It was put gently and carefully, but the meaning of the communication to
the minister plainly was that it had come to a contest between him and
the young Mr. Lloyd, and that whichever should acquit himself in this
debate most to the satisfaction and admiration of the audience would
straightway be chosen as minister.
It was a terrible situation for the minister--how terrible none but
himself knew, and none, not even the wife of his bosom, could ever
sufficiently understand. He was a bad debater, and, worse than that, he
was the most nervous, hesitating, and involved extempore speaker in the
world. His sermons and discourses were always written, but he delivered
them so well that very few would have guessed that he had manuscript
before him. With his writing in his hand he was easy, vigorous, and
self-possessed; but when he had to speak extempore a panic of fear shook
him; he had neither ideas nor words, and he was completely lost.
It was simply a question of nerves with him, and whenever he knew
beforehand that he was expected to speak extempore the strain upon him
was crueller than man can tell. The strain imposed now upon a body
weakened by the past year's privations and anxiety could not have been
crueller if he had been under sentence of death; and, indeed, life or
death seemed to his overwrought nerves to hang upon the issue. If he
failed, and he feared he would fail, fail signally, for he did not doubt
but that the young and boisterous Mr. Lloyd was without nerves, and was
a glib and self-confident talker--then Upton was lost, and his wife was
condemned for Heaven alone knew how long to grievous poverty, and his
child to a lingering death. If he succeeded--but he had no reason to
hope he would--then Upton was won, and with it life and health and
happiness for those he loved.
It was Wednesday morning when he got the letter, and all that day he
considered, with a frequent feeling of panic at the heart, and a
constant fluttering of the nerves, what he could possibly do to ensure
success. He thought he would write down something on the subject of the
debate, and commit it to memory. He had sat down and written a little,
when he bethought him that he did not know when he would be called upon
to speak, nor whether he might not have to expressly answer someone. He
threw down the pen, and groaned in despair; there was nothing to be
done; he must trust to the inspiration and self-possession of the
moment.
When he went to bed his sleep was a succession of ghastly nightmares. He
dreamt his wife and child were struggling and choking in a dark and
slimy sea, that Mr. Lloyd stood aloof unconcernedly looking on, and that
he, the husband and father, lay unable to stir hand or foot or tongue!
Then he awoke with a sharp cry, trembling with dread and bathed in
perspiration, and found, lo! it was but a dream!
So the night passed and the day came with its constant wearing fear and
anxiety. He could not eat, he could not drink, he could not rest; and
thus the day passed and the hour came when he must set out for the fatal
meeting. As he passed along the street people paused to glance at him:
he appeared so pale and scared.
When he entered the Lecture-room at Upton he was met by his friend, the
Chairman of Committee, who looked at him and said:--
"Don't you feel well, Mr. Murray? You look very faint and pale. Let me
get you a glass of wine."
"No, thank you," said the minister. "I am really quite well."
"We shall have a good debate, I think," said his friend, then leading
the way forward.
"I hope so," said the minister, "though I am afraid I can do little; I
am the worst extempore speaker you can imagine."
"Is that so?" The friend turned quickly and considered him. "I should
not have thought so. Ah, well, never mind."
But the minister felt that his friend's hope of his success was
considerably shaken.
The chief persons of the assembly were gathered about a table at the
upper end of the room. The chairman introduced the matter for debate;
one man rose and spoke on the affirmative side, and another rose and
spoke on the negative. The minister listened, but he scarce knew what
was said; he drank great gulps of water to moisten his parched mouth
(which, for all the water, remained obstinately dry) and he felt his
hour was come. He glanced round him, but saw only shadows of men. One
only he saw--the man opposite him, the very young and boisterous Mr.
Lloyd, who clapped his hands and lustily said "Hear, hear!" when
anything was said of which he approved or which he wished to deride. The
minister's eyes burned upon him till he seemed to assume threatening,
demoniac proportions as the boastful and blatant Apollyon whom Christian
fought in the Valley.
[Illustration: THE DEBATE.]
At length young Mr. Lloyd rose, large and hairy, and then the minister
listened with all his ears. He missed nothing the young man
uttered--none of the foolish and ignorant opinions, none of the coarse
and awkward phrases--and as he listened amazement seized him, and then
anger, and he said to himself: "This is the man, this is the conceited
and ignorant smatterer, who would supplant _me_, and rob my wife and
child of health and happiness!" He rose at once in his anger to answer
him, to smash and pulverise him. What he said in his anger he did not
know; but when he had finished he sat down and buried his face in his
hands and was sure he had made an egregious ass of himself. He felt very
faint and drank more water, and it was all over. In a dazed and hurried
fashion he said his adieux and went away to the train, convinced he
should never see Upton more.
He had entered a carriage and sunk back with body exhausted, but with
brain on fire; the train was starting, when the door was flung open, and
Mr. Lloyd burst in and sat down opposite him.
[Illustration: "THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN."]
"Halloa!" he cried. "I did _not_ think to find you here. What a splendid
debate it was, wasn't it?" He did not wait for an answer, but hurried on
in his loquacity, "I think I woke them up. They need waking up, and I'll
do it when I'm their minister."
It clearly did not occur to him that his _vis-à-vis_ might be minister
instead; and Mr. Murray, in his exaggerated dread and humility, thought
that the question who was to be minister must really have been settled
before the young man left. Mr. Murray said nothing, but that did not
embarrass Mr. Lloyd.
"I shall soon settle," he continued, "the hash of some of those
frightened old fogies who want things to go on in the old, humdrum way.
It's a fine place, and a magnificent chapel, and can be made a popular
cause: and I'll make it, too, when I'm among them. Good, rousing,
popular stuff--that's the thing to make a success; don't you think so,
Murray?"
"No doubt," said Murray, scarce knowing or caring what he said in his
bitterness and despair; "only make noise enough."
Young Mr. Lloyd merely laughed boisterously, and Mr. Murray only kept
saying to himself: "This is the man who has robbed me of my chance, and
my wife and child of health and happiness! But for this ignorant,
conceited, and incompetent braggart I should be minister!"
And incontrollable dislike--and in his nervous, over-strained condition,
hatred even--rose in him against the young man.
As Lloyd went on with his ding-dong, maddening talk, Mr. Murray, who
could have cried aloud in his pain and despair of the loss he believed
he had endured, observed absently that the inner handle of the door
showed that the catch was open. The train slowed down, for some reason,
in the middle of a tunnel, and Lloyd rose in his lusty, boisterous way,
banged down the window, and looked out.
"These trains," quoth he, "are confoundedly slow."
Mr. Murray kept his eye on the brass handle of the door. It was a
dangerous position for Mr. Lloyd; if he leaned too heavily, or if the
train went on with a jerk, he was likely to be thrown out. Should he
warn him? Should he say, "Take care: you may fall in your rashness." Yet
why did not the foolish, unobservant young man see for himself the
condition of the door?
Still, the handle of the door fascinated the minister's eye, and he kept
silence. At that moment the train started off again with a jerk and a
screech; the door swung open, and Lloyd fell, and as the minister put
out his hands and head to catch him, with a horrified "Oh!" he saw the
fiery eye of a train rushing down upon him from the opposite direction.
It came on with thunderous roar and passed, and the minister sank back
in the carriage _alone_, and fainted!