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Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont film^s en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboJes suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ♦- signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signifie "FIN ". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent 6tre filmds d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtrc reproduit en un seul c!ich6, il est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 \^yUj2iy>JiL^ ^K T^f^Jt^cCo^A^ John King's Question Class BY CHARLES M. SHELDON. AUTHOR OF "IN HIS STEPS 'What Would Jesus Do?'" "THE CRUCIFIXION OF PHILLIP STRONG," "HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER," Etc. TORONTO: The W. J. GAGE COMPANY, Limitku 1899. *_~ JD ^S-t'lijo o Entcivd according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in tJie office of the Minister of Agriculture, by Thk W. J. Gagk Company (Limited), in tlic year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nlne. i PREFACE he in This little story liko all the othors ^\'ritt('n by iiu> was tirst ivjul to uiy uwn Sunday oveuiug cougrt'giiliuu iu the Cfulral Clmrt'h, ToiM'kn. Kansas. The (]Ui'stions iu the story are literal cuples of the (lues- lioiis actually asked during the reading of tlie story by tlie young lu'ople in my own i-ongregation. Every Sunday a list of written questions was liandcd nie by ilie young people and during the week I put tliein into tli«' chapter of the story ivad at the next Sunday evening service. This fact accounts for the nature of tlie ipiestions asked. There has been no attempt in this little story to give long, complete, exhaustive answers to wise, tlieological, or deeply philosophical (piestions. If the answers seem sometimes to 1h> verj' incomplete it is simply because I intended tliem to suggest ratlier than exliaust. the subject in eacli case. If the ipiestions seem .sometimes to 1«> lacking in depth or power it is simply bt>cause tliey are questions that living people often ask. '''he reader of this story will please remi'inber tliat the story was i)lanned and written and read first of all for a living audience of my own, whose needs I was trying to meet as I knew them. Tlie slory was helpful to my own young people wlien it was read to them. I send it out iu the printed form praying tliat it may add, even a little, to the Christian life of young people everywhere. CHARLES M. SHELDON. Toi>eka, Kansas. Central Gburcb. 1SU9. -^mOcoh a,^,^<5C tt/'ix^^/^ , «> UU>.^. ^9. X7C«i.£votxv t 'UajU JOHN KING'S QUESTION CLASS. CHAPTER I. T was nearly time for the concert to begin. Teople were still coming into the hall, how- ever, and the orchestra had not yet taken its place. There was an expectant air about the audience as if it had come out to hear something unusual. By the time the orchestra had come up and begun to tune its instruments, nearly every seat in the large building was taken. Still the people continued to come and the wide space under the balcony at the rear filled up with those who were compelled to stand. Behind the curtain in a small room close by the front of the stage, two persons were sitting. Thoy were brother and sister. Other persons were going and com- ing from other rooms surrounding the stage, and the excitement which always belongs to a concert where several singers and performers make their first public ./0//.V Ki\(rs iippcaraiic'c was aiiparciit in tlu' niovornonts and manner of tliof-i- wilt) wiTc to taki' part. Tlic two sitting in tlu' small room, however, were left alone for a little while, 'i'he brother was more nerv- ous than the sister. lie rose every few moments to look out through a hole in the eurtain or to view his njijit'aranee, wliat he could see of it, in a very small nnrror which he put back each time into his vest j)ockct. "Don't you begin to feel nervous yet, Vi?" The brotlicr put the question after one of his trips to the curtain and the announcement that it was going to be a crowded house. "No, I can't say that I do very much, Vie," said the sister. She sat quietly in the same place with a violin on her laj) and a score of music on a rack near by. ''Well, I don't understand you, Victoria. All last week and this up to six o'clock this evening you have boon worrying over our comeout to-night. And now you sit there as unconcerned as if you knew you wouldn't forget a note when you know you will have to face all the best musicians in the city." "I know I shall not forget," replied the sister; "But you will, Victor, if you don't quiet yourself." "I will! I know I Willi" QLESTIOS CLASS, 8 "You ought to sny, 'shall.' How often have I cor- ri'ctetl your use of the future — '' "Now, Vi, I can stand a good deal hut T can't .stand Iteing corrected for my grammar to-night. Don't you .see what misery I'm in? I've got stage friglit the worst^, kind. I know I can't remember half the words to that first song and I come on number two. And I've got an awful cold and my collar is melted right ofl' of me and my hands tremble so that people will know I am scared to death." lie rose again and going to the curtain, looked out, throwing sentences in a subdued voice to the siister. "My I Ain't there a jam though! Lots of folks stand- ing up under the gallery. There's Doc. Palfrey and his wife and some one else in the front row. They're fear- ful critical. I know I will, 'shall,' I mean, go all to pieces if Mrs. Palfrey once fixes me with her cold ici- cle kind of a smile. Don't you feel it growing chillier already? There's Mr. Clayton and his sister just sitting down in the middle front row of the balcony. Clayton has a good ear for music. Seems to appreciate the vio- lin, don't you think, Yi? Something or other draws him to our house a good deal lately. Wonder if he comes to hear me sing? Say, Yi," the brother left the curtain and came back to his sister. "I'm really afraid JullS KING'H I sliall go to pieces ))efore that audience. I'm only talk- ing to keep up appearances. Help me out, won't you, A'i, tliat's a good fellow?" He laid his hand on his sister's and spoke half in fun and half in earnest hut he was really very much excited and the girl replied seriously, "Victor, if you break down to night or fail to do yourself justice I shall walk out of the hall and feel disgraced as long as I live. Remem- ber father!'' It was wonderful to see the effect of this brief, almost sharp, response to the appeal for encouragement. The boy, "young man" he called himself, though he was not yet of age, quivered all over. Then his slight form stiffened, he thrust one hand deep into his pocket and ran the other hand up through a head of hair as black as hair ever is, until it stood up in con- fusion all over. Ilis whoiC appearance was so different in a moment from the nervous, dandi- fied, almost flippant youth who had whimpered in tones of half jest and earnest that Vic- toria smiled. She had looked and spoken sternly. "What are you laughing at?" asked Victor sud- denly. QlHSTIOS CLASS. 5 "Hettcr look in your glass and see. But you won't fail, will yon, dear-'" "No dandier," replied the l)rothcr very calmly. lie took out his pockel; mirror and arranged his tunilded hair, the !«ister looking on, amused at ihe dis- j)lay of a very marked perscmal vanity. "There, I'm all right now. See me, \ i' Feel my pulse. Want to look at my tongue? AVhere's that cough lozenge? Oh, hei.^ in my \'jit poeke^ Von nteuii t fear. I won't dis^^race you. D-ar old father I To think I had almost forgotten him. I'm awful self- ish when I'm thinking about myself. Most folks arc, don't you think? But I'm all right again now, Yi." And he went back to his place by the curtain and just then some other persons came in and the orchestra opened the evening's program with its overture. The curtain went up and the first player from the performers behind the scenes went on with a piano solo. But the special interest of the audience in this partic- ular concert which occurred not many years ago, was on account of the appearance in public of the twin brother and sister, Victor and Victoria Stanwood. It would take too long to relate all the reasons which led up to the fact of such a crowded and almost excited audience of 6 JOHN KING'S the best musicians in the city to listen to the musical per- formance of two persons not twenty years old. Certain very remarkable qualities in both brother and sister, even at this very early age, had given them recognition as artists even before their public appearance. And when Victor at the close of the first number came out after his accompanist and stood before the audience that crowded every corner of the great hall, he faced people who had heard so much about him and expected so much from him that i*^ would not have been surprising if a stouter heart than liis had throbbed with fever at the ordeal of satisfying such a gathering. For with his nat- ural talent as a musician he was but an undeveloped inexperienced lad. And in spite of his promise to his sister and the thought of what disgrace would follow failure on this occasion, his knees shook, his tongue seemed to fdl his mouth, and his lips were dry. He knew that the accompanist had finished the few notes, instrumental to his song, and he knew that he had failed to make an audible sound on the very first word. It was a crisis in his life, so he magnified the occasion, and if in that brief second he had turned and fled from the stage it is probable that the entire course of the lives of at least two of the persons in this story would have been completely changed. QUESTION CLASS. rould But his voice came to him on the second note and with the utterance in his ears, instantly all thought of his audience was gone. The player at the piano had halted just a fraction of time, hut went right on, and Victor sang out with the voice that God had given him and the people looked and listened. With the excep- tion of that slight failure many a gifted musician in the audience declared to himself as Victor went on that the most beautiful tenor voice heard in years was being heard in that hall that night. And yet, when he fin- ished, the applause was not the kind that brings the performer back, flushed and triumphant. It was hearty and general, but the audience was critical, and that slight error at the beginning marred an otherwise al- most perfect rendering. Besides, Victor was on the program for a second number. Evidently the audience intended to give him another trial before it took him into the popular favor. lie finished and went back, and the rest of the sing- ers and players congratulated him. lie did not reply and as soon as it was evident that there was no encore for him he drew his sister back into the room farthest from the stage and while the next singer went on, he l)urst out in an angry wiiisper: "I won't go on again to-night! I disgraced myself 8 JOHN KINO'lS ■S and you and father and everybody. Oh, I am a fool! I can't control my miserable nerves! I never was meant for a public singer! I'll find a job to-morrow blacking boots or selling something on the street. Or else I'll get a hand organ and a monkey and travel, and train the monkey to turn the handle when I lose control of myself before an audience." Victoria looked at him a moment in silence. She was excited for the first time in the evening and angry, but not at Victor. She could not understand why the audience had refused to call Victor back. And she felt indignant to think that such a slight thing as the omis- sion of one note would count with an audience in such an event, as it evidently had. "Vic," she said, "your singing was perfect. Your voice is a true tenor of unusual quality and those peo- ple know it. Disgraced! The people do not know what is right. I will show them! No. You must sing again. You will not be afraid any more! You must sing. Our future depends on winning this audience. Our very living is in the success of to-night." Victor was silent a moment. He was growing out of the boy into the man and the events of the evening were developing him very rapidly. He walked up and down the little room and said. i Qr EST I ON CLASS. 9 "Vi, I woiiUln't go through that experience again for all the fame in creation. But — I believe I can win yet. I know I am not afraid any more. Did I look wcll?« He asked the question with a ludicrous cliange from his former angry petulance to inquisi- tive vanity. Just then the singer who had gone on, finished and was recalled. "Your turn after the next, Victoria. Did I look well?" "The back of your head was all I could see and it was very becoming and not at all pale," replied his sister. "What do you care how you look, Victor, when your gift lies in your voice?" "I care a good deal," said Victor who never lost his temper at any remarks on his personal vanity. He took out his mirror, arranged his tie and carefully brushed up his thick black hair from his forehead. "I must go forward now, Vic," said his sister as the next performer was nearing the end of her song. "You are not the least nervous?" Victor asked with admiration. Victoria shook her head firmly. "See," she said. She held out her violin at arm's length with the music score between her fingers in such a way that the least possible trembling would have fluttered the paper against the instrument. Victor smiled and kissed li Pi \m 10 JOHy KING'S her. She dropped the music and turning away, walked up to the entrance, ready to go on. Her whole .^oul was in tlic part now before her. The audience saw come upon the stage a small, quiet figure, a well shaped mouth, undaunted eyes and a spirit of master}- and communion with the instrument that every audience loves to see in a public instrument- alist. The first touch of her bow was imperative. It seemed to say to the violin, "We arc very good friends but I am the superior. I must be obeyed." She played with no music before her. Xothing but the audience and its unhesitating sympathy. And she was certain of it from the very first note. She knew that, all the time she was playing. She knew also that she had never played better, with more fire, expression, real genius. And when the last note was played and she had loft the stage, the storm of hand clap})iiig and cheers seemed almost like a torrent leaping over the foot lights and sweeping her back behind the scenery. There was no mistaking the applause. It was a re- call. Victoria hesitated a moment urged by the other performers to go on again. But she refused. She was angry with the people for their treatment of Victor. "I tell you I won't go out again until my turn on the program!" She said to the leader of the concert when QiEtiTWN CLAiiS. 11 he begged her to respond to the eueore. She drew Vic- tor back behind the scenery and even there the applause followed her. It would die down and then break out with greater volume. As long as it continued, the next singer on the program did not wish to appear. All the musicians gathered about Victoria. Even Victor en- treated her to go out, even if only to bow. But Victoria sat immovable and unmoved. "I will not go until my turn," she said. "Oughtn't you to say 'I shall not go?" ' asbnl Victor. "Either word is correct this time," said Victoria smiling just a little. '"But it is rude to the audience not even to acknowl- edge the recall with a bow," suggested the leader of the evening. "Is it? It was very rude of them not to acknowl- edge Victor's singing." And Victoria turned her back on every one except Victor whose vanity received a fresh addition from his sisters action. Finally the audience grew tired of clapping. Per- haps some of the musicians understood well enough why the violinist did not appear. However that may be, the program was taken up without the re-appearance of Victoria and after two or three brief numbers, Victor came on for his second song. 12 JOHTi KINO'S The audience warmly applaiulcfl as he came for- ward. One can never tell just what an audience will do on certain occasions. Evidently they had no grudge against him on account of his sister's obstinacy, lie was very confident this time. His eye looked carefully over the house and far back in a seat under the balcony he saw a shabby figure in an old faded overcoat. The face of this figure was the face of one at war with him- self. It w^as discolored and diseased with the passion of drink but the head was noble in its shape and crowned with a splendid mass of blackest hair. It was the sight of that head and the intent, hungry, half- shamed, lialf-proud look in the countenance that brought back to Victor's thought his sisters words, "Remember father." Yes, there he sat, their father; and the thought of what he was and what he was doing and what success or failure on the part of the twins might mean to him, nerved the boy to do what he did. And the audience was the delighted judge of it. Such a voice! There was much wanting in technique, in phrasing, in handling professionally. All that would come with riper years. But the voice itself was God- given. It filled the souls of all lovers of music with rare delight. This time the encore came swift and unmistakable. The voice had captured the audience. w 111 3 CO 1 tal to p. Tl 1 Ai i: fel ^ foi ■ toi i he] ,! alt m mt QIHSTIOX CLAfiS. 13 mc for- will do grudge cy. He larefully balcony it. The ith him- passion ipe and It was ry, half- ce that words, fatlier; doing le twins he did. I. Such [que, in would IS God- lie with [ft and idience. 1 And they yielded. Victor, proud, exultant, vain, came hack, bowed, and then stepped back of the scenes. But the audience would not be satisfied. They must hear 1 '.m again. And after a little he came forward again and sang even better than before and was recalled. There was no question of his trium])h. It was com- plete. And when he had finished at last, even Victoria was satisfied. "It was beautiful. My dear, you did won- derfully. I did not think you could dr so well." Vic- toria petted him until he was in danger of being c )ni- pletely spoiled. Victor took it more quietly than might have been expected. "I saw father back under the bal- cony, right hand side," he whispered to his sister. There was no opportunity for brother and sister to talk together much more as the program was drawing to its close now and Victoria's was the last number. The success of Victor roused her to the highest pitch. And when at last she appeared before the audience she felt far beyond even her best self. But never did a performer with so much at stake for future success in public have to overcome as Vic- toria had that night. She was well enough aware that her refusal to appear when called upon before was so altogether rude and unusual that she had offended very many of the best musicians in the house, even sup- J 14 joiiy KLMrs posing they understood her reason for not appearing. As she came forward now, it was in perfect silence. The audience was cold and hostile. She thought she saw a movement in the back of the hall as if some persons v;- ro going out before she began. Then her eyes caught the face of the figure in the sliabby overcoat under the balcony. She was not frightened nor dismayed at the silence. And as she l)egan, she saw nothing and no one in the audience but that one face of the father. As she went on she did not see even that. The passion of her music caught her up and carried her on its wave, while at the same time she seemed capable of directing the wave which bore her on. It was true she was outplay- ing herself, and it was also true she was gaining the audience. People leaned forward. Old musical critics listened with nods of approval. A rest in the violin while the piano played on, was broken by a sound of applause that instantly stopped as the violin went on again. But when she finished, she knew she had won tlie audience. The applause was continuous. The peo- ple instead of rising to go, remained seated, and waited for Victoria to come on again. She played a little slum- ber song without the piano and was encored for that. But she simply bowed in response, refusing to play more. And the concert was ended. "4 i N QlKliTION CL.USS. 15 But the results of that evening witli its incidents, small as they scorn in the tolling of them, were the results that Vietoria had anticipated in the case of real success Ixjfore such an audience. To tell what they were, we must follow Victor and his sister home. The father was waiting a little beyond the stage entrance and as Victor and Victoria came out he joined them, Victoria taking his arm and Victor walking along hy his side. They walked thus for half a mile before they turned into a court and opening a small door at the top of a short flight of stone steps entered a plain room which opened into two others with doors at oppo- site sides of the main or living room. It is not the purpose of this stor}' to go into details of the previous home life of Victor and his sister. Briefly, the mother had died when they were very young. The father with really rare musical abilities had lost one position after another through a childish lack of business ability as well as through a growing passion for drink, rendering him at times useless for days. At this particular time he was engaged in one of the smaller theatres as one of the orchestra. He still retained a few good pupils. But no one except Victoria could real- ize the little shifts and devices that the last few years tfife * I 10 joiix Kix(rs liad known in providing for tlie common wants of the home. The father revered liis children. In his worst moments of passion he wouhl remain away from home for shame. The brother and sister for tlieir part would have reverenced him if their pity and shame had not been far larger feelings. The thought of her father play- ing his violin in the orchestra of a disreputable amuse- ment hall was poison to the thought of Victoria. The thought that he was doing it because it was necessary to do even that in order that they might all live, was agony to her. Many a night the young girl had waited until the step of her father sounded stumbling up the stone steps and she had seen him come in more than once reeling with exhaustion and the stupor of intoxication and fall across the floor, there to sleep off the effects of his passion while she would creep away and sob her- self to sleep with the name of "God" and "mother" mingling in her prayer and speech and dream. Only (l;o growing knowledge of her own musical power gave her c/)urage to live as days grew on into years and she began to be a woman. Victor's voice, too, gave her hope. People, the public, that vague thing "the pub- lic," paid money for such voices. Some time they would be able to sell for food and clothes and luxu- ries the talents God had given them. Then the father (JiESTlOX CL.USti. 17 slioiild leave his i)Uicc and the growing disgrace and shame and agony woukl give way lo better, happier times. As the girl had encouraged the brother to develop his great natural gift, tho father also in his better moments knew how to direct the musical studies of tho twins. It was not surprising that assisted by nature's own gift to start with and by the very able direction of the father, the two had developed surprising power. One or two of ^Ir. Stanwood's pupils discovered the secret of rare musical a])ility in the violin and the voice at the old musician's house. It was not difficult for several parlor musicals at which the twins were invited to take part, to spread their fame as musicians about tho city. Then when the large concert was projected by music lovers, the twins were secured, as already known in a smaller way to very many. It was, however, really their first largo public appearance. And the occasion was of great importance to Victoria for the opportunity it would probably ofTer of securing some permanent position for Victor and herself where they could earn enough to support themselves and the father. It was true that all that evening, with all her love for her music and her complc+e joy in its performance, Vic- toria had felt running all through her thought as she 11 I' 11 18 ./0//.V Ki\(rs I fiKM-'d the iicnplo, "Will any one here, any manager or (.'nlortainnunt bureau or director, he likely to make me an olTer to jday anywhere for money?" That may sound very unjioclical and unmusical, hut it is what lay in the girl's mind and what she was think- ing (;f all the way homo and as she talked over the evening and its triumph with Victor and the father. "Well," said Victor, yawning, as he sat with his legs straight out before him and his hands deep in his pockets, "Fm sleepy and tired. Fm going to bed- It isn't liealthy for tenors to sit np late." He rose and wont over and kissed Victoria, patting her on the cheek and saying, "You were my good angel to-night, Vi. If I have an offer to go on the road with a company I won't, or is it I 'shan't,' go, unless you go with me?" He went over to his father, suooped and kissed his check as he had done ever since he was a boy two years old, said good night, and went up stairs. The father timidly spoke to Victoria, "My dear, you must be very tired. It has been a trying evening for you." "Xo, father," said Victoria, "I am not tired. I am very strong. But it is late and I promised Aura that I would come early in the morning and plav for her. I il QilJSTlOS CLASS. 10 So good night, fatlior." She wont over and as Victor had done she kissed him on the cheelv. The fatlur drew her down to him and returned the caress witii unusual alTection. Victoria felt it deeply. "Poor old father!" she said as she went out of the room. The moment she was gone, her father rose and cau- tiously shut the doors leading to the upstairs rooms. lie then talked very stealthily to a cupboard, took out a glass and with a trembling hand produced a bottle of whisky from his overcoat pocket. He sat down by the dining room table and drank until he was unal)le to walk across the room to his bed room which was at the other end of the dining room. He tried to lie down on a lounge near the door but fell upon the floor and there Victoria found him when she came down in the morn- ing. It was a common occurrence, but the shame of it grew upon Victoria. She had tried everything to reform, to remove the passion from him. Everything had failed. She saw nothing in the way of hope except a complete change of life. She could not endure it much longer. She and Victor had a hurried and mea- ger breakfast and then Victoria, leaving the father to sleep himself sober, went off to see her one great friend Aura and play to her a little while. Aura was a crippled invalid. It was perhaps because uil •' i: I I I !i I 20 JOWS KING'S she lacked all the strong, healthy, iron-nerved quali- ties of Victoria that Victoria had caught the poor bruised, broken body up into her friendship and poured out on her what she never gave any other of her few acquaintances. She livnrl only a few blocks away, with her aunt who had brought her into the city at the time of the accident which crippled her, and still kept her there for medical treatment. The two girls were the same age. It was Victoria's custom to come in nearly every morning and play a little while. Music to the invalid was rest to tired nerves and aching limbs. She greeted Victoria this morning with a feeble cry of congratulations. "See! Aunt has been reading me the account of the concert last night. How proud you must be. And Vic- tor too." "I haven't seen the paper," replied Victoria coloring Icasure. "What does pl( say J Aura's aunt came in. "It says you and Victor are the finest, best player and singer in the city. And a good deal more, suppose she sau we shall not hear you very much .9" more.-'^^ said Aura, with a wistful glance at the violin case as Victoria placed it in a chair while she laid aside her wraps. P QUElSTIOX CL.1.VN. L'l ;h n "Why not?" she asked, as she came up to the bed and stroked the invalid's fingers between her own sup- ple hands. "Because you will play for a large salary now," said Aura simply. "As if that would make any difference here, Aura. You know I shall always play for you." "Will you? How good you are. But I shall lose you now^, I'm afraid."' Victoria took out the violin, and as she tuned it she eaid earnestly, "Aura, I promise you I shall always regard my en- gagement here with you as sacred. You know you can always send for me at any time and I shall come. And as for the salary~-wait — " Victoria smiled and at once began to play. The effect on the invalid was instantaneous. She grew quiet and lapsed into a sort of trance. Victoria played for ten minutes. At the end of that time the doctor came and Victoria went away feeling restless and weary herself this morning as if something important were about to happen. Wlien she reached home she found two men in the dining room which was sitting room, reception room, and parlor as well, talking with Victor- Victor, ;:i',t' i'.L M m 'W il'\ 22 JOHN KING'S \khose manner betrayed excitement introduced the strangers. "Tlicy have come from the music committee of John King's church to know if I can be engaged to sing there next Sunday or for the winter/' said Victor with little attempt to conceal his satisfaction at the offer. "We regard your brother's voice as remarkable," said tlie gentlemen. "We know he would prove very acceptable to the church at this time.'' Victoria had not thought of a church in connection with Victor's voice. She had thought of him as going into concert work. But the more she thought of it the more she liked it. When the gentlemen finally went away they made an agreement with Victor to sing for the next month in John King's church as solo singer at a price that even Victoria thought was liberal. Victor was Jubilant. "Think of that, Vi! In John King's church too! It's the finest place in the city. The largest audiences and the most cultured people!" "It's good," said Victoria seriously. She did not say much. Matters were turning out as she hoped. The con- cert was bearing fruit. She was glad for Victor. Only she wondered if she would have any offer. Victor did not seem to think of her. Then she felt ashamed of her 'Is I QUE^STlOy CL.l^.V. v m selfishness and tried to enter into A'ictor's plans and amldtions as he talked over his prospects. In the afternoon she was sitting alone in the room, Victor and the father both having gone out, wlien a messenger boy brought a note. She eagerly opened it and read: To Mis9 Victoria Stanwood, Dear Miss Stanwood: I very much regret my inability to call in person and see you with reference to a possible engageinent in the New Concert Company of which you have doubtless heard and of wliich I am at present the manager. If you could find it convenient lu call at my office, (here followed street and number) at 3 o'clock this afternoon I shall be pleased to see you and arrive at some agree- ment. I regret that my business will take me out of the city for two months and I am obliged to leave at 4 P. M. If any arrange- ment is made by which you become a member of the company it is very important that it be made at once and quite necessary to complete the terms before I leave the city. I can explain this to you. Trusting I may have the great pleasure of an inter- view with you at the designated time. I am very truly, Here followed the name of one of tiie most famous musical directors and managers of Concert Companies in the country. Victoria looked at the clock. It was half past two already. She would have plenty of time to walk leis- urely to tlie ofllcc. But she would go out doors and walk off her excitement by going around a longer way. She put on her hat and cloak and had reached the door when a boy came running up the steps and handed her P: Jli' . :li!' 24 jony KiyG's question class. a note. She opened it hastily. It was written by Aura's aunt and read, My Dear Victoria: iSince you left us this morning, Aura has had a bad attack like the one you saw two weeks ago. She calls incessantly for you. Can you come at once and bring your violin? She is partly unconsciou.-i be; I think the music will quiet her. Hastily, Mrs. Sutton. Victoria read the note twice. Then she looked at the other note from the musical manager. It was now nearly a quarter of three. She would have just time to get to the office. But what about Aura? As she hesitated on the steps, Victor and her father turned the corner and came up. CHAPTER II. ICTORIA was on the point of showing the two notes to Victor and the father and asking their advice as to her right course of action Jjiit obeying an instant impulse, she suddenly thrust the note out of sight under her cloak and going down past Victor and the father just as they reached the foot of the steps she told them hurriedly that she was going for a short walk. "Let me go with you," said Victor, stopping her. "No! no! I prefer to go alone!" replied A'ictoria a little sharply. Slie walked off rai)i(lly, leaving Victor and her father standing by the steps looking after her. She was excited out of her usual quiet demeanor. Tier ambition to secure a good position at good \k\\\ especially in a first class concert company, and her friendship for Aura, coupled with her promise made only that morning, were the opposite desires that clashed in her heart and mind as she walked hurriedly along. What should she do? If she went to Aura she would miss seeing the manager. That would mean the mm I If III II: • fii; 11 i '. 26 JOHN KING'S probable loss of the best offer likely to come to her. The season was late for new people to get positions. Then on the other hand if she went to the manager's office first wliat would Aura's aunt say, or what would she her- self tliink, remembering her sacred promise to come at any time? All this whirled through her mind as she walked the distance of a block. Aura lay partly uncon- scious and suffering in the next l^ock. The manager's office was four blocks in the other direction. As Victoria reached the corner where she must decide one way or the other, she suddenly became con- scious of the fact that she did not have her violin with her. If she was going to Aura to play for her, she must run back home and get her instrument. She turned about at the corner, and as she did so her eyes caught sight of a new play bill-board near by. It was an announcement of a grand concert to be given under the management of a great leader. Several of the play- ers' and singers' names were printed in large letters. Victoria read them and then almost as if walking in her sleep she step])ed down off the walk and crossed the street, going in the direction of the manager's office. She tried to answer the rebuke of her heart by saying, *'I must secure this position. The business will not take long, I know. Then I will fly back and be in time QUESTION CLASS. 27 a # to play for Aura. Besides, her aunt is apt to get nerv- ous without reason. I am sure I shall be in timo to do all that Aura wants. And if she knew of the oppor- tunity, she would be the first one to say, 'By all means secure the place before you come to me.' " So Victoria quieted her conscience as she drew ncaf the office of the manager. She was far from happy, however. And as she entered the room she could not crowd down a feeling that she had been false to the duties of friendshi}). The manager was evidently waiting for her. He rose as she entered, and bowed with much civility. "Miss Stanwood?" he inquired and in response to her "Yes, sir," he asked her to be seated and at once proceeded to question her as to her musical education, Ihe extent of her studies, and the possibility, in case they arrived at satisfactory terms, of her going upon the road at once with the company. Victoria's answers were apparently satisfactor}'. She rc[)liod briefly and exactly. Her mind was full of Aura. She felt as if she must hurry to her. The manager tlien made her a proposition. "We have not arranged the terms, ]\[iss Stanwood," he said with a smile. "But sup])ose I should say sev- enty-five dollars a week for the season." 