Читать книгу Captain Pott's Minister - Francis L. Cooper - Страница 4

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During the following weeks Mr. McGowan continued to grow in favor with the people of the church and village. Every Sunday the little chapel was crowded. His sermons, practical in thought, simple in language, and direct in delivery, were discussed about the tables of the country folk during Sunday dinner. The boys of the Athletic Club had received him cordially, not only because of his athletic ability, but because he had proved himself a good fellow. Elder Fox had strenuously opposed intimate relationships between the club and former ministers, but he made no attempt to interfere with Mr. McGowan, although he remained skeptical as to the wisdom of such secular tendencies. Sim Hicks, the keeper of the Inn, did not like the minister, and declared he would 30 oust him from the community if it were the last act of his life.

The one man who responded most naturally, whole-heartedly, and with simple loyalty to the power of the young man’s personality was Captain Josiah Pott. These two became close companions, and one evening Mrs. Eadie Beaver remarked concerning it:

“Ain’t you glad I got him in with you, Josiah?”

“Cal’late I am, Eadie. I was mad at first, but it’s beginning to mean a heap to me to have him here.”

“You always seemed so lonely when you’d come home, and I’d see your light in the setting-room window. It don’t seem that way now when I look across.”

“It is real nice and homelike having him in the house.”

“I’m glad it’s different for you,” declared his next-door neighbor as she looked about the room. “Things look real trim since the painters got through.”

The seaman’s face clouded. “It took a sight more than I thought it would, though, 31 and it ain’t going to be easy to pay back to Jim what I borrowed to do the repairing with.”

“Now, don’t you go to crossing any bridges till you get to ’em. The Lord will provide when the time comes.”

“Cal’late He might, but I’ve always noticed that it’s safer to help Him a mite on the perviding question.”

“Well, ain’t you helping? You’re doing the janitor work at the church, and that helps some. And, then, you’ll get a ship one of these days, mark my word. Mr. Fox said as much to Harry just the other day.”

“I ain’t so sure of that, Eadie,” remarked the Captain doubtfully. It was reasonably clear to his mind that the Elder had a fish to fry in thus starting reports of his willingness to secure a command for the Captain, and it was also reasonably clear that sooner or later he would catch a whiff of the frying fat which would indicate the breed of that fish. Till then, the Captain must be content to wait.

“By the way, Josiah, have you heard that the day has been all set for the installation 32 service?” asked Mrs. Beaver. “Mr. Fox is arranging it, and it’s going to be a great time.”

“What are they aiming to do?”

“Why, don’t you know? An installation service is a meeting where all the ministers of other towns come in and say nice things about our minister. Elder Fox says this one will be a special one, because some one has said that Mr. McGowan ain’t sound in church doctrine, being as he graduated from what is called a ‘New Theology’ school. Mr. Fox says he’s going to prove that ain’t so.”

“What’s all that got to do with him being a man?”

“I guess it ain’t got much to do with that. But you know there is a difference between being just a man and being a real minister.”

The Captain looked at her oddly. “And they’re planning to change him from one to the other, is that the idea?”

“No-o, not that exactly. But Mr. Fox thinks it would be a good time to show all the people that Mr. McGowan is orthodox. There will be ministers here from everywhere. 33 The Reverend Mr. Means is coming out from New York.”

“If they’re all like that feller, they’ll be a hot lot.”

“Josiah Pott! Haven’t you any respect for the cloth?”

“Not for the kind he wears, I ain’t. I’d say his cloth is a sort of sheep’s clothing, same as the Bible speaks of.”

“If you can’t talk decent I sha’n’t stay,” said Mrs. Beaver. She bridled past him, and on into her own yard.

What Mrs. Beaver had said concerning plans for the installation service was true. Elder Fox was carrying the full responsibility, for he wished to make this meeting one long to be remembered. He selected with great care those who were to sit on the council. The Reverend Mr. Means had been chosen for two reasons, first that he was a personal friend of the Elder, and second because his presence would add dignity to the occasion. It was even arranged that the city clergyman should be made moderator.

