_The Meeting in the Market_
The first day that was warm enough for people to stand outside
and listen, Mr. Morton had his big, white stallions hitched
to the gospel wagon, which was also white. The team had wintered
well and weighed 3400 pounds. As they stood champing their bits
outside of the Mission, Jimmie watched them for a few minutes
and then, turning to Morton, said, "Please, kin I go erlong,
Mr. Morton?"
"Where shall we go, Jimmie? We want to have about three meetings
this afternoon if the weather stays warm, as it is now."
"Have all t'ree of 'em in Bucktown," said Jimmie. "I bet I kin
git Dave Beach ter come over ter the corner ter see dem dere
horses, and I'll bet Fagin and Mike'll come over ter hear Bill
Cook make his speel, and say, come here er minute." Jimmie took
Morton off to one side, away from every one, and whispered into
his ear: "If you'll git Floe ter go down there an' sing dat
dere song erbout 'Tellin' yer Ma I'll be dere' [Tell Mother
I'll be There], it'll git der whole bunch out to der meetin'."
"Floe is not very strong, Jimmie, and I hardly think she would
care to sing in the open air."
"If she'll do et, will yer let her?"
"Oh, yes, if she cares to go I will be glad to take her with
us on the wagon. You must not tell her I wanted you to ask her,
Jimmie," said Mr. Morton as the boy started on a run to ask
Floe to sing.
"She'll be dere by der time der wagon is," said Jimmie, all
out of breath, "an' I'm goin' down now ter tell der gang you're
comin'."
Before the second song had been sung at least two hundred people
stood before the gospel wagon at the corner of the Market. All
ages, sizes, colors, kinds, some drunk, some under the influence
of morphine and opium, and some Greeks and Russians who could
not understand one word of the English language. On the edge
of the crowd were three or four girls from the Dolly resort,
and as many more from other houses of this same type near by.
Oily Ike, Fred Hood and Jewey were there; but Fagin, Mike, Dave
Beach and Jimmie were nowhere to be seen. When the male quartet
arose to sing, every one became very quiet and listened attentively
to the singing.
Morton read the first Psalm and then told the crowd just why
they were there. "We are here to tell you about the Lord Jesus
Christ and His power to save; because we know that every one
of you needs Him," said Morton.
This class of people can never be "fooled," and one endeavoring
to help them in a spiritual way must be very frank and honest,
and never, never use "nice" words or sayings to catch them.
They are very suspicious of everybody and when any one attempts
to win them to his way of thinking he must do it in a straightforward,
honest manner. Do not call them "dear friends" or "dear brothers
and sisters"; do not tell them that they are all good people,
as they at once begin to look for a collection box or expect
you to have something to sell. They say, "He's either a fool
or thinks I'm one."
"The City Rescue Mission stands for the old Gospel of Christ,
to save from sin," Morton continued. "And on this wagon to-day
are those who were once far in sin, but who are now happy in
Him. Every one here knows Mr. Cook. He is your neighbor and
I believe your friend. You all knew him in his old life and
most of you know how God has kept him these past weeks. I know
that you will all want to hear from him, and after he speaks
to you I shall ask a lady to sing. She will sing, by request,
'Tell Mother I'll be There.' I take great pleasure in introducing
to you Mr. William Cook."
"What's the matter with Bill?" yelled a voice.
"He's all right!" came from nearly every throat as Bill stood
up to speak.
Jimmie stepped from the side entrance of Fagin's saloon and
was quickly followed by Mike, Fagin, Dave Beach and Gene Dibble.
Bill started to speak just as they lined up in front of him,
and he became so nervous he could scarcely stand up, much less
say anything. Fagin was quick to notice his embarrassment and
laughed a rough Ha! Ha!
"Cut that out, Fagin!" said Dave, stepping up to him.
The look in Dave's eyes told Fagin that he meant all he said.
"Go on, Bill, you're a winner," he said. "We want to hear you
speak."
"Well, fellows, yer know that this is a new one on me. I've
never been up against this gospel wagon game before in my life.
