A SIGNIFICANT DINNER PARTY
Disappointment was in store for those who came to Christ Church on
the Sunday morning following the vestry meeting in the expectation of
hearing a continuance of the rector’s sermons on the duty of the rich
toward the poor, and of the poor toward the Church.
No larger congregation had gathered there at any time during the two
years’ pastorate of the Reverend Mr. Farrar. Pews that, by reason of
the voluntary absence of disaffected parishioners, would otherwise have
been vacant, were filled by curious and interested persons who seldom
went to any church. Long before the Venite was reached in the order of
service every seat was occupied.
But the sermon, forceful and eloquent though it was, dealt only with
the parable of the talents, and the lesson to be drawn from it.
Nevertheless the humble folk who listened to it went away, for the most
part, feeling that they had partaken of something that satisfied and
strengthened them.
There was some discussion among his parishioners as to whether the
rector had, after all, decided to comply with the expressed wish of
his vestrymen, and forego his public criticism of the existing social
order. Some of them said, with a knowing smile, that discretion was
often the better part of valor. They did not know the man. Nor had
they, as yet, heard of his brief address at the labor meeting in
Carpenter’s Hall the evening before. When, later, they did hear of
it, they were indignant. In their judgment it was utterly inexcusable
for the rector of Christ Church to take the stump at a political
meeting, held under the auspices of avowed agitators, for the purpose
of proclaiming to the non-churchgoing public his social heresies, and
of inviting the rabble to make itself indiscriminately at home in the
stately pews, and among the exclusive worshipers of Christ Church.
Truly he had belittled his calling, and mocked his vestry and affronted
his people. The bishop should be notified of his conduct without delay.
But the Reverend Mr. Farrar, having fully decided upon his course,
did not permit himself to be swerved from it by adverse criticism. He
had expected opposition, therefore he was not disappointed when he
received it in abundance. He had never thought that his path would be
unblocked. He was prepared to suffer for the cause he had espoused. He
was ready, if necessary, to be socially ostracized if his opponents
saw fit to emphasize their opposition in that manner. But he wished
that his wife might be spared. She was so sensitive, so weak, so
timid and soft-hearted, so dependent on the companionship and favor
of those who were now, for the most part, out of sympathy with him.
It was an unfortunate situation. Again the regret that she was not of
the stuff of which martyrs are made passed uneasily across his mind.
And on the heels of his regret there came an invitation that was not
only a reassurance to her, but might also be interpreted as a token of
sympathy with him. The rector and his wife were asked to dine at the
Tracys’ with a few friends. As to Mr. Tracy, the invitation was without
significance so far as it bore any relation to recent events. He never
concerned himself about controversies in the Church. He never discussed
religious topics with any one. The only kind of an opinion that could
be obtained from him was a professional opinion, duly considered,
delivered and paid for. With his wife of course it was different. She
had an opinion ready on every question that arose, and she was never
averse to expressing it.
Reading between the lines the rector could see that Mrs. Tracy’s
purpose in giving the invitation was to reassure Mrs. Farrar as to
her social standing, notwithstanding her husband’s heresies. And,
reading still farther between the lines, he believed that Ruth had
in mind his own encouragement in the course he was pursuing. He had
not seen her since the night of the vestry meeting, but word had come
to him that she was loyally supporting him in his interpretation of
true religion, and in his idea of the mission of the Church. And why
should she not support him? He had fully expected it of her. She
was alert, intelligent, conscientious, in complete accord with that
spirit of the times which made for progress. Somewhere she had imbibed
ideas of social justice that did not fit in harmoniously with the
practical if unstudied programme of her mother. Mrs. Tracy declared
that she had imbibed them at Bryn Mawr, from which institution she
had been graduated with high honors in the recent past. But Mr. Tracy
intimated that they were due to a tendency that she had inherited from
certain of her paternal ancestors who had been distinguished members
of the proletariat of their day. Be that as it may, her advocacy of a
reformation in the social order was open and well known, not only to
her intimates but to all of her friends. Philip Westgate was the only
one of them who refused to take her seriously. To him her reformatory
activity was only a manifestation of an exuberance of youth and
conscience which would soon exhaust itself in the face of unrewarded
tasks. She was too charming as a woman to remain long as a reformer.
Mr. Farrar had guessed, with reasonable accuracy, the respective
purposes which Mrs. Tracy and her daughter had in mind in sending out
their dinner invitations. It was true that Mrs. Tracy, sympathizing
deeply with the rector’s wife, desired to show her some attention of
sufficient moment to indicate to her that her social position was
intact. She said as much to her daughter Ruth in proposing the dinner.
