THE BISHOP'S INQUISITION
The reverend McCarthy was commonly regarded as a good politician in
church affairs, meaning, that he was successful with the Bishop in being
able to hold the office of Presiding Elder over such a long period. At
every conference other aspirants attempted to oust him. But he had
always held with the Bishop and had succeeded himself annually until the
five-year limit had expired. At the end of this time he had usually
succeeded in manipulating matters in such a manner that he had
invariably been successful in securing the same appointment over another
district in the state. Over this he presided another five years, and was
then automatically transferred back to the district over which he had
formerly presided. For twenty years he had been successful in keeping
this up, but in the conference that was to convene after he had been
sued by his son-in-law, it became known and talked about that he would
not be re-appointed to the Presiding Eldership, and would necessarily be
sent to a charge for a year or more.
Accordingly, he began early to seek a charge which he was in position to
know would be lucrative, since there were few outside the large churches
in Chicago that would pay as well as the Presiding Eldership.
The fact was, however, he regretted going back to a charge, for his
former experience in such work, in gaining and retaining the confidence
of the members of his church had not been ideal, to say the least. And
again, it was expedient that he should have his family, especially his
wife, living in the town with him where he held the charge. Perhaps that
made it awkward for him, as he was not accustomed to having his wife in
such close proximity with him daily. His regard for her was such that he
could not bear the thought of that close association. For his experience
had been that it was impossible for him to be in the house with her a
matter of two days without losing his patience and speaking harshly to
her. To avoid this unpleasant domestic state of affairs it had been
agreed that Orlean should be his housekeeper, and this was settled on
before conference--and before he had been sued.
This pending suit, however, brought added complications. Ever since he
had brought Orlean home, he had been embarrassed by gossips. Nowhere had
he been able to turn unless some busy-body must stop him and inquire
with regard to his daughter; what was the matter, etc., and so on. It
kept him explaining and re-explaining, a subject that was to say the
least, delicate. He had, however, succeeded in explaining and conveying
the impression that the man she married had mistreated and neglected
her, and that he had been compelled to go and get her in order to save
her life. This was not satisfactory to him in view of the fact that he
decided once to let her return, but Jean Baptiste not knowing that he
had reached such a decision, had felt that his only chance to secure her
again was to keep away from her father--well, we know the result of that
effort.
But inasmuch as that Jean Baptiste had refused to argue with him over
her, he had used this as an excuse to become his old self again, which,
after all, was so much easier. So when 'Gene Crook had approached him
with an offer, and convinced him that Baptiste was what the Elder knew
he was not (because the Elder was easily to be convinced of anything
toward the detriment of his adversary) he easily secured the place and
the Elder had felt himself ahead. Three hundred dollars was a great deal
of money to him, and went a long way in taking up the payments in which
they were in arrears on the home they were buying in Chicago. True, it
twitched his conscience, but N.J. McCarthy had a practice--long in
effect--of crucifying conscience. So when he had closed the deal--and
had been reimbursed for his traveling expenses--he went directly back to
his work, and had not been in the city since until called in on the
suit.
When he left the lawyer's office and returned home, he discussed the
matter with Glavis, who in turn discussed the matter with white friends
who advised him how to answer to the charge. Returning to the lawyer's
office they engaged counsel. It was very annoying--more than ever--to
the Elder when he was required to put up twenty-five dollars in cash as
a retainer. He had become so accustomed to posing his way through in so
many matters--letting some one else put up the money, that when he was
forced to part with that amount of money he straightway appreciated the
seriousness of the situation. It was no pleasant anticipation in looking
forward to the trial, for there he would be compelled to counter the
other on equal terms.
He was very disagreeable about the house when he returned home, and his
wife adroitly kept out of his sight. He sought the street to walk off
his anger and perturbation, only to run into a Mrs. Jones, teacher in
the Sunday school of one of the large Negro churches, and with whom he
had been long acquainted. It was, in a measure, because his
acquaintances were of long standing that gave them, they felt, the right
to question him regarding such delicate affairs. So when he met Mrs.
