At nine o'clock that evening Hodder stood alone in the arched vestry
room, and the sight of the heavy Gothic chairs ranged about the long
table brought up memories of comfortable, genial meetings prolonged by
chat and banter.... The noise of feet, of subdued voices beside the coat
room in the corridor, aroused him. All of the vestry would seem to have
arrived at once.
He regarded them with a detached curiosity as they entered, reading them
with a new insight. The trace of off-handedness in Mr. Plimpton's former
cordiality was not lost upon him--an intimation that his star had set.
Mr. Plimpton had seen many breaches healed--had healed many himself. But
he had never been known as a champion of lost causes.
“Well, here we are, Mr. Hodder, on the stroke,” he remarked. “As a
vestry, I think we're entitled to the first prize for promptness. How
about it, Everett?”
Everett Constable was silent.
“Good evening, Mr. Hodder,” he said. He did not offer to shake hands,
as Mr. Plimpton had done, but sat down at the far end of the table.
He looked tired and worn; sick, the rector thought, and felt a sudden
swelling of compassion for the pompous little man whose fibre was not
as tough as that of these other condottieri: as Francis Ferguson's, for
instance, although his soft hand and pink and white face framed in the
black whiskers would seem to belie any fibre whatever.
Gordon Atterbury hemmed and hawed,--“Ah, Mr. Hodder,” and seated himself
beside Mr. Constable, in a chair designed to accommodate a portly
bishop. Both of them started nervously as Asa Waring, holding his head
high, as a man should who has kept his birthright, went directly to the
rector.
“I'm glad to see you, Mr. Hodder,” he said, and turning defiantly,
surveyed the room. There was an awkward silence. Mr. Plimpton edged
a little nearer. The decree might have gone forth for Mr. Hodder's
destruction, but Asa Waring was a man whose displeasure was not to be
lightly incurred.
“What's this I hear about your moving out of Hamilton Place, Mr. Waring?
You'd better come up and take the Spaulding lot, in Waverley, across
from us.”
“I am an old man, Mr. Plimpton,” Asa Waring replied. “I do not move as
easily as some other people in these days.”
Everett Constable produced his handkerchief and rubbed his nose
violently. But Mr. Plimpton was apparently undaunted.
“I have always said,” he observed, “that there was something very fine
in your sticking to that neighbourhood after your friends had gone.
Here's Phil!”
Phil Goodrich looked positively belligerent, and as he took his stand
on the other side of Hodder his father-in-law smiled at him grimly. Mr.
Goodrich took hold of the rector's arm.
“I missed one or two meetings last spring, Mr. Hodder,” he said, “but
I'm going to be on hand after this. My father, I believe, never missed
a vestry meeting in his life. Perhaps that was because they used to hold
most of 'em at his house.”
“And serve port and cigars, I'm told,” Mr. Plimpton put in.
“That was an inducement, Wallis, I'll admit,” answered Phil. “But there
are even greater inducements now.”
In view of Phil Goodrich's well-known liking for a fight, this was too
pointed to admit of a reply, but Mr. Plimpton was spared the attempt by
the entrance of. Nelson Langmaid. The lawyer, as he greeted them, seemed
to be preoccupied, nor did he seek to relieve the tension with his
customary joke. A few moments of silence followed, when Eldon Parr was
seen to be standing in the doorway, surveying them.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said coldly, and without more ado went to
his customary chair, and sat down in it. Immediately followed a scraping
of other chairs. There was a dominating quality about the man not to be
gainsaid.
The rector called the meeting to order....
During the routine business none of the little asides occurred which
produce laughter. Every man in the room was aware of the intensity of
Eldon Parr's animosity, and yet he betrayed it neither by voice, look,
or gesture. There was something uncanny in this self-control, this sang
froid with which he was wont to sit at boards waiting unmoved for the
time when he should draw his net about his enemies, and strangle them
without pity. It got on Langmaid's nerves--hardened as he was to it. He
had seen many men in that net; some had struggled, some had taken their
annihilation stoically; honest merchants, freebooters, and brigands.