28 JOHN KINCrS !i i it' ! Victoria caught her breath. Seventy-five dollars a week! Why it was a fortune to begin with. The manager went on blandly. "You of course to provide for your own traveling expenses out of that amount. Our circuit this winter does not include very many long distance stands." Victoria bowed and said something about being sat- isfied with the terms. "By the way," continued the manager, "I have not heard you play. I am taking you on the recommenda- tion of some friends of mine who were present at the concert last night. Would you mind favoring me here with something?" "I did not bring my violin," replied Victoria. "I think we can provide for that oversight," said the manager. He went over to a corner of the room and opened a small secretary with a glass door and took out a violin and bow which had evidently been very carefully put away. ITc brought them to Victoria and as he handed them to her, he said, "There, Miss Stanwood, is one of the few genuine Cremonas in this country. That was a gift to mo direct from Camilla Urso on her last appearance in the United States, There are a hundred triumphs ^1 Une me in ItllS QUESTION CLASS. 29 lingering in the mu?i(al nieniuncs of that old instru- ment."' Victoria seized the precious instrument with quiver- ing delight. For the time being she forgot Aura and everything else except the keen pleasure of handling such an instrument. She had once had in her hands at one of the parlor musicals a Stradivarius loaned her by an old musician but she had never seen a Cremona and the thought of playing on one brought the fire to her cheek and her eye. At first she had shrank at the idea of i)laying alone to one person and that person the critical director and manager. But the minute her fingers closed over the neck of the famous violin she was all musician. "What diiTerence did it make to her who was present, whether one man or a city full? She quickly tuned the instrument and after a few prelimi- nary chords, as one would stroke a pet horse before mounting to take a morning ride over the prairie, she swung into Paganini's "Witch Dance,"' at one time con- sidered to be so impossible to perform technically that very few had mastered it successfully. Victoria had learned it and she played it with a fire and almost fury that gave the manager, as he sat back in his easy chair looking and listening sharply, great inward satisfaction. When she had finished he applauded her. -lit. ni it illlH I .1111 i; j U I I 1!' Hi! Hiji 30 JOHN KING'S "Bravo!" he cried. Then rose and with old time politeness, bowed profoundly. Victoria flushed with pleas- ure. It was another triumph for her. Just then a clock in the room chimed with a deep echo the half hour. Half past three and — Aural She must be getting away. The manager after the first burst of enthusiasm, sat down and with business directness wrote out the con- tract binding Victoria at the price he had olfered, to be- come a member of the Company which began its winter's course a week from date. Victoria was given all neces- sary details as to rehearsals and dates and places of per- formance, and then the manager with the courtesy for which he was famous at that time wrote out a check for the first week's salary. His quick eye had detected the signs of genteel economy in Victoria. His long ex- perience told him the rest. All this took time and when Victoria rose to go it MI'S almost four o'clock. She started to go out, still holding the violin which she had not relinquished after ])laying. She came back into the middle of the room with a confused apology and laid the instrument down on the table. The manager hesitated curiously, — then he said — "Miss Stanwood, how would you like to play that violin this winter?" ;■ ,i !h t QUL\sri(tX ('LASS. 81 50 it still iftcr I'oom lown ttlicn that Tlic color rii!?hc(l to Victoria's brow. She was all musician again. There was no Aura in her thoughts any more. "I tlo not need to say that I would look upon such a i)ossibility as a wonderful jirivilege.'' "Well, I never let it go out of my hands before. Hut yuu deserve the best instrument to be found. Til tell you what Til do. You may take the violin for the season. I'll risk it with you. Yes, you may take it along now. Here is the case." lie took it out of the same secretary, and Victoria, i)laciug the precious instru- ment in its cover, walked out of the office, almost as \)Yo\id as if she had been given the violin to keep for her own. The minute the door closed behind her, some drop- ping curtains at the farther end of the room parted and eight or ten persons came into the office. "What did you think of it?" asked the manager briefly. The answers were varied. Yet all agreed that the manager had secured a prize. Three or four of the group, all of whom had been present in the adjoining room by request of the manager, to hear Vietoria, were members of the company. The rest were old musi- i;ians, friends of the manager who had not heard Vic- ' I i 'I m l!!i i'.i: ill I il I > hi I < I: 32 JOHN KINO'S toria tiie niglit before. Tlie effect of Victoria's playing was noticeably marked. The manager had secured an audience all unknown to her and he congratulated him- self over the little device. It was with much satisfac- tion that he dwelt ui)on the coming concert season. Victoria almost ran out of the ollice entry and once on the sidewalk she walked as fast as she could without running. The excitement of her interview with the man- ager liad given way now to a growing feeling of remorse. It was nearly an hour and a half since she had received the note from Aura's aunt. What should she tell them was the reason she had not come at once? Well, she would tell the truth, she said to herself. She would not add falseliood to her remorse. At any rate she would save a little time by not having to go around home to get her instrument. She had the Cremona. She would play that. As she ran up the stops of the house she noticed the doctor's buggy in frout. The door was opened for her by Mrs. Sutton who had seen her coming. At sight of the aunt's face, Victoria trembled and fell back against the door. "How is Aura? — Is she" — the word"dead" trembled on her lip. Mrs. Sutton shook her head. "No, but the attack was worse than we supposed. We de not know I QT'ESTIOX CLASS. 83 and ibled tthe mow what to expect. Didn't you get n»y note? I wan just on the point of sending again. Aura has spoken your name every few minutes." Victoria covered her face with her hand. What could she say? It was no time to make excuses. Mrs. Sutton touched her on tlie shoulder, '"'romo in and see hor," slie said. And Victoria rose and went into Aura's room. The doctor was there with the nurse. As Victoria came in and softly v.-'^.lked up to the bed, Aura opened her eyes and saw her. A smile passed over her wan face. "0, you have come! I knew you would keep your j)romise to come any time. It did not take you long. You must have run. How good you are!" All this spoken in whispers showed that the mind of the invalid had not been conscious of the lapse of time between the writing of the note and Victoria's appear- ance. It all went to Victoria's heart with a stab. She choked and for answer laid her hand on Aura's. '•'You brought your violin. Y"cu will play to me now?" Victoria looked at the doctor. "It won't do any harm," he said. ''^lay result in real good. An hour ago would have been better." So Victoria, heavy-hearted, feeling like one who had w li li 3^ JOHN KTNCrSt Ijetrayed the tenderest soul and been false to the highest call of duty, took out the Cremona and played. She hardly knew what. She tried to play one of the old tunes. She thought it must sound very dull and dis- cordant. Aura lay very quiet. Victoria played on. AVhen she finally stopped, the pale lips parted and whispered, "So good of you to come as you promised." They were the last conscious words spoken by the poor sufferer. She grew weaker as night came on, ral- lied once or twice as darkness settled over the city, opened her eyes once more and smiled near midnight and between two and three in the morning she passed out of the life that now is, into tlw} life which is to come. And Victoria sat through all the agony of the night, her sensitive soul hurt and torn by the passion of her remorse. She had sent word over to the father aud Victor and then remained by Aura until the last breath. Perhaps the greatest pang she had, lay in the thought that she had not been able to confess to Aura the exact truth. Her burden was so heavy on her that she sobbed out her story to Mrs. Sutton while the two were alone for a lit Je while in the other room. The aunt tried to comfort her. "I am sure, y< sorry if you had not gone. She was so eager for you to sue- QUESTION CLASS. ;jr> )bcd ilone (1 to porry suc- ceed. She would not have exacted tlie promise from you. You are too sensitive. You wrong yourself." "Xo, no!" cried Victoria. "I am sure I do not. But I can never forgive myself for the selfishness of my net. And it is too late now for Aura to know." That was the heart of her grief. That if she had gone at once to her friend without the loss of that precious hour, she might have carried with her all her life a peaceful conscience at the thought of duty exactly per- formed, of promises literally fulfilled. She crept home in the early grey of the morning and after a little she fell asleep and did not awake until noon. But she felt the mark of that night's experi- ence on her as long as she lived. After the simple funeral service two days later she had come home and gone lip into her room and there kneeling down she prayed — it was not her custom — and that in itself »vas a new experience. She prayed that she ^^Mght live lu be a noble woman to do unselfish deeds and leave a memory of kindly acts. The prayer brought her real peace. And then as slit thoughtfully took up her in- strument, she made a promise to the memory of her dear friend that she would use her skill and power with the violin to bless the world and not for selfish ends. Ah, Victoria, you are a woman now! Do \. u aiow what \^' that promise means? '^riio world is very largo and there is great sorrow and need, and fame is a very pleasant thing. God help you to be true to your memory and the pledge you have made to it. Wlien Sunday came she went to John King's church to hear Victor sing. It was the last Sunday she would have with him for many days as she would go out of the city that week with the Company. Victor was excited but confident. "I have rehearsed with the organist three times/' he said to Victoria as they went in together. "It's a magnificent organ and the room is beautifully con- structed for singing." Victoria felt a little impatient with Victor's egotism this morning. Since Aura's death many things ap- peared difTcrent to her. "Isn't the room beautifully constructed for preach- ing, too? I had an idea that was partly what churches were built for. To hear you talk one would think the chief end of churches was to listen to tenor solos j> "Why, Vi," said Victor with open-eyed What's the matter? Don't you want Isn't that what you arc going for this hear me?'' surprise to morning I 1 lie To nil' i'l I i)UESTrOX C7v.4.S'.S'. 37 ling? To "No/* said Victoria somewhat slowly. "I am going to hear John King preach." Victor said nothing and they walked on. Finally ho burst out, "Well, I call that encouraging! Here is the very tiling happening that you wanted. I've got a splendid position and you take the heart all out of a fellow — " "No! no!" Victoria cried in real distress, laying her hand on her brother's arm. "I am sorry. I am proud and glad. I did not mean to hurt you, dear. I only meant — " Slie hesitated and Victor said good naturedly, "you only meant that you preferred John King's preach- ing to my singing. That's all right. But wait until I've been singing as long as he has been in the pulpit and then see — " Victor elevated his chin and walked on complacently and Victoria smiled at his boundless vanity alljeit she sighed a little, too, as she seriously ihc light of the approaching separation from him when iiu -iVviici be left practically all alone to work out his career for himself. When they reached the church she spoke a word of loving encouragement and sympathy to him and he went arcvind to the organist's door with a smile of satis- ^fietion on his eager young face, while she went in and was shown to a seat quite well up in front, and as it 'Tl ii-l 3S JUHX KIX(P^ was very oarly. she sat for several minutes witli the great cluireli softly quiet about lier, her mind filled with Aura, with the promise to her memory, with the com- ing week, and its new life to her, with the father and with Victor, and then, as the cliurch began rapidly to fill up, wit]) his voice and its great possibilities. The sei ' '-egan and slie was lifted up by it. Worship was ;. part of the service in John King's church. Something at the very beginning struck the chord that vibrated with her late experience helpfully and went to swell the tide of her better emotions and open tlie view upon her own responsibiHties The serv- ice grew in helpfulness as it went on. Victor was to sing after the sermon. That was John King's arrange- ment. He believe (hat rctiiaiiu'd with her all llii'oii{i,li her professional career. "(Jive, and it shall he given unto you.'' "The law of give and get," said the preacher, "runs all through life everywhere. It is true of the natural world, the husiness world, the spiritual wor^d. Jesus sim- ply announced a great and eternal law when he said that if a man expects to get ho must give. Nature is always lavish with its sowing of germ life. I counted one hun- dred and fifty seeds, last summer, in the ripened pod of one little modest wild plant growing with a hundred others on the prairie. By the profusion with which plant and animal life reproduces itself, nature responds to the great law of giving with a hand that never shuts, in astonishing liberality. In honest business, with rare exceptions, it is the enterprise and liberality of large expenditure that brings back a corresponding return. In spiritual things the same law holds good. Men never grow better by means of selfish nursing of their virtues but always by the giving out of all that is best in them for the good of others. Especially is this true in the case of some talent or gift greater than ordinary. Olo Bull the great violinist once said, 'If I do not practice on my instrument for twenty four hours I notice a loss in skill, aud if I let forty-eight hours go by without "'^ill|!hi lllll'ill "I illnl I III' :| i 40 ./0//.V KIN(V^ practiciiif( my fi'iciKls notice it, and if I should jot practice for tliree daA'.s tlio puLlic would notice it.' li was only hy giving his time and his strength and his energy and his desire to the accomplishment of his pur-> pose that the great violinist could get the world's ap- plause or gain its affection. If any soul anywhere in this audience is hungry for righteousness it will be filled. But it must hunger. God does not fill any soul with Himself unless that soul has emptied itself, has sacrifie :Ji> gi^-cn up its pride and deceit and everything that it once held close to itself. Nothing worth having IS ever gained without sacrifice. There must always be a giving up in order to get anything worth having back again. If the farmer would have a crop he must give his seed grain. lie must throw it into the ground. If he sells it or cats it he will have nothing when harvest time comes. If the man of business would have, ho must put his money to use, he must give to trade or to ventures of commerce his capital or he will have no more than he holds, and if he lives off his capital he will grow poorer every day. In the ))uilding of character the same great law is found. We live and grow by what we sacrifice. lie that loseth his life shall find it. Give and it shall be given unto you. Give kindly thoughts and loving deeds to the sorrowing and the QdJSTION CLAtiii. 41 flcspairirirr and you will get liappincss. Give love in return for hate and you will get the peace of God. Give your talent to make the world better and you will get daily joy in the sweet consciousness of using a God- given power in a God-given way. He who never gives either of his means or his time, or best of all, himself, to lift the world nearer into the light of eternal things, never knows the pleasure of getting. For getting is always dependent on giving. What can wc give this morning to Ilim who gave Ilis life a ransom for many? If wc have nothing to give but ourselves, that may bo the most precious gift of all. 'A broken and a contrite licart, God, Thou wilt not despise.' And then once given back, into the life will flow the sweet waters of the River of God's peace, worth more than wealth or fame or anything that earth can give. ^Give and it shall be given unto you.' This is the divine law of compensation. This is the great law of sacrifice, the end of which is Paradise and not Calvary." The preacher ceased suddenly as his habit was, and Victor rose to sing. His solo was a new rendering of music with the old words, "I gave my life for thee, What hast thou given to Me?" I!i i .. . ' i - i^ ■-. Victor had not been in the habit of singing religious Ij ll i ill Hi'-' ill 42 JOHN KING'S I il music. Victoria wondered, as she lis^tened with tears in her eyes, where the boy had found the experience that made him capable of singing such words in sucli an imi)ressive way. The audience sat stilled and at the same time stirred by the pathos of the song. Many of those present had attended the concert. Over the con- gregation passed the tones clear, thrilling, in persuasion, entreaty, tenderness. Into the hearts of nuiny, the thought passed through the medium of that wonder- ful power of music, ""What have I given to the great Redeemer who gave all?'' Surely Victor was i)reacliing the sermon over again with redoubled power. When he ended, the prayer that followed brought the service tenderly, quietly, impressively to a close. And the great audience, after remaining seated while the choir sang softly the amen, rose and went away, talking, as they went, about the new tenor and his remarkable voice. Victoria lingered, waiting for Victor, who at the close of the song had stepped back into the music room behind the organ. As he came out to Join Victoria he met John King close by the steps leading down from the platfonn to the floor of the audience room. King shook hands and said something to Victor but Victoria was too far away to hear. The two finally ll! : . . m QUESTION TL.l.S.V. 43 but lally camo down the platform stc])s together and as they came down the aisle to where Victoria stood, Victor in- troduced her. "I am glad to see you two together," said John King in his wholesome manner. "I had the great pleasure of hearing you both at the concert last week. Your brother tells me you are going away this week. You will be able to do great service with such a gift." lie paused a moment, looking earnestly and thoughtfully at the twins as they stood together, then added, "I am very glad that your brother will remain with us, ^liss Jsianwood. I have just been asking him to become a mem- ber of our Question Class. It meets at my house every Monday night. He has not promised me that he will come. I wish you would use your influence with him." "What is the 'Question Class?' '' asked Victoria. "It's for those who come to find out. There I I'll leave it mysterious. Come tomorrow, young man, un- less you are too busy helping your sister off on her travels. Yes, you will be, that's so. Say a week from tomorrow then. You'll be lonesome and need some friends. Come around." They were all outside the church now. John King went the other way. He shook hands as if he meant it, wished Victoria a thoughtful good by and with the hoi)e that she would 1 i1, 111 ■ : ^ vA'\i>, 1 f ^:' ill Vi !i< illi ii'niiiii'i, I 11" ;: 'l-l : ill :j| ; li Hi 44 JOHN KING'S make the most of Iior life gift for the worhl's good, went away, leaving the twins looking after him and quite won to him by his simple unassuming manner. "What was he saying to you, Vie, up on the plat- form?" "lie was inviting me to join the Question Class," replied Victor. lie did not say any more and thoy walked on a little distance in silence. Finally Victor broke it by saying, "How did the singing sound? Wtt 3 it all right?" "You did beautifully. I could hear the words very distinctly. The room is perfect for singing." Victor looked gratified. "Yes, I told you so. Do you think the people were satisfied?" "Vanity of vanities, thy name is Victor," said Vic- toria. "Why do you ask? Couldn't you see that the people were under the influence ? What did John King say? Did he compliment you?" "No," said Victor shortly. "lie never said a word. I thought he was going to but he didn't. He's queer sometimes, don't you think?" Victoria laughed. Then she sighed. At that mo- ment they overtook a group of people, among them two young women acquaintances and the latter at once began to praise Victor. QFESTfOX CLAS,^. 45 ii'l «/ '0, Mr. Stanwood, it was simply lovely. Wo shall go to John King's church every Sunday now." "Will you?" Victor was at once basking in the sunshine of the adoration he hungered for. He lingered with the group until Victoria impatiently took his arm and drew him on. "Come, Victor," she said when out of ear shot. "Don't let those girls make a fool of you. I have no patience with their gabble." Victor looked a little annoyed. Then he laughed. "Well, Vi, they can't make a fool of me if I am one already, can they? And that's what you think, I know." Victoria protested and by the time they reached home they were at peace with each other and Victor was complacently humming over the morning solo as he went up to his room. The week that followed was a busy one for Victoria. She had to prepare for her departure. It was a serious time in her life. She dreaded the thought of leaving Victor and the father alone. A competent servant had to be secured. Then she charged Victor with a hun- dred commands for the care of everything. She had never left her father before. That gave her the greatest anxiety. The future was full of possibilities for her and : lilil , ! ill 46 ./0//A Ki.\(rs t:iety for outside adornment that was peculiar to him in such a marked degree. And then the train carried her of! into her new world And Vic- tor went home to face his new existence. And for both of them the days to come opened up and unrolled for them the life that now is, with a rapidity and reality tliat they could not understand at the time because much of it all was so new, so serious, and so profound with meaning. !(i W ..Jlli'i!! il CHAPTER III. HE week that followed Victoria's departure passed very dolefully for Victor. The twins had never been separated before and he did not know what to do M-ithont her. He had never been able, at least he always believed he never had been able, to endure with any patienco his father's ways and yet he had never been imdutiful or lacking in love towards him. With Vic- toria gone it was different. Victor busied himself with his music as much as possible. When Sunday came he went to the church and sang. There was an immense congregation. He was nervous and impatient all through the sermon which seemed to him longer than usual. Several times he went back into the music room behind the organ. There was a curtain behind the pul- pit arranged so that a person could come in and out of the music room unperceived by the congregation. Vic- tor did not care anything for the service except his own part in it. When at last the sermon closed and the organist began the prelude to his song he came out from the shadow of the curtain. His appearance almost pro- mm. JOHN A7AG'.S' QiESTIOX ('LA.S'.V. 49 voked applause. If it had been anywhere except in cliiirch and John King's churcl> at that, it seems almost as if he would have been cheered. His pale, finely- moulded face, the head covered with its curly black Lair, the boyish yet musically mature countenance pro- duced the impression of genius on i\\e audience. And A'ictor's voice! It certainly was remarkable. John King sat with bowed head, thrilled with its tone, saying to himself, "What a power!" After the service was over he saw Victor and reminded him of the Monday night Question Class. "Come around and join us for the evening, at any rate." "I don't know," Victor hesitated. He was shy about going out or meeting new people. But he was lone- some and he remembered Victoria's parting words. So he promised to come and the next evening when he rang the bell at Plane Street he was ushered into a room half full of young men and women to whom John King began to introduce him. "This is Richard Bruce, Mr. Stanwood. And here is Mr. Howard. Tom and Dick, you give Stanwood a chance to know some of the class. I have a little work to do in my study while the rest are coming in. Excuse me for a few miiiutes." ■ t •■\ m mm I I 1 1 1 n i j 50 JOHN KING'S Mill I ill r ii ! t!! ': il i '1' ! I 11* il'illt: I i!ii;;:i:ihi!ii liamii > III So Tom took Victor in hand and introduced him to several young men and women in a very informal off- hand manner. Every one was talking and laughing socially and Tom soon sat down with Victor in a corner by a table of portraits and chatted with him in his gos- sipy ^vay. "You're the new tenor at John King's cliurch, aren't you.--' Victor nodded pleasantly. "I heard you at the concert two weeks ago. It's a wonderful voice you have. Fd give my other hand al- most to be able to sing like that." Victor noticed then that Tom's right hand was gone. He didn't know whether he ought to say anything about it but Tom frankly spoke of it. "You see I lost this hand three years ago in a little scrimmage. Not foot ball but while enga^^ed in the gentle business of teaching a Kindergarten school in one of John King's pet shuns near Clark street. Dick was with me that night. Bruce; you know him?" "Yes, I've heard of him. He has written several books, liasn't he? I remember seeing one of his serials in the 'Monthly Visitor.' " Victor read very little but he had seen that particular magazine. "Yes," replied Toiu. "Dick is a rising author. It's pian QI'ESTION f'L.hS'.S'. 51 slow work though. And there's no money in it. Now T suppose music is more — more remunerative, isn't it?" inquired Tom, with his old reporter's instinct for news. Victor smiled. IIo took to Tom already because Tom appeared inclined to pump him in regard to his musical talent. And he had not the least reserve about telling how much he rev.-eived for singing. "I get fifteen dollars a Sunday now. I expect more next month." Tom looked at him seriously and suddenly changed the conversation. "You haven't been here before, have you?" "No. I do not even know what it is I have come to." "You'll find out pretty soon. John King will be dawn in a few moments. Don't you know any one here?" "There's Miss Lester. I have met her at musicals. I don't see any one else. Who is the girl talking with Mr. Bruce?" "That's Miss Kenneth. She's an artist. She illus- trates magazine stories." "Who is the young lady just beyond her, by the piano?" m n 1 i I lip ill JOHN KING'S <(r 'That's one of John King's cousins from the cast, Mary King. She is studying medicine, I believe. That other girl just coming towards her is Miss Fergus. You were introduced to h?r." "What is she? Every one here seems to be- long to some art or profession," said Victor with a smile. "Oh, ^riss Fergus? She is just a society girl. She hasn't any object in life except to see how much fun she can get out of it." Tom pulled up short and a curious look came on his face. lie bit his lips and laying his hand on Victor's arm he said, '*! take that back. It was an ungracious thing to say. I was guilty of judging. I had no right to do it. I haven't been a Christian very long and the old Adam runs my tongue a good deal. I hope you won't remember my remark." Victor looked and felt embarrassed, lie did not know what to say. He was not a Christian himself and was not in the habit of hearing anything religious spoken in such a frank open way. Before he could say anything, Miss Fergus came across the room and straight up to Tom. "Mr. Howard, you have been saying something about me, now honor bright, isn't that so?" ViW wlr' QVEHTlOy VLAtm. 53 Victor expected Tom to deny it. To his astonisli- ment Tom replied, "Yes, I'm sorry to say I did make a remark about you that I had to apologize for to Mr. Stanwood here. You have met him?" "Yes, but you don't tell what the remark was." Again Victor expected Tom to say something differ- ent but Tom replied quietly, "I said that you were with- out any object in life except to see how much fun you could get out of it, but I had no right to say it and I apologize to you, Miss Fergus, same as I did to Mr. Stanwood." "You don't need to apologize; it's the truth, isn't it?" Miss Fergus laughed and Victor could not detect any sign of displeasure or resentment. "It's a great pity if it is true," said Tom seriously. "Do you think so?" asked Miss Fergus, laughing again. "I don't see how any person can live in these times without — " "Well, without what?" asked Miss Fergus good naturedly, as Tom hesitated for the right phrase. "Why, without having a larger object in life than going to parties and having a good time. That's what i»o many girls seem to live for. They don't even deny I J i!i^ iir! -^ ^''|!ll '!if li: I :i ! ri I i BB! I 'I .,,1 '^ iliji i' Hill li!ii:liiUi|j|j! P; iiiill If 54 JOHN KING'S themselves or do anything that gives them any trouble for the sake of the poor or the sick or the sinful." "Do you know a good many girls of that kind?" Miss Fergus put the question with a quick glance at Victor to see if he was listening. Victor was listening carefully. "No," replied Tom with a laugh. "I don't know very many. It's what I hear and see that makes me judge. But there! I ought not to judge on such superjficial evidence. I don't want to get into a discussion. Miss Fergus, you accept my apology, don't you ?" "I will take it under considerat'on. Here comes John King. He has an object in life anyway. But we can't all be like him." "No danger," muttered Tom as Miss Fergus moved over to another part of the room. If there was any- thing that Tom scorned it was a person with nothing particular in the world to do except dress and have a good time. Victor remembered the little scene long afterwards when other events gave it larger meaning. As the preacher came into the room he called out good humorcdly, but strongly. "Eight o'clock. Time for business." The laugh and chatter ceased and everyone sat QUESTION CLASS. .'5 4 Mi down. Jolin King prodiiccfl a l)ox which he opened .;| and took out one at a time slips of paper with questions written on them. The plan of the Question Class was something like tliis. At each meeting the members of the class handed ? in written questions which were answered at the next meeting a week later. The largest liberty was granted in the matter of questions. All sorts of subjects were taken up. Questions on politics, society, history, lan- guage, literature, science, local affairs, moral perplexi- ties, in short, anything of real interest in human life especially when the thing in question was conduct or action for right or wrong. Most of the class were older than Victor. The questions were those which young men and women from nineteen to twenty-four might easily ask. The class had been started l)y John King as an experiment. He found the interest in it grew as years went on and the value of it was very great to cer- tain minds. There were a few simple ruljs regulating the details of the class. Each member was allowed to ask but one question a week. That must be written out and left at John King's until the next meeting. This gave him an opportunity to look them over. The writerof each question signed his or her name but it was very seldom revealed by the preacher when the answer was given. i. \ r,\: II 'III 'I'll: ! I iilU i I !i I " llil! !!!i I ! I ! \m U .111.1 'Hill il iiiiiii ''I 56 JOHN /f/.VG'VS The list of ({uestions this evening covered a wide range of subjects. Some were Hterary, some scientific, one or two political, but it was noticeable that most of them were related to conduct. After all, the class had learned that the most real help came to them along that line. Wc will listen with Victor to some of the ques- tions and answers as John King takes them out of the box and reads. He sat down, talking informally as at a gathering where all were entirely at home for mutual help. " 'Is it possible to be equally good at all times and in all places?' I mean by my question this. Is it meant that we shall be in the same state of mind while buying and selling goods or carrying on the details of a profes- sion as while offering a prayer or teaching a Sunday School class?" John King looked around and smiled in the direc- tion of the author of the question and the Class came very near guessing who he was, although there were half a dozen members who might have asked it. "There is a verse in the New Testament that covers the answer to this question. It is this; 'Whether there- fore ye cat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.' That is very plain. That covers buy- ing and selling and trades and professions and politics ; J QUESTION CLASS. 57 and home life and society and everything. It is no doubt harder to feel good and devout and prayerful in tlie world rubbing up against sinful people and all sorts of dishonesty and hypocrisy than while sitting in a prayer meeting, in a church service, or teaching a Sun- day School class. But because a thing is hard is no sign that it cannot he done and no excuse why it should not be done. The growth of character is a conflict. If it was all easy and no fight at all there would be no such thing as overcoming. And the Bible has a great deal to say about overcoming. This question is one which at the present time raises a great deal of discus- sion. There are some men who say religion has no place in politics, that you cannot mix business and re- ligion, that the only way to do is to let religion work in its place and politics and business work in their place. Then there is no trouble and everything goes along lovely. Remember that is what the politicians and the men of the world want. They do not want the moral clement introduced into their selfish schemes for mak- ing money or hating their enemy or rising to power over the ruins of the weaker. But this is the very essence of Christianity, that it stamps every act and every profession and every detail of government with the command 'Do all to the glory of God.' H •: I i ' 11 PI' ;l I w 11 I Hll; m 58 .yo//.V KIMi'S "Yes, I answer this question by saying it is possible to be equally good at all times, in all places, in all pro- fessions that are honest, in all trades that are honorable. And it is the teaching of Christ that we should be doing everything to His glory whether we teach a Sunday School class or conduct a lawsuit, collect a bill or cook a dinner or preach a sermon or pray by the side of the dying or learn a hundred lines of Virgil or Ovid. Whatsoever we do, we are to do all to the glory of God. It will require a great deal of prayer and talking with God and study of His truth and keeping very close to the divine all the time. Indeed that is the only way the higher life can be lived. Don't forget the words of Christ, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer I have overcome the world.' And as He overcame, so can we, and glorify the Father in heaven with every breath we draw, with every deed we do." Question. "I have been praying for several weeks for a certain thing. It has not been given me. What shall I do? Stop praying because I have not received what I pray for, or keep on asking until 1 get it?" "That depends on what the thing is. And also on what you want it for. If you had stated what it was — '' mi I I'li 4 Ql IJSTIOS CLASS. 