THE CHURCH SOCIAL
Another social event followed hard on the heels of Mrs. Butterworth's
party, and this Mrs. Gray succeeded in inducing both her son and
daughter to attend, it being no less sacred a function than the
quarterly Church Social. Hubert was not familiar with the institution,
but so ardently burned his love for the Lord Jesus Christ that he now
sought rather than avoided the company of those who knew Him, if so be
some word of Him might be spoken. He longed for the fellowship of joy
with those who, like himself, had been called out of darkness into "His
marvelous light." This was denied in the formal services of the
church, but surely the pent up devotion of the worshipers would find
some avenue of expression when they met together socially without those
restraints. Hubert was disposed to discount his own former estimate of
church-members' sincerity, and did not doubt that many had found an
experience as genuine as his own of the grace of God.
Mr. Gray did not care to go, preferring the library and the new number
with its fascinating leaves uncut of a magazine, religio-worldly, that
had solved for last days the problem beyond the Saviour's ken of how to
serve God and mammon. Three went, however, in the comfortable
carriage, to Mrs. Gray's great satisfaction, and drew up before the
side entrance to the handsome church.
Bright light streamed from the parlor windows, illuminating exquisitely
stained pictures of the Apostles. Strains from a select orchestra
greeted them as they entered the house, and Hubert recognized with a
queer feeling of incongruity the overture from a well-known opera. The
appealing notes of the violins drew his memory instantly to the
production he had lately enjoyed, but he thrust the mental vision from
him as unworthy of Christ, and tried not to listen to the seductive
strains.
"A very poor selection for a Christian gathering," he thought to
himself. Hubert was inexperienced, and to him a gathering of
Christians meant a "Christian gathering."
The parlors presented a gayly attractive scene. They were decorated in
red and white. Flowers and foliage were profuse, and the handsome
toilettes of the ladies added much to the brilliant effect. Doctor
Schoolman and his wife were receiving, and our party joined the line of
guests making their orderly way toward them. Doctor Schoolman was very
amiable, and his wife, a vivacious little lady in satin and artificial
curls, chatted volubly with the members of the flock as they were
dutifully presented.
"You naughty child!" she cried playfully to Winifred. "How could you
desert us with your charming voice? Dear Mrs. Gray, you really should
chastise your daughter--you really should!" And she shook the false
curls with mock severity.
Mrs. Gray began her own lament and disclaimer of any responsibility in
Winifred's apostasy.
"But the dear child's voice," she said extenuatingly, "has really been
very much taxed."
"It's not that," said Winifred, honestly. But Mrs. Schoolman's eye was
caught by the guest next in line and further explanations were
unnecessary.
Meanwhile Doctor Schoolman had been greeting Hubert.
"Mr. Hubert Gray!" he exclaimed, very blandly. "Really this is a
pleasure. I am glad to see you."
"I am glad to come," said Hubert, looking in the Doctor's face frankly.
He wished to tell him how the Lord's people had become so vitally his.
But the reverend gentleman did not note his earnest look.
"We are honored if you can give us some of your valuable time. You are
such a man of business, your father tells me; and of scientific
research, too, as we all know. It is kind to let us tear you away a
little while from stocks and bonds and experiments."
"I have concluded, Doctor Schoolman," said Hubert gravely, "that there
are interests more important than business or science."
"Quite so--quite so," said Doctor Schoolman. "I am glad you see it.
We cannot afford to give all our attention to the graver pursuits of
life. We need relaxation. 'All work and no play'--you know the old
adage, eh? Ha, ha!"
And the minister laughed an easy, social laugh, not at all boisterous,
but of a mirth well in hand and suited to the occasion.
Hubert looked at him almost with a frown. But we of wider experience
are prepared to forgive the Doctor that he did not recognize the
spiritual as the more important interests which might lead a young man
to a church social. While Hubert debated a reply which should
illuminate Doctor Schoolman as to his real motive, others were pressing
up to take the hand of the minister, and he passed on with his mother
and Winifred. They drifted not far away, and Hubert glanced frequently
at Doctor Schoolman, watching his suave smile, almost catching the
smooth pleasantries that fell from his accustomed tongue--mild,
clerical jests, wherewith he of the pulpit assures him of the pew, "I
am as thou art." Very nice and proper it might all be, but to the one
who longed to hear some word of Him whom he loved with such fresh,
intense earnestness, it was as gall and wormwood.
He turned away and reviewed the whole scene about him. Mrs. Gray and
Winifred were already in conversation with a group of people near him,
and he heard his mother's soft, deprecating voice, as in reply to an
eager storm of questioning. A flush was rising in his sister's face,
and just a touch of iron determination, not unknown to the house of
Gray, settled her shapely lips.
"Brave little soul!" he said to himself as he thought of the offenses,
anent Mrs. Butterworth's party and the choir, for which she must answer
in the court of popular opinion.
