CHAPTER XII
A MORNING AT ST. PAUL'S
Wheaton ran away from the livelier spirits of the Knights of Midas, whourged him to join in a celebration at the club after the ball broke up.He pleaded the necessity of early rising and went home and to bed,where, however, he slept little, but lay dreaming over the incidents ofthe night, particularly those in which he had figured. Many people hadcongratulated him, and while there was an irony in much of this, as ifthe whole proceeding were a joke, he had taken it all in the spirit, inwhich it had been offered. He felt a trifle anxious as to his receptionat the breakfast table as he dressed, but his mirror gave himconfidence. The night had been an important one for him, and he couldafford to bear with his fellows, who would, he knew, spare him no morethan they spared any one else in their chaff.
They flaunted at him the morning papers with portraits of the king andqueen of the ball bracketed together in double column. He took thepapers from them as he replied to their ironies, and casually inspectedthem while the Chinaman brought in his breakfast.
"Didn't expect to see you this morning," said Caldwell, theTranscontinental agent, stirring his coffee and winking at Brown, thesmelter manager. "You society men are usually shy at breakfast."
Wheaton put down his paper carelessly, and spread his napkin.
"Oh, a king has to eat," said Brown.
"Well," said Wheaton, with an air of relief, "it's worth something to bealive the morning after."
But they had no sympathy for him.
"Listen to him," said Caldwell derisively, "just as if he didn't wish hecould do it all over again to-night."
"Not for a million dollars," declared Wheaton, shaking his headdolefully.
"Yes," said Captain Wheelock, "I suppose that show last night bored younearly to death."
"I'm always glad to see these fellows sacrifice themselves for thepublic good," said Brown. "Wheaton's a martyr now, with a nice pinkhalo."
"Well, it doesn't go here," said the army officer severely. "We've gotto take him down a peg if he gets too gay."
"Why, we've already got one sassiety man in the house," said Caldwell,"and that's hard enough to bear." He referred to Raridan, who wasbreakfasting in his room.
They were addressing one another, rather than Wheaton, whose presencethey affected to ignore.
"I suppose there'll be no holding him now," said Caldwell. "It's likethe taste for strong drink, this society business. They never get overit. It's ruined Raridan; he'd be a good fellow if it wasn't for that."
"Humph! you fellows are envious," said Wheaton, with an effort atswagger.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Brown, with rising inflection. "I suppose anyof us could do it if we'd put up the money."
"Well," said Wheaton, "if they let you off as cheaply as they did me,you may call it a bargain."
"Oh, he jewed 'em down," persisted Caldwell, explaining to the others,"and he has the cheek to boast of it. I'll see that Margrave hearsthat."
"Yes, you do that," Wheaton retorted. "Everybody knows that Margrave'san easy mark." This counted as a palpable hit with Brown and Wheelock.Margrave was notorious for his hard bargains. Wheaton gathered up hispapers and went out.
"He takes it pretty well," said Caldwell as they heard the door closeafter Wheaton. "He ought to make a pretty good fellow in time if hedoesn't get stuck on himself."
"Well, I guess Billy Porter'll take him down if he gets too gay,"exclaimed Brown.
"Porter may leave it to his daughter to do that," said Caldwell, shakingout the match with which he had lighted his cigar, and dropping it intohis coffee cup.
"It'll never come to that," returned Brown.
"You never can tell. People were looking wise about it last night," saidCaptain Wheelock, who was a purveyor of gossip.
"Don't trouble yourself," volunteered Caldwell, who read the societyitems thoroughly every morning and created a social fabric out of them."I guess Warry will have something to say to that."
At the bank Wheaton found that the men who came in to transact businesshad a knowing nod for him, that implied a common knowledge of matterswhich it was not necessary to discuss. A good many who came to his deskasked him if he was tired. They referred to the carnival ball as a"push" and said it was "great" with all the emphasis that slang hasimparted to these words.
Porter came down early and enveloped himself in a cloud of smoke. Thisin the bank was the outward and visible sign of a "grouch." When hepressed the button to call one of the messengers, he pushed it long andhard, so that the boys remarked to one another that the boss had beenout late last night and wasn't feeling good.
