Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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V « S********#**fifff§*¥f?*?**«*f?fS ** 4H |h 4m 4M 4M *) tHU 4M 4M 4H *< ft ft ft 'ft ► ft*** ‘The REFORMER By CHARLES M. SHELDON, Author of “In His Steps,” “Robert hardy’s Seven Days,” Etc. <$> Copyright, tool, by Charles M. Sheldon -4> CHAPTER R S*H- Falmouth stood up and began to talk. ORDOX wont bad: to tin? doorway, where Mrs. Cnylur was standing. She was tearless and apparently stolid. “What arrange meuts have been made for a service, Mrs. CaylorV” Gordon asked, and his heart was sore at the sight of the wretched mother, whose tearless atti- tude touched him more than if she had shown a passion of grief. “Mr. Randall Is seeing to it,” she said indifferently. “Rut don’t you want a minister?” Gordon was bewildered. He had never faced exactly the same situation. “I don’t care. Mr. Randall”— “You are not a Catholic? 1 remem ber you said to me your people in New England belonged to the Baptist church. There ought to be a service of some kind, with a minister. l>o you know one you would like to have?” “A minister!” The woman turned on him almost fiercely. “A minister! Mighty little use they have for such a one as me! This fs no man's parish!” “But for the sake of Louie! I can get Mr. Falmouth to come down. I am so sorry for you, Mrs. Caylor. God help you! Louie was a good boy.” The woman suddenly threw her apron over her head and burst into a torrent of weeping so violent that at first Gordon was alarmed. lie brought her a chair and made her sit down. The other women in the corridor came un and one of them said: “She'll be all right now. When you can’t cry. that’s the time your heart bleeds inside.” “What’s all this racket?” cried a voice from the room. Gordon wheeled about and faced the man, Tommy Ran dall. With the instinctive forewarning of a peculiarly sensitive and delicate moral consciousness Gordon knew that between this man and himself there could be nothing but war from the start. But what form it would take, what forces the man had to draw on, how much of a hold he had on the wretched lives that furnished his field of action, John Gordon did not know. Perhaps it was as well that he did not know much about it. A full knowledge of even one aspect of Tommy Randall's political influence might have appalled a more courageous and hopeful man than John Gordon. The boss was a man of about forty- five. Outwardly he was a short, thick set man, with a florid face and a reso lute manner. He did not show any signs of intemperate living, and indeed it was his boast that he had no vices. The most noticeable characteristic of the man was his absolute confidence in his own influence. It was not egotism so much as a thorough faith in the po litical security of his position. There was one quality that John Gordon possessed, however, that made him formidable. He was fifteen years younger than this man, and he had practically no experience in that world which was the only world in existence for Tommy Randall. But he had a faith in God that was us profound as the other man's political creed, and in his love for the people he was pre pared in acting on that creed to go any lengths that were within human possi bility. If Gordon was Ignorant of Tom my Randall’s strength, the boss was no less ignorant of this young man’s inner sources of persistent and tireless strength that would inevitably come to his assistance in the struggle that was beginning in that wretched tenement, with a child's death as witness to the grim contest. “I have been asking Mrs. Caylor what arrangements have been made for a funeral service.” Gordon spoke quietly. “If no other minister has been engaged, I think I can get Mr. Falmouth of Nazareth church to come down.” Tommy Randall walked up to John Gordon and deliberately looked him over. Gordon stood perfectly still and never moved a muscle as his eyes looked straight into the older man’s. “The service has all been arranged, young man," Randall said finally. A somn: of sliufl'.ing steps was heard on the bioken stairs and along the cor ridor. and two men appeared with a coffin. “Ah! There you are. Abrams! That’s more ii!;e it. i»on’t try to palm off another one of your rotten boxes on me or you'll hear from me. eh? But it on toe table.” Then, as two chil dren came .'nto the room at the heels of the two men who brought the cof fin. Gordon was astonished to see Ran dall pat them on the head kindly and say: “Now then, lads, out of the road. 1 can’t stop now.” The children went out of the room, and Randall bustled in and out, order ing chairs and helping place the body of Louie in the collin. Gordon came up to the table to look at the liftle face, for I.ouie had been partly de formed. and his face was like a baby’s. He looked down at the figure and noticed that one hand was clinched tight. Stooping a little lower, by the dim light Gordon recognized his own little gift when he had gone in