Not far from him a group of girls, very smartly dressed, standing in
interesting proximity to a corresponding group of youths, flirted and
giggled with evident enjoyment. A soberer group farther on Hubert
found to be discussing the war situation in the East, as he drew near
in a spirit of investigation. Some one in the party kindly drew him
into their midst, where he joined the conversation for a time. Then
there was a diversion, the new soprano having consented to sing. The
murmur of voices subsided for the most part, save from a party of
elderly people, hard of hearing, who continued their absorbing
conversation throughout. Miss Trilling sang a love song with much
expression, and responded to an encore with a humorous selection. The
young people applauded loudly, and their elders smiled with indiligent
pleasure. Hubert continued his search, now rather despairing, for that
for which he had come. This time he proceeded under the guidance of a
man who offered to introduce him to some whom he did not know. They
passed a quiet little wall-flower in a sober dress and he looked at her
wistfully, seeing something in her face which made him think she knew
his Lord and would talk of Him if there were hut a chance. But his
guide drew him on. He listened to bits of conversation, straining his
ears in vain to hear one reference to Christ. The conversations were
sometimes serious, more often gay, but none spoke of their Lord.
Hubert's heart withdrew within him, and he had no further inclination
to speak to any of his new-found hope. A bitter theory was forming
itself in his mind. This company was no different from any other in
the world. Were they not all as he thought them in the days of his
scepticism? If they knew Him whom he had come to see as the supremest
Object of devotion in all the universe, could they forbear to speak of
Him when they met together? Would they not be like flaming brands,
igniting one another in their fervent zeal? He was not acquainted with
the book of Malachi, and had perhaps never read the words: "Then they
that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened
and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them
that feared the Lord and that thought upon His name." Had he known the
words they would have seemed a satire in this company.
"They do not know Him," he thought passionately, "and I--am I under a
delusion? Is it all a farce?"
The suggestion was intense pain, and he put it from him. No, that One
whom he had seen in his laboratory, the Man of the cross and of the
glory, was no delusion. To admit Him to be such would be blackest
midnight. He held on to his revelation with an iron clasp, but he
longed to escape from an atmosphere that now stifled him. He made his
way to his mother and Winifred.
"Shall I take you to the refreshment room?" he asked in a cold,
strained voice.
Winifred looked at him anxiously, with eyes almost as troubled as his
own.
"Yes," she said in an undertone, "and let us get away as soon as
possible."
Mrs. Gray consented genially to be escorted to the room, elaborately
decorated, where charmingly-gowned young women dispensed elegant
refreshments. Several gentlemen, among whom Hubert recognized elders
of the church, with their wives and other ladies, passed gay bandinage
one to another as they sipped cooling ices. Hubert took nothing, but
stood, silent and stern, while his mother, unconscious of the tempest
in his breast, leisurely and daintily enjoyed her refreshment.
"Where are the poor people?" Hubert asked Winifred in something of his
old sarcastic tone, as they left the room.
"I am afraid they are not here," said she, gently. Then she glanced
around. "Yes, there are some, I see. There is Madge Nichol, that
young woman in the stylish blue dress. She has done sewing for me, and
seemed to need the money very much. But see how she is dressed! It
must be much beyond her means."
Then a womanly intuition smote her, and she looked down at her own
costly dress.
"I see how it is, Hubert," she said. "I think we are to blame. No
girl would like to meet us in this way unless she were well dressed."
"I should advise them to stay away," said Hubert. "They would lose
nothing valuable."
"That is what I shall do, I think," said Winifred with a sigh. "Do let
us get away as soon as mother is ready."
"Shall I see if the carriage is waiting, mother?" said Hubert,
interrupting when he could a discussion of the best places in which to
spend the coming heated term.
"You might," Mrs. Gray replied, "I did not wish to stay late."
Hubert went out with alacrity to signal the faithful coachman, already
in waiting.
They had soon departed, and both young people were glad to get out
under the pure, gleaming stars and hasten the carriage to the dear home
where the face of the Lord had first been seen by each, and was yet to
be seen in increasing loveliness.
Hubert found his father still in the library, but asleep. He awoke as
his son entered.
"Well, Hubert," he said, "did you have a good time?"
"No, sir," Hubert replied, "I had a wretched time."
"How was that?" his father asked. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened that I expected. I thought there would be some there
who knew and loved Jesus Christ, and would wish to talk of Him. I did
not hear Him mentioned. I might as well have been at Mrs.
Butterworth's ball so far as that goes."
"Well," said Mr. Gray, apologetically, "it was a social time, you know."
"Yes, I know it, father. That is why I went. Are not people usually
most sociable about the things that interest them most? There was a
company of people, professedly born from above and expecting soon to
see the very glory of God. They take it very coolly, at all events. I
believe it is a sham."
"Oh, Hubert," groaned his father, "don't say that."
"I don't mean," said Hubert quickly, "that Jesus is a sham. I
believe," and his deep eyes softened, "that He is the most real fact in
the universe. But the belief of those people, father! That sort of
gathering is what Doctor Schoolman calls 'relaxation,' and I think he
is right. I am convinced that Christ is irksome to them; a subject to
be endured on Sundays, but to enjoy relaxation from at other times. Am
I right?"
"Hubert," said Mr. Gray, slowly, "I believe you are partly right. But
be deliberate and generous in your conclusions. Do not judge us too
hastily or hotly."
Hubert winced as his father included himself in his own sweeping
indictment. Mr. Gray went on:
"Some of us have known Him, even as you do, in earlier days. But we
have lost the brightness of our vision through"--he hesitated--"through
sin. We have followed afar off, and are very poor representatives now.
Be patient, and it may be the warm zeal of such as you will quicken us
again."
He looked at his son appealingly. Hubert's generous heart melted.
"Forgive me, father," he said humbly. "I have no right to judge
anybody. Forget my tirade if you can. And I," he added with a faint
smile, "will try to forget the Social."