many a stranger who
bore always in memory afterward a pleasing recollection
ot the owner's courteous attentions.
So the clocks greeted the master to whose success in
Me they had faithfully, but unconsciously, contributed, as
he entered somewhat earlier than usual by the side door
wh.cn opened noiselessly before him as he approached
Air. Kishu made it a point never to enter his office by the
front door. As he understood the art of making others
come to him, so also he realized the advantage of know-
ing in advance just whom he was to encounter.
"Good-morning, Thomas," he said to a man in buttons,
who awaited liis coming. Thomas was a sort of hybrid
footman, janitor, and messenger at Mr. Kishu's office
His duty was to have the office swept and garnished by
eight o clock; to don his livery and be ready for calls or
to meet his master at the side door at any moment there-
after; to run of errands during the day; and after busi-
ness hours, to wind and dust the clocks. For this service
he was hberally paid. Mr. Kishu, though by no means
liberal with the bulk of his employees, well understood the
III
Mr -'
.t34
flrt'RVAr.F. P.AST.VJA-
i I
L'» i
desirability of having tl,e best n^rc ,
realized that the way to secu eT .'"'"^'"'^^' ^"^
wages. ^ '° '^""'^^ '^ ^vas by paying good
"Good-,norning, Thomas," was the .r. r
same even tones which had f ,11 7 ^ ^"^""^ '" the
"corning for twenty c aw "" ^''^^ "^'"'^ ^^^^ ^^-X
-ponse, for in thit^Hme' tZ^T^^:"^ '''-^^'^'
'owed his master to rin. the bHl , "''"'" ^"^"^ ^^■
a clock. ^ ^"^ ^^" ^"'' "ever once broken
"Anybody in, Thomis?" f,« •
office, the door of which Inrl-.^ Passage to his private
ear. owar.,, he strikin. Clocks as htke "'^''=' ""
Mr. Lampson?" ^
"Not yet, sir."
"VoudehVered my notes?"
AH of them, sir w^ tr j
«",;e bero. .e,.; i;co;::^r„:t• ^^t"' "= "•""""'= '" ^
^^^Vousa.La,„pso„au„e„ee„„„as.„,„,.,Wwas
Poor fellow! Thp ^v^;*
"'e s.a„ ,,., ,„ ,o:::cr r^.r.'"-- '- '-»•
'es, sir; then I steererl hirv, u
"gly, and he went to Jork ll a ^X ""' "^^ ^ ^^'*
twelve." ^'^^ ^ "^^^er though it was past
TAKIA'G XOTE 01- TUIK.
325
said Mr K.Shu, ,n a tone of tender commiseration.
Ihat he IS, sir,- responded the servant heartily.
Send hmi ,n as soon as he comes, and in the mean
t.me you may bring me tl)e Blowhanv'
The ^/,,,,//,,,v/ was Mr. Kishu's familiar term for the
nva of the 77.W./W/. He never used the wo"l exc p
in the secure pru-acy of his own office, and rarely lo anv
one but his man Thomas. ^ ^
Thls^HukT.;' "'■" 'r,^""*^""^'^ '-^-^ it from his desk.
Ihis htlc fa,ce nad been repeated every day for years
A seedy reporter who had been di.-h.!rged fron tl e
K Shu s presence. Mr. Kishu h.<l not smiled at the time
ai V ^/ next morn.ng when he asked Thomas for U.e
om elf To ''^r'^-^^ -"^h had stretched almost
^e ar n hid T' "?' "^^^"'"2 ^^"^^' ^^e jest and
tne grm had been repe-tcd.
The servant having bashed his master's coat and hat
and put them ,n tlv.- wardrobe, now w.nt out and teft Mr
K,shu alone m his private office. Tnis office did , o b=;
"ithout the owners consent. The art.sticaliy-chased
ground-glass which surrounded the upper part was onlv a
^..pLcate of another, six inches away, and \o rayof It
was ever errat.c enough to penetrate them both ; neithe
could any sound creep through the padded doors Three
russet cha,rs and a short lounge upholstered in the san"
way, w„h the desk and a few curios, constituted the f"!
mture. By standing up the occupant could look out upon
th street, but a baffling ground-glass screen hid those
wtthm from the scrutiny of the passers-by whose figure
were thrown upon i, as an ill-adjusted plate in a catnera
iJii
ill
3'6
■'"'^l.-UJi J-ASTMAAr.
The room seemed as open as th. ^ ,
Mr- Kishu sat dom, and 1T1 ' ^"■''" '^^W-
">="'orningJ„nr„aIbyscT„, tt , I''" *"' """=-■ "f
"'Vunts." Under tins he fo f, ' ""'" °' "''™"'^«l
'»k of strange an.i , 1,, °' "^ ,°« ""-'> ''rongh. a
sauI, into his snnKen -raveve," \, ' °"'= "'"'*' '>''™
across the fatty folds°of 'his ame h'™' '," ""'"""' P"'""-
'" Alfred M-im»„,, ,j„, „^„>""'- ' "" d=scr,p,i„„ „„ app|ie,„-„„
histo!?." He^Lftl?"'- ^"^ "^- ''""e -• upon
no.hingisnk,,,:;:^'':^ *7««'>vo.. 0'»"-
Bood deal to begin „i„ i 1''"' ^ "'°''='"«1 Cellars is a
out against ,„e, bnt iL Ld" '"' "°"""« '="" "" ■"-'=
Lampson. I c^me by ^10","^'' *"-*ere is
'■"- ever .is.rnstedXt ^''^r,? ^"-^'-I -"^er
give^to'^ttng t ;:• ns:r b'Tr r'-- «^ "^ -'
"ave spoken tlL, h 7^' 'd o\ °'''' "^ " ''= -""
"vails of his private ofliee s„ J " "^" ""= "uffled
a ne.v train '^f thoug "ndTe "T?'^""^ ^''SSested
mng an electric belli 1 ,t ''r'°'"='«='l a button which
time the droning ct loo sn TT ?'^"- *' '"e same
Kishu was econon ,eal of T K"'" ""' ""«'"■ Mr.
tuew he had a brjav b "" V """"^ ""^ '^«- He
to waste moment"^ He ^ll '""' """^ '=°"'" "°t afford
He was gotng to begin the catnpaign
have
pallor
TJie
TAKIXG X0J7-: OF TIMf
327
against Mi.rvale Eastman and his I eam,e c^ ru ■ ■
SociaIi\f« -H-^ 1 1 I J^eague of Christian
It iva.s an unusual course for him to take H,d,Pr,„
when any one had stood in his nath W |7 ","°'
either gone arouuc, the ohstu e or or , T ' """
;;,buu,ehadhee„hu„,ihate.n:\h'rth:;n:;:;s
h p.ule urost centered. The Church of the Go en
P ^ed he ,,'"■■ ■"' ■*""■" " ^''^'"y "'-"™- before su -
■ Pected; the stroke aimeil at the affections of tl,„
-emed .0 have rebounded against h s d! ,:ter an ,T
'a;rdr;fo;.''nr;:ur,s"rt:f,^'*'-;;;'^^'''
apprehension of tl,e res.d of * t J , • f " "-eH-fonnde,!
;j;™a„noton,,rep,u.rh:t^;:;:;^'t„::::;;r::,r
Ion rip , °"" ™"'''=> •"" ''= ''»<! been s„ Ior°> ,he
-1 upon h,s par. had apparently added .0 the pastors
™aniJecot^rir^c^:drr:::;ts
32S
^Wr^^^ S^S7W.LV.
There was a tan pf fj,^ j
' "co^h""^ '"^ ^°" '- as h::et;t" :'''^^°"""'-
The man whom Stearns hn^ ^ •
opened ,he doo. and advanced .oThfd^'t " "°°«^'«'"
Good-mornincr To "^ "^^k.
est tone. '"^' ''""''^™'" -" MMCfshu in his .oft-
The other bowed hut a- a
f*..-M>rivite secret': e^nlLI' ''%"'' ^' "''"o"
'"-.Lars. Hardly talle vheVZ f ""^ '''""•" °'
""■en seated, his shoulders a„H . * "''" '"""Ploj'er
;■* a head that sho.ved elrari^v" ;"" '""' '^^^^'°P "•
'he countenanee had a fuTe L ""^ '"'elligence, though
and his eyes were neari e neV "rh T""' ^^P'«™»
J^'ch he wore, ,Vom which h.s '',""' ''°"'* S'^s-s
Goggles" was denVed From h'T " ^^^'gn«icn of
seemed to belong ,o a diffe^enT ne "' ''°""' "■= '>°'ly
short and slender, the hinsT" ^ ""^ ^'"= "mbs were
s'reet he usually carrLHr ,"::"" ^'''- "'»" *e
o^e. To the surgical ob" ver , , "T""'' " "'"='' "nd
an open boot. A, some per fed o 'V' '"'""'' «=
sp.ne had suffered injury I 2e I '" '''°'"""' "'- 'he
power had been impaired "'"'"'^" ""-''"'■ Nervous
-nent resulted. Prl ,1™? '"harmonious develop,
from thewais, downward harv„7T' "" '™= a man:
arrested development was parlu^," ™ " •^'■'■'"- This
wh,ch were hardly larger S "l""" ?"'""' "'>' '"'''eet,
and one of them evidently 1'" "' '' "'"J' of twelve
•he floor a. .he rear by To eTf f' " " "^ "'=<! f™,n
as the other. His face bo ,tt n T"'"' '""■'' "s .hick
^'Pa'.on which the hrpoder:ilt ^ irit:/"'''^' ^■■=-
J ^tur nas made possible
servant had
disconnected
"Goggles,"
in his soft-
as n^ilton
faithful of
employer
eveloped,
e, though
xpression
's glasses
ation of
■he body
lbs were
pon the
tch and
ory was
^ii^ the
fervous
svelop-
i man ;
^ This
is feet,
welve,
I from
thick
e dis-
ssible
AAT UNGRATEFUL PROTEgA
329
to the habitual suflferpr Hie k j
proallnont" " '' ^^^'"■" ^''^ «^- ^^'^^^ '■> a ..
;;i cofldn't help ,V answered ,he clerk sullenly
\ou know what the consequence will be-
in,stxu:t-sn"::::;rr''^'^^'''-'^''-
l>e the con^eane ■, *?^ "°P '° ^'l' "'''^ "•!"
you here. lClli,Z.H "" '° ' '™''' ' '^""'' ''<^=P
-a„toronew:i:l--t™-;;rr;,--
.0 see if the d^ • t 'lor th h^d h ^'", '°"^'' '^^^
^nd tone he Showed the crXtine'^ir'""^
CHAPTER XXIX.
AN UNGRATEFUL PROTEG^.
of anxiety in hi^to hj? ■"""-nt no, without a tinge
most accou,p,isher:e„og" p Cst T T. ""1 °' *^
Of his infirmity, not alway^s rehaWe '' '"' "^^^"^^
.o:;Lr<;oiitt;;;;„r;:te;\\f :-"-■-'"'
.oecfo„epo,.hedhoo. the pattn^rthrcTpT' '"'
330
MUHVALE EASTMAN.
"There were no-no whimsicalities in it J hon^ » -a
the employer severely. ' P*^' ^^^
'I don't know of any."
"Because you know you must be able to swear f.
word of it." swear to every
" Oh, I can do that."
"And the copies?"
He turned hi- i i ^ "^ 8°' ""=™ >»• ""'s time"
.0. by,„e,..ccessio„ 1„ 4 .tell :e ^M^^
Vou asked them to call? " ®'
,J,°;;, ^^"= ^' eleve„..hi„, and ^r. SjeedweU a.
"Good; and the Trustees? "
I din?s:;e'i'r d';:f /''"'"'. ?-™ - -™'-'"«- .
week AnH * ™« ™*°'" you even (or a
Lanpson? Not for any considerable time, that is? "
p.o;;Tt::r°"''" '"^ ■■"^■■*°"^'^ *reateningr.L em-
-^;:^^:::::^::,:::^' ---^. ->» -e
Not very long, Lampson, not very lon^ " .nM ir- ^.
significantly. " That's why there's slhT '^'^ ^f "
standing between us, isn't it? P., ,. ^°°^ ""^"'■■
take care of you don't vo, . ^°" ^"°^ ^'"
get on such sprees I c^^'t alT""/ ""^^ °"^'^^'' ^°
Have you ^ead tte'^l' ?/• ''"^'' ^^^^ ''^''^'^ ^^ Yon.
« u J ^^^^"2^ this morning? "
Had.a good de.l of time to read the news, haven't I? "
hope," said
!ar to every
2dwell and
this time."
> the strik-
me of day
lent made.
edwell at
t thought
ivaluable.
ven for a
ould you,
is?"
^ the em-
his face
i Kishu
under-
tiow I'll
htn't to
of you.
n't I?"
^^V UNGRATEFUL PROT£g£.
coir;::,'!;;' xti '"" i^r "'•^'"'" -•■' ^.iu
stuff alone foTawime? " '"" """' ^™ ^O"" '^' *=
-rk nigh, and day, if I did,"!! Ir' """' ' ^""'^
Tt^s^^;"Lra";:r°""^'°°'--^'''°--"
Perhaps you'd like to leave?"
Lampson bit bis lip, but made no reply
know you a,l'„otl be t .: 7 '''^r'''' ""'"^"- ^-
-*e influence, you C ^ tl ^d'^wir ""'" '^f
you say-vvell-vnn «,. ' "^" ^^^ talk
-.sufprisi:^ tC;o?id^r:':Tra:'™f ^v"""-^^-
are unstrung, La„,pso„. You need res' ' °" ""''"
^H„ ,?"" "''P' """^^ ""^ <:l«k's face
-ney, togoXe;::::::'::-"^^"' ™'' p'-'^"^
wistflr' ''" ""-"'" "^ ^"P'"^"'^ "« W* furtive
"You don't think I mean it " c^^M xr- i •
ful tones. " Haven't T Ti ^''^'" '" reproach-
you? How wouid ,1 R 'f ^'^""''^ ^° ^° ^^^" by
with five tho^a d d I afsT"o ; 'T''^ '°^ ^'^^ ^^'"^-'
it? I only wish to kl / '" '''°"^""^ '^ 3'°" -^"t
you know." ''^ ^'°" '^'^"^ ^P^"d^"g it foolishly,
"I've only one life to live"
"But j^ou might have children, Lampson."
1 he dwarf scowled angrily
" """" "^*''"'' '^ ""^"led/Lampson. I've often though.
~r
t
332
MURVALE EASTMAiY.
it would be wise. You know you talk about things; and a
wife— well, a wife canno: be a witness. Suppose I make
it ten thousand now, and ten thousand a year from now,
when you marry — with my approval, of course."
The other could not conceal his elation, but rafde no
answer.
" I see you like it. Well, I will fill out a check for ten
thousand. There is a boat leaves for Bermuda to-mor-
row. You will have plenty of chance to have a good time
after you get there, but it might be best to keep yourself
straight until you are afloat at least."
"Oh, I will— I will," said the man with t: mbling earn-
estness.
" Well," said Kishu opening a drawer and taking out a
check-book, "I will send Thomas to engage your state-
room, and he will help you get ready."
The servant entered as he spoke, to inform him of
Deacon Hodnutt's arrival.
" Show him in," said Mr. Kishu.
. " Good-morning, deacon ! " he exclaimed as he looked
up while he was blotting the signature with his white,
pudgy hands. " Take a seat ; I'm just settling with Lamp-
son, you see. He's been with me a long time, but has
decided to leave. Wants to see the world, you know.
Going to the Bermudas, he tells me. Pretty good-sized
check, isn't it? " holding the paper up to Hodnutt. " But
he's been with me a long time— a long time. Well, here
'tis, Lampson. I hope you'll have a good time. Send
Thomas to me, won't you? Good-by."
He held out his hand and Lampson took it doubtfully,
then bowed to the visitor and went out.
"Good man," said Hodnutt, nodding toward the door
which closed behind the retreating clerk,
■ <.V UxVGKATEFUL PI? TEG A.
iic)
I shall never find his match," said Kishu, " but he is
getting dissatisfied, and just now is a little off his base."
" Is It wise to let him have so much money? "
" ^h, that's all light. He will probably not use a dollar
of It. He IS only anxious to kuow he has it, and to-mor-
row will probably give nic back the check and ask me to
keep it for him."
" He is not really going to leave then? "
"Yes; I think he had better go on a sea-voyage, but
not with anything like that amount of money."
Lampson walked along the passage to his desk in the
outer room of the office clutching the check in his hand
and climbed upon the stool he had occupied for twenty
years. Throwing up the lid he took a small, needle-
pointed instrument from its case, threw off his coat and
bared his left arm to the shoulder. It was scarred and
palhd. Seeking eagerly for an unscarified spot with that
curious notion which leads the victim of the opium habit
to suppose it necessary to the full effect of the drug that
It should be applied to a fresh place every time, he seized
the injector and despite his trembling filled and discharged
It w.ca wonderful celerity. The change was almost instan-
taneous. The bowed, depressed figure became upright-
the head was thrown back; the eyes flashed, and hardly
had he fastened his sleeve and donned his coat when the
hght of a fixed purpose shone upon his face.
"Thomas," he exclaimed, turning quickly upon his
stool, "I forgot to tell you that Mr. Kishu wants you to
run over to Speedwell's and ask him to lunch here at one
instead of coming at twelve. You'd better hurry; you
know he likes to have things done lively."
"That he does," exclaimed the man; "why didn't vou
tell me before?"
334
MVR VALE EASTMAX.
He did not wait for an answer, but started at once upon
his errand.
Lampson swung himself from his stool, and a moment
after had boarded a car which took hi-i to the bank on
which his check was drawn. Ten minutes afterward he
entered an office on the door of which was the mocest
sign, Herman Metziger, Attorney."
CHAPTER XXX.
AN ILLIBERAL DEFINITION OF LIBERALITY.
"Well, deacon," said Kishu, as Lamoson closed the
door behind him, "I suppose you're not much more in-
chned to go off with this 'Christian Socialist movement '
as they call it, than I?"
^ "I don't know about going ofif," answered the deacon-
but you see-well, I've attended all their meetings, and
really-you ought to have been there, iMn Kishu. I'm
sure you would have enjoyed t .em."
" You mean the socialistic po r-wows? "
toJ'^^'' *^^^ ^'^ very interesting-and-very improving,
"Yes, no doubt," sarcastically. "You seem almost as
much carried away with this young upstart as poor old
Deacon Goodyear."
Mr. Kishu spoke very excitedly and bitterly, for him
at least. He attributed most of his success in life to
the fact that he never said anything to give offense, but
he occurrences of the past two weeks had been too much
for even his equanimity. Irritated not only by what had
happened, but by what seemed impending, he had
AN ILLIBERAL DEFINITION OF LIBER A LIT V. 335
grown reckless in In's words and determined to crush those
whom he had come to regard as his enemies. He felt
something of the impulse which inspired the mocked and
blmded Samson, and was almost ready to pull down on his
own head as well as theirs, the structure he had so care
fully built up.
This feeling had been intensified by the apparent sue
cess of the Christian Socialist League, the unexpected
popularity of Murvale Eastman, and the nagging insistence
of Mrs. Kishu, who could talk of nothing hut going abroad
to escape the humiliation of their position. Anythin--
more galling to a man of Wilton Kibhu's character could
hardly be conceived. He did not love himself so much
but the Wilton Kishu whom others esteemed so hi-hly
was the object of his unremitting adoration. He wor-
shiped not himself, but his shadow. That others should
recognue his situation only added a fresh sting to his
agony, so that without any suspicion of her real purpose
he had consented that his wife and daughter might sail
for Europe at an early day. His wife had accept'ed this
concession with evident delight; his daughter, with quiet
indifference. While, therefore, he was planning his cam-
paign of aggression, he knew his family were arranging for
flight to avoid witnessing his discomfiture.
No wonder the fact angered him, and despite his con-
fidence in his own success, he could not repress the sense
of angry contempt which showed in his words.
Deacon Hodnutt was not a man of quick perceptions,
but of a rugged purpose, which had enabled him to ac-
quire an ample fortune. He was especially faithful to
his friends. One of the closest of these was Deacon
Goodyear, and one of the sfrongest of his convictions was
that this mild-mannered, unfortunate friend was about the
s;
J
^.^<^
'•^fCliVAI.r. PAST.^fAX.
\i '1 !
best man in the world c;o i,»
nate not at all subserv'entK J V"^^^'^""^^ '^^^ ^^m mag-
accustomed deferelTl";!:;.'; ^^ 7t 7"^' °^ ^^^^^
always inspire. The way was sHII n ^f ^"""^^"P almost
return and take Iiis old ,1 ^'^" ^^^ ^^'' -f^'^hu to
Lilies. 'le tho :L Vit .: T 'r' ^'""^^ "^ ^^^ Golden
^i« colleague, and was fo T '''""^ ^° ^^^^ ^^^^^ of
t^^ought o'f tLe ov t'n hc'rTr^'"'""'^^^^^^-^^^ '^^
lighted congregatLn 1^, T ''''''' ^'^^ the de-
cle.ern.ined not to abando,; fp!;" ^7^^^^ ^^ -''
-ar-path, and he would not res unt l.h. T °" ''''
enemies hung at his birdie '''^'P' ^^ ^i^
•in that moment WIlfMn t-- i
h- life, stamped h ™ ,- a '," °" *^ °P"°""""y "'
by his o>v„ standard" Ye l"""" """ «•''"> measured
type of what tcday-s tendencir?"' " """ """' °"')' "
come. ' tenaenciei encourage men to be-
n«?C:"ofltr;r •'''-«• ^'- '^•■^'■"•" -" Hod.
but it doesn't become ml/ •' ""•''"''^ ''""^ "•"!,
-y. He's badC r. I'^rabr :'""' °' '""' '" *«
b- a large fami,, to supplTLTll ""' "l" ''""'• -"
» the city who do more ood V . T" ' "''"y '"™
'«• I'm able to do a hundred J "' '"'' ^"' <""' «""
five or six times as much as lb 7" " '""''" "'' ^°".
we don't do half as much •' ' """ "= '^°'" '"S^ber,
Parld ' Wirt Goldtar "'' 'T '''f *^ ""'^ ">"- com.
Con'tsay,o„r„r;;ve"t:f a"' """' '™°''- '^
come-though I don't thini ft all a'el"!' °'^°" '""
remember that ivhal you I.i! n '"''"^-''utyou must
'you gn e, sail superfluity, and „hat
■ angry mag-
^uch of that
■ship almost
Ir. Ki'shu to
the Golden
lie words of
^d with the
'm the de-
vision and
was on the
lips of his
3rt unity of
measured
an, only a
en to be-
iaid Kod-
>ws that:
» in that
-bts, and
any men
>ut, than
nd you,
ogether,
1," said
^s com-
d. "I
3ur in-
u must
i what
MJ\^/zz/B£.?.i/ f^rnxfrroxoi-nnERAUTY. 337
he gives he pincl,es out of his bread and butter and saves
ou of h.s clothes. You can hardly remember when he
a str:e:::::^?"' "' ' '^'^^ ^^^'-^^^ >'°" -- -- ^>- ^
" Nobody is called upon to deprive himself of reasona-
ble comforts in order to help others "
"Probably not; I don't know as I think he is. I cer-
S'isn^" V: 'V '" ^^°^'^^^^ ^°^^' -^' >- know i .
th Sabbltl r T' "''"• '^'^^^'^ ^'^^^ ^^-« °^ his in
the Sabbath-school-more'n fifty of them, all young men
- woudn-t wonder if there was a hundred of them Ty
this time. Six months ago there wasn't one. Did you
ter I don t know which started it? Well, they just took
to wanting the streets Saturday nights and kindVf ^ Ung
hold of young men that hadn't exactly gone to the bad
but were on the road to the devil, and bringing them
around and making them at home in the church Yo"
nathv fr '"°"''' ^"' ""''''''' '''''■'' h^^ t'™- -"^ sym-
pathy, takes an interest, don't you see, in these young uL
gives them his arm when they're in slippery places Td'
don t let them go down. He don't ever'f'ss a[ ti:.' n^
scold them, nor stuff them with religion. He savs that
am t his way. Just make a man want^o do ri^U he say
and there ain't much danger of his going wro'ng buHry
a ball ga„,e he ain't going to rest until he se.s all that's
to be seen, if he has to see it through a knot-hole.
1 tell you the deacon may be poor in this world's
goods but I don't know of anybody that'll hav^ as Tig ^
p.le o vouchers for good deeds done in Christ's name
when h, ,,^,^ ^^ ^^^^,^ ^p ^^ ^^^^ ^^ nam
the young minister; f he ^een- 01 in ^h- .- I - •
°^ ' "'^ "Ccp.^ on m liic way he s Deaun
i{
m
a
i if
1! If
' %-u
11
ii f i
.ill
i
.ill
3;? 8
.'/^^/P/V//^ -LsrAA^y,.
hadancv ha, i„ five yelL ,™"' '"='"" "'^ »>=="■>
if we ever Imve ,l,e luck ,o t , ^^ "•■'""" ''"""'e'lge, bu,
we'll feci as shee, is , ill l ™ '" ""•■ ^'-''v Jerusalem,
,w'.en „e <irea„,s ^ t " ^ j™ -/' >"- <'oes so,„e.i„es'
•'gh. with nchiu, o„ b^; hL t:,^ .'^ '""'' '" ^™>' d-.v
"' 'liJn-e say ha. "0,°''"'' ^"''' ^i^Lu, testily.'
something for itfa J 'Zdo'^"' "'= "■ '''-■• "o".
I don't doub, b;,t W "bo h !' ! T" ""'-» a way.
though r sometimes oues.i™ ^T u " '"^ "" ''^"sion,'
s°n-I do indeed "■Te""!,*" ""■"='» '"= 8'^""ine
"■e other's reproving glane ''.. 1"'°" "^'^"^ ^= "= ■««
what Goodyear does or ,1,; • ' '"''' ' ""''''>'' do
haps,"heco„ti„„edh'„m ly'f, ™r'r' "'''"' ""' P-
.1 -« do. I an, beginni: '[; see int ^''^''-''^ '''' "■^'
■n I1.S notion that in the >v! , , ^ """""" '= "gl't
civilisation .age wilh / t'' ™"" P'T'^'^''^' '""
""g m a substitute. Tl,a ' ,1 "'' """« ^^ P«-
war-time, when we were vo„„'' "', 'T" '"'' ' '"'' '" "■=
of t.s go. our star, in J"^' '^\ "-'f ."'e way bo.l,
Eastman says, everybody!, 1..';" ,"" "'"' '' M^'
*e figh.i„g, and do i, himself." '"' °™ =''«' °f
.o::^gra:"st:::L::rds^^'^-"r'"^-"-*^
tones, recognizing the mis,-,'.-, . , ' '" oonciliatory
before. "But do Z k h ' "'""' '"^ "'«' 'alien
"-n? Some of ■ e o Is. L'^ ^"""'^-"octrinally, I
you know, hav. taken issue !^b, "."'"■ ''domination,
and advised hn. ; bu. 1 e „ " 1 ' n^ ""= '"""'^'^^ Wm
™y=elf, I don't .hink i's r": L" '"'"" '" ""•'"■ For
ngh. .0 coun.enance such things.
for us to talk
'U; he hasn't
loH'Iedge, but
vv Jerusalem,
:.'s sometimes
n broad day.
'ne anything
ihu, testily.
I've done
— in a way.
I 'religion,'
he genuine
I as he met
ouldn't do
; Out per-
e else that
■er is right
ianity and
g as put-
(^lid in the
way both
r, as Mr.
^ share of
with that
iciliatory
(1 fallen
inally, I
lination,
'ed him
'1. For
things.
AN ILLIBERAL DEFIXITIOX OrunCR.urTY. 35^
I once thought very highly of Eastman, as you know, and
looked forward to-well, to a much closer relation with
mm, hut---" Mr. Kishu paused, cn'„ ,.;. eyes down upon
the table before him, and arched '.is neck .ntil the fatty
rolls fell over his collar upon one i ul in th. endeavor to
impress upon his hearer the imporunu.-e ar-, delicacy of
the statement he was about to make ' well," he added
with a sigh, "when he started into forbidden ways I was
compelled to-to-remind my daughter of the injunction
lie ye not unecpially yoked with unbelievers.' " *
"So I've heard, so I've heard," replied Hodnutt with
an embarrassed air; "that of course is your own business-
yoursand your daughter's, that is- but in my opinion you
botii made a mistake you'll be sorry for."
" Of course, he is a very respectable young man with good
prospects, so far as this world's affairs are concerned, but
hac to look beyond that, sir, in advising my daughter.
I couldn t have her subject herself to humiliation, and her
children, ,f she should have any, to the peril of unbelief
1 admit he is an estimable man personally, and by the use
of somewhat sensational methods has succeeded in mak
ing himself rather popular, but I do not liiink his doctrine
•s sound, and-well, really, Mr. Hodnutt, I have never re-
garded him as a man of special .bility-not an eloquent
man, I mean; have you.>"
" Oh, not at all," was the ready reply. " I often tell
people that he is no preacher. That is, he does not stir
and thril people as those who are called great preachers do.
He hasnt a bit of what we sometimes call magnetism
about him. But he's got something else that the mag-
netic man rarely has, and that is sense. I do think he has
more sense that any other man I ever saw, and the most
sensible way of applying it, too. He doesn't lose his
J 40
^tU'JiVAf.Ii /^.ASTAtAX.
^ort, is j„st like 2Z T T"' ""'' *""g' °f 'hat
level-he , led man Sr,' 'f '"« ""^^^ ™"> «
I do„., know abo ";. Lr ; r "'' -'>"<' -^-s.and.
such thing., you k„ovv_but 'a:7a 17 ""' "=" "^ '"
-yu suits „e as well as any ?Jlard. ' " "^' ' "'"^'
i3ut Dr. Phue- "
rup'.edtodrt™;ii It:"' "r^"^' "= =^^^■"■•"•-
Wm pleach, and some owltir;' "^ "'^'^'^ '° ""^
been going on. I mean'" « h i °"' '""^''"S^ have
lous voice "J'do", like t?/ r '°°' "-""•" tremu-
<lon't doub, D. Ph e is a Ion , '° '''°"' ^"^ °-- '
is, but he-s hard Mr kL!, "T' "' ''''' ' '""'=''=
stone-harder'n fd li'l, *'""'::''"■<' ^^ the nether mill-
.heiudgmfnrda, Don-Uel Im 1 *' """ ^™^' °"
ing to stay with Mr EasmJ' "■""' ""^ ''''■ ''" K""
" He'll be exndL, f ? '"^"" "'''« ''^ said."
sharply. ^'""^ ^""" "'^ Association," said Kishu,
Eastman, all the same " '''" ' *"" ^'^"'^ "y Mr.
and 's.fwtaTth:*;:;!;^^''''' '«'"°« ^-^ i" "is chair,
approval o°„ iJs b * ^" tfar.T'°" °'«-™'''-
fatuation. I sunnose » 1 ' "" saw such in-
with you and cldy^rp" '""' "' "" ''"''' -" 6°
"It's more than likely."
" Of course, anybniv can o-^ off j
P-ent Church, tU^r^Xt/b^tll^iruidt
A A' ILLIBERAL DEFINITION- OF LIBERALITY.
3ple names,
ings of that
iness with a
Jnderstand.
well up in
ee, I must
lys," inter-
id to hear
tings have
1 a tremu-
y one, I
r hope he
■her mill-
being, on
I'm go-
said."
i Kishu,
that is."
nswered
1 by Mr.
is chair,
ved dis-
uch in-
will go
n inde-
under-
341
I
stood that they can't keep on using the Golden Lilies
shall have something to say about that."
The other made no response.
;' You know I gave the ground on which the church is
built?"
"Yes."
" You are one of the trustees it was deeded to, I be-
lieve?"
" That's my recollection."
" Did you ever notice the provisions of that deed? "
"Don't think I ever did; Mr. Speedwell said it was all
right."
"So it was. You know when a man mc^kes a gift, he
has a right to name his own conditions?"
The other bowed assentingly.
" Well, one of the conditions of that deed is that the
property shall be used exclusively-mind the word-^x-
clusiveiy, as a place of worship for a church and congrega-
tion in strict accordance with the policy and doctrines of
our denomination."
"Well?"
" Well! I should think it was time to say, * Well! ' Don't
you see, as quick as it is used for any other purpose, the
condition is broken and it comes back to me?"
"Church and all?"
II Of course ; the building is part of the realty, isn't it? "
"I suppose so; but you don't mean to say you would
go and take the church away from our people? "
"Why not? Do you suppose I am going to have my
gift used for a pauper hospital and a lodge-room for an-
archists?"
"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Kishu," remonstrated his
fnend.
Wl
III
I il
I!
342
^rURVALE EASTMAX.
^'ck pauper in the'study an" nit . ""T''''^ ^"^ ^^^
'^rop, unless the church' 1"',^ 7 '" °"^' "^^^ ^"^
turn out-the-the--whrt H " ""'^'' ^^^^"^^n. and
" Le-5.rM<. ^f o, "^^^^t ^° you call it? "
league of Christian Socialists i. fl.«
answered Hodnutt '^ corporate name,"
use o;:i;:it::t ;r 'itzr- --^^ «■•"■-« -= .^e
has been done « least •• ^^ ^O'-ething of ,he kind
" i\ls::?,r:;:o"""' -^ "^'^ '° «- p-p-^y? ■•
be:;e?;e.T."orre"'s'oSi:jr: "'" ^ --' >™''^
-o.ern;:eti-X---e,..o„eo„e.pn.
see any objection to it " ^-'^^'s^'an Socialists, I don't
™;'r::;ns:r:eaSt-"^-"-'''^' --
derers! " Peaceful thieves or pious mur-
"rs 'rir.!":" '"■•"«''" --^ H-^nutt. coo,.,
"Probably " y,Z,l ^ """'°" "i^'lars."
■'Now.do^; tr'Tr^-
'f e away ,ro„ IwIVtvf "t"^:!?' ""•'. *»S ■•= '<> ■
*a; are too la^y to work as wevf dCj •P''^ " '° "-
I don't see it timt way."
3ve it, too,"
against the
ts, and the
^ neck and
stnian, and
ate name,"
ated."
porators."
ng us the
' the kind
operty? "
, "you'd
'■ as you
e to put
. I don't
! You
js mur-
coolly
You"
? I'' to
them
AN ILLIBERAL DEFIXITION OF LIBERA LI TV. 3 43
" Why, don't they claim that the object of civilization
and Christianity is to equalize conditions— to take away
from the rich and give to the poor? "
" That isn't the way I look at it. What 1 understand is
that we are going to try to find out if there is anv way to
keep a few men from getting more than they need, and
helping the rest to get as much as they need, of this
world's goods. And that's what I'm in favor of. Brother
Kishu, ain't you?"
"No one has a right to take away from another what
he has earned."
"You don't mean to say you have earned all you've
got? " . ^
" I've got it lawfully, which is the same thing. It's
mine, and nobody has any right to touch a stiver of it."
"That's just the thing; you got it lawfully, and you
found it easier to increase it the richer you grew didn't
you?" '
"Certainly; it's not much trouble to make a fortune
after one has a good foundation ; everybody knows that."
" The hard thing is to get a start."
"Of course."
"Well, now, don't you think it would be better if it was
just turned around and made easy to get a start and hard
to get more than enough? "
"^ I don't understand you," said Kishu coldly.
"I don't know as I can explain it; but here's my idea
Say you're worth a million-I know you're worth more
but never mind that. Now if there were ten families worth
a hundred thousand dollars apiece, instead of one worth a
million, don't you think there would be more happiness in
the world?"
" I suppose so."
it
344
MURVALE EASTMAX.
I 1
JaJieS" '"'"'"' ''™"-™«h ten thousand doL
"Probably."
men^b , ,, ^^^^ ,^ ^^^^ _^._^ ^ -a.e Do , .e-
I aon t know as I do." P'^iv^er
"Wen, I do; we gave him the short arm of the evener "
^^ J^ade hm. pull the biggest share of the '^^.^
provide for themselves." '" ^° "^°^^ ^^^^
1^' And you think that would be just? "
I don't see why not "
section; ::,:ir,„:;"™-^" ^ "'-^^ '- *= *-
BrXTKlfhT" '""' '"^ ^""'=" °' '^^ «°W- Lines,
"It's on ,ny land, and the la>v makes i, „,ine."
Then the law ,s wrong," said Hodnu.t, positively,
I
GOD'S ANOIA'TED PHUE.
sand dol-
I haven't
when ni)'
Jy's com-
nge? It
and find
3e some-
r horses
rse that
you re-
.•e?"
vener."
id, you
en this
ling of
off the
;n, and
e than
le dis-
Lilies
345
Perhaps
Well, I'm content to take the law as it is
your Christian Socialists will change it."
"They ought to at least."
"They can't do it: and your folks will have to decide
wheher youll agree to my terms or be turn.d out
th^nk I d rather hke to have a church all by myself, any-
it.'buVl' I'r ^'T ^°" "'' ^"'^^'"S' I ^"PP°^e you'h get
lrtt\lttn7 ^°"^^" "" '^ '''-' ''- '^ ^'^'^^'-^
"You'll be alone then, for the other trustees are with
rne._^^Do you thmk you'd better risk the expense of a
"I can stand it; and don't know as I could put the
money to any better use."
" Well, I'm sorry," said Kishu in his suavest tones, rising
and gomg wuh the other to the door. '' But you k;ow ' I
stubborn man maun gang his gait.' Good-by "
They shook hands, and Hodnutt SK.ued as he greeted
his two fellow-trustees waitmg for an audience. '
CHAPTER XXXI.
god's anointed phue.
"Rev. G. a. Phue."
This was the name upon the card that lay on the desk
while he listened to the words of the tall, erect figure
wh,ch sat opposite him clothed in clerical garb, whose
voice had something of the quaver of age running through
1 1
iH
II:
11
I-
!T tli
34('
MURVAr.E EASTMAN.
the monotone which i. apt to result from long service in
; I should fail in my duty as one u-ho beai.s the com-
missum of an expounder of God's Word if I ne- lect -d to
reb.ke such astounding heresy. I ha,e long^iioumed
over uie doctrinal degeneracy of the Church. We seen.
^ have lost all u MH:ct for creeds and confessions of faith
Ministers are silen: and lav.nen ..eer at the doctrines of
the fathers. No one s.eu. to pay any heed to election
and reprobation now., .Vhy. ».> dear sir, if this thing goe^^
on a little lartnor v.e .sh.il have people questioning the
doctrine of damnatior.. Even now, we do not half realize
US importance. Infinite and eternal punishment, unre-
mitting and .opeless .-ofulness-is really one of the most
niportant dogmas of the church. I can almost say that
he Church IS founded on it. Any one can believe in
^^.hnst and heaven. That is easy, sweet, and comfortable •
t IS no strain on faith, demands no trembling, soul-crush:
n!rH??i' ''""P'' ''''' °" ^^^^h, that is easy
enough, but that is nothing, absolutely nothing, chaff
vanity— worse than nothing! '
" He must believe, sir, believe that ' the wicked shall be
cast into hell,' and that the wicked are those who do t"be!
Iieve. He must believe in hell, sir, a real hell, with real
fire exactly like that we have on earth except 'this-tha
It will not consume, though it will torture. You have
seen asbestos lying in the fire red hot, but when you take
It out It IS unconsumed. So the body will lie, not in
n^etaphorical fire but in actual flame-body and soul w 11
be tortured together -eac^ brimful of pain, the s... I
body suffused with agony-the head tormented with rack-
GOD'S ANOINTED PHUE -. *
347
ing pains; eyes starting from their sockets with sights of
voe; ears tormented with sullen moans and shrieks of tor-
ured ghosts; heart beating high with fever; limbs crack-
hot fet T"''" '" '" '"' ^" the veins a road for the
hot feet of pam to travel on ; every nerve a string on which
th devd sha 1 play the endless refrain of Hell s unutter-
able lament.* This is what it means to believe, sir
It is a very terrible idea no doubt at first, but wheu it
once gets a gnp on the conscience it is very consoling. do
sureT. M "' 'T T'"" "'^^^ ^° '^^^^ '' °^herwi'e ; I'm
sure I could not. I don't believe heaven would be h aven
to me If those wo did not believe were allowed to come
in I expect to look down over the battlements and re-
buke the unbehevers in the fiery lake below-those who
have mocked at me and my Master here on earth. That
win be one of the joys of the redeemed. I don't expe
wr ;-7,P''^ '°' ^'^''"^ ^'^h^^- I «hall just say to ther^
'Why d,dn't you believe? I warned you-I, G Iphue-
lou Zt •^""^^'^/"^ ""^^-'•^hy servant. I cried unto
/>V.. that the .odern tria, i^'^^ I^T^^t^^Z;
secution about it ; second, that no one really holds a Z ^T
view of CHristianity ascribed to Mr. V^Z^^^.V^^ Tl^^
Sence and least of all a minister. The author does not ere to d
cuss euher question. Mr. Phue was drawn as a survivo^-a tvne not"
Of hen, Which is put intothfrnouth^o^ tL^id' :; :; E7
ness, has not even the merit of originality, having been taken 2:
n;om he writings of one of the most dfstinguisLd v Lg" iv^
The inquinng reader will find it and more of th.
Sermons 0/ JHev r if c.,,„,., ' ^ ."""'^ °^ ^^« ^ame sort, in
J is.ez. _. //, .)>purg,ou, Secona Series, No. 17 p 275
.fl
i . \ \
• MURVALE EASTMAN.
gods and comfortable beliefs. You tried to climb up to
heaven on a ladder of good works. You thought if you
did good to others, God would overlook your doubt and
unbelief m regard to the mysterious things beyond I
told you It was a vain delusion, but you would not heed '
"That's what I shall say, Brother Kishu. I've been a
martyr to the cause of Christ here below. My blessed
mother who is looking down from heaven upon us now
consecrated me to the work of God in my earliest mol
ment. Even while yet unborn, she devoted me to the
work of proclaiming God's will to men. With a prayerful
and trustmg heart, she gave me a name that of itself was
a vow of sanctification, though the vain and sinful mock
at It. As if by divine direction, she put the seal of elec-
tion on the brow of her unborn babe; inspired by the
Ho^y Ghost I do not doubt, and fearing the worst, she
made my father promise that in case of her death the child
should be named ' God's Anointed.' As my father's name
was Phue you see, I was, so to speak, born into the Lord's
family-designated from birth as one of them that shall
be saved— God's Anointed Phue!
"And I have tried to live up to the name, sir. I have
kept myself unspotted from the world and have been in-
stant in season and out of season, reproving them that did
not believe. But the Church has treated me scandalously
sir. I say it regretfully, but it is nothing more than the
truth. Though I have fought the good fight and kept the
faith, studying diligently the truth as it was delivered to
the saints, I have been mocked and jeered at even by
professing Christians. The door of one pulpit after an-
other has been closed in my face, only to be opened to
some young whipper-snapper who knows more about the
fashions, than about Christian doctrine. I have been com-
GOD'S A POINTED PHUE
349
relied to enter the mis'sion field, home-mission work, sir,
I, who was ordained to tlie ministry forty years ago, and
studied at the feet of our Ganmliels! More than once
indeed I have been forced to earn my daily bread by the
labor of these hands."
The speaker held out a pair of hands which bore un-
mistakable marks of toil, and gazed piteously at them as
he spoke.
^^ " My dear friend," said Mr. Kishu, commiseratingly
you do not know how your words hurt me. Why did vou
not come to me?"
" It does not beseem the servant of the Lord to beg his
bread," said the old man with pathetic dignitv " I am a
laborer m his vineyard, and if he does not send me aid I
will work, as Paul did at his calling; but I will not degrade
my Master's service by asking alms of any man "
"Dear me," said Mr. Kishu, " I never dreamed of such
a thing; you must allow me to relieve your necessities "
" I have been called of God through you," was the
solemn reply, « to undertake a new work for the Church
and it is fitting that his servants should reward me in
such measure as they may deem proper. Thank God, I
have kept myself clean; there is not a blot on my cre-
dentials, and I am ready for this new duty the Lord has
cast upon me. This young man Eastman has been very
kind to me, though he has obtruded himself into a place
which, by lack of experience and thorough preparation,
he IS not well fitted to occupy. But that is not his fault.
1 he Church has come !o worship adolescence in these
latter days. That is v ^y it is in peril now. I have only
the kindest feeling toward the young man, Mr. Kishu-
but the safety of the Church is above all earthly ties If
he were my brgther. flesh of my flesh, and bone of my
wl
11
JSo
MURVALE EASTMAJV.
bone I would not hesitate, I would ask. fn^pl , ,ay I
would comniaiKl the Church, in the namcu, the Most hL
to cast h,m for.h from her borders as an unc ean "f '
u;t^rr-^^^^^--^--^---r,souitw;:^^^
;; You think he is not exactly orthodox, then? "
Orthodox! exclaimed the unconscious bigot. " AVith
man m any pu.pu beyond the fellowship of any orthodol
communion." ^ ^'uiouox
He took from his hat ^nd flourished the type-written
report of the meeting at which the clu. of Ch 'stiln Sc^
c.ahsts was organized, as he spoke.
;; You think there is no doubt about that? "
^^ Not the least in the world."
"But how, in what respect? My lawyer sav. h. ho
careu,, .,,,,, ,,,„,,.,^^^^^_)'^^;y;; say;,;:
fpecific doctrine of the church "
Is he no openly ,nv,ting si, ,. rs tc u-ngage „ the I o, I,
wor . t„ot,t purification or redemption! .nvitin I e o
Lord hT ' ".""' °" ""^ ''"' "< ">■•' Covenam? The
Lord does no. need the help o, sinners. VVh< „ thev ar!
service. To fling open the doors of church-wo ■• to th,.
unredee„,ed, the mocker and the profli, i "= .hro:
down the walls of Zion and invite tie foil .rs Blal .o
enter and rav,age h-r borders."
AsZk, '""'f '" """' "'^ "'"" " '"= ""^n"™ "f 'he
Associat>i,n, I presume?"
"At its very next meeting, sir "
" V^ould it not be better to counsel with some of the
members, some of the leading and influential ones? "
GOD'S AXO/iVTED PffUE.
351
^ " I need no assibtance, sir," said the old man w ith an
air of offended dignity. " \ am weak and old, and the
Church passes by me in scorn; but in the Lord's cause,
battling for the safety of Zion and the preservation
of the faith once delivered to the saints, I am armed in
triple mail of proof. I shall assail him i)oint-blank, face
to face, myself; I shall show his errors and drive him out
of the fold whose salvation he endangers."
" I trust you may, sir," said Mr. Kishu as he handed
him a check, which the old man thrust carelessly into his
vest pocket without once glancing at the amount.
" H ve no fear; it is an unpleasant duty, but it will be
faithfu. performed."