with Mr. Marsh. It was a sample bottle of perfumery, and the child had clung to it in the darkness, dying in the horrible filth of his surroundings, and, as Gor don learned some time afterward, lit erally covered with vermin. John Gordon’s tears fell on the face as he felt that here was one of God’s little ones against whom somebody had sinned. “Better for a millstone to be banged around his neck”—he seemed to hear the words of the Son of Man— ‘than that one of tiiese little ones should perish.” Who was to blame? Was it the social system? Was it the selfish wealth? Was it political dis honesty? Was it a definite individual? This child—weak, deformed, helpless— did it not need the strength and beauty of a whole universe thrown about it in loving protection? Instead of that, flung like some vile thing among the rotting, loathsome, crawling things of the lowest physical world, it had gone out of a world of black horrors, cling ing childishly to a bit of artificial fragrance that was practically all the touch it ever knew of the abounding perfume of a flower bedecked earth. Boor littl ‘ soul! Will not God take him and 1 dd him long in his bosom of infinite pi y? And will it lie unjust if an impas able gulf yawns between him and the Dives who on earth tasted all the physical delights, hut let the dogs lick the sores of the beggar at his gate, proud of ids charity In flinging to him the crumbs of the feast? For is not that about all that wealthy (.'kris- tei.dorn has so far flung at the dying beggar of the slum, after 2,000 years of luxurious civilization? “Now then, young man, is there any thing more?” Ilis profound reverie .was suddenly- interrupted by Randall. “The service?” “The service! I will see to that.” “Is there any minister?” Gordon asked firmly, for he knew enough from what he had heard from the residents to know that in many cases there were no religious services of any kind and a horrible haste and tumult that partook of the savagery of brute nature. Tommy Randall paused before he answered, weighing somewhat careful ly just how far he could go. “What business is it of yours, young fellow?” Gordon silently showed him his in spector's badge. “Biuph! Board of health! Does the honorable body authorize you to man age funerals?” “It does,” replied Gordon boldly. “How’s that?” Randall asked sharp ly. “The duties of tenement Inspectors,” Gordon went on calmly, “are clearly defined in section 12. article 4. of the regulations of the state board of health. That article distinctly says it shall be the duty of the inspectors, in case of death occurring in districts under in spection, to notify thu proper authori ties and, if no other authorized body Is in charge, to arrange whatever is nec essary for the welfare of the family In the matter of burial, etc. I consid er. therefore, that I am acting fully within the limns of my authority when I say I have a rigid to call in a miuis- ter for the decent observance of the rites attending this death.” Tommy Randall was silent a mo ment. He was preparing a speech that would show this young man what a mistake he had made when Gordon suddenly asked, with the simplicity that came from part ignorance of the power the boss really bad: “By what authority are you here In charge of this funeral?” Tommy Randall gasped. For the first time in years he grew pule with rug<>. and at first Gordon thought the man was going to strike him. “By what authority, you insolent puppy? I’ll teach you by what au thority! Tills is my ward, I’ll have you understand — my ward, do you hear?” “I hear you quite well, sir. You do not need to talk to make the dead hoar!” John Gordon spoke with a heart on fire as be realized with a gleam of in stinctive loathiug of the man his dia bolical hold on the people. “Come out here aud say what you have to say. It Is not decent for us to be having all this In the room.” He turned in a great heat of anger that Instantly cooled as he went out in the corridor, and Hnndnll followed him. in spite of himself as it seemed, and the curious, gaping crowd, mostly women, thronged around to see the row between Tommy Randall, the au tocrat of Ward 18, and the slim, pale faced, well dressed “gent” who had suddenly stepped into the arena alone against the whole political machine. “He's up against it!” chuckled an old woman. "Tommy will do him up brown,” said a young man who loafed against the broken railing of the corridor and spit tobacco juice down on the heads of the children in the court below. Gordon a?a'n was the first to speak. He was not aggressive, Init perfectly firm and calm. "Have you any legal authority for managing affairs here?” he asked, and Randall again made a movement which looked like a threat of physical violence. “It is none of your business!” The sentence came out with an explosion of profanity that delighted the crowd. "1 am regularly appointed by the board of health as a legal oliieer. Do 1 understand that you are au officer of the city? Do you have a legal, official authority in these-premises?” Gordon as!:. 