THE THOUGHT THAT SWEEPS THE CENTURY
On the Saturday following Gordon's drama with Kate and his wife,
his dream of secrecy was rudely shattered. Van Meter's ferret eyes,
by the aid of his detectives, had fathomed the mystery of Kate
Ransom's appearance in the study and her more mysterious disappearance.
They found that Gordon had separated from his wife, after a terrific
scene; that he was a daily visitor to the Ransom house; and that
his great patron was none other than the young mistress of the
Gramercy Park mansion.
All day long he was beseiged by reporters. Ruth was compelled to
hire a man to stand on the doorstep to keep them out. The Ransom
house was barred, but Gordon could not escape.
He saw at once that they knew so much it was useless to make denials,
and he prepared a statement for the press, giving the facts and his
plans for the future in a ringing address. He submitted it to Kate
for her approval, and at three o'clock gave it out for publication.
Their love secret had not been fathomed, but it had been guessed.
He feared the reports would be so written that it would be read
between the lines and a great deal more implied.
His revolutionary views on marriage and divorce and the fact that
he was from Indiana, a state that had granted the year before nearly
five thousand divorces, one for every five marriages celebrated,--were
made the subject of special treatment by one paper. They submitted
to him proofs of a six-column article on the subject, and asked
for his comments. He was compelled to either deny or repeat his
utterances advocating freedom of divorce, and finally was badgered
into admitting that this feature was one of the fundamental tenets
of Socialism.
He was not ready for the full public avowal of this principle,
but he was driven to the wall and was forced to own it or lie. He
boldly gave his position, and declared that marriage was a fetish, and
that its basis on a union for life without regard to the feelings
of the parties was a fountain of corruption, and was the source of
the monopolistic instincts that now cursed the human race.
"Yes, and you can say," he cried, "that I propose to lead a crusade
for the emancipation of women from the degradation of its slavery.
Love bound by chains is not love. Love can only be a reality in
Freedom and Fellowship."
This single sentence had changed the colouring of the whole story
as it appeared in the press on Sunday morning, and was the key to
the tremendous sensation it produced.
The next day long before the hour of service the street in front
of the Pilgrim Church was packed with a dense crowd.
The police could scarcely clear the way for the members' entrance.
Within ten minutes from the time the large doors were opened every
seat was filled and hundreds stood on the pavements outside, waiting
developments, unable to gain admission.
So many statements had been made, and so many vicious insinuations
hinted, Gordon was compelled to lay aside his sermon and devote
the entire hour to a defense of his position.
The crowd listened in breathless stillness, but he knew from the
first he had lost their sympathies and that he was on trial. Unable
to tell the whole truth, his address was as lame and ineffective
as his outburst the Sunday before had been resistless. When he
dismissed the crowd he noticed that some of his warmest friends
were crying.
As he came down from the pulpit, Ludlow took him by the hand and,
with trembling voice, said:
"Pastor, you know how I love you?"
What he did not say was more eloquent than a thousand words, and
it cut Gordon to his inmost soul. He knew his failure had been
pathetic, and that his enemies were laughing over the certainty of
his ruin.
It angered him for a moment as he looked over the silent crowd
filing out of his presence and out of his life.
He cursed their stolid conservatism.
"The average man does not aspire to liberty of thought," he mused
with bitterness, "but slavery of thought. The mob must have its
fixed formulas easy to read, requiring no thought. Well, let them
go."
Suddenly a confused murmur, with loud voices mingled, came through
the doors of the vestibules. The exits were blocked, and the moving
crowd halted and recoiled on itself as if hurled back by the charge
of an opposing army, and a cheer echoed over their heads.
The people inside, who had been halted, stretched their necks to
see over the heads of those in front, crying:
"What is it?"
"What's the matter?"
"It sounds like a riot," some one answered near doors.
Gordon wedged himself through the mass that had been thrown back
on the advancing stream and reached the doorway. He was astonished
to find packed in the street more than five thousand men, evidently
working-men and Socialists. They had been quick to recognise his
position in the vigorous statement he had given to the press.
When Gordon's giant figure appeared between the two opposing forces
a wild cheer rent the air.
A Socialist leaped on the steps beside him and, lifting his hat
above his head, cried:
"Now again, men, three times three for a dauntless leader, a free
man in the image of God, who dares to think and speak the truth!"
Three times the storm rolled over the sea of faces, and every hat
was in the air.
Gordon lifted his big hand and the tumult hushed.
"My friends, I thank you for this mark of your fellowship. At the
old Grand Opera House, next Sunday morning, the seats will be yours.
You will get a comrade's welcome. I will have something to say to
you that may be worth your while to hear."
The crowd, who had never seen or heard him, were impressed by his
magnificent presence and his trumpet voice. They liked its clear
ringing tones and its consciousness of power.
The unexpected demonstration restored his self-respect and blotted
out the aching sense of failure.
His few words were greeted with tumultuous applause, renewed again
and again. The air was charged with the electric thrill of their
enthusiasm.
Gordon looked over the seething mass of excited men with exultant
response.
He flushed and his big fists involuntarily closed. He had felt in
his face the breath of the spirit that is driving the century before
it.