Our friend's acquaintance with the rector of St. James's church had
grown into something like friendship, and the two men were quite often
together in the evening. John went sometimes to Mr. Euston's house, and
not unfrequently the latter would spend an hour in John's room over a
cigar and a chat. On one of the latter occasions, late in the autumn,
Mr. Euston went to the piano after sitting a few minutes and looked over
some of the music, among which were two or three hymnals. "You are
musical," he said.
"In a modest way," was the reply.
"I am very fond of it," said the clergyman, "but have little knowledge
of it. I wish I had more," he added in a tone of so much regret as
to cause his hearer to look curiously at him. "Yes," he said, "I wish I
knew more--or less. It's the bane of my existence," declared the rector
with a half laugh. John looked inquiringly at him, but did not respond.
"I mean the music--so called--at St. James's," said Mr. Euston. "I don't
wonder you smile," he remarked; "but it's not a matter for smiling with
me."
"I beg pardon," said John.
"No, you need not," returned the other, "but really--Well, there are a
good many unpleasant and disheartening experiences in a clergyman's
life, and I can, I hope, face and endure most of them with patience, but
the musical part of my service is a never-ending source of anxiety,
perplexity, and annoyance. I think," said Mr. Euston, "that I expend
more nerve tissue upon that branch of my responsibilities than upon all
the rest of my work. You see we can not afford to pay any of the
singers, and indeed my people--some of them, at least--think fifty
dollars is a great sum for poor little Miss Knapp, the organist. The
rest are volunteers, or rather, I should say, have been pressed into the
service. We are supposed to have two sopranos and two altos; but in
effect it happens sometimes that neither of a pair will appear, each
expecting the other to be on duty. The tenor, Mr. Hubber, who is an
elderly man without any voice to speak of, but a very devout and
faithful churchman, is to be depended upon to the extent of his
abilities; but Mr. Little, the bass--well," observed Mr. Euston, "the
less said about him the better."
"How about the organist?" said John. "I think she does very well,
doesn't she?"
"Miss Knapp is the one redeeming feature," replied the rector, "but she
has not much courage to interfere. Hubber is nominally the leader, but
he knows little of music." Mr. Euston gave a sorry little laugh. "It's
trying enough," he said, "one Sunday with another, but on Christmas and
Easter, when my people make an unusual effort, and attempt the
impossible, it is something deplorable."
John could not forbear a little laugh. "I should think it must be pretty
trying," he said.
"It is simply corroding," declared Mr. Euston.
They sat for a while smoking in silence, the contemplation of his woes
having apparently driven other topics from the mind of the harassed
clergyman. At last he said, turning to our friend:
"I have heard your voice in church."
"Yes?"
"And I noticed that you sang not only the hymns but the chants, and in a
way to suggest the idea that you have had experience and training. I did
not come here for the purpose," said Mr. Euston, after waiting a moment
for John to speak, "though I confess the idea has occurred to me before,
but it was suggested again by the sight of your piano and music. I know
that it is asking a great deal," he continued, "but do you think you
could undertake, for a while at least, to help such a lame dog as I am
over the stile? You have no idea," said the rector earnestly, "what a
service you would be doing not only to me, but to my people and the
church."
John pulled thoughtfully at his mustache for a moment, while Mr. Euston
watched his face. "I don't know," he said at last in a doubtful tone. "I
am afraid you are taking too much for granted--I don't mean as to my
good will, but as to my ability to be of service, for I suppose you mean
that I should help in drilling your choir."
"Yes," replied Mr. Euston. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you to
sing as well."
"I have had no experience in the way of leading or directing," replied
John, ignoring the suggestion, "though I have sung in church more or
less, and am familiar with the service, but even admitting my ability to
be of use, shouldn't you be afraid that my interposing might make more
trouble than it would help? Wouldn't your choir resent it? Such people
are sometimes jealous, you know."
"Oh, dear, yes," sighed the rector. "But," he added, "I think I can
guarantee that there will be no unpleasant feeling either toward you or
about you. Your being from New York will give you a certain prestige,
and their curiosity and the element of novelty will make the beginning
easy."
There came a knock at the door and Mr. Harum appeared, but, seeing a
visitor, was for withdrawing.
"Don't go," said John. "Come in. Of course you know Mr. Euston."
"Glad to see ye," said David, advancing and shaking hands. "You folks
talkin' bus'nis?" he asked before sitting down.
"I am trying to persuade Mr. Lenox to do me a great favor," said Mr.
Euston.
"Well, I guess he won't want such an awful sight o' persuadin'," said
David, taking a chair, "if he's able to do it. What does he want of ye?"
he asked, turning to John. Mr. Euston explained, and our friend gave his
reasons for hesitating--all but the chief one, which was that he was
reluctant to commit himself to an undertaking which he apprehended would
be not only laborious but disagreeable.
