case against the Argand Estate, and then the lady had sent him to me.
"What lady?"
"The lady who teaches the little school--Miss Leigh--she teaches my
Janet."
McNeil's name had at first made no impression on me, but the mention of
Miss Leigh, "the Argand Estate," and of Wringman brought up an
association. "McNeil--McNeil?" I said. "Did you have five children; and
did your wife bring them on here some months ago--when the train was
late, one day?"
"Yes, sorr; that's the way it was."
"Well, I will keep you in longer than to-morrow," I said. And I did. But
Justice is too expensive a luxury for the poor. "Law is law," but it was
made by landlords. I won his case for him and got his furniture
released; I scored the Argand agent, an icy-faced gentleman, named
Gillis, "of high character," as the Argand counsel, Mr. McSheen,
indignantly declared, and incidentally "the Argand Estate," in terms
which made me more reputation than I knew of at the time.
The case was a reasonably simple one, for my client was entitled to a
poor debtor's exemption of a few household articles of primary need, and
he had not half of what he could have claimed under his exemption. It
appeared, however, that in the lease, which was in the regular form
used by the Argand Estate, all exemptions were waived, and also that it
was the regular practice of the estate to enforce the waiver, and it was
alleged at the trial that this practice had always been sustained. It
was the fact that this was the customary lease and that a principle was
involved which brought Mr. McSheen into the case, as he stated, for a
client who was the largest landlord in the city. And it was the fact
that Miss Leigh had recommended me and that McSheen was in the case that
made me put forth all my powers on it.
On the stand the Argand agent, Gillis, who, it appeared, had begun as an
office-boy in the office of Mr. Argand and had then become his private
secretary, from which he had risen to wealth and position, a fact I had
learned from Kalender, was foolish enough to say that the case was
gotten up by an unknown young lawyer out of spite against the Argand
Estate and that it was simply an instance of "the eternal attacks on
wealth"; that, in fact, there were "only two sides, the man with the
dress-coat and the man without."
"You began poor. When did you change your coat?" I asked.
The laugh was raised on him and he got angry. After that I had the case.
I was unknown, but Gillis was better known than I thought, and the
hardship on my client was too plain. I led him on into a tangle of
admissions, tied him up and cross-examined him till the perspiration ran
off his icy forehead. I got the jury and won the case. But,
notwithstanding my success, my client was ruined. He was put out of the
house, of course, and though I had saved for him his beds, every article
he possessed soon went for food. The laws established for the very
protection of the poor destroy their credit and injure them. He could
not give security for rent, and but for a fellow-workman named Simms
taking him into his house, and the kindness of the man he had spoken of
as "the preacher," his children would have had to go to the workhouse or
a worse place.
McNeil's case was the beginning of my practice, and in a little while I
found myself counsel for many of the drivers in our section of the city.
Among those whom this case brought me in touch with was a young lawyer,
who, a little later, became the attorney for the government. My interest
in him was quickened by the discovery that he was related to Mr. Leigh,
a fact he mentioned somewhat irrelevantly. He was present during the
trial and on its conclusion came up and congratulated me on my success
against what he termed "the most powerful combination for evil in the
city. They bid fair," he said, "to control not only the city, but the
State, and are the more dangerous because they are entrenched behind the
support of ignorant honesty. But you must look out for McSheen." As he
stood near Coll McSheen, I caught the latter's eye fixed on us with that
curious malevolent expression which cast a sort of mask over his face.
* * * * *
I had not hunted up John Marvel after learning of his presence in the
city, partly because I thought he would not be congenial and partly
because, having left several affectionate letters from him unanswered
during my prosperity, I was ashamed to seek him now in my tribulation.
But Fate decided for me. We think of our absent friend and lo! a letter
from him is handed to us before we have forgotten the circumstance. We
fancy that a man in the street is an acquaintance; he comes nearer and
we discover our mistake, only to meet the person we thought of, on the
next corner. We cross seas and run into our next-door neighbor in a
crowded thoroughfare. In fact, the instances of coincidence are so
numerous and so strange that one can hardly repel the inference that
there is some sort of law governing them.
