The Project Gutenberg eBook of Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELMER GANTRY ***

E L M E R G A N T R Y

I

elmer gantry was drunk. He was eloquently drunk, lovinglyand pugnaciously drunk. He leaned against the barof the Old Home Sample Room, the most gilded and urbanesaloon in Cato, Missouri, and requested the bartender to joinhim in “The Good Old Summer Time,” the waltz of the day.

Blowing on a glass, polishing it and glancing at Elmerthrough its flashing rotundity, the bartender remarked thathe wasn’t much of a hand at this here singing business. Buthe smiled. No bartender could have done other than smileon Elmer, so inspired and full of gallantry and hell-raisingwas he, and so dominating was his beefy grin.

“All right, old socks,” agreed Elmer. “Me and my roommate’llshow you some singing as is singing! Meet roommate.Jim Lefferts. Bes’ roommate in world. Wouldn’t livewith him if wasn’t! Bes’ quarterback in Milwest. Meetroommate.”

The bartender again met Mr. Lefferts, with protestations ofdistinguished pleasure.

Elmer and Jim Lefferts retired to a table to nourish thelong, rich, chocolate strains suitable to drunken melody.Actually, they sang very well. Jim had a resolute tenor, andas to Elmer Gantry, even more than his bulk, his thick blackhair, his venturesome black eyes, you remembered that arousingbarytone. He was born to be a senator. He never saidanything important, and he always said it sonorously. Hecould make “Good morning” seem profound as Kant, welcomingas a brass band, and uplifting as a cathedral organ. Itwas a ’cello, his voice, and in the enchantment of it you didnot hear his slang, his boasting, his smut, and the dreadfulviolence which (at this period) he performed on singulars andplurals.

Luxuriously as a wayfarer drinking cool beer they caressedthe phrases in linked sweetness long drawn out:

Elmer wept a little, and blubbered, “Lez go out and start ascrap. You’re lil squirt, Jim. You get somebody to pickon you, and I’ll come along and knock his block off. I’ll show’em!” His voice flared up. He was furious at the wrongabout to be suffered. He arched his paws with longing tograsp the non-existent scoundrel. “By God, I’ll knock the tarout of um! Nobody can touch my roommate! Know who Iam? Elmer Gantry! Thash me! I’ll show um!”

The bartender was shuffling toward them, amiably readyfor homicide.

“Shut up, Hell-cat. What you need is ’nother drink. I’llget ’nother drink,” soothed Jim, and Elmer slid into tears,weeping over the ancient tragic sorrows of one whom he rememberedas Jim Lefferts.

Instantly, by some tricky sort of magic, there were twoglasses in front of him. He tasted one, and murmured foolishly,“ ’Scuse me.” It was the chaser, the water. But theycouldn’t fool him! The whisky would certainly be in thatother lil sawed-off glass. And it was. He was right, as always.With a smirk of self-admiration he sucked in the raw Bourbon.It tickled his throat and made him feel powerful, and at peacewith every one save that fellow—he could not recall who, butit was some one whom he would shortly chastise, and afterthat float into an Elysium of benevolence.

The barroom was deliriously calming. The sour invigoratingstench of beer made him feel healthy. The bar was one longshimmer of beauty—glowing mahogany, exquisite marble rail,dazzling glasses, curiously shaped bottles of unknown liqueurs,piled with a craftiness which made him very happy. The lightwas dim, completely soothing, coming through fantastic windowssuch as are found only in churches, saloons, jewelry shops,and other retreats from reality. On the brown plaster wallswere sleek naked girls.

He turned from them. He was empty now of desire forwomen.

“That damn’ Juanita. Jus’ wants to get all she can out ofyou. That’s all,” he grumbled.

But there was an interesting affair beside him. A piece ofnewspaper sprang up, apparently by itself, and slid along thefloor. That was a very funny incident, and he laughed greatly.

He was conscious of a voice which he had been hearing forcenturies, echoing from a distant point of light and flashingthrough ever-widening corridors of a dream.

“We’ll get kicked out of here, Hell-cat. Come on!”

He floated up. It was exquisite. His legs moved by themselves,without effort. They did a comic thing once—they gottwisted and the right leg leaped in front of the left when, sofar as he could make out, it should have been behind. Helaughed, and rested against some one’s arm, an arm with nobody attached to it, which had come out of the Ewigkeit toassist him.

Then unknown invisible blocks, miles of them, his headclearing, and he made grave announcement to a Jim Leffertswho suddenly seemed to be with him:

“I gotta lick that fellow.”

“All right, all right. You might as well go find a nice littlefight and get it out of your system!”

Elmer was astonished; he was grieved. His mouth hungopen and he drooled with sorrow. But still, he was to beallowed one charming fight, and he revived as he staggeredindustriously in search of it.

Oh, he exulted, it was a great party. For the first time inweeks he was relieved from the boredom of TerwillingerCollege.

II

Elmer Gantry, best known to classmates as Hell-cat, had,this autumn of 1902, been football captain and led the bestteam Terwillinger College had known in ten years. They hadwon the championship of the East-middle Kansas Conference,which consisted of ten denominational colleges, all of themwith buildings and presidents and chapel services and yellsand colors and a standard of scholarship equal to the best high-schools.But since the last night of the football season, withthe glorious bonfire in which the young gentlemen had burnedup nine tar barrels, the sign of the Jew tailor, and the president’stabby-cat, Elmer had been tortured by boredom.

He regarded basket-ball and gymnasium antics as light-mindedfor a football gladiator. When he had come tocollege, he had supposed he would pick up learnings of cash-valueto a lawyer or doctor or insurance man—he had notknown which he would become, and in his senior year, agedtwenty-two this November, he still was doubtful. But thisbelief he found fallacious. What good would it be in thecourtroom, or at the operating table, to understand trigonometry,or to know (as last spring, up to the examinationon European History, he remembered having known) the dateof Charlemagne? How much cash would it bring in to quoteall that stuff—what the dickens was it now?—all that rotabout “The world is too much around us, early and soon”from that old fool Wordsworth?

Punk, that’s what it was. Better be out in business. Butstill, if his mother claimed she was doing so well with hermillinery business and wanted him to be a college graduate,he’d stick by it. Lot easier than pitching hay or carrying two-by-foursanyway.

Despite his invaluable voice, Elmer had not gone out fordebating, because of the irritating library-grinding, nor hadhe taken to prayer and moral eloquence in the Y. M. C. A., forwith all the force of his simple and valiant nature he detestedpiety and admired drunkenness and profanity.

Once or twice in the class in Public Speaking, when he hadrepeated the splendors of other great thinkers, Dan’l Websterand Henry Ward Beecher and Chauncey M. Depew, he hadknown the intoxication of holding an audience with his voiceas with his closed hand, holding it, shaking it, lifting it.The debating set urged him to join them, but they wererabbit-faced and spectacled young men, and he viewed asobscene the notion of digging statistics about immigration andthe products of San Domingo out of dusty spotted books inthe dusty spotted library.

He kept from flunking only because Jim Lefferts drove himto his books.

Jim was less bored by college. He had a relish for theflavor of scholarship. He liked to know things about peopledead these thousand years, and he liked doing canned miraclesin chemistry. Elmer was astounded that so capable a drinker,a man so deft at “handing a girl a swell spiel and getting hergoing” should find entertainment in Roman chariots and theunenterprising amours of sweet-peas. But himself—no. Noton your life. He’d get out and finish law school and neveropen another book—kid the juries along and hire some oldcoot to do the briefs.

To keep him from absolutely breaking under the burden ofhearing the professors squeak, he did have the joy of loafingwith Jim, illegally smoking the while; he did have researchesinto the lovability of co-eds and the baker’s daughter; he didrevere becoming drunk and world-striding. But he could notafford liquor very often and the co-eds were mostly ugly andearnest.

It was lamentable to see this broad young man, who wouldhave been so happy in the prize-ring, the fish-market, or thestock exchange, poking through the cobwebbed corridors ofTerwillinger.

III

Terwillinger College, founded and preserved by the morezealous Baptists, is on the outskirts of Gritzmacher Springs,Kansas. (The springs have dried up and the Gritzmachershave gone to Los Angeles, to sell bungalows and delicatessen.)It huddles on the prairie, which is storm-racked in winter,frying and dusty in summer, lovely only in the grass-rustlingspring or drowsy autumn.

You would not be likely to mistake Terwillinger Collegefor an Old Folks’ Home, because on the campus is a largerock painted with class numerals.

Most of the faculty are ex-ministers.

There is a men’s dormitory, but Elmer Gantry and JimLefferts lived together in the town, in a mansion once the prideof the Gritzmachers themselves: a square brick bulk with awhite cupola. Their room was unchanged from the days ofthe original August Gritzmacher; a room heavy with a vastbed of carved black walnut, thick and perpetually dusty brocadecurtains, and black walnut chairs hung with scarves thatdangled gilt balls. The windows were hard to open. Therewas about the place the anxious propriety and all the deadhopes of a secondhand furniture shop.

In this museum, Jim had a surprising and vigorous youthfulness.There was a hint of future flabbiness in Elmer’s bulk,but there would never be anything flabby about Jim Lefferts.He was slim, six inches shorter than Elmer, but hard as ivoryand as sleek. Though he came from a prairie village, Jim hadfastidiousness, a natural elegance. All the items of his wardrobe,the “ordinary suit,” distinctly glossy at the elbows, andthe dark-brown “best suit,” were ready-made, with falteringbuttons, and seams that betrayed rough ends of thread, buton him they were graceful. You felt that he would belong toany set in the world which he sufficiently admired. Therewas a romantic flare to his upturned overcoat collar; the darnedbottoms of his trousers did not suggest poverty but a carelessand amused ease; and his thoroughly commonplace ties hintedof clubs and regiments.

His thin face was resolute. You saw only its youthfulfreshness first, then behind the brightness a taut determination,and his brown eyes were amiably scornful.

Jim Lefferts was Elmer’s only friend; the only authenticfriend he had ever had.

Though Elmer was the athletic idol of the college, thoughhis occult passion, his heavy good looks, caused the collegegirls to breathe quickly, though his manly laughter was asfetching as his resonant speech, Elmer was never really liked.He was supposed to be the most popular man in college; everyone believed that every one else adored him; and none of themwanted to be with him. They were all a bit afraid, a bit uncomfortable,and more than a bit resentful.

It was not merely that he was a shouter, a pounder on backs,an overwhelming force, so that there was never any refuge ofintimacy with him. It was because he was always demanding.Except with his widow mother, whom he vaguely worshiped,and with Jim Lefferts, Elmer assumed that he was the centerof the universe and that the rest of the system was valuableonly as it afforded him help and pleasure.

He wanted everything.

His first year, as the only Freshman who was playing onthe college football team, as a large and smiling man whowas expected to become a favorite, he was elected president.In that office, he was not much beloved. At class-meetings hecut speakers short, gave the floor only to pretty girls and ladswho toadied to him, and roared in the midst of the weightiestdebates, “Aw, come on, cut out this chewing the rag and let’sget down to business!” He collected the class-fund by demandingsubscriptions as arbitrarily as a Catholic priest assessinghis parishioners for a new church.

“He’ll never hold any office again, not if I can help it!”muttered one Eddie Fislinger, who, though he was a meagerand rusty-haired youth with protruding teeth and an uneasytitter, had attained power in the class by always being presentat everything, and by the piety and impressive intimacy ofhis prayers in the Y. M. C. A.

There was a custom that the manager of the Athletic Associationshould not be a member of any team. Elmer forcedhimself into the managership in Junior year by threatening notto play football if he were not elected. He appointed JimLefferts chairman of the ticket committee, and between them,by only the very slightest doctoring of the books, they turnedforty dollars to the best of all possible uses.

At the beginning of Senior year, Elmer announced that hedesired to be president again. To elect any one as class-presidenttwice was taboo. The ardent Eddie Fislinger, nowpresident of the Y. M. C. A. and ready to bring his raretalents to the Baptist ministry, asserted after an enjoyableprivate prayer-meeting in his room that he was going to faceElmer and forbid him to run.

“Gwan! You don’t dare!” observed a Judas who threeminutes before had been wrestling with God under Eddie’scoaching.

“I don’t, eh? Watch me! Why, everybody hates him, thedarn’ hog!” squeaked Eddie.

By scurrying behind trees he managed to come face to facewith Elmer on the campus. He halted, and spoke of football,quantitative chemistry, and the Arkansas spinster who taughtGerman.

Elmer grunted.

Desperately, his voice shrill with desire to change the world,Eddie stammered:

“Say—say, Hell-cat, you hadn’t ought to run for presidentagain. Nobody’s ever president twice!”

“Somebody’s going to be.”

“Ah, gee, Elmer, don’t run for it. Ah, come on. Courseall the fellows are crazy about you but—Nobody’s ever beenpresident twice. They’ll vote against you.”

“Let me catch ’em at it!”

“How can you stop it? Honest, Elm—Hell-cat—I’m justspeaking for your own good. The voting’s secret. You can’ttell—”

“Huh! The nominations ain’t secret! Now you go rollyour hoop, Fissy, and let all the yellow coyotes know thatanybody that nominates anybody except Uncle Hell-cat willcatch it right where the chicken caught the ax. See? Andif they tell me they didn’t know about this, you’ll get merryHail Columbia for not telling ’em. Get me? If there’s anythingbut an unanimous vote, you won’t do any praying therest of this year!”

Eddie remembered how Elmer and Jim had shown a Freshmanhis place in society by removing all his clothes and leavinghim five miles in the country.

Elmer was elected president of the senior class—unanimously.

He did not know that he was unpopular. He reasoned thatmen who seemed chilly to him were envious and afraid, andthat gave him a feeling of greatness.

Thus it happened that he had no friend save Jim Lefferts.

Only Jim had enough will to bully him into obedient admiration.Elmer swallowed ideas whole; he was a maelstromof prejudices; but Jim accurately examined every notion thatcame to him. Jim was selfish enough, but it was with theselfishness of a man who thinks and who is coldly unafraidof any destination to which his thoughts may lead him. Thelittle man treated Elmer like a large damp dog, and Elmerlicked his shoes and followed.

He also knew that Jim, as quarter, was far more the soul ofthe team than himself as tackle and captain.

A huge young man, Elmer Gantry; six foot one, thick, broad,big handed; a large face, handsome as a Great Dane is handsome,and a swirl of black hair, worn rather long. His eyeswere friendly, his smile was friendly—oh, he was alwaysfriendly enough; he was merely astonished when he found thatyou did not understand his importance and did not want tohand over anything he might desire. He was a barytone soloturned into portly flesh; he was a gladiator laughing at thecomic distortion of his wounded opponent.

He could not understand men who shrank from blood, wholiked poetry or roses, who did not casually endeavor to seduceevery possibly seducible girl. In sonorous arguments withJim he asserted that “these fellows that study all the time arejust letting on like they’re so doggone high and mighty, toshow off to these doggone profs that haven’t got anything butlemonade in their veins.”

IV

Chief adornment of their room was the escritoire of thefirst Gritzmacher, which held their library. Elmer owned twovolumes of Conan Doyle, one of E. P. Roe, and a priceless copyof “Only a Boy.” Jim had invested in an encyclopedia whichexplained any known subject in ten lines, in a “PickwickPapers,” and from some unknown source he had obtained acomplete Swinburne, into which he was never known to havelooked.

But his pride was in the possession of Ingersoll’s “Some Mistakesof Moses,” and Paine’s “The Age of Reason.” For JimLefferts was the college freethinker, the only man in Terwillingerwho doubted that Lot’s wife had been changed intosalt for once looking back at the town where, among the youngmarried set, she had had so good a time; who doubted thatMethuselah lived to nine hundred and sixty-nine.

They whispered of Jim all through the pious dens of Terwillinger.Elmer himself was frightened, for after giving minutesand minutes to theological profundities Elmer had concludedthat “there must be something to all this religious guffif all these wise old birds believe it, and some time a fellowhad ought to settle down and cut out the hell-raising.” ProbablyJim would have been kicked out of college by the ministerialprofessors if he had not had so reverent a way of askingquestions when they wrestled with his infidelity that they letgo of him in nervous confusion.

Even the President, the Rev. Dr. Willoughby Quarles, formerlypastor of the Rock of Ages Baptist Church of Moline,Ill., than whom no man had written more about the necessityof baptism by immersion, in fact in every way a thoroughlythan-whom figure—even when Dr. Quarles tackled Jim anddemanded, “Are you getting the best out of our instruction,young man? Do you believe with us not only in the plenaryinspiration of the Bible but also in its verbal inspiration, andthat it is the only divine rule of faith and practise?” thenJim looked docile and said mildly:

“Oh, yes, Doctor. There’s just one or two little things thathave been worrying me, Doctor. I’ve taken them to the Lordin prayer, but he doesn’t seem to help me much. I’m sureyou can. Now why did Joshua need to have the sun standstill? Of course it happened—it says so right in Scripture.But why did he need to, when the Lord always helped thoseJews, anyway, and when Joshua could knock down big wallsjust by having his people yell and blow trumpets? And if devilscause a lot of the diseases, and they had to cast ’em out, whyis it that good Baptist doctors today don’t go on diagnosingdevil-possession instead of T. B. and things like that? Dopeople have devils?”

“Young man, I will give you an infallible rule. Neverquestion the ways of the Lord!”

“But why don’t the doctors talk about having devils now?”

“I have no time for vain arguments that lead nowhere! Ifyou would think a little less of your wonderful powers ofreasoning, if you’d go humbly to God in prayer and give hima chance, you’d understand the true spiritual significances ofall these things.”

“But how about where Cain got his wife—”

Most respectfully Jim said it, but Dr. Quarles (he had achin-whisker and a boiled shirt) turned from him and snapped,“I have no further time to give you, young man! I’ve toldyou what to do. Good morning!”

That evening Mrs. Quarles breathed, “Oh, Willoughby, didyou ’tend to that awful senior—that Lefferts—that’s trying tospread doubt? Did you fire him?”

“No,” blossomed President Quarles. “Certainly not. Therewas no need. I showed him how to look for spiritual guidanceand—Did that freshman come and mow the lawn? Theidea of him wanting fifteen cents an hour!”

Jim was hair-hung and breeze-shaken over the abyss of hell,and apparently enjoying it very much indeed, while his wickednessfascinated Elmer Gantry and terrified him.

V

That November day of 1902, November of their Senioryear, was greasy of sky, and slush blotted the wooden sidewalksof Gritzmacher Springs. There was nothing to do intown, and their room was dizzying with the stench of thestove, first lighted now since spring.

Jim was studying German, tilted back in an elegant positionof ease, with his legs co*cked up on the desk tablet of theescritoire. Elmer lay across the bed, ascertaining whether theblood would run to his head if he lowered it over the side.It did, always.

“Oh, God, let’s get out and do something!” he groaned.

“Nothing to do, Useless,” said Jim.

“Let’s go over to Cato and see the girls and get drunk.”

As Kansas was dry, by state prohibition, the nearest havenwas at Cato, Missouri, seventeen miles away.

Jim scratched his head with a corner of his book, and approved:

“Well, that’s a worthy idea. Got any money?”

“On the twenty-eighth? Where the hell would I get anymoney before the first?”

“Hell-cat, you’ve got one of the deepest intellects I know.You’ll be a knock-out at the law. Aside from neither of ushaving any money, and me with a Dutch quiz tomorrow, it’sa great project.”

“Oh, well—” sighed the ponderous Elmer, feebly as a sickkitten, and lay revolving the tremendous inquiry.

It was Jim who saved them from the lard-like weariness intowhich they were slipping. He had gone back to his book, buthe placed it, precisely and evenly, on the desk, and rose.

“I would like to see Nellie,” he sighed. “Oh, man, I couldgive her a good time! Little devil! Damn these co-eds here.The few that’ll let you love ’em up, they hang around tryingto catch you on the campus and make you propose to ’em.”

“Oh, gee! And I got to see Juanita,” groaned Elmer. “Hey,cut out talking about ’em, will you! I’ve got a palpitatingheart right now, just thinking about Juanny!”

“Hell-cat! I’ve got it. Go and borrow ten off this newinstructor in chemistry and physics. I’ve got a dollar sixty-fourleft, and that’ll make it.”

“But I don’t know him.”

“Sure, you poor fish. That’s why I suggested him! Do thecheck-failed-to-come. I’ll get another hour of this Dutchwhile you’re stealing the ten from him—”

“Now,” lugubriously, “you oughtn’t to talk like that!”

“If you’re as good a thief as I think you are, we’ll catchthe five-sixteen to Cato.”

They were on the five-sixteen for Cato.

The train consisted of a day-coach, a combined smoker andbaggage car, and a rusty old engine and tender. The trainswayed so on the rough tracks as it bumped through thedrooping light that Elmer and Jim were thrown againsteach other and gripped the arm of their seat. The carstaggered like a freighter in a gale. And tall raw farmers,perpetually shuffling forward for a drink at the water-cooler,stumbled against them or seized Jim’s shoulder to steadythemselves.

To every surface of the old smoking-car, to streaked windowsand rusty ironwork and mud-smeared cocoanut matting, clunga sickening bitterness of cheap tobacco fumes, and wheneverthey touched the red plush of the seat, dust whisked up andthe prints of their hands remained on the plush. The car wasjammed. Passengers came to sit on the arm of their seat toshout at friends across the aisle.

But Elmer and Jim were unconscious of filth and smell andcrowding. They sat silent, nervously intent, panting a little,their lips open, their eyes veiled, as they thought of Juanitaand Nellie.

The two girls, Juanita Klauzel and Nellie Benton, were byno means professional daughters of joy. Juanita was cashierof the Cato Lunch—Quick Eats; Nellie was assistant to adressmaker. They were good girls but excitable, and theyfound a little extra money useful for red slippers and nut-centerchocolates.

“Juanita—what a lil darling—she understands a fellow’stroubles,” said Elmer, as they balanced down the slushy stepsat the grimy stone station of Cato.

When Elmer, as a Freshman just arrived from the pool-hallsand frame high school of Paris, Kansas, had begun tolearn the decorum of amour, he had been a boisterous loutwho looked shamefaced in the presence of gay ladies, whoblundered against tables, who shouted and desired to let theworld know how valiantly vicious he was being. He wasstill rather noisy and proud of wickedness when he was in astate of liquor, but in three and a quarter years of college hehad learned how to approach girls. He was confident, he waseasy, he was almost quiet; he could look them in the eye withfondness and amusem*nt.

Juanita and Nellie lived with Nellie’s widow aunt—she wasa moral lady, but she knew how to keep out of the way—inthree rooms over a corner grocery. They had just returnedfrom work when Elmer and Jim stamped up the rickety outsidewooden steps. Juanita was lounging on a divan whicheven a noble Oriental red and yellow cover (displaying abearded Wazir, three dancing ladies in chiffon trousers, anarghile, and a mosque slightly larger than the narghile)could never cause to look like anything except a disguisedbed. She was curled up, pinching her ankle with one tired andnervous hand, and reading a stimulating chapter of LauraJean Libbey. Her shirt-waist was open at the throat, and downher slim stocking was a grievous run. She was so un-Juanita-like—anash-blonde, pale and lovely, with an ill-restrainedpassion in her blue eyes.

Nellie, a buxom jolly child, dark as a Jewess, was wearing afrowsy dressing-gown. She was making coffee and narratingher grievances against her employer, the pious dressmaker,while Juanita paid no attention whatever.

The young men crept into the room without knocking.

“You devils—sneaking in like this, and us not dressed!”yelped Nellie.

Jim sidled up to her, dragged her plump hand away fromthe handle of the granite-ware coffee-pot, and giggled, “Butaren’t you glad to see us?”

“I don’t know whether I am or not! Now you quit! Youbehave, will you?”

Rarely did Elmer seem more deft than Jim Lefferts. Butnow he was feeling his command over women—certain sortsof women. Silent, yearning at Juanita, commanding herwith hot eyes, he sank on the temporarily Oriental couch,touched her pale hand with his broad finger-tips, and murmured,“Why, you poor kid, you look so tired!”

“I am and—You hadn’t ought to of come here this afternoon.Nell’s aunt threw a conniption fit the last time youwere here.”

“Hurray for aunty! But you’re glad to see me?”

She would not answer.

“Aren’t you?”

Bold eyes on hers that turned uneasily away, looked back,and sought the safety of the blank wall.

“Aren’t you?”

She would not answer.

“Juanita! And I’ve longed for you something fierce, eversince I saw you!” His fingers touched her throat, but softly.“Aren’t you a little glad?”

As she turned her head, for a second she looked at him withembarrassed confession. She sharply whispered, “No—don’t!”as he caught her hand, but she moved nearer to him, leanedagainst his shoulder.

“You’re so big and strong,” she sighed.

“But, golly, you don’t know how I need you! The president,old Quarles—quarrels is right, by golly, ha, ha, ha!—’memberI was telling you about him?—he’s laying for me because hethinks it was me and Jim that let the bats loose in chapel.And I get so sick of that gosh-awful Weekly Bible Study—allabout these holy old gazebos. And then I think about you,and gosh, if you were just sitting on the other side of the stovefrom me in my room there, with your cute lil red slippersco*cked up on the nickel rail—gee, how happy I’d be! Youdon’t think I’m just a bonehead, do you?”

Jim and Nellie were at the stage now of nudging each otherand bawling, “Hey, quit, will yuh!” as they stood over thecoffee.

“Say, you girls change your shirts and come on out andwe’ll blow you to dinner, and maybe we’ll dance a little,” proclaimedJim.

“We can’t,” said Nellie. “Aunty’s sore as a pup becausewe was up late at a dance night before last. We got to stayhome, and you boys got to beat it before she comes in.”

“Aw, come on!”

“No, we can’t!”

“Yuh, fat chance you girls staying home and knitting! Yougot some fellows coming in and you want to get rid of us, that’swhat’s the trouble.”

“It is not, Mr. James Lefferts, and it wouldn’t be any ofyour business if it was!”

While Jim and Nellie squabbled, Elmer slipped his handabout Juanita’s shoulder, slowly pressed her against him. Hebelieved with terrible conviction that she was beautiful, thatshe was glorious, that she was life. There was heaven in thesoftness of her curving shoulder, and her pale flesh was livingsilk.

“Come on in the other room,” he pleaded.

“Oh—no—not now.”

He gripped her arm.

“Well—don’t come in for a minute,” she fluttered. Aloud,to the others, “I’m going to do my hair. Looks just ter-ble!”

She slipped into the room beyond. A certain mature self-reliancedropped from Elmer’s face, and he was like a round-facedbig baby, somewhat frightened. With efforts to appearcareless, he fumbled about the room and dusted a pink andgilt vase with his large crumpled handkerchief. He was nearthe inner door.

He peeped at Jim and Nellie. They were holding hands,while the coffee-pot was cheerfully boiling over. Elmer’sheart thumped. He slipped through the door and closed it,whimpering, as in terror:

“Oh—Juanita—”

VI

They were gone, Elmer and Jim, before the return of Nellie’saunt. As they were not entertaining the girls, they dined onpork chops, coffee, and apple pie at the Maginnis Lunch.

It has already been narrated that afterward, in the OldHome Sample Room, Elmer became philosophical and misogynisticas he reflected that Juanita was unworthy of hisgenerous attention; it has been admitted that he became drunkand pugnacious.

As he wavered through the sidewalk slush, on Jim’s arm,as his head cleared, his rage increased against the bully who wasabout to be encouraged to insult his goo’ frien’ and roommate.His shoulders straightened, his fists clenched, and he beganto look for the scoundrel among the evening crowd of mechanicsand coal-miners.

They came to the chief corner of the town. A little waydown the street, beside the red brick wall of the CongressHotel, some one was talking from the elevation of a box, surroundedby a jeering gang.

“What they picking on that fella that’s talking for? Theybetter let him alone!” rejoiced Elmer, throwing off Jim’s restraininghand, dashing down the side street and into thecrowd. He was in that most blissful condition to which apowerful young man can attain—unrighteous violence in arighteous cause. He pushed through the audience, jabbed hiselbow into the belly of a small weak man, and guffawed at thecluck of distress. Then he came to a halt, unhappy anddoubting.

The heckled speaker was his chief detestation, Eddie Fislinger,president of the Terwillinger College Y. M. C. A., thatrusty-haired gopher who had obscenely opposed his election aspresident.

With two other seniors who were also in training for theBaptist ministry, Eddie had come over to Cato to save a fewsouls. At least, if they saved no souls (and they never hadsaved any, in seventeen street meetings) they would havehandy training for their future jobs.

Eddie was a rasping and insistent speaker who got resultsby hanging to a subject and worrying it, but he had no greatboldness, and now he was obviously afraid of his chief heckler,a large, blond, pompadoured young baker, who bulked in frontof Eddie’s rostrum and asked questions. While Elmer stoodlistening, the baker demanded:

“What makes you think you know all about religion?”

“I don’t pretend to know all about religion, my friend, butI do know what a powerful influence it is for clean and nobleliving, and if you’ll only be fair now, my friend, and give mea chance to tell these other gentlemen what my experience ofanswers to prayer has been—”

“Yuh, swell lot of experience you’ve had, by your looks!”

“See here, there are others who may want to hear—”

Though Elmer detested Eddie’s sappiness, though he mighthave liked to share drinks with the lively young baker-heckler,there was no really good unctuous violence to be had exceptby turning champion of religion. The packed crowd excitedhim, and the pressure of rough bodies, the smell of wet overcoats,the rumble of mob voices. It was like a football line-up.

“Here, you!” he roared at the baker. “Let the fellow speak!Give him a chance. Whyn’t you pick on somebody your ownsize, you big stiff!”

At his elbow, Jim Lefferts begged, “Let’s get out of this,Hell-cat. Good Lord! You ain’t going to help a gospel-peddler!”

Elmer pushed him away and thrust his chest out towardthe baker, who was cackling, “Heh! I suppose you’re aChrister, too!”

“I would be, if I was worthy!” Elmer fully believed it,for that delightful moment. “These boys are classmates ofmine, and they’re going to have a chance to speak!”

Eddie Fislinger bleated to his mates, “Oh, fellows, ElmGantry! Saved!”

Even this alarming interpretation of his motives could notkeep Elmer now from the holy zeal of fighting. He thrustaside the one aged man who stood between him and the baker—bashingin the aged one’s derby and making him telescope likea turtle’s neck—and stood with his fist working like a connecting-rodby his side.

“If you’re looking for trouble—” the baker suggested,clumsily wobbling his huge bleached fists.

“Not me,” observed Elmer and struck, once, very judiciously,just at the point of the jaw.

The baker shook like a skyscraper in an earthquake andcaved to the earth.

One of the baker’s pals roared, “Come on, we’ll kill themguys and—”

Elmer caught him on the left ear. It was a very cold ear,and the pal staggered, extremely sick. Elmer looked pleased.But he did not feel pleased. He was almost sober, and herealized that half a dozen rejoicing young workmen wereabout to rush him. Though he had an excellent opinion ofhimself, he had seen too much football, as played by denominationalcolleges with the Christian accompaniments of kneeingand gouging, to imagine that he could beat half a dozen workmenat once.

It is doubtful whether he would ever have been led to furtherassociation with the Lord and Eddie Fislinger had not Providenceintervened in its characteristically mysterious way. Theforemost of the attackers was just reaching for Elmer whenthe mob shouted, “Look out! The cops!”

The police force of Cato, all three of them, were wedginginto the crowd. They were lanky, mustached men with coldeyes.

“What’s all this row about?” demanded the chief.

He was looking at Elmer, who was three inches taller thanany one else in the assembly.

“Some of these fellows tried to stop a peaceable religiousassembly—why, they tried to rough-house the Reverend here—andI was protecting him,” Elmer said.

“That’s right, Chief. Reg’lar outrage,” complained Jim.

“That’s true, Chief,” whistled Eddie Fislinger from his box.

“Well, you fellows cut it out now. What the hell! Oughtto be ashamed yourselves, bullyragging a Reverend! Goahead, Reverend!”

The baker had come to, and had been lifted to his feet. Hisexpression indicated that he had been wronged and that hewanted to do something about it, if he could only find outwhat had happened. His eyes were wild, his hair was a muddychaos, and his flat floury cheek was cut. He was too dizzyto realize that the chief of police was before him, and his fumingmind stuck to the belief that he was destroying all religion.

“Yah, so you’re one of them wishy-washy preachers, too!”he screamed at Elmer—just as one of the lanky policemenreached out an arm of incredible length and nipped him.

The attention of the crowd warmed Elmer, and he expandedin it, rubbed his mental hands in its blaze.

“Maybe I ain’t a preacher! Maybe I’m not even a goodChristian!” he cried. “Maybe I’ve done a whole lot of thingsI hadn’t ought to of done. But let me tell you, I respectreligion—”

“Oh, amen, praise the Lord, brother,” from Eddie Fislinger.

“—and I don’t propose to let anybody interfere with it.What else have we got except religion to give us hope—”

“Praise the Lord, oh, bless his name!”

“—of ever leading decent lives, tell me that, will you, justtell me that!”

Elmer was addressing the chief of police, who admitted:

“Yuh, I guess that’s right. Well now, we’ll let the meetinggo on, and if any more of you fellows interrupt—” This completedthe chief’s present ideas on religion and mob-violence.He looked sternly at everybody within reach, and stalkedthrough the crowd, to return to the police station and resumehis game of seven-up.

Eddie was soaring into enchanted eloquence:

“Oh, my brethren, now you see the power of the spirit ofChrist to stir up all that is noblest and best in us! You haveheard the testimony of our brother here, Brother Gantry, tothe one and only way to righteousness! When you get homeI want each and every one of you to dig out the Old Bookand turn to the Song of Solomon, where it tells about the loveof the Savior for the Church—turn to the Song of Solomon,the fourth chapter and the tenth verse, where it says—whereChrist is talking about the church, and he says—Song ofSolomon, the fourth chapter and the tenth verse—‘How fair isthy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy lovethan wine!’

“Oh, the unspeakable joy of finding the joys of salvation!You have heard our brother’s testimony. We know of himas a man of power, as a brother to all them that are oppressed,and now that he has had his eyes opened and his ears unstopped,and he sees the need of confession and of humblesurrender before the throne—Oh, this is a historic momentin the life of Hell-c——of Elmer Gantry! Oh, Brother, be notafraid! Come! Step up here beside me, and give testimony—”

“God! We better get outa here quick!” panted Jim.

“Gee, yes!” Elmer groaned, and they edged back throughthe crowd, while Eddie Fislinger’s piping pursued them likeicy and penetrating rain:

“Don’t be afraid to acknowledge the leading of Jesus!Are you boys going to show yourselves too cowardly to riskthe sneers of the ungodly?”

They were safely out of the crowd, walking with severecountenances and great rapidity back to the Old Home SampleRoom.

“That was a dirty trick of Eddie’s!” said Jim.

“God, it certainly was! Trying to convert me! Right beforethose muckers! If I ever hear another yip out of Eddie,I’ll knock his block off! Nerve of him, trying to lead meup to any mourners’ bench! Fat chance! I’ll fix him! Comeon, show a little speed!” asserted the brother to all them thatwere oppressed.

By the time for their late evening train, the sound conversationof the bartender and the sound qualities of his Bourbonhad caused Elmer and Jim to forget Eddie Fislinger and thehorrors of undressing religion in public. They were the moreshocked, then, swaying in their seat in the smoker, to seeEddie standing by them, Bible in hand, backed by his twobeaming partners in evangelism.

Eddie bared his teeth, smiled all over his watery eyes, andcaroled:

“Oh, fellows, you don’t know how wonderful you were tonight!But, oh, boys, now you’ve taken the first step, whydo you put it off—why do you hesitate—why do you keep theSavior suffering as he waits for you, longs for you? He needsyou boys, with your splendid powers and intellects that weadmire so—”

“This air,” observed Jim Lefferts, “is getting too thick forme. I seem to smell a peculiar and a fishlike smell.” Heslipped out of the seat and marched toward the forward car.