Most of them had gone out, with their families, into that precarious
border-land of existence in which the to-morrows are ever dreaded.
Yet here, somehow, was a different case. Langmaid found himself going
back to the days when his mother had taken him to church, and he could
not bear to look at, Hodder. Since six o'clock that afternoon--had his
companions but known it--he had passed through one of the worst periods
of his existence....
After the regular business had been disposed of a brief interval was
allowed, for the sake of decency, to ensue. That Eldon Parr would not
lead the charge in person was a foregone conclusion. Whom, then, would
he put forward? For obvious reasons, not Wallis Plimpton or Langmaid,
nor Francis Ferguson. Hodder found his, glance unconsciously fixed
upon Everett Constable, who, moved nervously and slowly pushed back his
chair. He was called upon, in this hour and in the church his father had
helped to found, to make the supreme payment for the years of financial
prosperity. Although a little man, with his shoulders thrown back and
his head high, he generally looked impressive when he spoke, and his
fine features and clear-cut English contributed to the effect. But now
his face was strained, and his voice seemed to lack command as he bowed
and mentioned the rector's name. Eldon Parr sat back.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Constable began, “I feel it my duty to say something
this evening, something that distresses me. Like some of you who are
here present, I have been on this vestry for many years, and my father
was on it before me. I was brought up under Dr. Gilman, of whom I need
not speak. All here, except our present rector, knew him. This church,
St. John's, has been a part--a--large part--of my life. And anything
that seems to touch its welfare, touches me.
“When Dr. Gilman died, after so many years of faithful service, we faced
a grave problem,--that of obtaining a young man of ability, an active
man who would be able to assume the responsibilities of a large and
growing parish, and at the same time carry on its traditions, precious
to us all; one who believed in and preached, I need scarcely add, the
accepted doctrines of the Church, which we have been taught to think are
sacred and necessary to salvation. And in the discovery of the Reverend
Mr. Hodder, we had reason to congratulate ourselves and the parish.
He was all that we had hoped for, and more. His sermons were at once a
pleasure and an instruction.
“I wish to make it clear,” he continued, “that in spite of the pain Mr.
Hodder's words of last Sunday have given me, I respect and honour him
still, and wish him every success. But, gentlemen, I think it is plain
to all of you that he has changed his religious convictions. As to the
causes through which that change has come about, I do not pretend to
know. To say the least, the transition is a startling one, one for which
some of us were totally unprepared. To speak restrainedly, it was a
shock--a shock which I shall remember as long as I live.
“I need not go into the doctrinal question here, except to express my
opinion that the fundamental facts of our religion were contradicted.
And we have also to consider the effect of this preaching on coming
generations for whom we are responsible. There are, no doubt, other
fields for Mr. Hodder's usefulness. But I think it may safely be taken
as a principle that this parish has the right to demand from the
pulpit that orthodox teaching which suits it, and to which it has been
accustomed. And I venture further to give it as my opinion--to put it
mildly that others have been as disturbed and shocked as I. I have
seen many, talked with many, since Sunday. For these reasons, with much
sorrow and regret, I venture to suggest to the vestry that Mr. Hodder
resign as our rector. And I may add what I believe to be the feeling
of all present, that we have nothing but good will for him, although we
think we might have been informed of what he intended to do.
“And that in requesting him to resign we are acting for his own good as
well as our own, and are thus avoiding a situation which threatens to
become impossible,--one which would bring serious reflection on him
and calamity on the church. We already, in certain articles in the
newspapers, have had an indication of the intolerable notoriety we may
expect, although I hold Mr. Hodder innocent in regard to those articles.
I am sure he will have the good sense to see this situation as I see it,
as the majority of the parish see it.”