I indulged in this reflection when, a morning or two later, as I was
recalling my carelessness in not looking up John Marvel and Wolffert,
there was a tap on the door and a spare, well-built, dark-bearded man,
neatly but plainly dressed, walked in. His hat shaded his face, and
partly concealed his eyes; but as he smiled and spoke, I recognized him.
"Wolffert! I was just thinking of you."
He looked much older than I expected, and than, I thought, I myself
looked; his face was lined and his hair had a few strands of silver at
the temples; his eyes were deeper than ever, and he appeared rather
worn. But he had developed surprisingly since we had parted at College.
His manner was full of energy. In fact, as he talked he almost blazed at
times. And I was conscious of a strange kind of power in him that
attracted and carried me along with him, even to the dulling of my
judgment. He had been away, he said, and had only just returned, and had
heard of my success in "defeating the Argand Estate Combination"; and he
had come to congratulate me. It was the first victory any one had ever
been able to win against them.
"But I did not defeat any combination," I said. "I only defeated Collis
McSheen in his effort to take my client's bed and turn him and his
children out in the street without a blanket."
"There is the Combination, all the same," he asserted. "They have the
Law and the Gospel both in the combine. They make and administer the one
and then preach the other to bind on men's shoulders burdens, grievous
to be borne, that they themselves do not touch with so much as a
finger."
"But I don't understand," I persisted; for I saw that he labored under
much suppressed feeling, and I wondered what had embittered him. "Collis
McSheen I know, for I have had some experience of him; and Gillis, the
agent, was a cool proposition; but the Argand Estate? Why, McSheen
strung out a list of charities that the Argand Estate supported that
staggered me. I only could not understand why they support a man like
McSheen."
"The Argand Estate support charities! Yes, a score of them--all
listed--and every dollar is blood, wrung from the hearts and souls of
others--and there are many Argands."
"How do you mean?" For he was showing a sudden passion which I did not
understand. He swept on without heeding my question.
"Why, their houses are the worst in the city; their tenements the
poorest for the rent charged; their manufactories the greatest
sweatshops; their corporate enterprises all at the cost of the
working-class, and, to crown it all, they sustain and support the worst
villains in this city, who live on the bodies and souls of the ignorant
and the wretched."
"Whom do you mean? I don't understand."
"Why, do you suppose the Coll McSheens and Gillises and their kind could
subsist unless the Argands and Capons of the Time supported them? They
have grown so bold now that they threaten even their social
superiors--they must rule alone! They destroy all who do not surrender
at discretion."
"Who? How?" I asked, as he paused, evidently following a train of
reflection, while his eyes glowed.
"Why, ah! even a man like--Mr. Leigh, who though the product of an
erroneous system is, at least, a broad man and a just one."
"Is he? I do not know him. Tell me about him." For I was suddenly
interested.
Then he told me of Mr. Leigh and his work in trying to secure better
service for the public, better tenements--better conditions generally.
"But they have defeated him," he said bitterly. "They turned him out of
his directorship--or, at least, he got out--and are fighting him at
every turn. They will destroy him, if possible. They almost have him
beat now. Well, it is nothing to me," he added with a shrug of his
shoulders and a sort of denial of the self-made suggestion. "He is but
an individual victim of a rotten system that must go."
My mind had drifted to the conference which I had witnessed in McSheen's
office not long before, when suddenly Wolffert said,
"Your old friend, Peck, appears to have gotten up. I judge he is very
successful--after his kind."
"Yes, it would seem so," I said dryly, with a sudden fleeting across my
mind of a scene from the past, in which not Peck figured, but one who
now bore his name; and a slightly acrid taste came in my mouth at the
recollection. "Well, up or down, he is the same," I added.
"He is a serpent," said Wolffert. "You remember how he tried to make us
kill each other?"
"Yes, and what a fool I made of myself."
"No, no. He was at the bottom of it. He used to come and tell me all the
things you said and--didn't say. He made a sore spot in my heart and
kept it raw. He's still the same--reptile."
"Have you seen him?" I asked. He leaned back and rested his eyes on me.
"Yes, he took the trouble to hunt me up a day or two ago, and for some
reason went over the whole thing again. What's McSheen to him?"