59 A voice from a girl in the corner of the room at John King's left called out, "It's a piano!'' There was a laugh but John King sat with unmoved face as he turned in the direction of the si)caker who in her ab- sorption with her thought had betrayed the authorship of the question. She was one of the youngest persons in the class and one of the poorest. "Grace," said John King, "How long have you been praying for a piano?" "About two months. I've wanted one for two years but never prayed for one until lately." "How do you pray? I mean what words do you use?" "Why, I say every night and every morning *Dear Lord, I want a piano the worst kind. Won't you put it into the heart of some one to give me one or else help me to make enough money to buy one?' " The Class laughed again but John King's face was sober. "If some one should give you a piano, would you consider that God had answered your prayer?" "Of course. But I haven't the least idea that any one will." This time John King smiled a little. "Grace, what would you do with a piano if you did get one?" l!i ! ' 19 CO JOIIX KIN(rR 1'! Ill I I mill ill 111 I|lii,:i !l I' m draco opened her eyes at tlie simple question. ''Why, play on it, of course. I'm just aching for a chance to catch up with the girls who take music at the Conservatory. Tint I can't do a thing without practice and 1 can't get anything to play on but old ^Irs. Wil- son's tin pan of an instrument that was made over a hundred years ago. And there are girls in the Con- servatory who have every chance in the world with all the best instruments and they don't seem to care any- thing about the privilege." Poor Grace was pouring out her trouble regardless of the class, some of whom laughed while others felt sorry for tho frank impulsive confession of poverty. John King was silent a minute. Then ho said slowly; "You have a perfect right to pray for the piano if you pray in the right spirit. But you have no right to think God does not hear yon or care for your happi- ness if you don't get a piano. Perhaps there are other things more necessary for you than a piano. T y want it simply to become a better phr 'mi other girls, or to grow f>roud over your mu t ability it would be a mercy if you never had your prayer ai wered literally. I should answer your question by saying, No, don't stop praying, but ask yourself are you praying i'i (J( J^STION VLAlSlfi. 61 ariglit? In liic riglit .s[)irit. Tlu'rc is no [)roiiiisc in Ciod's word that wo shall got everything wo ask for no mattor how wo ask for it. That is not tiio dotinition of j)rayer. A great many ])oopU,' think prayer is ask- ing Clod for anytliing. That is not the toaeiiing about jiriiyer at all. Wo must never forget that every true prayer eontains this senteuee; 'Thy will be done.' Without that spirit of loving surrender to the will of our heavenly h'athor all our petitions to llim are jiowerless. True i)rayer is always 'Thy will bo done.' " (Question. — '*! have a boy in my Sunday School Class wiio I have lately discovered is beginning to read trashy books and stories. I have tried to get him interested in Scott and Cooper and Trowbridge. But he does not seem to care for any of those works. How can I get him to read good books?" '']\Iakc him a present of a set of Trowbridge's stories for boys. Or make him subscriber for a year to some good magazine like St. Nicholas or Harper's Young People. Unless the boy is thoroughly bad in licart ho will read what you give him in that way. Have a talk with the boy's mother and father. H is aston- " w some fathers neglect their bovs in matters ig [•aymg liki 'liese. The taste for reading which the boy ac- quires may determine his whole after life. Yet I have |i(/|L,"l!Ujs* I;!!!: mmm '""i'ihillllH'l! wm: i 'I!'" Ill ll m. hi>m1'P: Mil' |ii|i|;ihii I }■'• 62 JOHN KINV'H known parents wlio let their boys read anything tliat came into the house, even the political daily papers," John King added with a glance at Tom. "There is this about it. Always love the boy and believe in get- ting hold of him. A good many boys go through a fit of reading dime novels and bloody stories j.'.bout Indians and pirates and howling savages and burglars and de- tectives and all that tribe. It is a sort of boys' story- book-disease like measles and croup and chic'ien pox. I had it myself wlien I was a boy. Large doses of t3Cott and Dickens and Coo})er and Victor Hugo cured me. Pray for your boy. Talk with him about good heroes of the world. Oh, there are a thousand things to do to win him to the better things of life and then ask God for wisdom to do the best thing yourself." Question. — "How can a person best overcome the habit of saying unkind things of other people?" "By not saying them. That is one way. Another way would be to apologize every time to the person wli • was hurt by the unkind saying. Very many peopli' try to overcome some bad habit without thinking of tlie other peojjle who are being hurt by it. They kc'j) thinking all the time about themselves and how tiny can correct the lialnt all by themselves. The thouglii of the great harm done to others by evil habits ought mpfli" QUESTION CLASS. (33 f to act as a powerful iiii})ulsc to correct bad habits. know a man who once cured himself of the habit of j:;\vearing by asking a man who worked in the same carpenter shop with him to hit him a smart blow over the knuckles with a foot ruler every time he spoke a hasty oath. At first there \vas almost a riot in the slio]), for the man was mad at being hit, but his com- ])aiiion always shouted, 'You made me promise to do it.' And it cured him in time. What you need, however, is more divine help: You can't cure yourself of any fixed evil haljit 1)y your human power alone. What is the use of shutting TJod out any way, when you might just as well have his liclp in everything?" Question. — "What would you advise a young man to do v.lio feels himself falling in love with a nice girl and yet knows that it will be several years before he \viil he able financially to have a home of his own?" There was a sensation all through the class as John King read this very frankly worded question and a little laugh which ceased the minute John King began to speak. "Falling in love, young people, is just as much a ]iart of human life as learning to talk or coming of age. l! lias always been so and will continue to be. I can't ]>reach on this to-night; the subject is too large to dis- i Ill illllK I: ■■|ll|l 64 JOHN KINO'S CUSS briefly, but I will say this in answer. It is easy to give advice, but there is no form ol' advice that is the same for all young men who feel themselves falling in love except this: if it is ever important that you do and bo everything that is noble and true and manly and Christian it is when you begin to feel attached to some 'nice girl,' as our friend in his question calls her. liogu- late your conduct at such a time, young man, l)y the highest, most thoughtful, most exalted rule of aclion. Perhaps your circumstances are such that you have no right to fall in love. There is also a sentiment, fool- ishly weak and sometimes wicked, yielding to passion, that deserves the righteous scorn and indignation of every man who has a particle of manhood in him. Some young men fall in love very easily and there is nothing very sacred in it to them. But let me tell you, dear young people, when you meet the 'nice girl' as the ques- tion i)uts it, who is all the world to you, for wliom you feel able to do or be anything great, it will mean all the world to your hapjiiness and manhood all througb. life if you are able to pray with one noble soul 1 once knew, — 'Grarious God, consecrate this great experience to me that fioni this mighty happiness I may become a nobler ji:a:i, a l)etter child of thine, a greater servant of the race.' iniiliii QVESTIOX CLAHS. 65 "It is liard for me to answer such a question as this. But there are always certain rules of conduct M'hich never change. We never ought to place ourselves or others in positions where pain and sorrow and disap- pointment will result from a failure to check desires or emotions which under different circumstances would be entirely right and proper. In the light of truth and honor and nobility and everything else that is good, every young man must act in this, as in every other im- portant experience of life anci in this special experience, with even more than usual thoughtfulness and search for the divine wisdom. I have known happy mar- riages result after very brief engagements. There is no cast iron rule. There is only the eternal law of right- eousness in all of life. It is because love and the period of love between young men and women has too often been held and treated lightly and jestingly, and without seriousness as a beautifully sacred event, that so much misery has come from the imitation of true love. True love always results in happiness. For it is always the reflection of the divine being. For God Himself is love. That is the best definition we have of Deity. Question. — "Do you think there is any harm in a young man smoking a good cigarette?" "I never heard of a f/nod cigarette." ii I'll lllllll llj ^ iniiillr 66 jdiiX KTyrrs Qnoption. — '"What aro the worst faults in tho younfi mon of this age?" "Xow that." said John King with a twinkle of his eyes, "is evidently a one sided (jiiestion and I do not think it is fair to answer it and not say anything ahont the faults of young women. So wc will pass it hy.-' Question. — ''What does the world need to-day more than anything else?" "Xow here is a good one to close with to-night. The world needs to-day more than anytliing else, men and women who love truth and hate falsehood. Young men and women who have a ]nir})ose in life and aro not ashamed of it. Men and women who live so that the generation that comes after may bless and not curse, honor and not despise. What the world needs in this age is goodness that has an every-day market value to it. Yes, the world may seem to need very many things, but the first and greatest is manhood and womanhood that is pure and unselfish and large-hearted. Free from narrow prejudice and miscra])le hypocrisy. Ablaze with enthusiasm for the right, indignant with virtue at the wrong. Such manhood and womanhood as grows up out of knowledge of God and faith in the unseen and eternal things of God, faith in mother's prayers and in Tl till Or^.ST/O.Y CLASS. <57 nll holy (losircs and nol)le aspirations to hless the world. Tliat's what the old world needs to-day more than any- thing else." John King closed suddenly, and offered a short prayer as he sat in the hush that followed, and after a liriof social time the class went away. As Tom stood hy the door, he overheard ^liss Fer- gus asking Grace to come over and play her piano any time she wanted to. He did not hear Grace's reply hut thought from Miss Fergus' manner that her offer had not hcen accepted. "It was thoughtful in her to make the offer any way," Tom said to himself and he again took himself to task for his snap judgment of people's characters. Victor went home very little impressed hy anything he had heard. He enjoyed the admiration he had re- ceived from those who had heard him sing, hut noth- ing had heen said or done that interested him very much. The truth was he did not care much for other people. He lived in his music. The brief quarter of an hour when he stood up in the church and sang, was the one great event of the entire week now. A month went hy and he din no*" go to John King's house again. King invited liim lieartiiy the first week after he failed to appear and then did not ask him again. Victor felt I » "I 1/ I.',. Wl'X Ml lllli'll'!! :! ( ■.i iiiilMlil;! 'Ill ill 68 JOUX KI\(Pti hurt by his silence, altlioiij^^h lie had [)iiri)osely stayed away. He also felt a strange sort of anger against King Lecanse he had never said a word in comidinient of his singing. It seemed to him that there lay behind the silence on the jiart of the preacher, a reason that he did not want Victor to know. He fretted over it a good deal, not knowing anything of John King's conception of every part of the church service to glorify God and humble man. To Victor's mind the song service was the occasion for all the glorification he could get out of it. ITe lived on the thought of the emotion his voice could provoke in the people. Meanwhile as days went by he had heard from. Vic- toria. Not often, for she was living too intense and broken a life to write much. One of her letters about a month after her departure throws light on her career at that time. Dear Vic: Played last night in M. to a great audience. Verj' enthusias- tic and 1 was recalled three times. It was very late when wo closed. If it was not tor my perfect health I could not enduro such a life as I have had to live these last three weeks. We travel of course very much at night and 1 am broken of my rest. The seventy-live dollars is pretty well eaten into, what with hotels and travel and dress and all. I send you thirty-fivo dollai's. Father said something in his last letter about the added expenses since I left. I hope, dear \'w, you will manage matters for him in a thoughtful, business-like way. You know he has no idea of the value of money. ] do enjoy my life very much, after all. The public is kind and I have made friends with most of the QVi)>rnOX i'LA,SS. GO (ompany. Madani Rene and myself are quite congenial to each (/iliiT. There? are many little annoyances of course, and some- times I grow homesick for you and the old life. There is nmch tiiat is seemingly artificial in this strange life. I think of you as making great i)rogress with your voice. I hope you are get- ting a great deal from John King's friendship. Don't forget to write to me all about the Question Class. Your loving sister, Victoria. A month after tho date of tliis letter Victoria was surprised to receive from Victor a .short letter which read as follows: Dear Vi: I write to tell you that father has been ill again for a week. Nothing dangerous. lUit it has been an expensive illness and what with one thing and another, money has run short. The ijvJo was very acceptable. Jf you could send me a little m ■' . very soon it would be a great help. I think if the church people do not offer me more pay at the end of my contract I shall leave. I have had an offer from the chorister of the Cathedral at St. Mark's Ave., and I am considering it. Don't worry about father. If you could send the money soon it would be a great help. Don't work too hard and get sick. Lovingly, Victor. There were several things in this letter that puzzled Victoria. How an ilhiess of a week could be very ex- pensive she did not see. And she did not realize how Victor could use so much money for household ex- penses. He was getting fifteen dollars a week. The fatlier was earning eight or ten dollars more and she liad sent on nearly seventy-five dollars since she left home. They had always lived simjjly nnd she could not account for the increased expenditure except by supposing that Victor in his vanity of appearance had r I 1 hi' iiil;i.l:il(niil,ii: fill « 70 ,10I1N KTNiVS fjono to a great outlay in the matter of clothes and es- ])ecially of neckties, of which even in the old times he would get an unheard of quantity. She sighed as she thought of the money and then she reproached herself for heing selfish and lovingly thought of Victor with much pride at his success. lie had sent her some papers containing favorahle notices of his singing and she had treasured them among her few letters. She replied to his letter the next day, sending him every cent she could spare from her immediate needs and cautioning him lovingly about unnecessary expendi- ture. Another month went by. And the last Sunday of Victor's engagement at John King's church was near at hand. The musical committee had tried to make ar- rangements with him to continue. He had asked for time to consider and had promised to give an answer on Saturday of that week. In the afternoon, one of the committee called by arrangement but Victor was not in and had not left any word. He did not appear all the afternoon and by ten o'clock at night had not come back to the house. It was a little after 9 o'clock that same evening that Tom Howard, walking past John King's house, saw a r i. ill QUESTION CLASH. liiiht burning iij) in tlio ]iastor's study. TTe walked past the liouso and slowly {anio back, licsitated a moment at the foot of the steps, tlien went up and rang the ])ell and iiKpiircd of the servant if he could see John King a few minutes. The preacher heard his voice and came to the top of the landing. ''Come up, Tom, come up. I've got a plate of apples and some hickory nuts and we'll sit by the fire and dis- cuss everything but politics." Tom came up and sat down in front of the open grate fire but refused the proffered refreshment. "What's the matter, Tom? Been stumbling over your tongue some more?" "No," replied Tom with a faint smile. "This isn't my trouble, and I don't know as T ought to bring it to you. You have your share oi burden bearing.' "Always room for one more. What is it, Tom?" "Well, I feel as if you ought to know it. I was going by one of the Clark Street gambling house dens to-night and I saw young Victor Stanwood going in. Some one ought to know. His sister's out on the road wilh Minett's Company. I couldn't think of any one except you — and — " Tom paused in great distress at the change that l'!' iil ninil ■ii '111 i ni!,ri!i I iiillB m joiiy Krycr^ QTEi^TinN clai^i^. caiiio over Kin asked a few qur>- tions in a low voice and after a little, Tom went down. When he was j^one, John King kneeled down and buried his head in tlic couch that stood in front of the firo. Tie knelt there until his lamp went out and the fire died down to a quiet bed of coals. When the clock in the church steeple struck twelve he was still there in the same position. At the moment John King kneeled in his study with the burden of another soul on his heart, bearing it up before the gi'eat loving Father, asking for wisdom to act aright for its salvation, at that very moment in another city two hundred miles away, a slight deter- mined figure came upon the stage and faced an im- mense audience of people as she raised her violin and drew the bow across it to play Carlovini's Angel's Prayer. As she touched the strings with the first move- ment of the music so pianissimo, so ecstatically, the people sat hushed in breathless quiet while a feeling of strange sadness stole into their hearts. They had never heard the violin played like that before. It was almost as if the sweet gentle rush of the angel's wings had been heard, as he folded them and knelt to pray the prayer of one who jdcads with tears for eternal life, not for himself, but for a poor, lost, sinning human soul. i I' CIIAITKK IV. rXDAY morning dawned on tlic city MJth the promise of a })erf('ct day. Never liad John King's church seemed more crowded at a, forenoon service. Tlie news of tlie famous tenor voice wliieli had hcen heard now for several weeks had reached people in the suhurbs and the church was filled with strangers. Tlie galleries overflowed. There was an eager air among the new comers. John King came into the pulpit looking worn and sad. His night had been a night of vigil and the hours had been full of groaning anguish for sinful souls and especially for the one young soul who in a few minutes would be singing so wonderfully. That was a profes- sional mystery to John King, that one who did not feel the glory of the redeemed could move the hearts of others by his rendering of words in music that were not true to his own inner life. It was natural that the preacher's sermon this morn- ing should be from the text "For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost." John King's customary fieiy eloquence was subdued. He spoke 74 JOUN KING'S slower, willi even more ft'cliiii; than usual. But when he finished and sat with bowed head during the singing of the solo, very few persons in the ehurcli guessed that his heart was groaning for the singer that he might hr saved. How strange it all seemed to John King that morn- ing! What wonderful power the boy's voice had! Whether Victor knew what the subject of the sermon would be he could not tell. But there he stood singing, "There were ninety and nine — " Never had he sung with more pathos, more feeling. People who had sat cold and unmoved during the ser- mon felt the tears start and the heart thrill at the sim- ple words of the song. The preacher writhed inwardly as he listened. The contest was sharp in him as to his duty. He prayed for help and when the service was over he went back into the music room. \lctor was there drawing on his gloves just getting ready to go out. "Won't you wait a few moments, Stanwood? I want to see you." Victor sat down wondering if John King was going to tell him how much he had enjoyed his singing. "You must not think, my dear fellow," began Jolm King with a hearty loving manner, "that I am inter- Ql IJNTIOS ('LAS-;. 75 IViing with what is not my husint'ss. in sp»>nkiiit,'' to you |tlaiiily about what lias couic (o my kii()wli'(li;i>. I am nearly twice as old as you arc and luivo seen a ^ood deal of the world, hoth its good and evil. 1 trust you will be as fraidv with ine as I am witli you for the sake of your sister, and — your profession." The preacher mUlvd the last word slowly. Victor sat with his eyes oil the carpet. He did not reply nor look up. John King took it for a bad sign, but went on. '"Is it true, my dear Stanwood, tluit you have re- cently been in the habit of frequenting the gambling places on Clark street, or was last Saturday your first visit to them?" Victor turned deadly pale. His hands trembled. His lips quivered. Then a flush of anger came over his face. He lifted his eyes, looked King defiantly in the face and said, "What business is that of yours?" "Only the business of one who cannot endure to see such a life as yours lost in those hells. Think of your sister. Think of what you have at stake in using such a power as you possess to move humanity. You cannot afford to throw all this away in such a horril)le man- ner. The gambling passion is death to all true life." m ! HlHii -' UJ 70 JOHN A7.VG\S' King rose and went ove and put his hand on Vic- tors shoulder. '^]\Iy boy, you have only had a taste of it yet. Choose to give it lip novv. lour career will ])e ruined, your sis- ter's heart will be broken, there will be nothing for you in the future but sorrow and disgrace and shame if you let the ganil)ling passion become your master." "I can numage my own aflairs. You needn't preach to me. To hear you talk one would think I was a drunken fool incapable of governing myself." John King was silent now. His calm look gave way for an instant to one of indignation. That passed at once and nothing but sorrowful compassion looked out of his great dark eyes. He would not give up this soul yet. Victor had started towards the door. "Stanwood," the word came clear and steady while John King stood still without a motion to detain him. "Are you going to sing for us any more?" "You would not care to have a professional gambler sing in your church," said Victor with a sneer. "If you will sing for us, I will use my inlluence with the music committee to have your pay increased, I understand they have not made terms with you yet after this morning." QVESTIOX CLASS. 77 Victor looked at Jolni Kiii^" with Ronio sui'prisc. Then lie I'it his lips and r('j)lied, "1 have made arrangements to sing hereafter at the C'atludral on St. ]\lark"s Avenue. 1 don't care to sing any more where 1 am watclied l)y spies " There was a pause. Then John King said simply, "The time may come, Stanwood, when yon will ne(d ;>. friend. When that time comes, if you will rememh.>r this occasion and my reasons for talking to you as T have this morning, and come to me for any lielp 1 can give you, it will ])e given as freely as the love I have for you tliis very moment. In Christ's name, dear soul, I pray you may be saved." There was a second of indecision in Victor's man- ner as Jolm King spoke, which revealed the inward cnnllict. Then without a word he turned and went away, leaving th.- prci cher with bowed head and heavy heart praying for him. It would be unaccountable to explain Victor's be- haviour on this occasion without knowing the inner liistory of his experience since the night of the memor- nhlc concert. The great moving motive that nrged liini on was his all-absorbing vanity. TJuit vanity, however, was the real means of bringing him into the reach of the gambling passion. His great extrava- i'> mmm W^ nil -CIS m 78 JOIiy KING'S ffances were clothes and jewelry. The very first money that came into his hands from his Sunday singing lie spent in the purchase of an opal ring that cost twenty- five dollars. lie went to a fashionable tailor three weeks after that and bought a suit for $100 in- cluding overcoat and gloves and neckties and other lux- uries of the toilet case. When Victoria had been witli him she had regulated his expenditures. Now that she was gone he put no check upon his extravagances. It was easy at the rate he was going, to expend every cent he earned and all that Victoria sent him. To avoid suspicion on his father's part he had at first turned over a little money for household uses. But during the last month he had gone into debt for several things. And that had led up to the Clark street experience. One evening ho had gone to i band concert and while there he met a young man who had formerly played in the same orchestra with Victor's father. Ho had chatted with Victor during the intervals between the numbers and at the close of the concert had walked along towards home with him. Cutting through Clark Street to shorten the distance, bis companion had jno- posed that they sto]) at a friend's for a moment and Victor, unsus])ecting the exact character of the place, went in. Once there he yielded to the horrible i'ai- plac:'. QVESTIO\' CLA»S'^'. 70 e fination of the gambling mania. Tie went repeatedly after the first evening. Wlien Tom saw him that Sat- urday he had Ijecome familiar with the place and others like it by frequent visits. It is needless to say that he was the victim of the professional sharpers who fleeced their victims so cunningly that they were actually made to believe that they would some time win everything bnck. It seemed incredible that the artistic gifted soul of one like Victor could fall down at the feet of this C ambling God. Nevertheless he fell and with a swift- ness that was terrible. It was his miserable vanity, his Inve of display, his yearning for fine, luxurious things that led him to his fall. And neither the pleadings of his own conscience nor the remembrance of Victoria nor the manly appeal of John King were of any avail to turn him back from his chosen way. His deception in his letters to Victoria in which he asked for money was simply one indication among others of the awful nature of the passion which, as John King had said, is death to all true life and ])ound to become master un- less fought and subdued. So Victor l)egan the next Sunday to sing in tlio Cathedral at St. jM ark's Avenue, where his voice al- tra(t(>d even more people, if possible, than at Joiin King's church. 80 JOHN KINiP^ iii In. ill n ill If ilili ii:r Moanwhile Victoria was as yet ignorant of the truth and liLT liappincss was undininied by the knowledge of wliat would have poisoned her career. There was n i one to inform her of Victor's habits. The father guessed or suspected what Mas going on but his own lapses into drunken ways deadened his sense of honor at moral weakness in his boy. John King was honestly puzzled for the time being to know just the extent of his duty in the way of informing Victoria of what ho knew. lie was not in doubt for long but while he hesi- tated, Victoria went on her way with the old thought of the brother. She was living a life of genuine enjoy- ment in spite of the severe physical strain under which she was compelled to perform her part in the company. One who has never gone upon the road with a mu- sical or theatrical company cannot understand the con- stant tension which such a life implies. It is made up of stops at all kinds of hotels, irregular hours for sleep, unnatural hours for travel and eating, with demands upon the patience and the nerves that lielong to such a career. Victoria endured the hardshi]) and excite- jiient as part of the life she had chosen for liersclf. Slic was a favorite with the other members of the company because she was free from all professional pride ami jealousy. Several times she had accommodated other QiEtiTioN ^LA^^s^ 81 inombcrs in the hotel advantages and other ways where iMii.sical and tlieatrical professional peo})le do not usually take pains to 1)e friendly. As a consequence nearly CVC17 one in the company was on good terms with the little violinist. The public received her warmly also. Hardly a concert passed in any town without making {wo or three recalls for Victoria. ITcr reputation was steadily growing. After she had been with the man- ager four months he even hinted at an increase in the contract price but had not yet paid her more than at the beginning. So the life, the pul)lic life, pleased Victoria, and as she said to herself it suited her. It was a busy life with very little leisure for social pleasures or reading or culture aside from the individual culture of one's own gift. Sundays were rest days. The circuit of regular engagements sometimes called for Sunday travel. It happened that during this special season, Sundays were little broken into and generally Victoria spent the day either in writing to Victor, resting • luietly at her hotel, or attending services somewhere with one or two of the company. "When the Sunday found them in one of the larger towns or in the cities, -he found out the superintendent of the hospital or blind asylum or whatever institution for suifering hu- 82 JOUy KIXG'S Jl. Mi mm nianity was established near, and oll'cred her services as player for the pleasure of the inmates. Iler habit in this which the other mein1;wrs of the company thought an odd whim, Ijeeame known as her reputation grew, and very often she would find waiting for her in places where Sunday stops were made, three or four invitations to as many different hospitals or refuges of suffering human kind begging her to come and give one of her Sunday recitals. They were not recitals either. They were rather the tenderest, most healing, de/out, rever- ent hymns of prayer that she made her beloved Cre- mona breathe out like a living soul for the delight and rest and worship of the poc ' souls racked with pain or tortured with sin. The sight of Victoria on a Sunday afternoon, standing in the middle of one of the wards of a great hospital with rows of white beds stretching past on both sides, with nurses and doctors and servants standing about listening, with white faces on many pil- lows glistening with tears as the music pulsated and throbbed and flowed through heart and mind with up- lifting and soothing power, — this was what very few who saw and heard ever forgot. As for Victoria it was her one hour of worship in public. Many a grand church had eagerly sought to add to its attractions for Sunday music the little woman who played such a vio- Qi'Et^TlOX CLAiSii. S3 liii, Ijiit if there was a hospital or poor house or a refuge for sinful or depraved that needed her or asked her she always went where the suffering and the sinful were, Slie never played on such occasions without thinking of Aura. The white loving unconscious face of her (lead friend just as she looked tliat time when she ^iiiikd and said, "I knew you would keep your prom- isf," looked up at Victoria from many and many a cot ill strange places wliere she i)layed those Sunday after- 1101 lus. Then she would go back to lier room and often kneel down and pray that she might atone for her for- mer selfishness, as she called it, by future sei'vice. There was something of the Eoman Catholic in Vic- toria and yet shq was not what people would generally call a religious girl. She was religious to the extent that she would have done almost any amount of penance lor a wrong but it is doubtful if she ever would have confessed her wrong to any one exce})t to God alone. The Question Class had nearly all gathered at John King's the evening after Victor's last solo in the church. It lacked a few minutes of eight o'clock. The class was having a social time as usual. Tom and llichard were discussing a recent novel; three or four young men and women were standing near l>y and listening. ''Of course," Tom was saying, "it isn't necessary 84 ■lotis Kisvrs that cvory novel should be a sermon. That isn't the ohjcct of a novel.'" "At the same time," said Eichard, "a novel without a definite purpose to teach or better the reader always seems to me like a waste of brain to write and a waste of time to read.'- "]\Ir. Bruce would rule out all the books that arc written to amuse people/' Miss Fergus remarked with ;i laugh. "Not if the amusement was what peoi)le needed to rest them and make them better able to do their work. There is a place in the world for what is funny as well as for what is serious." "Yes," said Tom, " ^a time to laugh and a time to wee]).' That's scripture." Just then John King came in and the class settled itself for the evening. He had not had as much time as usual to look over the questions and he said so to the class, asking them to be patient with him if his an- swers were partial and unsatisfactory. The first question was, "What would you do with a million dollars if you had them?" "I don't know. Do you? Does anybody? I would buy a cork foot for a ])oor woman who lost her foot l)y an accident lately and can't earn her living 1 QILSTION CLAHS. 