Mr. Constable sat down, breathing hard. He had not looked at the rector
during the whole of his speech, nor at Eldon Parr. There was a heavy
silence, and then Philip Goodrich rose, square, clean-cut, aggressive.
“I, too, gentlemen, have had life-long association with this church,” he
began deliberately. “And for Mr. Hodder's sake I am going to give you a
little of my personal history, because I think it typical of thousands
of men of my age all over this country. It was nobody's fault, perhaps,
that I was taught that the Christian religion depended on a certain
series of nature miracles and a chain of historical events, and when I
went East to school I had more of this same sort of instruction. I have
never, perhaps, been overburdened with intellect, but the time arrived
nevertheless when I began to think for myself. Some of the older boys
went once, I remember, to the rector of the school--a dear old man--and
frankly stated our troubles. To use a modern expression, he stood pat on
everything. I do not say it was a consciously criminal act, he probably
saw no way out himself. At any rate, he made us all agnostics at one
stroke.
“What I learned in college of science and history and philosophy merely
confirmed me in my agnosticism. As a complete system for the making of
atheists and materialists, I commend the education which I received. If
there is any man here who believes religion to be an essential factor
in life, I ask him to think of his children or grandchildren before he
comes forward to the support of Mr. Constable.
“In that sermon which he preached last Sunday, Mr. Hodder, for the first
time in my life, made Christianity intelligible to me. I want him to
know it. And there are other men and women in that congregation who
feel as I do. Gentlemen, there is nothing I would not give to have had
Christianity put before me in that simple and inspiring way when I was a
boy. And in my opinion St. John's is more fortunate to-day than it
ever has been in its existence. Mr. Hodder should have an unanimous
testimonial of appreciation from this vestry for his courage. And if the
vote requesting him to resign prevails, I venture to predict that there
is not a man on this vestry who will not live to regret it.”
Phil Goodrich glared at Eldon Parr, who remained unmoved.
“Permit me to add,” he said, “that this controversy, in other respects
than doctrine, is more befitting to the Middle Ages than to the
twentieth century, when this Church and other denominations are passing
resolutions in their national conventions with a view to unity and
freedom of belief.”
Mr. Langmaid, Mr. Plimpton, and Mr. Constable sat still. Mr. Ferguson
made no move. It was Gordon Atterbury who rushed into the breach, and
proved that the extremists are allies of doubtful value.
He had, apparently, not been idle since Sunday, and was armed cap-a pie
with time-worn arguments that need not be set down. All of which went to
show that Mr. Goodrich had not referred to the Middle Ages in vain. For
Gordon Atterbury was a born school-man. But he finished by declaring, at
the end of twenty minutes (much as he regretted the necessity of saying
it), that Mr. Hodder's continuance as rector would mean the ruin of the
church in which all present took such a pride. That the great majority
of its members would never submit to what was so plainly heresy.
It was then that Mr. Plimpton gathered courage to pour oil on the
waters. There was nothing, in his opinion, he remarked smilingly, in
his function as peacemaker, to warrant anything but the most friendly
interchange of views. He was second to none in his regard for Mr.
Hodder, in his admiration for a man who had the courage of his
convictions. He had not the least doubt that Mr. Hodder did not desire
to remain in the parish when it was so apparent that the doctrines which
he now preached were not acceptable to most of those who supported
the church. And he added (with sublime magnanimity) that he wished Mr.
Hodder the success which he was sure he deserved, and gave him every
assurance of his friendship.
Asa Waring was about to rise, when he perceived that Hodder himself
was on his feet. And the eyes of every man, save one, were fixed on him
irresistibly. The rector seemed unaware of it. It was Philip Goodrich
who remarked to his father-in-law, as they walked home afterwards, of
the sense he had had at that moment that there were just two men in the
room,--Hodder and Eldon Parr. All the rest were ciphers; all had lost,
momentarily, their feelings of partisanship and were conscious only of
these two intense, radiating, opposing centres of force; and no man,
oddly enough, could say which was the stronger. They seemingly met on
equal terms. There could not be the slightest doubt that the rector
did not mean to yield, and yet they might have been puzzled if they had
asked themselves how they had read the fact in his face or manner. For
he betrayed neither anger nor impatience.
