MAN 
 
 CYRUS 
 
 TOWNSEND 
 
 BRADY
 
 -
 
 THE BETTER MAN
 
 She lifted her face to him and kissed him lightly 
 
 (Page 68}
 
 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 With Some Account of What He Struggled 
 for and What He Won 
 
 BY 
 
 CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY 
 
 Author of "The Island of Regeneration," "The Patriots," 
 "My Lady's Slipper," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 F. GRAHAM COOTES 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1910
 
 Copyright, 1910, by 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 Published September, 1910
 
 TO 
 
 MARIA DUDLEY BRENT 
 
 AND HER ABLE AND DEVOTED COADJUTORS 
 IN THE BEST WOMEN'S GUILD ON EARTH 
 
 2225253
 
 PREFACE 
 
 GENTLE READER: 
 
 Now that I have completed my book I confess 
 I am in some doubt as to which one in this little 
 sociological study is the better man after all. I 
 am nearly inclined to write the title with an in- 
 terrogation mark but that it would imply too great 
 an incertitude as to my clerical brethren! After 
 all, I think I have arrived at a decision in the 
 premises, although nothing shall induce me to 
 divulge it. You will have to settle the matter 
 for yourselves, dear friends, if you decide that 
 there is a question at all, and, being so, whether 
 it is worthy your serious consideration. 
 
 Incidentally, you can also come to a conclusion, 
 after you have determined to whom the title of 
 my novel applies, as to which was the happier 
 man. And here again you should not make your 
 final decision lightly or unadvisedly. So many
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 things alike enter into true happiness and real suc- 
 cess that of two men it is by no means easy to 
 resolve a doubt as to which is happier or better 
 after all. 
 
 CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY. 
 
 St. George's Rectory, 
 
 KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI, 
 September, 1910.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 BARMORE VS. STEERING FOR THE 
 HEART OF WHARTON 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE FOOLISHNESS OF PROVERBS . . 3 
 
 II. KISSES TAKEN AND BLOWS RECEIVED . 39 
 
 III. THE DEAD HAND ON THE LIVING HEAD 73 
 
 IV. Two GREAT MATTERS ARE MOOTED . 99 
 V. BROKEN, BUT BINDING 125 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 STEBBING VS. BARMORE FOR THE 
 METROPOLITAN SEE 
 
 VI. MARK STEBBING PLEADS FOR OTHERS 
 
 AND HIMSELF! 165 
 
 VII. LIONEL BARMORE RESPONDS TO THE 
 
 APPEAL 199 
 
 VIII. FOUND WANTING . . . . . . 219 
 
 IX. THE CHOICE Is NOT YET .... 237 
 
 X. THE COURAGE IN THE STREET . . . 255 
 
 XI. THE COURAGE OF CONFESSION . . . 277 
 XII. IN WHICH ALL Is SETTLED IN THE ONLY 
 
 WAY 299
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 She lifted her face to him and kissed him 
 
 lightly (page 68) Frontispiece 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and 
 burst into tears Facing page 62 
 
 Her delicate hands hovered over her 
 
 hair, her dress " "182 
 
 " I am going to marry you," said the 
 girl, "when you are well again" 
 (page 304)
 
 BOOK I 
 
 BARMORE VS. STEBBING FOR THE HEART OF 
 WHARTON
 
 THE BETTER MAN 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FOOLISHNESS OF PROVERBS 
 
 THE way to perpetuate a folly is to enshrine it 
 in a maxim. To promulgate a lie it is suggested 
 that it shall be made the basis of a proverb. A 
 proverb may be defined as the wisdom of the fool- 
 ish, in tabloid form, for the delectation of the 
 more foolish. Cases in point occur to the most 
 casual reader. In every human mind there is a 
 horde of petty maxims with which to preach down 
 the truth. 
 
 Miss Margaret Wharton was a living example 
 of the fallacy of the often mooted proposition 
 that " The woman who hesitates is lost! " 
 
 If there ever was any foundation in fact for 
 that sententious but trifling aphorism, its perti- 
 nency depends upon many other things than in- 
 decision and delay. Most people will refuse to
 
 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 admit this, and will confidently affirm that the 
 remark is true in ninety-nine cases out of a hun- 
 dred provided the cause of feminine hesitation is 
 a man ! Even the wise man who can discern the 
 possible, nay, probable fallacy in almost any given 
 proposition, finds it difficult to escape from the 
 trammels of convention, the swaddling bands of 
 custom, and the fetters of habit. Granting, for 
 sake of argument, that feminine hesitation over 
 the masculine is disastrous, another orphic saying 
 is responsible for the prevalent opinion that 
 " There is safety in numbers." Therefore, the 
 proverb under consideration should read : " The 
 woman who hesitates, not over a man but over 
 men, is on the way to salvation." 
 
 With Miss Margaret Wharton it was hardly a 
 case of how happy could I be with one were the 
 other dear charmer away, for at least one of the 
 two gentlemen upon whom her thoughts were 
 bent could not be included in that category, what- 
 ever might be said of the other. This, however, 
 was, of course, a mere matter of taste. 
 
 The women of his congregation found the Rev.
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 5 
 
 Lionel Dana Barmore everything that was delight- 
 ful, and even the fastidious Miss Wharton could 
 not but acknowledge his grace and charm. He 
 had ability to correspond with his birth and breed- 
 ing, and a personality with which to sustain his 
 exalted position as Rector of the greatest, the rich- 
 est, and the most famous parish in the city; and 
 he was a very possible candidate for that vacancy 
 in the Episcopate, which the ill-health and ad- 
 vanced years of the noted prelate who had led 
 the forces of the Church in the metropolis for so 
 long a time, indicated would soon be made. To 
 these attractions of the young clergyman, so in- 
 adequately set down in this passing catalogue, were 
 added youth and a fortune, small, but sufficient to 
 give the young man a pleasing independence of 
 his Vestry and the congregation. 
 
 Before no clergyman in the country was so 
 great a future opening as that which the fickle 
 goddess of fortune was disclosing to Barmore. 
 His rise had been so rapid as to have been almost 
 unprecedented. Where other men of his semi- 
 nary class were just beginning careers and look-
 
 6 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 ing hopefully forward to promise of future suc- 
 cess, he had already achieved it. Five years be- 
 fore, after four years at Columbia and three years 
 at the " General," he had been ordered Deacon 
 and called as assistant at St. Hilda's. There, in 
 due course, he had been priested, and there he 
 had spent the whole period of his ministry. Ris- 
 ing successively, by resignation and removal of 
 those ahead of him, to senior assistant, upon the 
 sudden death of the old Rector, he had been 
 unanimously elected to take his place. 
 
 He was the marvel of the other clergy, and the 
 envy of the hard-worked majority who were com- 
 pelled by circumstances, which they vainly strove 
 to control, to continue serving in humbler and 
 less eminent fields. Barmore was one of those 
 about whom Miss Wharton stood hesitant that 
 afternoon the charming one! 
 
 One of Barmore's classmates, who rejoiced un- 
 der the almost puritanical name of Mark Stebbing, 
 also had secured work in the great city at the same 
 time with his more favored brother. This was 
 the other of the pair under consideration the one
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 7 
 
 who was not charming! Stebbing, too, had been 
 first called as an assistant in a large parish, but he 
 had not risen like Barmore. In fact, to the casual 
 eye, he appeared to have fallen. Not finding 
 himself cut out for the subordinate position, recog- 
 nizing that he was totally devoid of that tact 
 which would make him a favorite with the nu- 
 merous Daughters of Heth in the congregation, 
 who, as a flock, made him very weary, indeed, of 
 shepherding; lacking patience entirely to fit him- 
 self to such a fashionable environment as that 
 presented, he had presently resigned his assistant- 
 ship as soon as he was priested, and had sought 
 work elsewhere in the city. 
 
 One of the finest of our Presidents was asked 
 on the eve of his leaving office how it felt to step 
 down and out. " Sir," replied he to his inter- 
 locutor, " you have miscalled the action. I am 
 stepping up, sir, up to the people." Stebbing 
 was like that President, not in urbanity, oh! no, 
 but in the direction of his step. 
 
 St. Osmund's Church was an old, mean, 
 wretched, tumble-down structure in a part of the
 
 8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 city once fashionable. Its former denizens had 
 been dispossessed, first by business, and then by 
 workers. When the rich and wealthy had moved 
 uptown, they had taken their religion with them, 
 leaving their church behind a not unusual state 
 of affairs! No one wanted to be the Rector of 
 St. Osmund's Church. It was the most uninvit- 
 ing position in the Diocese. Among the people 
 surrounding it were many foreigners; they were 
 lawless, turbulent, disorderly, and in many cases 
 exceedingly vicious. Barmore with all his talent 
 would not have looked at the work for a moment. 
 Stebbing, irritated by the conditions which irked 
 him and which he could not change in his former 
 position, eagerly took this up. He volunteered 
 for it, in fact. He went to old Bishop Went- 
 worth, who was in despair as to what to do about 
 a work which, for very shame's sake, could not 
 be completely abandoned. The Bishop looked 
 him over with those keen blue eyes of his, which 
 plunged so deeply into men, and stared at him in 
 hard silence for a short space. By and by he 
 nodded his head and gave the desired permission.
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 9 
 
 " You are young, hot-blooded, inexperienced, 
 but you will do. The people to whom you will 
 minister like genuine men, and they will put up 
 with a good deal of tactlessness and stupidity from 
 a man. I believe you to be that, Stebbing, and 
 you may go there. Now, there are half a dozen 
 men in the Diocese whom you do not know the 
 Whartons, the Grimshaws, the Uptons, and some 
 exceedingly fine women like the Wallers and the 
 Kings, and others to whom I shall give you letters, 
 and who will help you out with this work. 
 You will need a great deal of money at this 
 place to fix up the church, which has been 
 sadly run down since old Dr. Crosby died a 
 year ago, and to develop schools and other 
 institutional work, which you will doubtless 
 organize." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Stebbing firmly, 
 " I don't want a dollar from anybody." 
 
 " What I " exclaimed the Bishop, a clergyman 
 who did not want money for his work being an 
 unthinkable being to the old man. 
 
 " Not a dollar ! I am going down there to get
 
 io THE BETTER MAN 
 
 everything we need out of the people who are 
 there." 
 
 " There are no people there." 
 
 " Why, sir, every street teems with humanity." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said the Bishop ; " but they do 
 not belong to us." 
 
 " To whom do they belong, then? " 
 
 "God only knows!" 
 
 " I'll try to find out from Him, sir, if some of 
 them can't be allotted to me." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me you are not going to 
 try to get money from the wealthy end of the 
 town to build up the other? " 
 
 " Not a cent. If you offered me a thousand 
 dollars to start in, I wouldn't take it. I am going 
 down there, sir, to lead those people who live 
 there, and to teach them that they can get just 
 what they are able to pay for, and nothing else." 
 
 " But your salary, your living? " 
 
 " I have a few hundred dollars saved up, 
 Bishop. The people where I was assistant were 
 very good to me at Christmas, and there are two 
 or three rooms in the old parish house that I can
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS n 
 
 fix up. I guess I'll have as much to live on as 
 most of the people down there." 
 
 " Are you going to live as they do? " 
 
 " Just exactly. Except that I am going to be 
 clean and decent, and try to make them so, but 
 there is to be no luxury." 
 
 The Bishop looked at him for a long time. 
 
 " My boy," he said, " I am an old man. I 
 shall soon be called upon to account for the things 
 I have done and the things I have left undone in 
 this life. I thank God that I have seen a spirit 
 like yours in this world." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I hope to make my plans 
 work out all right." 
 
 " If they do, there is nothing on earth you can- 
 not achieve. I would almost say nothing in 
 Heaven." 
 
 " I don't know about that, sir, but what you 
 are pleased to call my spirit will last as long as 
 I do, please God." 
 
 " Amen," said the Bishop. 
 
 Between Barmore and Stebbing, as between two 
 opinions, Miss Wharton halted. Wisdom in-
 
 12 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 clined her in one direction, admiration in the other. 
 Miss Wharton was a member of Barmore's 
 church. Her father, old General Bideford Whar- 
 ton, was the senior warden and treasurer of the 
 church. He could easily himself have paid the 
 expenses of St. Hilda's parish, heavy though they 
 were, without feeling it. His associates in the 
 Vestry, all men of great wealth and high standing, 
 would not have allowed him to do that, even if 
 the parishioners would not have objected, so easy 
 is it to be generous when one hand does not know 
 what the other hand does, and need not know, 
 were one as many-armed as Briareus. 
 
 There is a great deal of talk about the idle rich. 
 The adjective is a misnomer. The rich are the 
 busiest people on earth. As to what many of 
 them are busy about, the least said the better. The 
 generation to which General Wharton belonged 
 was busy and troubled, like Martha, with many 
 things. 
 
 General Wharton had inherited great wealth, 
 great wealth, that is, according to the standard of 
 sixty-odd years ago, when he had been born. The
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 13 
 
 income of the Wharton family at that time would 
 scarcely have sufficed for the demands of any in- 
 dividual of it by the time Bideford Wharton had 
 reached mature years. The genius, financial and 
 administrative, which had laid the foundations of 
 the Wharton fortune, had descended with the re- 
 sults they had secured to the General. Not only 
 was he the leading communicant of St. Hilda's, 
 but he was the leading citizen of the great city. 
 He had irons in many fires, and kept them all 
 burning brightly. He was president of the great- 
 est bank, the head of the most important railroad 
 system, and the principal owner of the enormously 
 valuable franchise of the Rapid Transit Company, 
 which gridironed every street in the city with its 
 tracks. 
 
 There was one place where he was not an im- 
 portant member, and that was on the Stock Ex- 
 change. His business enterprises were purely 
 legitimate, according to his lights. He did not 
 speculate. He had never forced the price of the 
 loaf up, or the size of the loaf down, by cornering 
 wheat. When he took hold of railroad property
 
 i 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 it was to rehabilitate it. He managed the affairs 
 of the Rapid Transit Company to the general satis- 
 faction of his fellow-citizens. He was not a phi- 
 lanthropist in his business enterprises, however. 
 He made his money work for him, and he made 
 his men work for him, too. He was a fair and 
 square business man. Nobody could point the 
 finger of scorn at him or speak of his actions, 
 public or private, with sneering contempt. Yet 
 he had about as much of the real love of God in 
 him as one of the stone pillars of the church of 
 which he was a human counterpart. 
 
 What he lacked in that particular, his daughter 
 Margaret had in large measure. There was not 
 an opportunity open to the golden girls of to-day 
 that Margaret Wharton could not have enjoyed. 
 There was no fad to which the feminine mind 
 could apply itself which she could not have made 
 her own. Her father was generous to a fault 
 with her, and was genuinely distressed over the 
 strangely democratic tendencies he detected in the 
 career which she rather obstinately pursued. In- 
 stead of having had the originality tutored out of
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 15 
 
 her by private instruction, she had gone to Smith 
 College, and had lived at Northampton like the 
 other young women there, neither astonishing the 
 college with her riches on the one hand, nor on 
 the other hand making any parade of poverty or 
 renunciation. 
 
 She was too young and full of life not to take 
 a reasonable degree of pleasure in that most ex- 
 alted society which was opened to her on her 
 graduation. Her debut had been the talk of the 
 continent, for instance, and she at once took the 
 natural position which was hers by right of birth, 
 breeding, character, and unlimited resources. She 
 had, nevertheless, unaccountable propensities for 
 seeing the other side of life, not with the idle gaze 
 of the spectator, but to acquire knowledge which 
 she could by and by make use of. She realized 
 she was an extremely able young woman that one 
 reason why the efforts of those who strove to 
 bring about social reform and to ameliorate exist- 
 ing conditions failed was because they did not 
 know what they would be at. Knowledge was 
 power. Being a well brought up girl, she
 
 16 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 naturally turned to the Church for a source of 
 information, and found there conditions to hand. 
 Among other excellent things for which St. 
 Hilda's was responsible was a splendid social 
 settlement, so admirably designed, so completely 
 equipped, so generously administered, that abso- 
 lutely nothing was left to be desired. The brand- 
 new mission settlement house was not very far 
 from St. Osmund's Church. It was, in fact, just 
 outside of the parochial limits of Stebbing's cure, 
 and it was a continual thorn in the flesh to that 
 young man. There was, in the first place, a con- 
 descension about it which irritated him. He radi- 
 cally condemned those persons like Margaret 
 Wharton, who were under no necessity whatso- 
 ever, but who craved a sort of spiritual diversion, 
 and who came there from time to time to do what 
 was possible among the poor people, who, as Steb- 
 bing bitterly phrased it in his own mind, resorted 
 thither for loaves and fishes, for amusement and 
 entertainment, for the benefits and privileges of 
 warmth, light, color, and instruction, for which 
 they paid nothing and valued accordingly.
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 17 
 
 At St. Osmund's Church it was different. There 
 was warmth and light there, but there was little 
 color for which the people could pay. Practically 
 single-handed and alone, with only some slight as- 
 sistance from the people themselves, Stebbing or- 
 ganized his parish under great difficulty. They 
 had superb music over at St. Hilda's mission, 
 very pleasant to hear. The boys who sang were 
 given their board, clothes, and instruction in re- 
 turn for their labor. Stebbing's boys sang for 
 love. Love is the power which moves the world, 
 but it does not train voices, and it cannot of neces- 
 sity sing. Poor Stebbing had as much music in 
 his voice as a cow has, though there was plenty 
 of music in his soul, but his boys loved him, and 
 his people did also. 
 
 Miss Wharton had, after a time, become inter- 
 ested in what she heard from the people at the 
 mission-house of the solitary soldier of Christ 
 across the way. She spoke to her own Rector 
 about him. 
 
 " Stebbing," said Barmore judiciously, " is one 
 of the best fellows on earth able, enthusiastic,
 
 i8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 tactless as the proverbial bull in the china shop, and 
 impractical in the last degree." 
 
 "Why don't you make St. Hilda's help him, 
 back him up ? " 
 
 " Help him, Miss Wharton ! " returned Bar- 
 more; "I have offered to do it a hundred times. 
 The Bishop and he had a long talk about that 
 mission, and Stebbing told me that the Bishop 
 offered to furnish him with a number of letters to 
 some of the wealthy people from whom he might 
 get assistance. But he absolutely refused to use 
 them. Said that the people down there must pay 
 for what they get. They couldn't have anything 
 but what they paid for, and he thought that, in 
 that way, they would appreciate it." 
 
 " All very fine in theory, but does it work in 
 practice? " asked the woman. 
 
 " Certainly not. That is why I started St. 
 Hilda's mission down there. I felt that the poor 
 people were neglected, that we were not giving 
 them all they should have. It was hard on poor 
 old Mark, whom I love like a brother, and whom 
 I hate to hurt. I went to him and begged him
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 19 
 
 to undertake it, and let me and my parish back 
 him up, but when he positively said no, and con- 
 sidering the slow progress that he was mak- 
 ing " 
 
 "He does make progress, then?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, some ; in five years of hard work he 
 could hardly help that. But I felt there was not 
 enough being done, and what was done, not on 
 the right lines. So I started our mission. You 
 yourself have seen the good it does." 
 
 "Yes," said the girl, "there is no denying it; 
 but isn't there something to be said for Mr. Steb- 
 bing's position? " 
 
 " Everything to be said, but that is as far 
 as it goes. The church has to be brought to 
 those people, to be forced upon them, as it were. 
 We must go out and compel them to come 
 in, you know. I trust I make my meaning 
 clear." 
 
 There was no doubting the genuine sincerity of 
 the man and his enthusiasm. There was worldly 
 wisdom in his conclusions. There were few men 
 who could be as convincing and yet as winning.
 
 20 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Yet the woman was not quite convinced, or even 
 won. 
 
 " Are you often there yourself, Mr. Barmore, 
 at the mission, I mean? " 
 
 " As often as I can be. You know the Rector 
 of a parish like this is simply overwhelmed with 
 work, socially and every other way. But for- 
 tunately, I have excellent assistance, and if I can 
 only get a few more lay helpers I shall be all 
 right young women of the congregation, young 
 women of social position like you, Miss Wharton, 
 who have everything and still do not think it be- 
 neath them to work with the poor and needy and 
 humble. Nothing, not even my election as Rector, 
 has pleased me so much as your volunteering to do 
 this work. It is a most glorious example. I 
 can't thank you enough. I believe it is going to 
 mark the beginning of a new era for St. Hilda's. 
 When the daughter of Bideford Wharton is will- 
 ing to lead, no one can hang back." 
 
 He spoke with a fine glow of enthusiasm. The 
 girl had never known how handsome and agree- 
 able he was till now. She had admired his bril-
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 21 
 
 liant oratory, his acuteness of mind, from the 
 simple vantage ground of a pew, but this mission 
 work had brought her in closer touch with him. 
 She saw him often in his study. She had even 
 gone with him to the mission-house. He had 
 given her instruction as to the possible work. 
 Naturally, he was a frequent visitor and a welcome 
 one at General Wharton's house. The General 
 was an old-fashioned American. He had a deep- 
 rooted prejudice against the foreign alliances to 
 which the daughters of the American millionaires 
 usually look forward. He would have been glad 
 to welcome such a man as Barmore with such 
 talent, such a reputation, and such a future, as a 
 son-in-law. He said nothing of this, of course, 
 but his daughter divined it, and it did not make 
 her look with any added disfavor upon what 
 speedily became an open, ardent, tactful, and ex- 
 ceedingly charming wooing on the young minis- 
 ter's part. 
 
 What might have happened if Margaret Whar- 
 ton had not met Mr. Stebbing personally can easily 
 be imagined. A girl with her lofty ideals and
 
 22 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 with her nature, ability, and fine training would 
 have rejoiced at the opportunity of service pre- 
 sented by a marriage with a man like Barmore. 
 Socially he was everything that could be desired. 
 His own fortune, small though it was, gave him 
 a sense of independence; he mingled on terms of 
 perfect equality with the finest young men of her 
 acquaintance. He belonged to the best clubs, 
 drove his own car, spent his vacation where the 
 majority of the members of his church were ac- 
 customed to pass the summer, yet withal he never 
 neglected his work at St. Hilda's. That church 
 had made no mistake in calling him. Always a 
 fashionable church, with its high position it had 
 become even more so since he had taken the place 
 of the old Rector. There was not a pew to be 
 had for love or money, and the waiting list was 
 long and anxious. The church was regularly, 
 morning, afternoon, and evening, crowded to its 
 capacity. As may be imagined, Barmore was the 
 most talked-of and influential clergyman of his 
 .day. 
 
 .Why shqul4n\ she many him, she thought as
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 23 
 
 she scanned a short note just received, which asked 
 the privilege of calling upon her that afternoon 
 upon business of great importance to him, and, he 
 hoped, to her, the nature of which she could pos- 
 sibly divine. Margaret was not extremely young. 
 She had graduated at twenty-two, and she had been 
 four years out of college. It was for no reason 
 but her own fancy, for she could have been mar- 
 ried in her first season. No one, strange to say, 
 had ever awakened in her breast that divine thrill 
 of which she had read. In her ignorance of any 
 such experience she had fancied, from the descrip- 
 tions of it, that it was a mere fictional touch which 
 was used by authors of stories of the heart. She 
 sat in the library of the great house, trying by 
 whatever means lay in her power to determine 
 accurately her sensations at the prospect before 
 her. 
 
 For a human being in the day and age of tele- 
 phones to enjoy an uninterrupted five minutes for 
 meditation is unusual, to say the least. She had 
 not decided whether the warm glow around her 
 heart and the faint blush which suffused her cheek
 
 24 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 were sufficient indication of a great passion to en- 
 able her to accept the proffer of his affections, 
 which Barmore would surely make that afternoon, 
 or not, when the telephone bell tinkled with its 
 usual imperious and vulgar self-assertion and in- 
 terrupted her thoughts. The interruption, how- 
 ever, was rather welcome. Indecision always re- 
 joices in a reasonable excuse for the postponement 
 of the solution of a problem. She laid Barmore's 
 letter down on the table and picked up the tele- 
 phone. 
 
 "Hello! "she began. 
 
 A voice that she knew spoke thus : 
 
 " Is that you, Miss Wharton? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "This is Mr. Stebbing, Rector of St. Os- 
 mund's." 
 
 " I recognize your voice." 
 
 " Do you ? that's fine. I want to see you this 
 afternoon some time." 
 
 Miss Wharton smiled into the receiver. What 
 on earth could he possibly want with her? Was 
 it possible that he too
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 25 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Stebbing, I shall be glad to 
 see you." 
 
 " At what time?" 
 
 " Five o'clock." 
 
 " Thank you. I shall be there. Good-by." 
 
 He evidently hung up the receiver thereafter. 
 There was an abruptness in his action which was, 
 although somewhat discourteous she thought, his 
 usual way of doing things. 
 
 What could he want? she mused. Her 
 thought for a moment left Barmore. She had 
 seen Stebbing a great many times in the four years 
 that had elapsed since she had left college. She 
 had even made her father once invite him to the 
 house for dinner. It was an experiment which 
 in all probability would not be repeated, for Steb- 
 bing and the General had disagreed instantly, the 
 disagreement being about the proposed letter from 
 the Bishop to the General for help. The two 
 men regarded that class of society among which 
 Stebbing lived from an entirely different point of 
 view, and a heated discussion ensued, Stebbing 
 putting aside with his usual bluntness the ideas of
 
 26 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 the General with a stubborn persistency and with 
 little regard for the high position and the more 
 advanced years of his antagonist. Deftly and 
 tactfully Barmore, who was also present, had 
 stopped the quarrel between the two before it 
 reached the acute stage. Yet, while Margaret 
 Wharton loved and respected her father, and while 
 she greatly admired Barmore for his brilliant 
 thoughtfulness, she thought by no means disparag- 
 ingly of Stebbing. In her sociological investiga- 
 tions she had many times visited his parish. 
 
 The other slum churches, so called, enlisted the 
 services of men and women from the better and 
 happier sections of the city as teachers and for 
 the other work. Stebbing's bull-headedness and 
 obstinacy manifested itself even here. He would 
 train his own teachers himself. He was deter- 
 mined that if the Grace of God, through one 
 Mark Stebbing, would not make out with what 
 there was there, and if the people of the church 
 who lived there could not, why then he would 
 give up, not because the Grace of God was in- 
 effective, but because Mark Stebbing was unworthy
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 27 
 
 to be His minister. There was something tre- 
 mendous about the determination and consecration 
 of the man. 
 
 Miss Wharton had one day rather rashly offered 
 herself as a volunteer teacher in his sewing or 
 Sunday school. 
 
 "No," said Stebbing bluntly, "I can't have 
 you in either. You probably don't know anything 
 about industrial work. You rich people are 
 brought up to do nothing, elegantly enough, I will 
 admit, but your accomplishments in that direction 
 would serve no purpose down here, and you prob- 
 ably have only a very rudimentary knowledge of 
 morals, ethics, and real Christianity." 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing," she retorted with instant in- 
 dignation, " I wonder how you ever expect to 
 succeed if you jump so at conclusions, if you de- 
 cide upon such inadequate knowledge as you have 
 manifested. It is the easiest " 
 
 " What do you mean? " asked Stebbing quickly, 
 somewhat amazed by the flash in her eye and sur- 
 prised at her promptitude in carrying the war into 
 Africa.
 
 28 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " It appears to be the easiest thing on earth for 
 a man of your temperament to come to a quick 
 decision, though the evidence may not warrant his 
 judgment. You have no personal knowledge of 
 any individual exception to the rather absurd rule 
 you are pleased to set forth. In the first place, 
 I can cook and sew. I have seen evidences of 
 your own culinary attempts in your parish house 
 here," she ran on with fine scorn, " and I have also 
 been favored with evidences of the cooking and 
 sewing ability of your helpers, and I assure you 
 that you have no cause to be proud either of your- 
 self or of them." 
 
 Stebbing laughed. He was possessed of a 
 saving sense of humor. 
 
 " You are right there, Miss Wharton," he said. 
 " I am doing my best to teach these people cook- 
 ery." 
 
 " You are ? Well, why don't you get a cook 
 to show them how? " 
 
 " It is a theory of mine that we have to develop 
 our teachers ourselves, and " 
 
 "Well, why don't you let them develop their
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 29 
 
 clergyman themselves? What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " I am one of them, Miss Wharton." 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me that you were born 
 in this section of the city." 
 
 " No, thank God, I was born in the Vermont 
 hills. My father was a New England farmer. 
 My mother was the kindest mother and the best 
 cook on earth. I wish I had some of her skill." 
 
 " Why don't you get her down here? " 
 
 " She has worked her full term elsewhere, Miss 
 Wharton," said Stebbing gravely, " and she has 
 gone to a place I was going to say where they 
 do not labor any more, but I can't think of a 
 Heaven which wouldn't give mankind some op- 
 portunity to work." 
 
 "And your father?" asked the girl softly. 
 
 " He, too. I am alone with my people, but 
 yet*"not alone, either." 
 
 He glanced up for a brief moment, but the 
 woman understood. 
 
 " Well," she continued, " I can only say that 
 her talent did not descend to you."
 
 3 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " There are few sons, Miss Wharton, who 
 are worthy of their mothers. The race 
 would advance too rapidly if that were the 
 case." 
 
 "And furthermore, you have been pleased to 
 question my knowledge of the Scriptures," she 
 ran on. " Let me tell you that I studied them 
 in college." 
 
 " In college ! " laughed the young man contemp- 
 tuously. 
 
 " Yes, I am one of those who really did study 
 in college and since Mr. Barmore has been our 
 Rector I have studied under his direction. I 
 can, and I do, read and study the Bible in French, 
 German, Latin, and Greek." 
 
 " You are ahead of me. I have some knowl- 
 edge of Hebrew and Greek, but no German, and 
 but little French." 
 
 " So you see you had no right to disdain me, 
 whatever you thought of my offer." 
 
 " I had not," admitted the young man peni- 
 tently. " It is not right to disdain any offer, even 
 from the rich, but when I think of all that you
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 31 
 
 people have, and all that my people lack, then 
 j 
 
 " But I want to give them some of the things 
 which they lack, and which I have." 
 
 " That is just it. They cannot be given these 
 things ; they have got to earn them." 
 
 " You are foolish. How can they get these 
 things without receiving assistance? " 
 
 " Maybe I am foolish, but I haven't admitted 
 it yet. I am going to make this parish stand 
 alone. I wouldn't even accept the stipend from 
 the Missionary Board." 
 
 " I know you wouldn't." 
 
 " How did you know it? " 
 
 " Mr. Barmore told me." 
 
 ." Barmore is a fine fellow one of the finest 
 I know," said Stebbing heartily, " but he is built 
 on conventional lines. His method of preaching 
 the Gospel down here is impractical." 
 
 Miss Wharton smiled. The adjective was the 
 very same that Barmore had applied to his friend's 
 methods. 
 
 " Look upon this picture, and upon this.'*
 
 3.2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 She pointed out of the window in the direction 
 of the St. Hilda mission, and then surveyed the 
 huge, old, gloomy, and still somewhat dilapidated 
 building in which their conversation was held. 
 
 *' Oh, if you are going to judge by temporary 
 and material success, I will have to admit the force 
 of your argument. But if you call this dilapi- 
 dated now, you ought to have seen it when I came. 
 And you ought to see it filled with people on Sun- 
 days, too. Not that I am taking any credit to 
 myself, Miss Wharton, but it is the ideal, it is 
 the work. The people down here are taking hold. 
 You have all the respectable people in your neigh- 
 borhood attached to your mission. I have every 
 blackguard, scoundrel, pauper, thief, and drunkard 
 around me." 
 
 "A Cave of Adullam?" 
 
 " Exactly. That is what the Church ought to 
 be. We ought to take in every wretched specimen 
 of humanity, and turn them out men and 
 women." 
 
 "And your helpers? " 
 
 " I have some hard-working laboring men and
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 33 
 
 women. The wives of the laboring men are al- 
 most harder workers than the men. These people 
 have come to my support. They are my Vestry, 
 they teach my Sunday school, support the church, 
 and are gradually changing the vagrom men of the 
 cave into good soldiers of the Cross." 
 
 " You received a check from me the other day, 
 Mr. Stebbing, for your work?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " And you sent it back to me." 
 
 " I did." ! 
 
 "Wasn't it enough?" 
 
 " Enough ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I thought five thousand dollars was a good 
 sum to begin with, but I can make it more if you 
 think I should." 
 
 " I would have sent it back if it had been five 
 million." 
 
 " But if it had been five dollars, sent anony- 
 mously?" 
 
 " I suppose I should have kept that," he ad- 
 mitted reluctantly. 
 
 " So you won't have me, and you won't have
 
 34 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 my money, except in small sums when sent se- 
 cretly?" 
 
 She smiled at him brilliantly as she asked this 
 rather startling question. 
 
 Reducing the matter to the concrete rather 
 puzzled the somewhat annoyed young man. The 
 argumentum ad hominem usually acts that way. 
 
 " I don't believe that was exactly the question," 
 he urged. 
 
 " And you are not willing even to let me devote 
 my time or what means I have to your work? Do 
 you think that is fair ? " 
 
 " There was a young man once," said Stebbing, 
 " who came to his Master with a similar proposi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes," said the girl. 
 
 " And he received this answer: * One thing thou 
 lackest : go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and 
 give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in 
 Heaven: and come, take up the cross and follow 
 me.' " 
 
 " I have heard the story of that young man," 
 returned the woman slowly, " and he went away
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 35 
 
 sorrowful when he heard that, for did he not have 
 great possessions? " 
 
 " Yes," said Stebbing, " he did." 
 
 "And you think I ought to do that?" 
 
 " I have not said so." 
 
 " You think that everybody ought to do that? " 
 
 " I have not even said that." 
 
 " Yet that was the answer you gave to my 
 question." 
 
 " It came to my mind, and I couldn't help it." 
 
 " I could do even that, Mr. Stebbing." 
 
 "For the love of God?" 
 
 " Yes, or I could even do it for the love of 
 man." 
 
 She stopped, trembling at her audacity, and 
 Stebbing glanced at her, also trembling, wonder- 
 ing if he had heard aright. 
 
 " How tragic we have become," resumed the 
 woman lightly. " Really, my possessions are but 
 few, and I would give them away gladly, but 
 there would be no privation in it, for every one 
 of my wishes would be anticipated by others and 
 J would get just .what J .want just the same. I
 
 36 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 will go back to St. Hilda's. They want me 
 there," she said, smiling. 
 
 " You couldn't be with a better man than Bar- 
 more," said Stebbing, his conscience smiting him, 
 " and may I say, God bless you whatever you do 
 and wherever you go?" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Stebbing, and it may be that, 
 although I do not work in your parish, He may 
 find it possible to heed your prayer." 
 
 She was gone. A faint fragrance of her pres- 
 ence lingered in the air. Stebbing sat there, think- 
 ing over what she had said : 
 
 " For the love of God or man. I wonder what 
 she meant. I wonder I am a fool, and there 
 is nothing in the Bible reprehending a man who 
 calls himself a fool." 
 
 He turned away and applied himself to his daily 
 task with a grim determination, a more resolute 
 will than ever. That was nearly three years ago. 
 The offer of assistance had never been renewed, 
 but he had seen Miss Wharton from time to time 
 since then, when she was in the city. He had 
 never called at her home, but he was continually
 
 THE FOLLY OF PROVERBS 37 
 
 running across her at one or the other of the vari- 
 ous meetings to which his profound knowledge 
 of social conditions in the under-world and her in- 
 clination to find out brought them. 
 