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” replied Ruth, “to have Mr. and
Mrs. Farrar here. They are both delightful people, and at this time
especially they ought to be made to feel at home in every one of our
houses.”
“Oh,” responded the mother, “I have no sympathy for Mr. Farrar. He
deserves to have a social ban placed on him. He’s making himself so
perfectly ridiculous and――and obnoxious; yes, really obnoxious. I don’t
see what he can possibly be thinking about. I’m going to tell him so if
he comes, and I’m going to do it openly and aboveboard. But as for his
dear little wife, she must be protected against the consequences of his
folly so far as we are able to protect her. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t think it’s folly on his part, mother; I think it’s bravery.
But, whatever it is, she should not suffer. Whom shall we invite to
meet them?”
“That’s what worries me. So many of the best people have taken umbrage
at what Mr. Farrar’s been preaching that really I don’t know to whom he
would be acceptable.”
“Why not risk Mr. and Mrs. Claybank? or Colonel Boston and his wife?”
“Oh, dear me! Colonel Boston and Mr. Claybank can’t endure the man.
Jane Chichester said that both of them got fairly wild at the vestry
meeting when he insisted on his free pew nonsense.”
“Well, if you want some one who agrees with him, there are Mr. and Mrs.
Hazzard, and Mr. Emberly and his sister.”
“Ruth! What are you thinking of? Such ordinary people! Neither of those
women is on my calling list, and I haven’t even a speaking acquaintance
with the men. I haven’t swallowed Mr. Farrar’s ideas of social equality
yet; besides, this dinner is not on his account; it’s on Mrs.
Farrar’s. I feel so sorry for her. Jane Chichester says she suffers
terribly from what people say about her husband. Jane went to see her,
you know, and tried to comfort her.”
“I think I’d rather have one of Job’s comforters than to have Jane if I
were in distress.”
“I know she’s a dreadful gossip. But she means well; and she does an
immense amount of church work. I think I’ll invite Jane. She ought
to be perfectly acceptable to both Mr. and Mrs. Farrar. And the
Chichesters are one of the oldest and best families in the city.”
“Very well, mother. I’m satisfied. Who else?”
“Of course Phil and his mother. That goes without saying. Jane says
that Phil actually prevented a fight the night of the vestry meeting.”
“Oh, mother! That’s nonsense! Nobody thought of fighting. Phil told me
all about it after the exaggerated and ridiculous story had spread all
over the city. But Phil is a natural peacemaker, and while he doesn’t
agree with Mr. Farrar, I’m sure he is on friendly terms with him.”
“Well, why not invite Judge and Mrs. Bosworth? I understand the judge’s
attitude toward Mr. Farrar is about the same as Philip’s.”
“I think they will do nicely. But now you should have another man.”
“That’s true! Let me see! I have it; I’ll invite Barry!”
“Mother! Barry is so impossible as a dinner guest!”
“Why? He belongs to the wealthiest family in the city. He is of
excellent character and has the manners of a gentleman.”
“But his brains, mother, his brains!”
“I’ll admit that nature was not over lavish to Barry in that respect,
but he’ll do very well indeed. And besides it will please Jane to have
him here.”
“Yes, I suppose it will. Jane seems to be pursuing him with great
avidity.”
“And why shouldn’t she? Barry would make her a very good husband. The
marriage would unite two of the best families. Besides, you didn’t want
him yourself, why should you object to some other girl having him?”
“I don’t object. Jane is quite welcome to him so far as I’m concerned,
but――poor Barry! Think of what he’d have to listen to.”
“Well, if he’s like most men, what his wife would say would go in at
one ear and out at the other, anyway.”
“Yes, and in Barry’s case the passage from one ear to the other would
be so easy――nothing to interfere, you know.”
“Ruth! To talk that way about your guests! It’s positively sinful!”
“Well, I apologize. And I’m quite willing to admit that Barry has his
good points. But so many of them lie dormant, and Jane Chichester would
never be the woman to bring them out. I’ll tell you what Barry needs,
mother. He needs a wife, not necessarily of the cultured class, but
one who can supply what he lacks in intellect, and who is sufficiently
forceful and tactful to use him and his social position for the benefit
of themselves and the city. As he is now, unmarried, he is more or
less of a joke. With Jane Chichester as his wife, he would become
practically a nonentity. With such a woman as I would pick out for him,
his position and his happiness would be assured.”