"I shall break his neck some day, yet," I observed quietly.
"You know I write," he said explanatorily. "He wanted me to write
something about you."
"About me?"
"Yes."
"What a deep-dyed scoundrel he is!"
"Yes, he wanted to enlist me on the McSheen side, but--" his eyes
twinkled. "Where do you go to church?" he suddenly asked me.
I told him, and I thought he smiled possibly at what I feared was a
little flush in my face.
"To 'St. Mammon's!' Why don't you go to hear John Marvel? He is the real
thing."
"John Marvel? Where is he?"
"Not far from where you say you live. He preaches out there--to the
poor."
"In a chapel?" I inquired.
"Everywhere where he is," said Wolffert, quietly.
"What sort of a preacher is he?"
"The best on earth, not with words, but with deeds. His life is his best
sermon."
I told him frankly why I had not gone, though I was ashamed, for we had
grown confidential in our talk. But Wolffert assured me that John Marvel
would never think of anything but the happiness of meeting me again.
"He is a friend whom God gives to a man once in his lifetime," he said,
as he took his leave. "Cherish such an one. His love surpasseth the love
of women."
"Has he improved?" I asked.
A little spark flashed in Wolffert's eyes. "He did not need to improve.
He has only ripened. God endowed him with a heart big enough to embrace
all humanity--except--" he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "the Jew."
"I do not believe that."
"By the way, I have a friend who tells me she has met you. Your dog
appears to have made quite an impression on her."
"Who is she?"
"Miss Leigh, the daughter of the gentleman we were talking about."
"Oh! yes--a fine girl--I think," I said with a casual air--to conceal my
real interest.
"I should say so! She is the real thing," he exclaimed. "She told me you
put out her fire for her. She teaches the waifs and strays."
"Put out her fire! Was ever such ingratitude! I made her fire for her.
Tell me what she said."
But Wolffert was gone, with a smile on his face.
XXII
THE PREACHER
So, "the preacher" whom my client, McNeil, and my poor neighbors talked
of was no other than John Marvel! I felt that he must have changed a
good deal since I knew him. But decency, as well as curiosity, required
that I go to see him. Accordingly, although I had of late gone to church
only to see a certain worshipper, I one evening sauntered over toward
the little rusty-looking chapel, where I understood he preached. To my
surprise, the chapel was quite full, and to my far greater surprise, old
John proved to be an inspiring preacher. Like Wolffert, he had
developed. When he came to preach, though the sermon was mainly
hortatory and what I should have expected of him, his earnestness and
directness held his congregation, and I must say he was far more
impressive than I should have imagined he could be. His sermon was as
far from the cut-and-dried discourse I was used to hear, as life is from
death.
He spoke without notes and directly from his heart. His text, "Come unto
me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden." He made it out to be a
positive promise of rest for the weary in body, mind and soul, given by
One not only able to help, but longing to do so: a pitying Father, who
saw His tired children struggling under their burdens and yearned
toward them. The great Physician was reaching out His hands to them,
longing to heal them, if they but received Him; if they but followed
Him. To be converted meant to turn from what they knew to be evil and
try to live as they felt He lived. He had come to bring the gospel to
the poor. He had been poor--as poor as they. He knew their sorrows and
privations and weakness; and their sins, however black they were. All He
asked was that they trust Him, and try to follow Him, forgetting self
and helping others. Do not be afraid to trust Him, or despair if He does
not make Himself known to you. He is with you even until the end--and
often as much when you do not feel it as when you do.
God appeared very real to him, and also to his hearers, who hung on his
words as simple as they were. I felt a seriousness which I had long been
a stranger to. He appeared to be talking to me, and I set it down to
tenderness for old John Marvel himself, rather than to his subject.
When the service was over, he came down the aisle speaking to the
congregation, many of whom he appeared to know by name, and whose
concerns he also knew intimately. And as the children crowded around him
with smiles of friendliness, I thought of the village preacher with the
children following, "with endearing wile."
His words were always words of cheer.
"Ah! Mrs. Tams! Your boy got his place, didn't he?
"Mrs. Williams, your little girl is all right again?