 The result of these meetings had been disas- 
 trous to Mark Stebbing. He had suffered every- 
 thing because of her, but with dogged determina- 
 tion he had kept on with his work. For weeks it 
 had been a dead flat failure, for months it had 
 stood still, until the tide had turned and things 
 had begun to come his way. Now St. Osmund's 
 was crowded with poor people, who heard the 
 word he preached gladly. 
 
 St. Hilda's settlement also had succeeded in a 
 different way and with a different class. It had 
 demonstrated the wisdom of Barmore's plans, and 
 a large and enthusiastic body of the finest young 
 women of the city, lead by Margaret Wharton, 
 werg devoted to it, yet that young woman often 
 thought of the slow, grim, hard work of the old 
 church further down in the city, in another world 
 almost, and she often thought of the dauntless 
 young Rector. Sometimes, she even stole away
 
 38 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 from St. Hilda's with all its beauty and its fine 
 music, and sat in the back of Stebbing's humbler 
 church and listened to his ruder, simpler, but still 
 moving preaching of the Gospel. 
 
 What could he want with her that after- 
 noon ? She would not have been a woman if she 
 had not divined his admiration, but was there any- 
 thing more? She blushed at the thought of it. 
 Barmore was coming at four, Stebbing at five. 
 Were they both bent on the same errand? If so, 
 would she, could she hesitate a moment between 
 them? She could, and she didl
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 KISSES TAKEN AND BLOWS RECEIVED 
 
 Miss WHARTON'S meditations were presently in- 
 terrupted by two things. She heard faintly 
 through the closed door the great clock in the 
 hall strike four. Its musical cadences had scarce 
 died away when the door opened and the parlor- 
 maid entered carrying on her silver salver a visit- 
 ing-card, which she presented to her mistress. 
 The Rev. Lionel Barmore, like all successful men, 
 had the faculty of arriving on time. His hour 
 had struck had hers, she wondered? and he was 
 here. 
 
 " Show Mr. Barmore in, Jane, and I am not 
 at home to anyone until five." 
 
 "a Yes, Miss Wharton." 
 
 "Wait. If Mr. Stebbing calls about five 
 o'clock, and Mr. Barmore is still here, show him 
 into the reception-room and ask him to wait; say 
 to him that I shall be at leisure in a few minutes." 
 
 39
 
 40 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes, Miss Wharton." 
 
 " I do not think," reflected Margaret, as the 
 maid courtesied and withdrew, " that it will take 
 Mr. Barmore longer than one hour to make and 
 conclude his declaration and receive his answer." 
 She smiled at the whimsical thought. " Let me 
 see," her mind ran on, " I have been proposed to 
 by all sorts of men, from Dukes down, but I be- 
 lieve this is the first clergyman who has honored 
 me. ' It never rains but it pours.' Apparently 
 I am to have two to-day. There was a fierce note 
 of intensity in Mr. Stebbing's voice that " 
 
 " My dear Miss Wharton," broke in the rich, 
 well-modulated, excessively-cultivated voice of 
 Barmore. " It was awfully good of you to accede 
 to my request so promptly, and I learned too late 
 that there was a cricket match and an afternoon 
 tea at the Erdfield Club, at which you were to be 
 one of the hostesses. If I had known it before, 
 I should never have presumed " 
 
 " Mr. Barmore," said the woman gently, recog- 
 nizing his grace and charm, his good looks, the 
 distinction with which he wore his perfectly-fitting
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 41 
 
 and very becoming clerical clothes. " You said 
 that your business was of great importance to you, 
 and, to me, you ventured to hope. I am always 
 at your service when matters of serious moment 
 are to be considered, and I am glad to miss the 
 rather tiresome cricket match, and " 
 
 " Miss Margaret," said Barmore, sitting down 
 and drawing his chair somewhat close to hers, " I 
 spoke truthfully when I said that my business with 
 you this afternoon was of great importance to me, 
 and, I hope truthfully, that it will be to you." 
 
 "It is about the mission, is it?" she asked, 
 woman-like fencing a little to delay that which was 
 both inevitable and not altogether unwelcome. 
 
 " It is about one mission, but not about that to 
 which you refer." 
 
 " And what mission? " 
 
 *' My mission." 
 
 ".And what is that?" 
 
 " I have many, Miss Margaret, many." 
 
 "And which one concerns me?" 
 
 " I believe all of them." 
 
 "How is that?"
 
 42 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Well, my mission is to preach the Gos- 
 
 "Tome?" she smiled. 
 
 "To you, to everybody, and perhaps most of 
 all, to myself." 
 
 "Yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, for I know myself best, and I realize 
 that I need it most." 
 
 "And in what way am I concerned in your 
 preaching of the Gospel, Mr. Barmore? " 
 
 " In every way, for I might as well be frank 
 with you about it; I cannot preach it as I should 
 preach it without " he faltered "you," he 
 added softly. 
 
 " And do you want me for an example or an 
 inspiration ? " 
 
 The man hesitated no longer. He went di- 
 rect to the point. He leaned close to her, took 
 her hand and clasped it in his own. 
 
 " I want you for my wife, Miss Wharton 
 Margaret, I may call you that? " 
 
 " Old acquaintanceship and your rectorial posi- 
 tion might warrant that, Mr. Barmore."
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 43 
 
 " But I want no warrant except that which 
 affection gives." 
 
 " I do not love you, Mr. Barmore." 
 "No, perhaps not; certainly not as I love you, 
 but I venture to hope that I am not altogether 
 indifferent to you, and that my hope that you 
 will eventually love me is justifiable. Therefore, I 
 want you to give me a chance to turn what feeling 
 you have for me into something stronger, more 
 abiding, by letting me prove by my life's devotion 
 that it would be worth while, at least, to try to 
 care No, don't answer me yet, let me speak. 
 Ever since I saw you for the first time in the con- 
 gregation, when you came back for your first 
 Christmas vacation from college, I think I have 
 loved you. I am sure of it. A man in my position 
 is subject to many disturbances, influences, tempta- 
 tions, but I declare to you solemnly that I have 
 grqwn almost to worship you for your beauty of 
 person and character. I have watched you in your 
 play, in your work, and your duty, and I have 
 found you altogether admirable. I should be blind 
 and a fool if I did not love you. I am a nervous,
 
 44 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 sensitive man. With you beside me to help me 
 there are no heights in my glorious profession to 
 which I could not attain. Will you be my wife ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Tell me ; there is no one else that you love, is 
 there?" 
 
 " No, not in the way in which you mean." 
 
 " You care for me a little, don't you ? " 
 
 " Very much ; but not quite in the way in which 
 you want." 
 
 " Do you reject me, Miss Margaret? " asked the 
 man miserably. 
 
 " By no means," was the instant reply. " You 
 say you love me deeply." 
 
 "Say!" he exclaimed. "I do." 
 
 " I admire you, and I respect you," she went on, 
 not noticing his interruption. " I think I share 
 in the feeling which most of the women in your 
 congregation entertain for you, and more, per- 
 haps. I am somewhat tired of the social side of 
 life. Work with you has its attractions for me 
 which are very great " 
 
 "Will you marry me?"
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 45 
 
 " Ah ! that I cannot tell. The decision means 
 so much " 
 
 " Yes, it means so much to me, at least," said 
 the man. 
 
 " And I am not prepared to make it now." 
 
 Barmore was visibly disappointed. He bore 
 himself manfully, however. 
 
 "Is it your wish that I should not trouble you 
 again?" 
 
 "If I am never troubled with anything worse 
 than your love-making," she smiled brilliantly at 
 him, " I shall have an easy life, indeed." 
 
 " You like it? " he asked impetuously. 
 
 And the smile became a laugh. 
 
 " Mr. Barmore, who wouldn't like it? It flat- 
 ters my pride, and fills my heart with a certain 
 satisfaction. I almost think that perhaps I care 
 more than I " 
 
 He bent his head instantly and pressed a kiss 
 on her hand, which she had allowed to lie in his. 
 Was he not a handsome and gentle wooer? 
 
 " I know," he said with true and unassuming 
 humility, " that I am in no way a match for you.
 
 46 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 While I don't have to depend upon my clerical 
 stipend and the goodness of my friends, yet " 
 
 " Don't say anything about that at all," said the 
 girl, " don't spoil it. If I marry you it will be 
 because I love you, because I have found out that 
 you are the only man on earth for me, because 
 my heart responds to the prompting of my mind, 
 and because I should be the proudest and hap- 
 piest woman on earth to work with you and for 
 you." 
 
 "You make me very humble, indeed, Miss 
 Wharton," said the man, " and if I can find any 
 way to make myself more worthy of you, I shall 
 follow it. I cannot preach better sermons, yet 
 I might, if you were with me all the time. I 
 cannot do more work. Yes, I might, if this 
 anxiety as to whether you are to be my wife or 
 not were settled, but I am doing my best for you." 
 
 " Not for me alone." 
 
 " No," said the man, " for my Master's work 
 as well as for you." 
 
 " That is why I care as much for you as I do " 
 said the woman.
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 47 
 
 " Now, what shall be our future relationship ? " 
 
 " What it has been before." 
 
 " No," the man was wiser than she " that 
 it can never be. You couldn't look at me again 
 in an abstract way. You would always be saying 
 in your mind, there is a man who loves me, there 
 is a man who would die for me, there is a man 
 whose greatest desire is to serve me and care for 
 me and make me his wife, his queen, his every- 
 thing." 
 
 " And do you think that I did not know that 
 until to-day?" 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " Why, that is one of the things that makes me 
 believe I do care for you. I knew that you loved 
 me." 
 
 " And you let me go on? " 
 
 " You have a way about you that is very diffi- 
 cult to stop, Mr. Barmore," answered Miss Whar- 
 ton, j' and I am not sure that I want you to stop." 
 
 " Margaret," said the man, coming near to 
 her. 
 
 He had risen and so had she. She trembled a
 
 48 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 little before him. In another moment he would 
 have swept her to his breast, but the worth of the 
 man came to the rescue. 
 
 " I won't touch you," he said. " I won't take 
 anything, unless I may have all." 
 
 His renunciation was more effective than any- 
 thing else he could have done. His delicate con- 
 sideration for her moved her profoundly, yet was 
 it a slight sense of disappointment that swept over 
 her at his restraint? 
 
 " You are very good," said the girl, realizing 
 that that was the proper thing to say, whatever 
 she might feel. 
 
 " Yes," said the man, " and it is very hard. 
 We can never be as we were. When you look 
 at me you will think of these things." 
 
 " And when you look at me ? " 
 
 " I shall say, there is a woman who has given 
 me hope, who has opened the door of happiness a 
 little, and has allowed me to stand there and look 
 within the precious confines, the paradise, of her 
 heart," he sighed, and yet smiled at her as he 
 spoke, " but life is a plain everyday thing, Miss
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 49 
 
 Wharton. A modus vivendi in our case is nec- 
 essary. What is to be done?" 
 
 " Why, you are to " 
 
 " To love you, of course." 
 
 " And I am to " 
 
 " Be loved, and try to love me," he said. 
 
 " That is agreed, then," said the girl, smiling. 
 
 " But what about other people? " 
 
 " Need they know anything about it? " 
 
 " I can go on loving you. Indeed, I couldn't 
 help it; but we need not take the world into our 
 confidence." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Your father should be told, though." 
 
 " I have no mother, and my father is my 
 all." 
 
 " I shouldn't think of concealing it from the 
 General." 
 
 "What will he think of it?" 
 
 " I don't know," said the man humbly; "he is 
 very fond of me, I am sure, and Rector never 
 had better warden, but he may have other views, 
 an old-world alliance."
 
 50 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I can relieve your mind as to that, Mr. Bar- 
 more." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Several not unworthy proffers of such an al- 
 liance have been made me, and I have heard my 
 father say something about American girls for 
 American men." 
 
 " I hope that you have the blood of your father 
 in your veins, Miss Margaret." 
 
 11 1 hope so." 
 
 " And I shall speak to him immediately, and in 
 the meantime " 
 
 " In the meantime, we must both go on quietly 
 as we were before," said the girl. 
 
 "I suppose that I couldn't you wouldn't it 
 would be taking advantage of you to ask you, but 
 will you let me kiss you just once ? " he con- 
 cluded, boyishly, flushing crimson as he spoke. 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " I think not. I would rather you wouldn't," 
 she hesitated, " at present." 
 
 The man had had his opportunity a few minutes 
 before and had not availed himself of it, through
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 51 
 
 rare self-control, and it should not occur again 
 that day, she thought willfully. 
 
 " You are right. I got what I came for 
 permission to love you, and a right to hope. I 
 scarcely dared expect as much as that." 
 
 This humility was delightful to her, for she 
 knew that he had but to drop the handkerchief at 
 their feet and many of the maidens in his con- 
 gregation would have picked it up with avidity. 
 Barmore threw back his head and continued in 
 his lover-like way: 
 
 " I am sure I shall win you in the end." 
 
 The girl looked at him, impressed with a bold- 
 ness which his previous humility of voice and bear- 
 ing only served to accentuate. 
 
 " I hope so, too," she said at last, extending 
 her hand. 
 
 " You make me very happy, Miss Margaret," 
 he said, enfolding it in both his own. 
 
 Then resolutely he left her, bowing gracefully 
 to her as he went out of the door. 
 
 " How well he does his part," thought the girl 
 as she sat down once more. " Better than any
 
 52 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 other man in my experience, at least. How hand- 
 some he was, how gentle, how generous. He 
 might have kissed me; I shouldn't have minded it; 
 indeed, I should have liked it. Mrs. Lionel Bar- 
 more, Mrs. Margaret Wharton Barmore that 
 doesn't sound badly. He is the manliest man that 
 has ever offered me his hand, and I like him very 
 much more than I knew I wonder " 
 
 She sat musing a long time, a warm glow around 
 her heart, quite an acceptable substitute for the 
 deeper thrill which authors dwell upon in stories 
 of the heart. 
 
 Engrossed in her thoughts, she took no note 
 of the time, and it was with a start of surprise 
 that she heard a knock at the door. It was the 
 maid, not with a card this time, who stated 
 with something akin to disdain in her voice that 
 a Mr. Stebbing awaited her pleasure in the recep- 
 tion-room. What a difference there was in the 
 two men, she thought, as Mr. Stebbing came in. 
 Barmore had been faultlessly groomed, wearing 
 his clothes with an air of distinction, which made 
 them an integral part of himself. Stebbing wore
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 53 
 
 his clothes to cover his nakedness only, not to 
 adorn his person, and they simply looked the pur- 
 pose they served. 
 
 Stebbing entered the room bluntly, walked over 
 to her, grabbed her hand, and shook it fiercely; 
 then he sat down upon the straightest and most 
 uncomfortable chair in the room, crossed his legs, 
 and began without further preliminaries. 
 
 " Miss Wharton, I came here this afternoon 
 to tell you that I love you." 
 
 There was absolutely no grace or charm, not 
 the faintest tinge of romance in his voice or look. 
 But there was a plain, blunt, straightforward 
 veracity in his manner which awakened strange 
 and mingled feelings in the person of his auditor. 
 Thinking of Barmore as she was, she might have 
 avoided or staved off the declaration, but he gave 
 her no chance ; his bludgeon-like course completely 
 paralyzed her finesse. She wanted to laugh, and 
 she wanted to cry. She was startled and shocked 
 but by no means displeased. For a moment, she 
 secretly enjoyed the fascinating pleasure of com- 
 paring the one man with the other. She had
 
 > -_ . 
 
 54 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 admitted at once that she knew that Barmore 
 loved her, yet she scarcely knew how to meet 
 Stebbing's attack. 
 
 " You surprise me," she began. 
 
 " Miss Wharton, let us put aside conventionali- 
 
 A dangerous proceeding that, and if Stebbing 
 had enjoyed more experience he would have real- 
 ized that conventionalities are not to be put aside 
 except in some Garden of Eden, and only there 
 until the Devil enters. 
 
 "Let us get down to facts, Miss Wharton; 
 frankly, I don't believe that you are in the least 
 surprised." 
 
 "Mr. Stebbing!" 
 
 " You must have known that I loved you. They 
 say every woman knows that. I am not experi- 
 enced in love, or with people of your kind. There 
 are good people down at St. Osmund's, but well 
 different." He made the admission fiercely, as 
 if it wounded his pride. "And I am different. 
 I am like them, but I am sure you must have 
 known that I cared a great deal for you. I know
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 55 
 
 it myself, and I fear that, like the fool I am, I 
 have betrayed it." 
 
 " Is it an evidence of your folly, Mr. Stebbing, 
 to love me? " she asked, deftly avoiding his accu- 
 sation. 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " I have never received so flattering a declara- 
 tion in all my life." 
 
 " Now, don't be sarcastic," said the man. 
 " There is nothing, is there, to call forth sarcasm 
 in the love of an honest man, however humble he 
 may be, however unworthy he may be, for a pure 
 and lovely woman like you? " 
 
 41 Thank you." 
 
 " Yes," he went on roughly, " and believe it 
 or not as you like, I'd care for you if I picked 
 you up out of the gutter I'd love you just the 
 same." 
 
 " Well, that would be folly," said the woman, 
 yet with a contradictory thrill of approval and 
 appreciation. 
 
 " It is folly. Wherein is it right that a man 
 of my birth and station, a man with no worldly
 
 56 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 goods with which to bless himself, perhaps I had 
 better call myself a man who has devoted his 
 life to poor, humble people, and who is going to 
 continue to devote his life to them don't forget 
 that, Miss Wharton, don't make any mistake about 
 that." 
 
 " I should not want you to cease, Mr. Steb- 
 bing." 
 
 "Well, that is good. Now, why on earth 
 should I care for a butterfly like you? " 
 
 " Do you think it quite fair to call me alto- 
 gether a butterfly?" 
 
 " Compared to me, you are." 
 
 " Ah I yes, perhaps, but is there no other stand- 
 ard, important as is yours, in this world? Cer- 
 tainly you are not going to be rude, as well as 
 foolish." 
 
 " You do the very best you know how over at 
 Barmore's mission, and I never hear of you in- 
 dulging in some of the frivolities of your social 
 circle. I suppose, according to your lights, you 
 think you are a useful woman, perhaps almost as 
 useful as you are beautiful. I believe you are
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 57 
 
 a true woman," and nothing that had been said 
 to Miss Wharton for a long time gave her such 
 satisfaction as that tribute from the man beside 
 her " I was going to say that, if you hadn't been 
 a true woman, I shouldn't have loved you, but I 
 might as well tell you that I would have loved 
 you no matter what you were, as I said before." 
 
 " And why do you tell me this? " 
 
 " Because it is the only honorable thing for me 
 to do. When a man loves a woman the only thing 
 for him to do, according to my ideas, is to go 
 and tell her so, and offer himself to her, ask her 
 to marry him, and give her a chance to reject him. 
 Will you marry me? " 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " I didn't think you would. Good-afternoon." 
 
 "Wait a moment, Mr. Stebbing," cried the 
 woman, rising also, startled by the abrupt way in 
 which he rose for his departure. 
 
 "What should I wait for? are you going to 
 change your mind?" 
 
 " Women have done so," she said, striving to 
 jest.
 
 58 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Stebbing turned, walked very close to her, and 
 stared into her eyes. She sustained his gaze un- 
 flinchingly. She wondered what he saw there; 
 she did not quite know what there was to see. He 
 made a quick movement toward her. She never 
 moved a muscle; the situation of an hour before 
 was duplicated. Would Stebbing dare? The 
 thought had barely come to her mind before he 
 did it. Scarcely realizing how or why, she found 
 herself in his arms, his face dangerously near her 
 own. 
 
 "Mr. Stebbing!" she cried, "I have neither 
 done nor said anything to warrant this." 
 
 " You said you might change your mind." 
 
 His grasp relaxed slightly, but still held her fast. 
 
 She could feel his arm around her tremble. She 
 trembled a little herself. 
 
 " I said that it was possible, but it has not 
 occurred to me." 
 
 She did not repulse him as she spoke. Her 
 words and actions did not match. The contact 
 with her went to his head. He trembled. He 
 lost control of himself. He was a man of strong
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 59 
 
 feelings. He held in his arms the woman he loved 
 passionately. He forgot everything but that. 
 
 "I am a brute as well as a fool, Miss Whar- 
 ton. I know that you can never think of me as 
 a husband, that you would be most unhappy with 
 me and my poor if you did not love me as I love 
 you," he went on hotly. " I shall never again 
 approach you on this subject, perhaps I shall never 
 again be in your presence, but I have you now 
 in my arms for the first time and last time in 
 my life, and I am going to kiss you." 
 
 "Mr. Stebbing," said the girl, very pale; she 
 would not struggle with him; she would not de- 
 scend to such vulgarity, and in his strong arms 
 it would be useless; " if you kiss me it will be at 
 your peril." 
 
 For answer he drew her closer to him, bent his 
 head and pressed his lips again and again on 
 her own. She stood passive in his embrace 
 until he released her, and stared at her boldly, 
 brutally. 
 
 " You coward," she said in a low, tense voice. 
 " You call yourself a clergyman, a minister of
 
 60 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 God you have not the first instinct of a gentle- 
 man, let alone these other things." 
 
 She stared at him, she was almost as tall as he, 
 with a fierce intensity that pierced into his very 
 soul. He had been mad, drunk with his love for 
 her. He had started to go; he would have left 
 her without a word, but that thoughtless remark 
 of hers, the way in which she put it to him; 
 he had caught her in his arms; she had not 
 resisted. 
 
 "My God!" he said, "what have I done!" 
 
 "That you cannot undo," returned the woman; 
 " you have shamed me, humbled me. It was not 
 the kiss, but the way in which it was taken. Well, 
 have you nothing to say ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Can you make no excuse for yourself ? have 
 you not even the grace to apologize? Do you 
 realize what you have done ? " 
 
 " Realize! " said the man, lifting his head; " I 
 shall never forget it as long as I live." 
 
 It was the flash of his eye and the spirit in 
 which he said it which told her just what his
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 61 
 
 remembrance would be. He was actually tri- 
 umphing over it, joying in it ! 
 
 " Have you no sense of shame? " she cried. 
 
 "I have; you were in my arms and I did 
 kiss you. I deserve to be scourged for it, but I 
 cannot forget it, and I don't want to forget it. 
 I shall remember it as long as I live, and there is 
 nothing " 
 
 " So you won't apologize? " 
 
 " What good would that do ? I would grovel 
 at your feet if it would make any difference. 
 Would it?" 
 
 "No," said the girl; "nothing will make any 
 difference." 
 
 " There is one thing that can remedy that," he 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 " That you love me." 
 
 " Love you ! " cried Miss Wharton. 
 
 She stared at him hard for a moment, and then 
 sahk in a chair, buried her face in her hands, and 
 burst into tears. Why? Stebbing asked him- 
 self that question, but he was not sufficiently versed
 
 62 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 in the ways of women to understand what was 
 in that girl's mind, and why she so strangely lost 
 her self-command and wept. 
 
 " Miss Wharton," he cried. He could sustain 
 her anger, and could even bear her scorn and con- 
 tempt, but he could not bear to see her grief, her 
 tears. " Oh ! " he said, walking up and down the 
 room, wringing his hands, " what can I do, what 
 can I say? I did not come here for this purpose, 
 believe that; I intended to go, but you called me 
 back." 
 
 "Are you going to place the blame on me?" 
 she faltered. 
 
 "No! no! "he cried. 
 
 " And you are sorry ? Say you are sorry." 
 
 Her words came muffled through her hands. 
 
 " I cannot say it. I am not sorry. I will 
 live and die in the recollection of that one kiss. 
 I meant to act a manly part, to tell you what I 
 told you, because I had to tell you or die. I 
 could not do my work until I got it over with." 
 
 "Got over what?" 
 
 " Until I submitted my feeling to you."
 
 She buried her face in her hands and burst into 
 tears
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 63 
 
 " You did not hope for anything? " 
 
 " Of course not ; every instinct told me that 
 it was madness, but a man without hope would be 
 an animal. Perhaps I do an injustice to the ani- 
 mals, for even a dog hopes for his master's caress ; 
 but I felt sure there would be no hope for me. 
 This is not a matter of sudden birth, Miss Whar- 
 ton. I think I have loved you since you came 
 to see me at the mission years ago, when I treated 
 you so badly. I have treated you rudely ever 
 since, and now you have to hear the culmination." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I love you under rude conditions; I come from 
 rude people. We have had such a hard battle to 
 fight down at St. Osmund's " 
 
 " You do yourself an injustice," said the woman, 
 looking at him ; "I know what you are doing 
 down there. I know that you are an angel of 
 light to those poor people. We hear of your 
 work at St. Hilda's mission, and I have heard 
 you pfeach at times." 
 
 " Do you think I have not seen you? " said the 
 man. " God forgive me ; sometimes I almost
 
 64 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 fear I have preached for your approval, rather 
 than that of my Master, and but I will go 
 now." 
 
 " And you won't apologize, you won't explain, 
 you won't justify yourself? " 
 
 " I will say or do anything you like, except to 
 admit that I am sorry." 
 
 The girl stared at him as if fascinated. 
 
 " I am not the coward you think I am." He 
 flung his hand up and brought it down with a 
 characteristic gesture. " I would like " he 
 went over a little nearer to her, " I would like to 
 kiss you again." 
 
 "But you won't!" she cried, shrinking back 
 from him. 
 
 " No; have no fear; I won't. I might kiss you 
 against your will once, but not a second time. It 
 is a good thing that you don't love me, Miss 
 Wharton." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you are too fragile and delicate a 
 creature for a man like me. I love like I battle 
 with all my heart, and soul, and strength."
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 65 
 
 " Wait," she said, coming to a sudden resolu- 
 tion which involved his punishment, " this is not 
 the first offer of marriage I have had this after- 
 noon." She was determined to make him suffer 
 now, although in doing so she would punish her- 
 self. There was that turmoil within her heart 
 that frightened her. She was not sure as to her 
 own feelings, but, if possible, she was going to 
 make this man suffer for her own indecision. And 
 she was going to settle a question in one way, lest 
 her heart might make her decide it another. 
 
 " I have an appointment at the church at six 
 o'clock," he said. 
 
 " Your appointment can wait. Your first duty 
 is to me; you owe me something now." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " As I said, this is not the first offer of marriage 
 I have had to-day." 
 
 "Do you get them every day?" gritted out 
 the man. 
 
 " Bvery day I want them," she returned with 
 equal vigor, "but this one I am inclined to ac- 
 cept."
 
 66 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I wish him joy," said Stebbing in anything 
 but a joyous or whole-hearted way. 
 
 " I will give you an opportunity to do it in 
 person. You won't run away?" 
 
 " I am not of the runaway kind, Miss Whar- 
 ton," said the man grimly. 
 
 " Very well, sit down." She turned to the tele- 
 phone and called the number of Barmore's study. 
 She knew that the vesper service would about be 
 over, and he would probably be there. In a 
 minute she heard his voice. 
 
 "Mr. Barmore?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss Margaret." 
 
 " You asked me a question this afternoon." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Margaret." 
 
 " Can you come to the house at once? I will 
 give you my answer now." 
 
 " I will be there in five minutes." 
 
 The church was only a block from the Whar- 
 ton residence. She hung up the receiver and 
 faced Stebbing. 
 
 " Is it Barmore ? " asked the man, low, hoarsely, 
 and agonizedly.
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 67 
 
 " It is. Have you any objection? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " What have I got to do with it ? In pity, let 
 me go." 
 
 " You did not let me go when you had me in 
 your arms a few moments since. You had no 
 pity in your heart, and there is none in mine. I 
 request you to stay. You can go if you wish. 
 I can't prevent your going. I am too weak for 
 that." 
 
 " I will remain," said the man. 
 
 He turned away from her, staring at nothing, 
 which gave her abundant opportunity to search his 
 face unnoticed. What did she see there? What 
 did the turmoil in her heart let her see? The 
 strain was almost unbearable. When Barmore 
 came into the room unannounced, the evidences of 
 the conflict were too patent to be ignored. His 
 enthusiastic greeting to her and his friendly word 
 to Stebbing died on his lips. For once his self- 
 possession deserted him. He stood staring from 
 one to the other. 
 
 " Mr. Barmore," said the girl, " you asked me
 
 68 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 this afternoon to be your wife. Mr. Stebbing a 
 little while ago made me the same proposition. 
 Between you and " 
 
 Barmore raised his hand. 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Wharton, but wouldn't it 
 be better for one of us to retire and let you give 
 your answer in private to the other, if you have 
 elected to honor either of us ? " 
 
 He had a strained, pale look on his face, for 
 he loved this woman with all his heart, and he 
 did not underrate Stebbing, as others did. He 
 recognized that it was not impossible for a woman 
 like Miss Wharton to love a man like Stebbing, 
 or even that she might prefer Stebbing to him. 
 
 " I have decided, and I choose to announce my 
 decision here." 
 
 " Miss Wharton," interrupted Stebbing, " have 
 not you punished me enough? " 
 
 " Is it I, Margaret? " asked Barmore joyously. 
 
 11 Yes," said the girl; " I will be your wife." 
 
 She had risen as he came near. She put her 
 hand on his shoulder. He rose almost dazed. 
 She lifted her face to him and kissed him lightly.
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 69 
 
 "Poor old Mark!" cried Barmore, starting 
 over toward his brother clergyman and extending 
 his hand. 
 
 His first thought had been for his disappointed 
 rival, and Miss Wharton admired him for that. 
 It almost affirmed her judgment for the folly she 
 had just perpetrated. 
 
 " You can go now, Mr. Stebbing," she said con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Barmore," said Stebbing, not taking the 
 other's hand, " you don't know what a coward I 
 have been this afternoon." 
 
 " I wondered," said Miss Wharton, " if you 
 would have the manliness to confess it before a 
 man." 
 
 " I don't believe you can be a coward, Mark," 
 said Barmore, smiling from the woman he loved 
 to his friend. 
 
 " You don't know what a man will do when 
 he loves a woman." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " This afternoon, in this very room, like the 
 brute that I am, I took the woman you are to
 
 70 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 marry in my arms and kissed her against her 
 will." 
 
 " Mr. Barmore, he was mad, he " cried the 
 
 girl suddenly, with what instinct for apology and 
 explanation that might soften the blunt declara- 
 tion she could not say. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Barmore. 
 
 " Yes," said Stebbing, " I was mad, but " 
 
 Barmore stared at him, then suddenly closed his 
 hand and struck him full in the face, his own sud- 
 denly engorged with blood, a red foil to Steb- 
 bing's ghastly pallor. Miss Wharton screamed 
 faintly. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " she cried, an agonized note of pain 
 and protest in her voice; this was not what she 
 had fancied would be the course pursued. 
 
 Stebbing seemed to shrink into himself and 
 gather himself together. In another moment he 
 would have been at the throat of the other man. 
 
 " Well, you are a coward," cried Barmore, fac- 
 ing him undauntedly. 
 
 The sweat stood on the brow of the plainer 
 man. His face was bloodless with the exception
 
 KISSES AND BLOWS 71 
 
 of a few drops on his lip, which the force of 
 the blow had cut. Mechanically he picked up a 
 handkerchief that lay on the table, and pressed it 
 to his mouth once, twice, then dropped it to the 
 floor. 
 
 " You are right," he said, simply looking at his 
 whilom friend. " Strike me again, I deserve it." 
 
 " I never want to see you or hear of you or 
 speak to you again," said Barmore. " Margaret," 
 he turned to her, took her hand, and kissed it 
 with infinite grace, " I loved him almost as I 
 do you. Would God I could have spared you 
 that!" 
 
 " You can go now," said the girl faintly. 
 
 Without a word Stebbing turned and stumbled, 
 one would almost say he groped his way blindly 
 out. At the door he turned and gave her one 
 awful, stricken look before he left. 
 
 "And you, too, Mr. Barmore," said the girl. 
 " It is almost more than I can stand. Will you 
 leave ^ne alone now ? Come to me to-morrow." 
 
 She drooped with fatigue, with the nervous 
 strain she had gone through. He was considera-
 
 72 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 tion at once. He made no attempt to touch 
 her. 
 
 " I shall come to you in the morning. Good- 
 by, and God bless you ! " 
 
 When he had gone she stood still, motionless, 
 where he had left her. Her heart pounded so 
 that the room seemed to heave. Her eye fell 
 upon a dash of white on the floor, the handkerchief, 
 her own. There were drops of blood on it. 
 Slowly, and with the fascinated gaze of the bird 
 at the oncoming serpent, she stepped toward it, 
 she bent over it, she caught it in her hands, and 
 pressed it to her heart. She sank down as before. 
 She buried her face in her hands, beneath her own 
 lips the handkerchief, stained with the blood of 
 the man who loved her, and who had insulted her, 
 whom she had punished, and whom she could 
 never, never forget.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE DEAD HAND ON THE LIVING HEAD 
 
 STEBBING was in a savage mood as he left the 
 house and walked down the street that afternoon. 
 His predominating emotion was one of bitter self- 
 contempt. Barmore, in like situation, would have 
 told himself that he had derogated from his stand- 
 ard as a gentleman. Stebbing said to himself 
 that he had ceased to be a man. He felt this 
 for two reasons. He had insulted a woman a 
 woman who could not resent it and he had in 
 turn been insulted himself without being able to 
 resent it. A strange sort of sympathy for her 
 mingled with his own bitter self-contempt. He 
 had been false entirely to his conception of that 
 Master whom he did truly try to serve, in spite 
 of all his faults and imperfections. 
 
 He tried his best to hate Barmore, but in spite 
 of himself admiration at his friend's prompt, blunt, 
 and effective action rose in his heart. He was 
 
 73
 
 74 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 possessed of a keen sense of justice; he admitted 
 that he had received less than he deserved. Al- 
 though he loved Barmore and admired him, he 
 had had an uneasy consciousness that in some way 
 his boyhood friend would not measure up to his 
 opportunities in the demands of a great crisis. He 
 had done so fully in this instance. There was 
 some consolation, too, in the fact that Barmore 
 had also forgotten his profession when confronted 
 by ugly and naked conditions. Priests and other 
 men were of like passions after all ! 
 
 Stebbing's lips still felt sore. He laid his hand 
 upon them, and as he did so a quick thought rushed 
 to his brain. He had held in his arms the woman 
 he loved. However it had come about, upon 
 whom had rested the blame, the fact itself could 
 not be denied. With an added feeling of shame 
 at his spiritual obduracy, he realized that he did 
 not want to deny it. That pressure of his lips 
 upon hers! And the question would obtrude it- 
 self upon him was there a pressure in return? 
 would forever abide with him. 
 
 He was not learned in the ways of women. He
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 75 
 
 lacked that most necessary quality to a clergyman 
 ability to read the feminine mind and heart. 
 But even to his obtuse perceptions a consciousness 
 was dawning that in some way the woman he 
 loved did care for him, that she was not indiffer- 
 ent to him. She had treated him as he deserved, 
 she inflicted upon him the keenest possible punish- 
 ment for his insolence by giving herself to another 
 before his eyes, but she had spared him the crown- 
 ing humiliation of relating to that other his own 
 atrocious conduct. He had done that himself in a 
 moment of impulse, which he did not even now 
 regret, although it had brought that one blow. 
 