“But where is the woman?”
“Oh, I haven’t the least idea. I haven’t so much as――mother!”
“Well, what is it?”
“I have a thought.”
“About what?”
“About whom Barry should marry.”
“Yes, you’ve just expressed it.”
“But I mean that I have the particular person in mind.”
“Well, who is it?”
“Why, it’s Mrs.―――― How foolish of me! I’ll not mention her name. I
have no right to. And I know very little about her anyway.”
“Is she a widow?”
“Yes; and very beautiful. I have seen her. And she is said to be very
bright mentally. There, never mind; have we settled on the guests?”
“Yes. Phil and his mother, Judge and Mrs. Bosworth, Jane and Barry,
to meet Mr. and Mrs. Farrar. That’s enough. I think Mrs. Farrar would
dread a larger company. But about Barry――――”
“I’m through talking about Barry, mother.”
“Well, then, about Jane――――”
“I’m through talking about Jane also.”
“Then write the invitations.”
Mr. and Mrs. Farrar came early on the evening of the dinner party. None
of the other guests had yet arrived. Mrs. Tracy went up-stairs with
the rector’s wife. Mr. Tracy was still engaged in the laborious task
of getting into his dinner coat. So Ruth and the rector entered the
library alone.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you,” said Ruth, “how thoroughly I approve
of your recent stand for social equality in the Church. You’ve known my
opinion, of course, but, in view of the adverse criticisms I’m afraid
you’ve been receiving, I thought you might like to know it again.”
“I am glad to know it again,” responded the rector, “and you are very
kind to give it to me. I value it because you know whereof you speak.
Both theoretically and practically you know the needs of the poor,
and the suspicions and aspirations of those in the humbler classes of
society.”
“And I know, too, that we shall never get those people into the
Church, nor keep them if we do get them, until we treat them as equals.
I quite agree with you that the first thing to do is to make all pews
free.”
“I am fully convinced of that, but I fear that I shall not be able to
get my vestry to agree with me.”
“Then we will elect a vestry that will agree with you.”
“That is easier said than done.”
“I’ll turn politician for the purpose. I’ll canvass the parish before
the Easter election. I’m determined to do what I can to abolish class
distinctions in Christ Church. Mother says I’m a fanatic. Phil more
than half suspects that she is right. Father doesn’t care.”
“You seem to have enlisted for the war.”
“I have. I’m at your command. I’m ready for any practical service to
which you wish to put me. I’m tired of seeing Christ Church a mere
fashionable Sunday club. I want to help make it a religious home for
everybody.”
“You are very brave and generous. But I’m afraid you haven’t counted
the cost.”
“What will it cost?”
“Possibly your social standing.”
“I can afford to lose that.”
“You will have to face opposition, ridicule, protest, misinterpretation
of your motives.”
“No doubt. But these things do not worry me in the least. Mr. Farrar,
my mind is made up. You cannot discourage me, nor drive me out of this
contest. I shall be with you――to the end.”
She stood in the soft glow of the shaded lamp, a picture of resolute
and splendid young womanhood; a modern Joan of Arc, as brave-souled
and pure-spirited as her prototype of old. The rector of Christ Church
stepped forward and took the hand she held out to him.
“You are an inspiration,” he said; “you have filled me with fresh
courage to-night. We shall fight together. I believe God will give us
the victory.”
Her hand lay in his, warm, firm, clinging; pledge of her loyalty to him
and of her faith in his ideals.
“There is one matter of immediate concern,” he added, after a moment,
“in which I want to ask your assistance.”
“You shall have it.”
“Thank you! You remember the Bradley case in court? The one that
resulted in an enforced verdict?”
“Very well, indeed. I have fought it over with Phil several times. But
I can’t convince him that the verdict was unjust.”
“I feel that it was. You know Bradley died?”
“Yes; and I know you said things at his burial for which his
fellow-workmen have been commending you ever since. His widow declined
to receive you, did she not?”
“She did. That is why I come to you for help. I want to ask if you
would be willing to call on her. She is a woman of great strength
of character, unusually intelligent, and has much influence in her
own community. She came to church on one or two occasions prior to
her husband’s death, and she was present at the service last Sunday
morning. While she is interested in the Church, she is distinctly
hostile to it. I wish greatly that her attitude of hostility might be
changed into one of at least friendliness, both for her own good and
for the influence which she can command.”