Porter did not mention the ball to Wheaton in any way, except when hethrew over to him a memorandum of the bank's subscription to the fund,remarking: "Send them a check. That's all of that for one year."
Wheaton made no reply, but did as Porter bade him. It was his businessto accommodate himself to the president's moods, and he was verysuccessful in doing so. A few of the bank's customers made use of him asa kind of human barometer, telephoning sometimes to ask how the old manwas feeling, and whether it was a good time to approach him. Heattributed the president's reticence this morning to late hours, and wasvery careful to answer promptly when Porter spoke to him. He knew thatthere would be no recognition by Porter of the fact that he hadparticipated in a public function the night before; he would have togather the glory of it elsewhere. He thought of Evelyn in moments whenhis work was not pressing, and wondered whether he could safely ask herfather how she stood the night's gaiety. It occurred to him to pay hiscompliments by telephone; Raridan was always telephoning to girls; buthe could not quite put himself in Raridan's place. Warry presumed a gooddeal, and was younger; he did many things which Wheaton consideredundignified, though he envied the younger man's ease in carrying themoff.
One of Porter's callers asked how Miss Porter had "stood the racket," ashe phrased it.
"Don't ask me," growled Porter. "Didn't show up for breakfast."
William Porter did not often eat salad at midnight, but when he did itpunished him.
As Wheaton was opening the afternoon mail he was called to thetelephone-box to speak to Mrs. Jordan, a lady whom he had met at theball. She was inviting a few friends for dinner the next evening to meetsome guests who were with her for the carnival. She begged that Mr.Wheaton would pardon the informality of the invitation and come. Heanswered that he should be very glad to come; but when he got back tohis desk he realized that he had probably made a mistake; the Jordanswere socially anomalous, and there was nothing to be gained bycultivating them. However, he consoled himself with the recollection ofone of Raridan's social dicta--that a dinner invitation should never bedeclined unless smallpox existed in the house of the hostess. He swayedbetween the disposition to consider the Jordans patronizingly and anhonest feeling of gratitude for their invitation, as he bent over hisdesk signing drafts.
He found the Jordans very cordial. He was their star, and they mademuch of him; he was pleased that they showed him a real deference; whenhe spoke at the table, the others paused to listen. He knew the otheryoung men slightly; one was a clerk in a railway office, and the otherwas the assistant manager of the city's largest dry goods house. Theguests were young women from Mrs. Jordan's old home, in Piqua, Ohio.(Mrs. Jordan always gave the name of the state.) Wheaton realized thatthese young women were much easier to get on with than Miss Porter andother young women he had known latterly; they were more pointedlyinterested in pleasing him.
After a few days the carnival seemed to be forgotten; Wheaton's fellowsat The Bachelors' stopped joking him about it. Raridan had neverreferred to it at all. On Sunday the newspapers printed a resume of thesocial features of the carnival, and Wheaton read the familiar story,and all the other social news in the paper, in bed. He noticed with atwinge an item stating that Mrs. J. Elihu Jordan had entertained atdinner on Thursday evening for the Misses Sweetser, of Piqua, but wasrelieved to find that neither paper printed the names of the guests. T
hebachelors were very lazy on Sunday morning, excepting Raridan, whoattended what he called "early church." This practice his fellow-lodgersaccepted in silence as one of his vagaries. That a man should go tochurch at seven o'clock and then again at eleven, signified mereeccentricity to Raridan's fellow-boarders, who were not instructed incatholic practices, but divided their own Sunday mornings much morerationally between the barber shop, the post-office and their places ofbusiness.