Jones, he doffed his hat in his usual lordly manner, and paused when she
came to a stop.
"Good evening, Reverend Mac.," she exclaimed, and extended her long,
lean hand. He grasped it, and bowing with accustomed dignity, replied:
"Good evening, Sister Jones. I trust that your health is the best."
"My health is good, Reverend Mac. But, say, Reverend Mac., you don't
look so well."
"Indeed so, my dear madame, I have not been in the best of health for
some months."
"Well, well, that is too bad, indeed. I hear that you have not been,
Reverend Mac. And say, Brother McCarthy, what is this I read in the
paper about your son-in-law coming in here and suing you for breaking up
Orlean and he?"
His Majesty's head went up, while he colored unseen, and would have
passed on, but Mrs. Jones was standing in such a manner that he was
unable to do so without some difficulty.
"The man is crazy," he retorted shortly, and stiffened. But it took more
than stiffness to satisfy this gossip.
"Well, I thought something was the matter, Reverend. For you see, I've
heard that you went out there and brought her home to save him from
killing her, so you see it is rather strange. That fellow, as a boy--and
even yet, when he is in Chicago--attends Sunday school and sits in my
class, and I was rather surprised that he should treat Orlean as it is
said you said he did."
Reverend McCarthy would liked very well to have moved on. But Mrs. Jones
was very much interested.
"There's all kind of talk around town about it. They say that if he gets
a judgment against you, Elder, he will put you in jail, and all that;
but of course that couldn't be. You stand too well in the church. But
you know, Reverend, the only thing that looks kind a bad for you is,
they say that he wouldn't dare start such a suit unless he had good
ground for action. They say--"
The Elder had extricated himself at last, and now sailed down the street
with high head. "May the God crush that hard-headed bulldog into the
earth," he muttered between compressed lips, so angry that he could not
see clearly. "How long am I to be aggravated with this rotten gossip!"
He changed his mind about walking far, and at a convenient corner, he
turned back toward home. But when he arrived there, he was confronted
with another, and more serious problem. It had been his intention before
arriving there, to arraign his wife again for having let Orlean go West
in the beginning. But now he was confronted with his august honorary,
the Bishop.
"And, now, Reverend," said the Bishop, after they had gone through the
usual formalities, "I am forced to come around to something that
embarrasses me very much, in view of our long and intimate relations,"
and he paused to look grave. The Reverend tried to still his thumping
heart. All his life he had been a coward, he had bluffed himself into
believing, and having his family believe, that he was a brave man, but
Orlean had told Baptiste on several occasions that her father might have
risen higher in the church, but for his lack of confidence.
"It pertains to all this gossip and notoriety that is going the rounds.
I suppose you are aware of what I refer to." The other swallowed, and
nodded.
"You can appreciate that it is very embarrassing to me, and to the
church, more, because I have struggled to raise the standard in this
church. We have in the years gone by been subjected to unfair gossip,
and some fair because of the subtle practices of some of our ministers.
And now, with conference convening in two weeks, it is very awkward that
we should be confronted with such a predicament with regard to you, one
of our oldest ministers. The subject is made more embarrassing because
of its--er, rather personal nature. I would regard it as very
enlightening if you would give me an explanation--but, of course, in the
name of the church."
The Reverend swallowed again, struggled to keep his eyes dry, for the
rush of self pity almost overcame him. It was, however, no time or place
for self pity. The Bishop was _not_ an emotional man; he was _not_ given
to patience with those who pitied themselves--in short, the Bishop was
_very much_ of a cold hearted business man, notwithstanding his
position. He was waiting in calm austerity for the other's reply.
"Ah-m ahem!" began the Reverend with a great effort at self composure.
"It is, to say the least, my dear Bishop, with much regret that I am
compelled to explain a matter that has caused me no end of grief. To
begin with: It was not with my consent that my daughter was allowed to
go off into the West and file on a homestead."