Elmer sought to follow him, but Eddie had flopped intoJim’s place and was blithely squeaking on, while the othertwo hung over them with tender Y. M. C. A. smiles very discomfortingto Elmer’s queasy stomach as the train bumpedon.

For all his brave words, Elmer had none of Jim’s resolutecontempt for the church. He was afraid of it. It connotedhis boyhood.... His mother, drained by early widowhoodand drudgery, finding her only emotion in hymns and theBible, and weeping when he failed to study his Sunday Schoollesson. The church, full thirty dizzy feet up to its curiouslycarven rafters, and the preachers, so overwhelming in theirwallowing voices, so terrifying in their pictures of little boyswho stole watermelons or indulged in biological experimentsbehind barns. The awe-oppressed moment of his second conversion,at the age of eleven, when, weeping with embarrassmentand the prospect of losing so much fun, surrounded bysolemn and whiskered adult faces, he had signed a pledgebinding him to give up, forever, the joys of profanity, alcohol,cards, dancing, and the theater.

These clouds hung behind and over him, for all his boldness.

Eddie Fislinger, the human being, he despised. He consideredhim a grasshopper, and with satisfaction consideredstepping on him. But Eddie Fislinger, the gospeler, fortifiedwith just such a pebble-leather Bible (bookmarks of fringedsilk and celluloid smirking from the pages) as his SundaySchool teachers had wielded when they assured him that Godwas always creeping about to catch small boys in their secretthoughts—this armored Eddie was an official, and Elmerlistened to him uneasily, never quite certain that he might notyet find himself a dreadful person leading a pure and boresomelife in a clean frock coat.

“—and remember,” Eddie was wailing, “how terribly dangerousit is to put off the hour of salvation! ‘Watch thereforefor you know not what hour your Lord doth come,’ it says.Suppose this train were wrecked! Tonight!”

The train ungraciously took that second to lurch on a curve.

“You see? Where would you spend Eternity, Hell-cat? Doyou think that any sportin’ round is fun enough to burn in hellfor?”

“Oh, cut it out. I know all that stuff. There’s a lot ofarguments—You wait’ll I get Jim to tell you what BobIngersoll said about hell!”

“Yes! Sure! And you remember that on his death-bedIngersoll called his son to him and repented and begged hisson to hurry and be saved and burn all his wicked writings!”

“Well—Thunder—I don’t feel like talking religion tonight.Cut it out.”

But Eddie did feel like talking religion, very much so. Hewaved his Bible enthusiastically and found ever so many uncomfortabletexts. Elmer listened as little as possible, but hewas too feeble to make threats.

It was a golden relief when the train bumped to a stop atGritzmacher Springs. The station was a greasy wooden box,the platform was thick with slush, under the kerosene lights.But Jim was awaiting him, a refuge from confusing theologicalquestions, and with a furious “G’night!” to Eddie he staggeredoff.

“Why didn’t you make him shut his trap?” demanded Jim.

“I did! Whadja take a sneak for? I told him to shut upand he shut up and I snoozed all the way back and—Ow!My head! Don’t walk so fast!”

I

for years the state of sin in which dwelt Elmer Gantry andJim Lefferts had produced fascinated despair in the Christianhearts of Terwillinger College. No revival but had flung itssulphur-soaked arrows at them—usually in their absence. Noprayer at the Y. M. C. A. meetings but had worried over theirstaggering folly.

Elmer had been known to wince when President the Rev. Dr.Willoughby Quarles was especially gifted with messages atmorning chapel, but Jim had held him firm in the faith ofunfaith.

Now, Eddie Fislinger, like a prairie seraph, sped from roomto room of the elect with the astounding news that Elmer hadpublicly professed religion, and that he had endured thirty-nineminutes of private adjuration on the train. Instantlystarted a holy plotting against the miserable sacrificial lamb,and all over Gritzmacher Springs, in the studies of ministerialprofessors, in the rooms of students, in the small prayer-meetingroom behind the chapel auditorium, joyous souls conspiredwith the Lord against Elmer’s serene and zealous sinning.Everywhere, through the snowstorm, you could hear murmursof “There is more rejoicing over one sinner who repenteth—”

Even collegians not particularly esteemed for their piety,suspected of playing cards and secret smoking, were stirredto ecstasy—or it may have been snickering. The footballcenter, in unregenerate days a companion of Elmer and Jimbut now engaged to marry a large and sanctified Swedish co-edfrom Chanute, rose voluntarily in Y. M. C. A. and promisedGod to help him win Elmer’s favor.

The spirit waxed most fervent in the abode of Eddie Fislinger,who was now recognized as a future prophet, likely,some day, to have under his inspiration one of the larger Baptistchurches in Wichita or even Kansas City.

He organized an all-day and all-night prayer-meeting onElmer’s behalf, and it was attended by the more ardent, evenat the risk of receiving cuts and uncivil remarks from instructors.On the bare floor of Eddie’s room, over KnuteHalvorsted’s paint-shop, from three to sixteen young menknelt at a time, and no 1800 revival saw more successfulwrestling with the harassed Satan. In fact one man, suspectedof Holy Roller sympathies, managed to have the jerks, andwhile they felt that this was carrying things farther than theLord and the Baptist association would care to see, it addedexcitement to praying at three o’clock in the morning, particularlyas they were all of them extraordinarily drunk oncoffee and eloquence.

By morning they felt sure that they had persuaded God toattend to Elmer, and though it is true that Elmer himself hadslept quite soundly all night, unaware of the prayer-meetingor of divine influences, it was but an example of the patienceof the heavenly powers. And immediately after those powersbegan to move.

To Elmer’s misery and Jim’s stilled fury, their sacred roomwas invaded by hordes of men with uncombed locks on theirforeheads, ecstasy in their eyes, and Bibles under their arms.Elmer was safe nowhere. No sooner had he disposed of onedisciple, by the use of spirited and blasphemous argumentspatiently taught to him by Jim, than another would pop outfrom behind a tree and fall on him.

At his boarding-house—Mother Metzger’s, over on BeechStreet—a Y. M. C. A. dervish crowed as he passed the breadto Elmer, “Jever study a kernel of wheat? Swonnerful!Think a wonnerful intricate thing like that created itself?Somebody must have created it. Who? God! Anybody thatdon’t reconize God in Nature—and acknowledge him in repentance—isdumm. That’s what he is!”

Instructors who had watched Elmer’s entrance to classroomswith nervous fury now smirked on him and with tendernessheard the statement that he wasn’t quite prepared to recite.The president himself stopped Elmer on the street andcalled him My Boy, and shook his hand with an affectionwhich, Elmer anxiously assured himself, he certainly had donenothing to merit.

He kept assuring Jim that he was in no danger, but Jimwas alarmed, and Elmer himself more alarmed with each hour,each new greeting of: “We need you with us, old boy—theworld needs you!”

Jim did well to dread. Elmer had always been in dangerof giving up his favorite diversions—not exactly giving themup, perhaps, but of sweating in agony after enjoying them.But for Jim and his remarks about co-eds who prayed in publicand drew their hair back rebukingly from egg-like foreheads,one of these sirens of morality might have snared the easy-goingpangynistic Elmer by proximity.

A dreadful young woman from Mexico, Missouri, used tocoax Jim to “tell his funny ideas about religion,” and go offin neighs of pious laughter, while she choked, “Oh, you’rejust too cute! You don’t mean a word you say. You simplywant to show off!” She had a deceptive sidelong look whichactually promised nothing whatever this side of the altar, andshe might, but for Jim’s struggles, have led Elmer into anengagement.

The church and Sunday School at Elmer’s village, Paris,Kansas, a settlement of nine hundred evangelical Germans andVermonters, had nurtured in him a fear of religious machinerywhich he could never lose, which restrained him from suchreasonable acts as butchering Eddie Fislinger. That smallpasty-white Baptist church had been the center of all hisemotions, aside from hell-raising, hunger, sleepiness, and love.And even these emotions were represented in the House ofthe Lord, in the way of tacks in pew-cushions, MissionarySuppers with chicken pie and angel’s-food cake, soporific sermons,and the proximity of flexible little girls in thin muslin.But the arts and the sentiments and the sentimentalities—theywere for Elmer perpetually associated only with the church.

Except for circus bands, Fourth of July parades, and thesinging of “Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean” and “JingleBells” in school, all the music which the boy Elmer had everheard was in church.

The church provided his only oratory, except for campaignspeeches by politicians ardent about Jefferson and the priceof binding-twine; it provided all his painting and sculpture,except for the portraits of Lincoln, Longfellow, and Emersonin the school-building, and the two china statuettes of pinkladies with gilt flower-baskets which stood on his mother’sbureau. From the church came all his profounder philosophy,except the teachers’ admonitions that little boys who let garter-snakesloose in school were certain to be licked now andhanged later, and his mother’s stream of opinions on hanging uphis overcoat, wiping his feet, eating fried potatoes with hisfingers, and taking the name of the Lord in vain.

If he had sources of literary inspiration outside the church—inMcGuffey’s Reader he encountered the boy who stood onthe burning deck, and he had a very pretty knowledge of theNick Carter Series and the exploits of Cole Younger and theJames Boys—yet here too the church had guided him. InBible stories, in the words of the great hymns, in the anecdoteswhich the various preachers quoted, he had his onlyknowledge of literature—

The story of Little Lame Tom who shamed the wicked richman that owned the handsome team of grays and the pot hatand led him to Jesus. The ship’s captain who in the stormtook counsel with the orphaned but righteous child of missionariesin Zomballa. The Faithful Dog who saved hismaster during a terrific conflagration (only sometimes it was asnowstorm, or an attack by Indians) and roused him to giveup horse-racing, rum, and playing the harmonica.

How familiar they were, how thrilling, how explanatory toElmer of the purposes of life, how preparatory for his futureusefulness and charm.

The church, the Sunday School, the evangelistic orgy, choir-practise,raising the mortgage, the delights of funerals, thesnickers in back pews or in the other room at weddings—theywere as natural, as inescapable a mold of manners to Elmeras Catholic processionals to a street gamin in Naples.

The Baptist Church of Paris, Kansas! A thousand blurredbut indestructible pictures.

Hymns! Elmer’s voice was made for hymns. He rolledthem out like a negro. The organ-thunder of “Nicæa”:

The splendid rumble of the Doxology. “Throw Out theLifeline,” with its picture of a wreck pounded in the darknessby surf which the prairie child imagined as a hundred feethigh. “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” to which you could withoutrebuke stamp your feet.

Sunday School picnics! Lemonade and four-legged racesand the ride on the hay-rack, singing “Seeing Nelly Home.”

Sunday School text cards! True, they were chiefly amedium of gambling, but as Elmer usually won the game (hewas the first boy in Paris to own a genuine pair of loaded dice)he had plenty of them in his gallery, and they gave him ataste for gaudy robes, for marble columns and the purple-broideredpalaces of kings, which was later to be of value inquickly habituating himself to the more decorative homes ofvice. The three kings bearing caskets of ruby and sardonyx.King Zedekiah in gold and scarlet, kneeling on a carpet ofsapphire-blue, while his men-at-arms came fleeing and blood-stained,red blood on glancing steel, with tidings of the banneredhost of Nebuchadnezzar, great king of Babylon. And all hislife Elmer remembered, in moments of ardor, during oratorios inhuge churches, during sunset at sea, a black-bearded Davidstanding against raw red cliffs—a figure heroic and summoningto ambition, to power, to domination.

Sunday School Christmas Eve! The exhilaration of stayingup, and publicly, till nine-thirty. The tree, incredibly tall, alsoincredibly inflammable, flashing with silver cords, with silverstars, with cotton-batting snow. The two round stoves red-hot.Lights and lights and lights. Pails of candy, and forevery child in the school a present—usually a book, verypleasant, with colored pictures of lambs and volcanoes. TheSanta Claus—he couldn’t possibly be Lorenzo Nickerson, thehouse-painter, so bearded was he, and red-cheeked, and so wittyin his comment on each child as it marched up for its present.The enchantment, sheer magic, of the Ladies’ Quartette singingof shepherds who watched their flocks by nights ... brownsecret hilltops under one vast star.

And the devastating morning when the preacher himself, theRev. Wilson Hinckley Skaggs, caught Elmer matching forSunday School contribution pennies on the front steps, and ledhim up the aisle for all to giggle at, with a sharp and not veryclean ministerial thumb-nail gouging his ear-lobe.

And the other passing preachers: Brother Organdy, who gotyou to saw his wood free; Brother Blunt, who sneaked behindbarns to catch you on Halloween; Brother Ingle, who waszealous but young and actually human, and who made whistlesfrom willow branches for you.

And the morning when Elmer concealed an alarm clock behindthe organ and it went off, magnificently, just as thesuperintendent (Dr. Prouty, the dentist) was whimpering,“Now let us all be particularly quiet as Sister Holbrick leadsus in prayer.”

And always the three chairs that stood behind the pulpit, theintimidating stiff chairs of yellow plush and carved oak borders,which, he was uneasily sure, were waiting for the Father, theSon, and the Holy Ghost.

He had, in fact, got everything from the church and SundaySchool, except, perhaps, any longing whatever for decency andkindness and reason.

II

Even had Elmer not known the church by habit, he wouldhave been led to it by his mother. Aside from his friendshipfor Jim Lefferts, Elmer’s only authentic affection was for hismother, and she was owned by the church.

She was a small woman, energetic, nagging but kindly, oncegiven to passionate caresses and now to passionate prayer, andshe had unusual courage. Early left a widow by Logan Gantry,dealer in feed, flour, lumber, and agricultural implements, alarge and agreeable man given to debts and whisky, she hadsupported herself and Elmer by sewing, trimming hats, bakingbread, and selling milk. She had her own millinery and dressmakingshop now, narrow and dim but proudly set right onMain Street, and she was able to give Elmer the three hundreddollars a year which, with his summer earnings in harvest fieldand lumber-yard, was enough to support him—in Terwillinger,in 1902.

She had always wanted Elmer to be a preacher. She wasjolly enough, and no fool about pennies in making change, butfor a preacher standing up on a platform in a long-tailed coatshe had gaping awe.

Elmer had since the age of sixteen been a member in goodstanding of the Baptist Church—he had been most satisfactorilyimmersed in the Kayooska River. Large thoughElmer was, the evangelist had been a powerful man and hadnot only ducked him but, in sacred enthusiasm, held him under,so that he came up sputtering, in a state of grace and muddiness.He had also been saved several times, and once, whenhe had pneumonia, he had been esteemed by the pastor and allvisiting ladies as rapidly growing in grace.

But he had resisted his mother’s desire that he become apreacher. He would have to give up his entertaining vices,and with wide-eyed and panting happiness he was discoveringmore of them every year. Equally he felt lumbering andshamed whenever he tried to stand up before his tittering gangin Paris and appear pious.

It was hard even in college days to withstand his mother.Though she came only to his shoulder, such was her bustlingvigor, her swift shrewdness of tongue, such the gallantry ofher long care for him, that he was afraid of her as he wasafraid of Jim Lefferts’ scorn. He never dared honestly toconfess his infidelity, but he grumbled, “Oh, gee, Ma, I don’tknow. Trouble is, fellow don’t make much money preaching.Gee, there’s no hurry. Don’t have to decide yet.”

And she knew now that he was likely to become a lawyer.Well, that wasn’t so bad, she felt; some day he might go toCongress and reform the whole nation into a pleasing likenessof Kansas. But if he could only have become part of themysteries that hovered about the communion table—

She had talked him over with Eddie Fislinger. Eddie camefrom a town twelve miles from Paris. Though it might beyears before he was finally ordained as a minister, Eddie hadby his home congregation been given a License to Preach asearly as his Sophom*ore year in Terwillinger, and for a month,one summer (while Elmer was out in the harvest fields or theswimming hole or robbing orchards), Eddie had earnestlysupplied the Baptist pulpit in Paris.

Mrs. Gantry consulted him, and Eddie instructed her withthe dignity of nineteen.

Oh, yes, Brother Elmer was a fine young man—so strong—theyall admired him—a little too much tempted by the vaingauds of This World, but that was because he was young.Oh, yes, some day Elmer would settle down and be a fineChristian husband and father and business man. But as tothe ministry—no. Mrs. Gantry must not too greatly meddlewith these mysteries. It was up to God. A fellow had tohave a Call before he felt his vocation for the ministry; a realoverwhelming mysterious knock-down Call, such as Eddie himselfhad ecstatically experienced, one evening in a cabbagepatch. No, not think of that. Their task now was to getElmer into a real state of grace and that, Eddie assured her,looked to him like a good deal of a job.

Undoubtedly, Eddie explained, when Elmer had been baptized,at sixteen, he had felt conviction, he had felt the invitation,and the burden of his sins had been lifted. But he hadnot, Eddie doubted, entirely experienced salvation. He wasnot really in a state of grace. He might almost be called unconverted.

Eddie diagnosed the case completely, with all the properpathological terms. Whatever difficulties he may have hadwith philosophy, Latin, and calculus, there had never been atime since the age of twelve when Eddie Fislinger had haddifficulty in understanding what the Lord God Almighty wanted,and why, all through history, he had acted thus or thus.

“I should be the last to condemn athaletics,” said Eddie.“We must have strong bodies to endure the burden and thesweat of carrying the Gospel to the world. But at the sametime, it seems to me that football tends to detract from religion.I’m a little afraid that just at present Elmer is not in a stateof grace. But, oh, Sister, don’t let us worry and travail! Letus trust the Lord. I’ll go to Elmer myself, and see what Ican do.”

That must have been the time—it certainly was during thatvacation between their Sophom*ore and Junior years—whenEddie walked out to the farm where Elmer was working, andlooked at Elmer, bulky and hayseedy in a sleeveless undershirt,and spoke reasonably of the weather, and walked backagain....

Whenever Elmer was at home, though he tried affectionatelyto live out his mother’s plan of life for him, though withoutvery much grumbling he went to bed at nine-thirty, whitewashedthe henhouse, and accompanied her to church, yetMrs. Gantry suspected that sometimes he drank beer anddoubted about Jonah, and uneasily Elmer heard her sobbing asshe knelt by her high-swelling, white-counterpaned, old-fashionedbed.

III

With alarmed evangelistic zeal, Jim Lefferts struggled tokeep Elmer true to the faith, after his exposure to religion indefending Eddie at Cato.

He was, on the whole, rather more zealous and fatiguingthan Eddie.

Nights, when Elmer longed to go to sleep, Jim argued;mornings, when Elmer should have been preparing his history,Jim read aloud from Ingersoll and Thomas Paine.

“How you going to explain a thing like this—how you goingto explain it?” begged Jim. “It says here in Deuteronomythat God chased these Yids around in the desert for fortyyears and their shoes didn’t even wear out. That’s what itsays, right in the Bible. You believe a thing like that? Anddo you believe that Samson lost all his strength just becausehis gal cut off his hair? Do you, eh? Think hair had anythingto do with his strength?”

Jim raced up and down the stuffy room, kicking at chairs,his normally bland eyes feverish, his forefinger shaken in wrath,while Elmer sat humped on the edge of the bed, his foreheadin his hands, rather enjoying having his soul fought for.

To prove that he was still a sound and freethinking stalwart,Elmer went out with Jim one evening and at considerable effortthey carried off a small outhouse and placed it on the stepsof the Administration Building.

Elmer almost forgot to worry after the affair of Eddie andDr. Lefferts.

Jim’s father was a medical practitioner in an adjoining village.He was a plump, bearded, bookish, merry man,very proud of his atheism. It was he who had trained Jim inthe faith and in his choice of liquor; he had sent Jim to thisdenominational college partly because it was cheap and partlybecause it tickled his humor to watch his son stir up the fretfulcomplacency of the saints. He dropped in and found Elmerand Jim agitatedly awaiting the arrival of Eddie.

“Eddie said,” wailed Elmer, “he said he was coming up tosee me, and he’ll haul out some more of these proofs that I’mgoing straight to hell. Gosh, Doctor, I don’t know what’s gotinto me. You better examine me. I must have anemics orsomething. Why, one time, if Eddie Fislinger had smiled atme, damn him, think of him daring to smile at me!—if he’dsaid he was coming to my room, I’d of told him, ‘Like hell youwill!’ and I’d of kicked him in the shins.”

Dr. Lefferts purred in his beard. His eyes were bright.

“I’ll give your friend Fislinger a run for his money. Andfor the inconsequential sake of the non-existent Heaven, Jim,try not to look surprised when you find your respectablefather being pious.”

When Eddie arrived, he was introduced to a silkily cordialDr. Lefferts, who shook his hand with that lengthiness andpainfulness common to politicians, salesmen, and the godly.The doctor rejoiced:

“Brother Fislinger, my boy here and Elmer tell me thatyou’ve been trying to help them see the true Bible religion.”

“I’ve been seeking to.”

“It warms my soul to hear you say that, Brother Fislinger!You can’t know what a grief it is to an old man tottering tothe grave, to one whose only solace now is prayer and Bible-reading”—Dr.Lefferts had sat up till four a. m., threenights ago, playing poker and discussing biology with hiscronies, the probate judge and the English stock-breeder—“whata grief it is to him that his only son, James BlaineLefferts, is not a believer. But perhaps you can do more thanI can, Brother Fislinger. They think I’m a fanatical old fogy.Now let me see—You’re a real Bible believer?”

“Oh, yes!” Eddie looked triumphantly at Jim, who wasleaning against the table, his hands in his pockets, as expressionlessas wood. Elmer was curiously hunched up in theMorris chair, his hands over his mouth.

The doctor said approvingly:

“That’s splendid. You believe every word of it, I hope,from cover to cover?”

“Oh, yes. What I always say is, ‘It’s better to have thewhole Bible than a Bible full of holes.’ ”

“Why, that’s a real thought, Brother Fislinger. I must rememberthat, to tell any of these alleged higher critics, if Iever meet any! ‘Bible whole—not Bible full of holes.’ Oh,that’s a fine thought, and cleverly expressed. You made itup?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“I see, I see. Well, that’s splendid. Now of course you believein the premillennial coming—I mean the real, authentic,genuwine, immediate, bodily, premillennial coming of JesusChrist?”

“Oh, yes, sure.”

“And the virgin birth?”

“Oh, you bet.”

“That’s splendid! Of course there are doctors who questionwhether the virgin birth is quite in accordance with their experienceof obstetrics, but I tell those fellows, ‘Look here!How do I know it’s true? Because it says so in the Bible, andif it weren’t true, do you suppose it would say so in the Bible?’That certainly shuts them up! They have precious little tosay after that!”

By this time a really beautiful, bounteous fellowship wasflowing between Eddie and the doctor, and they were lookingwith pity on the embarrassed faces of the two heretics left outin the cold. Dr. Lefferts tickled his beard and crooned:

“And of course, Brother Fislinger, you believe in infantdamnation.”

Eddie explained, “No; that’s not a Baptist doctrine.”

“You—you—” The good doctor choked, tugged at hiscollar, panted, and wailed:

“It’s not a Baptist doctrine? You don’t believe in infantdamnation?”

“W-why, no—”

“Then God help the Baptist church and the Baptist doctrine!God help us all, in these unregenerate days, that weshould be contaminated by such infidelity!” Eddie sweat, whilethe doctor patted his plump hands and agonized: “Look youhere, my brother! It’s very simple. Are we not saved bybeing washed in the blood of the Lamb, and by that alone,by his blessed sacrifice alone?”

“W-why, yes, but—”

“Then either we are washed white, and saved, or else we arenot washed, and we are not saved! That’s the simple truth,and all weakenings and explanations and hemming and hawingabout this clear and beautiful truth are simply of the devil,brother! And at what moment does a human being, in all hisinevitable sinfulness, become subject to baptism and salvation?At two months? At nine years? At sixteen? Atforty-seven? At ninety-nine? No! The moment he is born!And so if he be not baptized, then he must burn in hell forever.What does it say in the Good Book? ‘For there is none othername under heaven given among men, whereby we must besaved.’ It may seem a little hard of God to fry beautiful littlebabies, but then think of the beautiful women whom he lovesto roast there for the edification of the saints! Oh, brother,brother, now I understand why Jimmy here, and poor Elmer,are lost to the faith! It’s because professed Christians like yougive them this emasculated religion! Why, it’s fellows likeyou who break down the dike of true belief, and open a channelfor higher criticism and sabellianism and nymphomania andagnosticism and heresy and Catholicism and Seventh-day Adventismand all those horrible German inventions! Once youbegin to doubt, the wicked work is done! Oh, Jim, Elmer, Itold you to listen to our friend here, but now that I find himpractically a freethinker—”

The doctor staggered to a chair. Eddie stood gaping.

It was the first time in his life that any one had accusedhim of feebleness in the faith, of under-strictness. He wassmirkingly accustomed to being denounced as over-strict. Hehad almost as much satisfaction out of denouncing liquor asother collegians had out of drinking it. He had, partly fromhis teachers and partly right out of his own brain, any numberof good answers to classmates who protested that he was old-fashionedin belaboring domino-playing, open communion, listeningto waltz music, wearing a gown in the pulpit, taking awalk on Sunday, reading novels, transubstantiation, and thesenew devices of the devil called moving-pictures. He couldfrighten almost any Laodicean. But to be called shaky himself,to be called heretic and slacker—for that inconceivable attackhe had no retort.

He looked at the agonized doctor, he looked at Jim andElmer, who were obviously distressed at his fall from spiritualleadership, and he fled to secret prayer.

He took his grief presently to President Quarles, who explainedeverything perfectly.

“But this doctor quoted Scripture to prove his point!”bleated Eddie.

“Don’t forget, Brother Fislinger, that ‘the devil can quoteScripture to his purpose.’ ”

Eddie thought that was a very nice thought and very nicelyexpressed, and though he was not altogether sure that it wasfrom the Bible, he put it away for future use in sermons. Butbefore he was sufficiently restored to go after Elmer again,Christmas vacation had arrived.

When Eddie had gone, Elmer laughed far more heartily thanJim or his father. It is true that he hadn’t quite understoodwhat it was all about. Why, sure; Eddie had said it right;infant damnation wasn’t a Baptist doctrine; it belonged tosome of the Presbyterians, and everybody knew the Presbyterianshad a lot of funny beliefs. But the doctor certainlyhad done something to squelch Eddie, and Elmer felt safer thanfor many days.

He continued to feel safe up till Christmas vacation.Then—

Some one, presumably Eddie, had informed Elmer’s motherof his new and promising Christian status. He himself hadbeen careful to keep such compromising rumors out of hisweekly letters home. Through all the vacation he was consciousthat his mother was hovering closer to him than usual,that she was waiting to snatch at his soul if he showed weakening.Their home pastor, the Reverend Mr. Aker—known inParis as Reverend Aker—shook hands with him at the churchdoor with approval as incriminating as the affection of hisinstructors at Terwillinger.

Unsupported by Jim, aware that at any moment Eddiemight pop in from his neighboring town and be accepted as anally by Mrs. Gantry, Elmer spent a vacation in which therewas but little peace. To keep his morale up, he gave particularlyearnest attention to bottle-pool and to the daughterof a near-by farmer. But he was in dread lest these be thelast sad ashen days of his naturalness.

It seemed menacing that Eddie should be on the same trainback to college. Eddie was with another exponent of piety,and he said nothing to Elmer about the delights of hell, buthe and his companion secretly giggled with a confidence morethan dismaying.

Jim Lefferts did not find in Elmer’s face the consciousprobity and steadfastness which he had expected.

I

early in January was the Annual College Y. M. C. A. Weekof Prayer. It was a countrywide event, but in TerwillingerCollege it was of especial power that year because they wereprivileged to have with them for three days none other thanJudson Roberts, State Secretary of the Y. M. C. A., and a mangreat personally as well as officially.

He was young, Mr. Roberts, only thirty-four, but alreadyknown throughout the land. He had always been known. Hehad been a member of a star University of Chicago footballteam, he had played varsity baseball, he had been captain ofthe debating team, and at the same time he had commandedthe Y. M. C. A. He had been known as the Praying Fullback.He still kept up his exercise—he was said to have boxed privilywith Jim Jeffries—and he had mightily increased his praying.A very friendly leader he was, and helpful; hundreds of collegemen throughout Kansas called him “Old Jud.”

Between prayer-meetings at Terwillinger, Judson Robertssat in the Bible History seminar-room, at a long table, under abilious map of the Holy Land, and had private conferenceswith the men students. A surprising number of them cameedging in, trembling, with averted eyes, to ask advice about asecret practice, and Old Jud seemed amazingly able to guesstheir trouble before they got going.

He was very manly and jolly:

“Well, now, old boy, I’ll tell you. Terrible thing, all right,but I’ve met quite a few cases, and you just want to buck upand take it to the Lord in prayer. Remember that he is ableto help unto the uttermost. Now the first thing you want to dois to get rid of—I’m afraid that you have some pretty nastypictures and maybe a juicy book hidden away, now haven’tyou, old boy?”

How could Old Jud have guessed? What a corker!

“That’s right. I’ve got a swell plan, old boy. Make astudy of missions, and think how clean and pure and manlyyou’d want to be if you were going to carry the joys of Christianityto a lot of poor gazebos that are under the evil spellof Buddhism and a lot of these heathen religions. Wouldn’tyou want to be able to look ’em in the eye, and shame ’em?Next thing to do is to get a lot of exercise. Get out and runlike hell! And then cold baths. Darn’ cold. There now!”Rising, with ever so manly a handshake: “Now skip alongand remember”—with a tremendous and fetching and virilelaugh—“just run like hell!”

Jim and Elmer heard Old Jud in chapel. He was tremendous.He told them a jolly joke about a man who kissed agirl, yet he rose to feathered heights when he described thebeatitude of real ungrudging prayer, in which a man was bigenough to be as a child. He made them tearful over thegentleness with which he described the Christchild, wanderinglost by his parents, yet the next moment he had them stretchingwith admiration as he arched his big shoulder-muscles andobserved that he would knock the block off any sneering,sneaking, lying, beer-bloated bully who should dare to come upto him in a meeting and try to throw a monkey-wrench intothe machinery by dragging out a lot of contemptible, quibbling,atheistic, smart-aleck doubts! (He really did, the young menglowed, use the terms “knock the block off,” and “throw amonkey-wrench.” Oh, he was a lulu, a real red-blooded regularfellow!)

Jim was coming down with the grippe. He was unable topump up even one good sneer. He sat folded up, his chinnear his knees, and Elmer was allowed to swell with hero-worship.Golly! He’d thought he had some muscle, but thatguy Judson Roberts—zowie, he could put Elmer on the matseven falls out of five! What a football player he must havebeen! Wee!

This Homeric worship he tried to explain to Jim, back intheir room, but Jim sneezed and went to bed. The rude bardwas left without audience and he was practically glad whenEddie Fislinger scratched at the door and edged in.

“Don’t want to bother you fellows, but noticed you wereat Old Jud’s meeting this afternoon and, say, you gotta comeout and hear him again tomorrow evening. Big evening of theweek. Say, honest, Hell-cat, don’t you think Jud’s a realhumdinger?”

“Yes, I gotta admit, he’s a dandy fellow.”

“Say, he certainly is, isn’t he! He certainly is a dandyfellow, isn’t he! Isn’t he a peach!”

“Yes, he certainly is a peach—for a religious crank!”

“Aw now, Hell-cat, don’t go calling him names! You’lladmit he looks like some football shark.”

“Yes, I guess he does, at that. I’d liked to of played withhim.”

“Wouldn’t you like to meet him?”

“Well—”

At this moment of danger, Jim raised his dizzy head to protest,“He’s a holy strikebreaker! One of these thick-necksthat was born husky and tries to make you think he madehimself husky by prayer and fasting. I’d hate to take achance on any poor little orphan nip of Bourbon wanderinginto Old Jud’s presence! Yeh! Chest-pounder! ‘Why can’tyou hundred-pound shrimps be a big manly Christian likeme!’ ”

Together they protested against this defilement of the hero,and Eddie admitted that he had ventured to praise Elmer toOld Jud; that Old Jud had seemed enthralled; that Old Judwas more than likely—so friendly a Great Man was he—torun in on Elmer this afternoon.

Before Elmer could decide whether to be pleased or indignant,before the enfeebled Jim could get up strength to decidefor him, the door was hit a mighty and heroic wallop, and instrode Judson Roberts, big as a grizzly, jolly as a spaniel pup,radiant as ten suns.

He set upon Elmer immediately. He had six other doubtingThomases or suspected smokers to dispose of before six o’clock.

He was a fair young giant with curly hair and a grin andwith a voice like the Bulls of Bashan whenever the strategycalled for manliness. But with erring sisters, unless theywere too erring, he could be as lulling as woodland violetsshaken in the perfumed breeze.

“Hello, Hell-cat!” he boomed. “Shake hands!”

Elmer had a playful custom of squeezing people’s hands tillthey cracked. For the first time in his life his own paw feltlimp and burning. He rubbed it and looked simple.

“Been hearing a lot about you, Hell-cat, and you, Jim.Laid out, Jim? Want me to trot out and get a doc?” OldJud was sitting easily on the edge of Jim’s bed, and in thelight of that grin, even Jim Lefferts could not be very souras he tried to sneer, “No, thanks.”

Roberts turned to Elmer again, and gloated:

“Well, old son, I’ve been hearing a lot about you. Geewhillikins, that must have been a great game you playedagainst Thorvilsen College! They tell me when you hit thatline, it gave like a sponge, and when you tackled that biglong Swede, he went down like he’d been hit by lightning.”

“Well, it was—it was a good game.”

“Course I read about it at the time—”

“Did you, honest?”

“—and course I wanted to hear more about it, and meetyou, Hell-cat, so I been asking the boys about you, and say,they certainly do give you a great hand! Wish I could’vehad you with me on my team at U of Chi—we needed a tacklelike you.”

Elmer basked.

“Yes, sir, the boys all been telling me what a dandy fine fellowyou are, and what a corking athlete, and what an A-1gentleman. They all say there’s just one trouble with you,Elmer lad.”

“Eh?”

“They say you’re a coward.”

“Heh? Who says I’m a coward?”

Judson Roberts swaggered across from the bed, stood withhis hand on Elmer’s shoulder. “They all say it, Hell-cat!You see it takes a sure-enough dyed-in-the-wool brave manto be big enough to give Jesus a shot at him, and admit he’slicked when he tries to fight God! It takes a man with gutsto kneel down and admit his worthlessness when all the worldis jeering at him! And you haven’t got that kind of courage,Elmer. Oh, you think you’re such a big cuss—”

Old Jud swung him around; Old Jud’s hand was crushinghis shoulder. “You think you’re too husky, too good, toassociate with the poor little sniveling gospel-mongers, don’tyou! You could knock out any of ’em, couldn’t you! Well,I’m one of ’em. Want to knock me out?”

With one swift jerk Roberts had his coat off, stood witha striped silk shirt revealing his hogshead torso.

“You bet, Hell-cat! I’m willing to fight you for the gloryof God! God needs you! Can you think of anything finerfor a big husky like you than to spend his life bringing poor,weak, sick, scared folks to happiness? Can’t you see howthe poor little skinny guys and all the kiddies would followyou, and praise you and admire you, you old son of a gun?Am I a little sneaking Christian? Can you lick me? Want tofight it out?”

“No, gee, Mr. Roberts—”

“Judson, you big hunk of cheese, Old Jud!”

“No, gee, Judson, I guess you got me trimmed! I pack apretty good wallop, but I’m not going to take any chanceon you!”

“All right, old son. Still think that all religious folks arecrabs?”

“No.”

“And weaklings and pikers?”

“No.”

“And liars?”

“Oh, no.”

“All right, old boy. Going to allow me to be a friend ofyours, if I don’t butt in on your business?”

“Oh, gee, sure.”

“Then there’s just one favor I want to ask. Will you cometo our big meeting tomorrow night? You don’t have to doa thing. If you think we’re four-flushers—all right; that’s yourprivilege. Only will you come and not decide we’re all wrongbeforehand, but really use that big fine incisive brain of yoursand study us as we are? Will you come?”