 Why had she spared him? His experiences 
 with the women whom he met most frequently, the 
 poor and humble of his congregation, by such of 
 their actions as he had observed, afforded him no 
 answer to such a question, although any one of 
 them could have answered it if he had directly 
 asked them. She had spared him; could she 
 was it possible? not that, she was too true a 
 woman, so he thought at least, to give herself to 
 one man if she had the faintest degree of affection
 
 fj6 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 for another, and yet he strove to put such wild 
 thoughts out of his being. 
 
 He always walked rapidly through the streets. 
 This time he had plunged along at a frightful 
 pace, avoiding pedestrians and vehicles as if by 
 instinct. He did not know where he was going, 
 but habit had led him in familiar paths, and pres- 
 ently he found himself walking the streets of the 
 meaner quarter of the town where he was so well 
 known and so beneficent a factor in the popular 
 life. Really not even he himself fully understood 
 or rightly estimated his own influence. Men 
 hailed him with hearty cordiality, women smiled 
 at him with wistful and kindly affection, children 
 precipitated themselves from dark, dirty doorways 
 and clustered about him. 
 
 At first he walked along as one in a dream, 
 paying little attention to anything, mechanically 
 acknowledging the salutations, but presently he 
 awoke to the meaning of the situation. If these 
 simple people knew how he had acted, how he 
 had failed, they would be the first to condemn him. 
 Except among the most abandoned of the race
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 77 
 
 chivalry is a well-developed instinct. He had be- 
 trayed the high standard he had sought to set up 
 before them. There came to him remembrances 
 of severity he had visited upon those that had 
 failed in the same test. He would never be 
 severe in that way again. If you would know 
 what is in a man, you must crush him down, he 
 had often said, and Mark Stebbing was now pros- 
 trated beneath the cross of his own rearing. What 
 was in him? He wondered. 
 
 He felt that he could not go to the church that 
 night. By this time he had raised up for him- 
 self helpers who could be trusted to carry on things 
 in his absence. The work would not suffer be- 
 cause he was away. He turned and moved off to 
 the eastward. Out of his district was a certain 
 shady, pleasant city square, miles uptown. This 
 place was far enough away from his people for 
 him to be unknown to those who would be apt 
 to congregate there. Poor, wretched wrecks of 
 humanity these would be, who after nightfall 
 huddled on the park benches, until told to move 
 on ; followers of bread lines, sitting listlessly watch-
 
 78 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 ing the fountains, staring upon the pleasure-seek- 
 ers passing up and down the great, bright, bril- 
 liantly-lighted street off to the side. He would go 
 there himself a wreck of high purposes, a wreck 
 of fine impulses. 
 
 If he could have gone into the country among 
 the hills, which reminded him of his boyhood days, 
 he would have gladly done it, but for miles and 
 miles in every direction there were only houses 
 and men. He had eaten nothing, he wanted noth- 
 ing, but the long tramp through the deserted busi- 
 ness section, for it was now late in the evening, 
 that intervened between the locality of his mission 
 and the uptown park, while it tired him, steadied 
 him. 
 
 He saw things more clearly. He did not mini- 
 mize his own offense, but he realized that it usually 
 takes more than one failure to make shipwreck of 
 a career. There might be some way in which 
 he could atone not to her he could never atone 
 to her, but to his ideal for this lapse. He would 
 find it, and he would take it, and perhaps some 
 day when he had regained his self-respect, he
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 79 
 
 might by some means induce her to forgive him. 
 She would be Barmore's wife, and he did not dream 
 before, although he had already endured with a 
 certain grim determination the sling and the arrow 
 of contempt and hate, how keen and terrible a 
 heart pang that reflection produced. 
 
 Barmore's wife! He loved and admired Bar- 
 more, but somehow he could not conceive of him 
 as worthy of Margaret Wharton. A flush of 
 shame came to him with that thought. Was that 
 selfishness? Was he himself more worthy of her 
 than the other was? He could only admit that 
 Barmore had played the man he had not. It 
 would be a fine match, he meditated bitterly 
 youth, wealth, position, culture. He groaned. 
 Had he not put himself out of the pale of con- 
 sideration of decent people? Well, Margaret 
 Wharton's future was no longer a consideration 
 of his. There was no friendship now, and never 
 could be, between him and the pair; they would 
 never admit him to it. Strive as he might, he 
 would never care to witness their happiness. 
 
 He was a man of terrific intensity of feeling.
 
 8o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 He loved this woman, hopelessly, of course, but 
 he loved her. He knew that he would love no one 
 else : more than that, he knew that he would never 
 stop loving her. The hair shirt of the devotee, the 
 iron girdle of the martyr, the lacerated back of the 
 flagellant he could bear these things easily, if nec- 
 essary; he could not bear to think of Margaret 
 Wharton married to anyone else. 
 
 And yet, what else could he have expected? 
 When he had visited her there had not been the 
 slightest hope in his heart that she loved him, or 
 could care for him. He had not told her a word 
 to influence her, he had scarcely even intended to 
 go so far as to ask her to be his wife, and he had 
 known that she must marry someone in the very 
 nature of things. What had changed him ? 
 
 He had kissed her. The brief, passionate, al- 
 most rough touch of his lips upon hers had revolu- 
 tionized him. That moment of painful yet ex- 
 quisite contact had broken the seals and burst the 
 bonds and set something free in him. He had 
 kissed her, and he had kissed her first full on her 
 sweet lips. He had had that advantage of Bar-
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 81 
 
 more, and no one could take it away from him. 
 He knew that he should be ashamed, humiliated, 
 brought down to the dust, but he was glad, glad. 
 She would remember it Barmore would remember 
 it. A thousand blows upon the face were a cheap 
 price to pay for that one caress. God forgive him. 
 He buried his face in his hands and groaned 
 aloud. 
 
 " Young man," asked a policeman who was idly 
 strolling through the park, " what's the matter, 
 are you sick? " 
 
 " Yes, officer." 
 
 " Do you want anything? " 
 
 " Nothing that I can get." 
 
 "Well," said the policeman, "you'd better 
 move on; you can't be sick here, you know." 
 
 The voice of authority to the wounded, the 
 helpless, the bruised, is always to move on. Steb- 
 bing smiled grimly. When his Master fell under 
 the cross they lifted it off of Him, but they told 
 Him to move on. No one could lift his cross 
 off ortiim, yet like that Other, he had to move on. 
 He rose, turned his face southward and went back
 
 82 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 to his work. His soul cried out for furious, unin- 
 termitting, engrossing work. There was salvation 
 in work. 
 
 Barmore must have acted with unusual prompt- 
 ness, thought Stebbing next morning, when he read 
 the social column in the daily paper. Generally 
 he paid no attention to it whatsoever, but that 
 morning he turned to it before anything else. 
 There was an engagement announced there: " Be- 
 tween the Rev. Lionel Barmore, the young, bril- 
 liant, and popular Rector of St. Hilda's fashion- 
 able congregation, and Miss Margaret Wharton, 
 daughter of General Bideford Wharton, one of 
 the most prominent citizens of the great metropo- 
 lis, who is also senior warden and treasurer of 
 St. Hilda's parish." 
 
 The paper understood that the wedding would 
 take place within the next two months, or shortly 
 after Easter. It was true, then. He had half 
 believed, as he had tossed the long night through, 
 that it had been a hideous dream. This publica- 
 tion seemed like a crossed Rubicon, an irrevocable 
 step had been taken. Stebbing threw the paper
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 83 
 
 from him savagely and turned to his work, re- 
 solving to put everything but that out of his heart 
 a thing easier said than done. 
 
 He did not look at the other columns of the 
 paper, and consequently was greatly surprised 
 when the telephone bell rang and he received an 
 urgent request from the Bishop's private secretary 
 to come to the Episcopal residence at once. 
 
 " What is up ? " asked the young man, such a 
 summons being sufficiently infrequent to arouse his 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Up ! " came back the secretary over the wire, 
 " haven't you heard?" 
 
 " I have heard nothing." 
 
 " The morning papers? " 
 
 " I have not read them." 
 
 " The Bishop is dying." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" 
 
 "Yes, isn't it terrible?" 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " He has had a stroke. The doctors say he 
 
 will Jive only a few hours." 
 
 t 
 
 " Is he conscious?"
 
 84 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes, and he wants you. That is as near as 
 we can make out, and you are to come imme- 
 diately." 
 
 Instantly Stebbing hung up the receiver, seized 
 his hat, and rushed from the room. What could 
 the Bishop want with him? He loved the old 
 man. The whole Diocese did that, and they re- 
 spected him, too. The administrator had been 
 one of those gentle, peaceful souls, who had real- 
 ized often and painfully his inadequacy for the 
 strenuous demands of his great position. His 
 ability to think and plan was greater than his 
 ability to carry out and execute. His judgment 
 of men was unerring, his power to interest them 
 and to move them hardly commensurate. He had 
 watched Stebbing's career with the greatest in- 
 terest from that day when the young man made 
 such a startling declaration of independence in the 
 Bishop's office. He had observed with sympathy 
 the long, hard struggle which the other had gone 
 through. He had rejoiced that Stebbing's plans 
 had become more and more possible, and that the 
 practicability of his ideas had been demonstrated,
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 85 
 
 and as the talent of the young man for leadership 
 and executive ability grew upon the old prelate, 
 he had wondered, strange as it might seem, im- 
 possible as it might be considered by some less wise 
 than himself, whether it would not be well, upon 
 his demise, that the great interests of the metro- 
 politan Diocese should be intrusted to this new, 
 virile, vigorous, determined force. 
 
 Other men beside the Bishop had thought that. 
 Mostly young men, with here and there a gray- 
 beard among the clergy to temper the youthful 
 mass. Like every great organization in every 
 great city, the Church was subject to the dicta- 
 tions of a " ring." The Bishop had been sharp 
 enough to see this, but he had used this " ring," 
 so far as he could do so, for the furtherance of 
 the Church work, postponing the rupture that must 
 inevitably occur if the Church was ever to take 
 its rightful place among men, for the power 
 builded of men alone cannot endure. He left this 
 struggle for his successor, not because he was 
 
 afraid to meet the issue he would gladly have 
 
 
 gone to the stake for a principle, and no torture
 
 86 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 could have wrung from him a complaining word 
 but because he felt he was not the man to strike 
 the blow. It required a more rugged strength 
 to accomplish this, and he believed he had found 
 that in Stebbing. 
 
 The " ring " in control was in no sense venal. 
 It partook of none of the characteristics of a po- 
 litical association. It desired sincerely the welfare 
 of the Church, and gave unlimitedly for the fur- 
 therance of its plans, but it held the body ecclesi- 
 astic in an iron grip, in an unbreakable control. 
 The members of the group in power undoubtedly 
 believed that it was for the best interest of all 
 concerned that this control should be continued. 
 These members were men of the very highest per- 
 sonal character and of generous impulses. The 
 collective ability of the body was tremendous. It 
 had supported every project that the Bishop fa- 
 vored, and every appeal of the Church was met 
 by it. Its influence was felt by all the clergy 
 and laity, that is, except Stebbing, and he had 
 stood stubbornly independent. 
 
 Bideford Wharton, who would have resented
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 87 
 
 it if anyone had suggested that such a " ring " 
 existed, and that he had anything to do with it, 
 was at the head of it. He would have told you 
 that the men with whom he was associated and 
 he himself were elected to their offices or assumed 
 their position without the slightest conscious effort 
 on their part, which was undoubtedly true, but 
 nevertheless the " ring " was as actual as it was 
 potential. The conservative element perpetuated 
 it. It was the young Church body of whom Steb- 
 bing had grown to be the ideal, that was protest- 
 ing and determined. 
 
 Now the Bishop was already a very old man, 
 and men would not have been human had they 
 not long since begun to speculate upon his suc- 
 cessor. The humble people, who represented the 
 poorer churches, made no secret of their view that 
 Stebbing should be the next great metropolitan. 
 The young clergy and the newcomers, mostly from 
 the West, not yet tamed and subdued to the proper 
 deferential position by the tremendous forces of 
 the ast, readily entered into the desires of these 
 and favored Stebbing. There was not a man of
 
 88 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 any influence, power, or position, either among the 
 clergy or the laity in that group, but they were 
 men, some of them among the laity of unusual 
 ability, if of no special social position, men whose 
 capacity for organizing forces and controlling 
 them when organized had been tested in labor 
 matters. 
 
 The chief of these was a certain mechanic, a 
 housesmith, named Penrod, a natural orator, a 
 man of commanding personality, stubborn deter- 
 mination, and invincible courage, and as good a 
 workman as there was in the trade. He was a 
 leader of the labor forces of the city, a man 
 of great influence and power, and as disinterested 
 and honest as he was able. Stebbing had picked 
 him out of the gutter. He was one of those 
 masterless men who had resorted to the" cave of 
 Adullam. Stebbing had given to him the spiritual 
 touch which complemented and supplemented the 
 character of the man, and he was devoted to the 
 young parson. The son of an Englishman, he 
 had been confirmed in his youth, and now was 
 Stebbing's right-hand man at St. Osmund's. He
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 89 
 
 had been a deputy to several Diocesan Conventions, 
 where he had had courage to express himself on 
 several important questions which had arisen from 
 time to time and was therefore a marked man 
 among the deputies and the delegates, for the most 
 part silent, that made up that great organization. 
 It was he who had determined to have a Bishop 
 from the people. The man understood that that 
 was the foundation upon which the Church must 
 be builded, if it was to stand firm as it should and 
 reach from earth to sky. 
 
 Now, Stebbing had not dreamed of this specu- 
 lation concerning him. Penrod shrewdly told 
 himself that the most dangerous antagonist to be 
 avoided in such a movement would be Stebbing 
 himself, and he had expounded his theory to his 
 followers and his friends. He had even ven- 
 tured to give advice to the younger members of 
 the city clergy with whom he came in contact from 
 time to time at the conventions, and whom he had 
 visited systematically for the purpose, that no men- 
 tion* of the propaganda should be made to the man 
 most interested. Yet some of these things had
 
 90 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 come to the Bishop's ears. Perhaps he, too, had 
 seen the advisability of the possible movement for 
 taking the generalship of the church back to the 
 sections of the humble, whence its leadership had 
 originally sprung, and which had furnished its first 
 and greatest apostolate. 
 
 The Bishop lived in a comfortable house fur- 
 nished by the Diocese on one of the side streets 
 running from the great avenue on which the 
 Wharton residence stood, facing the park and 
 near St. Hilda's Church, which the Bishop's 
 family, in default of a cathedral not yet erected, 
 attended. If he could have gone quicker thereby, 
 Stebbing would not have hesitated to have hired 
 a taxi-cab, although to have paid for it would have 
 exhausted his purse, but the Subway Express 
 afforded him more rapid means of getting uptown, 
 and in fifteen minutes after he had received the 
 summons, having been fortunate enough to make 
 good connections, he stopped before the Bishop's 
 door. The street was crowded with the motor 
 cars of the advanced and the carriages of the 
 conservative, and groups of people stood on the
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 91 
 
 sidewalks. There was a constant stream of in- 
 quiries at the door. Stebbing mounted the steps 
 with the others, and was met by a policeman, sta- 
 tioned there to keep out all comers. 
 
 "How is the Bishop?" he asked. 
 
 " Very low, sir, and " 
 
 " I should like to see him." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, but no one " 
 
 " I am Mr. Stebbing, and the Bishop's secre- 
 tary telephoned that I was wanted." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know you. 
 Yes, you are expected. Will you come right in ? " 
 
 He stood aside, motioned to Stebbing to pass 
 him, and turned to confront other inquirers who 
 wished to learn the latest tidings, to express their 
 sympathy, and to proffer to do whatever they 
 could. A maid, who recognized him, met Stebbing 
 in the hall. 
 
 "Will you step in here, sir?" she said, "and 
 I'll tell Mrs. Wentworth that you are here. They 
 have been very anxious to see you, and I'll be back 
 in a minute." 
 
 Following the maid's gesture, Stebbing walked
 
 92 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 into the drawing-room. A number of people, 
 friends of the Bishop, officials in the Diocese, and 
 others, who had a right of entrance, were there. 
 The group directly in front of the mantel in- 
 cluded Barmore, General Wharton, and his 
 daughter. Stebbing's heart leaped at the sight of 
 them. Unfortunately, General Wharton caught 
 sight of him just as Stebbing turned to withdraw. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Stebbing," said the General, moving 
 toward him with outstretched hand. " This is 
 a terrible business, terrible." 
 
 11 It is, indeed." 
 
 " Margaret, you see Mr. Stebbing?" 
 
 Margaret Wharton, who had suddenly turned 
 very pale, bowed to the minister who stood before 
 her. 
 
 " Barmore has been with the Bishop all morn- 
 ing," continued the General. 
 
 Thus addressed, Barmore also was constrained 
 to acknowledge the presence of his former friend. 
 
 "How is he?" asked Stebbing. 
 
 " There is no hope for him." 
 
 " I was sent for by Mr. Karney, the secretary."
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 93 
 
 "The Bishop, we thought, wanted to see you; 
 that is as near as we could make out his desires, 
 anyway. We could scarcely understand any- 
 thing." 
 
 " What could he want with me? " 
 
 "Humph!" said the General; "what, in- 
 deed?" 
 
 The frightfully embarrassing situation was re- 
 lieved by the re-entrance of the maid. 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing, you are to come at once, Mrs. 
 Wentworth says. You, too, Mr. Barmore, and 
 General Wharton. In fact, anyone who would 
 like to. The doctors say there is no hope, and 
 you won't disturb the Bishop; he is almost in a 
 state of collapse." 
 
 Wharton was the chief lay member of the 
 Standing Committee; Barmore was pastor to the 
 Bishop's family; old Dr. Lydon, President of the 
 Standing Committee, was one of the oldest friends 
 of the Bishop. These gentlemen, with Margaret 
 Wharton, to whom the Bishop had almost been 
 a scond father, detached themselves from the 
 rest and followed the maid down the hall, up the
 
 94 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 long stairs into the Bishop's room. There were 
 two or three physicians there, two nurses, and the 
 Bishop's old and feeble wife. The old man's 
 only son had not yet arrived from Chicago. The 
 Bishop lay on his back, and his beard and face 
 were as white as the linen upon which his head 
 rested. His eyes were open, and there was in- 
 telligence in them. He was apparently completely 
 paralyzed. He could neither speak nor move 
 anything but his right hand, which wavered slightly 
 over the counterpane. 
 
 His wife, who had been standing by him, 
 rose as the little group entered. She took 
 Stebbing by the hand and led him to the bed- 
 side. 
 
 " Father," she said, raising her voice, " here is 
 Mr. Stebbing. We thought you wanted to see 
 him." 
 
 There was a movement of his eyelids, whether 
 it was muscular or involuntary, or whether it 
 meant anything or not, no one could tell; but the 
 eyes brightened and stared hard at the young man, 
 who looked down at the Bishop, greatly puzzled,
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 95 
 
 a deep sympathy working in his rather rugged 
 face. 
 
 " Speak to him," said his wife. 
 
 " Was there anything you wanted to say to me, 
 Bishop ? " asked Stebbing, raising his voice. " Is 
 there anything I can do for you, sir? " 
 
 There was no answer. The Bishop was in- 
 capable of speech. His right hand still fluttered 
 restlessly across the cover. Stebbing reached over 
 and took the thin, wasted, aristocratic old hand 
 in his strong and firm grasp. He thought he 
 detected a faint pressure and a faint pull. Did 
 the Bishop wish to push him away? He strove 
 gently to release his hand, but he could not. 
 What did the Bishop mean ? The eyes of the old 
 man looked at him so entreatingly. There was 
 so much that he fain would say, there was so much 
 that he fain would do, yet he said and did noth- 
 ing. His days of saying and his days of doing 
 were alike over. The doctor came to the side of 
 the bed and examined the Bishop critically. He 
 shopk his head, consulted with his colleague, and 
 then turned to General Wharton.
 
 96 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " He is liable to go at any moment." 
 
 The General nodded his head. " It would be 
 
 well " he said to Barmore, but the latter had 
 
 already anticipated the suggestion. He held in 
 his hand a little Book of Common Prayer, which 
 he always carried in his pocket. He looked for 
 a moment at the grave faces of the doctors, the 
 sternly composed face of the General, the tear- 
 dimmed eyes of Margaret Wharton, the stricken 
 face of the Bishop's wife, and the pitying coun- 
 tenance of his whilom friend, Stebbing, then at 
 the expressionless face of the Bishop. Yes, it 
 was time for that prayer provided for those at 
 the point of departure. 
 
 " Let us pray." 
 
 His voice broke the silence. Stebbing with 
 the rest knelt down. The others at the foot of 
 the bed, the old wife at the Bishop's head, and 
 Stebbing at his side. The slow, sympathetic 
 voice of Barmore rose gently in the still air: 
 
 "We humbly commend the soul of this 
 thy . . ." 
 
 The dying man's eyes opened widely. Some
 
 DEAD HAND ON LIVING HEAD 97 
 
 final access of strength came to him. He drew 
 his hand away from Stebbing's detaining clasp and 
 lifted it and dropped it upon the young man's 
 head. 
 
 "... Wash it, we pray thee, in the blood of 
 that immaculate Lamb, that was slain to take 
 away the sins of the world. ..." 
 
 The hand fluttered and trembled for a moment, 
 the light faded from his eyes, and the great prel- 
 ate had become in one moment even as men of 
 low degree. They all knew what had happened. 
 Barmore, praying on, closed his petition with the 
 last appeal of all that could be made. 
 
 "... Through the merits of Jesus Christ, 
 thine only Son, our Lord." 
 
 The Bishop was dead. He had put his right 
 hand on Stebbing's bent head before he died. 
 What did it mean? Stebbing had felt the life 
 go out of the hand during the reading of the 
 prayer. He had realized at once the difference 
 between a dead and a living touch, but he did not 
 move until someone took the hand from his head. 
 
 
 
 He hardly realized this. As he lifted his head
 
 98 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 he had eyes only for Margaret Wharton. He 
 had surprised her. She had a look upon her face 
 which he could not understand. It was as if 
 death had driven away dissimulation. What did 
 it mean? He was human; he couldn't help won- 
 dering as he heard old Dr. Lydon say: 
 
 "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken 
 away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS ARE MOOTED 
 
 ALTHOUGH he had been the recipient of such a 
 significant manifestation of interest on the part of 
 the dead prelate, although there had been some 
 sort of intense meaning in his final action, Steb- 
 bing's mind was not at all clear as to what had 
 been the purport of that benediction. He was too 
 modest to make the obvious deduction personal 
 to himself, and, to his shame, he admitted, he 
 was too much occupied with things that were very 
 much alive to give much immediate thought to the 
 Bishop, either as to his character, his career, or his 
 strange last conscious act, although he had deeply 
 loved the old man. He was thinking even as he 
 was in the very presence of the dead of Margaret 
 Wharton. 
 
 He withdrew from the room silently, none ques- 
 tioning or stopping him. Neither his position in 
 the "Diocese, nor his years, nor his relation to the 
 
 99
 
 ioo THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Bishop, warranted him remaining; nor did he feel 
 that he was of sufficient importance to be con- 
 sulted about the funeral arrangements. These 
 would naturally fall into the hands of Dr. Lydon, 
 the President of the Standing Committee, Gen- 
 eral Wharton, and Barmore, the Rector of the 
 Bishop's family. 
 
 He was glad to get away from the bedside of 
 the dead Bishop and think undisturbed of the liv- 
 ing reality of Margaret Wharton. He was very 
 uncomfortable in her society for reasons he could 
 not disguise, yet he would rather have been in 
 her society than that of any other person. He 
 was miserable when away from her, and more 
 miserable when with her. The condition is neither 
 unusual nor inexplicable. He loved her; he had 
 affronted her. She had rejected his affections, and 
 was about to marry somebody else. The situation 
 was entirely hopeless from his viewpoint, and yet 
 what had been the meaning of that look he had 
 surprised upon her face, when he lifted his head 
 from beneath the dead hand to find her staring at 
 him?
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 101 
 
 He could not puzzle it out. She loved Bar- 
 more, she had said so; she had accepted him; she 
 was too true a woman to have taken that course 
 unless her heart went with her consent, her soul 
 with her hand, and yet Stebbing, obtuse and un- 
 versed as he was in woman's ways, was not alto- 
 gether a fool when it came to the other sex, and 
 although he saw a woman in love with and pledged 
 to another, he could have sworn that there was 
 affection for him in that glance. Yes, for 
 him! 
 
 But that was clearly impossible. It could not 
 be. He put the matter firmly out of his mind 
 and settled resolutely down to work at St. Os- 
 mund's. Work that was the sovereign panacea 
 for pain like his; labor that was the remedy 
 ready to his hand; toil that would enable him to 
 conquer earthly passions and devote himself with 
 renewed vigor and success to the mission. In 
 the turmoil of his feelings the Bishop's action pres- 
 ently went out of his mind. 
 
 If did not go out of the minds of the others 
 who were present. There was an intense signifies
 
 102 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 tion in it to them. Barmore's face had gone 
 suddenly very white, as the realization of the 
 meaning of it burst upon him. Margaret's ap- 
 preciation had been quicker than that of the others. 
 General Wharton had understood it. The 
 Bishop's wife had scarcely noted it. Besides these 
 four, there were in the room old Dr. Lydon, the 
 doctors, and two nurses. Leaving the latter in 
 charge of the dead Bishop, Barmore gently led 
 the Bishop's wife away. He condoled with her 
 for a little space, until she asked to be left alone, 
 and then repaired to the Bishop's study, where 
 General Wharton had asked him to meet him as 
 soon as was convenient. Margaret and the two 
 physicians, with old Dr. Lydon also assembled 
 there. 
 
 " Gentlemen," began the General, " I regret to 
 bring this matter up now, but it seems to me to 
 be necessary. There may be a significance in the 
 Bishop's action in summoning Stebbing and laying 
 his hand on his head in benediction, and there 
 may not be, but I think, for reasons that are good 
 to me," he did not state them. Perhaps he con-
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 103 
 
 eluded that they could divine them as well as he, 
 or perhaps he was of the opinion that, since the 
 reasons were good to him, no one else had any 
 call to question the matter " it would be well for 
 us to say nothing about it. I know I can trust 
 to your discretion, Dr. Baron, and to that of your 
 
 young colleague " Both gentlemen bowed. 
 
 They had not the faintest desire to oppose a man 
 like Bideford Wharton. There was no reason 
 on earth why they should. If the authorities 
 about the Bishop's bedside desired them to be 
 silent, they accordingly were so. There was no 
 reason why they should speak. " I can answer 
 for Margaret," went on the General, " and you, 
 Barmore ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I shall say nothing about it." 
 
 "And you, Dr. Lydon?" 
 
 " You can count on me." 
 
 "The physicians will see to the nurse?" 
 
 " I will speak to her, General," answered Dr. 
 Baron. 
 
 "TJiat is settled, then. Now, I assume that 
 the funeral will be from our church, St. Hilda's,
 
 io 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 and we would better proceed with the arrange- 
 ments, and " 
 
 " If you will excuse me, father, I think I will 
 take the car and go home," interrupted his daugh- 
 ter. " I can do nothing here." 
 
 "Very well, Margaret," said the General 
 kindly. 
 
 "Shall I accompany you, Margaret?" inter- 
 posed Barmore. 
 
 " No, it is not necessary. You have much to 
 do." 
 
 " Send the car back when you are finished with 
 it, Margaret," said the General. " Now, gentle- 
 men " 
 
 Margaret left the room also with mingled feel- 
 ings. She had said nothing. Her father had 
 declared that he would answer for her, but could 
 he, and would he do so? There was no doubt 
 in Margaret Wharton's mind that, so far as he 
 was consciously able to do so, the Bishop had 
 designated Stebbing as his successor. Wonderful, 
 unprecedented, extraordinary as that course would 
 be, the Bishop had certainly taken it. Whether
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 105 
 
 he was in his right mind or not would be a ques- 
 tion which perhaps not even the most acute and 
 learned physician could decide, but with whatever 
 mind he had, and with the last access of strength 
 permitted him, he had certainly deliberately laid 
 his hand on Stebbing's head ! 
 
 Stebbing as the successor of Bishop Wentworth ! 
 It was unthinkable; for Wentworth had been 
 courtly, magnetic, exquisitely subtle, spiritual, aris- 
 tocratic, tactful, while Stebbing was plain, blunt, 
 practical, everyday, indifferent to conventions. 
 At that thought the strain of contiguity in her 
 mind snapped, and she flashed back to that scene 
 where he had thrown aside conventions, propri- 
 eties, and everything else that should govern a 
 man and a woman, and had snatched her in his 
 arms and had stolen kisses from her. 
 
 Kisses! Sweet? How the blood flooded her 
 cheek as she sat in the tonneau of the big car. 
 Was it a flush of anger, or resentment, or mere 
 remembrance, or was it compact of all these 
 things? She did not know. She was not sure, 
 and this lack of knowledge, this incertitude,
 
 106 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 humiliated her more than had the kisses the day 
 before. 
 
 It was with relief that her mind turned to Bar- 
 more. He was the logical candidate for the high 
 office. He possessed many of the characteristics 
 of Bishop Wentworth, with other attributes of his 
 own, highly desirable for one filling such a posi- 
 tion, and she would not have been human had 
 she not realized that, in all probability, instead 
 of being the wife of the Rector of St. Hilda's, 
 she would be the wife of the Bishop of the great 
 metropolis; which was a very different position, 
 indeed. 
 
 Yet that thought gave her no special joy or 
 satisfaction. There was a deadness and an inert- 
 ness in her at the thought of such an ending to 
 her dreams. Yet she forced herself to contem- 
 plate the position. She strove to speculate upon 
 the good she could do in such an office the help 
 she could be to her husband and there was a 
 strange feeling of relief at the thought of labor 
 and work. Yet her insubordinate mind would 
 revert to the man whom she instinctively knew to
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 107 
 
 be tramping the streets behind her, while she rode 
 over the pavement in her big motor-car. 
 
 Suppose the story did get out; suppose that to 
 the growing interest in Stebbing's work, and the 
 increasing influence of it, were added knowledge 
 of the scene in the Bishop's room what might 
 happen? Margaret was strangely aware that 
 there was a large body of young clergymen, mainly 
 from the smaller parishes, any of whose votes, by 
 the way, counted for just as much as that of her 
 father, who were deeply interested in Stebbing. 
 He had in a certain sense become a hero to that 
 section of the Church. She knew that her father's 
 candidate, and the candidate of all the wealthy 
 faction, would be Barmore, but she was by no 
 means sure, although her confidence in her father's 
 management was very great, that Barmore could 
 be elected, in which case she would not be the 
 
 wife of the Bishop at all, unless The blood 
 
 burned in her veins again. 
 
 That afternoon Penrod called upon his Rector. 
 
 ? Mr. Stebbing," he began, after he had been 
 cordially welcomed by the young man, who had
 
 108 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 great respect and admiration for the stalwart, 
 sturdy, clear-headed, enthusiastic old mechanic, 
 " there are two things on my mind, and I naturally 
 come to you to get 'em out." 
 "What are they, Penrod?" 
 " The first is the death of the Bishop." 
 " That is a matter of grave concern to us all," 
 returned Stebbing; " and, of course, in its sudden- 
 ness it is very shocking; yet we have to be frank 
 about it. The Diocese will surely gain by it. 
 For years Bishop Wentworth has been little more 
 than a figurehead his age, his infirmities, his dis- 
 position " 
 
 " That's right, Mr. Stebbing. A Diocese like 
 this one must have a man at the head of it 
 a young man, a vigorous man, a man who knows 
 and understands the common people, a plain man 
 who can get at the heart of humanity." 
 
 " That is the kind of man we want, Pen- 
 rod." 
 
 " And that's the kind of man we'll get." 
 " I hope so. The only difficulty is to find 
 him."
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 109 
 
 " For my part," was the quick answer, " I have 
 found him." 
 
 " You ! " exclaimed Stebbing. 
 
 " I have been a delegate to every Diocesan Con- 
 vention since you came here and picked me out 
 of the gutter," said Penrod with rough dignity. 
 " I have spoken a number of times, and have made 
 the acquaintance of many of the deputies and the 
 clergymen. You know I hold a high position in 
 my union, and I am somewhat of a leader in labor 
 circles, and " 
 
 " Of course I know all that, and appreciate it ; 
 but do you mean to tell me that you have picked 
 out a clergyman already for the great office of 
 Bishop in this Diocese ? " 
 
 11 1 have." 
 
 "And who is he Barmore?" 
 
 " Barmore I " the big mechanic almost snarled. 
 " What are his qualifications to lead a Diocese like 
 this?" 
 
 " A fine presence, a cultivated mind, a great 
 ability to preach, a commanding position, a wide 
 influence among "
 
 no THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " The idle rich and the timid refined. What's 
 he doing in the muck-holes of the city among the 
 poor and the " 
 
 " There is St. Hilda's mission." 
 
 " Rot ! It is a religious condescension, and 
 pauperizes the class to which it strives to minister, 
 to which we belong. You've taught us that your- 
 self." 
 
 "But," persisted Stebbing, "look at the 
 good " 
 
 " Oh, it does some good, I grant you, among the 
 women and the children ; but it ain't doing Christ's 
 work in Christ's way. It is giving, giving, giving 
 all the time, and never getting his people to " 
 
 " But He said it was better to give than to 
 receive." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but the kind of giving we want 
 is that which '11 make self-respecting men and 
 women out of us by making us give back what we 
 can. We want to get in on the benefits of giving 
 ourselves, not allow them a monopoly of blessing 
 in addition to everything else they've got," went 
 on the man with shrewd earnestness. " The
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS in 
 
 Church is suffering for a man to lead it in your 
 way. Men like that wonderful Saint Paul you 
 preach about so often." 
 
 " But he was one of the best-bred men of his 
 time, one of the most cultivated, one of the most 
 learned " 
 
 " I know he was, but he was a tent-maker, a 
 workingman just the same as you and me, and 
 proud of it, too." 
 
 " I am not what you would call well-born," 
 said Stebbing, smiling at his earnest friend. " My 
 people were plain New England farmers. I cer- 
 tainly am not particularly well educated, and " 
 the smile faded from his lips ; " I am not quite 
 sure that I am particularly well-bred." 
 
 There was a bitterness in that admission which 
 perhaps two days before he would not have made, 
 and would not have allowed anyone else to make. 
 
 " You're a man all right. You're well enough 
 born," said Penrod, " and well enough bred, and 
 well enough educated for us down here, and we 
 want you for Bishop." 
 
 '* You don't mean it. You can't mean it."
 
 ii2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Of course I mean it, and what's more, we are 
 going to have you." 
 
 " It is absurd, impossible." 
 
 " It ain't absurd, and it ain't impossible. You 
 don't know what a following you have in this 
 Diocese. Every church among the poor parishes 
 will send its full quota of delegates, and they'll 
 vote for you to the last man." 
 
 "But the clergy?" 
 
 " Every young clergyman, except those that are 
 tied up in the big rich churches, like Barmore's 
 assistants, will vote for you, first, last, and all 
 the time." 
 
 "I forbid it absolutely," cried Stebbing; "it 
 
 
 " You can't forbid it. Your forbidding it will 
 make no difference. We know you, and we're 
 going to have you; and if we don't get you, we're 
 going to make ourselves so felt in the convention 
 that the man who gets it will have a warning. 
 We're going to show them what we mean. We 
 know you, and we're going to have you." 
 