My trainin' has been along other lines. I can't make no speech,
but I can tell yer this, that fer six weeks I ain't wanted no
booze and I've been workin' most of the time and got money in
my pocket to buy booze if I wanted it. See?"
"Good boy, Bill," yelled Dave. "You're getting your second wind;
all you need is a little more weight forward and jogged every
morning in hopples for about ten days and you've got 'em all
skinned in your class."
"Go on, Bill," said Jimmie, "tell 'em what yer told 'em in der
Mission last night."
"It's this way," said Bill, great drops of perspiration standing
on his forehead. "It's this way. In the army I learned to drink.
After I came home I took up my old trade and have always worked
when I could keep sober. Since I have lived in this part of
town I've been drunk more than I have been at work. Every time
it happened, I'd swear that it would never happen again, but
I'd go and git it before I'd git my breakfast. I tried to stop,
but couldn't handle myself at all. Every one round here knows
how my family suffered. I could make enough ter keep 'em good,
but I'd spent it fer likker. My wife has took in washin' to
keep the kids from starvin' and freezin'. She had to work all
night, more'n one night, and when Freddie died--Oh, my God!
I wish I could forgit that! When Freddie died--I was drunk.
Just before he passed away I promised him I'd never drink another
drop, but I went out and got into the delirium tremens before
I stopped. When I came to myself I found that my wife had sold
everything in the house but the stove, table, a few chairs and
one bed to pay the funeral expenses. You can call it fun, if
yer want to, but I tell you it's hell on earth. Most of you
know what's happened lately. When my old pal, Bob Moore, died,
I was in bad shape; but I never got away from what God did fer
him before he died. When I got out of bed, Jimmie took me to
the Mission and Jesus saved me the first night I went there.
My wife was saved the night before, and I tell you we're havin'
different times at our house nowadays. We had chicken fer dinner
to-day and we've had meat once a day fer two weeks. I've eat
garlic sausage and rye bread on the free lunch counter fer thirty
years, but now I'm eatin' chicken and givin' the old lady and
kids a chance ter eat too."
When he sat down some tried to clap their hands, but the crowd
did not feel that way. Every one knew that Bill had told the
truth and they were touched with the earnest way in which he
told his simple, straightforward story.
"Now, while you are quiet, I will ask our friend to sing for
us," said Morton. "Please come to the wagon, sister," he said
to Floe.
As she stepped upon the wagon every eye was upon her. She was
dressed in a dark tailor-made suit, very plain but neat. Mr.
Worden at the organ started to play softly. Floe walked to the
front of the wagon and looked down into the faces of many she
knew. Her large black eyes beamed with love for them all. She
was very pale, but calm, and as she stood there she looked like
a queen.
"It's Floe," said Dave. "She can beat 'em all singin'."
"Gee, don't she look swell! I'd hardly know her," said Gene
Dibble.
"Before I sing this song for you," she said in a clear, sweet
voice, "I wish to say something about it. Most of you, no doubt,
know this song and many of you like it, but to me it means more
than any song I could sing. It simply tells my life story. Let
me read it to you.
"When I was but a little child, how well I recollect,
How I would grieve my mother with my folly and neglect.
And now that she has gone to Heaven, I miss her tender care,
Oh, angels, tell my mother I'll be there.
"Tell mother I'll be there, in answer to her prayer,
This message, guardian angel, to her bear.
Tell mother I'll be there, Heaven's joys with her to share,
Yes, tell my darling mother, I'll be there.
"When I was often wayward, she was always kind and good,
So patient, gentle, loving, when I acted rough and rude.
My childhood griefs and trials, she would gladly with me share,
Oh, angels, tell my mother I'll be there.
"When I became a prodigal and left the old roof-tree,
She almost broke her loving heart in grieving after me.
And day and night she prayed to God to keep me in His care,
Oh, angels, tell my mother I'll be there.
"One day a message came to me, it bade me quickly come,
If I would see my mother ere the Saviour took her home.
I promised her before she died for Heaven to prepare,
Oh, angels, tell my mother I'll be there.