“Oh, yes, sure, you bet.”

“Fine, old boy. Mighty proud to have you let me comebutting in here in this informal way. Remember: if youhonestly feel I’m using any undue influence on the boys, youcome right after me and say so, and I’ll be mighty proud ofyour trusting me to stand the gaff. So long, old Elm! Solong, Jim. God bless you!”

“So long, Jud.”

He was gone, a whirlwind that whisked the inconspicuousherb Eddie Fislinger out after it.

And then Jim Lefferts spoke.

For a time after Judson Roberts’ curtain, Elmer stoodglowing, tasting praise. He was conscious of Jim’s eyes onhis back, and he turned toward the bed, defiantly.

They stared, in a tug of war. Elmer gave in with a furious:

“Well, then, why didn’t you say something while he washere?”

“To him? Talk to a curly wolf when he smells meat?Besides, he’s intelligent, that fellow.”

“Well, say, I’m glad to hear you say that, because—well, yousee—I’ll explain how I feel.”

“Oh, no, you won’t, sweetheart! You haven’t got to themiracle-pulling stage yet. Sure he’s intelligent. I neverheard a better exhibition of bunco-steering in my life. Sure!He’s just crazy to have you come up and kick him in the earand tell him you’ve decided you can’t give your imprimatur—”

“My what?”

“—to his show, and he’s to quit and go back to hod-carrying.Sure. He read all about your great game with Thorvilsen.Sent off to New York to get the Review of Reviews and readmore about it. Eddie Fislinger never told him a word. Heread about your tackling in the London Times. You bet.Didn’t he say so? And he’s a saved soul—he couldn’t lie.And he just couldn’t stand it if he didn’t become a friend ofyours. He can’t know more than a couple of thousand collidgeboys to spring that stuff on! ... You bet I believe in theold bearded Jew God! Nobody but him could have made allthe idiots there are in the world!”

“Gee, Jim, honest, you don’t understand Jud.”

“No. I don’t. When he could be a decent prize-fighter, andnot have to go around with angleworms like Eddie Fislingerday after day!”

And thus till midnight, for all Jim’s fevers.

But Elmer was at Judson Roberts’ meeting next evening, unprotectedby Jim, who remained at home in so vile a temperthat Elmer had sent in a doctor and sneaked away from theroom for the afternoon.

II

It was undoubtedly Eddie who wrote or telegraphed toMrs. Gantry that she would do well to be present at the meeting.Paris was only forty miles from Gritzmacher Springs.

Elmer crept into his room at six, still wistfully hoping tohave Jim’s sanction, still ready to insist that if he went to themeeting he would be in no danger of conversion. He hadwalked miles through the slush, worrying. He was ready nowto give up the meeting, to give up Judson’s friendship, if Jimshould insist.

As he wavered in, Mrs. Gantry stood by Jim’s lightning-shotbed.

“Why, Ma! What you doing here? What’s gone wrong?”Elmer panted.

It was impossible to think of her taking a journey for anythingless than a funeral.

Cozily, “Can’t I run up and see my two boys if I want to,Elmy? I declare, I believe you’d of killed Jim, with all thisnasty tobacco air, if I hadn’t come in and aired the place out.I thought, Elmer Gantry, you weren’t supposed to smoke inTerwillinger! By the rules of the college! I thought, youngman, that you lived up to ’em! But never mind.”

Uneasily—for Jim had never before seen him demoted tochildhood, as he always was in his mother’s presence—Elmergrumbled, “But honest, Ma, what did you come up for?”

“Well, I read about what a nice week of prayer you weregoing to have, and I thought I’d just like to hear a real bigbug preach. I’ve got a vacation coming, too! Now don’t youworry one mite about me. I guess I can take care of myselfafter all these years! The first traveling I ever done with you,young man—the time I went to Cousin Adeline’s wedding—Ijust tucked you under one arm—and how you squalled, thewhole way!—mercy, you liked to hear the sound of your ownvoice then just like you do now!—and I tucked my old valiseunder the other, and off I went! Don’t you worry one miteabout me. I’m only going to stay over the night—got a saleon remnants starting—going back on Number Seven tomorrow.I left my valise at that boarding-house right across from thedepot. But there’s one thing you might do if ’tain’t too muchtrouble, Elmy. You know I’ve only been up here at the collegeonce before. I’d feel kind of funny, country bumpkin like me,going alone to that big meeting, with all those smart professorsand everybody there, and I’d be glad if you could comealong.”

“Of course he’ll go, Mrs. Gantry,” said Jim.

But before Elmer was carried away, Jim had the chance towhisper, “God, do be careful! Remember I won’t be thereto protect you! Don’t let ’em pick on you! Don’t do onesingle doggone thing they want you to do, and then maybeyou’ll be safe!”

As he went out, Elmer looked back at Jim. He was shakilysitting up in bed, his eyes imploring.

III

The climactic meeting of the Annual Prayer Week, to beaddressed by President Quarles, four ministers, and a richtrustee who was in the pearl-button business, with JudsonRoberts as star soloist, was not held at the Y. M. C. A. butat the largest auditorium in town, the Baptist Church, withhundreds of town-people joining the collegians.

The church was a welter of brownstone, with Moorish archesand an immense star-shaped window not yet filled with stainedglass.

Elmer hoped to be late enough to creep in inconspicuously,but as his mother and he straggled up to the Romanesqueportico, students were still outside, chattering. He was certainthey were whispering, “There he is—Hell-cat Gantry. Say,is it really true he’s under conviction of sin? I thought hecussed out the church more’n anybody in college.”

Meek though Elmer had been under instruction by Jim andthreats by Eddie and yearning by his mother, he was notnormally given to humility, and he looked at his critics defiantly.“I’ll show ’em! If they think I’m going to sneakin—”

He swaggered down almost to the front pews, to the joy ofhis mother, who had been afraid that as usual he would hidein the rear, handy to the door if the preacher should becomepersonal.

There was a great deal of decoration in the church, whichhad been endowed by a zealous alumnus after making hisstrike in Alaskan boarding-houses during the gold-rush. Therewere Egyptian pillars with gilded capitals, on the ceiling weregilt stars and clouds more woolen than woolly, and the wallswere painted cheerily in three strata—green, watery blue, andkhaki. It was an echoing and gaping church, and presentlyit was packed, the aisles full. Professors with string mustachesand dog-eared Bibles, men students in sweaters or flannel shirts,earnest young women students in homemade muslin withmodest ribbons, over-smiling old maids of the town, venerablesaints from the back-country with beards which partly hidthe fact that they wore collars without ties, old women withbillowing shoulders, irritated young married couples withbroods of babies who crawled, slid, bellowed, and stared withembarrassing wonder at bachelors.

Five minutes later Elmer would not have had a seat downfront. Now he could not escape. He was packed in betweenhis mother and a wheezing fat man, and in the aisle besidehis pew stood evangelical tailors and ardent school-teachers.

The congregation swung into “When the Roll Is Called UpYonder” and Elmer gave up his frenzied but impractical plansfor escape. His mother nestled happily beside him, her handproudly touching his sleeve, and he was stirred by the marchand battle of the hymn:

They stood for the singing of “Shall We Gather at theRiver?” Elmer inarticulately began to feel his communitywith these humble, aspiring people—his own prairie tribe: thisgaunt carpenter, a good fellow, full of friendly greetings; thisfarm-wife, so courageous, channeled by pioneer labor; thisclassmate, an admirable basket-ball player, yet now chantingbeatifically, his head back, his eyes closed, his voice ringing.Elmer’s own people. Could he be a traitor to them, could heresist the current of their united belief and longing?

Could he endure it to be away from them, in the chillvoid of Jim Lefferts’ rationalizing, on that day when theyshould be rejoicing in the warm morning sunshine by the riverrolling to the imperishable Throne?

And his voice—he had merely muttered the words of thefirst hymn—boomed out ungrudgingly:

His mother stroked his sleeve. He remembered that shehad maintained he was the best singer she had ever heard;that Jim Lefferts had admitted, “You certainly can make thathymn dope sound as if it meant something.” He noted thatpeople near by looked about with pleasure when they heardhis Big Ben dominate the cracked jangling.

The preliminaries merely warmed up the audience for JudsonRoberts. Old Jud was in form. He laughed, he shouted, heknelt and wept with real tears, he loved everybody, he raceddown into the audience and patted shoulders, and for themoment everybody felt that he was closer to them than theirclosest friends.

“Rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race,” was his text.

Roberts was really a competent athlete, and he really hadskill in evoking pictures. He described the Chicago-Michigangame, and Elmer was lost in him, with him lived the momentsof the scrimmage, the long run with the ball, the bleachersrising to him.

Roberts’ voice softened. He was pleading. He was not talking,he said, to weak men who needed coddling into the Kingdom,but to strong men, to rejoicing men, to men brave inarmor. There was another sort of race more exhilarating thanany game, and it led not merely to a score on a big board butto the making of a new world—it led not to newspaper paragraphsbut to glory eternal. Dangerous—calling for strongmen! Ecstatic—brimming with thrills! The team captainedby Christ! No timid Jesus did he preach, but the adventurerwho had joyed to associate with common men, with recklessfishermen, with captains and rulers, who had dared to face thesoldiers in the garden, who had dared the myrmidons of Romeand death itself! Come! Who was gallant? Who had nerve?Who longed to live abundantly? Let them come!

They must confess their sins, they must repent, theymust know their own weakness save as they were rebornin Christ. But they must confess not in heaven-pilferingweakness, but in training for the battle under the wind-tornbanners of the Mighty Captain. Who would come? Whowould come? Who was for vision and the great adventure?

He was among them, Judson Roberts, with his arms heldout, his voice a bugle. Young men sobbed and knelt; a womanshrieked; people were elbowing the standers in the aisles andpushing forward to kneel in agonized happiness, and suddenlythey were setting relentlessly on a bewildered Elmer Gantry,who had been betrayed into forgetting himself, into longing tobe one with Judson Roberts.

His mother was wringing his hand, begging, “Oh, won’t youcome? Won’t you make your old mother happy? Let yourselfknow the joy of surrender to Jesus!” She was weeping, oldeyes puckered, and in her weeping was his every recollectionof winter dawns when she had let him stay in bed and broughtporridge to him across the icy floor; winter evenings when hehad awakened to find her still stitching; and that confusingintimidating hour, in the abyss of his first memories, when hehad seen her shaken beside a coffin that contained a coldmonster in the shape of his father.

The basket-ball player was patting his other arm, begging,“Dear old Hell-cat, you’ve never let yourself be happy!You’ve been lonely! Let yourself be happy with us! Youknow I’m no mollycoddle. Won’t you know the happiness ofsalvation with us?”

A thread-thin old man, very dignified, a man with secreteyes that had known battles and mountain-valleys, was holdingout his hands to Elmer, imploring with a humility utterlydisconcerting, “Oh, come, come with us—don’t stand theremaking Jesus beg and beg—don’t leave the Christ that diedfor us standing out in the cold, begging!”

And, somehow, flashing through the crowd, Judson Robertswas with Elmer, honoring him beyond all the multitude, appealingfor his friendship—Judson Roberts the gorgeous, beseeching:

“Are you going to hurt me, Elmer? Are you going to letme go away miserable and beaten, old man? Are you goingto betray me like Judas, when I’ve offered you my Jesus asthe most precious gift I can bring you? Are you going to slapme and defile me and hurt me? Come! Think of the joy ofbeing rid of all those nasty little sins that you’ve felt so ashamedof! Won’t you come kneel with me, won’t you?”

His mother shrieked, “Won’t you, Elmer? With him andme? Won’t you make us happy? Won’t you be big enoughto not be afraid? See how we’re all longing for you, prayingfor you!”

“Yes!” from around him, from strangers; and “Helpme to follow you, Brother—I’ll go if you will!” Voices woven,thick, dove-white and terrifying black of mourning and lightning-colored,flung around him, binding him—His mother’spleading, Judson Roberts’ tribute—

An instant he saw Jim Lefferts, and heard him insist: “Why,sure, course they believe it. They hypnotize themselves. Butdon’t let ’em hypnotize you!”

He saw Jim’s eyes, that for him alone veiled their brightharshness and became lonely, asking for comradeship. Hestruggled; with all the blubbering confusion of a small boyset on by his elders, frightened and overwhelmed, he longedto be honest, to be true to Jim—to be true to himself and hisown good honest sins and whatsoever penalties they mightcarry. Then the visions were driven away by voices thatclosed over him like surf above an exhausted swimmer. Volitionless,marveling at the sight of himself as a pinioned giant,he was being urged forward, forced forward, his mother onone arm and Judson on the other, a rhapsodic mob following.

Bewildered. Miserable.... False to Jim.

But as he came to the row kneeling in front of the first pew,he had a thought that made everything all right. Yes! Hecould have both! He could keep Judson and his mother, yetretain Jim’s respect. He had only to bring Jim also to Jesus,then all of them would be together in beatitude!

Freed from misery by that revelation, he knelt, and suddenlyhis voice was noisy in confession, while the shouts ofthe audience, the ejacul*tions of Judson and his mother, exaltedhim to hot self-approval and made it seem splendidly rightto yield to the mystic fervor.

He had but little to do with what he said. The willing wasnot his but the mob’s; the phrases were not his but those ofthe emotional preachers and hysterical worshipers whom hehad heard since babyhood:

“O God, oh, I have sinned! My sins are heavy on me!I am unworthy of compassion! O Jesus, intercede for me!Oh, let thy blood that was shed for me be my salvation! OGod, I do truly repent of my great sinning and I do long forthe everlasting peace of thy bosom!”

“Oh, praise God,” from the multitude, and “Praise his holyname! Thank God, thank God, thank God! Oh, hallelujah,Brother, thank the dear loving God!”

He was certain that he would never again want to guzzle, tofollow loose women, to blaspheme; he knew the rapture ofsalvation—yes, and of being the center of interest in the crowd.

Others about him were beating their foreheads, others wereshrieking, “Lord, be merciful,” and one woman—he rememberedher as a strange, repressed, mad-eyed special student whowas not known to have any friends—was stretched out, obliviousof the crowd, jerking, her limbs twitching, her handsclenched, panting rhythmically.

But it was Elmer, tallest of the converts, tall as JudsonRoberts, whom all the students and most of the townpeoplefound important, who found himself important.

His mother was crying, “Oh, this is the happiest hour ofmy life, dear! This makes up for everything!”

To be able to give her such delight!

Judson was clawing Elmer’s hand, whooping, “Liked to hadyou on the team at Chicago, but I’m a lot gladder to have youwith me on Christ’s team! If you knew how proud I am!”

To be thus linked forever with Judson!

Elmer’s embarrassment was gliding into a robust self-satisfaction.

Then the others were crowding on him, shaking his hand,congratulating him: the football center, the Latin professor,the town grocer. President Quarles, his chin whisker vibrantand his shaven upper lip wiggling from side to side, was insisting,“Come, Brother Elmer, stand up on the platform andsay a few words to us—you must—we all need it—we’rethrilled by your splendid example!’ ”

Elmer was not quite sure how he got through the converts,up the steps to the platform. He suspected afterward thatJudson Roberts had done a good deal of trained pushing.

He looked down, something of his panic returning. Butthey were sobbing with affection for him. The Elmer Gantrywho had for years pretended that he relished defying the wholecollege had for those same years desired popularity. He hadit now—popularity, almost love, almost reverence, and hefelt overpoweringly his rôle as leading man.

He was stirred to more flamboyant confession:

“Oh, for the first time I know the peace of God! NothingI have ever done has been right, because it didn’t lead to theway and the truth! Here I thought I was a good church-member,but all the time I hadn’t seen the real light. I’dnever been willing to kneel down and confess myself a miserablesinner. But I’m kneeling now, and, oh, the blessedness ofhumility!”

He wasn’t, to be quite accurate, kneeling at all; he wasstanding up, very tall and broad, waving his hands; and thoughwhat he was experiencing may have been the blessedness ofhumility, it sounded like his announcements of an ability tolick anybody in any given saloon. But he was greeted withflaming hallelujahs, and he shouted on till he was rapturousand very sweaty:

“Come! Come to him now! Oh, it’s funny that I who’vebeen so great a sinner could dare to give you his invitation, buthe’s almighty and shall prevail, and he giveth his sweet tidingsthrough the mouths of babes and sucklings and the most unworthy,and, lo, the strong shall be confounded and the weakexalted in his sight!”

It was all, the Mithraic phrasing, as familiar as “Goodmorning” or “How are you?” to the audience, yet he musthave put new violence into it, for instead of smiling at therecency of his ardor they looked at him gravely, and suddenlya miracle was beheld.

Ten minutes after his own experience, Elmer made his firstconversion.

A pimply youth, long known as a pool-room tout, leaped up,his greasy face working, shrieked, “O God, forgive me!”butted in frenzy through the crowd, ran to the mourners’bench, lay with his mouth frothing in convulsion.

Then the hallelujahs rose till they drowned Elmer’s acceleratedpleading, then Judson Roberts stood with his armabout Elmer’s shoulder, then Elmer’s mother knelt with alight of paradise on her face, and they closed the meeting ina maniac pealing of

Elmer felt himself victorious over life and king of righteousness.

But it had been only the devoted, the people who had comeearly and taken front seats, of whom he had been consciousin his transports. The students who had remained at the backof the church now loitered outside the door in murmurousknots, and as Elmer and his mother passed them, they stared,they even chuckled, and he was suddenly cold....

It was hard to give heed to his mother’s wails of joy allthe way to her boarding-house.

“Now don’t you dare think of getting up early to see me offon the train,” she insisted. “All I have to do is just to carrymy little valise across the street. You’ll need your sleep, afterall this stirrin’ up you’ve had tonight—I was so proud—I’venever known anybody to really wrestle with the Lord like youdid. Oh, Elmy, you’ll stay true? You’ve made your oldmother so happy! All my life I’ve sorrowed, I’ve waited, I’veprayed, and now I shan’t ever sorrow again! Oh, you willstay true?”

He threw the last of his emotional reserve into a ringing,“You bet I will, Ma!” and kissed her good-night.

He had no emotion left with which to face walking alone, ina cold and realistic night, down a street not of shining columnsbut of cottages dumpy amid the bleak snow and unfriendlyunder the bitter stars.

His plan of saving Jim Lefferts, his vision of Jim withreverent and beatific eyes, turned into a vision of Jim withextremely irate eyes and a lot to say. With that vanishmenthis own glory vanished.

“Was I,” he wondered, “just a plain damn’ fool?

“Jim warned me they’d nab me if I lost my head.

“Now I suppose I can’t ever even smoke again without goingto hell.”

But he wanted a smoke. Right now!

He had a smoke.

It comforted him but little as he fretted on:

“There wasn’t any fake about it! I really did repent allthese darn’ fool sins. Even smoking—I’m going to cut it out.I did feel the—the peace of God.

“But can I keep up this speed? Christ! I can’t do it!Never take a drink or anything—

“I wonder if the Holy Ghost really was there and gettingafter me? I did feel different! I did! Or was it just becauseJudson and Ma and all those Christers were there whoopingit up—

“Jud Roberts kidded me into it. With all his Big Brotherstuff. Prob’ly pulls it everywhere he goes. Jim’ll claim I—Oh,damn Jim, too! I got some rights! None of hisbusiness if I come out and do the fair square thing! Andthey did look up to me when I gave them the invitation! Itwent off fine and dandy! And that kid coming right up andgetting saved. Mighty few fellows ever’ve pulled off a conversionas soon after their own conversion as I did! Moodyor none of ’em! I’ll bet it busts the records! Yes, sir, maybethey’re right. Maybe the Lord has got some great use for me,even if I ain’t always been all I might of been ... someways ... but I was never mean or tough or anything likethat ... just had a good time.

“Jim—what right’s he got telling me where I head in?Trouble with him is, he thinks he knows it all. I guess thesewise old coots that’ve written all these books about the Bible,I guess they know more’n one smart-aleck Kansas agnostic!

“Yes, sir! The whole crowd! Turned to me like I was anAll-American preacher!

“Wouldn’t be so bad to be a preacher if you had a bigchurch and—Lot easier than digging out law-cases andhaving to put it over a jury and another lawyer maybesmarter’n you are.

“The crowd have to swallow what you tell ’em in a pulpit,and no back-talk or cross-examination allowed!”

For a second he snickered, but:

“Not nice to talk that way. Even if a fellow don’t do what’sright himself, no excuse for his sneering at fellows that do,like preachers.... There’s where Jim makes his mistake.

“Not worthy to be a preacher. But if Jim Lefferts thinks forone single solitary second that I’m afraid to be a preacher becausehe pulls a lot of guff—I guess I know how I feltwhen I stood up and had all them folks hollering and rejoicing—Iguess I know whether I experienced salvation ornot! And I don’t require any James Blaine Lefferts to tellme, neither!”

Thus for an hour of dizzy tramping; now colder with doubtthan with the prairie wind, now winning back some of theexaltation of his spiritual adventure, but always knowing thathe had to confess to an inexorable Jim.

IV

It was after one. Surely Jim would be asleep, and by nextday there might be a miracle. Morning always promisesmiracles.

He eased the door open, holding it with a restraining hand.There was a light on the washstand beside Jim’s bed, but itwas a small kerosene lamp turned low. He tiptoed in, histremendous feet squeaking.

Jim suddenly sat up, turned up the wick. He was red-nosed,red-eyed, and coughing. He stared, and unmoving,by the table, Elmer stared back.

Jim spoke abruptly:

“You son of a sea-cook! You’ve gone and done it! You’vebeen saved! You’ve let them hornswoggle you into being aBaptist witch-doctor! I’m through! You can go—to heaven!”

“Aw, say now, Jim, lissen!”

“I’ve listened enough. I’ve got nothing more to say. Andnow you listen to me!” said Jim, and he spoke with tonguesfor three minutes straight.

Most of the night they struggled for the freedom of Elmer’ssoul, with Jim not quite losing yet never winning. As Jim’sface had hovered at the gospel meeting between him and theevangelist, blotting out the vision of the cross, so now thefaces of his mother and Judson hung sorrowful and misty beforehim, a veil across Jim’s pleading.

Elmer slept four hours and went out, staggering with weariness,to bring cinnamon buns, a wienie sandwich, and a tinpail of coffee for Jim’s breakfast. They were laboring windilyinto new arguments, Jim a little more stubborn, Elmer evermore irritable, when no less a dignitary than President theRev. Dr. Willoughby Quarles, chin whisker, glacial shirt, bulbouswaistcoat and all, plunged in under the fat soft wing ofthe landlady.

The president shook hands a number of times with everybody,he eyebrowed the landlady out of the room, and boomedin his throaty pulpit voice, with belly-rumblings and long-drawnR’s and L’s, a voice very deep and owlish, most holyand fitting to the temple which he created merely by his presence,rebuking to flippancy and chuckles and the puerilecynicisms of the Jim Leffertses—a noise somewhere betweenthe evening bells and the morning jackass:

“Oh, Brother Elmer, that was a brave thing you did! I havenever seen a braver! For a great strong man of your gladiatorialpowers to not be afraid to humble himself! And yourexample will do a great deal of good, a grrrrrreat deal of good!And we must catch and hold it. You are to speak at theY. M. C. A. tonight—special meeting to reënforce the results ofour wonderful Prayer Week.”

“Oh, gee, President, I can’t!” Elmer groaned.

“Oh, yes, Brother, you must. You must! It’s already announced.If you’ll go out within the next hour, you’ll begratified to see posters announcing it all over town!”

“But I can’t make a speech!”

“The Lord will give the words if you give the good will!I myself shall call for you at a quarter to seven. God blessyou!”

He was gone.

Elmer was completely frightened, completely unwilling, andswollen with delight that after long dark hours when Jim, anundergraduate, had used him dirtily and thrown clods at hisintellect, the president of Terwillinger College should havewelcomed him to that starched bosom as a fellow-apostle.

While Elmer was making up his mind to do what he hadmade up his mind to do, Jim crawled into bed and addressedthe Lord in a low poisonous tone.

Elmer went out to see the posters. His name was in lovelylarge letters.

For an hour, late that afternoon, after various classes inwhich every one looked at him respectfully, Elmer triedto prepare his address for the Y. M. C. A. and affiliated ladyworshipers. Jim was sleeping, with a snore like the snarl ofa leopard.

In his class in Public Speaking, a course designed to createcongressmen, bishops, and sales-managers, Elmer had had toproduce discourses on Taxation, the Purpose of God in History,Our Friend the Dog, and the Glory of the American Constitution.But his monthly orations had not been too arduous; noone had grieved if he stole all his ideas and most of his phrasingfrom the encyclopedia. The most important part of preparationhad been the lubrication of his polished-mahoganyvoice with throat-lozenges after rather steady and totally forbiddensmoking. He had learned nothing except the placingof his voice. It had never seemed momentous to impress thenineteen students of oratory and the instructor, an unordainedlicensed preacher who had formerly been a tax-assessor inOklahoma. He had, in Public Speaking, never been a failurenor ever for one second interesting.

Now, sweating very much, he perceived that he was expectedto think, to articulate the curious desires whereby Elmer Gantrywas slightly different from any other human being, and to rivettogether opinions which would not be floated on any tide ofhallelujahs.

He tried to remember the sermons he had heard. But thepreachers had been so easily convinced of their authority asprelates, so freighted with ponderous messages, while himself, hewas not at the moment certain whether he was a missionarywho had to pass his surprising new light on to the multitude,or just a sinner who—

Just a sinner! For keeps! Nothing else! Damned if he’dwelsh on old Jim! No, sir! Or welsh on Juanita, who’d stoodfor him and merely kidded him, no matter how soused andrough and mouthy he might be! ... Her hug. The wayshe’d get rid of that buttinsky aunt of Nell’s; just wink at himand give Aunty some song and dance or other and send her outfor chow—

God! If Juanita were only here! She’d give him the realdope. She’d advise him whether he ought to tell Prexy andthe Y. M. to go to hell or grab this chance to show EddieFislinger and all those Y. M. highbrows that he wasn’t sucha bonehead—

No! Here Prexy had said he was the whole cheese; gottenup a big meeting for him. Prexy Quarles and Juanita! Abernit! Never get them two together! And Prexy had called onhim—

Suppose it got into the newspapers! How he’d saved a toughkid, just as good as Judson Roberts could do. Juanita—findskirts like her any place, but where could they find a guythat could start in and save souls right off the bat?

Chuck all these fool thoughts, now that Jim was asleep, andfigure out his spiel. What was that about sweating in thevineyard? Something like that, anyway. In the Bible....However much they might rub it in—and no gink’d ever hada worse time, with that sneaking Eddie poking him on one sideand Jim lambasting him on the other—whatever happened, hehad to show those yahoos he could do just as good—

Hell! This wasn’t buying the baby any shoes; this wasn’tgetting his spiel done. But—

What was the doggone thing to be about?

Let’s see now. Gee, there was a bully thought! Tell ’emabout how a strong husky guy, the huskier he was the morehe could afford to admit that the power of the Holy Ghosthad just laid him out cold—

No. Hell! That was what Old Jud had said. Must havesomething new—kinda new, anyway.

He shouldn’t say “hell.” Cut it out. Stay converted, nomatter how hard it was. He wasn’t afraid of—Him andOld Jud, they were husky enough to—

No, sir! It wasn’t Old Jud; it was his mother. What’dshe think if she ever saw him with Juanita? Juanita! Thatsloppy brat! No modesty!

Had to get down to brass tacks. Now!

Elmer grasped the edge of his work-table. The top cracked.His strength pleased him. He pulled up his dingy red sweater,smoothed his huge biceps, and again tackled his apostoliclabors:

Let’s see now: The fellows at the Y. would expect him tosay—

He had it! Nobody ever amounted to a darn except as the—whatwas it?—as the inscrutable designs of Providence intendedhim to be.

Elmer was very busy making vast and unformed scrawlsin a ten-cent note-book hitherto devoted to German. He dartedup, looking scholarly, and gathered his library about him: hisBible, given to him by his mother; his New Testament, givenby a Sunday School teacher; his text-books in Weekly Bibleand Church History; and one-fourteenth of a fourteen-volumeset of Great Orations of the World which, in a rare and alcoholicmoment of bibliomania, he had purchased in Cato forseventeen cents. He piled them and repiled them and tappedthem with his fountain-pen.

His original stimulus had run out entirely.

Well, he’d get help from the Bible. It was all inspired,every word, no matter what scoffers like Jim said. He’d takethe first text he turned to and talk on that.

He opened on: “Now therefore, Tatnai, governor beyond theriver, Shethar-boznai, and your companions the Apharsachites,which are beyond the river, be ye far from thence,” an injunctionspirited but not at present helpful.

He returned to pulling his luxuriant hair and scratching.

Golly. Must be something.

The only way of putting it all over life was to understandthese Forces that the scientists, with their laboratories andeverything, couldn’t savvy, but to a real Christian they werejust as easy as rolling off a log—

No. He hadn’t taken any lab courses except Chemistry I,so he couldn’t show where all these physicists and biologistswere boobs.

Elmer forlornly began to cross out the lovely scrawls hehad made in his note-book.

He was irritably conscious that Jim was awake, and scoffing:

“Having quite a time being holy and informative, Hell-cat?Why don’t you pinch your first sermon from the heathen?You won’t be the first up-and-coming young messiah to do it!”

Jim shied a thin book at him, and sank again into infidelsleep. Elmer picked up the book. It was a selection fromthe writings of Robert G. Ingersoll.

Elmer was indignant.

Take his speech from Ingersoll, that rotten old atheist thatsaid—well, anyway, he criticized the Bible and everything!Fellow that couldn’t believe the Bible, least he could do wasnot to disturb the faith of others. Darn’ rotten thing to do!Fat nerve of Jim to suggest his pinching anything from Ingersoll!He’d throw the book in the fire!

But—Anything was better than going on straining hisbrains. He forgot his woes by drugging himself with heedlessreading. He drowsed through page on page of Ingersoll’srhetoric and jesting. Suddenly he sat up, looked suspiciouslyover at the silenced Jim, looked suspiciously at Heaven. Hegrunted, hesitated, and began rapidly to copy into the Germannote-book, from Ingersoll:

Love is the only bow on life’s dark cloud. It is theMorning and the Evening Star. It shines upon the cradleof the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. Itis the mother of Art, inspirer of poet, patriot and philosopher.It is the air and light of every heart, builder ofevery home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It wasthe first to dream of immortality. It fills the world withmelody, for Music is the voice of Love. Love is themagician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things tojoy, and makes right royal kings and queens of commonclay. It is the perfume of the wondrous flower—theheart—and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon,we are less than beasts; but with it, earth is heaven andwe are gods.

Only for a moment, while he was copying, did he look doubtful;then:

“Rats! Chances are nobody there tonight has ever read Ingersoll.Agin him. Besides I’ll kind of change it around.”

V

When President Quarles called for him, Elmer’s exhortationwas outlined, and he had changed to his Sunday-best blueserge double-breasted suit and sleeked his hair.

As they departed, Jim called Elmer back from the hall towhisper, “Say, Hell-cat, you won’t forget to give credit toIngersoll, and to me for tipping you off, will you?”

“You go to hell!” said Elmer.

VI

There was a sizable and extremely curious gathering at theY. M. C. A. All day the campus had debated, “Did Hell-catreally sure-enough get saved? Is he going to cut out his hell-raising?”

Every man he knew was present, their gaping mouths drippingquestion-marks, grinning or doubtful. Their leers confusedhim, and he was angry at being introduced by EddieFislinger, president of the Y. M. C. A.

He started coldly, stammering. But Ingersoll had providedthe beginning of his discourse, and he warmed to the splendorof his own voice. He saw the audience in the curving Y. M.C. A. auditorium as a radiant cloud, and he began to boomconfidently, he began to add to his outline impressive ideaswhich were altogether his own—except, perhaps, as he hadheard them thirty or forty times in sermons.

It sounded very well, considering. Certainly it comparedwell with the average mystical rhapsody of the pulpit.

For all his slang, his cursing, his mauled plurals and singulars,Elmer had been compelled in college to read certain books,to hear certain lectures, all filled with flushed, florid polysyllables,with juicy sentiments about God, sunsets, the moral improvementinherent in a daily view of mountain scenery, angels,fishing for souls, fishing for fish, ideals, patriotism, democracy,purity, the error of Providence in creating the female leg,courage, humility, justice, the agricultural methods of Palestinecirc. 4 a. d., the beauty of domesticity, and preachers’salaries. These blossoming words, these organ-like phrases,these profound notions, had been rammed home till they stuckin his brain, ready for use.

But even to the schoolboy-wearied faculty who had donethe ramming, who ought to have seen the sources, it was stillastonishing that after four years of grunting, Elmer Gantryshould come out with these flourishes, which they took perfectlyseriously, for they themselves had been nurtured inminute Baptist and Campbellite colleges.

Not one of them considered that there could be anythingcomic in the spectacle of a large young man, divinely fittedfor coal-heaving, standing up and wallowing in thick slipperywords about Love and the Soul. They sat—young instructorsnot long from the farm, professors pale from years of nappingin unaired pastoral studies—and looked at Elmer respectfullyas he throbbed:

“It’s awful’ hard for a fellow that’s more used to buckingthe line than to talking publicly to express how he means, butsometimes I guess maybe you think about a lot of things evenif you don’t always express how you mean, and I want to—whatI want to talk about is how if a fellow looks down deepinto things and is really square with God, and lets God fill hisheart with higher aspirations, he sees that—he sees that Loveis the one thing that can really sure-enough lighten all oflife’s dark clouds.

“Yes, sir, just Love! It’s the morning and evening star.It’s—even in the quiet tomb, I mean those that are around thequiet tomb, you find it even there. What is it that inspires allgreat men, all poets and patriots and philosophers? It’s Love,isn’t it? What gave the world its first evidences of immortality?Love! It fills the world with melody, for what is music?What is music? Why! Music is the voice of Love!”

The great President Quarles leaned back and put on hisspectacles, which gave a slight appearance of learning to hischin-whiskered countenance, otherwise that of a small-townbanker in 1850. He was the center of a row of a dozen initiateson the platform of the Y. M. C. A. auditorium, a shallow platformunder a plaster half-dome. The wall behind them wasthick with diagrams, rather like anatomical charts, showingthe winning of souls in Egypt, the amount spent on whiskyversus the amount spent on hymn books, and the illustratedprogress of a pilgrim from Unclean Speech through CigaretteSmoking and Beer Saloons to a lively situation in which hebeat his wife, who seemed to dislike it. Above was a largeand enlightening motto: “Be not overcome of evil, but overcomeevil with good.”

The whole place had that damp-straw odor characteristicof places of worship, but President Quarles did not, seemingly,suffer in it. All his life he had lived in tabernacles and inrooms devoted to thin church periodicals and thick volumes ofsermons. He had a slight constant snuffle, but his organismwas apparently adapted now to existing without air. Hebeamed and rubbed his hands, and looked with devout joy onElmer’s long broad back as Elmer snapped into it, ever surerof himself; as he bellowed at the audience—beating them,breaking through their interference, making a touchdown:

“What is it makes us different from the animals? The passionof Love! Without it, we are—in fact we are nothing;with it, earth is heaven, and we are, I mean to some extent,like God himself! Now that’s what I wanted to explain aboutLove, and here’s how it applies. Prob’ly there’s a whole lotof you like myself—oh, I been doing it, I’m not going to sparemyself—I been going along thinking I was too good, too big,too smart, for the divine love of the Savior! Say! Any ofyou ever stop and think how much you’re handing yourselfwhen you figure you can get along without divine intercession?Say! I suppose prob’ly you’re bigger than Moses, bigger thanSt. Paul, bigger than Pastewer, that great scientist—”

President Quarles was exulting, “It was a genuine conversion!But more than that! Here’s a true discovery—my discovery!Elmer is a born preacher, once he lets himself go,and I can make him do it! O Lord, how mysterious arethy ways! Thou hast chosen to train our young brother notso much in prayer as in the mighty struggles of the Olympicfield! I—thou, Lord, hast produced a born preacher. Someday he’ll be one of our leading prophets!”