1 calmly. The question was so simply put that its very simplicity staggered Tommy Randall. He stared and then broke into a coarse laugh that was echoed by the women. ••Official duty bo . 1 run this ward. I'm in charge here, and I warn you to get out and leave this business to me.” “Do 1 understand you to threaten an officer with violence?” Gordon asked, looking him in the eye coldly. At the same time he took out a notebook, while Randall eyed him in a rage that he was trying evidently to choke down. For the first time also a trace of un easiness mingled with his astonish ment at the unexpected boldness of tlie young man who had thrown down the gauntlet before llio boss of Ward IS. He was beginning to be in doubt concerning the young man's political pull. Nothing short of secret intlu- ence at the city hall could account for his astounding attitude. “I warn you.” Gordon talked as he jotted down something in the book aud put it back into his pocket, “that I am acting fully within my authority as an officer specially detailed for this duty. I understand you make no claim to being an officer of the city. I shall proceed to secure a minister and have the services properly conducted. Mrs. Caylor is willing to have it done. Aren’t you, Mrs. Caylor?” “I don't care! I.ouie was a good boy; he was a good boy!” she cried, throw ing her apron over her head and rock ing back and forth with great sobs. During the talk she had been sitting by the door, apparently oblivious to everything. She now suddenly rose up and staggered into the room, throwing her arms over the coffin and shrieking aloud: “He was a good boy! Ob, God! Oh, God!” Tommy Randall turned toward John Gordon with a look that was simply Sate lie. “If you attempt to interfere or make any unusual disturbance, Mr. Ran dall,” Gordon said again as he had twice before, taking the initiative, “I shall report you to the authorities.” The statement was so simply made, it covered so much absolute authority, that for a moment Tommy Randall stared in silence, too much astonished to say a word. Then, to Gordon’s sur prise and to the bewilderment of the crowd, the older man put out'his hand aud said, with a laugh: “You’re a good one! Report Tommy Randall! Give me your hand on it, young fellow! But you have the— Say, wouldn’t he make a team with another one like him?” Again the crowd laughed coarsely, and Gordon, without seeming to notice the outstretched hand, turned his back on all of them and went into the room. Randall watched him, with a snarl on his face that prophesied any number of accounts for the future. Then he grew thoughtful, and before any one could guess bis next movement he fol lowed Gordon into the room. Gordon had even in that brief time begun to soothe the distracted mother. “I’ll get my friend Mr. Falmouth to come down. He will have a beautiful service. He will”— "Does Mr. Randall”— The words were spoken with a fright ened air that Gordon saw at once had some good reason. But before he could answer Randall said good naturedly: “I think we had better have the min ister come down, Mrs. Caylor. That’s all right.” “I'll arrange it,” Gordon said briefly, as if Randall were pot present. He did not earc to puzzle himself at present over the man's change of manner. That it was a part of ids regular po'icy to gain an end lie knew well enough, but he was indifferent to it. His very Indifference was so complete that the boss felt again that uneasiness that had come to him already as a new experi ence, and again that same diabolical bate included John Gordon In its sweep of future reckoning, for Tommy Randall was beginning to feel dimly, but really, that for the first time in his political career he was in the presence of a new factor. The newness of it puzzled and enraged him. It was so unknown that he could not figure on It. That made It doubly hateful to him. John Gordon stayed a little longer and then went away. The hour fixed for the service was 3 o’clock. As he went out Into the corridor and groped Ids way down the stairs and out into the court he was plainly uware that curious faces stared at him, and u little added respect was judd him. "The old man fell down!" muttered the woman who had foretold Gordon's humiliation at the hands of the boss. "Nuw he didn’t!” the tobacco user ejaculated, with an oath. “Wait till me oiu man gets in ms upper cut. fie ain’t downed by no ‘gent!’” Gordon at once took a car for Naza reth avenue, and within an hour he was in the Rev. Paul Falmouth’s study, which was in the rear of Nazareth Avenue church. “Glad to see you, Gordon,” Fal mouth said as he rose and greeted his visitor cordially. The minister was a grave faced man of thirty-five. The books, papers, pictures and articles of Interest in his study proclaimed a stu dent if not a scholar. The man himsfelf had a reserve power. How much more than that was not apparent at first sight. “I’m sorry to