“I will call on her. I shall be very glad to. She is an unusual woman
in appearance. I have heard that she is unusual also in character and
ability. I’ll do my best to persuade her.”
“Thank you again. That’s splendid!”
What a comfort she was! What an inspiration! What a pity that she was
not the wife, not to become the wife of a progressive rector of an
advancing church!
Mrs. Tracy swept into the room, with Mrs. Farrar in tow.
“Oh, here you are!” she exclaimed, giving the rector a warm hand-grasp.
“I suppose Ruth has been vowing allegiance to your heresies, Mr.
Farrar. I can’t get her to look at the matter reasonably, and Philip
can’t either; and her father just smiles and says she’s of age and can
do as she wants to.”
“You’ll have to convert Mr. Farrar first, mother,” laughed Ruth, “and
then let him convert me.”
“It would serve you both right,” continued the mistress of the house,
“if we had Jim Dodder, the blacksmith, here to dine with you, with his
three hundred and fifty pound wife who is bald on the back of her head.”
“Oh, mother!” protested Ruth, “she doesn’t weigh a bit over two
hundred.”
“Three hundred if she weighs a pound,” insisted Ruth’s mother. “Why,
when she came the other day to call on our cook, the rocking-chair in
the maid’s sitting-room collapsed under her.”
“And shall that be attributed to her for unrighteousness?” asked the
rector.
“Now, Mr. Farrar,” remonstrated the hostess, “don’t try to evade the
issue. You know what I’m driving at. Your ideas of social equality are
perfectly ridiculous, I declare! Perfectly ridiculous!”
Mr. Farrar made no attempt to defend himself. Nor did he feel in the
least hurt. He was quite accustomed to Mrs. Tracy’s blunt, direct way
of expressing her opinions. He knew, moreover, that she had the kindest
of hearts, and always tempered her criticism with great mercy for her
victim.
“Mother’s afraid,” said Ruth, “that in the new régime she’ll have to
wear a calico gown and a green sunbonnet to church, so as not to arouse
the envy of the proletarians.”
“And you’ll have to wear them forever, in the New Jerusalem,” retorted
Mrs. Tracy, “if you keep on consorting with the lower classes here.”
Then Judge and Mrs. Bosworth came, closely followed by Barry and Miss
Chichester; and Mr. Tracy, having finally gotten into his evening coat,
joined the group in the library.
Every one was cordial to the rector, and more than cordial to the
rector’s wife. The party bade fair to be all that Mrs. Tracy and Ruth
had hoped for it. No untoward event occurred, and no unfortunate remark
was made, until the dinner had been more than half served. Then it was
Barry Malleson who blundered, as it might have been expected that he
would, into what should have been forbidden ground.
He turned to Judge Bosworth, who was sitting diagonally across the
table from him and said:
“This is the first opportunity I have had, Judge, to compliment you on
the masterly way in which you wound up that Bradley case against us. As
vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company I feel personally
grateful to you. You will kindly accept my thanks.”
The judge’s face flushed with the annoyance he felt.
“You owe me nothing,” he said, “not even thanks. The law in such cases
is well settled. There was no chance for me to do otherwise than as I
did.”
“Judge,” replied Barry, “you are too modest. It was your genius in
applying the law so that it should serve the best interests of society
that led to the judgment in our favor. The Malleson Manufacturing
Company, as the great industrial plant of this city, paying out
thousands of dollars weekly in wages, must not be subject to attack
by any common laborer who happens to get hurt while in our employ.
The lesson which the court has taught to that class of people will
doubtless prove to be a most salutary one.”
Then Barry, with a sense of duty well performed, resumed activity with
his fork. But Judge Bosworth’s face had grown redder, the rector’s
lips were tightly set, as if in an effort to prevent the escape from
them of inadvertent words, and Ruth, fearful of the upsetting of
her plans for a harmonious dinner, was nervously tapping the damask
cloth with a shapely finger. Miss Chichester, seeing that Barry had
unwittingly gotten himself into trouble, felt that it was her instant
duty to help him out of it.
“Oh, but Barry’s going to give Mrs. Bradley some money anyway, now that
her husband’s dead. Aren’t you, Barry? I call that very generous.”
“Yes,” replied Barry, “if she’ll take it. Something as a gift, you
know. Purely as a gift. No obligation connected with it at all.”
“A small sum as an honorarium, I suppose, Barry,” said Mr. Tracy, with
a twinkle in his eye.
