I
Looking backward, Hodder perceived that he had really come to the
momentous decision of remaining at St. John's in the twilight of an
evening when, on returning home from seeing Kate Marcy at Mr. Bentley's
he had entered the darkening church. It was then that his mission
had appeared to him as a vision. Every day, afterward, his sense and
knowledge of this mission had grown stronger.
To his mind, not the least of the trials it was to impose upon him, and
one which would have to be dealt with shortly, was a necessary talk with
his assistant, McCrae. If their relationship had from the beginning been
unusual and unsatisfactory, adjectives would seem to defy what it had
become during the summer. What did McCrae think of him? For Hodder
had, it will be recalled, bidden his assistant good-by--and then had
remained. At another brief interview, during which McCrae had betrayed
no surprise, uttered no censure or comment, Hodder had announced
his determination to remain in the city, and to take no part in the
services. An announcement sufficiently astounding. During the months
that followed, they had met, at rare intervals, exchanged casual
greetings, and passed on. And yet Hodder had the feeling, more firmly
planted than ever, that McCrae was awaiting, with an interest which
might be called suspense, the culmination of the process going on within
him.
Well, now that he had worked it out, now that he had reached his
decision, it was incumbent upon him to tell his assistant what that
decision was. Hodder shrank from it as from an ordeal. His affection
for the man, his admiration for McCrae's faithful, untiring, and
unrecognized services had deepened. He had a theory that McCrae
really liked him--would even sympathize with his solution; yet he
procrastinated. He was afraid to put his theory to the test. It was not
that Hodder feared that his own solution was not the right one, but that
McCrae might not find it so: he was intensely concerned that it should
also be McCrae's solution--the answer, if one liked, to McCrae's mute
and eternal questionings. He wished to have it a fruition for McCrae as
well as for himself; since theoretically, at least, he had pierced the
hard crust of his assistant's exterior, and conceived him beneath to be
all suppressed fire. In short, Hodder wished to go into battle side by
side with McCrae. Therein lay his anxiety.
Another consideration troubled him--McCrae's family, dependent on a
rather meagre salary. His assistant, in sustaining him in the struggle
he meant to enter, would be making even a greater sacrifice than
himself. For Hodder had no illusions, and knew that the odds against
him were incalculable. Whatever, if defeated, his own future might be,
McCrae's was still more problematical and tragic.
The situation, when it came, was even more difficult than Hodder
had imagined it, since McCrae was not a man to oil the wheels of
conversation. In silence he followed the rector up the stairs and into
his study, in silence he took the seat at the opposite side of the
table. And Hodder, as he hesitated over his opening, contemplated in no
little perplexity and travail the gaunt and non-committal face before
him:
“McCrae,” he began at length, “you must have thought my conduct this
summer most peculiar. I wish to thank you, first of all, for the
consideration you have shown me, and to tell you how deeply I appreciate
your taking the entire burden of the work of the parish.”
McCrae shook his head vigorously, but did not speak.
“I owe it to you to give you some clew to what happened to me,” the
rector continued, “although I have an idea that you do not need much
enlightenment on this matter. I have a feeling that you have somehow
been aware of my discouragement during the past year or so, and of the
causes of it. You yourself hold ideals concerning the Church which you
have not confided to me. Of this I am sure. I came here to St. John's
full of hope and confidence, gradually to lose both, gradually to
realise that there was something wrong with me, that in spite of all
my efforts I was unable to make any headway in the right direction. I
became perplexed, dissatisfied--the results were so meagre, so out of
proportion to the labour. And the very fact that those who may be called
our chief parishioners had no complaint merely added to my uneasiness.
That kind of success didn't satisfy me, and I venture to assume it
didn't satisfy you.”
Still McCrae made no sign.
“Finally I came to what may be termed a double conclusion. In the first
place, I began to see more and more clearly that our modern civilization
is at fault, to perceive how completely it is conducted on the
materialistic theory of the survival of the fittest rather than that of
the brotherhood of man, and that those who mainly support this church
are, consciously or not, using it as a bulwark for the privilege they
have gained at the expense of their fellow-citizens. And my conclusion
was that Christianity must contain some vital germ which I had somehow
missed, and which I must find if I could, and preach and release it.
That it was the release of this germ these people feared unconsciously.
I say to you, at the risk of the accusation of conceit, that I believed
myself to have a power in the pulpit if I could only discover the
truth.”
Hodder thought he detected, as he spoke these words, a certain
relaxation of the tension.
“For a while, as the result of discouragement, of cowardice, I may
say, of the tearing-down process of the theological structure--built of
debris from many ruins on which my conception of Christianity rested,
I lost all faith. For many weeks I did not enter the church, as you
yourself must know. Then, when I had given up all hope, through certain
incidents and certain persona, a process of reconstruction began. In
short, through no virtue which I can claim as my own, I believe I have
arrived at the threshold of an understanding of Christianity as our Lord
taught it and lived it. And I intend to take the pulpit and begin to
preach it.
“I am deeply concerned in regard to yourself as to what effect my course
may have on you. And I am not you to listen to me with a view that you
should see your way clear to support me McCrae, but rather that you
should be fully apprised of my new belief and intentions. I owe this
to you, for your loyal support in the pest. I shall go over with you,
later, if you care to listen, my whole position. It may be called the
extreme Protestant position, and I use protestant, for want of a better
word, to express what I believe is Paul's true as distinguished from the
false of his two inconsistent theologies. It was this doctrine of Paul's
of redemption by faith, of reacting grace by an inevitable spiritual
law--of rebirth, if you will--that Luther and the Protestant reformers
revived and recognized, rightly, as the vital element of Christ's
teachings, although they did not succeed in separating it wholly
from the dross which clung to it. It is the leaven which has changed
governments, and which in the end, I am firmly convinced, will make true
democracy inevitable. And those who oppose democracy inherently dread
its workings.
