I
Franklin Mills was now on better terms with himself than at any time
since Bruce Storrs’s appearance in town. Open weather had made it
possible for him to go to Deer Trail once or twice a week for a ride,
and he walked several miles every day. Leila had agreed to accompany
him on a trip to Bermuda the first of February. In his absence the
machinery he had set in motion would be projecting the Hardens a little
further into the social limelight without his appearing to be concerned
in it.
He was hoping that the trip would serve effectually to break off
Thomas’s attentions to Leila, and that within the next year he would
see her engaged to Carroll. Leila couldn’t be driven; to attempt to
force the thing would be disastrous. But the thought of her marrying
Thomas, a divorced man, was abhorrent, while Carroll was in all ways
acceptable. What Shepherd lacked in force and experience, Carroll would
bring into the family. Mills was annoyed that he had ever entertained
a thought that he could be denied anything in life that he greatly
coveted, or deprived of the comfort and peace he had so long enjoyed.
He would prolong his Indian Summer; his last years should be his
happiest.
He enjoyed the knowledge that he exercised, with so little trouble to
himself, a real power in the community. In a directors’ meeting no one
spoke with quite his authoritative voice. No other business man in town
was so thoroughly informed in finance and economics as he. He viewed
the life of his city with the tranquil delight of a biologist who in
the quiet of his laboratory studies specimens that have been brought to
the slide without any effort on his own part. And Mills liked to see
men squirm--silly men who overreached themselves, pretentious upstarts
who gestured a great deal with a minimum of accomplishment. Blessed
with both brains and money, he derived the keenest satisfaction in
screening himself from contact with the vulgar while he participated in
the game like an invisible master chess player....
Doctor Lindley had asked him to come in to St. Barnabas to look at the
Mills Memorial window, which had been restored with Mills’s money. He
stopped on his way to the office a few days before Christmas and found
Lindley busy in his study. They went into the church and inspected the
window, which was quite as good as new. While they were viewing it Mrs.
Torrence came in, her vivacity subdued to the spirit of the place. She
was on a committee to provide the Christmas decorations.
“You’re just the man I want to see,” she said to Mills. “I was going to
call you up. There’s some stuff in your greenhouses I could use if you
don’t mind.”
“Anything I’ve got! Tell me what you want and I’ll have the people at
the farm deliver it.”
“That’s fine! I knew you’d be glad to help. The florists are such
robbers at Christmas.” She scribbled a memorandum of her needs on an
envelope and left them.
Mills stood with his hand resting on the Mills pew for a last glance
at the transept window. The church, which had survived all the changes
compelled by the growth of the city, was to Mills less of a holy place
than a monument to the past. His grandfather and father had been buried
from the church; here he had been married, and here Shepherd and Leila
had been baptized. Leila would want a church wedding.... His thoughts
transcribed a swift circle; then, remembering that the rector was
waiting, he followed him into the vestry.
“Can’t you come in for a talk?” asked Lindley after Mills had expressed
his gratification that the window had been repaired so successfully.
“No; I see there are people waiting for you.” Mills glanced at a row of
men and women of all ages--a discouraged-looking company ranged along
the wall outside the study door. One woman with a shawl over her head
coughed hideously as she tried to quiet a dirty child. “These people
want advice or other help? I suppose there’s no end to your work.”
“It’s my business to help them,” the rector replied. “They’re all
strangers--I never saw any of them before. I rather like that--their
sense of the church standing ready to help them.”
“If they ask for money, what do you do?” asked Mills practically. “Is
there a fund?”
“Well, I have a contingency fund--yes. Being here in the business
district, I have constant calls that I don’t feel like turning over to
the charity society. I deal with them right here the best I can. I make
mistakes, of course.”
“How much have you in hand now?” Mills asked bluntly. The bedraggled
child had begun to whimper, and the mother, in hoarse whispers, was
attempting to silence it.
“Well, I did have about four dollars,” laughed Lindley, “but Mrs.
Torrence handed me a hundred this morning.”
“I’ll send you a check for a thousand for these emergency cases. When
it gets low again, let me know.”
“That’s fine, Mills! I can cheer a good many souls with a thousand
dollars. This is generous of you, indeed!”
“Oh--Lindley!” Mills had reached the street door when he paused and
retraced his steps. “Just a word--sometime ago in my office I talked to
you in a way I’ve regretted. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite--quite just, to
you and the church--to organized religion. I realize, of course, that
the church----”
“The church,” said Lindley smilingly, “the church isn’t these walls;
it’s here!” He tapped his breast lightly. “It’s in your heart and mine.”
“That really simplifies the whole thing!” Mills replied, and with a
little laugh he went on to his office.
He thought it fine of the minister to give audience to the melancholy
suppliants who sought him for alms and counsel. He didn’t envy Lindley
his job, but it had to be done by someone. Lindley was really a very
good fellow indeed, Mills reflected--a useful man in the community, and
not merely an agreeable table companion and witty after-dinner speaker.