“A tabernacle!” I cried.
“Right!” exclaimed Perkins. “Why ten conflicting churches? Why not one
grand meeting-place--all faiths--no creeds! Bring the people closer
together--spread an ennobling religious atmosphere that is worth talking
about!”
“Perkins,” I said, “what you have done for religion will not be
forgotten.”
He waved my praise away airily.
“I have buyers,” he said, “for the nine church lots at the advanced
price.” Considering that the land practically cost us nothing, we made
one hundred and six thousand dollars on the Cloverdale deal. Perkins and
I were out that way lately; and there is still nothing on the land but
the Club-house, which needs paint and new glass in the windows. When
we reached the Fifth Street Church, we paused, and Perkins took off
his hat. It was a noble instinct, for here was one church that never
quarrelled with its pastor, to which all creeds were welcome, and that
had no mortgage.
“Some of these days,” said Perkins, “we will build the tabernacle. We
will come out and carry on our great work of uniting the sects. We will
build a city here, surrounded by an ennobling religious atmosphere--a
refined, exclusive city. The time is almost ripe. By the time these
lot-holders pay another tax assessment, they will be sick enough. We can
get the lots for almost nothing.”