“I do not know your views, but it is only fair to add at this time that
I no longer believe in the external and imposed authority of the Church
in the sense in which I formerly accepted it, nor in the virgin birth,
nor in certain other dogmas in which I once acquiesced. Other clergymen
of our communion have proclaimed, in speech and writing, their disbelief
in these things. I have satisfied my conscience as they have, and I mean
to make no secret of my change. I am convinced that not one man or woman
in ten thousand to-day who has rejected Christianity ever knew
what Christianity is. The science and archaic philosophy in which
Christianity has been swaddled and hampered is discredited, and the
conclusion is drawn that Christianity itself must be discredited.”
“Ye're going to preach all this?” McCrae demanded, almost fiercely.
“Yes,” Hodder replied, still uncertain as to his assistant's attitude,
“and more. I have fully reflected, and I am willing to accept all the
consequences. I understand perfectly, McCrae, that the promulgation
alone of the liberal orthodoxy of which I have spoken will bring me into
conflict with the majority of the vestry and the congregation, and that
the bishop will be appealed to. They will say, in effect, that I have
cheated them, that they hired one man and that another has turned up,
whom they never would have hired. But that won't be the whole story. If
it were merely a question of doctrine, I should resign. It's deeper than
that, more sinister.” Hodder doubled up his hand, and laid it on the
table. “It's a matter,” he said, looking into McCrae's eyes, “of freeing
this church from those who now hold it in chains. And the two questions,
I see clearly now, the doctrinal and the economic, are so interwoven as
to be inseparable. My former, ancient presentation of Christianity left
men and women cold. It did not draw them into this church and send them
out again fired with the determination to bring religion into everyday
life, resolved to do their part in the removal of the injustices and
cruelties with which we are surrounded, to bring Christianity into
government, where it belongs. Don't misunderstand me I'm not going to
preach politics, but religion.”
“I don't misunderstand ye,” answered McCrae. He leaned a little forward,
staring at the rector from behind his steel spectacles with a glance
which had become piercing.
“And I am going to discourage a charity which is a mockery of
Christianity,” Hodder went on, “the spectacle of which turns thousands
of men and women in sickening revolt against the Church of Christ
to-day. I have discovered, at last, how some of these persons have made
their money, and are making it. And I am going to let them know, since
they have repudiated God in their own souls, since they have denied the
Christian principle of individual responsibility, that I, as the vicar
of God, will not be a party to the transaction of using the Church as a
means of doling out ill-gotten gains to the poor.”
“Mr. Parr!” McCrae exclaimed.
“Yes,” said the rector, slowly, and with a touch of sadness, “since you
have mentioned him, Mr. Parr. But I need not say that this must go no
farther. I am in possession of definite facts in regard to Mr. Parr
which I shall present to him when he returns.”
“Ye'll tell him to his face?”
“It is the only way.”
McCrae had risen. A remarkable transformation had come over the man,--he
was reminiscent, at that moment, of some Covenanter ancestor going into
battle. And his voice shook with excitement.
“Ye may count on me, Mr. Hodder,” he cried. “These many years I've
waited, these many years I've seen what ye see now, but I was not the
man. Aye, I've watched ye, since the day ye first set foot in this
church. I knew what was going on inside of ye, because it was just that
I felt myself. I hoped--I prayed ye might come to it.”
The sight of this taciturn Scotchman, moved in this way, had an
extraordinary effect on Hodder himself, and his own emotion was so
inexpressibly stirred that he kept silence a moment to control it.
This proof of the truth of his theory in regard to McCrae he found
overwhelming.
“But you said nothing, McCrae,” he began presently. “I felt all along
that you knew what was wrong--if you had only spoken.”
“I could not,” said McCrae. “I give ye my word I tried, but I just could
not. Many's the time I wanted to--but I said to myself, when I looked at
you, 'wait, it will come, much better than ye can say it.' And ye have
made me see more than I saw, Mr. Hodder,--already ye have. Ye've got
the whole thing in ye're eye, and I only had a part of it. It's because
ye're the bigger man of the two.”
“You thought I'd come to it?” demanded Hodder, as though the full force
of this insight had just struck him.
“Well,” said McCrae, “I hoped. It seemed, to look at ye, ye'r true
nature--what was by rights inside of ye. That's the best explaining I
can do. And I call to mind that time ye spoke about not making the men
in the classes Christians--that was what started me to thinking.”
“And you asked me,” returned the rector, “how welcome some of them would
be in Mr. Parr's Pew.”
“Ah, it worried me,” declared the assistant, with characteristic
frankness, “to see how deep ye were getting in with him.”
Hodder did not reply to this. He had himself risen, and stood looking at
McCrae, filled with a new thought.
“There is one thing I should like to say to you--which is very
difficult, McCrae, but I have no doubt you see the matter as clearly as
I do. In making this fight, I have no one but myself to consider. I am a
single man--”
“Yell not need to go on,” answered McCrae, with an odd mixture of
sternness and gentleness in his voice. “I'll stand and fall with ye, Mr.
Hodder. Before I ever thought of the Church I learned a trade, as a boy
in Scotland. I'm not a bad carpenter. And if worse comes to worse, I've
an idea I can make as much with my hands as I make in the ministry.”
The smile they exchanged across the table sealed the compact between
them.