The audience clapped when Elmer hammered out his conclusion:“—and you Freshmen will save a lot of the timethat I wasted if you see right now that until you know Godyou know—just nothing!”

They clapped, they made their faces to shine upon him.Eddie Fislinger won him by sighing, “Old fellow, you got mebeat at my own game like you have at your game!” Therewas much hand-shaking. None of it was more ardent thanthat of his recent enemy, the Latin professor, who breathed:

“Where did you get all those fine ideas and metaphors aboutthe Divine Love, Gantry?”

“Oh,” modestly, “I can’t hardly call them mine, Professor.I guess I just got them by praying.”

VII

Judson Roberts, ex-football-star, state secretary of the Y. M.C. A., was on the train to Concordia, Kansas. In the vestibulehe had three puffs of an illegal cigarette and crushed itout.

“No, really, it wasn’t so bad for him, that Elmer what’s-his-name,to get converted. Suppose there isn’t anything to it.Won’t hurt him to cut out some of his bad habits for a while,anyway. And how do we know? Maybe the Holy Ghostdoes come down. No more improbable than electricity. I dowish I could get over this doubting! I forget it when I’ve got’em going in an evangelistic meeting, but when I watch a bigbutcher like him, with that damn’ silly smirk on his jowls—Ibelieve I’ll go into the real estate business. I don’tthink I’m hurting these young fellows any, but I do wish Icould be honest. Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, I wish I had agood job selling real estate!”

VIII

Elmer walked home firmly. “Just what right has Mr. JamesB. Lefferts got to tell me I mustn’t use my ability to get acrowd going? And I certainly had ’em going! Never knewI could spiel like that. Easy as feetball! And Prexy sayingI was a born preacher! Huh!”

Firmly and resentfully he came into their room, andslammed down his hat.

It awoke Jim. “How’d it go over? Hand ’em out thegospel guff?”

“I did!” Elmer trumpeted. “It went over, as you put it,corking. Got any objections?”

He lighted the largest lamp and turned it up full, his backto Jim.

No answer. When he looked about, Jim seemed asleep.

At seven next morning he said forgivingly, rather patronizingly,“I’ll be gone till ten—bring you back some breakfast?”

Jim answered, “No, thanks,” and those were his only wordsthat morning.

When Elmer came in at ten-thirty, Jim was gone, his possessionsgone. (It was no great moving: three suit-cases ofclothes, an armful of books.) There was a note on the table:

All of Elmer’s raging did not make the room seem lesslonely.

I

president quarles urged him.

Elmer would, perhaps, affect the whole world if he becamea minister. What glory for Old Terwillinger and all theshrines of Gritzmacher Springs!

Eddie Fislinger urged him.

“Jiminy! You’d go way beyond me! I can see you presidentof the Baptist convention!” Elmer still did not likeEddie, but he was making much now of ignoring Jim Lefferts(they met on the street and bowed ferociously), and he hadto have some one to play valet to his virtues.

The ex-minister dean of the college urged him.

Where could Elmer find a profession with a better socialposition than the ministry—thousands listening to him—invitedto banquets and everything. So much easier than—Well, not exactly easier; all ministers worked arduously—greatsacrifices—constant demands on their sympathy—heroicstruggle against vice—but same time, elegant and superiorwork, surrounded by books, high thoughts, and the finest ladiesin the city or country as the case might be. And cheaper professionaltraining than law. With scholarships and outsidepreaching, Elmer could get through the three years of MizpahTheological Seminary on almost nothing a year. What otherplans had he for a career? Nothing definite? Why, lookedlike divine intervention; certainly did; let’s call it settled.Perhaps he could get Elmer a scholarship the very firstyear—

His mother urged him.

She wrote, daily, that she was longing, praying, sobbing—

Elmer urged himself.

He had no prospects except the chance of reading law in thedingy office of a cousin in Toluca, Kansas. The only thingshe had against the ministry, now that he was delivered fromJim, were the low salaries and the fact that if ministers werecaught drinking or flirting, it was often very hard on them. Thesalaries weren’t so bad—he’d go to the top, of course, andmaybe make eight or ten thousand. But the diversions—He thought about it so much that he made a hasty trip toCato, and came back temporarily cured forever of any desirefor wickedness.

The greatest urge was his memory of holding his audience,playing on them. To move people—Golly! He wantedto be addressing somebody on something right now, and beingapplauded!

By this time he was so rehearsed in his rôle of candidate forrighteousness that it didn’t bother him (so long as no snickeringJim was present) to use the most embarrassing theologicaland moral terms in the presence of Eddie or the president; andwithout one grin he rolled out dramatic speeches about “theduty of every man to lead every other man to Christ,” and “thehistoric position of the Baptists as the one true ScripturalChurch, practising immersion, as taught by Christ himself.”

He was persuaded. He saw himself as a white-browed andstar-eyed young evangel, wearing a new frock coat, standing upin a pulpit and causing hundreds of beautiful women toweep with conviction and rush down to clasp his hand.

But there was one barrier, extremely serious. They all informedhim that select though he was as sacred material,before he decided he must have a mystic experience known as aCall. God himself must appear and call him to service, andconscious though Elmer was now of his own powers and theexcellence of the church, he saw no more of God about theplace than in his worst days of unregeneracy.

He asked the president and the dean if they had had a Call.Oh, yes, certainly; but they were vague about practical tipsas to how to invite a Call and recognize it when it came. Hewas reluctant to ask Eddie—Eddie would be only too profusewith tips, and want to kneel down and pray with him, andgenerally be rather damp and excitable and messy.

The Call did not come, not for weeks, with Easter past andno decision as to what he was going to do next year.

II

Spring on the prairie, high spring. Lilacs masked thespeckled brick and stucco of the college buildings, spiræa madea flashing wall, and from the Kansas fields came soft airs andthe whistle of meadow larks.

Students loafed at their windows, calling down to friends;they played catch on the campus; they went bareheaded andwrote a great deal of poetry; and the Terwillinger baseballteam defeated Fogelquist College.

Still Elmer did not receive his divine Call.

By day, playing catch, kicking up his heels, belaboring hisacquaintances, singing “The happiest days that ever were, weknew at old Terwillinger” on a fence fondly believed to resemblethe Yale fence, or tramping by himself through theminute forest of cottonwood and willow by Tunker Creek, heexpanded with the expanding year and knew happiness.

The nights were unadulterated hell.

He felt guilty that he had no Call, and he went to thepresident about it in mid-May.

Dr. Quarles was thoughtful, and announced:

“Brother Elmer, the last thing I’d ever want to do, in fairnessto the spirit of the ministry, would be to create an illusionof a Call when there was none present. That would be likethe pagan hallucinations worked on the poor suffering followersof Roman Catholicism. Whatever else he may be, a Baptistpreacher must be free from illusions; he must found his workon good hard scientific facts—the proven facts of the Bible, andsubstitutionary atonement, which even pragmatically we knowto be true, because it works. No, no! But at the same timeI feel sure the voice of God is calling you, if you can but hearit, and I want to help you lift the veil of worldliness which still,no doubt, deafens your inner ear. Will you come to my housetomorrow evening? We’ll take the matter to the Lord inprayer.”

It was all rather dreadful.

That kindly spring evening, with a breeze fresh in thebranches of the sycamores, President Quarles had shut thewindows and drawn the blinds in his living-room, an apartmentfilled with crayon portraits of Baptist worthies, red-plushchairs, and leaded-glass unit bookcases containing the laywritings of the more poetic clergy. The president had gatheredas assistants in prayer the more aged and fundamentalist ex-pastorson the faculty and the more milky and elocutionaryof the Y. M. C. A. leaders, headed by Eddie Fislinger.

When Elmer entered, they were on their knees, their armson the seats of reversed chairs, their heads bowed, all prayingaloud and together. They looked up at him like old womensurveying the bride. He wanted to bolt. Then the presidentnabbed him, and had him down on his knees, suffering andembarrassed and wondering what the devil to pray about.

They took turns at telling God what he ought to do in thecase of “our so ardently and earnestly seeking brother.”

“Now will you lift your voice in prayer, Brother Elmer?Just let yourself go. Remember we’re all with you, all lovingand helping you,” grated the president.

They crowded near him. The president put his stiff old armabout Elmer’s shoulder. It felt like a dry bone, and the presidentsmelled of kerosene. Eddie crowded up on the other sideand nuzzled against him. The others crept in, patting him.It was horribly hot in that room, and they were so close—hefelt as if he were tied down in a hospital ward. He looked upand saw the long shaven face, the thin tight lips, of a minister... whom he was now to emulate.

He prickled with horror, but he tried to pray. He wailed,“O blessed Lord, help me to—help me to—”

He had an enormous idea. He sprang up. He cried, “Say,I think the spirit is beginning to work and maybe if I justwent out and took a short walk and kinda prayed by myself,while you stayed here and prayed for me, it might help.”

“I don’t think that would be the way,” began the president,but the most aged faculty-member suggested, “Maybe it’s theLord’s guidance. We hadn’t ought to interfere with theLord’s guidance, Brother Quarles.”

“That’s so, that’s so,” the president announced. “You haveyour walk, Brother Elmer, and pray hard, and we’ll stay hereand besiege the throne of grace for you.”

Elmer blundered out into the fresh clean air.

Whatever happened, he was never going back! How hehated their soft, crawly, wet hands!

He had notions of catching the last train to Cato and gettingsolacingly drunk. No. He’d lose his degree, just a month offnow, and be cramped later in appearing as a real, high-class,college-educated lawyer.

Lose it, then! Anything but go back to their crawlingcreepy hands, their aged breathing by his ear—

He’d get hold of somebody and say he felt sick and send himback to tell Prexy and sneak off to bed. Cinch! He justwouldn’t get his Call, just pass it up, by Jiminy, and not haveto go into the ministry.

But to lose the chance to stand before thousands and stirthem by telling about divine love and the evening and morningstar—If he could just stand it till he got through theologicalseminary and was on the job—Then, if any EddieFislinger tried to come into his study and breathe down hisneck—throw him out, by golly!

He was conscious that he was leaning against a tree, tearingdown twigs, and that facing him under a street-lamp was JimLefferts.

“You look sick, Hell-cat,” said Jim.

Elmer strove for dignity, then broke, with a moaning, “Oh,I am! What did I ever get into this religious fix for?”

“What they doing to you? Never mind; don’t tell me. Youneed a drink.”

“By God, I do!”

“I’ve got a quart of first-rate corn whisky from a moon-shinerI’ve dug up out here in the country, and my room’sright in this block. Come along.”

Through his first drink, Elmer was quiet, bewildered, vaguelyleaning on the Jim who would guide him away from this horror.

But he was out of practice in drinking, and the whisky tookhold with speed. By the middle of the second glass he wasboasting of his ecclesiastical eloquence, he was permitting Jimto know that never in Terwillinger College had there appearedso promising an orator, that right now they were there prayingfor him, waiting for him, the president and the whole outfit!

“But,” with a slight return of apology, “I suppose prob’lyyou think maybe I hadn’t ought to go back to ’em.”

Jim was standing by the open window, saying slowly, “No.I think now—You’d better go back. I’ve got some peppermints.They’ll fix your breath, more or less. Good-by, Hell-cat.”

He had won even over old Jim!

He was master of the world, and only a very little bit drunk.

He stepped out high and happy. Everything was extremelybeautiful. How high the trees were! What a wonderful drug-storewindow, with all those glossy new magazine covers!That distant piano—magic. What exquisite young womenthe co-eds! What lovable and sturdy men the students! Hewas at peace with everything. What a really good fellow hewas! He’d lost all his meannesses. How kind he’d been tothat poor lonely sinner, Jim Lefferts. Others might despairof Jim’s soul—he never would.

Poor old Jim. His room had looked terrible—that narrowlittle room with a cot, all in disorder, a pair of shoes and acorncob pipe lying on a pile of books. Poor Jim. He’d forgivehim. Go around and clean up the room for him.

(Not that Elmer had ever cleaned up their former room.)

Gee, what a lovely spring night! How corking those oldboys were, Prexy and everybody, to give up an evening andpray for him!

Why was it he felt so fine? Of course! The Call had come!God had come to him, though just spiritually, not corporeally,so far as he remembered. It had come! He could go aheadand rule the world!

He dashed into the president’s house; he shouted from thedoor, erect, while they knelt and looked up at him mousily, “It’scome! I feel it in everything! God just opened my eyes andmade me feel what a wonderful ole world it is, and it was justlike I could hear his voice saying, ‘Don’t you want to loveeverybody and help them to be happy? Do you want to justgo along being selfish, or have you got a longing to—to helpeverybody?’ ”

He stopped. They had listened silently, with interestedgrunts of “Amen, Brother.”

“Honest, it was awful’ impressive. Somehow, something hasmade me feel so much better than when I went away fromhere. I’m sure it was a real Call. Don’t you think so, President?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it!” the president ejacul*ted, getting uphastily and rubbing his knees.

“I feel that all is right with our brother; that he has now,this sacred moment, heard the voice of God, and is enteringupon the highest calling in the sight of God,” the presidentobserved to the dean. “Don’t you feel so?”

“God be praised,” said the dean, and looked at his watch.

III

On their way home, they two alone, the oldest faculty-membersaid to the dean, “Yes, it was a fine gratifying moment.And—herumph!—slightly surprising. I’d hardly thought thatyoung Gantry would go on being content with the mild blissesof salvation. Herumph! Curious smell of peppermint hehad about him.”

“I suppose he stopped at the drug-store during his walk andhad a soft-drink of some kind. Don’t know, Brother,” saidthe dean, “that I approve of these soft drinks. Innocent inthemselves, but they might lead to carelessness in beverages;A man who drinks ginger ale—how are you going to impresson him the terrible danger of drinking ale?”

“Yes, yes,” said the oldest faculty-member (he was sixty-eight,to the dean’s boyish sixty). “Say, Brother, how do youfeel about young Gantry? About his entering the ministry?I know you did well in the pulpit before you came here, as Imore or less did myself, but if you were a boy of twenty-one or-two,do you think you’d become a preacher now, way thingsare?”

“Why, Brother!” grieved the dean. “Certainly I would!What a question! What would become of all our work atTerwillinger, all our ideals in opposition to the heathenish largeuniversities, if the ministry weren’t the highest ideal—”

“I know. I know. I just wonder sometimes—All thenew vocations that are coming up. Medicine. Advertising.World just going it! I tell you, Dean, in another forty years,by 1943, men will be up in the air in flying machines, goingmaybe a hundred miles an hour!”

“My dear fellow, if the Lord had meant men to fly, he’dhave given us wings.”

“But there are prophecies in the Book—”

“Those refer purely to spiritual and symbolic flying. No,no! Never does to oppose the clear purpose of the Bible, andI could dig you out a hundred texts that show unquestionablythat the Lord intends us to stay right here on earth till thatday when we shall be upraised in the body with him.”

“Herumph! Maybe. Well, here’s my corner. Good night,Brother.”

The dean came into his house. It was a small house.

“How’d it go?” asked his wife.

“Splendid. Young Gantry seemed to feel an unmistakabledivine call. Something struck him that just uplifted him.He’s got a lot of power. Only—”

The dean irritably sat down in a cane-seated rocker, jerkedoff his shoes, grunted, drew on his slippers.

“Only, hang it, I simply can’t get myself to like him!Emma, tell me: If I were his age now, do you think I’d gointo the ministry, as things are today?”

“Why, Henry! What in the world ever makes you say athing like that? Of course you would! Why, if that weren’tthe case—What would our whole lives mean, all we’ve givenup and everything?”

“Oh, I know. I just get to thinking. Sometimes I wonderif we’ve given up so much. Don’t hurt even a preacher toface himself! After all, those two years when I was in thecarpet business, before I went to the seminary, I didn’t dovery well. Maybe I wouldn’t have made any more than I donow. But if I could—Suppose I could’ve been a greatchemist? Wouldn’t that (mind you, I’m just speculating, asa student of psychology)—wouldn’t that conceivably be betterthan year after year of students with the same confoundedproblems over and over again—and always so pleased andsurprised and important about them!—or year after year againof standing in the pulpit and knowing your congregation don’tremember what you’ve said seven minutes after you’ve saidit?”

“Why, Henry, I don’t know what’s gotten into you! I thinkyou better do a little praying yourself instead of picking onthis poor young Gantry! Neither you nor I could ever havebeen happy except in a Baptist church or a real cover-to-coverBaptist college.”

The dean’s wife finished darning the towels and went up tosay good-night to her parents.

They had lived with her since her father’s retirement, atseventy-five, from his country pastorate. He had been a missionaryin Missouri before the Civil War.

Her lips had been moving, her eyebrows working, as shedarned the towels; her eyebrows were still creased as shecame into their room and shrieked at her father’s deafness:

“Time to go to bed, Papa. And you, Mama.”

They were nodding on either side of a radiator unheatedfor months.

“All right, Emmy,” piped the ancient.

“Say, Papa—Tell me: I’ve been thinking: If you werejust a young man today, would you go into the ministry?”

“Course I would! What an idea! Most glorious vocationyoung man could have. Idea! G’night, Emmy!”

But as his ancient wife sighingly removed her corsets, shecomplained, “Don’t know as you would or not—if I wasmarried to you—which ain’t any too certain, a second time—andif I had anything to say about it!”

“Which is certain! Don’t be foolish. Course I would.”

“I don’t know. Fifty years I had of it, and I never did getso I wa’n’t just mad clear through when the ladies of thechurch came poking around, criticizing me for every little tidyI put on the chairs, and talking something terrible if I hada bonnet or a shawl that was the least mite tasty. ‘ ’Twa’n’tsuitable for a minister’s wife.’ Drat ’em! And I always didlike a bonnet with some nice bright colors. Oh, I’ve donea right smart of thinking about it. You always were a powerfulpreacher, but’s I’ve told you—”

“You have!”

“—I never could make out how, if when you were in thepulpit you really knew so much about all these high andmighty and mysterious things, how it was when you got homeyou never knew enough, and you never could learn enough, tofind the hammer or make a nice piece of corn-bread or add upa column of figures twice alike or find Oberammergau on themap of Austria!”

“Germany, woman! I’m sleepy!”

“And all these years of having to pretend to be so good whenwe were just common folks all the time! Ain’t you glad youcan just be simple folks now?”

“Maybe it is restful. But that’s not saying I wouldn’t doit over again.” The old man ruminated a long while. “I thinkI would. Anyway, no use discouraging these young people fromentering the ministry. Somebody got to preach the gospeltruth, ain’t they?”

“I suppose so. Oh, dear. Fifty years since I married apreacher! And if I could still only be sure about the virginbirth! Now don’t you go explaining! Laws, the number oftimes you’ve explained! I know it’s true—it’s in the Bible.If I could only believe it! But—

“I would of liked to had you try your hand at politics. IfI could of been, just once, to a senator’s house, to a banquetor something, just once, in a nice bright red dress with goldslippers, I’d of been willing to go back to alpaca and scrubbingfloors and listening to you rehearsing your sermons, out in thestable, to that old mare we had for so many years—oh, laws,how long is it she’s been dead now? Must be—yes, it’stwenty-seven years—

“Why is it that it’s only in religion that the things you gotto believe are agin all experience? Now drat it, don’t you goand quote that ‘I believe because it is impossible’ thing at meagain! Believe because it’s impossible! Huh! Just like aminister!

“Oh, dear, I hope I don’t live long enough to lose my faith.Seems like the older I get, the less I’m excited over all thesepreachers that talk about hell only they never saw it.

“Twenty-seven years! And we had that old hoss so longbefore that. My how she could kick—Busted that buggy—”

They were both asleep.

I

in the cottonwood grove by the muddy river, three miles westof Paris, Kansas, the godly were gathered with lunch-baskets,linen dusters, and moist unhappy babies for the all-day celebration.Brothers Elmer Gantry and Edward Fislinger hadbeen licensed to preach before, but now they were to be ordainedas full-fledged preachers, as Baptist ministers.

They had come home from distant Mizpah TheologicalSeminary for ordination by their own council of churches, theKayooska River Baptist Association. Both of them had anotheryear to go out of the three-year seminary course, but bythe more devout and rural brethren it is considered well to ordainthe clerics early, so that even before they attain infalliblewisdom they may fill backwoods pulpits and during week-endsdo good works with divine authority.

His vacation after college Elmer had spent on a farm; duringvacation after his first year in seminary he had been supervisorin a boys’ camp; now, after ordination, he was to supply atthe smaller churches in his corner of Kansas.

During his second year of seminary, just finished, he hadbeen more voluminously bored than ever at Terwillinger. Constantlyhe had thought of quitting, but after his journeys tothe city of Monarch, where he was in closer relation to fancyladies and to bartenders than one would have desired in a holyclerk, he got a second wind in his resolve to lead a pure life,and so managed to keep on toward perfection, as symbolizedby the degree of Bachelor of Divinity.

But if he had been bored, he had acquired professional training.

He was able now to face any audience and to discourseauthoritatively on any subject whatever, for any given timeto the second, without trembling and without any errors ofspeech beyond an infrequent “ain’t” or “he don’t.” He hadan elegant vocabulary. He knew eighteen synonyms for sin,half of them very long and impressive, and the others veryshort and explosive and minatory—minatory being one of hisown best words, constantly useful in terrifying the as yetimaginary horde of sinners gathered before him.

He was no longer embarrassed by using the most intimatelanguage about God; without grinning he could ask a seven-year-oldboy, “Don’t you want to give up your vices?” andwithout flinching he could look a tobacco salesman in theeye and demand, “Have you ever knelt before the throne ofgrace?”

Whatever worldly expressions he might use in sub rosaconversations with the less sanctified theological students, suchas Harry Zenz, who was the most confirmed atheist in theschool, in public he never so much as said “doggone,” and hehad on tap, for immediate and skilled use, a number of suchphrases as “Brother, I am willing to help you find religion,”“My whole life is a testimonial to my faith,” “To the inner eyethere is no trouble in comprehending the three-fold nature ofdivinity,” “We don’t want any long-faced Christians in thischurch—the fellow that’s been washed in the blood of the Lambis just so happy he goes ’round singing and hollering hallelujahall day long,” and “Come on now, all get together, and let’smake this the biggest collection this church has ever seen.” Hecould explain foreordination thoroughly, and he used the words“baptizo” and “Athanasian.”

He would, perhaps, be less orchestral, less Palladian, whenhe had been in practise for a year or two after graduationand discovered that the hearts of men are vile, their habitslow, and that they are unwilling to hand the control of allthose habits over to the parson. But he would recover again,and he was a promise of what he might be in twenty years, asa ten-thousand-dollar seer.

He had grown broader, his glossy hair, longer than at Terwillinger,was brushed back from his heavy white brow, hisnails were oftener clean, and his speech was Jovian. It wasmore sonorous, more measured and pontifical; he could, anddid, reveal his interested knowledge of your secret moral diabetesmerely by saying, “How are we today, Brother?”

And though he had almost flunked in Greek, his thesis on“Sixteen Ways of Paying a Church Debt” had won the ten-dollarprize in Practical Theology.

II

He walked among the Kayooska Valley communicants, besidehis mother. She was a small-town business woman; shewas not unduly wrinkled or shabby; indeed she wore a goodlittle black hat and a new brown silk frock with a long goldchain; but she was inconspicuous beside his bulk and sobermagnificence.

He wore for the ceremony a new double-breasted suit ofblack broadcloth, and new black shoes. So did Eddie Fislinger,along with a funereal tie and a black wide felt hat, like a Texascongressman’s. But Elmer was more daring. Had he not understoodthat he must show dignity, he would have indulgedhimself in the gaudiness for which he had a talent. He hadcompromised by buying a beautiful light gray felt hat inChicago, on his way home, and he had ventured on a red-borderedgray silk handkerchief, which gave a pleasing touchof color to his sober chest.

But he had left off, for the day, the large opal ring surroundedby almost gold serpents for which he had lusted andto which he had yielded when in liquor, in the city of Monarch.

He walked as an army with banners, he spoke like a trombone,he gestured widely with his large blanched thick hand;and his mother, on his arm, looked up in ecstasy. He waftedher among the crowd, affable as a candidate for probate judgeship,and she was covered with the fringes of his glory.

For the ordination, perhaps two hundred Baptist laymen andlaywomen and at least two hundred babies had come in fromneighboring congregations by buckboard, democrat wagon, andbuggy. (It was 1905; there was as yet no Ford nearer thanFort Scott.) They were honest, kindly, solid folk; farmers andblacksmiths and cobblers; men with tanned deep-lined faces,wearing creased “best suits”; the women, deep bosomed orwork-shriveled, in clean gingham. There was one villagebanker, very chatty and democratic, in a new crash suit. Theymilled like cattle, in dust up to their shoe laces, and dust veiledthem, in the still heat, under the dusty branches of the cottonwoodsfrom which floated shreds to catch and glisten on therough fabric of their clothes.

Six preachers had combined to assist the Paris parson in hisceremony, and one of them was no less than the Rev. Dr.Ingle, come all the way from St. Joe, where he was said tohave a Sunday School of six hundred. As a young man—verythin and eloquent in a frock coat—Dr. Ingle had for six monthspreached in Paris, and Mrs. Gantry remembered him as herfavorite minister. He had been so kind to her when she wasill; had come in to read “Ben Hur” aloud, and tell storiesto a chunky little Elmer given to hiding behind furniture andheaving vegetables at visitors.

“Well, well, Brother, so this is the little tad I used to knowas a shaver! Well, you always were a good little mannie, andthey tell me that now you’re a consecrated young man—thatyou’re destined to do a great work for the Lord,” Dr. Inglegreeted Elmer.

“Thank you, Doctor. Pray for me. It’s an honor to haveyou come from your great church,” said Elmer.

“Not a bit of trouble. On my way to Colorado—I’ve takena cabin way up in the mountains there—glorious view—sunsets—paintedby the Lord himself. My congregation have beenso good as to give me two months’ vacation. Wish you couldpop up there for a while, Brother Elmer.”

“I wish I could, Doctor, but I have to try in my humble wayto keep the fires burning around here.”

Mrs. Gantry was panting. To have her little boy discoursingwith Dr. Ingle as though they were equals! To hear him talkinglike a preacher—just as natural! And some day—Elmerwith a famous church; with a cottage in Colorado for thesummer; married to a dear pious little woman, with half adozen children; and herself invited to join them for the summer;all of them kneeling in family prayers, led by Elmer ...though it was true Elmer declined to hold family prayers justnow; said he’d had too much of it in seminary all year ...too bad, but she’d keep on coaxing ... and if he just wouldstop smoking, as she’d begged and besought him to do ...well, perhaps if he didn’t have a few naughtinesses left, hewouldn’t hardly be her little boy any more.... How she’dhad to scold once upon a time to get him to wash his hands andput on the nice red woolen wristlets she’d knitted for him!

No less satisfying to her was the way in which Elmer impressedall their neighbors. Charley Watley, the house-painter,commander of the Ezra P. Nickerson Post of the G. A. R. ofParis, who had always pulled his white mustache and gruntedwhen she had tried to explain Elmer’s hidden powers of holiness,took her aside to admit: “You were right, Sister; he makes afine upstanding young man of God.”

They encountered that town problem, Hank McVittle, thedruggist. Elmer and he had been mates; together they hadstolen sugar-corn, drunk hard cider, and indulged in haymowvenery. Hank was a small red man, with a lascivious andknowing eye. It was certain that he had come today only tolaugh at Elmer.

They met face on, and Hank observed, “Morning, Mrs.Gantry. Well, Elmy, going to be a preacher, eh?”

“I am, Hank.”

“Like it?” Hank was grinning and scratching his cheekwith a freckled hand; other unsanctified Parisians were listening.

Elmer boomed, “I do, Hank. I love it! I love the waysof the Lord, and I don’t ever propose to put my foot into anyothers! Because I’ve tasted the fruit of evil, Hank—youknow that. And there’s nothing to it. What fun we had,Hank, was nothing to the peace and joy I feel now. I’m kindof sorry for you, my boy.” He loomed over Hank, droppedhis paw heavily on his shoulder. “Why don’t you try to getright with God? Or maybe you’re smarter than he is!”

“Never claimed to be anything of the sort!” snapped Hank,and in that testiness Elmer triumphed, his mother exulted.

She was sorry to see how few were congratulating EddieFislinger, who was also milling, but motherless, inconspicuous,meek to the presiding clergy.

Old Jewkins, humble, gentle old farmer, inched up to murmur,“Like to shake your hand, Brother Elmer. Mighty fine tosee you chosen thus and put aside for the work of the Lord.Jiggity! T’ think I remember you as knee-high to a grasshopper!I suppose you study a lot of awful learned booksnow.”

“They make us work good and hard, Brother Jewkins. Theygive us pretty deep stuff: hermeneutics, chrestomathy, pericopes,exegesis, homiletics, liturgics, isagogics, Greek and Hebrewand Aramaic, hymnology, apologetics—oh, a good deal.”

“Well! I should say so!” worshiped old Jewkins, whileMrs. Gantry marveled to find Elmer even more profound thanshe had thought, and Elmer reflected proudly that he reallydid know what all but a couple of the words meant.

“My!” sighed his mother. “You’re getting so educated, Ideclare t’ goodness pretty soon I won’t hardly dare to talk toyou!”

“Oh, no. There’ll never come a time when you and I won’tbe the best of pals, or when I won’t need the inspiration ofyour prayers!” said Elmer Gantry melodiously, with refinedbut manly laughter.

III

They were assembling on benches, wagon-seats and boxesfor the ceremony of ordination.

The pulpit was a wooden table with a huge Bible and apitcher of lemonade. Behind it were seven rocking chairs forthe clergy, and just in front, two hard wooden chairs for thecandidates.

The present local pastor, Brother Dinger, was a meager man,slow of speech and given to long prayers. He rapped on thetable. “We will, uh, we will now begin.”

... Elmer, looking handsome on a kitchen chair in front ofthe rows of flushed hot faces. He stopped fretting that hisshiny new black shoes were dust-gray. His heart pounded.He was in for it! No escape! He was going to be a pastor!Last chance for Jim Lefferts, and Lord knew where Jim was.He couldn’t—His shoulder muscles were rigid. Then theyrelaxed wearily, as though he had struggled to satiety, whileBrother Dinger went on:

“Well, we’ll start with the usual, uh, examination of ouryoung brothers, and the brethren have, uh, they’ve been goodenough, uh, to let me, uh, in whose charge one, uh, one of thesefine young brothers has always lived and made his home—tolet me, uh, let me ask the questions. Now, Brother Gantry, doyou believe fully and whole-heartedly in baptism by immersion?”

Elmer was thinking, “What a rotten pulpit voice the poorduck has,” but aloud he was rumbling:

“I believe, Brother, and I’ve been taught, that possibly a manmight be saved if he’d just been baptized by sprinkling orpouring, but only if he were ignorant of the truth. Of courseimmersion is the only Scriptural way—if we’re really going tobe like Christ, we must be buried with him in baptism.”

“That’s fine, Brother Gantry. Praise God! Now, BrotherFislinger, do you believe in the final perseverance of thesaints?”

Eddie’s eager but cracked voice explaining—on—on—somniferousas the locusts in the blazing fields across the KayooskaRiver.

As there is no hierarchy in the Baptist Church, but only afree association of like-minded local churches, so are there nocanonical forms of procedure, but only customs. The ceremonyof ordination is not a definite rite; it may vary as the localassociations will, and ordination is conferred not by any bishopbut by the general approval of the churches in an association.

The questions were followed by the “charge to the candidates,”a tremendous discourse by the great Dr. Ingle, in whichhe commended study, light meals, and helping the sick bygoing and reading texts to them. Every one joined then in atremendous basket-lunch on long plank tables by the coolriver ... banana layer cake, doughnuts, fried chicken, chocolatelayer cake, scalloped potatoes, hermit cookies, cocoanutlayer cake, pickled tomato preserves, on plates which skiddedabout the table, with coffee poured into saucerless cups from avast tin pot, inevitably scalding at least one child, who howled.There were hearty shouts of “Pass the lemon pie, Sister Skiff,”and “That was a fine discourse of Brother Ingle’s,” and “Oh,dear, I dropped my spoon and an ant got on it—well, I’ll justwipe it on my apron—that was fine the way Brother Gantryexplained how the Baptist Church has existed ever since Bibledays.” ... Boys bathing, shrieking, splashing one another.... Boys getting into the poison ivy.... Boys becoming soinfected with the poison ivy that they would turn spotty andbegin to swell within seven hours.... Dr. Ingle enthusiasticallytelling the other clergy of his trip to the Holy Land.... Elmer lying about his fondness for the faculty of histheological seminary.

Reassembled after lunch, Brother Tusker, minister of thelargest congregation in the association, gave the “charge tothe churches.” This was always the juicest and most scandalousand delightful part of the ordination ceremony. In itthe clergy had a chance to get back at the parishioners who,as large contributors, as guaranteed saints, had all year beennagging them.

Here were these fine young men going into the ministry,said Brother Tusker. Well, it was up to them to help. BrotherGantry and Brother Fislinger were leaping with the joy ofsacrifice and learning. Then let the churches give ’em achance, and not make ’em spend all the time hot-footing itaround, as some older preachers had to do, raising their ownsalaries! Let folks quit criticizing; let ’em appreciate godlylives and the quickening word once in a while, instead of ham-ham-hammeringtheir preachers all day long!

And certain of the parties who criticized the preachers’ wivesfor idleness—funny the way some of them seemed to have somuch time to gad around and notice things and spread scandal!T’wa’n’t only the menfolks that the Savior was thinking ofwhen he talked about them that were without sin being theonly folks that were qualified to heave any rocks!

The other preachers leaned back in their chairs and triedto look casual, and hoped that Brother Tusker was going tobear down even a lee-tle heavier on that matter of raisingsalaries.

In his sermon and the concluding ordination prayer BrotherKnoblaugh (of Barkinsville) summed up, for the benefit ofElmer Gantry, Eddie Fislinger, and God, the history of theBaptists, the importance of missions, and the perils of notreading the Bible before breakfast daily.

Through this long prayer, the visiting pastors stood with theirhands on the heads of Elmer and Eddie.

There was a grotesque hitch at first. Most of the ministerswere little men who could no more than reach up to Elmer’shead. They stood strained and awkward and unecclesiastical,these shabby good men, before the restless audience. Therewas a giggle. Elmer had a dramatic flash. He knelt abruptly,and Eddie, peering and awkward, followed him.

In the powdery gray dust Elmer knelt, ignoring it. On hishead were the worn hands of three veteran preachers, andsuddenly he was humble, for a moment he was veritably beingordained to the priestly service of God.

He had been only impatient till this instant. In the chapelsat Mizpah and Terwillinger he had heard too many famousvisiting pulpiteers to be impressed by the rustic eloquence ofthe Kayooska Association. But he felt now their diffidenttenderness, their unlettered fervor—these poverty-twisted parsonswho believed, patient in their bare and baking tabernacles,that they were saving the world, and who wistfully welcomedthe youths that they themselves had been.

For the first time in weeks Elmer prayed not as an exhibitionbut sincerely, passionately, savoring righteousness:

“Dear God—I’ll get down to it—not show off but just thinkof thee—do good—God help me!”

Coolness fluttered the heavy dust-caked leaves, and as thesighing crowd creaked up from their benches, Elmer Gantrystood confident ... ordained minister of the gospel.

I

the state of Winnemac lies between Pittsburgh and Chicago,and in Winnemac, perhaps a hundred miles south of the cityof Zenith, is Babylon, a town which suggests New Englandmore than the Middle West. Large elms shade it, there arewhite pillars beyond lilac bushes, and round about the town isa serenity unknown on the gusty prairies.

Here is Mizpah Theological Seminary, of the NorthernBaptists. (There is a Northern and Southern convention ofthis distinguished denomination, because before the Civil Warthe Northern Baptists proved by the Bible, unanswerably, thatslavery was wrong; and the Southern Baptists proved by theBible, irrefutably, that slavery was the will of God.)