"Wa'al," said David, "as fur 's the bus'nis itself 's concerned, the
hull thing's all nix-cum-rouse to me; but as fur 's gettin' folks to
come an' sing, you c'n git a barn full, an' take your pick; an' a
feller that c'n git a pair of hosses an' a buggy out of a tight fix the
way you done a while ago ought to be able to break in a little team of
half a dozen women or so."
"Well," said John, laughing, "_you_ could have done what I was lucky
enough to do with the horses, but--"
"Yes, yes," David broke in, scratching his cheek, "I guess you got me
that time."
Mr. Euston perceived that for some reason he had an ally and advocate in
Mr. Harum. He rose and said good-night, and John escorted him downstairs
to the door. "Pray think of it as favorably as you can," he said, as
they shook hands at parting.
"Putty nice kind of a man," remarked David when John came back; "putty
nice kind of a man. 'Bout the only 'quaintance you've made of his kind,
ain't he? Wa'al, he's all right fur 's he goes. Comes of good stock, I'm
told, an' looks it. Runs a good deal to emptins in his preachin' though,
they say. How do you find him?"
"I think I enjoy his conversation more than his sermons," admitted John
with a smile.
"Less of it at times, ain't the'?" suggested David. "I may have told
ye," he continued, "that I wa'n't a very reg'lar churchgoer, but I've
ben more or less in my time, an' when I did listen to the sermon all
through, it gen'ally seemed to me that if the preacher 'd put all the'
really was in it together he wouldn't need to have took only 'bout
quarter the time; but what with scorin' fer a start, an' laggin' on the
back stretch, an' ev'ry now an' then breakin' to a stan'still, I
gen'ally wanted to come down out o' the stand before the race was over.
The's a good many fast quarter hosses," remarked Mr. Harum, "but them
that c'n keep it up fer a full mile is scurce. What you goin' to do
about the music bus'nis, or hain't ye made up your mind yet?" he asked,
changing the subject.
"I like Mr. Euston," said John, "and he seems very much in earnest about
this matter; but I am not sure," he added thoughtfully, "that I can do
what he wants, and I must say that I am very reluctant to undertake it;
still, I don't know but that I ought to make the trial," and he looked
up at David.
"I guess I would if I was you," said the latter. "It can't do ye no
harm, an' it may do ye some good. The fact is," he continued, "that you
ain't out o' danger of runnin' in a rut. It would do you good mebbe to
git more acquainted, an' mebbe this'll be the start on't."
"With a little team of half a dozen women, as you called them," said
John. "Mr. Euston has offered to introduce me to any one I cared to
know."
"I didn't mean the singin' folks," responded Mr. Harum, "I meant the
church folks in gen'ral, an' it'll come 'round in a natur'l sort of
way--not like bein' took 'round by Mr. Euston as if you'd _ast_ him to.
You can't git along--you may, an' have fer a spell, but not alwus--with
nobody to visit with but me an' Polly an' Dick, an' so on, an' once in a
while with the parson; you ben used to somethin' diff'rent, an' while I
ain't sayin' that Homeville soci'ty, pertic'lerly in the winter, 's the
finest in the land, or that me an' Polly ain't all right in our way, you
want a change o' feed once in a while, or you _may_ git the colic.
Now," proceeded the speaker, "if this singin' bus'nis don't do more'n
to give ye somethin' new to think about, an' take up an evenin' now an'
then, even if it bothers ye some, I think mebbe it'll be a good thing
fer ye. They say a reasonable amount o' fleas is good fer a dog--keeps
him from broodin' over _bein'_ a dog, mebbe," suggested David.
"Perhaps you are right," said John. "Indeed, I don't doubt that you are
right, and I will take your advice."
"Thank you," said David a minute or two later on, holding out the glass
while John poured, "jest a wisdom toothful. I don't set up to be no
Sol'mon, an' if you ever find out how I'm bettin' on a race jest
'copper' me an' you c'n wear di'monds, but I know when a hoss has stood
too long in the barn as soon as the next man."
It is possible that even Mr. Euston did not fully appreciate the
difficulties of the task which he persuaded our friend John to
undertake; and it is certain that had the latter known all that they
were to be he would have hardened his heart against both the pleadings
of the rector and the advice of David. His efforts were welcomed and
seconded by Mr. Hubber the tenor, and Miss Knapp the organist, and there
was some earnestness displayed at first by the ladies of the choir; but
Mr. Little, the bass, proved a hopeless case, and John, wholly against
his intentions, and his inclinations as well, had eventually to take
over the basso's duty altogether, as being the easiest way--in fact, the
only way--to save his efforts from downright failure.
Without going in detail into the trials and tribulations incident to the
bringing of the musical part of the service at Mr. Euston's church up
to a respectable if not a high standard, it may be said that with
unremitting pains this end was accomplished, to the boundless relief and
gratitude of that worthy gentleman, and to a good degree of the members
of his congregation.