The eventful day arrived, and with it dignitaries 34 of city and countryside. It was a fearfully hot humid day in July, one of those days when to move about was torment, and to work was torture. Not a breath of air stirred. The clergymen were plainly enervated as they descended from the various vehicles which had conveyed them over from Little River. The Reverend Mr. Means mopped his face as the chauffeur assisted him from the Elder’s limousine. He greeted every one with deep sonorous tones. His manner was graciously condescending, but never once familiar. He made his way up the steps of the chapel with what was evidently meant for a majestic stride, but his heavy frame turned it into a decided waddle. He shook hands with a chosen few, all the while looking far above their heads as though his vision were not of this world.

The Captain watched the clergyman till he had disappeared behind the vestibule doors, and then remarked to Mrs. Beaver, “Them kind ain’t hard to sight. I could sight that feller a mile in the offin’, on a dark night, with my eyes shut! If Mack McGowan was that 35 kind, he’d get to stay here about twenty-four hours, and then he’d smell fire and brimstone.”

Mrs. Beaver surprised the seaman with a wry smile and vigorous nod.

Mr. McGowan arrived in due season under tow of the Elder. Mr. Fox led him before the clergyman from the city, who was lounging near an open window in the front of the auditorium.

“How do you do, Brother Fox!” boomed the deep voice of Mr. Means. “And is this the fortunate young man who has been called to this delightful little town?”

“Yes, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. McGowan, this is the Reverend Mr. Means from New York City.”

The studied dignity of the visiting clergyman seemed to receive a decided shock as he rolled up out of his chair. He stood before the candidate to whom the Elder had introduced him and forgot to look at the ceiling. He had been caught off his guard, and through the momentary look of recognition there flitted across his flabby features an expression that was far from ecclesiastical. But 36 it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the Reverend Mr. Means was once more his complacent unperturbed self.

“Ho! So this is our candidate? So!” he exploded. “I am glad, Mr. McGowan, to shake your hand, and perhaps we’d better do it now, for we might not so desire when the grilling is over. So!” He laughed vociferously at his rude joke, and offered his fish-like palm.

“I’m glad to see you again,” lied the candidate, cheerfully.

“Again?” echoed the man, his mirth suddenly controlled by well-feigned astonishment. “Again?”

“Have you so soon forgotten how strongly you opposed me last year when I was up before the New York Presbytery for ordination?”

“So? Really so? Ah! Yes. I do remember, now that you call it to mind. That probably accounts for the familiarity of your face. But I did not oppose you for personal reasons, I assure you. It was because of your radical theological beliefs. I do not allow 37 personal reasons to enter into my religious activities.”

“But why should you have personal reasons for not wishing to see me ordained?”

“Just so! Just so! I did not mean to say I had any. But, as you doubtless remember, my brethren overruled my objections, and although I greatly regret the theological laxity of our Presbytery, I am willing to abide by the decision of the majority. So!”

He dismissed the two men with a wide gesture, and dropped back into his chair. When Mr. Fox and his charge were out of sight, Mr. Means motioned to Mr. Harry Beaver. He whispered in the little man’s ear, and indicated the groups of ministers gathered here and there about the room.

Harry Beaver had the misfortune to stutter, and in his eagerness to make himself understood he would support himself, stork-like, on one leg, and pump the other up and down with frantic jerks. Mr. Beaver’s services were invaluable in such cases as this when gossip was to be repeated, for his stuttering compelled him to leave just enough unsaid to 38 make his news the more startling. He was seen slowly pumping his way from group to group, and there followed in his wake the buzz of low whisperings.