II
The electric car which carried him to his appointment with the financier
shot westward like a meteor through the night. And now that the hour was
actually at hand, it seemed to Hodder that he was absurdly unprepared to
meet it. New and formidable aspects, hitherto unthought of, rose in his
mind, and the figure of Eldon Parr loomed to Brobdingnagian proportions
as he approached it. In spite of his determination, the life-blood of
his confidence ebbed, a sense of the power and might of the man who had
now become his adversary increased; and that apprehension of the impact
of the great banker's personality, the cutting edge with the vast
achievements wedged in behind it, each adding weight and impetus to its
momentum the apprehension he had felt in less degree on the day of the
first meeting, and which had almost immediately evaporated--surged up
in him now. His fear was lest the charged atmosphere of the banker's
presence might deflect his own hitherto clear perception of true worth.
He dreaded, once in the midst of those disturbing currents, a bungling
presentation of the cause which inspired him, and which he knew to be
righteousness itself.
Suddenly his mood shifted, betraying still another weakness, and he
saw Eldon Parr, suddenly, vividly--more vividly, indeed, than ever
before--in the shades of the hell of his loneliness. And pity welled
up, drowning the image of incarnate greed and selfishness and lust for
wealth and power: The unique pathos of his former relationship with
the man reasserted itself, and Hodder was conscious once more of the
dependence which Eldon Parr had had on his friendship. During that
friendship he, Hodder, had never lost the sense of being the stronger
of the two, of being leaned upon: leaned upon by a man whom the world
feared and hated, and whom he had been enable to regard with anything
but compassion and the unquestionable affection which sprang from it.
Appalled by this transition, he alighted from the car, and stood for a
moment alone in the darkness gazing at the great white houses that rose
above the dusky outline of shrubbery and trees.
At any rate, he wouldn't find that sense of dependence to-night. And it
steeled him somewhat to think, as he resumed his steps, that he would
meet now the other side, the hard side hitherto always turned away. Had
he needed no other warning of this, the answer to his note asking for
an appointment would have been enough,--a brief and formal communication
signed by the banker's secretary...
“Mr. Parr is engaged just at present, sir,” said the servant who opened
the door. “Would you be good enough to step into the library?”
Hardly had he entered the room when he heard a sound behind him, and
turned to confront Alison. The thought of her, too, had complicated
infinitely his emotions concerning the interview before him, and the
sight of her now, of her mature beauty displayed in evening dress, of
her white throat gleaming whiter against the severe black of her gown,
made him literally speechless. Never had he accused her of boldness, and
now least of all. It was the quality of her splendid courage that
was borne in upon him once more above the host of other feelings and
impressions, for he read in her eyes a knowledge of the meaning of his
visit.
They stood facing each other an appreciable moment.
“Mr. Langmaid is with him now,” she said, in a low voice.
“Yes,” he answered.
Her eyes still rested on his face, questioningly, appraisingly, as
though she were seeking to estimate his preparedness for the
ordeal before him, his ability to go through with it successfully,
triumphantly. And in her mention of Langmaid he recognized that she had
meant to sound a note of warning. She had intimated a consultation of
the captains, a council of war. And yet he had never spoken to her of
this visit. This proof of her partisanship, that she had come to him at
the crucial instant, overwhelmed him.
“You know why I am here?” he managed to say. It had to do with the
extent of her knowledge.
“Oh, why shouldn't I?” she cried, “after what you have told me. And
could you think I didn't understand, from the beginning, that it meant
this?”
His agitation still hampered him. He made a gesture of assent.
“It was inevitable,” he said.
“Yes, it' was inevitable,” she assented, and walked slowly to the
mantel, resting her hand on it and bending her head. “I felt that you
would not shirk it, and yet I realize how painful it must be to you.”
“And to you,” he replied quickly.
“Yes, and to me. I do not know what you know, specifically,--I have
never sought to find out things, in detail. That would be horrid. But
I understand--in general--I have understood for many years.” She raised
her head, and flashed him a glance that was between a quivering smile
and tears. “And I know that you have certain specific information.”
He could only wonder at her intuition.
“So far as I am concerned, it is not for the world,” he answered.
“Oh, I appreciate that in you!” she exclaimed. “I wished you to know
it. I wished you to know,” she added, a little unsteadily, “how much
I admire you for what you are doing. They are afraid of you--they will
crush you if they can.”
He did not reply.
“But you are going to speak the truth,” she continued, her voice low and
vibrating, “that is splendid! It must have its effect, no matter what
happens.”
“Do you feel that?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
“Yes. When I see you, I feel it, I think.”...
Whatever answer he might have made to this was frustrated by the
appearance of the figure of Nelson Langmaid in the doorway. He seemed to
survey them benevolently through his spectacles.
“How are you, Hodder? Well, Alison, I have to leave without seeing
anything of you--you must induce your father not to bring his business
home with him. Just a word,” he added to the rector, “before you go up.”
Hodder turned to Alison. “Good night,” he said.
The gentle but unmistakable pressure of her hand he interpreted as
the pinning on him of the badge of her faith. He was to go into battle
wearing her colours. Their eyes met.
“Good night,” she answered....
In the hall the lawyer took his arm.
“What's the trouble, Hodder?” he asked, sympathetically.
Hodder, although on his guard, was somewhat taken aback by the
directness of the onslaught.
“I'm afraid, Mr. Langmaid,” the rector replied, “that it would take me
longer to tell you than the time at your disposal.”
“Dear me,” said the lawyer, “this is too bad. Why didn't you come to
me? I am a good friend of yours, Hodder, and there is an additional bond
between us on my sister's account. She is extremely fond of you, you
know. And I have a certain feeling of responsibility for you,--I brought
you here.”
“You have always been very kind, and I appreciate it,” Hodder replied.
“I should be sorry to cause you any worry or annoyance. But you must
understand that I cannot share the responsibility of my acts with any
one.”