disturb your morniug. Mr. Falmouth. I know your rule, but this is a case of death. I knew you would listen to me.” “Certainly go on. I was thinking of you just a minute ago and planning to come down to Hope House and see you. Of course I know what you have done. The papers”— “Thank you, Mr. Falmouth, for your kind letter. It did me good. I'll be glad to see you at Hope House. But I know how busy you are!” Gordon glanced at the minister's desk, which was covered with open books, manuscripts in vari ous degrees of preparation and a mis cellaneous heap of correspondence which told the particular story of a laborious life. "I’m always busy, Gordon.” The words were spoken with a sigh that was instantly repressed. “But for more reasons than one I want to see you and have a good long talk with you.” “I'll be very glad. But Ibis is my er rand this morning. 1 want you for a funeral service this afternoon.” He went on rapidly to relate the brief story of Louie, without reference to Randall or any of the occurrences that had brought him into the tragedy. "i'll go, of course,” Falmouth said in stantly when Gordon paused. “Shall we have any singing? Have you any one in Hope House?” “I had an idea as I came along up,” Gordon spoke with a little hesitation. “If this was a funeral on Park boule vard for a rich man’s son and you were called on to officiate, who would prob ably sing?” “Why, the Nazareth Avenue quar tet, I suppose. That is the arrange ment made with them by the church music committee—that I am to have their services whenever I conduct a funeral. But”— The Rev. Paul Falmouth paused. He saw at cnee the bearing of Gordon’s question. Gordon .watched him closely. “Why not? ’ the m!"inter said. Ii ■ ros • and went into an adjoining roo: . ; nu lung a telephone bell. Gor don i ffd Ii ir him talking. When he came out, he said !• imply: “The quartet will join me here at 2, and we will go down together. I don't Blink any of them have been down on Bowen strict. But, for that mailer, u: :th°r have T Tt won't hurt us any to so-' it.” “1 don’t know about that. sir. I’m of the opinion that it will hurt you. But isn't about time i.; nobody r A besides the p ople around Hope House was hurt by what is going on there?” The minister was silent. He under stood fully all that Gordon implied by his remark. When lie lifted his head, Gordon had risen to go. “Don’t go„ Gordon —that is, unless you have to. Why can’t we have that talk now as well as any time?” “We can unless you are too”— "Busy? But it can wait. There’s an article for the Homiletic Review; there’s another for the North Ameri- “Glad to see you, Gordon." can; there are two sermons, an address before the convention of Christian cit izenship and a list of church duties that is never caught up with. But I question if any or all of it is as impor tant as some of the things I want to discuss with you.” He paused, and his grave face light ed up with a gleam of Interest that transformed his scholarly appearance into something quite different. Gordon sat down again. "What do you think of the church, Gordon? How much is it worth after all?” The question surprised Gordon. "I’m not a judge and dpu’t want to be. I neglected my duties to the church, and I am the last man in the world to criticise it.” Falmouth sat silent awhile. “The church in this city is not doing Its duty,” lie said at lust. "I sometimes question how much it is really obeying Christ's commands. When I consider the wealth and business ability and talent and culture in my own individ ual church alone, I cannot help asking myself how much of It is really conse crated to the uses of the kingdom. I do not know six men in my own congre gation who accept the doctrine of God’s ownership of property, so plainly taught in the Bible and by Christ. When I preach on the subject, my peo ple listen in a half amused manner, as if I were a theorist giving out ideas that will not work in the practical busi ness world. There are not a dozen peo ple in my whole parish who give one- tenth of their income to the religious work of the world.” “How large is your church?” Gordon asked. He was growing exceedingly interested in Falmouth’s monologue, for the minister had talked on as if alone. “We have 97G names on the church roll. There are seventy-two absentees. Over 900 resident members. There are twenty-five men in the church worth over ijviOJJUO, if their returns to the tax assessor are true. We raise for all church, missionary and benevolent pur poses, including my salary, which is $2,<500, the sum of 913,000 annually. We pay a quartet choir 92,000 a year. We pay an organist $900. The flower committee paid 91.700 last year for flowers and decorations in the church. At least a dozen women in the churcfc spent $500 apiece on flowers and deco rations in the church.. At least a dozen women in the church spent $300 apiece on flowers and decorations in their homes for receptions and parties and gave less than $10 apiece to city missions. This sounds like a sordid and gossipy string of details, Gordon. But 1 am reminded of an extract from one of Starr King’s essays. “ ‘Over against every prominent al lowanee for a personal luxury the celestial record book ought to show some entry in favor of the cause of goodness and suffering humanity. For every guinea that goes into a theater or museum there ought to be some twin guinea pledged for a truth or fly ing on some errand of mercy in a city so crowded with misery as this. Then we have a right to our amusements. Otherwise we have no right to them, but are liable every moment to im peachment in the court of righteous ness and charity for our treachery to heaven and our race.’ “Rather strong, eh? But not too strong when you consider that the earth is the Lord’s; the gold, the silver, the time, are all bis. And when I look over my list of church members and then read the society or business col umns, which tell of their uses of mon ey for luxury and amusement, is it any wonder that I ask. ‘Where is the Chris tian diseipleship that gives so out of proportion to its oww gratification com pared witli its duty to great causes and social needs?’ Lowell’s verse haunts me: “God bends from out the deep and says: ‘I gave thee of my seed to sow; BGagest thou me my hundredfold?’ Can 1 look up with face aglow And answer, ‘Father, here is gold?’ " “I am afraid the celestial record book will not show a very heavy deposit on the part of the luxury loving Chris-- tians of this day and generation.” “Then you consider that one of the indictments against the church of to day?” Gordon asked as Falmouth raised his head aud sorrowfully gazed at a picture of the crucifixion that hung over his desk. “Yes, that and a lack of willingness to hear personal burdens, to carry crosses, to walk humbly, to apply Jesus’ teaching to business, politics and amusements. There is a striking in consistency between the church mem bers’ vows and their daily lives, espe cially in the business and money mak ing world. The Christians in our churches are not making their money as they ought,.many of them, and they are not giving a tenth part as much as they ought to help God’s kingdom.” “That is a sweeping charge, Mr. Fal mouth. Yet you remain in the church and continue to preach and act under these conditions.” "I love the church,” Falmouth spoke slowly, again sinking into reverie. “My father and his were ministers. Mj mother is a saint if there ever was one, and her heart would almost break if she hear 1 what I have said today, for she believes the church is God’s leaven in a sinful world. So do I, but I see its need of regenerative cleansing so clear ly that I am torn between remaining where I am to preach the truth from the inside and going out to do ray work apart from the church as an institution. Yet where shall I go? There are no other institutions that are more Christ- like than the church. The labor orders are as selfish as the church. The or ganizations that do not profess any re ligious creed are no more hopeful places for a man to stand than the place where I am now. I could lead a # vcry quiet, easy life here if I were content to go softly iu aud out. preach sermons that would satisfy the intellectual or aesthetic demands of my congregation and let these problems of humanity alone. But, Gordon"—he turned his face to the visitor, and the intense pas sion of the man shone through the habitual gravity and culture that oth erwise distinguished him—“I am, un happily, shall I say?—no, providentially -caught up in the social whirlwind of the age, and I cannot—I cannot let these questions rest. Woe is me if I preach not a whole gospel! And in order to preach it I must go the entire length of proclaiming Christ’s Golden Rule and self denying diseipleship. knowing fully that my people will grow restless under it, knowing that they are not willing to take up the cross daily In order to follow their Master. Aud yet there Is a faithful handful. There are some who have not bowed the knee to Mammon. Perhaps more than I have known. God forgive me if I have been unjust or erred in my judgment of the church In this age.” Gordon did not venture to break the silence that followed. When Falmouth again raised his head, he said, with a rare smile: “I envy you, Gordon. I would al most like to change places with you. You st 'tn to be doing work that needs to be done. You are doing things. I am writing about them. Some day”— He stopped abruptly and then asked: “If you were in my place, what course would you take with the mon eyed business men in this church to touch them with a sense of their re sponsibility and privilege as stewards of God’s wealth?” Gordon answered Instantly: “Get as many of them as possible to go down into Bowen street and see how the other half lives.” Falmouth's eyes gleamed. “I doubt ii they will go. I’ll try It. I have never been there myself. But I see your point. Yon think the men and women of this city do not