"Well, Mrs. McNeil" (to a rusty, thinly clad woman who sat with her back
to me), "so your husband won his case, after all? His lawyer was an old
friend of mine."
I had sat far back, as the church was full when I entered, and was
waiting for him to get through with his congregation before making
myself known to him; so, though he was now quite close to me, he did not
recognize me until I spoke to him. As I mentioned his name, he turned.
"Why, Henry Glave!" Then he took me in his arms, bodily, and lifting me
from the ground hugged me there before the entire remnant of his
congregation who yet remained in the church. I never had a warmer
greeting. I felt as if I were the prodigal son, and, although it was
embarrassing, I was conscious that instant that he had lifted me out of
my old life and taken me to his heart. It was as if he had set me down
on a higher level in a better and purer atmosphere.
I went home with him that night to his little room in a house even
smaller and poorer than that in which I had my room--where he lived, as
I found, because he knew the pittance he paid was a boon to the poor
family who sublet the room. But as small and inconvenient as the room
was, I felt that it was a haven for a tired and storm-tossed spirit, and
the few books it contained gave it an air of being a home. Before I left
it I was conscious that I was in a new phase of life. Something made me
feel that John Marvel's room was not only a home but a sanctuary.
We sat late that night and talked of many things, and though old John
had not improved in quickness, I was surprised, when I came to think
over our evening, how much he knew of people--poor people. It seemed to
me that he lived nearer to them than possibly any one I had known. He
had organized a sort of settlement among them, and his chief helpers
were Wolffert and a Catholic priest, a dear devoted old fellow, Father
Tapp, whom I afterward met, who always spoke of John Marvel as his
"Heretick brother," and never without a smile in his eye. Here he helped
the poor, the sick and the outcast; got places for those out of work,
and encouraged those who were despairing. I discovered that he was
really trying to put into practical execution the lessons he taught out
of the Bible, and though I told him he would soon come to grief doing
that, he said he thought the command was too plain to be disobeyed. Did
I suppose that the Master would have commanded, "Love your enemies,"
and, "Turn the other cheek," if He had not meant it? "Well," I said,
"the Church goes for teaching that theoretically, I admit; but it does
not do it in practice--I know of no body of men more ready to assert
their rights, and which strikes back with more vehemence when assailed."
"Ah! but that is the weakness of poor, fallible, weak man," he sighed.
"'We know the good, but oft the ill pursue;' if we could but live up to
our ideals, then, indeed, we might have Christ's kingdom to come.
Suppose we could get all to obey the injunction, 'Sell all thou hast and
give to the poor,' what a world we should have!"
"It would be filled with paupers and dead beats," I declared, scouting
the idea. "Enterprise would cease, a dead stagnation would result, and
the industrious and thrifty would be the prey of the worthless and the
idle."
"Not if all men could attain the ideal."
"No, but there is just the rub; they cannot--you leave out human nature.
Selfishness is ingrained in man--it has been the mainspring which has
driven the race to advance."
He shook his head. "The grace of God is sufficient for all," he said.
"The mother-love has some part in the advance made, and that is not
selfish. Thank God! There are many rich noble men and women, who are not
selfish and who do God's service on earth out of sheer loving kindness,
spend their money and themselves in His work."
"No doubt, but here in this city----?"
"Yes, in this city--thousands of them. Why, where do we get the money
from to run our place with?"
"From the Argand Estate?" I hazarded.
"Yes, even from the Argand Estate we get some. But men like Mr. Leigh
are those who support us and women like--ah--But beyond all those who
give money are those who give themselves. They bring the spiritual
blessing of their presence, and teach the true lesson of divine
sympathy. One such person is worth many who only give money."
"Who, for instance?"
"Why--ah--Miss Leigh--for example."
I could scarcely believe my senses. Miss Leigh! "Do you know Miss Leigh?
What Miss Leigh are you speaking of?" I hurriedly asked to cover my own
confusion, for John had grown red and I knew instinctively that it was
she--there could be but one.
"Miss Eleanor Leigh--yes, I know her--she--ah--teaches in my
Sunday-school." John's old trick of stammering had come back.