It was a bright morning; the week just ended had been, in a sense,epochal, and Wheaton resolved to go to church. It had been his habit toattend services occasionally, on Sunday evenings, at the People'sChurch, whose minister frequently found occasion to preach on topics ofthe day or on literary subjects. Doctor Morningstar was the most popularpreacher in Clarkson; the People's Church was filled at all services; onSunday evenings it was crowded. Doctor Morningstar's series of lectureson the Italian Renaissance, illustrated by the stereopticon, and hiseven more popular course of lectures on the Victorian novelists, hadappealed to Wheaton and to many; but the People's Church was notfashionable; he decided to go this morning to St. Paul's, the EpiscopalCathedral. It was the oldest church in town, and many of the firstfamilies attended there. All fashionable weddings in Clarkson were heldin the cathedral, not because it was popularly supposed to confer aspiritual benefit upon those who were blessed from its altar, but forthe more excellent reason that the main aisle of this Gothic edificegave ample space for the free sweep of bridal trains, and the chancellent itself charmingly to the decorative purposes of the florist.
Wheaton found Raridan breakfasting alone, the others of the mess nothaving appeared. Raridan's good morning was not very cordial; he hadworn a gloomy air for several days. Whenever Raridan seemed out ofsorts, Caldwell always declared solemnly that Warry had been writingpoetry.
"Going to church as usual?" Wheaton asked amiably.
Every Sunday morning some one asked Raridan this question; he supposedWheaton was attempting to be facetious.
"Yes," he answered patiently; and added, as usual, "better go along."
"Don't care if I do," Wheaton replied, carelessly.
Raridan eyed him in surprise.
"Oh! glad to have you."
They walked toward the cathedral together, Wheaton satisfied that hisown hat was as shiny and his frock coat as proper as Raridan's; theirgloves were almost of the same shade. There was a stir in the vestibuleof the cathedral, which many people in their Sunday finery wereentering. Wheaton had never been in an Episcopal church before; it allseemed very strange to him--the rambling music of the voluntary, theunfamiliar scenes depicted on the stained glass windows, the soft lightthrough which he saw well-dressed people coming to their places, and thescent of flowers and the faint breath of orris from the skirts of women.The boy choir came in singing a stirring processional that was bothchallenge and inspiration. It was like witnessing a little drama: theprocession, the singing, the flutter of surplices as the choir foundtheir stalls in the dim chancel. Raridan bowed when the processionalcross passed him. Wheaton observed that no one else did so.
A young clergyman began reading the service, and Wheaton followed it inthe prayer book which Raridan handed him with the places marked. He feltashamed that the people about him should see that the places had to befound for him; he wished to have the appearance of being very much athome. He suddenly caught sight of Evelyn Porter's profile far across thechurch, and presently her father and their guests were disclosed. Hesoon discovered others that he knew, with surprise that so many men ofunimpeachable position in town were there. Here, then, was a stage ofdevelopment that he had not reckoned with; surely it was a veryrespectable thing to go to church,--to this church, at least,--on Sundaymornings. The bewilderment of reading and chanting continued, and hewondered whether there would be a sermon; at Doctor Morningstar's thesermon was the main thing. He remembered Captain Wheelock's joke withRaridan, that "the Episcopal Church had neither politics nor religion;"but it was at least very aristocratic.
He stood and seated himself many times, bowing his head on the seat infront of him when the others knelt, and now the great figure of BishopDelafield came from somewhere in the depths of the chancel and rose inthe pulpit. The presence of the bishop reminded him unpleasantly of thePorters' sun-porch and of the disgraceful encounter there. Thecongregation resettled themselves in their places with a rustle ofskirts and a rattling of books into the racks. It was not often that thebishop appeared in his cathedral; he was rarely in his see city onSundays; but whenever he preached men listened to him. Wheaton wasrelieved to find that there was to be a cessation of the standing up andsitting down which seemed so complicated.
He now found that he could see the Porter pew easily by turning his headslightly. The roses in Evelyn's hat were very pretty; he wonderedwhether she came every Sunday; he concluded that she did; and he decidedthat he should attend hereafter. The bishop had carried no manuscriptinto the pulpit with him, and he gave his text from memory, resting onearm on the pulpit rail. He was an august figure in his robes, and heseemed to Wheaton, as he looked up at him, to pervade and possess theplace. Wheaton had a vague idea of the episcopal office; bishops were,he imagined, persons of considerable social distinction; in his notionof them they ranked with the higher civil lawgivers, and were comparableto military commandants. In a line with the Porters he could see GeneralWhipple's white head--all the conditions of exalted respectability werepresent.