“A little advice from an old legal head is sometimes not out of place.
Even Dr. Gilman used to consult me. I hope you will bear in mind how
remarkably well you have been getting along at St. John's, and what a
success you've made.”
“Success!” echoed the rector.
Either Mr. Langmaid read nothing in his face, or was determined to read
nothing.
“Assuredly,” he answered, benignly. “You have managed to please
everybody, Mr. Parr included,--and some of us are not easy to please.
I thought I'd tell you this, as a friend, as your first friend in the
parish. Your achievement has been all the more remarkable, following, as
you did, Dr. Gilman. Now it would greatly distress me to see that state
of things disturbed, both for your sake and others. I thought I would
just give you a hint, as you are going to see Mr. Parr, that he is in
rather a nervous state. These so-called political reformers have upset
the market and started a lot of legal complications that's why I'm here
to-night. Go easy with him. I know you won't do anything foolish.”
The lawyer accompanied this statement with a pat, but this time he did
not succeed in concealing his concern.
“That depends on one's point of view,” Hodder returned, with a smile. “I
do not know how you have come to suspect that I am going to disturb Mr.
Parr, but what I have to say to him is between him and me.”
Langmaid took up his hat from the table, and sighed.
“Drop in on me sometime,” he said, “I'd like to talk to you--Hodder
heard a voice behind him, and turned. A servant was standing there.
“Mr. Parr is ready to see you, sir,” he said.
The rector followed him up the stairs, to the room on the second floor,
half office, half study, where the capitalist transacted his business
when at home.
III
Eldon Parr was huddled over his desk reading a typewritten document; but
he rose, and held out his hand, which Hodder took.
“How are you, Mr. Hodder? I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but
matters of some legal importance have arisen on which I was obliged to
make a decision. You're well, I hope.” He shot a glance at the rector,
and sat down again, still holding the sheets. “If you will excuse me a
moment longer, I'll finish this.”
“Certainly,” Hodder replied.
“Take a chair,” said Mr. Parr, “you'll find the evening paper beside
you.”
Hodder sat down, and the banker resumed his perusal of the document, his
eye running rapidly over the pages, pausing once in a while to scratch
out a word or to make a note on the margin. In the concentration of the
man on the task before him the rector read a design, an implication that
the affairs of the Church were of a minor importance: sensed, indeed,
the new attitude of hostility, gazed upon the undiscovered side, the
dangerous side before which other men had quailed. Alison's words
recurred to him, “they are afraid of you, they will crush you if they
can.” Eldon Parr betrayed, at any rate, no sign of fear. If his mental
posture were further analyzed, it might be made out to contain an
intimation that the rector, by some act, had forfeited the right to the
unique privilege of the old relationship.
Well, the fact that the banker had, in some apparently occult manner,
been warned, would make Hodder's task easier--or rather less difficult.
His feelings were even more complicated than he had anticipated. The
moments of suspense were trying to his nerves, and he had a shrewd
notion that this making men wait was a favourite manoeuvre of Eldon
Parr's; nor had he underrated the benumbing force of that personality.
It was evident that the financier intended him to open the battle,
and he was--as he had expected--finding it difficult to marshal the
regiments of his arguments. In vain he thought of the tragedy of
Garvin.... The thing was more complicated. And behind this redoubtable
and sinister Eldon Parr he saw, as it were, the wraith of that: other
who had once confessed the misery of his loneliness....
At last the banker rang, sharply, the bell on his desk. A secretary
entered, to whom he dictated a telegram which contained these words:
“Langmaid has discovered a way out.” It was to be sent to an address
in Texas. Then he turned in his chair and crossed his knees, his hand
fondling an ivory paper-cutter. He smiled a little.
“Well, Mr. Hodder,” he said.
The rector, intensely on his guard, merely inclined his head in
recognition that his turn had come.
“I was sorry,” the banker continued, after a perceptible pause,--“that
you could not see your way clear to have come with me on the cruise.”
“I must thank you again,” Hodder answered, “but I felt--as I wrote
you--that certain matters made it impossible for me to go.”
“I suppose you had your reasons, but I think you would have enjoyed the
trip. I had a good, seaworthy boat--I chartered her from Mr. Lieber, the
president of the Continental Zinc, you know. I went as far as Labrador.
A wonderful coast, Mr. Hodder.”
“It must be,” agreed the rector. It was clear that Mr. Parr intended to
throw upon him the onus of the first move. There was a silence, brief,
indeed, but long enough for Hodder to feel more and more distinctly the
granite hardness which the other had become, to experience a rising,
reenforcing anger. He went forward, steadily but resolutely, on the
crest of it. “I have remained in the city,” he continued, “and I have
had the opportunity to discover certain facts of which I have hitherto
been ignorant, and which, in my opinion, profoundly affect the welfare
of the church. It is of these I wished to speak to you.”
Mr. Parr waited.
“It is not much of an exaggeration to say that ever since I came here
I have been aware that St. John's, considering the long standing of the
parish, the situation of the church in a thickly populated district, is
not fulfilling its mission. But I have failed until now to perceive the
causes of that inefficiency.”
“Inefficiency?” The banker repeated the word.
“Inefficiency,” said Hodder. “The reproach, the responsibility is
largely mine, as the rector, the spiritual, head of the parish. I
believe I am right when I say that the reason for the decision, some
twenty years ago, to leave the church where it is, instead of selling
the property and building in the West End, was that it might minister
to the poor in the neighbourhood, to bring religion and hope into their
lives, and to exert its influence towards eradicating the vice and
misery which surround it.”
“But I thought you had agreed,” said Mr. Parr, coldly, “that we were to
provide for that in the new chapel and settlement house.”