"This last verse has been enacted in my life within the past
week. Mrs. Morton had written home and told father and mother
that I was with her. This message came the next day, 'Come at
once. Mother is dying'; it was signed 'From your Father.' In
company with Mrs. Morton I reached the old home at four o'clock
the next afternoon. I used to think the place was lonely and
dreary, but I can never tell you how glad I was to set my foot
in the old yard once more. Everything looked so good to me,
and the same old apple tree where I used to swing when I was
a little girl seemed to welcome me home. Dear old Rover came
to meet me and, although it had been three years since he saw
me, he knew me. We hugged each other and in his dog way he made
me feel that I still had a place in his warm heart. The night
I left home, the old dog followed me down the road and it nearly
broke my heart when I had to send him back; he loved me when
I thought all the world hated me. As I reached the porch, father
came to the door. Oh, how different he looked! When I left home
he was strong and active and now he is bent with sorrow, sorrow
that my sin has brought to him. He took me in his arms and kissed
me again and again. I tried to ask him for forgiveness; but
he would not listen to me. 'You have been forgiven ever since
you left home that awful night, and I have searched for three
years to find you and tell you so. But come, my child, you must
see your mother; she has been calling for you ever since her
sickness.' He led the way into mother's bed chamber. 'Here's
daughter, Mother,' he said.
"'Oh, I knew you'd come,' she said with a feeble voice; 'I just
knew that God would send you to me before He called me home.
Raise me up, child, I can't see you.'
"I lifted her frail body and held her in my arms and--and--well,
after I made the promise that is in this last verse, she smiled
and, with her eyes turned heavenward, my dear, sweet mother
went to be with Jesus. You all know my life, how I suffered
for my sin; I tried to forget father, mother, home and God.
Loving hands have lifted me back to life once more and Jesus
has saved me from it all and I can truthfully say, 'Oh, angels,
tell my mother I'll be there.'"
The song that followed carried everything before it, and nearly
every one was weeping. The rich contralto voice was never better
and Floe was singing from her very soul. She forgot the people
around her, she was in another world. When the chorus had been
sung for the last verse the male quartet took it up, singing
softly, and seemed to carry that crowd into the very heaven
of which Floe had been singing.
Morton closed the meeting in prayer and was inviting them to
accept Jesus as their Saviour. While he was talking, Floe stepped
from the wagon to join Mrs. Morton; as she passed Jewey he made
a remark to her and insultingly referred to her past life.
Gene Dibble, hearing it, threw his coat to Dave Beach, and stepping
up to Jewey said, "Get out of your clothes and square yourself.
No man can insult a girl that's tryin' ter trot square and make
me like it." There was an old grudge of long standing between
these men and every one knew that a fight was unavoidable; both
men were strong and each had a reputation as a fighter to sustain.
"Give 'em room," cried Dave. "We'll see fair play."
"Oh, Mr. Dibble," cried Floe, "don't fight for me. I deserve
all he said and more."
Gene turned to Floe, and awkwardly raising his hat was about
to speak, when Jewey said, tauntingly, "Oh, I guess he ain't
looking fer it very bad; he was just bluffin' anyhow."
Jimmie took Floe by the hand and pulled her away from the ring
that Dave had formed by crowding the people back. Every one
wanted to see Jewey whipped, but all knew that Gene had his
hands full to do it.
It is not the purpose of the story to describe this fight, but,
from a fighter's standpoint, it was a beauty. Gene had just
come from the North woods and he was hard and strong, and had
better wind than his antagonist. It was give and take from the
start; blood was flowing freely on both sides. Jewey was becoming
winded and began to beat the air and strike very wild.
"Keep out an upper cut," said Dave, "you've got him coming all
right."
Gene pulled himself together and went in to finish his man.
With a right swing, he caught him square on the point of the
jaw; in short, as Dave said, "Gene won it in a walk. Bully for
Gene!"
On the way to the Mission, Morton sat with his head in his hands.
"Beat again," he said. "Every time I get that people together
the devil spoils the whole business."