_And he removed from thence, and digged another well; and for that theystrove not: and he called the name of it Rehoboth; and he said, 'For nowthe Lord hath made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.'_
_For now the Lord hath made room for us._ The preacher sketched lightlythe primal scene to which his text related. He knew the color and lightof language and made it seem to his hearers that the Asian plain layalmost at the doors of the cathedral. He reconstructed the simple sociallife of the early times, and followed westward the campfires of theshepherd kings. He built up the modern social and political structure,with the home as its foundation, before the eyes of the congregation. Abroad democracy and humanity dominated the discourse as it unfoldeditself. The bishop hardly lifted his voice; he did not rant nor makegestures, but he spoke as one having authority. Wheaton turned uneasilyand looked furtively about. He had not expected anything so earnest asthis; there was a tenseness in the air that oppressed him. What he washearing from that quiet old man in the pulpit was without the gloss offashion; it was inconsonant with the spirit of the place as he hadconceived it. Doctor Morningstar's discourses on Browning's poetry hadbeen far more entertaining.
_For now the Lord hath made room for us._ The preacher's voice was evenquieter as he repeated these words. "We are very near the heart of theworld, here at the edge of the great plain. Who of us but feels thefreedom, the ampler ether, the diviner air of these new lands? We hearover and over that in the West, men may begin again; that here we mayput off our old garments and re-clothe ourselves. We must not tooradically adopt this idea. I am not so sanguine that it is an easymatter to be transformed and remade; I am not persuaded that geographyenters into heart or mind or soul so that by crossing the older bordersinto a new land we obliterate old ties. Here we may dig new wells, butwe shall thirst often, like David, for a drink of water from the well bythe gate of Bethlehem."
Wheaton's mind wandered. It was a pleasure to look about over thesewell-groomed people; this was what success meant--access to suchconditions as these. The fragrance of the violets worn by a girl in thenext pew stole over him; it was a far cry to his father's stiflingharness shop in the dull little Ohio town. His hand crept to the pinwhich held his tie in place; he could not give just the touch to anAscot that Warry Raridan could, but then Warry had practised longer.The old bishop's voice boomed steadily over the congregation. It caughtand held Wheaton's attention once more.
"It is here that God hath made room for us; but it is not that we maybegin life anew. There is no such thing as beginning life anew; we maybeg
in again, but we may not obliterate nor ignore the past. Rather weshould turn to it more and more for those teachings of experience whichbuild character. Here on the Western plains the light and heat ofcloudless skies beat freely upon us; the soul, too, must yield itself tothe sun. The spirit of man was not made for the pit or the garret, butfor the open."
Wheaton stirred restlessly, so that Raridan turned his head and lookedat him. He had been leaning forward, listening intently, and hadsuddenly come to himself. He crossed his arms and settled back in hisseat. A man in front of him yawned, and he was grateful to him. Butagain his ear caught an insistent phrase.
"Life would be a simple matter if memory did not carry our yesterdaysinto our to-days, and if it were as easy as Cain thought it was to castaside the past. A man must deal with evil openly and bravely. He mustturn upon himself with reproof the moment he finds that he has beentrampling conscience under his feet. An artisan may slight work in adark corner of a house, thinking that it is hidden forever; but I say toyou that we are all builders in the house of life, and that there are nodark corners where we may safely practise deceit or slight the task Godassigns us. I would leave a word of courage and hope with you.Christianity is a militant religion; it strengthens those who standforth bravely on the battle line, it comforts and helps theweak-hearted, and it lifts up those who fall. I pray that God mayfreshen and renew courage in us--courage not as against the world, butcourage to deal honestly and fairly and openly with ourselves."