85 the 1)V washing as she did before the hiss of lier fool. Sixty duHars will buy it and she can go on with her work, so the surgeon says, but no one has sixty dollars to ;-{)arc. At least T liave not been able to find any one wlio has that nuicli, though I have ])een to several men who are worth several liundred thousand dollars. Of course if I had two nullion dollars I could probably spare sixty dollars out of it. And then 1 would buy Cracc there a piano if I thought she would make a good use of it and with a })art of what was left I would start about a hundred Kindergartens down in the slums and en- dow them handsomely. And — well I don't know. It would puzzle nic to know how to get rid of such a quan- tity as a million. It would he an awful res})onsibility. T believe I should want a guardian appointed over uie and even then I expect I sliould make a good many foolish uses of such an amount of money. I expect 1 should have to resign from my church if I fell heir to a million dollars." "Why?'' asked Tom suddenly. The class laughed at the interruption, it was so sudden and so unusual. "Why!" replied John King with a comical look at Tom. "Because if I was worth a million, my church wouldn't think it necessary to pay me my salary promptly," The preacher took up another question. h I, 8(5 JOHN KINWii ri 13! '!>, I ■A, ill-} S' "What is llic best use to which a large fortune can 1)0 put?" ''The (jucir-tions seem to me to run to finance to- night. It docs not seem hard to tell how we would dispose of other people's money if we only had it, but if we actually had it to use, it would not seem so easy. I once knew a millionaire who said he was in almost constant trouble concerning the disposition of his be- nevolences. He said people had no idea of the num- ber of calls that a rich man had upon his benevolence. Undoubtedly the best use to which a large fortune can be put is to make it do the most good in its use to the largest number of people and do it in one's own life time. 1 am one of those who believe the right and best use of money is to make it do all it will while I am alive to plan and execute. I don't believe in bequeath- ing very large sums to people or institutions after I am dead. In nine cases out of ten where a rich man leaves his son large wealth that the son has never worked for or denied himself to get, it has been squandered or foolishly invested, leaving the next generation where the grandfather began his struggle. I would bequeath plenty of knowledge, virtue, manhood, energy, cheer- fulness, but not much unearned wealth. This inherit- ance of other people's money as a general thing pro- QiUSTlOS CLASH. 87 (liicos a class of scKlsli aristocrats who Iiavc a sconi of ]iliysical toil and are lacking in syniptliy with thu <,Mcat loiHng masses. The best use to which a large fortuiiu can be put is to use it. And to use a large foilune right requires more wisdom and consecration than most men of wealth possess. It is very easy to ask What would Christ do with a large fortune if he were living now? It is not so easy to tell how he would act in de- tail. "What! Another one on the money question?" John King exclaimed as he took the third question out of the box. "Well, this seems like a fair one." "Is not the possession of money leally necessary to the happiness and the very development of life as we have to live it on earth?"' "Yes, we have to pay our bills if we wish to escape a good deal of worry. Unless we are of that class of people who never worry about anything, not even" their own sins. There is nothing gained l)y crying down money. The Bible does not say that money is evil. It is the love of it that is the root of all kinds of evil. But money itself is a very convenient medium of ex- change and every civilized man must have it to Iniy food, clothes, education, and a thousand other necessi- ties. In that sense it is absolutely necessary. It is IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 iiiM m iU lll||22 12.0 4 mm U III 1.6 p /} O ^- e). ^A main where it was. There was a bright strong soid going to ruin. Tt was uot in the nature of John King to see it and do nothing. And so he did what seemed to him the only thing left for iiim to do. Wlien Saturday came again Victoria was playing in one of the large towns three hundred niiios from John King's church and the Cathedral of St. Mark's Avenue. In the afternoon of the day she had received a short letter from Victor. Dear Vi: "Father is ill again. He took a severe cold three days apo. His old rheumatism is confining him to the house. He will not be able to walk tor a week at the quickest. I find that the expenses of the house aio very large. Father demands the best of everything when he is ill. Don't you think it would be possible to get the manager to raise ycnir salary? Insist upon it, \'i. You are worth more than $75 a week. If you can spare u little first of next week it will be a groat lu'l|). I am singin^' at ."St. Mark's Avenue now. I don't tret but three dollar i Smuiay more than .lohn King's paid, but evciy bttle help-;. Don't get sick. Good by, Xictor. 02 JOHN KING'S Victoria rend lliis letter with a feeling of pain. It seemed cold and hard. Jt lacked loving phrases. Not even a ''Yours Lovingly" at the close. And the con- st:int appeal for money liurt her. She v, onld have shared every cent she had with Victor ])iit could not cxpl.'iin his extravagance. It seemed so unnecessary. A vague feeling of trouble, of coming sorrow passed over her. She went to the hall for the evening con- cert, feeling depressed. Once on the stage with her in- strument she played as usual. Rut she was glad when it was over. The hotel was near by but it was raining and as she came out of the hall earning her violin she felt so tired and full of longing to get into her room that without waiting for others as usual, she beck- oned for a cab. There were half a dozen near and two or throe started up towards the curb. At that moment a man who had been standing near the corner watch- ing people come out of the hall came out and standing in front of Victoria, took otT his hat. She was sur- prised but not frightened, until as the electric light l)lazed out clearer she saw it was her father just drunk enough to be very timidly polite. The shock of meet- ing him at this distance from home just after Victor's letter, so startled Victoria that she stepped back off the curb and lost her balance. One of the cabs coming QIUSTIOX r/..l.S.S, m up, knocked the vinlin (.ai^u out ol" her hand. It I'l'll under the horse's iiut and Ijciore Victoria liad recov- ered lierself to rescue it, the horses plunged violentl}' and ]>ulled the heavy cah over it. The light wood case was smashed into splinter.-^. \'ictoria, regardless of all danger, si)rang down into the confusion, even the strange a])pearancc of her lather i'orgotten in the thought of the accident to the [treeioiis Cremona, loaned her hy the manager. Some one coming out of the hall helped her. She dragged the fragments of the precious case out upoji the sidewalk and knelt over them in the rain. The violin had been comj)letely ruineih The neck was broken into several pieces and the body of the instrument vcas a mass of brown splinters. She Ijuried her face in her hands and sobbed. It was like the deatli uf an old friend to see lier dear old violin torn to pieces. She shuddered. Then she lifted her eves and naw lier father standing there. ,1' CIIAPTKli V. TH Victoria kiict'k'd tiieiv in thi' rain over l\\v ruins of (lie precious violin and grew more and more conscious of her Talher's presence, and of his drunken condition, she almost lost heart at the thought of what lay before her. Her public career, however, had been a stern teacher of self control. She soon became aware of a curious crowd '»f all sorts of l)eoj)le that had gathered around her. She rose (piiekly and gathering up the pieces of the instrument, she walked resolutely up to her father and said to him firmly, '^Father, I want you to go with me. Do you understand?'' The father nodded, half sobered bv the accident. Victoria almost pushed him into the cab and throwing the fragments of the case and violin upon the floor she entered herself, telling the driver her hot:l. Once there she managed to get the father up to her room and throwing the pieces of the instrunient on a chair, she flung herself on a couch and u-avo way to a good cry. The fact was she was neivou^; and exhausted "with an unusually luu'd week's work. The sight of her m joiix Kfxtrs (jrijsrnt.s n^.iss. fatlicr and tlie ruin of liur iiistruiiKjut proved to be more than ^^he could Ijcar. The i'atlier f-at stupidly h)oking at her, Tlie sight 111 her di.stress wa?^ rapidly j^oheriug liiin. After awhile when Victoria's .sobs had ceased he said I'eeblv, "Don't ■IV, Victoria. Aren't vou uliid to see me, "Of course [ am, father. JUit I had no idea that ynii were anywhere near me. \'ictor wrote that you were ill with your old rheumatic trouble and could not leave the house." "1 haven't been sick at all/' said her father. "Why did Victor write me so then!'" asked Vic- toria a little sharply. She did not know how far she d in his ])rcsent con- COU Id trust her father s wor (lition. ''Victor has been going to the bad. lie doesn't drink, but he gambles." Victoria trend)led. For the time being she forgot all about her violin. This was a greater trouble if it Were true. "T(,'ll me, father. Do you know that? Uh no! I can't believe it. Victor was vain and extravai^ant but ho never had l)ad acquaintances. I'm sure he never had an y vices. John King told me/' rejtlitd the father who al- 06 .70// V KlXC'fi I \viays conliiiud himself tu short sciitciices wliun under Iho influence ol liquor. It was an unsatisfactory explanation hut in the morning' \'ictoria learned the whole truth. Her fatluT was sol er and humhle. lie shrank hefore Victoria like a guilty child. Hut he told her why he had i-ouie. John Kiug had finally felt the pre.^sure of hi knowledge of Victor's course so great that he could Ijcar it no longer and resolved to get word in some way to the sister. Uo thought of the two as they had stooil hcforc him that first Sunday, hright, gifted, handsome with health and youth. It was not right for the girl to remain ignorant of the hoy's evil ways. She might have the power to redeem him if slic laiew. So John Kin'<: had gone to the father and told him. He knew very little of the family. Xothing at all of Mr. StanwoodV driidving hahits. He had impressed on the father the importance of letting Victoria know the facts in some way and his judgment was confirmed hy Mr. Stanwood who declared that Victoria's Influence over her brother had always been greater than his own. And so it hap- pened that Mr. Stamvood, taking what money he could get together, had started tliG very next day to go and see Victoria. Once on the way he had yielded to his temptation Qf r:sTi()\ russ. 97 Mil ill Mild liy tlio timo ho roarhod the town whcro Victoria was j)hiyinf,' lio was undor the infhicnco of tense>i in the hank. Victoria could trust her father with tliat. Weak and yielding as he was in the matter of the di'ink passion, lie had never deceived Victoria in money mat- ters and had not niisapi)roj)riated what she had sent directly to him. By the time everything had been talked over it was nearly noon. Almost for the first time that morning Victoria remembered that it was Sunday. She re- membered, also, at the same moment that the manager had made an appointment to come with his wife, who was a member of the company, and go with her to the great Hospital of Incurables, as it was called, and be present while she played. The manager had been with the company only part of the time. His business re- lations with other companies on the road had prevented his being with his first concert company. He had ex- Qf'ESTinS CLASS. 90 )to(tc(l to roach the city Saturday night. Ilis wife had idld Victoria the day hcforo that he wished to go to the liospital in the afternoon and Victoria had felt pleased to have their f5ymj)athy and interest in what hiid hecomc a real part of her })cst life. But now she thought of the manager's coming with n feeling like terror. He was larg; hoarled in many \\;iys. His loan of the instrument to her was one token of that. J\ui he was also an in^ • se lover of lare ar- [.< les gathered from the ends of the '-arth. He had in his collection daggers given to him by famous ac 1)rni;glit tlicm over and stood liohling them directly in front of the manager. Her cheeks were burning and her voice broke as she said, "I had an accident last night. And here is the Cremona ruined. You can dismiss me from the com- pany and 1 will work at something until I earn enough to pay what this cost. I know I cannot really ever pay for it. I—" She could not say more. The look on the manager's face stopped her. "Pay for it!'' ho exclaimed jumping up angrily. "I should think not! What a piece of folly on my part to lot that go out of my hands! ^^hy. do you know what the value of that instrument was?" Victoria did not say a word. The manager went on excitedly, "\Vliy, it couldn't be duplicated iiPywherc. It cost over two thousand dollars aiul its real value as a souve- nir of one of the greatest women players iii the world M-as invaluable. T was a fool! A fool!" The manager was almost beside himself. Victoria, feeling as she did, oflVrcd no excuse, attempted no defense. She felt that all the manager could say was deserved. Had she !i. 102 .JOliy Tv/iYG'S not loved the instniiv.pri1 n^ iniirli as he? Was it not like losing a dear friend, a relative, to lose its compan- ionshi}). She stood tliere pale with agony, sensitive ^o\\\ as she M'as, and not a tear came to relieve her. The manager was almost heside himself witli anger. Ilo forgot to l)e a gentleman. ''Yes,'' he kept repeating, "I was a fool to let a mere girl have the eare of — " It was at tiiat point tliat A'ictoria was amazed to see her father rise np from his seat hy the window wheru he had ap])arently l)een forgotten hy every one and walking aeross the room he confronted the excited man- ager, and said witli a firmness and dignity tliat Victoria had never seen in him hefore, "Sir, it may he that you were a fool as you say to let my daughter have the violin to use, hut I will not allow her to he humiliated liy your reproaches when she is suffering sufTiciently al- ready. If you want to l)lame any one for this misfor- tune, l)lame me. I caused it." Tiie manager stopi)ed and a great wave of hlood crossed his face. For a moment Victoria almost feared he was going to strike her father. Tlien he sat down while ]\rr. Stanwood hriefly hut clearly related the cir- cumstances connected with the accident. He made nn alt(>mi)t to conceal his own intoxication hut rchtled everything as it was. When he had finished, the man- t; QVEHTION CLAIMS. 103 anor was silent. Ho had liad time to cool off. \\o- toria sat on the ooucli, licr head buried in the cushions. The manager was a person who had seen a good deal of life and he was not a fool in spite of his statement almiil liimsclf so recently made. He was also a Inio gonilcman at heart, and hesides he had an eye for I'usi- iK'ss and knew the value of Victoria to his compa'iy Tiui'(i was an awkward pause broken l-y llio manager as he rose again and holding out his hand said, ''Miss Stanwood, I apologize for my loss of temper. Will you come and see mo in the hotel parlor to-morrow jnn'n- ing? You will hardly care to go to the Hospital to- day." lie added the last sentence with a slight smile and without another word went out of the room with his wife. After he had gone, Victoria broke down. She cried, this girl of nineteen, as hard as if she wore a little child in.-toad of the woman who had begun to win the repu- tation of the first player on the violin in America. TTer father after his manly defense of her had lapsed niiwm into the weak im])orsonal character she know so woll. But he comforted her as best he could. Tie seemed to be preoccupied with something. It was sn marked tha^: Victoria, even in her anguish, noticed it. Later in the day he inquired if there \\i\B not some train for home l! :s \'-' m 1.1 f ii'ii' Ui m r:\ 104 JO//.Y 7v/.V0'« lie conkl take that night. There was one starting ahoiit midnight. To Victoria's sur[)risc ho insisted on goiiii: home on tliat train. She tried to persuade him to re- main until morning. But he was firm and .^^tarted that night. The last words he said were, "Don't worry over the violin. We shall find a way to pay for it." In the morning after breakfast Victoria went into the parlor to see the manager. ITe came in, a few mo- ments after, and greeted her gravely. Victoria was nervous. "I can't conceal my regret at the ruin of the Cre- mona of course, ^VFiss Stan wood. It was highly prized hy mo. It will seriously affect your playing also." "Yes, it is a niiserahle thing for you. I have no ex- cuse. I am ready to leave the comi)any if you think host. I have no heart to play more." The manager looked at her keenly. He was an ex- perienced man of the world and something in Vic- toria's manner told him that something more than ilio loss of the violin was troubling her. He asked no questions but went on. "Xo, that would be foolish." He looked at flio small sorrowful figure and said, his face and manner lighting up, "Do you know, Miss Stanwood, you can make any violin, even a common one, talk as most per- QiESTlOX C7..4^•6•. 105 formers cannot make a Cremona talk? You are not dependent on any particular instrument. 1 cannot af- ford to lose you out of my company. Besides I wish to till you in confRlencc I am expecting to go abroad in less than a month with the best of the company and I want you to go with them." A'ictoria stared and her pulses throbbed. Abroad! To play in London, Paris, Berlin! It had been the dream of her childhood. lUit then, could she leave her father and Victor? She must have time to think of it. She told the manager so and he seemed willing to give her time to decide it. "Take two weeks. At the end of that time let me know. Meanwhile I have secured a good instrument for you until you can send for your own if you wish to." And the manager rose and went away leaving Victoria tiiankful to him for his courtesy and the absence of any resentment against her, so far as she could see, for the ruin of the poor Cremona. She wrote a brief note to the father asking him to send her own violin. Also a letter to Victor, a letter of loving entreaty that he would for her sake and the sake of his future success live the life of a true gentle- man. She wrote him with the loving frankness and truthfulness that always characterized her. I I 'fit! ;:|;t||ii 106 JOHN KING'S "1 cannot let you have any more money, Vic, uiilil I am assured that you will make a good use of it. (lamblin^^ in any form has always had a great horror to me. 1 cannot endure the thought of you, dear, drar Vic, Ijecoming a victim to this vice. I am almost un- nerved for mv work. But I must go on. I cainidt even leave to come and see you. I am under sacral contract to remain with the company this month and there is a [)ossibility that at the end of that time 1 may go abroad. \'ic, for the sake of the love you bear me, for the sake of the old times when we were so liap})y as children, be a man. Use your great gift to be a blessing to yourself and to others. You know I do not very often pray for anything. lUit every day I ofTer a prayer for you, God bless and keep you, dear Vic." There came no answer to this letter. Through all the remaining weeks of her contract with the com- pany, Victoria received no reply to it or to others writ- ten. Victor would not write a word. She wrote again and still no answer and it seemed to Victoria that a death had taken place, the death of the old loving relationship that once existed between them. Two days after writing to her father for the violin Victoria was astonished to receive from him a letter QVI:hTI()\ CLAHti. 107 Cdiitiiiniiii;' a dral't for tno thousand dollars, explained liy the K'ttcr. Voiir iiiotlicr, \'ictoiia, at tlic lime of her death was in pos- j,o>.-ioii of a teitaiii portion of hor oltler fistcr's cstnto wiiiili was in iili);atioii. !SIie chargeil me witliout your kiiowkdt;..- (,voii were (iiily >i.\ years old at that tiaie) lo luc ihe iiu'oine from tiie piiiinitv for you and X'ictor when you hccamo old eiiduijli to lObt beiielit froiu it. Tiie twu ll iL'ieive 11 lion liom tins income ouring loii-and is tiie aeruuiula- tl the last twelv L' .\■eal•^ Ind er the iej^al terms by wliicli tlio iiroperty is administered N'iitor wid Kime into llie pos.-ession of u certain sum wIumi lie is of ai^e. 'this two thousand is your own to use as you see lit. Jf tlie pay- iiKiit of all or jiart of it for the ruined violir. will he more satis- faitoiy to you than any other use, you are at liberty so to dis- jiiise ol ^'^llr p it. 'J'liat was tlu' price which the manager mentioned, ■or old father, W, is a disgrace to you in many ways. I'.ut, lie ha.s guarded this little inheritance for you ami wants you to get out of it all that it can give you at the iircsent time. Victor has not been home since 1 returned. Your loving father, (Jeorge Stanwood. Victoria held the draft in her hand and wondered if it was all a dream. Tt read like a chapter out of ■d story. She thought with a tear in ner eye of her father's care of this trust confided to hi m. It was like him to he willijig that she .-Iiould use the money to ])ay for the violin, lie was always very simple in his thought of money and idl its uses. But in her heart she felt glad lo tliink she coidd pay the manager. She was like her father in that sensitive shrinking from being under ohligation to such an extent. So that very day she found an o})poiluiiity to pre- sent tlie draft to the manager. It was duly endorsed 1*11 Hi' 108 JOHN KING'S ■'•r !i ■ i-i- ■' ' and the manager saw in a sucund that it was good for tho cash in i'lilL lie held it in lii.s hand a moment, looking down at the little figure tliat stood Ijefore liim so gravely. "I did not know, .Miss Stanwoud, tliat I was em- ploying in my concert company an heiress in disguise," ho said, with a twinkle of the eye that belonged to Lis whole face. Victoria felt a little annoyed. ''I am not an heiress. That is simply a little money my mother left me to use when I grew up. If you will take it I shall feci as if I had made part amends for breaking the violin." There was a moment's hesitation and then the man- ager said quietly, "Very wen." That was all. He put the draft into his pockctbook. Victoria felt bettor. Somehow she had anticipated a long discussion. She thought at first then, the manager would not accept the money. She thought that he had probably come to the conclusion that he could not afi'ord to lose two thousand dollar violins without some compensation. Besides, as ha.-^ been said, the manager had an eye for business. He was shrewd and careful and his expenses were large. So that while liberal and large hearted in many ways lie generally reckoned very sharply with those in his em- ploy. Victoria therefore saw her two thousand dollars iy QVEfiTIOX CLASS!. 109 vanish in the pocket book of the manager and being the (laughter of her father witli his ideasi of money she did not foci any great loss. She had grown up without knowlcdgp of money. It did not really mean so very much to her after nil except in its power to give her a certain relief of mind for the irreparable loss. When the two weeks wore up, during which Victoria was de))ating over the trip abroad, she signed articles with the manager for six months to go abroad with tlie company. They were to start within a montb. That pave her time to go home and visit a little. She had been longing all the time to see Victor apnin. "When she reached the city and stepped down from the train her father was there to meet her. She looked around for the familiar, boyish, exquisitely dressed figure of Victor. "Where is Victor, father?" "Tfe has gone away. We had a quarrel and he left home. Tie would not tell me where he was going." So Victoria's home coming was without much com- fort. She wanted to see Victor, to talk with him before slie sailed, to have some assurance that he was going to livo a noble life. With a heavy heart she made her [ircjiarations for her trip in the few days left her, hop- ing every day that Victor would appear. But he had 4' i Li i i i 1 m If! 1^ , 1 .1 'f< no j()ir\ KfXfrN left llie church at St. Mark's Avmhic and no one of liis Jew friends in the citv knew where he wai^, and tlu' dav came wlien Victoria left for Xew York to take tlu' steamer there and the last look she cast tearfully l^ack rested on her fallier standin;^' in the station forlorn, alone. "N'ietoria sillied witli a sob of homesickness as she saw him there. Tier jjrayer went out for him and for Victor. Would they ever be uniled? God bless father and A'ietor, was her prayer as the train whirled her out into the new life before her. Wlien tlie Question Class met at John King's the ^londay night after Victoria's departure it M'as unusu- ally crowded and the questions were of a more varied character than he had ever had to answer. The first one he took out was — "How shall I spend Sunday?" "That depends on who you are. If you are a minis- ter, you will spend the day in a certain manner. If you are a l)laeksmith, you will sjiend it in another manner. In eilher case you will attend church service if you aic well and able ot]u>rwise to go. Every man needs tlic good which comes from attending public worshij). Whether you will go more than once to church will depend on several things. If your cares and burdens of housework are such tliat the body demands physical llii QrESTIOX CLASS. Ill rest it may he all that you oii(;ht to do to attcnrl one service. If you arc well and strong and hlessed with ])lenty of energy ilic l)efjt way for you to fj^iend Sunday is to do your share in all the church work on Surrtlay, the Sunday School, and tlie young people's meetiug and the evening service. Some one has to take liold of these tilings or they wouldn't he done. And 1 have noticed Ihr.t (lie ])oople wlio are active in the Sunday School and Young People's meeting are,as a rule, to he found at the evening service, when there is one, and from my ohserva- tion, these people live just as long and have just as good health and api)ear to he just as happy as the people who don't go to hut one church service or to none at all. Tlion there should he time and room on Sunday for some ,cjoo(l quiet thinking and reading and resting of mind aiid heart. I^est and worsliip. These arc the great ideas of the day that we need to insist upon. The day was ninde for man. It is full of possihilitios. It is possihlt^ for US to p])end it in a great variety of ways and still spend it right. This rule it seems to mo can safely be nindc. Xever do any thing on that da^y that will inter- fere w illi the rest and worship of yourself and others." "Why are theaters considered immoral and question- able places of amusement by so many people?" "Because too often immoral or questionable plays are P' 112 jnjiy Kixd'}^ I iiii'nr : to be found in tlicnters. A play recently travcU'd over the United Stales and was seen and heard in all the largo cities in which the lesson taught was so product iv<> of evil that several crimes were directly traced to il committed by young men and boys who had witnessed it. It is a terrible shame that so jmwerful a teacher of great moral lessons should have so bad a re])utation. The theater started as a religious institution. Only ])lays with a tremendous religious moral were used by the Greeks, for the most part, in the beginning of i]r^ dramatic art. At present the use of plays with inimo;; 1 love for the central idea is so common that very many pco})lc declare the influence of the theater is altogether ])ad. I do not go so far as that, but I do think tliat tlic theater to-day is a long ways from l)cing w!iat il oughl to be. If people would only discriminate and never gti to any but the good plays, the managers would soon cease to give the public anythii.g questionable. T'ecauso it wouldn't ])ay. And that is what the managers are look- ing for. ]]ut I have seen the very same peo])le who went and ai)plauded the lessons taught by as clean and wholesome a play as 'Little Lord I*'aunlleroy,* go the very next night and sit through two or three hours of a questionable play concerning whith a noted theater-goer in this city said to me, 'It made QLESTIOX rLAss. 113 iiir hliisli lui' sliiiiiu' Tor uci'ks arU'rwiU'ds.' Ami vrl lu' wi'iil jii, t till' siUiR' Ijccuusc tlu' acting' was sikIi a, titat, and lio would go again ii' he had a thancc'.'' "Does it pay to he un.selflsih?" "Yes, if feelings count for anything. You won't al- ways make so much money or have so easy a time l)ut yoT'11 feel better inside." "What are the two best books for the average young man to read?" "Tho Bible, and I'ilgrim's Progress. The young man who is familiar with these two volumes will be well edu- cated so far as a knowledge of literature and humanity i? concerned." "What is a shgrt rule for success in business?" "Tell the truth. Be i)romi)t, courteous, and kindly. Pray every morning for wisdom in details. Take God into partnership. CJlorify Ilim in everything you do. l\)llow these directions and you will not always make money, but you will succeed. And success even in Ijusi- ness doe>5 not consist in sim})ly making money. It con- sists in making manhood. Anything which docs not do that is failure." "You said a few weeks ago that falling in love was as natural as coming ol age. How does it happen then 114 JOUN KING'S I , II that so many young men make mistakes and fall in love with the wrong girl?'' "I didn't know they did. If they do they have them- selves to blame. For true love is always a divine thing of divine meaning and it makes no mistakes. It is be- cause young men do no"- make this great experience iii life a serious as well as a happy experience, it is because they treat it as a sentiment instead of a part of God's thought of them that mistakes are made and unhap})y marriages result. As I said several weeks ago true love is always happy and always lasting. It is your false article that disappoints and betrays people." "Is life worth living?" "What! Do you young peo})le ask this old question go soon? Yes! Yes! It is worth living if you live it right. Otherwise I am inclined to think it isn't worth while." "I made a bet over the result of the state election and lost. If I pay it I shall lose a large sum of money and be unable to pay other bills that I owe for house- hold expenses. What is my duty? Ought I to pay the money on the deliX?" "In the first place you had no business to bet at all. You not only broke a law of the state which expressly forbids betting on elections but you became a gamljici' m It QUE.srioy cl.Iasvs'. iif when you made Uiat bet. For a uanibler is oue who tries to get soiiieihing for nothing out of another num. Betting is gambling. It is vicious in principle and im- moral in practice. It is the shame of great political j)arties that the very men who control and direct party affairs break the laws of the state and sot an .'xaniplu to all young men to do the same. There is no ipiestion however as to your duty now that you have bet. ]'ay the money over and never bet again on anythiuL'- a.- 1 )ng as you live. It ought to teach you a good le. swu if you have trouble from all your other obligations. You had no right to incur such a risk when you knew tiie money you ought to pay your honest creditors would be endan- gered by the chances of a political campaign. Yes, pay }()ur bet. That's the only tiling for you to do now. And let it be tlie last one you will ever have to pay." "I feel discontented and unhapi)y and blue a good (leal of the time. ^Vhat is the nuitter with me? How can I go to work to be contented and happy?" "Maybe your liver is out of order. Excuse that, if it sounds coarse. But the physical is so closely con- nected with the spiritual that a go; d numy j)eoj)le are cross and discontented Ijecause their bodies are diseased. If you are healthy ami have iin aveiiige inifllect and live in the United States and a'c young, you have no IIU JOHN KINO'IS PK' If t-5' If- ,' iwJl'li^ )$ !;: excuse whatever for being discontented and blue and unhappy. With all eternity before you, with God in history and yourself a part of it, with such endless po?^- sibilities to make the world better, what earthly excii.-c have you for not living a life of deep satisfaction ami happiness? Oh, get out of yourself. Do sometliin- for some one else. Lift on the world to raise it up in- stead of bearing down on it with your selfish personal unhappiness. If you believe in Ood and the future aii'I the present and your part in the universe, it is wicked for you to go through life discontented and unlia])i)y. Be someone. Believe in your beliefs with all your might. Live like an angel, not like an animal. If you are chronically unhappy something is wrong cither with your body or your soul." John King dismissed the class with the promise that next week his answers would be shorter so as to read the many questions still behind, and the class after a short social gathering departed. At the wharf of the great steamship company in New York one day that week the usual busy scene was being i)rcsented which always attended the departure of a famous ocean traveler. The steamer was just ea?;t- ing loose from the sli}). The gangway had been i)ulle(l oil', the bow was slowly swinging around, and the people QLEi^TKjy CLAi^i^. Ill on the decks upper and lower were exchanging last fare- wells with friends on the slip. Clear up to the extreme edge of the wharf the ])eoj)le were massed and back in under the cover of it. Some were laughing and smiling. Others were crying. One little old woman in a faded calico dress with her hands clasped before her was look- ing up straight towards a boy who leaned out over the rail of the steerage deck. Down the faces of both of them, mother and son, the tears were streaming, each a]i})arently entirely oblivious of all the other people as if they two were the only ones there. A chapter of tragic history was in their faces but so it was with numy others on shore and on the steamer that day. In sharp contrast to these two tear stained faces was a laughing young girl who stood next the weeping mother, exchang- ing last greetings with one of the ship's stewards, evi- dently some familiar acquaintance who had made the ocean voyage many times. A little farther along the slip seated on one of the piles that projected high above the floor of the wharf was an Irishman, evidently a day laborer who had come down to see some of his relatives oir on a visit to the old country. In his hand he held an immense l)0U4uet of the most astonishing variety of garden llowers arranged apparently by his own hand. As the steamer widened the distance uetwoen himself 118 JOUii KING'i^ § » ■;( I'.! 