“Exactly!” replied Barry, “an honorarium.” The word sounded good to
him. He meant to stow it away in his memory, for use on some other
occasion.
“But what if she won’t accept it?” asked Mrs. Tracy. “That kind of
people are so very independent.”
“Barry intends to keep calling on her and urging her, periodically,
until she does accept it. Don’t you, Barry?” inquired Westgate.
Mr. Tracy and Westgate never seemed able to let escape them a good
opportunity of having a little quiet amusement at Barry’s expense.
“Why,” replied Barry, “it might take one or two more visits to induce
her to be reasonable about it, I don’t know.”
“Well,” said Miss Chichester, “if she doesn’t take it the second time
it’s offered to her, she should never have another chance. Barry can’t
afford to be perpetually chasing after ungrateful people to force money
on them. Can you, Barry?”
“But what if Barry enjoys the chase?” asked Westgate.
Then the vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company awoke to
a dim consciousness of the fact that he was being made the subject of
gentle raillery.
“Oh, now, look here, Phil,” he said, “the woman’s handsome and all
that, you know; but really, belonging, as she does, to the laboring
class, it’s not to be presumed that she would drive so conservative a
man as I am suddenly daft.”
“She hasn’t driven you suddenly daft, Barry,” replied Westgate. “I’m
sure that no one who has known you for any length of time would accuse
her of having done that.”
“Philip,” remonstrated Ruth, “behave yourself!”
“And it seems to me,” added Mrs. Tracy, “that it’s entirely out of
place anyway to talk about the attractions of a widow whose husband has
only been dead for two or three weeks. A woman so recently bereaved is
much more likely to spend her time in prayer and meditation than in
making herself attractive to men.”
“Mrs. Bradley isn’t,” said Westgate. “Is she, Mr. Farrar? You’ve had
some talk with her along religious lines.”
In spite of Ruth’s warning glances, Westgate seemed determined that the
conversation should remain centered on Mrs. Bradley.
“I’m afraid,” replied the rector seriously, “that Mrs. Bradley is not
much given to prayer as yet. But I have strong hope that we shall
eventually make a good church-woman of her. With that in view I have
asked Miss Tracy to take an early opportunity to call on her.”
“Quite proper,” said Barry. “I heartily approve of it.”
“Oh, Ruth!” exclaimed Miss Chichester, “let me go with you when you go
to call.”
“No, Jane,” replied Ruth firmly, “I think I can do more with her if I
see her alone.”
It might have ended there if Mrs. Tracy had not seen fit to declare:
“Well, I don’t see any use, anyway, in chasing after people of that
class to get them into the Church. There’s plenty of material to be
worked on in our own grade of society. There are enough irreligious
persons in our own social set to crowd the church if they could all be
induced to attend the services. Mr. Farrar, why don’t you and Ruth get
after some of the upper-class derelicts? You might start with Effingham
G. Tracy.”
Mr. Tracy, sitting at the head of the table, smiled faintly but made no
response. He did not seem to be in the least concerned about his wife’s
opinion of him.
“Very good, Mrs. Tracy!” exclaimed Barry. “Very good, indeed! I think,
myself, that Mr. Tracy would be a proper subject for evangelization.”
Mr. Tracy’s smile broadened, but still he did not respond. Like another
celebrated character, he could be silent in seven languages. Then Mr.
Farrar replied to Mrs. Tracy’s question.
“We feel,” he said, “that those who have not had the advantages of
wealth and education and culture are entitled to our first efforts. The
Christian message is primarily to the humble and the poor.”
“There you go again,” she responded. “‘The humble and the poor,’
‘equality in the Church’ and all that. Upon my word, Mr. Farrar, if you
and Ruth had your way we should be hobnobbing to-night with the élite
of Factory Hill.”
“And why not?” The rector’s voice was gentle enough, but there was not
one of the company who did not feel the earnest thrill of it, the ring
of determination in it, not one, save Barry. He simply noticed that no
one else replied to the rector’s question, and he considered that it
was quite his duty to make a response.
“Oh, now, look here, Farrar,” he said. “You don’t mean that. Why should
we make companions of the kind of people who live on Factory Hill?”
“Because Jesus Christ did.”