The three buildings of the seminary are attractive: brickwith white cupolas, green blinds at the small-paned wide windows.But within they are bare, with hand-rubbings alongthe plaster walls, with portraits of missionaries and raggedvolumes of sermons.

The large structure is the dormitory, Elizabeth J. SchmutzHall—known to the less reverent as Smut Hall.

Here lived Elmer Gantry, now ordained but completing thelast year of work for his Bachelor of Divinity degree, a commodityof value in bargaining with the larger churches.

There were only sixteen left now of his original class ofthirty-five. The others had dropped out, for rural preaching,life insurance, or a melancholy return to plowing. There wasno one with whom he wanted to live, and he dwelt sulkily in asingle room, with a cot, a Bible, a portrait of his mother, andwith a copy of “What a Young Man Ought to Know,” concealedinside his one starched pulpit shirt.

He disliked most of his class. They were too rustic or toopious, too inquisitive about his monthly trips to the city ofMonarch or simply too dull. Elmer liked the company ofwhat he regarded as intellectual people. He never understoodwhat they were saying, but to hear them saying it made himfeel superior.

The group which he most frequented gathered in the roomof Frank Shallard and Don Pickens, the large corner roomon the second floor of Smut Hall.

It was not an esthetic room. Though Frank Shallard mighthave come to admire pictures, great music, civilized furniture,he had been trained to regard them as worldly, and to contenthimself with art which “presented a message,” to regard “LesMiserables” as superior because the bishop was a kind man,and “The Scarlet Letter” as a poor book because the heroinewas sinful and the author didn’t mind.

The walls were of old plaster, cracked and turned deathlygray, marked with the blood of mosquitoes and bed-bugs slainin portentous battles long ago by theologians now gone forthto bestow their thus uplifted visions on a materialistic world.The bed was a skeleton of rusty iron bars, sagging in the center,with a comforter which was not too clean. Trunks were in thecorners, and the wardrobe was a row of hooks behind a calicocurtain. The grass matting was slowly dividing into separatestrands, and under the study table it had been scuffed throughto the cheap pine flooring.

The only pictures were Frank’s steel engraving of RogerWilliams, his framed and pansy-painted copy of “Pippa Passes,”and Don Pickens’ favorite, a country church by winter moonlight,with tinsel snow, which sparkled delightfully. The onlyuntheological books were Frank’s poets: Wordsworth, Longfellow,Tennyson, Browning, in standard volumes, fine-printedand dismal, and one really dangerous papist document, his“Imitation of Christ,” about which there was argument at leastonce a week.

In this room, squatting on straight chairs, the trunks, andthe bed, on a November evening in 1905, were five young menbesides Elmer and Eddie Fislinger. Eddie did not really belongto the group, but he persisted in following Elmer, feeling thatnot even yet was everything quite right with the brother.

“A preacher has got to be just as husky and pack just asgood a wallop as a prize-fighter. He ought to be able to throwout any roughneck that tries to interrupt his meetings, and stillmore, strength makes such a hit with the women in his congregation—ofcourse I don’t mean it in any wrong way,” saidWallace Umstead.

Wallace was a student-instructor, head of the minute seminarygymnasium and “director of physical culture”; a youngman who had a military mustache and who did brisk things onhorizontal bars. He was a state university B. A. and graduateof a physical-training school. He was going into Y. M. C. A.work when he should have a divinity degree, and he was fond ofsaying, “Oh, I’m still one of the Boys, you know, even if Iam a prof.”

“That’s right,” agreed Elmer Gantry. “Say, I had—I washolding a meeting at Grauten, Kansas, last summer, and therewas a big boob that kept interrupting, so I just jumped downfrom the platform and went up to him, and he says, ‘Say,Parson,’ he says, ‘can you tell us what the Almighty wants usto do about prohibition, considering he told Paul to take somewine for his stomach’s sake?’ ‘I don’t know as I can,’ I says,‘but you want to remember he also commanded us to cast outdevils!’ and I yanked that yahoo out of his seat and threw himout on his ear, and say, the whole crowd—well, there weren’tso awfully many there, but they certainly did give him theha-ha! You bet. And to be a husky makes a hit with thewhole congregation, men’s well as women. Bet there’s more’none high-toned preacher that got his pulpit because the deaconsfelt he could lick ’em. Of course praying and all that is allO. K., but you got to be practical! We’re here to do good, butfirst you have to cinch a job that you can do good in!”

“You’re commercial!” protested Eddie Fislinger, and FrankShallard: “Good heavens, Gantry, is that all your religionmeans to you?”

“Besides,” said Horace Carp, “you have the wrong angle.It isn’t mere brute force that appeals to women—to congregations.It’s a beautiful voice. I don’t envy you your bulk,Elmer—besides, you’re going to get fat—”

“I am like hell!”

“—but what I could do with that voice of yours! I’d have’em all weeping! I’d read ’em poetry from the pulpit!”

Horace Carp was the one High Churchman in the Seminary.He was a young man who resembled a water spaniel, who concealedsaints’ images, incense, and a long piece of scarlet brocadein his room, and who wore a purple velvet smoking-jacket.He was always raging because his father, a wholesaleplumber and pious, had threatened to kick him out if hewent to an Episcopal seminary instead of a Baptist fortress.

“Yes, you prob’ly would read ’em poetry!” said Elmer.“That’s the trouble with you high-falutin’ guys. You thinkyou can get people by a lot of poetry and junk. What gets’em and holds ’em and brings ’em to their pews every Sundayis the straight gospel—and it don’t hurt one bit to scare ’eminto being righteous with the good old-fashioned Hell!”

“You bet—providing you encourage ’em to keep their bodiesin swell shape, too,” condescended Wallace Umstead. “Well,I don’t want to talk as a prof—after all I’m glad I can stillremain just one of the Boys—but you aren’t going to developany very big horse-power in your praying tomorrow morningif you don’t get your sleep. And me to my little downy!G’night!”

At the closing of the door, Harry Zenz, the seminary iconoclast,yawned, “Wallace is probably the finest slice of tripe inmy wide clerical experience. Thank God, he’s gone! Now wecan be natural and talk dirty!”

“And yet,” complained Frank Shallard, “you encourage himto stay and talk about his pet methods of exercise! Don’t youever tell the truth, Harry?”

“Never carelessly. Why, you idiot, I want Wallace to runand let the dean know what an earnest worker in the vineyardI am. Frank, you’re a poor innocent. I suspect you actuallybelieve some of the dope they teach us here. And yet you’rea man of some reading. You’re the only person in Mizpahexcept myself who could appreciate a paragraph of Huxley.Lord, how I pity you when you get into the ministry! Ofcourse, Fislinger here is a grocery clerk, Elmer is a wardpolitician, Horace is a dancing master—”

He was drowned beneath a surf of protests, not too jocoseand friendly.

Harry Zenz was older than the others—thirty-two at least.He was plump, almost completely bald, and fond of sittingstill; and he could look profoundly stupid. He was a manof ill-assorted but astonishing knowledge; and in the churchten miles from Mizpah which he had regularly supplied fortwo years he was considered a man of humorless learning andbloodless piety. He was a complete and cheerful atheist, buthe admitted it only to Elmer Gantry and Horace Carp.Elmer regarded him as a sort of Jim Lefferts, but he was asdifferent from Jim as pork fat from a crystal. He hid hisgiggling atheism—Jim flourished his; he despised women—Jimhad a disillusioned pity for the Juanita Klauzels of theworld; he had an intellect—Jim had only cynical guesses.

Zenz interrupted their protests:

“So you’re a bunch of Erasmuses! You ought to know.And there’s no hypocrisy in what we teach and preach! We’rea specially selected group of Parsifals—beautiful to the eye andstirring to the ear and overflowing with knowledge of whatGod said to the Holy Ghost in camera at 9:16 last Wednesdaymorning. We’re all just rarin’ to go out and preach theprecious Baptist doctrine of ‘Get ducked or duck.’ We’rewonders. We admit it. And people actually sit and listen tous, and don’t choke! I suppose they’re overwhelmed by ournerve! And we have to have nerve, or we’d never dare tostand in a pulpit again. We’d quit, and pray God to forgiveus for having stood up there and pretended that we representGod, and that we can explain what we ourselves say are theunexplainable mysteries! But I still claim that there arepreachers who haven’t our holiness. Why is it that the clergyare so given to sex crimes?”

“That’s not true!” from Eddie Fislinger.

“Don’t talk that way!” Don Pickens begged. Don wasFrank’s roommate: a slight youth, so gentle, so affectionate,that even that raging lion of righteousness, Dean Trosper, wasmoved to spare him.

Harry Zenz patted his arm. “Oh, you, Don—you’ll alwaysbe a monk. But if you don’t believe it, Fislinger, look at thestatistics of the five thousand odd crimes committed by clergymen—thatis those who got caught—since the eighties, andnote the percentage of sex offenses—rape, incest, bigamy, enticingyoung girls—oh, a lovely record!”

Elmer was yawning, “Oh, God, I do get so sick of youfellows yammering and arguing and discussing. All perfectlysimple—maybe we preachers aren’t perfect; don’t pretend tobe; but we do a lot of good.”

“That’s right,” said Eddie. “But maybe it is true that—Thesnares of sex are so dreadful that even ministers of thegospel get trapped. And the perfectly simple solution is continence—justtake it out in prayer and good hard exercise.”

“Oh, sure, Eddie, you bet; what a help you’re going to beto the young men in your church,” purred Harry Zenz.

Frank Shallard was meditating unhappily. “Just why arewe going to be preachers, anyway? Why are you, Harry, ifyou think we’re all such liars?”

“Oh, not liars, Frank—just practical, as Elmer put it. Me,it’s easy. I’m not ambitious. I don’t want money enough tohustle for it. I like to sit and read. I like intellectual acrobaticsand no work. And you can have all that in the ministry—unlessyou’re one of these chumps that get up biginstitutional outfits and work themselves to death for publicity.”

“You certainly have a fine high view of the ministry!”growled Elmer.

“Well, all right, what’s your fine high purpose in becominga Man of God, Brother Gantry?”

“Well, I—Rats, it’s perfectly clear. Preacher can do a lotof good—give help and—And explain religion.”

“I wish you’d explain it to me! Especially I want to knowto what extent are Christian symbols descended from indecentbarbaric symbols?”

“Oh, you make me tired!”

Horace Carp fluttered, “Of course none of you consecratedwindjammers ever think of the one raison d’être of the church,which is to add beauty to the barren lives of the commonpeople!”

“Yeh! It certainly must make the common people feelawfully common to hear Brother Gantry spiel about the errorsof supralapsarianism!”

“I never preach about any such a doggone thing!” Elmerprotested. “I just give ’em a good helpful sermon, with somejokes sprinkled in to make it interesting and some stuff aboutthe theater or something that’ll startle ’em a little and wake’em up and help ’em to lead better and fuller daily lives.”

“Oh, do you, dearie!” said Zenz. “My error. I thought youprobably gave ’em a lot of helpful hints about the innascibilitasattribute and the res sacramenti. Well, Frank, why did youbecome a theologue?”

“I can’t tell you when you put it sneeringly. I believethere are mystic experiences which you can follow only if youare truly set apart.”

“Well, I know why I came here,” said Don Pickens. “Mydad sent me!”

“So did mine!” complained Horace Carp. “But what Ican’t understand is: Why are any of us in an ole Baptistschool? Horrible denomination—all these moldly barns ofchurches, and people coughing illiterate hymns, and long-windedpreachers always springing a bright new idea like‘All the world needs to solve its problems is to get back to thegospel of Jesus Christ.’ The only church is the Episcopal!Music! Vestments! Stately prayers! Lovely architecture!Dignity! Authority! Believe me, as soon as I can make thebreak, I’m going to switch over to the Episcopalians. Andthen I’ll have a social position, and be able to marry a nicerich girl.”

“No, you’re wrong,” said Zenz. “The Baptist Church is theonly denomination worth while, except possibly the Methodist.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” marveled Eddie.

“Because the Baptists and the Methodists have all thenumbskulls—except those that belong to the Catholic Churchand the henhouse sects—and so even you, Horace, can getaway with being a prophet. There are some intelligent peoplein the Episcopal and Congregational Churches, and a few ofthe Campbellite flocks, and they check up on you. Of courseall Presbyterians are half-wits, too, but they have a standarddoctrine, and they can trap you into a heresy trial. But in theBaptist and Methodist Churches, man! There’s the berthfor philosophers like me and hoot-owls like you, Eddie! Allyou have to do with Baptists and Methodists, as Father Carpsuggests—”

“If you agree with me about anything, I withdraw it,” saidHorace.

“All you have to do,” said Zenz, “is to get some soundand perfectly meaningless doctrine and keep repeating it. Youwon’t bore the laymen—in fact the only thing they resent issomething that is new, so they have to work their brains.Oh, no, Father Carp—the Episcopal pulpit for actors thataren’t good enough to get on the stage, but the good oldBaptist fold for realists!”

“You make me tired, Harry!” complained Eddie. “Youjust want to show off, that’s all. You’re a lot better Baptistand a lot better Christian than you let on to be, and I canprove it. Folks wouldn’t go on listening to your sermonsunless they carried conviction. No, sir! You can fool folksonce or twice with a lot of swell-sounding words but in thelong run it’s sincerity they look for. And one thing thatmakes me know you’re on the right side is that you don’tpractise open communion. Golly, I feel that everything weBaptists stand for is threatened by those darn’ so-called liberalsthat are beginning to practise open communion.”

“Rats!” grumbled Harry. “Of all the fool Baptist egotisms,close communion is the worst! Nobody but people we considersaved to be allowed to take communion with us! Nobody canmeet God unless we introduce ’em! Self-appointed guardiansof the blood and body of Jesus Christ! Whew!”

“Absolutely,” from Horace Carp. “And there is absolutelyno Scriptural basis for close communion.”

“There certainly is!” shrieked Eddie. “Frank, where’syour Bible?”

“Gee, I left it in O. T. E. Where’s yours, Don?”

“Well, I’ll be switched! I had the darn’ thing here just thisevening,” lamented Don Pickens, after a search.

“Oh, I remember. I was killing a co*ckroach with it. It’son top of your wardrobe,” said Elmer.

“Gee, honest, you hadn’t ought to kill co*ckroaches with aBible!” mourned Eddie Fislinger. “Now here’s the Bible,good and straight, for close communion, Harry. It says inFirst Corinthians, 11:27 and 29: ‘Whoever shall eat this breadand drink this cup of the Lord unworthily shall be guilty ofthe body and the blood of the Lord. For he that eateth anddrinketh unworthily eateth and drinketh damnation to himself.’And how can there be a worthy Christian unless he’sbeen baptized by immersion?”

“I do wonder sometimes,” mused Frank Shallard, “if wearen’t rather impious, we Baptists, to set ourselves up as thekeepers of the gates of God, deciding just who is righteous,who is worthy to commune.”

“But there’s nothing else we can do,” explained Eddie. “TheBaptist Church, being the only pure Scriptural church, is theone real church of God, and we’re not setting ourselves up—we’rejust following God’s ordinances.”

Horace Carp had also been reveling in the popular Mizpahsport of looking up Biblical texts to prove a preconceivedopinion. “I don’t find anything here about Baptists,” hesaid.

“Nor about your doggoned old Episcopalians, either—darn’snobs!—and the preachers wearing nightshirts!” from Eddie.

“You bet your life you find something—it talks aboutbishops, and that means Episcopal bishops—the papes and theMethodists are uncanonical bishops,” rejoiced Horace. “I’llbet you two dollars and sixty-seven cents I wind up as anEpiscopal bishop, and, believe me, I’ll be high-church as hell—allthe candles I can get on the altar.”

Harry Zenz was speculating, “I suppose it’s unscientific tobelieve that because I happen to be a Baptist practitionermyself and see what word-splitting, text-twisting, applause-hungry,job-hunting, medieval-minded second-raters even thebiggest Baptist leaders are, therefore the Baptist Church is theworst of the lot. I don’t suppose it’s really any worse thanthe Presbyterian or the Congregational or Disciples orLutheran or any other. But—Say, you, Fislinger, ever occurto you how dangerous it is, this Bible-worship? You andI might have to quit preaching and go to work. You tell themuttonheads that the Bible contains absolutely everythingnecessary for salvation, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then what’s the use of having any preachers? Anychurch? Let people stay home and read the Bible!”

“Well—well—it says—”

The door was dashed open, and Brother Karkis entered.

Brother Karkis was no youthful student. He was forty-three,heavy-handed and big-footed, and his voice was the voiceof a Great Dane. Born to the farm, he had been ordained aBaptist preacher for twenty years now, and up and downthrough the Dakotas, Nebraska, Arkansas, he had bellowedin up-creek tabernacles.

His only formal education had been in country schools; andof all books save the Bible, revivalistic hymnals, a concordancehandy for finding sermon-texts, and a manual of poultry-keeping,he was soundly ignorant. He had never met a womanof the world, never drunk a glass of wine, never heard a barof great music, and his neck was not free from the dust of cornfields.

But it would have been a waste of pity to sigh over BrotherKarkis as a plucky poor student. He had no longing forfurther knowledge; he was certain that he already had it all.He despised the faculty as book-adulterated wobblers in thefaith—he could “out-pray and out-holler and out-save thewhole lot of ’em.” He desired a Mizpah degree only becauseit would get him a better paid job—or, as he put it, with the1850 vocabulary which he found adequate for 1905, becauseit would “lead him into a wider field of usefulness.”

“Say, don’t you fellers ever do anything but sit around andargue and discuss and bellyache?” he shouted. “My lands,I can hear your racket way down the hall! Be a lot better foryou young fellers if you’d forget your smart-aleck arguin’ andspend the evening on your knees in prayer! Oh, you’re a finelot of smart educated swells, but you’ll find where that rubbishgets you when you go out and have to wrestle with old Satanfor unregenerate souls! What are you gasbags arguing about,anyway?”

“Harry says,” wailed Eddie Fislinger, “that there’s nothingin the Bible that says Christians have to have a church orpreachers.”

“Huh! And him that thinks he’s so educated. Where’s aBible?”

It was now in the hands of Elmer, who had been reading hisfavorite book, “The Song of Solomon.”

“Well, Brother Gantry, glad see there’s one galoot herethat’s got sense enough to stick by the Old Book and get himselfright with God, ’stead of shooting off his face like somePedo-Baptist. Now look here, Brother Zenz: It says here inHebrews, ‘Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together.’There, I guess that’ll hold you!”

“My dear brother in the Lord,” said Harry, “the only thingsuggested there is an assembly like the Plymouth Brotherhood,with no regular paid preachers. As I was explaining to BrotherFislinger: Personally, I’m so ardent an admirer of the Biblethat I’m thinking of starting a sect where we all just sing ahymn together, then sit and read our Bibles all day long, andnot have any preachers getting between us and the all-sufficientWord of God. I expect you to join, Brother Karkis, unlessyou’re one of these dirty higher critics that want to break downthe Bible.”

“Oh, you make me tired,” said Eddie.

“You make me tired—always twisting the plain commandsof Scripture,” said Brother Karkis, shutting the door—weightily,and from the outside.

“You all make me tired. My God, how you fellows canargue!” said Elmer, chewing his Pittsburgh stogie.

The room was thick now with tobacco fumes. Though inMizpah Seminary smoking was frowned on, practically forbiddenby custom, all of the consecrated company save EddieFislinger were at it.

He rasped, “This air is something terrible! Why you fellowstouch that vile weed—Worms and men are the onlyanimals who indulge in tobacco! I’m going to get out ofhere.”

There was strangely little complaint.

Rid of Eddie, the others turned to their invariable topic:what they called “sex.”

Frank Shallard and Don Pickens were virgins, timid andfascinated, respectful and urgent; Horace Carp had had onefumbling little greensick experience; and all three listened withnervous eagerness to the experiences of Elmer and Harry Zenz.Tonight Elmer’s mind reeked with it, and he who had beenalmost silent during the ecclesiastical wrangling was volublenow. The youngsters panted as he chronicled his meetingswith a willing choir-singer, this summer past.

“Tell me—tell me,” fretted Don. “Do girls, oh—nicegirls—do they really ever—uh—go with a preacher? Andaren’t you ashamed to face them afterwards, in church?”

“Huh!” observed Zenz, and “Ashamed? They worshipyou!” declared Elmer. “They stand by you the way no wifeever would—as long as they do fall for you. Why, this girl—Oh, well, she sang something elegant.”

He finished vaguely, reminiscently. Suddenly he was boredat treading the mysteries of sex with these mooncalves. Helunged up.

“Going?” said Frank.

Elmer posed at the door, smirking, his hands on his hips,“Oh, no. Not a-tall.” He looked at his watch. (It was awatch which reminded you of Elmer himself: large, thick,shiny, with a near-gold case.) “I merely have a date with agirl, that’s all!”

He was lying, but he had been roused by his own stories,and he would have given a year of life if his boast were true.He returned to his solitary room in a fever. “God, if Juanitawere only here, or Agatha, or even that little chambermaid atSolomon Junction—what the dickens was her name now?” helonged.

He sat motionless on the edge of his bed. He clenchedhis fists. He groaned and gripped his knees. He sprang up,to race about the room, to return and sit dolorously entranced.

“Oh, God, I can’t stand it!” he moaned.

He was inconceivably lonely.

He had no friends. He had never had a friend since JimLefferts. Harry Zenz despised his brains, Frank Shallard despisedhis manners, and the rest of them he himself despised.He was bored by the droning seminary professors all day,the schoolboyish arguing all evening; and in the rash ofprayer-meetings and chapel-meetings and special praise-meetingshe was bored by hearing the same enthusiastsgambol in the same Scriptural rejoicings.

“Oh, yes, I want to go on and preach. Couldn’t go back tojust business or the farm. Miss the hymns, the being boss.But—I can’t do it! God, I am so lonely! If Juanita wasjust here!”

I

the Reverend Jacob Trosper, D. D., Ph. D., LL. D., deanand chief executive of Mizpah Theological Seminary, andProfessor of Practical Theology and Homiletics, was a hard-facedactive man with a large active voice. His cheeks weregouged with two deep channels. His eyebrows were heavy.His hair, now gray and bristly, must once have been rusty, likeEddie Fislinger’s. He would have made an excellent top-sergeant.He looked through the students and let them understandthat he knew their sins and idlenesses before they confessedthem.

Elmer was afraid of Dean Trosper. When he was summonedto the dean’s office, the morning after the spiritual conferencein Frank Shallard’s room, he was uneasy.

He found Frank with the dean.

“God! Frank’s been tattling about my doings with women!”

“Brother Gantry,” said the dean.

“Yes, sir!”

“I have an appointment which should give you experienceand a little extra money. It’s a country church down atSchoenheim, eleven miles from here, on the spur line of theOntario, Omaha and Pittsburgh. You will hold regular Sundaymorning services and Sunday School; if you are able to workup afternoon or evening services and prayer-meeting, so muchthe better. The pay will be ten dollars a Sunday. If there’sto be anything extra for extra work—that’s up to you and yourflock. I’d suggest that you go down there on a hand-car. I’msure you can get the section-gang boss here to lend you one, asit’s for the Lord’s work, and the boss’ brother does a lot ofgardening here. I’m going to send Brother Shallard with youto conduct the Sunday School and get some experience. Hehas a particularly earnest spirit—which it wouldn’t entirelyhurt you to emulate, Brother Gantry—but he’s somewhat shyin contact with sin-hardened common people.

“Now, boys, this is just a small church, but never forgetthat it’s priceless souls that I’m entrusting to your keeping;and who knows but that you may kindle there such a fire asmay some day illumine all the world ... providing, BrotherGantry, you eliminate the worldly things I suspect you of indulgingin!”

Elmer was delighted. It was his first real appointment. InKansas, this summer, he had merely filled other people’spulpits for two or three weeks at a time.

He’d show ’em! Some of these fellows that thought he wasjust a mouth-artist! Show ’em how he could build up churchmembership, build up the collections, get ’em all going with hiseloquence—and, of course, carry the message of salvation intodarkened hearts.

It would be mighty handy to have the extra ten a week—andmaybe more if he could kid the Schoenheim deaconsproperly.

His first church ... his own ... and Frank had to takehis orders!

II

In the virginal days of 1905 section gangs went out to workon the railway line not by gasoline power but on a hand-car,a platform with two horizontal bars worked up and down likepump-handles.

On a hand-car Elmer and Frank Shallard set out for theirfirst charge. They did not look particularly clerical as theysawed at the handles; it was a chilly November Sunday morning,and they wore shabby greatcoats. Elmer had a moth-eatenplush cap over his ears, Frank exhibited absurd ear-muffsunder a more absurd derby, and both had borrowed red flannelmittens from the section gang.

The morning was icily brilliant. Apple orchards glistenedin the frost, and among the rattling weed-stalks by the worm-fencesquail were whistling.

Elmer felt his lungs free of library dust as he pumped. Hebroadened his shoulders, rejoiced in sweating, felt that hisministry among real men and living life was begun. He pitiedthe pale Frank a little, and pumped the harder ... and madeFrank pump the harder ... up and down, up and down, upand down. It was agony to the small of his back and shoulders,now growing soft, to labor on the up-grade, where the shiningrails toiled round the curves through gravel cuts. But down-hill,swooping toward frosty meadows and the sound of cowbellsin the morning sun, he whooped with exhilaration, and struckup a boisterous:

The Schoenheim church was a dingy brown box with a toysteeple, in a settlement consisting of the church, the station, ablacksmith shop, two stores, and half a dozen houses. But atleast thirty buggies were gathered along the rutty street or inthe carriage-sheds behind the church; at least seventy peoplehad come to inspect their new pastor; and they stood in gapingcircles, staring between frosty damp mufflers and visored furcaps.

“I’m scared to death!” murmured Frank, as they strode upthe one street from the station, but Elmer felt healthy, proud,expansive. His own church, small but somehow—somehowdifferent from these ordinary country meeting-houses—quitea nice-shaped steeple—not one of these shacks with no steepleat all! And his people, waiting for him, their attention flowinginto him and swelling him—

He threw open his overcoat, held it back with his hand imperiallypoised on his left hip, and let them see not only theblack broadcloth suit bought this last summer for his ordinationbut something choice he had added since—elegant whitepiping at the opening of his vest.

A red-faced mustached man swaggered up to greet them,“Brother Gantry? And Brother Shallard? I’m Barney Bains,one of the deacons. Pleased to meet you. The Lord givepower to your message. Some time since we had anypreachin’ here, and I guess we’re all pretty hungry for spiritualfood and the straight gospel. Bein’ from Mizpah, I guessthere’s no danger you boys believe in this open communion!”

Frank had begun to worry, “Well, what I feel is—” whenElmer interrupted him with a very painful bunt in the side,and chanted with holy joy:

“Pleased meet you, Brother Bains. Oh, Brother Shallardand I are absolutely sound both on immersion and close communion.We trust you will pray for us, Brother, that the HolyGhost may be present in this work today, and that all thebrethren may rejoice in a great reawakening and a bountifulharvest!”

Deacon Bains and all who heard him muttered, saint tosaint, “He’s pretty young yet, but he’s got the right idee.I’m sure we’re going to have real rousing preaching. Don’tthink much of Brother Shallard, though. Kind of a nice-lookingyoung fella, but dumm in the head. Stands there likea bump on a log. Well, he’s good enough to teach the kids inSunday School.”

Brother Gantry was shaking hands all round. His sanctifyingordination, or it might have been his summer of bouncingfrom pulpit to pulpit, had so elevated him that he could greetthem as impressively and fraternally as a sewing-machine agent.He shook hands with a good grip, he looked at all the moreaged sisters as though he were moved to give them a holy kiss,he said the right things about the weather, and by luck orinspiration it was to the most acidly devout man in BooneCounty that he quoted a homicidal text from Malachi.

As he paraded down the aisle, leading his flock, he panted:

“Got ’em already! I can do something to wake these hicksup, where gas-bags like Frank or Carp would just chew therag. How could I of felt so down in the mouth and so—uh—socarnal last week? Lemme at that pulpit!”

They faced him in hard straight pews, rugged heads seenagainst the brown wall and the pine double doors grained tomimic oak; they gratifyingly crowded the building, and at theback stood shuffling young men with unshaven chins and paleblue neckties.

He felt power over them while he trolled out the chorusof “The Church in the Wildwood.”

His text was from Proverbs: “Hatred stirreth up strifes: butlove covereth all sins.”

He seized the sides of the pulpit with his powerful hands,glared at the congregation, decided to look benevolent afterall, and exploded:

“In the hustle and bustle of daily life I wonder how many ofus stop to think that in all that is highest and best we areruled not by even our most up-and-coming efforts but by Love?What is Love—the divine Love of which the—the great singerteaches us in Proverbs? It is the rainbow that comes after thedark cloud. It is the morning star and it is also the eveningstar, those being, as you all so well know, the brightest starswe know. It shines upon the cradle of the little one and whenlife has, alas, departed, to come no more, you find it stillaround the quiet tomb. What is it inspires all great men—bethey preachers or patriots or great business men? What isit, my brethren, but Love? Ah, it fills the world with melody,with such sacred melodies as we have just indulged in together,for what is music? What, my friends, is music? Ah, whatindeed is music but the voice of Love!”

He explained that hatred was low.

However, for the benefit of the more leathery and zealousdeacons down front, he permitted them to hate all Catholics,all persons who failed to believe in hell and immersion, and allrich mortgage-holders, wantoning in the betraying smiles ofscarlet women, each of whom wore silk and in her jeweled handheld a ruby glass of perfidious wine.

He closed by lowering his voice to a maternal whisper andrelating a totally imaginary but most improving experiencewith a sinful old gentleman who on his bed of pain hadadmitted, to Elmer’s urging, that he ought to repent immediately,but who put it off too long, died amid his virtuousand grief-stricken daughters, and presumably went straight tothe devil.

When Elmer had galloped down to the door to shake handswith such as did not remain for Sabbath School, sixteen severalauditors said in effect, “Brother, that was a most helpful sermonand elegantly expressed,” and he wrung their hands witha boyish gratitude beautiful to see.

Deacon Bains patted his shoulder. “I’ve never heard soyoung a preacher hand out such fine doctrine, Brother. Meetmy daughter Lulu.”

And she was there, the girl for whom he had been lookingever since he had come to Mizpah.

Lulu Bains was a gray-and-white kitten with a pink ribbon.She had sat at the back of the church, behind the stove, andhe had not seen her. He looked down at her thirstily. Hisexcitement at having played his sermon to such applause wasnothing beside his excitement over the fact that he would haveher near him in his future clerical labors. Life was a promisingand glowing thing as he held her hand and tried not tosound too insistently affectionate. “Such a pleasure to meetyou, Sister Lulu.”

Lulu was nineteen or twenty. She had a diminutive class oftwelve-year-old boys in the Sunday School. Elmer had intendedto sneak out during Sunday School, leaving FrankShallard responsible, and find a place where he could safelysmoke a Pittsburgh stogie, but in view of this new spiritualrevelation he hung about, beaming with holy approbation of thegood work and being manly and fraternal with the little boys inLulu’s class.

“If you want to grow up and be big fellows, regular sure-enoughhuskies, you just listen to what Miss Bains has to tellyou about how Solomon built that wonderful big ole temple,”he crooned at them; and if they twisted and giggled in shyness,at least Lulu smiled at him ... gray-and-white kitten withsweet kitten eyes ... small soft kitten who purred, “Oh, now,Brother Gantry, I’m just so scared I don’t hardly dareteach” ... big eyes that took him into their depths, tillhe heard her lisping as the voice of angels, larks, and wholeorchestras of flutes.

He could not let her go at the end of Sunday School. Hemust hold her—

“Oh, Sister Lulu, come see the hand-car Frank and I—BrotherShallard and I—came down on. The fun-niest! Justlaugh your head off!”

As the section gang passed through Schoenheim at least tentimes a week, hand-cars could have been no astounding noveltyto Lulu, but she trotted beside him, and stared prettily, andcaroled, “Oh, hon-est! Did you come down on that? Well,I never!”

She shook hands cheerfully with both of them. He thoughtjealously that she was as cordial to Frank as to himself.

“He better watch out and not go fooling round my girl!”Elmer reflected, as they pumped back toward Babylon.

He did not congratulate Frank on having overcome hisdread of stolid country audiences (Frank had always lived incities) or on having made Solomon’s temple not merely a depressingobject composed of a substance called “cubits” butan actual shrine in which dwelt an active and terrifying god.

III

For two Sundays now Elmer had striven to impress Lulunot only as an efficient young prophet but as a desirable man.There were always too many people about. Only once did hehave her alone. They walked half a mile then to call on asick old woman. On their way Lulu had fluttered at him(gray-and-white kitten in a close bonnet of soft fuzzy gray,which he wanted to stroke).

“I suppose you’re just bored to death by my sermons,” hefished.

“Oh, nnnno! I think they’re just wonderful!”

“Do you, honest?”

“Honest, I do!”

He looked down at her childish face till he had caught hereyes, then, jocularly:

“My, but this wind is making the little cheeks and the cutelips awful’ red! Or I guess maybe some fella must of beenkissing ’em before church!”

“Oh, no—”

She looked distressed, almost frightened.

“Whoa up!” he counseled himself. “You’ve got the wrongtrack. Golly, I don’t believe she’s as much of a fusser as Ithought she was. Really is kinda innocent. Poor kid, shameto get her all excited. Oh, thunder, won’t hurt her a bit tohave a little educated love-making!”

He hastily removed any possible blots on his clerical reputation:

“Oh, I was joking. I just meant—be a shame if as lovelya girl as you weren’t engaged. I suppose you are engaged, ofcourse?”

“No. I liked a boy here awfully, but he went to Clevelandto work, and I guess he’s kind of forgotten me.”

“Oh, that is really too bad!”

Nothing could be stronger, more dependable, more comforting,than the pressure of his fingers on her arm. She lookedgrateful; and when she came to the sick-room and heardBrother Gantry pray, long, fervently, and with the choicestwords about death not really mattering nor really hurting (theold woman had cancer) then Lulu also looked worshipful.

On their way back he made his final probe:

“But even if you aren’t engaged, Sister Lulu, I’ll bet there’sa lot of the young fellows here that’re crazy about you.”

“No, honest there aren’t. Oh, I go round some with a secondcousin of mine—Floyd Naylor—but, my! he’s so slow, he’sno fun.”

The Rev. Mr. Gantry planned to provide fun.

IV

Elmer and Frank had gone down on Saturday afternoon todecorate the church for the Thanksgiving service. To savethe trip to Babylon and back, they were to spend Saturdaynight in the broad farmhouse of Deacon Bains, and Lulu Bainsand her spinster cousin, Miss Baldwin, were assisting in thedecoration—in other words doing it. They were stringing pineboughs across the back of the hall, and arranging a harvestfeast of pumpkins, yellow corn, and velvety sumach in frontof the pulpit.

While Frank and the spinster cousin of the Bainses discussedthe artistic values of the pumpkins, Elmer hinted to Lulu:

“I want your advice, Lulu—Sister Lulu. Don’t you thinkin my sermon tomorrow it might be helpful to explain—”

(They stood side by side. How sweet were her littleshoulders, her soft puss*-cat cheeks! He had to kiss them!He had to! He swayed toward her. Damn Frank and thatBaldwin female! Why didn’t they get out?)

“—to explain that all these riches of the harvest, pricelessthough they are in themselves and necessary for grub—forthe festal board, yet they are but symbols and indications ofthe—Do sit down, Lulu; you look a little tired.—of thedeeper spiritual blessings which he also showers on us and notjust at harvest time, and this is a very important point—”

(Her hand dropped against his knee; lay, so white, on thedrab pew. Her breasts were young and undrained under herplaid blouse. He had to touch her hand. His fingers crepttoward it, touched it by accident, surely by accident, whileshe looked devotion and he intoned sublimity.)

