THE HOME REPAIRED--MRS. S---'S EXPERIENCE.
Thinking to appeal for the required means to repair our home, I, after
prayerful consideration, journeyed to Portland, Oregon, for our State
was now taxed to its utmost for finances. My sojourn was brief; for,
besides being seized with sudden illness, I learned that a large sum of
money (thirty-five thousand dollars, I think) intended for the erection
of a Florence Crittenton home in their midst had now been generously
donated and sent to the general fund in San Francisco, to be applied to
just such charitable needs as I represented. In consequence, I decided
that, as soon as I was able to travel, I should go back to San
Francisco. Through the interposition of the Y.W.C.A., I was furnished
with free transportation. Upon my return I learned that all available
funds for that purpose had already been bespoken; but God, ever mindful
of his own, had laid it upon the hearts of some people of means, in the
interior, to pay all expenses for repairs, so that before many months
Beth-Adriel was once more in good order. In its interest, many, many
miles were traveled and thousands of people addressed, personally, also
collectively.
Rarely did any service close but that one person or more had an unusual
case of some unfortunate one, demanding immediate and special interest;
for instance: Mrs. B-----, who personally knew me, approached me one
day in a greatly agitated state of mind and confidentially imparted
some dreadful knowledge concerning her son, aged fourteen, and a girl
schoolmate of his, but a few months younger. Producing some notes, she
permitted their perusal. They were from the girl to the boy, and were
couched in the most licentious, unguarded language imaginable. I was
unutterably shocked. "Mother Roberts," said Mrs. B-----, "I will deal
with my son, but what about the girl who has written these and, as you
read, has met H----- clandestinely? I can not go to her; will you?" The
girl's mother was a lady of means and fashion, a member of one of the
exclusive card-clubs of that town, and an inveterate player. Pearl was
an only child. I admit I felt timid about approaching the mother,
but--It had to be done and done quickly.
In glancing over the local paper, I had observed that her progressive
whist-club was to be entertained at Mrs. -----'s lovely residence that
afternoon. It was now 11 A.M. I must telephone, for I knew that I
should not be received except by previous appointment. Soon I heard her
voice:
"What is it, please; what do you wish?"
"A private interview immediately, of the utmost importance."
"Impossible. Every moment is engaged until I go out this afternoon."
"Can not help it. You _must_ grant it. It concerns a member of your
immediate family. It is of _vital import_."
"Very well; you may come right away, but be brief. I will grant you
only a few minutes."
"Thank you," and both receivers were hung up.
In response to my ring the maid ushered me into a lovely
reception-room, where Mrs. S----- soon appeared in a high state of
nervous excitement.
"You have greatly upset me, Mrs. Roberts," she said. "Kindly be brief.
To your point at once. I have much to do, also must dress before
luncheon, for our card-party at Mrs. -----'s this afternoon."
"Mrs. S-----, you no doubt will be able to identify Pearl's
handwriting." I replied.
"Most assuredly," she rejoined. "What of it?"
"Simply this: In my possession are three notes. They were written by
your daughter to a boy companion in school. The boy's mother lent them
to me. It is my painful duty to show them to you. First of all, permit
me to assure you that this matter is perfectly safe with me," I said.
"Come into the next room where we can be undisturbed and unobserved,"
she requested. Then she rang the bell and said to the maid:
"I shall not be at home to any one who either 'phones or calls."
(Here let me say that having once been associated with Mrs. S----
socially, I was not a stranger.)
"Mrs. S----, doesn't Pearl sometimes ask permission to go home with a
favorite girl companion, also at times remain with her over night, or
else she with your daughter?" I asked after we had retired to the other
room.
"Certainly," she answered, "and I may add, I am quite satisfied to have
her do so, _for they can both be implicitly trusted_."
"Mrs. S----, please read these letters. I beg of you, prepare yourself
for an awful shock...."
Presently the great beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead and
dripped unheeded into her lap. After reading those notes she made
mincemeat of them, and then lay back in her chair white and speechless.
The silence was painful beyond description. Finally I broke the silence
by saying:
"Mrs. S----, permit me to assist you to your room, then 'phone Mrs.
---- of your sudden illness, and also send for your daughter to come
home immediately."
She gladly acquiesced. Before my departure she faintly acknowledged her
realization of neglect of duty and confidence toward the precious soul
entrusted to her keeping, and promised to deal gently with the erring
child. Furthermore, she said that _she had played her last game of
cards_.
Pearl and her mother became inseparable companions. To this day the
daughter has no idea who informed on her, but this occurrence taught a
never-to-be-forgotten lesson to more than one I hope and pray that the
mothers who read this may profit by the story.
One with whom I am well acquainted has an only son. She also was a
great lover of cards. When the boy was quite small, this mother in
order to prevent his disturbing her and her friends in their social
game, provided him with a tiny deck of cards. She often smiled approval
at his and his little companion's attempts to imitate their elders.
Time went on. He grew to manhood. Many an anxious evening she now spent
alone; for seldom did he spend one with her, and he always had a
plausible excuse in the morning.
He was employed by one of the leading firms of the city and stood an
excellent chance of future promotion. One day, however, he came home,
informed her of his discharge, refused to give the reason, but begged
her to go to his employers and plead for his reinstatement. The
grief-stricken mother was soon ushered into the manager's private
office and there very kindly treated; but her pleadings were all in
vain. Her son, she learned, had been discharged for card-playing and
frequenting the pool room. He had been warned twice, but he had failed
to take heed. The firm would make no exceptions.
On her return he eagerly interrogated her as to the results of the
interview.
"When?" she asked, "when did you ever learn to play cards and pool?"
"Why, Mother, don't you remember?" he answered. "_You taught me
yourself when I was a little shaver._"
"No, dear, not a real game," she sobbed.
"No matter if you didn't," he rejoined. "It didn't take me long to
become fascinated and learn how from older boys and girls. Then, when
it comes to playing, I hate to remind you, Mother, but I can not
remember the time when you didn't play. I've seen you, time and again,
work harder to earn a dinky vase or prize than at anything else under
the sun. You can buy them anywhere for fifty cents or thereabouts, and
without such hard work as I've seen you put in for a whole evening.
_You can blame yourself, and you ought to, more than you blame me._"
Then he flung himself out of the room and went up-stairs to bed.
The next evening he returned from an unsuccessful day's tramp. His
chances for further employment in that city were anything but
encouraging. That evening as they sat by the fireside, Will's mother
said:
"I've been thinking very, very seriously during your absence today, my
dear. I've made a resolution, but with this proviso: if I never touch
another card, will you promise me never to play again?"
"Mother, I should like to, but I'm afraid to make such a promise," he
replied. "You don't know what a hold it has on me. But I will try, I
surely will."
Will's mother worked hard to substitute other pastimes and to make his
home life as interesting as she knew how. She gathered musical friends
about her, encouraged him to cultivate his voice, and worked herself
almost to a shadow in order to wean him from the hurtful habit for
which she knew she was directly responsible. She succeeded, bless God!
she succeeded. Later he married a very sweet young lady, and God
blessed their union with three children. It is safe to say that,
because of his experience, card-playing will never be tolerated in that
happy little family, and my earnest prayer as I relate this is that my
reader, if a card-player, may consider this: "If meat [card-playing]
make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh [no more play cards]
while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend." I Cor.
8:13.