“For reasons which I hope to make plain to you, Mr. Parr,” Hodder
replied, “those people can never be reached, as they ought to be
reached, by building that settlement house. The principle is wrong,
the day is past when such things can be done--in that way.” He laid
an emphasis on these words. “It is good, I grant you, to care for the
babies and children of the poor, it is good to get young women and men
out of the dance-halls, to provide innocent amusement, distraction,
instruction. But it is not enough. It leaves the great, transforming
thing in the lives of these people untouched, and it will forever
remain untouched so long as a sense of wrong, a continually deepening
impression of an unchristian civilization upheld by the Church herself,
exists. Such an undertaking as that settlement house--I see clearly
now--is a palliation, a poultice applied to one of many sores, a
compromise unworthy of the high mission of the Church. She should go to
the root of the disease. It is her first business to make Christians,
who, by amending their own lives, by going out individually and
collectively into the life of the nation, will gradually remove these
conditions.”
Mr. Parr sat drumming on the table. Hodder met his look.
“So you, too, have come to it,” he said.
“Have come to what?”
“Socialism.”
Hodder, in the state of clairvoyance in which he now surprisingly found
himself, accurately summed up the value and meaning of the banker's
sigh.
“Say, rather,” he replied, “that I have come to Christianity. We
shall never have what is called socialism until there is no longer
any necessity for it, until men, of their owe free will, are ready to
renounce selfish, personal ambition and power and work for humanity, for
the state.”
Mr. Parr's gesture implied that he cared not by what name the thing was
called, but he still appeared strangely, astonishingly calm;--Hodder,
with all his faculties acute, apprehended that he was dangerously calm.
The man who had formerly been his friend was now completely obliterated,
and he had the feeling almost of being about to grapple, in mortal
combat, with some unknown monster whose tactics and resources were
infinite, whose victims had never escaped. The monster was in Eldon
Parr--that is how it came to him. The waxy, relentless demon was
aroused. It behooved him, Hodder, to step carefully....
“That is all very fine, Mr. Hodder, very altruistic, very Christian,
I've no doubt-but the world doesn't work that way.” (These were the
words borne in on Hodder's consciousness.) “What drives the world is the
motive furnished by the right of acquiring and holding property. If we
had a division to-day, the able men would come out on top next year.”
The rector shook his head. He remembered, at that moment, Horace
Bentley.
“What drives the world is a far higher motive, Mr. Parr, the motive
with which have been fired the great lights of history, the motive of
renunciation and service which is transforming governments, which is
gradually making the world a better place in which to live. And we are
seeing men and women imbued with it, rising in ever increasing numbers
on every side to-day.”
“Service!” Eldon Parr had seized upon the word as it passed and held it.
“What do you think my life has been? I suppose,” he said, with a touch
of intense bitterness, “that you, too, who six months ago seemed
as reasonable a man as I ever met, have joined in the chorus of
denunciators. It has become the fashion to-day, thanks to your
socialists, reformers, and agitators, to decry a man because he is rich,
to take it for granted that he is a thief and a scoundrel, that he
has no sense of responsibility for his country and his fellow-men. The
glory, the true democracy of this nation, lies in its equal opportunity
for all. They take no account of that, of the fact that each has had the
same chance as his fellows. No, but they cry out that the man who, by
the sweat of his brow, has earned wealth ought to divide it up with the
lazy and the self-indulgent and the shiftless.
“Take my case, for instance,--it is typical of thousands. I came to this
city as a boy in my teens, with eight dollars in my pocket which I had
earned on a farm. I swept the floor, cleaned the steps, moved boxes
and ran errands in Gabriel Parker's store on Third Street. I was
industrious, sober, willing to do anything. I fought, I tell you every
inch of my way. As soon as I saved a little money I learned to use every
ounce of brain I possessed to hold on to it. I trusted a man once, and
I had to begin all over again. And I discovered, once for all, if a man
doesn't look out for himself, no one will.
“I don't pretend that I am any better than any one else, I have had to
take life as I found it, and make the best of it. I conformed to the
rules of the game; I soon had sense enough knocked into me to understand
that the conditions were not of my making. But I'll say this for
myself,” Eldon Parr leaned forward over the blotter, “I had standards,
and I stuck by them. I wanted to be a decent citizen, to bring up my
children in the right way. I didn't squander my money, when I got it,
on wine and women, I respected other men's wives, I supported the Church
and the institutions of the city. I too even I had my ambitions, my
ideals--and they were not entirely worldly ones. You would probably
accuse me of wishing to acquire only the position of power which I hold.
If you had accepted my invitation to go aboard the yacht this summer, it
was my intention to unfold to you a scheme of charities which has long
been forming in my mind, and which I think would be of no small benefit
to the city where I have made my fortune. I merely mention this to prove
to you that I am not unmindful, in spite of the circumstances of my
own life, of the unfortunates whose mental equipment is not equal to my
own.”
By this “poor boy” argument which--if Hodder had known--Mr. Parr had
used at banquets with telling effect, the banker seemed to regain
perspective and equilibrium, to plant his feet once more on the rock
of the justification of his life, and from which, by a somewhat
extraordinary process he had not quite understood, he had been partially
shaken off. As he had proceeded with his personal history, his manner
had gradually become one of the finality of experience over theory,
of the forbearance of the practical man with the visionary. Like most
successful citizens of his type, he possessed in a high degree
the faculty of creating sympathy, of compelling others to
accept--temporarily, at least--his point of view. It was this faculty,
Hodder perceived, which had heretofore laid an enchantment upon him,
and it was not without a certain wonder that he now felt himself to be
released from the spell.