“—a very important point indeed; all the year round wereceive those greater inner blessings, and it is for them morethan for any material, uh, material gains that we should liftour voices in Thanksgiving. Don’t you think it might bevaluable to all of us if I brought that out?”

“Oh, yes! Indeed I do! I think that’s a lovely thought!”

(His arms tingled. He had to slip them about her.)

Frank and Miss Baldwin had sat down, and they were in anintolerably long discussion as to what ought to be done aboutthat terrible little Cutler boy who said that he didn’t believethat the ravens brought any bread and meat to Elijah, not ifhe knew anything about these ole crows! Frank explainedthat he did not wish to rebuke honest doubt; but when thisboy went and made a regular business of cutting up and askingfoolish questions—

“Lulu!” Elmer urged. “Skip back in the other room withme a second. There’s something about the church work Iwant to ask you, and I don’t want them to hear.”

There were two rooms in the Schoenheim church: the auditoriumand a large closet for the storage of hymn books, mops,brooms, folding chairs, communion cups. It was lighted by adusty window.

“Sister Bains and I are going to look over the Sunday Schoollesson-charts,” Elmer called largely and brightly.

The fact that she did not deny it bound them together insecrecy. He sat on an upturned bucket; she perched on astep-ladder. It was pleasant to be small in her presence andlook up to her.

What the “something about church work” which he wasgoing to ask her was, he had no notion, but Elmer was a veryready talker in the presence of young women. He launchedout:

“I need your advice. I’ve never met anybody that combinedcommon sense and spiritual values like what you do.”

“Oh, my, you’re just flattering me, Brother Gantry!”

“No, I’m not. Honest, I ain’t! You don’t appreciate yourself.That’s because you’ve always lived in this little burg,but if you were in Chicago or some place like that, believe me,they’d appreciate your, uh, that wonderful sense of spiritualvalues and everything.”

“Oh—Chicago! My! I’d be scared to death!”

“Well, I’ll have to take you there some day and show youthe town! Guess folks would talk about their bad old preacherthen!”

They both laughed heartily.

“But seriously, Lulu, what I want to know is—uh—Oh!What I wanted to ask you: Do you think I ought to comedown here and hold Wednesday prayer-meetings?”

“Why, I think that’d be awfully nice.”

“But, you see, I’d have to come down on that ole hand-car.”

“That’s so.”

“And you can’t know how hard I got to study every eveningat the Seminary.”

“Oh, yes, I can imagine!”

They both sighed in sympathy, and he laid his hand on hers,and they sighed again, and he removed his hand almost prudishly.

“But of course I wouldn’t want to spare myself in any way.It’s a pastor’s privilege to spend himself for his congregation.”

“Yes, that’s so.”

“But on the other hand, with the roads the way they arehere, especially in winter and all, and most of the congregationliving way out on farms and all—hard for ’em to getin, eh?”

“That’s so. The roads do get bad. Yes, I think you’re right,Brother Gantry.”

“Oh! Lulu! And here I’ve been calling you by your firstname! You’re going to make me feel I been acting terribleif you rebuke me that way and don’t call me Elmer!”

“But then you’re the preacher, and I’m just nobody.”

“Oh, yes, you are!”

“Oh, no, I’m not!”

They laughed very much.

“Listen, Lulu, honey. Remember I’m really still a kid—justtwenty-five this month—only ’bout five or six years older’nyou are. Now try calling me Elmer, and see how it sounds.”

“Oh, my! I wouldn’t dare!”

“Well, try it!”

“Oh, I couldn’t! Imagine!”

“ ’Fraid cat!”

“I am not so.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not!”

“I dare you!”

“Well—Elmer, then! So there now!”

They laughed intimately, and in the stress of their merrimenthe picked up her hand, squeezed it, rubbed it against his arm.He did not release it, but it was only with the friendliest andleast emphatic pressure that he held it while he crooned:

“You aren’t really scared of poor old Elmer?”

“Yes, I am, a tiny bit!”

“But why?”

“Oh, you’re big and strong and dignified, like you were lotsolder, and you have such a boom-boom voice—my, I love tolisten to it, but it scares me—I feel like you’d turn on me andsay, ‘You bad little girl,’ and then I’d have to ’fess. My! Andthen you’re so terribly educated—you know such long words,and you can explain all these things about the Bible that Inever can understand. And of course you are a real ordainedBaptist clergyman.”

“Um, uh—But does that keep me from being a man, too?”

“Yes, it does! Sort of!”

Then there was no playfulness, but a grim urgency in hisvoice:

“Then you couldn’t imagine me kissing you? ... Look atme! ... Look at me, I tell you! ... There! ... No, don’tlook away now. Why, you’re blushing! You dear, poor, darlingkid! You can imagine me kissing—”

“Well, I oughtn’t to!”

“ ’Shamed?”

“Yes, I am!”

“Listen, dear. You think of me as so awfully grown-up, andof course I have to impress all these folks when I’m in thepulpit, but you can see through it and—I’m really just abig bashful kid, and I need your help so. Do you know, dear,you remind me of my mother—”

V

Frank Shallard turned on Elmer in their bedroom, while theywere washing for supper—their first moment alone since Luluand Miss Baldwin had driven them to the Bains farm to spendthe night before the Thanksgiving service.

“Look here, Gantry—Elmer. I don’t think it looked well,the way you took Miss Bains in the back room at the churchand kept her there—must have been half an hour—and whenI came in you two jumped and looked guilty.”

“Uh-huh, so our little friend Franky is a real rubber-neckingold woman!”

It was a spacious dusky cavern under the eaves, the roomwhere they were to stay the night. The pitcher on the blackwalnut washstand was stippled in gold, riotous with namelessbuds. Elmer stood glaring, his big forearms bare and dripping,shaking his fingers over the carpet before he reached for thetowel.

“I am not a ‘rubber-neck,’ and you know it, Gantry. Butyou’re the preacher here, and it’s our duty, for the effect onothers, to avoid even the appearance of evil.”

“Evil to him that evil thinks. Maybe you’ve heard that,too!”

“Oh, yes, Elmer, I think perhaps I have!”

“Suspicious, dirty-minded Puritan, that’s what you are, seeingevil where there ain’t any meant.”

“People don’t hate Puritans because they suspect unjustly,but because they suspect only too darned justly. Look herenow, Elmer. I don’t want to be disagreeable—”

“Well, you are!”

“—but Miss Bains—she looks sort of cuddlesome and flirtatious,but I’m dead certain she’s straight as can be, and I’mnot going to stand back and watch you try to, uh, to makelove to her.”

“Well, smarty, suppose I wanted to marry her?”

“Do you?”

“You know so blame’ much, you ought to know withoutasking!”

“Do you?”

“I haven’t said I didn’t.”

“Your rhetoric is too complicated for me. I’ll take it thatyou do mean to. That’s fine! I’ll announce your intentionsto Deacon Bains.”

“You will like hell! Now you look here, Shallard! I’mnot going to have you poking your long nose into my business,and that’s all there is to it, see?”

“Yes, it would be if you were a layman and I had no officialconnection with this outfit. I don’t believe too much in goingaround being moral for other people. But you’re the preacherhere—you’re an ordained minister—and I’m responsible withyou for the welfare of this church, and I’m damned if I’m goingto watch you seducing the first girl you get your big sweatyhands on—Oh, don’t go doubling up your fists. Of courseyou could lick me. But you won’t. Especially here in thedeacon’s house. Ruin you in the ministry.... Great God,and you’re the kind we affably let into the Baptist ministry!I was saying: I don’t propose to see you trying to seduce—”

“Now, by God, if you think I’m going to stand—Let metell you right now, you’ve got the filthiest mind I ever heardof, Shallard! Why you should think I intend for one singlesecond to be anything but friendly and open and aboveboardwith Lulu—with Miss Bains—Why, you fool, I was inthere listening about how she was in love with a fellow andhe’s gone off to Chicago and chucked her, and that was all,and why you should think—”

“Oh, don’t be so fat-headed, Gantry! You can’t get awaywith sitting in my room at the Sem boasting, you and Zenzboasting about how many affairs you’ve had—”

“Well, it’s the last time I’ll sit in your damned room!”

“Splendid!”

“Think what you want to. And go to the devil! And besure and run tattling to Pop Trosper and the rest of thefaculty!”

“Well, that’s a good come-back, Gantry. I may do justthat. But this evening I’ll just watch Lulu—watch Miss Bainsand you. Poor sweet kid that she is! Nice eyes!”

“Uh-huh, young Shallard, so you’ve been smelling around,too!”

“My God, Gantry, what a perfect specimen you are!”

VI

Deacon and Mrs. Bains—an angry-faced, generous, grasping,horsy, black-mustached man he was, and she a dumpling—managedto treat Frank and Elmer simultaneously as professorsof the sacred mysteries and as two hungry boys whowere starved at Mizpah and who were going to catch uptonight. Fried chicken, creamed chipped beef, homemadesausages, pickles, and mince pie in which Elmer suspected,and gratefully suspected, the presence of unrighteousbrandy, were only part of the stout trencher-work required ofthe young prophets. Mr. Bains roared every three minutes atthe swollen and suffering Frank, “Nonsense, nonsense, Brother,you haven’t begun to eat yet! What’s the matter with you?Pass up your plate for another helpin’.”

Miss Baldwin, the spinster, two other deacons and theirwives and a young man from a near-by farm, one FloydNaylor, were present, and the clergy were also expected to beinstructive. The theories were that they cared to talk of nothingsave theology and the church and, second, that such talkwas somehow beneficial in the tricky business of enjoying yoursleep and buggy-riding and vittles, and still getting into heaven.

“Say, Brother Gantry,” said Mr. Bains, “what Baptist paperdo you like best for home reading? I tried the WatchmanExaminer for a while, but don’t seem to me it lambastes theCampbellites like it ought to, or gives the Catholics what-for,like a real earnest Christian sheet ought to. I’ve started takingthe Word and Way. Now there’s a mighty sound paper thatdon’t mince matters none, and written real elegant—just suitsme. It tells you straight out from the shoulder that if youdon’t believe in the virgin birth and the resurrection, atonement,and immersion, then it don’t make no difference aboutyour so-called good works and charity and all that, becauseyou’re doomed and bound to go straight to hell, and not nomake-believe hell, either, but a real gosh-awful turble bed ofsure-enough coals! Yes, sir!”

“Oh, look here now, Brother Bains!” Frank Shallard protested.“You don’t mean to say you think that the Lord Jesusisn’t going to save one single solitary person who isn’t anorthodox Baptist?”

“Well, I don’t perfess to know all these things myself, likeI was a high-toned preacher. But way I see it: Oh, yes, maybeif a fellow ain’t ever had a chance to see the light—say hewas brought up a Methodist or a Mormon, and never hearda real dyed-in-the-wool Baptist explain the complete truth,then maybe God might forgive him ’cause he was ignorant.But one thing I do know, absolute: All these ‘advancedthinkers’ and ‘higher critics’ are going to the hottest pit ofhell! What do you think about it, Brother Gantry?”

“Personally, I’m much inclined to agree with you,” Elmergloated. “But, anyway, we can safely leave it to the mercyof God to take care of wobblers and cowards and gas-bags likethese alleged advanced thinkers. When they treacherouslyweaken our efforts at soul-saving out here in the field, and goin for a lot of cussing and discussing and fussing around with alot of fool speculation that don’t do anybody any practicalgood in the great work of bringing poor sufferin’ souls to peace,why then I’m too busy to waste my time on ’em, that’s all,and I wouldn’t care one bit if they heard me and knew it!Fact, that’s the only trouble with Brother Shallard here—Iknow he has the grace of God in his heart, but he will wastetime worrying over a lot of doctrines when everything’s setdown in Baptist tradition, and that’s all you need to know.I want you to think about that, Frank—”

Elmer had recovered. He enjoyed defying lightning, providedit was lightning no more dynamic than Frank was likelyto furnish. He looked at Frank squarely.... It was perhapshalf an hour since their talk in the bedroom.

Frank opened his mouth twice, and closed it. Then it wastoo late. Deacon Bains was already overwhelming him withregeneration and mince pie.

VII

Lulu was at the other end of the table from Elmer. He wasrather relieved. He despised Frank’s weakness, but he wasnever, as with Eddie Fislinger, sure what Frank would door say, and he determined to be cautious. Once or twice heglanced at Lulu intimately, but he kept all his conversation(which, for Lulu’s admiration, he tried to make learned yetvirile) for Mr. Bains and the other deacons.

“There!” he reflected. “Now Shallard, the damned fool,ought to see that I’m not trying to grab off the kid.... Ifhe makes any breaks about ‘what are my intentions’ to her,I’ll just be astonished, and get Mr. Frank Shallard in bad,curse him and his dirty sneaking suspicions!”

But: “God, I’ve got to have her!” said all the tumultuoussmoky beings in the lowest layer of his mind, and he answeredthem only with an apprehensive, “Watch out! Be careful!Dean Trosper would bust you! Old Bains would grab hisshotgun.... Be careful! ... Wait!”

Not till an hour after supper, when the others were bendingover the corn-popper, did he have the chance to whisper toher:

“Don’t trust Shallard! Pretends to be a friend of mine—couldn’ttrust him with a plugged nickel! Got to tell youabout him. Got to! Listen! Slip down after the others goup t’ bed. I’ll be down here. Must!”

“Oh, I can’t! Cousin Adeline Baldwin is sleeping with me.”

“Well! Pretend to get ready to go to bed—start and doyour hair or something—and then come down to see if the fireis all right. Will you?”

“Maybe.”

“You must! Please! Dear!”

“Maybe. But I can’t stay but just a second.”

Most virtuously, most ministerially: “Oh, of course.”

They all sat, after supper, in the sitting-room. The Bainsesprided themselves on having advanced so far socially that theydid not spend their evenings in the kitchen-dining-room—always.The sitting-room had the homeliness of a New Englandfarm-house, with hectically striped rag carpet, an amazingpatent rocker with Corinthian knobs and brass dragon’sfeet, crayon enlargements, a table piled with Farm and Firesideand Modern Priscilla, and the enormous volume of picturesof the Chicago World’s Fair. There was no fireplace, butthe stove was a cheery monster of nickel and mica, with a jollybrass crown more golden than gold, and around the glaringbelly a chain of glass sapphires, glass emeralds, and hot glassrubies.

Beside the stove’s gorgeous cheerfulness, Elmer turned onhis spiritual faucet and worked at being charming.

“Now don’t you folks dare say one word about church affairsthis evening! I’m not going to be a preacher—I’m just goingto be a youngster and kick up my heels in the pasture, afterthat lovely supper, and I declare to goodness if I didn’t knowshe was a strict Mother in Zion, I’d make Mother Bains dancewith me—bet she could shake as pretty a pair of heels as anyof these art dancers in the theater!”

And encircling that squashy and billowing waist, he thricewhirled her round, while she blushed, and giggled, “Why, thevery idee!” The others applauded with unsparing plow-hardenedhands, cracking the shy ears of Frank Shallard.

Always Frank had been known as an uncommonly amiableyouth, but tonight he was sour as alum.

It was Elmer who told them stories of the pioneer Kansashe knew so well, from reading. It was Elmer who started thempopping corn in the parlor-stove after their first uneasinessat being human in the presence of Men of God. During thisfestivity, when even the most decorous deacon chuckled andadmonished Mr. Bains, “Hey, who you shovin’ there, Barney?”Elmer was able to evade publicity and make his rendezvouswith Lulu.

More jolly than ever, then, and slightly shiny from butteredpop-corn, he herded them to the parlor-organ, on which Luluoperated with innocent glee and not much knowledge. Outof duty to the cloth, they had to begin with singing “BlessedAssurance,” but presently he had them basking in “SeeingNelly Home,” and “Old Black Joe.”

All the while he was quivering with the promise of soft adventureto come.

It only added to his rapture that the young neighboringfarmer, Floyd Naylor—kin of the Bains family, a tall youngman but awkward—was also mooning at Lulu, longing butshy.

They wound up with “Beulah Land,” played by Lulu, andhis voice was very soothing, very touching and tender:

“I just wish I knew,” said the wife of one of the deacons,a sentimental and lively lady, “what you were thinking ofwhile we sang, Brother Gantry?”

“Why—I was thinking how happy we’ll all be when weare purified and at rest in Beulah Land.”

“My, I knew it was something religious—you sang so sortahappy and inspired. Well! We must be going. It’s been sucha lovely evening, Sister Bains. We just don’t know how tothank you and Brother Bains, yes, and Brother Gantry, too, forsuch a fine time. Oh, and Brother Shallard, of course. Come,Charley.”

Charley, as well as the other deacons, had vanished into thekitchen after Brother Bains. There was a hollow noise, as of ajug mouth, while the ladies and the clergy talked loudly andlooked tolerant. The men appeared at the door wiping theirmouths with the hairy backs of their paws.

VIII

After the tremendous leave-taking, to a yawning host Elmersuggested, “If it won’t bother you and Sister Bains, I’m goingto stay down here by the fire a few minutes and complete mynotes for my sermon tomorrow. And then I won’t keepBrother Shallard awake.”

“Fine, fine—eaaaaah—’scuse me—so sleepy. The house isyours, my boy—Brother. G’night.”

“Good night! Good night, Brother Bains. Good night,Sister Bains. Good night, Sister Lulu.... Night, Frank.”

The room was far more boisterous when he was left alone init. It reeled and clamored. He paced, nervously smiting thepalm of his left hand, stopping in fever to listen.... Timecrawling forever.... She would not come.

Creep-mouse rustle on the stairs, reluctant tip-toe in the hall.

His whole torso swelled with longing. He threw back hisarms, fists down by his side, chin up, like the statue of NathanHale. But when she edged in he was enacting the kindlyburly pastor, an elbow on the corner of the parlor-organ, twofingers playing with his massy watch-chain, his expressionbenevolent and amused.

She was not in a dressing-gown; she wore her blue frockunaltered. But she had let down her hair and its pale silkinessshone round her throat. She looked at him beseechingly.

Instantly he changed his pose and dashed at her with a littleboyish cry:

“Oh, Lu! I can’t tell you how Frank hurt me!”

“What? What?”

Very naturally, as with unquestioning intimacy, he put hisarm about her shoulder, and his finger-tips rejoiced in her hair.

“It’s terrible! Frank ought to know me, but what do youthink he said? Oh, he didn’t dare come right out and say it—notto me—but he hinted around and insinuated and suggestedthat you and I were misbehaving there in the church whenwe were talking. And you remember what we were talkingabout—about my moth-er! And how beautiful and lovely sheused to be and how much you’re like her! Don’t you thinkthat’s rotten of him?”

“Oh, I do! I think it’s just dreadful. I never did like him!”

In her sympathy she had neglected to slip out from underhis arm.

“Come sit down beside me on the couch, dear.”

“Oh, I mustn’t.” Moving with him toward the couch. “I’vegot to go right back up-stairs. Cousin Adeline, she’s suspicious.”

“We’ll both go up, right away. But this thing upset me so!Wouldn’t think a big clumsy like me could be such a sensitivechump, would you!”

He drew her close. She snuggled beside him, unstruggling,sighing:

“Oh, I do understand, Elmer, and I think it’s dandy, I meanit’s lovely when a man can be so big and strong and still havefine feelings. But, honest, I must go.”

“Must go, dear.”

“No.”

“Yes. Won’t let you, ’less you say it.”

“Must go, dear!”

She had sprung up, but he held her hand, kissed her finger-tips,looked up at her with plaintive affection.

“Poor boy! Did I make it all well?”

She had snatched away her hand, she had swiftly kissed histemple and fled. He tramped the floor quite daft, now soaringlytriumphant, now blackly longing.

IX

During their hand-car return to Babylon and the Seminary,Elmer and Frank had little to say.

“Don’t be such a grouch. Honest, I’m not trying to getfunny with little Lulu,” Elmer grumbled, panting as he pumpedthe hand-car, grotesque in cap and muffler.

“All right. Forget it,” said Frank.

Elmer endured it till Wednesday. For two days he hadbeen hag-ridden by plans to capture Lulu. They became soplain to him that he seemed to be living them, as he slumpedon the edge of his cot, his fists clenched, his eyes absent....In his dream he squandered a whole two dollars and a half fora “livery rig” for the evening, and drove to Schoenheim. Hehitched it at that big oak, a quarter of a mile from the Bainsfarmhouse. In the moonlight he could see the rounded andcratered lump on the oak trunk where a limb had been cut off.He crept to the farmyard, hid by the corncrib, cold but excited.She came to the door with a dish-pan of water—stood sidewisein the light, her gingham work-dress molded to the curve fromshoulder to breast. He whistled to her; she started; cametoward him with doubtful feet, cried with gladness when shesaw who it was.

She could not stay with him till the work was done, but sheinsisted that he wait in the stable. There was the warmth ofthe cows, their sweet odor, and a scent of hay. He sat on amanger-edge in the darkness, enraptured yet so ardent that hetrembled as with fear. The barn door edged open, with a flashof moonlight; she came toward him, reluctant, fascinated.He did not stir. She moved, entranced, straight into his arms;they sat together on a pile of hay, taut with passion, unspeaking,and his hand smoothed her ankle.

And again, in his fancies, it was at the church that sheyielded; for some reason not quite planned, he was there withoutFrank, on a week-day evening, and she sat beside him ona pew. He could hear himself arguing that she was to trusthim, that their love partook of the divine, even while he wasfondling her.

But——Suppose it were Deacon Bains who came to hiswhistle, and found him sneaking in the barnyard? Supposeshe declined to be romantic in cow-barns? And just whatexcuse had he for spending an evening with her at the church?

But——Over and over, sitting on his cot, lying half-asleepwith the covers clutched desperately, he lived his imaginingstill he could not endure it.

Not till Wednesday morning did it occur to the ReverendElmer Gantry that he need not sneak and prowl, not necessarily,no matter what his custom had been, and that there wasnothing to prevent his openly calling on her.

Nor did he spend any two dollars and a half for a carriage.Despite his florid magnificence, he was really a very poor youngman. He walked to Schoenheim (not in vision now, but inreality), starting at five in the afternoon, carrying a ham sandwichfor his supper; walked the railroad track, the cold tiesechoing under his heavy tread.

He arrived at eight. He was certain that, coming so verylate, her parents would not stay up to annoy him for morethan an hour. They were likely to ask him to remain for thenight, and there would be no snooping Cousin Adeline Baldwinabout.

Mr. Bains opened to his knock.

“Well, well, well, Brother Gantry! What brings you downto this part of the world this time of night? Come in! Comein!”

“I sort of thought I needed a good long walk—been studyingtoo hard—and I took a chance on your letting me stop in andwarm myself.”

“Well, sir, by golly, Brother, I’d of been mad’s a wet henif you hadn’t stopped! This is your house and there’s alwaysan extra plate to slap on the table. Yes, sir! Had yoursupper? Sandwich? Enough? Foolishness! We’ll have thewomenfolks fix you up something in two shakes. The womanand Lulu, they’re still out in the kitchen. LU-lu!”

“Oh, I mustn’t stop—so terribly far back to town, and solate—shouldn’t have walked so far.”

“You don’t step your foot out of this house tonight, Brother!You stay right here!”

When Lulu saw him, her tranced eyes said, “And did youcome all this way for me?”

She was more softly desirable than he had fancied.

Warmed and swollen with fried eggs and admiration, he satwith them in the parlor narrating more or less possible incidentsof his campaigns for righteousness in Kansas, till Mr. Bainsbegan to yawn.

“By golly, ten minutes after nine! Don’t know how it gotto be so late. Ma, guess it’s about time to turn in.”

Elmer lunged gallantly:

“Well, you can go to bed, but we young folks are going tosit up and tell each other our middle names! I’m no preacheron week days—I’m just a student, by Jiminy!”

“Well——If you call this a week day. Looks like a weeknight to me, Brother!”

Everybody laughed.

She was in his arms, on the couch, before her father hadyawned and coughed up the stairs; she was in his arms, limp,unreasoning, at midnight; after a long stillness in the chillingroom, she sat up hastily at two, and fingered her rumpled hair.

“Oh, I’m frightened!” she whimpered.

He tried to pat her comfortingly, but there was not muchheart in him now.

“But it doesn’t matter. When shall we be married?” shefluttered.

And then there was no heart in him at all, but only a lumpof terror.

Once or twice in his visions he had considered that theremight be danger of having to marry her. He had determinedthat marriage now would cramp his advancement in the churchand that, anyway, he didn’t want to marry this brainless littlefluffy chick, who would be of no help in impressing rich parishioners.But that caution he had utterly forgotten in emotion,and her question was authentically a surprise, abominably ashock. Thus in whirling thought, even while he mumbled:

“Well—well——Don’t think we can decide yet. Ought towait till I have time to look around after I graduate, and getsettled in some good pastorate.”

“Yes, perhaps we ought,” she said meekly to her man, thebest and most learned and strongest and much the most interestingperson she had ever known.

“So you mustn’t mention it to anybody, Lu. Not ever toyour folks. They might not understand, like you do, howhard it is for a preacher to get his first real church.”

“Yes, dear. Oh, kiss me!”

And he had to kiss her any number of times, in that ghastlycold room, before he could escape to his chamber.

He sat on his bed with an expression of sickness, complaining,“Hell, I oughtn’t to have gone so far! I thought she’dresist more. Aaah! It wasn’t worth all this risk. Aaaaah!She’s dumm as a cow. Poor little thing!” His charity madehim feel beneficent again. “Sorry for her. But, good God,she is so wishy-washy! Her fault, really, but——Aaah! I wasa fool! Well, fellow has to stand right up and face his faultshonestly. I do. I don’t excuse myself. I’m not afraid toadmit my faults and repent.”

So he was able to go to bed admiring his own virtue andalmost forgiving her.

I

the ardor of Lulu, the pride of having his own church atSchoenheim, the pleasure of watching Frank Shallard puff inagony over the hand-car, all these did not make up to Elmerfor his boredom in seminary classes from Monday to Friday—thatboredom which all preachers save a few sporting countryparsons, a few managers of factory-like institutional churches,must endure throughout their lives.

Often he thought of resigning and going into business. Sincebuttery words and an important manner would be as valuablein business as in the church, the class to which he gave themost reverent attention was that of Mr. Ben T. Bohnsock,“Professor of Oratory and Literature, and Instructor in VoiceCulture.” Under him, Elmer had been learning an evermore golden (yet steel-strong) pulpit manner, learning notto split infinitives in public, learning that references toDickens, Victor Hugo, James Whitcomb Riley, Josh Billings,and Michelangelo give to a sermon a very toney Chicago air.

Elmer’s eloquence increased like an August pumpkin. Hewent into the woods to practise. Once a small boy came upbehind him, standing on a stump in a clearing, and upon beinggreeted with “I denounce the abominations of your lasciviousand voluptuous, uh, abominations,” he fled yelping, and neveragain was the same care-free youth.

In moments when he was certain that he really could continuewith the easy but dull life of the ministry, Elmer gaveheed to Dean Trosper’s lectures in Practical Theology and inHomiletics. Dr. Trosper told the aspiring holy clerks whatto say when they called on the sick, how to avoid being compromisedby choir-singers, how to remember edifying or laugh-trappinganecdotes by cataloguing them, how to prepare sermonswhen they had nothing to say, in what books they couldfind the best predigested sermon-outlines, and, most useful ofall, how to raise money.

Eddie Fislinger’s note-book on the Practical Theology lectures(which Elmer viewed as Elmer’s note-book also, beforeexaminations) was crammed with such practical theology as:

The course in Hymnology Elmer found tolerable; the coursesin New Testament Interpretation, Church History, Theology,Missions, and Comparative Religions he stolidly endured andwarmly cursed. Who the dickens cared whether AdoniramJudson became a Baptist by reading his Greek New Testament?Why all this fuss about a lot of prophecies inRevelation—he wasn’t going to preach that highbrow stuff!And expecting them to make something out of this filioqueargument in theology! Foolish!

The teachers of New Testament and Church History wereministers whom admiring but bored metropolitan congregationshad kicked up-stairs. To both of them polite deacons had said,“We consider you essentially scholarly, Brother, rather thanpastoral. Very scholarly. We’re pulling wires to get you thehigh honor that’s your due—election to a chair in one of theBaptist seminaries. While they may pay a little less, you’llhave much more of the honor you so richly deserve, and lotseasier work, as you might say.”

The grateful savants had accepted, and they were spendingthe rest of their lives reading fifteenth-hand opinions, takingpleasant naps, and drooling out to yawning students the anemicand wordy bookishness which they called learning.

But the worst of Elmer’s annoyances were the courses givenby Dr. Bruno Zechlin, Professor of Greek, Hebrew, and OldTestament Exegesis.

Bruno Zechlin was a Ph. D. of Bonn, an S. T. D. of Edinburgh.He was one of the dozen authentic scholars in all thetheological institutions of America, and incidentally he was athorough failure. He lectured haltingly, he wrote obscurely,he could not talk to God as though he knew him personally,and he could not be friendly with numbskulls.

Mizpah Seminary belonged to the right-wing of the Baptists;it represented what was twenty years later to be known as“fundamentalism”; and in Mizpah Dr. Zechlin had been suspectedof heresy.

He also had a heathenish tawny German beard, and he hadbeen born not in Kansas or Ohio but in a city ridiculouslynamed Frankfort.

Elmer despised him, because of the beard, because he wasenthusiastic about Hebrew syntax, because he had no usefultips for ambitious young professional prophets, and becausehe had seemed singularly to enjoy flunking Elmer in Greek,which Elmer was making up with a flinching courage piteousto behold.

But Frank Shallard loved Dr. Zechlin, him alone among themembers of the faculty.

II

Frank Shallard’s father was a Baptist minister, sweet-tempered,bookish, mildly liberal, not unsuccessful; his motherwas of a Main Line family, slightly run to seed. He wasborn in Harrisburg and reared in Pittsburgh, always under theshadow of the spires—in his case, a kindly shadow andserene, though his father did labor long at family prayers andinstruct his young to avoid all worldly pollution, which includeddancing, the theater, and the libidinous works of Balzac.

There was talk of sending Frank to Brown University orPennsylvania, but when he was fifteen his father had a call to alarge church in Cleveland, and it was the faculty of OberlinCollege, in Ohio, who interpreted and enriched for Frank theChristian testimony to be found in Plautus, Homer, calculus,basket-ball, and the history of the French Revolution.

There was a good deal of the natural poet in him and, asis not too rarely the case with poets, something of the reasoningand scientific mind. But both imagination and reasonhad been submerged in a religion in which doubt was notonly sinful but, much worse, in bad taste. The flair whichmight have turned to roses and singing, or to banners andbravado, or to pity of hopeless toilers, had been absorbedin the terrible majesty of the Jew Jehovah, the brooding mercyof Our Lord, the tales of his birth—jeweled kings and theshepherds’ campfire, the looming star and the babe in themanger; myths bright as enamel buds—and he was bemusedby the mysteries of Revelation, an Alice in Wonderland wearinga dragon mask.

Not only had he been swathed in theology, but all his experiencehad been in books instead of the speech of toiling men.He had been a solitary in college, generous but fastidious,jarred by his classmates’ belching and sudden laughter.

His reasoning had been introverted, turned from an examinationof men as mammals and devoted to a sorrow that sinfuland aching souls should not more readily seek the securityof a mystic process known as Conviction, Repentance, andSalvation, which, he was assured by the noblest and mostliterate men he had ever known, was guaranteed to cure allwoe. His own experience did not absolutely confirm this.Even after he had been quite ecstatically saved, he found himselffalling into deep still furies at the familiarities of hobbledehoys,still peeping at the arching bodies of girls. Butthat, he assured himself, was merely because he hadn’t “goneon to perfection.”

There were doubts. The Old Testament God’s habit ofdesiring the reeking slaughter of every one who did not flatterhim seemed rather anti-social, and he wondered whether allthe wantoning in the Song of Solomon did really refer to theloyalty between Christ and the Church. It seemed unlike thesessions of Oberlin Chapel and the Miller Avenue BaptistChurch of Cleveland, Ohio. Could Solomon just possiblyrefer to relations between beings more mundane and frisky?

Such qualities of reason as he had, Frank devoted not toexamining the testimony which his doubting sniffed out, butto examining and banishing the doubt itself. He had it asan axiom that doubt was wicked, and he was able to enjoyconsiderable ingenuity in exorcising it. He had a good dealof self-esteem and pleasure among the purple-broideredambiguities of religion.

That he should become a minister had always been assumed.He had no such definite and ecstatic Call as came to ElmerGantry, but he had always known that he would go on nibblingat theories about the eucharist, and pointing men the way touncharted plateaus called Righteousness, Idealism, Honesty,Sacrifice, Beauty, Salvation.

Curly flaxen hair, clear skin, fine nose, setter eyes, straightback, Frank was a pleasant-looking young man at twenty-three,in his senior year at Mizpah Seminary.

He was a favorite of Dean Trosper, of the Professor of NewTestament Interpretation; his marks were high, his mannerwas respectful and his attendance was perfect. But his masteramong the faculty was the stammering and stumbling BrunoZechlin, that bearded advocate of Hebrew syntax, that suspectedvictim of German beer and German rationalism, andFrank was the only student of his generation whom Dr.Zechlin chose as confidant.

During Frank’s first year in Mizpah, Zechlin and he weremerely polite to each other; they watched each other andrespected each other and remained aloof. Frank was diffidentbefore Dr. Zechlin’s learning, and in the end it was Zechlin whooffered friendship. He was a lonely man. He was a bachelor,and he despised all of his colleagues whom he did not fear.Particularly did he dislike being called “Brother Zechlin” byactive long-legged braying preachers from the bush.

At the beginning of Frank’s second year in Mizpah heworried once in Old Testament Exegesis class, “ProfessorZechlin, I wish you’d explain an apparent Biblical inconsistencyto me. It says in John—some place in the first chapter, I thinkit is—that ‘No man hath seen God at any time,’ and then inTimothy it states definitely, about God, ‘Whom no man hathseen nor can see,’ and yet in Exodus xxiv, Moses and morethan seventy others did see him, with pavement under hisfeet, and Isaiah and Amos say they saw him, and God especiallyarranged for Moses to see part of him. And there too—Godtold Moses that nobody could stand seeing his face andlive, but Jacob actually wrestled with God and saw him faceto face and did live. Honestly, professor, I’m not trying toraise doubts, but there does seem to be an inconsistency there,and I wish I could find the proper explanation.”

Dr. Zechlin looked at him with a curious fuzzy brightness.“What do you mean by a proper explanation, Shallard?”

“So we can explain these things to young people that mightbe bothered by them.”

“Well, it’s rather complicated. If you’ll come to my roomsafter supper tonight, I’ll try to make it clear.”

But when Frank shyly came calling (and Dr. Zechlin exaggeratedwhen he spoke of his “rooms,” for he had only abook-littered study with an alcove bedroom, in the house ofan osteopath), he did not at all try to make it clear. Hehinted about to discover Frank’s opinion of smoking, andgave him a cigar; he encased himself in a musty arm-chairand queried:

“Do you ever feel a little doubt about the literal interpretationof our Old Testament, Shallard?”

He sounded kind, very understanding.

“I don’t know. Yes, I guess I do. I don’t like to call themdoubts—”

“Why not call ’em doubts? Doubting is a very healthysign, especially in the young. Don’t you see that otherwiseyou’d simply be swallowing instruction whole, and no falliblehuman instructor can always be right, do you think?”

That began it—began a talk, always cautious, increasinglyfrank, which lasted till midnight. Dr. Zechlin lent him (withthe adjuration not to let any one else see them) Renan’s“Jesus,” and Coe’s “The Religion of a Mature Mind.”

Frank came again to his room, and they walked, strolledtogether through sweet apple orchards, unconscious even ofIndian summer pastures in their concentration on the destinyof man and the grasping gods.

Not for three months did Zechlin admit that he was anagnostic, and not for another month that atheist would perhapsbe a sounder name for him than agnostic.