1 ' and the dock he threw the bouquet with all his might at some person on the steerage deck. In the effort he lost liis balance and almost fell off the pile into the water. A roar of laughter went up from ship and shore. Several bou(|uct3 were thrown up from the crowd, some falling into the water, others lighting on the decks or clutched at and caught by countless hands held out over the rails. There was a cheer from the crowd. All the faces on the slip were looking up new. Those on the vessel saw the white, intent, laughing, weeping, cheering mass of faces and laughed and wept and looked back again. Victoria standing on the promenade deck by the side of one of the comi)a]iy watched all this as the steamer now rapidly swung her bow around heading down the harbor. In a minute the wharf would be lost to sight, hid by the steamer. There was not a soul there that she knew. She stood looking on as a spectator only. Sud- denly close by the extreme end of the slip standing near the pile on which the Irishman was seated, Victoria caught sight of a familiar face and figure. It was Vic- tor dressed as usual in the most ex(piisite taste and style. Victoria screamed out his name, lie did not hear or see her. She leaned out over the rail and waved her hand and cried again. He turned his head and saw her. She QUEkiTlOy CLAi^ii. 119 could see how the look on his face changed. He called to licr. Through all the cheering and babel oi' sounds tof;k up nn evening paper and changed the suhjeet 1)y reading items of news ahout town. At the hour of the performance at the new Concert Hall the two gentlemen went together. Tliey were old llieater and concert goers and nothing in the evening's j)rogram specially interested them. It was not of a very refined character and that was the reason prol)al)ly tliat the large audience, composed mostly of young men about town, seemed to enjoy it so mueli. Al)out the middle of the first half of the program Victor came on and sang. It was a simple ballad l)ut he sung it ex- (piisitely. Simply as a complete change from ihe coarse horse ]ilay and coarser songs that had preceded him it f-ame to the jaded, sated theater-goers like a cu)) of clear cool sweet spring water after a night's debauch. ll(> came ])n(k and snng a little ])iece that liad soni(> icfcrence in it to TfonK^ or Mother. Ft was astonishing to note tlu^ elTect of it on that mixed audience. Tears were to Ite seen on very many faces. The old nian in lli(> orchestra who ])layed the l)a^s viol and who ]iarriON VLA>SS. V2o \t.i ! immm liiliii I i is.!l IS'',' ■i ■ U 11' ii^if ^ it Hi 130 .70772V KTNG'S! qualities necessary to help a young man in the struggle of life. Some of the most promising, useful young men in the ministry, in medicine, in law, in business, that I know are men who took an active healthy Christian part in athletics while in college. A game of foot ball can be played by twenty-two Christian students in such a way as to be of great benefit to them. Yes, I think it is a good game for college students to play under these conditions. When it is made a professional exhibition for Thanksgiving day or made the occasion for gambling or betting or abused with brutality I condemn it as a college sport. But as a game in itself as it can bo played and is played in many Christian colleges I l)elieve in it." Question. "Do you think it is wrong to dance?" "l>[ot if you dance to the glory of God. 'Therefore whether ye eat or drink or whatsoever ye do, do all to tlie glory of God.' If you can dance in accordance with that .<^tandard of human life go ahead. If it is impos- sible foi you to dance and remain a pure happy growing Christian and if you feel that the dancing is keeping you and others from the Christian life of growth and usefulness then it is wrong for you. But does any one tliink he can dance to tlie glory of God?" Question. "I know a girl who does housework for QU EDITION CLA^^. 131 a living. She is honest and intelligent. She belongs to a cluirch and is a faithful member. She gives a thou- sand times more towards the support of the church serv- ices in proportion to her means than the rich banker wlio is also a member of the same church. Yet she is snubbed by the other girls in the church and Sunday School and is not invited out to socials or i)arties be- cause she is a house servant. Do you think such action is Christian? Do you think the girl ought to do some- thing else in order to gain the friendship of the other girls in the church?" ''Xo. In answer to both questions. The action of tlie other girls is pagan. There is no Christianity in it anywhere. But I do not believe the girl ought to do something else to gain their friendship. The friendship of such girls f-'annot be worth much if it is based on the condition of belonging to the same circle so far as an 00' upation is concerned. Honest labor is worthy of re- s| ot anywhere from anyone. There is no reason why a girl who works in a kitchen as a servant should not be treated with the same courtesy and regard if she is worthy of it, as the girl who makes her living in an ofTice with a typewriter or behind a counter selling gloves or ribbons. One of Christ's most intimate friends was a woman who did daily work in the kitchen. Those per- I I,>^ 13 II 111- ■ 1 *' ■• 1 Kj-y 132 ■JOIIX KIXd'K sons who tlipdniii or despise^ iinollipr on Dccoiint of tlie work they (h) I'oi" a livini:- nic very iiuich in ric'ed of con- version, even if tlioir names are on the ehurch roll as nienihers. They may he niemhers of tlic church l)u( I hey are not true disciples of the hiimhle Carpenter of Xaxnreth who took uj)on himself the form of a servant and di' J)e commonest acts of service that men ever perform i^ o, earthly life." Question. "I have always had a great longing- to go on the stage and he an actress. Is that longing wicked? Haven't I a right to the life of an actress if that is what I was intended for?" "Yes. The Lord wants us to ho what wo were in- tended for. It is one thing, however, to long to he an actress and another thing ta bo one. Perhaps no pul)lie career calls for more courage or physical endurance and intellectual gifts of a high order than the life of an actress. I am speaking of course of one who has the highest possil)le view of a profession. Doing it all like anything else to the glory of God. There have heen some good exam])les of devout Christian women wlio have made the stage a profession. Charlotte Cushninn was one of them. If all the actresses had her nobility of purpose and performance, going to the theater would bo almost as religious and i^piritual a duty as going to ■'! S ?#!!• . i. QFES^TJOX f'L.I.S'.V. 133 tlio prayer meeting or a cluireh service. If you are sun- tlio Lord designed yon to go on the stage, l)y all means go on. Perhaps after trying it you will find llu' [)ul)lii' is not so convinced of your ability as you are. V>ui in any case if you are convinced that you were in^wndcd lo be an actress renienil)er it was the Lord's design tbai first of all you should be a noble, pnro, true, iinsclllsh Christian woman. If you can be all that and make act- ini:' vour life work there is no doubt vou ()U ./0//.Y A7.\r,".S* man llionjilit a <20(h1 deal of mo T would toll him 1 coiilil noi oiidiiro siioli a lialiit in any friond of mine and il h, llionglit 1 didn't nican it I would nso mj' privilogo a- a woman to make him know that I did moan it." Question. "Why is it that two hoys hrought \]\> in equally good families with the same advantages ami ])rivileges will grow up to he so entirely dilfercnt. One of them is gentle, courteous, refined, gentlemanly. TI)i other ties tin cans to dogs' tails, tortures dund) aniniaU. ])lagues his sisters, huUies other and smaller hoys and creates a small riot wherever ho goes. And yet l»nili boys arc the product of Christian civilization and tluir surroundings seem to ho al)out the same." "But prohahly their surroundings are not at all tlie same. T cannot answer your question without knnwiiiL;- something ahout tho ancestry and home training (.f tiie.-i' hoys. They take after their great grandfathers as nni> Ii perha]is as after their own parents. The question ol heredity comes in and cuts a large figure in any siieli question." Question. "Don't you think people who do what they please have a more comfortable time tlian the folk< who are always asking themselves 'Is this right? Is tliis to thoglory of Ood?'" "They miss a great deal of struggle and a good deal MEM QUESTION CA.l.s.v, 137 o! av^poiioiljility. Yes, I duu't know 1)ul they seem to bu more comfortable for the time being. But we don't !:oe the end from tlie beginning. A man may have a pretty comfortable time in this world who does wliat he ]tlr;ises and never asks himself 'Is this right? Is it to tlie glory of (Jod?' But there is another world coming 1111(1 the man will have to face that. We shall all have to be judged for the deeds done in the body on the basis of whether they were good or bad. The uncomfortable time will come to the man then. I don't know as we can say that a man has led a comfortable or an un- comfortable existence until we c;et to the Judirment. That will decide it very plainly. And even here in this world I never can believe that, take it all the year around, the bad or the immoral or careless nuui can be lia])pier than the man who tries to do right and asks be- fore he does anything 'Is it right?' It is fun to do right. There is peace and happiness in being good and making life happy for other people. Selfish people are not happy. They escape a good many responsibilities. But they don't know the deepest joys of life." Question. "Do you believe the time will come when woman sulTrage will be the law of the United States?" "Yes." (|)uestion. 'if it is excusable in my brother to smoke I¥ nX< iff )■'■ if ;.'i:!!l?! itsfciS I'll' :■; ''Hi'' ' "If ii |;i i| 138 JOHN KING'S and drink and swear and do about as he pleases why should not society allow me, his sister, to do the saiiiu thing and excuse me?" "Your brother is no more excusable for doing lliosc things than you would l)c, and society has no riglii to make any distinction l)otween an evil life lived by a man and an evil life lived l)y a woman. Both should Ije judged by exactly the same standard." Question. "I don't like to go to the church prayer meeting but I go from a sense of duty. Do you think I ought to go feeling that way?" "Xo. You ought to enjoy it. Wliat is the matter? Is the minister dull and poky? Are the subjects talked about uninteresting? Are. the prayers long and diiod up? Could you do anything yourself to make tiie meet- ing pleasanter? ITave you ever tried that? Or do yini go to prayer meeting to be entertained and so feel ])or- sonally disappointed because you arc not? I don't like the idea of doing so many things because one ought to do them. If they are right and good there ought to be pleasure in them. A prayer meeting is the last place in the world to attend from a sense of duty. If it is not a pleasure I doubt the l)enefit you get from it." Question. "Is the world growing better or worse?" "Ahem!" coughed Tom looking over towards Miss QUEfiTIOX CLAS8. 139 FerfTiis. She colored as if she felt annoyerl at first, then she tniiled and finally in her careless, good- liuniored way she laughed. The class did not know uliat the joke was, but John King suddenly threw the question down, saying, "I don't feel like trying to answer this now. It is getting late. Tom, you are wrong. I am the only person besides the (juestioner who knows the author of the question. I want ten of you to bring answers of one sentence each, next week. Five of the young men may give a sentence to show that the world is growing better and five of the young women a sentence each to show that it is getting worse. I shall have to get to my work again now. Good night to you all I'' And the class after selecting the ten members to bring in the sentences, departed, anticipating the com- ing ]\Ionday and discussing the probable sentences. It was like John King to confine each one to a sentence. That would compel the deepest thought and concentra- tion. Victoria was in London at last. She had seen Par- liament buildings and Westminister Abbey, 'v <. heard the roar of the Strand and gazed upon Xelson's Monu- ment and St. Paul's and London Bridge and had gone as far on the Thames as the Tower and Richmond. Most of her time however was fully occupied with i^ !k UU .ions Kisirti M' m%^ ri'lii'iirsals and concerts. Slio was like all true artist.-, very conscientious and painstaking. She practiced llirer or i'oiir hours a day. Her i)uhlie api)earanc' ' "1 breii greeted with great enthusiasm. She had insiantly Ix;- come" a favorite. The manager was highly gralKid!. And Victoria felt jtleased to think that she was doiii-;' her part to make the trip a success. After two wixk- in London the company would go to lierlin and Paris, then hack to England for a tour through the count it towns, closing with London again. At this time in her life Victoria was very happy. If it had not l)een for her sorrow at the thoug' )f Vic- tor she would have been, she told herself, thv. .appiost person in all London. She wrote to Victor, getting liis address from notices of theatrical news printed in tlu; papers. She hoped to hear from him by the time sliu was in Berlin. It was next to the last night in London that A'ie- toria, coming off the stage after an encore, was sitting in the green room quietly as her usual custom was, going over her next music score, for she was on the program near the close, when she heard some one men- tion her name, '"Stanwood." Two iMiglish musicians who had been engaged to play in a Canffita given by the nmnager were in a Ql'ESTinX CfAHS. 141 corner of the groon room talking over items in an evening ]>ai)er wliicli one of them luul broiiglit to tlic hall with him. A'ietoria caught the words "Vic- tor/' "Xew Concert Hall," "Xcw York," "Sensation," "Forgery," "Arrest," and she went over to where the ])layers were and said, trembling, "Will you let mo sec the pai)er?" One of the men with a .stammering apology handed it to her saying, "Too bad, Miss Stanwood. Ton honor, wo never thought you wore here." Victoria had no difficulty in finding the article in reference to Victor. Under large head lines it read somewhat as follows: "Last evening Just as Victor Stanwood, the well- known tenor at the New Concert TTall, was about to go on for his part in the program ho was arrested on a charge of forgery. Pie resisted the arrest and seri- ously wounded the officer. He was overcome and landed in the Tombs at Just about the time he ordi- narily bows hirs acknowledgements for an encore. The affair has created a sensation among the Concert Ifall people. It is claimed that young Stanwood forged a check on the manager. The details have not been made known." A'ictoria read it through and then sat down. She ,u |5 I '1 iP 142 JOH.V KINa'H Ql'EHTIOy C'LA8S. handed the paper hack and paid no attention to the continued apologies of the confused players. She would have to go on the stage again soon. And Vic- tor! The dearest person in the world to her was at that moment in a felon's position and possibly tlio man he had wounded would die and then — she shut out the thought as her heart beat wildly. The persons and things in the green room ajipeared unreal to her. SIic sat thus in perfect quiet, outwardly, it seemed to lior for hours. Finally she was summoned for her turn and mechanically she rose with her violin and the next moment she was out on the stage, faces of people all about her, and the intent, eager, pleased looks every- where of those who expect to lioar the music of a mnsicr. is). ■ CHAPTER YIL rjTrpiS Victoria began to play, the people felt a thrill I A/m of emotion as distinct and real as a shock ' — ^''*— J from an electric battery. She had been })lay- iiiir now in London for two weeks. Every performance added to her i)opnlarity. Even in that great brick and mortar wilderness where every variety of music and every representative of the besi" in music and art and literature could l)e found daily and nightly for the pleas- ure seeker, Victoria held a place all her own. Xever had she played as she did tonight after the news of Victor's arrest and imprisonment. She came iil)on the stage Avith a great cry in her soul for helj), for comfort, for consolation. The l)low had come to her so suddenly she had not time to understand all its meaning. The minute she touched her instrument she seemed to ask it to satisfy her longing for deliverance. It liroathed prayer for Victor and for herself. It sang to lier hope and future peace. It is doubtful if dur- ing the ten minutes she was playing on that occasion Victoria was conscious of a soul in the world except herself and the spirit of the music. The selection i ■ I'll. If ■•■1 ■. ■ ■ :(' III f! ■i i' 144 JOnN KING'S happened to be exactly in keeping with her trouljkt] mood. But even if it had not been, it is probable she would have played anything with the same sph'it of desire. No one but a music lover could under- stand what all this meant and the audience contained hundreds of beating sympathetic heart jiat entered into the performance without knowing what occasioned it. Victoria walked off the stage like a person in her sleep and as she disappeared the perfect silence was broken by applause so hearty and continuous that all the players and singers behind the scenes caught it up and Victoria in the saddest moment of her life was surrounded by the greatest expression of admiration and delight she had ever heard. She paid no atten- tion, however. Her attitude was listless and depressed. She sat down and made no movement +o go on again, although the demand for her reappearance grew more and more urgent. The manager, who had been out during the first part of the program, had come in just in time to hear Victoria. He was astonished at her performance. He now came up to her and said, "Miss Stanwood, the audience will not be satisfied after that unless you go on again." ■in QUESTION CLASS. 145 Victoria looked up and replied, "I cannot go on again. I am not well." Instantly her mind had gone back to the first concert when she and Victor had made their first public appearance and she had refused to reply to an encore because the audience had not called Victor back. She felt in the same attitude now, only from a far different reason. She had played all she could that evening She felt as if she could never touch her violin again. And if she had known that her connection with the company would cease that very moment she would not have gone before the audience again that evening. The manager instantly saw that something was wrong. Victoria had always been extremely courteous and gracious to her audience and her refusal to ap- pear now was due to something serious. "Are you ill?" the manager asked quickly. "Yes, yes, I cannot play any more." Victoria drew off into a corner of the green room and sat with her face in her hands. Some of the concert company gathered around her while the manager stepped out upon the stage. At sight of him the applause ceased. "Ladies and gentlemen," announced the manager, "Miss Stanwood has been suddenly taken ill. I regret that she cannot appear again this evening." lit li ill I! mw^ f ■ i^,:i-;- If „A ■ I ■•1 ■ ■^ ,1 ' ■' ■1 ■ iliil 146 JOHN KING'ii There were many expressions of regret from llic audience but tlie concert drew to a close and Victoria did not come on again. Next day at her hotel in the presence of the man- ager and his wil«', Victoria told them the news that she had received concerning Victor. The morning pa- pers contained the same account, with the additional item that the ofFicer who was wounded while makini;- the arrest was in a critical condition. There were al-ii some details concerning the forgery. The amount forged was two thousand dollars and the manager of the Xcw Concert Ilall was the loser to that amount, as Victor before his arrest had lost the entire sum in gambling. Victoria was in an agony of shame and trouble, l)iit the matter was public now and she talked it over with the manager with little attempt to conceal her real feelings. After all, she was highly emotional, though not nervous or hysterical. "Two thousand dollars is a good sized sum for a boy like that to get away with so soon," said the man- ager. "He gambles." Victoria said the words with a shud- der. The manager had guessed as much, long before. He appeared very thoughtful over something but said little. QUESTION CLASS. 147 Victoria closed her liondon engagement that night aiul looked forward with relief to the trip on the con- tinent. The coiH})any went over to Paris and it was while there that news came in fragmentary ways of Vietor'j^ trial and conviction. The wounded man re- covered. Victor was spared the charge of murder in addition to forgery. The sentence was for three years and A'ictoria wondered if her brother would not kill himself or commit some dreadful act before he would allnw tlieni to put him into the prison garb. It seemed so horrible to her she could not believe it. It was not until long after that she learned how Victor had mine down so fast. The recital of it in detail would lie a story by itself. She wrote to him after he was in [)rison. She never received replies. The chaplain, V. ho at that time was a man of great good sense and Ivnowledge of human nature, wrote her once or twice (iincerning him. There was little to say. Victor was stiangely quiet and made no trouble. The chaplain said that in response to Victoria's desire to come and see him when she returned to America, Mctor had not expressed either willingness or refusal to see her. So \'i(,'loria with the sorrow of her life borne in tlie agony of self restraint went on with her work, and music was her salvation. Paris was a delight t(j hejc i ■ • 1 1 ) !; I'.i 148 JOU}i KING'S f'W Berlin also. There were wonderful things to be seen in those cities. With all her sight seeing she contin- ued true to her custom of visiting on every occasion the needy and suffering souls in the hospitals and asy- lums of those cities. The French and German hos- pitals for incurables heard the best music that had been heard for many years and many a foreign tongue in the long white wards blessed the little figure in Ijlaek as it quietly and lovingly bent over the instrument and made it do its wonderful work of soothing nervous pains or lifting the depressed mind into a heaven of relief. Victoria always thought she played better in a hospital than anywhere else. It is certain that there was a quality about it that was lacking in her bril- liant playing before great or fashionable audienees. Ugo Bassi has said that "God's angels watch over llic strong and well while they sleep, but God himself watches at the bedside of the suffering souls who lie awake from pain." So Victoria seemed to give more of herself to the weak and sorrowful than to the pow- erful and happy. After the return to London and a successful season there, the company sailed for New York. Victoria's reputation was well established and the manager on the way home made her a proposition to become a nieni- QUEfiTION CLASS. 149 l)cr of a permanent symphony orchestra to be estab- Ushed and located in Chicago. The terms were liberal beyond Victoria's asking and she rejoiced as she ac- cepted them at the thought that she could have a linmc with her father and perhaps recover him, under now and better home surroundings, from his degra- dation. But there was one duty before her which she must licrform before she went back to her old home. She must go and see Victor. The anticipation of that visit to the State Prison haunted her all through the ocean trip. Every day as the vessel swung through its in- visible ocean track, unerringly pointing its bow towards the western continent, Victoria sat looking out over the mysterious deep of changing color and movement and she could not shut out the sight of Victor in the dress of a felon. She could not forget the vanity of the boy that had always shown itself in refinements of apparel. And she could not hcli) believing that one of the most exquisite tortures to a mind like Vic- tor's must be, not the shame of having committed a felony, but the shame of wearing the clothing of a common convict. When the voyage was over, Victoria at once made her arrangements to go out to the prison. She reached v: "» ; ti ittmi^ 150 JOHN KING'H i\M ; the place on Saturday and at once went to the warden's office and made known her errand. The chaplain was present and was struck at once with the sight of tlie face and manner of the little woman whose name had l^ecome known so well in the musical world. He at once told her very frankly all he knew a1)out Victor. ''To tell you the exact truth, Miss Stanwood, I am puzzled to know what to say ahoiil y(jur brother, lie gives no trouble but he will not talk. I doubt if he will want to see you." "Not see me!" Victoria controlled herself witli difficulty. "Does he think I love him any less for his — "' "I do not know, but whenever I have tried to men- tion your name or have given him your letters he lias been as cold and unfeeling outwardly as a piece of stone." "0 Victor! Victor!" Victoria cried. She sat there in the warden's office where so much that was sinful and heartbreaking had come in and gone out all tlie years, and her cry of anguish went to add its burden to the rest. The cha})lain was deeply moved. "Go and tell him I want to see him!" she added after a pause. "I must see him! He is my brother. We were so close to each other once." "W,!^1t- QUESTION VLAt^i<. lol The c'liai)lain went into the prison and was gone a long time, Victoria waited for him in tlie olllce. She thought he would never come back. Finally lie re- turned with a grave and sorrowful look on his sym- jiathetic face. "Miss Stanwood, your hrother refuses to see you. lie says he would sooner die than have you look upon him. I received permission to let him come clothed in citizen's clothes, but he declares he will not see you under any circumstances." Victoria received the news in silence. Then she said faintly, "I must go without seeing him. Tell him I love him as always. Sometime he will know that, lie—" She was going out when the chaplain suddenly spoke again. "Miss Stanwood, I know something of your disap- pointment and sorrow at this. It is possible that he may relent or change. Cannot you wait over Sunday?" Victoria hesitated. "I will do as you think best. Of course I will wait if there is any i)ossibility." The chaplain thoughtfully looked at her. "I have a request to nuike of you then, Miss Stanwood. It may seem bold and unfeeling at this time, but of '11 152 J0//2V KINO'ti course I know of your custom in playing on Sunrlay at the hospitals and asylums. Could you — would it be asking what you cannot do, to play at our services tomorrow ?" Victoria looked up with a flush of emotion, "AVill Victor be present then?" "Yes, he sings in the chapel choir. That is one of the strange things about his case. I do not think he has spoken a word to any inmate of the prison in all the time he has been here. But from the beginning he has sung. The doctor, who has made a special study of his case, says it is the one thing that has kept him from going insane. I do not know. It is very peculiar." Victoria rei)lied simply, "Yes, I will play." She saw a possibility of touching Victor. Ilcr longing to see him and tell him her love for him was greater than any other feeling. Besides, Victoria had never allowed her own troubles or sorrows to hinder her use of the instrument for other people's comfort. She was never selfish in her troubles. So the next afternoon Victoria came upon the chapel platform with the chaplain and sat down just as the prisoners were filing in to their seats. There was a vow of Chrysanthemums on the platform and QIESTIOX CLASS. 153 behind it the slender figure of Victoria was almost hid- den, but she could see better than she was seen, and she watched the prisoners with a fascination that was liorrible to her. The men marched in by squads and took their places very quietly. There were nearly a tliousand of them. It was a terrible sight to her to tliink of all that life, most of it under forty years of age, stamped with the curse of banishment from the world for the transgression of man's law and God's will. She could not keep her eyes off the place where the choir sat, which was a little gallery almost oppo- site the chaplain's platform and screened by a curtain drawn part way up. When the prisoners below were all seated, a dozen men walked into the little gallery. Victoria shut her eyes and sank down, then she oi)encd them and looked. At the distance across the chapel, which was an immense room, she could not distinguish Victor's face at first. Then she saw him seated as far apart from the others as possible. ITis eyes were gaz- ing down and during the entire service, whieli began at once, he did not once raise them. F.vidontly he did not know that Victoria was there. The chaplain had not told any one for reasons of his own. After a brief sermon the choir rose to sing. It was a remarkable performance even to Victoria, who m IM JOHN KING'fi I. I!, s: iB^J; I:. had lieard the best music abroad. The men's voices were well trained, and if lacking in technical skill, still were sympathetic and well l)alanced. Victor's voice was clear and sweet as ever. But it was not until a solo part was taken up by him that Victoria realized the wonderful quality of tone power possessed 1)y him. The hardened, brutal, stolid faces, nearly a thousand of them down there, representing almost every crime on the calendar, ])egan to soften. As Victor sang on, some of the men bowed their heads on the rail in front of them. Others, older men, sat bolt upright with no attempt to conceal or brush away the tears that rolled over their coarse, crime-stained faces. Truly John King was right when he said, "^Yhat a })ity! \Vliat a pity! That such power should be so abusci! by not being consecrated!'' And Victor was certainly conscious of his supremacy over the emotions of ihose sinful men. Perhaps that was the motive that ruK'd his singing there every Sunday. The old vanity lived in him strongly yet, in spite of his shame. It was certainly an inspiration '^>'' "^^^toria's jtart that the instant the choir had fini. . and sat d. ,n she arose and began to play. It was liio | ucc in the service for her but she had not arrauircd to becrin as she did until she caught the idea from the selection Qn:sTI()S CLASS. 155 'Mven bv the clioir. It was an anthem familiar to her, and the clioir had given hut one part of it, closing with A'ictor's solo and a brief refrain by all the voices. T'pon the lat^t note of this refrain Victoria began and with her own intcr})retation of the remainder of the music she swept on into a strain of perfect harmony, strong, pure, sustained. It was almost as if an angel ciiorns had suddenly appeared to preach lo these lost, sinful men the tidings of forgiveness and eternal peace. With the first note of the violin Victor had started up. lie at once sat down again. ITis face trembled. He shook like one with the ague. Then he sat straight up and looked before liiin, every semblance of life driven out of his deathly look. The music })oured out over the heads of those lost souls in the pit below him and every time the bow swept over the strings it seemed to tear his heart out of his bosom. Finally, he could bear it no longer. He starred to his feet, stretched out his arms over the railing and cried out with a voice that was like the cry of a lost angel speaking from the borders of hell up to the ramparts of ]iaradise — "Victoria! Victoria!'' The bow fell all across the violin as the music broke and Victoria standing there witli a sol) in her heart and the tear on her cheek, oblivious of every one ex- 150 JOHN KING'S h'jyii m cept hor brother, cried out to him across that living gulf of sin that separated them, "Victor! Victor! I love you!" Back in the little gallery there was an instant com- motion as Victor staggered and then fell forward in n faint over the railing. The chaplain dismi,>.-cd the l)ri>oners, who liad sat in astonished emotion durinir this hric^f but sensational scene. With Victoria ho went at once to the side of Victor. He was uncon- scious. Tliey bore him into the prison hospital and that Sunday ovoning found Victoria sitting at the bed- side of that erring soul as he lay in stupor. He liad not recognized her since he fainted. He lay with his eyes closed and face turned towards the wall. And Victoria sat there praying that God would give him back to her. The doctor and tlie chaplain l)oth camo in several times before midnight. Near that time, while Victoria was left alone witli him and no one else was within hearing distance, A'ictor suddenly turned and seized liis sisters hand. "Vi," lie whispered, "lam a lost soul. I am living in hell already. It is no use. I can't bo saved. I have suffered the tortures of the damned already." "Hush, hush, Victor! God is good." QUESTION CLASS, 157 "Xot in this place. There is no God here. Nor anywhere." Victoria leaned over and laid her cheek against Vic- tor's. She could not talk. She could not praj'. She (lid wliat was the only thing left her to do. She made Victor feel her love for him. lie grew quiet and slept after awhile. In the morn- in;; he was suliiciently recovered to be able to go back into his cell. He insisted on this although the doc- tor said he might remain in the hospital. He parted with Victoria with more emotion than he had yet shown. "I shall die here," he said as he let Victoria kiss liim. '^'Or go mad. I almost did yesterday." '*Tell me, Victor!" cried Victoria as she clung to him sobbing, "Do you love me?" "Yes," said Victor, but no tear revealed any emo- t'"ii. "Yes, Vi, but my heart is dead. It will be bet- tor fur you when my body goes with it." "Xo, no, Victor, you are young. You have a gift of (Jod. Y"ou must live in hope." She gave him one la.-t kiss and embrace and he left her there, and with a heavy heart she went on her way to her fatlier. Ah I Hiiful passion of the soul of man! What desolation is wrought by the selfishness of one disobedient heart! Truly the wages of sin is detith. And it is a death n 158 JOHN KING'S that lays its ruin on the dearest and the fairest and most tender objects of our affection. The question class at John King's came in on the Monday night that had been the date for the sentences on the worse or better condition of the world, with a good deal of curiosity to hear the result of the week's thought on the question, "Is the world growing better or worse?" According to the minister's direction five of the class were to bring a sentence each, to prove that the world was growing worse, and five others to bring one sentence each to prove that it was growing better. "I have the sentences all here in my hand and I will read them now before "we take up the other ques- tions," John King said. "I will read the worse ques- tions first. You remember the young women furnished this side of the answers to the questions." 1. The world is growing worse because woman KulVrage was defeated at the last general election. "That," commented John King with his usual good nature, "Is what might truly be called u woman's rea- son 5J 2. The world is growing worse because there are more diseases known to medical science than there were ever before and especially in what is called civilization. ! ! QUESTION CLASS. 159 3. The world is growing worse because the love of money was never so widespread as it is today. *'How does she know that?'' asked Tom. "Please excuse the interruption," continued John King. "I did not mean it." Tiie class laughed at Tom's expense and King went ou. 4. The world is growing worse because crime and criminals are steadily on the increase in the best coun- try on the globe, that is, in the United States. 0. The world is gi owing worse because that is what it must do, to fulfill the prophecies of the Liblc, which declare that wicked men and seducers shall wax worse and worse deceiving and being deceived. ''Xow for the other side as presented by the young men." 1. The world is growing better because it con- tains every year more hospitals and asrylums for the sick and sinful and unfortunate. 