 " No one knows me as I know myself. If there
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 113 
 
 ever was a man unworthy of such an office it is I. 
 I have none of the qualities that would go to make 
 
 a successful Bishop. I lack " 
 
 " I know what you lack," said Penrod coolly; 
 " you ain't a saint; none of us is that. We know 
 your faults, but we know your virtues, too, and 
 your defects ain't to be mentioned for a moment 
 in comparison with your qualities. Look what 
 you have done down here. You have revolution- 
 ized the whole neighborhood. You have closed 
 half the saloons, and the other half you have made 
 as decent as you can. You can fill the old church 
 three times a Sunday, and the parish house all 
 the week. The plant has been cleaned and put 
 in order. You've got a big Sunday school, com- 
 posed of people you have pulled off the streets. 
 You've turned brutes into men and women. 
 You've got a great following; there ain't nothing 
 they wouldn't do for you, and every drunkard, 
 thief, blackguard, and prostitute in the whole city 
 is your friend. When any of 'em gets into trouble, 
 do they send for Barmore, or any of his crowd? 
 No - r they want you, and the whole city wants you."
 
 n 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " The people who live on Fifth Avenue cer- 
 tainly don't want me," said Stebbing somewhat 
 bitterly. 
 
 " No, they don't; but it would be for their soul's 
 health if they did, and sometimes I think they 
 need the Gospel more than we do. Christ was 
 like us ; it was on our account that He came. He 
 might have been anything that He chose to be, 
 but He came a poor workingman, laboring with 
 His hands. He swung an ax, and shoved a plane, 
 and dragged a saw, and wielded a hammer. We 
 can understand Him better than they can. I tell 
 you, the salvation of the world has got to begin 
 where Jesus begun at the bottom of society. 
 We're going to begin here, and the man who is 
 going to do it is yourself." 
 
 " Any attempt to elect me would antagonize 
 St. Hilda's people, and all the others like 
 them." 
 
 "The difference between you and St. Hilda's 
 crowd is just this: They give money to help us. 
 You come down here and give yourself to teach 
 us to help ourselves. They are doing their best,
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 115 
 
 and I've got nothing to say against them, but you 
 are the man we want, and you are the man we 
 are going to have." 
 
 " Penrod," said Stebbing earnestly, " don't do 
 this. Your affection, your regard, for me is lead- 
 ing you astray. It is not possible, and if it were, 
 it would not be wise. I am not learned enough 
 or tactful enough or pious enough or anything 
 enough, and I haven't the slightest desire on earth 
 to be a Bishop. Nobody, I am confident, has 
 ever thought of it but you, and perhaps some of 
 the young clergy down here. It would come to 
 nothing, and " 
 
 " So you think nobody has thought of it, do 
 you?" 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " What about what happened this morning? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " At the Bishop's bedside, when he died." 
 
 "And what do you know about it, Penrod?" 
 
 11 1 know all about it." 
 
 "Andhow?' u 
 
 " Jessie told me."
 
 n6 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Jessie!" exclaimed Stebbing; "was she 
 there?" 
 
 " She was. You didn't notice her. She was 
 assistant nurse. Nobody noticed her. I have 
 heard through one of the servants that something 
 took place that was kept secret by Wharton and 
 Barmore and the rest of the crowd. They were 
 all sworn to secrecy, except Jessie. Being an 
 under-nurse, nobody thought of her. She left im- 
 mediately after the Bishop died, and before they 
 cooked up their plan, and being my daughter she 
 naturally came to me and said how she saw the 
 Bishop call for you, and when you knelt by his 
 side he laid his hand on your head." 
 
 " Penrod, you don't know what you are say- 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes, I do. He was a wise old man, Bishop 
 Wentworth, in his way. I've always said that. 
 He wasn't capable of taking care of this Diocese, 
 though. Forty years ago, when he was elected, 
 conditions was different. He couldn't cope with 
 things as they developed, but he recognized a man 
 that could, and so do we. That is what he meant,
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 117 
 
 and we are going to carry out his will, so help me 
 God." 
 
 There was a terrible earnestness in the big work- 
 man's manner. He smote the table with his heavy 
 fist as he made that last solemn assertion. Steb- 
 bing stared at him fascinated. He had really 
 given little thought in the turmoil of his mind to 
 the Bishop's action. Could the old man have 
 meant that ? It was impossible. Was there any- 
 thing in that rumor of a secret compact they had 
 all agreed to? Impossible again; yet what had 
 been that expression he had surprised on Margaret 
 Wharton's face? Nonsense! Penrod was mad; 
 it could not be. 
 
 " Penrod," he began slowly, realizing the in- 
 tense seriousness of this last development, " I beg 
 you, I entreat you, not to mention that scene at 
 the Bishop's bedside, and to refrain from discuss- 
 ing further these foolish dreams. As God is my 
 Judge, knowing myself as I do, I am sure there 
 is not a man on earth less worthy of the office 
 you propose. I shall work against it in every way 
 that I can."
 
 n8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " You won't refuse it if it comes, though? " 
 
 " How can a man say that? " admitted the other 
 reluctantly; " perhaps it might come to me in such 
 an imperative way that the call could not be dis- 
 regarded. But as God is my Helper " 
 
 " Mr.Stebbing," interrupted Penrod stubbornly, 
 " if it is in my power, as God is my Helper, I will 
 do this thing." 
 
 "You are absolutely hopeless," said Stebbing. 
 " You have not the correct view of the situation, 
 and then I know you will be practically alone in 
 this endeavor." 
 
 " We'll say no more about it now. They can't 
 call a council until sixty days after the Bishop's 
 funeral, by the Canons, I believe. I looked that 
 up, you see." 
 
 " Those who love me will do nothing for me in 
 that endeavor." 
 
 " Look here, Mr. Stebbing, can't you see that it 
 ain't because we love you so much, which we do, 
 but it's because we love Christ and His Church 
 and mankind. We know you, we know the con- 
 ditions here, and we're going to put it squarely
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 119 
 
 up to you and God as to whether you are to be 
 our apostle; but I'll say no more about it now. 
 I've got another concern on my mind." 
 
 " I hope it is of more importance and more 
 practical than the matter you have just dis- 
 cussed." 
 
 " It ain't the one thing or the other. Nothing 
 is more important than the leadership of the 
 Church at this juncture, and nothing is more prac- 
 tical than giving the job to you; but aside from 
 that, there can't be anything much more important 
 than this. You know, since I am president of 
 our union, and a member of the Central Board 
 of Federation in town, that I know pretty much 
 all that is going on, and there is going to be within 
 the next thirty days or so a strike on the Traction 
 Company's lines, unless something is done to pre- 
 vent it. The hours are long, the work hard, and 
 the pay is lower among the employees of the Trac- 
 tion Company than in organized labor anywhere 
 else, and General Wharton is going to run up 
 against the biggest thing that he has ever tackled, 
 or I am no judge.*'
 
 120 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I have always heard General Wharton spoken 
 of as a perfectly fair man." 
 
 " Fair! He is as fair as Hell! He is abso- 
 lutely impartial, and treats everybody alike, so far 
 as that goes." 
 
 " But his hospital, his sick benefits, the " 
 
 " They are all right in their way. They are 
 like St. Hilda's mission. But a real man would 
 rather have better hours and better pay, and pro- 
 vide for things like that himself. They want a 
 half-holiday, weekly, with pay, in the summer, 
 like other workmen, and once in a while a Sunday 
 off, to go to church and get acquainted with their 
 children. The cars have to be equipped with 
 airbrakes, and there's got to be some improve- 
 ments in the car vestibules before winter. You 
 know how cold they are." 
 
 " Yes, I have always made it a point to ride on 
 the front platform." 
 
 " You ride for one trip the motorman rides for 
 twenty. I ain't enough of a motorman to under- 
 stand it all, but the men are going to put it 
 squarely up to the General, and if he don't do
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 121 
 
 something there'll be the worst strike in history. 
 There ain't no * L ' roads, and the one Subway, 
 incomplete as yet, would not greatly relieve the 
 situation ; so you see the surface cars have it pretty 
 nearly their own way." 
 ""Why do you tell me all this?" 
 
 " Because I want you to do something." 
 
 " What do you want me to do? " 
 
 " If I could tell you that, I ought to be the 
 man to be Bishop," answered Penrod tersely. 
 
 " Well," said Stebbing, " this appeal is more 
 congenial to me than the other. I can do some- 
 thing, and I will. There are a number of these 
 men in my congregation. I'll get a bunch of 
 them together, and we'll talk it over informally." 
 
 " That is right." 
 
 " Then I will go to General Wharton." 
 
 " Good again. But if that doesn't work, what 
 then? Which side will you be on, the people's 
 or the General's?" 
 
 " Penrod," said Stebbing, looking his man in- 
 tently in the face; "you say you know me, and 
 I will prove it. Which side will I take? "
 
 122 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " The right side, by Heaven ! " cried Penrod. 
 
 "Thank you," returned the other; "I would 
 rather have you say that than be anything you 
 suggest. I will try to be on the right side. If 
 that be the men's side, so much the better; if it 
 be on General Wharton's side, so much the worse ; 
 but whatever side I am on, my sympathies and my 
 affections and everything I have will be at the 
 service of the men." 
 
 " It ain't a very high-class crowd, you know ; 
 it ain't highly skilled labor, like ours; when we 
 strike it means something; but there is an awful 
 lot of them, and as is always, there is some devils 
 and some fools among them. Even the Church 
 has her share of that kind of people, you know." 
 
 " Yes," assented Stebbing, " and the problem 
 is to keep the fools and the devils from disturbing 
 the rest, while we make over both classes. I am 
 glad you told me this ; I will act at once." 
 
 " By the way," said Penrod slowly, " ain't you 
 got some influence with Miss Wharton? I've 
 seen her down here at services a number of 
 times."
 
 TWO GREAT MATTERS 123 
 
 " No. Whatever influence I had with her is 
 gone. She is going to be another man's wife." 
 
 For the life of him, he couldn't keep the bitter- 
 ness and disappointment from his voice. The 
 older man looked at him quickly. 
 
 " What fools some women be," he said sa- 
 piently. 
 
 " Penrod ! " roared Stebbing fiercely, stepping 
 forward. 
 
 "There, there, Mr. Stebbing," said the other 
 man, " it was just a general observation. Now, 
 good-by, sir." 
 
 " Please don't make general observations of that 
 kind when Miss Wharton's name is mentioned in 
 the future," returned Stebbing shortly. 
 
 Penrod turned back and caught Stebbing by the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I like you," he said. " By Heaven, I am 
 big and strong enough to throw you out of the 
 window; but you'd hit me in a moment if I gave 
 you half a chance. Well, I ain't going to do 
 it. Some clergymen ain't men, but you're a man, 
 and that is why I like you."
 
 124 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 It was impossible to resist. Stebbing laughed. 
 . " I don't know about your being able to throw 
 me out of the window," he said. " You might 
 if I'd let you get hold of me, but I could stall 
 you off until I had pounded you up pretty well. 
 I can box, and you can't." 
 
 " We'd have a pretty good fight, wouldn't we? " 
 laughed Penrod. " Well, don't forget about the 
 Bishopric and the strike." 
 
 "I shall remember both; but if you want to 
 do me a service, you forget all about the first your- 
 self." 
 
 " Not on your life," said the big man, turning 
 away, this time for good.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 
 
 WHILE this interview was taking place a scarcely 
 less interesting conversation was being held be- 
 tween General Wharton and his daughter. The 
 General had been very busy that day between the 
 Bishop's death and his own extensive affairs, and 
 he had not had time for the conference which 
 he had promised himself to hold with his daugh- 
 ter at the earliest possible moment, until nightfall, 
 and the two who lived alone, the General being 
 a widower, had repaired to the library for a little 
 after-dinner chat. 
 
 " My dear," said the General, putting down his 
 coffee cup and lighting his cigar, " I am, of course, 
 greatly grieved and shocked by the death of the 
 Bishop, whom we have known and loved so many 
 years, but now that he has gone there are matters 
 of moment about which it is necessary I should 
 have a word or two with you." 
 
 The General paused and examined the lighted 
 125
 
 126 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 end of his cigar carefully. It was the girl who 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "I supposed that you would have something 
 to say, although I scarcely see why I am con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Are you not concerned in everything that con- 
 cerns me? " 
 
 11 Certainly." 
 
 " Well, I am deeply concerned in the selection 
 of a successor for Bishop Wentworth. The wel- 
 fare of the Church and the city are very near to 
 me." 
 
 " That of course." 
 
 "And I need scarcely point out to you that 
 upon the successor to the Bishop will devolve great 
 burdens and responsibilities." 
 
 The girl nodded acquiescently. 
 
 " Certainly, that is true." 
 
 " Bishop Wentworth was old-fashioned, I will 
 admit; ultra-conservative I am conservative my- 
 self but there are times, you understand, when 
 a bolder and more vigorous policy would produce 
 better results."
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 127 
 
 " I have always believed that Bishop Went- 
 worth realized that his end was approach- 
 ing, and for the last five or six years he has 
 been content to keep things going and leave 
 the working out of new problems to his suc- 
 cessor." 
 
 " Exactly. We cannot, of course, get a man 
 like Bishop Wentworth to succeed to the office, 
 and we don't want exactly that kind I mean no 
 disrespect to the Bishop whatsoever, you under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I understand perfectly." 
 
 " We want a man who is reasonably conserva- 
 tive and has some of the qualities Bishop Went- 
 worth showed. A man of tact, graceful bearing, 
 distinguished appearance, oratorical ability, and a 
 man of high standing and position in the best 
 circles of the community, who can conciliate and 
 attach the old conservative elements to himself, 
 and yet who has sufficient flexibility and adapta- 
 bility to do some things which Bishop Wentworth 
 could not, or did not, do." 
 
 "Are these your ideas as to the qualities of
 
 128 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 a Bishop in the Church of God, father? " asked 
 Margaret, smiling faintly. 
 
 " I er in the main, yes. Are they not yours 
 also?" 
 
 " Well, I should say that we want first of all 
 a manly man, a godly man, a zealous man, a man 
 who has qualities of leadership, a self-sacrificing 
 man, and above all, a man who will understand 
 and sympathize with the plain people." 
 
 " Why, all that goes without saying, of course; 
 but we need these other qualities I mentioned 
 primarily." 
 
 " Yes, but first of all we want a man who will 
 lead, and that means a man who will fight," said 
 the girl dreamily, so absorbed in that which she 
 was trying to picture into a familiar likeness that 
 for a moment she forgot her father, who stared 
 at her in some amazement. 
 
 " I had not thought," he remarked, " that Bar- 
 more was exactly the kind of a man you were de- 
 scribing." 
 
 "Mr. Barmorel" exclaimed the girl; "were 
 you thinking of him ? "
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 129 
 
 " Certainly. Were not you? " 
 
 NO. I " 
 
 "Of whom, then?" 
 
 " Well really, I was thinking in the abstract," 
 faltered the woman. 
 
 " Humph 1" said the General, "you had the 
 most concentrated look on your face for vague 
 indefinite thoughts that I have ever seen. How- 
 ever, I was thinking of Barmore, and I tell you 
 that others are thinking of him for Bishop of this 
 Diocese." 
 
 " I had scarcely considered him in that light 
 at all." 
 
 " Well, do it now. Doesn't he quite fill the bill 
 as I have outlined it?" 
 
 "Your bill, certainly; but " 
 
 " Well, doesn't he fill yours, too? " 
 
 " I don't know," began the girl uncertainly. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Margaret," cried her father, 
 " aren't you going to marry him ? Don't you love 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes, I am going to marry him, and I certainly 
 wouldn't do that if I didn't love him, would I ? "
 
 i 3 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "How do I know?" 
 
 "Of course, I care a great deal for him, 
 but I had never considered him as a possible 
 Bishop." 
 
 "Well, you can go further than that now," 
 said the General; "you can look upon him as a 
 probable one. The man I back, I need scarcely 
 remind you, has a splendid chance to succeed." 
 
 " Have you so much power in the councils of 
 the Church, father?" asked the girl. 
 
 " It is not that exactly, but I have observed 
 that my colleagues of the Standing Committee and 
 the older and more influential clergy and laity, 
 with whom I am brought in contact, usually are 
 apt to be of my opinion. I wish to speak with 
 becoming modesty, but I feel that perhaps the 
 most valuable single asset Mr. Barmore could 
 have would be my influence." 
 
 " Do you think," asked the girl, " that it is ex- 
 actly in good taste for you to exert your influence 
 to have Mr. Barmore made Bishop, now that our 
 engagement has been announced? Would it not 
 look like a family affair? "
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 131 
 
 " I never thought of that," admitted her father 
 reluctantly. He looked very much puzzled for 
 a moment. " It certainly does complicate matters. 
 You know that whether Barmore were engaged to 
 you or not, I should still be for him. As a matter 
 of fact, anticipating that dear old Bishop Went- 
 worth would soon be called to his rest, we have 
 given the matter some thought, and it had been 
 talked over among some of us before anything 
 happened to the Bishop. We were unanimous in 
 our judgment that Barmore would make the very 
 best Bishop for this great Diocese. He has youth, 
 health, strength, charming personality, an agree- 
 able manner; he is a remarkably good preacher, 
 a good organizer, and has the faculty of getting 
 money out of people who have it, and is altogether 
 the most popular clergyman in town. You agree 
 with me, I am sure." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the girl, " all that is true; but 
 how are you going to support his candidacy when 
 you are expecting him to be your son-in-law ? " 
 
 " If that engagement hadn't been announced in 
 such a hurry," said the General.
 
 132 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes," returned the woman somewhat listlessly, 
 " if it only hadn't been announced." 
 
 " There must be some way out of the dilemma," 
 continued the General, rising and pacing the li- 
 brary with nervous steps. " We really cannot let 
 such a little thing as that announcement ruin so 
 promising an undertaking." 
 
 " Of course," said Margaret, so gravely, that 
 her father, preoccupied as he was, failed to see 
 the sarcasm in her voice, " not even a broken heart 
 should be permitted to disturb any of your plans." 
 
 The General looked up at her. 
 
 " Do you care as much for him as that? " he 
 asked quickly. 
 
 "No, no!" asserted the girl vehemently; "I 
 suppose I care sufficiently for him to marry him, 
 but " 
 
 " It was not like that when I married your 
 mother," said the General softly, looking up to- 
 ward a picture on the wall, the exquisite face and 
 figure of Margaret's prototype; "but I suppose 
 modern conditions are changed. It is thought 
 foolish nowadays to be devotedly in love."
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 133 
 
 " Why continue the discussion in this vein, 
 father?" asked the woman. "You have either 
 got to discover some plan to overcome the positive 
 outcry which would be raised when it becomes 
 known that you are supporting your son-in-law for 
 your Episcopate, or you will have to withdraw 
 your co-operation." 
 
 " The last is impossible. I am confident Bar- 
 more is the only man to meet modern conditions 
 in this community, and he must be made Bishop 
 whatever betides." 
 
 " The dilemma appears insuperable, then," said 
 the girl gravely. 
 
 " It would be, unless " the General paused. 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 " Unless the engagement were to be denied." 
 
 " But it can't be denied; it is true." 
 
 " Suppose that it were not true. Suppose, 
 for instance, that the engagement were broken 
 off." 
 
 " Then, of course, it would be proper to make 
 such a statement; but it is not broken off." 
 
 "But could it not be?"
 
 134 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "It could be, of Course," answered the girl, 
 " if there were any reason for it." 
 
 She should have been dismayed beyond measure 
 at such a proposition, but she could not control 
 the wild leap in her heart at the prospect of free- 
 dom. The very fact that it was so agreeable to 
 her intensified her determination to abide by her 
 agreement. She thought her salvation lay that 
 way, and that way alone. 
 
 "There is no reason on earth why I should 
 break the engagement," she added finally. 
 
 " Reason ! " exclaimed the General, opposition 
 intensifying his determination; " I tell you we must 
 make that man Bishop, and we cannot do it if he 
 is engaged to you." 
 
 " Cannot the others do it without you? " 
 
 " I couldn't be neutral in such a contest. The 
 fact that I was not actively advocating him would 
 tell heavily against Bannore, and I need scarcely 
 disguise from you that he may have to fight hard 
 for succession." 
 
 " If I know Mr. Bannore," said the girl swiftly, 
 " he will not turn his hand over for the office."
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 135 
 
 She might not love him as he desired, or her father 
 hoped, but at least she could defend him from any 
 suspicion of unworthiness. " He is not the kind 
 of a man who would work for such an office." 
 
 " Of course, of course," said the General sooth- 
 ingly, " and all he will have to do will be to put 
 himself in our hands." 
 
 She had often heard her father use that expres- 
 sion in things less sacred and holy than the choice 
 of a prelate. However, she was not there to 
 judge her father or to censure him. She put the 
 thought out of her mind, and returned to her 
 point. 
 
 " I do not see what can be done." 
 
 " There is nothing that can be done, unless you 
 give him up." 
 
 " Give him up ! " 
 
 " I know I am asking a great deal of you, Mar- 
 garet; but it is not final. All you have to do is 
 to allow me to deny the engagement, and after 
 it is over " 
 
 "Oh! you simply mean to deny the engagement 
 in public."
 
 136 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Well er " The General was overcome 
 
 with confusion. 
 
 " Father, how could you ? " asked his daughter. 
 " This I will do. I will absolutely, finally, and 
 definitely break off the engagement. There shall 
 be no restrictions of any sort in my action or my 
 words." 
 
 " Does that mean that you will not marry 
 him?" 
 
 " It only means that the engagement is broken 
 off. If what you desire is brought about, and 
 if he should then be of the same mind as he is 
 now, and I am " 
 
 " Would you re-engage yourself to him ? " 
 
 " I cannot even promise that, father. I can 
 only say that I am open to be won." 
 
 "I see," said the General reflectively; "well, 
 that is very satisfactory to me." 
 
 Margaret smiled faintly. 
 
 " Your heart is not particularly engaged," she 
 said. " I wonder what Mr. Barmore will think 
 of it." 
 
 "Leave him to me," answered the General
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 137 
 
 confidently; "I will persuade him; and really, 
 Margaret, I think this is exceedingly noble of you, 
 to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of the 
 Church, and " 
 
 " Please don't, father. I am more than willing 
 to do it." 
 
 If she had expressed her real desire, she would 
 have said, "Glad!"; but that was not to be 
 thought of, or at least not to be admitted in 
 public. 
 
 "Then it is settled?" 
 
 " No," answered the girl, " it is not settled; not 
 until Mr. Barmore has acquiesced." 
 
 " We will have him here in ten minutes," said 
 the General briskly, " and we'll get this matter 
 closed up immediately. There will be time to get 
 the denial in the evening papers, and then the field 
 will be clear." 
 
 " You seem very confident." 
 
 " I am absolutely sure of it." 
 
 He touched the bell upon his desk and bade the 
 servant who responded to call up Mr. Barmore 
 and say to him that General and Miss Wharton
 
 138 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 desired very much to see him at their home at the 
 very earliest possible moment he could visit them. 
 
 As the servant withdrew, the girl turned to her 
 father. " There is no arriere pensee in your ac- 
 tion or desire, father?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Don't you approve of my engagement? Don't 
 you want me to marry Mr. Barmore? " 
 
 " I approve of it highly. He is quite the sort 
 of young man I would like you to marry. He 
 has many good qualities. He lacks money, I be- 
 lieve his means are small, but, thank God, I can 
 supply all that is necessary, and I am a good 
 enough American to be proud to commit you to 
 the care of so splendid a young man of our own 
 people. I shall be glad, indeed, to see you his 
 wife. Our own position is everything that can be 
 desired, socially and financially, and when you add 
 ecclesiastically, it seems to me I could wish nothing 
 more for you." 
 
 He smiled tenderly at her, but she looked at him 
 vaguely, hardly hearing the close of his rather 
 long answer.
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 139 
 
 " I want to ask you something," she began ab- 
 ruptly. " What did the Bishop mean by laying 
 his hand on Mr. Stebbing's head? " 
 
 " Margaret," said the General severely, " I at- 
 tach no importance or significance to that action 
 whatsoever. I do not think he meant anything 
 by it, and I have therefore taken steps to prevent 
 its being known until after the election. The doc- 
 tors, the nurse, Barmore, Dr. Lydon, Mrs. Went- 
 worth, and yourself were the only persons present, 
 and you all have been charged not to mention 
 it." 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing was there." 
 
 " Yes, but I hardly think he will discuss 
 it." 
 
 "No, I don't think he would. I know he 
 wouldn't." 
 
 " Well, then, it will never get out." 
 
 " But what surprises me is that you take all 
 this precaution to keep it secret, if you attach, as 
 you say, no importance to it." 
 
 " If I attached any importance to it, my dear," 
 said the General, " I should feel in honor bound
 
 i 4 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 to let it be known. The fact that I attach no 
 importance to it does not mean that everyone else 
 would agree with me. There might be some who 
 would think who might believe that er 
 Bishop Wentworth did well, was designating his 
 successor." 
 
 "In Mark Stebbing?" asked the girl. 
 
 " In Mark Stebbing." 
 
 " Why, it is impossible." 
 
 " If I am able to predict the future, it will be 
 Mark Stebbing who will be Barmore's most dan- 
 gerous opponent," returned her father coolly. 
 
 " But he lacks so many of those qualities which 
 you have set forth as necessary for the successor 
 to the office." 
 
 "Exactly; and that is why I am for Barmore. 
 Stebbing is a very worthy young man. He and I 
 disagree radically on many important matters, and 
 our differences are vital, but I cannot deny that 
 he has many chances for the succession. He is 
 intensely popular with all those parties and move- 
 ments in the Diocese which are not represented 
 by me. You understand that I am not putting
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 141 
 
 myself at the head of everything, I only mean 
 that the wealthy and influential section are with 
 me ; but I am frank to say that, among the younger 
 clergy and among the delegates from the humbler 
 parishes, Stebbing has an amazing strength. That 
 church of his, with its queer ideas, is packed to 
 the doors three times a Sunday. He gets more 
 people there than we can get at St. Hilda's mis- 
 sion, although there is absolutely nothing that 
 money can buy that we have not given to those 
 people down there." 
 
 " I see," said the girl, as her father paused, 
 " and if it should get about that the Bishop had 
 asked for Stebbing, and had laid his hand on his 
 head as he did, the people might think that " 
 
 " Exactly. Therefore, I have arranged that it 
 shall not be known." 
 
 "There was one other person in the room, 
 father." 
 
 "One other person?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The second nurse."
 
 i 4 2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I take it that the head nurse will look after 
 her." 
 
 " I am not so sure about that. Do you know 
 who she was? " 
 
 " Hardly ; how should I know the names of 
 nurses?" answered the General with some slight 
 impatience. 
 
 " I happen to know her, father, and she is a 
 very nice girl, indeed." 
 
 " She may be, but I have no interest in her 
 qualities," said the General indifferently. 
 
 "Well, you will, when you know who she is. 
 Her name is Penrod." 
 
 "What! Is she the daughter of that labor 
 agitator?" 
 
 " She is." 
 
 The General thought deeply for a moment. 
 Once again he summoned the servant, and this time 
 asked to be put in connection with the Bishop's 
 residence. When the bell rang, he asked to speak 
 to the head nurse, Miss Stirling, who he knew 
 would still be in the house. 
 
 " This is General Wharton," he began. " That
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 143 
 
 assistant that you have there, Miss Stirling, Miss 
 er Penrod, is she still there?" 
 
 "No, General Wharton; she left immediately 
 after the Bishop's death. She was only called in 
 to assist me at the last moment, and as she had 
 a pressing case on hand, I did not detain her. 
 There was nothing she could do." 
 
 " Did you enjoin her to say nothing about what 
 transpired at the Bishop's bedside? " 
 
 " I did not have an opportunity to do so, but 
 I am sure that she will make no mention of it, un- 
 less to her own people. Professional etiquette 
 v/ould forbid it, sir, you know." 
 
 The General locked his teeth savagely, but con- 
 trolled himself. 
 
 " Very well, Miss Stirling. If you get into 
 communication with her, I wish you would ask her 
 to say nothing about it. No, it is of no conse- 
 quence." 
 
 He hung up the receiver. 
 
 " She got away," he said, turning to his daugh- 
 ter, " before Miss Stirling had an opportunity to 
 tell her to keep quiet about what happened."
 
 144 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Everybody will know about it, then," said the 
 girl. 
 
 " Miss Stirling said something about profes- 
 sional etiquette." 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 " She certainly will tell her father, and you 
 know how devoted he is to Mr. Stebbing." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. It is most annoying." 
 
 The fact itself was annoying. The further 
 fact that he had lost one move in the game added 
 to his exasperation. Besides, when the incident be- 
 came known, as it certainly would, it would greatly 
 add to the difficulties of his position. The Gen- 
 eral did not propose to give up ; he meant to fight 
 that much harder to repair his blunder. 
 
 " Do you know," said his daughter, who had 
 been earnestly watching the signs of the conflict on 
 her father's face, " I am one of those who believe 
 that Bishop Wentworth did mean to indicate his 
 successor." 
 
 " It may be," said her father, " but that makes 
 no difference to me. I cannot allow a man in 
 the last stages of dissolution, dying of paralysis,
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 145 
 
 and mentally incapable at the moment as the doc- 
 tors think, to dictate to me or to a great Diocese 
 in a great question of public policy as that." 
 
 " It is certain to be known." 
 
 " Yes," admitted her father, " but if I were to 
 allow it to be published, everybody would attach 
 greater importance to it than it warrants." 
 
 " Well, you may be right," said the girl, " but 
 so far as I am concerned, I believe that the Bishop 
 intended to do what he did, and that he knew 
 what he was doing before he died." 
 
 " Good Heavens, Margaret ! You wouldn't 
 have Stebbing as Bishop of this great Diocese, 
 would you ? " 
 
 Margaret Wharton was not required to give 
 her opinion, for at that moment the servant an- 
 nounced the Rev. Lionel Barmore. He came in 
 with his usual quick, elastic step, and instantly 
 turned toward Margaret, putting out his hands as 
 he approached her. For a moment he forgot the 
 General, and Margaret strove to infuse into her 
 reception of him some of the ardor and affection 
 which permeated his being, but she was not very
 
 i 4 6 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 successful, and Barmore, a man of delicate per- 
 ceptions, felt distinctly rebuffed. He mastered his 
 slight confusion, however, with his usual adapta- 
 bility, and turned to the General. 
 
 " You wanted to see me, General? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Barmore, Margaret and I have a 
 delicate matter to lay before you." 
 
 "A delicate matter?" 
 
 " Exactly. Suppose that you tell him, Mar- 
 garet." 
 
 It was not so easy, now that Barmore was there, 
 to dispose of his engagement as the General had 
 supposed, and he rather weakly transferred the task 
 to his daughter. 
 
 "Mr. Barmore," began the girl; there would 
 at least be no shirking or faltering on her part; 
 " my father wants me to break off our engage- 
 ment." 
 
 " But," exclaimed Barmore, in great surprise, 
 turning to the General, " you were pleased to say 
 last night, when I approached you on the subject, 
 that you would be glad to give me your daughter." 
 
 " Yes, I did then, and it is true," said the Gen-
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 147 
 
 eral, " but conditions have changed since then, 
 and 
 
 "What conditions?" asked Barmore, drawing 
 himself up. " Has anyone aspersed my private 
 character? " 
 
 " God forbid ! You don't understand at all." 
 
 " I confess that I do not. Will you kindly en- 
 lighten me? " 
 
 11 Well, we want to break " 
 
 " And you, Margaret do you join your father 
 in this respect? " 
 
 " I permit him to make it," said the girl quietly. 
 
 " But why? You gave yourself to me yester- 
 day afternoon. What has changed you? Good 
 Heavens, will no one explain! You trifle with 
 me." 
 
 He passed his hand over his forehead, and 
 turned from one to the other. 
 
 " Well, the fact is, Barmore," said the General 
 at last, " we are going to make you a Bishop." 
 
 " No," cried Barmore, " I am not the proper 
 man to be Bishop of this Diocese." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, young man, but that is
 
 148 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 not the opinion of older and more experienced 
 men." 
 
 " But what has that got to do with my engage- 
 ment? Bishops are allowed at least one wife by 
 any interpretation of Scripture, and even if this 
 preposterous plan should come to anything, it 
 would not render me less available as a suitor. 
 You have no objection to Bishops as Bishops, 
 have you, Miss Margaret? " 
 
 He smiled at the humor of the situation, al- 
 though he was almost distraught with anxiety. 
 
 " Certainly not," said the girl, but she looked 
 at her father. 
 
 " Go on and tell him," said the General. 
 
 " Well, you see, my father's influence and posi- 
 tion are large, and, he thinks, determining factors 
 in the election." 
 
 " I should suppose that they would be," said 
 Barmore, " but " 
 
 "Don't you see? He couldn't work for the 
 election of his prospective son-in-law." 
 
 "Oh! that is it?" 
 
 " That is it," answered the General.
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 149 
 
 " So you proposed to Margaret that she release 
 me until after the election?" 
 
 " That is what I said." 
 
 " But that is not what I said," interposed the 
 girl. 
 
 "And what did you say, Margaret?" 
 
 " I said that I should be willing to release you 
 from your engagement in order that this might 
 be brought about, which so many people seem to 
 wish, and that you might be elected Bishop of this 
 Diocese." 
 
 " And after the election, would the engagement 
 be renewed again? " 
 
 " That would depend upon whether you could 
 win my consent again." 
 
 " You, of course, would not consent to a tacit 
 agreement? " 
 
 " I suggested that myself," said the General. 
 
 " Certainly not," said the girl, " the first requi- 
 site for an election to an office of that kind is 
 absolute truth. The engagement is to be defi- 
 nitely broken off, and the only thing that I will 
 consent to say is that after the matter is settled
 
 150 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 I will be subject to wooing and winning like any 
 other woman." 
 
 " But you love me?" 
 
 " Yes. Perhaps not as you love me, Mr. Bar- 
 more, but " she hesitated. 
 
 " You cared enough for me to engage yourself 
 to me and promise to marry me " 
 
 " And that promise I will keep if the engage- 
 ment be not broken." 
 
 " You don't love anyone else? " 
 
 " No," said the woman, her determination not 
 to do so blinding her to the fact that she 
 did. 
 
 "And you wish to give me up?" 
 
 " I am expressing no wish to do so. It is my 
 father's wish, and I am simply acquiescing, pro- 
 vided you and he agree." 
 
 " I have decided, then," said Barmore 
 promptly; " I would not give you up to be Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury. General, you will have to 
 find some other man." 
 
 " My dear Barmore," said the General ear- 
 nestly, " it is impossible. There is no other man.
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 151 
 
 You are the logical and proper candidate for this 
 office, and you have got to take it. As a Christian 
 man and minister you can't afford to put your per- 
 sonal desires before your duty to the Diocese and 
 the Church. You are not asked to choose between 
 the woman you love and the Church. The al- 
 ternatives are not before you in that way. My 
 daughter loves no other man, and she expresses a 
 sufficient degree of affection for you to marry you 
 now, if it were proper. On the whole, I think 
 she is right in her statement, that if the engage- 
 ment is to be broken off, it must be broken off 
 entirely without any private understanding; but 
 she says she is a woman to be wooed and won 
 after the whole affair is settled. There is no rea- 
 son on earth why you shouldn't win her again, as 
 you have won her before." 
 
 " I want to say, General, that I have thought 
 nothing about the Episcopate. I have never 
 dreamed of it, at least, in this connection," said 
 Barmore, " and I don't care enough about it to 
 give up the woman I love. Unless I can have 
 more positive assurance than the mere permission
 
 152 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 to woo her, and perhaps fail to win her again, I 
 say no." 
 