Before ever he had taken his theological doctorate, Zechlinhad felt that it was as impossible to take literally the mythsof Christianity as to take literally the myths of Buddhism.But for many years he had rationalized his heresies. Thesemyths, he comforted himself, are symbols embodying the gloryof God and the leadership of Christ’s genius. He had workedout a satisfying parable: The literalist, said he, asserts that aflag is something holy, something to die for, not symbolicallybut in itself. The infidel, at the other end of the scale, maintainsthat the flag is a strip of wool or silk or cotton with ratherunesthetic marks printed on it, and of considerably less use,therefore of less holiness and less romance, than a shirt or ablanket. But to the unprejudiced thinker, like himself, it wasa symbol, sacred only by suggestion but not the less sacred.

After nearly two decades he knew that he had been foolinghimself; that he did not actually admire Jesus as the soleleader; that the teachings of Jesus were contradictory andborrowed from earlier rabbis; and that if the teachings ofChristianity were adequate flags, symbols, philosophies formost of the bellowing preachers whom he met and detested,then perforce they must for him be the flags, the symbols, ofthe enemy.

Yet he went on as a Baptist preacher, as a teacher of ministerialcubs.

He tried to explain it to Frank Shallard without seeming tooshameful.

First, he suggested, it was hard for any man, it wasespecially hard for a teacher of sixty-five, to go back on thephilosophy he had taught all his life. It made that life seemtoo pitifully futile.

And he did love to tread theological labyrinths.

And, he admitted, as they plodded back through a wintertwilight, he was afraid to come out with the truth lest he plainlose his job.

Man of learning he was, but too sorry a preacher to be acceptedby a liberal religious society, too lumbering a writer forjournalism; and outside the world of religious parasitism (hisown phrase) he had no way of earning his living. If he werekicked out of Mizpah, he would starve.

“So!” he said grimly. “I would hate to see you go throughall this, Frank.”

“But—but—but—What am I to do, Dr. Zechlin? Doyou think I ought to get out of the church? Now? Whilethere’s time?”

“You have lived the church. You would probably be lonelywithout it. Maybe you should stay in it ... to destroy it!”

“But you wouldn’t want it destroyed? Even if some detailsof dogma aren’t true—or even all of ’em—think what a consolationreligion and the church are to weak humanity!”

“Are they? I wonder! Don’t cheerful agnostics, who knowthey’re going to die dead, worry much less than good Baptists,who worry lest their sons and cousins and sweethearts fail toget into the Baptist heaven—or what is even worse, whowonder if they may not have guessed wrong—if God may notbe a Catholic, maybe, or a Mormon or a Seventh-day Adventistinstead of a Baptist, and then they’ll go to hell themselves!Consolation? No! But—Stay in the church. Tillyou want to get out.”

Frank stayed.

III

By Senior year he had read many of Dr. Zechlin’s bootleggedbooks: Davenport’s “Primitive Traits in Religious Revivals,”which asserted that the shoutings and foamings andtwitchings at revival meetings were no more sanctified thanany other barbaric religious frenzies; Dods and Sunderlandon the origin of the Bible, which indicated that the Bible wasno more holy and infallible than Homer; Nathaniel Schmidt’srevolutionary life of Jesus, “The Prophet of Nazareth,” andWhite’s “History of the Warfare of Science with Theology,”which painted religion as the enemy, not the promoter, ofhuman progress. He was indeed—in a Baptist seminary!—aspecimen of the “young man ruined by godless education”whom the Baptist periodicals loved to paint.

But he stayed.

He clung to the church. It was his land, his patriotism.Nebulously and quite unpractically and altogether miserablyhe planned to give his life to a project called “liberalizing thechurch from within.”

It was a relief after his sophistries to have so lively anemotion as his sweet, clear, resounding hatred for BrotherElmer Gantry.

IV

Frank had always disliked Elmer’s thickness, his glossiness,his smut, and his inability to understand the most elementaryabstraction. But Frank was ordinarily no great hater, andwhen they went off together to guard the flock at Schoenheim,he almost liked Elmer in his vigorous excitement—beautifulearthy excitement of an athlete.

Frank considered Lulu Bains a bisque doll, and he wouldhave cherished her like any ten-year-old in his Sunday SchoolClass. He saw Elmer’s whole body stiffen as he looked atLulu. And there was nothing he could do.

He was afraid that if he spoke to Mr. Bains, or even toLulu, in the explosion Elmer might have to marry her, andsuddenly the Frank who had always accepted “the holy institutionof matrimony” felt that for a colt like Lulu any wildkicking up of the heels would be better than being harnessedto Elmer’s muddy plow.

Frank’s minister father and his mother went to Californiafor Christmas time, and he spent the holiday with Dr. Zechlin.They two celebrated Christmas Eve, and a very radiant, well-contented,extremely German Weihnachtsabend that was.Zechlin had procured a goose, bullied the osteopath’s wife intocooking it, with sausages for stuffing and cranberry pancaketo flank it. He brewed a punch not at all Baptist; it frothed,and smelled divinely, and to Frank it brought visions.

They sat in old chairs on either side of the round stove,gently waving their punch glasses, and sang:

“Ah, yes,” the old man meditated, “that is the Christ I stilldream of—the Child with shining hair, the dear GermanChrist Child—the beautiful fairy-tale—and your DeanTrospers make Jesus into a monster that hates youth andlaughter—Wein, Weib und Gesang. Der Arme! How unluckyhe was, that Christ, not to have the good Trosper withhim at the wedding feast to explain that he must not turn thewater into wine. Chk! Chk! I wonder if I am too old tostart a leetle farm with a big vineyard and seven books?”

V

Elmer Gantry was always very witty about Dr. BrunoZechlin. Sometimes he called him “Old Fuzzy.” Sometimeshe said, “That old coot ought to teach Hebrew—he looks likea page of Yid himself.” Elmer could toss off things like that.The applause of Eddie Fislinger, who was heard to say inhallways and lavatories that Zechlin lacked spirituality, encouragedElmer to create his masterpiece.

Before Exegesis class, he printed on the blackboard in adisguised hand:

“I am Fuzzy Zechlin, the gazabo that knows more thanGod. If Jake Trosper got onto what I really think aboutinspiration of the Scriptures, he’d fire me out on my dirtyDutch neck.”

The assembling students guffawed, even ponderous BrotherKarkis, the up-creek Calvin.

Dr. Zechlin trotted into the classroom, smiling. He readthe blackboard inscription. He looked incredulous, thenfrightened, and peered at his class like an old dog stoned byhoodlums. He turned and walked out, to the laughter ofBrother Gantry and Brother Karkis.

It is not recorded how the incident came to Dean Trosper.

He summoned Elmer. “I suspect it was you who wrote thaton the blackboard.”

Elmer considered lying, then blurted, “Yes, I did, Dean. Itell you, it’s a shame—I don’t pretend to have reached astate of Christian perfection, but I’m trying hard, and Ithink it’s a shame when a man on the faculty is trying to takeaway our faith by hints and sneers, that’s how I feel.”

Dean Trosper spoke snappishly: “I don’t think you needworry about anybody suggesting new possibilities of sin toyou, Brother Gantry. But there is some justification towhat you say. Now go and sin no more. I still believe thatsome day you may grow up and turn your vitality into ameans of grace for many, possibly including yourself.Thaddeldo.”

Dr. Bruno Zechlin was abruptly retired at Easter. He wentto live with his niece. She was poor and liked bridge, anddid not want him. He made a little money by translating fromthe German. He died within two years.

Elmer Gantry never knew who sent him thirty dimes,wrapped in a tract about holiness, nor why. But he foundthe sentiments in the tract useful in a sermon, and the thirtydimes he spent for lively photographs of burlesque ladies.

I

the relations of Brother Gantry and Brother Shallard werenot ardent, toward Christmastide, even in the intimacy ofpumping a hand-car.

Frank complained while they were laboring along the trackafter church at Schoenheim:

“Look here, Gantry, something’s got to be done. I’m notsatisfied about you and Lulu. I’ve caught you looking at eachother. And I suspect you’ve been talking to the dean aboutDr. Zechlin. I’m afraid I’ve got to go to the dean myself.You’re not fit to have a pastorate.”

Elmer stopped pumping, glared, rubbed his mittened handson his thighs, and spoke steadily:

“I’ve been waiting for this! I’m impulsive—sure; I makebad mistakes—every red-blooded man does. But what aboutyou? I don’t know how far you’ve gone with your hellishdoubts, but I’ve been listening to the hedging way you answerquestions in Sunday School, and I know you’re beginning towabble. Pretty soon you’ll be an out-and-out liberal. God!Plotting to weaken the Christian religion, to steal away fromweak groping souls their only hope of salvation! The worstmurderer that ever lived isn’t a criminal like you!”

“That isn’t true! I’d die before I’d weaken the faith of anyone who needed it!”

“Then you simply haven’t got brains enough to see whatyou’re doing, and there’s no place for you in any Christianpulpit! It’s me that ought to go to Pop Trosper complaining!Just today, when that girl came to you worrying about herpa’s giving up family prayers, you let on like it didn’t mattermuch. You may have started that poor young lady on thedoubt-paved road that leads to everlasting Hell!”

And all the way to Mizpah Frank worried and explained.

And at Mizpah Elmer graciously permitted him to resignhis place at Schoenheim, and advised him to repent and seekthe direction of the Holy Spirit before he should ever attemptanother pastorate.

Elmer sat in his room flaming with his evangelistic triumph.He was so sincere about it that not for minutes did he reflectthat Frank would no longer be an obstacle to his relationswith Lulu Bains.

II

A score of times before March, in her own house, in anabandoned log barn, at the church, Elmer contrived to havemeetings with Lulu. But he wearied of her trusting babble.Even her admiration, since she always gushed the same thingsin the same way, began to irritate him. Her love-making wasequally unimaginative. She always kissed and expected to bekissed in the same way. Even before March he had hadenough, but she was so completely devoted to him that hewondered if he might not have to give up the Schoenheimchurch to get rid of her.

He felt injured.

Nobody could ever say he was unkind to girls or despised’em, the way Jim Lefferts used to. He’d taught Lulu an awfullot; got her over her hick ideas; showed her how a personcould be religious and still have a good time, if you just lookedat it right and saw that while you ought to teach the highestideals, nobody could be expected to always and exactly liveup to ’em every day. Especially when you were young. Andhadn’t he given her a bracelet that cost five good bucks?

But she was such a darned fool. Never could understandthat after a certain point a man wanted to quit love-makingand plan his next Sunday’s sermon or bone up on his confoundedGreek. Practically, he felt resentfully, she’d deceivedhim. Here he’d thought that she was a nice, safe, unemotionallittle thing, whom it might be pleasant to tease but who’d lethim alone when he had more serious matters to attend to, andthen she’d turned out passionate. She wanted to go on beingkissed and kissed and kissed when he was sick of it. Her lipswere always creeping around, touching his hand or his cheekwhen he wanted to talk.

She sent him whining little notes at Mizpah. Suppose somebodyfound one of ’em! Golly! She wrote to him that shewas just living till their next meeting—trying to bother himand distract his attention when he had a man’s work to do.She mooned up at him with her foolish soft mushy eyes allthrough his sermons—absolutely spoiled his style. She waswearing him out, and he’d have to get rid of her.

Hated to do it. Always had been nice to girls—to everybody.But it was for her sake just as much as his—

He’d have to be mean to her and make her sore.

III

They were alone in the Schoenheim church after morningmeeting. She had whispered to him at the door, “I’ve gotsomething I have to tell you.”

He was frightened; he grumbled, “Well, we oughtn’t to beseen together so much but——lip back when the other folksare gone.”

He was sitting in the front pew in the deserted church,reading hymns for want of better, when she crept behind himand kissed his ear. He jumped.

“Good Lord, don’t go startling people like that!” he snarled.“Well, what’s all this you have to tell me?”

She was faltering, near to tears. “I thought you’d like it!I just wanted to creep close and say I loved you!”

“Well, good heavens, you needn’t of acted as though youwere pregnant or something!”

“Elmer!” Too hurt in her gay affection, too shocked in herrustic sense of propriety, for resentment.

“Well, that’s just about how you acted! Making me waithere when I’ve got to be back in town—important meeting—andme having to pump that hand-car all alone! I do wishyou wouldn’t act like a ten-year-old kid all the time!”

“Elmer!”

“Oh, Elmer, Elmer, Elmer! That’s all very well. I like toplay around and be foolish jus’ well’s anybody, but all this—allthis——All the time!”

She fled round to the front of the pew and knelt by him,her childish hand on his knee, prattling in an imitation ofbaby-talk which infuriated him:

“Oh, issums such cwoss old bear! Issums bad old bear!So cwoss with Lulukins!”

“Lulukins! Great John God!”

“Why, Elmer Gantry!” It was the Sunday School teacherwho was shocked now. She sat up on her knees.

“Lulukins! Of all the damned fool baby-talk I ever heardthat takes the cake! That’s got ’em all beat! For God’ssake try to talk like a human being! And don’t go squattingthere. Suppose somebody came in. Are you deliberately goingto work to ruin me? ... Lulukins!”

She stood up, fists tight. “What have I done? I didn’tmean to hurt you! Oh, I didn’t, dearest! Please forgive me!I just came in to s’prise you!”

“Huh! You s’prised me all right!”

“Dear! Please! I’m so sorry. Why, you called me Lulukinsyourself!”

“I never did!”

She was silent.

“Besides, if I did, I was kidding.”

Patiently, trying to puzzle it out, she sat beside him andpleaded, “I don’t know what I’ve done. I just don’t know.Won’t you please—oh, please explain, and give me a chance tomake up for it!”

“Oh, hell!” He sprang up, hat in hand, groping for hisovercoat. “If you can’t understand, I can’t waste my timeexplaining!” And was gone, relieved but not altogether proud.

But by Tuesday he admired himself for his resolution.

Tuesday evening came her apology; not a very good note,blurry, doubtful of spelling, and, as she had no notion whatshe was apologizing about, not very lucid.

He did not answer it.

During his sermon the next Sunday she looked up at himwaiting to smile, but he took care not to catch her eye.

While he was voluminously explaining the crime of Nadaband Abihu in putting strange fire in their censers, he wasthinking with self-admiration, “Poor little thing. I’m sorryfor her. I really am.”

He saw that she was loitering at the door, behind her parents,after the service, but he left half his congregation unhandshakenand unshriven, muttered to Deacon Bains, “Sorrygotta hurry ’way,” and fled toward the railroad tracks.

“If you’re going to act this way and deliberately persecuteme,” he raged, “I’ll just have to have a good talk with you,my fine young lady!”

He waited, this new Tuesday, for another note of apology.There was none, but on Thursday, when he was most innocentlyhaving a vanilla milk-shake at Bombery’s DrugStore, near the seminary, when he felt ever so good and benignand manly, with his Missions theme all finished and two finefive-cent cigars in his pocket, he saw her standing outsidepeering in at him.

He was alarmed. She looked not quite sane.

“Suppose she’s told her father!” he groaned.

He hated her.

He swaggered out gallantly, and he did most magniloquentlythe proper delight at encountering her here in town.

“Well, well, well, Lulu, this is a pleasant surprise! Andwhere’s Papa?”

“He and Ma are up in the doctor’s office—about Ma’s earache.I said I’d meet them at the Boston Bazaar. Elmer!”Her voice was like stretched quivering wire. “I’ve got totalk to you! You’ve got to——Walk down the street with me.”

He saw that she had tried to rouge her cheeks. It was notcustomary in rural Midwest in 1906. She had done it badly.

The spring was early. These first days of March were softwith buds, and Elmer sighed that if she weren’t such a tyrannicalnagger, he might have felt romantic about her as theywalked toward the court-house lawn and the statue of GeneralSherman.

He had expanded her education in boldness as well as vocabulary;and with only a little hesitation, a little of peeringup at him, a little of trying to hook her fingers over his armtill he shook it free, she blurted:

“We’ve got to do something. Because I think I’m going tohave a baby.”

“Oh, good God Almighty! Hell!” said the Reverend ElmerGantry. “And I suppose you’ve gone squealing to your oldman and the old woman!”

“No, I haven’t.” She was quiet, and dignified—dignifiedas a bedraggled gray kitten could be.

“Well, that’s good, anyway. Well, I suppose I’ll have to dosomething about it. Damn!”

He thought rapidly. From the ladies of joy whom he knewin the city of Monarch he could obtain information——But—

“You look here now!” he snarled. “It isn’t possible!” Hefaced her, on the brick walk through the court-house lawn,under the cast-iron wings of the rusty Justice. “What are youtrying to pull? God knows I most certainly intend to stand byyou in every way. But I don’t intend to be bamboozled, notby anybody! What makes you think you’re pregnant?”

“Please, dear! Don’t use that word!”

“Huh! Say, that’s pretty good, that is! Come across now.What makes you think so?”

She could not look at him; she looked only at the ground;and his virtuous indignation swooped down on her as shestammered her reasons. Now no one had taught Lulu Bainsmuch physiology; and it was evident that she was making upwhat she considered sound symptoms. She could only mumbleagain and again, while tears mucked her clumsy rouge, whileher bent fingers trembled at her chin, “Oh, it’s——I feel sobad—oh, please, dear, don’t make me go on explaining.”

He had enough of it. He gripped her shoulder, not tenderly.

“Lulu, you’re lying! You have a dirty, lying, deceitful heart!I wondered what it was about you that bothered me and keptme from marrying you. Now I know! Thank God I’ve foundout in time! You’re lying!”

“Oh, dear, I’m not. Oh, please!”

“Look here. I’m going to take you to a doctor’s. Rightnow. We’ll get the truth.”

“Oh, no, no, no! Please, no! I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Oh, please!”

“Uh-huh! And that’s all you’ve got to say for yourself!Come here! Look up at me!”

They must have hurt, his meaty fingers digging into hershoulder, but then, he felt righteous, he felt like the Old Testamentprophets whom his sect admired. And he had foundsomething about which he really could quarrel with her.

She did not look at him, for all his pinching. She merelywept, hopelessly.

“Then you were lying?”

“Oh, I was! Oh, dearest, how can you hurt me like youdo?” He released his grip, and looked polite. “Oh, I don’tmean hurting my shoulder. That doesn’t matter. I mean hurtingme! So cold to me! And I thought maybe if we weremarried——I’d do everything to make you happy. I’d gowherever you did. I wouldn’t mind if we had the tiniest littlesmall house—”

“And you—you—expect a minister of the gospel to shareany house with a liar! Oh, you viper that——Oh, hell, I won’ttalk like a preacher. I don’t suppose I have done altogetherright, maybe. Though I noticed you were glad enough to sneakout and meet me places! But when a woman, a Christian,deliberately lies and tries to deceive a man in his deepestfeelings——That’s too much, no matter what I did! Don’t youever dare to speak to me again! And if you tell your fatherabout this, and force me into marriage, I’ll—I’ll——I’ll killmyself!”

“Oh, I won’t! Honest, I won’t!”

“I’ll repent my own fault in bitter tears and as for you,young woman——Go and sin no more!”

He swung round, walked away from her, deaf to herwhimperings. She desperately trotted after his giant stridesfor a while, then leaned against the trunk of a sycamore, whilea passing grocery clerk snickered.

She did not appear at church the next Sunday. Elmer wasso pleased that he thought of having another rendezvous withher.

IV

Deacon Bains and his good wife had noticed how pale andabsent-minded was their normally bouncing daughter.

“Guess she’s in love with that new preacher. Well, let’skeep our hands off. Be a nice match for her. Never knew ayoung preacher that was so filled with the power. Talks like ahouse afire, by golly,” said the deacon, as they yawned andstretched in the vast billowy old bed.

Then Floyd Naylor came fretting to the deacon.

Floyd was a kinsman of the family; a gangling man oftwenty-five, immensely strong, rather stupid, a poor farmer,very loyal. For years he had buzzed about Lulu. It wouldbe over-romantic to say that he had eaten his faithful heartout in lone reverence. But he had always considered Luluthe most beautiful, sparkling, and profound girl in the universe.Lulu considered him a stick, and Deacon Bains held in aversionhis opinions on alfalfa. He was a familiar of the household;rather like a neighbor’s dog.

Floyd found Deacon Bains in the barnyard mending awhiffletree, and grunted, “Say, Cousin Barney, I’m kind ofworried about Lulu.”

“Oh, guess she’s in love with this new preacher. Can’ttell; they might get hitched.”

“Yeh, but is Brother Gantry in love with her? SomehowI don’t like that fella.”

“Rats, you don’t appreciate preachers. You never was ina real state of grace. Never did get reborn of the spiritproper.”

“Like hell I didn’t! Got just as reborn as you did!Preachers are all right, most of ’em. But this fella Gantry—Say, here ’long about two months ago I seen him and Luluwalking down the brick schoolhouse road, and they was huggingand kissing like all get-out, and he was calling her Sweetheart.”

“Heh? Sure it was them?”

“Dead certain. I was, uh——Well, fact is, another fellaand me—”

“Who was she?”

“Now that don’t make no difference. Anyway, we wassitting right under the big maple this side of the schoolhouse,in the shade, but it was bright moonlight and Lulu and thispreacher come by, near’s I am to you, prett’ near. Well, thinksI, guess they’re going to get engaged. Then I hung around thechurch, once-twice after meeting, and one time I kinda peekedin the window and I seen ’em right there in the front pew,hugging like they sure ought to get married whether or no.I didn’t say anything—wanted to wait and see if he’d marryher. Now it ain’t any of my business, Barney, but you knowI always liked Lulu, and strikes me we ought to know if thisBible-walloper is going to play straight with her.”

“Guess maybe that’s right. I’ll have a talk with her.”

Bains had never been very observant of his daughter, butFloyd Naylor was not a liar, and it was with sharpened eyesthat the deacon stumped into the house and found her standingby the churn, her arms hanging limp.

“Say, uh, say, uh, Lu, how’s things going with you andBrother Gantry?”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“You two engaged? Going to be engaged? He going tomarry you?”

“Of course not.”

“Been making love to you, ain’t he?”

“Oh, never!”

“Never hugged you or kissed you?”

“Never!”

“How far’d he go?”

“Oh, he didn’t!”

“Why you been looking so kind of peeked lately?”

“Oh, I just don’t feel very well. Oh, I feel fine. It’s justthe spring coming on, I guess—” She dropped to the floorand, with her head against the churn, her thin fingers beatingan hysterical tattoo on the floor, she choked with weeping.

“There, there, Lu! Your dad’ll do something about it.”

Floyd was waiting in the farmyard.

There were, in those parts and those days, not infrequentceremonies known as “shotgun weddings.”

V

The Reverend Elmer Gantry was reading an illustrated pinkperiodical devoted to prize fighters and chorus girls in his roomat Elizabeth J. Schmutz Hall late of an afternoon when twolarge men walked in without knocking.

“Why, good evening, Brother Bains—Brother Naylor!This is a pleasant surprise. I was, uh——Did you ever seethis horrible rag? About actoresses. An invention of the devilhimself. I was thinking of denouncing it next Sunday. I hopeyou never read it—won’t you sit down, gentlemen?—take thischair——I hope you never read it, Brother Floyd, because thefootsteps of—”

“Gantry,” exploded Deacon Bains, “I want you to takeyour footsteps right now and turn ’em toward my house!You’ve been fooling with my daughter, and either you’re goingto marry her, or Floyd and me are going to take it out of yourhide, and way I feel just now, don’t much care which it is.”

“You mean to say that Lulu has been pretending—”

“Naw, Lulu ain’t said nothing. God, I wonder if I oughtto let the girl marry a fellow like you? But I got to protecther good name, and guess Floyd and me can see to it you giveher a square deal after the marriage. Now I’ve sent out wordto invite all the neighbors to the house tonight for a little sociableto tell ’em Lulu and you are engaged, and you’re going toput on your Sunday-go-to-meeting suit and come with us,right now.”

“You can’t bully me into anything—”

“Take that side of him, Floyd, but I get the first lick. Youget what’s left.”

They ranged up beside him. They were shorter, less broad,but their faces were like tanned hard leather, their eyes werehard—

“You’re a big cuss, Brother Gantry, but guess you don’t getenough exercise no more. Pretty soft,” considered DeaconBains.

His fist was dropping down, down to his knee; his shouldersloped down; his fist was coming up—and Floyd had suddenlypinioned Elmer’s arms.

“I’ll do it! All right! All right!” Elmer shrieked.

He’d find a way to break the engagement. Already he wasrecovering his poise.

“Now you fellows listen to me! I’m in love with Lulu, andI intended to ask her the moment I finish here—less thanthree months now—and get my first church. And then youtwo butt in and try to spoil this romance!”

“Hum, yes, I guess so,” Bains droned, inexpressible contemptin his dragging voice. “You save all them pretty words forLulu. You’re going to be married the middle of May—that’llgive time enough after the engagement so’s the neighborswon’t think there’s anything wrong. Now into them clothes.Buggy waiting outside. We’ll treat you right. If you useLulu like you ought to, and honey her up and make herfeel happy again, maybe Floyd and me won’t kill youthe night of your wedding. We’ll see. And we’ll always treatyou fine in public—won’t even laugh when we hear you preaching.Now git, hear me?”

While he dressed, Elmer was able to keep his face turnedfrom them, able to compose himself, so that he could suddenlywhirl on them with his handsomest, his most manly and winningsmile.

“Brother Bains, I want to thank Cousin Floyd and you.You’re dead wrong about thinking I wouldn’t have done rightby Lulu. But I rejoice, sir, rejoice, that she is blessed by havingsuch loyal relatives!” That puzzled rather than capturedthem, but he fetched them complete with a jovial, “And suchhusky ones! I’m pretty strong myself—keep up my exerciselot more’n you think—but I guess I wouldn’t be one-two-threewith you folks! Good thing for ole Elmer you never let loosethat darn’ mule-kick of yours, Brother Bains! And you’reright. No sense putting off the wedding. May fifteenth willbe fine. Now I want to ask one thing: Let me have ten minutesalone with Lu before you make the announcement. Iwant to console her—make her happy. Oh, you can tell if Ikeep faith—the eagle eye of a father will know.”

“Well, my father’s eagle eye ain’t been working none toogood lately, but I guess it’ll be all right for you to see her.”

“Now, will you shake hands? Please!”

He was so big, so radiant, so confident. They looked sheepish,grinned like farmers flattered by a politician, and shookhands.

There was a multitude at the Bainses’, also fried chicken andwatermelon pickles.

The deacon brought Lulu to Elmer in the spare room andleft her.

Elmer was at ease on the sofa; she stood before him, trembling,red-eyed.

“Come, you poor child,” he condescended.

She approached, sobbing, “Honestly, dear, I didn’t tell Paanything—I didn’t ask him to do it—oh, I don’t want to ifyou don’t.”

“There, there, child. It’s all right. I’m sure you’ll make afine wife. Sit down.” And he permitted her to kiss hishand, so that she became very happy and wept tremendously,and went out to her father rejoicing.

He considered, meanwhile, “That ought to hold you, damnyou! Now I’ll figure out some way of getting out of thismess.”

At the announcement of Lulu’s engagement to a Man of God,the crowd gave hoarse and holy cheers.

Elmer made quite a long speech into which he brought allthat Holy Writ had to say about the relations of the sexes—thatis, all that he remembered and that could be quoted inmixed company.

“Go on, Brother! Kiss her!” they clamored.

He did, heartily; so heartily that he felt curious stirrings.

He spent the night there, and was so full of holy affectionthat when the family was asleep, he crept into Lulu’sbedroom. She stirred on the pillow and whispered, “Oh, mydarling! And you forgave me! Oh, I do love you so!” as hekissed her fragrant hair.

VI

It was usual for the students of Mizpah to let Dean Trosperknow if they should become engaged. The dean recommendedthem for ministerial appointments, and the status of marriagemade a difference. Bachelors were more likely to become assistantsin large city churches; married men, particularly thosewhose wives had lively piety and a knowledge of cooking, wereusually sent to small churches of their own.

The dean summoned Elmer to his gloomy house on the edgeof the campus—it was a house which smelled of cabbage andwet ashes—and demanded:

“Gantry, just what is this business about you and some girlat Schoenheim?”

“Why, Dean,” in hurt rectitude, “I’m engaged to a fineyoung lady there—daughter of one of my deacons.”

“Well, that’s good. It’s better to marry than to burn—orat least so it is stated in the Scriptures. Now I don’t wantany monkey-business about this. A preacher must walk circ*mspectly.You must shun the very appearance of evil. Ihope you’ll love and cherish her, and seems to me it wouldbe well not only to be engaged to her but even to marryher. Thaddeldo.”

“Now what the devil did he mean by that?” protestedParsifal as he went home.

VII

He had to work quickly. He had less than two monthsbefore the threatened marriage.

If he could entangle Lulu with some one? What aboutFloyd Naylor? The fool loved her.

He spent as much time in Schoenheim as possible, not onlywith Lulu but with Floyd. He played all his warm incandescenceon Floyd, and turned that trusting drudge from enemyinto admiring friend. One day when Floyd and he werewalking together to the hand-car Elmer purred:

“Say, Floydy, some ways it’s kind of a shame Lu’s goingto marry me and not you. You’re so steady and hard-workingand patient. I fly off the handle too easy.”

“Oh, gosh, no, I ain’t smart enough for her, Elmer. Sheought to marry a fella with a lot of book-learning like you, andthat dresses swell, so she can be in society and everything.”

“But I guess you liked her pretty well yourself, eh? Youought to! Sweetest girl in the whole world. You kind of likedher?”

“Yuh, I guess I did. I——Oh, well, rats, I ain’t good enoughfor her, God bless her!”

Elmer spoke of Floyd as a future cousin and professed hisfondness for him, his admiration of the young man’s qualitiesand remarkable singing. (Floyd Naylor sang about as FloydNaylor would have sung.) Elmer spoke of him as a futurecousin, and wanted to see a deal of him.

He praised Lulu and Floyd to each other, and left them togetheras often as he could contrive, slipping back to watchthem through the window. But to his indignation they merelysat and talked.

Then he had a week in Schoenheim, the whole week beforeEaster. The Baptists of Schoenheim, with their abhorrenceof popery, did not make much of Easter as Easter; they calledit “The Festival of Christ’s Resurrection,” but they did likedaily meetings during what the heretical world knew as HolyWeek. Elmer stayed with the Bainses and labored mightilyboth against sin and against getting married. Indeed he was sostirred and so eloquent that he led two sixteen-year-old girlsout of their sins, and converted the neighborhood object-lesson,a patriarch who drank hard cider and had not been convertedfor two years.

Elmer knew by now that though Floyd Naylor was notexactly a virgin, his achievements and his resolution were considerablyless than his desires, and he set to work to improvethat resolution. He took Floyd off to the pasture and, afterbenignly admitting that perhaps a preacher oughtn’t to talk ofsuch things, he narrated his amorous conquests till Floyd’seyes were hungrily bulging. Then, with giggling apologies,Elmer showed his collection of what he called Art Photographs.

Floyd almost ate them. Elmer lent them to him. That wason a Thursday.

At the same time Elmer deprived Lulu all week of thecaresses which she craved, till she was desperate.

On Friday Elmer held morning meeting instead of eveningmeeting, and arranged that Lulu and Floyd and he should havepicnic supper in the sycamore grove near the Bains house. Hesuggested it in a jocund idyllic way, and Lulu brightened. Ontheir way to the grove with their baskets she sighed to him,as they walked behind Floyd, “Oh, why have you been socold to me? Have I offended you again, dear?”

He let her have it, brutally: “Oh, don’t be such a damnedwhiner! Can’t you act as if you had some brains, just foronce?”

When they spread the picnic supper, she was barely keepinghold of her sobs.

They finished supper in the dusk. They sat quietly, Floydlooking at her, wondering at her distress, peeping nervously ather pretty ankles.

“Say, I’ve got to go in and make some notes for my sermontomorrow. No, you two wait for me here. Nicer out in thefresh air. Be back in about half an hour,” said Elmer.

He made much of noisily swaggering away through thebrush; he crept back softly, stood behind a sycamore nearthem. He was proud of himself. It was working. AlreadyLulu was sobbing openly, while Floyd comforted her with“What is it, pretty? What is it, dear? Tell me.”

Floyd had moved nearer to her (Elmer could just see them)and she rested her head on his cousinly shoulder.

Presently Floyd was kissing her tears away, and she seemedto be snuggling close to him. Elmer heard her muffled, “Oh,you oughtn’t to kiss me!”

“Elmer said I should think of you as a sister, and I couldkiss you——Oh, my God, Lulu, I do love you so terrible!”

“Oh, we oughtn’t—” Then silence.

Elmer fled into the barnyard, found Deacon Bains, and demandedharshly, “Come here! I want you to see what Floydand Lulu are doing! Put that lantern down. I’ve got one ofthese electric dinguses here.”

He had. He had bought it for this purpose. He also hada revolver in his pocket.

When Elmer and the bewildered Mr. Bains burst upon them,saw them in the circle from the electric flashlight, Lulu andFloyd were deep in a devastating kiss.

“There!” bellowed the outraged Elmer. “Now you see whyI hesitated to be engaged to that woman! I’ve suspected itall along! Oh, abomination—abomination, and she that committethit shall be cut off!”

Floyd sprang up, a fighting hound. Elmer could doubtlesshave handled him, but it was Deacon Bains who with onemaniac blow knocked Floyd down. The deacon turned toElmer then, with the first tears he had known since boyhood:“Forgive me and mine, Brother! We have sinned againstyou. This woman shall suffer for it, always. She’ll neverenter my house again. She’ll by God marry Floyd. Andhe’s the shiftlessest damn’ fool farmer in ten counties!”

“I’m going. I can’t stand this. I’ll send you anotherpreacher. I’ll never see any of you again!” said Elmer.

“I don’t blame you. Try to forgive us, Brother.” Thedeacon was sobbing now, dusty painful sobbing, bewilderedsobs of anger.

The last thing Elmer saw in the light of his electric torchwas Lulu huddled, with shrunk shoulders, her face insane withfear.

I

as he tramped back to Babylon that evening, Elmer did notenjoy his deliverance so much as he had expected. But heworked manfully at recalling Lulu’s repetitious chatter, herhumorless ignorance, her pawing, her unambitious rusticity, andall that he had escaped.

... To have her around—gumming his life—never couldjolly the congregation and help him—and suppose he were in abig town with a swell church—Gee! Maybe he wasn’tglad to be out of it! Besides! Really better for her. She andFloyd much better suited ...

He knew that Dean Trosper’s one sin was reading till late,and he came bursting into the dean’s house at the scandaloushour of eleven. In the last mile he had heroically put by hisexhilaration; he had thrown himself into the state of a betrayedand desolate young man so successfully that he hadmade himself believe it.

“Oh, how wise you were about women, Dean!” he lamented.“A terrible thing has happened! Her father and I have justfound my girl in the arms of another man—a regular rouédown there. I can never go back, not even for Easter service.And her father agrees with me.... You can ask him!”

“Well, I am most awfully sorry to hear this, Brother Gantry.I didn’t know you could feel so deeply. Shall we kneel inprayer, and ask the Lord to comfort you? I’ll send BrotherShallard down there for the Easter service—he knows thefield.”

On his knees, Elmer told the Lord that he had been dealtwith as no man before or since. The dean approved hisagonies very much.