When Elder Fox later saw these signs, he was greatly perturbed. He went directly to the Reverend Mr. Means and demanded particulars. On hearing what the clergymen had to say, the Elder declared that this was neither the time nor the place to air theological differences. The city clergyman leaned forward to whisper a further explanation, but was interrupted by Mr. Beaver, who announced that he had finished his task. Mr. Means looked at his watch, declared it was time to open the session, and rapped sharply for order.

Minor matters of business were quickly dispatched, and Mr. Means––according to the prearranged plan––was duly elected moderator.

“Brethren and sisters,” he roared in his most effective tones, “we now come to the most important, and, I hope, the most delightful part of this program. We are to be favored with a statement from the Reverend 39 Mr. McGowan, who is the candidate for installation as pastor of this very beautiful church. The members of the council will be given an opportunity to question Mr. McGowan after he has read to us his statement. A word of caution needs to be uttered: you are to confine your questions to theological matters as they may affect the fellowship of the ministers and churches represented to-day by pastor and delegate. Mr. McGowan will please come forward.”

Mr. McGowan came forward in more ways than one. He concisely stated his belief in applied Christianity, and followed with a program for future work in the village. His short statement left the council under the spell of an embarrassed silence. But the first question broke the silence, and was followed by others both new and old, which were hurled at the head of the candidate like shots from a rapid-fire gun.

Captain Pott stood the fusillade as long as his patience permitted, and then retreated to the quiet of the out-of-doors, where he dragged a box into the shade of the building, 40 and lit his pipe. Here Elizabeth Fox found him, when she, too, felt the need of a little fresh air.

“Uncle Josiah, did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Why did you come out here?”

“I felt sort as if I was coming up into a reg’lar twister, and thought it would be safer to reef a mite and make for ca’m waters. My head begun to whirl, and I cal’lated I’d best weigh anchor while my soundings was good.”

“But isn’t it bad form for you to desert like this?” she asked, her big eyes dancing mischievously.

“I ain’t exactly deserting, I cal’late. If I’d been able to pitch into that crew and shake the devil out of ’em, I’d stayed on deck. But–––”

“I want you to go back with me. It’s getting too funny to miss!”

“I ain’t got much hankering for them officers’ meeting, Beth. It makes me feel like busting chairs on their heads.”

“But you must go back! You should hear what he is saying to them. Come!”

Before the seaman could obey the summons, 41 Miss Edna Splinter emerged from the rear door. She hurried toward the two. Miss Splinter was one of those fine spinsters which one so often finds stranded in small villages located near large cities. She was one of the few friends of the Captain in Little River.

“It’s the most disgusting thing I ever saw or heard!” declared Miss Splinter, angrily stamping her foot.

“It’s really too funny for words!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“What in tarnation is he doing to them?”

“Doing to them!” flashed Miss Splinter indignantly. “My word! It’s what they’re trying to do to him. It is positively disgraceful.”

The seaman decided that a scene which could have such opposite effects on two of his best friends must at least be interesting. He knocked the tobacco from his pipe and followed them inside. As he listened, his interest grew, not so much in the ecclesiastical storm of big words, as in the wildly gesticulating clergymen. The moderator had risen and was rapping loudly for order.

42

“Brethren!” he thundered. “It is time that we recognize some of our laymen. I see Mr. Harry Beaver of this church asking for the floor. Mr. Beaver may speak.”

“M-Mr. Ch-chairman, does M-Mr. Mc-McGowan b-believe in e-ev–––”

The unfortunate man blinked, backed, pumped, emitted a series of hissing sounds like escaping steam, but remained hopelessly stuck. Those round him dodged his foot gestures, and smiled appreciatively, while those not engaged in trying to escape mutilation of corns, encouragingly suggested words such as everlasting, everpresent, etc., which might have bearing on the subject previously under discussion. The little man spurned them all with vigorous backings and increased hissings. At last, between a discouraged hiss and a triumphant sputter, the awful word rolled out.

“Evolution!” he shouted, and sat down.

After the laughter had subsided, the moderator demanded that the candidate answer the question.

