Chapter 12

Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that he had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant. There was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said, so that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised.

Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart. He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human qualities, endears a man to his fellows.

Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all, acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church. Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic.

One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr. Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table, had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however, and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr. Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses. He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and sympathy.

The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of those men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not vote for him in the coming election.

Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even with no appearance of disapproval.

"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote against me."

He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily, becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for existing at all.

"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen. That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him."

Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself.

"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on, turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the good of the church must be considered first, as you say."

Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with a piteous appeal in his face.

"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you."

Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently.

"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were different"--

"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are, however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand."

"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore, all under ten."

The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable gravity.

"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested.

"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs. Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs. Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us."

Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on.

"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has something to do with your decision in regard to the election?"

"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop. It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church."

"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented blandly.

"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr. Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained."

"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but his eyes still kindly.

"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice."

"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let the consequences take care of themselves."

"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand that I personally wish you all success."

He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief.

"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally, you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful."

When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile, as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room.

"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore."

The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine, with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together.

"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch."

"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs. Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him."

"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in him."

"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response, "and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active part in this matter there are others she can influence."

"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way."

"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr. Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in opposition to the spirit of the age."

"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly.

"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other, "would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent and deadly peril of the church to-day."

"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague.

"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in sympathy with the tendencies of the time."

"You put it admirably," the other murmured.

Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden thought behind the words.

"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone.

The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together, talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her.

"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden better. I want to thank you with all my heart."

"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness. "The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you."

"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes, "that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized. It was like talking to a brother."

He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head.

"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?"

"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car."

"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently, "and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may want to read at the meeting."

"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character, "so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents."

The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend a meeting of the Charity Board.

"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control."

XIV

HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1.

Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work, and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning.

At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities; and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board. The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs. Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment unconscious of being beside her.

The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston, with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles.

"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into discredit with the class which we most wish to reach."

He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation.

"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church, and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with treason."

He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as if to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a keener emphasis.

"Neither have we escaped the accusation that we use the poor simply as a means of self-improvement. An old Irish woman in a tumble-down tenement house once said to me: 'Ye'll have no chance to work out your salvation doing for me.' I believe that there are many of the poor who more or less consciously have the same idea. They think that we make visiting them a sort of penance, and they resent it. I am not sure that I can find it in my heart to blame them."

"He is either sacrificing himself completely, or making one of those bold strokes that are irresistible," Ashe whispered to Mrs. Fenton; and she nodded assent.

"What should be," the speaker proceeded, amid a deep hush which showed the keen interest which his words had aroused, "is that we should dare to be consistent. As individuals and as churchmen we should exercise the virtue of charity, but both as individuals and as churchmen we are bound to see to it that we make our charity effective for the glory of God and the salvation of men. There is no stronger instrument in our hands than philanthropy, and not to utilize it for the good of the church is to be culpably negligent. I believe that charity should be the instrument of evangelization. The poor will have a reason for our interest in them. Let them have this. Let them believe, if they will, that we purchase their spiritual acquiescence by ministering to their bodily needs. Certainly I believe that we should limit our work to those who can be spiritually influenced. There are more of these than we can at present attend to, and I am in favor of boldly and consistently taking the position that as administrators of the bounties of the church we feel bound to use them for the advancement of the church. To aid the corrupt, the evil, the hardened without any attempt to draw them into the fold and without any pledge that they will be influenced, is simply to aid the avowed enemies of religion and to strengthen their hands against righteousness."