Even Barry could realize, now, that the rector had picked up the
gauntlet thrown down to him by his hostess and her fatuous guest, and
stood ready to defend his ideal against all the company. The light in
his eye, the color in his cheeks, denoted the spirit and the zeal that
were blazing within him. For a moment no one spoke. Mrs. Bosworth sent
a warning glance across the table to her husband. Mrs. Farrar’s eyes
dropped, and her face paled with apprehension. Ruth looked appealingly
at her lover, as though to beg him not, at this time, to cross swords
with the rector. Even Mrs. Tracy, feeling that the situation was
rapidly getting beyond her control, sought some method of gently
relieving it. Turning to Barry she said, quietly:
“Now, Barry, don’t you and Mr. Farrar get into any argument. It
wouldn’t be a bit interesting to the rest of us. We’re just going to
convict Mr. Farrar and Ruth without giving them a chance to make any
defense. There, you’re convicted, both of you.”
“Of what?” asked the rector, smiling again.
“Heaven knows!” responded his hostess. “But I turn you over to Judge
Bosworth for sentence.”
The judge, falling easily into the drift of Mrs. Tracy’s thought, glad
to avert what had promised to be a most incongruous and unfortunate
incident, rose readily to the occasion.
“Very well,” he said. “The sentence of the court is that you, the
Reverend Robert Farrar, and you, Miss Ruth Tracy, each pay a visit
to Mrs. John Bradley, and undergo an imprisonment in her house at
hard labor with her for a period of at least twenty minutes, and that
you stand committed to Mr. Tracy’s views on church polity until this
sentence is complied with.”
Westgate broke in at once.
“Your Honor,” he said, “my client, Barry Malleson, desires to plead
guilty of a similar offense, provided he may receive a similar
sentence.”
With assumed gravity the judge commanded the prisoner to stand up.
Barry rose, looking somewhat bewildered. The comedy was being played
rather too rapidly for him to take it completely in as it progressed.
“Barry Malleson,” said the judge, “the court accepts your plea
of guilty. Your offense is aggravated beyond that of the other
defendants, in that, by your own confession, you have offered money to
a proletarian, by means of which she might have placed herself on a
par with the four hundred of this city. Nor are there any extenuating
circumstances in your case. The sentence of the court therefore is
that you also pay a visit to Mrs. John Bradley; that you undergo an
imprisonment in her house, for a period of at least forty minutes, that
you come away with a whole purse and a whole heart; and you are hereby
paroled in the custody of Miss Jane Chichester until this sentence is
complied with.”
“And I’ll see,” said Miss Chichester, “that Barry doesn’t break his
parole.”
It was most inconsequential foolery, but it served its purpose. The
strain was relaxed. The atmosphere was cleared. Mrs. Farrar and Mrs.
Bosworth were relieved of their apprehensions, and Ruth was once more
at ease. New subjects of conversation were introduced, and the dinner
progressed to a happy and harmonious close.
If Mr. Farrar had expected that either Judge Bosworth or Westgate
would show any lack of friendliness or loss of cordiality toward him,
he was agreeably disappointed. There appeared to be no change in the
attitude of either of them. So far as Westgate was concerned he still
had a most kindly feeling for the rector. The two men had been on
terms of more than usual intimacy. They were nearly of the same age,
possessed of similar cultured tastes, endowed with an equal degree of
intellectuality. It is true that while the minister was vigorous,
enthusiastic, and perhaps visionary, Westgate was calm, logical and
conservative. But their differing traits were complementary, and added
to, instead of detracting from, their liking for each other. Westgate
had watched, with deep regret, the rector’s gradual drift toward the
shoals of socialism. He feared that, sooner or later, lured on by these
beautiful fallacies which made so strong an appeal to his humanitarian
sense, the minister would wreck a career otherwise brilliant with
promise. He did not concede that he, himself, was lacking in the
broader vision, or that he had failed to discover the drift of humanity
toward a better social order. He freely admitted that such a betterment
was desirable; but he insisted that progressives and enthusiasts like
Farrar were going about the business in an utterly mistaken way, and
that the effect of their propaganda would be to retard instead of
to advance the coming of the ideal state. He had not yet found the
opportunity to have that talk with the rector which he had declared
to the vestry he intended to have. It was unfortunate, too, because
he expected to leave the city the following day for an extended trip
in the West; and after his return it might be too late. Events often
follow each other rapidly in affairs like these. While coffee was being
served in the library it occurred to him that he might have a brief
interview with the minister on this occasion. It would be better than
none at all. Excusing themselves on Westgate’s plea that he desired
to talk over some Church matters with the minister before going West,
they entered the den of the master of the house, adjoining the library.