The Re.- G. A. Phue— in his young days he had writ-
ten out t'l first names in full, and his mother had always
called him in 1 - piping, sharp New England voice,
" God'sanynted, if ir had been a single word— was a
minister without a chur( h, a shepherd witiiout a flock. In
fact, he was a she[>herd who frightened the lambs and was
apt to make even the toughest of the wethers intract-
able and belligerent. A lean and eager face, pale and
del'p-lined, with that softness which told that its severity
was without hypocrisy or greed, and his zeal only the out-
come of a faith which knew no douLt, told the story of
his life even better than words could phrase it. His
cheeks were cleanly shaven, his high, severe brow with the
blue veins showing through the transparent skin, the deep-
set, blue eyes, fhe clean-cut, sharp-pointed nose, thin lips
and square chin, told of one to whose soul-life doubt had
been a stranger; who being right W( ild never falter, and
who starting wrong would never ,ook backward to correct
his reckoning, though he should see the breakers of de-
struction straight ahead. Error was
I
il rm
ipossi
him
35'
AIURVAl.^ EASTMAN-.
because he knew exactly what the Lord's will was in re
gard to any SDec fir nnff«r ti • *'
faith Uifh I ^'"' ''^^ "ot arrogance, but
£ e.::;:r":::^r.:Irz;::--
ruw ,,e app„ed .0 o.ho« he accepted „„„esi.a.i„g,y":
.h.'^!,, '°™'. "" "'° '™''"' °'''-f"'l"°ned hat upon
„ f , ?,'■' '"'"' '"''' "' ^" "^"'i-^i^'" not less c"ac,
nirvana, W hence he came, what was his -enealoiv hv
.isio„is.t,,™ed„poi7:i:r:;-^^^^^^^^
H bowed w,,h quiet dignity as he avouched his own
iCe.ir;ur^;res"t?"r"^'-'''r^=''^''=''-"
Whose life h.H K T , ' simple-minded zealot
then, > ="' '"^ P'"' ^^^^P'^^ ^"« unpopularity in
the pulpit, were stdl a power in his denomination. '
^y the way," continued Dr. Phue as he ^mno.K a
:rdV:ir ■■•' ""v-"'f" ''""^' --"--^ «
loreneaci and taking out his glasses adjusted them to his
-rtrhTar^rfstfnog^r ■■-"-'
I recognize the correctness of the report in the mu.n,"
GOD'S AA'OLVTED PHUE.
S53
Mid the oM man, " but-I may have nodded for a mnn.ent
--but rea.ly I do not recognize a portion of this record.
I should not hke to go before the Association with any
thing I could not verify."
" What is it you are in doubt about?"
"I do not know that I am exactly in doubt, but I do
not remember this portion of Brother Eastman's address
on that occasion. I was present, sir, as it was my duty to
be as a watchman in Zion. I must say I was much
moved by what he said. For the time, I am not sure I
did not wish his views might be correct. But though I
hstened carefully I did not observe that he made use of
these words which your stenographer has put into his
mouth:
"'I beg leave to conclude my remarks with an extract
from the Russian of Worsoff, that weirdly realistic poet of
to-day's woes and to-morrow's possibilities, which he en-
titles,—
TRUTH.
(BY J. H. T.)
There dwelt a maiden by a stream,
A flowing stream that sang and purled.
Till all the music in the world,
Seemed but a vague and empty dream.
And she was wondrous fair to tell ,
For countless subtle threais of .hought.
Into her perfect being wrought,
Stole on the senses like a spell.
" It is the stream," the Wise men said,
" Whose music makes the damsel fair ;
And curls the ripples of her hair.
And wakes the rhythm of her tread "
«3
I
M
i;' I
354 MCRrALE EASTMAX.
" h is the inaid," the children said,
" Whose beauty makes the waters purl,
And leap and laugh and dance and whirl.
And ripple in their mossy bed."
;; What does it all mean?" asked Kishu wonderingly.
I dont know as I am exactly ready to answer that
_ question, answered Dr. Phue, cautiously. " It is not per-
haps so very important what it means or whether it means
anythmg^ It does not seem so very reprehensible in
useit. Bat this is the point: who is Worsoff?"
" Worse off? "' asked Kishu.
" The author— the man who wrote those lines."
"I am sure I don't know."
"That is the very thing; neither does anybody else
Ive been through all the libraries and inquired this morn-
ing c. every one likely to know, and I am satisfied there
IS no sucn man and never has been."
"Well, what of that?"
"What of it? Well, I thought I would see about this
Worsoff-what he'd written; it might be worth while, in
the controversy before the Association, to know what sort
ot books the man was reading."
his'7acT'"" '^^"'"^"^ ^''^" ""'^'^ ^'^ interested look upon
"But if there never was any such writer, why then,"
said the old man, "then it becomes an untruth-a falsi
nood — don't you see? "
"Ah yes," said Mr. Kishu, while his little eyes twinkled
gieetully. It g.ves you a new string to your bow: if you
can t convict him of heresy, you catch him for lying]
Well, you can count on Lampson. He'll swear to what
he has writte;;."
"Then the Lord has delivered the enemy into my
GOD'S A.VO/.VTED PHVE.
355
hands," said the divine, with an upward glance and a warm
flush upon his cheeks.
The look of exultation 'upon the minister's face was un-
mistakable. He had engaged in the hunt after evil in
the conduct of the pastor of the Church of the Golden
Lihes, and counted everything fair in the warfare against
him.
Mr. Kishu realized this at once and said in the most
appreciative tones:
" Reall)-, Mr. Phue, your discernment amazes me.
Should the pulpit of the Golden Lilies ever again be va-
cant, as I trust it soon may be, we shall know where to
look for a man to fill it with honor."
" I beg your pardon, Brother Kishu," said the other,
"but it would not be proper for me to listen to any inti-
mation of that sort under the present circumstances. I
will do my duty to the Church, sir, not because it is for my
interest, but because it is my duty.''
He took his rusty hat from the table, bowed with grave
dignity and departed, thoroughly satisfied with the purity
of his purpose and the righteousness of the cause he had
espoused. He would have made a splendid Chief In-
quisitor—all the better, indeed, that his nature had in it
not a single spark of injustice or cruelty. He was fair
and honest in purpose, and would have scorned to take
what he deemed an undue advantage. Even as he walked
along the street, exulting in the triumph that awaited him,
it occurred to him that in justice he ought to give the
young minister warning of the bolt that was so soon to be
launched against him, and he set out at once in quest of
his proposed victim.
i li
U
%\
m
Rl>l
25^
MURVALE EASTMAN-,
ill
CHAPTER XXXII.
ULTRA VIRES.
storm?" *vuuiu well — raise a
'■ Among the ■ Socialists,' you mean ? "
.. B*":'" ""T^':^ «^= '° ''^fi" 'he limits of disapproval "
" Whom do you mean? "
n„l' ^^.'^ *"' ' *' J'-'u^S rainister in the first place-
one of the most eminently sensible me. I ever knew N«
What oirtrbr ;■"",'""' '^°=="'' p'^'^'" '° >--
wnat ought to be done, but is sure somethins-nrobablv
a good many things-onght to be attempted and thatte
.har± '7"^'"''""'=' ™''^' -" ^'in".>«e th t
hat make for human betterment. That's the stren«h of
h'S position. You cannot attack or denounce hm'ni"
so ma^v of „. ^'^ " ™ '''">''"8 "-e '^"^ which
exist. He only ,ns,sts that the Chnrch. which repres-nfs
.he rehgious force in society, should stimulate tl e so".^
UL TRA VIRES.
357
ie church
ther it is
etermine.
—raise a
pproval."
take up
dy taken
place —
w. Not
o know
irobably
that the
s forces
ngth of
If he
s in it,
5 which
ows to
resents
social,
economic, and political forces to devise and adopt meas-
ures that will steadily counteract these evils, and should
Itself lead, inspire, and pro;nulgate thought upon this sub-
ject. It is a tremendously strong position, Mr. Kishu.
One may antagonize the doctrine of a single-tax or of
'nationalism,' as it is called, as a remedy for these
things, on the ground that they are impracticable, absurd,
and all that, you know. But you can't say it is absurd
to try and keep on trying to find remedies for admitted
evils; and if the Church takes the position that it is her
duty to aid in such works without seeking to make them
tributary to her own special interests, it will greatly
strengthen both the Church and the movement."
"You seem to have a most exalted idea of this young
man. One would think you considered him a sort of
modern Luther," said Kishu, irritably.
"Not at all; he don't like to fight and has no stomach
for controversy. He is much more like Wesley, who,
though not so belligerent, was a much abler strategist as
well as a better tactician than Luther. The spread of
Luther's ideas, humanly speaking, was mainly due to the
political conditions of his time. He antagonized irre-
])arably the body whose evils he sought to correct.
Wesley, with a finer skill and wiser forecast, took from the
organization whose inefiiciency he perceived an element
she could neither benefit nor utilize, and not only created
out of that waste material a greater religious force
than the parent body, but did it without bloodshed, per-
secution, discrediting the source from which they came, o;-
making reconciliation impossible. He was a religious
diplomatist uf the finest quality as well as a reformer of
the most undoubted sincerity. The two qualities are sel-
dom united. The reformer generally sits down and
\ \n
i"
I'
35S
MUliVALE EASTMAN
howls about somethinc thaf k r^,,* t
maeis, .sually empioy? s t Z „°, f "'• ="' "'^ *P'°-
own advantage ra.hcr than for h ™'""« "'™ '^ '"'
only a man >W,o i, w I 1., "f '?'""""' "''"""=■ " '»
an i.lea-,o con d„ ?f "'^et Jnmself for the sake of
own ,„t„es.:-;"o" t^Z f "' 'fT "-" '"»
Wesley „ad the sagacity ^ol! ./..^'Tf^^.fila"'"™^'-
.-ermanently beneht mankind, he „„, ^ '™''"
mechanism es,,ecially adanted ,„ ' ^ "P"""'
•hem. He kn'ew, .oo,T f s Lfsr'":? "f ^'""^
bated, but its practices n /, ^'"^^'''^'^ ^-'^"rch he repro-
--as ^i::::i:z::zr'^::^- -"-
not of a new faith J,„f r.( • ^ ^^^ inventor
was we,, adapted ;; irtin,: "^ "'*°''^ "^"'»''' ""-->
We's^y," thef? ••"' '°™^ "'^"' =^-''"-' "■"' be a second
ho:;T: ;:,:■ -tenu;':: :::'J::^t '- '>"'"-•
as much as U'esley difTe e Lm -^ ""'■ ^""^ ''>'
Savonarola, by j,.st so „ „ Wl'dfe i;,' T "" '""
ern Christianity to new ,l..,- ^''° ^'"^ ■""*
from Wesley. He wi be I " ,""'' ""''" ^«"'=>' '"ler
he will no. seek to d troy „.tV".rr """«' ''""""^
seek to change the Cw'h "^ ""■ "= "■'" "«
trines. He n^L notV ? ^"' " '"''P'"' ^'^ doc
He wi„ simjrLT'b: :/: c:„rchiL"d "'"■°"'-
machinery which will Lr^. ■ , ''"''^^^ ^"^ devise new
-ntary I pe^^'co ^ tin ^ro^-r^^ '' ^"^P^^
^um.an conditions and -tZZll ' •" ^"''^'°^'"S
lution of the Chnstkr 7;'''"' "^ *^<^ extension and evo-
Christian idea, the assertion of the funda-
ULTRA VIRES.
' the diplo-
"en for liis
'are. It is
the sake of
r than his
le former,
as were to
a specific
Lnd apply
character
-^nt body,
doctrine,
he repro-
ds. The
inventor
d, which
I second
roducts,
And by
''^ri from
rs mod-
Y differ
)wever ;
vill not
ts doc-
-thods.
3e new
upple-
roving
i evo-
unda-
359
mental prmcple of Christianity as a force in human life
J hether Eastman will do this or not it is too soon to say
It IS a dizzy thing to expect. It will be done before
long, there is no doubt about that; and it will be a man
of this very type who will do it-bold, but not aggressive
suggestive rather than inventive, pliable and persistent'
rather than combative. His power will lie not so much in
original investigation as in the utilization of other men's
Ideas. He will be a mechanical inventor rather than a
philosophical investigator."
" You seem very confident about the matter "
" It IS a matter in regard to which one well may be con-
fident. What has been the intellectual training of the
past century? Methodical purely-the adaptation of
means to ends-the perfection of measures by which re-
sults may be accomplished. In mechanics, in govern-
ment in science, the constant inquiry has been, ' How may
specific results be obtained? ' Invention, adaptability of
means to ends, has become almost an instinct with us
Now we know that certain specific evils exist and are
growing daily more onerous and oppressive, and we know
this tendency toward remedial measures has been culti-
vated until every boy is an inventor. We know, too, that
the Church represents a great mass of moral sentiment
and desire for human welfare which has been separated by
certain tendencies from another mass of sentiment
equally desirous of improving hum..n conditions, but not
seeking them by the s.m^ methods, nor affected by the
same utimate consideration... Tlie unification, welding
coi^ohdation of these force=^ h die most important ne^i
of humanity to-day, and it is safe to .ay that a way to do
it will soon be discovered. It is merely an invention that
one can predict, because the conditions for it are evidently
^ --^
ifr
360
AfURVALE EASTA/AJV.
also be .hegreatt ^^^^r^T^^' '"' '''' "= -"
he will no. be recognised as eiflerfo T """'* *"
a. .ea., sine. .v„a,L ^n^:^^^ ::^i::2i:r
monization of existinc forr^^c: J -m . ^ ^ '''^'■•
which will combine and uHH^. f ' " ^"'"'^^^ ^ ^"'^^"^
and incongruous.' '^''"'^"^^ '"^'^^^^° ^^"^tile
"And yon expect Eastman to do this?"
ever knmvn with l.J "^" "">' ™^" I have
and Searind T^ lev'l'"' '"""i ■ "-"""^ "' ^'"^'S"
Should be done/and",,:: r;;'::^: '_^^- --fting
privilege, wMcrh^rtrerol?:'';'''™']'"^'^'''^^
He originated li.t.e, and .he n T^s or :L ,e did o"' "' "•
was of Jittle value- but 1,, .." °' ""at lie did originate
P-sing antagonists l^rin^e ^stT:;' T'
-n.s ivor. bar^onious, togetbet t^ldrint
exDe«"tn r ''"'' ^°" ''"' '"'^'' Phi'o^phic views. I shall
" ^°" ""' ''" disappointed, then," said the lawyer with
ULTRA VIRES.
• man who
?e; he will
ssible that
■nerations,
'nly a har-
a solvent
to hostile
far. He
'1 I have
Metziger
others —
own no-
but sub-
' doesn't
mething
s to at-
>niplish.
Position
'epend-
import-
editary
t of it.
iginate
of re-
!e ele-
mmon
r shall
yet!"
' with
36 r
no? 'T T ^ '^"^^^ '"'"""'^>' '"^^ "^y '^^"^ advantage
no for the benefit of the race. I live solelv on o lis
and study my prey that I n.ay not fail to take u. I have
^" Well, that depends; you are an old client "
^^ But you would not care whether I won or lost? "
^^ 1 care a great deal whether / win or lose "
"But for myself I mean."'
"Oh, you must look out for that. I will tell von fh.
probability and you must decide whether yoJi?'
the chances or not."
"And in this case?"
"I think you are likely to win the church, and wish the
devd would take it off your hands the next minut "
vou?"°" ,^7" ^J°^"^d '^'^ t:hristian Socialists, have
you? asked kishu with an uneasy laugh
Not yet," said the well-dressed lawyer, fleckinir from
h.s sleeve a speck of dust with the glove'he Si ."
l^and; no yet, s.r; being your counsel, I thought
rZ™."^'^^"^- ^— --case.o^r;
"You will!"
"Nothing less."
''^ What object can you have in doing so? "
Did you ever know me to be on the losing side-no
htical,,, I mean-or late in getting on the winning one' '
^ I don't know that I ever did."
"Just so; I don't remember that I ever saw myself in
that predicament either." ^
"And you think -"
fl
1 '1
H
M
36a
MrsRVALE EASTMAX.
'•OfcourseLimgoingonwitl, it."
GooX.-"" '"^ ""'^ ^^■^" "^ --«' before nigh,.
a .'illL^MtKi'l':,"""" '"'■^•" ''"'^<' "'"-'f <>"' -"h
CHAPTER XXXIII.
BEHOLD A PERrecr AND .,N up«,<,„ „^^,
Wilton Kishu felt denrp^c^ri ^ 4 j
-veil for a hard selfish ■ ^ ,' t^f "^^ '*"=''"'' Speed-
ed no. profest Ttj^^, ™" °' *^ 7''". "'■o
men as a wolf re^ank ?L f '^ '''«"''=<' °*«'-
wiehout any pretense of regird for ,h. f •"''™-'"'"''
l-.bs. He did only what" a" ,0.^ if °', "'!
ri.r::ri::'rv'""n«"-^^^
p^ntptitude for ■;„;::,;':„ ' ;r :;:::" ^^x \ '■^^
on his promptness and unrelenting "eeri," „"'"'''=''
sented always his own clients, no. ano. ,e"s ' If tf \T'
-r„,nedfron,lackofa,it,,ede,ay, was t'ttr
Hrj/o/.I) A PIIKFL
If the law chose to mak
business. H
CT AX/) AX
''/'•'^nulT MAX
363
e another pauper, it was not his
as
auieSS. H(i irie ,i„Ii; ^ , . — I— •! 'I Wets not
ion, ..rra:,rn';;r:.:r-!,' ?■"!." ---'''
aud
beyond ,„« ,„,„, ,,r: :;:;;r' «:", 'f '"T- •" "-^^^
sympathy or affection -m,) r i "^ "°^^''"g ^'-om
" practical " „an ^o 'To ""' '"'^"^'^ ^°- "^ "'-« a
^nt took advant ; f , e " "' ""'"^ ^^^ ^^ ^P-= "
^ "right" to do He\ 1 , ' ' ?'''"''""'^^'^^' ^' ^e had
as long as he re^ailVl hLT °rf^ ^^^^^-'^^ ^ ^'--
use for him, and he terminate wV f "'^' ^" ^^^ "«
^'-"ghtit to his o^::;: t'd" "" ^^'^'^^^^^^
never withdrew from a c ientt. ■ '"' ^^ '°"^^^' ^^
was a very high-tonTd n' ?v '"'""'^^^^'''^^''^^ ^V^, for he
took the c'ausfo7: pX;r;;o';v^^ -^^^^ ""^-
part of his duty to soften ^ '^'^* "^'■^^'t it any
undeservedly. '" ^''''''^' ^« °"e who suffered
Mr. Speedwell had been Wilfnn v ^. .
n^any years, ever since the dlv of h " '' '"'^"^>' ^°^
'"deed, Mr. Kishu counted it In / -^^ ''"'^'"^^ ^^S^"'
gacity that he had been one f he fitt'o"' ''' °^^" ^^^
appreciate the merits of ,1,. recognize and
I- - .rue, he had no „„ ^^rd"'', T T' ''"°"^^-
g«ion was concerned Z , " ""^ '^° '"' "" H"'-
had relied upon the lawver ?'" "™'''^'"'>at; '-ut he
and had never under alL! V '" "'"^ '° »™« i'.
advised him was"w<o,,r''" "'"''' ^''"''"=" b^d
^"■•ance men phrase it "' "'"■"^'^^'-dous, ' as in-
a..lt;rfd™e'""ret';\'°"r^ ''''-'^' - --^
«as weak and self-induLnf b!ri "'," ■" ''"""''^ ^>">
had contributed, even ire th^ ',"''?■; '"'"'""' <l"^'«'es
building up the busin s ^f f, ' '""'" ""'^^ '" '"=
could not have been est^Lld wXr'"'"^ " "''' "'
urn.
. n4
¥1 'I
R
'• tj
' n
^ut,
iice
364
A/CA'l'.U.E J-.ASTMA.V.
!
established, the more thrifty partner not only bewailed
h.s assorute's weakness, but threatened his remissness.
Once, after a deep debauch, amid .^he gloom and despond-
ency resulting therefrom, the partner had offered to sell
out. He dul not know the value of wl:at he proposed to
dispose of as well as Mr. Kishu; but the latter warilv de-
pressed lum still mv)re by dwelling on its contingencies
and habihties. The result was-it is not pleasant to tell
but It was lawful, and the best man can lot help his advan-
tage from another's weakness. Mr. Kishu's partner was
not drunk when he signed the contract of .sale; there were
plenty of witnesses to that. Mr. Speedwell, who drew the
papers, declared that he had never seen a more completely
sober man m his lit" It was true, too, but not the whole
truth. The brain, fl. soul, had not yet recovered from
the effects of the :]„i,..„oh, the man was not in a normal
condition. His brair- ./as diseased; he was not then ca-
pable of appreciating values or estimating prospects.
No matter; before the sun went down Mr. Kishu was
the owner; the former partner an employe. A few
months afterward he died in a debauch— " died in his
sms," Mr. Kishu declared with solemn horror. He was
very kind . , the bereft and impoverished family, and was
highly commended by all good people for his charity and
by all knowing ones for his sagacity. Mr. Speedwell had
assured hmi that the transaction was "perfectly legal"
and his opinion proved correct. This was Mr. Kishu's
first great venture.
The next one was made also on ' -"s attorney's advice-
but in this case the lawyer's opinion had not been so pos-
itive. ^
"It is possible that there may be an heir and possible
that he may not be estopped. The question is not clear
^l^UOLD A PERFECT AND AN Ui'J<IUHT MAN! 365
Of doubt and has never been decided; but if an heir should
appear, he wdl probably be poor; no capitalist wo,.M be
kely to back hnn, and I think you are perfer ^ •„
the course you propose. The legal and natu,. ,ances
are overwheln.ngly in favor of this view." Wilton Kis^u
^t:^tT "^ 7^"^' ,,a bought the .-Flatiro:
i ract, and secured options on other property in M,at
vianuy By the rapid enhancement of valueV n he
ne.ghborlK.od, he had becon.e one of the very rich .en
The former of these transactions had troubled Mr
Kishuagood deal; the attorney had never been qidt'
clear about Uie latter. Some curious feeling of doing rs-
mution for the former, had influenced Mr' Kishu t en
he filled out the strangely liberal check for his stenog"
phe t at .ornmg. He could not understand it hi
self. The partner's name had not been Lampson. Why
tor^egreHt "-^''"'""^"""'"^^ He beganalread^
In hke manner it seemed that the lawyer's conscious-
ness was przcked with apprehension that day, and he Zl
out o hxs usual course to make suggestions to a cZ
after havrngrecewei ositive instructions from him So
when Mr K.shu rang ins bell to inquire for his secretary
Thomas brought a note from Mr. Speedwell
" Where is Mr. Lampson, Thomas? "
" n^ not seen him since early tin's morning, sir. It's
l.kely he's off on a spree all by himself, if you haven-
sent him out. He was usin' his ..quirte livdy afterhe
the M r ] '^' ^'''''^'''' "^ '^' Commonwealth on
th t ephone, and let me know when you get him."
All right, sir."
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WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4503
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Mr. Kishu opened the note his man had handed him
and read:
" I do not know as you remember the fact that this
man Underwood claims to be an heir of oid Xim Valen-
tine. Perhaps that may make a difference in the matter
we spoke of this morning. Yours R S "
Though a cautious man, Mr. Kishu was a stubborn
one. He thought change an indication of weakness, and
was more than anything else afraid that people might
thmk hmi weak. This is the fallacy of most stubborn men
—indeed, it marks the line between firmness and stub>
bornness. He had long since ceased to fear old Val-
entine's heirs, first, because of the audacity long immu-
nity brings, and, secondly, because of the lawyer's very
clear statement of the infinitesimal chances against him
m the opinion rendered years before. He did not know
that the lawyer would never have stood upon the chances,
knowin#as the profession does how frail a dependence is
mere probability, and that all these years he had been
doubting as to the law. So Kishu wrote underneath the
lawyer's inquiry in the fine, clear characters his chubby
hand was accustomed to shape:
" I had not overlooked the fact. Go ahead," signed his
name, placed the note in another envelope, and directed
it to the lawyer.
It seemed a fine, brave thing to do, and he congratu-
lated himself upon his courage. Richard Speedwell might
think the world was going to change and the time at hand
when men and women would not consider money the true
measure of success. He might believe that Christian
Socialism would prevail; but Wilton Kishu did not. He
court. Even ,f h,s cause was just, he knew that f,,.,,,..
is a costly article to buy in the „,arket overt o an CT
can court, though honctiy .lispensed, a„,l giv " ^^
T- '"""'y ""'' "■■'!'<>« price." Lavvvers co't ,none
supposes ,n the poor when matche.l against the rich Z
reChietunt:;:: "■* -^ "°'' •""^""- -'-•
" Ive got the Commonwealth sir *' sai.l tk^
door of the private office. ''^'"'^ "^ ^''^
"Very well. Take this to Mr. Speedwell/'
The man bowed as he took the letter while his en,
ployer sauntered over to the.teIephone in the o er offi "
Hello! .e called, adjusting the instrument to his ea '
Another crackling splutter.
"Has Lampson been at the bank to-day? "
s, Jean::,:: :;;r'"' '''''- *- -^ "«'= ^-^p'-ive
"For how much?''
Another delay.
"Did he cash it?"
"What?"
"Got it certified, eh?"
More squeaks.
" So youVe paid it to the West E.A National? -
speech ■■'" "■"'"' "'^"'"^ "■'"'«"'- o, huntan
Ij
368
/J/ C'A- 1 'A I. E EA s TMA N.
" Oh, no," said Kishu speaking unblushingly to the un-
■ ^^;;"g ;'«ter; "nothing wrong, only if Lampson
had not cashed .t, I would have ,nade a bigger draft on
you^ to-day. I hardly expected .would gef around ::
"What?"
" Thank yoti ; it is only a matter of drawing two checks
The clocks were beginning to strike the hour of- three
as he hung up the instrument: yet he appeared in no
liaste, but sauntered carelessly toward the door It
seemed a curious thing to be alone here in his sumptu-
ous ofhce at th>s time of day. He knew that just beyond
he wall were a score of clerks at work upon his business;
but they never approached him unless sent for or brought
o him by Lampson, who was his universal intermediary
Where was Lampson? Had his dependent at length
broken away and defied him? Mr. Kish. led at the
thouglu. He did not fear his secretary. ,Vby should
he? He had never done any wrong, not a single unlaw-
ful act-or only one, at least, and oi" that his secretary
knew nothu^g. He could defy the closest scrutiny hil
skirts were clean. Yet he looked troubled
''Su;^-£vr;u;;,o.Smr' asked a persistent newsboy as
irr"!ardr ' '''"^'^" '^'"- " ^^" ^^°"-^^ ^'^^^
"Ten thousand dollars reward "-the very sum he had
los 1 he £re.,,^^ Sun was a sort of supplemental edition
o he Alonnn^ Breeze, and the magnate of the Uunder-
f'oU had as httle use for it; but he opened the door
dropped a penny into the boy's grimy hand, and received
the damp, clammy sheet, the very smell of which somehow
m:iMM^ '•«•«■, v.. .17, ^x r/y,v„7/ /•.,/.,.,,. 3,,
remimlal him of .l,e dead, as ],e carried i, in.o hk private
ere it was, sure enough:
room
Th
liJel'i^ :';«"';"™ Dollars R™«D._Ti,e S„ pub-
"•>.l es ,„ „s a.lvert,s„,.. columns to-day an offer tliat will
make ,„a„y a wearer of opals examine wkl, care the lam
ot good nek whu^h so often attaches to then, may in their
case be fnlfille.l. Ten thousand tlollars is offered or
t::^ ""! 'r" '" '"= "'--"^ "' - inter nt'g
1,1, I " ""' I"-°bable, from the description
at he gen, ,s worth one-half, perhaps not a qnar of
'l.at amount; but as the party offering this unpreceden ed
oX'tiLfirt"'^ '"' '° ""^ "---- '■'- i' H*
uoubt tut ,f the ge,n ,s ,„ existence it will be found
Itissaul to be ,n„que,a„,l a cast of the lettering is ,n
ex.stence so that in.position will be impossible. We klZ
rears'b; r'f" "" rr -' '"« -'-"---t tha ouT
reaoers, but fron, the fact '.hat advertisements referring
sut.o"e,l ri ' l'"l'"'-^°"'«"™^ in connection with a
supposed crn„e-we naturally infer that some indefatitra
be s euth.hou„d of justice is ho. upon the trail o some
bloody.hande(; malefactor."
Great ,lrops of sweat rolled off the palli.l face of Mr
^t;; Ms tr"' ^"" '"■ •'"- ""« •' = -^-^ p^-^ ' tt;
.hat :ari'o;;r::i:':r'el brtlr/'"^"^'-™'^ ™«> -^
«« 1 1 , ^ ^ *"^ ^^^^ s mercy! There was
no blood ^,on Ins hands. Souls do .,ot bleed. And he
1
370
^rCh'VALE KASTMAX,
had never killed anything more important than i soul
It IS not unlawful to kill souls-oh no' H. .n ^ f
punished-buttheshamel Could l^eve^XC
of men agam ,f his one unlawful act were kno.'.V Who
was th,s mysterious enemy that had dogged hi or years
U.K er a do.en d.fferent aliases? He htd nev r cL ed "
to find out; now he must know. Could it he r! \
Wa«j hi'c r.,.rK. ., ^"uiu It be Lampson?
Was his own money to pay for his own destruction?
CHAPTER XXXIV.
love's gildf.d headstone.
;'GooD.BY," said Frank Marsh, lifting his hat to Lilian
No thank you, I won't come in. I'm afraid the paternal
hasntmuch use for me, doesn't look kindly on me be
cause of a certain inherited impecuniosity. I say l!iv
>t wasn't for you I should be tempted to 4h he had n 'v'e
grown rich; or rather, if it wasn't for you I should n
care whether he were rich or poor " "^'^
■ me""'s2 Tt ''"' '" "'^'^ "'"'^ ^">- ^'ff— with
me said Lihan reproachfully. She let go of the knob
and sauntered on beside him. There was a soft fl
upon her cheek, but no trace of self-con^c ■ sn" H
;;^ her Old friend and it was Pleasant to b^:::::-.^:
''That's a fact," said the handsome young fellow lightly
I don t know of anybody I would ask to do a favfr fo;
me as soon as my old playmate. I suppose yo.'d eT^J
even ,f ,t cost you a-well, a diamond ring? "
i.orjrs cn.DF.n iieadsjoxe.
371
The girl laughed contentedly.
" I'd do my very best," she said.
The street was crowded and a little ripple of hurrying
passers-by separated them for a moment as she made this
reply. They were city-bred from childliood. and never
mmded such interruption: or rather, they felt that quiet
separation from the rest of the world which is nowhere so
complete as in the crowded streets of a great city.
"I don't doubt it," he said as they came together
agam. " Perhaps you would even get Lampson's place
for me if it were vacant.'
" Of course I would. Wouldn't that be splendid ' - she
exclaimed enthusiastically. "Papa would like you the
best in the world if he were only accpiainted with you."
"Just what I think," said Marsh with a shrug- "but
unfortunately he shows no special inclination to improve
his opportunities in that direction."
They were separated again, and after a moment passed
into a side street leading toward the office of the Breeze.
" By the way, Lily, speaking about rings, it seems to me
you have quit wearing some of yours, lately. What does
It mean?"
"Oh," said the girl dolefully, « I wish some one would
tell me what to do; I feel so bad."
"Have you broken with Mr. Eastman?" asked the
young man almost under his breath.
"I-yes-I suppose so. You see, papa-he insiste<l.
and— and "
" Do you love him, Lily? "
The girl did not look up, nor note the tremor in her
companion's voice.
" He is the best man in the world, and it hurts me so
to know that he suffers." she answered sorrowfully.
/I
372
MUKVAIJ- EASTMAX
( M
II
"But do you love him?"
She looked up at the tall Adonis by her side, and was
h,b arm 1 hey had never got over tl,e intin.acies of ,l,e
boy-an<i.g,rl per.cl. He di,l not answer.
., ,„" '"A'.' '''^ '""■""' ^"xi°"'ily. " What is it? ■•
I aJgri'te':'; ,:;;-"" '■°" '"" ^^' "'^' ■• ■' '"^ °- --s
eve?/""'? '','' "■'''" '"" '°"""<' ■"=•■■ "'1 Ws deep blue
eyes burned down .n.o hers with a flame that starTd
^'^' What do you mean? " she asked.
" That I am jiot your brother "
Her eyes fell beneath his ardent gaze, and a vivid flush
mantled neck and cheek. Instinctively she let go h s
arm and turned to go back. ^
"Lilian!" 'le exclaimed, catching her by the arm 'Mo
not be angry! I could not help it! '' ^ ''^ ^™' ^^
She did not reply, but walked slowly back, her ga.e still
cJowncast and the flush showing on her cheek
^'; You will at least say good-by ? " he pleaded.
You are going away?"
" I must."
^" You might wait— a while at least."
*^' Not now—I— I cannot afford it."
•• But you might get a-a better place ! "
^ Any other place is better for me nowl »
LOVE'S GILDIW IIEADSTOXE,
The exclamation seemed to escape her h'ps uncon
sciously. Ti,ey walked on a few steps farther
_ " Well good-by," he said resolutely, stopping and hold-
ing out h,s hand. She laid hers in it mecluuucaliy.
Good-by/' she said quickly, stealing a glance up at
him 1 he sun shone on his brown, clustering curl as
he stood uncovered. Then she cast down her eyes again
and walked quickly away. ^
"How handsome he is," she thought. '« What a pity' "
What ,t was that was pitiful she did not define even to
herself. Perhaps she did not know. Her head was bent
down and her cheeks burning; she only knew that she
was hurrying back to her father's office. She did not
nimd the people in the street, for she knew they were not
mmdmg her.
"Miss Lilian!"
resf "Lir^ '■" 'r: '" ^"'^^' '^'^^ -^>' ^°- brought
rest. She knew the face she would see before she looked
up; but she did look up fearlessly, gratefully
the'o'^ffiie.- ■ '^^^^'^^"-^--•^ Come with me do, to
it f'alTaf I ' '." """f °:; '" "" " ^'^ ^^"^^' -d ^hen let
It fall as he turned and walked beside her. They did not
speak until they reached the office door.
"Shall I call a carriage for you.? " he asked, anxiously
noting the pallor that had succeeded the flush
ve7kL''''"' '"" I -" -«t J^-e awhile. You are
She bowed and opened the door. He raised his hat
and walked on.
Thomas started to open the door of the private office
when 1.S employer's daughter entered, apologizing fo
his delinquency in not observing her approach.
> *
374
.yrKr,U.F. KASTMAX
I will sit here a little while.
"Never mind, 'I'homas.
Is IKi|);i very busy? "
"Sureho'sha,la deal „pon his hands the day Mr
Lanipson being gone.' ^'
" Where is i.anijjson?"
"Gone upon the diviPs own errand, ,„nra. Ifs n.csilf
on:::t,or:::r"'°''"°'''''"°'^'-^''---^"'
"His legs is a bit weak, ifs true, b„e his tongue's able
bod ed, n,un,, an' he can do a whole man's work or t„o
or three of 'en,, belike, an' ge, time for n,ischief n W
sense^as would take another man all his time tostud/out,
"^ What sort of mischief, Thomas? "
"Rhoimes an' the loike."
" You don't mean to sav that Mr r ,.
poetry." Lampson writes
" If ye call it poetry. Sure it's enough to set a man's
ha,r on md and n.ake bin, think the place is hauled
wngghn as ,f every bone in his body wa , broke or hon
pm down off his stool an' stampin' up an' down tl" fluTj
w.th h,s man', body an' boy's feet, a-ipoutin' of it ' IZl
.makes me o d afore me time a-watchin' uv him Look
fl me after he'd cut out, lavin' Mr. Kishu, dear man
S rei7 '' """'''"'^^= ''"" """"^'i all'by him":.".'
Sure , gave roe qu.te a start till I found he was safe "
"no'^m "",":;" " '""' °' P-'P" - he spoke. •
do/ \ ■ '-'''""• '■' '''"'' ^afe, the way yer fayther
does, ,n hts pnvate office there .hat no one can h Ir a
/.ones G//. /)/■:/> ///'.ADS/OXK.
ll.c clocks w=re s.r.kmg a. „sual. Lilian smilcl as .l,e
heard ,l,em, a„,l the,, wo,„lere.l wi.e.her Ihey were be-
g.nmng ,o strike .h„ „ex. l,„„r „r co„cl„di„g L chimes
of llie „„e last |,ast. As ,sl,e waited site glancetl a. the
raphy of the missing secretary,* these stanzas:
20.
And crescent Dian. stirred at last,
Slid in her shallop down the clouds ;
And all the buried dead, in shrouds'
Rose up, and came and stood aghast.
" Vast, serpent, swirling, sphere-sprite Gyres
I'-nwhecled round whirling worlds on high
In black, abysmal gulf of sky,
VVhipt down to quench their pristine fires
iS m^hX 1\ "^ "'" ""' ""' '">■ '" S« Kls poems pub.
^W miglu be .0 have them brought o„, a, translation, ••/,.»,/„
376
J/r/.'/-.//.A /wiSTAf.iA/.
aa.
" Anil luifrc siin-splnTi-s. c-nspaicd a rlccp,
And lodcsfono worlds far out \\\v ken
Of pulinjj, Kiiiit-sonlcd daws of men,
Swept down the empyrean steep.
23.
" Fierce Hedouin Hnixas, all wing-wcinl
With frin>r.-fret, (lame flal<es of the Devil,
I'orsook Ill's hellish, midni^jht revel—
Knycntled as a child afeard.
1
2-».
" And skoletons that sank to hjcaih
For atres 'neath the sea-salt Rioom
Of Ocean's ever-openinjj tomh,
Arose, and clambered U]) the beach."
They were evidently part of a longer poem. Lilian
shuddered a.s she reati the horribly grotesque fancies.
" He's mad," she said to herself, " mad as a March hare.
Yet there is a weird beauty in what he writes. But i)apa
really ought not to have him here ; he ought to have
Frank.-'
Her face burned with a hot blush as this thought
crossed her mind.
" Sure nobody would think ye were that pale ; I thought
ye was goiu' to faint a minute ago," said Thomas, as he
handed her a tiny goblet of water on a dainty tray.
The electric bell over Mr. Lampson's desk rang furi-
ously as he spoke.
"I must go to /ii»t now," said the man uneasily.
Lilian reached out her hand and taking the tray, sat
sippiag the water thoughtfully as the servant disappeared.
A messenger boy entered and stood looking about the
/.or/:'s iui.DEiy in.AnsroivK. 377
room when inforn.c.l that Mr. Kishu was ctiKagci. Then
he asked f.,r"(;oKKles." Lilian took his Look and re-
re.pte.l f.,r the message he had l.rought. Tl,e hoy saun-
tered out, paiisMig f„r ;t long look through the pohsherl
glass door at the fair hidyand ihe hixuri..us otiire I ilim
sm.led as she n,et his gaze fixed won.Ieringly upon her.
Slie like.l to he admired, even hy a street gamin. 8]ie
was glad her beauty gave pleasure. She remend.ered the
words of Murvale Kastman when he had told her that
heauty was a blessing whirl, should be used to give hap-
piness. She remembered his fare, too, as she had seen
It a few moments before, and forgot the boy looking in
at the window. What tenderness there was in it' Yet
there was a sa.lness too. fTer beauty had not brou-ht
////// pleasure; of that she was sure. Yet how noble and
chivalnc he was-not one word or look of reproach IFt-
was one of whose love any woman might be proud. And
he loved her. The memory of a dark stairway and a
cimgmg embrace rose before her mind. Then she thought
with strange perversity, how nire it would be if Frank
were in Lampson's place. He was .so perfectly charm-
ing in Ills manner and so handsome! Why could not
Murvale Eastman have been like him ? Then the blushes
rhased themselves over her cheek. She knew, now, thai
Frank Marsh loved her too. It seemed as if she had
always known it, if she had only thought about it She
was glad of it, too, but she did not love him; she was
sure of that, but blushed again as she assured herself of
It. Thomas came out and held open the door of the
private ofHce for her to enter. The bov who had left the
impress of his mouth and nose on the heavy plate glass
fell away from it like filings from a dead magnet, as .she
disappeared.
i !|
■f
il
37S
MUR VA LE EA S TMA.V.
Am t She a stunner? " he said to himself, and loitered
on his way, dreaming of the time when he would have
just such an office, and just such a wife as Lilian Kishu
Did you knowyou had a new secretary, papa? " asked
Lilian, handing him the message the boy had brought
and stoopmg at the same time to receive his kiss « I
mysdf '^''"'^''°" S°"^ ^"^ '"^ '^^^m^'^ for your message
"Has the boy gone?"
"He said there was no answer. Why don't you get
another secretary, papa?"
" I suppose I shall have to," said Mr. Kishu, glancing
over the message, with a look of satisfaction on his face
Do you want the place? I give you warning it will take
rare talent to fill it!"
"Oh, I would like it above all things," said Lilian, en-
thusiastically; "but, you bad papa," she added with a
pout, you never let me have what I want "
She had seated herself in a chair in front of him, and
her bantermg reproach was balm for t!ie troubles the day
had brought him. Wilton Kishu was literally "in love "
with his daughter. His wife had been in the background
ever smce Lilian had been large enough to be petted and
exhibited by her father. His wife had never been hi.
Ideal. She was well enough at the outset of his career
but her charms had faded before he had time to exult in
them He had risen into a higher level of societv, but he
could not take her with him. She was comely and could
carry off not unfittingly the rich dresses he provided: but
she seemed quite unable otherwise to adapt herself to
her new surroundings. In one sense she seemed to fill
her new position even better than her husband: but she
could not make herself at home in it; she hated to be
LOVK'S GILDED HEADSTOXE.
379
patronized and looked down upon. Her one ambition
had been to assert herself in some striking and notable
manner agamst these new associations which fretted her
with at least the fancied intimation of superiority. Be-
sides this she loved her husband with a devotion which
was absolutely self^annihilating except in one respect-^
she could not endure the thought that he should love an-
other better than .self. For this reason she had been
in a sense jealous of her daughter almost from her in-
fancy, and her favorite scheme of marrying Lilian to a
foreign prince had a double object: first, to enable her to
outshine the society to which she owed a sort of grudge-
and, second, to separate the daughter from her father'
leaving him solely to her own adulatory devotion There
was nothing cruel or unmotherly in this. She did nof
wish to wreck her daughter's happiness, but to secure her
own.
The fair girl's pouting complaint was as incense, there-
fore, to the enamored father. He loved her better than
himself, but he loved to be loved by her better than any-
thing else m the world. The keenest pangs he had felt
of late had been caused by the thought that he must cause
her suffering. Her sadness had been a constant reproach
to him, and now to find her in her accustomed teasing
caressing mood was the most exquisite pleasure
"As If there were anything I could refuse you," he said
with smihng reproachfulness. "I really believe I could
not do such a thing even for your own good "
^'1 Yet you would not let me have Lampson's place? "
^^ My dear, you know you do not want it."
" How long will he be away? "
" It is not likely he will ever return."
i i
Why not
3 "
38o
MUK VALE EA STMAX.
"Mercy! Did he steal it? "
"I gave it to him."
" Then why will he not return? "
reZ"' "P^""""^^ '""^ indulgence is more than he can
a t?l'e "^Th' T\" '"' '°''^'""'y- ^°^'^ ^^'^ «'^-nt for
nJred tl^em. ^"' ^^"'""^ ^ ''^'^-^°-' ^"^ -"^^-
^2 will be hard -to fill his place,'' said Lilian after a
difficulty.'' ^'''''°" '^ ^'"'^ '•esponsibility and not a little
" Why don't you get Frank Marsh ? "
Mr. Kishu started.
" Pshaw! he's not steady enough "
clorr'J. ''T ""Jt"' ^°" '"°" ''' '« i"^t as steady as a
clock. Besides, he's so cheerful and gentlemanly."
Too handsome, by all odds. He'd be falling in love
with my daughter first I knew." ^
crelT' Wen ''' ''"^"/r '^'P^ '^^"^P^^"^ Howdis-
ceet! Well, you needn't fear. Your daughter has other
plans for her future."
"Yes, I forgot; you are to marry .the prince."
Never!
" What do you mean, then ? "
"No matter. I have no more idea of marrying Frank
Marsh than Prince Moraydin, but I would likl to do n
old playmate a good turn and give my father a faithful
friend and servant at the same time."
"You speak very positively about this young man."
A girl in my position comes to know young men, if
/.ur/-rs c/i.DEn it'EADsroxK.
381
she has any sense at all," said Lilian quietly. "I'm not
a milkmaid."
"Let Wilton Kishu's daughter alone for finding out
what people are like," said the father proudly.
Lilian smiled; she knew her father's weakness.
"His father was my partner once," continued Kishu
with a twinge of remorse.
"And you ought to give him a chance to retrieve his
father s misfortune," said Lilian pointedly.
Wilton Kishu looked at his daughter keenly. She
knew the story of her father's rise, but gave no hint of
such knowledge in her artless gaze. She had taken off
her gloves and his eyes fell upon her hands crossed on her
lap. He had been wondering all day how he should get
the opal from her, without awakening suspicion. For
the first time he missed it from her finger.
"Where is your ring?" he asked anxiously, "the opal
I mean ? " ' '
" Did you think I would break with a lover and retain
his gift? " she asked with some haughtiness.
l^'But it was not his— only the setting, at least."
"He put it on my finger, and fastened it with a kiss,
too," said Lilian, casting down her eyes and showing signs'
of tears. ^
"And you gave it back to him, I suppose."
"I gave it to a friend of his."
"Very well; I'll make a bargain with you. If you'll
get me that ring, I'll let you name the secretary."
"At what salary? "
"Two thousand."
"You can afford to do better."
" Well, four, then."
" It's a bargain."
if
382
Mih^VAU. EASTMA.W
Lilian arose and leaning over the bark of the padded
oftce chair in which her father sat, kissed him again and
again, "
" But how will you get the ring? "
" You may not find it so easy.''
" I shall get it," she answered confidently
The father twisted himself around in the chair and
looked up at his daughter's face. It was smiling and tn-
umphant. ^ ^
II What makes you so sure? " he asked anxiously.
Because the man I rely on accomplishes what he un-
dertakes."
"And he is "
"Murvale Eastman. '
II Why do you think he will give it back to you? "
I expect to be his wife." Her face was set and firm.
You expect to marry him ! Marry Murvale Eastman !
Not much-not if I know myself. He is my enemy-my
worn enemy, and I have just got him in my clutch! Look
He spread the message she had brought before her. It
"Not the least doubt; no such poet as Worsoff ever
lived. It is a sheer fabrication-a lie out and out. God
'°^S-emm. G. A. Phue."
II Well, what does that mean? " Lilian asked.
" Why, he's a liar. Don't you see? "
"Who?"
" Eastman."
"Murvale Eastman'?"'
LOITS GILDED HEADSIOA-E. 383
"Of course."
Why, papu. you are crazy! Vou don't know the man.