 There was good stuff in Barmore. Margaret 
 Wharton saw that, and it gratified her pride and 
 spirit. She had not chosen unworthily. 
 
 " I should feel forever humiliated," continued 
 Barmore, " and I am sure that my wooing would 
 not prosper if I did this. It does not greatly 
 concern me to be Bishop or not to be Bishop, but 
 it does greatly concern me to have your daughter 
 as my wife." 
 
 " But it would greatly concern me, and it would 
 still more greatly concern the Church not to have 
 you as Bishop," persisted the General. " I tell 
 you my mind is made up, too. Margaret sees 
 the matter as I do, don't you, Margaret? " 
 
 "What is your answer, Margaret?" asked 
 Barmore, turning toward her. 
 
 " I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Barmore. 
 I am not at all sure that I think enough of you 
 to be your wife, although, having given you my 
 word that I would do so, I should keep it without 
 fail. Now that I have said this to you, I see no
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 153 
 
 reason why, with perfect self-respect, you cannot 
 acquiesce to the situation. I believe I like you 
 better to-day than I ever have before." 
 
 " This puts a new complexion upon the matter, 
 doesn't it?" asked the clergyman somewhat bit- 
 terly. 
 
 The girl nodded. 
 
 " Entirely," she said. 
 
 "If I say yes, I may still come to see you; I 
 may still do my best to win your consent, and " 
 
 " You may do anything you like," interrupted 
 the girl kindly; "I shall be glad to see you at 
 any time, and if I can learn to love you as you 
 ought to be loved, I shall be the happiest woman 
 on earth." 
 
 " You understand, General Wharton, that it is 
 your daughter's wish which finally determines me, 
 and not any question about the Episcopate. I 
 tell you frankly, that I will not turn over my hand 
 to receive it." 
 
 " I understand perfectly, Mr. Barmore, and I 
 honor you in your decision. It is quite settled, 
 then?"
 
 154 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Quite," said Barmore. He turned slowly and 
 sadly to the girl. " Miss Wharton, you don't 
 know how miserable this makes me feel." 
 
 " I think I do understand," said the girl, " and 
 I am very sorry." 
 
 "Now, as to the Episcopate," interrupted the 
 General bluntly. 
 
 " General, please don't talk about it to me. I 
 am so wretched over these developments that I 
 I don't seem to care. What you do, you must 
 do yourself. You must not count on me." 
 
 "All right," said the General, "that is the 
 proper attitude to take, and I will only ask this: 
 There will be no discouragement from you, will 
 there?" 
 
 " No, I shall be entirely passive. If in the 
 providence of God this thing comes to me, and I 
 can make Margaret love me, I shall be a very 
 happy and a very fortunate man." 
 
 " I think," said the General, " that both ends 
 will be achieved." 
 
 " Make no promises for me, father," said the 
 girl quickly.
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 155 
 
 ' I am not." 
 
 " You are as free as air, Margaret," said Bar- 
 more formally, " but you know that I love you, 
 and my dearest hope is to make you my wife. 
 Think always that now and at all times I am yours, 
 and for you." 
 
 He sighed deeply. The girl impulsively ex- 
 tended both of her hands to him. He took them 
 in a firm grasp. 
 
 " I know that you love me, and I repeat 
 I am very sorry that it all has happened this 
 way." 
 
 He could not trust himself to speak. It was 
 the General who broke the silence. 
 
 " By the way, Barmore, that action of the 
 Bishop's in regard to Stebbing is bound to be 
 known." 
 
 " I thought we had agreed among ourselves 
 this morning to say nothing about it ? " 
 
 "We did, but we forgot one person the as- 
 sistant nurse. She is Penrod's daughter, and " 
 
 " Everybody will know it through her from 
 him."
 
 156 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Of course; but I don't regard it as of any 
 great importance after all. Even if it were de- 
 liberately intended by the Bishop, it would have 
 little force. The wish of a stricken old man has 
 no weight with the calm judgment of men of 
 affairs, who have the welfare of the Dio- 
 cese and the Church so much at heart as we 
 have." 
 
 " I cannot think of Stebbing as Bishop," said 
 Barmore fiercely, his face clouding as he thought 
 of that scene in that very library so short a time 
 before. 
 
 "Why, what is there between you and Steb- 
 bing?" asked the General, looking with some 
 amazement at the angry, resentful look on the 
 younger man's face. " I thought you were the 
 greatest of friends, and " 
 
 " We were until yesterday." 
 
 " Yesterday is passed," interposed Miss Whar- 
 ton, swiftly anxious to stop further discussion 
 which would involve further revelations of a dis- 
 tressing nature. 
 
 " From what I have seen, Mr. Stebbing will
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 157 
 
 be your most dangerous opponent," continued the 
 General. 
 
 " I can't believe it," Barmore asserted. 
 
 " It is true, nevertheless." 
 
 " In that case," said the clergyman quickly, " I 
 shall aid you in everything that a man can honor- 
 ably do. If a man like Stebbing were to be made 
 Bishop of a Diocese like this, why " 
 
 " Don't you think, Mr. Barmore," interposed 
 the girl, " that if he is going to be your opponent 
 you should say nothing about him ? " 
 
 " I can see his disadvantages and disabilities, 
 Barmore, as well as yourself, and perhaps, as Mar- 
 garet says, it would not be well for you to dwell 
 upon them," said the General. 
 
 " I shall say nothing more about him; but if 
 it lies between Stebbing and myself " 
 
 " Well, it does." 
 
 11 Then," said the clergyman, " we must win 
 for the sake of the Church." 
 
 " That is what I say, too. Now, you must 
 excuse me, I have to go down town this evening," 
 continued the General.
 
 i 5 8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I also must go," said Barmore, " I 
 have an engagement." He looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 " If you are going my way, I will take you 
 down in the car and drop you off wherever you 
 like." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " Wait, then, until I run upstairs a moment to 
 change my coat." 
 
 He turned and left the two together. 
 
 " Margaret," said Barmore, facing her, " what 
 it costs me to give you up, even for a time, you 
 can never know ; and I am only consenting because 
 you seem to wish it, and also now to prevent a 
 man like Stebbing from being made Bishop of 
 this Diocese. When I think of him in connection 
 with you I am sorry that I did not strike harder. 
 Please believe me that what I am doing, I am 
 doing for you." 
 
 " Mr. Barmore," said the girl, " you must leave 
 me out of the question entirely." 
 
 " I cannot do that. If I did not think that 
 this breaking of our engagement was only tern-
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 159 
 
 porary, nothing on earth would induce me to con- 
 sent." 
 
 " Ready, Barmore?" asked the older man, re- 
 turning. 
 
 " Yes, General, in a moment," was the answer. 
 " Remember," he continued to the woman he 
 loved, regardless of her father's presence, " that 
 whether an engagement exists between us or not, 
 I am more yours than I was yours when you so 
 honored me, when you made me so happy, and I 
 shall love you more and more with every passing 
 day." 
 
 He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them 
 long and tenderly. Then he turned away with the 
 General and left her alone. 
 
 There was a strange relief to her in his de- 
 parture. She admired him, she respected him, she 
 liked him, but she was glad to be free; yet the 
 future impended gravely. In view of what she 
 had done before, she felt in one sense bound to 
 him. She had contemplated marriage with him. 
 Although she declared she was entirely free, and 
 that the engagement was absolutely broken, yet
 
 160 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 she had a feeling that she could not resist the pres- 
 sure that would be brought to bear upon her after- 
 ward. 
 
 The only thing that would give her strength 
 to do that would be a suddenly developed affection 
 for some other man. Who could such another 
 man be? She took a solemn vow in her heart 
 that she would never, never forgive or forget the 
 insult that had been put upon her by that man 
 whose lips had been pressed upon hers with such 
 fire and passion that the mere recollection of it 
 suffused her cheek. Was it with a return warmth, 
 or was it because of outraged and affronted dig- 
 nity? In the end she would have to marry Bar- 
 more; undoubtedly he would be made Bishop, and 
 Stebbing would have to go on with his little work 
 in his little corner alone. How she hated that 
 man! 
 
 The papers next morning contained two an- 
 nouncements. One was the denial of the reported 
 engagement between General Wharton's daughter 
 and the Rev. Lionel Barmore, Rector of St. 
 Hilda's Church, which attracted great attention
 
 BROKEN, BUT BINDING 161 
 
 among the members of the exclusive circles to 
 which both parties alluded to naturally belonged, 
 and which sent a thrill of satisfaction through the 
 heart of Mark Stebbing as his attention was called 
 to it later in the day. The other announcement 
 was a forerunner of trouble. It stated that the 
 employees of the Traction Company were prepar- 
 ing a statement of grievances to submit to the 
 management, and it was probable that unless some 
 agreement could be arrived at a strike might be 
 the result in the near future. 
 
 No one connected the two paragraphs, but 
 nevertheless they were vitally involved, and also 
 with a third notice which appeared the following 
 day, that a convention for the election of a suc- 
 cessor to Bishop Wentworth would be called to 
 meet at St. Hilda's Church sixty days after the 
 Bishop's funeral, which had taken place that morn- 
 ing. 
 
 So the pieces were set. On one side was Steb- 
 bing, the candidate of the meek and lowly, among 
 whom there were many strong, and the leader of 
 whom was Penrod; and on the other side was
 
 162 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Barmore, the candidate of the great and rich, 
 among whom there were many weak, and the 
 leader of whom was Wharton. Between the two 
 stood the woman, and in the background the com- 
 mon people, the impending trouble of the strike, 
 and a great body of discontented. 
 
 Fortunately, within the darkness, God was keep- 
 ing watch above His own.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 STEBBING VS. BARMORE FOR THE 
 METROPOLITAN SEE
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS FOR OTHERS AND 
 HIMSELF ! 
 
 THE two months that had elapsed since the 
 Bishop's death had been crowded with matters of 
 deep interest, both to Church and State. Negotia- 
 tions between the employees of the Traction Com- 
 pany and the owners thereof had been unduly pro- 
 tracted. General Wharton, who represented the 
 company, had been ruthlessly imperious from the 
 beginning. Under his exacerbating policy the em- 
 ployees had advanced far beyond their just de- 
 mands, and were now insisting upon concessions 
 which would have ruined the company, by putting 
 its future affairs completely at the mercy of the 
 men. The real grievances had thus been lost 
 sight of in the false issues which had developed. 
 Only a few clear-headed men, like Stebbing and 
 Penrod, struggled to prevent the truth from being 
 
 obscured, but they were in the hopeless minority, 
 165
 
 i66 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 and their power and influence were gradually weak- 
 ening. 
 
 The public took a deep theoretical interest in 
 the dispute going on between the rival powers. 
 Its practical interest would come later, when the 
 issue would finally be joined and the cars would 
 cease to run or be run with difficulty. For the 
 present, after the manner of the American people, 
 it was more amused and excited than anything else. 
 The public likes a game of bluff. Nothing so 
 tickles its palate as an ultimatum, unless it be a 
 counter-ultimatum! Things had been going on 
 in this way for some time, and the issue was now 
 about to be joined. 
 
 Stebbing was forced into a position of great 
 prominence in connection with this labor difficulty, 
 because of his affiliation with labor unions gen- 
 erally and his sympathy with the cause of the 
 laboring people. This would have been enough 
 to have given him great notoriety, but his candi- 
 dacy for the vacant Bishopric, which had been 
 given wide publicity very much against his own 
 wish, had added a piquant touch to the situation.
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 167 
 
 Although Stebbing had again and again declared 
 that he would not, and could not, indorse the final 
 demands of the Traction employees, that they 
 were proceeding to arbitrary and unjust lengths, 
 yet he had with equal vigor at the same time set 
 forth the real and true grievances that they pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 In the public eye, which was not capable of 
 nice distinctions, he and Penrod were the leaders 
 of the labor movement. Penrod was his chief 
 backer in the former, as he was his chief promoter 
 in the ecclesiastical campaign. Stebbing definitely 
 cut himself off from any possible personal connec- 
 tion with the forthcoming Episcopal election. He 
 came out boldly over his own signature and ex- 
 pressed his opinion that those who sought to elect 
 him to the Episcopate were mistaken and radically 
 wrong. He explained, with a frankness as sur- 
 prising as it was unusual, the lack of qualities he 
 possessed for such an office, and he stated that he 
 intended to support Barmore, whose campaign had 
 also been exploited in the newspapers. 
 
 It was well known, of course, that Barmore was
 
 i68 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 the candidate of General Wharton and those 
 whom he represented. The fact that the engage- 
 ment which had been announced had been contra- 
 dicted had caused some comment, but in the greater 
 issues involved nobody gave it much consideration. 
 Barmore, too, was looked upon as representing the 
 employers' side in the Traction issue. Penrod 
 and Stebbing thus found themselves arrayed 
 against General Wharton and Barmore as com- 
 pletely as was possible on every matter that was 
 pending between them. 
 
 The publicity which had been given to the Epis- 
 copal election was as distressing as it was unusual. 
 None of the parties concerned had in the least de- 
 gree desired it. It was uncanonical and improper. 
 This publicity was entirely due to Penrod. In 
 spite of all that Stebbing had said and done, the 
 big mechanic had come out boldly in a series of 
 well-written articles, which the papers, especially 
 of the sensational kind, were only too eager to 
 print, and in which he had set forth reasons why 
 the leadership of the great metropolitan see should 
 fall upon Stebbing. The episode by the Bishop's
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 169 
 
 bedside had been made much of, and nothing Steb- 
 bing could do, or any of the disclaimers he could 
 put forth, could stem a certain tide which seemed 
 to be setting toward him. 
 
 The papers, interested and amused at being par- 
 ties to an ecclesiastical contest, devoted much space 
 to it. Stebbing was interviewed and photographed 
 and written up until he was almost driven crazy. 
 St. Osmund's was crowded to the doors every Sun- 
 day. The more the man denied and protested, 
 the more publicity attended him. He finally ig- 
 nored the whole matter. He did not for a mo- 
 ment believe that he could be elected ; such a plain 
 declaration of his qualities as he had made should 
 have been fatal to his chances. He did not want 
 to be Bishop. He was entirely honest in his 
 declaration of his unfitness for that office. The 
 devil of ambition had no power over him what- 
 ever. The threatening strike was a matter of 
 vastly more importance to him than the other af- 
 fair. He took his position as to that boldly. 
 
 He had been, like others, amazed at the break- 
 ing of the engagement between Barmore and Mar-
 
 170 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 garet, but he had never dared to go and see the 
 woman he loved and ask any explanation. He 
 had been unable to fathom the reasons for the 
 course she had pursued. He was not vain enough 
 to think that it might have been on his account. 
 He still considered himself disgraced. Indeed, 
 one of the reasons, quixotic as it may seem, why 
 he was confident of his own unworthiness for the 
 Episcopate was the breach of courtesy he had com- 
 mitted in her library, and only the saving sense 
 of humor kept him from making a clean breast 
 of that extraordinary affair to the public. He 
 realized that no one would understand his con- 
 fession. That even for a clergyman to kiss a 
 pretty girl against her will would not be thought 
 a heinous offense, and that he probably would be 
 laughed at, with her as well, which was not to 
 be thought of. The only thing left him was to 
 keep a grim silence and go doggedly on. 
 
 He himself advocated the election of Barmore. 
 He did not love Barmore as he had. He was 
 a man as well as a priest, and the recollection of 
 that blow rankled. He deserved it, of course,
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 171 
 
 but we do not always admit that the punishment 
 we receive is merited, and if we do admit it, we 
 do not therefore enjoy it. Feeling that Barmore 
 would be the best available Bishop, he conscien- 
 tiously supported him. He would have done so 
 had he hated him. Indeed, sometimes he did al- 
 most hate the man, especially at the thought of 
 him as the probable husband of Miss Wharton; 
 for he had a strange feeling that there was some- 
 thing beneath the breaking of the engagement 
 which was not apparent, and that in the end it 
 would be renewed. Barmore, always fortunate, 
 was to have everything Bishopric and wife. 
 Well, he deserved all. Stebbing deserved nothing. 
 The days had passed for Margaret Wharton in 
 a turmoil of wretchedness. In spite of all that 
 she had said, she still felt that she was bound to 
 Barmore. The clergyman was more often at the 
 house than ever. He carried on his wooing with 
 an ardor which not even his own exquisite and 
 delicate tact could hide. He never presumed on 
 the former relationship, but it was never absent 
 from his mind, and the hope that was in his breast
 
 172 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 was easily apparent. Against the development of 
 that hope Margaret Wharton struggled with 
 growing desperation. 
 
 Of course, she took a deep interest in the forth- 
 coming election, and a scarcely less deep interest 
 in the difficulties of the Traction Company, for 
 her father, her Rector, and her enemy, she would 
 have said, for so she forced herself to regard 
 Stebbing, were all intensely concerned. She found 
 herself in a curious state of indecision as to what 
 she really thought. Her father had explained 
 matters to her again and again, and her sympathy 
 should have been with him, yet Stebbing's clear 
 presentation of the facts, which she had read in 
 the paper, met with much greater response from 
 her. 
 
 In the election her sympathies, again, should 
 naturally have been with her father and with Bar- 
 more, but Stebbing's personality, even his abso- 
 lute and vigorous denial of any regret for what he 
 had done, strangely moved her. Was it her heart 
 or her reason which governed her? 
 
 She withdrew herself from society during these
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 173 
 
 two months under the plea of indisposition. She 
 took little journeys to nearby cities, she visited 
 old friends quietly, she sought to get away from 
 her trouble, forgetful of the fact that she carried 
 it in her own breast. 
 
 The virus of ambition had attacked Barmore. 
 It seemed to him that he had three things for 
 which to strive one was the election, the second 
 was to crush and defeat Stebbing, whose action he 
 had not condoned, and the third was to win for 
 his wife the woman he loved. He had been at 
 first, as he had said, more or less indifferent to the 
 Episcopate, but he had not reflected upon the mat- 
 ter more than one day before these considerations 
 rose in his mind. It was undignified, certainly 
 improper and unchurchly, but he could not help it. 
 
 There was a tinge of worldliness in the man, 
 and he craved the election as he had never craved 
 anything in his life. Never before had so much 
 turned upon success. His ambition to fill the high 
 position might have been considered laudable, but 
 when coupled with a struggle for the woman he 
 loved and an attempt to crush the man he hated,
 
 174 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 his desires could scarcely be justified even by him- 
 self. He was at heart a good man, but the devil 
 had got hold of him, and was using him for his 
 purpose. 
 
 Barmore was a man of great personal force, 
 tact, acumen, and intelligence for his years and 
 experience. General Wharton speedily discovered 
 these qualities, and often consulted freely with him 
 as to the possibilities of the campaign. Neither 
 gentleman resorted to methods famous in politics, 
 but every proper influence that could be brought 
 to bear was employed in behalf of Barmore, every 
 move carefully planned. The laboring faction 
 and the younger clergy did not plan with such 
 finesse, but there was something formidable in the 
 determination of Penrod and the enthusiasm he 
 was able to arouse in his or Stebbing's followers. 
 
 Episcopal elections are supposed to be decided 
 by the action of the Holy Spirit. It did not 
 seem to the unthinking general public that He was 
 a present factor, although there were many quiet 
 prayers made by people of high and low degree 
 that He might make the right decision. The
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 175 
 
 men who planned the campaign apparently left 
 God out of their reckoning. It was to Stebbing 
 that this thought came, and because he believed 
 that an overruling Providence would determine 
 the issue, and that a wise Providence would not 
 select him, he became the more calm and in a 
 manner indifferent as the battle raged. 
 
 So the days went on. Three days before the 
 convention, the threatened strike came to a head. 
 That was a Saturday morning, and the convention 
 was called for the following Tuesday. In one 
 final endeavor to settle the matter, Stebbing put 
 his pride in his pocket and determined to call upon 
 General Wharton. He knew very well the tem- 
 per of the General, how difficult it was under 
 ordinary circumstances to get a concession from 
 him, and how almost impossible it would be to 
 get one under present conditions. The General 
 had always treated the men fairly, as men were 
 treated, and when the grievances of the men had 
 been brought about by changed conditions, which 
 the General refused to recognize, now that they 
 had resulted in the present exorbitant and im-
 
 176 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 possible demands, he would concede nothing, 
 absolutely nothing. It was to be a fight to a 
 finish. 
 
 Yet Stebbing felt impelled to make an attempt 
 in spite of its apparent hopelessness. 
 
 He was not a very tactful man, and was not 
 in good favor with the General, and he realized 
 that, unless he could bring some influence to bear 
 upon him, his attempts would be futile, and that 
 he would probably be subjected to a great many 
 humiliations at the old man's hands. This would 
 not greatly trouble him. He was as indifferent 
 to the effect upon people of his ordinary actions 
 or even his extraordinary ones, as any man on 
 earth. It was only the consciousness of an act 
 like that he had put upon Miss Wharton that 
 troubled him. He had no care for himself or 
 his own feelings with regard to the General. Al- 
 though he was a man of quick temper, he usually 
 had it under admirable control, and he did not 
 intend to let anything the General might say 
 trouble him. He wanted to win, but he wanted 
 to win for the sake of the men, for the sake of
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 177 
 
 the community, and for no other reason. He 
 lived among the men, and he knew what their tem- 
 per was. He knew, unless the difficulty were 
 settled, that there would be trouble of the gravest 
 kind. 
 
 If there was any way on earth by which Steb- 
 bing could move General Wharton, to whom as 
 president of the company the management and 
 the settlement of the whole affair was committed, 
 he very much wanted to avail himself of it. He 
 had reflected upon the situation deeply, and as the 
 conditions became more and more strained, the 
 only people he could think of who would be likely 
 to influence General Wharton were the two with 
 whom Stebbing was not on speaking terms, for 
 one of them he had insulted, and the other had 
 insulted him. He would rather have died than 
 to have gone to either of them ; but he nevertheless 
 determined to call upon both of them before he 
 saw the General. It was the only thing he could 
 do. 
 
 To which one to first appeal had been a problem. 
 He finally decided upon Miss Wharton for two
 
 178 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 reasons. He was by no means certain that either 
 the man or the woman would see him ; he thought, 
 however, that his chances were better with Miss 
 Wharton. He had insulted her, and she would 
 find it more easy to forgive him than Barmore, 
 who had insulted him. The second reason was 
 that he believed that she would have more influence 
 with her father than the clergyman, and the fact 
 that he and Barmore were opponents in the com- 
 ing election increased his reluctance to go to him. 
 He would not have approached either of them, 
 except as a last resort. When he had spoken 
 with these two, he would see General Wharton 
 himself, if it were thought best, but he would wait 
 for that interview until after that with one or 
 both of those to whom he would appeal directly. 
 Stebbing was a proud man. It was terribly 
 hard for him to walk up the steps of the Wharton 
 residence and ring the bell. It had been hard 
 enough when he had thought about it in his study, 
 harder when he had started uptown, even harder 
 still as he stood at the door and waited for an 
 answer to his summons; but the hardest moment
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 179 
 
 of all was when he stood within the hall as the 
 servant took to Miss Wharton, who he had heard 
 with mingled emotions was in, the little note he 
 had prepared, which he thought would be more 
 efficacious in gaining him access to her than a card 
 or any verbal message which he might send. 
 
 He couldn't be sure as to whether she would 
 read the note or not. He felt that it was more 
 than likely, however. He was certain that she 
 would, at least, open the note, because he did not 
 remember ever to have written to her before, and 
 she therefore would not be familiar with his writ- 
 ing. He had not given his name, and the maid 
 who admitted him had never seen him before; 
 there would be no reason which would prevent 
 Miss Wharton from at least opening the note. 
 When she opened it, he believed she would cer- 
 tainly read it: having read it, what then? Would 
 she receive him ? 
 
 His speculations were interrupted in a very satis- 
 factory way, for the maid returning asked him to 
 step into the library, saying that Miss Wharton 
 would be down in a few minutes.
 
 i8o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 That young lady had received the note with a 
 certain languid indifference. She did not recog- 
 nize the writing; she, therefore, opened the en- 
 velope carelessly, without the least preparation for 
 the shock it gave her when her eye fell upon the 
 signature. Her first thought was that the writing 
 was like him bold, free, flowing, emphatic, and 
 that she should have known it by instinct. She 
 stared at the signature for a moment without mak- 
 ing an attempt to master the contents. She was 
 speculating as to what he wanted with her, although 
 the solution of her considerations was in her hand, 
 she did not look at it in her dreams, as it 
 were. 
 
 Her heart had given a great leap, her cheeks 
 had been suffused with color. It seemed as if 
 the moment for which she had been waiting ever 
 since he had placed his brand upon her by kissing 
 her on that never to be forgotten day, was sud- 
 denly glowing into life. She found the maid star- 
 ing at her in a curious way, and that brought her 
 back to herself again. She forced herself to read 
 the note; it was brief:
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 181 
 
 " DEAR Miss WHARTON: 
 
 " Will you put aside your natural and justifiable 
 condemnation of me and see me for a few minutes 
 on a matter which you can well surmise must be 
 of the utmost importance, else I would never had 
 presumed to approach you? 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " MARK STEBBING." 
 
 Her first impulse was to tell the servant to tell 
 him that she refused to see him. Her pride re- 
 volted against the presence of the man. How 
 dare he, after what had passed, thrust his presence 
 upon her? What was there that he could pos- 
 sibly say in justification of himself? It never 
 occurred to her for a second that his visit was any- 
 thing but personal. Her lips opened to bid him 
 be gone, but the words were not uttered. She 
 could not utter them. She wanted to see the man 
 so much. She admitted that with shame, but she 
 would not deny the fact. In a certain sense she 
 was pledged to Barmore. She expected and in- 
 tended to be his wife, and yet the thought of that
 
 182 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 one kiss, rough though it was, had aroused 
 in her more powerful feelings than all the 
 lover-like and delicate attentions of the other 
 man. 
 
 She felt that she ought to dismiss Stebbing sum- 
 marily, but she could not. Curiosity assisted her 
 to this decision. Was he going to justify him- 
 self and his action? Was there anything that 
 could be said in his behalf, and if so, ought she 
 not to hear it? Ought she to condemn a man 
 unheard? With such speculations in her mind 
 she told the maid to show Mr. Stebbing into the 
 library, and to say that she would be down in a 
 few minutes. 
 
 She could have gone down immediately, for she 
 was properly attired to receive visitors that morn- 
 ing, but the instant the maid left the room she 
 stepped to her mirror and stared at herself. She 
 was ashamed of herself as she did so, yet she did 
 it. Her delicate hands hovered over her hair, her 
 dress. A light touch here and there seemed to 
 make things more satisfactory, although no change 
 whatever would have been apparent, even to the
 
 Her delicate hands hovered over her hair, 
 her dress
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 183 
 
 critical observer, had there been one present. She 
 knew that she had never looked more charming 
 in her life. Of late she had not appeared at 
 her best ; she had been pale, listless, and indifferent. 
 Now color tinged her cheeks, light sparkled in 
 her eye, she was satisfied with herself, although 
 exactly why she took such interest in her 
 appearance she would not even admit to 
 herself. 
 
 The library was not a particularly well-lighted 
 room. The morning was gray and somber, but 
 when she appeared at the door and entered the 
 long, stately apartment, she produced an effect 
 upon Stebbing like sunshine. She carefully closed 
 the door behind her and stood for a moment look- 
 ing at the man. Her face was toward the light; 
 Stebbing's back was turned to the window. He 
 had a good view of her, and she had an indifferent 
 view of him. She stood quite silent, very erect, 
 her mouth somewhat tightly compressed. Steb- 
 bing's first consciousness was of her surpassing 
 loveliness. His next was a sweet remembrance 
 that he had kissed her, that he had held that ex-
 
 184 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 quisite and noble figure in his arms. It was to 
 his shame, but as always there was a certain- fierce 
 joy in that recollection. 
 
 The woman possessed him. She went to his 
 head like wine. He made a step or two toward 
 her. She stood as quiet as Daniel might have done 
 in the lions' den, wonderjng, half in fear, half in 
 hope, what he was about to do. Did he intend 
 to seize her in his arms and kiss her again? It 
 was the man who recovered himself first and 
 looked away. 
 
 "Are you ashamed to meet my glance, Mr. 
 Stebbing?" she began as the silence lengthened 
 and grew unbearable. 
 
 "I will be honest with you, Miss Wharton. 
 No, I am not ashamed. I ought to be, God help 
 me! But when I see you standing there in all 
 your loveliness and all your nobility, I think 
 first " 
 
 " Do not dare," cried the woman, " to add to 
 your insult, which I am trying to forget, by re- 
 calling it to my memory, unless you come to entreat 
 my forgiveness."
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 185 
 
 Stebbing was as stubborn as his name, and mer- 
 cilessly honest. 
 
 " I can entreat your forgiveness for my action, 
 but I cannot say that I regret it. I was a brute, 
 and a thief, if you will," he pressed his hand to 
 his breast, " but there is something here in spite 
 of me that makes me cherish the memory." 
 
 " I will hear no more," said the woman im- 
 petuously. 
 
 Was she fighting Stebbing, or her own heart, she 
 wondered dumbly. 
 
 " The blow I received upon the lips here was 
 nothing; I would gladly die if I might do it 
 again," he persisted. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " began the woman in a low, pained 
 whisper; "you don't know what you are saying. 
 I must go. I cannot bear this; it is cruel." 
 
 He was all contrition in a moment. 
 
 "God forgive me!" he cried; "I did not 
 come here to talk to you about myself or your- 
 self." 
 
 Was it disappointment that she experienced at 
 these words, she wondered?
 
 !86 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "You said that you had something of great 
 importance to say to me." 
 
 " Yes, but it does not concern either of us in 
 the way you suggest. No, don't go," he added 
 as she made a movement to withdraw. "It is 
 probably the last time in my life that I shall ever 
 speak to you." 
 
 "Why that?" burst from the woman in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 " Because I can't stand it. I am a priest of 
 the Church, and one of its ministers, weak and 
 feeble though I may be. I have work to do in 
 this world, and I cannot do it under present con- 
 ditions. I must either have you for my own, or 
 I must give you up. I cannot give you up if I 
 see you. I ought not to have come here to-day; 
 I ought not to be in your presence; I ought not 
 to say what I am saying, but I cannot help it." 
 A few swift steps brought him to her side. " You 
 will dismiss me when I tell you that I am trembling 
 to take you in my arms, to crush you against my 
 breast, to kiss you once more, that my whole being 
 cries out for you, that I want you for my wife,
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 187 
 
 that I No, don't shrink back from me. I won't 
 hurt you. I think I have got control of myself 
 now. Sit down over there, and I will stand here 
 and say what I have to say and be gone." 
 
 Mechanically she sat down in the chair pointed 
 out to her. She felt that if he had suited his 
 action to his words again she would have been 
 helpless as before. The chair he had pointed out 
 to her was a low one, meant for ease and comfort, 
 entirely unsuited to her present needs. She sat 
 leaning forward in an attitude of strained atten- 
 tion. Without considering it he had chosen his 
 position by the big desk. He leaned across the 
 top of it with his powerful arm and clenched hand 
 lying on it, extended in her direction. By terrific 
 effort at control he managed to speak as calmly 
 as if he had forgotten all that had passed before. 
 
 " I came to see you," he said at last, " about the 
 threatened strike of the Traction Company's em- 
 ployees." 
 
 " And what have I to do with that? " 
 
 " That is a statement that is made everywhere. 
 As a citizen of this great metropolis, you have a
 
 i88 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 direct interest in everything that concerns its wel- 
 fare, or the welfare of the humblest as well as 
 the highest one of our citizens. Our Gospel 
 doesn't amount to much unless it touches all of us. 
 Adam's question to God, * Am I my brother's 
 keeper? ' has been answered by the world without 
 waiting for the Divine reply. Everyone for him- 
 self, and no one has any responsibility for the 
 others." 
 
 He spoke bitterly. He was quoting from a 
 recent sermon a habit of preachers. 
 
 She commented upon his remarks, thoughtlessly. 
 " You said that last Sunday morning, 
 
 didn't " 
 
 "Were you there? " asked the man in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " I might have read it in the report of the morn- 
 ing papers," interposed the woman evasively, 
 deftly striving to cover up her blunder. 
 
 " I asked you," he said, " if you were at St. 
 Osmund's when I preached last Sunday morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Yes, I was."
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 189 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing," returned the woman, " I did 
 not admit you to this interview that I might be 
 subjected to catechizing. You deserve nothing 
 whatever at my hands. You have grossly insulted 
 me and have this morning added to the insult by 
 glorying in your action. You have wanted, if I 
 may judge from your words and actions, to do it 
 again. I should be warranted in ending the in- 
 terview without further delay, and I should do so, 
 were it not that you have just indicated that what 
 you have to say, tardy though you are in arriving 
 at it, concerns my father's employees. Now, I 
 decline positively either to submit to any question- 
 ing or to give you any further audience unless you 
 come to the point at once." 
 
 " I suppose," he said with his usual bluntness, 
 " that you are afraid to discuss some things with 
 me, and " 
 
 " Sir," cried Miss Wharton, thoroughly out- 
 raged, " I have had one lesson from you. I was 
 foolish to disregard it. I must request you to 
 leave me at once."
 
 i 9 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 She rose to her feet as she spoke and extended 
 her hand toward the bell. 
 
 "What!" said the man; "I will say nothing 
 further to offend you. Have some mercy; you 
 understand that I cannot help myself. When I 
 see you so royal, so noble, so beautiful " 
 
 " Is that the way you keep the promise made a 
 moment before ? " 
 
 Stebbing stared at her in dismay. 
 
 " Miss Wharton," he began, " I came here to 
 ask you if you would not interest yourself in the 
 claims of your father's employees." 
 
 , " General Wharton says that those claims are 
 preposterous ; that to grant them would amount to 
 turning the control of the property over to the 
 men ; that the financial burden would ruin the prop- 
 erty, and " 
 
 " General Wharton is entirely correct in his 
 statement." 
 
 " And do you, therefore, ask me to use my in- 
 fluence to get my father to do that which would 
 not only be ruinous, but improper ? " 
 
 " By no means."
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 191 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 " The original demands of the men for certain 
 improvements in the machinery, for vestibules in 
 the winter, for a slight shortening of hours, an 
 equalizing increase in pay, and for arranging for 
 every other Sunday off, and a weekly half-holiday 
 in the summer with pay these are just, or, at 
 least, they are arguable." 
 
 " Yes," said the woman, " that may be granted, 
 but they have increased their demands beyond all 
 reason." 
 
 " I frankly admit that," said Stebbing, " and 
 I am not here to advocate those later demands ; but 
 if I could go to the men with a statement that 
 the original demands would be arbitrated fairly 
 on terms to be agreed upon, provided they aban- 
 doned the later requests, I am sure I could per- 
 suade the men to accept the concession, and any 
 further trouble would be averted." 
 
 "And you want me to say that to my 
 father? " 
 
 " I intend to say it myself." 
 
 " What, then, do you ask of me ? "
 
 i 9 2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I want you to use your influence with your 
 father to get him to do this." 
 
 " You think you can persuade the men to accept 
 such a settlement ? " 
 
 " I think so, with Mr. Penrod's assistance." 
 
 "Mr. Penrod!" 
 
 " Yes, he is very influential in the labor world, 
 and is doing his best to reason with the men." 
 
 " Is he not your principal supporter for 
 Bishop?" 
 