The perceptions of the banker were as keen, and his sense of security
was brief. Somehow, as he met the searching eye of the rector, he
was unable to see the man as a visionary, but beheld--and, to do him
justice--felt a twinge of respect for an adversary worthy of his steel.
He, who was accustomed to prepare for clouds when they were mere specks
on his horizon, paused even now to marvel why he had not dealt with
this. Here was a man--a fanatic, if he liked--but still a man who
positively did not fear him, to whom his wrath and power were as
nothing! A new and startling and complicated sensation--but Eldon Parr
was no coward. If he had, consciously or unconsciously, formerly looked
upon the clergyman as a dependent, Hodder appeared to be one no more.
The very ruggedness of the man had enhanced, expanded--as it were--until
it filled the room. And Hodder had, with an audacity unparalleled in the
banker's experience arraigned by implication his whole life, managed to
put him on the defensive.
“But if that be your experience,” the rector said, “and it has become
your philosophy, what is it in you that impels you to give these large
sums for the public good?”
“I should suppose that you, as a clergyman, might understand that my
motive is a Christian one.”
Hodder sat very still, but a higher light came into his eyes.
“Mr. Parr,” he replied, “I have been a friend of yours, and I am a
friend still. And what I am going to tell you is not only in the hope
that others may benefit, but that your own soul may be saved. I mean
that literally--your own soul. You are under the impression that you are
a Christian, but you are not and never have been one. And you will
not be one until your whole life is transformed, until you become a
different man. If you do not change, it is my duty to warn you that the
sorrow and suffering, the uneasiness which you now know, and which drive
you on, in search of distraction, to adding useless sums of money to
your fortune--this suffering, I say, will become intensified. You will
die in the knowledge of it, and live on after, in the knowledge of it.”
In spite of himself, the financier drew back before this unexpected
blast, the very intensity of which had struck a chill of terror in his
inmost being. He had been taken off his guard,--for he had supposed the
day long past--if it had ever existed--when a spiritual rebuke would
upset him; the day long past when a minister could pronounce one with
any force. That the Church should ever again presume to take herself
seriously had never occurred to him. And yet--the man had denounced
him in a moment of depression, of nervous irritation and exasperation
against a government which had begun to interfere with the sacred
liberty of its citizens, against political agitators who had spurred
that government on. The world was mad. No element, it seemed, was now
content to remain in its proper place. His voice, as he answered, shook
with rage,--all the greater because the undaunted sternness by which it
was confronted seemed to reduce it to futility.
“Take care!” he cried, “take care! You, nor any other man, clergyman or
no clergyman, have any right to be the judge of my conduct.”
“On the contrary,” said Holder, “if your conduct affects the welfare,
the progress, the reputation of the church of which I am rector, I have
the right. And I intend to exercise it. It becomes my duty, however
painful, to tell you, as a member of the Church, wherein you have
wronged the Church and wronged yourself.”
He didn't raise his tone, and there was in it more of sorrow than of
indignation. The banker turned an ashen gray.. A moment elapsed before
he spoke, a transforming moment. He suddenly became ice.
“Very well,” he said. “I can't pretend to account for these astounding
views you have acquired--and I am using a mild term. Let me say this:
(he leaned forward a little, across the desk) I demand that you be
specific. I am a busy man, I have little time to waste, I have certain
matters--before me which must be attended to to-night. I warn you that I
will not listen any longer to vague accusations.”
It was Holder's turn to marvel. Did Eldon Purr, after all; have no sense
of guilt? Instantaneously, automatically, his own anger rose.
“You may be sure, Mr. Parr, that I should not be here unless I were
prepared to be specific. And what I am going to say to you I have
reserved for your ear alone, in the hope that you will take it to heart,
while it is not yet too late, said amend your life accordingly.”
Eldon Parr shifted slightly. His look became inscrutable, was riveted on
the rector.
“I shall call your attention first to a man of whom you have probably
never heard. He is dead now--he threw himself into the river this
summer, with a curse on his lips--I am afraid--a curse against you. A
few years ago he lived happily with his wife and child in a little house
on the Grade Suburban, and he had several thousand dollars as a result
of careful saving and systematic self-denial.
“Perhaps you have never thought of the responsibilities of a great name.
This man, like thousands of others in the city, idealized you. He looked
up to you as the soul of honour, as a self-made man who by his own
unaided efforts--as you yourself have just pointed out--rose from a
poor boy to a position of power and trust in the community. He saw you a
prominent layman in the Church of God. He was dazzled by the
brilliancy of your success, inspired by a civilization which--gave such
opportunities. He recognized that he himself had not the brains for
such an achievement,--his hope and love and ambition were centred in his
boy.”
At the word Eldon Parr's glance was suddenly dulled by pain. He
tightened his lips.
“That boy was then of a happy, merry disposition, so the mother says,
and every summer night as she cooked supper she used to hear him
laughing as he romped in the yard with his father. When I first saw him
this summer, it was two days before his father committed suicide. The
child was lying, stifled with the heat, in the back room of one of those
desolate lodging houses in Dalton Street, and his little body had almost
wasted away.
“While I was there the father came in, and when he saw me he was filled
with fury. He despised the Church, and St. John's above all churches,
because you were of it; because you who had given so generously to
it had wrecked his life. You had shattered his faith in humanity,
his ideal. From a normal, contented man he had deteriorated into a
monomaniac whom no one would hire, a physical and mental wreck who
needed care and nursing. He said he hoped the boy would die.
“And what had happened? The man had bought, with all the money he had
in the world, Consolidated Tractions. He had bought it solely because
of his admiration for your ability, his faith in your name. It was
inconceivable to him that a man of your standing, a public benefactor,
a supporter of church and charities, would permit your name to be
connected with any enterprise that was not sound and just. Thousands
like Garvin lost all they had, while you are still a rich man. It is
further asserted that you sold out all your stock at a high price, with
the exception of that in the leased lines, which are guaranteed heavy
dividends.”