know the facts. You think a knowledge ofi the facts would teach them to do some thing?” “Not necessarily. But the eultufied, wealthy people in our churches as a rule ]§now absolutely nothing from per sonal knowledge of the horrors of city life. They never go outside the little circle of the respectable, comfortable and in many cases luxurious conditions into which they were born. I am con vinced that if 300 of the best business men in the churches of this city could see the things I have seen within the last two weeks, and know the facts that every resident in Hope House knows like the alphabet, the present awful wrongs would not be permitted in the city. The Christ method was personal familiarity with sinful con ditions. He was a Saviour because he himself knew the sinner. The weak ness of the church lies in the fact that it lias dropped out so largely the per sonal factor and exists too much for its own religious life in its elaborate church services, which in so many cases have no other meaning than pride and vainglory of the partici pants. But I forget myself.” Gordon smiled sadly, -q am not lit to criti cise the church—I who for so many years dishonored her with lip service aud formal worship.” “You have as much right to criticise her as any Christian if you do it in the right spirit.” Falmouth said gently. Then he added: "Let us have a prayer together before you go. We need to ask forgiveness for many things and wisdom for everything.” So the two meu kneeled while the minister prayed. It was a good, strong, sturdy prayer that did John Gordon good. There was no whining, no cant, no complaining. An honest heart plea for more strength, more toleration, more faith, more love, more patience, and Gordon, after a hearty handshake, went out and back to Hope House, where he had agreed to meet Falmouth and the singers a little before 3 o’clock. At 3 o’clock Bowen street was fully aware that something unusual was taking place. A “funeral” in Bowen street was as a rule an informal afljiir in which the immediate neighbors urre apathetically interested. But this af fair of the deformed Louie Caylor promised unusual developments. Word had gone around that Tommy Randall had been temporarily "downed” in a “set to” with one of the gents from Hope House, but that before the funer al was over he would be on top of the pile, so to speak, and everybody satis fied. So Bowen street poured into the court of No. 91 and choked the narrow stairways and back yards commanding a possible view of the funeral party. When John Gordon, Falmouth aud the quartet turned into the court olf the street, the amazement of the dif- fereut members of the choir had given way to an expression of disgust min gled with actual fear. “For pity’s sake, Mr. Falmouth, where are you taking us?” exclaimed the tenor, a distinguished looking mau, well known in musical circles as a growing singer at fashionable recep tions. The soprano, a young woman of some beauty, and the alto, a little older, but a woman of real strength of ex pression, drew closer together as the miscellaneous crowd of Bowen street pressed nearer and the real horror of the place began to make itself felt. The gentleman who sang bass was with John Gordon and was looking at him with a look of intense indignation, as if lie were the real cause of bringing the party into the place. "Do you wisli to go back? You can if you wish.” Falmouth said quietly. “No, no; but this is horrible. It is past all belief. Is it safe for the ladies? Will they be able”— "1’erfectly safe, ladies,” John Gordon spoke with a touch of grimness. “Peo ple are born and live and die here. Safe enough, 1 assure you.” 11. 1 led the way promptly, asking the people to give them room. How the quartet ever lived to get up that stair case where Mr. Marsh nearly fainted no one can tell except themselves. The soprano said afterward that it was a miracle that any of them ever came nut of it alive. And her indignation at the Rev. Paul Falmouth was so deer that nothing but financial considera tions could induce her to sing in the Rev. Falmouth's church again. The corridor iu front of Mrs. Caylor’s was packed almost solid with un washed humanity, although everybody was dressed in the best garments he possessed. Tommy Randall was on hand as general maminer. He was ob sequious and even seemingly fawning to the Rev. Paul Falmouth. He spoke good naturedly to Gordon and gave everybody the impression that the whole arrnngeuieut was of his own planning. And in fact that night when Gordon rau over all the incidents of that remarkable day he almost smiled to think that Tommy Randall bad scorn! a triumph with Louie’s funeral as the background. The quartet sat out in the corridor, aud the minister stood in the doorway where lie could be heard by the crowd in the rooms and outside. The three rooms were jammed with a promiscu ous mob that was packed into every conceivable corner and left the under- taker and Tommy Randall merely room