Chapter 33

The rest of the winter sped away quickly. Courtland was very happy. Pat looked at him enviously sometimes, yet he was content to have it so. His old friend had not quite so much time to spend with him, but when he came for a walk and a talk it was with a heartiness that satisfied. Pat had long ago discovered that there was a girl at Stephen Marshall's old home, and he sat wisely quiet and rejoiced. What kind of a girl he could only imagine from Courtland's rapt look when he received a letter, and from the exquisite photograph that presently took its place on Courtland's desk. He hoped to have opportunity to judge more accurately when the summer came, for Mother Marshall had invited Pat to come out with Courtland in the spring and spend a week, and Pat was going. Pat had something to confess to Mother Marshall.

Courtland went out twice that summer, once for a week as soon as his classes were over. It was then that Bonnie promised to marry him.

Mother Marshall had a lot of sense and took a great liking to Pat. One day she took him up in Stephen's room and told him all about Stephen's boyhood. Pat, great big, baby giant that he was, knelt down beside her chair, put his face in her lap, and blurted out the tale of how he had led the mob against Stephen and been indirectly the cause of his death.

Mother Marshall heard him through with tears of compassion running down her cheeks. It was not quite news to her, for Courtland had told her something of the tale, without any names, when he had confessed that he held the garments of those who did the persecuting.

"There, there!" said Mother Marshall, patting the big fellow's dark head. "You never knew what you were doing, laddie! My Steve always wanted a chance to prove that he was brave. When he was just a little fellow and read about the martyrs, he used to say: 'Would I have that much nerve, mother? A fellow never can _tell_ till he's been _tested_!' And so I'm not sorry he had his chance to stand up before you all for what he thought was right. Did you see my boy's face, too, when he died?"

"Yes," said Pat, lifting his head earnestly. "I'd just picked up a little kid he sent up to the fire-escape, and saw his face all lit up by the fire. It looked like the face of an angel! Then I saw him lift up his hands and look up like he saw somebody above, and he called out something with a sort of smile, as if he was saying he'd be up there pretty soon! And then--he fell!"

The tears were raining down Mother Marshall's cheeks by now, but there was a smile of triumph in her eyes.

"He wanted to be a missionary, my Stephen did, only he was afraid he wouldn't be able to preach. He always was shy before folks. But I guess he preached his sermon!" She sighed contentedly.

"He sure did!" said Pat. "I never forgot that look on his face, nor the way he took our roughneck insults. None of the fellows did. It made a big impression on us all. And when Court began to change, came out straight and said he believed in Christ, and all that, it knocked the tar out of us all. Stephen hasn't got done preaching yet. You ought to hear Court tell the story of his death. It bowled me over when I heard it, and everywhere he tells it men believe! Wherever Paul Courtland tells that story Stephen Marshall will be preaching."

Mother Marshall stooped over and kissed Pat's astonished forehead. "You have made me a proud and happy mother to-day, laddie! I'm glad you came."

Pat, suddenly conscious of himself, stumbled, blushing, to his feet. "Thanks, Mother! It's been great! Believe me, I sha'n't ever forget it. It's been like looking into heaven for this poor bum. If I'd had a home like this I might have stood some chance of being like your Steve, instead of just a roughneck athlete."

"Yes, I know," smiled Mother Marshall. "A dear, splendid roughneck, doing a big work with the boys! Paul has told me all about it. You're preaching a lot of sermons yourself, you know, and going to preach some more. Now shall we go down? It's time for evening prayers."

So Pat put his strong arm around Mother Marshall's plump waist, drew one of her hands in his, and together they walked down to the parlor, where Bonnie was already playing "Rock of Ages." It seemed to Pat the kingdom of heaven could be no sweeter, for this was the kingdom come on earth. When he and Courtland were up-stairs in their room, and all the house quiet for the night, Pat spoke:

"I've sized it up this way, Court. There ain't any dying! That's only an imaginary line like the equator on the map. It's heaven or hell, both now and hereafter! We can begin heaven right now if we want to, and live it on through; and that's what these folks have done. You don't hear them sitting here fighting like the professors used to do, about whether there's a heaven or a hell! They know there's both. They're living in one and pulling folks out of the other, hard as they can; and they're too blamed busy, following out the Bible and seeing it prove itself, to listen to all the twaddle to prove that it ain't so! I sure am darned glad you gave me the tip and I got a chance to get in on this little old game, for it's the best game I know, and the best part about it is it lasts forever!"

Tennelly was away all that summer, doing the fashionable summer resorts and taking a California trip. The next winter he spent in Washington. Uncle Ramsey had him at work, and Courtland ran on him in his office once, when he took a hurried trip down to see what he could do for the eight-hour bill. Tennelly looked grave and sad. He was touchingly glad to see Courtland. They did not speak of Gila once, but when Courtland lay in his sleepless sleeper on the return trip that night Tennelly's face haunted him, the wistfulness in it.

A few months later Tennelly wrote a brief note announcing the birth of a daughter, named Doris Ramsey after his grandmother. The tone of his letter seemed more cheerful.

Courtland was so happy that winter he could scarcely contain himself. Pat had great times kidding him about the Western mail. Courtland was supplying a vacant church down in the old factory district in the city, and Pat often went along. On one of these Sunday afternoons late in the spring they were walking down a street they did not often take, and suddenly Courtland stopped with an exclamation of dismay and looked up at a great blaring sign wired on a big old-fashioned church:

CHURCH OF GOD FOR SALE

was the startling statement.