Closeted here, with fragrant wreaths of tobacco smoke curling toward
the ceiling, the two men plunged at once into friendly combat. They
discussed socialism in all of its phases as expounded by its great
protagonists, from Marx and Engel down to Spargo and Hillquit.
They dissected the doctrine of the materialistic conception of
history, the doctrine of surplus values, of collective ownership, of
the distribution of wealth among the workers, in short all of the
material doctrines predicated on socialism. But there was little
yielding on either side, and they found little common ground. When they
advanced, in the argument, to that modified form of socialism advocated
by some Christian workers, including Farrar himself, they found still
fewer points of agreement. The rector contended that the ideals of
socialism were entirely consistent with, and simply an evolution of
the doctrines propounded by the Founder of Christianity who was,
Himself, distinctly of the leveling type; that the materialism which
had been injected into the socialistic philosophy was due entirely
to the personal prejudices, and these in turn to the environment, of
some of the great leaders of the movement, and was not inherent in the
philosophy itself. He insisted that the anti-religious and unmoral, if
not immoral, vagaries that had attached themselves to the socialistic
faith could and eventually would be swept away, leaving a body of
doctrine which might and ought to be adopted by every sincere advocate
of the coming of the kingdom of Christ.
To which Westgate replied that Jesus Christ was not a socialist,
that while the government of His time and country was honeycombed
with corruption, and brutal in its oppression of the common people,
He neither attacked it, nor made any attempt to reform existing
political or social conditions. He condemned the rich because the
riches of His day were mostly ill-gotten, and He pitied and tried to
comfort the poor because they were, of all men of His generation,
most miserable. But His chief concern, and His constant plea, was
for the spiritual regeneration of the individual man. Moreover,
that, since socialism declared the evils of society to be solely the
product of blind economic forces, and not, in any sense, the result
of individual unrighteousness, and since it denied any spiritual
incentive to good behavior, and made economic justice the sole factor
in the establishment of right relations between man and man, it was
therefore, and must of necessity be, diametrically opposed, not only
to Christianity but to all religions. And its advocacy of freedom
from certain moral restraints, particularly the avowed doctrine
of practically all of its great propagandists――a doctrine flowing
naturally and necessarily from its basic theory――to the effect that
the bonds of marriage should be assumed and thrown off, as the amorous
fancy of those concerned might dictate, that divorce should be granted
freely, without stated cause, at the will of the parties; this in
itself was sufficient to put socialism, in any form, outside the pale
of the Church, and make it abhorrent to Christian civilization.
So they talked and argued, always in perfect good nature, always with
a feeling of personal friendliness, but they reached no common ground.
The rector would not yield his idealism. Westgate would not yield his
conservatism. Then they came directly to the question of the trouble
in the Church. Again Mr. Farrar explained his ambition to make Christ
Church a church of the people. He had the kindliest feeling toward all
of his parishioners. He would not offend nor hurt any man willingly or
wantonly. But his whole heart went out to the hundreds and thousands
in the city who were deprived of the benefits and comforts of religion
because of the social attitude toward them of those in the churches.
There must come a change in Christ Church. He prayed that it might be a
peaceful one; but if a conflict should be necessary in order to effect
it, then he would welcome the conflict.
Westgate assured him that so far as his concern for the poor and the
churchless was concerned he did not stand alone; that he himself
was ready to adopt any course that would permanently better their
condition, either religious or secular, so long as it did not conflict
with the rights and the welfare of the parish at large; but that
he was not willing to sacrifice the mental and physical comfort
and self-respect of the bulk of the parishioners for the sake of
temporarily gratifying the class-consciousness of a portion of the
community that Christ Church could never hope to retain. He pointed
out, moreover, in plain terms, the probable result of persistence
by the rector in the course which he had marked out. The financial
supporters of the church would become lukewarm, or openly antagonistic.
The revenues would decrease. The proper work of the church would
languish. If the conflict continued, enmity would be aroused, hatred
would be engendered, the parish would be split into warring factions, a
breach would be opened that years would not serve to close.
“It was proof of the true Messiah,” replied the rector, “that the poor
had the gospel preached to them. Would you, because of these material
dangers which I grant you are imminent, have me fail to do my duty to
the poor whom Christ loved?”
“By no means,” said Westgate. “But your proper duty to the poor can
be performed without sacrificing the interests of the rich and the
well-to-do, to whom you also owe a duty, and whose souls may be
as precious in the sight of the Almighty as are the souls of the
destitute. A soul is a soul, regardless of its physical environment.”