“Yes, Mr. Moderator.”

Mr. Means was on his feet in an incredibly 43 short time for one so bulky. “Then, you deny here in the face of these wise men, as you did before your superiors in the New York Presbytery, the creation story of the Bible?”

“I did not deny it then, and I do not deny it now.”

“Brethren, we have the right to an explanation from our young brother. I was denied that privilege at the time of his ordination. But I consider his contradictory statements so serious a thing that I shall give you the opportunity that was denied me.”

Elder Fox, plainly nettled by the turn affairs had taken, rose and demanded the floor.

“Brother Fox!” vociferously acknowledged the moderator.

“We have no right to carry this senseless discussion further. There has not yet been sounded––er––the note of fellowship that should prevail among the brethren,” declared the Elder, eyeing the chairman. Very gently stroking his side-whiskers, he continued: “We have sprung at our young friend––er––as if he were before a jury, condemned and found guilty of a felony. Why should we trouble 44 him about things that are not fundamental to our faith?”

Captain Pott muttered something under his breath. Never before had he known of the Elder and the city minister disagreeing.

“That is the very question,” expostulated the moderator. “Mr. McGowan has attacked every sacred doctrine of the church, for he has said what is equivalent to the statement that my ancestors were monkeys. What other interpretation can be given to the doctrine of evolution? If it does not contradict every sacred belief of our past, then I am no theologian.”

The old seaman chuckled, and several shocked faces were turned in his direction.

“Perhaps it would help if Mr. McGowan would tell us just what he does believe in regard to the book of Genesis,” suggested Mr. Fox.

“It is the story of human redemption.”

With a nod of satisfied approval, the Elder sat down, and the moderator crumpled up.

Captain Pott irreverently observed to Elizabeth: “I cal’late that there Means is left for 45 once with his sails flopping, without no idea as to what his longitude is.”

A little wizened-looking man smiled cordially and addressed the chair, but the “chair” seemed oblivious to all about him.

“Should not the ministry of to-day place greater emphasis on the philosophy of life than upon time-worn theology that has come to us from the middle ages?” asked the man.

“We should preach both where they affect life; neither where they do not,” was the quick response.

“I am an instructor in philosophy in the high school over at Marble Point, and I was led by your last reply concerning your belief in the book of Genesis to believe you are somewhat of a philosopher. Do you not think that philosophy will touch life more quickly than theology?”

“Religion is something that has outgrown both the classroom and the cloister. It is the anonymous religion that we must take into account in the future if the church is to progress with the needs of men.”

It was the voice of the Captain who broke 46 the silence of surprise which followed the unusual statement.

“I want to know!” came the seaman’s exclamation in a hoarse stage whisper.

Every face in the room seemed to register the same question. Mr. McGowan smiled and explained.

“By anonymous religion I mean every ideal striving for the right and truth, wherever it is found, and by whatever name it may be known. It may be found outside the church as readily as within it. Wherever good is found, the church should make use of it, whether it is counted orthodox or not.”

First one, and then another, was on his feet, till the moderator was powerless to moderate. Some exclaimed for, and others declaimed against, the candidate. Still others fired broadside after broadside into all present.

“It ain’t much like a heavenly craft, that there ark, now, is it?” queried the Captain of his two friends. “Smells more like brimstone round these parts than it does like heavenly ozone.”

Mr. Fox assumed command, and under his 47 steady hand and head the spiritual elements began slowly to calm.

“In all my life,” he lamented, “I have never seen such proceedings in the house of God. The parish committee arranged this meeting––er––for the purpose of fellowship, and you have seen fit to make of it child’s play. It is time for us to recognize that Mr. McGowan is big enough, and broad enough, to supply the needs of a community like this. The very fact that he has not satisfied each of your unreasonable demands is evidence that he is competent to meet all of them, if we give him time. I make the motion––er,––Mr. Moderator, that we proceed with the installation of the candidate without further delay or discussion.”