“Have you finished?” demanded Eldon Parr.
“Not quite, on this subject,” replied the rector. “Two nights after
that, the man threw himself in the river. His body was pulled out by men
on a tugboat, and his worthless stock certificate was in his pocket. It
is now in the possession of Mr. Horace Bentley. Thanks to Mr. Bentley,
the widow found a temporary home, and the child has almost recovered.”
Hodder paused. His interest had suddenly become concentrated upon the
banker's new demeanour, and he would not have thought it within the
range of possibility that a man could listen to such a revelation
concerning himself without the betrayal of some feeling. But so it
was,--Eldon Parr had been coldly attentive, save for the one scarcely
perceptible tremor when the boy was mentioned. His interrogatory gesture
gave the very touch of perfection to this attitude, since it proclaimed
him to have listened patiently to a charge so preposterous that a less
reasonable man would have cut it short.
“And what leads you to suppose,” he inquired, “that I am responsible
in this matter? What leads you to infer that the Consolidated Tractions
Company was not organized in good faith? Do you think that business men
are always infallible? The street-car lines of this city were at
sixes and sevens, fighting each other; money was being wasted by poor
management. The idea behind the company was a public-spirited one,
to give the citizens cheaper and better service, by a more modern
equipment, by a wider system of transfer. It seems to me, Mr. Hodder,
that you put yourself in a more quixotic position than the so-called
reformers when you assume that the men who organize a company in good
faith are personally responsible for every share of stock that is sold,
and for the welfare of every individual who may buy the stock. We force
no one to buy it. They do so at their own risk. I myself have thousands
of dollars of worthless stock in my safe. I have never complained.”
The full force of Hodder's indignation went into his reply.
“I am not talking about the imperfect code of human justice under which
we live, Mr. Parr,” he cried. “This is not a case in which a court of
law may exonerate you, it is between you and your God. But I have taken
the trouble to find out, from unquestioned sources, the truth about
the Consolidated Tractions Company--I shall not go into the details at
length--they are doubtless familiar to you. I know that the legal genius
of Mr. Langmaid, one of my vestry, made possible the organization of the
company, and thereby evaded the plain spirit of the law of the state. I
know that one branch line was bought for two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, and capitalized for three millions, and that most of the
others were scandalously over-capitalized. I know that while the coming
transaction was still a secret, you and other, gentlemen connected with
the matter bought up large interests in other lines, which you proceeded
to lease to yourselves at guaranteed dividends which these lines do not
earn. I know that the first large dividend was paid out of capital. And
the stock which you sold to poor Garvin was so hopelessly watered that
it never could have been anything but worthless. If, in spite of these
facts, you do not deem yourself responsible for the misery which has
been caused, if your conscience is now clear, it is my duty to tell you
that there is a higher bar of justice.”
The intensity of the fire of the denunciation had, indeed, a momentary
yet visible effect in the banker's expression. Whatever the emotions
thus lashed to self-betrayal, anger, hatred,--fear, perhaps, Hodder
could not detect a trace of penitence; and he was aware, on the part of
the other, of a supreme, almost spasmodic effort for self-control. The
constitutional reluctance of Eldon Parr to fight openly could not have
been more clearly demonstrated.
“Because you are a clergyman, Mr. Hodder,” he began, “because you are
the rector of St. John's, I have allowed you to say things to me which
I would not have permitted from any other man. I have tried to take
into account your point of view, which is naturally restricted, your
pardonable ignorance of what business men, who wish to do their duty by
Church and State, have to contend with. When you came to this parish
you seemed to have a sensible, a proportional view of things; you were
content to confine your activities to your own sphere, content not to
meddle with politics and business, which you could, at first hand, know
nothing about. The modern desire of clergymen to interfere in these
matters has ruined the usefulness of many of them.
“I repeat, I have tried to be patient. I venture to hope, still, that
this extraordinary change in you may not be permanent, but merely the
result of a natural sympathy with the weak and unwise and unfortunate
who are always to be found in a complex civilization. I can even
conceive how such a discovery must have shocked you, temporarily aroused
your indignation, as a clergyman, against the world as it is--and, I
may add, as it has always been. My personal friendship for you, and my
interest in your future welfare impel me to make a final appeal to you
not to ruin a career which is full of promise.”
The rector did not take advantage of the pause. A purely psychological
curiosity hypnotized him to see how far the banker would go in his
apparent generosity.
“I once heard you say, I believe, in a sermon, that the Christian
religion is a leaven. It is the leaven that softens and ameliorates the
hard conditions of life, that makes our relations with our fellow-men
bearable. But life is a contest, it is war. It always has been, and
always will be. Business is war, commerce is war, both among nations and
individuals. You cannot get around it. If a man does not exterminate his
rivals they will exterminate him. In other days churches were built and
endowed with the spoils of war, and did not disdain the money. To-day
they cheerfully accept the support and gifts of business men. I do
not accuse them of hypocrisy. It is a recognition on their part that
business men, in spite of hard facts, are not unmindful of the spiritual
side of life, and are not deaf to the injunction to help others.
And when, let me ask you, could you find in the world's history more
splendid charities than are around us to-day? Institutions endowed
for medical research, for the conquest of deadly diseases? libraries,
hospitals, schools--men giving their fortunes for these things, the
fruits of a life's work so laboriously acquired? Who can say that the
modern capitalist is not liberal, is not a public benefactor?
“I dislike being personal, but you have forced it upon me. I dislike
to refer to what I have already done in the matter of charities, but
I hinted to you awhile ago of a project I have conceived and almost
perfected of gifts on a much larger scale than I have ever attempted.”