Teaching in his Sunday-school! And I not know her! That instant John
secured a new teacher. But he went on quickly, not divining the joy in
my heart, or the pious resolve I was forming. "She is one of the good
people who holds her wealth as a trust for the Master's poor--she comes
over every Sunday afternoon all the way from her home and teaches a
class."
Next Sunday at three P. M. a hypocrite of my name sat on a bench in
John's little church, pretending to teach nine little ruffians whose
only concern was their shoes which they continually measured with each
other, while out of the corner of my eye I watched a slender figure
bending, with what I thought wonderful grace, over a pew full of little
girls on the other side of the church intent on their curls or bangs.
The lesson brought in that bald-headed and somewhat unfeeling prophet,
who called forth from the wood the savage and voracious she-bears to
devour the crowd of children who ran after him and made rude
observations on his personal appearance, and before I was through, my
sympathies had largely shifted from the unfortunate youngsters to the
victim of their annoyance. Still I made up my mind to stick if John
would let me, and the slim and flower-like teacher of the fidgety class
across the aisle continued to attend.
I dismissed my class rather abruptly, I fear, on observing that the
little girls had suddenly risen and were following their teacher toward
the door with almost as much eagerness as I felt to escort her. When I
discovered that she was only going to unite them with another class, it
was too late to recall my pupils, who at the first opportunity had made
for the door, almost as swiftly as though the she-bears were after them.
When the Sunday-school broke up, the young lady waited around, and I
took pains to go up and speak to her, and received a very gracious smile
and word of appreciation at my efforts with the "Botany Bay Class," as
my boys were termed, which quite rewarded me for my work. Her eyes, with
their pleasant light, lit up the whole place for me. Just then John
Marvel came out--and it was the first time I ever regretted his
appearance. The smile she gave him and the cordiality of her manner
filled me with sudden and unreasoning jealousy. It was evident that she
had waited to see him, and old John's face bore a look of such happiness
that he almost looked handsome. As for her--as I came out I felt quite
dazed. On the street whom should I meet but Wolffert--"simply passing
by," but when I asked him to take a walk, he muttered something about
having "to see John." He was well dressed and looked unusually handsome.
Yet when John appeared, still talking earnestly with Miss Leigh, I
instantly saw by his face and the direction of his eye that the John he
wanted to see wore an adorable hat and a quiet, but dainty tailor-made
suit and had a face as lovely as a rose.
I was in such a humor that I flung off down the street, swearing that
every man I knew was in love with her, and it was not until ten o'clock
that night, when I went to John's--whither I was drawn by an
irresistible desire to talk about her and find out how matters stood
between them--and he told me that she had asked where I had gone, that I
got over my temper.
"Why, what made you run off so?" he inquired.
"When?" I knew perfectly what he meant.
"Immediately after we let out."
"My dear fellow, I was through, and besides I thought you had pleasanter
company." I said this with my eyes on his face to see him suddenly
redden. But he answered with a naturalness which put me to shame.
"Yes, Miss Leigh has been trying to get a place for a poor man--your
client by the way--and then she was talking to me about a little
entertainment for the children and their parents, too. She is always
trying to do something for them. And she was sorry not to get a chance
to speak further to you. She said you had helped her about her fire and
she had never thanked you."
It is surprising how quickly the sun can burst from the thickest clouds
for a man in love. I suddenly wondered that Miss Leigh among her good
works did not continually ask about me and send me messages. It made me
so happy.
"What became of Wolffert?" I inquired.
"I think he walked home with her. He had something to talk with her
about. They are great friends, you know. She helps Wolffert in his
work."
"Bang!" went the clouds together again like a clap of thunder. The idea
of Wolffert being in love with her! I could tolerate the thought of John
Marvel being so, but Wolffert was such a handsome fellow, so clever and
attractive, and so full of enthusiasm. It would never do. Why, she might
easily enough imagine herself in love with him. I suddenly wondered if
Wolffert was not the cause of her interest in settlement work.
"Wolffert is very fond of her--I found him hanging around the door as we
came out," I hazarded.
"Oh! yes, they are great friends. He is an inspiration to her, she
says--and Wolffert thinks she is an angel--as she is. Why, if you knew
the things she does and makes others do!"