2. The world is growing better l)ecause human life is of longer average duration than ever before. "How does he know that?" asked Miss Fergus. "I got it out of a dictionary of scientific facts," re- plied Tom, 160 JOHN KINfrFi "That settles it," said John King gravely, and ho went right on. 4. The world is growing better because the difTrr- ences between nations are now settled by arbitration, which used to be settled by war. 5. The world is growing better because I'hristian- ity is a historical fact, and if there are not more good men and good things in the world than formerly, Christ's life and teachings must be a failure,, and that in the nature of things, is impossible. "Now then, there you are," (|uoth John Kininokes, if he is good enough in every otlier respect? Wliat should she do?" "Smoking is not a crime. It is, as I think and as I his girl evidently thinks, a bad habit. I would not advise the girl not to have anything to do with the young man if he is good and pure in every other respect. If that last clause is true, the girl has a good chance to win such a young man from smoking if she dislikes it and he knows it. If I were she I would plainly let him know what I thought of smoking. He will respect her all the more for her frankness in telling him what she lliinks. And if he is really good and pure and values her respect or even if his feeling should ever grow into something deeper, if he is good and pure he will break of! the habit for her sake. Smoking is a useless, expen- sive, and worst of all, disagreeable habit. The good, pure young man has no more right to indulge in this dis- agreeable habit than the good, pure girl who asks this question. Suppose the girl ask the young man some- time, '^What would you think of me to see me going down State Street i)ufFmg u cigarette or cigar? "Would you want to continue my acquaintance?' No, I cannot say to you. Don't have anything to do with him. But let him know that you dislike the habit and if he still keeps on with it, it will look very much as if he thought 166 JOHN KING^ff pa r r ^m PfS!.'*! more of his smoke than lio does of you and you ought to be glad that it never went any farther. "That ends the questions this evening," said John King closing the box and after the usual social cliat tlii' class departed. WTien Victoria reached Chicago again she went at once to the old home. Her father was still there. Hi' was evidently glad to have her back. Victoria notod with deepening sorrow the signs of growing dissipation in his face and figure. Her means were now sucli that she was able to move into a more desirable house in a better part of the city. She also persuaded her father to give up his theater engagement and succeeded iii getting a few pupils for him. Her own reputation helped her to do this. For the next three years the history of Victoria was a history of constant public triumph in her profession and of secret anguish over the home life of her father and the position of Metor. At last the term of Victor's imprisonment expired. In all the time of his imprisonment Victoria had written to him and also visited him. In all that time he luul maintained his stubborn silence with the other prisoner.^ and the prison officials. Victoria wrote him when lie was released to come at once to her. Some public en- gagement had prevented lier going to him. She had QVEi^TWX CLASS. 167 pent him money to jtrovido lil)orally for his expcnseii. But the weeks went l)y and X'ictor did not appear and lie did not write. Victoria in her heart of hearts IVlt the angnish of the situation and longed for the In-other and imagined all kinds of pn>,-;il)le fate for him. She had come home from the Symphony one even- ing at this time, after an enthusiastic reception from a magnificent audience and was sitting alone and wait- ing as she often did for her father to come in, when she heard the hell ring and went out herself to answer the door. There stood Victor. She knew him at once and with a cry of joy and a sob she dragged him into the house with all her love for him as strong as ever. He was plainly moved but did not show it in any demon- strative way. Ilis face was hard and old. Otherwise he had the same jaunty self-satisfied look. After sev- eral questions concerning his movements, Victor said speaking slowly and doggedly, "I can't get anything to do. I sang in a church in one town for five dollars a Sunday. "When they found out who I was they told me to go. Everybody knows lue here. But I thought I would make a strike and ^1 come » "Father has been holding that money for you, Vic- ' 108 JOHN Kl\(rs QUHSTIOy CLAHFI. tor, that mother h'ft," Victoria said timidly. She was .surprised at \'ict()r's ajjparont indiirerence. He siiid— "I don't need it just now. Vi, tliere is just one thinu I want. I want a cliance to sing again. Either in .Jdlm King's ehnrc'li or with yon in tlie Symphony. Hut I'm a feh)n! A convietl ^ly career is ruined!" For tliu first time he showed signs of l)reaking down. Victniia kneeled beside him. Her mind was in a whirl of imi- jecture. Would .John King let Victor come bnik? Would the manager engage him to sing solo parts in the Symphony? Or would society now brand him as an outcast? She asked it as she kneeled beside him wlm was at that moment the dearest person to her iu all the wide sinning, suffering world. fwWi CHArTKU VII r. i:ii FTl'J? a wliilo Victoria said sjteakiiig slowly, ''Victor, what do you want nic to do?'' "I waiit you to use your iullucncc with the iiKiiiager or with John King to get nic a place again.'' Victoria shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid it will be imi)ossiLle." "I don't know why. My voice is just the same," Victor spoke fiercely. "You know that society passes its verdict on — " "On convicts, for life! Yes, once a convict always a convict!'' "Don't, Victor!" Victoria spoke with a shudder. Then she added, "I will do all in my jjower to liel[) you. Do you want me to see the manager?" "Yes, and John King. If he believes as he preaches he ought to give me another chance." "I will see him, too," said Victoria quietly. "When?" "I will go tomorrow and see the manager." Just then the father came in. He was surprised at the siglit of Victor. The greet- 170 JOHN KING'S ing between them was -vkward and constrained. Vic- tor was sullen and said little. lie complained of hoing very tired and after a little went off to the room Vicloria had been keci)ing ready for him. In the mornint^ A'ictoria went to see the managur. She at once made known her errand. "You remember my brother Victor? lie has served out his time and is in the city. He wants to go on the stage again. lie wants a position in the Symphony — ' "What! "With a state prison record! I beg pardon, Miss Stanwood, but we must talk plainly about this." "I know, I know," replied Victoria in much dis- tress. "It gives me unspeakable pain to think of it. Still, could it not be possible for my brother to secure u position in some way? I am convinced that his future depends on his getting some large place where he can sing to the best people." "That may be true. But it would be out of the question for him to come on with the Symphony. Ills })rison record is too fresh in the public mind. It would be an insult to the public to announce him now." Victoria flushed. "lu'cn if he were entirely reformed?" "Even if he were entirely reformed. But is he?" "He says little. He is very anxious to get b&clv iutu QUESTION CLASS. 171 his old i)iace as a popular singer. Is there no hope for him?" "In time, yes. But not now. It would simply kill us all with the public to })ut him forward ' "And yet his voice — Oh, you should hear it. His voice will surely win its way with thj people. They will forgive anything when they hear him. Surely the peo- \)k' will treat him kindly for my sake." "There arc the other performers. How will they take him?" "I hadn't thought of them." The manager was thoughtfully silent. At last he .-aid as if he were having a debate with himself — "I am under great obligations to you, Miss Stan- wood. And I am willing to do this. I will engage Victor for one week. I have little doubt that the result will h(^. disastrous, but that is my lookout. Send hitxi to me. I want to see him and talk with liim." Victoria was surprised but she did not say much. She dreaded to go back to Victor without some hope to give him. The manager's unexpected offer /elieved her. She did not have quite the same fear of results as he had. She thanked him heartily and returned to Victor. liji W I ■s i illi III 172 JOH}i KINO'S "The manager wants to see you/' she said to liim without giving details of tlie conversation. When Victor went into the managers otfice he wa- alone. He at once said; "'Mr. Stanwood, you understand the risk I run in giving you a })osition on the Sym})]iony. Tiiis is a mv.\- ter of dollars and cents with me. I have agreed to give you an op})ortunity to sing for one week. I have iini heard you sing since the night of the concert. I lia\i tile riglit to ask you to favor me now. I run all the ri^k of oll'ending my public but if I do so I wish to have some excuse in your voice. There is the piano. Will you i)lay your own accompaniment or shall I?" "I'll play my own,'' said Victor shortly. He went over to the piano and sat down and at once began to sing. There was no mistaking his wonderful gift for any- thing ordinary. The manager was a man of the worM and he knew that such voices were very rare. When Victor had finished, the manager remained thoughtfully seated by his desk. At last he said plainly, "You have a renuukaljle voice, young man, and if ii wasn't for those three years in the pen I would be Incky to get you at any price. J*)Ut yon know that makes a diU'crence." Ml QVEF^TrOX CLAf^S. 173 'h!| Victor stood l)iting his lip and nervously beatino; liis foot on the floor. ''Ye?, I told Victoria once a convict always a convict. Has that anything to do with my ability to sing?" "Xo, but it has something to do with your reception by the public," said the manager coolly. "IFowevcr I will do what I promised. Clive you a week. It will probably cost me a pretty penny but — " he smiled a little grimly, "I will make the public pay most of it." lie made terms with Victor who soon went away and when he was fairly out on the street the curtains at the end of the room parted as they had done several years before when A'ictoria played, as she thought, to the manager alone, and several gentlemen came into the room. The manager's friends were ver}' free in their criti- cisms. •• "A most unusual voice.'' "A remarkable rendering of a simple piece of ballad music." "It will be a great risk. The public will resent it." "Why, everyone knows Stanwood's history. It will make trouble in your c()m])any." "Xo, it won't; the public will forgive everything for the voice." 174 JOIJN KiNirs "I wouldn't risk it myself." And so on. Some opposed, some condemned the manager's action in making the engagement witli \k- tor, but all witliout exception praised his great gift. Victor was to appear the first night of the comin^; week. The public soon learned of the engagement and a tremendous house greeted him as he made his appear- ance. The daily papers had devoted large sjiace to liis career and refreshed people's minds on the facts of tho forgery and the assault of three years ago. Therf seemed to he a variety of opinion as to the purpose ol' the manager in hiring this attraction. But the first two nights Victor sang to crowded houses and with consider- able favor from the audience. The third night how- ever there arose a difficulty. The lady who had playnl his accompaniments came to the manager just hcUne the curtain was to rise and told him she would not i)];iy. She had just learned the full facts in regard to the new tenor. The manager was expecting anything of llic kind and was prepared for it. "Very well," he said, and sent for Victoria. "Miss Stanwood, will you play for your brother tlii- evening?" Victoria saw what the troulde was and instantly re- plied; QVES;TinX CLAHFl. 175 "Yes. We will go on together. I am ready." When the time came brother and sister came on, Victoria with her violin for she preferred to accompany Victor with that instrument instead of with the piano. A'ictor understood why she was obliged to do so. His face was hard and pale. Xevertheless he did his part splendidly. The audience was enthusiastic. Brother and sister were called back. There were people in the city who understood and sympathized with Victoria's ^tory and the present situation. But when the Svmi)honv was over that night Victor abruptly went to the manager and said, "C'ancel my engagement!" "Why? What is the—" "I cannot stand such things as those to-night. I lieard what Madam W. said to you." "It is what you might expect." The manager spoke with some l)itterness. Then he added with some feeling, 'T was in hopes you might live it down. There's half a dozen of the company however gave notice to-d^y that thoy should quit. The public is all right. It's the fastidious people on the stage that object — " "To a convict I" said Victor with a hard laugh. He went home with Victoria, enraged at all the world. It took the manager a long time to recover from the disas- H •1 1 ! ! IS., #';r ill 170 JOHN KING'S troiis efTccts of that exporimont. With some people lie has never recovered from the disgrace of putting a con- vict into tlie Symphony. The next day Victor announced his intention of go- ing to see John King. "I don't want yon to go, Yi," he said with a nearer approach to his ohl time affection tlian he had yet shown. "T have asked too mncli of you already. 1 will look after myself." So in spite of Victoria's earnest and loving willing- ness to do anything for him, he went alone to see John King. The preacher happened to bo in his study alone. He greeted Victor just the same as if those three ycar:^ with all their disgrace and agony had never been. Vic- tor was nervous and at once made known his errand. "I want to sing again in your church, Mr. King. Can you take me ])ack?" John King looked at him with a serious but not sad look peculiar to his face. "Of course you know the effect on the public of your prison record?'" "Yes, sir. I know it well enough." "You know that such a feeling is strong in my church ?" QUE ST I ox CLASS. 177 "No, sir, I don't know it." "It is. I doubt if my organist will play for you. I am speaking very frankly to you now," Victor flushed, lie recalled the scone with John King when ho had resented the preacher's talking to liim about gambling. lie also recalled John King's words, "The time may come when you will need a friend. When that time comes if you will come to me for any help I can give you it will be given as freely as the love I have for you this very moment." Instinct- ively his proud soul went out for help just now. He had the greatest longing to get back to his former place with the public. The great gift of his voice was just beginning to Ije truly seen by him in something of its true meaning. More than all, his great vanity was as strong as ever. He felt that if he could only once get a hearing his voice would triumph over preju- dice. "I have never forgotten your promise to me, Mr. King. That time I left the church." "Yes?" John King's face lightened up eagerly, "Well, it is still good." "I am in great need of help," Xo one can under- stand what it cost the vain Victor to say those words. John King leaped up to them like u redeemed soul iw 178 JOHN KINd'H hK \^ \ 9' :'■■'? ^ ■ i'l i I launching itself out on a storm wrecked sea after a lost soul. "I will do what I can for you. There arc a great many things to take into the account. For my pari I will welcome you back to sing. I may have dilTiculty in making others see it as I do. But you shall sing nc.\i Sunday morning on my responsibility. Stanwood, lui- not your experience brought you into a desire for a Christian lifp?" Victor trembled. If the bell had not rung that mo- ment, followed by a hurried knocking at the study door he might have yielded his proud soul up like a child to his Father. The interruption sent him away however with only this definite impression on John King's mind — that the experiences of the next few days might deter- mine the future of a very sensitive and selfish nature. When Sunday came Victor went to the church and entered the choir room by the side door, What John King had done in the two days that preceded Sunday since that interview in the study Victor never knew until long afterwards. The facts of the morning's ex- perience in church however may be briefly described. There was at the time in John King's church a mixed chorus choir under the direction of the organist. When the hour for service arrived perhaps half the (JiElSTluy CLAiSS. 17!) members of the choir were in their seats. The organist did not appear. John King waited a few minutes and tlicn in tlie midst of a deadly stilhiess over the great audience ho went to the organ himself and played the voluntary. The service went on as if nothing unusual was tak- ing place. The hymns were sung and just before the sermon Victor came out and sang. John King stepped back to the organ and played the accompaniment for him. The effect of Victor's voice was the same it had always been. There was perhaps an added power because of the ten- sion under which the entire strange service was being conducted. The anthem by the choir was omitted. The sermon was one of the best and his prayer breathed tender love for all mankind. In a great church like his there were however very many people who con- demned his action in inviting Victor to sing and con- sidered it an abuse of privilege and a mistake in every way. From the results of that, King felt the effects in some w^ay all through his after ministry in that ])lace. At the close of the service when John King went back into his room to get his hat and coat, Victor met liim and said, lil 180 JOHN A7A'(/'.S' "Mr. King, you have done your part. Made ;roo(I your promise. But 1 ean't stand it. 1 can't sing under these conditions." lie was rusliing out wlien King readied out an arm and detained him. "Let me help you in any other way I can, won't vou?*' Victor for re})ly wrung the luind held out to him and went out at once and that was the last time he ever sung in John King's church. He went home and told Victoria. "I'm an outcast I A felon! The world has kicked mo out. 1 might as well die and be done with it I"' Victoria was in an agony for him. "Xo! Xol A'ictor, timo will bring all right again. You must live in hope. You must try where you are not known." "Yes and as soou as I am known, I shall be kicked out." He brooded about the house for several days and at last one day he suddenly asked ^'ictoria for the money that belonged to him and which the father had ke[)t sacredly for him while he was in prison. Victoria told her father and he at once put ^'ictor in })ossession of the entire amount. Victor did not re- veal his plans to any one. lie took the money and wao QVEtiTWS VLAiikS. 181 gone several days. Tlien he came back and Victoria wlio welcomed him ^dadly thought his manner towards her was more atl'ectionate than at any time since the old times, lie remained with her and the father and gradually his manner grew more like that of the time when he first began to sing when Victoria left him. He began to dress extravagantly. lie was often away from the house for days together. lie said little about his doings. But Victoria although absorbed in her i)rofes- .-^ion and unusually busy at just this time, felt her heart sink within her as she slowly came to the conclusion tliat the old gambling passion was asserting its sway over ^'ictor again, and out of her heart went a great prayer for deliverance. It was at this time in her life that Victoria met Richard Bruce and Tom Howard and also became a member of the Question Class. Richard and Tom were in charge, under King's directions, of a mission work down in the slums. They had a boy's brigade, some night classes in book-keeping and shorthand and had long been wishing to start music classes. The three were talking it over one day when John King said, "Boys, it just occurs to me that Miss iStanwood of IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V /. .// - me ,X ^KA /J/// ^^ / ss? ^ Q, C/i 1.0 I.I 1.25 |||||JJ. U. Ill 1.6 I ! Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ \ ^ N> ^9> V «> ''■ ^'^ ..1. '^> O^ fs 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY 14580 (716) 872-4503 r^ o Q. Ua 'i I 182 JOllN KIXU'S the Symphony will give us one or two nights a week. The Symphony plays only three nights." "Whew!" said Tom. "That's all right. But where are we going to get the shekels to pay for such talent?"' "I think Miss Stanwood will play for the love of it," said John King. "Yes, she goes to the hospitals every Sunday and gives free recitals," said Richard. "Suppose we ask her if she can give us an evening or two." So John King went to see her and at the first men- tion of the proposed music classes Victoria heartily con- sented. At first she gave one evening a week. Later she gave two. She became intensely interested in tlie work. Once a month she arranged a musical and with the assistance of her friends and the co-operation of Tom and Richard she filled the hall used by the cliureh for part of its institutional work with a great crowd of the most needy and music hungry people in all the city. She was delighted. Getting acquainted with Tom and Richard thus, she was drawn into the Question Class, which was a source of great enjoyment to h«;r whenever her public engage- ments would permit her to attend. Victoria lived a sin^ailurly retired and (juiet Jife for one who had QUESTION t'LAi^m. 183 gained such a high place as a musician. Iler fathcr^s condition required her presence at home a great deal. He was growing worse and lately he had had symptoms of failure of all his physical powers. So that at this time in her life Victoria saw very little of society except the little gather- ings of the Question Class and her fashionable audi- ences at the Symphony and her unfashionable rabble at the music classes in the slums and her friends in the liospitals. The Question Class was a relief to her heart and mind under all the strain to which she was sub- jected, and whenever she had opportunity she always attended. She was specially interested in the questions the second time she was present and made up her mind to bring in a question herself at (lie next meeting. "The first to-night is as follows," John King an- nounced as soon as the class had quieted down from its iiiual social prelude. Question, "When is the best time for a girl to try U) reform a young man? Before she marries him or after?" "If he is not reformed before, it is very doubtful if he ever will be after. It is to my mind a great mistake which many girls make when they think that they can reform a bad man by marrying him. Let me read ^'ou I iliffll i.iihii 1 p I'l, fci iii 184 JOHN KINO'S a little article recently written by Marion Harland on this subject. She says, 'My heart aches when I think of the women who began the work of reforming with hope and laid it down with despair at the end of life that made them turn weary arms to death with a sigh of wel- come. On the table l)efore me stands the portrait of one such woman. When she was a merry hearted girl she fell in love with a handsome, brilliant young fellow whose only failure was a fondness for liquor. He loved her deei)ly — better than anything else in the world ex- cept drink. Nevertheless he promised to overcome even this passion for her sake. In vain did her family plead and protest. Iler only answer was, "He cannot keep straight without someone to help him. I must marry him now. He needs me." 'A few years after her marriage she died of a brokcu heart whispering at the last to a dear friend that she was not sorry to go but would be thankful that life was over if she were only sure that her son would not be left to her husband's care.' "It is very seldom that a girl reforms a man by marrying him. It is an awiv./: risk to run. I cannot safely advise any girl to run it." Question. "To what extent should we praise and honor one person above another because of the greater QUESTION CLASS. 185 talents of the one, when we consider the pride that honor above others engenders and the consequent want of due praise to God the giver of the talents on the part of the individual?" "Xo one should be honored or praised above another because of greater talents. That is no reason for giving puch honor to anyone. If a person has greater talents than otliers he should humbly give God, the author of every gift, all the praise, and humbly ask for wisdom to use the talent to His glory. There is a great deal of false liero worship in the world. I do not believe in bowing down to a man because he is a great author or a great musician or a great preacher or a great foot ball player, unless there is something in the way of character or moral force in him to warrant my respect and esteem. Xo. Praise and honor should never be given people of great talents simply because of the talents. Especially wlien such praise makes the person vain and forgetful of God. Let us have less hero worship. The present age knows all sorts of superiority without discrimination. Society gapes in admiration at the great prize fighter and the great poet and the great preacher and the great politician and the great millionaire without much out- ward distinction. The New York papers that praised Dr. Parkhurst for his splendid fight against Tammany •111 180 JOIIS KIXd'H and misrule contained in the same edition the samo niinihcr of cohimns of sickening praise of the great pri/.c fighter Corljett. Away with such hero worship. All true i)raise belongs to Almighty God and should not he bestowed on humanity except as it represents him in cliaraclcr and in service." Question. "Don't you think people cat too mudi on Tbanksgiving day?" "Some peoi)le do. And then they are sorry for it afterwards, as I suspect the writer of this question !.->."' Question. "What is the most important part of a church service?" "That depends on several things. Sometimes one part, sometimes another. It depends on the person also. One man thinks the sermon is the most iiupDrtnnt part. TTo gets more out of that than from anytiiinj: else. Another man gets more out of a prayer or a hymn. Tliat is the most important part to that man. One pari of the church service ought not to be so ovit- wlu'lminuiy imj)ortant that the other parts are of little account. I have had a man in my church ask me to omit the ])rayers and the scripture reading and come at once to the ])rea('hing. That was all he cared for, he said. r»ut there were other men in the church who re- ceived more help from the prayers and music than from QUESriOX CLASS. is; tho preaching. T!vprv part of r cluiroli sorvico slioiild lie important and at diircrcnt times and with dilTorcnt |i( oplc cacli part will ho at some time perlia])s the most li(ll)ful and important." Question. "Onglit not all Christian.s to unite for the overthrow of the increasing drinking and drunken- ness and the entire liquor husiness and the gamhling and tlic o])pressive conihines and trusts aiul all such like cvus.-' "Yes. And until they do so unite 'n a true Chris- tian union those evils will continue to grow in jxjwer. A united Christendom is the only answer to the world's wickedness and the only remedy for its evils." Question. "Will the resurrected hody bear any re- somhlance to the earthly hody; the youth's resurrected hodv to the youth's earthlv hodv: the child's resurrected liody to the child's earthly hody; the aged person's re- surrected hody to the aged person's earthly hody?" "I don't believe we can tell. 'God giveth it a body as it pleaseth him.' It will he a spiritual existence in the nsurrected state. Wliatevcr form the resurrected j)crson shall bear we know this much. The fi.rm will lie glorious, free from disfigurement, weakness, »)ain, and sickness. And more than all, T am convinced that whatever God pleases for the resurrected body will com- «t - i'.f f 188 ./(>//.V A'/A'f.'K pletcly pntisfy us wliothor it ]>o in rofrard to our own selves or in regard to tlie cliililren, tlie youtli, or tlio old jwople wlio have gone l)ofore. More than tliat we may not know as yet. But tliat ought to Ik; enough." Question. "Are tlicre any degrees of sin? In Cod'r^ .siglit is not a little sin as wrong as a great sin?" '"Yes, T think there are degrees of sin. It is not as great a sin to tell a lie as to commit murder or assaiik on another man. The efTtxt of sin is not so disastrous in the one ease as in the other. There are infinite degrees of sin. And a little sin cannot he as wrong as a great sin in God's sight for if it were, then the little child who is guilty of heing cross or dece^jtive would have to ho classi'd with the man who' had conH.:itted all the crimes known to the law hrcakor. This is true. All sin is hateful in God's sight. All sin is wrong. What we call little sins He undouhtedly calls great and would have us shun with horror what we often do with Utile thought. But that does not mean that lie regards all sin as equally wrong." Question. "How can a young man who is very much in love tell whether the girl cares anything for him or not?" "I should think one way to find out would be to ask her." Q! ESTION (LAl^a. 189 19 vorv Quest' n. "Is it C'lirit^tian to wear nioiiriiiiijr for llie dead? Or is it in aecordanec with Christ's teacliing not to observe the common custom of wearing black? What did he teach about it?'' "lie did not teacli anything as to wearing mourning for the dead and it is my oj)ini()n lliat such a habit is not required by the Christian religion. I do not want my friends to mourn for me in that way or to put crape on their doors or on their hats. There is one large city in the United States where it is the custom to keep the curtains down and the blinds shut in the windows of the front room for a year after the death of one in the family and during all that time no one of the family is supposed to accept any social invitations or leave off distinct mourning apparel. This is tlie custom among the peoide of style and inlluence. Whatever cl.-e that may be, I cannot believe it is Christianity. Christianity fills us with hope of eternal life. Death is not the awful gloomy thing the pagans made it. There are a great many pagan things in our civiliza- tion yet and among them I call wearing mourning dress, I'lie. When the class went away that night Mctoria asked if she might send in several questions at a time in case she was not able to come every week. John King read- vm~Ti * I'JO JOHS KIXU'S f 'I t ■ HBi ily granted her leave, wiying the class would relax tho strictness of iu; rules in lier special case. It was (luring tliis week that N'ictoria's father began to grow worse and iinally his symptoms became so serious that Victor and herself spent days and weeks of watching by his side. It was at this time alx) that Victor began to borrow money of her, at first in snuill sums, then after a little in larger amounts, until Victoria was unable to let him have what he wanted. One day at this time she had been to see the man- ager on a matter of business and he had spoken of her careworn anxious appearance. "You are working too hard. You need a vacation.'' "I cannot leave father now. lie needs me. liut I wish Victor could get an engagement somewhere. I am worried over him." "All!" thought the manager as he glanced keenly at the determined but somewhat pale and drooping link' figure in black. "So there's your greatest trouble, cli? Miserable young scamp. After all that's been done for him by nature and by his sister!" Victoria was going out when the manager called lui' back. "3Iiss Stanwood, do you remember that two thou- < QVKtiTIOS CLAHH. 191 sand dollars you paid me throe years ago for that violin?'' "Yes." Victoria waited wondering a little. ^'Well, I have never t-pent that two thousand dollars. In I'ac't 1 have never cashed the check." The manager said this in the most matter of fact t'lne and i)ulling out a small drawer in his desk he pro- duced the check with Victoria's endorsement on the nack. "It's good yet of course," said the manager quietly as he handed it over to the astonished Victoria. "Tlie fund is still in deposit with accumulated inter- est for three yeaio- And I'li tell you what T would do. 1 would draw out a tliousand dollars and get Victor to go abroad with it ahd secure a place somewhere. He is getting into bad ways again here." '"Oh, sir!'' Victoria almost broke down, "I have feared it of late. But if he could get a position. I am ^ure he has ambition. "But his old habits — " "Well, that's what I say," said the manager gently. "(Jet the boy to promise to get a new start. Let him have a part of this. Yes, I insist on your taking the check back. I acted like a brute at the time the viidin was smashed and I never meant to take anything from you for it. I knew if I didn't pretend to take it that ». I 'f I i'i 102 JOHN KINfPS precious hrotlier of yours would pcf 't in tinic. Ainl besides, Miss Stanwood, I luii»peiicd to know that \n\\ have saved from your earnings to })ay that two thou.siiul dollars on the forged cheek in New York. The mana- ger lost it through Victor, and you paid it hack. 1 call that pretty plucky. Not many people would have doia it." Victoria fluslied. She had never told anyone. 'I'Ih manager had heard of it from some New York friends. "And 60 I want you to take this money back. Yuu need it just now, don't you?" "Yes," rei)]icd Victoria frankly. "And if I can }ior- suade Victor to secure a place abroad I am sure it will be the making of him." "Of course it will." The manager was as entlui.^i- astic over the plan as a boy. lie loved anything that had a plot in it. "You go and draw out a thousand dollars to-day. Have !^ first downward step. Victor listened sadly and wlicn Victoria ceased he continued to kneel there by her with his head bowed and his whole attitude one of the deep- est sliame and remorse. They were both roused by a cry from the other room. The father had been stirred out of his half stupor, half sleeping condition by the noise. Brother and sister went into the other room and stood by him. QUESTION CLASH. 199 Victor was shocked at his father's appearance. He whispered to Victoria, "How long has father been like this? Isn't he much worse?" "He has been this way for more than a month. The doctor fears paralysis." Victoria spoke quietly l)ut she had long been accustomed to think of the time when her father would be a hclploi^s invalid. "Is that you, Victor?" the father suddenly spoke, struggling with difficulty to make himself heard. "Yes, father," said Victor putting out his hand and laying it on the sick man's. Mr. Stanwood seemed anxious to make a great effort. Twice he seemed incapable of making any intclligil)le sound. Then Victor as he bent over caught the wordjs, "Love your sister. Do as she says." He fell back exhausted and lapsed into his customary semi-insensible condition. And those were the last words that Victor over heard his father speak. The boy was thoroughly aroused, for the time, out of liis selfishness. He insisted on remaining to care for the father while Victoria lay down to get the rest she so much needed. In the morning there was no change in the sick man's condition. The doctor came and said that 200 JOHN KING'S ';«? he might Hve in the same condition for weeks or even months. "I ought to stay and help you bear this, Vi," Ik- said when the two were talking over the future plans. "No, Victor, you can help me riore by doing as 1 said last night. You see," continued Victoria with a sad smile, "how much I depend on you for keeping uj) here." She talked with him for an hour. He seemed truly repentant. He was more like the old Victor than she had once hoped for. During the day he yielded to Vic- toria's plan so far as to go out and make some arrange- ments for his trip abroad. Victoria placed all the money at his disposal. She felt that she was safe in doing that under the present condition of Victor's mind. "Within the next few days Victor gave every evidence of being true to his first impulse for a new and better life. He followed Victoria's directions in preparing for his trip abroad, her own experience proving of much v^lue to him. x\nd at the end of the week ho was all ready to leave for Xew York. ITis leave taking with Victoria was pathetic to her because all his old jaunty, self-assertive, vain air of manner was entirely gone. She had never seen him so thoughtful, so humble. In her heart she rejoiced at it. QUKSriON CLASS. 