Jle louldn't He! A lie is not possible to him ! "
" J>aii, ministers are human, and the Association knows
it! " he sneered. " You won't make them believe a grown
man cati't lie! "
" Who is this Worsoflf? "
" Wliy, don't you see? "' he replied earnestly. " He isn't
anybody. That's what's the matter. Eastman (juoted
him in his speech the other night, or pretended to, rather.
There's the report; and it turns out there isn't any such
man. It's a flam, you see; some of his own lingo dressed
up and packed off on the crowd as another man's poetry."
"Who made tiiis report?" asked Lilian, turning over
the pages.
" Why, Lampson, of course."
"And he's in Bermuda?"
" He has started, 1 suppose."
" Do you think any one will beheve this story? "
" Lampson is the best stenographer in the city."
" Do you think it will be believed? "
" Well, it will be apt to stick, anyhow; he can't disprove
it. What do you say now?"
"I shall marry Murvale Eastman!"
Lilian was very pale as she stuffed a paper into her
pocket, and began i)utting on her gloves; but she did not
quail before her father's wrathful eyes as he leaped to his
feet and exclaimed :
"I forbid it! 1 will disown you, disinherit you! "
" Father ! " said J ,ilian clasping her hand over his mouth,
"you don't know what you are saying! "
She leaned forward and whispered with hard, white lips
into his ear.
384
^nrRVAJJ: J:ASJMAX
a l^eap upon the chai iVh.^ h l^re r/^^'^^;' ^" '"
arms outspread u,.on the"lesk. '"'^'"''^ °". '''^
CHAPTKR XXXV.
AN UNRKASOXA,n.K COXSCeXCE.
"■ *^^^ ^'^actly crimina at all- h„t ,-f .. . ,
were no, uLla .f so L "' ""'" '"^"™"'"'-' ''"' "'ey
tors who destrovetl tl„ t!, ! ™n,pany of conspira-
of a g.eae ^:^^'::^ '^f^^' ^^ ^^
financial world swe, , „t ,! , '"^ convulsed ,he
and conden,„eV:;l ::/ :,„tr;':;" °! '^°-""=.
and the bitter struggle for da IvTe . ,"',"' P"""'*'
fill. Thev acted ,,„d A ■ '■ '^"' "'at ws law-
ened peoTle"" o," CtuTtlr"^^'' ^"'' ^" -^'«-
good men and women know , hi, 'r"' "'"'='"•''• ^H
a--.nesshea.a.Lx';;ir,r'CLrpr:tt
AJ<f i:vM/:.iSLW,tjtui coxsa/ixa-.
385
deal ,n deed, he used oflen to teil mth what anxietv
he waited the result. ^Vell he might, if the scheraehad
faded, he would liave been a i.auper
Mo"' ,'""', ''?" '""' °' ""= '"'■'="'"^' "' ^ raining company
00 who had ,.ed their power with reckless .Legard oj
"ght to squeeze a ,hn,e here and a penny tliere from
the.r employees. There was no crime in fhj If th'
men worked for them they must live in th comp n,
houses, buy a. the company's stores, abide byTe c"m
Pany s term.,, and pay the co.npany's prices. This isle
law of .lependency, the privilege „f the employer, he to
of Chnst,an c.vdi.ation. The Chris, would rathe a heca
omb of such weak sotds fell every year upon death and
weS'l:''"",''"? ™'^ ^"' .nrpoverished, «
weakened, and enslaved, than that the least tittle of the
own behoof and enjoyment .should fail. For the rich
man ,s the prop of civilization and the mainstay o CI ris
should be allowed to plunder at will, in order that he mav
disburse at his own good pleasure. ^
The company was administered on strialv K„.:„.
pnncples, the most proBt for the lea^t et '^ '"
rcure""m,. if"" r;' :°"'" *"' ^" °'" "°*'"s "s i"
t afe I, . "■" '"'7 «'"' "''' °f ■"°"'=y 'o make
Imt'in , 7 ""';?' "''^^'"""^ "'"' ™"l'' hardly pay
o put m good condition. If the miners did not choose
o work there, , hey could go ,0 some other min w
I e r:L r°o' 't ': '-'" ''-' ""'^^ -"' -°'
tne.r chances. One day there was a puff of white smoke
followed by black dust from the p.fs mouth! Thrare
3«6
.VCATA/.i: /-AJi-JMA.V,
forty-eight miners entoml.ed under a brown hill-top which
rises bleak and bare above tiieni like an eternal appeal to
. the justice of heaven. There was nothing unlawful about
that, though. However, Wilton Kishu never liked to
travel that way afterward. He urged liberality to the be-
reaved, and induced the company to give each widow five
hundred dollars and a year's lease of her house, on con-
dition that suit was not brought for damages. This was
good business. It would have taken much more to put
the mine m order, and the profit on a month's labor of
the husbands would pay the gratuity to the widows That
was busmess-/«7y/,/ business-joined with Christian
chanty!
But Mr. Kishu had o,ice done a wrong, an unlawful
wrong, for which his conscience had reproached him, and
which he knew would point the finger of scorn at him
forever should it become known. He thought it all over
as his head lay on his crossed arms upon the desk after
his daughter had whispered that word in his ear. It was
a foohsh word, which might mean little or much, but Mr
Kishu's conscience was very tender just at this time, and
the great financier and philanthropist shrank away from
the slender, white-faced daughter whom he loved so well
as if she were an avenging angel. '
It was a strange picture that swept before the blinded
self-accusing eyes, a picture that long antedated his fame
and the Church of the Golden Lilies. This was what he
saw:
He had just set up his carriage and was beginning to
be known as "the prosperous Mr. Kishu." None of his
great successes had yet been projected or, if projected,
had not been carried into execution. He had his eye on
certain outlying property which he thought would soon be
.4.\- L:V A' Z:.!. so. V, !/{/./■: COXSC/AXC/:'
387
in the way of improvement. It seemed to him certain
that a railroad uonlcl cm it in twain on tiic wav k, the
city sheart. Xo^v and then he was accustomed to go and
look It over. He had no doul.t as to its nitimate vah.e
and he was pretty sure no one else yet realized it ]uhI
then there was an opportunity to buy. It had recentlv
descended toheirs whowere of (hvergent interests, thou^h't
httle o future possil.ihnes, and wanted each his portion
in available fun.ls. There were two questions to be con-
sulered: how long before the transformation scene would
beg.n, and how to secure the money for the purchase?
He Jiad heard something that very day which convinced
him that the advance in price would not be long delayed
But the money? It did not require a great amount, only
.1>2,ooofor a first payment; but it was just that much
more than he had in hand, and he dared not strain his
credit. He had been obliged to borrow largely for his
legitimate business, and it would not do for a business man
to be regarded as a speculator in those days. At that time
speculation was not so general nor so highly esteemed as
now. If he could only raise a few hundred dollars he was
sure he could hold on until they ripened into thousands
He drove out one spring afternoon to examine the
property again. It was on the very outskirts of the city
which already thought itself great-beyond them, indeed
in what was still called the country. The way to it la^
through lanes in which poverty hides its squalor, where
filth and vice abound; the pens in which civilization prop-
agates cnme and disease.
As he passed through one of these, Mr. Ki^hu saw a
well-dressed child battling against the annoying assaults
Of a half-dozen hectoring gamins. She ran toward him
insmctively for protection. It was easy to see that .h*^
''I
388
'yL'/^r.ll.E EASTMAN.
m
wanted to go to "mamma " \vu ^""^"»ft'>. that she
she lived he couldlT • \ '""""^^ ^'^« ^'^ ^^^ere
'' "^ couJcl gather no informaMnn c;i, i i ,
pu.l,e,l over in the ,„u,| and her Z" a-'^ '"'""
found her they were as mca^ 'n 11':; .r" S e" ,'1
..!-. ).is :a„ .con so,,::!, h^^'irtr"""^ "- '-'
<;»„ no. and .hen a.T ^t h':^"J;:r::d' f ^",r"«
the firm, roun.I chin upon his I-,,, VZi , '?"'"'"«
the,,, and had of.en propos ,1 ;, " '"" "? ^''."*™
one. Mrs. Kishu did ,'o. Zl^tZ^'Tt "'
»he fel. i. so„,e,hi„g of a reproach Z Town chdd ""'
ness, as most won,en do R„, fk cinldless-
also. Mr. Kish„:™:edt';::rr!,r."M°''t-':^
preferred a boy. Mr Kish,, w,', a ^ ' . '• '^'''"'
hair, Mrs. Kishl preferrtdH," :^ Irbe^ 't
wondered as he look^rl of *u , • ^'^- -"^
-4.V UJVREASOXA/UJ. COXSC/KA'C/-:. 389
an inordinate jealousy of her lord and master. To her
apprehension he was a man of such marvelous qualities
hat she could not understand how any woman could fail
to worsh.p nn. Besides this, his manner was so Ihute -
ing and deferential. His husines.s, too. brought hi,a v^
contact w.th a great many of her se... She could not be-
heve that they all beheld his many attractions and es-
caped unscotched. Wilton Kishu was well aware of this
weakness of h.s wife. Perhaps he had half-unconsciously
encouraged ,t. Such suspicion is not altogether unpleas'
ant to some natures. Whether there was any ground for
)t or not u recurred to him at his time, and he sighed re-
gre fully as he admitted to himself the improbability that
a c . d havng the dark locks of the sleeping gi.l Luld
ever become an inmate of their household. Women are
so unreasonable!
Thus mused Mr. Kishu as he drove leisurely toward
the tract of and which in his mind's eye he saw covered
with stately buddings and worth fabulous sums per square
foot. As yet, it was only " acre-property," and not gener-
ally regarded as very valuable even under that name and
sty e. It was on the bank of a river. A ravine which
headed almost in the heart of the city ran through it, de-
bouching into the river. Opposite, another and a ijrger
tributary entered, whose arms stretched away back into
a region full of rough but unmeasured wealth, lumber
coa , iron, granite, the very thews and sinews of modern
civilization It was a bright, sparkling stream, cutting its
way through innumerable ledges of flinty rock, and offer-
ing along its banks the only available levels by whicli the
iron horse could reach the treasures for which commerce
was already beginning to yearn.
Mr. Kishu stopped his horse on the steep river bank
i%
l\\
J90
MUKV'AU- KASTMAX.
i-gi„a,io„ he could seclt^ sX' '^' '"'"• .'"
'lii-iiiii ilg on ll,e ,vi,„l ,„ ,1, . , ^ locoi,iot!v<;
iey. He did no o ,; „ ""'" ""' "">' "P "« val-
l."t when? That vl I "'"='^""'"'> "'ould be fnllilled ,
"-"' 1 Mdc was the (iii('><fir»ii w \ \ • ■,
'»onths,ayear, a decade? • " '" ? " ''"" ^'"^
was nothing on whi.h o I ''^ '■•^".''' "<'' t^""- There
What vvastL on !:,ch^^::;:-^;--- Nothing?
Kishu steppe<i behind son e si Lrt "i > '•'' ''T ' ''''
After a n,oment l,e madllT'''^''^^^^^^^^
^-if a mile awav, "ZXr^ ^^^^
mean? His heln 1' rn '' ""''°''^^- ^hat ,hd it
-..edd,a.,^M:eMr,:;;^:;-;;::^:r",-.=
".e city. U-ithi„ a l-e/ er to 'of'".! "?' ",' T '"'°
stood woul.l be bought ,„> ■ h '""'' "''"= '''
-uld be sure eo n^l ,' h.e ":,i:::,r "' '"^ 7""'^
rived from the location of the Z ,,"'«"' '° '>' <<«-
of .he route it would take He it if "^l '"'°™^"''"
must act quickly or lose his ctnce U . ^l ""! ""
c- a sharp «':::';; ii:ir;^;:---oo.brM,.
"^:'.er;ri:i::stiiirH^^^^^^^^^^
ills mind once made up, AVilton Ki<h,
^•^ompt and resoh.te action Th ''^''' ^ "'"^ °^
be done, and done at on e rail th! """ ^'"^ ^''"^^ ^°
'^c once . raise the money, get the title,
.-I.V
i .y A'/:. 1. SOX. I A-/./ co.v.sc//:.vc/i
and find the man to negotiate the right of
,V)i
vinred was lie of the n
started on a run across th
already teerrn'ng \vitli plans f
way. So con-
eccssity of pro.npt action that he
e iiarroNv foot hri.ige, his brain
,r ,,, -, I'''"'^ ^•"" eff^'f-ting his purpose,
"al -ay across he heard a s,:rean, which Orove ron his
n.nd a thought of profit. A hare-footed elf-like figu"
e.pcHl fro,n the carriage with the child in his arms and
r n towani the bushes that grew along tl.. nver bank.
Mr. k.shu was then a very vigorous n.an. lis life had
been active and when the foreman of a comp nv of work-
men, there had been few under himwho would have cared
to provoke hun to the exercise of his strength. A few
su'.ft steps brought him now almost within arm's-length
"f the young ruffian whose movements were oi.structed
in- the load he carried. His angry demean,, boded
<-.ondiga p.mishment for the disturber of the child's
slumber.
"IWt you touch me! I'll jump!" shriek d the
ragged freebooter, darting ot.t upon the extreme v, r^e of
a grassy point that jutted over the shelving bank. "
"What are you doing with that child?" asked h ishu
angrily, pausing two or three steps away.
"She ain-t yours; she's mine; ain't she, Sissy.^ T .ere
-there! he added soothingly, bnnging the crying c hild
around in front of him.
" Who are you? "
"Oh I ain't nobody: and she's my sister," grinned the
"oy. He was a ragged, impudent gamin, such as the cit> 's
slums breed by the thousand every year
;'Vou lie!" said Mr. Kishu. taking a step nearer.
Dont yer come no nigher. er I'll jump," exclaimed
he boy, spreading his feet far apart and crouching as if
to make good his words. Mr, Kishu reached
out his haad
I
392
■VrATA/./-: J-ASTMAX
and broke off a branch of witch-hazel from a bush .row-
ing near. ' fe'"*^
" What yer goin' ter do? " asked the boy, watching the
man draw the w,the through his hand, stripping off the
leaves and brandies.
"I'm going to whip yo„ within an inch of vour hfe if
"Better not try it, Mr. Kishu," answered the boy with
defiance m h,s tone. " T won't be whipped ner I won't
be tuck neither. She ain't yours any more ii she's mine
an you can t g,t her nor me neither, unless you pay thj
reward an promise not to ask no questions ner do me
no harm."
"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Kishu, seeing the
boys determination, and thinking it best to parley for
a while, at least. ^
"I know who she belongs to, an' they'll be offerin' a re-
ward an I 11 get it fer bringin' of her back, don't yer see > "
How much do you expect? "
" Wal, that depends, Now you've come into the busi-
ness I s pose ,t won't be much, m have to take her back "
be ore you set the bobbies on me. ]>erhaps ten or twenty
dollars— and her clothes."
"Her clothes! "
"Of course; it wouldn't do to hide her with them
clothes on, sa.d the precocious ruffian with a glance at
the dainty garments in which the child was arrayed
, You seem to understand the business," said the man
m astonishment.
"I've done something at it," ans>vered the boy coolly,
nell ,f I pay you ten dollars and agree to say noth-
ing, you 11 tell me where her people live? "
till
^t.y rxHEASOXABLE COXSCIE.VCE.
"An' her clothes, mister, don't forgit them I'll h,,..
'o dtvvy with my n,ates, an' we could'n't lose the™ '' ^
Well, how much for the clothes?" askerl fj,«
pretending to ac,t,iesce. In truth l,e wafm as ^Te
distance between himself and the child fhi.f . a
..r.ne:^rsJ;:rrrtid::^r^
«s better to overreach the young ruffian if he could
How, ,n,chfer the clothes?" asked the boy deliber-
a ly, holdmg the child out to inspect its apparel! " Wa
theyre^vuth tnore. but we'll take five dollars-five dols!
The sentence was never finished. The boy threw him-
self forward toward the man with a shriek of Lr !Id ^e
man launched himself downward toward the boy 'and gi,
chnguig to the witch-hazel bush all tl„v,„ ,.*^ "S'H.
;- the bank-all hut the .an^ l":;!;;!;:^--;^
tough sohdly-rooted shrub. After a n.on'ent he re p
peared, fl.ng,ng the girl upward on the sward. 1^.e .he
clambered up himself. He had lost his hat and Ul
:i:lfex:tr"V"^'M ^'"^^'" -^^-^^^ «-^ "-^-i
iTim It f "^ '"''"' '''^"^S and crept toward
him. Its face was scratched and bleeding. What had
tood had suddenly given way, and Mr. Kishu had barelv
managed to save the little girl. He had done this ate
-k oh. own life, too. There was nothing wrong
thi,. Indeed, it was an act little short of heroism and
he recalled with a distinct pang the feeling of com Len
^.d.t.at thrilled him as he ^
sward be.idc the sobbing child he had rescued from death,
;?
1 1
II
394
^n•RVALE EASTAfAX.
For what fate had she been reserved? Wilton Kishu
groaned as he thought it might have been better for the
winsome creature had she -been left to find death at the
foot of the precipice.
After a while he rose, brushed the dirt off his clothes
and holding fast by the bush, peered over the edge of the
bank. He could see the track of the little land-slide which
had just occurred, almost to the bottom. His hat was on •
the edge of the water several feet from the foot of the
bank, bottom upward, half-full of earth and stone... The
water looked deep just beyond it. He wondered wh t
had become of the boy, and called to him several times
There were some stunted trees and a few bushes near the
water, wbch had fallen from above from time to t me
He concluded that the young buccaneer had hidden among
these dunng l„s own struggle to regain the bank It
never occurred to him that he might be dead
starlT! "T'' "T^T" ^''"^ ''' "'^^^^^ his horse and
started o drive back to the city. T^ ^as quite dark and
the child was asleep before he reached the Hghted"
and no one noticed that the man in the shadow of he
carnage top was without a hat. He drove to his home
let himself in with his latch-key; gave the child to h!s
-fe, te hng her to take care of it and promising to r
turn and explain everything, seized a hat from the rack
drove to the stable where his horse was boarded, nd then
havmg become absorbed in the possibilities of h s new en-
terprise, rushed mto a restaurant, bolted a few mouthfuls
went to his office, and lighting the gas sat down Tptn t'
his home Turning up the gas, he went to his wife's bed-
room and began hastily packing a valise.
I shall have to be absent three or four days, perhaps
m>JV GIVIXG BLESSED THE GIVER
39:5
a week," he said in explana^.ion. "There isn't a minute
tojose. I ,.ust catch the twelve-o'clock train. If eve ;
hing turns out well, I shall n.ake n.ore in a fortnight th 'n
I ever have in a year before. Good-by "
He leaned over the bed and kissed his wife. His face
was flushed w.th exciten^ent, and his eyes burned with the
glow o anticipated triumph. His wife received h s ca!
ress with indifference.
"a!"thelt/ ^.V;';'^^'-t-tHat-child?" she asked.
^^ Oh the httle girl I brought home? How is she? "
wherdi;;::?^^';^^^^ ^°^: '-- ^-^-^- ^^-'^ ^^ she?
" Don't ask me now. I haven't time to explain Take
care of her-do what you please with her."
"What's her name?"
"I don't know."
"Wilton Kishu," said the wife, sitting up in bed to add
impressiveness to her words, "don't tr/to'decei e me I
know that is not true." '
"So much the better," answered the husband, willfully
or unconsciously misconstruing her words. "Send her
home If you know her. Good by' "
nar^'"' f ''k" 'T^ l""' ''°"^ ^°°^ ^^°^^ behind her de-
bater lar"s ^"' ""' '^^'^ "P"" '-^ P^"°- ^° -eP
\k
mil
14
Hi
r 8
CHAPTER XXXVI.
HOW GIVING BLESSES THE GIVER.
It was a month before Mr. Kishu returned to his home
As IS so often the case in business matters, the exig nd;
of lus new enterprise detained him longer than he .
'I
396
MUR VA LE EA STMAA\
pected. He had been hurried from point to point by the
imperative demands of the situation, but with the doLed
resolution which characterized him, he had never aban-
doned the project, and had at length succeeded. He had
. raised the money; had found every heir; had secured an
unimpeachable title, and negotiated the right of way with
the president of the company, upon terms sufficient to re-
imburse him for his investment even after the "divvy"
made with the official, and leave the rest of the property
clear profit. It was his first considerable real estate deal
He had always ^had a fancy_a sort of instinct-for such
operations, and this opened the way for the great Flat
iron Tract speculation, which first lifted him into the rank
of those requiring seven figures to express their wealth
How had he raised the money to carry out the deal?
This was a question many asked, a question neither his
book-keeper nor his banker cnuld answer. He was the
only one who knew. His bank account had not been
lessened by a dollar, and his name was on no unpaid note.
^atural]y enough, Mr. Kishu was happy when he returned
to his office and found that his business had progressed
satisfactorily in his absence. Yet when his clerk left him
alone at his desk, he trembled as he thought of the wron^
he had done-not with fear, but with a sort of blind grat-
itude for his escape. He was a man of an essentially re-
ligious nature, only his religion was colored by a supreme
selfishness, so that he thought nothing of the incongruity
of breathing a prayer of thankfulness, not for his escape
from temptation, but for having been preserved from the
consequences of the wrong by which he had profited. For
he had escaped— there was no doubt of that. All the
evidences of his evil act were here in his own hand
He took a paper box out of his pocket, removed a
/roir afvrxn plesses t//e giver.
bunch of pink-hued
397
cotton from it, and emptied out into
Ins hand a magnificent opal. How it flashed and glo>ved
and bm-ned in flickering, changeful iridescence as it lav
I'pon lus palm and the sun fell upon it through the win-
'low! He turned and closed the blind. It made him
nervous to think that any one mi^ht see the gem in his
possess.on Then he locked the door of his inner room',
lighted a lamp, took out a curious lead-colored trinket
from a drawer in his desk, touched a spring and opened
t, held a part of it over the flame of the lamp until a
black, frothy substance rose and bubbled over its edge
In tins he hid the opal, watched it cool, pressed ihe
black, crystallme cement back even with the sides, closed
the case, held it a moment over the flame, then placed it
in his pocket.
ti,r[^''?'" ^'' ""^'^ '° '""^''■''^' " ^ '^'^^ ^"y^^"^y t- prove
that has been out of its place. Now I will find it: owner
and return it. Perhaps he doesn't know what it contains
and would be glad to sell it."
Mr. Kishu's face beamed with satisfaction. He did
not know that in a city a hundred miles away, a man was
at tnat very moment filing away in a cabinet the two
pans of a wax impression of the gem just restored to its
place, and with it the name and address of Wilton Kishu
^\ If one of the things it is well enough to have a rec"
ord of said the dealer in gems. " It may be all ri^ht
and then again-well-one knows what he does kn^w'
T liere s no doubt that has been in the hands of more vhan
one of our people before now. Somehow, it seems as if
ought to know It-like an old friend, half-forgotten-but
I can t recall it. Anyhow, there is evidence that for thirty
days It was m my hands as security for two thousand dol-
lars. Perhaps some time it may come back. Gems are
ill
,?9'^
M UJi VA I.E EA S TA/A .V.
queer things; men and peoples die, but stones live on
toreyer. Cleopatra may have drunk her pearls, but I have
no doubt her diamonds are on some lady's fingers or in
some dealer's window to-day. A man able to cut his
name on one would be immortal. Of course, in a sense
the man who works and polishes a gem does that, and I
ought to know who cut this one, or at least when it was
done; but somehow I cannot fix it."
_ The pawnbroker was slipping the drawer into his cabinet
just as the successful speculator opened the door of his
office and called for the file of daily papers for the month
previous. Mr. Kishu always read the papers, and if not
at home when they came out, went carefully through them
on his return. That was the reason he always knew what
had occurred in the city.
He found many things to interest him in this file and
cut out a dozen slips which he placed in his pocketbook
One^was of "A Lost Child;" another offering a reward
for A Pewter or German Silver Trinket," of pecuhar
Shape. Another, an article moralizing on the fact that
not a trace of the lost child had been found, and that it
was now quite given up that she had been murdered.
The mother was almost insane over the mystery attach-
ing to the child's fate. The police of the city were se-
verely blamed. In two other cases, the child had been
returned under circumstances that indicated tne exist-
ence of an organized band of kidnappers in the city. Mr
Kishus heart warmed with satisfaction as he thought
what joy he would give to the bereaved parents when he
should return to them their lost darling. Perhaps in their
rapture they would ask him to retain the trinket as a
keepsake. Well-it would depend on circumstances what
he would do in that case. On the whole, he was well sat-
^
■
Uoir G/rrvG /u.ess/-s the given. ^^^f,
isfied with himself when he started homeward from his
office that afternoon. The good he intended to do quite
hid from view the wrong he had done, which indeed was
unmtentional— or nearly so.
His wife received him with strange fervor, thoimh there
was a tearful, pleading look about her eyes. She listened
to his apology for his prolonged absence with quiet re-
proachfulness. He had never been accustomed to con-
suit her in regard to his business transactions and did not
enter mto details now. He only told her of his success.
She answered his enthusiasm with a sigh. But when he
asked for the child he had brought home, he was greeted
with a flood of tears. At length, in response to his con-
tmued importunity, the outraged wife sprang to her feet
and said, shaking her trembling finger in his face:
" Wilton Kishu, don't you never mention that child to
meagain-never! Do you hear? I don't want to re-
proach you. I am willing to hide your shame, but if you
ever mentmn it again, I will kill myself! Do you see
that? She held toward him a little vial labeled « Strych-
nia. "I got It on purpose," she exclaimed, "and no
matter when it may be, now or twenty years from now if
you ever speak of that child, or so much as look at the
woman you have compromised yourself with so shame-
fully-that very day, Wilton Kishu, there will be an in-
quest in your house and the world will learn the cause of
my death ! "
The woman was almost insane in her tragic vehemence.
^ But, Mana " began the amazed husband.
Not another word ! " she interrupted. " I have taken
care of her-buried her! You will never find her-you
could not if you tried. But you need not fear; she will
be well looked after. I have taken care of that She
400
AfUJiVALE EAST^fAN.
■11 be well brought up, and never know that she Jiasanj.
tmgtobeashun.eclof. I have provided for her. I s o d
all my jewels to ra.se money to do it. I could not find
her myself, now; I don't know whe..> she is; but sh w
lone r T'? ''' "" '"'^ ^ ^'°°^^ ^--^' - ^^
norne. Is not that enough? "
f.l!'^"f'i^'"'~^°"~^~''^''" '^ ^ "^'^^^ke, Maria "
faltered the astounded man in real distress
" n?°?']?/?' '^°"''' " '"^^^^^^ '^'^ self-deceived wife
Do not add fa sehood to your-your-othersins. I hive
forg,venyou; but do not try to deceive me. I canno
bear .t, mdeec^ I cannot, Wilton. Just at this time, oo
Oh, If you had only known-I am sure you could no
nave been so cruel! "
She flung her arras about his neck, muttered some half-
aud.b e words, and hung moaning and weeping on h is
n s Suf '■ f"'"' '--'--"■-"ged ,o tender!
ness. Surprise and gralilication took tl,e place of the
row„ upon his brow, and his reproaches gave way ,o t
esses. Nevertheless, he slept very little that nigh', be.ng
troubled by the specter of the wrong he had doie^o?
w s ,t by apprehension of what might befall him if it were
d^coveredi. On the next morning when he went o , I
office he dropped in at his lawyer's, and while he wai d
took up a book on criminal law and read of larceny .r,„d
and petty, and then about kidnapping, I. gave Mm a
very uncomfortable sensation.
He thought of making a clean breast of it to the law-
yer; but ,t occurred to him that thirty days had e an ed
and no one had suspected him-wl,; L thirty S
Crrmes were not always found out, and if they were , he
statute 0, ,,m,.a,io„swas of.en a bar to punishment ' He
as«d some questions carelessly, ,o find out how long it
rfOV' Girixr, BLESSES THE CirVER. 40,
would he before the law n-oulcl shield him from the pen-
do what he could to make up for the harm lie haci done
Wou dT"?'/' '', '' '''' '° ^^'^ ^"^"''- ^° '--elf?
Would .t not be better to wait and take the chances of
disclosure? After all, he had really done no one any
hann; only events had conspired to n.ake him sc^Z
n.a le a ,,, ^e thought the matter over agair. and aga n
Yet h,s conscience was not easy. Sometimes he thought
e would compel Ins w,fe to disclose the whereabouts of
e chid, but he could not bring himself to imperil her
.fe by such excitement as he knew any recurrence to the
ubject woulc produce. So the days went by and his
eehng grew ess acute. Months passed, and then his
daughter was born. His conscience still disturbed him
but only at mtervals. '
After a time, he began to notice a face, which some-
how seemed fam.har, peering at him through the window
tive n T' " "°" '"'' '^'''' '""S'^* ^''s'^-t "f ^^ ^i--.n.-
truth flashed upon him. He ran out, caught the retreat-
ing figure, and dragged it back into the office
"Don'tsplit on me.mi.ter, don't! " shrieked the fright-
ened boy. "I didn't go to do the kid noharm-t-on
neither. I hadn't no more idee uv that l;ank givin' wav^
than you-not a biti I think I've been hit hard enough
•| I ain't goin' to, sir-Joe Lampson."
'We!l,^Joc, I can't make any promises in this matter
1^)1
40i
• f/rV,' /•.//./:• KASTMAK.
until you tell me all about it. You will have to tell me
who were with you in the kidnapping business, if you ex-
pect to get otf yourself."
"There wasn't nobody, mister; jes me alone. I had a
kind of cave there in the bank, just under the bushes, an"
I thought ,t would be a big thing to carry of5 a kid now
an then an brmg 'em back when a reward v.as offered.
Id read about it, an' it seemed easy enough to do. I
d.dn t low to hurt 'em, but just change their clothes, an'
take em back to their folks an' ask if them was their kids.
I d done It two or three times with little ones. I didn't
know how old this gal was, or I wouldn't ever have tried
It with her.
"How did you come to pitch q.on her, anyhow?"
Mr K.Shu wondered if the boy knew of tne trinket in
the child's hand.
"Can't tell; I never seed her till yo'u picked her up,
drove out close to my den, an' left her there asleep!
b pose twas just the chance that set me wild."
"You didn't know where she lived, then? "
" Hadn't the least idee, sir."
Mr. Kishu was silent, wondering what he had best do
m regard to this unconscious accomplice in his crime.
Didn t they find it, sir? " asked the boy in a hoarse
whisper.
"Find what?"
" The body, sir—the corpsus, you know? "
" You don't say the child was killed!" exclaimed the
man in assumed surprise and horror. «' I didn't know
"Must have been drownded," said the bov doggedly.
"Didn'tyouhear of it?" ' ^^ ^•
" I had all I could do to save myself, and when I man-
How an-ixc, nrrss/.s ////■: uiver. ^q^
aged to get up on the bank .n^ain, yon were gone I
thought you had hid the giri. It was about dark. an<l
when I got home I found I nnist go awav that very night
It was a month before I got back. I should have told
the pohce that night, but that would have kept me here
as a witness, and I thought you would take the girl home
after the fright you had received."
It was a very lame story which the rich man told to cover
up his own wrong, but the frightened lad did not notice
Its mconsistencies,
" I couldn't do nobody no harm ner good then, an' the
doctors says I never will no more. I was a-layin' down
there on the rocks with a broken back, I was. It wasn't
broke short off, but it won't never be no more use ter me,
the doctors says, ner my feet neither. I come to after a
while, but the gal wasn't there, ner you neither-only
your hat. I thought maybe you was drownded too, an' I
crawled out an' threw the hat in the river, so they wouldn't
accuse me of a hand in it, ye know. After a while I hoi-
lered to some folks comin' up the river in a boat, an' they
took me the horspital. When I seed you, I was a-hopin'
you'd saved the gal, too, though of course that wasn't
likely."
" What are you doing now.' "
"Nothin'; I can't never do nothin' no more."
" Poor boy! " said Mr. Kishu in real compassion.
The crippled gamin looked up in surprise, and then
twisted himself round in an easier position, resting on one
hand. The man stooped down, picked him up, and set
him m one of the chairs. Then he locked the office door
and walked back and forth a long time thinking what'
course he had better pursue.
"Can you read? " he asked at length, stopping before
the boy.
r/1
I
i
If
m
.)04
■yrR]-A[.E /'ASTA/AX.
I could, but the doctors says this ere hurt has i«
knocked my eyes aske.-, so I d luve to wear some s "
of glasses made fer 'em special, an" tain't very sure he/
;vork then I can see big things an' n.anage to g t a To '
•1-; street, but u's a.s n.uch by feehn' as by sight.'' '
Where are your parents?"
•'Don't know, sir," sullenly.
"Don't know?"
" Wal dad h..'s in fer crackin' a safe, and mam-she-s
dead -died o' drink, I s'pose."
" Mow do you e.\|)ert to live? "
"Same as others that can't work and don't have no
money— have to steal."
"Suppose I should put you where you would be treated
:::t:irr^^ --^'^-^ ^--c'M-ou could r In
^^An never tell on me? " asked the boy eagerly.
^^11 do the best I kin," said the boy stolidly.
I don t see that any good would result from havin^.
you imprisoned." "avmg
" It's a hangin' matter." The boy spoke with that posi-
t;;.ne. which familiarity w^
"Or hanged, either," continued Mr. Kishu.
^^^ ouldn t do a bit of good," rejoined the boy assent-
''On the other hand," resumed the man, "yon might
iJz::z:t"^^^-^"^^-^-----°--er^
fully' '''°'' ' "'^'''''" '"^"'^^^ '^'' ^"3-, not very hope-
"If you didn't I could inform on you at any time. I
t. has jes
ome sort
ire they'd
git along
in— she's
have no
2 treated
earn an
having
at posi-
jard to
assent-
might
error,
hope-
Je. I
I/Oiy GIVING BLESSES THE GIl'ER. 405
auppose you know the law never lets up on murder. One
never gets beyond tlie danger of prosecution "
"xVever?"
" Never."
"I believe I'd ruther take my medicine now an' be done
with it," said the boy, with a long breath.
"But I will never breathe a whisper in regard to it, if
you do nothing more of a criminal character."
"Wal— I'll try it," answered the boy dejectedly.
From that moment Wilton Kishu provided for the
crippled young law-breaker. He provided for him liber-
ally, too. All that skill could do for body and biain was
done for this vicious foundling, but he was never allowed
to forget that his benefactor held his lift^ in his hands.
When he left school, Mr. Kishu made him his clerk. He
gave liim fair wages and was outwardly considerate enough
df his feelings; but in a thousand ways he managed aImo° t
daily to convey to him a knowledge of the fact that he
was under espionage, and that any hour the a.x mi-ht
fall upon his neck. This was not the result of any In-
tended cruelty on the part cf the employer, who was
really much attached to the singular being whose varied
accomplishments had become almost essential to his com-
fort as well as his prosperity. It was only because Kishu's
own wrong made him a coward, and he feared more and
more, as the years went by, any connection of his name
with the almost forgotten tragedy which had made a happy
home desolate.
Out of these conditions had resulted "Goggles." Mr
Kishu was entitled to the credit he not Infrequently
hinted was his due: he had saved his clerk from a life of
crime.
f.i
'c li
I'll
I
4o6
."^rURVALE r-ASTMAX,
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE PRODUCT OK EVOLUTION,
on^o^l'^y^^^'T'' ''°"^^^* ^'' ^^^^^^^ Lilian Kishu
out of his life. Heart and brain had been of late too full
I/d /.°"'''"' '''' for the good and ills of others
had crowded out all thought of self. Day by day, he saw
he way opening before him in unexpected place' for hi
sowing ot seed which he trusted might yield'rich harvest!
hZt^ '"°'"'"^^ ""'^^ "'S*^*' ^^^'' ^"d hand were
busy m devising new plans and in doing new work. For
a time he tried to keep the Church and the League apart
to devote certain hours to each; but he soon fJund 'that
they overlapped and intermingled so that he could no
say where one ended and the other began. Both were
God s work each supplemental and necessary to the other.
The Church could not do the work of the League-
the League had no desire to assume the function of the
somTt .^"""^TT"" '^'' ''^^'' ^''''^ ^ ^'"^« harshly;
some zealous believers feared that the Church was no
getting Its share of the credit; some sensitive Leaguers
feared that the Church was monopolizing all the praife
This was to be expected. A is the habit of earthly
nicchanism to run dry and creak at the bearings, no mat
orVir ":.' ^i ""^"'^^ ^^ ^^^^^"•^' -^^-- 'h; shop l
forged m the brain, and the chief business of the one
having such machinery in charge is to oil the bearings
This IS, perhaps, especially true of wiiat may be termed
77//; PA'ODC-CT OF KVOl.UTIOX.
407
social enginery, whether religious or political, because in
this the levers and pulleys, shafts and bearings, are not
only more difficult of adjustment than the parts of a ma-
terial, machine, but each one is endowed with individuality
and is expected not merely to do its relative part of the
work, but to supply some portion of the motive power as
well. The ability to run such a machine and run it well
we call executive power. It is the same quality, whether
found in pastor or politician. The successful pastor would
always have made a successful politician. The intellect-
ual qualities of a good bishop and a great party leader
are identical. Both must be watchful of the bearings of
a great social machine, and both must be able to apply
the proper lubricant the instant friction is developed.
It is this executive quality that guides the world in the
march of progress. Invention and administration, the
power to adapt means to ends, and the capacity to ob-
serve routine and attend to detail, may accompany execu-
tive quality, but it is not always nor often that they do
Washington, Lincoln, and Grant were the great executive
minds of our history. Yet Washington was without in-
vention or adaptiveness ; Lincoln was impatient of rou-
tine; and detail was irksome to Grant. Each, however,
had in a supreme degree the executive quahty which in-
sures successful leadership. Washington remedied trouble-
some friction by casting the work on another part of the
machine; Lincoln, by a matchless skill in the balancing
of forces which made one hindrance supply the lubricant
that made another harmless; Grant secured harmony by
unhesitatmg removal of the cause of discord. All had
their enemies, but no one was ever able to foil them in
the great designs they had in charge.
TJic executive mind is not always pre-eminent in thq
■
:i I
^oS
MURVALE EASTMAN.
general esteem. Eloauenr*. ,.-,1^
•■-practicability, n.a^ oZ 'an" ab '"" "''"" '"'
The clamor of false pre ee'^^^ '' '" P°P"'-^'ty.
record of actual .^::^^r'^^Z ^^T""''' '''
ability is the power to subordina e a 1 of t "'''"'"'
forces of a man's ph.-.i, ^^'^ component
>r.bu,e each its full q„o,a of Lei " " '°"-
Murvale Eastman's mi„d >.a eS nleL?";'"" '"'■
qt.ali.y. Heledra.her.handi.e ; d Hi . r '" "^^
'o.u„ itself; a„d the credit for s su " " "™'''
gi-'en to the memhershin rathL ,1 .f ™"''"'"")'
League develohed a 1 ,7, " *' P^='°'- The
had he once drea'L''dt;L'd°i ^ : rrelTal-^f -^^'r
a true response ,o his „„•„ palio ate reg rd ' p? ,'";
not sought to analyze the woman he had foved a^d f1
none of that desire which affects sometin ,"
n-res, to possess her unw.n.rgirrr'JeSI^oT:
mess and
opularity.
idows the
executive
)mponent
•tter how
5 em con-
i-on end.
ve in its
1 seemed
generally
)r. The
iant and
I groove,
the un-
• How
'US both
he end,
ion had
he had
he scar
Frank
'■ lover,
an na-
which
which
before
ig but
e had
:i had
brave
of a
r//£ PRODUCT OF EVOLUTIOX.
409
Stronger indination on her part. He had given her up
because she had made it plain to him that he wa not
strued her language and demeanor. Strangely enough
he had not once thought he might suffer whe°n he should
see her giving to another the love she had denied to him
Heaven is often merciful in dividing our woes. He saw
It all when his eye fell upon them as they turned off the
crowded thoroughfare, and he had waited, unable to go
away, his eyes riveted upon them until Lilian returned
Instinctively he read the intensity of her emotion, InA
crossed the street to intercept herat the corner more from
a feeling of pity than from any conscious desire to meet
h,n; n,'/ "V^""°^-' °"'y ^ tender pity that impelled
h.m still to proffer kindness to the woman to whl he
had once hoped to devote all the days of his life; for
Muryale Eastman was one of those whose love did not
consist in the hope of enjoyment, but found its highel
While regretting that Lilian's inclination did not run
with his, It did not once occur to him to thwart it Hi^
ove could have but one purpose, her happiness. And
that happiness-he thought he saw clearly on what it de
pended So as she walked by his side an'd m.de up it
to'vhat h^^ '''^'^. ^"'"^^'"°^ ^''"S^^^- --I'ngy
to what she deemed her fate, he was wondering if any
so wht T "1 f' ^^' °' '^^ ^°^^ '^' -^^he^r, and if
so, what he could .0 to remove it. When she entered
^tlT'T "!r '^^'°''' ^°°"^ ""' ^'' F^-"k Marsh.
LVh ' f °"^^-^^"^^ «'-P"^^c at the rencontre, but sa-
luted him pleasantly as he passed down the stairs.
If
IH
4IO
MUHVALE EASTMAN.
cc >
' Take a seat," said Searle aft^r fN»
inc. "FxcMs^ „« ^' ^"^^ ^'^e customary greet-
.o look aXe" ' ""'"""• ^'°" »-'■ «»'' --ethi!;
stood open before hi,„ IT ™"'' I"S^°"-1'°1«
which a ,„ost ammiM ;■ f " '"'" ""'' ">= '""''"'v,
«i.ich he had et ced t"™;' '''"!'• "'^^ ""= '-- "'
i.a had .i>ro™,,e:.::,yr^:; :--!;« o-vhich
other furniture in the roo-n " ''^"^e^. There was no
learned that chairs Tnd^^ , "'"""'^'"^^ ^^^^°^ 1^^^
that his visito:s TouM^r t : ;^;rto s^t r -^^ '"^^"
stories were the form of ,.,^'^^^ *° ^'^ down. Short
-vhe„ he had .o^^:; .o , ^^LT' ^'V" I'T'
room were bare save fnr ' """^ • The walls of the
prints, the portraits" i'T! 'T""' '"'""""Kled
and above L desk a ,1? ' , '' """'"' * """'^-'e.
been the editors first Srf™" °' "" '"^° "'» l'*"
. '- own destructiotbu vh s:?rr'""°'r'',"™''S'«
-;c pertinacity. Seade ke^'aTov r;:;:"" '^"""'"■
engaged in the fir! si If'thT"' ""^''^""- "= ''-
determining what mighT ° i sT "f ■'"'<"'-i'">&
ward he woSid determtl ^,h ,' I °' "«'" '"'"^ ^"^'••
^'---.more=;tZ^r~^^^^^
THE PRODUCT OF EVOL
UTIO,\
411
available .na.L, 'a^dM ^J "^r^ -^««f- "'
bel old^ ^» '^ '"""'"^ 'I""" "'conceivable to the
I'lace ,„ ilic next morninc's <lisl, r,f „ ' ,° , '" » '° "=
-n-ed ,0 >he reader, of t.e ^^^^ '"" ""? '° "=
a ceaseless s.rea.a, it see ,el ^th r' TT' '■""' ""''
waiting to ask questions, make suggestions or r.n
orders 9fili fi^^ r^ , "bfecbuons, or rece ve
fuller consideratio," """ '""■' ''='^''' ^^ " '"^
tense mental effor " m "^ ■"'"'''"Bed and in-
5= :is *":5=s»-,=is
Other,
by which men testify the highest
^a
\ ti
esteem for each
412
MURVALE EASTMA.W
cunousiy, b„. with evident a,l„,ira.io„ i„ hit tone H"'
power ,0 perform the feat he had witnessed! ' '"
iNoandyes," answered the other wifi,
^ng up one of the slips he had thrn "" '""''"' ^'^^'
it unnatural to talk withn T u" '"^'' "' ^^ ^^^^^^^^^
-herihard,^l:;::;;i;n^
what IS in them and have a prettv fTir , - """^
pa,ea„j, ,,,,„„„ j;:t^,;-^^
.hit:: ^LTi::f lo'.'':^:*;"- r-^'^- "^ ^'-^^
complishin. certai7rl ,1,' " "'' """''"'' "' =>=-
capa^it, .o°d:r: > roiL™: :■:;■ d'"= ^r-"- -
ble. Of course T tn« °^"™se be deemed mipossi-
-.pi-e^eCziro^rh^nfrLrs::::!,--"
^^He .coped and took a „„™p,ed sheei fton, the waste
" Look at that, now," he continued. " U'ouH vo„
the man who made those marts had read i ' " '°" '^^
"Sen'reT'ir'^lnrr:?" "^^'"'^"' ^" ="■"-•
the order of statement . ?"', "'"''"'"^ ehminated,
"orphosed:;;. WtT s:me"f "' *= '"""'^ "™« -'-
more attention to that Idftl T *"' ^ P^''' ^"^
you have seen s s imnlt n "" '° *= "'^ers. What
aa.> newspaperiiriitrwhrn:^::: :™"'- ^
aeveiops m its greatest perfection
you have
Eastman,
e, of the
lile, pick-
lie found
nds, "or
I know
at every
1."
ive read
strange
'f of ac-
erates a
mpossi-
was in
J waste
ou say
rprise.
nated,
meta-
way,"
d any
What
ling a
come
lly \n
ction
Tfm PRODUCT OF F.rO/.Cr/OA: 4,^
the faculty of instant deci^on as to the thing in hand I
saw those m.takes of form-newspaper form me.n
no nee s,rdy what would be termed litera y or T^
^y the tmie I had reached the end I concluded the thinl
was not worth the space it would require, and so « ki 1 d '
U without a moment's hesitation."
;; But I do not see how you can read so fast."
Nor do I. In fact I am not sure I do read in the
sense you use thp tfrm ti, ' ^"^
r,rr.f, ' 7 ^''"^ ^" *>-°'es of .iicn in the
profess.on who can do such work faster than I. When !
was „r college I was a favorite with a professor who ,™
ThUt ts' Me.ratorras'i.t::"""'''' *^ ■""■"
T 1,0, c. , ".uboro, as ]t were, a page at a elance
eJ: •':;""='■' ""= "■.«'" -^^ --. '-fugh I Idl;
Deneve it then. Certain it is, that where I used to see
or apprehend rather, only word by word and 1 „e ly I ne
1 nes ara",'" '""T '" "" "'°"8'" ^>' -"'ences-se ai
taes a a time, perhaps. I cannot tell how it is done
frequent experience with persons in such positions."
,Jr '"'" '° '^" -d -ad « the same time, ,00, I
"Not to any e.xent," answered Seaiie. "I no doubt
ror some men both ,n ancient and modern times I off^n
cont^noe to read while people talk to me, because I k ow
wha they are gomg to say, or catch it by scraps as thev
h^Idttlf:.. "ZT''^ ' ''-' '- -^ cafchesTords td'
th m like the wax on the receiving cvlinder of the
graph, uatU the mind gets leisure to consider them
ph
4t4
ifVRl-ALE EASTMAK.