No more did the financier reveal his own feelings. He still sat back in
his chair, unmoved, in apparent contemplation. The posture was familiar
to Langmaid.
Would he destroy, too, this clergyman? For the first time in his life,
and as he looked at Hodder, the lawyer wondered. Hodder did not defend
himself, made no apologies. Christianity was not a collection of
doctrines, he reminded them,--but a mode of life. If anything were clear
to him, it was that the present situation was not, with the majority of
them, a matter of doctrines, but of unwillingness to accept the message
and precept of Jesus Christ, and lead Christian lives. They had made use
of the doctrines as a stalking-horse.
There was a stir at this, and Hodder paused a moment and glanced around
the table. But no one interrupted.
He was fully aware of his rights, and he had no intention of resigning.
To resign would be to abandon the work for which he was responsible, not
to them, but to God. And he was perfectly willing--nay, eager to defend
his Christianity before any ecclesiastical court, should the bishop
decide that a court was necessary. The day of freedom, of a truer vision
was at hand, the day of Christian unity on the vital truths, and no
better proof of it could be brought forward than the change in him. In
his ignorance and blindness he had hitherto permitted compromise, but he
would no longer allow those who made only an outward pretence of being
Christians to direct the spiritual affairs of St. John's, to say what
should and what should not be preached. This was to continue to paralyze
the usefulness of the church, to set at naught her mission, to alienate
those who most had need of her, who hungered and thirsted after
righteousness, and went away unsatisfied.
He had hardly resumed his seat when Everett Constable got up again. He
remarked, somewhat unsteadily, that to prolong the controversy would be
useless and painful to all concerned, and he infinitely regretted the
necessity of putting his suggestion that the rector resign in the form
of a resolution.... The vote was taken. Six men raised their hands in
favour of his resignation--Nelson Langmaid among them: two, Asa Waring
and Philip Goodrich, were against it. After announcing the result,
Hodder rose.
“For the reason I have stated, gentlemen, I decline to resign,” he said.
“I stand upon my canonical rights.”
Francis Ferguson arose, his voice actually trembling with anger. There
is something uncanny in the passion of a man whose life has been ordered
by the inexorable rules of commerce, who has been wont to decide all
questions from the standpoint of dollars and cents. If one of his own
wax models had suddenly become animated, the effect could not have been
more startling.
In the course of this discussion, he declared, Mr. Hodder had seen fit
to make grave and in his opinion unwarranted charges concerning the
lives of some, if not all, of the gentlemen who sat here. It surprised
him that these remarks had not been resented, but he praised a Christian
forbearance on the part of his colleagues which he was unable to
achieve. He had no doubt that their object had been to spare Mr.
Hodder's feelings as much as possible, but Mr. Hodder had shown no
disposition to spare their own. He had outraged them, Mr. Ferguson
thought,--wantonly so. He had made these preposterous and unchristian
charges an excuse for his determination to remain in a position where
his usefulness had ceased.
No one, unfortunately, was perfect in this life,--not even Mr. Hodder.
He, Francis Ferguson, was far from claiming to be so. But he believed
that this arraignment of the men who stood highest in the city for
decency, law, and order, who supported the Church, who revered its
doctrines, who tried to live Christian lives, who gave their time and
their money freely to it and to charities, that this arraignment was an
arrogant accusation and affront to be repudiated. He demanded that Mr.
Hodder be definite. If he had any charges to make, let him make them
here and now.
The consternation, the horror which succeeded such a stupid and
unexpected tactical blunder on the part of the usually astute Mr.