“But Christ was the Master and the Judge of souls. And He did not favor
the rich. His entire concern was for the poor. I consider my paramount
duty, in accordance with His teaching, to be to the poor.”
“And in the performance of that supposed duty you are willing to bring
about the destruction of Christ Church?”
“My purpose is not to bring about the destruction of Christ Church,
but to bring about the destruction of that spirit of selfishness and
exclusiveness in the church which is even now destroying it.”
It was plain to Westgate that the rector would not listen to reason,
and that argument must give way to action. When he next spoke it was
with determination.
“We shall not permit you to send this church to wreck, Mr. Farrar.”
“God forbid that I should do so! It is my purpose to make Christ Church
bigger, stronger, more spiritual than she has been before in all her
history.”
“You are a visionary.”
“I am a prophet. You shall see.”
“Very well.”
Westgate rose and discarded the stump of his cigar. “I am not with you;
therefore I shall be against you. Let me make that plain.”
“I am sorry. You would have been a splendid comrade in the fight.”
The rector was going on to say something more, but there came a knock
at the door leading to the library, and he opened it. Mrs. Tracy stood
there with an inquiring look on her face.
“May I ask,” she said, “when this star-chamber session is to end?”
“It is at an end now, Mrs. Tracy,” replied Westgate.
“Well, I should hope so,” she responded. “Do you men know how long you
have been closeted together? Exactly an hour and forty minutes. Ruth
and Jane have played all the music they know; Barry’s told all the
funny stories he can remember; Mrs. Farrar’s yawning, and Mrs. Bosworth
says she’s simply got to go home. So I think it’s time for you to come
out and apologize.”
They did come out and apologize. Westgate took all the blame for their
apparent rudeness on his shoulders; and Miss Chichester promised
forgiveness if only they would disclose what they had been talking
about. She surmised, but she never knew.
At any rate, Mrs. Tracy’s purpose in giving the dinner had been
accomplished; the apprehensive soul of Mrs. Farrar had, for the time
being, been reassured, and Ruth had had an opportunity to show to
Mr. Farrar that he was not yet _persona non grata_ to certain of the
wealthy members of his parish.
During the few minutes that Westgate had alone with Ruth before leaving
the Tracy home, he took occasion to say to her:
“I’ve had it out with the rector to-night, but he’ll not be convinced.
I have told him that, in my humble judgment, he is steering Christ
Church straight on the rocks.”
“I too,” she replied, “have talked with him to-night, and I have told
him that in my humble judgment he is absolutely in the right, and that
I shall be with him to the end.”
“Ruth, I am very sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry?”
“Because you will not only help this man to wreck the church, but you
will do yourself a great injustice.”
“The church will not be wrecked, and I am willing to sacrifice myself
for the sake of the disinherited poor.”
“Then this dreamer has not only blinded you to the fate of Christ
Church, but has led you to the brink of self-immolation?”
“He is not a dreamer, Philip. He has not blinded me, nor has he sought
to blind me. He has not led me, nor has he sought to lead me. I have
offered myself voluntarily for service in his cause. I believe in him,
and in his ideals, and in his method of applying Christianity to the
conditions that surround us. I have enlisted for the war under his
command, and I have told him so.”
Looking on her as she stood there, erect, clear-eyed and self-confident,
Westgate could have no doubt of her entire belief in the rector, and of
her complete absorption in his cause. His heart was stirred with keen
regret and sharp foreboding, for he could see only sorrow and bitter
disappointment for her, long before the end of this chimerical crusade
could be reached. And yet he was powerless to hold her back. He knew
that in her present condition of mind neither argument nor entreaty
would be of any avail. She must be permitted to go her way unchecked
until the day of final disillusionment. He prayed that that day might
speedily come, with only a modicum of disaster.
“We’ll not quarrel about it now, dear,” he said. “It will be a good
many days before I shall see you again, and we must part, to-night, as
lovers.”
Holding his hands she looked up into his face with moist eyes.
“If I could only have you with me in the fight,” she murmured; “you
would make such a splendid comrade.”
He did not reply at once. The similarity of her expression with that
used by the rector earlier in the evening struck in upon him ominously.
“You will have me,” he said at last, “to rescue you, and bind up your
wounds when the battle goes against you.”
“And are you not afraid that you will be giving aid and comfort to the
enemy?”
“Oh, no! I will simply be taking the part of the Good Samaritan.”
He had drawn her into his arms, and, though clouds and darkness
obscured the future, there could be no doubt that, to-night at least,
they were still lovers.