In th,u way, I see,,, „f,o„ ,„ k„„>, „.,„( ^
fore,„a„ i,as been saying fo,- q„i,e a .,„,e d Ig Ih c
have been .n,e,uly engage.I wi.h the •nu.ter' I a'^e a ,
m, g. C,„-,o.,sIy enougl,, I do not see bn, ,ha. wl,a 3 Ho"e"
"Id i " ,r.'=r ^'^-" '-^ - 8°°<i as any of n.y oti "
__ Ad ■ ,i ,s, too, common in the profession? ••
1 tlunk almost universal."'
"Did you ever tliinl; anything about the heritahilitv „f
such quah,ies-wha. wii, be .■; effect I o , ' ' l!
hterary capacty and special literary training on the ^t":;
"More than once," ans.vered Searle with enthusiasm
A pnnter s cWd ,nay almost be said to be born ■ " fte
"se. L,ke all engrossing occupations, the constant ex
erc,se of the faculty of reading and writing leaves anine
r d,ca le uupress on the offspring. Most'of the chMren
of to day are born with an aptitude for alphabetic form"
and verba sy„,bols which >vas unheard of fifty y J™
Why shoud tt not be so? The laborer of to-day reads
more v.,rds .„ a year than the professional man fV^en
«at,on ago; and the business or professional man of to
day rece.ves more ideas, from written or printed page- l^n
a year than his grandfather could have received i^iu"
he It cannot be otherwise. You will find a lawyer a
banker, or a merchant reading two or three newspapers' a
day and receiving and answering letters, telegrams and
telephone messages, exceeding i„ „„mber and va;ie"y
every day, the inquiries one in like circumstances wS
have been called upon to answer in a month or perh™" a
year, only one life-time ago." Pemaps a
"We shall have editor's, reporters, an<I the like born
ready-made after a little, then, I suppose " said f!=,
with a smile. -uppose, said Eastman
THE PRODUCT or EVOLUTTOX
4«5
"VVe are not so far from it now as you miglit tliink "
wa, the reply. "You know Goggles, of course, Air.
K!shu s private secretary ? "
"Mr Lampson, you mean?" said the minister re-
provingly.
"Well, yes,-' laughed Searle, "if you choose to call
mm that— It is his company name."
"Is it not his real name?"
"It was not his father's name nor his mother's either
or that matter. But that is of no consequence. H,^
father was one of the most brilliant men that ever lived
a slave of appetite but a genius. At that time-when he
was young, I mean-there seems to have been a notion
that brilliancy and dissipation were inseparable. Genius
appears to have been regarded as a sort of mental distor-
tion which of necessity implied moral obliquity. This
was the tone of the epoch of Byron, Keats, and Shelley
whose lives are a sea of blackness from which we regre;'
fuLy pick out gems of thought which, do what we may, it
js hard to dissociate from their origin. Coleridge and De
Quincey illustrate another phase of the same idea. Car-
lyle, the cowardliest of braggarts, with his dog's heart and
envenomed tongue, was still another product of this ideal
More than one of our great Americans of the epoch jusi
precedmg our civil war illustrate my thought This idea
s still the rnuch-vaunted theory which impels Gallic genius
to boast of excesses, and is to some extent the excusa-
tory principle of English and American life. Great wealth
and high station are accepted as the evidence of great
powers and the excuse for great excesses. I do not know
that It is any more fallacious now than heretofore, but we
are learning that, after all, it is the healthy mind which
does and has always done the best work. Almost every.
II
4i6
MUHVA/.E /-ASTA/AA'.
Iliii
body now admits that work an. I ti,,. .,i i
pnn,e essen.ials of .„e ^.t, ^ZZ "n "'■ ""
nalist of to-day can scarr^lv n. . '^''^"'*^"*- '^'e joiir-
reputation if affectTcl viT^^^^^^^ ^" ^J^'^^^"^----'
deemed almost lint L,- ^ "^ "h'^^' 'T'''
them after he has reached ll , "« may develop
'ac. .ha, „e ..ev„ losefco.rat /:[ al'^ X^ " '"=
Lampson's father was nnp of ,u •'^cuines.
whom .he exigencies oTe;a,;,el.rrrr'''''' ""
seem lo have genera.ed ^7'^ 7' ''""nournalism
P"- of hi, „aL a d po Jtlenlrt* '"' "" ™-
pa.sion, fi,e, absorbing^ani y a„d uL"'"'h " "" °'
My iife overlapped hfs bu. ^ ^e ' '^f a"!;:'';
s.-g.h heit:id™rp of;: .Tmreir H^f'i ^-^
par.ners, one a weak, genia'l man wh oTo .ped , ': VT
-Xh:i:rhr;;:r:3e:tr-^"'"
sible fellow who managed !;/.'' ^ '"'°"''^' P'""-
*i , ir.anaged the busmess. and~wpi) i^^*
them to look out for themselves. ^"^-well, left
"No one knows just how it happened hnton« ^ t
son's fa her withdrew from ., ;^^"^"' ^"*""e ^^^7 Lamp,
other dailv H. i T.u '^^ ^"^ established an-
-ojL„-r;rhr;aT/rrhld';;
tell. He was one of those men who supplied by their in
dividual rc^oiirrpc th^ *i • , • , i^F"<^i' ^y rneir m-
THE r^on rrr or rvon- rro v
office, and dasl, ,t off, not word for word, ., .. ...k-, Inu
far better than a mere verbal report, preserving all its ex-
cellences, el.mmating its defects, and yet veraciously re-
aming the speaker's style, reproducing indeed, as no ver-
bal report can, not only the speech, but its effect upon the
hearer as well. '
"One of the fruits of this man's moral obliquities was
tha strange creature, ' Goggles.' Of course, he is illegit-
r.';, ^IT^'' "^^-^ magnificent beast. She died
when the child was a year or two old, and the father pro-
cured a family named Lampson to adopt it. They were
not much better than the mother. Joe was a notably
hard case among the little « vags ' of a low suburb. When
he was about twelve or fourteen, something hap,,ened to
him and the next that Ws known of him, Wilton Kishu
was his benefactor and-master ! The ' old man ' set me
to finding out what it is that holds them together, when I
first took up reporting, but I could never solve the riddle
Now what I wanted to say, though I have taken a
long while to get to it, is that this man is a born reporter
He w:ll carry three thousand words in his head and hardly
miss one m running them oflf. He is an expert stenog-
rapher, ,t is true, but he hardly needs any aid from sym-
bols. He will sit and dream or scribble verse, during the
delivery of a speech, and then run it off verbatim on his
ype-writer afterward, just as well as if he had followed it
wi h his pencil He is much more than a reporter, too.
He IS a writer of peculiar power and a poet- whose verses
are never printed. He signs them ' Worsoff the Russian '
beca,3e of their weird, pessimistic character fnd a^^
because, as he grimly says, no Russian ever f/wuc/ahim-
self worse off than he is. Not a bad hit .t p
bidness, eh? " '"^ ^' ^"''^^'^ '"°^-
37
M
4i^
KrUfiVALP. t^ASTMAS*.
The two men laughed pleasantly.
he'i,o.?-'"l;f',°r"" """'"" '""" "'' f"*". '00, doe,
nenot;' asked Eastman.
nrn^hl" ""'"/ "'';^''"" '^'^''^ ^ ^''^"'^ '^ink so, pain
probably, perhaps fear, is the cause of that "
"Fear?"
"Yes; he is mortally afraid of Kishu."
"Why should that be?"
"Give it up!"
"The-other partner's son-young Marsh?" said F.st-
man suggestively. ^
"Just like his father-too honorable to succeed but as
true as steeU^d not without ability. Heisagrea't favor,
ite m the office, and we shall be sorry to lose him "
Lose him— how?"
"He has just resigned."
"Going elsewhere?"
"San Francisco."
"I am surprised,"
" So was I," said Searle significantly.
"Why is he leaving?"
"Shall I tell you?" asked Searle with a sharp glance
at his companion. ' giance
the'eye^"" "''"''" '"'"''"^ '^' "^"^'"''^ ^°^^'"g ^im in
"He is \n love with— with Lilian Kishu "
"Well?"
^_ Ea^stman's tone was firm, but there was a quiver about
^w^l *^'"!!' '^^ ^v'shes-feels-that is-he does not
thmk he ought to remain, you see."
h Jd,'- 'f l-7^'^,^^''t°^ '-^^ clasping and unclasping his
hands m helpless bewilderment as he spoke.
wttrntm^amimimUmBiik
/,v Tirr. nairr or runuc rA.\tR.
4!g
*' I unilcrstand," saiil the uihcr, turning liis head away
and looking steadily out of the window. Presently he
added in a low, even voice:
"Tell him he would better — stay."
There was a moment's silence. The minister con-
tinued looking out of the window; the editor brushed his
hand across his eyes, turned his chair toward the desk,
and put a slip of paper in one of the pigeon-holes. East-
man rose and put on his hat, drawing it down so as to
hide his eyes. Stearns rose also. The silence seemed
unnatural and oppressive in the midst of so much life.
They heard the throL of the engine in the basement, the
tinkle of the car-bell on the street below.
"You are— sure?" asked Searle wistfully.
" Sure, quite sure," answered the other firmly, looking
around with a white, hard face.
P reache 1 out his hand and took the other's in a
strong, firm clasp. His lips worked tremulously, but
uttered no sound. Murvale Eastman went out into the
sunshine; the editor looked after him a moment and then
turned again to his desk.
i.il
m
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
i
IN THE LIGHT OF PUBLIC FAME.
How the world hurries in this wonderful age, when dec-
ades stand for centuries and ages are crowded into a
life-time! While we pause to count the heart's beating,
events haooen that change the world's history. And the
i-
420
•'^fURVALE /-ASTAfAAr.
daily press— it chronicles them all <:m.li a
won,,, and „„.„„„„ ,„, , a 7.. t^^^ Z'Z'''
Jt best. The press chronicles what it deems the m„«
■mportan. happenings with a certain accur c!- b« who
takes little note, no more than history, which is ahvav,
the leanest part of tnuh, concernea chiefl; witl happe „'
Ye '^:r.? if •'"/•■^r '""- "■^' "= "p°n -^eT: :
ll. o fe. Atlri^sT" "r ":"^'" -^ » ^'=-
e.p..s.„ of .:.';:' si^a: I It ro?ir
rr,:d;:r;;:s::dTe:frrsr"^'^"
-rytofii, ont the ™pty",stT„d°'e r'^ridT;
oomprehend the truth of yesterday's experi cr Th
-s why fiction outranks history as a truth-teller Ta
eaches lessons of wisdom which phLoIy sl^'es' '
- without Its aid to impress upon the huma'n m d "
« the privilege of the novelist, not merely to relate th.
IN THE LIGHT OF PUBLIC FAME.
421
EDITORIAL EXTRACT NO. I.
The offer of ten thousand dollars reward for an opal of peculiar
character which has appeared in our advertising columns for several
days is withdrawn, and the parties making it authorize the statement
that they not only have the stone in their posi-ession, but have abund-
ant proof as to whose possession it has been in during every moment
for the last two hundred years except one single day. During that
time there was a change of possession, the real character of which
has not yet been determined, but cannot long be delayed. No better
evidence of the value of advertising could be imagined than this ; it
not only discovered the gem, but revealed every link in its history.
\Vhat the life-drama connected with it is we know not, but we fancy
the public has not yet heard the last of this fateful gem.
EDITORIAL EXTRACT NO. 2.
The action brought some time ago against the city for the recovery
of Garden Square and other property embraced in the will of the cel-
ebrated patriot and scientist, Daniel Ximenes Valentine, was yester-
day determined in favor of the plaintiff, Mr. Jonas Underwood, by
adjustment. There has been from the first no question as to Mr.
Underwood's right of recovery. The proof of descent from the
donor was, unfortunately for the city, quite as clear as the evidence
that the conditions of the grant had been violated. The press of the
city has repeatedly called attention to this violation by which a highly
remunerative property as well as one of the finest parks in the city
has been forfeited. A considerable sum was saved to the city by the
terms of the compromise, and it is hoped that inducements will be
offered sufficient to secure the continuance of this unique park. Its
value for building purposes is, however, immense, as it is perhaps,
all things considered, the best location in the city. The city ought
to secure it even if part of it is used for some kind of a public build-
ing.
It is a singular fact that the opal spoken of in these columns a
few days ago was an heirloom in the family of Daniel Ximenes Val-
entine, who were Jewish Christians of Valladolid in the fifteenth
century and believed to have been akin to Abrabamel, who was
descended from the House of David, and so bravely withstood the
Grand Inquisitor Torqueauda two days before Columbus sailed to
if
423
MURVALE EASTMA.W
.o a Jewish Chris,.:',fr;i„ h ^ ::t "'' 1° '"•; '*"«="
tradition. The work unon ;^ ^"^^t century ; such, indeed is the
sumabl, intended t^X^J::^^^^-^^ ^ ^ P-
to have been tal.en as family inU^;J^^''T''' ^"^^ '^"^^^ ^PP^^r
This seems to be the more n. h, ' ^ ^^' '" '"""'^ Persecution,
eldest son of the ml „ Te h^ .f ' '' ^°'' ""^"^ generations the
description of the "^ ^ "^^^^^^ """^?"- ^ ^""
the great scientist, which were exam neV """."^ "" ^'^^^^ °^
obtained for that purpose. seems here h" Tk "''" ^^' '^^ ^°""
standing between him and hi dauXe u^', h " ''"' '"'^""'^^^-
vvishes, so he left her by hisx^ll n I, '""^ "^"''"^'^ ^S^'"^' h'^
-naware of its contents oh iiled!^ "'^'"" ^'''^^'- ^^^ --
descendants, since it Is o ! iu t b ? """V' '"""'^'^^ ^° '-"•
ago. that the heir discovered . , ', "' ^"'''^ '^^^^ of years
then he did not know ha t Jo i^ " ' °' "" '""'''• ^^^"
box for him. ' '"''"^'^ P"""^'^ '^^^ to open Fortunatus'
A curious thing about it is that Mr. Metzi^er th. 1
case, found in the course of i,. r. "^^^"S^^' the lawyer m the
which came to this ctvfronF ir^T'"" '^'' ^'^ °^^'" ^^'""7.
• of Daniel Xim nes vL nie T^'^"' ^'^ ^'"^ '^^' ''^^ ^^'h
branch of the sa:; stt .'"TrLl^dTof";; -'r^t^"'^' ^''^ ^
very complete, show that n,,.. 7 " ^^'"''>'' '^^'^h are
reasons for these chances were ^nm«^- ^ ^^^^- ^he
cia. a„d a. o.„„. . J„ •» W^ T^'Sr'tr/"""
render the tracing of relation.hinc , ^"'^""'- '^"^h changes
of such difficultvlhat even h utn os?°"' ''' f"""" ^'^^^^^ ^ '^^k
genealogist has not bearable to'ov ere •" ' Buff^lh'^ "^'^^^^^
kmship between the two families would nevl have b' ^'^''"' ''=
But gems are immortal, and the historv nfZ " '"'P'"'"^-
a time be3.nd th.t to ^hich y '^:ZZ T'" '"' '°
thentically trace its origin. ^"'^P^ ^^° a"-
EDITORIAL EXTRACT NO. 3
.he si. „.as d„.,a,S^' t " , ' il" r "°" °' ""■"'">"' <>" "I"*
. vas gnu. i,« 10 a„ ;,„„„^, ^j litigaUuii he
m THE LIGHT OF PUBLIC FAME.
433
probably little expected when the writ was issued. Twenty-seven
suits have bef;n brought by Mr. Underwood, one of the parties
sought to be ejected, against the present occupants of what was once
known as the Flat-iron Tract — now one of the most fashionable
parts of the city. As the property was all bought from Mr. Kishu,
who warranted the title, and has been built up with the most costly
residences, that gentleman will either have to defend the title or make
good the loss which those deriving title thiough him may suffer.
That he can do the former seems altogether improbable, as the plain-
tiff's title is the same as that recently admitted to be incontestable in
several suits against the city. Several actions for datnages against
Mr. Kishu have already been instituted by parlies who fear that he
may be unable to meet all the claims for which he may be held liable.
Mr. Kishu is a very wealthy man, but it is generally admitted that if
these cases should be decided against him, it is hardly probable that
he could more than meet his obligations. The I'lat-iron Tract was
the basis of his fortune. He bought it of the city for a nominal sum,
taking a quit-claim deed, and sold at an immense advance, giving a
warranty, supposing the family of Valentine to be e.xtinct. It is said
that the transaction yielded him fully half a million, but the property
is now worth as many millions as he paid thousands for it. Mr.
Underwood, as is well known, was recently a driver on the Belt and
Cross-Cut Line, and in very straitened circumstances. The result of
the pending actions may very possibly be to reverse the financial
status of the two men. Nothing could more clearly show the un-
healthfulness of modern conditions and ideals. Instead of putting a
fair competence within the reach of all, and inducing every one to
strive for its attainment, it spurs on the ambitious man to take great
risks, to play for great stakes, as we term it, making what is called
business a game of chance rather than the reward of close applica.
tion or individual merit.
While very many would regret such disaster to an eminent and
public-spirited citizen like Mr. Kishu, yet it cannot be denied that
many more, perhaps a majority, will regard it as a bit of gambler's
luck, and looking back to the transaction on which his fortune was
largely built, will simply say that he played for big money and lost.
Of course, Mr. Kishu would not take such risks now— he understands
the danger too well — but at that time he was anxious to be rich, and
the speculation in which he embarked offered an opportunity to amas?
m
i
3l|
424
■^rURVALE EAST.VAU.
a fortune by one daring stroke. We trust th.t
may be made which will avoid surh a .1. •. u "' con^Promise
between tne parties in interc t but f "'''"'^>'' '^>' dividing the loss
recently displayed by Mr Ksh'u.n ,"",''' '°"^'^'' ^''^' ^^^^ ^P''"'
'ZT' latter paragraph the 77^..../, stoutly re-
EDITORIAL EXTRACT No 4
which it chooses llJJr^'^l: certain contingency
brought against the owners of certain n ^^ '""' '"""''y
result is. in the first place no at I ! Tf,'"^ '" ''^^ ^'^-^'- '^"^h a
actions is not conteU : with th^;?''''^' J'- P'-ntiff in these
will defend his rights to^he Is ^ "°^'' ''"' "'^'^ ^ "^^" who
We would remind^ou ; Ld o""""'"'' '^' ^" '^^^^"' — '
not only a self-made ^ThZ\ ^'''''T^'^'^'^ '''"' ^^''^°" ^^'^hu is
the threats of an unknorn n . h' " V° '' "°^ '^'^'^''^ ^"^^'^^ed by
at ..eleventh ^^:::^ :t:,^::^ ^ "^^ ^ ^^^
windy neighbor to reserve its svmnn h, f ^ ^^e must ask our
Mr. Kishu is not likely soon to hi ^ ^^ "^°'° ^■''° "^^^^ 't. and
critical condolence 1 for tT "' °/ ^he recipients of its hypo-
Breeze will neverHve fo sL • T '""' themselves, the editor of the
M^. Kishu. o7thrt : cT:?a::?bi:r ^" °":°^ '"^^ ^^^-•^
most confidence. ^ ^" ^""""^ h''" with the ut-
.deprived ':r,ll^'^;;:„^™=;;j» l^ad so ,„„, ,ee„
™.- Kisin,, „,o 4d ^e™ o4V,:Tatr LI'' "'
and make a fortun<- out of ti,. ° , ^ chances
hoped ,0 find in ibera and ,t a """ "«""• "^ " '^^
■^ : f • i^
IN THE LIGHT OF PUBLIC FAME. 425
dangers that impended. They liad already revealed to
him a mysterious connection between his fortune and his
crime. His greed had been the instrument of his own
punishment. If he had not robbed the child whom chance
threw in his way, there was little probability that the Val-
entine heirs would ever have been discovered. If he had
restored her instead of yielding to his wife's silly threats,
he would have earned their gratitude instead of their hate!
Fie saw it all now. This man who was intrenched within
the very walls of the Golden Lilies was his mortal ene-
my, and was bound to strip him, not only of his wealth,
but of his good name. All the foundations of his pride
were being surely sapped.
Yet he would not yield. To do so would be only to
invite the fate he dreaded. They could not fasten any
wrong upon him. At best it would be mere suspicion.
Was he sure of this? The Breeze stated that they were
able to account for the stone for two hundred years " ex-
cept one dayr One day! ft had htitxi in his possession
one day; the next he had pledged it for a loan. A month
after it had returned to his possession. Did his enemy
know all this?
His heart almost ceased its pulsations at the thought.
Was the statement true, or was it mere bluff? How could
they have learned it? The man with whom he had pledged
it lived in another city. Kishu had given him his true
name. It had not been his purpose to do so, but he could
secure the advance he desired in no other way. The note
for which it had been pledged as a collateral was signed
with his name also. He had told the party truly why it
was not negotiated at home— that he did not wish to strain
his credit nor have it known that he was engaged in spec-
ulative enterprises. The roan had hesitatedjVif he feared
426
MUKV.Il.E KASTMAiV.
ill )
he gem m.ght not be readily ccvertible for ,l,e amount
reqmred and had finally yielded only on condition tha
he should rece,ve a farther su,n from the projected ent r
prise should It prove successful.
And this obligation Kishu had faithfully performed
The Jew had got heavy interest-almost cent per cen
t.on ? It d d not seem probable. It was a long lime ago
It was no. hkelythat he would remember everytuch u!!
ac,,on or every gem that passed through his Lnds. H-
had not shown hn-, tlie case-the Mlhus, whici- he had
been tempted so o, .„ ,o destroy, and wondered „ why
he had not. He had a fear that this cheap toy wou d
prove h,s undoing yet. Somehow he had not dl d to
destroy ... He thought of it now w-ith superstitious dread
It was an emblem of the true faith in the davs when 1.
a les we, . „„,gH, i, „,, ,,^„ ,^ ,,^ ^,^-
haps I w,s possible that the hands of martyrs had
^uched ,1. Perhaps the eyes of those who had seen he
ought of the mystic possibilities which might attach to
such a consecrated emblem.
^ But what was it that had been said about a -ast of the
ewel being ,„ existence? Had the ^.^ taken a cast?
I eemed more than likely, though he had never though.
heard of such a custom with the dealers in such wares,
nith the mformation this man could give, they would
indeed be able to .race i. to his hands an' p I'esump. ."ly
that elapsed between the time it left the little girl's hand
^^^4H
rX THE LIGHT OF PUBLIC FAME.
427
and the liour he proffered it as security for a loan. Some-
thing was said, too, about a kinsman of Metziger having
had the stone. The man from whom he made the loan
was a Jew. So was Metziger, it seemed, by descent,
though his family had so long ago abandoned the syna-
gogue that nobody thought of them as such. He himself
had always supposed that they were descended from the
old Dutch families or the German sectaries who had
sought refuge in the colony in its early day. He remem-
bered that the man's name was Messinger— Joseph Mes-
singer. Was this the relative referred to? The name
was something like ^Tetziger. He remembered that it
was spelled with an "i," and the man gave the "g" its
hardbound; this increased the resemblance. He thought,
on the whole, this must be the fact.
So they had traced it down to "one day" — but they
knew nothing of that day; they ^rw/^/ know nothing of
that. Stop! Where was Lampson? He had not gone
to Bermuda; that much he had learned. He had been
seen to enter Metziger's office. Since then he had dis-
appeared. But Metziger knew where he was. Of that
tnere was no doubt. What if Lampson had tried to ease
his conscience by confession? This would bring the mat-
ter nearer home.
But how much did Lampson know? He might suspect
a great deaj, but how much did htknow? Simply that
AVilton Kishu had found the cliild which he afterward
stole, took it from the street into his carriage, and had
tried to make him surrender it. That was all. He could
not testify that the child had not fallen into the river nor
tell how the gem had come into the possession of the
benefactor he had betrayed. Ah! that "one day" that
lay between him and the jewel which had so nearly worked
! i
428
AT UR VALE EASTMAN,
plausible suspicio^'bu ' ' cl;7 "" '^ '■'■" "■'*
proof. And agains't .us, -"4 1 'a I^C '"? ""''
repute. Who wonlrl r?:,i ; . buckler of good
.0 *e":u[nL:7i::z 'rr- --""^''--^ as
the chain of evidence sol "f "'"' '""= ""'' 'n
claim, may be LcZ' o 1,"'"," '"""""^ °' '' "^
gro. weary of hot dtfe" rf'' t,'^'^™""' "-'' =<»«'i™es
The prospect was no vt? o H V"'""™"'' '"' """""<'■
lose nothing by " el hf/ ^ '"r""^""' ■=" '^ -""
that he would Ln Ih "^''""'>"""l. "'erefore,
then? VVell,i„vo 1 k! ""'" "'" '"'' "'°™^"'- And
would do aft.: ,tt n r h:d"f '" T^''"""'"' "»
shelter of the last tron'ho d he la '," '" '™" *'
stubborn defender of personal gh " """' '" '"^
CHAPTER XXXIX.
UNCOVERING A CRATER.
•..wZeT^rlrar-h^Cf "f '"f "^-^ ™"» to
historyofthesettin"r„ • ,''"'^""'^'^" '" '"« the
ing tlfe reJon 1, t^ t'tlirr" Y 'T''^'' '■^'"^"'■
his entire confidence thaJT^'KUh '"'^""^ ^^^'^=='"8
relation the stone bore ,0 ,h , . "' ''""™"''= °< "•<=
Underwood an bl ^i e *„?[,";■,"" '"' "' -f™-
"""g she or her fa.h:; tighf e™:' eU T '""" ^"^■
-ts possession. It was „°o doub^r,:^ 1':%™
the path of
o him with
ch liim nith
ilerof good
■r of Wilton
lently. As
nie link in
'■ of a valid
sometimes
s demand,
t he could
therefore,
-nt And
?r what he
from the
■d for the
UNCOVERING A CRATER.
4«9
ritten to
*ace the
exi^lain-
pressing
'■ of the
f Jonas
)w any-
regard
obably
untraceable road from the finger of Lilian Kishu back to
the neck of the lost child, but the unexpected discovery
of the strangely-marked gem had given the father hope
-a hope which no pains upo. his part would be spared
to justify The highest legal and detective ability would
ac once be put at work upon the case. She must not be
surprised at anything that might be done, but rest assured
that no harm was intended her or those dear to her
Up to this moment no one had more than the faintest
suspicion that Wilton Kishu's relation to the lost gem was
in any clegree blameworthy. His daughter, with that pe-
cuhar instinct which seemed to be inherent with the child
of the successful speculator, at once ran back in her mind
to the time when it was lost. She knew that her father
was then far from rich, and she had heard vague hints
from her mother of sorrowful days preceding her own
birth. She guessed with foreboding terror that her father
-the father whom she loved so devotedly-might have
come into possession of the fatal gem in some ditcredita-
ble manner-might perhaps have bought it of the thief
having good reason to believe it had been stolen. She
did not feel any great horror on account of the act itself-
.t seemed to her only a venial, almost excusable wrong!
but she knew that it was a crime and that its heinousness
woud be enhanced in popular thought by the sufferings
of those from whom it had been stolen. She greatl
dreaded, therefore, the effect of its discovery on her
father's good name.
It was after reading this letter that she had made up
er mmd to marry Murv de Eastman. His conduct since
i e had discarded him had both surprised and annoyed
her. _ He had uttered no reproaches, had not south' to
be reinstated, and in the letter before her had made" no
f^f
m
III
m
430
A/rAT.-lU- /-ASTMAjV.
U I
I i
al s,on to their former relation. Strangely enough, .he
felt as ,f It was she who had been .liscarded rather than
her lover. Iverything that had occurred had increased
her admiration of the nutn, and she had inherited enough
of her fathers qualities to appreciate the fact that it would
be a notable a. hievement to reconcile her father and her
lover, now become his most dangerous enemy, and re-
store the former to his old place in the Church of the
Golden Lihes, make an.ends to the father and mother of
the child they had so mysteriously lost, and at the same
time screen her father from any blame-if blame there
were-m connection with the matter, at the first. This
brilliant co,J> she determined to effect by marrying the
young d.vine already grown famous for what he had done
and dared to attempt.
Biit what of poor Frank Marsh, of his love for her and
her fondness for him? Of course it would be hard for
him, but she would be his good fairy, too, and put him in
the way of acquiring a fortune. He would soon forget
his fancy for her. It gave her heart a sore twinge to
think so, but she did not doubt the fact
Despite her innocence, Lilian Kishu was by no means
itnsophisticated. Her views of the world had not bel
restricted. She reflected quite unconsciously both her
father spessm^sm and her mother's distrust. She be-
heved m love of the old fashioned, romantic sort, as a
hing very pleasant to play at in the courting days, but she
fully accepted the more exalted and reasonable view of
later times which is so bluntly expressed by the novelist,
lolstoi, who has recently been elevated to the level of
teacher moralist, and prophet, when he declares that
love of the passionate, romantic sort is not t > be ex
pected or even desired in marriage." She accepted the
UXCO VERINC. A CRA TKR.
431
forget
new philosophy of "reahstic" marriage— that husband
and wife should have a mutual respect for each other, but
by all means avoid anythin,, approaching a romantic pas-
sion, as certain to bring disappointment and unhappiness.
With the great high-priest of the new Muscovite dispen-
sation, she was ready to say: " Love is necessarily change-
ful; respect i.^ permanent. Love is tlie product of a sort
of frenzy; respect tlie result of conviction."'
She was a product of her time, a creature of inheritance
and environment. She was not avaricious, because she
had enough ; but without thinking she believed in modern
notions and the modern theories of life and society. She
did not deny to herself that she loved Frank Marsh and
that she did not love Murvale Eastman. She had tried to
love him but could not. Even while she was in his one
passionate embrace the face of her handsome playmate
had come between, and she had broken from his clasj) v.M'th
a thrill of repugnance, almost hatred, fur him and for her-
self. Yet she respected and esteemed Murvale Eastman;
was proud of his manhood, and would be glad to wear his
name and share the tri imphs she was sure he would
achieve. She drew a sheet of paper near her and wrote
the name to see how it would look : " Mrs. Murvale East-
man."' She did not blush, as she read the syllables and
tried them to see how they would become the mouth and
fill the ear. Why should she? There was nothing dis-
creditable in the act, and she was "not a milkmaid.'" The
day of romantic, credulous, love-lorn maidens has gone
by. She had no desire that Frank Marsh should cease
to love her— rather wished, indeed, that he should not.
He was a charming gallant. It would be nice to flirt
with him after she was married. There was no harm in
that, and Murvale was too sensible to be jealous. So she
e «i
'il
43»
Jifc/j^y^/j^ EAf;r.\rASf,
• f
'I •;'
I
1
I
deeded she wo„ld marry Murvalc Easlman, that she
wou d keep .rack of ,he effor,,, being made o ace he
)ewel, ,ha, she would cuUiva.e .he Underwood "sere „
her a.her, and wa.ch over .he interests of Frank Mar h
lion o°r IT T :'"" " «''' °' ""•■ »'="iBcnce and posi-
t.on of Ld.an K.shu wonid have been both asha„,ed and
afra,d ,o j„gg,e wi.h her hear, in .his manner b ,he
™i.l has moved since .hen, and .he ideal woma la
changed w,.h .he .i„,es. Once, love was .he mos. seri
ot,s .h.„g ,n re, and marriage i.s blissful co„s.m,ma. o „
Bo.h were holy .hn.gs, not lo be thought of b,„ in con
necon w,th each other; y.. now we have lea eUha
love ,s but a pastime, a fever of the blood, and m rLge
a matter of business, "an impor.an. soon I conve o„
ounded on reason rather than individual atraction." And
L.han K.shu filled this ideal. She would die, if need
were. ,0 save her fa.her from dishonor; bu.was no. cal ed
upontosacr,fice for love's sake either her pride or her
pomron. The role suited her. She had no fancy for an
ummportant part in the drama of life, and she Luglu
she would hke nothing so well as .o make such strong nfen
as Wd.on K,shu and Murvale Eastman pull toge.her le-
sprte .he,r mutual unlikeness. It was a silly notion but
trv'fndf^ '*?;'" *! '""'"""'"' °' ^" P"P»e was ,0
tZj:f T '""" """ ""'"^^ anythingshe might know
7 t K "'"""■ '^'^^' "-""''y ™">an was as wax
m her daughter's hands whenever the child of Wilton
Krshu sought to exercise her inherited power of manage,
ment. Before a day had passed, Lilian heard a tearful
accoun of her father's one unforgiven wrong, from .he
mother's pomt of view. Without s.oppin.. to
controvert
h that she
trace the
>tls, screen
nk Marsli.
e and posi-
lamed and
r; but the
'Oman has
most seri-
Limniation.
'ut in con-
irned that
1 marriage
onvention
n." And
?, if need
not called
le or her
cy for an
thought
"ong men
-ther, de-
tion, but
,and this
e was to
;ht know
s as wax
f AVilton
manage-
. tearful
•oni the
n trover t
>il
VXCOI'EKIXG A CRtrr.R.
433
the jealousy which years had ripened into a wrong all the
more bitter because she had daily declared it to be for-
given, Lilian inquired about the child who had been made
the victim of the exasperated wife's resent. nent.
"I don' I kno V what ever became of it,"' answered the
mother, I er eyes v, ;t with tears of humiliation and bitter-
ness. " : di 'n't vn. jt to know. I took it to a friend, one
that had b» t ?. fuend of my girlhood, and told her— I
can't tell you what I told her, Lilian. It wasn't the truth.
I couldn't tell such a truth ot— of my husband. Perhaps
what I did tell wasn't any more creditable, but it didn't
reflect on him, anyhow. It didn't seem so bad to reflect
on one's own kin— especially as it wasn't true. It couldn't
hurt your uncle, either— seeing he was dead."
" I understand," said the daughter.
" Well, she took the— the child," said the woman bit-
terly, hurrying along in her story. " She took it and went
off West. I gave her five hundred dollars ; she was poor,
you see, and I put money in the bank to pay her a good
sum every year until it was of age. I was to pay for the
schooling too— it was to be well educated. I didn't want
the innocent child to suffer oh account of— of others, you
know."
"Of course," assented Lilian.
"As I said, Sally Weeks — that was the woman's name-
went West, and married in less than a year after; the
effect of a little money, I s'pose. She was honest, though,
and wrote me about it beforehand. She proposed to keep
the child if I was willing, and give it her husband's name.
I told her I didn't care what she called the child, or what
she id with her, as long as she took good care of her and
gave her a fair show. As it happened, I never learned
her husband's name. She always wrote to me in her old
28
k..
it l
m
in
«:H!
1
! fi
434
MCRfALE /-.ASJWfA.W
name and I sent the money to the bank where I first n„f
;t to be deposited to her account. I don't know wheth
as I cutoff I , ^"~''^" ''^'^ °"^- That was the
would see tTr""'"' '''' ''''''''' ^^^ ^'^^^her
would see It. There was no name to it, only her initials
I thought he ought to know about it "
The woman spoke with bitter austerity.
The child is dead, then?" asked Lilian with some
sho.^o sonw, though experiencing a sense of relr
"It wou?d be '',w :' ""'"'■ "'^^^ ^"^"^y ^-hemence.
It would be well for her and Wilton Kishu too, if she
were. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or sev
enteen Avhen she ran away'" said \U. „^7^"°'^f^^-
horrified tones "Lilian '^=^ ' ^"^'" '" ^°^^''
lunes. i^iuan, she contmued solemnly "thaf
IS one reason I have abvays wanted to live abro'ad T
rmetT 7'' "^^ '' '''' ^■^'- SuppoL she sltul
come and claim relationship! "
"IZ.^ K^ T' Sood-Iooking," said Lilian lightly.
A great, black-eyed, bold-faced huzzy! That's what
ervant'irrV "' ''V^'''''' '"'' ''^^— "^ '--^own
ser\ant girl, I suppose! "
•|And handsome-the girl, I mean ? "
I suppose she would be called so qh^'ii ^
WiUon K.h„ „..„, ,e.d .he ll' of .hafgiH ^""^ ^"•
_ Wou dn't ,ha. be nice?" said Lilian, artlessly,
vv hat do you mean, child ? "
UNCOVERING A CRATER.
435
"Why, we would make such nice foils for each otiier."
" For each other? "
"Yes; why not?"
" Do you think I would let her come under this roof? "
" You wouldn't make a scandal, I hope, mamma? "
" Do you see that? "' She held a little vial toward her
daughter. " I told your father, then, I'd take it if he ever
looked at the mother again oi tried to find the child, and
Twill I The day he finds that child, that very day — I'll
— ril do it. I ain't going to sit still as so many rich men's
wives do and have my husband raising three or four fami-
lies like a Mormon ! And yod may as well understand
it, too. I don't object to his giving her money, if she
needs it, but nothing more. And as to her coming here
— I should think you'd be ashamed, Lilian, after such
disgraceful conduct! "
" I don't see what disgrace there is in running away,
I suppose they made her work too hard."
" But she didn't work at all. She was at school, and
ran away with a gambler ! "
" I'm sure that's nothing against her. Why, you want
me to marry one — one who can't pay his losses either.
I hope hers had better luck,"
" But she wasn't even married ! "
" So much the better for her. She could dismiss him
when she chose, then. You are sure she wasn't married? ''
" I know nothing about it except Sally Weeks's last let-
ter, I never heard of her afterward,"
" Have you got that letter, mamma? " asked Lilian, after
a moment's silence.
The mother nodded affirmatively.
"Won't you let me have it?"
"Why should you want it?"
I- i^
, if
m
I- -J
*-'» 111
If- 1
i! !
r [
436
^rVRVALE EASTMAN.
" I am afraid, mother, that your jealousv I.^
as S: sTr "' '^■■' "" ''^»<' ™ "- ™-^-s g., ,ead
"What is it?" a^VpA A/r,.c y i
"Hn , ^"^^^ ^'^s. Kishu, starting nn 'n t
Have you heard anything Lilian? ni /^ ^^^'■•
did not go abroad before"'' ^ '' ^^"' " P^"^>' ^^^
"I have 'heard nothing mother k . t
-n,. Wo„, ,,„„ ,,. LT '„t" ^ -■; -- you a.e
yet_be too late to remedy the evil." "^^ ""'
*I suppose I micht as weW " .„• 1 .,
- she always did yie°.d To 1^ da e 'rX'"' '''''"^^
how vehementlv <;hp n.- i . ''^^^ ^ ^^'^hes, no matter
jenttohe/dtiiii^H^^'Viror:,"' "1- ,^"=
drawers which are called ".T^ ?a: """^ °' "'"^^
.»ey are inconvenient Idedir:^;,";""^ ""^"^
titling down, began to weep '*""«'"" =»'''
™;tr,ot^ii;tdti;i^i~^^^^
FJ:heTaru"LL™ "'""^-^-''^ -°-^. ^ilyP
so,'yourTe;."° '"""' °' "' ^"'^ "™^ ^» -'" -on see it
: 2::^' "z .',e're;°;!''°"'" ■' ™""' ^» •» ^ood ,o
'ears. She was in W of .^rr T""« *™"«'' ""
-. of the child w "w: 1 , ttrn "i' '.'' "°"^'''
rents whose hearts had been win'! ' ' " "' ""
"Do you know, Lilian," she continued "T w„ l.^ •
half we are worth to believe that , ! r u . "" ^'^e
take." tliat-ihat I had made a mis-
The daughter wondered if .his would not help her bear
M
TRCSTEES OF DIVIXE PCRPOSE.
437
led you to
eat deal of
3 gray head
>P ''n fear,
t a pity we
re you are
t may not
f, yielding
no matter
irst. She
of those
because
Iter and,
fully, her
f, Lily?
)n see it
good to
igh her
ronged,
the pa-
Id give
' a mis-
?r bear
the loss her folly had entailed. Was it her mother's folly
or her father's fault which the avenger Time was punish-
ing so relentlessly?
CHAPTER XL.
TRUSTEES OF DIVINE PURPOSE
The regular meeting of the Ministerial Association of
which Murvale Eastman was a member occurred just
when the affairs of Wilton Kishu were at their worst.
For the first time in many years he was not present to
listen to its deliberations. His absence was remarked
with universal regret, for he was not only the most widely
known, but one of the most highly esteemed members of
the denomination, to whose interests he was devoted.
The differences between him and the pastor and Church
of the Golden Lilies were greatly deplored and very gen-
erally discussed by the audience which had gathered under
a general belief that in some way or other the relations of
that church to the league of Christian Socialists would be
brought to the attention of the Association. This idea
seemed to have got abroad very generally, and the news-
papers of the city were in consequence very fully repre-
sented by experienced aiid reliable reporters.
A cleaner, brighter, more alert, and courageous-looking
body of men than the two score members of this Minis-
terial Association, who occupied the front seats on each
side of the middle aisle of the church in which it met
could hardly be found betwixt the two oceans which
bound our land of many wonders. There was, perhaps,
a somewhat marked predominance of young men. Un-
\:m
r'fi
m
ill
\-
I
u
4J.'
■In-RVAni I'.ASTM.-iX
recently, ,„a.ure year, have generally been regarded as
aIn,ost a smc ,„a „o„ of eminence in ,l,e Church. Oflale
however, the young Timothys have been .Iriving.he oldl;
laborers of the vn,eyard into retiren.ent an.I obsct,rity a
;' '7--''™^ rate. Every young divine, like every weS
l.red colt, ,s looked upon as a passible "phenomeLn '
"•>..le the n,an of middle age is sur.posed to 131™.^.
|lone fcs best and the church which calls hin, e.vpe th«
.e w.ll stead.ly deteriorate upon its hands, and pertpsa
as. !eave an .ll.prov.ded family appealing unple'a IT,"
•he.r chanty, j„s. when they are in need of all the r r "
sources .0, secure a new "attraction." There were fll
gray ha.rs ,n the Association, therefore, though there we,
some ba d heads. The members evi.lently faced he f,
ture confitlently rather than the past boastfully. Hea,
oftLlTth " '^""^ r'"' '"=■' Srcetm^ of r,-
other, an<l the occupants of the pews shared in their salu-
.at ons qu,te as freely as their ministerial associates.
,1," "'«/»'l'="ce was collecting the church presented
that gay an,l sparkling appearance which only an .Am
can audience thoroughly at its ease ever offer to th be
holders gaze. Well-dressed ladies, with bright, refined
<^ces greatly predominated, interspersed with ,' id'dle- ^ed
men. Except the m.n.sters there were few yotmg men in
he a nee, and there was a sin.ilar dearth o'f you
women. It was evident, at a glance, that the tiu,e Imd
fnTol e"a" 'I" '?•',''«"''>' "'^'^'^O ="™-' '- -%
s in t ' "'' "" ""= ""^""'='-» ^''- "" -q'«l inter
est m Its prosperity. To-day give, ■• .re only to those
n hfe s dechne .0 waste the golde,. worl. 'ay hours in lis
emng .„ .he plans .ha, may be ...He,! for pr .rlt ig
the prosperity of Zion. ^"ic>cmg
The were some among these servants of the Most High
'j-RCSTrj-s or lyrrxr, rrnrosr:.
439
uimn whose faces tim»-had set the seal of failure. Some
of these tried to carry it off jauntily, but failed sadly in
the attempt. No man can see himself sinking farther and
farther l)elow the le -el of professional distinction to which
every worthy man at some time in his life aspires, with-
out feeling it— least of all a minister. To some this state
of things had brought resignation; toothers discontent.
These, for the most part, sa^ quietly in their places wait-
ing for the meeting to open, some talking with each other,
some sitting apart silent and reserved.
Of these latter was Dr. Phue. He had taken a promi-
nent seat near the front, his eye burning with unwonted
fire and his pale cheek showing the delicate glow of re-
awakened hope. His hour had come ; the hour for which
he had waited so long when he could show himself the
champion of the Church, the defender of the Faith!
Clean-shaven, erect, self-important, and severe, he sat at
the end of the pew next the aisle, waiting impatiently for
the mome when the lists should be opened and he
should put lance in rest, and slay the foe who threatened
destruction to the Church he loved ! Dear, simple-hearted,
pure-Houled, l)lind-eyed survivor of a past glorious in pur-
pose, but as unfitted for to-day's conflicts as the Knight
of the Rueful Countenance to win distinction on a bat-
tle-fit':l where arms of precision and .nokeless powder are
the implements of strife!
The tide of mutual greeting llowed past him, rather
than bore him along with it. No Utat any of the breth-
ren were neglectful or that any regarded him with indSf...
ference. Though his foibles were well understood, all
respected the sincerity and learning of the simple-minded
man whose thought was so sadly out of harmony with that
of the day in which he lived.
* \%
■ n
ill
¥\
Mi I _
Wk
440
MURVALE EAS'WAX
His lips worked tremulously, his i.lse teeth showing in
bled them ..-,th ne; ,... unconsciousness while h. conned
over and o..r the wor.Is of his projected discours^ ^
In en frayed ^ ough u .night be, was scrupulously whk"
ri>e tie beneath h,s smooth-shaved dKn-so squa e^ ti d
1 at each bow extended exactly the width of the tie from
tie ovcdapp„,g band-was of the most pellucid law,?
'■ris bauds, white and shrunken, were those of the scholar'
and despite some callous marks of toil on the pa n , w^^'
uhl^sly ept as became a careful servant of the' Mas!
ter. His clohes-is there anything more pathetic than
e tooth of poverty has gnawed little indentations on
the exposed edges! What a story it tells of pride and
Xc^I trusting hope, struggling with inevitable de
anf ^ ^^''!'^.''-' '''"'''°'" ''^^ ^^' °" '^'' ^^^^ beside him
and deposited in it a formidable roll of manuscript. Tak
'ng rom his pocket a spotles. handkerchief, he slowlv
be" 1 tt' ^"' '■'''''' ''' ''''' ^-"-^ --^est: s^
bes de the manuscript in the hat so as effectually to con
ceal the soiled lining. Then he waited, smoothing nc^v
and then the scanty hair upon his crown with his white
fingers, his thin lips twitching and his blue eyes moving
restlessly under the long straggling brows. He was u^
pre.ely happy! The burden of chagrin and fairure he
had carried so long had been lifted from his heart '
time had come— the hour for which
and studied and dreamed— the hov
inft'-ument he should bruise '^ e 1-
th' ': 'lurch from peril!
^uurvale Eastman was ampn;, ^ ■>
His
had lived and toiled
• -n as God's chosen
i of error and deliver
last to arrive. There
1 showing in
'< as he nib-
hf conned
JUJse. His
>U5lv white,
jiiarely tied
he tie from
ucid lawn.
■he scholar,
•alms, were
' the Mas-
hetic than
seams and
ations on
pride and
itable de-
'eside him
pt. Talc.
he slowly
elessness,
ly to con-
liing now
his white
s moving
was su-
ailure he
rl! His
nd toiled
's chosen
i deliver
There
TRUSTEES OF DIVlA'E PURPOSE.
441
was first a hush and then a continuous murmur of com-
ment as he walked down the aisle and laid his overcoat
across the back of the seat in front of Dr. Phue. He
greeted him courteously, sat down and sought to enter
into conversation, but the elder man was too self-absorbed
to talk, especially with the man he was about to attack.