 " Miss Wharton," said Stebbing, " I beg you to 
 believe that I am in no sense a candidate for the 
 office of Bishop. I have repeatedly declared in 
 private, and once at least have set forth my views 
 in the public press, that I do not desire the office, 
 that I do not consider myself a proper person to 
 be made Bishop, that I must not be elected. You 
 will, at least, believe that I am honest?" 
 
 " I believe that." 
 
 " And you know of one reason why I consider 
 myself unfit for the office." 
 
 "What reason?" 
 
 " My utter failure to control myself with you,
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 193 
 
 and the fact that I that when you are near me, 
 I forget everything but that you are near me, and 
 that I love you, that " 
 
 " And you are honest in your advocacy of Mr. 
 Barmore? " she interrupted. 
 
 " Yes," answered Stebbing, " it is part of my 
 punishment. I saw that your engagement was 
 broken. Why?" 
 
 " It does not concern you, Mr. Stebbing." 
 
 " No, but I want to know." 
 
 " I have heard it said," answered the woman 
 quietly, " that you might be elected Bishop. Per- 
 haps it would be better for you to learn the lesson 
 of self-control now. I shall not tell you why my 
 engagement with Mr. Barmore is broken." 
 
 " Will you tell me anything about it? " 
 
 " I cannot see that you have any right to ask 
 anything about it, but I cannot say whether I will 
 or will not until you have asked." 
 
 " Was it because you found you did not love 
 Barmore?" 
 
 The woman stared at him without moving an 
 eyelash.
 
 i 9 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Was it because it would not look well for 
 General Wharton to be supporting his prospective 
 son-in-law? Do you intend to marry him when 
 he is elected?" 
 
 " And suppose I say yes to that last," answered 
 the woman, " would you still vote for him? " 
 
 Stebbing turned very pale. The interview had 
 tried him beyond measure. 
 
 "Yes," he answered finally, "I should. I 
 should vote for him not to give him to you, 
 or you to him, but because I think he is the 
 best man for the office the best we could get, 
 that is." 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing," said the woman, " your hon- 
 esty saves you. It makes me overlook the fright- 
 ful impertinence of your questions. You are right. 
 You ought not to be Bishop, and I do not think 
 you will be; at least, I hope not." 
 
 " Is that your wish for Mr. Barmore? " 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it ; but we are 
 straying from the point. You ask me to use my 
 influence with my father in behalf of the men, as 
 you suggest. I shall do it, but I think it only
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 195 
 
 fair to tell you that I have very little hope of mov- 
 ing him in the least degree." 
 
 " Your influence may be greater than you 
 imagine, but I am not calling upon you alone." 
 
 "Who else?" 
 
 " I am going to see Barmore and the General 
 himself." 
 
 The woman shook her head. 
 
 " I shouldn't advise that last," she said. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Well, you see the General has learned of that 
 that episode for which you are not sorry." 
 
 " He knows that I kissed you? " exclaimed Steb- 
 bing bluntly. 
 
 The woman nodded. Her face crimsoned. 
 
 "Who told him? Did you?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Did Barmore?" 
 
 " I only know that he knows." 
 
 " It is the more necessary that I should see him 
 at once." He rose as he spoke. " Miss Whar- 
 ton, I have the misfortune of always appearing 
 before you in a bad light. I have affronted and
 
 i 9 6 THE BETTER MAN 
 insulted you every time I have been privileged to 
 be in your presence. I seem to lose my bearings 
 when I come where you are. I shall keep away 
 in the future. There is one thing that I must 
 say, that I beg you to permit me to say, since it is 
 the last time." 
 
 The woman read the look of intensity in his 
 face. 
 
 " Say on," she whispered. 
 
 " However rudely I may have appeared, how- 
 ever roughly I may have treated you, however 
 bluntly I may express myself, I want you to be- 
 lieve now and for all time that I love you, that I 
 always have loved you. I do not seem to belong 
 to your class or kind. I cannot turn pretty 
 speeches; I don't want to; but no man ever loved 
 woman in a more devoted, whole-hearted, pas- 
 sionate way than I love you. I am never going 
 to say this again. I am not going to see you again. 
 You will marry Barmore; we will elect him as 
 Bishop, and when that is done, and I can provide 
 for St. Osmund's, I am going away to China, 
 Alaska I don't care where. There is work for
 
 MARK STEBBING PLEADS 197 
 
 me to do somewhere, and I am going to do it, 
 and trouble you no further." 
 
 What induced her to say it, she never knew. 
 There was something terribly earnest in the man's 
 remarks. When he had ended speaking, he turned 
 resolutely away, as if having completed what he 
 intended to say, there was nothing more for any- 
 one else to say or do. 
 
 " I should be very sorry to have you go so far 
 away," she faltered. 
 
 He turned instantly. 
 
 " Miss Wharton," he asked, " what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " Go ! " said the woman, strained almost to the 
 breaking point herself; " go; don't you see? don't 
 you understand? " 
 
 But he did not go. He came toward her, he 
 put his arm around her, but gently this time. She 
 dropped her head on his shoulder and burst into 
 passionate tears. There was something in her 
 attitude that appealed to the man, and he found 
 himself stronger than he imagined. 
 
 " Don't cry," he said softly, " I understand that
 
 i 9 8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 it is only nervousness. I ought not to have hurt 
 you so." 
 
 He led her gently to the great chair, from 
 which she had just risen. As she sank down in 
 it he released her and stood before her. 
 
 " Now," he said bravely, " I am sorry. Sorry 
 that I kissed you, sorry that I troubled you, sorry 
 for everything. You will remember that after a 
 while, I am sure, and good-by." 
 
 He turned and left her, her face in her hands, 
 her heart in a turmoil, but with a strange sort of 
 wild happiness in her soul.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 LIONEL BARMORE RESPONDS TO THE APPEAL 
 
 IT required far less time and ceremony to be ad- 
 mitted into the presence of Barmore than to get 
 access to Miss Wharton. Barmore lived in the 
 rectory, under the care of an elderly housekeeper, 
 whose husband acted as his man. It was the 
 morning, and the time Stebbing called was the 
 hour in which Barmore was at the service of all 
 comers. Consequently, without announcement, 
 there happening to be no one else present, Bar- 
 more's man opened the door to the study and 
 Stebbing walked in. As it happened, Barmore 
 had been thinking of Stebbing at that very mo- 
 ment. There were three things which were ever 
 present, and which were inextricably associated in 
 Barmore's mind. One was the unsatisfactory state 
 of his relations to Miss Wharton, another was 
 the unsatisfactory state of his relations to Steb- 
 bing, his chief competitor, and the third, his 
 
 chances of winning the Episcopate. 
 199
 
 200 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Ambition to achieve the election had completely 
 possessed Barmore's mind. The position was a 
 great one. It was the ne plus ultra of the possi- 
 bilities of the Church to which he belonged. For 
 dignity, for influence, for power for good and 
 the opportunity to make a great name, for the 
 chance to do great service to the Church which 
 he honestly loved, there was no position compara- 
 ble to it. 
 
 To be chosen Bishop of such a great metropoli- 
 tan see was an ambition which any man might 
 honestly have cherished. The place itself was 
 sufficient to stimulate any imagination, but Bar- 
 more could not decide whether his desires were 
 disinterested or not. He had come to feel, in 
 spite of what Miss Wharton had said, that 
 his winning her to wife depended upon his 
 election. 
 
 He had an uneasy consciousness, which was 
 based absolutely upon nothing tangible, that one 
 reason why he stood in the anomalous and in- 
 definite position he did with the woman he loved 
 was because of Stebbing's personality. He had
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 201 
 
 never suggested such a thought in the faintest way 
 to Margaret Wharton he would not allow him- 
 self to do that yet the idea was ever present with 
 him. He found himself hating Stebbing with an 
 entirely unchristian passion, so violent that some- 
 times he wondered how he could possess it, and he 
 experienced the deepest concern over the fact that 
 such a feeling lodged in his bosom. He reveled 
 in the most unchristian way in the remembrance of 
 the blow he had struck Stebbing in the mouth. He 
 wanted to strike him another blow by depriving 
 him of the election, fancying that Stebbing's feel- 
 ing toward it was like his own. He could not 
 conceive that any man might be thoroughly honest 
 in his endeavor to put such a thing entirely out of 
 his mind, that he might conscientiously believe 
 himself to be absolutely unworthy of the 
 office. 
 
 There is an assurance that comes from confi- 
 dence, and another that comes from conceit. The 
 one that comes from confidence is born of a belief 
 by a man in the God that is in him ; the other, the 
 one that comes from conceit, is born of the belief
 
 202 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 by a man in himself alone. Both have accom- 
 plished great things, but it is the work of confidence 
 that is lasting. 
 
 Barmore could not decide whether his feeling 
 that he ought to be and should be elected was 
 born of confidence or of conceit. It is not given 
 always to men to be able to determine whether the 
 God that sways them is a real God or only an 
 imitation. Barmore could not tell, also, whether 
 he thought Stebbing unworthy of the office to 
 which he himself aspired because of his inherent 
 characteristics or because he had kissed Margaret 
 Wharton. Barmore was a very miserable man, 
 therefore. 
 
 General Wharton constantly assured his candi- 
 date that he had nothing to fear. The two had 
 planned and conducted with brilliant finesse the 
 campaign. Barmore believed confidently that he 
 would be elected ; he believed that he would marry 
 Margaret Wharton eventually, and he also be- 
 lieved that Stebbing would be properly punished 
 for his presumption, both in affronting the woman 
 and aspiring to the miter. But he was not a
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 203 
 
 happy man in this belief, not in the least 
 degree. 
 
 His first feeling when he recognized Stebbing 
 that morning was one of bitter antagonism. It 
 seemed to him that here in his presence was the 
 cause of all his difficulties spiritual, mental and, 
 if he had admitted it, moral. While Barmore 
 had no lack of confidence, he recognized that it 
 was just possible that Stebbing might be elected, 
 and it was even possible that he might marry Mar- 
 garet Wharton; therefore, all his jealousy flamed 
 out at the sight of him. He did not ask Steb- 
 bing to take a seat he had risen as he heard the 
 door open, and he had remained standing or ex- 
 tend to him any welcome whatsoever. He only 
 stared at him, hardly, closely, harshly. 
 
 It had been " Lionel " and " Mark " in the old 
 days. Stebbing in his first words indicated the 
 difference. 
 
 " Mr. Barmore," he began formally, " you will 
 certainly understand that nothing but the gravest 
 necessity would force me to intrude upon you under 
 any circumstances."
 
 204 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I assume that." 
 
 " There is that between us," went on Stebbing, 
 who did not feel any too comfortable himself in 
 the situation, for he was a man of strong feelings 
 and emotions, and he could not forget, as he had 
 in the presence of Margaret Wharton, the blow 
 the other had given him, which he had not resented 
 now that forbearance rankled! " There is that 
 between us," he continued, "which should keep 
 us apart forever." 
 
 " That decision is agreeable to me, Mr. Steb- 
 bing." 
 
 " You have struck me a blow " 
 
 " And I would that I had had a dozen hands 
 and you a dozen mouths, that I might have struck 
 them all." j 
 
 This was a most inauspicious beginning, thought 
 Stebbing. 
 
 " I resented it then, inwardly, and I do now," 
 he said. 
 
 " I wish you had resented it outwardly," said 
 Barmore. 
 
 He stepped swiftly toward him, his hands
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 205 
 
 trembling, and, indeed, the man was in deadly 
 earnest he only wanted another excuse to strike 
 another blow. Stebbing was the cooler. 
 
 " I fancy," he said, as he surveyed his slighter 
 opponent, " if the debate had continued on the 
 lines which you seem to desire, that you would have 
 been the loser." 
 
 Barmore's face flushed deeply. Stebbing saw 
 that, from whatsoever cause, he was near the break- 
 ing point. He also divined in some sense the 
 reason for Barmore's emotion. He had begun 
 to think that perhaps Margaret Wharton cared 
 more for him, Mark Stebbing, than he had 
 dreamed possible. Perhaps that had something 
 to do with the breaking of the engagement, and 
 maybe Barmore knew what Stebbing only sur- 
 mised. Barmore's ambition to be the next Bishop 
 was also in the way of being thwarted by Stebbing. 
 Naturally, he would feel bitter toward the latter. 
 Stebbing had kissed the woman Barmore loved. 
 There was no disguising that fact. Stebbing, 
 therefore, made allowances. It showed the mag- 
 nanimity of his nature that he did so.
 
 2 o6 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Mr. Barmore," he said quietly, " I think that, 
 so far as I am concerned, you have nothing of 
 which to complain. You have administered per- 
 sonal chastisement to me. The affront you put 
 upon me was as great as that which I put upon 
 Miss Wharton." 
 
 " Don't dare," cried Barmore, " to bring her 
 name into this conversation." 
 
 " I must be the judge of what I am to say." 
 
 " Not in my presence." 
 
 " In your presence, or anywhere else. I did 
 not come here to talk about that, however. You 
 have your opinion of me. I have no doubt it is 
 warranted. Certainly you cannot judge me more 
 harshly than I do myself." 
 
 " Are you apologizing? " 
 
 " No. I am dismissing the subject. I have 
 something else to say to you." 
 
 " I can conceive of nothing which you could 
 have to say to me, Mr. Stebbing, which would in 
 the least degree interest me." 
 
 " I might say, Mr. Barmore, that I intend to 
 support your candidacy for the Episcopate."
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 207 
 
 " I am not a candidate for the office. My 
 friends have forced me into this position." 
 
 He uttered this half-truth desperately. He 
 would admit nothing else, even to himself. 
 
 " So have mine, but I do not intend to allow 
 them to go any further than they have already 
 gone. My influence and vote are going to 
 you." 
 
 " If I couldn't be elected without them, I would 
 not receive the office on such terms." 
 
 " Oh yes, you would. I am not voting for you 
 because I love you," said Stebbing sardonically, 
 " but because, on the whole, I think you are the 
 best man we can get for the office. I do not think 
 that you will be an ideal Bishop by any means, 
 but with your influential party backing you, you 
 are the best we can do, and, on the whole, I think 
 you will make a very good Bishop, indeed." 
 
 " Did you come here to tell me this? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Because, if you did, I want to assure you that 
 your opinions and actions are matters of absolute 
 indifference to me. I do not care what you do,
 
 2 o8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 or what you think, or why you do or think 
 
 it." 
 
 " You cared a great deal for my actions a short 
 time before," said Stebbing, his own temper com- 
 ing to the fore. 
 
 " Do you mean to bring that into the discussion 
 again?" asked Barmore, striking the table with 
 his clenched fist. 
 
 " No, I do not. Doesn't it strike you that we 
 are acting like a pair of fools, Barmore? " 
 
 " I admit the justice of the characterization so 
 far as you are concerned. I do not wish to be 
 inhospitable, but, as I said before, unless you have 
 something of more importance than what you have 
 persisted in discussing " 
 
 " I shall not keep you very long, and I have 
 something of importance to say." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " You know about the threatened strike, which 
 is called for Monday morning between the Trac- 
 tion employees and " 
 
 " Yes, I know it. The strikers are a most 
 grievous set of fools. They have to thank them-
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 209 
 
 selves for their position. Their extortionate de- 
 mands have alienated public sympathy. The 
 strike is a foredoomed failure from the beginning. 
 You, I believe, Mr. Stebbing, are one of the prin- 
 cipal advisers of these men, you and your hench- 
 man, Penrod? " 
 
 " I freely admit, Mr. Barmore, that I have put 
 myself at the disposal of these poor men. I 
 recognize as clearly as you the forfeiture of public 
 opinion involved in the constantly increasing de- 
 mands they are making upon General Wharton 
 and his associates. I have urged, pleaded, begged 
 them again and again to revert to their original 
 demands, to confine their grievances to those alone. 
 I am not without hope that my advice may ulti- 
 mately prevail. The man you are pleased to call 
 my henchman, although if you knew him better 
 you would understand that he is as independent, 
 and in some ways as arbitrary, as General Whar- 
 ton himself, agrees entirely with me and with you 
 in this affair. So persuaded am I that the strike 
 will be a failure, so well do I know the bloodshed 
 and property loss, the suffering of poor misguided
 
 210 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 people, women and children, consequent upon it, 
 that I have put my pride in my pocket and I have 
 come here to you to solicit your aid." 
 
 " I shall give no aid to a body of men who have 
 so far forgotten themselves as these men have." 
 
 " Wait," said Stebbing, " I am not asking you 
 to do anything or take any action or suggest any 
 course to straighten things out with them. I 
 want you to do two things, based upon the original 
 requests of the employees, which, I take it, as a 
 fair-minded man, you will say are quite reasonable, 
 and can be granted without loss of prestige or 
 without impairing the financial condition of Gen- 
 eral Wharton or the company. You know, of 
 course, what the original grievances were?" 
 
 " Certainly, I do; and there might have been 
 something done if they had confined themselves 
 to them alone." 
 
 " Well, I propose that we force these men, who 
 don't know what they are doing, to return to these 
 demands, and let the company arbitrate with them 
 on these matters. If that can be brought about, 
 I believe the whole matter can be settled amicably.
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 211 
 
 If it is not settled amicably, you know what will 
 happen. The transportation of the city will be 
 tied up, the company will make an effort to run 
 its cars, and the whole thing will result in riot 
 and bloodshed and the loss of property, the public 
 will be greatly inconvenienced, business will be 
 paralyzed, women and children will be the chief 
 sufferers, and thousands of men, who are more or 
 less helpless pawns in the hands of the influential 
 labor agitators " 
 
 " Like yourself and Penrod," put in Barmore 
 savagely. 
 
 " Now, I don't think that is just; but let it go 
 that way, if you wish it. I don't care what you 
 say about me so long as I can bring about a settle- 
 ment of some sort. The troops will be called out, 
 and the city will be disgraced. Riots and anar- 
 chism will result before the thing is settled. The 
 men will be beaten, and you know " 
 
 " As they should be." 
 
 "Yes, maybe so; but the main thing is that 
 thousands of women and children will starve this 
 winter, and I came here to appeal to you as a
 
 212 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 man for God's sake to try to prevent that, if it 
 be possible." 
 
 Barmore looked at Stebbing, not saying a word. 
 
 " Now, you are going to be elected Bishop of 
 this Diocese; at least, I think so, if I can bring 
 it about. I don't bear you any malice for that 
 blow. It was a well-intended, well-delivered blow, 
 and perhaps I deserved it. I do not love you 
 for it, but somehow I admire you for it. I did 
 not think it was in you, and, as I said, while you 
 are not ideal, I think you will make a good Bishop 
 for this Diocese, and I think it will prosper under 
 you. But it is by no means certain that you will 
 be elected. I am no fool, and the men behind 
 me are very determined that the choice they have 
 made " 
 
 " Yes, it was a fine stroke on your part to de- 
 clare in the public press " 
 
 " That is unworthy of you, Barmore," said the 
 other, " and a few more remarks like that and 
 I will do what you give me credit for doing, admit 
 that it was a fine stroke of policy on my part, 
 which it was not, and we'll see what will happen
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 213 
 
 then. Now, I believe if you can prevent this strike 
 it will render your election absolutely certain. It 
 would be the completing touch that would put you 
 where we would like to have you." 
 
 Stebbing's face flushed, and he spoke with such 
 a fine glow of enthusiasm that Barmore leaped to 
 the suggestion. He saw that Stebbing spoke the 
 truth. Certainly, if he could effect a settlement 
 of this strike, which was assuming such porten- 
 tous proportions, and which was claiming the at- 
 tention of the public to such a degree, it would 
 be a great and brilliant act. 
 
 " What is there you want me to do? What is 
 there I can do?" he asked. 
 
 He knew very well what Stebbing would say, 
 his own acuteness furnished the answer to his own 
 question, yet he put the question, nevertheless. 
 
 " I want you to go to General Wharton. Say 
 to him that I am coming to him with a proposition, 
 an unofficial proposition, but one with which I 
 think I can influence the strikers to accept and 
 indorse, and prepare him to meet me half-way. 
 Will you do that?"
 
 2i 4 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Barmore thought quickly. Such an act com- 
 mitted him to nothing. 
 
 " I fear that you overrate my influence with 
 the General," he began. 
 
 " No, I do not. You are his candidate for 
 Bishop. He would have to make a complete 
 right-about-face if he found himself opposing you. 
 Will you do it ? " 
 
 " I will speak to the General, as you say." 
 
 " Good! But that isn't all I want you to do." 
 
 "What more?" 
 
 " To-morrow is Sunday, and I want you to de- 
 vote your Sunday morning sermon to the same 
 purpose. Suggest publicly therein that the matter 
 be settled by reducing the demands of the strikers 
 to their first proposition, and then demand that 
 this proposition should be arbitrated or granted, 
 and you would in a measure force General Whar- 
 ton's hand. He will accede to your sugges- 
 tion, or he will not. If he will not, he will 
 find it difficult to continue to advocate you for 
 the Episcopate. He is a hard man to deal with, 
 but I believe that, with this influence brought to
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 215 
 
 bear upon him, and with other influences which 
 I have enlisted, we can force him into this position. 
 Will you preach such a sermon? " 
 
 Barmore hesitated. Going to General Whar- 
 ton would be a private affair; this would be pub- 
 licly committing himself in an irrevocable way. 
 With General Wharton alone he could draw back 
 if circumstances rendered it advisable or necessary. 
 All he had to do, apparently, was to let matters 
 take their course. The men would strike; they 
 would be beaten, and his position would not be 
 affected one way or the other. But if he spoke 
 out publicly, he would immediately be hurled into 
 the thick of the fight. What then? There was 
 good stuff in Barmore, and for a moment, at least, 
 he was filled with enthusiasm. It was a chance 
 with a brilliant possibility of success. 
 
 " I will think about it," he said at last. 
 
 " No, that won't do. I must have your answer 
 now. Think now, Barmore; think what you can 
 do. Let us put aside all of our ambitions and 
 our rivalries, and everything else, and confine our- 
 selves to that single issue. Think what you can*
 
 216 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 do if you bring about that settlement. You occupy 
 the most conspicuous pulpit in the city, and I have 
 but to whisper to the newspapers that you will 
 discuss the subject, and you will find every word 
 that you say will be taken down. It will be read 
 and quoted throughout the city and the state. Will 
 you do it? " 
 
 " Yes," said Barmore, " I will." 
 " And I may tell the papers that you are going 
 to preach on the threatened strike to-morrow morn- 
 ing at St. Hilda's ?" 
 " You may." 
 
 " Thank you, and God bless you, old man ! " 
 " Please," said Barmore harshly, " I haven't for- 
 gotten." 
 
 " All right," said Stebbing, " I accept your de- 
 cision." 
 
 " Wait," said Barmore; " you said that you had 
 brought other influences to bear upon General 
 Wharton. Whose?" 
 "His daughter's." 
 
 "Whatl" cried the other, "you had the ef- 
 frontery to go to her after "
 
 BARMORE RESPONDS 217 
 
 " Be reasonable," said Stebbing, " it was harder 
 for me to go and see her than it was to come here. 
 I had to do it. General Wharton is devoted to 
 his daughter. I could not afford not to have her 
 influence in this settlement." 
 
 " What was the purport of that interview? " he 
 cried. 
 
 " Have you taken leave of your senses? " asked 
 Stebbing. " I have just told you that I went there 
 to interest her, and that I had succeeded in getting 
 her to promise that she would do what she could 
 with her father." 
 
 "Was that all that happened?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Did you kiss her again? " 
 
 At this final, deadly innuendo, Stebbing's forti- 
 tude at last gave way. 
 
 " How dare you? " he cried, white with passion, 
 clenching his fist and stepping near. " I would 
 pay you in your own coin if I struck you as you 
 struck me for that insult. It is not only an insult 
 to me it is an insult to her. You expect to marry 
 her, don't you? "
 
 2i8 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes, when this election is over," said Barmore 
 emphatically. 
 
 " I thought so," said Stebbing, paler than be- 
 fore; "well then, try to think better of her than 
 that. I went for her influence. Now, I think 
 I have had as much from you as I can stand. If 
 I sinned, I have paid for it. I understand, in 
 closing, that you are going to General Wharton, 
 and that you are going to preach on the strike to- 
 morrow morning. Is that correct? " 
 
 " I have said so," said the other. 
 
 "Very well; I have nothing more to say to 
 you. If you keep your promise, well and good. 
 If you do not, on your own head be it. I have 
 done my best, and there is no more anyone can 
 do." 
 
 " Will you please," said Barmore, " not come 
 to see me or trouble me again? " 
 
 " I am not likely to," answered Stebbing; " I 
 will leave your own troubles to your own con-
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 FOUND WANTING 
 
 GENERAL WHARTON came home for luncheon 
 whenever he could get away. For one thing, it 
 gave him a quiet hour with his daughter. The 
 two rarely dined together, and they hardly ever 
 breakfasted together. The General was away 
 and at work before his daughter was up, but they 
 made it a point to lunch together whenever it was 
 possible. That morning he had received a tele- 
 phone message from his daughter, urging him not 
 to fail to return home for luncheon, as she had 
 some matters of importance which she wished to 
 discuss with him. 
 
 After the servants had withdrawn, she broached 
 the subject. 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing was here this morning," she 
 began. 
 
 " What! " exclaimed her father; " did he have 
 the insolence to present himself here after the way 
 
 he has insulted you? " 
 
 219
 
 220 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Did he come to apologize?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Of all the impudence," said the General, " I 
 am an old man, but I declare that personal chas- 
 tisement is what he needs, and I am not too old 
 or too weak to administer it. I will see that young 
 man and " 
 
 " He came under pressure of great necessity," 
 interrupted the other. 
 
 "What sort of necessity? To talk about his 
 absurd candidacy for Bishop, I suppose?" 
 
 " Certainly not. The only mention he made 
 of that was to say that he would not accept it 
 himself, and that he intended to vote for Mr. Bar- 
 more." 
 
 " That was a cheap plea for your sympathy." 
 
 " Father," said the girl, her face flushing, " I 
 do think you misjudge him." 
 
 " Since when have you become his advo- 
 cate?" 
 
 " I certainly am not that, but there are some 
 good things in the man, and I am just enough
 
 FOUND WANTING 221 
 
 to see them. You must be just enough to see 
 them, too." 
 
 " In what way has he influenced you to discuss 
 and appraise these qualities? " asked the General. 
 
 " In no way," said the girl, " except by telling 
 me facts about the strike." 
 
 " Don't meddle with that, my dear. That is 
 my business, and it is going to take men to attend 
 to it before we get through with it." 
 
 " You mean there will be trouble ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it. We will, of course, run our 
 cars, and the men will try to prevent us. There 
 will be bloodshed, rioting, and loss of property, 
 and but one end." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Our complete and entire triumph. The mayor 
 will call for troops, and the mobs will be dispersed, 
 and we will be allowed to run our cars, manage 
 our property without suggestions from a lot of 
 knaves and fools like Stebbing and Penrod." 
 
 " Is he a knave or a fool, do you think, father? " 
 
 " Perhaps a little of both." 
 
 " Oh ! I am sure you are unjust."
 
 222 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Well, fool, then, although he acted a knave's 
 part in the library the other day." 
 
 " He is not acting either part now, father." 
 
 " What do you know about it ? " 
 
 "He came here with a proposition for settle- 
 ment." 
 
 " I will entertain no proposition of any sort for 
 settlement," said the General. 
 
 " Don't say that. You don't know what his 
 proposition is." 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 " He is going to present it himself." 
 
 " And he will have the insolence to come to me 
 after " 
 
 " He said that, since you knew of the unfor- 
 tunate affair, that it was all the more necessary for 
 him to see you." 
 
 " The effrontery of " 
 
 "Wait, father. You will see him when he 
 comes, won't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, but for no other reason than that it will 
 give me a chance to speak my mind, 
 
 "You will hear his proposition?"
 
 FOUND WANTING 223 
 
 " I would rather hear it from you." 
 
 " He says that he thinks he can influence the 
 men to return to their original demands if the 
 company will agree to consider them, and he thinks 
 a compromise can be arranged which will be satis- 
 factory to the men and in no way detrimental to 
 the interests of the company. He came here to 
 ask me to use my influence to get you to consent to 
 this." 
 
 " Your influence is very great with me in most 
 matters, my dear, but in this I must be guided by 
 a man's judgment, rather than by a woman's 
 wishes." 
 
 " I do wish this very much, father. You know 
 very well, you have just told me, what trouble 
 will ensue if this strike is not settled." 
 
 The girl spoke as firmly as her father. He 
 admired her for it, but he would not change his 
 course of action. 
 
 " I can consent to nothing; Mr. Stebbing has 
 no authority to take this position, I understand? " 
 
 " No," admitted the girl reluctantly, " he says 
 that they are determined to press their demands,
 
 224 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 but he thinks if you will take this position public 
 opinion will force them to meet you also." 
 
 " He thinks, does he ? Well, public opinion is 
 on the side of the Traction Company for once, 
 and that is saying a good deal, for public opinion 
 is generally against us. Suppose I should consent 
 to a thing of this kind. We have no evidence 
 that the men would accept or entertain the proposi- 
 tion for a moment." 
 
 " I told Mr. Stebbing that he overrated my in- 
 fluence with you," said Margaret sadly, as her 
 father rose from the table, " but he said that he 
 would see Mr. Barmore about it." 
 
 " Did he go to see Barmore? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That passes belief. What has Barmore got 
 to do with it? Let him attend to his candidacy 
 for the Episcopate, and keep out of this 
 matter." 
 
 " He wanted Mr. Barmore to come and see you, 
 and I imagine that he is trying to get him to preach 
 on the subject." 
 
 " I will see Barmore on the subject myself, my
 
 FOUND WANTING 225 
 
 dear, and if that man presents himself to you again, 
 tell him to keep women out of the game." 
 
 " But women and children are already in the 
 game. The wives and children of these poor 
 ignorant men." 
 
 " They can look out for themselves. If they 
 choose fools for husbands, I can't help it," said 
 the General. 
 
 He stooped and kissed his daughter good-by. 
 
 "Are you going so soon, father? Won't you 
 stay here and smoke your cigar? " 
 
 " I am going to see Barmore and put an end 
 to this business at once. I do not intend to have 
 a Bishop in this Diocese who will interfere with 
 me." 
 
 It was rarely that the General spoke so frankly 
 about his desires and hopes. It was rare, indeed, 
 that he permitted himself the luxury of such out- 
 spokenness about anything, especially with regard 
 to the Episcopate. It was well that he did not 
 continue the conversation further that he did not 
 stay and observe the look of pain and humiliation 
 and surprise in his daughter's eyes at this dis-
 
 226 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 closure of his real feelings. They were all against 
 Stebbing, she thought. He had not a well-wisher, 
 not a supporter, but she could not permit the line 
 of thought to develop further. 
 
 The General was not long after Stebbing in 
 Barmore's study. 
 
 " My friend," he began abruptly, " Margaret 
 has told me that Stebbing has been to see you, and 
 that he has been to see her." 
 
 " Yes, General, he has." 
 
 " I know what his proposition is, and I am in- 
 formed that he has asked you to use your influence 
 with me to get me to accede to it. Also, I under- 
 stand that he has asked you to preach in line with 
 his views at St. Hilda's to-morrow." 
 
 " You are correct." 
 
 " I don't want to know what you promised. 
 You are an entirely free agent, and I am the last 
 man on earth who would desire to exercise any 
 influence over you to induce you to do that which 
 your conscience did not approve. I am sure that 
 if I did have such a desire, and if I did make 
 such an attempt, it would avail nothing. I
 
 FOUND WANTING 227 
 
 only want to say two things to you. In the first 
 place, Stebbing has no authority whatever for his 
 proposition. It is simply an attempt on his part. 
 He has no assurance at all that it would be accept- 
 able to the men. If I took action upon it, it would 
 be considered as a confession of weakness. I am 
 not even prepared to admit that the original de- 
 mands of the men were justifiable, but if I should 
 perhaps agree to arbitrate upon that basis, on 
 Stebbing's unsupported request, my control over 
 my own affairs would be gone like that." 
 
 He snapped his fingers as he spoke. 
 
 " It would result in a further increase of the 
 demands of the strikers, and it would be time and 
 labor wasted," he continued. 
 
 " Public opinion is with the Traction Company 
 now for a wonder. I won't alienate it. I will 
 stand pat and let the strikers have the next move. 
 I won't do what is asked. I positively will not 
 do it. I speak not only for myself, but for my 
 associates. I will show the city who is running 
 this Traction Company right now. That is the 
 first point. The second is that you are now a
 
 228 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 candidate for the high and holy office of Bishop 
 of this Diocese. Devout members of the Church 
 have pledged themselves to your election. They 
 have confidence in your tact and discrimination and 
 ability to fight, if necessary for the Church, but in 
 my opinion such work should not be coupled with 
 anything mercantile or financial outside of the 
 Church. The effect of the sermon which I have 
 no doubt Stebbing has asked you to preach you 
 can judge as well as I. I only feel it proper to 
 set before you the conditions under which you are 
 to preach, and God forbid that I should try to 
 influence you one way or the other. Now, Bar- 
 more, I like you; I have marked you from the 
 beginning, I have espoused your candidacy for 
 Bishop, I am more than willing to welcome you 
 as my son-in-law, and I believe that after the elec- 
 tion is satisfactorily over then the broken engage- 
 ment will be renewed. I am not without influence 
 in my home, and all that I have I expect and hope 
 to use in your behalf, if I find you are worthy of 
 my confidence. Stebbing is a well-meaning man; 
 we all know he means well, and he is doing a great
 
 FOUND WANTING 229 
 
 work in his church, but he is young and inex- 
 perienced, and has not been put in touch with 
 affairs as you have. He is hot-tempered, 
 impetuous I am sure I need not continue 
 further." 
 
 " Naturally, General," said Barmore, who had 
 listened most attentively to the General's subtle 
 and powerful statement, and who could read quite 
 easily all that he was meant to see between the 
 lines of it; "I reserve the right to act in accord- 
 ance with my judgment, and to do what is right 
 as I see it, without regard to what others may 
 think." 
 
 " Of course," said the General, " and, therefore, 
 I shall say no more on this subject." 
 
 " I shall preach to-morrow at St. Hilda's. I 
 do not quite know what my course will be, but 
 I shall do it without a thought of anything except 
 what is the right thing to do." 
 
 " I believe you, my boy," said the General, more 
 than satisfied with the course the events were tak- 
 ing, as he shrewdly read his man, " and I shall 
 be there in my accustomed pew."
 
 23 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I shall expect you as usual," said Barmore, 
 smiling at him to show that all was well. 
 
 They were brave words that he had spoken. 
 How far he really meant them, and how far they 
 would be carried out remained to be seen. The 
 General had been very deft in his remarks, but 
 his meaning was quite plain, thought Barmore, as 
 he was left alone. He began to regret that brief, 
 clear statement that he had made to Stebbing. 
 How had he permitted Stebbing to cozen him into 
 that false position? Well, he was fortunate to 
 be blessed with advisers like General Wharton. 
 It was not too late for him to choose the right 
 course. He was quite sure what the right course 
 was now, quite independently of any effect it might 
 have on his election! 
 
 When General Wharton reached his office after 
 his interview with Barmore, he found Stebbing 
 waiting for him as he had more than half ex- 
 pected. It was more difficult to get access to 
 General Wharton than to his daughter ordinarily, 
 but to-day it was made astonishingly easy, for so 
 soon as the General had entered his private office
 
 FOUND WANTING 231 
 
 by his private door, he had discovered Stebbing's 
 card and had sent for him without the loss of a 
 minute. 
 