201 "Write me from New York and again the minute you land in London, Yic." "Yes, I will. I don't fed right to go and leave you to take care of father." Yictor had parted from him with the sorrowful picture of the broken-minded old man trying in vain to speak. Already the paralytic afTection prophesied by the doctor had gained control of his tongue. "It is best this way," Yictoria anbwercd bravely. "Remember, dear Vic, I have put faith in you. Don't disappoint me, will you?" He went away brushing the tear from his cheek with those last M-ords of the great hearted, loving little sis- ter echoing in his heart, and as Victoria, the tears flow- ing over her face, watched him until he was out of sight, she sent after him the most longing prayer she had ever uttered that he might redeem his broken past. It was the turning point with him. The crisis. It was well worth all the sacrifice of money and affection if the life could be saved. And she turned back from the win- dow to take up the burden of her home sorrows and her public professional career with the quiet courage that was becoming every day more and more characteristic of her The month that followed was a busy one for her. 1:1 : : M- ill 202 JOHN KiNfrs In that time the father's condition grew steadily wnr?o. He was a helpless paralytic and required conslaiit attendance. Victoria was able to secure the bcbt of nursing for him but with her public duties she could not bear to leave the invalid entirely to the care of hired strangers. She spent hours herself by his side. The father showed his ail'ection for her in various ways. It was at times nu)re nearly like that of a dog than of a human being. Victoria was repeatedly moved to tears by it. Iler music classes in the slums and the Monday night Question Class, however, gave her a needed change and rest from all this strain at home. One Monday evening she was invited to John King's to dinner and among the half dozen guests besides herself were Rich- ard J>ruce and Tom Howard, with whom she was coming to have a i)lcasant acquaintance through their mutual interest in the slum work. There was a table full of interesting people and the talk turned on books and authors and writing. Victoria knew very little about the world of letters and she was eager to know more of all sorts of life in other directions. She had never heard Bruce talk very much. She had read one or two of his stories in the Monthly Visitor with which he was connected but she had never read any of his longer QUESTION CLASS. 203 it. ofTorts and was a littlo surprised when something said by King revealed the fact that Kieliard had just finished a novel of three hundred pages. ** Richard must be getting wealthy by this time," tiaid John King, with a twinkle of his great dark eyes in the direction of Tom, "This is his fourth book in as many years. Dick, what do you do with all your money? I don't see where it ail goes to." '*It all goes to the publishers,'' replied Kichard with a smile. "That's so," said Tom. "There's no money in writ- ing books, that is, for the autlior." "How do you know, Tom?" asked King. "Why, didn't you people know that I was the author of a thrilling novel entitled "The Pen is mightier than the Ink Stand?" I have sent it in type written manu- script to fifteen different publishers and they have all read it with such force that I have been obliged to have it retypcwritten two times. I pay the postage and they do the rest." "I should like very much to read your book when it comes out," said Victoria demurely. "May I put you down for a copy, Miss Stanwood?" said Tom without a quiver of his countenance. "The book will be sold by subscription only. Plain cloth $1.T5. 204 JOHN KING'S i I ■ i! !i: !■;• 11' Half calf $3. P^ill grown calf $3.50. Morocco .$5- L.t nie call your attention, madam, to the table of con- tents. Full copper plate steel chiseled engravings, cop- ies from the old masters taken with a Kodak on \\\c s])ot, GOO pages of the most thrilling descriptions of life around the North Pole on the Fourth of July. Bonk will be ready for delivery by freight or express any tiun; after Christmas 1912." Tom rattled off a lot of lingo made up in imitation of the traveling book agent and after the laugli luul ceased King said, "I suppose it is true that there is nut any money for the author in a book unless it has an exceptionally large sale. I understand that 10,000 copies are considered a good sale for what is called a poj)- ular novel. Is that so, Dick?" "I have heard so. It is certainly true that an author can work longer and harder than almost anyone else and receive less for a year's work in proportion to his labor than the average day laborer." "Give us an illustration, Dick, out of your own experience." Richard hesitated. He very seldom spoke of his own work or its remuneration. But a glance around the table showed him a group of his nearest friends i : i QrESflOS' CLASS. 20' and for once he broke his professional reserve and said frankly, "Well, I will let you into the story of one of my pjories. It took me eight months of hard work to write it. Of course during all that time I was not earning anything by my labor. Tt cost me thirty dollars to have it typewritten, as publishers will hardly look at hand- written manuscript these days. Then I sent it oft to a publisher by express at a cost of a dollar and a quarter. It was gone two months and was sent back. I expressed it at the same expense to another house with the same result. The manuscript came back to me after three months' absence. There were thirteen months gone without a cent for my labor of brain. The third pub- lisher to whom I submitted the book accepted it on these terms. He would publish, advertise, and put the book on the market at his own expense and give me ten per cent royalty on the list price of every book sold after he had sold a thousand copies. I received this offer just fifteen months after I began the story. I accepted it. The manuscript had then to be revised and sent back and forth several times for correction of proof, each time with expense to me. Before the book was out of the press, five more months had gone by. And at the present time just two years and three months have I i. M 200 70//.V Ki\(rs clapsi'd since 1 began tliat story and I liavo not rcccivtd a cent from it yet. I shall not g-jl anything fruni ii until the one thousand and first coi)y is sold and thfii only ten per cent for work that I did over two years ago. Meanwhile I have had to live all these months. Of course if I did not have a salaried i)osition on the Visi- tor I would starve writing books at that rate." "But don't you sometimes sell a story outright for cash down?" asked Victoria to whom all this was a revelation entirely new. "Yes, but not very often. And when I have doiio so I have never received more than four hundred dol- lars for eight months or a year's work. Of course if one is famous as a writer he can make his own terms with his publishers. But the men in this country who can do that can be counted on the fingers. We common writers could never make a living at writing. We are ol)lirr( <1 to have a salaried position or starve, as the old English poets in Grubb Street used to do unless they were for- tunate enough to get a rich nobleman for a patron." "I should think the outlook was discouraging to young authors." "It is," replied Richard, "if a writer expects to make money. An author must write from other motives if ho is only average. At the same time I contend that no It) :\i Qf'KSTION CLASS. 207 us was ii work is so unevenly paid for considering tiiC time and thought put into it as that of an author. Good average l)rains will not earn as much food and clothes and com- forts as good average muscle. The average carpenter or mason or railroad employe can make more in a year (lian the average story writer." The talk led out into a discussion of the rights or the wrongs of the statement by Richard and after a lit- tle the guests adjourned to the parlors for the Question Class. "I feel a little like criticising your questions to- night," remarked John King as he took out the first one and unfolded it. "IIow can I give a good answer to a poor question? It takes as much wisdom to ask aright as to answer. However I won't be too severe. Only some of you must not be disappointed at your answers lo-night. The fault lies in the way you have put it, some of you." Question. "Why do more women than men unite with the church?" "BecauFf there are more of them to start with. Then there is more time given in very many Christian homes to the religious training of girls than of boys. And besides all that, a false theory of life has made very many parents believe that a boy cannot grow up as good mmmmmm i il ■ 208 JOHN KING'S as a girl, that he must be a little wild, that it is natural for him to sow his wild oats. There is a difference in the sexes on the emotional side. A woman is more easily excited to tears or tenderness than a man. Some people think a woman is by -.ature more trustful and more inclined to believe in religious truths than men. I don't believe that myself. I think the reason more women than men are found in churches lies back in the past false training of boys and girls in Christian homes. The double standard of morals and of conduct is responsible for most of the difference between men and women reli- giously." Question. "You said awhile ago that you believed foot ball was a good game for college students to play. Is not the game on the whole brutal and degrading as shown by the recent spectacles of games played between large college teams in New England?" "I have somewhat changed my mind since answering the question some time ago. The manner in which rc]i- rosentatives of some of the great colleges have played the game is a disgrace to all true courage and manhood. If I were president of one of those colleges I would use my authority to stop such brutality. Hundreds of the spectators at one of these games said it was the most disgusting exhibition, no better, no more elevating i QUESTION CLASS. 200 than a bull fight or a prize fight. Many a Christian business man vowed lie would take his son out of an institution that encouraged such sports. Yes, the game is in danger of being ruined with the American people unless a speedy stop is put to its professional black- guardism. The game can be played decently. That it has so often been abused of late is exceedingly unfor- tunate. But no college can afford to encourage any- thing that turns its students into raving, maddened ani- mals for an hour on Thanksgiving Day." Question. "If a man is out of work, has a large fam- ily dependent on him and cannot get work of any kind and is in need of food, fuel and clothing for himself and family, what had he better do? Beg or steal?" "There is nothing criminal in begging. There is in stealing. If I were that man myself I would of course beg for my family before I would steal for them. Steal- ing would cause them more misery than ever and if I were caught and put in jail for it some one would have to beg for them. In a choice between two courses like this there ought not to be any hesitat'on. It is a dread- ful position for a man to confront but committing a crime will not better it any. It will always make it worse. There ought not to be such a possibility before any maji. That there is such a possibility before many mmmmmmm ^1 .1 I $ If, 210 JOHN KING'S a working man in this country and the world to-day, ought to make all you young people do some hard think- ing and doing, the result of which will make such condi- tions less common in the future." Question. "Is the use of whisky, brandy, wine and beer absolutely necessary in a great many cases as it i< claimed, for medicinal purposes? Why docs a state that has prohibition laws need to permit unlimited drug stores to sell liquor under the law, as medicine? Ln't it bought in most cases for a beverage just the same as if bought in a saloon?" "There is a city of less than fifty thousand people in a prohibition state where thirty-five drug stores have permits to sell intoxicating liquors for medicinal ami scientific purposes. One month the sale from these drug stores amounted to over six thousand. That is to say, six thousand or more persons most of them api)ar- pntly able-bodied men, claimed that they needed any- where frojn a pint of whisky to three bottles of beer for rheumatism, malaria, cold, sick headache, and weak stomach. For all these ills that flesh is neir to, intox- icating liquors was the only sufficient remedy. It sim- ply means of course that in that prohil^tion state the people have elected to have special saloons disguised as cjrug stores. As for the need of liquor as a medicine QUE mi ON CLASkJ. 211 1 have never believed in it and the necessity for it is very much exaggerated. There is a hospital in a city of the old world which is run on strictly total abstinence lifinciplcs, Xot a drop of alcohol in any form is ever given to a patient in any case. It is claimed that the cures from this hospital exceed those of other hospitals where alcohol is used as a medicine. Recent arctic explorers who have gone into the frozen north farther than man ever went before, have not taken a drop of lilu> swiftly recalled the fact })rinted in the papers onlv a little while before of a girl who had thrown her- self off the end of the very draw bridge where she now was. All this took but a few seconds. Victoria was not a woman of senseless or foolish impulse but she was a woman grown now, with a growing longing in her heart to do good in the great world. She yielded to the God- given impulse that told- her here was need of a living love to save a despairing soul and, opening the door of the cab she stepped out, and asking the driver to hold the cab there a minute swiftly crossed over the short distance between her and the stranger and touched her on the shoulder. The girl turned around and, trembling, faced Vic- toria. There was no mistaking the divine sympathy that made Victoria's face as beautiful as an unf alien angel's. With one bound her soul had leaped that cold wide gulf that separates people who have never met through the formalities of social custom and the girl QTESTTOy CLASS. 217 knew that there was human love and sympathy in the world yet. Victoria said simply, "Dear, you arc in trouble. The good God made us l)oth. I once had a friend who had a face like yours. I'or her sake I want to help you. "Will you let me? Come! Let us get into the cab. There is a God and He is rrood." The girl uttered a great sob. Then she clutched at Victoria's arm as if she were falling, falling down some hideous gulf and then as if in a dream she allowed Victoria to half lead, half carry her to the cab. Vic- toria entered behind her and shut the door. And once within, the girl went into the most violent hysterics. Victoria kept her arms about her. The cab moved on. When it reached the house Victoria succeeded in get- ting her rescued soul into her own room. The rain l)ogan to pour down in torrents. It beat on the win- dows like the spirits of defeated demons. And Victoria kneeled by the side of her bed, by the side of the drenched form of the stranger, drenched and beaten like a storm-beaten Easter lily, and prayed for her as angels }>ray, looking down with tears upon the mighty sorrow and suffering of the wicked cities of men on the earth. 1^^ r 4-. '■ h ■iVt 1 ! w Vi CHAPTER X. S lliG night wore on, Victoria grew alarmed over tlio condition of her charge and sent lior father's nurse out for tlic doctor. When ho came lie succeeded in quieting the girl but the shock to her system from exposure and the sub- sequent reaction due to Victoria's rescue of her led to an illness which lasted nearly a month. During the latter part of that time Victoria learned a part of her strange histoiy and in the weeks that followed the girl confided to her all the story of her brief but eventful struggle for existence. Her name was Rachel Brooks. It M'as the same old story of genteel poverty in a proud family living in a small town. Rachel had endured it as long as she could and at last when matters in the home had reached a crisis she had come away to the great city »aetermined to make her own living and be independent of every one. She was a beautiful seamstress and at first succeeded in getting work in a large establishment where more than fifty girls were employed. She might have succeeded in providing for all the necessities, small I I .Jon's FlXd'S QfFsTlOX CLASS. 219 as licr ])ny was if she liad not been taken ill after being in the city a few months. The close confinement, the long hours, the insufTicient and coarse food at the cheap boarding-house, the homesickness, the lack of friendly acquaintances all wore upon the girl's sensitive s])irit ;ind one day she lay down tired out in her little room under the roof of tlie boarding house and when she came back to full knowledge of her surroundings she had been ill with fever for two months. What little money she had been able to save was gone for doctors and medicines and attendance. Ilcr place at the estab- lishment was lost. She wandered over the city seeking for work. Her pretty face, even more delicate and refined since her illness attracted notice, and shame be it said of human kind, insult. She grew desperate. There was no help to come from home. Wliy did she not hunt up some good Christian people, go to some church, tell her story to some one of the many benevolent societies in the great city? Surely there are always in Christinu America numbers of warm loving Christian homes and hearts ready to rescue such souls as hers. Yes, but how get the two together? Rachel was lost in that great whirl of humanity. The eager haste and inditfer- ence of the world smote her with desolation. It was a time of great distress for the working wage earning . I* !f 220 JOHN KING'S 3h n« f world. Hundreds of girls like licr were hunting for places. At one establishment wJicro she went in answer to a small advertisement she saw in a paper, she found seventy-five eager, anxious applicants. At la.st her boarding mistress refused to give her any more credit. She had sold every article of any value she possessed and given the inoney she received to her landlady and that afternoon had left the house. She had no -plans. In telling her story to Victoria she could not recall where she went. Near midnight after having walked probably miles without anything to eat, without pro- tection from the cold rain, with a fire of despair eat- ing into her soul she came upon the bridge. She had been there some time before Victoria touched her. In that time the draw had swung around twice. Once she had been at the end next the water when the bridge swung oj>en. She had thought wildly of the peace and rest that might be found at the bottom of the river. Her }>riiin was on fire. Her body reeled and trembled. She v as drenched with the cold, re- morseless rain. She was looking into Hell within and without. There was no God any more. And no heaven. And no love in the world. The universe was a great curse and life was a part of that curse. It was just then that Victoria had touched her QUESTION VLAtil^. 221 !infl spoken to her. If an angel luul appeared to draw her up into the bliss and warmth and rest of heaven, Kac'hel could not have clutched him with more eager- ness. As she turned and took hold of Victoria it seemed to her as though she had already jumped off the bridge and the cold black water would roll over lier forever unless she seized this unexpected deliverer. 80 she elung to Victoria like a drowning person. For the time Ijcing Victoria was God to her. A miracle. And the poor soul sank into the weeks' illness that naturally followed such excitement, conscious all through it of the gentle loving face that bent over her and nursed her back again into the warmth and love and faith she had come so near losing forever out of her heart. One day as she was sitting up and growing stronger with every breath in the atmosphere of Victoria's strong cheerful presence, Rachel said, "I must be getting out to look for work soon. I shall never be able to repay you for your great kind- ness to me." Her eyes filled with tears and over her face began to steal the old anxious look as she looked forward to the renewal of the struggle for existence. "You are not going to leave me at all. That is ' } i 1 1 i , ■I ?: 'i.i i. • 222 JOHN KING'S all settled. You are going to stay here with me until I tell you to go," Victoria spoke with authority. "But you have your father to care for," faltered Rachel, whose heart could not resist the longing to accept the haven of rest which Victoria lovingly of- fered her. "You can help me care for him. You must not say another word. You have come to me in such a way that nothing could satisfy me except your making this your home." Victoria went over and put her arm about Eachel. The girl yielded to her with tears running over the pale face, and from that hour a grout friendship dated, which death itself cannot sever, for it is of thoae friendships that belong to the endless life. After that it seemed to the friends as if they had always known each other. Victoria's father took a wonderful liking to Rachel. She was the gentlest, most thoughtful nurse. Although for a long time she was not strong enough to do the work of a profes- sional nurse she rendered service in other ways such as a hired stranger would not generally give. The most perfect understanding existed between her and Victoria. After a time Rachel found a position and had tlic satisfaction of being financially independent. \ I -5 t 1 QUEl^TION CLA/^'\v as it was in Christ's own life time. ^\on will not ri.iiu' unto Him that they might have eternal life." Question. "Should our love for God l)e like oiif love f(' v->ur (arthly friends?" "Yes. od is a father. We are His children. How else shall we love Him? The love we have fnr Him should be like that we give our '■-arthly friends only greater in degree. For we owe Him more. Ko has done more for us. He is able to do more for us in the great future. Our love for our earthly friends where it is pure and true is just like the lnvi' we should have for God. Don't you remember Chri-t said to those who had visited the sick and fed tli" hungry and ministered to the sinful, 'For as much as ye have done it to one of these least (human beings) my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' Love for humanity is an expression of our love to God. GimI is not so different from U9 that he must be loved in a different manner. He is a father. He is like ii^^. We are like Him. We have the same likeness. We are made in His image. Love is not two things. It is eternally one and the seme. And whenever we love QlESriOX CLASS. 227 witli unselfish, pure, joyful love ouo of our earthly friends we are at the same time loving God. There is no oth^r way to love Ilim." Question. "What is Hell?" "The Bihle speaks of Hell as a place, just as it speaks of Heaven as a place. It also speaks of it as a condition of the soul, a condition of rehellion and of misery, ])rought ahout by a refusal to do the will of God. Hell is the absence of God in the soul whether that soul be in any particular place or not. Hell is a condition where the soul is out of harmony with the will of God." Question. "Is it Christian for society to spend so much time and money in pleasure?" "It certainly is not Christian to spend so much time and money on pleasure as some people in society spend. Pleasure is right and God wants us to have happy, joyful times, but it certainly is not Christian for peo- ple to go night after night to receptions and parties and theaters and balls and concerts without ever visit- ing the poor, caring for the distressed, or helping lift the burdens of a sinful world. I know a woman who moves in society a good deal who was asked one day for her membership fee to some benevolent organiza- tion to which she belonged. 'Oh,' she said to the vis- : ji .■ I 1. ' 'f:|; . 1 « • 228 JOHN KING'S mi ii '] Vj' itor who had come for the money, 'I really i ;imot pay that now. I cannot afford it. You will have to come again at the end of the month.' Tiie next caller was a lady friend, and the society woman be- gan to show her three new dresses that she had just received from Xew York. The least expensive of the in cost one hundred and fifty dollars. That evening with two friends she attended an opera at an expense of foi.r dollars and a half. "When the poor humble vis- itor c^lls for tlie five dollar fee at the end of the month that society woman will give it to her but she will feel as if it was so much money thrown away and she will at the same time feel as if she had done her part for the benevolence of the district and proceed to spend five dollars for something she doesn't need just because it is pretty. There arc hundreds and thousands of people in this city who spend their whole lives in going to parties or entertainments. If they go to church they do it because it's fashionable. If they go to visit the poor they go because it is a fad to visit the poor. Their whole lives are given up to pleasure. If such a use of time and money is Christ- inn then I do not know what Christian is. Of course it Ir-, not Christian. Think of the sewing girls get- ting less than three dollars a week wages, living in QVESTIOX (1LA$iH. 22i) attics, going to ruin because of the devilish competi- tion of the money makers, and then ask yourself if God has not some other and higher uses for humanity and money than the wicked waste of them in selfish pleasures day after day. This is the righteous con- demnation of much of society, that it is not spending its time and money where it is most needed, Init on itself in a continual round of personal pleasures that do not relieve the wants of the world nor make those who seek after pleasure any better able or any more willing to relieve distress or make the world better. Society will have a good deal to answer for at the last great day, not for being criminal or licentious or brutal or wicked, but for an awful waste of two of God's most precious gifts, time and money." Question. "Isn't it true that money can buy almost any thing?" "Xo. It's power is very limited. It can't buy the most valuable and beautiful things in the world. It cannot buy brains, nor common sense, nor virtue, nor character, nor forgiveness of sins, nor love, nor eternal life, nor peace of conscience, nor freedom from death. The purchasing power of money is exceedingly lim- ited. It can buy a great deal that is good as well as a great deal that is bad. It can build churches as I . i ■ ■' '. i ! : I U i :i h 230 JOHN KING'S well as saloons. It can build colleges and endow them as well as erect houses for gambling and vice. But it is powerless to buy the endless things that depend on the eternal character of man. The power of money is seen by what it cannot buy, not by what it can buy." Question. "Is a Christian necessarily perfect?" "No. That is not the definition of a Christian, if by Christian you mean a person who never does anything wrong, who is sinless. A Christian is one who is trying to be like Christ. He is constantly grow- ing better. But he is not necessarily as good as he can be now. He has a great deal to learn and is far from perfection." Question. "What do you think is most in need of reforming in the political life of our country?" "The intense partisanship, which gives rise to a host of evils like the spoils system and unholy alliances with the whisky power and the great trusts in order to gain party votes. If it were not for the narrow partisanship of our political life we might have some hope of municipal reform and a getting together of all good men regardless of party for the common good. But as long as church members and saloon keepers and gamblers all go to the polls and vote the same ticket, what is going to be done to purify the body QVEHTIOy CLASS. 231 politic? And as long as men go into ])olitical life for the spoils of ofnco and regard a good fat salary in the public pay as so nuich jnst reward for their political services, where are the statesmanship and pat- riotism which alone can preserve a nation in righteous- ness? The horde of hungry office seekers at every change of state or national party administration is a living illustration of one of the greatest evils of our political life. And it all comes from a partisanship that puts success of the party above every other con- sideration. There are thousands of men in this coun- try who believe more in their party than in their church. They will give more money and more time and more enthusiasm to their party than they ever give to their church. It can bo truly said of such men they are more partisan than Christian." Question. '*IIow do you account for the increase of lynch law in this country?" "A great deal of it is no doubt due to a growing contempt of the courts and a feeling of distrust as to justice being done owing to many failures to coi- vict and punish the guilty. Then there is also with- out doubt a laxness among the people, especially in some sections of the country which is due to a lack of self restraint taught by Christian training. In very t (. ■ f- 232 JnUli KINOES many sections, tlie religious influences have of late years been fewer. T1h3 black and white in large regions are growing up in ignorance of pure Christianity and for- eign immigration of the lawless element has added to tho peril already existing. There is no remedy for this state of things except a complete regeneration of society through the Christianizing of it in every particular." Question. "Should a young girl from fifteen to seventeen years old keep company with a young man regularly?" "A young girl from fifteen to seventeen years old ought to be keeping company with a good high school or academy or college. A young girl of that age who is regularly thinking about the young men or allow- ing them to keep regular company with her ought to have some good advice from a good mother or father. Or if she has good common sense herself she will see that she ought to be giving her undivided attention to an education, or if for any good reason she cannot go to school, the time between fifteen and seventeen ought to be used as years of preparation for the duties of home life. Of course there are exceptions. Wom- en have been courted and married at seventeen and have made excellent wives and mothers, but as a gen- eral thing with the average girl or young woman it QUESTION r/v.!.vN. ina is quite safe to say that between fifteen and seven- teen slie ouglit not to Ijo keeping regular company with any young man. Slie ouglit to be giving the strength and thought of those years to intellectual de- velopment, undisturbed by sentimental or foolish or premature love affairs." Question. "IIow much of my income ought I to give to benevolence?" "How large is your income? What are your obli- gations? IIow much do you owe? Who is depend- ent on you? I don't know your circumstances. I cannot answer your question definitely. You will have to determine the amount yourself from a consideration of all the facts in your own case, your ability, your opportunities, your responsibility. If you have a large income you probably ought to give a good deal." Question. "What is the greatest temptation to young men in this age and country?" "The temptation to i)lace physical and intellectual or political or financial power in the first place in his ambition to become some one or do somothin Chcse are four great gods of the national world most young men fall down and worship. Aad the greatest temp- tation before them lies in their worshiping these pow- ers £0 constantly that they forget the God of all the JOHN KINO'S d> earth and heaven, their relation to him as immortal souls and the value of the spiritual as compared with the temporal. The great temptation to all youii^' hilh lies along this partieular line. The exalta uiul glorification oi' the material and the ignoring or de- spising of the spiritual or eternal." When A'ictoria and Rachel reached home that even- ing Victoria asked liachel how she enjoyed the Ques- tion Class. "It was splendid!" rei)lied Hachel with an enthusi- asm not commonly shown by her. Victoria was pleased. "I thought you would like it; the peop o so interesting, too, when you come to know them." "Who was the gentleman we met when we first went in? The one who was talking with the minis- ter?" "That was Mr. Bruce. He is quite a famous au- thor." "And his friend, as you said, the one whose right hand is missing, Mr. Howard, what is he?" "Oh, he is a newspaper man. He has charge of one department in Mr. King's new paper." They talked along a little while about different things said, and discussed some of the questions and QUE 1ST ION CLAHa. 235 imous au- answers. At last, after a i)ause, Victoria said, "Do you know, IJachel, it seems a mystery to me that peo- ple can go on giving so mueh of their thought to little things when tho world is so full of human misery. That was the question that touched me most tonight. That one about society spending so much time and money on pleasure." "1 think perhaps that made me think as much as any. But I don't see, Victoria, how I can do very much to help matters any. You are sacrificing some- thing every day. I wish I could do something." "You do. I need you. That may be selfish. But I feel the need of just what you have brought to me." Eachel was silent awhile. Then she said almost timidly, "Sometime you will not bo satisfied with what I can give you. I will not be what you ought to have." "Why not?" asked Victoria innocently. Then she suddenlv seemed to understand what Rachel meant. She went over by the side of Rachel and kneeling down by her side, said with the mosv. charming alfec- tion in tone and manner, "Dear, strange as it may seem to you I have never had a lover. I think it is because my life has been too busy to 'keep regular company' with any one." ill 230 JOHH KING'S '"'"Rut you arc more than seventeen/' said Rachel demurely. "More than seventeen! Why I am going on twen- ty-four. No, no, Kac'hel, you must not be afraid 1 am going to leave you on that account. I have no room for any one but you and father and Victor and my violin. That is as much as a little body like me can manage." And so their talk ended that night. The weeks went by aiKl still therj was little change in the condition of Mr. Stanwood. Finally one even- ing when Victoria was at a concert and Rachel was watching by the sick man the great change came. It was so sudden that Rachel was frightened. The doc- tor was sent for in great haste. But before he could reach the house the frail, sin-smitten diseased body had yielded up its spirit. There had been a gleam of con- sciousness at the last, just the murmuring of his child- ren's names and that was all. Victoria was sent for and left the concert hall knowing that a crisis was at hand. She was not prepared, however, for tlie end at once. It came to her like a sudden blow. She re- proached herself for not being at her father's side, although no one could have foreseen how or when the end would come. Rachel was worth everything to Victoria at this time. QUESTION CLASS. 