He was no hypocrite. He meant to hale Murvale East-
man out of his pulpit if voice and pen could accomplish
it, and though he had no personal ill-will for him, he would
not seem to make a display of cordiality toward him. So
Murvale sauntered off to speak to other friends; the
audience watched his motions curiously, and Dr. Phue's
eyes followed him with exultant anticipation.
The meeting was called to order; a chapter of the Holy
Word was read; a hymn was sung, and the congregation
bowed in prayer. Dr. Phue tried to listen with scrupulous
attention, but do what he would his mind would wander
to the triumph he was about to achieve. Hardly were
the opening exercises concluded when he was on his feet,
manuscript in hand, his black-framed pince-nez close
gripped in his upraised fingers:
"Mr. Chairman!"
His thin quavering voice was tremulous with eagerness.
" If Dr. Phue will delay a little, there are some com-
munications to be read."
The chairman nodded to the secretary. The scribe
rose and read:
''To the members of the Ministers' Association of
"Dearly Beloved Brethren:— "For reasons which
seem to me good and sufficient, I have decided to ter-
minate a relation which I trust may some time be re-
sumed with pleasure and advantage, and hereby notify
w
442
MURVALE EASTMAN.
you that I have withdrawn from the membership of the
Association. With sincerest fraternal regard, I remain
" Your fellow-servant,
" MuRVALE Eastman."
Before the surprised and confounded Dr. Phue had time
to catch his breath, an alert young member was on his
feet and moved the acceptance of the resignation.
"But, Mr. Chairman, I object! " exclaimed the venera-
ble champion of a nicely squared belief "I object! "
His voice rang slirill and angry through the church.
The inquisitor was afraid his intended victim might es-
cape. The audience waited with breathless attention lest
they should lose a single word.
^^ " The motion is out of order," said the chairman qu-etly,
"or, rather, it is unnecessary. Brother Eastman required
the votes of a majority of this body to become a member
of it, but he has a perfect right to terminate that relation
whenever he sees fit to do so. Hr.v'ng exercised that
right and voluntarily withdrawn, he is no longer a mem-
ber of this body." *
A look of satisfaction stole over the faces of the mem-
bers of the Association at this decision. Heresy-hunting
has become especially unpopular among those who by the
publicity of their utterances are most liable to become
the victims of the infallible believer's zeal.
" But, Mr. Chairman," persisted Dr. Phue, with unmis-
takable warmth, " it is against all rule and precedent, both
in the Church and among all voluntary associations, of
every sort and character, to permit a member to resign
when there are charges pending against him. In that
case, it is the universal rule and practice that a member
can resign only by leave of the association,''
TRUSTEES OF DIVINE PURPOSE.
443
ir a mem-
"Are there any charges against Brother Eastman on
file?" asked tlie chairman of the secretary.
" None," was the reply.
Here are the charges, sir,'" said Dr. Phue, holding up
his manuscript. He had caught up his handkerchief with
it, and waved it back and forth with the written sheets
like a flag of truce tied to a bayonet. " I have them, sir;
they are here ready to be filed. I offer them now. More
than one member of this Association knew that I intended
to offer them at this meeting. Brother Eastman himself
knew it; and I charge him, here and now, with having
withdrawn from this Association in order to avoid an 'm-
quiry in regard to his orthodoxy— the conformity of his
teachings to the accepted standards of the Church. He
dare not deny it."
Dr. Phue sat down, his eyes flashing, his hands trem-
bling, and his smooth crown showing the flush of excitement
that burned upon his face through the straggling locks so
carefully combed across the glistening expanse. All eyes
were turned on Murvale Eastman. He rose slowly and
without any show of excitement said:
" Mr. Chairman and Brethren, have I leave to make a
brief statement?"
The chairman bowed assent.
He continued:
" It is quite true, as Brother Phue has stated, that I did
know of his intention to propose at this meeting the in-
quiry he alludes to, and also true that I withdrew from
this Association to avoid that inquiry. I will say further
that whenever it becomes the deliberate conviction of any
organized body of my brethren in the ministry that such
an inquiry is necessary or desirable, I will resign my
credentials as a Christian minister, and if they shall deem
'.-i\
^i
1^^
444
Mm VALE r.ASTMAX.
I .III!
It needful to pursue such inquiry further, I will withdraw
from membership with :ne Church rather than become a
party to such a proceeding. I have long since determined
never to appear before any body of men as respondent to
a charge of dissent, believing such inquiries, whatever
their result, to be harmful to the Master's cause, and being
fully determmed not to allow any pride of opinion to
make me a stumbling-block, even though I may be unable
to be of service to that cause. I have learned that
'neither in this mountain nor at Jerusalem shall men
worship the Father' and am daily led to see more clearly
that the Church has no monopoly of Christian work and
no exclusive control of Christian faith. There is enough
to do outside the pale of her activities, and one needs not
the Church's approval to secure him entrance at the
strait gate. The Church has a right to prescribe its own
standards of faith if it chooses but only jjersonal pride or
sheer self-interest, as it seems to me, can induce any one
to enter into a contest to decide whether those standards
fit his fai*^h or nr .
'Charges afifecung my moral character or Christian de-
portment I shall always be ready to meet; those affecting
onlv ^^,i correctness of my n '"gious views I shall always
avoid. The Chuiv, would better dispense with my serv-
ices and I would miir'. better be bereft of her consola-
tions, than entjage la a soul-blighting controversv with her
as to whethc ^ fnith exactly conf-rms to her 'standards
or her stand.- ^ e> tly measure tli- limits of my faith."
There was ,t murmur of approval ,<s the young minister
sat down.
"Mr. Chairman," exclaimed the excited prosecutor
" the document which T hold in my hand embraces a charge
of the gravest sort against the moral character
( T3,
^r ot Ke
TRUSTKKS OF DiriXE PURPOS/:,
445
Will
Murvale Eastman as a Christian and a minister,
tile gentleman try to dodge thai" charge also?"
Murvale Eastman turned and looked sharply at his as-
sailant as this statement was made. There was a moment
of the most profound silence. When he rose to reply his
face was pale, I'ut his manner was calm and unimpas-
sioned.
" Mr. Chairman," he said, " I did not suppose that I
should ever be called upon to listen to such a statement,
but we all know Dr. Phue too well to supj.ose that he
would make such a charge without a profound belief in
its truth, I therefore request ihat the brethren of this
Association will listen to such charge here and now, and
decide whether it is worthy oi farther consideration. I
make this as a personal request, and pledge myself, if any
such charge can be sustained, to relinquish at once and
forever my place in the ranks of the ministery."
With some hesitancy the Association decided to com-
ply with this request, and Dr. Phue was invited to state
what charges he de^'red to make affecting the moral char-
acter of the pastor of the Golden Lilies.
Under this permission the self-ah-orbed prosecutor
endeavored to read the whole array of charge •: he had for-
mulated in regard to the teachings and opinions of Mur-
vale Eastman in connection with the organization of the
League of Christian Socialists, Not being allowed to
do this he proceeded, not without some display of anger,
to read the twelfth and last charge in his formidable
indictment:
yA\.—Condu ' unbecoming a Christian and a minister.
I. Publishing and uttering falsehood. Specification: That on
the day and at the time named in the foregoing specifications, to wit.
on the occasion ol the organization of said League, the said Murvale
I 'n
'M
,m
'fHH
i\i :9I
' ^1
1 :^H
44*5
.^rURVALE EASTMAN.
Eastman in the course of Ms remark.; «,;,!. ht
to can ,our auen..„ . .. .JZt::;^. ^::^^, \^Z
.ful hnes from the Russian of WorsofT, entitled 'Truth •■' And
thereupon the said Eastman repeated the following stanTas :
anf con!;::er "'' '"'"" ^^'^^' ^'^ reader has seen.
'•The said Eastman well knowing that said lines were not from
t c Russ,an were not written by said pretended poet Worsoff and
at no such poet is in existence or ever has existed, and by su h
statement d,d utter and publish, knowingly and purp;sely . fZ
hood, to the scandal of the Church and in violation of t e tea h inj
and commandment of Christ." teachmg
When Dr. Phue had finished reading this he looked
solen.nly around t,pon the congregation, and turning to
the chairman said: ^
" That, sir, is the charge."
"Is that all?" asked the moderator, with a smile.
enough ? A 'r ' r '^ •"^"''''°'' '^""^I'tily. " Is it not
enough? A he is a lie, s,r, whether it concerns some silly
verses or the life of a fellow-man. I stand ready to provl
every word of that specification. I have here the report
of hat meeting, a verbatim report, sir, by one of the most
skillful stenographers of the country, Mr. Joseph Lamp-
son I presume no one will question either his accuracy
or ability. I am not able to verify it by his oath, but the
entire report is in his handwriting, and I presume Mr.
Eastman will not require proof of that, or pretend that
he took these lines from the works of any Russian poet,
or that there is a Russian poet of that name "
There was not .. hint of a smile on Murvale Eastman's
face as he rose to reply to this appeal.
"Our venerable friend, Dr. Phue," he said, "has been
made the victim of a sinsula._ delusion. I certainly cannot
TRUSTEES OF D/Vl.YE PCRPOSE.
447
iclusion, I htff
ollowing beau-
rrmh.'" And
nzas ;
ler has seen,
t'cre not from
VVorsoff, and
and by such
)sely, a false-
the teaching
he looked
turning to
;mile.
" Is it not
some silly
ly to prove
the report
f the most
ph Lamp-
» accuracy
h, but the
5ume Mr.
tend that
sian poet,
ilastman's
has been
Iv Car\nr\f
-J ——•-■• *^ 4,
affirm that there is a Russian poet named Worsoff, or ever
has been. So far as I can now recall, I do not know the
name of any Russian poet, nor do I think I ever read a
Russian i)oem. I never saw nor heard the lines referred
to by Dr. Phue until he read them, and quoted no verse
of any sort in the address to which he refers. I have
recently received by mail a copy of some verses in the
handwriting of Mr. Lampson, and am informed that he is
accustomed to sign his metrical effusions ' WorsofT the
Russian,' in jesting allusion to his own infirmities. I do
not doubt that Dr. Phue, I hope through no wish of his
own, has been matle the victim of this man's morbid de-
sire for fame, or perhaps I should say notoriety."
While he was speaking Frank Marsh had left the report-
ers' table and gave a note to the secretary, who passed
it on to the chairman. Dr. Phue examined closely the
verses handed to him by Eastman and compared them
with those in the report. When Eastman sat down the
chairman said that while he did not deem it necessary, he
would, with the consent of the Association, ask Mr. Marsh,
of the Breeze, to state what he knew about the matter.
Thus called upon, Frank Marsh stated that he was
present at the meetiuL, referred to, made a verbatim re-
port of all that occurred on that occasion, and had the
original stenographic notes now with him ; that Mr. East-
man not only did not make the statement attributed to
him, but did not quote the lines referred to. or any lines
whatever in any part of his remarks. He farther stated
that he sat at the same table with Mr. Lampson that
night; that Lampson did not take the speeches steno-
graphically, but during the evening showed him a copy of
verses which he claimed to have written, and which, so far
as he could reiiiernber, were the lines read by Dr. Phue.
i
' 'J
ill
11
w
i ■
I
m
If
448
MUR VALE EASTMAX.
m \
!;-i
There was a niomenfs silence; and then the Venerable
accuser arose and in the most contrite manner said •
"Mr. Chairman and Brethren, I have to confess that
I have been guilty of a grievous and inexcusable wrong
for which J ask your pardon, the pardon of our brother
Eastman, and the forgiveness of my Heavenly Father
I would ask to withdraw the charge, but the brother who
was wronged by its introduction has a right to a vote of
exculpation, and the Association in justice to itself should
pass a vote of censure against me for having introduced
the same. I did not knowingly bring a false charge
Brethren, but I did it without specifically calling it to our
brother's attention or seeking to obtain an explanation
It was a grievous wrong, and I admit that I deserve your
censure.''
Tears were running down his cheeks, but the rugged-
souled old saint was as zealous for his own punishment
as a httle while before he had been for the chastisement
of his brother. There were few dry eyes in the audienr^e
when he concluded, but a round of hearty applause burst
forth when Murvale Eastman asked that no farther action
be taken m the matter and no word or report of the pro-
ceedings already had be made, adding that he hoped
before a great while, if Dr. Phue would consent, to ask
the approval of the brethren to his installation as assistant
pastor of the Church of the Golden Lilies.
Then there was a wringing of hands, a wiping of eyes
and a hymn was sung full of peace and the quiet rapture
of reconciliation.
At its conclusion the chairman humorously remarked
that It was the first time he had known any real good to
come out of a charge of here.sy. He believed that noth-
ing more clearly showed a healthful progress in the
rs FAfrn i{osT[[.r. to //CArAX/TV-'
449
Church, a wider and truer appreciation of the Christ-
spirit, than the fact that the Church found something bet-
ter to do with its dissenters than to drive them from pes-
sible error into ahnost inevitable unbelief. Instead of
persecuting, it now set even the man suspected of dis-
sent to work for man's good and God's glory, saying, as
the Master said of the unauthorized healer in His name,
" He that is not against us is for us."
! \
CHAPTER XLI.
IS FAITH HOSTILK TO HUMANITY?
When the chairman had concluded his remarks, a mem-
ber rose and said that as Mr. Eastman must be satisfied,
from what had occurred, that he had the sympathy of the
Association, he hoped he would resume his membership,
and in order that there should be no embarrassment
connected with it, he moved that the Rev. Mur\-ale East-
man be cordially requested to withdraw his letter of resig-
nation and continue a member of the Association.
Before the motion could be put the young minister rose
and said :
" Mr. Chairman, I hope this motion will not be pressed.
While fully sensible of the kindly spirit which prompts it,
and very grateful for the confidence which my brethren
have shown, not only to-day but at all times, and doubt-
ing not that in the future as in the past I should be sure
of fraternal forbearance and kindly consideration, it seems
to me not altogethei fitting that the Association should
make such a request. While it is true that my resigna-
tion was presented at this time in order to avoid the
29
i
I
f
450
MURVALE EASTMAA\
controversy which might be precipitated by Dr Phue's
account ^^ LtZ^' ^'^^ ^ ^ ^f on that
charges should be withdrawn On I." "-'^^'^
deliberately .ade and intended ^o c^n^ n^r^ '^
long as existing conditions ren.ain ' '°
" My Brethren are aware that circumstances have placed
me m a position which somp nf ,u j piaced
others doSb, whethe ZT.ulZ ''''''' """'^
others perhaps question 1 no fv „ ° r™'' """ =""
Of .y .e,a.io„ .0 „.e C,u.c,/t\l rSA^.r;
I recognize the fact that, with the best ^.Zl' '
may do much harm, and I have Ion! ^"''?*'°"^' ^'^^
that, so far as can be avoid h^hurcirshair^""-^'
no detriment through any action of . '''''""
of this Association,'yorbecome in aT" ' "'"'"^
In other words, Brethren, I feel that th. t
Ch-'ian Socialists is an exp^i™::'. iTih'^u^::''™ .-f
t.an m,„,s,ers are not yet called upon to indorse jT
no. doubt your hearty sympathy wL what v e p.ofe sel
o^^n^r-sit^-f-jrr:?^' ^^^^"^^^^
r r r^ "i°-/.- Ts-Lrr •: „;rd
for good, by reason of unwise or defective n,etl,„r
have dtsastrous or insignificant results hrve^rir
by con„„u.„g a member of this Association! to bind foj
/S FAITH HOSTILE TO HUMANITY?
Dr. Phue's
^^y for the
lade on that
when those
rary, it was
in force so
lave placed
"ove, which
e, and still
ig because
ady stated,
itions, one
leterniined
all receive
members
onsors for
Christian
he utmost
^nt of my
ng under
3pt views
eague of
as Chris-
5e. I do
professes
? love of
f it were
intended
ods may
tio right,
ind you
451
in the eyes of the world to assumed approval of my work,
and have no desire to drive you to formal denial of re-
sponsibility for it. I believe the time will come when no
member of this body will have any doubt upon the sub-
ject, and when every Christian believer the world over
will see that his first and highest duty is to be, in spirit if
not in name, a Christian Socialist. It is a work that must
approve itself by results, however, and I have no right
to claim for it the implied sanction of this tody while
many of its members are still in doubt in regard to it.
"Besides that. Brethren, I cannot but recognize the
fact that it is quite possible that this work may, at no dis-
tant day, require me to give up my pastorate. Already
my duties have so increased that, despite the liberal and
efficient aid provided by our League, I find myself com-
pelled to ask for help in my pastoral duties. My church
has kindly consented to give me any assistance I may
desire. It is possible that the interest of the church or
the league may ultimately require a separation in their
supervision. At present there are no indications of such
necessity. Should any such crisis occur, I do not hesi-
tate to say that, under present conditions, I should deem
it my duty to abandon the ministry, in which my place
might easily be more than filled by many of my brethren,
to continue that work to which I seem to have been espe-
cially and individually called, and which — I trust you will
pardon me for saying it— I believe to be at this time the
most important field of Christian endeavor.
" Under these circumstances, I think every one will
admit that it is plainly my duty, both as a man and as a
Christian minister, to leave the members of this Associa-
tion at liberty to approve or disapprove my work, as they
individually see fit to do, by not resuming iny membership
i
i\X
•f5-
^^fCATA/j-: f:AST.\r.iA\
in this body until all are satisfied that the Chnrrl,
receive no detriment thereby While T 1 r T ''^^
I'o r.( n IV- ••'tricuy. vinile 1 believe the work
s of God ,t ,s my duty and yo„rs to be jealous oTle
Cliurch and guard it against mistakes of ju Ignert ius.
ca efully as against intended assault. I tn, t ^11
W.I appreciate nty posi:i„„ ,„„ approvTy ^
took Hs S xt?" ^^ ^"'^ """ *"'™''' Eastman
IV . "'gnest CJinstian caste beranof. ifc
cond.t.ons ,n,gl,t prove an obstruction to Ae Mas'te v
work committed to his liand^ Tl ■. ■ '""^'"^
mark asked leave to withdraw the motion. There was
and said: """^ => t"™ Hie chairman arose
iuJ^ocZe°r TcV"7"'^^ "■' -'-"-•>' of what has
^- ^^e Atcit'o :::r„:rrt t""''^ "'■'"""-
.rammeled a work which he b'e le s hirGodT' ""■
-^^^^.»ewi.hpeL;:^,z^h[s:::Se:H™T/r-
*»*wl».^>^ ^- '^Mi'C(fs5fr>:.K
Church can
:ve the work
alous of the
ment just as
the brethren
' conclusion,
he Master."
le Eastman
latic in his
an earnest
)r centuries
because its
e Master's
was a new
htful men,
at the time
stian idea,
. After a
lan be re-
''ithout re-
riiere was
m had re-
and, with
promoter
lan arose
what has
withdraws
irsue un-
has put
:his body
s that it
)f a field
/S FAITH HOSTILE TO II UM AM TV
453
of Christian endeavor which lies wholly outside of the
Church, and in which the ministerial relation might prove
obstructive. Brother Eastman's course has been in the
highest degree honorable and manly. No one can doubt
his devotion to the Master's cause, and in severing his
relation with us, I am sure he has brought himself and his
work nearer to our hearts. We shall follow him with our
prayers, and trust that in promoting man's good he may
have opened a new field in which men may work for
God's glory."
There was another silence. At last, one of the oldest
rose and said:
" Mr. Chairman, I have long felt that we are on the eve
of great changes in regard to Christian faith and Christian
work. I never thought that I should live to say it, but
I must say that I agree with Brother Eastman, that the
most important field of labor to-day lies outside the
churches, that it cannot be done by the Church alone, and
no one has yet found a way to enable all sects and creeds
effectually to unite in such work. I confess that I do not
wholly understand this League of Christian Socialists, and
I for one would be very glad if he would enlighten us
somewhat in regard to its character."
This proposit'on was received with evident satisfaction.
Murvale Eastman was a favorite with his ministerial
breth'-en, i.ot more on account of his thorough manliness
thai! bcc,.in;'.e of his entire absence of assumption. Per-
haiS this feeling was helped out by the fact that, despite
his unusual good fortune, he was not a great preacher.
With all their kindliness, however, the members of the
Association were very far from approving the course of
the pastor of the Church of the Golden Lilies. They
recognized las sincerity, but regarded the movement with
III
• \
454
MUIiVALE EASTMAN.
Which he had identified himself, not only with that dis
trustwlj^^chalwaysattendstheintroductionofn et^^^^^^
but with peculiar suspicion because of its name
Christian Socialism ! Could the two words be pronerlv
joined? D d It not presage danger to the C^nird "hav
he name of Its founder linked with so questionable an
Idea as Socialism? What, indeed, is Socialism? There
was not a member of the Association who had failed to
a k himself this question, and each one had dived into
one or more encyclopedias for a reply. It is wonderful
what a lestnctive power the dictionary and encyclopedia
are coming to be. They limit and define all our\hough
for us. The encyclopedia is the steel helmet which the
mo rn thinker dons before entering the lists in defense
of truth. His brain grows to the exact limit of its circum-
ference and then stops perforce.
The Association had an encyclopedic notion of Social-
ism. It was not very clear. Communism, nihilism, an-
archism, and something of half a hundred other /....per-
haps, were jumbled uf together, and the whole liberally
besmeared with the blood of the French Revolution and
he roth of Carlyle-s rabid ravings. No wonder they
trembled as this indistinct specter of a horrible drean'
floated before their eyes! They forgot to note that So
ciahsm, in Its broad sense, is simply the practical applica-
rAn1rr?^'^"^^^"^^^'-^--"-^-eryanli;ode
And am//a,. Socialism ! They remembered that the
early Christians had been communists, having all thingi
m common, sending from distant regions by tt hand o
the Apostle a specific proportion of their earthly goods.
Mockers have said this was Christ's plan. No doubt the
early believers thought it to be his idea. Why should
I
I
i
«
I
th that dis-
evv methods,
le.
be properly
irch to have
tionable an
m ? There
id failed to
dived into
i wonderful
icyclopedia
jr thoughts
which the
in defense
its circum-
of Social-
hilism, an-
r isms per-
e liberally
ution and
nder they
)le dream
i that So-
il applica-
' antipode
that the
ill things
■ hand of
ly goods,
loubt the
Y should
IS FAITH HOSTILE TO HUMAA'ITY? 455
they not? The world's ideas of government and society
were very crude at that time. The Master, gazing with
tears upon the groveling masses — poor, ignorant, degraded,
oppressed, helpless, hopeless, born to serve and suffer and
die, begetting others only to follow in their footsteps and
repeat their sad experience— the divine Teacher, catch-
ing the secret of the world's woe, perceiving the one only
hope of betterment, had said to the dull ears which heard
the words of hope but only half- realized their purport:
"All this will be changed if men will but hear my voice.
I will lighten their burdens, sweeten their toil, enlarge
their joys, diminish their woes. Nay, they shall them-
selves perform these things if they will follow my teach-
ings." How? "Bear ye one another's burdens. Let
each esteem his neighbor's right as his own. Whatsoever
ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to
them."
No wonder the heavy hearts were lightened and the
dull brains began to plan to carry the Master's, words into
effect and bring fruition of this hope as soon as he had
vanished from their sight! The communism of the early
Christians was the first attempt of the unbelievers to put
in practice his teachings. We do not know how far it
extended, what peoples it embraced, by what machinery
it was administered. We only know that it found shelter
in the catacombs and was stamped out with the goat's
hoof of ambition when Constantine dangled the bait of
power before its leaders' dazzled eyes, and offered the
chance to proselyte and persecute in all the kingdoms of
the earth if they would permit him to put the cross upon
his banner. He gave them in charge the souls of his sub-
jects if they would help him to conquer his enemies and
hold their bodies in subjection.
■•ii
r :1*
456
M UK VALE EASTMAN,
So the first effort to construe the ^raster's words, to ev-
emp , y the social theory l,e enunciated, was a failure. It
IS httle wonder. The world of that day was very sterile
sod m which to plant such precious seed. The gardeners
to whom Its care was committed had neither experience
nor preparation. They did not realize the double-let
us say rather the universal-nature of the tree "whose
leaves were for the healing of the nations." So they made
a bargain with the Devil that if he would yield them
(lominion over the souls of men he might work his will
on their bodies; if he would yield the empire of faith he
might control the realm of se.nse. It was a bad bargain,
made o be broken by both. On it was based the bondage
of ecclesiasticism, which was simply an endeavor to make
faith the sole test of right; to establish as a universal
principle the terrible dogma that the right to live de-
pended on the acceptance of a specific religious theory
From that hour the mandates of the Church were written
m blood ! Well do we call " dark " the ages that followed"
Ye those misty centuries taught one lesson and taught
It well: that faith is not the measure of human right, and
Btotrv- tT" " r T"''' ^' ^^-^-^y^^, red-handed
Bigotry The rack and the stake are hid away forever
under the rich verdure of liberty ami civilization, but the
world will always turn with a shudder to the time when
they were the arguments of faith and the emblems of
righteousness. The most ardent believer fears nothing to-
day so much as an attempt to make individual liberty de-
pend on religious belief. The Church itself, so far as
Protestantism extends, has become the stoutest cha«ipion
of the unbeliever's right.
So the members of the Association had a double ground
tor fear. As representatives of the Church they had a
AS- FAITH iiosrii.E /v /Ji'MAXi ■/•)■.'
457
rords, to ex-
failure. It
very sterile
e gardeners
experience
double — let
ee "whose
• they made
yield them
)rk his will
of faith he
id bargain,
le bondage
3r to make
I universal
live de-
US theor}'.
;re written
followed !
nd taught
right, and
;d-handed
ly forever
1, but the
ime when
blems of
Jthing to-
berty de-
o far as
:hainpion
e ground
'■y had a
lively recollection of two great errors in its history: the
one the failure of Christian Communism— a short, sweet,
simple story, unstained with wrong and still fragrant with
heroic devotion, brotherly love, and juirity of life— the
gentle thought the Saviour's words had generated in the
hearts of tlie simple fishcr-folk whom he loved '. 1 1 was too
frail a plant to stand the rough blasts of the world. !l
was doomed to droop and die. Yet the Saviour watered
the seed with his tears and the early believers tended and
trimmed it as best they knew. It has been the model of
many a dreamer's aspiration since. On all these dreams is
written " failure." Was " Christian Socialism '" to be another
of these failures? That wa.s the question the members of
the Association asked themselves.
They were jealous, too, of the use of the term " Chris-
tian." What right had any one not affiliated with the
Church in faith to wear the Cross upon his shoulder and
in that holy name begin a crusade for humanity? They
beheved the time had come for a new departure; they
felt the need of new agencies and better conditions ; but
they were jealous for the faith, and were unwilling that it
should be deprived of the sole and exclusive use of the
Christ-n-^me as the trade -mark of purpose or result. It
is not strange that even the most charitable and i>rogres-
sive servants of the Church should have this feeling.
They were accustomed to thmk of civilization as Chris-
tian in its excellences and unchristian in its defects. They
had never thought of Christ's teachings as containing a
social philosophy which is the free heritage of redeemed
and unredeemed alike. They forgot that to " love thy
neighbor as thyself " is the privilege of the unbeliever, as
well as the duty of the disc^ile. So they were jealous for
the faith they were set to t'lard, as well as tolerant and
> t
\i
,»*fr-
45S
MLKIAI.K EASTMAX.
\\.
hopeful of all that promised good. They were pleased
with the altitude of the voiuig pastor, both because of the
care lie had exercised to prevent any detriment resulting
to his church, uid the prudence and caution he had ex-
ercised m the organization of his league. riuis far only
good seemed to have resulted, but they could not with-
out a shudder think of a minister allying himself with a
body assumuij, the name of Christian Socialists, which
openly ignored all questions of faith and admilted believers
and unbelievers to the ranks on equal terms.
The Association really wanted light upon this subject
and were more than willing to give him a hearing anrl
their approval of the proposition that he snould address
them on the subject was turned into applause when he
said:
" Mr. Chairman, nothing would give me greater plea-
sure than to comply with this desire on the part of my
brethren if I knew exactly the points n,)on which thev
desired information. If they will kindly ask such ques-
tions as they desire, I will endeavor to answer them as
fully as I can."
He stood a moment waiting.
"Well, then," said the venerable man who had prof-
fered the request, "to begin with, why do you call your-
selves Christian SociaHsts?"
"We call ourselves Socialists because we desire to im-
prove social conditions, and Christian Socialists because
we believe that Christ's doctrine shows the way by which
the betterment of social conditions may be achieved "
" Yet you do not believe-T mean the League does not
beheve-that faith in Christ is necessary to this result?"
"I understand; I speak for the League uom-. No- we
do not regard what is termed a ' saving faith ' as essential
/.v FAITH nosTU.E ro ucmaxitv.'
459
ere pleased
:ause of the
nt resulting
he had ex-
us far only
d not with-
self with a
lists, which
2d believers
his subject
earing anrl
lid address
ie when he
eater plea-
part of my
vhich they
such ques-
r chem as
had prof-
call your-
'^ire to im-
s because
' by which
eved."
2 does not
result?"
No; we
: essential
to human improvement or to the practice of Christian phi-
losophy — the application of Chr' t^ian principles to social
conditions."
"Do you think it pro])er tli a God's work should be
intrusted to the hands of unbelievers?"' asked one of the
members solemnly.
" God has never hesitated to use such instrumentali-
ties," was the reply.
" But he has never authorized tiiem to assume the name
of his Son and in that name to proclaim healing to the
nation;,."'
" Men are prohibited from doing evil in his name, but
invited to <\o good w^xcXkidx they follow with his disciples
or not."
"But is there any merit in good works without faith?"
" We do not ask any merit. We do not claim that the
League is an instrument of salvation. We leave that to
the Church. The Church enjoins duty to our fellows be-
cause the Master commanded it; the League would apply
his teachings to all phases of individual and collective
life, because they are the soundest ])olicy and the highest
social truth. These are not ' Christian duties ' in the
sen ,e of being restricted to and incumbent on Christians
only. It is as much the duty of the unbeliever to be just
and helpful to his fellows as of the Christian, The Christ-
ttieory of human relation is not a principle of Christian con-
duct merely: it is universal, because it is based on human
nature. If men do unto others as they would that men
should do to them, they cannot fail to make the burden
of society light."
" But can that rule be completely fulfilled except by
the aid of the Holy Spirit?"
" It rarely is — with or without that aid— but I think
i
i
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5
460
MUKVALE EASTMA.W
God is always on the side of the right, no matter who is
trying to do what the Master's law requires of all. The
League is not intended to test individual motive or merit,
or promote personal salvation, but to improve social con-
ditions and encourage good impulses.''
"You think Christianity is of a duplex nature, then— a
part of it intended to promote salvation and a part in'
tended to secure better conditions?"
"In a sense, no doubt; at least the League of Christian
Socialists proceeds upon the fundamental idea that the
Christ-theory of human betterment would have been just
as true if another had formulated it, and was just as true
before he uttered it ; that it is a universal law of human
life, the highest policy, the wisest selfishness; that the
more generally it is applied by any people, the worthier,
happier, more peaceful, and more prosperous they will be \
and that this is true utterly irrespective of any theory
of redemption or individual salvation. What we desire is
to increase the area of apphcation of this principle by
avoiding all questions of a purely religious character and
furnishing a common ground on which saint and sinner,
members of all sects and no sect, believers in all creeds
and no creed, may work together for the application of the
Christ-philosophy of human life to every phase of social
relations."
" Do you expect to eradicate evil without purifying the
source of evil, human motive.? Can you have any Chris-
tian life without regeneration?"
"Do you expect to eradicate sin, my brother?" re-
sponded Eastman. " Personally, I believe that the prac-
tice of Christian philosophy tends to a belief in Christ'an
doctrines, but whether it does or not, it inclines to a bet-
ter life and makes man worthier of the salvation the
/S I-Artll HOSTILE TO JICMAXlTYf
461
If
Church offers. We no more expect to eradicate evil than
the Churcli expects to eradicate sin; we only hope to
lessen its extent and mitigate its effects."
" But you do not believe in charity, I am told."
" We leave almsgiving, the relief of actual suffering,
mainly to the State and the Church. That has been the
peculiar field of activity on the part of the Church so far
as human conditions are concerned, and as regards human
suffering, hunger, thirst, lack of shelter and raiment, she
may be said to have pretty nearly Christianized society,
which does not, as a rule, allow the poor to starve, the in-
firm to suffer, or the sick to die unattended. Our Chris-
tian civilization has provided for the mitigation of such
evils. So, too, it punishes crime and has done much to
prevent contagion. But impoverishment, which is the
chief source of crime, degradation, despair, hopelessness
— it is still permitted, nay, it is even generally deemed
commendable, to promote. The Church has no reproach
for him who uses power to create poverty or compels the
weak to submit to extortion. Society denounces the
gambler, but worships the man who successfully ' bulls '
or ' bears ' a stock, puts up the price of breadstuffs by a
corner, or makes a fortune by limiting the supply of coal
or raising the price of petroleum."
"And do you expect to prevent such things?"
" We mean to do whatever may be in our power to
lessen such evils; to prevent impoverishment when we
can; to help keep the self-employer from sinking into the
ranks of the dependent, the owner of the home from be-
coming homeless, the hopeful from becoming hopeless,
the clean from becoming foul."
"And how do you expect to do this?"
" Not in any one particular way, but by all means that
IM
jii
ff
462
Ml'RVALi-: EASTMAX,
can be densed; personal assistance, co-operative action,
public opinion, statutory restraint; by instruction, persua-
sion, example. Indeed, the study of methods is one of
tl;e most important of the aims and functions of the
League."
"As you Gispen.e with sect and creed in Christianity,
so I suppose you will do without party in the State?"
"As we leave future salvation to the Church, so we
leave government to the State," said Murvale, smiling.
We propose to discuss the betterment of general condi-
tions and the means by which it may be promoted, leaving
to individuals and parties the application of these princi-
pies. . '
"Will Brother Eastman give us some illustrations of
what the League may have attempted m these direc
tions?" asked the moderator.
" Certainly. The managers of a corporation adopted a
rule that none of its employes should wear a beard One
of the employes, a man who had made hi? -untry his
debtor for good deeds bravely done, sicko ,nd died
because of this tyrannical order. The League circulated
a million leaflets asking Christian men and women not to
patronize a road guilty of such pagan cruelty, and to co-
operate in securing a law restricting the powers of cor-
porate employers.
"Another corporation required its employes to buy a
uniform from a certain manufacturing establishment at a
higher rate than would be charged them at retail by an
ordinary tailor. We called attention to this as a case of
robbery just as unjustifiable as that practiced by Captain
Kydd on the high seas! "
" But the employe knows the rules when he applies
for the place," said a man in one of the pews.
M:
i':ii
/S I-AIIU HOSTILE TO HLMAMTY .
4^'3
tive action,
ion, persua
5 is one of
3ns of the
'hristianity,
;tate?"
rch, so we
e, smiling,
eral condi-
ed, leaving
ese princi-
trations of
lese direc-
adopted a
ard. One
"untry his
nnd died
circulated
len not to
Lnd to GO-
'S of cor-
to buy a
iient at a
ail by an
a case of
■ Captain
- applies
" The fact that a man is obliged to submit to unjust
conditions in order to obtain employment does not atilect
the question of right or wrong."
" Did not your league inaugurate a boycott of certain
deserving tradesmen?"' asked one.
" We found the newsdealers of the city selling the most
degraded and pernicious literature to the boys and girls,
the young men and women of our homes. It is the uni-
versal opinion of all students of criminal statistics that
this is the nost fecund of all the causes of crmie, except-
ing only poverty and drunkenness. We had a list made
of all who kept such literature and oT those who j^romised
not to keep it. This we sent to one hundred thousand
church members asking them th- ;)lain (piestion whether
they ought to help pay for circulating such moral poison? "
" Why could not the Church do these things? "
" We are not antagonizing the Church, only doing what
our hands find to do. The Church did not do these
things which we have felt called upon to undertake. Many
of those men wh'se acts we have been compelled to
denounce are members of the Church, which has thus
far failed to discountenance or forbid them."
" You find no difiiculty on account of religious belief?"
" Believers and unbelievers work together in harmony."
"And your numbers are increasing?"
"Wonderfully. It seems as if [)eople were waiting for
it, expecting it, already feeling the need of it. Leagues
are being organized in many other cities. To my mind,
it promises a force divinely ordained to supplement the
Church in the work of redemption."
" You have been having a very marked work of grace
in your church, I think?"' inquired the moderator.
"Very; unprecedented in its history."
^1
t
^^1
^tt
i
t-
:
L
r
i
'■•
.
i|
1
m
464
-J/ L'A' FA IK EA S 7-A/A .V
work? ''''' " "'^ '^''' ""^ ^'""' ''^^"' "P°" *'''' 'P'''^"^^
" They began about the same time and have continued
together to grow m interest ever since."
" But in cause and effect, I mean."
"T do not know," said Murvale solemnly, "but I be-
lieve tJiat whatever promotes the love of man is sure to
awaken, sooner or later, the love of God."
There was a low murmur of approval. The chairman
raised h,s hand as if satisfied, and the Ministers' As-
socmtion had taken a step toward the solution of the
problem of to-day's civilization.
CHAPTER XLir.
i'HF ULTIMATUM.
For a while Wilton Kishu faced impending peril with-
out flmchmg. It was not the first time he had been
threatened with disaster. His nerve was notable amon^
the busmess men of the city, as well as his fertility of re-
source. All who knew him laughed at the idea of his
being vanquished by such an adversary.
Yet Kishu did not underestimate the danger; neither did
h.s counsel. His lawyer told him that the claimant's title
was unimpeachable. The warranty he had given could
not be evaded. Valentine's heirs were entitled to the
.and with all improvements. Kishu was liable to the par-
ties for the difference between the present value and the
price paid so long ago. Juries were not likely to favor
false warranty: he made an estimate of the amount- to
THE LLJlMATlMf
46;
pay it would sweep away the accumulations of a life-time;
not to pay it meant humiliation, disgrace.
His counsel advised him to take what money and valu-
ables he could lay hands on, and go away to some foreign
country —Mexico, Peru, anywhere ; possibly he might get
on his feet again. He would not listen to this plan. He
would fight— fight and die, perhaps — but he would die
where he hajl lived ; he would not run nor dodge.
Then the lawyer proposed a compromise.
"With whom?"
"The claimant, Underwood."
Mr. Kishu shook his head: the attorney persisted.
Finally his client assented. The ne.xt day the lawyer
brought a sealed note containing, he was told, the only
terms on which adjustment was possible. Wilton Kishu
opened it nervously. He wa.5 a shade paler after its
perusal. He put it back in the envelope and laid it on
the desk before him.
" It is no use," he said in reply to the lawyer's ques-
tioning look.
" You think ■" asked the lawyer, anxious to know
the contents of the note.
" I kiiow^ interrupted his client, putting the note in his
desk and locking it.
" You think we must "
"Take the chances of a flaw, somewhere," said Kishu
firmly.
In legal conflict as well as on the battle-field, it is the
time between the development of the hostile force and
the moment when the battle is joined that is most trying
to the combatants. After the fight is once fully on, the
excitement of the contestants blinds them to the fear of
consequences until the end comes. This period of in-
30
466
M-ih'r.HJ: /-..ISIMAW
action and suspense told very hard upon Mr. Kishu. Hour
after hour and day after <lay he sat moody and silent at
his desk. He listened with indifference to the rcMK^rts of
his subordinates; asked few questions; gave little heed
to business propositions that were broached by his callers
whom, indeed, he began to shun rather than desire
For a tune he did not lose hope, going doggedly over
the whole ground seeking some way of escape He had
great confidence in his power of continued application to
one particular subject. In this he had learne<l that he
grealy excelled most men. Others talked about his luck
He be leved in his brain. His mind was not brilliant."
He did not think as fast as many others, but he could
think onger on one subject than most men, and so had
often found a way out of difficulty vvliere others failed
I was to this faculty he appealed, in his present extremity'
Over and over agam he followed the same hopeless track
iZhnrr"''""'''^""'^""^"^ rendered, seeking some
loop-hole of escape. His brain seemed sluggish and in
active Everything became overshadowed by the o le
thought he so relentlessly pursued. For the fi4 time in
h.s life he walked with his eyes fixed upon the groun
The pavement walls, the cover of his desk, the blue sky
^^en e loo ed apward-all were covered with his plans
for rehef-the vain schemes he worked out day by dav
on y o see them crumble into dust at night. He oft J.'
f^ded to return the greetings of his friends; sometimes
was unable immediately to recognize them wLen aro e"
from his reverie. These things became so evident ha
many noted it, and some shrewd observers ventured the
suggestion that he was " losing his ^rip "
At home he passed his time in the library. It pleased
him to have his daughter sit with hi.r, but his wife's
■J III: ri.riMATiwr.
467
lui. Hour
tl .silcHt at
rojKjrts of
little heed
liis c;allers,
sire.
,a'(lly over
He Imd
it.ation to
d that he
t his hick.
briHiaiif.
lie could
id so ]iad
rs failed,
xtreniity.
2SS track,
"g some
1 and i li-
the one
; time in
ground,
blue sky
lis plans
by day,
le often
inetime.s
aroused
2nt that
red the
pleased
5 wife's
presence annoyed him. She was solemn anrl tearful. He
thought she was mourning over the prospective loss of
fortune. She wept only for his sake and because she
could not comfort him. The great sorrow of her life had
been a belief that he failed to apjneciate her. She had
mourned over it for years; yer slie adored her husband
and wept merely out of pity for herself, not from any de-
sire to reproach him. Tears are sometimes unattractive,
and the copious flow had long since loosened the tie of
confidence between husband and wife. There was no
quarrel or bickering. She bewailed the thought that he
looked upon her with indifference; he regarded her with
contemptuous pity because she was not content. She
was forever dreaming of something she might do to com-
mand his admiration ; he forever wondering what new
blunder she would make. So the tactful man and tactless
woman lived at cross purposes; the tie between them,
the daughter who understood them both better than either
did the other, and yet was powerless to bring them closer
together.
He did not talk of his affairs. He had never b 'n ac-
customed to confidants, except Lampson, indee(i, and
Lampson had gone. He had not thought the secretary
would dare accept his challenge to leave his service, but
he had not been able to obtain any trace of the man
since he had gone from tho ofiice — except that he had
left the city after visiting Metziger's ofiice. His pur[)ose
in suggesting Lampson's going had been chiefly to avoid
discreditable rumors, based on the one unlawful act of his
life — the appropriation, even for a brief period, of an-
other's property. Now his anxiety about that seemed to
him absurd and trivial. It was not poverty or want, but
nothingness that stared him in the face. What did he
I
M
% u
. t
468
Mnn-AI./. l-ASTMAX.
care for mere sentnnental disapproval when the accunn,.
at.ons of a hfe-t.me were at stake! What wo.ld there be
or h.m to hve for, if he lost in this contest? He chd not
blame the chumant. F^e ha,l a right to take what was
his own. He did not wonder at the harsh terms offered
m reply to h,s overtine for eomproniise, either. What
were the terms? He carried the note about in his pocket
and read it over a dozen times a day:
" \^ the child from whom you took the trinket contain-
ing an opal, which on the next day you hypothecated for
a loan of $a,ooo, ,s pro.hued or accounted for, and it a,>
pears she has been kindly treated and well reared, the
smts already begun and all other claims arising from de-
fect of ttt le „. the lands of Daniel Ximenes Valentine's
he.rs may be adjusted by paying the present value of the
lands without nnprovements. No other terms will be con-
suiered. t^,, ,,
JONAS Underwood."
It was written in a stitT, hard hand. The man who
wrote U meant exactly what he said. There was no hope
of mercy from him. Underwood! He remembered the
name as soon as he saw the handwriting. He ha.i not
dreamed that this was the man he had wronged. It was
strange he had not, for the name had haunted him for
years He had learned all about him at that time. The
nian had come from the West just before the war, bring-
'ng with hmi some sort of an invention. What was it?
He remembered having looked it over once to see if there
was money in it. It was not ,)erfected then. Ah, he re-
membered-a knitter. The inventor had kept at work
upon It with a pertinacity that commanded his respect.
After a year or two Underwood completed it and began
Jill. LI riMA /CM.
469
lie acciimii.
lid there he
He (lid not
e what was
inis offered
ler. What
his i)ocket
2t contain-
ecated for
and it ap-
eared, the
J from de-
''alentine's
lue of the
ill be con-
M'OOD."
man who
5 no hope
bered the
had not
• It was
him for
le. The
ir, bring-
t was it?
; if there
h, he re-
at work
respect,
d began
to make money^not very much, btit there was promise of
more — when tiie war came on, and after a few months of
restlessness, he sold out his interest and entered the army,
'i'he woman was a widow when the child disappearv.(l, or
reported so, at least, liut there were many husbands who
disappeareil in those days, to come buck, broken and
shattered, to homes that were as barren of joy as their
lives were of hope.
So it was this man's child that was lost? How strangely
things come about in this world! He had taken this
man's property as the foundation of his fortune, and al-
lowed his child to be lost in the trackless ocean of human-
ity, and now the man took him by the throat and said,
"Your money or my child! " He had never harmed the
child. Indeed, he had saved its life at the risk of his
own. Yet Wilton Kishu admitted that this demand was
not unjust. He had not intended to do wrong; he had
not violated the law so far as the child was concerned, but
he had not done right. If he had not weakly yielded to
his wife's silly notion, he might have restored the child
and avoided peril if not reproach. He acknowledged this,
and wondered dimly if fate required of all men that they
should always deal ■ .'ncously with their fellows and
rigorously exacted a penalty, even in this world, for in-
fractions of this law. He could not refrain from smiling
as the thought crossed his mind. Of course, it could not
be so. Neither society nor religion required men to do
right always. Such a rule might do for angels, but could
not be applied to men. Society and religion merely de-
manded that men should obey the law. That was hard
enough, but no one was responsible for the results of
what he had a right to do — what the law permitted him
to do.
■ y i
i '1
'i i'i
. I
470
Till':
.Vrkn-AfE F.ASTMA.y,
He hail violated the law, in one single instance, and
from that had come all his trouhle. This was the view
which he took of his life., regardinK it from a moral stand-
I'nnit-h.s notion of the relation deity sustains to lunnan
conduct. An avenging destiny pursued him because he
had dis(,I,eyed the connnand which makes possession
Kacred-had taken that which was another's; was for the
tunc a thief, in short. He .lid n t count the bereaved
parent s years of agony as a meritorious appeal to Divine
Justice. Why should he? He had been taught that
suffering was of divine ordainment, why not this as well
as any other? He did not imagine that the young soul
wh ch he had Hcnt into temptation and de..^radation was
forever crying out against him. The lost ^soul did not
haunt his dreams, but the evil wliich the law expressly
condemned-the sin which men dignify by the name of
crime-this troubled his conscience; this made him ac
knowledge that his i.unishment was just. Such was his
notion of divine justice and human rectitude.