The motion was seconded, and put to a vote. There were only a few who had the temerity to register themselves as negative in the face of what the leading layman had said. Elder Fox suggested that the vote be made unanimous.

“Brethren,” protested the Reverend Mr. Means, slowly rising from the depths of the 48 easy chair, “before that vote is taken to make the will of this council unanimous, I wish to have it fully understood that I am opposed, bitterly opposed, to the calling of unorthodox men to our pulpits. It is atrocious, and I shall wash my hands of the whole affair. I regret very much that our beloved Brother Fox has forced me to disagree with him, and if he is of the same opinion still, I shall have to ask him to take the chair while the vote he has called for is being registered.”

Mr. Fox took the chair, and the motion passed without one dissenting voice. Adjournment to the kitchen parlors followed, and when that vote was taken the voice of him who had washed his hands of the action of the council was heard booming an affirmative near the Captain’s ear.

The bounteous provisions warmed heart and stomach, and that fact, together with some persuasion from Elder Fox, led the city minister to the decision that he would lose nothing if he remained to deliver his prepared address. And he did himself proudly. Even Captain Pott could find no fault with the impassioned 49 words of the speaker. He was heard to remark, however, “Them there things he said wa’n’t what was inside by a damn sight, but just smeared on like honey.”

It was late that night when the Captain reached home after closing the church building. The minister was in his study, and the old man tapped lightly on the door.

“Won’t be disturbing your peaceful meditations about that meeting if I come in for a spell, will I?”

Assured he would not, he entered. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table and drew out his pipe.

“There ain’t no wind so fierce that it don’t blow you some good,” he philosophized, as with deliberation he scratched a match on his trouser-leg. “I’d never hoped to see Jim Fox stand up to that city feller the way he did.”

“What did you think of the whole thing, anyway, Cap’n?”

“Well, so far as I could get the drift, I’d think that there theology stuff would be purty dry picking. But it was mighty interesting 50 the way you met up with ’em at every p’int. I was real ’feared that Jim Fox would get aboard their band-wagon when he see the way things was going against you.”

The minister nodded.

“And the way the Means feller washed his hands! Wa’n’t that good as a show, and then getting up and preaching like Gabriel afterward? Mack, you ain’t got no idea what he made me think of, have you?”

“Not in the least. What?”

“I heard a preacher tell a yarn once about a pilot washing his hands in hell. It struck me queer about there being a river in hell. If it’s as hot down there as I’ve heard it described, you’d think the surroundings would sizzle her up. But that’s what the preacher said about this pilot, whose last name I rec’lect was Pontyhouse. His stay was to be purty tolerable long with his Satanic majesty. I’ve always felt sorry for that chap, seemed kind of lonely, but as I figger it out he’s going to have company one of these hot days.”

Mr. McGowan looked up.

“You just bet he is. I knew that Means 51 chap afore he took to religion, and if he’s slated for heavenly bliss I’m going to put in my papers for the other place, alongside the scrubbing pilot.”

“You mean–––”

“I mean that one of us is going to keep that feller company in hell. Beyond that you’ll have to guess,” said the Captain, rising. “Only don’t you tie too tight to Means, that’s all. Good night, I’m going to turn in.”

“All right, Cap’n, I’ll promise,” replied Mr. McGowan, smiling appreciatively.

“You’d best go to bed, too, Mack. You’re mighty tired.”

But the minister did not follow his friend’s advice about retiring. He sat at his desk. The angry men of the afternoon slowly faded from his thoughts, and into the center of his consciousness came the vision of the loveliest face he had ever seen. He recalled the words of frank approval with which Miss Fox had met him after the evening service, and the cordial manner she had shown. Not that he was in love with one of the members of his church. That would never do. But there was something 52 different about the Elder’s daughter, something which appealed to his sense of the beautiful. This, he told himself, he could enjoy without overstepping the conventions.

The next day he was to dine at the Fox home.