Ferguson were felt rather than visually discerned. The atmosphere might
have been described as panicky. Asa Waring and Phil Goodrich smiled as
Wallis Plimpton, after a moment's hush, scrambled to his feet, his
face pale, his customary easiness and nonchalance now the result of an
obvious effort. He, too, tried to smile, but swallowed instead as he
remembered his property in Dalton Street.... Nelson Langmaid smiled,
in spite of himself... Mr. Plimpton implored his fellow-members not to
bring personalities into the debate, and he was aware all the while of
the curious, pitying expression of the rector. He breathed a sigh of
relief at the opening words of Hodder, who followed him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have no intention of being personal, even
by unanimous consent. But if Mr. Ferguson will come to me after this
meeting I shall have not the least objection to discussing this matter
with him in so far as he himself is concerned. I can only assure you now
that I have not spoken without warrant.”
There was, oddly enough, no acceptance of this offer by Mr. Ferguson.
Another silence ensued, broken, at last, by a voice for which they had
all been unconsciously waiting; a voice which, though unemotional, cold,
and matter-of-fact, was nevertheless commanding, and long accustomed to
speak with an overwhelming authority. Eldon Parr did not rise.
“Mr. Hodder,” he said, “in one respect seems to be under the delusion
that we are still in the Middle Ages, instead of the twentieth century,
since he assumes the right to meddle with the lives of his parishioners,
to be the sole judge of their actions. That assumption will not, be
tolerated by free men. I, for one, gentlemen, do not, propose to have a
socialist for the rector of the church which I attend and support. And
I maintain the privilege of an American citizen to set my own standards,
within the law, and to be the sole arbitrar of those standards.”
“Good!” muttered Gordon Atterbury. Langmaid moved uncomfortably.
“I shall not waste words,” the financier continued. “There is in my
mind no question that we are justified in demanding from our rector the
Christian doctrines to which we have given our assent, and which are
stated in the Creeds. That they shall be subject to the whims of the
rector is beyond argument. I do not pretend to, understand either,
gentlemen, the nature of the extraordinary change that has taken place
in the rector of St. John's. I am not well versed m psychology. I am
incapable of flights myself. One effect of this change is an attitude on
which reasonable considerations would seem to have no effect.
“Our resources, fortunately, are not yet at an end. It has been my
hope, on account of my former friendship with Mr. Hodder, that an
ecclesiastical trial might not be necessary. It now seems inevitable.
In the meantime, since Mr. Hodder has seen fit to remain in spite of
our protest, I do not intend to enter this church. I was prepared,
gentlemen, as some of you no doubt know, to spend a considerable sum in
adding to the beauty of St. John's and to the charitable activities of
the parish. Mr. Hodder has not disapproved of my gifts in the past,
but owing to his present scruples concerning my worthiness, I naturally
hesitate to press the matter now.” Mr. Parr indulged in the semblance of
a smile. “I fear that he must take the responsibility of delaying this
benefit, with the other responsibilities he has assumed.”
His voice changed. It became sharper.
“In short, I propose to withhold all contributions for whatever purpose
from this church while Mr. Hodder is rector, and I advise those of you
who have voted for his resignation to do the same. In the meantime, I
shall give my money to Calvary, and attend its services. And I shall
offer further a resolution--which I am informed is within our right--to
discontinue Mr. Hodder's salary.”
There was that in the unparalleled audacity of Eldon Parr that compelled
Hodder's unwilling admiration. He sat gazing at the financier during
this speech, speculating curiously on the inner consciousness of the man
who could utter it. Was it possible that he had no sense of guilt? Even
so, he had shown a remarkable astuteness in relying on the conviction
that he (Hodder) would not betray what he knew.