A curious notion, do you say? Perhaps. Conscience
Js a curious thing at best. We speak of it sometimes as
If It were divine. We call it an "inward monitor," the
judge of right and wrong which each man carries in his
heart." One would think it an infinite right line, drawn
through the domain of consciousness by the almighty
Hand, by which all human thought might be tried and
Its truth or error detected. The truth is that conscience
IS only a mirror which reflects some ideal of duty The
Ideal may be just or distorted; no matter, conscience re-
flects It as it is. Half the evil of the world springs from
conscientious l^elief that the acts from which it results are
right. The feudal lord believed in his right to rule- the
master believed in his right to enslave; the pagan' be-
/■///•; ririMAiTM.
47'
lieves in human sacrifire; the Indian widow counts Suttee
a sa(-rcd duty; tiie CMirisiian landlord bclic-vt-s in his ii^;lu
to possess just as nunh of the earth's surface as the law
will permit him to ac.(iuire; the Christian capitalist be-
lieves in competiti<m, accumulation, and transmission, just
as devoutly as in the Trinity ' e worships. Whatever re-
sults from what each man believes to be right, that also
he esteems right. Conscience mere'y reflects that ideal
of duty which environment plants in each nature, and
each man esteems as permissible that which the general
sentiment does not condemn. Now and then, some spe-
cial exposure of an individual life creates a specially sen-
sitive conscience. We call this sometimes " oversensi-
tivcness," sometimes '* morbidness." If the ideal becomes
general, we look upon its early exponents as heroes or
martyrs ; if it does not, we laugh at them as fools and
cranks. Conscience is not an infallible guide. It may
impel to wrong-doing as well as to righteousness. So far
as man's relations to man are concerned, there is but
one rule of right: "Do unto others as you would have
them do to you." Conscience is a safe guide only when
it cries, " Put yourself in his i)lace."
Wilton Kishu was conscientious; but his conscience
simply reflectt^d the ideal of to-day's civilization, of to-
day's Christianity. It is not worse than yesterday's; it is
in most respects distinctly better. The trouble consists
in looking to Yesterday for a standard. There has been
no perfect civilization ; there has been no perfect Chris-
tianity. The past is only a series of attempts at im-
prpvement and equally continuous struggles to prevent
it. Conscience has always been on both sides. Civili-
zation is not necessarily progress. Christianity is not
necessarily righteousness. Civilization, when it is mere
% y
472
.VrRVALE EASTMAX.
eniightenerl Selfishness, is better than barbarism only in its
meihods. It seems worse, no doubt, to kill with a club
than with an obstructed sewer, or by the restriction of
opportunity; but it is the same thing to the man who
dies. So, too, the Christian God is a sweeter deity than
Moloch; but when Christianity does not impel the be-
liever to recognize the rights, interests, and welfare of
others as the measure of individual and collective duty,
then, so far as concerns those who are wronged and weak-
e;.ed and debased in consequence, Christianity is no
better than the cult of the Ammonite. It was no worse
to offer children's bodies upon the altar than to weaken
and debase and destroy child-lives for greed. It seems
worse to slay with the knife than to kill by neglect, de-
basement, deprivation of opportunity; but so far as the
victims are concerned, it is probably much the same.
Progress is the law of human existence only because
there are more pcor than rich, more weak than strong,
more who suffer by wrong than enjoy by injustice. For
that reason civilization tends to eradicate the sovereign
and has already overthrown the idea of inherited right to
rule: it eliminates the lord and destroys inherited privi-
' lege. From this has come the doctrine of equal right and
the evolution of the citizen— the self-ruler. Thus far,
however, civilization has developed rather than restricted
the millionaire— the man who represents the restriction
of others' opportunity for his own advantage; and the
Christian conscience, thus far, approves the accumulation
from which results the subjection of the individual.
Wilton Kishu's conscience, then, was troubled not be-
cause of broken lives, but on account of a broken law.
niE TWIG BREAKS.
473
I
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE TWIG BREAKS.
The unexpected agitation of her father, resulting from
her whispered intimation of some knowledge of the most
unpleasant episode of his li. had confirmed Lilian's pre-
vious conviction that the only mode of extricating him
from disaster was to hasten her marriage with the young
minister, in whose hands she believed lay the power to
save or ruin. In both hypotheses, as the reader already
knows, she was only half correct. Her father's agitation
had resulted from the belief induced by his apprehension
that she knew much more than she did; While on the
other hand the power to continue or discontinue the
search, with its resulting effects — which had once been in
Eastman's hands — had been taken from him by the con-
fession of Lampson, this confession, made to Mr. Metziger,
to whom he had given the money received from his em-
ployer to conduct a search for the girl, whom he had
somehow come to believe was still alive, established a prob-
ability that Mr. Kishu had either concealed tlie child's
death or had in some manner disposed of her in order
that he might enjoy the fruits of robbery of the jewel from
her person; and thus it had deprived the young divine of
all control over the forces that were working together for
Wilton Kishu's destruction.
This knowledge had transformed Jonas Underwood into
a relentlessly revengelul force. He had been willing to
il^
mk
■\ .
w
474
MURVALE EASTMAX.
forgive Wilton Kishu for having unlawfully come into the
possession of what was his, and having retained it so long
while he and his wife suffered from the comforts it would
have bought; but when he thought that this man might
have relieved the mother's anxiety by telling what he
knew, of the long days of pitiful woe and the nights of
tearful agony which the brave, gray-haired wife had en-
dured—when he thought of these things, the fires of hell
blazed in Jonas Underwood's eyes, and the rage of unspar-
ing revenge filled his heart. Consideration for Murvale
Eastman and Lilian had entirely disappeared from his
thought in the white heat of his resentment. He would
crush, destroy, degrade, punish— kill if he could— the
man whose selfishness and greed had caused that loving
heart such anguish. It was all for her; he did not count
his own suffering ; in fact, he was unconscious that he had
known any suffering, in his consuming desire to avenge
her woe upon the brutal, devilish wretch who had tortured
her for half a life-time that he might enjoy the fruits of
unlawful gain.
What did he care for the pride, the good name of the
family of this wretch, whom he hated because of his cru-
elty and despised because of his baseness! He would
fling him down; he would trample him in the mire of dis-
grace; he would impoverish and degrade him; he would
make //z> wife taste the bitterness of poverty; he would
condemn his beautiful daughter to hunger and want— ay,
even to shame— if he could possibly compass such results.
To this end he was willing to sacrifice all he possessed
and all he ho{)ed to secure. He was a fiend incarnate of
revenge. But he said to himself that it was right that he
should do these things, because this man who stood so
high in the world's esteem was a brute, who cared noth-
THE TWIG BREAKS.
475
me into the
d it so long
rts it would
man might
ig what he
le nights of
ife had en-
fires of hell
i of unspar-
or Murvale
i from his
He would
could — the
that loving
1 not count
:hat he had
to avenge
id tortured
lie fruits of
anie of the
of his cru-
He would
nire of dis-
; he would
he would
want— ay,
ich results.
possessed
icarnate of
;ht that he
) stood so
ired noth-
ing for the woe of others so long as his own desire might
be gratified. It was a terrible picture, and Mr. Kishu
would have been amazed at the hellish lineaments assigned
to him by the fevered fancy of this husband and father,
whose sufferings he had never accounted any serious mat-
ter. People who think they have been wronged are apt
to be unreasonable, and people who have never tried to
put themselves in the place of those who suffer are apt to
think them extravagant in their views.
Still more would Lilian have been amazed if she had
known that it was this firebrand of fate that controlled
the destiny of Wilton Kishu, rather than Murvale East-
man, whose love she believed would disarm resentment
and perhaps even blunt his sense of duty.
While she did not regard the prospect of marriage with
Murvale with entire satisfaction, the notion that she was
doing it to save her parents from humiliation gave it a
heroic aspect altogether pleasing. From that moment
she had looked forward to the accomplishment of this
design with a fixed and earnest purpose quite at variance
with her previous indecision. Indeed, she had received
the news that Frank Marsh had declined the tempting
offer made to him by her father, not only with composure,
but with actual satisfaction. It was not best that she
should meet him too frequently after his passionate
avowal. She did not want him to go away, and was glad
he had taken a better position on the Breeze instead of
going to San P'rancisco as it had been announced that he
would, but she did not care to see him too often — just
now, at least.
She had not been in any haste to reply to Murvale's
letter, both because of her own indecision and because
she had been somewhat startled by the turn affairs had
J I 1
m
476
MVRVAI.E EASTMAN
aken When she saw the storm gathering over her
ath.fs head, and felt that she could no longer deUy ac'
.on, she took her initial step with a skill that proved her
a worthy daughter of the great negotiator. Ignoring the
weeks hat had elapsed and the fact that hef la.t feHer
to h,m had been one of peremptory dismissal, she wrote"
coni?r, ^"^"^-^^-Yo"' letter disturbed me so that I
could not answer at once. It is shocking to think that
the nng you placed on my Snger should prove to be the
only memento of the loss which our friends, the Under
woods sustamed so many years ago. Poor child! One
can only hope a»d pray that she fell into kind hands and
I co'wVelo o' irfhis'ear" ' oTco"' '"" ' '""'
know that there"fe'Llh!ngrt;e ma«rthLruirbe
discreditable to my father. Lilian »
In reply to this she received the following. The man's
straigluforward nature had failed to note the artfulness oj
i^S ov"r\Tr: ™'""'' ''"' "^ ""'"^'" *« ■-"'
"Dear Lilian:_I am afraid that there is some terrible
mystery connected with the disappearance of Mr, Under'
wood's child I cannot think that your father knew of
her death and has remained silent these many years Yet
such IS the testimony of the last one who saw the child
fo a loan °t, ."ff ''^' ^°" '""'" P'^'^S-'' 'h^ opal
for a loan. Why did he not reveal what he knew? Why
does he not do it even now? Q Lilian, my heart bleedl
tryorbr"™- ^^^"-^-of'HeMostHot
^ ^^^^^- MuRVALE Eastman."
'^^^-
THE rWIG BREAKS.
477
Lilian took occasion during the day after this was re-
ceived to show her father these two letters. He glanced
over them moodily and handed them back.
" Why dc.'t you do as he suggests? " she asked.
Wilton Kishu shook his head.
" You must do something."
" What can I do — accuse your mother? "
" You did not kill the child! "
"No; my wife stole it— kidnapped, the law calls it," he
answered bitterly.
" But you did not know it was lost— whose it was, I
mean? "
"Not until afterward— then I did— everybody knew.
The papers were full of it."
" But why did you not give information? "
" I don't know— I didn't."
" Why do you not now disclose what you know? "
" There is no use."
" She might be found."
" Better not."
Lilian took out her mother's letter and held it toward
him.
"Yes, I know; I followed that up; spent three months
at it. Couldn't find a trace."
" You think she is dead then? "
" Or worse."
Lilian shuddered.
" Dear papa," she said, kneeling at his feet, " is there
no way— nothing that can be done? "
He put Underwood's note into her hand.
" You see," he said—" the girl or your money— that is
all."
"And would it take so very much?"
47«
. >/ d 7>' r.t /. /■: EA S 7 A/ A A '.
'II
Her father smiled grimly.
"All we have got."
" And is there no — no other way? "
" I— I haven't found any— yet," he answered with sig-
nificant emphasis.
" Never mind," she said, kissing his forehead as sh^
forced herself into his arms. " Your little girl will find a
way."
" The minister— you think? "
She smiled archly.
" It has gone beyond him," gloomily.
" Oh, you will see! " she responded gayly.
"Too late," he answered. " I.ampson has got the
start of me."
"You just wait," shaking her finger at him mischiev-
ously.
I' That is all there is to do," was the hopeless reply.
" Don't be discouraged : wait until I have tried. I ex-
pect to see you in your old place in the Golden Lilies y^t."
He shook his head dejectedly.
" Do you want to know what I am going to do? Well
I am going to ask Mr. Eastman to dine with us to-morrow
night."
" He will not come."
" But if he does and— and asks you for your daughter
afterward — you will not refuse him?"
" I suppose not— but— he will not come."
" Wait and see. I am going to write a note to him this
very minute."
She kissed her father again, sat down at the desk and
penned the invitation. The next morning before her
father started to his pffice, he asked her if she had re-
ceived a reply.
y///; J'A'OTKS/- OF PKSI'AJA-.
479
" He says he has an imperative engagement,"' Lilian
answered, tears forcing their way between the Hds.
"Yes; the Christian Sociahsts meet to-night," her
father said bitterly. " It's no use! "
He turned back from the door and kissed her with un-
usual earnestness as slie stood upon the rug. She tried
to utter some words of encouragement, but could not.
" Good-by," he said, looking wistfully back as he opened
the door and went out.
;ot the ,
ischiev-
CHAPTKR XLIV.
THE PROTEST OF DESPAIR.
Wilton I^ishu looked back at his home after he had
entered his carriage. He had spoken cheerfully to his
coachman : told him he would take a turn before going
to the office and asked him to drive slowly. The morning
was bright and crisp. The servant was glad to see his
master loolc so much better than he had of late. At the
corner Mr. Kishu turned and looked back at his house
once more. Just as the intervening buildings hid it he
waved his hand as if bidding farewell.
Then he cast his eyes down and began to think over
the situation. He had thought it over a thousand times
already. He knew what the result would be, and had de-
termined upon "he course he would take. He had waited
from day to d-^j, hoping that something favorable would
occur. Hope was now dispelled. Murvale Eastman had
repelled his daughter's advances. He saw it all. His
enemies had made common cause against him — Under-
wood, Eastman, Lampson : and they had a great host of
48o
MURVALK EASTMAN.
allies. It was useless to attempt to make head against
them. He might save enough to live on; his lawyer
thought even at the worst a considerable sum might he
left him. Not one of hi:: many millions, but perhaps a
hundred thousand-possibly more. At any rate it was
not want he feared. His wife and daughter had enough
He had provided for them— not lavishly, but prudently-
long ago.
What he did fear was something far more terrible—
the loss of position, prestige, rank in the world where
rank was measured by accumulation. To do him justice,
Wilton Kishu cared little for money in itself. He would
never have ma.le a miser. He did not care for luxury,
either; he was not given to indulgence. What he did
love beyond all other things, beyond himself even, was
the ulterior effect of his fortune-the things that flowed
f jm It. He delighted to think of himself standing on
what he had heaped up and looking down on those who
had failed or who were still eagerly striving to equal or
^ surmount his success. He loved to think of himself a^
one among the few who had not one, but many millions
What would he be without them? Who would care for
Wilton Kishu with a mere competence? He knew men
did not value him for himself, but for the power he rep-
resented. What would he be without that power? A
failure I That was the only word to represent it. A man
who had climbed up only to be ignominiously hurled
down! Men would laugh at him— worse still, they would
pity him. His friends, who had already grown cold,
would tell of his eccentricities and ridicule the idea that
he should have thought of holding his place on such a
dizzy pinnacle.
He would not live to meet the scorn of those whom he
Tim PROTEST OT DESTAIR.
481
art against
liis lawyer
\ might be
perhaps a
ate it was
id enough,
rudently —
terrible —
rid where
:m justice,
He would
or luxury,
it he did
even, was
lat flowed
Lnding on
hose who
equal or
limself as
millions.
care for
new men
r he rep-
wer? A
A man
y hurled
ey would
vn cold,
idea that
1 such a
vhom he
had outdone! This was the conclusion at which he ar-
rived. It had been the eml of all his reveries of late.
The coachman, shivering despite the furs in which he
was wrapped, looked down and asked his master's pleas-
ure — where he wished to go.
"Anywhere: drive on!" thundered Wilton Kishu in
reply.
They went on through the bustling streets; he took
no heed of the route or what happened along it. Men
greeted him from the pavement, but he did not heed their
salutations. He began to think of what would be done
and said after he was gone. He thought his wife and
daughter would go abroad. His daughter would marry,
of course. His grandchildren would hardly hear his name,
though. No matter; he had never cared to found a
family. If he could not be remembered as rich and suc-
cessful to the last, he preferred not to be remembered at
all. He .fOndered what would become of his office and
the church he had built. All at once it flashed upon him
that the church would become the property of his enemy ;
it would no longer be spoken of as his. If his name were
linked with it at all, it would be in scorn ! And his office,
his clocks, his curios! The clocks should never strike
nor tick for another. No man should say, " I bought
this or that at the sale — after Kishu's failure ! " No man
should have any such memento of him. He thought how
he would spUnter and destroy them ! What he could, he
would burn. He was glad of one thing — he was strong.
He pulled off his heavy glove, held out his right arm,
clenched his fist and tried the muscles. The hand was
white and soft, but the grip was hke a vise. The nails
sank into the soft flesh, and the blood settled dark and
blue about the white spots where the pressure was greatest.
31
!
% ^'
m
'''II'
li
4«2
Ml NiAi.i: j:ast.m..ix.
The muscles cracked as the unaccustomed tension was
applied to them. 'I'here n-as no doubt as to his strength
He was anxious to begin tlie work of destruction without
delay. He thought what instruments he should require—
a hammer and a hatchet-no, an ax, such as he used to
swmg when he was a lumberman ui)on the mountains be-
fore the raft brought him to the city and launched him on
the wild tide of fortune. He would leave no dainty work
of spoliation behind him! Men should see that he who
had builded could also destroy! He would even destroy
the Golden Lilies if he could! Why should he not? It
was his. He had made it, created it! Others had given
. money, he had given soul, brain, creative energy. It was
his. Others might use, occupy, but nobody else could
ever possess it! He would think of this farther when he
reached his office.
He called to the driver and directed him to a well-
known hardware establishment. When they reached 't
he went in and bought an ax, a hammer, and a saw. The
tradesman intimated that he must intend them for a pres-
ent to some deserving laborer. Mr. Kishu neither ad-
mitted nor denied. The dealer called liis clerk's atten-
tion to the act as indicative of the man's charitable char-
acter, as he left the store, carrying his purchases himself
to his carriage, which he insisted uj^on doing. He saw
them looking at him through the great plate-glass window
of the store, behind which was displayed a marvelous
variety of tools-a great circular saw in the middle with
knives, chisels, augers, and a multitude of other forms of
polished steel. The proprietor smiled admiringly at his
rich customer over the jagged circle of the great saw.
Mr. Kishu knew what they were saying, and was glad. It
was almost the only unsolicited evidence of approval he
■Jllh. VROU-.SJ- 01- JH-.SI'AIR.
483
;nsion was
? strength.
>n without
require —
»e used to
lUains be-
L-'d him on
inty work
It lie wlio
n destroy
not? It
lad given
It was
Ise could
when he
o a well-
ached 'x
w. The
>r a pres-
ther ad-
:'s atten-
jle char-
himself
He saw
window
arvtlous
die with
"orms of
•^ at his
lat saw.
lad. It
oval he
had met in a long time. He wondered if he should really
have any use for the instruments he had bought. Never-
theless he took them into his office and stowed them away
on one of the long shelves imder the book-case. There
were many curious things there: a shark's jaw, the blade
of a sword-fish, some Indian war-clubs, and a bunch of
scalps — things too horrible to keep in constant view, and
yet interesting sometimes, especially to ladies. He
smiled as he thought of the queer addition he was mak-
ing to this horrible stock.
He spoke pleasantly to Thomas, examined his mail
with unusual interest, sent for his subordinates and gave
full and minute directions as to the business of the day;
went out to luncheon witli a friend, and seemed so much
brighter than he had been of late that every one remarked
it. Mr. Kishu, with all his faults, was one of those men
whom the world likes to see jjrosper, not because he was
better than other men, but because he did not trouble
himself about making others better. He was not only
willing to live and let live, but he was willing to let others
live in almost any way they chose. He did not trouble
himself to set things right.
When he returned to his office he told the attendant
he might draw the shades partly up, close the office, and
take a holiday. He waited to see his directions carried
out, and gave the man a ten-dollar gold-i)iece to make
his holiday pleasant.
He stood awhile lookmg out over the shades drawn
half-way up, and saw the gayly-dressed crowds go by,
chatting and laughing in tlie winter sunshine. The clocks
chimed musically. He turned with a smile and looked
from one to another. Every one had a history — some
pleasant, some sad, but all unitpie. There was not such
If
|?| ■
484
'\fUKVAU- KASTAfAX.
another collection in all the \vnrl,l a« 1 1
.u . . ^ >\ori(i, and on v one or tivn
He Slopped for a n,o„,ent before the grate hi, baclc
•owarcl the fire, and his hands clasped Jd in Wn,
'", , ''-V-tlie not.on tliat tins ,Ju,rch he had love.l
all ho leheld ,ts ex.,u,s,te beauty. l,e was not afraid
o d,e. He was no coward. He knew ll,at what h^ con
templated was si„f,d-he even connte.l i, a d a n'r ,i„
H expected to be punished for it-yes, punished 'et J
nal , . He even recalle.l the lurid description of the place
very room. Curiously enough he smile.l at the recollec-
^on-„ot that he doubted; on the contrary, he beUe'ed
he^de": ted to ^ "" '°' '"^ "'""'^' "' '»-■' W
he desired to do was to eradicate hi.nself from the earth
a^jr'h " '°rf '": .'--^""-'^^e sue,, ,:„' h :^
as ra.gl t be meted to Inm-but at all hazards he meant
to avotd earthly shame, humiliation, ridicule. All th^t me
there was runnmg through his mi,„l, half-unreco.ni.e b^
Ins conscousness, the inquiry whether he might .^ot some^
how destroy or trretrievably deface the beaufiful J.^^,
could Itf- ^' "'°"^'' "' ^^'""S " »" «-/b„
could no see how he could effect an entrance. Be ides
- m m keepmg „,th Ins character. If he coul.l only
Z „ ■" 'T" "' ^"^ "'""S'" ^ ""^^ times of gun-
po. ,. -,, -.„:, too cumbrous; of dynamite-he did not
. '"" , •"■• '° "btr; ,t or how to handle it. He half,
thought ;,e should have to forego this part of his pbn
;
I
THE PKOTKST Ol- DESPAIK.
485
' one or two
hicli arc now
icli other for
siint tune as
te, his back
Jt'hind hini.
ad troubled
J had loved
and fall to
> not afraid
hat he con-
deadly sin.
ished eter-
)f the place
"ore in that
le recollec-
e believed.
It? What
the earth,
unishment
he meant
11 the time
>gnized by
not some-
sfiucLtire
I fire, but
Besides
ft did not
xild only
s of gun-
5 did not
He half,
plan.
i
All at once he started and glanced up at the rase that
ran nlong the side of the room. His cheek grew pii'c and
Ills knees trembled. He went across the room and sat
down in his great cushioned chair, glancing up at the win-
dow uneasily. Then he sniiled at his own emotion,
nodded his head, and chuckled gleefully to himself. He
looked brighter than he had in months. The burden of
woe that he had carried so long seemed lifted from bis
shoulders in an instant. He had found a way to ac-
complish his purpose. He noflded his head emphaticall
and contentedly. Then he rose and opetied one of thr
glass cases that ran along the side of the room and took
out a scjuare, polished box. He closed th-i case; locked
it carefully; sat down at his desk, and taking a bunch of
keys from a drawer tried one after anf)ther in the lock of
the box, whistling softly to himself as he did so. He
could bear the steps and the chatter of the passers-by,
but he was alone — alone in the mitlst of the great city's
life. At length the lock yielded and he ojjened the box.
Within it was a green glass globe, a little larger than a
base-ball, resting on a bed of soft white cotton. The lid
was cushioned, too. He looked at it curiously, still whist-
ling, turned it over carefully, and revealed a mass of red
sealing-wax, stamped with a German motto. He remem-
bered its purport : " The Protest of Desi)air." He stopped
whistling and smiled as he read it. What was the use of
the preparation he had made to destroy his treasures? He
had only to drop that on the floor and there would be an
end of all things in the room. It was one of the bombs
prepared for a great anarchistic uprising. Its duplicate
had cost a monarch his life and decimated his guard. Its
power was incalculable. How the heedless crowd upon
the street would stare to p-^e wall and window leaping out
upon them!
W
ii
486
MUR VALE EA S TALLY.
He had not thought of that before. There was a
charm in this sort of a sensational taking off! It might
seem accidental-probably would be. This would save
the feehngs of his family. He had intended, after de-
stroymg all his unique surroundings, to provide for his
death otherwise. He had the means in his desk. He
had thought some of setting the whole on fire-had almost
concluded that he would. And this-this ball of glass-
would do It all in an instant! But then the Golden Lilies
--that would stand as his pitiful monument forever if he
did. rhis malignant globe would save him from that
too. Only hurl that against the door, the tower, the roof
anywhere, and the Golden Lilies, /,.. church, would neve;
serve to point a jest at him ! Wl.y not? He rose hastily
and walked across the room. The clocks began to strike
again. He looked around smiling as he recognized the
no es of one after another. " Plently of time," he said
to himself. Then he seated himself at his desk and be-
gan to write. ''No man shall say I shirked anything,"
he muttered. ^'
He wrote, not very rapidly, but in almost microscopic
characters with the lines very far apart. Probably no one
ever saw Wilton Kishu's handwriting for the first time
without expressing surprise at its character. It seemed
utterly inconsistent with the man himself. This was be
cause his external qualities were such as to mislead the
superficial observer. Judging by form alone, the careless
deduction was often made that his handwriting would be
loose and scraggly. Nothing could be farther from his
mental make-up. Precision, certainty, were the very
breath of life to him intellectually. Nothmg ever hap-
pened to h.m; everything was planned, deliberately pre-
determined. The fine, firm letters and straight, unguided
THE rROTKsr of despair.
487
riiere was a
ff! It might
i would save
ed, after de-
vide for his
5 desk. He
—had almost
ill of glass-
olden Lilies
orever if he
1 from that
er, the roof,
would never
rose hastily
an to strike
agnized the
le," he said
;sk and be-
anything,"
nicroscopic
ibly no one
first time
It seemed
lis was be-
lislead the
le careless
; would be
r from his
the very
ever hap-
'ately pre-
unguided
lines were a perfect type of the directness and unyielding
temper of this man who had won success in the very field
for which he seemed least fitted, by unremitting assiduity
and unresting watchfulness.
He wrote on steadily, firmly, tracing the even lines
across the white, heavy paper, having at tlie top in place
of a crest the one embossed letter, " K," He filled one
page, another, and half a third, never once pausing for a
word and making no erasure. He knew what he wanted
to say; not that he had conned it over, but the training
of a life of business in which brevity and directness had
been recognized as the most valuable qualities, had given
him great facility in the clear expression of his thought.
When he had finished the letter he blotted and folded it
without reading. He put it in an envelope and directed
it to
"Jonas Underwood, Esq.,
Hotel Hygeia,
Point Comfort, Va."
He looked at the superscription a moment, laid the
letter down upon his desk and walked back and forth
across the room, seated himself and began to write again.
When he had finished this letter, he took a check-book
from his desk, glanced at the balance, filled out the stub,
and drew a check which he folded into the letter. When
he had sealed the envelope and directed it to "Joseph
Lampson, Esq.," he hesitated a moment, holding his pen
close-gripped in his short, chubby fingers, then added,
" In care of Rev. Murvale Eastman, City."
The clocks chimed again. The winter day was draw-
ing to a close. Already the electric lights flickered and
gleamed without, casting gray, unreal, dancing shadows
y
%r\
n I \
488
MUK VALE EA STMAX.
over marble and granite fronts, on the snowy streets and
hurrying crowds. Wilton Kishu stood with his letters in
his hand looking over the half-raised window-shade as the
darkness came on. For a moment he hesitated, then he
put on his hat, went out, and dropped his letters in a box
a dozen steps away. He walked cautiously, for the pave-
ment was slippery and the wind blew cold and gusty a
policeman proffered his assistance. Mr. Kishu accepted
his aid, thanked him kindly and gave him a douceur for
his thoughtfulness. When he returned he drew up the
shades, touched a button, and the electric globes all over
the room shone^ at once with a soft, genial light. He
went back to his desk, sat down in the wide arm-chair,
turned it half-around, and gazed dreamily about his office.
How comfortable it was! How complete in all its ap-
pointments! How happy he had been in it! He had
never thought of it before in that way. He had enjoyed
he pleasure and surprise of others in witnessing its per-
fections, but he had been too busy to think that they had
contributed materially to his own happiness. Now he
realized that everything about it had become a part of him-
self. Here he had planned his triumphs, won his success,
enjoyed his victories! And now- A twinge of pain
swept over his face. It hurt him to think of destroying
what he loved so well. It seemed like ingratitude, L if
the whole place was animate with something more than
memories--reaI pleasures indeed, which cried out in every
tick and chime against annihilation at the hands of the
man they had served so faithfully, so joyfully. He thought
h.s c ocks his furniture, his curio.s, must love him, as he
had loved them. Sweat broke out upon his brow. He
i^se and walked about, taking a last look at everything.
His face paled and purpled by turns. He sat down pant
ing and distressed.
THE FRO TEST OF DESPAIR.
4S9
Streets and
is letters in
hade as the
ed, then he
-rs in a box
ir the pave-
id gusty; a
u accei^ted
louceur for
ew up the
)es all over
hght. He
arm-chair,
; his office,
all its ap-
He had
d enjoyed
ng its per-
t they had
Now he
irt of him-
is success,
of pain
lestroying
ude, as if
lore than
t in every
3s of the
s thought
ni, as he
ow. He
erything,
wn pant-
"Not yet— not quite yet!" he
church first ! "
murmured. " The
He opened a drawer and took from it the plans of the
church. He must decide where 1
bomb. He meant to make tl
fr
le would explode the
orough work. It was not
om a spirit of revenge, but l)ecause he wanted to eradi-
all
of h
traces
all over it. From foundation to aj^se, his thought was
everywhere. How much would the bomb destroy! He
took it out of its case and held it in his Iiand, while he
read the account of the devastation wrought by its dupli-
cate in the broad avenue of the foreign capital. He knew
it all, but he read it w(;rcl for word, how it had torn up the
pavements so that a cart might almost be hidden in the
holes it made. He smiled grimly as he read. It was
turning the weapons of the Socialists against themselves;
for they were all alike, Socialists, Anarchists, Nihilists, it
mattered not what— Christian or un-Christian, they were
all the same— fire-brands, robbers, bomb-throwers, pitro-
leuses—dX\ mere envious haters of the rich. They had no
right to use the church; it was a profanation of its sacred
precincts.
A beautifully-colored photograph of the Christ-head
lighted by the sun shining through the western oriel fell
out from among the plans he was examining. He picked
it up. In a moment the tears were running down his
cheeks; his lips quivered; his hand trembled. He
reached over and hastily deposited the glass globe in the
case from which he had taken it. Laying the picture on
the desk and leaning his head upon his hand^, he gazed
long and earnestly upon it. He took a handkerchief and
wiped the tears from his eyes, throwing his head back-
ward as he did so, while his broad chest heaved tumultu-
Ml
490
MURVALE EASTMAN.
ously with the sobs that burst from his lips. What was it
moved the strong man so profoundly? The rehgious sen-
timent, bur.ed beneath years of passionate devotion to
selfish anus, had suddenly reasserted itself and showed him
the_ brmk on which he stood. His soul started up in
affright, not so much at the thought of doom, as in horror
at the crime he was about to commit-the crime against
the loving Christ whose picture in the flaming apse of the
Golden Lihes had become almost animate to him' He
could not lift his hand against it to destroy-na)', he could
not destroy himself, since the Master had forbidden
Like Him, he must suffer! The Master had suffered and
died; he must suffer and live!
He flung himself upon his knees beside the loun-e
which stood opposite, sobbing and moaning. The sobs
continued, mingled with half-articulate supplications.
This tremendous revulsion of feeling was too much for his
sturdy organism, depleted of strength by the long nervous
strain of weeks. There came a moan; a thrill passed
through his frame. The muscles gave way and the body
sank down upon its side, still propped against the lounge,
the head pressed against the leather cushion and the face
turned upward to the light. The cheek quivered; the
hps twitched. The eyes, wide-opened, were fixed and
sightless. 1 he jaw dropped. The breathing was labored
and stertorous. One relaxed arm was outspread upon
the cushion, the other hung inert against his side
The clocks began to strike, softly it seemed, as if
afraid to waken the man who loved their chiming. Laugh-
ing crowds hurried along the street. The bell of Th^
Golden Lihes sounded through the chill winter night^
^\ ilton Kishu had been saved from Sin and delivered from
the dominion of E;vil.
^'VTiat was it
religious sen-
devotion to
i showed him
tar ted up in
I as in horror
;rime against
I apse of the
him! He
lay, he could
1 forbidden,
suffered and
the lounge
The sobs
ipplications.
luch for his
3ng nervous
irill passed
id the body
the lounge,
nd the face
vered; the
fixed and
'as labored
read upon
de.
ned, as if
I- Laugh-
ell of th^
ter night.
ered from
NATURE GREATER THAN ART.
491
CHAPTER XLV.
NATURE GREATER THAN ART.
"Is that you, Frank?"
^ Lilian Kishu spoke the words tremulously and plain-
tively into the receiver of tlie telephone. Evidently the
answer was satisfactory, for she continued in a more
cheerful tone: "Oh, I'm so glad! We are much trou-
bled about papa."
Then in response to an inquiry:
What's the matter? ' Why, he hasn't come home ; and
we haven't heard of him since morning and can't imagine
what has become of him."
There was a pause and a murmur of a distant voice.
" No, he's not at the oftlce. I've been there and it's all
shut up. We don't know where Thomas lives and— and
I don't know what to do. Of course, we don't want to
show any alarm, and don't like to send the servants cut
after him, but he has been very— very much depressed,
you know, of late, and it is so unusual for him to be away
without letting us know, that we are greatly disturbed. To
keep mamma quiet I told her I had heard him speak of
going out to dine, hoping he would come in time to pre-
vent her from learning the deception, but he hasn't come
/ and I can't learn anything of him. O Frank, what shall I
do? I am sure something terrible has happened. What? "
There was a crackling murmur on the transmitter.
"Oh, do, please!"
!
lif
• '\
ij
492
MURVALE EASTMAN.
%
There was a moment's silence, but the fair girl still
stood with the transmitter pressed against her ear.
"Hello!" she said in answer to a hail received. "I
can't think of any place he would be likely to go You
might ask the Thunderbolt office. 1 was afraid to do it
myself."
She laughed at some evidently jocose reply.
"Yes; I know you could," she replied. "You do tell
a fib— so— so gracefully! "
Marsh was evidently using his humor to relieve her ap-
prehension.
"All right, I'll wait."
Presently the crackling in the transmitter told her he
was again at his place.
^^ " I am afraid not," she said, after listening to his report,
"but It is a great relief to know he was in such good spirits
after he reached the office. We noticed it at breakfast.
Do you suppose— it is possible perhaps that Murvale—
Mr. Eastman, I mean— may know where he is. I think it
is that matter-the suit, you know-that has been troub-
hng him."
Lilian listened eagerly for a reply. It was evidently a
suggestion.
" I wish you would/' she rejoined, « if it is not too much
trouble."
Then aftei a moment's listening: "Thank you; I shall
wait very patiently until you come. I am sure you will
find papa, but don't let him suspect, please, that we were
anxious. It might trouble him, you know."
Ten minutes afterward Murvale Eastman rang the bell
and was admitted by Lilian herself. Her face flushed
with pleasure as she greeted him.
"Mr. Marsh said you wished to see me— something
l!M I
i^ATURE GREATER TIFAN ART. 4^3
about your father," he said as he took off his wraps with
that celerity and precision which characterized all his
movements; "so I came at once. He has not arrived I
suppose— Marsh, I mean?" '
"Not yet."
"He said he had some matters to attend to at the office
which might delay him a little while."
Lilian thought of the difference in the two men as she
ushered Murvale Eastman into the librarv. This one had
dropped everything to make instant response to her de-
mand for aid. Ten minutes before he had been a half a
mile away, probably busy in his study with work of the
gravest importance. Now he was ready to do her bid-
dmg. Why did she not love him? She ou^^ht to do so-
s^ie would-if he would only give her some little chance
bhe closed the door as they passed into the library, and
came and stood beside him by the glowing grate
"It is a cold night," he said, extending his hands above
the fire.
"I suppose so."
She placed her arm on the mantel and put the toe of
her slipper against the fender, holding back her dress with
the left hand as she spoke. The action was instinctive.
She did not feel the slightest chill, but it seemed natural
that she should show some sensible appreciation of the
fire he was enjoying.
"Well?" he said inquiringly, looking down at her with-
out noticing her pretty pose, her flushed face, or the ques-
tioning !ook in her eyes. It was the first time he had
been alone with her in months. His coldness hurt her
despite her anxiety. She had determined to become his
wife. The very fear she had experienced showed her that
It was all the more necessary that she should hold to her
I
494
MUnVALE EASTMAN.
purpose. Strangely enough, she had not felt a single thrill
of apprehension since she had heard his voice. Such was
her confidence in his power to accomplish what he under-
took, that she already regarded her former fear vain. It
was almost ten o'clock ; but she was sure now that her
father was safe. It would not surprise her to have him
walk into the room at any moment. She hoped he would
—and find them together. Thinking of her father re-
minded her how much depended on her carrying out the
role she had assigned herself. She must tell Murvale all
that she had learned, make him her confidant, bind him
to her irrevocably. She di.d not doubt his love. She
must make him show it.
"0 Murvale! " she said, laying her hand upon his arm
and drawing timidly closer to him; "you do not know
how— how glad I am— that you have come! "
Her eyes were cast down; her bosom heaved; her voice
was low and pleading.
A flush passed over Eastman's face. Had he been mis-
taken.? Did she love him? He tried to pull himself to-
gether, but his tone was not exactly positive as he replied,
not altogether pertinently:
"Anything I can do-of course," with that he stopped
and looked down upon the beautiful head bowed humbly
before him. Almost before he knew it her head had fall-
en on her hand which rested on his arm.
"I am so sorry," she said contritely, "to— to— have
made you so much — trouble."
" xNo trouble in the world," said the matter-of-fact man,
becoming himself again and placing his hand caressingly
upon her head as if she were a child. " You didn't sup-
pose I would hesitate to come, did you, Lilian? "
There was a touch of tenderness in his voice as he
MATURE CREATER Til AX ART.
495
spoke her name. Lilian felt it. If she had seen the
quiver of his lip and the burning light of his eyes as he
looked down upon her, she would have tiuown herself
upon his breast, her arms about his neck, and have made
an end of doubt, for the sake of the father whose absence
she had for the nonce almost forgotten.
II Is your father ill?" he asked after a moment.
"He is gone—" said the conscience-stricken girl, her
fears returning with redoubled force at this inquiry " We
don't know where he is, Mr. Eastman. We can't learn
anything about him since morning."
Her fears returning upon her with renewed force after
their brief withdrawal, she sobbed and wept, quite forget-
ful by whom she was supported.
"There, there," said Eastman, restored to his natural
quiet and self possession by her passionate grief. " Don't
give way, now; sit down and tell me all about it. There
is probably no reason for alarm."
He handed her to one of the great russet leather chairs
and seated himself in another beside her.
"It must seem very foolish to you," she said as she
wiped her eyes and looked up at him with a smile— "so
much alarm because a man is not home to dinner. Mam-
ma is not so very much disturbed, because he used to go
off that way a good deal when business called him out of
the city, and forget to let her know until perhaps he would
telegraph from somewhere a hundred miles away. Some-
times, too, he would go out to dine or to a meeting of
some sort without letting us know; but for two or three
years he had done less business and has been more at home.
"It would not alarm me so very much now, but I have
been with him a great deal of late md I know he was
suflering from anxiety and— and— I hardly know what I
ig6
MURVALE EASTAfAA'.
am afraid of. It is all that dreadful matter about the law-
suits she finally burst out in a tone of desperation-
with Mr. Underu-ood, you kno.v. He thinks they will
rum hn-n and--and -well, you see it has made him des-
perate, and he ha., not been himself for weeks-he has
not, truly."
She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up at him
with tears rolling dovvn her flushed cheeks.
"I thought," she continued, "that you might-I am
sure you could if you would-settle the matter some-
now, Without quite ruining us?"
She looked at him appealingly. Murvale dropped her
hand and walked across the room once or twice.
" Do you know the offer that has been made him? " he
asked almost sternly, stopping before her.
Lilian bowed without looking up.
"Why doesn't he accept the terms? Why doesn't he
tell this father what he knows about the child he has
lost.?
" He can't, Mr. Eastman."
"Cannot-why? Was the child drowned?"
"Drowned? No; I wish it had been."
She spoke hysterically and began to weep again.
^^^I don't understand you," he said, speaking more
J^'^u.T ^ ''" '''°"- ^ ^^°"ght perhaps-if_if
things had been different, I might have told you "
He saw her burning cheeks, though her eyes were fixed
upon her hands as she nervously knotted and undid the
handkerchief in her lap.
"Surely, Lilian, you can trust me?"
_ "Yes, I can-I will," she exclaimed resolutely, glanc^
mg up at him-~« but don't look at me-please."
NATURE GREATER THAN ART.
bout the law-
esperation —
iks they will
Lcie him des-
eks— he has
d up at him
light— I am
atter scme-
Iropped her
:e.
J him?" he
doesn't he
lild he has
497
am.
king more
aps— if— if
J."
were fixed
undid the
;ly, glanc-
He turned away, and she went on hurriedly as if afraid
her courage would forsake her.
" He wasn't to blame about the child at all— at least,
not as you think. He saved her when the boy who had
stolen her fell over the bank-saved her at the risk of his
own life too, and brought her home. He was in great
need of a small sum of money just then-to conclude a
trade, you know— and after he went to the office that
night he found in his pocket the plaything which the
child had given him. Curious to know what it was, he
opened it, and found the opal within., He says it made
hnn shudder, then, and I'm sure it has made trouble
enough to justify his fears.
"Yes; he used it. That was wrong, I know; but he
did not mean to keep it. He went away to close the
trade and was gone some weeks. He left the little girl
at home-with mamma, you know— and she— please look
away— she was jealous— ard sent it off. She would not
tell him where it was. Ht- hunted up the mother; he
did not dare tell what had happened-or I suppose
thought he would some time find the child. But he sent
the mother money from time to tune until he lost sight of
her. He thought she was a widow."
"But the child?" asked Eastman, turning suddenly
and confronting her.
" Mamma provided for her, but— you know she is—
not— perfect, Mnrvale. She would not tell what had be-
come of it until years afterward. Then she showed papa
a letter. It was too late. He sought but could not find
her. He told me all about it. The man was dead— all
trace of him was lost— and— and the woman— she was
lost, too. I am afraid he has gone in search of her again,
32
!
f
498
MURWALE /'.ASTMAAr
ill
and he is not fit for such work now— not fit to travel
alone, you know."
'■ Do you know what was in that letter? "
"There it is."
Lilian took a crumpled paper from her pocket and
handed it to him. He turned it to the light and read. As
he did so the troubled look faded out of his fare He
turned and caught her hand in both of his, crushing the
letter between tiiem as he did so.
"Why, Lilian!" he e.xclaimed. "Do not worry any
more. It is all right. The child is alive. Your father
need not fear any blame or difficulty. Everything will be
settled now. Indeed, I am glad! "
He let go her hand to snatch his watch from his pocket
' iMarsh will be here in five minutes. It's all ri-ht
Your trouble is at an end. I must run around and ''see
Mrs Merton a moment. It is only a step, and I will be
back in a few minutes. Then we will find your father
^ou don't know how much happiness you have given me
You have not cnly saved your father, but the Under-
woods will have to thank you for finding their daughter
And such a daughter, too! I musf see Mrs. Merton, if it
IS only for a second!"
•Lilian had risen when he caught her hand, and now
stood looking after him in wonder as he rushed from the
room, his face glowing with pleasure. She heard him
close the door and run rapidly down the steps.
" Mrs. Merton," she said to herself. " What has she to
do with it! Does he have to tell her everything?-Ah! "
She uttered this exclamation with something like a
gasp. She thought of his flushed face and the dancing
light m his eyes as he fled away. She could think of but
one explanation for it, and that was
fit to travel
pocket and
nd read. As
lis {a.rc. He
crushing the
t worry any
Your father
thing will be
1 his pocket.
t's all right,
nul and see
nd I will be
your father,
e given me.
the Under-
ir daughter,
klerton, if it
3, and now
d from the
heard him
: has she to
ig?~-Ah!"
ling like a
le dancing
ink of but
:^ATURE GREATER THAN ART. 4^^
She covered Jier face with her hands and threw herself
upon the lounge. A moment afterward the bell rang.
Hastily rising, she went to the door and admitted Frank
Marsh.
"Why, Lily!" he exclaimed, gazing an.xiously at her
troubled, tear-stained face. " You must not be so wor-
ried. There is really nothing to fear. It's only ten
o'clock. Your father nny come in any moment. Don't,
dear, don't! " he added, taking her arm as he stuffed his
fur cap into liis pocket. How kind and sympathetic he
was! Slie did not think of his action as an undue famil-
iarity. It was a comfort to have him near her.
" Come now, let us talk it over," he said gently, lead-
ing her toward the library. " Is Eastman here? "
" He just went out," she replied. " O Frank, I have
had an awful time -perfectly awful! "
She withdrew her arm from his clasp as she spoke, as
if she had just become conscious of it.
" Don't take it so seriously, Lily. There is no ground
for alarm."
" I didn't mean that,"' she retorted petulantly.
"What did you mean, then?"
" I mean— I've been a fool, Frank Marsh, and so have
you."
" No doubt about it so far as I am concerned," an-
swered the saucy youngster, shaking his head. "That is
one of the first lessons I ever learned. If that's all you
have to say to me I may as well go back to my work.
Did you tell Eastman he was a fool, too?"
" Now, Frank— if you ever mention his name to me
again "
" But you told me to call him up and ask him to come."
"Yes, I know; and I'm real glad you did."
i|
■m
i i
500
yr Or Vale easta/ax.
" You don't seem so."
" Oh, but I am. He says everything will be all right—
the suits settled and all that, you know-and poor papa
will have no more trouble."
" That's good news, I am sure."
"Isn't it?"
" But does he know where your father is? "
"No; but he thought he could find him-you and he
that is." '
"But where has he gone? "
"He will be here in a few minutes. You are to wait
for him."
"Oh, I am? Then I'll sit down, if you please "
They seated themselves in the very chairs Lilian and
Lastman had occupied, and Marsh's irrepressible spirits
bubbled over in a stream of small-talk as soon as he saw
the clouds lifting from her face.
"Isn't it about time for Eastman to come?" he asked
uneasily after a while.
"He'll be here presently," Lilian answered with a
meaning smile.
"All right," said Marsh contentedly. « I can stand it
If he can. I suppose he knows what he is about."
Lilian laughed.
" You would think so if "
"If what?"
"If you knew "
"Well, knew what?"
"Oh, dear! " laughed Lilian unconstrainedly. It's too
funny ! "
"It must be, judging from its eflfect. Of course I
don t know what it is."
" I wonder if I'd better tell you? "
NATURE GREATER THAN ART,
^or
re to wait
" As you choose ; you know I can wait," significantly.