The other's face was like a tomb upon hearing this. Indeed, the Elder
would have to put forth a more logical excuse. It has been said that the
Bishop was a practical man which in truth he was, and the fact is, he
regarded it as far more timely if a larger number of the members of his
race in the city would have taken up homesteads in the West, than for
them to have been frequenting State Street and aping the rich. Also, the
Bishop had read Baptiste's book--although the Reverend was not aware of
it,--and was constrained to feel that a man could not conscientiously
write that which was absolutely false.
"But I came into the city here after a conference to find that my
daughter had been herded off out West in a wild country to take a
homestead."
"Now, just a minute, Reverend," interposed the Bishop astutely.
"Regarding this claim your daughter filed on. What was the nature of the
land? You have been over it, I dare say."
"Of course, of course, my dear Bishop! It was a piece of wild,
undeveloped land. At the time she took it, it was fifty miles or such a
matter from the railroad. She gave birth to a child--"
"But," interposed the Bishop again, "you say the land was a considerable
distance from the railroad at the time your daughter filed on the place?
Very well. Now, Reverend, isn't it a fact that in the history of this
country, all new countries when opened to the settler may have been some
distance from the railroad in the beginning? For instance, somebody
started Chicago, which was certainly not the convenient place then that
it is now in which to live."
"Of course, my dear Bishop, of course."
"So the fact that the railroad was, as you say, fifty miles away, could
not be held as an argument against it. Besides, is it not a fact that
there were other people, men and women, who were as far from the
railroad and therefore placed at an equal disadvantage?"
"Of course, of course."
"Then, my dear Reverend, it does not appear to me that that should be a
fact to be condemned."
"I have not condemned it, my dear Bishop. No."
"Very well, then, my dear Reverend, please proceed."
Now the interposition of the Bishop, had rather disconcerted the Elder.
Had he been allowed to proceed in the manner he had planned and started
to, he might have made the case from his standpoint, and under the
circumstances very clear to the Bishop. But the latter's questions threw
him off his line, and he started again with some embarrassment, and with
the perspiration beginning to appear around the point of his nose.
Appreciating, however that he was expected to explain, he went
resolutely back to the task.
"Well, my wife allowed my daughter to be taken out there and file on
this land that this man had secured on his representation that he wished
to marry her, and when I came into the city it was all settled."
"Pardon me for interrupting you again, my dear Elder. But is it not a
fact that Mrs. Pruitt, with whom you are well acquainted, accompanied
your daughter on this trip?"
"It is so, Bishop."
"And is it not a fact that Mrs. Pruitt as well as your daughter,
explained it all at the time with satisfaction to you?"
"Well, ah--yes, she did."
"You admit to this, then, my dear Reverend?"
"Under the circumstances at the time, I was rather compelled to, my dear
Bishop."
"Meaning that since she had gone and taken the land, you were morally
bound to look into and consider the matter favorably?"
"Yes, I think that explains it."
"Now, Reverend. Is it not a fact that a considerable write-up appeared
in the Chicago _Defender_ shortly after this visit, detailing
considerable, and with much illustration regarding the trip; that, in
short, your daughter had come into considerable land and was regarded
as having been very fortunate?"
"I think so, my dear Bishop."
"Very well, Reverend. Now--a--who solicited that write-up? Did the
editor not have a conversation with you before the article appeared?"
"I believe he did, yes, sir. I think he did."
"Well, now, Reverend, if I remember correctly, this young man visited
the city the Christmas following, and I was introduced to him by you in
this same room?"
"I think so. Yes, Bishop, I remember having introduced him to you
myself."
"And do I quote correctly when I say that you called me up the following
spring to perform the ceremony that made your daughter and this Jean
Baptiste man and wife?"
"I think you quote correctly, my dear Bishop."
"M-m. Yes, I recall that I was indisposed at the time and was very sorry
I could not perform the ceremony," said the Bishop thoughtfully, but
more to himself than to the other.
"Well, now. After they had been married some months, my wife visited
your wife, and the latter seemed to be greatly impressed with the union.
I think if I am correctly informed that you went on a visit to them
yourself that fall."
"I did, my dear Bishop. Yes, I did."