237 She showed unexpected resources of strength. Vic- toria wished the news sent to Victor. She would cable to London. She sent tuc brief message, "Father died last evening/* and directed it to the care of the rian- ager of the company with which Victor was engaged. It would be more likely to reach him that way. An answer to the cable came the next mornin'^. When it was brought in by Rachel, Victoria was stand- ing by the coffin that contained the body of her father. She took the message and read it, "Victor supposed to be on the Continent. Left my company charged with gambling and forgery.*' Surely Victoria's cup of sorrow was a full one. Even Rachel could not help her at this moment. Tlie girl shut the door softly and went out, leaving Vic- toria alone with her dead, and with her God. a at this time. m m ) it { ""W s I CHAPTER XI. YEAR has passed by since the death of Vic- toria's father. A year filled \ ii large ex- perience and growing usefulness. Into hov life has passed a great sorrow and it has left her noljlcr, sweeter, more compassionate of the world's suffering. The greatest trial she has to bear is the knowledge of Victor's ruin. Since the day when she stood by the cof- fin where Rachel brought her the cable from LondtMi telling of V'^ictor's fall in his old passion Victoria has not heard a word of him. She does not know whether lie is living or dead. She tries to comfort herself wifli the hope that he is repentant and living obscurely but honestly somewhere and that sometime he will come back to her and together they will go on to live a bettor and more happy life. All that is a hope she cherishes. It makes her face serious often. But in spite of all that, it is a face of great beauty. Victoria witliout knowing it has grown beautiful. And to grow beau- tiful without knowing too much about it is the mark of a great and lovable character. Rachel is her constant companion now. The two JOEli KING\^ QUE. ST ION CLASS. 239 live together with a housokocper and a cousin of Vic- toria's father, an elderly woman who came shortly af- ter Mr. Stanwood's death. The two girls, young wom- en they are now, find their lives very full and busy. With all their duties, however, they find time to work in the slum district organized by John King's church, and some of their happiest, most interesting hours are passed in the work. King and Richard Bruce and Tom Howard with other members of the Question Class are frequent workers in the same district. The music classes organized by Victoria are held in the ware- house building where Tom and Richard used to teach night school. The building has been entirely made over now and is a warm, well-lighted commodious place for all kinds of industrial work. To the surprise of every one excepting John King, Rachel proves one of the best workers of them all. Her brief but sharp ex- perience as a sewing girl has given her a knowledge of the trials and temptations of the working girls in the city and she has organized a plan for lielping them which John King thinks may in time revolutionize the condition of the workers who sew for the sweat ehops. One evening after tlie different classes had gone away, Jolin King and Richard, Tom, Victoria and I ■■ I, S40 JOHN KING'S &i|ii Rachel lingered in the Hall to have a little talk to- gether about the worlc of the Institutional Church. Af- ter a little while Tom and Richard began to speak of the old times when they first knew John King. "Remember thv^ first night you came down here, Tom?" "Remember it? Well I should think so!" Tom spoke half seriously, half humorously. "That was thi^ night Dick gave his great untamed sleight of hand show," he went on, turning to Rachel, who had never heard the story of the loss of Tom's right hand. "I helped him. "We shook money out of empty handker- chiefs, baked an omelet in my hat and ruined the hat, picked a handful of matches out of a boy's hair and did all the regulation tricks to a full house. AVo would have scored a complete success if it had not been for that boy ^Con.' " Tom paused thoughtfully and then went on. "You see Dick was up there on the platform and Con, the worst boy I ever knew, even down here, threw an inkstand. It struck Dick right in the face and knocked him over. I thought he was killed and 1 jumped down and went for Con. It was the biggest kind of a fight then. Foot ball was a prize kinder- garten to the scrimmage we had. I don't remem))er QUESTION CLASS. 241 very well how it happened. I was never so full of rage and fight in my life. I know if I could I would have flung that boy through the window over there, sash and all. I know I hoped it would kill him. I was not a Christian then. Well, Con got out his knife and stabbed me right through the palm of my hand. Do you know, Mr. King, I have felt that stab in my hand hundreds of times since the hand .was taken off?" "Very common sensation in case of amputation." "Very uncommonly uncomfortable too, I can tell you. Well, I can remember struggling, and a faint- ness came over me and a blow in the face nearly fin- ished me and I was falling when the door there burst open and Mr. King and some officers rushed in and the Ijoys rushed out, all except Con, who was caught, and tlicn I fainted away. I didn't know anything more until I came to in Mr. King's house." "What became of the boy?" "lie was killed in jail by one of the prisoners. It was a great shock to Tom. Those were wild times, Tom, when the big railroad strikes were on. Remem- ber how I tried to take yaur place on the Daily Uni- verse as special reporter?" "Tried to! You did it. Better than I ever could. hi. tii,r I'ii:! !;| ■li! ■f:'..\ r 242 jouN Kr:o'8 I' A And all that time I lay around useless. I gave Mr. King no end of trouble." "You were a very good sick person, Tom, only your appetite was something alarming when you be- gan to get well." "I should think," said Rachel a little timidly, "that you would dread to come into this room having such memories of it." "Well I would, perhaps," said Tom, "only it has other memories now." The minute he said it he turned red to think that perhaps the rest were think- ing his thought of the pleasant hours spent in the old hall with the new friends and workers, Victoria and Rachel. "I should think the loss of your hand would make it hard for you to carry on your work as a reporter," said Rachel, nervously changing the subject. None of the others seemed to attach any significance to what Tom had said and he replied with a tone of relief, "0, I learned to use my left hand. It was as much as my dearest friend could do, though, to read my efforts. Dick says it was like trying to decipher some of the Egyptian hieroglyphics on the mummy cases in the pyramids." "I^i was worse than that. Miss Brooks," said John QUEHTWy CLAHii. 243 King winking at llichard. "Tom wrote mc a note while he was practicing with his left hand and I don't know to this day whether it was the answer to an in- vitation to dinner or a notice to be read from the pul- pit respecting a special offering for the work done here, I was in such doubt about it that I filed it away in my famou£' Autograph Book and labeled it 'Interesting note froi/i Alexander III., late Emperor of Russia, — written on the eve of the attempt to blow up the winter pal- I '!, ace ) j> "Of course. Miss Brooks," said Tom with a grin, "I have to bear all this because Mr. King and Kichard are jealous of my elegant penmanship. It is a well known fact that ministers and authors write such poor hands that magazines require those two classes of man- kind to typewrite everything they send in for publi- cation. I wish you could see some of my handwrit- ing." Tom pulled up again suddenly as Richard and John King laughed, and Rachel colored a little but looked all the prettier for it. The talk drifted on into plans concerning the work of the Institutional Department of the church and finally they went out, all walking along together up past John King's house. He stopped a few minutes at the steps to chat a little and finally :' - i^ 244 JOHN KINO'S said good night and went in, leaving the young peo- ple with a word of hearty thanks to them for their very efficient help in his beloved church work. "Shall we take tlie cars?" asked Richard, speaking for all four. "Let's walk," said Tom, who always loved the ex- ercise and never rode on the cable ears or in a car- riage or cab when he could help it. So they started for the north side, Richard escort- ing Victoria and Tom giving his arm to Rachel, who was very quiet at first but soon grew quite talkative and even merry as Tom rattled on in his hearty man- ner telling some funny stories in connection with his old work as a city reporter. \Vlien they reached the bridge and started to cru.. But one day at a Club restaurant lie fell in with one of his New York acquaintances, lie was persuaded to take up the cards again. Just a friendly game. lie hesitated, yielded, and fell. I lis course from that day was very rapidly downward. He gambled nightly. Lost heavily. Forged a note of a nobleman who was a semi-professional gambler and fled to the continent. He did not dare hire himself to sing for fear of discovery. lie lived no one knew how. Only every day saw him sinking lower in vice and dissipation. An o})portunity to sail for America came to him just when he was in danger of being arrested for his London crime. Once in Xew York he found himself penniless and completely adrift. It was then that he thought of going to Chicago to bor- row money or get it in some way from Victoria. So low as this had he sunk. He managed to secure his transportation to Chicago. The very day he entered the city an accident had happened to him in one of the streets. He could never tell what it was in detail. The shock of some collision either with a car or a cab had so affected him that in a half dazed condition he had wandered about the city nearly all night. Once he realized that he had fallen down and was lying in a pool of water near a hydrant. How long he had been there 2G4 yfOUN KIXO'S lie (lid not know. Then lis limbs grow nuinl) and cold. He lost all sense of his .surroundings and wlien he came to himself he was in the hospital where Victoria dis- covered him. But it was true that ])aralysis of the up- per part of his body and of the vocal cords had in a moment of time tlirown him a helpless wreck upon tlie care of the world. He could never sing again and lie would never move about again. He was more helpless than a baby. Victoria took him home. There was nothing the hospital could do for him that she could not do. Victor showed no feeling but rage and madness at his con- dition. Victoria shuddered to think that if he had tl.e power of speech he wouM probably use it to curse the day he was born. As time went on his feelings towards his condition did not appear to change. There was pos- sibly a little softening in his manner when Victoria played for him as she always did at the close of the day no matter how tired she might be or what her profes- sional duties had been. Aside from that, he lay there in his room on the chair specially made for him, with ii hard heart and a rebellion against his fate that nuidc the burden of his death in life a terrible thing for his sister to bear. Only her Christian faith came to her at this time to sup{)ort her in the greatest trial of her life. and cukl. 1 lie came ■toria (li>- >f the ii|)- had in a upon tile n and ho 3 lielplesri QiESTfOX CLASS. 265 With it was the love of Richard who now claimed (ho right to share all her burdens. "We will care for him together. It will be a part of my life with yours," he had said at once as soon as Victoria mo'^ed Victor to her house. Victoria had smiled up to Richard through hei' tears and the future was alread ' Iriglit with })eace and hope because there was some one to help lift this soriow. The year had come to its close and the (^)uesti()n Class met for its last meeting at John King's. 11 wa-^ the regular Monday night and happened to be the .31 si of December, Many of the questions were appropriate to the thoughts of the old year. John King said he would save those for the last and answer a few miscel- laneous questions first. Question. "If you had offended a person not mean- ing to do so would you apologize to him for having of- fended him?" "Yr-o. Wiiy not. If I offended some one not mean- ing to, he may not know that I did not intend it. lie may think I did it purposely. If I go to him frankly and tell him it was unintentional it may change his feel- ing towards me and prevent a disagreeable and 'aineces- sary misunderstanding between us. Some people think they must stand upon their rights and never yield an inch unless they are in the wrong. But in a case of un^ V. , f ' 266 JOHN KING'S 1 i intentional oirensc to a person there is nothing to be gained by a proud rei'u;;al to say anything to liie of- fended person. It is true there arc always some people who are continually inuigining slights and insults. They feel so important that they think other peojile are thinking of them all the time. It would be foolish to be continually running to these people and asking their pardon for having ollended them. The best way some- times is to let them alone and say nothing. But in the case of a misunderstanding where one has become of- fended through a misjudgement of your action it wouldn't hurt you and may do much good to apologize. We must remember this. There is no shame or remorse or repentance in such an apology. If you don't mean to offend a person who is offended all you have to apolo- gize for may be possibly a little carelessness or ignorance or haste or something of that sort. Of course if you have once explained matters and the offended person still feels offended in spite of your apology you have done all you can. IJut you will not miss anything to do that. You will be the better for it." Question. "What is the remedy for a person who does not keep the Y. P. S. C. i'^. pledge?'' "Do you mean the remedy for some one else to apply to the person or the remedy for the person to apply to 11^ QVESriOy CLAS8. 2()7 ing to be o the of- ue people ■ insults. 'Cople are 'oolisli to iiig their ny some- lit in ihe come of- ction it pologizo. remorse mean to apolo- norancc ! if you l)erson »u have ling to >i)i himself? There is no remedy for a person wlio l)reaks his word except being I)orn again. But this question is honestly asked no doubt and ought to be seriously answered. There are a good many young })eo}»le who take the pledge in the Endeavor Society without realiz- ing what it means. Just as there are a good many peo- ple who Join the church and never think of their prom- ises to support the church services or do their share of its work. What is the remedy? More })ersonal Chris- tianity. More understanding of the meaning of conse- cration and devotion to the cause of the Kingdom of God. This is not a remedy that can be prescribed and given to the patient like a patent medicine. But a member of the Y. P. S. C. E. who regularly fails to keep the ])ledge is in need of more honesty with himself if he wants to continue as a faithful member of the En- deavor or that particular society. If the person is a member and wants to be a member of the Endeavor it is far more harmful to him to take the Society Pledge and then not keep it than it is never to join the society at all. It is always a harm to character to say you will do a thing, to make a promise and then fail to do it.'' Question. "Is it desirable for a young man to spend so much time in miijicular development or athletic sports?" 208 JO TIN KING'S n ■1 "Xot if the result is the making of mnsclc in a pro- fessional manner. Professional athletes are obliged to keej) at it all their lives if they wish to live. Some of the most noted athletes have died of consumption or heart disease within a short time after they have ceased- to keep up their professional training and the average duration of the i)rofessional athlete's life is far helow that of the average healthy citizen. What is needed by the average man for business, law, medicine, the min- istry, or teaching, is not abnormal biceps or abnormal lungs and heart bnt good sound organs all working harmoniously and well balanced. The longest lived people in the world are ministers and as a rule they are not noted for excessive muscular development. As a rule they live temperate, wholesome, moral lives, do not train any part of the body to excess and are cheerful and contented in spite of small salaries and large drains on vital energy. The best physical training does not have for its object the i,^aking of professional athletes but sound, wholesome, well-proportioned bodies fitted to stand the wear and tear of the ordinary average daily life." Question. "Would you advise a young man to marry before he has made his fortune?" "It depends on the girl he marries, Yes, in most QUESTION CLASS. 209 I I vc ceast'd" cases I should say a young man need not wait until ho has made his fortune. lie ought to be able to support liis wife before he marries. That is, he ought to be al)le to provide a home. That home may be very huml)le l)ut it may be very happy. If the young wife is the right sort of a helpmeet she will wish to assist in mak- ing tlie home happier and more comfortable and useful as her husband's ])usines3 prospers and grows. If I were a young woman I should hesitate to marry a young- man who had waited until he had made his fortune be- fore he asked me to be his wife. I should feel as if lie thought his fortune was worth more tban himself. Thousands of the happiest, best marriages ever known have been those where the young husband and uife have shared together from the start the responsibilities and toils and pleasures of home making." Question. "Ought every girl to know how to keep house?" "Of course. Even the Queen of Holland it is said can prepare a meal and serve it l)etter tlian any of tlie servants in the palace. It does not make any difference how much money a woman may have or how many servants she can hire, not to know how io keep house herself may determine her ]ia])])ineiis as home kfcpor.'' Question. "How soon do you call a person old?" 270 J(iiL\ Kixirs I! 4 *J i |-'^*: "Most anywhere between one and one hundred. Some people are old at twenty-five. Some are young at seventy-five. Some never grow old at all. Years do not make people grow old. It is the heart, the feelings, the within, not the M-ithout. Old age is a purely rela- tive term. I used to think thirty was a mark of grow- ing old. But after reaching and passing that mark I am inclined to put it at fifty or sixty, but I don't want anyone to call me old even then." Question. "What advantage is there in thinking over the past?" "Not any unless the result is to make the future better. The past is full of lessons. If we learn them we shall be better for it. Nations and individuals can learn very much from the history of past experiments, trials, mistakes or ventures. He is the wise man who profits by his experience. The fool is the one who never learns from experience. It is good to go back over a year's history and note where we have failed and been wrong and made blunders and then, not dwelling unnecessarily over what is gone, use the heritage of it all to go on in a stronger, wiser way. The greatest value of the past lies in its directing power for the present and future. Every year sets up its guide posts of warning or direction. To fall into the same pit again QUE ST I ox CLAiiS. 271 or to get lost in the same woods a second time when the past year has plainly marked the safe and right way, is to stumble through life blind and foolish never profiting by that truest of all teachers, Experience." Question. "Do you think it does any good to make New Year's Resolutions?" "Yes, if you keep them. It is good to make good resolutions every day and keep them. A good many people make New Year's Resolutions like church con- ventions or conferences before election and then break them all to pieces when it comes to voting. All the to- days ought to be better than the yesterdays; all the to-morrows better than the to-days. Wliy make so many good resolves on New Year's Day. Why not make them all the year every morning? New Year's resolu- tions are too much like Sunday religion. They won't stand the wear and tear of the market place and the counting room and the rush of the world's traffic." Question. "What is the hope of the world for the New Year?" "The hope of the world for the New Year is the New Life as lived and taught by Jesus Christ. The hope of the world is in the possibilities of Regeneration of Hu- manity. The greatest need of our nation, of our country, of all nations, of all countries, is a need of 272 JOHN KING'S : .f^ W^ ifU^ ;■_ m li I being born again. Tlic most hopeful truth ever tauglit by Christ was the truth of regenerated manhood aiid womanhood. In a Httle wliile, two or three hours, we shall as we mark the sweep of earthly time step over the threshold into a new year. It will mean a great deal to lis if we put oft tlie old man at that time. It will mean every- thing. A new humanity is the only hope of a better world. And a new humanity cannot come to the world except it come through the Christ of God, He is the Hope of the world. He is the "Way and the Truth and the Life." John King paused a moment as he reached the' end of the questions and looked thoughtfully and lovingly around the room. Then the sight of his familiar com- pany touched him deeply: There were Tom and Rachel, Richard and A'ictoria, Miss Fergus and many others, some of them careless, indifferent, thoughtless, and otlicrs noble, prayerful. Christian in heart and purpose, all of tlicm with youth and hope and joy in life. John King's heart went out to them. "It may l)e," he said gently after a pause, "that I may not Ijc with you through this new year. Changes will come to all or many of you. We have asked a greal many questions this year. Xo one knows bettc than myself liow incomplete have been the answers. But 1 H .;f QUEHTIOy VLAHH. 273 hope there is one question we may all ask and answer be- fore we meet again, It is this. "An; I in possession of that eternal life which is the new life of the soul? That is the question. And I can- not answer that for you. You must each one answer that for yourself. ]May God grant you answer it right, and before we say to one another 'I wish you a IIa])]iy New Year.' " The next day Kichard was sitting in the room which Tom and he had used now for sometime as a common work slio}). lie was finishing a new story. It had cost him the hardest work of his life. For three years he had toiled over it and this New Year's day he had the satisfaction of putting the final touches to the manu- fccrii)t. It lay in a good sized pile before him and he leaned back in his chair and looked at it thoughtfully. Ilis mind went back to his first attempt and his strug- gles to get a publisher. The same ideal in writing still possessed him. But he had now an added enthusiasm in his love for Victoria. ^'I wonder what she will tiiink of it?" he kept saying to himself. He had not told her yet. Tie wished to make her a little surprise. So Rich- ard was a very hapjty i)crson that morning as he finally rose and after his old habit began to walk up and down the room talking to himself. Tom had gone out early 274 JOHN KING'S on some business and the two were jilanning to go and see King a little while in the evening. He had invited them to a little company, he said. It was very select and he wanted Richard and Tom to wear their best clothes and be as entertaining and handsome as possible. The boys were accustomed to King'.^ humor, but they knew from the way he spoke that they would meet some specially interesting people. Suddenly the door burst open and Tom entered. lie walked right up to his old chum and said — "Dick, will you be best man at a wedding pretty soon?" "What!" cried Richard holding Tom off at arm's length. Then he answered with an imitation of Tom's manner, "Well, T will if I'm not otherwise engaged I" Then in his own manner; "Tom, is it congratulations? Shall 1 wish you and Rachel a Happy New Year?" "Yes, only you must say Rachel and you. Always mention the most important first. Dick, I don't know just how I brought it around but Rachel told me this morning that she was willing, seeing it was me, to change her name from Brooks to Howard. I must have acted like a fool or an idiot but Rachel seemed to under- QLESTIOX C'L.LS'-S'. *■ 1 fl stand what I wanted. She's the brightest girl I ever saw )> "Tom, I believe if the truth were known Eacliol had to do the proposing!" "It's false!'' shouted Tom. "I was as bold as a man walking up to a Krupp gun loaded with dynamite." Tom was bursting with excitement and Richard never saw him so wonderfully happy. He pulled out of his overcoat pockets a lot of toys and laid them on the table. Eichard laughed until he cried at the sight. Tom com- ing home from his interview with Kachcl had not been able to contain himself. Eunning across a peddler of comic toys he had bought two pockets full. There was a tin monkey that would climb up a string if another string was pulled. There was a mouse made of brass that ran around on the floor in a very lifelike way. And a small cat that when wound up chased a mouse by clock work. There was a snake made of joints of wood and rubber that turned around the leg of a chair in a very serpentine fashion, and a great tin spider that crawled backward and forward over the table. Tom set them all going and laughed and laughed with Eichard until his curious excitement was worked oiT. Then suddenly he swept the toys up into a corner of (lie room, threw the cushion of a elixir over them and said — IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I 1.25 JffllM ilM ■"■ 'ilM |||||22 m ^ IM 1.6 1.4 ' y >^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4303 5> .j^. '•■ €P. . 4 Ua i h. 27G J0/7.y KING'S "Dick, you must think I am crazy. JJut I never proposed to a girl before and tliis lias upset mo. But Dick, Dick, T am the happie.^t man in tlie city." "I claim that distinction," rc})lied Kicliard. "Oh, well, yours is an old claim. No, you can't be as happy as I am. Miss Stanwood is a genius and you arc a genius. Now geniuses can't love each ollio* as much as common people like me and Rachel." "You mean Rachel and me." "Of course. And I didn't mean to call her a com- mon person either. Why Dick, she — '* "Yes, everything will be 'she' now," replied Richard laughing. Tom sobered down at once. All the excitement and the fun vanished. He sat down and after a while said, "Dick, if I did blunder in the asking I know enough to know that the greatest blessing that ever came into my life has come now. I thank God he has so filled my life with this happiness. And in Ilis sight I mean to be worthy of it." "God has been very good to us both, old fellow." Richard threw his arm over Tom's shoulder as they sat near together and if there was a hint of moisture in the e^es of these two grown up young men no one s^w it QUESTION CLASS. 277 it 1 never me. But 5> (1. u can "t be s and you oilier as 3r a coiii- except the eye of the tin spider .vhich peeped out from under one corner of the cushion. On the way to John King's that evening Tom said, "Dick, we ought to tell John King the news and engage him in advance. He's awfully busy in June." "June! You don't mean to say Rachel will marry you this year?" "She will if I ask her," said Tom boldly. "I never believed in long engagements." Richard laughed and when the two reached the min- ister's house he insisted that Tom should break the news seeing he had mentioned it. They were early and the other guests had not ar- rived. John King was alone. His sister was superin- tending some work in the other room. "Come before the fire," he said after hats and over- coats had been removed. They sat down and John King at once said, "An open fire is the most home like thing I know." Richard nudged Tom as an indication that this was a good opening for the news of his engagement. Tom shuffled nervously in his chair and then said, to Rich- ard's discomfiture, "Have you heard the news, Mr. King, of Miss Stan- wood's engagement?" 278 JOHy KING'S "No," said King turning around quickly. "To what company? Is she going to leave Chicago?" "Company!" ejaculated Tom. "Oh, I see. Why to the Richard Bruce company, Limited." King sat up and looked over at Richard with an im- pulsive look of very great delight. "Bruce, is that a fact?" "Yes, sir, very much so." "Then I congratulate you on having won the most lovely young woman in all Chicago." "I don't know about that," put in Tom. "I won't fight over it though." King looked over at Tom with another gleam of light in his great dark eyes. "Well, well, to think of you two fellows going olT together in this way. Oh, you needn't tell me, Tom. I don't need to be knocked down to take a hint. Only I don t believe the pretty Miss Rachel said yes so very long ago or I should have known it before this." "She proposed to Tom this morning, Mr. King," said Richard, "and Tom couldn't help himself." "Didn't want to either," replied Tom. "Boys," said King rising and standing before the fire. "I am not used to talking without manuscript QfLSTION CLASS. 270 and this news takes nic unprepared. I don't know juot what to say." "You might propose three cheers and a tiger," sug- gested Tom. Just then the bell rang and King said, ''Give me time to think it over. Meanwhile, dear fellows, you have my heartiest congratulations. The other guests have arrived. I think you know them." Richard and Tom rose as the figures came into the fire lit room. They had been looking so hard at the fire that they could not secfvcry distinctly. Then John King said with great formality, "Miss Stamvood, Mr. Bruce. Miss Brooks, Mr. Howard. I believe vou have met before." For a minute they all stood there solemn- ly and then Tom. said, "Happy to make your aciiuaint- ancc, Miss Brooks." Something in his tone was so irre- sistibly funny that Victoria's pure sweet laughter was instantly caught up by all of them and just then Jolin King's sister announced dinner. "Come," said King with his most deliglitful hearti- ness, "come, Victoria. I am old enough to say so, j\Iiss Stanwood, to-night. Victoria and Bichard, you may sit here, and Rachel and Tom, you may sit liere." After grace had been asked King looked at tlie very happy faces and said, "It looks as if I had planned this 280 JOHN KING'S meeting, but honest now I didn't. 1 had invited three or four other members of our Institutional Class but at the last moment they sent word they could not come." "Do you feel very sorry, sir?" asked Tom. "I'll try to be reconciled to their absence, Tom." "So will we," said Tom with a look at Rachel. "The old, old story," murmured John King as he sat there delighted with this company of happy lovers, "Heaven grant they may have many Happy New Years in the love of their true hearts and the service of God." What is the end of our story is really the beginning of the story of our characters. Victoria and Kachel were married at Victoria's house in June, as Tom had suggested. It was a quiet wedding occasion and of course John King was the minister. Tom and Rachel began housekeeping in one of the suburbs. Victoria after her marriage left the public stage and gave her great musical talent entirely for the relief of the dis- tressed and suffering and sinful. Richard and she worked together in the dark places of humanity and gave of their best and choicest for the blessing of the world, and always in their home there was the burden calmly and lovingly borne of the wreck of Victor. Every night of her life Victoria i)layed for him. The music seemed to quiet his restless rage of soul but did Qf i:sTlOX CLA^S. 281 itud tlireo 1S8 but at )t conic." j> om. ig as lie y lovers. w Years >f God." ginning liacJiel om had and of Rachel '^ictoria ve her le dis- d she y and of the urden 'ictor. The it did not seem to cliange him. The burden was always the same. It remained in the home life of these two cliiidren of God and the Master's strength upheld them in it all. The evening of the last day of the year was drawing to its close when Victoria and Richard who had been sitting before the fire after tea heard steps outside and presently the bell rang and Rachel and Tom came in. The visits between the friends were frequent and they drew up chairs about the fire and chatted over old times as the approaching New Year carried them back to the events of a year ago. "Is it truo; Mrs. Howard," inquired Richard, "that Tom was so confused about a year ago tomorrow tiiat he didn't know what he was talking about?" Rachel, prettier than ever, turned to Tom and said, "Tom, what did you tell Mr. Bruce that morning?" "Honest now, I didn't tell him anything in detail- only— that I was an idiot and that wasn't any news to Dick." "An idiot! After you left me?" "Of course!" said Tom boldly. "I am always out of my mind away from you." They were all laughing in the lightness of their hearts over this not very serious talk when the bell rang again and soon John King was ushered in. 282 JO//A' KING'S "What! Firelight! No, don't light up for mo. Let me sit here and grow young where you young poo- pie can't see my grey hairs." So they widened the circle and let him in and King led them to bring \\\) the old times and noted it witli great pleasure as the light revealed the pure develop- ment of face and soul in each one of his young friends. Finally Victoria arose and went into the next room where Victor lay. She was gone several moments and at last to the surprise of the rest she came back wheeling Victor. "I asked him if he didn't want to come out here to- night" Victoria whispered to Richard as she bent down over him. "And he said yes." She began to play while the rest sat in the firelight and the pale set face of the once proud liandsome Victor stared out of its reclining position with the firelight glancing on it so that John King from his position was the only one of the company who clearly caught any glimpse of it. Victoria played, as she always did, with a tenderness and pathos that had lost but little since the day of her public triumphs. To-night she played something of her own composing. It was a prayer. The friends sat in perfect silence. John King had his hands clasped QVESTION VL.USH. 283 over liis k-.c>c. The fire danced on the wall. Tlie iiiiisic seemed to be a part of the li-ht. Victor's face lay white and unmoved as always. Suddenly as John Kin