" Did you ever think "
"I have tried to sometimes, thank you; never very suc-
cessfully when you were about! "
'•Pshaw!" she said, pushing him playfully away. He
caught her hand and held it unresistingly, almost uncon-
sciously.
"Did you ever think that— that he was in love?"
"The most natural thing in the world; but what partic-
ular * he ' do you refer to ? "
" Why, Murvile Eastman, of course."
" Of course, eh? Well, then, I have thought he was in
love, and been very sorry for the fact, too."
"No, I don't mean that— with somebody else— Mrs.
Merton, for instance?"
" Never did ; but I should be very glad to know it."
" Well, it is so."
"You don't tell me? How lucky!"
"Isn't it?"
" I suppose it makes you horribly jealous? "
" Not a bit ; she is one of the sweetest women in the
world, and he deserves a good wife."
" A better one than you would have made him ? "
" Yes."
She utters the word with a little sigh, looking down at
her hand which Marsh is holding caressingly in his own.
" You never loved him? "
" I— tried to," she answered humbly.
"Tried to? Poor, little thing," said Marsh, taking her
in his arms. " She has been my sweetheart ever since we
were children, and can't get over her love for her old play-
mate! Isn't it so, Lily dear?"
She let her head fall upon his shoulder with a tired sob.
4P
S02
MUJ?VALE EASTMAN-
" Now, Lily, what is the use of this nonsense? "
"But you know, Frank "
"I know your father is rich, and I am dependent on
wha I can earn. But that is enough for the present, and
It will be growing more as we grow older."
" But father would never consent "
" Then I will run away with you."
"I wish you would," she said with a contented smile.
The bell rang and Frank Marsh went to open the door
leaving Lilian to hide her blushes and prepare to meet
her former lover with composure. She waited longer than
seemed needful, but no one came. She put aside the
portiere and looked out into the hall. The murmur of a
half-whispered conversation came from the vestibule At
once apprehension for her father overpowered all other
thoughts. She felt -she knew-that this whispered con-
versation boded evil. The color fled from her cheeks.
With a hand pressed upon her heart she moved toward
the vestibule. Her slippered feet made no sound. Mur-
vale Eastman in overcoat and wraps stood talking with
Frank Marsh. ^
"You must tell her," said the elder man, whose face
was palhd even to his lips, though his quick breathing
snowed recent exertion.
"I cannot," replied the younger. She could not see
his face, but his tone was full of agony
and looking from one troubled face to the other.
"O Lil}'," exclaimed Marsh, half-turning toward her
and instinctively putting an arm about her waist, "do not
thVbest"'"^' perhaps it is not so badj we will hope for
" What is itP-tell me/' she said, looking steadily in thq
.KATURE GK EATER THAh' ART.
503
endent on
esent, and
d smile,
the door,
! to meet
tiger than
iside the
rmur of a
)ule. At
all other
sred con-
' cheeks.
1 toward
i. Mar-
king with
ose face
reathing
not see
forward
ard her
"do not
ope for
y in the?
face of Murvale Eastman. She did not lean upon the
arm which encircled her, nor seem conscious of Marsh's
presence.
" Your father has been found," answered Eastman with
mechanical directness.
"Alive?"
The word was little more than a sigh of apprehension,
but her gaze did not falter.
" He has had a stroke— apoplexy, probably. He is still
alive. I have called a physician. The ambulance will be
here in a moment."
"Where was he?"
"In his office."
" But the door was locked ; I tried it myself."
"Indeed? Yes— I— we"— confusedly— "we— we broke
it open."
■ " But how came it to be locked? "
"Just so— well— you see— " Murvale Eastman passed
his gloved hand across his face in confusion. He was not
used to prevarication. He had asked himself the ques-
tion when, after the policeman on the beat had given him
a back, he climbed up and peering over the edge of the
curtain had seen the pallid face of Wilton Kishu staring
up from the dark leather of the lounge against which his
form reclined.. The officer had thought of it when, having
heard the other's report, he had used his club to break a
hole in the thick plate-glass of the door through which to
thrust his arm and turn the key in the lock.
"Shure it's quare enough, '. is. It was hardly dark
when he kam out all by himself — not even his gum shoes
on the fate of him — an' wint to the corner to pit his let-
ters in the box. By the same token I helped him back—
for the walk is glare ice, ye see — an' he give me a dollar,
IS?
504
MUR VA IE EA STMA.V.
right here by the door, now, to drink In", hilth with when
I^ka.n aff duty, ye know. Shure he .us: hev locked W
Eastman sent the loquacious Irishman to ring in a call
for an ambulance and bring a physician .J
he act he suspected. The ax and saw he returned to
tl e case fron, which they h.d been taken, the to If
"■h,ch was stdl open, wondering what could be tl,e mean
jng o the,r presence. Then his eye caught sWoTthe"
He saw that the man was yet alive. The regular thou..h
.eavy stertorous breathing tuld him that. H ' d ed
"d iieT :rch l':r '" '""^'^ "^ '-'» fa„e„, .li Li
have Aftr f r , '""""' ™'' ™^ "''' ^'^' ''^ could
"beaded irr "' '^''""'' P^'^-'-S Ws hand over
the beaded brow he waited the coming of the physician
and as soon as he had learned that there va nS
Z2'" rr f°' T"™^" °" '° ''-•■"^ the news of •
^:.a;th:\tor-b:;i''^"^'^^' *"---" '■"P-'ent
.o"theXz "Va:t;;; tLf^n-^'"' -' °-'
know where it is, Frank." ° "" "°"" ^™
.,r'f,",^l''"'' '"■'^"""« ''="■'>'• but with a softened
peaceful look upon his face, was laid upon his bed Ac
^ncken w,fe sank down upon her knees Lsid he coud,
ger One by one the attendants and tl,e arouse, servants
^tole away. When Lilian asked for Murvale Ea^m"; he
NATURE GREATER THAN ART. 505
too was gone. The physician remained al! ni-ht by his
patient-s bedside. Now and then, Frank or Lilian came
from the hbrary to hear his report.
It was well past midnight when Murvale Eastman stood
upon the bridge that hung high above the frozen river
The wind blew fiercely and the .now was falling fast
The dismantled shipping lay in ghostly silence along the
wharves. The electric lights shone fhckcringly down
upon the rough, snow-flecked, icy surface below He re-
membered that a sudden freeze had bound together the
massive blocks the wind had heaped upon each other.
He looked sharply up and down the stream ; back and
forth along the lighted roadway. There was nobody in
sight. He stepped back a pace or two from the parapet
drew something from his pocket, swung his arm back]
leaped quickly forward, and with a thrill of horror launched
a gleaming missile into the dim misty distance. It went far
beyond the range of the lamplight. He clung to the para-
pet-looked, and listened. A flash shone back through the
falling snow, sending sharp, piercing spires of light far up-
ward toward the fleecy clouds, but smothered at the sides
by the massed flocculence of falling .1 ^-es. Then there
came a roar which sounded uncertain and far off amid the
whirling snow-fall, yet which shook the earth with its force.
A hundred policemen heard it upon their beats. Sleepers
were awakened by it; but watchers and sleepers alike
thought It a clap of thunder in a mid-winter snow-storm
After a moment he heard the rattle of falling fragments
Then he walked quietly homeward. The next day there
was a black open place in the middle of the hard-frozen
stream. Around it lay great blocks of shattered ice
Many went to see it and wondered what had caused
the phenomenon. It was generally believed to be the
n
1'
Il
If
1
'1!
I
itRl
506
MURVALE EASTMAN.
effect Of the lightning which had been heralded by the
thunder. ^
The secret of Wilton Kishu's purpose was safely hidden
m his pastor's breast. The morning papers told only of
the stroke which had mercifully preserved him from worse
evil, and with it linked the cheering news that recovery
was regarded as probable. Only two shared the knowl-
edge of the truth with the pastor, and they only by infer-
ence-Jonas Underwood and Joseph Lampson-and their
hps were sealed, the one by gratitude and the other by re-
morse The next day Murvale Eastman accompanied
Mrs. Merton aoid her daughter to a joyful reunion with her
parents in that most delightful of winter resorts, the Hotel
Hygeia in Hampton Roads.
When Wilton Kishu opened his eyes to consciousness
Lampson was sitting by his bedside. He had made his
appearance the day after his old employer's mishap, and
with an insistence that would not be denied, had claimed
the right to share the watch at his bedside.
"Is that you, Joe? " asked the sick man.
"I should like to know who else you would take me
for, ■ said the deformed man, stepping lightly on his slender
legs to the bed and stretching his arm over to adjust the
coverlet.
"Where am I, Joe?"
There was a little thickness about the speech and his
eye was somewhat sluggish in its movements, but there
was no doubt that the brain of Wilton Kishu was waking
trom Its long slumber.
"What a notion! Where should he be except in his
own room m his own house? Just take a look around
you once. Did you think you were in the office? I had
them bring up some of the clocks-some of the choicest,
NATUKE GREATER THAN ART. 507
Which I knew you liked the best -so you could hear them
strike. I thought you'd like to hear them when you woke
Itsagreatp.ty; hut they've just finished striking twelve'
You go to sleep again and I'll wake you for the half-
"What's the matter with me, Joe>"
" ^^'^^/'^ ;he matter? That's a pretty question for one
to ask who has been hanging for days between life and
death from such a fall as yours."
II Did I fall, Joe? Tell me about it."
"That I won't, sir, for you've got to go to sleep. The
doctor was very particular that you shouldn't be allowed
to ta k or move until he came. Now, you just keep still
and I II go and tell Miss Lilian you are awake and want
your breakfast in-let me see, shall we say twenty minutes
-just when the clocks begin to strike? And what shall
It be-a bit of steak and mushrooms, or toast and an e-g>
All right-but you must sleep now and hardly move a
finger until I come back."
Whether Wilton Kishu could move was a question, and
Lampson dwelt upon the necessity that he should not
with the distinct purpose of inducing him to make the at-
tempt. Stepping softly out of the room he turned and
peered cautiously through the portiere. The sick man
remained quiet for a moment, glanced suspiciously at the
curtain, raised first one hand and then the other to his
face, turned wearily in his bed, and then sank off into
slumber.
It was enough; Wilton Kishu would recover He
might never again be as strong as before, but he would
be himself.
W
8
5o8
MURVALE EASTMAN.
CHAPTER XLVI.
'twixt dream and waking.
The weeks that followed showed the world to Wilton
K,s^,u m anew I,ght. The clouds which had seemed so
dark and lower.n, with evil portent proved to be aden
only w- h blessings. Many of his wealthy associates, the
men whose approval he had most esteemed, kno^ „«
Terd aw T, """ "'=« ^h™"''^'' his financial asirs!
held aloof, not from any lack of kindly feeling for the
stncken man, but because "capital is always sensitive"
as political economists phrase the cowardice that spZs
fron^ possession. No doubt some of them feared they
migh be ashed to assist him in his straits, while others
may have shrunk from witnessing the grief of the famlT
Many such sent kindly messages during the days of ob
Lvion, but by the time consciousness had returned "he
^11 ''" ™"' "'' '-'f-Witerated memoiy'of' the
But gratitude and personal regard are stronger than the
links of silver and gold by which the lords of Mammon
are bound together. All the acts of kindness of hH"
and they were very many, seemed to bring a harves o
good cheer to the tender-hearted invalfd. The poo
whom he had relieve 1 crowded his portal with blessings
and proffers o service. I, was wonderful how forgotten
acts of benevolence bore fruit in loyal remembrance
'TWrXT DREAM AND WAITING. 509
He was amazed, too, at the sunlight about him. There
^vas a tenderness in his wife's ministrations, a joyousness
in h,3 daughter's manner which he could not understand
Lilian had wheedled him into giving her leave to act for
him in his business while he waited for strength Frank
Marsh came and went in a matter-of course way, and his
cheerful humor whiled away many an hour and kept from
the mvahd's mind all annoying cares; while Lampson
went in and out of the sick-room as if the responsibliity
for his employer's health as well as the management of
the busmess had suddenly devolved upon him. The sick
man little imagined that these three, with the assistance
and advice ot others whom he had never dreamed of mak-
ing confidants in his afifairs, had kept the great machine
of which he had been the spring and center in operation
so well that the world had hardly realized that the guid-
mg brain had slept-a soft, sweet, dreamless sleep from
which It was even yet but half-awake. When be made his
daughter his agent he but confirmed what had been done.
There was no one else whom even in his weakened con'H.
tion he would have trusted, but she was his daughter; he
recognized his own powers, his own qualities, refined and
etherealized in her, and knew that he could trust her judg-
ment as he had always trusted her intuition.
All who came near him were so cheerful, too. His old
friends of the Golden Lilies— Goodyear and Hodnutt and
Townley-the friends of his youth-he did not know be-
fore how much he loved them. It is curious how at the
end of life we go back for love to those who were with us
in Its beginning. However much we may gain in rank
and station— however far we may go from early associa-
tions-the heart is sure to turn at length with homely
longing to its early environment. And these men had
S^o
MURVALE EASTMAN.
Tn,e He Ha. onj^^:!, Zf,^, X. t iT^JZ
upon H,s success without envy, even glorying „o 1 HttT;
m the strength of their old friend. ,t wa's vtr^ „ee to
have then, come about his bedside and his rechninTchair
with such kin<lly dieer. >-"nini, cnair
The young pastor of the Gohlen Lih'es eame too-as if
Zr'ulr: ^^r', '° "'^'"^ '"-cordial^e .
seemed hite remembrance was only a fevered dream
How tndly .he Mrse.. spoke of hfm, too! And what
cordml relations there seemed to be between hand th.
trolled the Breez. and Frank Marsh had become the in-
pmng sp.nt of the other-not its editor, hut i' was bv
.h.s time known to all but Mr. Kisht. h ms. f tl a ,1 e
brave boy-hearted young fellow whom even the mthZl
of unktndly love could not daunt, would toarry L 1 Lr
Klshu and probably succeed to a controlling interes m
the successful journal. "ueresc m
■The time came at length when all these mysteries were
raadeplamto the slowly-convalescing man AmoL hi!
vrsttors one day was Met.iger. The' g" at' lawyer kn I
of r r;/ r" ^^ '° ""«• ^^"^^ ^ tracing draugl"
V Id si:''!' r'^ 'r"='" t '"^ """^^ ™'-- "^^t
E vtn 2L wt"la: 177 f foit' T" ""'"'^
u- ■ r . . '*ufeiiea at nis toibles or knew most of
mem all. There was a strange attraction about his sturdy
lac ed :^r 'fr: "^ ^-'^ ^^-'- ^ven wh ht
lacked he loved , and he drew about him men of the most
diverse quaht.es and acquirements, making them airhU
TWIXT DREAM A \'D irAA-fA'G.
ociates of
vith him.
d looked
>t a little
sweet to
ing chair
DO— as if
rlial rela-
, if what
dream,
nd what
and the
■le con-
the in-
was by
hat the
nishaps
Lilian
jrest m
Js were
>ng his
■ knew
raught
the in-
K-ishu.
ost of
■neath
sturdy
at he
most
II his
S"
friends. It is true he required of them one common ele-
ment—success. He hated failure; he might pity the
rnan who failed, but the fact of failure was unpleasant to
him. Only Deacon Goodyear had been able to overcome
this aversion, and if /le had failed in one direction he had
succeeded in another. But success pleased Wilton Kishu ;
he almost reverenced it. So the coming of the busy law-
yer waked him out of the long torpor, and when Metziger
intimated that he would come again and talk of business,
Wilton Kishu surprised himself by avowing a readiness to
proceed with the matter without delay. 'Die fate which
had seerr.ed so terrible to him a little while before, ap-
peared now not so very deplorable a fact, after all. He
would still have enough and still have his friends. What
more need he desire?
It seemed strange to him that he had ever felt other-
wise. Yet his nature was essentially the same. It was
merely one of those miracles with which the path of life
is so thickly strewn that we hardly wonder at them. The
finger of God had touched some hidden spring; the phys-
ical shock had procfuced a readjustment of temperamen-
tal qualities which quite changed his outlook upon life,
and the resultant was a modification of moral qualities.
Wilton Kishu was unaware of any change in his relation
to Mr. Metziger's client, but he did not dread the out-
come of the controversy as he had done before. He
wondered at it, but it was a great relief. He suggested
that the presence of Mr. Speedwell might be necessary.
Mr. Metziger thought he might prefer under the circum-
stances to dispense with that gentleman's services except
in the formal part of the settlement proposed.
"Settlement? " Could it be that he heard aright. He
wondered if he were in his right mind— or if he had been
5t»
AfURVALE EASTHfAt^.
iar'awnf '"n?,"' -^r"''"" ^^^^ ^^'^^ =-«"^«d so very
lat away. But he said nothing ^
rejo.col at the <l,scovery of his daughter, and so satisfied
feet of title on which the suits of fh. ^
\Tr T^- u , I'le Sims ot the occupants aea nst
Mr. Kishu were hitiprl t-k.v r "giinbc
;;...e.it,eonheo:L^ria::;::;r
" So he has found his daughter? "
"Yes: did you not know? She is Mrs. Merton."
Mrs. Merton ! Not the— the "
aboul"'" '"'""«'^' ""■= "- ^" *» '-uble began
With this statetnent the sagacious lawyer withdrew
a uccr"'w:thr.''1 'T" '^'^^^^ —Lhad p'o^d
a success. Without shock or apparent neril hi u i
switched Wiiton Kishu back upon'^ttk he had be':
foUowng before the long night of torpor had fallen upo
him. The half-dormnnt brain had, thoug , still feeble re
■sumed ,ts normal functio- , apprehension wa reraoVd
rectret Th:"' T ^''' "''''' '° -"- ""Pe^
ened brain could be trusted to find the light.
IHE ALQE.BLOSSQM.
ned so
5'J
very
'ood was so
so satisfied
lui's coura-
Iiat he was
^ed, but to
'od the de-
its against
condition
eyond dis-
on."
•le began
withdrew,
d proved
he had
Iiad been
len upon
;eble, re-
emoved;
:ompIete
le awak-
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE ALOE-BLOSSOM.
Two men sat on the wide veranda of a hotel overlook-
ing the historic roadstead where one spring day the fate
of a nation, perhaps the destiny of civihzation, was deter-
mined by a struggle between two forms of a new engine
of war. The more complete of these engines represented
liberty; the less complete slavery. God was on the side
of liberty and good workmanship, and slavery fell.
The battle between v,iiiu> and summer begins early in
this sheltered have . .a Hampton Roads, and the sun-god
halts a long time here, on his victorious northward march,
to dally with the winds and waves. As soon as he was
deemed able to travel, Wilton Kishu was ordered hither
to recuperr ■. He had gained steadily from the hour he
recovered consciousness, but his attack had been one of
those V hich makes caution instinctive. It was thought
advisable that he be not only relieved from anvicty, which
had been done by his conversation with the lawyer, but
removed for a time from familiar scenes anc' everything
that might tend to undue excitement. His one desire
was to meet his former adversary. Underwood, and thank
him for his unexpected lenity. That one should sur-
render an incontesta±)le title to such a magnificent prop-
erty, upon terms so just and yet so self-respectful, gave
him a feeling almost of reverence for the man whom he
had once so cordially hated. Public opinion as well as
5H
MURVALE EASTMAI^,
ready rich, a millionaire, P^^^ri-J'."""-''-
have .e,>,ea Un^ro^SCs^ n""''"^^"'^"'^' """^
.om,a,i.easew.ieHhaaso,oX:;;?:^^^^^^^^^^^^^
had perhaps a few quiet months before him but h.
influences of the far South h. ^^ u ^^bihtating
So the two men met Mr i^.vu r
speeches he had intended, omak.." T '"' ""^
;h;ng ,ike wonder at t'waT 'o^-atf: s^ rt
""a :■ ix^^^^^^^^^^ ';air.;icr::;;o^f:„^:
1 a course
it men in
le was al-
illionaire.
lion; but
ts, would
sense of
t regard,
nle from
man, to
ion.
h. For
ce from
recover
forces,
ily real-
;vitable
r.. He
the ac-
; could
d, pre-
itating
to the
^Vilton
i fine
some-
head,
5f un-
pallid
lence
mder
r//£ ALOE-BLOSSOM. -j-
the brows with the light of unconquerable purpose,
showed a soul-force yet unabated. Mr. Kishu did not
wonder any longer at what had been done by this man
Ji'? l''"^ w,''^'f '' "^ ''^'^^^"■"S ^">'^'^'"g ^^ Height unl
dertake. What he did wonder was why he himself had
been a success, as the world measures success, and this
man a failure-or at the best an accident. In energy
purpose, the power of application and the capacity to en-
dure, he saw at once with his fine perceptions of 'human
nature that this man was his superior. Yet he had suc-
ceeded while the other had faced the buffets of fortune
all his life long.
Somehow the success of which Wilton Kishu had been
so proud shrunk amazingly in value as he looked into this
man's eyes, whose indomitable spirit a life-time of ill-
fortune could not tame; whose look met every one with
a quiet consciousness of power which needed not to be
translated into speech. He had expected to meet a mild
meek man, such as the saints are usually depicted; he
found one fit to sway an empire, and who could not cringe
or fawn. He had seen many great men, but met few whose
greatness owed nothing to the accident of wealth or sta-
tion. This man was a king by divine right, to whom crown
or purple could add nothing. He wondered that he
had not recognized these qualities before, forgetting that
He who moistened the eyes of the blind with clay had
touched his, now, with adversity.
With the curious inconsistency which strong natures so
often exhibit, these two, antipodal in qualities and experi-
ence, became at once almost inseparable. They said
nothing of the past, not much even of themselves; but
day after day they loitered on the verandas, sometimes
walking side by side, sometimes sitting together in the
516
MURVALE EASTMAN.
:™htui.;r.:::3rt 0^' --^ °"'" ^"-''
Kisim could hardly beHev°ehl;H' '"T "'"• '^''•
man who yielded everv hin„ ^ »I .^'" ' '^°'"P'^'=^«
couH h. ,1, .'""ythmg to the low-voiced stranger
could be the positive, masterful husband she had knmvn
not to interrupt their intercourse Mrs TTnri ?
— onheirrespe«-e^~-t;:^^^^^^^^^^^
^n.^-r— ::;-^:thori„T"V
save when its owner sough. L^f f"t V r./""''''
rallv h« I, , '"''^"/^^^'^ rf""ng the spring, and very natu-
rally he had made the roadstead where the uTJ^^
groups were staying the sren. .7 ^^"^^^"^
Kishu was to remain-!al Ion " ''"'"''""• ^^^'
^ , ,. , 'cinain— as long as he was contenf ti-.^
ager when the b,^Y' °' ™'"''' ''^ *^^ '° "^^ '"-■>-
-de no'plttlirowTnre 'onT ''"'""r
brought out a rnii r.^ ^"^ moming he
«o„.p ruit^rr;f ,!;:,f- - Z
looked worn and jaded. WUton Kishu had that co"!
ften silent,
lear. Mrs.
omplaisant
d stranger,
ad known,
vever, and,
'as careful
wood wan-
vho called
directors-
;ht of the
:ierwood's
he spring
sultation.
le roads,
Itifarious
ig swiftly
iking up
e or two
■ry natu-
3 family
n. Mr.
t. The
to the
)f May.
the city
>e man-
erwood
ing he
on the
^ He
: com-
TJ/E AL0E-B1.0SS0M.
517
placent manner and air of rugged physical health which
so often accompany recovery from mental shock. People
said the sea air had done wonders for him.
One by one the loiterers on the sunlit porch dropped
off to their own amusements and left the two men to
themselves.
" I want to show you something," said Underwood
hesitantly, reaching down for the roll of papers beside
his chair-" the plans of a building I think of putting up
I've got more money than a man can have any use for
and T -bought I would see if I couldn't invest some of it
wh^ IX would add to the general stock of human happi-
ness—make an attempt at least to better some social con-
ditions."
" Wlien a man has enough to live on comfortably, all he
gathers afterward is mere bother," answered Kishu sen-
:entiously. " All the enjoyment one gets out of a fortune
IS the getting of it— winning the game, you know. But
that's a good deal," he added composedly.
" I suppose it must be so," responded Underwood. " I
never had that pleasure. My fortune came to me without
exertion: my efforts to secure one were always unfortu-
nate. So I have to get my enjoyment out of spending it."
" Well, there's a good deal of pleasure in that if— if one
keeps within his income; a man ought never to go be-
yond that." This had been the philosophy of his life.
" But I am going to spend the principal— the whole of
it, too!"
" Make an investment, you mean— what is it? "
"I am going to try and build an addition to other
people's homes."
"A good many of them need it," answered the great
financier thoughtfully.
Si8
MURVALE EASTMAI^.
hand upon e C :r '""'"^ '°™"" -" '-^-S »-
anchor of true xixo^r^^- fi , satety—the sheet-
And I believe or^re:~':7:' °' ^',' '!'=^"«"' --ety.
restraint whicl, ,,,„"'•'""')'''""'"« freedom from
hisown'',i;ern",-:::^"r :;*'"" ■"'™'^^ "•-""
at years jf discretion^ If ' '°°" "' '« '"■"ves
;s fndividitrt^irt^itHrof't'^- -^^
self'eIianctarMi!.M„rv rf ''' ""^ ""= "'°-
in .he long run, all'; t//; :,","*- ^ "h^t count
can life a new and tL, V '^ . ' ""''= ""f Ameri-
before I Tas it fa h,' h'' ' '" ""= "'"■" ''^' "'"o™
-nd,itist,:;rs:t:;t';t::r::Tnr''"
divinetcMler ;v;:."°-fj '-""Sasaflxed »<•
another; and what irtfone set of h' "•' '^ ""'^ '°'
fata! to all progress ^\iT2 '^°"''"'°"» ™uM be
only the house wX " the ^V '"r™*"^^- Society is
ters or cramps and res ricts th™ f '™'"'' '""^ ^''^'■
s.i.utes the b'est form Xi Vdepe:;s'r;',:r ,"'" ^°"-
the workers. The one tl,„ fi7 ^ character of
oranE ,,h„,an:::vrf:i\^rLi^-^^
provli • ' ' '"'■" =^'^ "'^ -"P-ion with emphatic ap-
wevf;:; *::: j:f„!, ''°"^'' '» ^^ -'•■'. "-at the shen
places; butZe fn'r nTs^Ss^inTht " '" ^ """ "^"^
ciny sense in throwing it away or try-
St this, to try
ther. It will
id laying one
iisturb or re-
I — the sheet-
:hful society,
[■eedom from
ber to order
s he arrives
" family. It
uniformity,
f countries;
' have more
what count
our Ameri-
has known
e it up all
no use in
d hints for
fixed and
is bad for
would be
Society is
' and shel-
A'hat con-
aracter of
enchman,
ihatic
ap-
the shell
od many
ly or try-
TIIE ALOE-BLOSSOM.
ing to borrow or invent a new one. We are not soldier
crabs. People have to make their own houses, grow up
m their own shells, provide their own social environment
If they try to adapt themselves to others, the attempt
weakens, unmans, and destroys what is best in them
If you force a social shell too suddenly on a people, you
destroy the.r mdividuality and make them mere counter-
feits of something they can never really become "
saJ'^U ' 'i"T ^'^^^-nable-very reasonable, I should
say, Mr. Kishu responded, evidently thinking he was re
quired to say something, and having quite lost the desire
to differ with any one.
onl'?^ TT' '^'' ^' '^'^ ''"^°"' ^ '"^^ ^t' ^^hy some of
our Anglo-Saxon colonization schemes are so fatal to the
peoples among whom they are launched. We carry our
social shell-our manner of h'fe-along with us, and insist
on fitting it to all other lives; and the life that will not
subniit to It we destroy. For all the chanty it boasts
our Enghsh civilization has been a more destructive force
among the peoples of the world than the Mohammedan
scimitar. Of course, the plea has been all the time that
we were removing a worse life to make room for a better
one-destroying barbarism to plant in its place civiliza-
tion. But has civilization any right to destroy the barba-
rian in order to make new opportunity for the civilized
man? Have the strong a right to destroy the weak, the
Kt^ %"g'^V° '""^^^^''" "^'^ ^^^-^ ^^^ the civiHzed
child of God a right to impose destructive conditions
upon God s less favored or immature children.? That is
the question of to-day. Yesterday, nobody doubted it.
It was admitted to be the duty of civilization to take and
hold the earth, regardless of incumbrances. We offered
to barbarism an impossible alternative. We said to th^
S30
MURVALE EASTMAN,
Indian, the Negro, the Sandwich Islander, to the weaker
we desire; become civilized; accept our forms of liJ
and government; give up what you 'prize-o^we .
you. If you accept our terms, you must furnish a marke
should d.sappear from the face of .he earth " ^
th,/ '1'''''°]^ ""' ■' =°' ^■■- Underwood, but what has
hat got o do with the plans you spoke of? T ,ere aren'
any heathen about here." '
deZde^ ^°'^\ "";' "" Ph"°=°P''y which has justified
d fended and exalted Anglo-Saxon ,vilizatio„, i„ spite of
w a "ht '"r" °! .''"'°'"" ='"" "-'"-'ion o the
weak, has now turned .tself upon our own life, don't you
.'.',^,7' ''°"'' ''^''^"'^ ^ do-exactly "
What we call 'the law of civilization ' has been that
we had the right to seize the lands, destroy heTovrn
m n. and socal system of any weaker people „d Lu "e"
Wl 1, em T, """"'"' '' ""^ ^''^ '"'"- - - ^ d
Klu tnem. This was on the thpnr^r fi.^.. ■ ...
people have no rights a civiLr^i^rbornr; Te'
spect, or m other words that strong peoples have a r"^'
no. only .0 control weak ones, but to'p'escr ^:a. s te
for them and under what con.litions they mav be n..
-ned to live. This we call "the immutabLr o'V^;
hell, where duty does not exist and selfishness is the law
lt::iTs z^^rSn^t-tti' "r^- r -^
i^uweness against the impulse of the strong
the weaker,
ive us what
ms of hfe
we will kill
h a market
id rapacity,
nder those
'd that you
what has
lere aren't
3 justified,
in spite of
»n of the
don't you
>een that
- govern-
"1 require
resisted,
'civih'zed
id to re-
e a right
It is best
be per-
of prog-
only for
the law,
d made
; strong
THE ALOE-BLOSSOM.
The /unc. on of rh ;'''!""> '" ''"""' """^ ""'^"y-
co:tluhe"l:a^^b"' have, somehow, a right .o
W„r» T " " " "J""''"" of individuals. We
h.nk a nch man not blamable if he uses his power so a
o make another poor and weak and wretchedf so ong L
^^,^ Why should he be blamed?" asked the other in sur-
coZlTr ■'" '' ,""'""• ^ P*^"^""' "is'" be"" have
rights, than for a man of small means to compete with the
possessor of millions to-day. As a result, the big fi h a e
constantly swallowing the little ones, and are themselves
growmg greater and fewer. All forms of business a" lo
.ng mto the control of fewer and fewer men. The small
manu factory, designed to supply an adjacent reg on ha
almost d,sappeared. Of self-employers the proport bn i
dady growmg less; of wage laborers, who are always to
ome degree dependents, the proportion is rapidly inc'rea!"
ing. A generation ago few men expected to be wage-
earners for hfe; now, hardly as great a ratio of workers
expect to become anything else."
_ "That is true-very true," said the other with a child-
subject"'''' ^""'"^ '^'^'^ '^'^'"'"S '■"^^'•^^^ ^" ^I^e
hnl'JI^''. '"".'?""• ^ "''''^' ^'''^' ^^y^'" «^'d Underwood
husbly, for h. mterest and his effort began to tell on
iiim, Not only are there proportionably fewer of the
' II
S2»
MUKI^ALE F.ASTMAtf.
employing, directing, controlling class each year, and
more and more of ,l,e employed and dependent clas, but
the con,pe„t,on ,s growing sharper and opportunity rlrer
especa ly m the higher walks of labor, and the morefn:
telhgen. are be.ng forced gradually but surely do«.n into
a cash.er wll be a clerk, and his son a porter. A gener-
at,on ago, few men fell below the level on whicl, they be-
gan hfe, to-day the tendency is largely the other lay.
The burdens of l.fe have grown heavier and its oppor-
tun.ttes more restricted. What were luxuries then have
th?cTtr"T,"","' "T '"'' ""''"'^" '^ """'I-'' -•"">
the cty. The home has shrunk in dimensions and in-
creased m cost. Distance means expense. The struggle
for hfe brmgs isolation or loss of self-respect. The chil-
dren of the man who a generation ago grew up self-reliant
and ambitious, esteeming himself the peer of the best are
content now if they keep away ivant and escape the bur-
dens of society."
abouHtrr 'T ^^' "^^^-"^^^ -^e you going to do
about It? Found a hospital?" He touched the roll of
drawings the other held a he spoke
ril".tl^°'^^'f/ J"^} ^''-^^ ^°^P^^^^ ^°^ ^»<^k families.
1 1 tell you, Mr. Kishu, I want to do something that will
help improve present conditions if it is only by way of ex-
ample, and that cannot possibly do harm "
full7^°'' ^'' ^^'^ ^^^'^ conditions," said the other doubt-
ChZkn r • r"' ^"""^''^^ ^^'' '^'- ^'^'"^'^ «^y^' that
Christian Socialism is merely an extension of Christian
individuahsm, that the world is made better not m ely
by collective effort, but by the stimulation of individu^
endeavor, One of the difficult problems of our time, as
THE ALOE-BLOSSOM.
year, and
It class, but
unity rarer,
le more in-
' down into
nan who is
A gener-
:li they be-
other way.
its oppor-
then have
wded into
IS and in-
le struggle
The chil-
elf-reliant
; best, are
the bur-
ing to do
fie roll of
families,
that will
ay of ex-
;r doubt-
ays, that
I^hristian
: merely
dividual
time, as
523
1 seems to me, is to find some practical substitute for
the old relation of neigMors/iip. It did not mean mere
vicinity; It was a willingness tr aid-arising not merely
from kindness, but from a recognized mutuality of rela-
tion. To-day, there is no neighborhood nor neighborship
There may be friends, cronies, partners, but there are no
neighbors."
II And never will be again," with a sigh.
"Perhaps not, but 1 am going to make my contribution
to Christian Socialism an effort toward providing a substi-
tute for it."
The other shook his head hopelessly.
'•'Well," said Underwood, stroking his beard and with
something of tremulousnes^ in his voice, " it may be a
failure, but I am going to try. What is the first element
of neighborship? Evidently, frequent but not enforced
friendly meetings, growing and ripening sometimes into
friendship, at other times remaining mere casual acquaint-
ance, according to mutual inclination. What are the ob-
stacles to the growth of neighborship, in a great city.>
Ihe lack of opportunity for such meetings and their nat-
ural ripening into friendship. Entertainment is a serious
matter to people of moderate means. House-room, serv-
ice, equipment, are all burdens heavy to be borne. The
space that would serve the family must be doubled for
society; and one night's entertainment means the invest-
ment of a year's income in what is otherwise almost
needless and unused. But entertainment is all there is
left of society.
" The rich have tried to solve the problem by the club
and restaurant. What I propose to do is to build a club-
house, not for the poor exactly, but for those who wish a
common meeting-ground at moderate expense, a place
524
MUKVALE EASTMAX,
where they can come to spe.ul an hour or an evenin-
where one can give a family dinner, an evening party, or
a socal entertainment of any sort, without overtaxing liis
abihty." ^
" You would admit both men and women, then? " '
"Men, women, and children—families, sir. Why not?
Yon have families in a neighborliood; why not families in
a club?"
"I don't know."
"There is no reason. This now is my plan, or rather
the architect's plan, for housing my idea, though I must
confess that a gpod deal of it is due to Mr. Lami)son
He seems to understand it better than T, and has sug-
gested thmgs I never thought of. I want him to have
the management of it-its general direction I mean-
when It is under way, and I want you to help me get it
started, Mr. Kishu. Fm feeling pretty well now, and
folks tlmik I've plenty of time before me, but I know T
haven't. I shall drop off suddenly when I go; and it
won't be a very great while before the time comes."
"But you know— I— I am not very strong myself"
said Kishu wistfully. '
"I know that, but you'll outlast me by years."
Mr. Kishu shook his nead doubtfully.
" Well, here's the plan." Underwood unwound the roll
and laid it open on their knees. " Here, you see, this
large room is a common meeting-room— books, papers
writing-d6sks, flowers, a public parlor arranged for semi-
privacy in groups. No speeches, entertainments, music,
or anything of a public character here, unless now and
then a public reception. The members come and go,
and talk or simply wait for each other. On the other
floors are dining-rooms, parlors, a gymnasium, and at the
very top a play-room and a nursery."
I
1 evening;
; party, or
rtax'ng his
[?n?" •
Why not?
'amihVs in
or rather
Ii I must
Lani])son.
has siig-
I to have
mean —
le get it
low, and
know I
; and it
s."
myself,"
the roll
see, this
papers,
or semi-
, music,
ow and
md go,
e other
1 at the
r///- /tAor:./}/.os.w.v,
525
"JMay-room and nursery?"
'• Certainly. I )id [ not say it was a family club? You
wouldn t leave the mothers and children oJt, would you
One of the most puuable phases of city hfe is the young
mothc. w .annot afford a nurse. She is barred'of all
One of the very things I had in view was to provide a
place where she may leave her child contentedly, go out
and do a hit of shopping, or make a few calls, comt b.ck
and have a lunch with a friend perhaps, and then go
liome and get supper for her husband, meeting him fresh
and restful after his day's work."
" You would have a restaurant, of course? "
the'ci^lft"' ''"''" '''''^ ^"'^^^^^°^^'' "moving his finger along
"What will it furnish?"
"I leave that mainly to experience to decide Cer-
tainly nothing that will harm. I should say plain food
of he best quality at the nearest possible approach to
cost Remember, the whole thing is intended to supply
needs and not to invite patronage or tempt indulgence "
It would provide dinners and suppers, I suppose, for
parties who might wish to entertain friends? "
"Of course, but restricted as to cost. It must not
tempt to luxury and must provide nothing that a man of
moderate means may not feel able to enjoy."
" Do you think that would be satisfactory? "
"I don't know: my idea is to make an annex of the
liome-to i^ovide opportunity for association, not to
cheapen luxury or invite dissipation. I would have every
member feel as free from oppre.ssive obligation to minis-
ter to the physical enjoyments of others as if in his own
home.
5a6
hfURVALE EASTATA:^.
" And who will be members?"
" Those whom the Board of Managers see fit to admit,
under such conditions and on such terms as they may pro-
vide."
" It is not intended to be gratuitous, then?"
"Certainly not: it is designed to cultivate independ-
ence and self-respect, not to destroy theaa."
"I see— I see: and the smaller rooms?" Mr. Kishu's
interest was increasing.
" These are to be let to members, for any social pur-
pose that may lie desired. A family or group of families
may rent one for a day, a week, a year, or one day in a
week or a month. This leaves every one at liberty to
select his own company and arrange his own entertain-
ment, but gives his family for a mere trifle the enjoyment
of comforts that it would take half h'- income, perhaps,
to secure othcxwise. It would enable a car-driver to give
a family party with comfortable and refined surroundings,
which in his own home would require an income of thou-
sands."
" It seems feasible if— if the right sort of people take
hold of it!"
" Metziger says five hundred families of moderate means
but of the best character and of high intelligence will
have their names on the roll before the first story is com-
plete."
" It is to be a sort of annex to the League, I suppose? "
*' Not at all. It is an individual attempt, not to establish
a new form of society, but to improve the conditions of a
specific social group."
"Suppose it should fail?"
" The managers will have authority to apply it or its
income to some similar purpose. It will always yield a
good revenue."
it to admit,
ey may pro-
independ- ^
vir. Kishu's
social pur-
of families
le day in a
liberty to
entertain-
enjoyment
e, perhaps,
ver to give
rroundings,
le of thou-
eople take
rate means
igence will
iry is com-
suppose?''
o establish
itions of a
I it or its
ys yield a
THE ALOE.BI.OSSOM.
1*1
" Where do you propose to put it? "
"On the end of Garden Square-next to the church "
"It will spoil the park," said Kishu regretfully. The
park had always been to him the setting of the Church of
the Golden Lilies.
"So far as my anr ..stor's purpose is concerned, it was
spoiled long ago, an I .' am x. -t at all sure that such a
hmited space is of mu.', ./ahi. ^s a park, at the best. It
IS too small to accomm. aie ftll, and the least deserving
are apt to monopolize it."
•' Have you chosen a name for it? "
"Yes— the Valentine Social Club."
"After your grandfather? "
"Of course ; he is the real donor. I am only acting as
his agent. I would like D X V to be carved upon the
keystone above the main entrance. But for that, you
know, I should never have been able to do this."
" I see," said Mr. Kishu, flushing slightly. " It will take
a good deal of money upon the scale it has been planned."
"It is to be made pliin, you know— just brick and
iron ; for service, not for ornament."
" True, but it is a very large building." He was scrutin-
izing the plan as he spoke.
" I guess there will be enough over and above what
Hannah and I will require," said Underwood with a
quiet smile.
" But your— your daughter? "
Mr. Kishu spoke with evident embarrassment.
" She has enough. Besides, we thought that— perhaps
—well, if we gave it to her it might make public some
things which may as well not be talked about."
" You mean " anxiously.
" It doesn't matter what I mean, Mr. Kishu. It's all
528
MURVALE EASTMAN.
over, and the past is buried. You will never hear any
more about it if I can prevent."
Mr. Kishu stretched out his hand and Underwood
grasped it cordially.
"You see, I want you to be one of the trustees," he
made haste to say, noting the other's emotion.
1 11 do It," said the other with enthusiasm, "and I'll
make it a success if it can be done! "
"I know you will; I only want you to keep in mind
hree things which I wish the experiment to prove: First
that social co-operation is practicable without interfering
with the family; second, that it is possible to counteract!
m some degree at least, the unhealthful social tendencies
of city life; and, third, that such a substitute for neigh-
borship IS a distinct economic as well as moral and social
fttTheTdea." "'"'''' "''"^ ""^ ^"^^^^^ ^"^ P^"
awl^''" ^"^ ''''' '^^"^ ^° '^^^'"^ ^""^ """"^^ >^°" ^'^ g^^'"g
"I don't suppose I do," answered Underwood. "I
think this IS why God gave me control of money when I
was beyond the reach of temptation to needless accu-
mulation Perhaps, too, this was why he let me see how
grievous hfe may become, without actual want, in the face
of conditions which mean constant humiliation and in-
evitable lessening of self-respect. I am no better than I
was a year ago, yet those who would have regarded me
with indifference then, treat me now with deference This
is a wrong to every man who stands where I then did It
IS the result of a relaxed sense of neighborship as well as
an unreasoning worship of wealth. I cannot change that
feature of our hfe-^it has become an inherited defect;
but perhaps I can show some of those who stand where I
THE A L OE- BL OSSOJlf.
hear any
nderwood
stees," he
"and I'll
in mind
/e: First;
iterfering
unteract,
indencies
)r neigh-
nd social
and per-
re giving
od. " I
when I
s accii-
see how
the face
and in-
' than I
ied me
;. This
did. It
well as
ge that
defect ;
Inhere I
5^9
did how these evils may be in part avoided, and one
thmg will lead to another, until men may grow ashamed
to heap up gains merely for the sake of acquiring, and
more than enough may grow to be as great -i reproach as
a lack of sufficiency now is. Then men will not be
tempted to rob and steal and starve their fellows in order
to be esteemed their superiors."
"But I—I—'' stammered Mr. Kishu, < irning pale— "I
did not "
" I was not thinking of you," answered Underwood in
some confusion.
" But I was thinking," said Mr. Kishu, with something
of his old readiness in avoiding what was unpleasant, " that
perhaps I might find some way to help undo the wrong I
have done."
"Not the wrong you have done, but the evils of that
social system which tempts all men to do harm to others
rather than good, as a condition of popular approval. I
do not doubt but you will find ways enough to help undo
this evil. The tendency of society hitherto has been cen-
tripetal; we must make the popular impulse centrifugal.
Diflfusion, not concentration, must be the watchword.
We must encourage small producers. Advantage must
be joint, rather than several. Self-employment must be
the aim. The laborer must become a part-proprietor; as
fast as he does, the conflict betwixt labor and capital dis-
appears, while enterprise is not checked but fostered.
Every man is stimulated to do his utmost. Instead of a
business making one man rich, it will cause many to be
comfortable and independent. It makes competency the
desire of all instead of wealth the aim of the few. It is a
mistake to think rich men are necessary to great enter-
prises. A hundred men having ten thousand dollars
34
■'^ ,
nii,
530
MUKVAtE EASTMAN.
It is .his wHch":: L:rz:T '^ ''^'' ^"-^ "^=''-
a .ea„s-.he diffLron '„',::; "^ :: -<• ""• -
• action. For mvself I 1,., ' ,'''^^"' >""' combination of
wages ,.„ ex";^^?;:,:::;'»r:r;i7%Tra'
.ac.e,-„ t.. o. co.tr. j:r4:::r^^^^^^^^^
" Well, he has devoted himself and his for»n„. r
pose he has three or four million-—" '"' '"P"
" Nearer four than five "
p— r;i :;i.^;: ^-: tx \-^ T'' '-
or goes out of the works th. Z " ''"^ "^'^^
ploy6 takes hi !i ^o^Pany or some other em-
ca Jt tin'; ,t t;^,r^^^^ f"^^^' ^^^"^^'-- ^
/ tne details, but Townley says the result will
lion, if they
cause there
and waste,
end but as
bination of
the man of
He is a
the lowest
is doing?"
■ out him-
e what he
"and it's
it men to
mrod and
e — I sup-
limself to
In pretty
pphed in
las made
ishment,
the em-
Vletzige
can get
of them
:)ne dies
her em-
tion. I
suit will
rj7E ALOE-BLOSSOM.
be tl^t inside of twenty years the whole establishment
will belong to the people who work in it; there will be
three or four hundred proprietors instead of one, and only
a hundred or two simple employes instead of four or five
hundred.
;| That looks practical and fair," said Kishu interestedly.
He don t stop there," continued Underwood "He
takes his capital and goes at it to induce others to adopt
the same plan. He finds a man who is willing to sell
his busmess at a fair appraisal and then gets the workmen
to form an association and buy, he advancing what capital
may be required to start the enterprise. Of course he re-
quires frequent reports and maintains a constant super-
vision until he gets his money out of it, and that pretty
much insures success. He says if he lives ten years
longer he is going to kill ten thousand wage-workers and
create ten thousand working-proprietors."
^ 'Til bet he'll do it, too," said Kishu enthusiastically,
iizekiel fownley is a hard man to head when he gets set
on a thing, and there's no reason why a man with his
capital should not do exactly what he has undertaken."
" He has established a new business, too. He made
Weldon, who lost his place by becoming a member of the
League, h.s inspector of accounts, and the result is that
he has formed a bureau of supervision of accounts, which
IS in Itself a profit-sharing association, that makes regular
mspections of accounts for business houses. They are
hkely to make a right good thing of it, I hear. I have al-
ways wondered why profit-sharing was not applied tomer-
cantile agencies and all such forms of business where in-
telligence and character are the greatest share of the
capital invested."