The organ was throbbing again; the massive figure had gone from thepulpit; the people were stirring in their seats. The young minister whohad read the service repeated the offertory sentences, and the voice ofa boy soprano stole tremulously over the congregation. Raridan had leftthe pew and was passing the plate. The tinkle of coin reassured Wheaton;the return to mundane things brought him relief and restored hisconfidence. His spirit grew tranquil as he looked about him. Thepleasant and graceful things of life were visible again.
The voice of the bishop rose finally in benediction. The choir marchedout to a hymn of victory; people were talking as they moved through theaisles to the doors. The organ pealed gaily now; there was light andcheer in the world after all. At the door Wheaton became separated fromRaridan, and as he stood waiting at the steps Evelyn and her friendsdetached themselves from the throng on the sidewalk and got into theircarriage. Mr. Porter, snugly buttoned in his frock coat, and with hissilk hat tipped back from his forehead, stood in the doorway talking toGeneral Whipple, who was, as usual in crowds, lost from the more agilecomrade of his marches many. Wheaton hastened down to the Portercarriage, where the smiles and good mornings of the occupants gave himfurther benediction. Evelyn and Miss Warren were nearest him; as hestood talking to them, Belle Marshall espied Raridan across hisshoulders.
"Oh, there's Mr. Raridan!" she cried, but when Wheaton stood aside,Raridan had already disappeared around the carriage and had come intoview at the opposite window with a general salutation, which includedthem all, but Miss Marshall more particularly.
"I'm sure that sermon will do you good, Mr. Raridan," the Virginia girldrawled. She was one of those young women who flatter men by assumingthat they are very depraved. Even impeccable youngsters are susceptibleto this harmless form of cajolery.
"Oh, I'm always good. Miss Porter can tell you that."
"Don't take my name in vain," said Evelyn, covertly looking at him, butturning again to Wheaton.
"You see your witness has failed you. Going to church isn't all of beinggood."
Wheaton and Evelyn were holding a lively conversation. Evelyn'sanimation was for his benefit, Raridan knew, and it enraged him. He hadbeen ready for peace, but Evelyn had snubbed him. He was, moreover,standing in the mud in his patent leather shoes while another manchatted with her in greater dignity from the curb. His chaff with MissMarshall lacked its usual teasing quality; he was glad when Mr. Portercame and took his place in the carriage.
Raridan had little to say as he and Wheaton walked homeward together,though Wheaton felt in duty bound to express his pleasure in the musicand, a little less heartily, in the sermon. Raridan's mind was onsomething else, and Wheaton turned inward to his own thoughts. He wascomplacent in his own virtue; he had made the most of the talents Godhad given him, and in his Sunday evening lectures Doctor Morningstar hadlaid great stress on this; it was the doctor's idea of the preachingoffice to make life appear easy, and he filled his church twice everySunday with people who were glad to see it that way. As Wheaton walkedbeside Raridan he thought of the venerable figure that had leaned outover the congregation of St. Paul's that morning, and appealed in hisown mind from Bishop Delafield to Doctor Morningstar, and felt that thebishop was overruled. As he understood Doctor Morningstar's preaching itdealt chiefly with what the doctor called ideality, and this, as near asWheaton could make out, was derived from Ruskin, Emerson and Carlyle,who were the doctor's favorite authors. The impression which remainedwith him of the morning at St. Paul's was not of the rugged old bishop'ssermon, which he had already dismissed, but of the novel exercises inthe chancel, the faint breath of perfumes that were to him the true odorof sanctity, and what he would have called, if he had defined it, thehigh-toned atmosphere of the place. The bishop was only an occasionalvisitor in the cathedral; he was old-fashioned and a crank; but no doubtthe regular minister of the congregation preached a cheerfuller idea oflife than his bishop, and more of that amiable conduct which is, asDoctor Morningstar was forever quoting from a man named Arnold,three-fourths of life.
When Wheaton reached his room he found an envelope lying on his table,much soiled, and addressed, in an unformed hand, to himself. Itcontained a dirty scrap of paper bearing these words:
"Jim: I'll be at the Occidental Hotel tonight at 8 o'clock. Don't fail to come.
BILLY."