He was suddenly aware that Asa Waring was standing beside him.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Waring, “I have listened to this discussion as
long as I can bear it with patience. Had I been told of it, I should
have thought it incredible that the methods of the money changers should
be applied to the direction and control of the house of God. In my
opinion there is but one word which is suitable for what has passed here
to-night, and the word is persecution. Perhaps I have lived too long
I have lived to see honourable, upright men deprived of what was
rightfully theirs, driven from their livelihood by the rapacity of those
who strive to concentrate the wealth and power of the nation into their
hands. I have seen this power gathering strength, stretching its arm
little by little over the institutions I fought to preserve, and which
I cherish over our politics, over our government, yes, and even over
our courts. I have seen it poisoning the business honour in which we
formerly took such a pride, I have seen it reestablishing a slavery
more pernicious than that which millions died to efface. I have seen
it compel a subservience which makes me ashamed, as an American, to
witness.”
His glance, a withering moral scorn, darted from under the grizzled
eyebrows and alighted on one man after another, and none met it. Everett
Constable coughed, Wallis Plimpton shifted his position, the others sat
like stones. Asa Waring was giving vent at last to the pent-up feelings
of many years.
“And now that power, which respects nothing, has crept into the
sanctuary of the Church. Our rector recognizes it, I recognize
it,--there is not a man here who, in his heart, misunderstands me. And
when a man is found who has the courage to stand up against it, I honour
him with all my soul, and a hope that was almost dead revives in me. For
there is one force, and one force alone, able to overcome the power of
which I speak,--the Spirit of Christ. And the mission of the Church is
to disseminate that spirit. The Church is the champion on which we
have to rely, or give up all hope of victory. The Church must train the
recruits. And if the Church herself is betrayed into the hands of the
enemy, the battle is lost.
“If Mr. Hodder is forced out of this church, it would be better to lock
the doors. St. John's will be held up, and rightfully, to the scorn of
the city. All the money in the world will not save her. Though crippled,
she has survived one disgrace, when she would not give free shelter to
the man who above all others expressed her true spirit, when she drove
Horace Bentley from her doors after he had been deprived of the fortune
which he was spending for his fellow-men. She will not survive another.
“I have no doubt Mr. Parr's motion to take from Mr. Hodder his living
will go through. And still I urge him not to resign. I am not a rich
man, even when such property as I have is compared to moderate fortunes
of these days, but I would pay his salary willingly out of my own pocket
rather than see him go....
“I call the attention of the Chairman,” said Eldon Parr, after a certain
interval in which no one had ventured to speak, “to the motion before
the vestry relating to the discontinuance of Mr. Hodder's salary.”
It was then that the unexpected happened. Gordon Atterbury redeemed
himself. His respect for Mr. Waring, he said, made him hesitate to take
issue with him.
He could speak for himself and for a number of people in the
congregation when he reiterated his opinion that they were honestly
shocked at what Mr. Hodder had preached, and that this was his sole
motive in requesting Mr. Hodder to resign. He thought, under the
circumstances, that this was a matter which might safely be left with
the bishop. He would not vote to deprive Mr. Hodder of his salary.
The motion was carried by a vote of five to three. For Eldon Parr well
knew that his will needed no reenforcement by argument. And this much
was to be said for him, that after he had entered a battle he never
hesitated, never under any circumstances reconsidered the probable
effect of his course.
As for the others, those who had supported him, they were cast in a less
heroic mould. Even Francis Ferguson. As between the devil and the deep
sea, he was compelled, with as good a grace as possible, to choose the
devil. He was utterly unable to contemplate the disaster which might
ensue if certain financial ties, which were thicker than cables, were
snapped. But his affection for the devil was not increased by thus being
led into a charge from which he would willingly have drawn back. Asa
Waring might mean nothing to Eldon Parr, but he meant a great deal
to Francis Ferguson, who had by no means forgotten his sensations of
satisfaction when Mrs. Waring had made her first call in Park Street
on Francis Ferguson's wife. He left the room in such a state of
absent-mindedness as actually to pass Mr. Parr in the corridor without
speaking to him.
The case of Wallis Plimpton was even worse. He had married the Gores,
but he had sought to bind himself with hoops of steel to the Warings.