" Hodnutt has gone into something of the kind. hacnV
he?" ■' --,---a-n.
532
MURVALE F.ASTMAff.
.oc,at,on. I done know exactly how it works; but it i,
on a plan of Deacon Goodyear's."
" It's bonnd to be a good one, then "
"Of course, and he and Hodnutt are working it
acter fitness, and capacty, and find places for all sorts of
people who are either too poor or have not the tac^ ,o
tW raTf '^ " "" for themselves. It is a ,ueer s of a
pays the employes, and decides everything. The one
eekmg employment agrees that a certain percentage ^
irair,, r ^ ^r^^-^ "■™^ ^'-" -^^ p-^ to'the Ts°oci !
t.on, and the employer agrees to pay it. Sometimes thev ar
raXiTz: "^ "","' °'"^°*'"'"- ■'— °'™'"
start >rof,sh " '"J ,'° '"''='' '" ^"■^" ^'^'P^^s or
stait profit-sharmg establishments. For this hev re
ce.ve fees which are agreed on. They emplo- a aTvy "
and doeverythmg no. only ship-shape bu ' above-bcar't
so tnat every one has confidence in them "
nuuVn'rOno ';■'"' *'' "?'"• "'* "™ '"^'^ '"^" "^ Hod-
nutt and Goodyear m ,t, but what do you mean bv mak
m? It profit-sharing?" ^ """"
"That puzzled me, too, but it seems they found a wav
matT'u'nL t'^™"" ""^ "°"""« •" '^ «^* -fa
matter unless ,t was a money-making concern. So every-
body engaged m it has a salary. These and all exAn s
are pa,d m cash, Hodnutt advancing enough to „
At *ee„d of the year it pays interest on'.h nVr'!
balance between ,ts own employ^ and the other half
among those for whom it has found places, in th p opo
tlonpf each one's contribution." "tpropor-
THE ALOE-IU.OSSOM,
533
"But suppose there is a loss?" interposed Kishu cau-
tiously.
" Hodnutt said he was willing to back it for a year or
two-long enough to give it a fair trial, you know He
thought It ought to become self-supporting in ten years
but he tells me now that he thinks the reserve fnnd will
pay It out m five years and the whole tiling will belon-r to
those who operate it." ^
_ "It seems tome," said the other Jirewdly, "that the
rich people arc expected to carry the big end o* Hie log
m everything these Christian Socialists propose, after all "
"Hardly in this case. Plodnutt's shrewdness, (lood-
year's character, Metziger's ability as consulting counsel
and the labor of all its employes represent a much greater
element of success than the money advanced. Bi/t sup-
pose it were true, why should not that be so? Why
should not the rich provide the material element for the
improvement of general conditions? Individual surplus
has always been th. -aterial foundation of progress
Government rests on taxation. Schools and churches re-
quire money. All of the material support of such agencies
of progress is derived from somebody's surplus. Some-
times It is voluntarily given; sometimes involuntarily
When voluntarily obtained, it represents the impulse of
the possessor; when invohmtarily bestowed, the popular
impulse. We say the rich support these things. It is a
mistake. The quarter of a million people v, ho own one- '
half the wealth of the United States do not pay half the
taxation nor furnish half the support for its .schools and
churches.
" But let that pass. Why sliould not the rich do more
good than others? They are stronger: they are not weighed
down with c^re for to-morrow ; why should they not use
i
, MURVALE EASTMA!\
their surplus power as uell as their surplus wealth ro pro-
mote the general welfare? "
;; I never thought of that," said Kf.hu meditatively.
Hitherto they have built schco's and churches md
hospitals, generally by bequest. Wha^ is reeded now is
not so much education as exemplification. The phij-m-
thropist of the next century will not be the man vho
hoards a;u,ng a life-time to endow a charitable use after
he IS dean. Su: h a man will be either despised or pitied
as a man w!v'> knew his duty but shirked it. The man
who will be a-.uated worthy of remembrance will be the
one who puts his brain and his conscience into his ac-
cumulations, and makes them living forces for *he wel-
fare, not of himself alone, but of those who share with him
the toils of production. Christian Socialism simply ex-
pects a man to use his surplus-r,ot what is required to
secure comfort and abundance for himself and his family
but the surplus of power and capacity-to promote the
general welfare and prosperity of which his descendants
will be joint heirs with all his fellows."
"What do you think there is for me to do?" asked
Kishu, after a moment's silence.
That every one must find out for himself."
The League does not expect to compel acceptance of
Its ideas, then?" ^
^ "There is a certain amount of compulsion in all so-
ciety. Free schools, public asylums and the like, are all
mstances of compulsory maintenance of ameliorating
agencies. But they are the result of a general ^Ise
and until such general impulse is established all v ^.ress
toward the better,. : U of general condition, be by
voluntary individa: ffort. The better par: of progress
IS voluntary and individual, anyhow. It 'v, v -n men
THE AlO£-BLOSSO.}f.
535
now IS
asked
come to rely on inert organic agencies for good that evil
becomes oppressive."
"I see: and I think I should like to take part in that.
I should like to establish some great economic agency
which would have to fight its way to success, but would
keep on blessing those who need help for generations."
"Why don't you talk with Dr. Phue?"
" Has he got a notion of doing something, too? "
" Oh, bless you, yes. The dear old saint seems to think
his life has been about as unprofitably spent as I do
mine, and now he has hardly time to talk about the plan
of salvation. He says he's loo busy working it out to
think about its details. His mind is so full of the idea
of the Lord being ^present help that he has gone into that
low life down around the old church, and he is gathering
pennies and storing up prayers in the hope of getting
back the old building, and establishing there a sort of
home-annex similar to the one I have outlined, only, of
course; the charitable element will enter into it to some
extent. It's a hard job, but he seems to think he will
succeed. You might help him."
"Of course," answered Kishu frankly, " I'll help him—
that is, I will give something toward it ; but I can't do
much in such a work— I'm not suited to it. That's where
you ought to put Lampson. He'll keep your club in hot
water. He's not an easy man to get on with, and the
manager of such a club must not have nerves too near the
surface. But he and Dr. Phue would hit it oflf nicely,
and he has a way of getting hold of such people as he
would meet there which is truly wonderful."
"I had not thought of that; perhaps you are right."
" I am sure I am. Better let him go there, and Searle
^nd I will pick out somebody for the other place. I
53^
MUR VALE EA STMA N.
think he s got the very man in his office-one who
nas been domg newspaper work for twenty years and
never had a quarrel with anybody. That's the kind of
man you want-steady, methochcal, and a gentleman
-th a temper that doesn't lash Uself into foam w t ^.y
breath of irritation." ^
wiZtlS^T ^"7 ''^'''' "''^^^'" ^^^d Underwood,
with a sigh of rehef. '
"Yes; I know what others can do and what I can do
n.yse«. rd like to do something that would p, L e^ou
and be a credit to me. Haven't you some idea that can
be worked up t6 meet those conditions? I never was
good at finding thingsi IVe nearly always utilized others'
"luX ^^"'""'" *"" "" P'""'" ^"''"'''''^ Underwood,
which he says is just waiting for some man with nerve
and bram and money enough to carry into effect "
What IS that?"
"Well he says that these great establishments which
include all sorts of traffic and control a whole army of de
pendents are Gibraltars of harmful tendency. They are
he maintains, destroying the small tradesmen and th^
small manufacturer and making the manual laborer an
absolute dependent. He insists that the profits of such
that the small manufacturer ought to have an enua
h ^dTal'" T'" '^'* *^ '"8^ °-' -'^ '"ar te
Iiand-laborer ought not to be compelled to become a de-
he difficulty does not lie in concentration or organization
ata^;:- "'''"'^^"°" '-'"' ™"''°"^'' '- °--"^'
owl^e"'?^'"''' "" ''''"""" '"'' worker should be part
THE ALOB-BLOSSOM.
537
"He insists that the greatest profit does not lie in con
eentratton of ownership, but in its diffusion bee use a'
man worhng for himself will be more careful, more in!
dustnous, and less wasteful than the mere laborer"
inere is no doubt of that."
"So he thinks the highest economy in trade will be at-
gether with a common pay and accounting department
and common rent and delivery. This would g^^e the
smal manufacturer a fair market under his own name
g ve the hand-worker in a garret a chance to compete' Wth
the employer of ^age-labor ; secure to the small mere a
a chance to compete with the rich one, and open a wav
for the constant and natural evolution of the faithful, in-
dustrious, and competent worker into a self-employer "
siasm '' "^^'' '°''" '"'^"'"^'^ ^^^^" ^"'^ ^"th"-
see^lrgHt!'' ^ "'^'"^ ' ^^° ^""^"^ '- -• ' --t
"But I can: I suppose because my experience has
been m the line of dependent and related enterprises.
Each business pays for room, light, heat, packing, ac-
counting, delivery, and the like at established rates and
shares m the profit after interest and expenses acco;ding
to the amount contributed by each. Then each business
does the same with its contributory elements, capital
labor skill. By and by skill and labor buy out ;apitll-
which being always strong, seeks a new field. I will show
you the di'Te.ence. Hornblower has two thousand em-
ployes m i-. great emporium business. He is worth five
million. In twenty years more he will probably be worth
five times as much and have ten times as many depend-
ents. If he were at the head of such an establisJiment
538
MURVAl.E EASTMAN.
as Mr Eastman has in mind, he would probably not
more than double his capital in that ti-e, but the other
fifteen millions would go into J.o pockets and liomes of
the other contributors to his success. Or rather thev
nnght bt.y him out in ten years and there would be a
thousand joint proprietors instead of one owner and many
servants." ^
"I suppose it would require a new and complex system
of .operation," commented Underwood.
"New! It needs nothing new-no new method, I
mean-only an intqlligent use of existing methods with- a
strong enough hand on the lever a.id a large enough bal-
ance in the bank. I see it all! "
He sprang up and walked vigorously up and down the
porch. "Whai are jou going to do with the rest of Gar-
den Square, Underwood?" he asked finally, turning
sharply on his companion.
" Nothing."
"I'll tell you what Til do. If yo will put that in at a
fair va ue 1 11 put a tempi, of trn .^ and industry on it
that will help more .>en up the ladder to independence
than any half-dozen establishments in the city can drag
down This plan wcuc make as many very ric. men al
he old one, but I think it will make more honest, r.a.
tented, self-respecting, and independev men than the old
way ever could. And /don't ^ > as i: can do anybody
any harm." ^ ^
"I'll give the land to Mr. F, tmaa to do with as he
pleases.
"All right. I could not ask a better partner. We'll
put up a building there that will dwarf even your club
house, and fill it from basement to peak with enterprising
people who will make a success of it."
TIE Al.OE-lU.OSSOM.
539
"I envy you the power to achieve," said UiulerwoocL
looking at the other admiringly.
" You have done much more than I ever can " re
sponded Kishu, looking earnestly at his friend.
" I have done nothing— only wished to do "
"You forget that the Belt & Cross-Cnt Company have
determmed to declare a ,ular dividend every year and
allow the employes to select two of the board of direc-
"Yes," answere.l Underwood, " I am one of those thev
chose the first 3-ear." ^
"And it is an honor any man may he proud of, sir, and
you have well deserved it; but for you it would never
have been done."
"All, that was Eastman's work; f could never have
managed those fellows."
" t t Mr. Eastman says he should never have thought of
mov„ n the matter, if it had not been for his conver-
sations with you."
"He gives me too mucl, credit," replic.l Un.Ierwoo.l
gloom.ly "The others did it all, I coul.l only sit by
and watch their work."
^ "I don't like to hear you talk that way," said Kishu
impetuously "Let me tell you something: if you had
not lain sick in the study of the church, and he had not
had the support of your claim as the heir of Valentine
Murvale Eastman would l>e without a pulpit to-day, and'
the League of Christian Socialists would be only another
dream to be laughed at by the wise! "
"You think so?"
" I know it."
"Who would have thought those days of helplessness
would be worth more to the world than all the rest of my
540
ArVRVALE EASnfAK
Iifcl_ Though af.« ail I was only .h, match .ha. fired the
" ir you were the match, the rest of us are the tram
and the spark should not be envious of the powder • '
I gucs you are right," said Underwood, laughing
Tie ,dea ,s not a bad one, either, only I was not the
match -j„st the extreme end of the fuse thaTh^r
centuries ,„ preparation, and the spark tl'l lu"
blew over the ages from Olivet, Do you kno v M
Kishu, that your Christ-head in the Golden Lilies fir'af;
aTourtht;^-> °' "--^ •-- -- •"-—:;'
"Is that so? " exclaimed Kishu. "rm glad of it i
feel as ,f I were almost at quits with you "ow " "• '
yes, we are instruments of the samp ar^r,^ ,u t.
You heard what happened at one of Mr Eas^l s do' '
town talks on Christian Socialism. I suppo::?""" ' ''"™-
I he other shook his head.
" Well, he was telling something of the historv ,„^
plammg the doings and savings of lesuTnf M t ?*"
goodness and sympathy for tfe^Jprred^d^rjeH^'
when a man on one of the front seats who had been a
raost attentive listener, shouted, 'Three cheers for .h ?
man from Nazareth! He's the best one ye.' • " "
He was right, too," said Kishu emphatically ■■ The
Chr stran ,dea of the duty of love has been at the bottom
of all progress since it was uttered "
Mu"^ \'^°l^ '°°'" ^^^^* Underwood. " For before it
fell from h,s hps, it had been planted in the heart of man
cJaI « u '^^"^ Mr. Kishu meditativelv "that
God d,, „ „, .„ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^ ^_^^_ _^ el .ha
but I am begmnmg to believe that all that God does 'so
THE A/.O/E-nrossOAf
541
give man a chance to do riVht infl fl,nn c^
*•'! I,- J • "fa"'» anci then scoiirec h m im
''Knows when he's had enough, eh?"
i iiat s It."
"An<lwe-we are beginning l„ be wise?" asked I r„
axion, n, - V 'J '' ' '""P''™»^ «' "'e immutable
■•>." 'a° ilLn L tf ,""r '''r'"« '■"■'"'^ ^Sain, ,Ice,n't
Of the p,az7.a where they were sittincr «' P ^ ,
seeme, so ™,.ch iike biLeU si^riS^e ba/ ^s ^
Wasn, „ strange that our sorrow brougb. ,our bappt
.:ance'"tbt1''''',r""''='' ""'■ ^'"'™. '""o-ing her
glance, that it will not be for long "
layi'nl'rtn'eV^rr;""^ '' '' "" -^-S P'ans and
wo:M";r;7..rkin?:rberr^;,wf, ^^^ ^^
Hastn,a„ and Mr. Me.^i.er of l^' -Xoses." ^™^' '''•
tillian added in answer^o "er'f etd "gU^ni'"™ '''^'-"
for a very different purpose." ^ ' ''"^ """
"Indeed!"
Vou would make Just fbe Hgbt kL^ou'^frfrbi^r
S42
MUrvale EASTMAM,
" Thank you," with a smile.
" But I mean it. I'd tell him so if I thought it woukl
do any good, but I suppose he'll never marry now; the
Church and the League are all he can find room for 'in his
heart."
"You think so?" ■
" Well, Frank says they are more than enough to fill
one cracked organ of that kind; but I don't believe in
broken hearts— in these days at least, do you? "
"I don't believe Murvale Eastman's is broken, any-
how," laughed Mrs. Merton.
"Oh, you don't?" suspiciously. " Perhaps he has asked
you to mend it for him? "
"He never has; and if he had I shouldn't have under-
taken tlie task. Hearts that break are not vvorth mending."
"Poor fellow! I'm sorry you think so," answered
Lilian with a sigh. She rose as she spoke and went and
leaned over her father's chair.
Mrs. Merton's gaze as she looked past them fell upon
a yacht that was dancing over the laughing waters with a
good breeze stretching every inch of canvas. She gave
a start as she recognized it. She knew instinctively its
name, and who it was that stood at the wheel. She knew,
too, why it was that the little sloop which had sailed away
the day before was unexpectedly coming back to the an-
chorage it had visited every week for a month past. There
had been many pleasant trips upon Eastman's jaunty
yacht, and even the invalids had spent many delightful
hours upon her deck. But yesterday he had said good-
by; so at least they all supposed. His. spring outing, her
owner had said, was over, and he was going back to his
work. Yet here was the Galatea, with her white wings
spread, speeding back to the accustomed haven.
'/ '///•; A [. /■:- /,' /, sso.v
543
: it would
low; the
for in his
^h to fill
elieve in
en, any-
las asked
e under-
ending."
mswered
'ent and
ell upon
rs with a
)he gave
tively its
le knew,
ed away
the an-
. There
jaunty
ilightful
:1 good-
ing, her
c to his
i wings
As Mrs. Mertou watclied it a picture floated before her
eyes. Tliere had been a late ring at her door one even-
ing ni the last mul-winter, and she had answered the bell
herself.
"O l.etty! " Mr. Eastman had said excitedly, as he en-
tered without asking leave. " I have something so won-
derful to tell you! "
He had never called her by her given name before,
^he did not feel any surprise, only a great gladness.
Somehow she seemed always to ha^■e been expecting that
he would some time address her thus. She led the way
into the sittmg-room, turned up the lights in the chande-
her, and read the letter he put into her liands-the letter
which Mrs. Espey had written to Mrs. Kishu. It needed'
no interpretation.
'^'Well?" she said, turning toward him inquiringly.
" Do you recognize the handwriting? ''
"Certainly."
" And you know " he blushed and stammered.
"Who the undutiful child was? Surely you do not
need to ask?"
"Of course— but— does she-do you-know who she
"Is it a riddle?" she asked with a smile.
"I do not mean that; but -do you know whose
daughter she is? "
^ She had turned a look of wide-eyed wonder upon him at
this inquiry. His face was pale and his eyes were full of
anxious light. He had whispered one word and the mys-
tery of her life had flashed upon her. There was no
reason why she should faint. She was not given to such
folly; but all at once the room seemed to whirl around;
then It grew dark and she felt herself sinking down into
544
MURVAU- J'lAS-lWfAN.
si)ace, yet without any fear of falUn.r t* i
\vu , 1 , -^ laiiing. It was but a second
yesttt^hr r "" ■'"'"« °'=' ''" "'"> ^ '°°k in his
eyes mat she had never seen before
She had made excuse for her weakness that evening
and he had told her that he must hurry ba k le Id
made the discovery of her i.lentity only five n'^utes re
fore when called ,„ help in the seard, for r K ,hu'
who had been missing since morning. He wou d come
aga,n and let her know if he was fouml beforetidn I.
wish ;;"'rk'" "" """'"'='• ^^ -^ ^"PPOsed si Z Id
m ntl A , '™«'="'™'^ '° 8° immediately to her
, parents. An hour afterward he had returned his face
joyous and exultant, with only a shade of uncertain ^np,"
:.in•;a;^r^lid^r:i."^'-;;--^^^^
--rgratdiii^re-i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
the memory of the look sli^ hn^ • ^ """terated
;- ui lue looK sJie had surprised upon his fare
.metd" no ^ord'^o'r^lo f bur^nf k"'"h-'^' '^ "^''
' *"^*^' out tne look m his eves haH
grown deeper and tenderer. She knew that he tLe
would come when he would again call her by her 117
thf ' l/^'^r '^'"' ^"^ ''°°^ ^^^'^'^ ^^^'^ ^« Mr. Kishu left
the gallery leaning on his daughter's arm
_ Is not that Mr. Eastman's yacht ? " she asked extend
mg her hand and pointing over the rail
"Blessme! r believe it is," was the reply. " What can
he be coming back for?" ^
TlIK ALOK-Bl.OSSOM,
545
She made no reply. He took her hand and held it
pattmg It affectionately. ^^^ "'
up7!7' 'Thef ^^"\S'---"' '- -id, looking down
;.rMie." ""' '^"-"^ ^^"'' fortune near you,
parents'" Hei'th^l^'^r """■'"^' " ^'^^^^ ^"'^ " ^" ^er
arents. Her cheek.s glowed, too, as he looked from
t:r:z:rr'^''' r • "^ -°p^^ -^ ^-d
ner torehead. It was only an accustomed caress He
<l.d not Jream that his words were prophetic. Fu "of "i
own thoughts and fatigued by his long talk wit Ki u
he gathered up his papers and went to his room The
Cs mL M ^? ''''-' '--^ - ^'^ ^PP--hed h^; moor!
ings. Mrs Merton sat st.ll, dreaming contentedly. .She
knew er fate was approaching, but would not'run to
meet , . She beard a step on the piazza; felt an an-
proachmg presence. ^
"Letty!"
"Murvale!"
She rose and gave him her hand. The opal beamed
with rosy light as he lifted it to his lips.
i'HE END.
[±_m^-i-A/.vrj.vG OF TUL sr/ur
The Story of an Epoch.
OJ' OUR AGl-r
BY
A, \V. To
Ltrgee.
A„ extmonUnary line of .Vore/s, gmphicalh presentin.^ the II f. of .
-^^^l^l^i"S^:Z^^lZ:^, intellig^^on has heard of
its author's name knoun i 1 over th. ''f 'Y ^"'"""^ book which made
out of the startling^Tvdattir a? tm"de o'f'^h^^'""^ ""T' '^^^'^
between whites and blacks at the Sn u f • u^ ''V"' '" "^^ relations
but the same keen insight oo verful dS' ''"""^ '^^ Reconstruction Era;
ration which made t^at booreffecti -e Tn ' l?'""'^^ ^"'' ^^"''"^ ^^ ^^'-
of veritable romances of^rh^f.^'^UTErrar-t^^^t^a'^S ^^'^^
Ea^r c^ile^^ei^'^af o?tL' W^rS ^T ^^^^^
and imprisonLkt, ofS^oldieVl'ii S'oHl^^^^^^^^^^^
residence and observation since the wnr o^^ c ,' ''^"'' '^^'^^^ V^ars
he held high legal position ind confHhL T "^ Southern scenes, where
the use of his ?rofeS^l!lfXe t^^J^^^^'^ ,J°"^^ "°^«ble law-books to
to familiarize himself vvitLallSf diverse e'len?. n^^^^ '? """'"f' '^^"^^
which he has so deftly wroughtlntohS books '^'^^°'-y ^"^ romance
rom"a;Se!7hiLfht„'d°bZrTnrmt tln'^h^^^^^^^^^ ^H^Tl^f^ ''^^ =
prehends motives, who cWSnes his gat^^^^^^^^ f?"''' ^''''' ^°'"-
inro a glowing picture and bv tTacinl thl n/r= ^'"^/^^^^ tyP« and events
selected I„,II^lLaIs .^fs forth he Suses and n"'' '"''"'r"'"''^' ^"^ "^«^°f
then men will read h storv easilv 3^of f "^pu^ "^''""^' ^^^n^^-
Shakespeare, the superb SorSauis of ^^^^^^^^^^^ ^'''''- '^'""''' °^
of Thackeray, the nLer-to!l:Ctt?ntt?o ^M fs^^^^^^^^^^^^
Tom the stunnmg blows and trenchant thrusts of ''A /r "'"'
—all tft«;,f are as household words.
'ool's Errand,"
\
'UR ACl-r
H.
the life of it
through the
576), and on
interest
s heard of
I'hich made
ose largely
le relations
Jction Era;
lius of nar-
ntire series
rt.
■ted at an
iTi wounds
fteen years
les, where
i'-books to
iai chance
i romance
ded life ;
life. His-
But when
icts, com-
fid events
d lives of
events —
'•amas of
al novels
" Uncle
Errand,"
pS^S'dhi!^"^!^::;^^^-,^ '';?'■' P'--''-"^ New England
oni-a rare combinaTion " ^ hfs LnowI.T'' I^"''^'"'-^"-'! Philosopher in
discretion, shrewd wit rollicW h^mn' ^'' ""^•^"^"^O" common-sense,
of pathos and romancVand tRx^rao dina"^^^ 1 '''' ^-^'^^^ '"'"^'^'^
and narration which led a SoutLrn ^.,[ .^ ^'^^ °^ graphic description
man " as being " vivfd L the hVhfntf "^ *" 'P.^'^•?^ ^'' " 1^°^^' ^^^'tle-
^^r^^osffnttfr'^BeS^ latest it stands first in time,
in 1 848-about the tir^e of SlfS^ ^ ^""T'^ ^°"^ °^ ^^''"tral New York
and before street glsTow^n'eand'sf^i'^" ^f ^ telegraph.few railroads,'
modern necessities-ir^ces the ri^e f,",d ''^'"?u petroleum, and othe;
sentiment as a force in the nni; .v 1 ■ \^ ¥9"^^^ °^ '^^e Anti-Slavery
and with a whirl of excitTn.??!;-^ ' .'°"^ ^"'^ industrial life of the tim7
brings the story doln'to^hf Sdly ^f^'sS"''!?' VT^ '^^^^^^"'^
j;^..W for all his other works. SdUSfac^J aVd^ef r^pfet
of a ty^Sf ATel™?et d'eoiSf ^ "' '1' '^?^^^" ^-'' ^^is story
his own pluck J^SkSduin^^hLn/'?'''' ^.°^' 'f""^"''^ ^'^'^'^y through
lowing the SumL attack soldi "ff'"*"^' °^ '"'"'' °^ patriotism fol-
business mai^agrr^a™ Senator Tf','"'""'''.^,?"''^'' ^^o"gressman,
White House.ir it wL father su^JlJl' T ^°"°^ ^'^'^^^^ >"^° the
it, but it is on; of tL most attraS n-i I ^^'^^- '^'" """^'^'"^ °"
the whole series-. attractive and characteristically Amriru,! of
youVsoSn?rb?f^:iar;;nd'^-uLS^e?' ^ brave-spirited
race, with the poverty TouratrSvnf^^ ^'?''^^' by .Slavery on themaster-
tiie young WesK?' The demln rf '° ^^V^^, and steady success of
tragi ro?iance oMnequ^H yS^rank ZZlen" \7' ^"f.^^^^y- -"^^ 'he
romance since the world S hP J fin.i ^'^*^?^" '^^'^rs (the key-note of
ting, and the f^avo^of th^old n,antiio'n 'i'^ST'^r ""'^ ''P'^"^'^ ^*^^-
l^^^44':^lJ^T^r^:A'^'''.-f/^^- Fools. Thecom:
•' Reconstruct "trCe^rXirnf^ the attempts of Congress to
em man's suonoTi? u A f .'^."'' ^^ates, and the absurdity of a North-
as if he were at he " t' ; foSl ^'^■^^^y-^'^d going South to live and talk
those frighiLl t me o WhSr d PbT' 1 '^''^°^' ^^^' P'^^ures of
matched'in the Xlela^ge of mij?™t,?o?^°"'^" ""''' "^^^^"^^ "-^
Foiis'^Frt^H "'^^'^'r^ '^'^*'«^*'- A Romance of Races as "A
'.1?L'ed'';jn'the7r\:dtrtr "'^^°'-^- • '^^ ?^^''^ of'th?bondag1
mistress :.S "l^" 4m— V -- ™'"^'P''°'^'°^ ^^« Northern school-
of Ne-ro" charart/rQlhV'c^''""^^ ^T''"^' ^<^"therner, the unctuous humor
e^ro characters, ihe shrewd showmg of legal complication and ab.
I
6. John EUT' /«^/,/J/-? '^J°P''''^'° ^^^'^°l's Errand."
that pictured so startlingly the wronr.S?u^?.T'^^3'ne mind and pen
and set forth in attraai^e ^^ le The k^ndl ' ^'"''^ '^^"''^ «'«« apprecfa'e
intercourse at tiie South S the .^'"'^ ^.^ ^^^ents of White aSd S\-
w.thout the Simdow/' liutsucJis ?!?."'• 'm^'^"^ the future '' Sou t
such. too. was one of the marvefs of Mr. ^T^""^^ ^"'^ P°»-^r "^ genh s"
Mississippi paper says of thTs charminl T"^^^ ^'^^^ "'O'-k- And a
^vard bringing Southern and iNorthern^.eonT • '''"' '^ " ^^■■" ^o more
business intercourse than all the nl?.! ^ ?P'^ '"'° complete social and
ever held since the war, puf'togetfer" ^°"^^'-^"<^-« -"d soldier reunions
youths^n'^m^^n^^let^^^^ A ringing winter •
loves a horse. anS k Ss hi one -n"^' 'I'^'r^^^''^ hoLs (the jud''
t^rrand •• and Safan of ''Bdcks Without' S^°'^?.'/''^^^"'^^ ^^ " A Foofs
famous); and manv charactStic nicS^r^^ ''^^^ "'"^^ themselves
enjoyment among bright and r-iIHvff ^ ?^ domestic and social rural
from the " Epoch " sfri s'of the L ^fh^vS; °^'^ ^"J"^^^^«ting iaSy
play to his apt delineation of dfaracters inH ?,; "T" ^°°' ^e gives
strange and fascinating acquaintances ^^* '■'^'^^'' ""^l^es tome
A^J//a^T/:^ra" Ihe^S"// f- are laid at the
''mw, Ma/ mvj. well-rmrl Z,/ ^"'V,""'"''"i library our/,/ to
^fon, extra cloth, boxed. $io,
ume in my library as fsouvemv'^.l^f J^^^ '^rxiertst, and shall keep this vol-
Sicrttary U. S. Treasury.
pening up some
knew— combine
Fool's Lrrand."
nd Zonri'A
mind and pen
also appreciate
^hite and Black-
future "South
>Her of genius;
work. And a
' 'vill do more
Jete social and
aldier reunions
?ing winter;
rses (the Judge
of "A Fool's
ie themselves
d social rural
•esting variety
too, he gives
makes some
laid at the
gthus held
lerican life.
t Anierzca^t
y ought to
duty " easy
lav Edi-
!ep this vol-
iber to have
hich every.
try.
An Appeal to C^sar
By ALBION W. TOURGEE. LL.D
^'*' ''"Oils 10 remedy it.
J^ofdble.
«rf„?'"^'°'"®^ ^'^h Statistics and vnw.
Intelliaeiioei; New Vork. ""
ordliri"&*'"l.'\"1 * ?«3t e,ctra.
BDle -Magazine of American. liiltoru
Ought to startle the Amprir.u\,
people, n.ul will n.) floiVbt tT.f J'^^''"
ler, Boston. ■"'"^'^''V Travel-
pH.sli.?,nou,U';\^,7''*°«tnt^^ the m.r
the stiitempii fa «,?.„" '""f '•h.ivnotor of
< V«.) ChrTstlan .SX''-"-«^<"^'»»'»'i
"r>flPa.„
tar//. ^'^"■'^''^Chriattuniiecre-
the ^a^U ■.^/ ll'l^^' l'^' •/«'•>■ voter in
^jr Muu. -Index-Appeal, I'etenburg,
ev';,?!Sf Jv^^. V.rH7!''f"' «"'dy of
cc.nslUer tlie reinet v tl^-^^/vho do not
one best ...lapted '/, *','^, "J^-'C"tes the
Tinieltj.
riir^^tfc fh^oSh''th^:*'^^'".'^''^'••^"t
censn'. flirtir "s that n^f cT'*'"'r'^ ""^"^ "'
oneS^;f;'^r„?t,r'i'''»' he treats is
should irlvp nnr^rn ^iK'-'lnnT^'l '.',' ^T '""''
To,n.a„p.s nowlook wonM'';'^ "^ J"'1'-'«
fhatffsni fhorh, d ^/J"' ""» "•"mpmbpr
jMot,, thMt v;^ 's^vpirfn:;''''*'r^''^^ith
ro^;v?;'e,fXhrhp':;;;f^:rV'^'' •-^"«-
fllturo f rouble npvPMf/?'^ 'T '""'S"" of
CnY.>, ATew Fort. ^''^ tinie."-27ie
I vMi,;^'ft;,T.?,::rr,!'"r ^''"•^"•niserv.a
! Hon to the eon tlH- o thrT;' " "^ "^"•"-
1ntheSo,uhto.d.v..L%.X--^^^^^^^^^
rb?evr;-j-/^iP".V".s.",;'\:!^
ih^^£;55^r:,^?v-"'J;::^'^'o?
»oof?0 of (Bcncral llntcrcat,
PUULISIIED BY
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT,
30 Lafayette Place, New York.
Anonymous.
."Audacious, ingenious.
uioupnt. —Boston Tnu'cller.
Written in a fascinatjnelv dear
^'y'^by some one who has studied the
V^l'''!." 'S written hy a dcen stud.
doLbt' ''n,.'; •?'"^'';? "^^•'•-" '-' he "n!
cloubt. That it will create a profound
^!;"^''\''"" ^"d lead to wide dSs^ n
can hardly be doubted."-,.;//,,^/"
\yjA.\Constttution.
/'Tellingly oriffinal. . . esoc
cially forcible. "-»'„;.,.,.;^^; i^j.. '
Henry Ward Beecher.
John R. l^o^K^TA^^'tl'^^^^^^^ Afiairs," by
fo.^, $3..5; half .L'^Ts: ;;;;i;2r- ^^loth. %..,i
' IndistJensable to those wlio would I " A n ^ . *
ume, -Hon. Willia.m M. Kvavt. '"5,,"^^'?? '" "s most crit cal n^riL /■
*!,„ ' "-^"."•""uiion to tile historv r.
Beecher as a Humoric»t a„ .
of Wit and Humoff^om W ^•rks'^?^^^^ ?1 ^^^ Excerpts
lOmo, Vellum cloth, $1.00 '■ ^"'"P''^^ ^y Eleanor Kirk-
t»ii ^^"^^cts which now please the in
tellect, and now tickle the fancv Inf;
merriment, but which nL»J^ /■ "'"^
touch the hear/of some eS tmh '"
—t^rovidence Journal.
-S~f"-»S?5?'
'"^^::^l^^^^^-- England A novel.
Thoughts, A Summer in EnSiXen,X'L J^-^^hs. Comflting
., .-m (,i-cuircs and sermons, i856).
't,
>n of the
idcep stud-
can be no
a t)rf)found
: discussion
— Atlnntii
rSpy.
espc-
NTGLAND
pment of
ieview o/
airs," by
th,$2.75;
5tration of
nemory of
rht not to
^listory of
1 period.'"
fcerpts
R Kirk-
thoughts,
ck in it.''
novel.
;-read as
r ' David
Journal,
igion.
forting
56).
J^[l^C£LLAJ^ i s J'i BLICA TIOXS.
Alexandre Bida.
French by AiexInuki Sim t'""''^J .rendered into modern
Prose by A R M Aa'oNoi^^; ['f V''^ '"'° ^"^''^^ Verse and
Edmund C. StedIun ^w ^"'*'" ^"^^ l""^"'" ^y
Bida. Mary IuSock FooS W''m^'^'''''^^y Alkxandk^
"A delightful Picture oren^J-H^-. . T ''"''"^' '^^"S"-
l-Tjance^^pure irT tone. -^^^^1^^^^!^^]^^;^):^^^ charn,i„g
with a delicacy of stroke an.rvivrdne^s I " Kn.V; i ' '" -""""'•
.^ ofetaine<l ■„ fcnv n.oclc'n'l . . .-rJ^;,""':'y.l'i'L''y:%'-y beautiful
of coloring ^
compositions.
The" make-lip of "the | -<-''''^"J.'oJ.urnai:^
William Cullen Bryant
^Tll^^^'^.Z^^-J^- '^^ Soxo. Edited by
thors-English Scotd h Irii T\ ^"""^ P"'^'"-'^ f™'" 7oo aif-
tions from^anci;nt and Id n \-^JZT'r' '"''"^''"^' "■^'"••^'--
thors not in former editSnf rAni^-^^'' f°'' P"^"^-*^ ^"^ ^oo au-
ductory Essay o^ Toetrv nn^fil-"'^ ''''° ^^'- ^'^'"''^'^ ^"^ro-
Biographyof^MrBrvait^bvfVn tA' ""r^' ^"'"^^ prodttctions ;
plete indexes. ///S"^;/^^HoH^^^ Com!
Editions. SendfT Ziiar ^' ^^^ ^^I^^iorial yubscription
work of Zf V^'VP''^'^ "."d satisfactory
''ft is highly fittingXalfc^S;
who presided over American poetrv
almost from its birth, should have 1 -f^
his collection as an evidence hi, ,
oTu-h'.}'!/"""'"^ '-^ American tie
tor uh ,t s pure and noble. "-C/«c/«-
nuti Christian Standard. "-'*"■"*■
Helen Campbell.
Pro.
^Z"nL?:JI- ,/i"^^^"P'--. OK- and New.
'^ao.h^^''^''' ^^" '" Ho'^-'^KEP.P^G ANn Cooking.
The Housekeeper's Year Book. , imp cloth, 50 cts
. 'Gives a sort of CnUnar,, ,1^ r_„ .. '^ ' j" ^''^•
"Gives a sort of culinary almanac
for the year, with various instructions
tor all seasons; pages forhou.sehoM ao'_
counts, arranged week by week; para-
S>fc °" '"^'■'jetinsr for the various
months; menus for the table; useful in-
ind™-ftHh '■'-n''^*"? the day's workj
i".,;';il*^S ■"'*:■'? a blank summary ancf
=eboldhinS:^|^SviV^S
T„P M ^'"'^'*" ^^'^'^'■''^" <^ooke.
iHE Human Mvstery in Hamlft a
'Say an Unsaid Word with s'n.^ . 'n ^" attempt to
Elder Poets, liy the p;es de t of ff N 'v ^J^"*;''^'"^ from the
^i6mo. Vellum cloth, gilt loji ^i oo ^' ^"^'^ ^'"^ --Association
He ccnainlv mak'^ . ' ^"'L'■"^'-n••
(Mrs.) S. M. i/eniy d^,^,;,
''o°T^tLi!.";.^^,L^'?,':„f-^'- D-. The Record
:"""; ''"""'lit^i"/*;v"SSFS
'^a.!-^!,^;?^- Hj^Ufe and Ti^es. Stee.
of Sidney's MS jimo 'ci„,h .° 5^'""""'=' ^--^l^: bc-simi].
E. C. Gardner.
The tTouse that Jill Built aft^f t i. .
Proved a Failure. A book on Hnmt a ?• ^ ■^^^'^ ^ had
/- W and /-/.«.. by the a;?ho"°"S,o^tf trso'" '^'^'^ ^^''-
neces"/aT.^^ order to^'SlJ'^aV'arTisli^ I beau'?°" "^1"^--'™"™ of comfo • and
and convenient house. . Rich Jn ^.f^'^/^" '"^ secured with the'mini
sound suggestions. "-iw;„cK | """"^ ''^ ^^P^"^^-' -««V«i. f^™"''
Fanny Chambers Gooch.
Face to Face with the Mexicans Th« n
Life. Educational. .Social and Busings \aSc J. ^^"^estic
L.terature. Legendary and Genera ?^stor?of tlTlT^'^'^'P ^"'^
pie as Seen and Studied by an Amerrll\° ^ Mexican Peo-
Years of Familiar Intercourse wiSth^m t^""" ^"""^ ^even
-o lustrations from original ^dra^.^igfaTd ph'o^^gLS" ''' ''■
It IS ike livinrr Jr. A,f„„.V-- .. .... '^ * ">'UO.
this biok '''•"?'" ^^'"■^ico to read
frf ^h r?^..,- .• •• -^"oe-ether this is a
fresh, piquant, instructive .nnd reada-
wex.co; this takes one into .Mefcif-o "—
^ '.{'.'■"O' /' V^r/rt-, Boston.
A treasury of romance, legend,
.'/!;"E: '*''»■«•'. Mni,Ur/rtm
had
John George Hezekiel.
Bismarck: His Authentic Rmr
many Private Letters and Memorandi ^- ^"^luding
by Bayard Tavlor. / vSJ 7?^; / ' r''''^ ^'^'^oUncti^,
Harriet Raymond Lloyd.
Henry C. McCook, D.D
Excursions and investigSS in^'^ '." ;[''"°- ^'■'>'-. ^^-So.
nets, ants, spiders, cricke; ddaJas and n^"' °^ "^.°"^^' ^'^^^ ^'or-
, "; have much . . asure in h ■ ^^ varieties of insects
^Sd'^l^-^K~ ^f^e I -'a £,^^S^^^ ^^^^
on the accuracy „f'"vvL"f,^Jy'''^P9nd vanced students "v'.'''^''^''"'^ ^"^ ad-
//4. i:V//,A Edition. ' ^'^'^"^ '" ^ " WouH m.ikc a charminr.
one of scientificSls'tes™-!°.-,f4"'.^' "^
Jacob Ham's Pntton, Ph.D
Concise History op -vvt^ '
trated with Portraits Char', M ^^^^^^^^ People. lHus-
iHE Democratic Partv Ttc d >• • ,
.Influence ,6.0 35o p'p'^c ii'^j,^°'""==" History .nd
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Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. M580
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FO/tDS. HOWARD. &. HU/ BERT.
^Z^iS^,'SSi^fl1^i.^SP};^,
Robert R. Raymond.
8.0. RUM, /L,.«^?°"oid Girj£Lii;^'£;.;^»'i- 1^-"
Aan.«.„ T^ '^rtT ^r'i'""-
approaches closely to the ideal hJn„
Thp V^r^ ""^'*^'^- -^''"-^"''•''O'W'.^-/^/, Boston.
A HE Volcano under thp ri-r,, a
authentic account of the New York iX't,.^ ^'"^P'^'^ '^"d
mere than 1,400 menfere kTlled Whf J?'°'%°1^''3. '*" ^hich
showing Pohce Precincts. Cloih |i ^ °^ ^^"^ ^'^'"'^ City,
t^e^2V^rS.^-n-st. . I H^..Us^a.s^heo.U..^^^
Albion W. Tourgee.
The Story of an Epoch a c '•
presenting American life from Vhl • "^ Series of Novels
ment (1848) through the Re™el io„ 7r'l.°^ the Anti-Slavery S
Reconstruction Er|(i876) InH in" V®^/-^865) to the end of the
An Appeal to P^ciad aj . ^""^'^u^ «)ro.
Education throughoufthe Stated jr^'^*'"^ ^'^''O"^' Aid to
the local efforts tS remedy it ''Saiarfn?^*^" '"'^^''^•^y -"^ to
"Offers a series of vistas in dLr. f^^''^^^'"' ^"^ Tables. Cloth. $1.25.
■efSiVroSr/hSSi". <!'■''"»! I Ing. While!,,. „„„ „, "' '
S2tt^HiilSg|£€S&|=g5..„
Ben C. Truman.
IHE Field of Honor aw*
^^^^^^iidi^£^EifJfBuc,rro:.s.
John C. Van Dyke
Principles op Art p . ■
Souths, c, ' ^^ ^'^" °^'^^- ' ' '
T= .,,.._- .^•■.<^'' reajjn. Th„ ^.."^ ' , Without aupstmn .u .
^hj-.-h has b.e^"S 'he best book
its
of
TuJJio di Suzzara Verdi lU n
Maternitv a Pn,. , ^ ^^i«i, M.D.
^-^-«- Cioth, $foo °P"^^^ Treatise. Eigm E,;r
Treating' of the neM a -^'i^fun tLditton.
,«;^y3;o„n., ^p^CS; J'-y I.e„es from a
____£'^^^'S". HOWARD, ^ HVLBERT.
Dr. William Wagner.
Epics and Romances of the Middle i^cEs Adnnf-^H
from the German. 500 pp.. 8 vo. a/„„,.>.!:M.„... ; ,„^^^P.^eci
Numerous spirited Illustrations.
, ^^11°''''' suPPly.the requirement of
a markeu interest in this day of an in-
te Ijfjent appeciai.on of Wagners colos-
H.i^M '";"'?'"''* : ^"'^ whether for the
n? ,^ ' °{ 'he young, or the pleasure
of the e ders, it comes at a timelv
Juncture."-AVa/ York Star '"°^'y
Cloth, gill edges, $2.00.
I '' PS^scn'ing/amiliarly the stirrinir
legendsof the Amelunus. the Dietrichf
the Niebeluneenlicd, (fh^rkmaL'ne and
fh^' <}' Tristan and Isolde, and all
ilf„?.'^'^ ^Y^8;"er drew his potent in-
i^\r3.non:.-L,Ura,y Worlk, Boston.
Major George E. Williams.
^?»''''"m''\'' ^"^"^^^ W^'- as the Soldier saw it •
Illustrated. New popular edition. $2.,oo ' '^-SeSvo.
Very correc*: history." — U s
Grant. ' ^'
. " I have no hesitation in recoramend-
\n% your interesting volume "— W T
Sherman. ' " • *■
it I'iii'^^^''^^'^ "!*= ^°°'*- i^nd enjoyed
It extremely, as giving such an admir-
We know of no more stirrintr and
S"V.'-'nspiring book. It is a stc?y to
dchjjht the oTd soldier's heart."-A>™
iior/c (.ommerciat Advertiser.
James Grant Wilson.
^^I'^r- ^!''? ,"\'v f'^^^'^NDs. Some Reminiscences of
the Knickerbocker Writers. Bryant P\LLni\r Tpv/k'^ V^
Cooper. Ham.kck. and Dkakk ; toSher\v,' h Poe.'n 'p\^,\^t
vto^^\ ^ty.'c **' ^"'^ °"^"''''- ^^'■"•^"-"''■'^ with Steel Portraits aid
Fac Simile MSS. i2mo. Cloth beveled, gilt top, I2 00
I have read it with interest and
pleasure. "-George Wili.ia.m Ct rtis.
A standard volume of literary his-
torv."-/.W/fl« Evenhig ■rrn7-e//e>-
• Accept my thanks, as a New York
author, for the woik vou have accom-
plished. '—Edmund C. Stedman.
!?!^ic:?s5f^.^rL^,!^:j!:^^''-ker
" i dchprhtful addition to the stores
of 1, terary and personal history '- Chi.
cago Inter-Ucean.
TRemaln&er of Xarge paper JEDftfon
WHICH WAS STRICTLY LDJITED TO 19S KUMBERED COPIES
Illustrated with 43 rare Steel Portrait Plates. 4 views of Poets-
Homes (Steel) and 17 pages of Manuscript facsimile
Cloth gilt top. uncut edges, $15.00. In Sheets for =.H,i;„„
Illustrative plates, at the same price Vull Mor., gUt, $25 ^
\* Send /or our Selected Catalogue of choice Amencan books.
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT,
ao Lafayettt Place, Neu> Torh.
RT.
Es. Adapted
ied Illustrations.
he reouirement of
1 this day of an in-
of Wagner's colos-
nci whether for the
?, or the pleasure
omes at a timely
Jrk Star,
IS.
ier saw it :
ac ; Prison and
'I., large 8vo.
interior of army
LELLAN,
more stirring and
It is a story to
r's heart."— AVw
'vertiser.
iiscences of
RviNG Dana,
N. P. WiLUS,
1 Portraits and
= 2 00.
rcbably so well
if this volume to
Knickerbocker
I'libuiie.
3n to the stores
history. '—Chi-
It
COPIES.
<vs of Poets'
for adding
I25.
an hois.
BERT,
Jfetc Tork.