"And at the conference on your return, you, if I am not mistaken, called
on me at my home and discussed the young man at considerable length."
"Yes, my dear Bishop. I did that."
"Yes," mused the Bishop again thoughtfully and as if to himself. "And
you appeared greatly delighted with their union. You seemed to regard
him as an extraordinary young man, and, from what I have heard, I have
been inclined to feel so myself. Now it seems that a few months after
you were speaking in high praise of him, you made a trip West and on
your return brought your girl home with you, and she has not since
returned to her husband. Of course," he added slowly, "that is your
personal affair, but since it has reached the public, the church is
concerned, so I am ready to listen to further explanation."
"I went out there and found my girl in dire circumstances," defended the
Elder. "I found her in neglect; I found her without proper medical
attention--no nurse was there to administer her needs. In short, I was
prevailed upon by my love and regard for my daughter's health, to
expedite the step I took."
"Nobly said, Reverend, nobly said," said the Bishop, and for the first
time during his explanation, the Elder felt encouraged.
"The man did not marry her for love," the Elder went on now somewhat
more confident. "He did not marry her to make her happy and comfortable.
He married her to secure more land. It is true that I was impressed with
him in a way, because the man was rather--er, inspiring, and I
entertained hopes. Our race does not possess successful men in such a
number that we can be oblivious to apparent success as on a young man's
part. This man seemed to be such a man--in fact, I grant him that. The
man was popular with those who knew him; he was a pusher; but he _was so
ambitious to get rich_ that he was in the act of killing my child to
accomplish his ends." The Reverend finished this with a touch of emotion
that made the other nod thoughtfully. And while he paused to gather
force and words for further justification of his interposition, the
Bishop said:
"I note by the reports in the newspaper that you are accused of having
coerced the girl; that you had her write her husband's name on a check
with which you secured the money to bring her from the West."
"He gave my daughter the privilege of securing money by such a method
for her needs, and it was not I that had her do any such a thing."
"But it was--er, rather--a little irregular, was it not? It does not
seem reasonable to suppose that he granted her the privilege to sign his
name to checks to secure money with which to leave him?" The question
was put rather testily and caused the other to shift uncomfortably
before making answer.
"Well, under the circumstances, methods _had_ to be resorted to--er,
rather to fit the occasion." The Elder's defence was artful.
The Bishop, not pretending to take his question seriously, pursued:
"I note, further, that he accuses you of disposing of some property...."
"My daughter sold her place. It was hers, in her name, and the
transaction did not require his consent."
"M-m--I see. It seems that the property, so he claims, represented an
outlay of some thirty-five hundred dollars in cash, and he purports the
same as being worth something like sixty-four hundred dollars. What is
your opinion, having been on the property, of its actual worth?"
"Well, I have some sense of values, since I am buying this home, and I
do not regard the property as being worth such a sum."
"I see," said the other, stroking his beard which was thick and flowing.
"A piece of wild, raw land such as that I could not estimate it as being
so valuable."
"M-m. Have you any knowledge of what land has brought in that
neighborhood, Reverend. You see, value is a very delicate thing to
estimate. We cannot always be the judge in such matters. The usual
estimate of what anything is worth is what some one is willing to pay.
Do you recall of having ever heard your daughter or any one say what
deeded land in that section sold for?"
"Well, I have heard my daughter say that a place near there had brought
five thousand dollars."
"Which would not compare with the value you put on the place your
daughter held."
"It would not seem to."
"M-m. You say this was your daughter's place entirely?"
"It was," returned the Reverend promptly.
"And she paid for it out of her own money?"
"Well, no. She did not."
"I see. M-m. Then who purchased it for her, Reverend?"
"I think he did that. Yes, I think he did."
"I see. Do you recall the consideration. I understand that he purchased
what is called a relinquishment. I understand such transactions
slightly. I have read of such deals in Oklahoma. Seems to be a sort of
recognized custom in securing land in new countries, notwithstanding the
subtlety of the transaction."