Pat looked up at the sign and then at Courtland's face, figuring out, as he usually could, what was the matter with Court.

"Gosh! That's darned tough luck!" he said, sympathetically.

"It's terrible!" said Courtland.

"H'm!" said Pat, again. "Whose fault do you s'pose it is? Not God's. Somebody fell down on his job, I reckon! Congregation gone to the devil, very likely!"

"Wait!" said Courtland, gravely. "I must find out."

He stepped into a little cigar-store and asked some questions. "You were right, Pat," he said, when he came out. "The congregation has gone to the devil. They have moved up into the more fashionable part of town, and the church is for sale. There's only one member of the old church left down here. I'm going around to see him. Pat, that sign mustn't stay up there! It's a disgrace to God."

"What could you do about it?" Pat was puzzled.

"Do about it? Why, man, I can buy it if there isn't any other way!"

They went to see the church member, who proved to be a good old soul, but deaf and old and very poor. He said they had to give the church up; they couldn't make it pay. All the rich people had moved away. He shook his head sadly and told how he and his wife were married there. He hobbled over and showed them how to get in a side door.

The yellow afternoon sun was sifting through windows of cheap stained glass, and fell in mellow quiet upon the faded cushions and musty ingrain carpet. The place had that deserted look of having been abandoned, yet Courtland, as he stood in the shadow under the old balcony, seemed to see the Presence of the eternal God standing up there behind the pulpit, seemed to feel the hallowed memories of long ago, and scent the lingering incense of all the prayers that had gone up from all the souls who had worshiped there in the years that were past.

"They think an iron-foundry's going to buy it, or else some one may make a munition-factory out of it," the old man contributed. "This war's bringing a big change over things."

"Their plowshares into swords, their pruning-hooks into spears," chanted an unseen voice, sadly, behind Courtland. His face set sternly. He turned to Pat:

"I can't let that happen, old man!" he said. "I'm going to buy it if I can. Come, we'll go and look it up!"

Pat looked at his companion with awe. He had always known he was rich, but--to purchase a church as if it were a jack-knife! That sure was going some!

Courtland did not return to the seminary until Tuesday morning. By that time he had bought his church. It didn't take him long to come to an agreement. The Church of God was in a bad way and was willing to take up with almost any offer that would cover their liabilities.

"Well," said Pat, "that sure was some hustle! There's one thing, Court. You won't have to candidate for any church like those other guys in your little old seminary. You just went out and bought one; though I surmise you and I'll have to do some scrubbing if you calculate to hold services there very soon."

"H'm!" said Courtland. "I hadn't thought of that, Pat! Maybe that would be a good idea!"

"Holy Mackinaw, man! What did you buy it for, then, if you didn't intend to use it? Do it just to have the right to tear down that blooming sign, did you?"

"That's about the size of it," smiled Courtland as he halted in front of his newly acquired church and looked up at it with interest. "But now I've got it I might as well use it. Suppose we start a mission here, Pat, you and I? Let's cut that sign down first, and then, Pat, I'm going to hunt up a stone-cutter. This church has got to have a new name. 'Church of God for sale' has killed this one! A church that used to belong to God and doesn't any more is what that means. They have sold the Church of God, but His Presence is still here!"

A few weeks later, when the two came down to look things over, the granite arch over the old front doors bore the inscription in letters of stone:

CHURCH OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD

Courtland stood looking for a moment, and then he turned to Pat eagerly. "I'm going to get possession of the whole block if I can; maybe the opposite one, too, for a park, and you've got to be physical director! I'll turn the kids and the older boys over to you, old man!"

Pat's eyes were full of tears. He had to turn away to hide them. "You're a darned old dreamer!" he said, in a choking voice.

So the rejuvenation of the old church went on from week to week. The men at the seminary grew curious as to what took Pat and Courtland to the city so much. Was it a girl? It finally got around that Courtland had a rich and aristocratic church in view, and was soon to be married to the daughter of one of its prominent members. But when they began to congratulate him, Courtland grinned.

"When I preach my first sermon you may all come down and see," he replied, and that was all they could get out of him.

Courtland found that a lot had to be done to that church. Plaster was falling off in places, the pews were getting rickety. The pulpit needed doing over, and the floor had to be recarpeted. But it was wonderful what a difference it all made when it was done. Soft greens and browns replaced the faded red. The carpet was thick and soft, the cushions matched. Bonnie had given careful suggestions about it all.

"You could have got along without cushions, you know," said Pat, frugally, as he seated himself in appreciative comfort.

"I know," said Courtland, "but I want this to look like a _church_! Some day when we get the rest of the block and can tear down the buildings and have a little sunlight and air, we'll have some _real windows_ with wonderful gospel stories on them, but these will do for now. There's got to be a pipe-organ some day, and Bonnie will play it!"

Pat always glowed when Courtland spoke of Bonnie. He never had ceased to be thankful that Courtland escaped from Gila's machinations. But that very afternoon, as Courtland was preparing to hurry to the train, there came a note from Pat, who had gone ahead, on an errand:

DEAR COURT,--Tennelly's in trouble. He's up at his old rooms. He wants you. I'll wait for you down in the office.

PAT.