 " Well, sir," he began sternly, as Stebbing 
 entered the door, " I am surprised beyond measure 
 at your effrontery in coming to see me. Let me 
 tell you, sir, that I have been informed of your out- 
 rageous conduct some two months since, when you 
 called upon my daughter. Were you not a clergy- 
 man, I think I should feel inclined to visit such 
 an action with personal chastisement, and " 
 
 " General Wharton," began Stebbing, " it was 
 partly because of that affair that I came here. I 
 loved, I still love, your daughter quite hopelessly, 
 of course. I will admit that I behaved out- 
 rageously on that occasion. I suppose that you 
 have learned of it through Mr. Barmore. I am 
 sure that Miss Wharton would never have men- 
 tioned it." 
 
 " She never did until I brought it to her." 
 
 " Well, since Barmore did tell you," went on 
 Stebbing with a thrill of disgust at such a betrayal, 
 " he probably disclosed to you the added fact that
 
 232 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 he struck me on the mouth when he learned what 
 I had done, and that I suffered the blow, a thing 
 I would never have allowed under any other 
 circumstances or from any other man, and 
 which " 
 
 " You well deserved," put in the General. 
 
 " Which, as you say, perhaps, was well deserved, 
 and for which I have made sufficient expiation; 
 therefore, I do not propose to allow you or any 
 other man to talk to me as you started to do a 
 moment since." 
 
 " What did you expect me to say when I met 
 you? " 
 
 " I rather expected just what I received." 
 
 " I am glad you were not disappointed." 
 
 "And you may well imagine, sir," returned 
 Stebbing, resolved that he would not lose his tem- 
 per, " that if my business had not been of the 
 utmost importance I should not have subjected 
 myself to this possibility." 
 
 " Your business I have learned is about the out- 
 rageous conduct of the employees of the Traction 
 Company."
 
 FOUND WANTING 233 
 
 " It is about the threatened strike, if that is 
 what you mean by outrageous conduct." 
 
 " Well, sir," said the General, " you may spare 
 yourself any further discussion of it. I have had 
 from my daughter, and from my Rector, Mr. Bar- 
 more, a clear presentation of your views and your 
 desires. My daughter advocates your position 
 with inexplicable enthusiasm, and Mr. Barmore 
 also presented your side of the case." 
 
 " Then, in that case, I only have to receive your 
 answer." 
 
 " There is no reason why I should make that 
 or any other answer to you, Mr. Stebbing. By 
 your own statement you are a rank outsider in this 
 confounded muddle." 
 
 " Hardly that, General." 
 
 " Well, you have no official relationship to the 
 men, and certainly none to me." 
 
 " Nevertheless," pursued Stebbing, " with the 
 assistance of Penrod and some of the clearer- 
 headed men among your employees, some of the 
 oldest and most faithful men, if you would accede 
 to my request I am sure we could bring about
 
 234 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 a settlement. The only thing for you to say is, 
 
 will you or will you not? " 
 
 " I have said, and I repeat that I see no reason 
 why I should say anything to you, Mr. Stebbing." 
 
 " But you will, General, I am sure. I come 
 to you as a citizen with what I believe a fair 
 proposition. Naturally, you can have no objec- 
 tion to giving me your opinion of it." 
 
 " I won't do it," said the General bluntly. 
 
 " You won't tell me or you won't take the action 
 we suggest? " 
 
 " I won't take the action you suggest. The 
 men have placed themselves beyond the pale of 
 consideration by their abusive language, by their 
 excessive demands, and by the threats of trouble 
 which they have made. The property is mine, 
 and I propose to run it as I please." 
 
 " But the interests of the public and the welfare 
 of hundreds of helpless people depend upon these 
 men, upon these strikers?" 
 
 " I don't care to hear further argument on the 
 subject from you, Mr. Stebbing. So far as I am 
 concerned, I have nothing more to say to the men
 
 FOUND WANTING 235 
 
 than what has been said. They can take any 
 course that they like, and the consequences will 
 be upon their own heads. If they are well advised 
 they won't strike." 
 
 " But," persisted Stebbing, who was reluctant 
 to give up hope, " if they do, the calamity will 
 fall upon the public and upon the wives and the 
 children of the men, and in the name of the city 
 and 
 
 " Well, it will not be on my head," interrupted 
 the General; " I am not responsible for the foolish- 
 ness and the crime and the extortion of the men." 
 
 " I am not so sure about that. I think you 
 are in a large measure responsible," said Stebbing. 
 
 The General glared at him, and then turned 
 away. 
 
 " I will hear no more, sir. I won't allow any 
 man to talk to me in that strain, even if he were 
 what you hope to be, and never will be the 
 Bishop himself." 
 
 The interview was ended. Stebbing Had played 
 his last card. The whole situation turned upon 
 the position Barmore would take in his sermon the
 
 236 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 following morning. If he were true to his prom- 
 ise, General Wharton and his associates might be 
 forced to follow the policy which Stebbing had 
 suggested. If Barmore failed him, he was with- 
 out hope. The matter would have to be fought 
 out to the bitter end. He could only pray that 
 Barmore would be faithful, that he would rise to 
 the measure of his opportunities, for if he did not, 
 trouble, so terrible in its character that he could 
 not bear to think of it, would be the result.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 
 
 ON Tuesday morning the Diocesan Convention 
 met at St. Hilda's. The delegates assembled in 
 the midst of civic disturbances and open strife 
 in the street, for the strike had been called at 
 midnight on the preceding Sunday. Barmore had 
 failed Stebbing. He had preached a brilliant and 
 powerful sermon, in which he had pointed out 
 that, while the original demands of the men had 
 been in a measuure justified, they had forfeited 
 the right to have them considered by the way they 
 had been increased, until to grant their request 
 now meant an absolute surrender of the property, 
 which would in effect ruin the company and beggar 
 thousands of people who had invested their earn- 
 ings in it. Barmore advised the strikers to sub- 
 mit unconditionally, and in an exceedingly able 
 address promised them that, in case they should 
 
 do so, he would use all the influence he could 
 237
 
 238 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 bring to bear to have such changes made as the 
 Traction Company of its own free will might 
 allow the strikers. 
 
 The sermon was a striking production, and the 
 preacher most cleverly avoided the realities of the 
 issue as set forth by Stebbing, while he kept strictly 
 to the letter of the promise. Those who, for 
 one reason or another, looked beneath the surface, 
 found satisfaction or discouragement in the pres- 
 entation dependent upon their viewpoint. Gen- 
 eral Wharton stepped up to the young Rector 
 after the service and patted him on the shoulder. 
 
 " It was a noble performance. You are true 
 blue," he said. " I know now that I can depend 
 upon you. This makes your election certain. If 
 the men will go back and put themselves com- 
 pletely at the mercy of the company, we will see 
 what can be done." 
 
 And his approving words were almost like words 
 from on high to the wretched minister, who was 
 by no means satisfied himself with his own per- 
 formance. 
 
 Stebbing had said nothing publicly. He real-
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 239 
 
 ized with a sinking heart that Barmore had failed 
 him. He had not thought it possible. He had 
 lost his opinion of the man. He could never 
 vote for him for Bishop after that, and yet his 
 election seemed inevitable. His course cleverly 
 had made that the more probable. There was no 
 other candidate on the horizon. He himself was 
 more determined than ever that he should not be 
 chosen, but he saw no way out of the dilemma. 
 
 The strike progressed from the talking stage to 
 the acting with more rapidity than was usual. The 
 transportation of the city was practically tied up 
 instantly. The Traction Company sent out cars 
 at long intervals, which were at first allowed to 
 go over the line, meeting with nothing more seri- 
 ous than sneers and jeers, but as more and more 
 cars were put on the lines, and the service began 
 to assume some degree of regularity, the strikers 
 became ugly. Before nightfall on Monday riots 
 were reported from various parts of the city. On 
 Tuesday morning, when the Convention was called, 
 the situation had developed almost to the point 
 of anarchy. The different transportation systems
 
 24 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 of the city, which were controlled by the Traction 
 Company, were practically tied up. Cars had 
 been stoned whenever they had appeared, volun- 
 teer motormen and conductors had been badly mis- 
 handled. Two or three deaths had resulted. Po- 
 lice reserves had been called out, but found them- 
 selves utterly unable to cope with the situation. 
 The early editions of the afternoon papers called 
 repeatedly for troops to suppress the mob. 
 
 It was in scenes like this that the clergy and 
 the laity of the Diocese, in the most wealthy and 
 influential church in the city, met to choose another 
 leader. Dr. Lydon, the President of the Stand- 
 ing Committee, being too old and feeble to pre- 
 side, the famous Bishop of a neighboring Diocese 
 was called to the chair. By the canon law the 
 elections were made by the clergy alone. When 
 they had decided upon a candidate, his election was 
 subject to confirmation by the lay deputies. Should 
 the house of lay deputies fail to agree with the 
 house of clerical deputies, the election would fail, 
 and new ballots would be cast by the clergy, until 
 such time as they agreed upon a man who was
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 241 
 
 acceptable to the laity. The morning was given 
 over to the solemn functions connected with the 
 Convention, the preaching of a sermon in memory 
 of the dead Bishop, and to the delivery of eulogies 
 by the different members. After lunch the house 
 had been organized and the necessary routine was 
 rapidly gone through to prepare for the election, 
 which was set for three o'clock that after- 
 noon. 
 
 The excitement in the Convention was scarcely 
 less great than that which raged outside. Some- 
 how or another the two leading candidates had 
 become identified with the two parties to the strike 
 in the street. It was easy to understand that; 
 Barmore, being the candidate of the party of which 
 General Wharton was the chief, would be identi- 
 fied with the ownership of the Traction Company ; 
 it was also inevitable that Stebbing, whose interest 
 in the laboring people, who made up his congre- 
 gation, was well known, should be considered as 
 the candidate of the strikers and their friends. 
 
 Careful calculations had been made by such 
 statisticians, tacticians, and politicians as Whar-
 
 242 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 ton and Penrod. The latter had developed a tre- 
 mendous ability as a fighter. There was no know- 
 ing how all of the members of the Convention 
 would vote, but it was sufficiently well settled in 
 most cases to enable both leaders to feel that the 
 result would depend upon a very few votes. In- 
 deed, General Wharton was also prepared to admit 
 the possibility that Stebbing might receive the 
 larger majority in the clerical vote. This would 
 be offset by an overwhelming majority against him 
 when the lay vote would be taken. General Whar- 
 ton hoped eventually to force the clergy to nomi- 
 nate Barmore, because the strength of his follow- 
 ing among the laity would determine that no other 
 candidate could be successful. 
 
 If the two houses, clerical and lay, had voted 
 together there would probably have been a clear 
 majority in favor of Barmore. This was evi- 
 denced by the passing of a resolution, indorsed by 
 General Wharton, that there should be no nomi- 
 nating speeches, that gentlemen desiring to present 
 candidates to the Convention should do so simply 
 by name. Although this resolution was vehemently
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YETi 243 
 
 objected to by Penrod, the previous question was 
 moved, and although such a motion was not pro- 
 vided for in the rules of order, it was put, passed, 
 and the motion of General Wharton that there 
 should be no nominating speeches prevailed. Gen- 
 eral Wharton thereupon rose and nominated the 
 Rev. Lionel Dana Barmore. The nomination was 
 seconded by a great many of the deputies. 
 
 When the excitement had entirely died down, 
 Penrod rose to his feet and was recognized. He 
 spoke with the utmost rapidity. 
 
 " In compliance with the wishes of the dead 
 Bishop, and in behalf of the living people, I nomi- 
 nate the Rev. Mark Stebbing." 
 
 Deputies from all over the house rose, present- 
 ing points of order, and declaring that the nomina- 
 tion had been out of order. The chair was forced 
 to rule that the gentleman had committed a breach 
 of privilege. When order was restored, Penrod 
 humbly admitted his fault, and coolly nominated 
 again without comment the Rev. Mark Stebbing. 
 He did not seem particularly cast down over the 
 scoring he had received. He had made his point,
 
 244 THE BETTER MAN 
 and he could afford to be indifferent to any per- 
 sonal consequences to himself. 
 
 Several other men were nominated, and prepara- 
 tion for balloting on the part of the clergy was 
 at once begun. It was ascertained that there were 
 three hundred and fourteen clergymen present who 
 were entitled to vote. One hundred and fifty-eight 
 were necessary to a choice. 
 
 Stebbing had been forcibly restrained in his seat 
 by his friends when Penrod nominated him. He 
 was in a very painful position. He could not 
 vote for Barmore; he was still persuaded that it 
 would be a great mistake to elect him. There 
 was no one among the other men for whom he 
 cared to vote. Penrod and the others told him 
 plainly that it was necessarily either he or Bar- 
 more, and no matter how unworthy he thought 
 himself, he couldn't possibly be more so than Bar- 
 more for the office. His agitation was so marked 
 that one of the spectators in the gallery, at least, 
 noted it. The main part of the church was re- 
 served for the deputies alone. The gallery, how- 
 ever, was crowded with a brilliant assembly in
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 245 
 
 which there were many women who had come 
 to see the issue decided. 
 
 The clerical deputies apparently had their minds 
 made up as to the man for whom they intended 
 to vote, for they balloted with great rapidity. 
 Routine business concerning the financial relations 
 of the new Bishop to the Diocese took up the time 
 while the tellers were counting the votes. Here 
 again Stebbing's party suffered a decided defeat, 
 for this time, under the leadership of another of 
 his admirers, an effort was made to reduce the sal- 
 ary of the Bishop to be elected from fifteen thou- 
 sand dollars to seven thousand five hundred dollars 
 a year. The motion was fiercely debated, but was 
 lost. By the time this business was over the tellers 
 returned to the church and made their report. 
 The Convention subsided as soon as the deputies 
 observed the two men who had counted the votes 
 coming down the aisle. 
 
 " Gentlemen," asked the chairman, " have you 
 counted the ballots? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Have you the result in writing?"
 
 246 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " You will hand the document to the Secretary 
 of the Convention, who will read to the Conven- 
 tion." 
 
 A little murmur of expectancy ran through the 
 church. 
 
 " The house will please come to order and keep 
 silent. No demonstration of any sort will be 
 allowed. This rule must be observed," said the 
 chair firmly. 
 
 The Secretary received the report from the 
 tellers, rose, bowed to the chair, and read the 
 results. 
 
 " The Rev. Mr. Barmore," he said in a deep, 
 powerful voice, which easily filled the great 
 church, " has received one hundred and fifty-five 
 votes. The Rev. Mark Stebbing has received 
 one hundred and forty-nine votes. The fol- 
 lowing gentlemen have received one vote apiece." 
 He read off ten names. 
 
 " What is the total number of votes in the Con- 
 vention, Mr. Secretary?" asked the presiding 
 officer.
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 247 
 
 " Three hundred and fourteen, sir." 
 
 " And of that number one hundred and fifty- 
 eight are necessary to a choice? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Gentlemen, there has been no election. The 
 clerical members of the Convention will prepare 
 their votes for a second ballot." 
 
 The house broke into an uproar. 
 
 In the midst of it a man forced his way past 
 the doorkeeper, who sought in vain to detain him, 
 and walked rapidly up the aisle to where Stebbing 
 sat with the deputies from St. Osmund's. The 
 principal member of St. Osmund's delegation was 
 Penrod, who happened at the moment to be busy 
 in some other part of the building. The man 
 who had entered was a young member of St. 
 Osmund's Church, who had been told to watch 
 the progress of the strike and let Stebbing know 
 if anything unusual occurred. When Stebbing 
 saw him he rose to his feet. There was that in 
 the young man's looks which indicated the gravity 
 of his tidings. 
 
 " The soldiers are out," he said. " They are
 
 248 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 assembling at the armories. I heard orders given 
 to take ball cartridges, and their cartridge belts 
 are filled with ammunition. The Governor has 
 ordered the National Guard to co-operate with the 
 police, and the first brigade is marching on the 
 City Hall Square. I have been in telephone com- 
 munication with another of our Brotherhood of 
 St. Andrew, and he says that they have over- 
 turned half a dozen cars there. The police are 
 surrounded by thousands of men, all armed, and 
 every slum in the city has disgorged itself of all 
 its thieves and blackguards into the City Hall 
 Park. It is jammed and packed with a mob. 
 They are burning cars, and are in complete pos- 
 session. There will be trouble when the troops 
 arrive." 
 
 Stebbing hesitated but a moment. 
 
 " I am wanted more there than here," he said 
 finally. He turned to Carpenter, one of his dele- 
 gates. "Tell Penrod," he continued, "that the 
 troops are out, and that I am going down to the 
 City Hall to see what I can do to prevent blood- 
 shed."
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 249 
 
 He turned, walked rapidly down the aisle, and 
 left the building. By an odd coincidence it so 
 happened that Miss Margaret Wharton, who had 
 been a spectator of all that had occurred from 
 the gallery, had at this moment also descended 
 the stairs. Stebbing and the young woman met 
 face to face on the broad, paved terrace, upon 
 which St. Hilda's was elevated some ten or a 
 dozen steps above the level of the street. Steb- 
 bing, as he saw her, took off his hat. 
 
 " Miss Wharton " he began. 
 
 " Under what pretext do you speak to me this 
 time, Mr. Stebbing?" 
 
 "The same affair. I am informed that 
 the troops are ordered out. The first bri- 
 gade is already marching to the City Hall 
 Square." 
 
 " I was afraid it would come to that," said the 
 girl, turning a little pale. 
 
 " I asked your help before. I want it now. 
 Your car is out here, isn't it? " 
 
 11 Yes." 
 
 "Were you going away?"
 
 25 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Only for a few minutes. I intended to 
 be back to hear the result of the second 
 ballot." 
 
 " Send me down to the City Hall in that car. 
 There is no other way I can get there so quickly. 
 I think I can do something with the men. I 
 think I can persuade them to disperse." 
 
 " It is a queer situation to use my father's car 
 to help the strikers against my father." 
 
 " Good Heavens, Miss Wharton," he cried, " it 
 isn't to help anybody against anybody else, but 
 to prevent bloodshed and murder. That's what 
 will happen if the troops fire upon the strikers. 
 They must be stopped at all hazards." 
 
 " Take the car," said the girl. 
 
 She started down the steps as she spoke, Steb- 
 bing by her side. She quickened her pace, until 
 it became what would have been an undignified 
 run, if anyone had marked it, or she had cared, 
 or even thought of it. 
 
 " Hawkins," she said to the chauffeur, " take 
 Mr. Stebbing down to the City Hall Park as fast 
 as you can. Never mind the speed limit. It is
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 251 
 
 a case of life or death. Will you get into the 
 tonneau, Mr. Stebbing? " 
 
 " No. I'll ride with the chauffeur. Good-by. 
 God bless you ! " He lifted his hat, and climbed 
 to his seat by the driver, and waited nervously 
 while Hawkins cranked the engine. 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you that you are impair- 
 ing your chances of the election by absenting your- 
 self now? " she asked him, her hand on the door 
 of the tonneau. 
 
 "It never did," he answered. "Whether it 
 does or not, I have no option, and anyway, I 
 don't care. My place is not here," he pointed 
 up at the noble fane of St. Hilda's. " It is always 
 there," he swept his arm southward " with the 
 people, wherever they are in trouble or in need." 
 
 By this time the motor was started, and Haw- 
 kins ran back and climbed into his seat. Before 
 he could start the car, the woman opened the door 
 of the tonneau and sprang inside. 
 
 " Are you going? " cried Stebbing in great sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Certainly I am."
 
 252 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " I cannot permit " 
 
 " This is my car. Start the motor, Hawkins." 
 
 " Yes, miss," said the man, and instantly the 
 great car sprang into life with a jump and went 
 tearing over the streets at a terrific pace, which 
 only the excellent motormanship of the chauffeur 
 kept from inflicting death and disaster upon the 
 people and vehicles in the street, and the passen- 
 gers in the car as well. Conversation was im- 
 possible, except when some imperative necessity 
 forced Hawkins to slow down. At every interval 
 of that kind, Stebbing besought the woman to go 
 back. She silenced him absolutely. He threat- 
 ened to leave the car. 
 
 " If you do," said the girl, " I will go on 
 alone." 
 
 " Promise me," he cried at the next interval, 
 " that you won't try to enter the square." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " I will promise nothing." 
 
 11 Hawkins," said Stebbing in the driver's ear, 
 " it is as much as her life is worth and yours, too, 
 to take Miss Wharton into the square."
 
 THE CHOICE IS NOT YET 253 
 
 " I will remain safely outside, sir," said the 
 chauffeur, who knew the danger far better than 
 the woman. 
 
 As for her, a wild exhilaration filled her heart. 
 She was leaving the ecclesiastical politics of the 
 Diocesan Convention, exciting as they had seemed 
 to her a few moments since, and was rushing 
 through space at a terrific speed with a man who 
 could do things, and who was striving to help 
 humanity. It was like a cavalry charge, a bold 
 dash against an enemy. 
 
 If she had foreseen what was going to happen 
 her feelings and emotions would have been entirely 
 different, but she had no idea that she was taking 
 Stebbing to almost certain death; for he, at least, 
 knew that it would be safer to face a den of lions 
 than to confront the maddened mob. If it had 
 only been the Traction employees he knew every 
 man, and they all loved the young minister it 
 would have been different, but every blackguard, 
 every thief, every thug, every unprisoned scoun- 
 drel in the city was there, stimulating the passions 
 of the strikers.
 
 254 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 So long as she lived Margaret Wharton never 
 forgot that ride. The drivers of other motors 
 turned to curse them; women, children, and pass- 
 ersby screamed angry maledictions after them; 
 officers of the law gave chase on their motor-cycles, 
 but had to drop behind. It was only the skill 
 of Hawkins that prevented them from injuring 
 and being injured. The mob which had over- 
 flowed from the City Hall Plaza into the side 
 streets at last forced them to bring the machine 
 to a stop. The chauffeur had stopped on the 
 brow of a little hill on a street that ran directly 
 into the plaza. From this hill Margaret Whar- 
 ton, sitting in the car, had a good view of all that 
 happened in the square.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE COURAGE IN THE STREET 
 
 THE spacious City Hall Square was jammed with 
 people. Bonfires of overturned cars were burning 
 here and there. Small groups of policemen were 
 gathered around the overturned cars, and a larger 
 squad of them was stationed on the steps of the 
 City Hall. Every officer in the city was on duty, 
 but every car-line and car-barn had to be guarded, 
 and there were not nearly enough men for the 
 work. 
 
 A dull, vicious, long-continued, ominous roar 
 rose from the seething mass of people in the 
 square. The Mayor stood on the steps of the 
 City Hall, trying in vain to talk to the mob. His 
 head was bare and the wind blew his white hair 
 around his shoulders. Thousands were shouting 
 at him, hands extended, clenching weapons; a few 
 had Winchesters, others heavy revolvers of the 
 army and navy pattern, and cheaper weapons, suffi- 
 255
 
 256 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 ciently murderous, however, at close range; here 
 and there the afternoon sunlight was reflected 
 from a knife-blade. There were enough police- 
 men, perhaps, to have made some sort of stand 
 against the mob, but it could only have been done 
 by the free use of firearms, the time for the club 
 was past. The Mayor, a humane man, too hu- 
 mane, perhaps, did not desire to employ force 
 until as a last resort. He hoped that the advent 
 of the troops would overawe the strikers and 
 the mob and cause them to disperse without blood- 
 shed. 
 
 All this was quite plain to Margaret Wharton. 
 For a few minutes she watched Stebbing big, 
 broad-shouldered, good-natured, forcing his way 
 through the crowd, toward the open space which 
 the police kept with difficulty, directly in front 
 of the Mayor on the steps. 
 
 It would have been absolutely impossible for 
 any other man to have forced his way through 
 that crowd except Stebbing, for he was known to 
 a great number of the people there, as he was 
 perhaps the most familiar figure in that section
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 257 
 
 of the city whence the mob had recruited. Where 
 he was known he was liked. There were enough 
 decent people in the multitude to heed his request 
 for passage and to see that he got it. 
 
 He was soon lost in the crowd, and although 
 the woman's eyes sought eagerly for him, she could 
 not find him. She thought she could mark his 
 progress by little eddies and ripples here and there 
 among the dense numbers packed so tightly to- 
 gether, but she was not sure. It was all guess- 
 work. 
 
 Her heart went out to him, went with him. 
 Why had he left her so abruptly when the car 
 came to a final stop? Why had he not said a 
 word of farewell before he broke away from her? 
 Why had he not given her a chance to say some- 
 thing to him? One look into her eyes would 
 have enlightened him. She wished she had thrown 
 reserve to the winds and had told him what 
 was in her heart ere he adventured into such 
 a scene of terror and danger. And now it 
 was too late! She could no longer even see 
 him!
 
 258 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 At this juncture her attention for a moment was 
 attracted by the rattle of drums up the broad 
 thoroughfare, which led to the City Hall, a block 
 to her left. The cross street gave her a view. 
 As she looked in the direction whence the sound 
 came she saw soldiers coming down the street. 
 Three regiments had been called out. The Briga- 
 dier in command rode with his staff on the right 
 flank of the first battalion. He had just enough 
 space on the sidewalk for his nervous horse, which 
 crowded the people back with ruthless indifference. 
 The drum and the bugle corps had been at the 
 head of the first regiment, but in obedience to a 
 command from the Colonel, who rode on the other 
 flank on the sidewalk, the buglers and the drum- 
 mers defiled to the left and took a position at 
 the end of the street where it opened on the 
 square. The men were in Khaki uniforms. They 
 were carrying their guns at an " Arms Port," and 
 were marching with a steady and disciplined step. 
 Well-trained, well-officered, they certainly meant 
 business. Every gun was tipped with a bright 
 bayonet, and the sunlight ran up and down the
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET, 259 
 
 slow-moving lines of polished steel as the men 
 marched steadily on. 
 
 As they passed the cross street they were hidden 
 from her view by intervening buildings, but in a 
 moment or two the head of the column entered the 
 square. A vast multitude of men and boys con- 
 stantly increasing, as a slow-moving glacier in its 
 advance piles up before it a tremendous moraine, 
 was swept along in front of the column. 
 
 The main pressure of the mob was off to the 
 left of the column, directly in front of the City 
 Hall, where the Mayor stood, so that there was, 
 comparatively speaking, a passage for the troops 
 for a short distance at least. But the great square 
 was already sufficiently crowded when the soldiers 
 entered it, bringing with them that new stream of 
 humanity, that influx from the side streets, which 
 had been pushed ahead of the brigade. Now it 
 seemed to the watching woman to become solidly 
 packed with people in every direction. 
 
 The rolling of the drums and the clamor of 
 the bugles, tremendous as was the noise, since each 
 regiment had added its own corps of drummers
 
 2 6o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 and buglers to the first detachment, was quickly 
 drowned by the terrific and savage yells of the 
 mob, which had heard that the soldiers were com- 
 ing, but had just seen them for the first time. 
 
 The Brigadier-General in command wasted no 
 time. By this time the head of the column had 
 so far passed the intervening buildings that Mar- 
 garet Wharton could see everything as on an im- 
 mense stage. The soldiers of the first regiment 
 suddenly and rapidly formed into long ranks, in 
 a column of masses, the other regiments following 
 their maneuvers as they debouched into the square. 
 
 The General raised his sword for silence. He 
 seemed to get it. Although the noise further 
 away from the soldiers was as loud as ever, ap- 
 parently he was able to make himself heard, for 
 the woman saw the crowd with slow, tortuous, and 
 agonizing heavings strain apart under the tremen- 
 dous pressure of the head of the heavily massed 
 columns. The soldiers, as the crowd began to 
 break, moved slowly forward, pricking with their 
 bayonets the tardy, until by and by they had 
 opened a broad lane down which they resolutely
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 261 
 
 marched in obedience to command. Arriving at 
 the open space at the foot of the steps, the alter- 
 nate lines marched to the right and the left, so 
 that they formed a kind of a hollow square, fac- 
 ing the mob in every direction. Yet it was only 
 the most stubborn resolution on the part of the 
 soldiers that kept back the crowd, the front ranks 
 of which every moment were in danger of being 
 pushed on to the protended bayonets of the troops 
 by the surging multitude behind them. 
 
 When the whole brigade had arrived before the 
 City Hall, where the police had kept that little 
 space, the already existing lines were re-enforced 
 by others, until the Mayor and the officials were 
 surrounded by a solid wall of men and steel. One 
 battalion was ordered up on the porch of the build- 
 ing, another lined the steps, and one marched in- 
 side the building itself, up the stairs, and soon 
 filled every window with bristling bayonets and 
 murderous rifles. The City Hall had suddenly 
 been transformed into an arsenal. The Brigadier- 
 General, having coolly made these dispositions, 
 rapidly and with exquisite skill and precision amid
 
 262 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 the evil howling of the mob, waited until all was 
 settled, and then he reported to the Mayor. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Mayor," he said, " you have but 
 to give the word and we'll clear the plaza." 
 
 The Mayor stepped to one of the projecting 
 porticos of the City Hall. The soldiers made a 
 way for him, and he stood there, a tall, impressive 
 figure, black-coated, with a striking background of 
 dull olive-drab uniforms among which the flags and 
 regimental banners made bright spots of color. 
 
 " Men," he said, as soon as he could get silence, 
 " fellow-citizens, I have warned you what would 
 happen. The Governor, at my request, has or- 
 dered out the National Guard. I have but to 
 give the word and you will be shot to pieces. You 
 must disperse and go to your homes at once. I 
 am reluctant to inaugurate a scene of bloodshed 
 by giving the order to fire, but I must do it unless 
 you instantly disperse. The honor of the city must 
 be preserved, order must be established. The law 
 must be upheld, and " 
 
 " To Hell with the National Guard," roared 
 out a burly leader of the mob.
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 263 
 
 "Will you right our wrongs?" cried another. 
 
 " Will you make the Traction Company give us 
 our just dues? " yelled a third. 
 
 Instantly the mass was a seething tumult. The 
 air was filled with maledictions and curses above 
 which the leaders could be heard crying: 
 
 "What do we care for the National Guard? " 
 
 "They are nothin' but tin soldiers anyway; 
 down with 'em!" 
 
 " We're goin' to have our rights I " 
 
 " It is the people's cause I " 
 
 The Brigadier, without waiting for the Mayor, 
 suddenly roared out some command. It was re- 
 peated swiftly from regiment to regiment, from 
 company to company, from rank to rank. Guns 
 were raised, butts pressed against human shoulders, 
 but the mob leaders perceived that the elevation 
 was such that even if the soldiers fired their guns 
 the people in the square would not be harmed. 
 
 "Keep fast!" they cried; "they are only 
 bluffing!" 
 
 The General lifted his sword and shouted a 
 command. The heavens were rent with a dis-
 
 264 ~HE BETTER MAN 
 
 charge from two thousand rifles. By previous 
 direction the men aimed in the air. It was ap- 
 parent that blank cartridges had been used. A 
 roar of derision burst from the people in the 
 square as they perceived the tactics of the soldiers, 
 and they observed that no one was hurt. They 
 were too mad to be frightened with sound. Some- 
 thing more serious was required. Well, they 
 would get it in short order, and in full measure. 
 In the tumult the old General could be heard roar- 
 ing out an ominous command: 
 
 " With ball cartridges, load!" 
 
 " Now is the time to rush them," said the leader 
 of the mob, " before they can get the bullets in 
 their guns. Come on, men ! " 
 
 The man clenched in one hand a heavy Colt's 
 revolver, which he pointed directly at the General. 
 At this critical instant, Stebbing, hatless, his cloth- 
 ing torn, his face pale and sweat-covered, broke 
 through the last rank of men and soldiers and 
 staggered into the narrow way which separated 
 the people from the troops, who were now ready 
 for another volley.
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 265 
 
 "For God's sake, General Good!" he cried; 
 " for the love of Heaven, Mr. Mayor, give me 
 one chance with these men; don't fire on them; 
 think what will happen ! " 
 
 General Good looked toward the Mayor. The 
 latter nodded. Both gentlemen knew Stebbing 
 personally, and they both knew that no man could 
 have more influence than he with the men. The 
 leader of the strikers, a big Irishman named 
 Clancy, who was well-known to Stebbing, eyed 
 him for a moment, and then, with a backward 
 sweep of his revolver, commanded silence. 
 
 "We'll give you five minutes, Mr. Stebbing," 
 he roared. "Give the minister a chance, men; 
 he is your friend," he cried. " Talk straight and 
 talk sharp, now, Mr. Stebbing," he added as the 
 murmurs rapidly died away, as the commands of 
 Clancy were transmitted throughout the mob. 
 
 While this transaction had taken place, the sol- 
 diers and the mob both got ready to fire. As has 
 been said, most of the mob were armed with 
 revolvers, while some few of them had rifles or 
 shotguns. In addition to their firearms every
 
 266 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 striker had a paving-stone or a piece of iron, a 
 knife or a hatchet, or some other weapon or missile. 
 The strikers and others there did not believe that 
 the soldiers would fire on them. They cherished 
 that contempt felt by many of the most ignorant 
 workingmen for members of the National Guard. 
 They were counting, however, without old General 
 Good, who would have had no compunction what- 
 ever in firing on anybody or on anything if it were 
 his duty so to do. 
 
 For the rest it was easier to handle a revolver 
 than a rifle, and the former did just as much dam- 
 age at close range as the latter, if it were fired 
 quick enough, so that the conditions were by no 
 means heavy against the mob, as might be fancied. 
 
 The faces of the young soldiers, boys for the 
 most part, were very pale. They were confront- 
 ing a realization of war in a way they had scarcely 
 imagined heretofore, but there was not a coward 
 among them. Their jaws were set, and the hands 
 which held the guns did not tremble. There was 
 good American stuff in them, ready for proving 
 in this or any other emergency. The red-faced,
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 267 
 
 white-mustached old General had been under fire 
 many times in two wars, and he was proud of them 
 where he sat his great white horse. 
 
 He realized that, should action begin, he would 
 be made the target of a hundred weapons, that 
 whatever else happened he would probably be shot 
 from his horse at the first discharge, but neither 
 his hand nor his voice trembled on that account. 
 He showed not the least sign of perturbation. The 
 officers and soldiers, seeing him sitting there so 
 cool and imperious, so entirely master of himself 
 :and his men, took new courage from the dauntless 
 spectacle. 
 
 Urged by Clancy and some self-constituted as- 
 sistants, the men had crowded back until perhaps 
 fifty feet intervened between the. front rank of 
 the mob and the front rank of the soldiers. Be- 
 tween the two was a low pedestal, designed to 
 carry an ornamental electric street lamp. It had 
 just been completed, and the lamp was not yet in 
 position. It afforded Stebbing a convenient pulpit 
 whence to deliver his appeal. He ran toward 
 it, leaped upon it, and found himself elevated a
 
 268 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 foot and a half perhaps above the mob in front 
 of him and the soldiers behind him. 
 
 The woman in the motor-car, which had been in 
 the outskirts, but which was now the center of an 
 increasing multitude of people, all so intent upon 
 what was happening in the square, that, fortunately 
 for her, they paid little attention to her, could 
 see Stebbing plainly. Her heart thrilled at the 
 sight of that solitary figure. She wished that she 
 were by his side ; she wished that she might hear the 
 burning words which she knew must be pouring 
 from his lips. She strained her ears in vain to 
 listen. 
 