"I think he claimed to have paid two thousand dollars for the
relinquishment, which I would consider too much, considerably too much."
"But, inasmuch as your knowledge of new countries has been brief,
perhaps, you would not set your judgment up as a standard for values
there," suggested the Bishop, pointedly. "You will grant that the
individual in the controversy would likely be able to judge more
correctly with regard to values?"
"It is obvious."
"Yes, yes. Quite likely." The Reverend was very uncomfortable. If the
Bishop would only stop where he was it wouldn't be so bad, but if he
kept on with such questions. That was what he had disliked about Jean
Baptiste.... He had a habit of asking questions--too many questions, he
had thought; but this man before him was the Bishop, a law unto himself.
And he must answer. The Bishop knew a great deal more about the West
than he had thought he did, however.
"Who bought your daughter's place, my dear Elder? A white man or a
Negro? Which of course, doesn't matter, but if I understand all the
details, it would be more clear, you understand."
"Of course, my dear Bishop. Naturally. A white man bought the place."
"I understand now. A _white_ man," he repeated thoughtfully. During all
the questioning, the Bishop had looked into the Reverend's eyes only
occasionally. Most of the time he had kept his eyes upon the carpet
before him, as if he were studying a spot thereon.
"It seems by the paper that the man, according to the accusations set
forth in the complaint, had once contested the claim."
"Yes, he had done so, Doctor, he had."
"I see. Why did he contest the place, my dear Reverend?"
"Why, I do not understand clearly, but such methods appear to be a
recognized custom in those parts," countered the Elder evasively.
"But isn't it a fact that he tried to contest her out of the place, and
if he had been successful, he would have had the place for nothing in so
far as she was concerned?"
"It is quite likely." The Elder had nothing but evasive answers now. He
tried counters no more.
"But he failed, it seems, to get the place through contest, regardless
of the fact that your daughter was here in Chicago instead of being on
her claim."
"It seems that way."
"And then, forsooth, it must have been your daughter's husband who was
instrumental in saving the place for her?"
"Yes."
"And after this, your daughter sold the place to the man who had
struggled to beat her out of it and failed through the instrumentalities
of her husband, and without consulting her husband with regard to the
bargain."
"I counciled her, my dear Bishop."
"Ah, _you_ counciled her," and for the first time he turned his sharp,
searching eyes on the Elder and seemingly looked directly through him.
The next moment they were back on the carpet before him, and he resumed
his questions. He was thinking then, thinking of what he had read in the
book by Jean Baptiste, and what had recently appeared in all the papers.
It seemed to him that the Elder's defence was not quite clear; but he
would see it through.
"It was reported that this man, a banker, whose bank had failed ... sent
you the money for your railroad fare from Cairo to this city, and also
reimbursed for the return. Is that quite true?"
"That was--the railroad fare--a part of the transaction."
"Ah-ha. A _part_ of the transaction. You never, I suppose, informed her
husband regarding the _transaction_ after the deal was closed?"
"No."
"What was the consideration, Reverend, for this piece of land that your
daughter's husband bought, for which he paid $2000, placing a house and
barn thereon, digging a well, and making other improvements, fighting
off a three years' contest--placed there by the man who tried to beat
her out of it? What did he pay for the place?"
"Three hundred dollars." Such an awful moment! The Elder's head dropped
as he said this. But the Bishop's eyes were still upon the spot in the
carpet.
"And so this young man comes hither and accuses and sues you, accusing
you of breaking up he and his wife. He published all that you have told
me and if he should secure a judgment it is known that he can remand you
to jail for six months."
He paused again, regarded the spot in the carpet before him very keenly
and then arose. The Elder arose also, but he was unable to find his
voice. In the meantime the Bishop was moving toward the door, his hand
was upon the knob, and when the door was open, he turned, and looking at
the one behind him, said:
"Well, see you at the conference, Newt," and was gone.
The other stood regarding the closed door. His brain was in a whirl and
he could not quite understand what had happened. But _something_ in that
hour had transpired, and while he could not seem to realize what it was
just then, he knew he would learn it in due time.