The financier stared at him meaningly. “And I had you in mind as one of
the three men whom I should consult, whom I should associate with
myself in the matter. We cannot change human nature, but we can better
conditions by wise giving. I do not refer now to the settle ment house,
which I am ready to help make and maintain as the best in the country,
but I have in mind a system to be carried out with the consent and aid
of the municipal government, of play-grounds, baths, parks, places of
recreation, and hospitals, for the benefit of the people, which will
put our city in the very forefront of progress. And I believe, as a
practical man, I can convince you that the betterment which you and I
so earnestly desire can be brought about in no other way. Agitation can
only result in anarchy and misery for all.”
Hodder's wrath, as he rose from his chair, was of the sort that appears
incredibly to add to the physical stature,--the bewildering spiritual
wrath which is rare indeed, and carries all before it.
“Don't tempt me, Mr. Parr!” he said. “Now that I know the truth, I tell
you frankly I would face poverty and persecution rather than consent
to your offer. And I warn you once more not to flatter yourself that
existence ends here, that you will, not be called to answer for every
wrong act you have committed in accumulating your fortune, that what you
call business is an affair of which God takes no account. What I say
may seem foolishness to you, but I tell you, in the words of that
Foolishness, that it will not profit you to gain the whole world and
lose your own soul. You remind me that the Church in old time accepted
gifts from the spoils of war, and I will add of rapine and murder. And
the Church to-day, to repeat your own parallel, grows rich with money
wrongfully got. Legally? Ah, yes, legally, perhaps. But that will not
avail you. And the kind of church you speak of--to which I, to my shame,
once consented--Our Lord repudiates. It is none of his. I warn you, Mr.
Parr, in his Name, first to make your peace with your brothers before
you presume to lay another gift on the altar.”
During this withering condemnation of himself Eldon Parr sat motionless,
his face grown livid, an expression on it that continued to haunt Hodder
long afterwards. An expression, indeed, which made the banker almost
unrecognizable.
“Go,” he whispered, his hand trembling visibly as he pointed towards the
door. “Go--I have had enough of this.”
“Not until I have said one thing more,” replied the rector, undaunted.
“I have found the woman whose marriage with your son you prevented,
whom you bought off and started on the road to hell without any sense
of responsibility. You have made of her a prostitute and a drunkard.
Whether she can be rescued or not is problematical. She, too, is in
Mr. Bentley's care, a man upon whom you once showed no mercy. I leave
Garvin, who has gone to his death, and Kate Marcy and Horace Bentley to
your conscience, Mr. Parr. That they are representative of many others,
I do not doubt. I tell you solemnly that the whole meaning of life is
service to others, and I warn you, before it is too late, to repent and
make amends. Gifts will not help you, and charities are of no avail.”
At the reference to Kate Marcy Eldon Parr's hand dropped to his side. He
seemed to have physical difficulty in speaking.
“Ah, you have found that woman!” He leaned an elbow on the desk, he
seemed suddenly to have become weary, spent, old. And Hodder, as he
watched him, perceived--that his haggard look was directed towards a
photograph in a silver frame on the table--a photograph of Preston Parr.
At length he broke the silence.
“What would you have had me do?” he asked. “Permit my son to marry a
woman of the streets, I suppose. That would have been Christianity,
according to your notion. Come now, what world you have done, if your
son had been in question?”
A wave of pity swept over the rector.
“Why,” he said, why did you have nothing but cruelty in your heart, and
contempt for her? When you saw that she was willing, for the love of the
son whom you loved, to give up all that life meant to her, how could
you destroy her without a qualm? The crime you committed was that you
refused to see God in that woman's soul, when he had revealed himself to
you. You looked for wile, for cunning, for self-seeking,--and they were
not there. Love had obliterated them. When you saw how meekly she
obeyed you, and agreed to go away, why did you not have pity? If you had
listened to your conscience, you would have known what to do.
“I do not say that you should not have opposed the marriage--then.
Marriage is not to be lightly entered into. From the moment you went to
see her you became responsible for her. You hurled her into the abyss,
and she has come back to haunt you. You should have had her educated and
cared for--she would have submitted, to any plan you proposed. And if,
after a sensible separation, you became satisfied as to her character
and development, and your son still wished to marry her, you should have
withdrawn your objections.
“As it is, and in consequence of your act, you have lost your son. He
left you then, and you have no more control over him.”
“Stop!” cried Eldon Parr, “for God's sake stop! I won't stand any more
of this. I will not listen to criticism of my life, to strictures on my
conduct from you or any other man.” He reached for a book on the corner
of his desk--a cheque book.--“You'll want money for these people, I
suppose,” he added brutally. “I will give it, but it must be understood
that I do not recognize any right of theirs to demand it.”
For a moment Holder did not trust himself to reply. He looked down
across the desk at the financier, who was fumbling with the leaves.
“They do not demand it, Mr. Parr,” he answered, gently. “And I have
tried to make it plain to you that you have lost the right to give it. I
expected to fail in this. I have failed.”
“What do you mean?” Eldon Parr let the cheque book close.
“I mean what I said,” the rector replied. “That if you would save your
soul you must put an end, to-morrow, to the acquisition of money, and
devote the rest of your life to an earnest and sincere attempt to
make just restitution to those you have wronged. And you must ask the
forgiveness of God for your sins. Until you do that, your charities are
abominations in his sight. I will not trouble you any longer, except to
say that I shall be ready to come to you at any time my presence may be
of any help to you.”
The banker did not speak.... With a single glance towards the library
Holder left the house, but paused for a moment outside to gaze back at
it, as it loomed in the darkness against the stars.