 " Men and brethren," began Stebbing, " you 
 know me, you know I am your friend ; I live among 
 you, I work for you, I share your poverty. I am 
 in all respects one of you. I labor with my hands 
 as you do. My sympathies, my affections are 
 yours. I have devoted my life to you ; I have your 
 interest at heart. I am not allied with any repre- 
 sentative of the Traction Company; I have 
 no axes to grind, nothing to serve but your 
 interests."
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 269 
 
 "That's so," roared big Clancy; "we believe 
 you're a true man another like the Christ you 
 serve you're the workingman's friend." 
 
 "I hope so; I know so," Stebbing went on. 
 " Now, I say to you, you are in grave danger. 
 I know you are brave men, and you do not care 
 what happens to you, that you are perfectly willing 
 to lay down your lives in a good cause, but you 
 have wives and children at home who need you. 
 Whatever comes of this strike, they are going to 
 need you more than ever; they will be hungry 
 and naked and homeless without you. If you do 
 not disperse the troops will have to fire on you. 
 There is something greater than any of us that 
 has to be upheld the law." 
 
 " To Hell with the law I " cried a voice on the 
 outskirts. 
 
 Stebbing saw a flash of crimson as somebody 
 waved a red flag of anarchy above the heads of 
 the multitude. It gave a bloody dash of color 
 over the gray-clad, white-faced men in the after- 
 noon sunlight. 
 
 " We cannot stand for that sentiment here. I
 
 27 o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 appeal to the men, the American workmen, who 
 are my friends, and the friends of the law. The 
 Mayor here will do his best to get you justice. I 
 will add my own efforts. I will labor for you. 
 I am willing to die for you. For God's sake, if 
 you will only go home! Half of this mob is 
 composed of thieves and murderers and black- 
 guards and God knows who else. I call upon 
 the decent men to show that they control the situa- 
 tion. I call upon them to disperse, to go home, 
 to make others go home, so that there will be no 
 bloodshed. The law must be upheld. The 
 honor of the city, the manhood of the people, the 
 welfare of the home, demand this." 
 
 There was a large section of the crowd that 
 had been with difficulty kept still during Stebbing's 
 fervent appeal. His great voice filled the square so 
 that every word that he said was audible for a 
 long distance. There were men there who de- 
 served the scoring he had given them; some for 
 the selfish motives of plundering, some lusting to 
 see murder done and blood shed, who were willing 
 to take the risk that some of it might be from
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 271 
 
 their own veins; some who were out-and-out anar- 
 chists, who would welcome any kind of an oppor- 
 tunity to show their hatred of law and order. 
 These interrupted the speaking man with cries 
 from here and there, which were presently taken 
 up by others, until an awful outburst of passionate 
 yelling spread over the whole square. Clancy, 
 the leader, struggled in vain to quell the mob. 
 Stebbing stood with his arms outstretched in the 
 form of a cross, thought the woman in the car 
 at the top of the hill pleading with all his heart 
 and soul and mind and strength, and in vain. 
 Men no longer heard, no one cared to listen, ap- 
 parently. 
 
 At that moment somebody fired a pistol into 
 the air. As if it had been a signal, in an instant 
 the open space was filled with missiles. An iron 
 bar struck Stebbing on the shoulder. He stag- 
 gered back wildly. A heavy bottle broke across 
 his chest, a stone smote him fairly in the breast, 
 other objects beat upon his head. He sank to 
 his knees, leaning back with one hand outstretched, 
 supporting himself desperately, struggling not to
 
 2? 2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 give way. Sustained only by his love, his courage, 
 his duty, he had received enough blows to kill 
 him, yet the superhuman resolution of the man 
 held him up, and he kept himself just for a mo- 
 ment or two from utter collapse. 
 
 The woman saw the rain of missiles upon him, 
 saw him go down. Her face went as white as 
 death. She leaned forward and shook the chauf- 
 feur by the shoulder. 
 
 " Take me down there," she cried in agony in- 
 expressible, " for God's sake, take me down 
 there!" 
 
 " I can't do it, Miss Wharton," he said; " it's 
 impossible. Look, the soldiers are about to fire; 
 we must get away? " 
 
 That, too, was impossible. The car was sur- 
 rounded. People in their mad excitement to see 
 what was happening had clambered up on the run- 
 ning boards of the car, one had even taken the 
 seat beside the chauffeur, and only the fact that it 
 was occupied and locked kept the tonneau from 
 being crowded. The woman paid no attention to 
 them whatever. She stood staring as if fascinated
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 273 
 
 at the spot where Stebbing had gone down. It 
 was as Hawkins said. 
 
 The missiles had some of them been badly 
 aimed. One or two of them missed Stebbing, and 
 here and there a soldier sank down in the lines. 
 The General rose in his stirrups. The order to 
 fire was about to be given, when Stebbing, with a 
 last nerve-racking, superhuman effort, staggered to 
 his feet again. He would have fallen had it not 
 been for Clancy, who hurled his revolver to the 
 ground and sprang across the intervening space 
 and caught him in his arms. 
 
 " You damned scoundrels," the big strike leader 
 roared, as he held the almost dying man to his 
 great breast. " See what you have done. Dis- 
 perse, damn ye!': Go to your kennels, you 
 dogs, or you'll be blown to hell, where you 
 belong." 
 
 But now Stebbing took up the tale. Struggling 
 to free himself, he turned to the troops and 
 cried : 
 
 " For God's sake, hold your fire ! " 
 
 " See, they're giving back," cried Clancy, turn-
 
 274 THE BETTER MAN 
 ing to the soldiers; " I call upon all true men to 
 come to the rescue of this man we have stricken 
 down, and help drive the murderers back." 
 
 General Good hesitated, with the command 
 trembling on his lips. 
 
 " Wait," cried Stebbing in turn, standing once 
 more erect. He was a terrible figure grimy, 
 shattered, torn, bloody, sublime. " He tells the 
 truth. See, they are giving way! " he cried with 
 terrible power and emphasis in his great voice. 
 He lifted his hand in appeal. The men watching, 
 wondered where the sudden strength came from. 
 "Go back for your lives," he roared; "disperse, 
 for God's sake!" 
 
 Stebbing and Clancy had decided the issue at 
 the critical moment. The sight of Clancy their 
 leader supporting Stebbing their friend awakened 
 the decent men in the mob to the enormity of their 
 position, the terrible nature of their risk. They 
 turned with savage fury on the outlaw elements 
 and drove them back. The crowd began to dis- 
 perse like magic. Panic filled the souls of those 
 nearest the soldiers. Those on the outskirts caught
 
 COURAGE IN THE STREET 275 
 
 the contagion. Through side streets, alleys, and 
 byways they streamed away. 
 
 At a command fromGeneralGood the line of sol- 
 diersmoved forward, and with fixed bayonetspricked 
 on the tardy ones, hastening all out of the square. 
 In an inconceivably short time the place was cleared 
 of its former mob and in possession of the soldiers. 
 The plaza was picketed, and no one was allowed 
 to enter. There was but one exception to that 
 rule. Miss Wharton's big motor-car had moved 
 forward at the very first opportunity, and Hawkins 
 had recklessly driven it through the crowd. A 
 hundred times the woman's life was threatened 
 as the fleeing mob raced by, but the fear of death 
 was on that mob, and none stayed to make good 
 his threats. 
 
 Almost as Stebbing had fallen she was by his 
 side. He was lying on the ground, supported by 
 Clancy. The regimental surgeons who had come 
 with the troops hurried toward him. She knelt 
 down beside him on the ground. She brushed 
 the blood out of his eyes with her own hands. He 
 looked up at her, but without a sign of recognition.
 
 276 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 He was saying something. The square was full 
 of noise. She bent her head close to his. These 
 were the words that fell from his lips. Words 
 that had been used long ago by another man, who 
 had fallen under the stones of another mob : 
 
 " Lord," he said faintly, " lay not this sin to 
 their charge." 
 
 And, as she bent over him, grimy, blood-stained, 
 battered, torn though he was, to her his face, like 
 that of that other man long ago, was as the face 
 of an angel I
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE COURAGE OF CONFESSION 
 
 IT was not long after Stebbing's hasty departure 
 before Penrod was informed by Carpenter that 
 their unwilling candidate had gone to the City 
 Hall in the hope of preventing the impending 
 clash between the soldiers and the strikers. For 
 a moment the withdrawal of Stebbing had looked 
 like a desertion from the field, and Penrod was 
 in fear of a panic among his supporters. It had 
 required a great deal of moral courage for some 
 of the newer and younger clergy and some of the 
 lay deputies from the weaker parishes to stand up 
 under the tremendous influence of the party repre- 
 sented by General Wharton, which had been carry- 
 ing on the affairs of the Diocese for many years; 
 but Penrod showed himself an excellent tactician, 
 as he had previously demonstrated that he was 
 a brilliant strategist, and rallied his forces by caus- 
 ing it to be spread unofficially throughout the 
 277
 
 278 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 church that Stebbing was so far indifferent to the 
 office which his friend sought to bestow upon him, 
 that in response to what he considered a higher call, 
 he had left the smaller field of action for that 
 greater field upon which the battle was being 
 waged, with bullets and not with ballots, with 
 force and not with influence. The big mechanic 
 had associated with him a certain small body of 
 determined men, clergy and laity, who went freely 
 about the whole place declaring the facts of the 
 case in this critical juncture so that everybody was 
 aware of them. 
 
 By this means they held Stebbing's vote, and 
 when the result of the ballot was announced, Bar- 
 more had lost one, Stebbing's vote remained the 
 same, and there were the usual number of scat- 
 tered votes, resulting as before in no election. By 
 this time it was somewhat late in the afternoon, 
 and Penrod moved that the election be postponed 
 until the morrow morning. The motion was op- 
 posed by General Wharton, who felt that if he 
 could force a third ballot then and there the 
 determination of Barmore's supporters would
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 279 
 
 finally detach from the absent Stebbing enough 
 votes to insure the election of the former. 
 
 The Convention immediately got into a vigor- 
 ous wrangle in the midst of which the Bishop 
 presiding was called to the telephone. He de- 
 clined to leave the Convention, and it was only 
 when the importance of the message was explained 
 to him that he asked the body to take a recess for 
 five minutes until he could answer the demand that 
 was made upon him. 
 
 He came back with such a grave face that the 
 tumult which had been growing as the debate had 
 progressed and the tension of the situation had 
 developed was immediately stilled. 
 
 " Gentlemen and brethren, members of the Con- 
 vention," said the Bishop, " I have received news 
 of such serious import, which has such a direct 
 bearing upon the prospective or possible action of 
 the Convention, that I must at once communicate 
 it to you. The Rev. Mr. Stebbing, whose with- 
 drawal from the Convention some of you marked 
 with surprise, hastened to the City Hall Plaza 
 in obedience to what he believed a call to duty,
 
 2 8o THE BETTER MAN 
 
 and there, endeavoring to mediate between the 
 National Guard which had been called out and 
 the strikers who were assembled there in great 
 numbers, he was assaulted by the mob. He was 
 beaten down under a shower of missiles, and is 
 now unconscious and in a dangerous condition." 
 
 " Good God ! " cried Penrod, utterly unmanned 
 by this news. " The fools, they have done for 
 him, and he was the best man in the city their 
 only friend! " 
 
 "Order! order!" came from various parts of 
 the house. 
 
 " The gentleman," said the Bishop, " who has 
 spoken is undoubtedly out of order, but his re- 
 marks are pardonable when we realize the feeling 
 which he entertains, which I am sure we all enter- 
 tain, for Mr. Stebbing. I commend the house 
 to prayer for the safety of a life, so bravely offered 
 and so precious to us all." 
 
 The deep silence of the house was broken only 
 by the low voice of the Bishop using the familiar 
 prayers which were felt by the great assembly as 
 perhaps they had never been felt before. When
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 281 
 
 he rose to his feet, Barmore, Wharton, and Pen- 
 rod, with numbers of others, sought for recogni- 
 tion. Penrod's great voice broke out : 
 
 " In the interest of fair play, hear me, Right 
 Reverend Sir." 
 
 It appeared to the Bishop that Barmore had 
 risen first or had caught his eye. 
 
 " I think," he said slowly, " that my eye was 
 first caught by Mr. Barmore." 
 
 " I will yield the floor, sir, to Mr. Penrod," 
 said Barmore, who was very pale, very composed, 
 and very stern. 
 
 " Don't yield anything ! You are mad ! You 
 are making a mistake ! " said General Wharton 
 by his side, but Barmore paid no attention. 
 
 " I recognize Mr. Penrod, therefore," said the 
 Bishop presiding. 
 
 " Right Reverend Sir," began Penrod, his voice 
 choking with emotion, " Mr. Stebbing is my 
 friend; I love him; I want to go to him. There 
 are others who will feel the same way. Surely 
 we are not in condition now to proceed with the 
 election. The man for whom some of us have
 
 282 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 voted may never be in condition to enjoy the honor 
 of which he is so entirely worthy, and which he 
 so entirely merits. I beg again to offer my motion 
 to postpone the election until a time certain, say 
 ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and to adjourn to 
 that hour." 
 
 Old General Wharton was a fighter. He did 
 not give up easily. Although things appeared 
 to be going against him, he was still confident that 
 another ballot would result in the election of Bar- 
 more; therefore, he was on his feet on the instant, 
 and without waiting for recognition he burst 
 out: 
 
 " Right Reverend Sir, we are here for a pur- 
 pose, too high a purpose to be subject to the feel- 
 ings of any one man or any group of men. I 
 deplore as much as any what has happened to 
 our young friend, but " 
 
 " I rise to a point of order, sir," cried Barmore, 
 doing an amazing and unprecedented thing. He 
 was not doing it on the impulse of a moment either. 
 Ever since the balloting had been going on his 
 conscience had been troubling him more and more,
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 283 
 
 and the completing touch had been put by the 
 story of Stebbing's gallant and heroic endeavor. 
 
 General Wharton looked at the young clergy- 
 man in astonishment. 
 
 " The gentleman will state his point of order," 
 said the Bishop. 
 
 " The gentleman whom I have just interrupted 
 has not been recognized by the chair. I yielded 
 the floor to the gentleman who moved to 
 adjourn; therefore, the last speaker is out of 
 order." 
 
 " The point of order is well taken, sir," said 
 the Bishop, who was afraid of nobody. " General 
 Wharton will take his seat." 
 
 The General glared at Barmore for a moment 
 and sat down somewhat ignominiously. There 
 was nothing else he could do. The Bishop pre- 
 siding was a man who was not to be trifled with. 
 At any rate, the General felt that his efforts had 
 not been without effect, for he had clearly indicated 
 his wishes to his followers. 
 
 " Now " continued Barmore. 
 
 " If you intend to discuss this matter, Mr. Bar-
 
 284 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 more," said the Bishop, "you are out of order. 
 A motion to adjourn is not debatable." 
 
 " I did not intend to discuss the motion to 
 adjourn," returned Barmore. " For that matter, 
 I wish to second it, but before doing so I wish 
 to beg Mr. Penrod to delay his motion while I 
 ask the unanimous consent of the house to make a 
 statement." 
 
 " I object," said General Wharton sharply. He 
 did not know to what quixotic limit his candidate 
 would resort. 
 
 " The chair hears an objection, and therefore 
 cannot entertain your request." 
 
 " I rise, then," said Barmore quickly, " to a 
 question of personal privilege." 
 
 "Right Reverend Sir," said the General, 
 rising to his feet, " I now rise to a point of 
 order." 
 
 " What is your point of order, sir? " 
 
 " A motion to adjourn to a time certain, having 
 been duly made and seconded and being now before 
 the house, nothing is in order except an amend- 
 ment to change the time certain."
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 285 
 
 " The chair rules that when a member desires 
 to address the house on a question of personal 
 privilege he is in order, no matter what is before 
 the house." 
 
 " I appeal," said the General, " from the deci- 
 sion of the chair." 
 
 " General Wharton," said the chair bluntly, 
 " appeals from the decision of the chair, which 
 you have just heard, which is that a gentleman 
 desiring to address the house upon a matter of 
 personal privilege is in order at any time. Shall 
 the decision of the chair be sustained?" 
 
 The Bishop paused a moment, the center of this 
 little drama. The General had played his last 
 card. His wishes were clearly enough indicated. 
 Would his party stand by him, or would he be 
 defeated? The General, reluctant as he was to 
 admit that he was beaten under any circum- 
 stance, in this instance almost wished that he might 
 be, so outrageous did he consider the conduct of 
 his candidate. 
 
 " Those in favor of sustaining the decision of 
 the chair will signify it by saying ' aye.' "
 
 286 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 A thundering roar of affirmation burst from the 
 great mass of deputies. 
 
 " Those opposed, ' no.' " 
 
 There was an outburst of noes, but they were 
 greatly in the minority. 
 
 " The ayes have it," said the Bishop, " the deci- 
 sion of the chair is sustained. The gentleman 
 rises to a question of personal privilege. He has 
 a statement to make. The house will be in order 
 and listen to what the gentleman has to say. I 
 feel it my duty to warn him that he must confine 
 himself strictly to a question of personal privilege, 
 and not attempt, under cover of such an oppor- 
 tunity, to discuss or debate any question which 
 may be before the house." 
 
 Amid a deep silence Barmore began : 
 
 " I thank you, Right Reverend Sir, and I thank 
 the house for its courtesy. I thank General 
 Wharton, my old and true friend, for all that 
 he has done for me, for I know that he has had 
 an eye single to my interest. In what I have to 
 say I will confine myself strictly to the personal 
 question. In the first place, I have a confession
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 287 
 
 to make. My delinquencies would not greatly 
 concern this distinguished body of clergy and laity 
 under ordinary circumstances, but a large number 
 of you have honored me with your suffrages for 
 the great office of Bishop. I feel that I am en- 
 tirely unworthy to fill that office." 
 
 At this juncture General Wharton started to his 
 feet. Barmore faced him swiftly. 
 
 " I beg, I entreat, that no one interrupts me 
 now. What I have to say is hard enough, and 
 I cannot be interrupted with the saying of it." 
 
 " The house will be in order," said the Bishop 
 presiding. " The gentleman will take his seat." 
 
 " When I say that I am unworthy of the office, 
 which I here and now admit with shame that I 
 sought, I am not speaking conventionally, but I 
 am expressing a conviction which has been grow- 
 ing in my heart, against which I have been fight- 
 ing, but which has only come to me finally and 
 definitely in the last few minutes. When the 
 matter was broached to me after the death of 
 the late Bishop, I discouraged it, but as the days 
 sped on, and what may be called the campaign,
 
 288 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 progressed, I encouraged it. I wanted to be 
 Bishop. For one thing, I wanted to defeat the 
 candidacy of the Rev. Mark Stebbing. I flat- 
 tered my conscience by trying to persuade myself 
 that such a wish sprang entirely from a considera- 
 tion of his supposed unfitness for that office. I 
 admit the conceit of that thought. I know now 
 that, as between the two of us, he is the fitter per- 
 son for that or any other office to which he might 
 be called and chosen. The differences between 
 Mr. Stebbing and myself were personal, and I 
 am sure that these personal differences influenced 
 me more than any other considerations." 
 
 " You are mad ! you are mad ! " cried General 
 Wharton irrepressibly. 
 
 " No," said Barmore gravely, " for the first 
 time in two months I am absolutely sane." 
 
 " The chair must insist that the house observe 
 order," firmly said the Bishop presiding, rapping 
 on the desk with his gavel. 
 
 The house was in a breathless condition. Mem- 
 bers were scarcely less white and agitated than 
 Barmore himself. The latter went on, speaking
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 289 
 
 in his clear, even voice, which carried to the furthest 
 corner of the great building. It was the tensest 
 moment that had ever occurred in the Diocese or 
 in the Church. 
 
 " When this strike was first mooted by the em- 
 ployees my sympathies were entirely with the strik- 
 ers. Afterward, as their demands were increased, 
 they veered to the side of the company. Mr. 
 Stebbing came to me Saturday morning in my 
 study, in spite of the enmity and antagonism 
 that existed between us which, I must say for my- 
 self, were not without some justification, if there 
 can ever be justification for friction and strife be- 
 tween brethren. So far as I am concerned, that 
 enmity is buried forever. It was struck down 
 with the man under the stones of the mob. I 
 stand here to acclaim his conduct, his character, 
 and his courage." 
 
 A ripple of applause began among the people 
 in the gallery and spread quickly. Only the thun- 
 dering rapping of the chairman brought the house 
 to silence and a realization of its place. 
 
 " Saturday morning, as I said, Mr. Stebbing
 
 2 9 o .THE BETTER MAN 
 
 called on me. He had a proposition to make. 
 He asked me to use my influence with the manage- 
 ment of the Traction Company to induce it, in the 
 interest of peace and harmony, in the interest of 
 the general public, in the interest of the helpless 
 wives and children of its men, to arbitrate with 
 the strikers on the basis of the original demands, 
 which I believed then, and which I believe now, 
 are just. His arguments so won me that I prom- 
 ised to preach a sermon on the line he suggested. 
 I fully intended to do this, gentlemen I am keep- 
 ing back nothing, you see. One reason why I 
 acceded to his proposition was because a Satanic 
 Tempter persuaded me that if I could effect this 
 settlement I should be in a better position to claim 
 your suffrages. I found later on that the man- 
 agement of the company did not look at the matter 
 as I did. I quickly perceived that if I attempted 
 to follow out the course that Mr. Stebbing had 
 mapped out for me, the influence which was so 
 much to me, and which furnished the backbone 
 of my support here, would be withdrawn. I per- 
 suaded myself that Stebbing was wrong. I
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 291 
 
 preached the sermon which was printed in the 
 paper yesterday morning. I did this thing may 
 God forgive me, I never can that I might be 
 elected Bishop." 
 
 The house was deathly still. 
 
 " I now compare my self-seeking conduct with 
 the disinterested conduct of my nearest com- 
 petitor and I find myself unworthy to be named 
 in the same breath with him. We shall adjourn 
 immediately, to meet to-morrow at ten o'clock. 
 When that time comes my vote and my influence 
 will be for Mark Stebbing. Wait," he said, as 
 deputies stood up in all parts of the house, " I 
 have not yet concluded. I have still something 
 more to say, and it is this: Unfortunately, or 
 fortunately perhaps would be better, some of the 
 men interested in the management of the Traction 
 Company are members of this great Convention. 
 I say here and now that this strike must be settled 
 on the lines proposed by Mr. Stebbing, and that 
 the proposition for settlement, based on the orig- 
 inal grievances, must be made here and now and 
 given to the press. We are citizens of no mean
 
 292 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 city, members of a great Church, and we can well 
 stay our endeavors to choose a head until this 
 matter is determined. I know that there are re- 
 porters present, and that the whole wretched story 
 I have told, and the confession I have made, will 
 be spread broadcast. It is part of my punish- 
 ment. I accept it without repining. The only 
 amends I can take for my action is to insist that 
 the strike be settled now and at once; that the 
 blood of Mark Stebbing shall not have been shed 
 in vain. And in honor to his memory, if he be 
 dead, or to soothe his last hours if he be dying, 
 or as a stimulant to his recovery if, please God, 
 he shall live, that there shall be carried to his 
 bedside the report that the strike shall be settled 
 as he planned. I want this Convention to go 
 on record here and now to that effect. The strike 
 must be settled. Now, gentlemen, with my sin- 
 cerest thanks to you for your forbearance with 
 me, and to those who have been so mistaken in 
 me and have supported me for the Episcopate, I 
 
 yield the floor which you granted to me " 
 
 Half the Convention was on its feet shouting
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 293 
 
 for recognition. The Right Reverend Chairman 
 surveyed the crowd for a moment, evidently ques- 
 tioning what to do. Finally he rapped the multi- 
 tude into silence and recognized Mr. Penrod. 
 
 " Your motion for adjournment," he said, 
 " which you withheld while Mr. Barmore rose to 
 a question of personal privilege is in order, and 
 nothing else, I take it, unless you yield the floor, 
 which would have to be done with the unanimous 
 consent of the house, to any other member who 
 may desire to address it." 
 
 "Right Reverend Sir," said Penrod, "may I 
 say a few words before I yield the floor? " 
 
 " With the consent of the house, yes," said the 
 chair. 
 
 Cries of " Let him speak ! " rang through the 
 building. 
 
 " The chair hears no objection. You have the 
 floor, Mr. Penrod." 
 
 " Well, sir, I only want to say that I have been 
 thrilled to the very soul by the splendid words of 
 Mr. Barmore. Although I am a devoted friend 
 of Mr. Stebbing, and one of his chief supporters,
 
 294 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 I want to say that the members of this house 
 who have voted for Mr. Barmore, and who, I 
 doubt not, will continue to vote for him, make no 
 mistake. By the God above us, sir, he is a man, 
 and a man after my own heart, and I shall not 
 fail to tell Mr. Stebbing so with as much frank- 
 ness as this gentleman himself has employed. It 
 has taken as much courage to stand here and make 
 this confession as it took to face the mob. As 
 to what the result of the vote will be to-morrow, 
 I shall not attempt to say, but it seems to me, sir, 
 that the Diocese will be in good hands what- 
 ever betides. Now, sir," he continued after a 
 pause, " I yield the floor for the last time to the 
 only man who is entitled to have it now, General 
 Wharton." 
 
 The General had been thinking rapidly. His 
 hand had been forced. Although he was furiously 
 angry with Barmore for forcing it, he was not 
 so angry as to be blind to the facts of the case. 
 He had supported Barmore because he considered 
 him a safe man; now he would support him be- 
 cause he was both honest, able, and brave. It
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 295 
 
 took honesty, ability, and almost superhuman 
 courage, as Penrod had said, to make the con- 
 fession that the house had just heard. He was 
 confident that that would make Barmore a stronger 
 candidate than ever for the Episcopate, and he 
 was confident that the welfare of the Church would 
 be best served by his election. As to the strike, 
 Barmore's bold attack and Stebbing's brilliant self- 
 sacrifice would change public opinion. He had 
 everything to gain and nothing to lose by the settle- 
 ment, besides he was frankly touched by the whole 
 series of incidents. He had expected that Bar- 
 more would call upon him, and was glad Penrod 
 did so. He rose slowly to his feet amid another 
 of those deep and terrible silences. 
 
 " I wish," he began slowly, " to take my part 
 of the blame for all that Mr. Barmore has said. 
 I am glad for one thing that it has given him an 
 opportunity to show his true worth and his true 
 nobility of character. Further than that I shall 
 say nothing, except this : The strike shall be settled 
 on the terms proposed by Mr. Stebbing and advo- 
 cated by Mr. Barmore. There are members of
 
 296 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 the press here, I am sure, and they can give this 
 statement the widest publicity as coming from me 
 personally." 
 
 The General sat down. A delegate with a fine, 
 rich voice rose slowly to his feet and began the 
 long-meter Doxology. The whole Convention, 
 all, that is, except Barmore, who sat with his face 
 in his hands, tears streaming through his fingers. 
 He had lost the election, he had lost the woman 
 he loved, he had lost the confidence and friendship 
 of General Wharton and his parishioners, but he 
 had regained his self-respect, his honor, his de- 
 cency, and if he was not happy, he was at least at 
 peace with himself. 
 
 " The house," said the Bishop presiding, as the 
 final amen was sung, " will unite in prayer, and 
 after the benediction it will adjourn until to-mor- 
 row morning at ten o'clock." 
 
 When the last words of the Bishop had died 
 away, and the last amen had been said, Barmore 
 rose first, with a feeling of freedom in his heart 
 which he had not experienced for many days, and 
 walked down the aisle toward the door. The
 
 COURAGE OF CONFESSION 297 
 
 Convention rose with him, and the members stood 
 still. No one crowded before him or about him, 
 but every eye looked at him with respect, with ad- 
 miration, with devotion. It was a triumph too 
 great for words. He stood on the great portico 
 of St. Hilda's and looked about him. There he 
 was joined by Penrod and General Wharton. 
 
 " My car should be here," said the General 
 formally enough, " and Margaret." 
 
 " Sir," said Penrod, " the man who brought 
 me the tidings about Mr. Stebbing said that your 
 daughter had taken him down to the City Hall, 
 and that she had gone with him to the Mercy 
 Hospital." 
 
 " There is the car," said the General, as Haw- 
 kins turned the corner. " Gentlemen, I am going 
 down to the Mercy Hospital myself. We may 
 be an ill-assorted trio, but I shall be glad to have 
 your company." 
 
 Barmore and Penrod looked at each other for 
 a moment and both nodded. They descended the 
 steps to the street together. By this time the 
 portico of the church was crowded with delegates.
 
 298 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 Someone stepped to the front and cried, waving 
 his hat: 
 
 " Three cheers for Barmore ! " 
 
 And so with that acclaim in their ears the trio 
 rode rapidly away. 
 
 For a few moments no one spoke. It was the 
 General at last who broke the silence. 
 
 " Barmore," he said, " that was the finest thing 
 that I have ever seen. The courage of Stebbing 
 in facing the mob was not greater. I do not 
 think it was as great as your courage in making 
 that statement. I do not care what Mr. Penrod 
 or anyone else thinks. In my judgment you are 
 the man for the Bishopric, and I am more than 
 determined to support you to the bitter end." 
 
 "After Mr. Stebbing," said Penrod bluntly, 
 " you are my choice, Mr. Barmore." 
 
 Barmore shook his head. 
 
 " There is no after Mr. Stebbing." 
 
 " He may die, he may even be dead by this 
 time," said Penrod gravely. 
 
 " God forbid ! " cried Barmore.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN WHICH ALL IS SETTLED IN THE ONLY WAY 
 
 THE three soon reached the hospital. Miss 
 Wharton, whose father was one of the governors 
 of the great institution, had caused Stebbing to 
 be taken to the finest suite of rooms in the build- 
 ing. The three gentlemen were led into a little 
 parlor off the room in which Stebbing lay. Doc- 
 tors and nurses were busy over him. Miss Whar- 
 ton came into the parlor when the nurse told her 
 who had arrived, and informed her father that 
 Stebbing had just regained consciousness, that he 
 was in a frightfully critical condition, and that 
 the doctors insisted that an immediate operation 
 be performed. It would, if successful, save his 
 life; otherwise it was despaired of. 
 
 " There are some things which ought to be said 
 to Mr. Stebbing now, Miss Wharton," said Bar- 
 more gravely, " and we are here to say them. We 
 believe that they will do more toward preparing 
 
 him for the operation than anything else." 
 299
 
 300 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 "Is it about the strike?" 
 
 " It is," said the General, " and other things." 
 
 " I will ask the surgeon in charge if you can 
 see him," said the girl. 
 
 " Wait," said the General; " why are you here, 
 Margaret?" 
 
 " I am here," said the girl, " because " and 
 
 this was the hardest part of Barmore's suffering, 
 " I am here," said the girl, slowly but deliberately 
 choosing her words, " because I love him." 
 
 Barmore stepped forward. Penrod uncere- 
 moniously took the bewildered and surprised old 
 General by the arm and swung him around so 
 that the man and the woman were free from 
 observation. The General was nothing loth to 
 turn his back after the first shock of surprise, and 
 he and Penrod walked to the window and engaged 
 in perfunctory conversation. 
 
 " I have sinned grievously, Miss Wharton," 
 said Barmore quietly, " but I have made what 
 amends I can. Your announcement is part of 
 my punishment. It is almost more than I can 
 bear, but I acquiesce in it. I do more. You
 
 L l am going to marry you," said the girl, "when 
 you are well again" (Page 304)
 
 ALL IS SETTLED 301 
 
 have chosen the better man, and I pray God that 
 he may live to love you and to cherish you as you 
 ought to be loved and cherished." 
 
 " I am very sorry for you, Mr. Barmore," said 
 Margaret quietly, her gravity almost matching his 
 own. " I come nearer caring for you now than 
 ever before. I do care for you, but not in that 
 way." 
 
 " No, not in that way. I understand." 
 
 She turned on the instant and left the room, 
 and in a few minutes came back again. 
 
 " The doctors say that if you have good news 
 for him you may all see him for five minutes," 
 said she. 
 
 The three gentlemen followed the woman into 
 the room where Stebbing lay. General Wharton 
 stood at the foot of the narrow bed, Penrod on 
 one side, and Barmore on the other. Margaret 
 Wharton stepped beyond Penrod and laid her 
 hand gently upon Stebbing's uninjured shoulder. 
 There was a momentary pause while the sorely 
 stricken man turned wonderingly from one to the 
 other.
 
 3 o2 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 " Mr. Stebbing," said the General with un- 
 wonted gentleness in his voice, " I have come to 
 tell you that the strike shall be settled on the lines 
 you propose, and that it is to be so settled is due 
 to two things, first, to your own heroic action, 
 and second, to my candidate Barmore's splendid 
 confession and appeal before the Diocesan Con- 
 vention." 
 
 "Thank God, he was true at last," said 
 Stebbing slowly. "And the election?" he 
 questioned. 
 
 " It is postponed until to-morrow morning," 
 answered Penrod. " Your friend Barmore made 
 a speech in which he confessed that he had re- 
 frained from supporting your position and from 
 preaching the sermon on the settlement of the 
 strike because he feared it would affect his chances 
 for being a Bishop. He told everything, keeping 
 back nothing. It was magnificent. And then 
 he made a demand that the strike be settled, and 
 General Wharton at once acceded." 
 
 " I confessed everything, Mark," said Barmore. 
 " I told the Convention that I was not worthy
 
 ALL IS SETTLED 303 
 
 to be Bishop, and I asked them to vote for you 
 in the morning." 
 
 " He did," said Penrod swiftly, " he did that 
 very thing. It was the bravest thing I have ever 
 seen done, quite as brave as your facing the 
 mob." 
 
 " Braver," said Stebbing, who understood the 
 whole situation, even that which had been left 
 unsaid and unrelated. " Barmore, old friend," 
 he continued, " you have shown me that I was 
 right in thinking you the best man for the office. 
 They say I have to be operated upon in a short 
 time. I may never have another opportunity 
 it is a touch and go with me as to whether I live 
 or die that is as God pleases but I want to say 
 here and now to you, Penrod, who have been 
 my chief supporter, and to you, General Wharton, 
 although my adversary, my friend that he, and 
 he alone, must be made Bishop of this Diocese, 
 that I will not accept it under any circum- 
 stance, that he has shown his quality by his 
 confession and you must elect him. No, 
 Barmore, don't interrupt a man who may be
 
 3 04 THE BETTER MAN 
 
 dying, and a man who loves you you understand, 
 
 Penrod?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And you will do what I wish? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "That is all. Wait, General Wharton, I am 
 sorry that I kissed your daughter against her will, 
 but it was only because I love her so. I sup- 
 pose she will marry Barmore, he is the better man, 
 and I want to beg his pardon and her pardon, 
 and yours." 
 
 " She is not going to marry me, Stebbing," said 
 Barmore softly. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " I am going to marry you," said the girl, 
 " when you are well again." 
 
 She bent over and kissed him before them all. 
 Barmore turned away and walked slowly from 
 the room. The others followed him. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " whispered the man in 
 amazement. 
 
 " Yes," answered the woman directly. " I 
 think I must have loved you ever since I
 
 ALL IS SETTLED 305 
 
 met you at St. Osmund's that day so long 
 ago." 
 
 " I shall not die, but live," said Stebbing hap- 
 pily. " The strike is settled Barmore is to be 
 elected Bishop and I shall have you " 
 
 " Forever," said the woman, kissing him again.
 
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