He had always secretly admired that old Roman quality (which the
Goodriches--their connections--shared) of holding fast to their
course unmindful and rather scornful of influence which swayed their
neighbours. The clan was sufficient unto itself, satisfied with a
moderate prosperity and a continually increasing number of descendants.
The name was unstained. Such are the strange incongruities in the
hearts of men, that few realized the extent to which Wallis Plimpton
had partaken of the general hero-worship of Phil Goodrich. He had
assiduously cultivated his regard, at times discreetly boasted of it,
and yet had never been sure of it. And now fate, in the form of his
master, Eldon Parr had ironically compelled him at one stroke to undo
the work of years. As soon as the meeting broke up, he crossed the room.
“I can't tell you how much I regret this, Phil,” he said. “Charlotte has
very strong convictions, you know, and so have I. You can understand,
I am sure, how certain articles of belief might be necessary to one
person, and not to another.”
“Yes,” said Phil, “I can understand. We needn't mention the articles,
Wallis.” And he turned his back.
He never knew the pain he inflicted. Wallis Plimpton looked at the
rector, who stood talking to Mr. Waring, and for the first time in his
life recoiled from an overture.
Something in the faces of both men warned him away.
Even Everett Constable, as they went home in the cars together, was
brief with him, and passed no comments when Mr. Plimpton recovered
sufficiently to elaborate on the justification of their act, and upon
the extraordinary stand taken by Phil Goodrich and Mr. Waring.
“They might have told us what they were going to do.”
Everett Constable eyed him.
“Would it have made any difference, Plimpton?” he demanded.
After that they rode in silence, until they came to a certain West End
corner, where they both descended. Little Mr. Constable's sensations
were, if anything, less enviable, and he had not Mr. Plimpton's
recuperative powers. He had sold that night, for a mess of pottage, the
friendship and respect of three generations. And he had fought, for pay,
against his own people.
And lastly, there was Langmaid, whose feelings almost defy analysis. He
chose to walk through the still night the four miles--that separated
him from his home. And he went back over the years of his life until he
found, in the rubbish of the past, a forgotten and tarnished jewel. The
discovery pained him. For that jewel was the ideal he had carried away,
as a youth, from the old law school at the bottom of Hamilton Place,--a
gift from no less a man than the great lawyer and public-spirited
citizen, Judge Henry Goodrich--Philip Goodrich's grandfather,
whose seated statue marked the entrance of the library. He, Nelson
Langmaid,--had gone forth from that school resolved to follow in the
footsteps of that man,--but somehow he missed the path. Somehow
the jewel had lost its fire. There had come a tempting offer, and
a struggle--just one: a readjustment on the plea that the world had
changed since the days of Judge Goodrich, whose uncompromising figure
had begun to fade: an exciting discovery that he, Nelson Langmaid,
possessed the gift of drawing up agreements which had the faculty of
passing magically through the meshes of the Statutes. Affluence had
followed, and fame, and even that high office which the Judge himself
had held, the Presidency of the State Bar Association. In all that time,
one remark, which he had tried to forget, had cut him to the quick.
Bedloe Hubbell had said on the political platform that Langmaid got one
hundred thousand dollars a year for keeping Eldon Parr out of jail.
Once he stopped in the street, his mind suddenly going back to the
action of the financier at the vestry meeting.
“Confound him!” he said aloud, “he has been a fool for once. I told him
not to do it.”
He stood at last in the ample vestibule of his house, singling out
his latch-key, when suddenly the door opened, and his daughter Helen
appeared.
“Oh, dad,” she cried, “why are you so-late? I've been watching for you.
I know you've let Mr. Hodder stay.”
She gazed at him with widened eyes.
“Don't tell me that you've made him resign. I can't--I won't believe
it.”
“He isn't going to resign, Helen,” Langmaid replied, in an odd voice.
“He--he refused to.”