“There, there, my boy. The Lord will lighten your burdenin his own good time. Perhaps this will be a blessing in disguise—you’relucky to get rid of such a woman, and this willgive you that humility, that deeper thirsting after righteousness,which I’ve always felt you lacked, despite your splendidpulpit voice. Now I’ve got something to take your mind offyour sorrows. There’s quite a nice little chapel on the edgeof Monarch where they’re lacking an incumbent. I’d intendedto send Brother Hudkins—you know him; he’s that old retiredpreacher that lives out by the brickyard—comes intoclasses now and then—I’d intended to send him down for theEaster service. But I’ll send you instead, and in fact, if yousee the committee, I imagine you can fix it to have this as aregular charge, at least till graduation. They pay fifteen aSunday and your fare. And being there in a city like Monarch,you can go to the ministerial association and so on—stay overtill Monday noon every week—and make fine contacts, andmaybe you’ll be in line for assistant in one of the big churchesnext summer. There’s a morning train to Monarch—10:21,isn’t it? You take that train tomorrow morning, and go lookup a lawyer named Eversley. He’s got an office—where’s hisletter?—his office is in the Royal Trust Company Building.He’s a deacon. I’ll wire him to be there tomorrow afternoon,or anyway leave word, and you can make your own arrangements.The Flowerdale Baptist Church, that’s the name, andit’s a real nice little modern plant, with lovely folks. Now yougo to your room and pray, and I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

II

It was an hilarious Elmer Gantry who took the 10:21 trainto Monarch, a city of perhaps three hundred thousand. Hesat in the day-coach planning his Easter discourse. Jiminy!His first sermon in a real city! Might lead to anything.Better give ’em something red-hot and startling. Let’s see:He’d get away from this Christ is Risen stuff—mention it ofcourse, just bring it in, but have some other theme. Let’ssee: Faith. Hope. Repentance—no, better go slow on thatrepentance idea; this Deacon Eversley, the lawyer, might bepretty well-to-do and get sore if you suggested he had anythingto repent of. Let’s see: Courage. Chastity. Love—that wasit—love!

And he was making notes rapidly, right out of his own head,on the back of an envelope:

“Guess you must be a newspaperman, Brother,” a voice assailedhim.

Elmer looked at his seatmate, a little man with a whiskynose and asterisks of laughter-wrinkles round his eyes, a rathersportingly dressed little man with the red tie which in 1906was still thought rather the thing for socialists and drinkers.

He could have a good time with such a little man, Elmerconsidered. A drummer. Would it be more fun to be naturalwith him, or to ask him if he was saved, and watch him squirm?Hell, he’d have enough holy business in Monarch. So heturned on his best good-fellow smile, and answered:

“Well, not exactly. Pretty warm for so early, eh?”

“Yuh, it certainly is. Been in Babylon long?”

“No, not very long.”

“Fine town. Lots of business.”

“You betcha. And some nice little dames there, too.”

The little man snickered. “There are, eh? Well, say, youbetter give me some addresses. I make that town once a monthand, by golly, I ain’t picked me out a skirt yet. But it’s a goodtown. Lot’s of money there.”

“Yes-sir, that’s a fact. Good hustling town. Quick turnoverthere, all right. Lots of money in Babylon.”

“Though they do tell me,” said the little man, “there’s one ofthese preacher-factories there.”

“Is that a fact!”

“Yump. Say, Brother, this’ll make you laugh. Juh knowwhat I thought when I seen you first—wearing that black suitand writing things down? I thought maybe you was a preacheryourself!”

“Well—”

God, he couldn’t stand it! Having to be so righteous everySunday at Schoenheim—Deacon Bains everlastingly askingthese fool questions about predestination or some doggonething. Cer’nly had a vacation coming! And a sport like thisfellow, he’d look down on you if you said you were a preacher.

The train was noisy. If any neighboring co*ck crowed threetimes, Elmer did not hear it as he rumbled:

“Well, for the love of Mike! Though—” In his mostaustere manner: “This black suit happens to be mourning forone very dear to me.”

“Oh, say, Brother, now you gotta excuse me! I’m alwaysshooting my mouth off!”

“Oh, that’s all right.”

“Well, let’s shake, and I’ll know you don’t hold it againstme.”

“You bet.”

From the little man came an odor of whisky which stirredElmer powerfully. So long since he’d had a drink! Nothingfor two months except a few nips of hard cider which Luluhad dutifully stolen for him from her father’s cask.

“Well, what is your line, Brother?” said the little man.

“I’m in the shoe game.”

“Well, that’s a fine game. Yes-sir, people do have to haveshoes, no matter if they’re hard up or not. My name’s AdLocust—Jesus, think of it, the folks named me Adney—canyou beat that—ain’t that one hell of a name for a fellow thatlikes to get out with the boys and have a good time! Butyou can just call me Ad. I’m traveling for the Pequot FarmImplement Company. Great organization! Great bunch!Yes-sir, they’re great folks to work for, and hit it up, say! thesales-manager can drink more good liquor than any fellowthat’s working for him, and, believe me, there’s some of us thatain’t so slow ourselves! Yes-sir, this fool idea that a lot ofthese fly-by-night firms are hollering about now, that in thelong run you don’t get no more by drinking with the dealers—Alldamn’ foolishness. They say this fellow Ford that makesthese automobiles talks that way. Well, you mark my words:By 1910 he’ll be out of business, that’s what’ll happen to him;you mark my words! Yes-sir, they’re a great concern, thePequot bunch. Matter of fact, we’re holding a sales-conferencein Monarch next week.”

“Is that a fact!”

“Yes-sir, by golly, that’s what we’re doing. You know—readpapers about how to get money out of a machinery dealerwhen he ain’t got any money. Heh! Hell of a lot of attentionmost of us boys’ll pay to that junk! We’re going to have agood time and get in a little good earnest drinking, and youbet the sales-manager will be right there with us! Say, Brother—Ididn’t quite catch the name—”

“Elmer Gantry is my name. Mighty glad to meet you.”

“Mighty glad to know you, Elmer. Say, Elmer, I’ve gotsome of the best Bourbon you or anybody else ever laid yourface to right here in my hip pocket. I suppose you being ina highbrow business like the shoe business, you’d just aboutfaint if I was to offer you a little something to cure that cough!”

“I guess I would, all right; yes-sir, I’d just about faint.”

“Well, you’re a pretty big fellow, and you ought to try tocontrol yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, Ad, if you’ll hold my hand.”

“You betcha I will.” Ad brought out from his permanentlysagging pocket a pint of Green River, and they drank together,reverently.

“Say, jever hear the toast about the sailor?” inquiredElmer. He felt very happy, at home with the loved ones afterlong and desolate wanderings.

“Dunno’s I ever did. Shoot!”

The little man wriggled. “Well, sir, I never did hear thatone! Say, that’s a knock-out! By golly, that certainly is aknock-out! Say, Elm, whacha doing in Monarch? Wanchameet some of the boys. The Pequot conference don’t reallystart till Monday, but some of us boys thought we’d kind ofget together today and hold a little service of prayer and fastingbefore the rest of the galoots assemble. Like you to meet’em. Best bunch of sports you ever saw, lemme tell you that!I’d like for you to meet ’em. And I’d like ’em to hear thattoast. ‘Here’s to the port-wine in every lass.’ That’s prettycute, all right! Whacha doing in Monarch? Can’t you comearound to the Ishawonga Hotel and meet some of the boyswhen we get in?”

Mr. Ad Locust was not drunk; not exactly drunk; but he hadearnestly applied himself to the Bourbon and he was in a stateof superb philanthropy. Elmer had taken enough to feelreasonable. He was hungry, too, not only for alcohol but forunsanctimonious companionship.

“I’ll tell you, Ad,” he said. “Nothing I’d like better, butI’ve got to meet a guy—important dealer—this afternoon, andhe’s dead against all drinking. Fact—I certainly do appreciateyour booze, but don’t know’s I ought to have taken a singledrop.”

“Oh, hell, Elm, I’ve got some throat pastilles that are absolutelyguaranteed to knock out the smell—absolutely. Onelil drink wouldn’t do us any harm. Certainly would like tohave the boys hear that toast of yours!”

“Well, I’ll sneak in for a second, and maybe I can foregatherwith you for a while late Sunday evening or Mondaymorning, but—”

“Aw, you ain’t going to let me down, Elm?”

“Well, I’ll telephone this guy, and fix it so’s I don’t have tosee him till long ’bout three o’clock.”

“That’s great!”

III

From the Ishawonga Hotel, at noon, Elmer telephoned to theoffice of Mr. Eversley, the brightest light of the FlowerdaleBaptist Church. There was no answer.

“Everybody in his office out to dinner. Well, I’ve doneall I can till this afternoon,” Elmer reflected virtuously, andjoined the Pequot crusaders in the Ishawonga bar.... Elevenmen in a booth for eight. Every one talking at once. Everyone shouting, “Say, waiter, you ask that damn’ bartender ifhe’s making the booze!”

Within seventeen minutes Elmer was calling all of the elevenby their first names—frequently by the wrong first names—andhe contributed to their literary lore by thrice reciting histoast and by telling the best stories he knew. They liked him.In his joy of release from piety and the threat of life withLulu, he flowered into vigor. Six several times the Pequotsalesmen said one to another, “Now there’s a fellow we ought tohave with us in the firm,” and the others nodded.

He was inspired to give a burlesque sermon.

“I’ve got a great joke on Ad!” he thundered. “Know whathe thought I was first? A preacher!”

“Say, that’s a good one!” they cackled.

“Well, at that, he ain’t so far off. When I was a kid, I didthink some about being a preacher. Well, say now, listen,and see if I wouldn’t’ve made a swell preacher!”

While they gaped and giggled and admired, he rose solemnly,looked at them solemnly, and boomed:

“Brethren and Sistern, in the hustle and bustle of daily lifeyou guys certainly do forget the higher and finer things. Inwhat, in all the higher and finer things, in what and by whatare we ruled excepting by Love? What is Love?”

“You stick around tonight and I’ll show you!” shrieked AdLocust.

“Shut up now, Ad! Honest—listen. See if I couldn’t’vebeen a preacher—a knock-out—bet I could handle a big crowdwell’s any of ’em. Listen.... What is Love? What isthe divine Love? It is the rainbow, repainting with its spangledcolors those dreary wastes where of late the terrible tempesthas wreaked its utmost fury—the rainbow with its tenderpromise of surcease from the toils and travails and terrors ofthe awful storm! What is Love—the divine Love, I mean, notthe carnal but the divine Love, as exemplified in the church?What is—”

“Say!” protested the most profane of the eleven, “I don’tthink you ought to make fun of the church. I never go tochurch myself, but maybe I’d be a better fella if I did, and Icertainly do respect folks that go to church, and I send my kidsto Sunday School. You God damn betcha!”

“Hell, I ain’t making fun of the church!” protested Elmer.

“Hell, he ain’t making fun of the church. Just kiddingthe preachers,” asserted Ad Locust. “Preachers are justordinary guys like the rest of us.”

“Sure; preachers can cuss and make love just like anybodyelse. I know! What they get away with, pretending to bedifferent,” said Elmer lugubriously, “would make you gentlementired if you knew.”

“Well, I don’t think you had ought to make fun of thechurch.”

“Hell, he ain’t making fun of the church.”

“Sure, I ain’t making fun of the church. But lemme finishmy sermon.”

“Sure, let him finish his sermon.”

“Where was I? ... What is Love? It is the evening andthe morning star—those vast luminaries that as they ride thepurple abysms of the vasty firmament vouchsafe in their goldensplendor the promise of higher and better things that—that—Well,say, you wise guys, would I make a great preacher orwouldn’t I?”

The applause was such that the bartender came and lookedat them funereally; and Elmer had to drink with each of them.That is, he drank with four of them.

But he was out of practise. And he had had no lunch.

He turned veal-white; sweat stood on his forehead and in adouble line of drops along his upper lip, while his eyes weresuddenly vacant.

Ad Locust squealed, “Say, look out! Elm’s passing out!”

They got him up to Ad’s room, one man supporting him oneither side and one pushing behind, just before he droppedinsensible, and all that afternoon, when he should have met theFlowerdale Baptist committee, he snored on Ad’s bed, dressedsave for his shoes and coat. He came to at six, with Adbending over him, solicitous.

“God, I feel awful!” Elmer groaned.

“Here. What you need’s a drink.”

“Oh, Lord, I mustn’t take any more,” said Elmer, taking it.His hand trembled so that Ad had to hold the glass to hismouth. He was conscious that he must call up DeaconEversley at once. Two drinks later he felt better, and hishand was steady. The Pequot bunch began to come in, with aview to dinner. He postponed his telephone call to Eversleytill after dinner; he kept postponing it; and he found himself,at ten on Easter morning, with a perfectly strange youngwoman in a perfectly strange flat, and heard Ad Locust, in thenext room, singing “How Dry I Am.”

Elmer did a good deal of repenting and groaning before hisfirst drink of the morning, after which he comforted himself,“Golly, I never will get to that church now. Well, I’ll tellthe committee I was taken sick. Hey, Ad! How’d we everget here? Can we get any breakfast in this dump?”

He had two bottles of beer, spoke graciously to the younglady in the kimono and red slippers, and felt himself altogethera fine fellow. With Ad and such of the eleven as were stillalive, and a scattering of shrieking young ladies, he drove outto a dance-hall on the lake, Easter Sunday afternoon, and theyreturned to Monarch for lobster and jocundity.

“But this ends it. Tomorrow morning I’ll get busy and seeEversley and fix things up,” Elmer vowed.

IV

In that era long-distance telephoning was an uncommonevent, but Eversley, deacon and lawyer, was a bustler. Whenthe new preacher had not appeared by six on Saturday afternoon,Eversley telephoned to Babylon, waited while DeanTrosper was fetched to the Babylon central, and spoke withconsiderable irritation about the absence of the ecclesiasticalhired hand.

“I’ll send you Brother Hudkins—a very fine preacher, livinghere now, retired. He’ll take the midnight train,” said DeanTrosper.

To Mr. Hudkins the dean said, “And look around andsee if you can find anything of Brother Gantry. I’m worriedabout him. The poor boy was simply in agony over a mostunfortunate private matter ... apparently.”

Now Mr. Hudkins had for several years conducted a missionon South Clark Street in Chicago, and he knew a good manyunholy things. He had seen Elmer Gantry in classes at Mizpah.When he had finished Easter morning services in Monarch, henot only went to the police and to the hospitals but begana round of the hotels, restaurants, and bars. Thus it came topass that while Elmer was merrily washing lobster down withCalifornia claret, stopping now and then to kiss the blondebeside him and (by request) to repeat his toast, that evening,he was being observed from the café door by the ReverendMr. Hudkins in the enjoyable rôle of avenging angel.

V

When Elmer telephoned Eversley, Monday morning, to explainhis sickness, the deacon snapped, “All right. Got somebodyelse.”

“But, well, say, Dean Trosper thought you and the committeemight like to talk over a semi-permanent arrangement—”

“Nope, nope, nope.”

Returned to Babylon, Elmer went at once to the office ofthe dean.

One look at his expression was enough.

The dean concluded two minutes of the most fluent descriptionwith:

“—the faculty committee met this morning, and you arefired from Mizpah. Of course you remain an ordained Baptistminister. I could get your home association to cancel yourcredentials, but it would grieve them to know what sort of alying monster they sponsored. Also, I don’t want Mizpahmixed up in such a scandal. But if I ever hear of you inany Baptist pulpit, I’ll expose you. Now I don’t supposeyou’re bright enough to become a saloon-keeper, but you oughtto make a pretty good bartender. I’ll leave your punishmentto your midnight thoughts.”

Elmer whined, “You hadn’t ought—you ought not to talkto me like that! Doesn’t it say in the Bible you ought to forgiveseventy times seven—”

“This is eighty times seven. Get out!”

So the Reverend Mr. Gantry surprisingly ceased to be, forpractical purposes, a Reverend at all.

He thought of fleeing to his mother, but he was ashamed;of fleeing to Lulu, but he did not dare.

He heard that Eddie Fislinger had been yanked to Schoenheimto marry Lulu and Floyd Naylor ... a lonely grimaffair by lamplight.

“They might have ast me, anyway,” grumbled Elmer, as hepacked.

He went back to Monarch and the friendliness of Ad Locust.He confessed that he had been a minister, and was forgiven.By Friday that week Elmer had become a traveling salesmanfor the Pequot Farm Implement Company.

I

elmer gantry was twenty-eight, and for two years he hadbeen a traveling salesman for the Pequot Company.

Harrows and rakes and corn-planters; red plows and gilt-stripedgreen wagons; catalogues and order-lists; offices glassedoff from dim warehouses; shirt-sleeved dealers on high stoolsat high desks; the bar at the corner; stifling small hotels andlunch-rooms; waiting for trains half the night in foul boxesof junction stations, where the brown slatted benches were anagony to his back; trains, trains, trains; trains and time-tablesand joyous return to his headquarters in Denver; a drunk, atheater, and service in a big church.

He wore a checked suit, a brown derby, striped socks, thehuge ring of gold serpents and an opal which he had boughtlong ago, flower-decked ties, and what he called “fancy vests”—garmentsof yellow with red spots, of green with white stripes,of silk or daring chamois.

He had had a series of little loves, but none of them importantenough to continue.

He was not unsuccessful. He was a good talker, a magnificenthand-shaker, his word could often be depended on, andhe remembered most of the price-lists and all of the new smuttystories. In the office at Denver he was popular with “theboys.” He had one infallible “stunt”—a burlesque sermon.It was known that he had studied to be a preacher but hadcourageously decided that it was no occupation for a “realtwo-fisted guy,” and that he had “told the profs where they gotoff.” A promising and commendable fellow; conceivably sales-managersome day.

Whatever his dissipations, Elmer continued enough exerciseto keep his belly down and his shoulders up. He had beenshocked by Deacon Bains’ taunt that he was growing soft,and every morning in his hotel room he unhumorously didcalisthenics for fifteen minutes; evenings he bowled or boxedin Y. M. C. A. gymnasiums, or, in towns large enough, solemnlyswam up and down tanks like a white porpoise. He felt lusty,and as strong as in Terwillinger days.

Yet Elmer was not altogether happy.

He appreciated being free of faculty rules, free of the guiltwhich in seminary days had followed his sprees at Monarch,free of the incomprehensible debates of Harry Zenz and FrankShallard, yet he missed leading the old hymns, and the soundof his own voice, the sense of his own power, as he held anaudience by his sermon. Always on Sunday evenings (exceptwhen he had an engagement with a waitress or a chambermaid)he went to the evangelical church nearest his hotel. Heenjoyed criticizing the sermon professionally.

“Golly, I could put it all over that poor boob! The straightgospel is all right, but if he’d only stuck in a couple literaryallusions, and lambasted the saloon-keepers more, he’d’ve had’em all het up.”

He sang so powerfully that despite a certain tobacco andwhisky odor the parsons always shook hands with extrawarmth, and said they were glad to see you with us thisevening, Brother.

When he encountered really successful churches, his devotionto the business became a definite longing to return to preaching;he ached to step up, push the minister out of his pulpit,and take charge, instead of sitting back there unnoticed andunadmired, as though he were an ordinary layman.

“These chumps would be astonished if they knew what Iam!” he reflected.

After such an experience it was vexatious on Monday morningto talk with a droning implement-dealer about discountson manure-spreaders; it was sickening to wait for train-timein a cuspidor-filled hotel lobby when he might have been in achurch office superior with books, giving orders to pretty secretariesand being expansive and helpful to consulting sinners.He was only partly solaced by being able to walk openly into asaloon and shout, “Straight rye, Bill.”

On Sunday evening in a Western Kansas town he ambledto a shabby little church and read on the placard outside:

“Oh, Gawd!” protested Elmer. “Eddie Fislinger! Aboutthe kind of burg he would land in! A lot he knows about themeaning of redemption or any other dogma, that human woodchuck!Or about dancing! If he’d ever been with me inDenver and shaken a hoof at Billy Portifero’s place, he’d havesomething to hand out. Fislinger—must be the same guy.I’ll sit down front and put his show on the fritz!”

Eddie Fislinger’s church was an octagonal affair, with the pulpitin one angle, an arrangement which produced a fascinating,rather dizzy effect, reminiscent of the doctrine of predestination.The interior was of bright yellow, hung with manyplacards: “Get Right with God,” and “Where Will You SpendEternity?” and “The Wisdom of This World is Foolishnesswith God.” The Sunday School Register behind the pulpitcommunicated the tidings that the attendance today had beenforty-one, as against only thirty-nine last week, and the collectioneighty-nine cents, as against only seventy-seven.

The usher, a brick-layer in a clean collar, was impressed byElmer’s checked suit and starched red-speckled shirt and tookhim to the front row.

Eddie flushed most satisfactorily when he saw Elmer fromthe pulpit, started to bow, checked it, looked in the generaldirection of Heaven, and tried to smile condescendingly. Hewas nervous at the beginning of his sermon, but apparently hedetermined that his attack on sin—which hitherto had beenan academic routine with no relation to any of his appallinglyvirtuous flock—might be made real. With his squirrel-toothedand touching earnestness he looked down at Elmer and as goodas told him to go to hell and be done with it. But he thoughtbetter of it, and concluded that God might be able to giveeven Elmer Gantry another chance if Elmer stopped drinking,smoking, blaspheming, and wearing checked suits. (If he didnot refer to Elmer by name, he certainly did by poisonousglances.)

Elmer was angry, then impressively innocent, then bored.He examined the church and counted the audience—twenty-sevenexcluding Eddie and his wife. (There was no questionbut that the young woman looking adoringly up from the frontpew was Eddie’s consort. She had the pitifully starved andhome-tailored look of a preacher’s wife.) By the end of thesermon, Elmer was being sorry for Eddie. He sang the closinghymn, “He’s the Lily of the Valley,” with a fine unctuous grace,coming down powerfully on the jubilant “Hallelujah,” andwaited to shake hands with Eddie forgivingly.

“Well, well, well,” they both said; and “What you doing inthese parts?” and Eddie: “Wait till everybody’s gone—musthave a good old-fashioned chin with you, old fellow!”

As he walked with the Fislingers to the parsonage, a blockaway, and sat with them in the living-room, Elmer wanted tobe a preacher again, to take the job away from Eddie and doit expertly; yet he was repulsed by the depressing stinginess ofEddie’s life. His own hotel bedrooms were drab enough, butthey were free of nosey parishioners, and they were asluxurious as this parlor with its rain-blotched ceiling, bare pinefloor, sloping chairs, and perpetual odor of diapers. Therewere already, in two years of Eddie’s marriage, two babies,looking as though they were next-door to having been conceivedwithout sin; and there was a perfectly blank-faced sister-in-lawwho cared for the children during services.

Elmer wanted to smoke, and for all his training in the eternalmysteries he could not decide whether it would be more interestingto annoy Eddie by smoking or to win him by refraining.

He smoked, and wished he hadn’t.

Eddie noticed it, and his reedy wife noticed it, and thesister-in-law gaped at it, and they labored at pretending theyhadn’t.

Elmer felt large and sophisticated and prosperous in theirpresence, like a city broker visiting a farmer cousin and wonderingwhich of his tales of gilded towers would be simpleenough for belief.

Eddie gave him the news of Mizpah. Frank Shallard had asmall church in a town called Catawba, the other end of thestate of Winnemac from the seminary. There had been somedifficulty over his ordination, for he had been shaky abouteven so clear and proven a fact as the virgin birth. But hisfather and Dean Trosper had vouched for him, and Frank hadbeen ordained. Harry Zenz had a large church in a WestVirginia mining town. Wallace Umstead, the physical instructor,was “doing fine” in the Y. M. C. A. Professor BrunoZechlin was dead, poor fellow.

“Wh’ever became of Horace Carp?” asked Elmer.

“Well, that’s the strangest thing of all. Horace’s gone intothe Episcopal Church, like he always said he would.”

“Well, well, zatta fact!”

“Yes-sir, his father died just after he graduated, and he upand turned Episcopalian and took a year in General, and nowthey say he’s doing pretty good, and he’s high-church as allget-out.”

“Well, you seem to have a good thing of it here, Eddie. Nicechurch.”

“Well, it isn’t so big, but they’re awful’ fine people. Andeverything’s going fine. I haven’t increased the membershipso much, but what I’m trying to do is strengthen the presentmembership in the faith, and then when I feel each of themis a center of inspiration, I’ll be ready to start an evangelisticcampaign, and you’ll see that ole church boom—yes-sir—justdouble overnight.... If they only weren’t so slow aboutpaying my salary and the mortgage.... Fine solid people,really saved, but they are just the least little bit tight with themoney.”

“If you could see the way my cook-stove’s broken and thesink needs painting,” said Mrs. Fislinger—her chief utteranceof the evening.

Elmer felt choked and imprisoned. He escaped. At thedoor Eddie held both his hands and begged, “Oh, Elm, I’llnever give up till I’ve brought you back! I’m going to pray.I’ve seen you under conviction. I know what you can do!”

Fresh air, a defiant drink of rye, loud laughter, taking atrain—Elmer enjoyed it after this stuffiness. Already Eddiehad lost such devout fires as he had once shown in theY. M. C. A.; already he was old, settled down, without conceivableadventure, waiting for death.

Yet Eddie had said—

Startled, he recalled that he was still a Baptist minister!For all of Trosper’s opposition, he could preach. He felt withsuperstitious discomfort Eddie’s incantation, “I’ll never giveup till I’ve brought you back.”

And—just to take Eddie’s church and show what he coulddo with it! By God he’d bring those hicks to time and make’em pay up!

He flitted across the state to see his mother.

His disgrace at Mizpah had, she said, nearly killed her.With tremulous hope she now heard him promise that maybe,when he’d seen the world and settled down, he might go backinto the ministry.

In a religious mood (which fortunately did not prevent hissecuring some telling credit-information by oiling a bookkeeperwith several drinks) he came to Sautersville, Nebraska, anugly, enterprising, industrial town of 20,000. And in thatreligious mood he noted the placards of a woman evangelist,one Sharon Falconer, a prophetess of whom he had heard.

The clerk in the hotel, the farmers about the implementwarehouse, said that Miss Falconer was holding union meetingsin a tent, with the support of most of the Protestant churchesin town; they asserted that she was beautiful and eloquent,that she took a number of assistants with her, that she was“the biggest thing that ever hit this burg,” that she was comparableto Moody, to Gipsy Smith, to Sam Jones, to J. WilburChapman, to this new baseball evangelist, Billy Sunday.

“That’s nonsense. No woman can preach the gospel,” declaredElmer, as an expert.

But he went, that evening, to Miss Falconer’s meeting.

The tent was enormous; it would seat three thousand people,and another thousand could be packed in standing-room. Itwas nearly filled when Elmer arrived and elbowed his majesticway forward. At the front of the tent was an extraordinarystructure, altogether different from the platform-pulpit-American-flagarrangement of the stock evangelist. It was a pyramidalstructure, of white wood with gilded edges, affordingthree platforms; one for the choir, one higher up for a row ofseated local clergy; and at the top a small platform with apulpit shaped like a shell and painted like a rainbow. Swarmingover it all were lilies, roses and vines.

“Great snakes! Regular circus layout! Just what you’dexpect from a fool woman evangelist!” decided Elmer.

The top platform was still unoccupied; presumably it wasto set off the charms of Miss Sharon Falconer.

The mixed choir, with their gowns and mortar-boards,chanted “Shall We Gather at the River?” A young man,slight, too good-looking, too arched of lip, wearing a priest’swaistcoat and collar turned round, read from Acts at a standon the second platform. He was an Oxonian, and it was almostthe first time that Elmer had heard an Englishman read.

“Huh! Willy-boy, that’s what he is! This outfit won’t getvery far. Too much skirts. No punch. No good old-fashionedgospel to draw the customers,” scoffed Elmer.

A pause. Every one waited, a little uneasy. Their eyeswent to the top platform. Elmer gasped. Coming from somerefuge behind the platform, coming slowly, her beautiful armsoutstretched to them, appeared a saint. She was young, SharonFalconer, surely not thirty, stately, slender and tall; and in herlong slim face, her black eyes, her splendor of black hair, wasrapture or boiling passion. The sleeves of her straight whiterobe, with its ruby velvet girdle, were slashed, and fell awayfrom her arms as she drew every one to her.

“God!” prayed Elmer Gantry, and that instant his planlesslife took on plan and resolute purpose. He was going to haveSharon Falconer.

Her voice was warm, a little husky, desperately alive.

“Oh, my dear people, my dear people, I am not going topreach tonight—we are all so weary of nagging sermons aboutbeing nice and good! I am not going to tell you that you’resinners, for which of us is not a sinner? I am not going toexplain the Scriptures. We are all bored by tired old menexplaining the Bible through their noses! No! We are goingto find the golden Scriptures written in our own hearts, we aregoing to sing together, laugh together, rejoice together like agathering of April brooks, rejoice that in us is living theveritable spirit of the Everlasting and Redeeming ChristJesus!”

Elmer never knew what the words were, or the sense—ifindeed any one knew. It was all caressing music to him, andat the end, when she ran down curving flower-wreathed stairsto the lowest platform and held out her arms, pleading withthem to find peace in salvation, he was roused to go forwardwith the converts, to kneel in the writhing row under the blessingof her extended hands.

But he was lost in no mystical ecstasy. He was the critic,moved by the play but aware that he must get his copy in tothe newspaper.

“This is the outfit I’ve been looking for! Here’s where Icould go over great! I could beat that English preacher bothways from the ace. And Sharon——Oh, the darling!”

She was coming along the line of converts and near-converts,laying her shining hands on their heads. His shouldersquivered with consciousness of her nearness. When she reachedhim and invited him, in that thrilling voice, “Brother, won’t youfind happiness in Jesus?” he did not bow lower, like theothers, he did not sob, but looked straight up at her jauntily,seeking to hold her eyes, while he crowed, “It’s happiness justto have had your wondrous message, Sister Falconer!”

She glanced at him sharply, she turned blank, and instantlypassed on.

He felt slapped. “I’ll show her yet!”

He stood aside as the crowd wavered out. He got into talkwith the crisp young Englishman who had read the Scripturelesson—Cecil Aylston, Sharon’s first assistant.

“Mighty pleased to be here tonight, Brother,” bumbledElmer. “I happen to be a Baptist preacher myself. Bountifulmeeting! And you read the lesson most inspiringly.”

Cecil Aylston rapidly took in Elmer’s checked suit, hisfancy vest, and “Oh. Really? Splendid. So good of you,I’m sure. If you will excuse me?” Nor did it increase Elmer’saffection to have Aylston leave him for one of the humblest ofthe adherents, an old woman in a broken and flapping strawhat.

Elmer disposed of Cecil Aylston: “To hell with him! There’sa fellow we’ll get rid of! A man like me, he gives me the icymitt, and then he goes to the other extreme and slops all oversome old dame that’s probably saved already, that you, by golly,couldn’t unsave with a carload of gin! That’ll do you, myyoung friend! And you don’t like my check suit, either. Well,I certainly do buy my clothes just to please you, all right!”

He waited, hoping for a chance at Sharon Falconer. Andothers were waiting. She waved her hand at all of them,waved her flaunting smile, rubbed her eyes, and begged, “Willyou forgive me? I’m blind-tired. I must rest.” She vanishedinto the mysteries behind the gaudy gold-and-whitepyramid.

Even in her staggering weariness, her voice was not drab;it was filled with that twilight passion which had capturedElmer more than her beauty.... “Never did see a lady justlike her,” he reflected, as he plowed back to his hotel. “Facekinda thin. Usually I like ’em plumper. And yet—golly! Icould fall for her as I never have for anybody in my life....So this darn’ Englishman didn’t like my clothes! Looked as ifhe thought they were too sporty. Well, he can stick ’em inhis ear! Anybody got any objection to my clothes?”

The slumbering universe did not answer, and he was almostcontent. And at eight next morning—Sautersville had anexcellent clothing shop, conducted by Messrs. Erbsen andGoldfarb—and at eight Elmer was there, purchasing a chastedouble-breasted brown suit and three rich but sober ties. Byhounding Mr. Goldfarb he had the alterations done by half-pastnine, and at ten he was grandly snooping about the revivaltent.... He should have gone on to the next town thismorning.

Sharon did not appear till eleven, to lecture the personalworkers, but meanwhile Elmer had thrust himself into acquaintanceshipwith Art Nichols, a gaunt Yankee, once a barber, whoplayed the cornet and the French horn in the three-pieceorchestra which Sharon carried with her.

“Yes, pretty good game, this is,” droned Nichols. “Better’nbarberin’ and better’n one-night stands—oh, I’m a real trouper,too; play characters in tent-shows—I was out three seasonswith Tom shows. This is easier. No street parades, and Iguess prob’ly we do a lot of good, saving souls and so on.Only these religious folks do seem to scrap amongst themselvesmore’n the professionals.”

“Where do you go from here?”

“We close in five days, then we grab the collection andpull out of here and make a jump to Lincoln, Nebraska; openthere in three days. Regular troupers’ jump, too—don’t evenget a Pullman—leave here on the day-coach at eleven p. m.and get into Lincoln at one.”

“Sunday night you leave, eh? That’s funny. I’ll be onthat train. Going to Lincoln myself.”

“Well, you can come hear us there. I always do ‘Jerusalemthe Golden’ on the cornet, first meeting. Knocks ’em cold.They say it’s all this gab that gets ’em going and drags in thesinners, but don’t you believe it—it’s the music. Say, I canget more damn’ sinners weeping on a E-flat cornet than ninegospel-artists all shooting off their faces at once!”

“I’ll bet you can, Art. Say, Art——Of course I’m a preachermyself, just in business temporarily, making arrangements fora new appointment.” Art looked like one who was about tonot lend money. “But I don’t believe all this bull about neverhaving a good time; and of course Paul said to ‘take a littlewine for your stomach’s sake’ and this town is dry, but I’mgoing to a wet one between now and Saturday, and if I wereto have a pint of rye in my jeans—heh?”

“Well, I’m awful’ fond of my stomach—like to do somethingfor its sake!”

“What kind of a fellow is this Englishman? Seems to beMiss Falconer’s right-hand man.”

“Oh, he’s a pretty bright fellow, but he don’t seem to getalong with us boys.”

“She like him? Wha’ does he call himself?”

“Cecil Aylston, his name is. Oh, Sharon liked him first-ratefor a while, but wouldn’t wonder if she was tired of hishighbrow stuff now, and the way he never gets chummy.”

“Well, I got to go speak to Miss Falconer a second. Gladmet you, Art. See you on the train Sunday evening.”

They had been talking at one of the dozen entrances of thegospel tent. Elmer had been watching Sharon Falconer asshe came briskly into the tent. She was no high priestess nowin Grecian robe, but a business woman, in straw hat, graysuit, white shirt-waist, linen cuffs and collar. Only her bluebow and the jeweled cross on her watch-fob distinguished herfrom the women in offices. But Elmer, collecting every detailof her as a miner scoops up nuggets, knew now that shewas not flat-breasted, as in the loose robe she might have been.

She spoke to the “personal workers,” the young women whovolunteered to hold cottage prayer-meetings and to go fromhouse to house stirring up spiritual prospects:

“My dear friends, I’m very glad you’re all praying, but therecomes a time when you’ve got to add a little shoe-leather.While you’re longing for the Kingdom—the devil does hislonging nights, and daytimes he hustles around seeing people,talking to ’em! Are you ashamed to go right in and ask folksto come to Christ—to come to our meetings, anyway? I’mnot at all pleased. Not at all, my dear young friends. Mycharts show that in the Southeast district only one house inthree has been visited. This won’t do! You’ve got to getover the idea that the service of the Lord is a nice game, likeputting Easter lilies on the altar. Here there’s only five daysleft, and you haven’t yet waked up and got busy. And let’snot have any silly nonsense about hesitating to hit people formoney-pledges, and hitting ’em hard! We can’t pay rent forthis lot, and pay for lights and transportation and the wages ofall this big crew I carry, on hot air! Now you—you prettygirl there with the red hair—my! I wish I had such hair!—whathave you done, sure-enough done, this past week?”

In ten minutes she had them all crying, all aching to dashout and bring in souls and dollars.

She was leaving the tent when Elmer pounced on her, swaggering,his hand out.

“Sister Falconer, I want to congratulate you on your wonderfulmeetings. I’m a Baptist preacher—the Reverend Gantry.”

“Yes?” sharply. “Where is your church?”

“Why, uh, just at present I haven’t exactly got a church.”

She inspected his ruddiness, his glossiness, the odor of tobacco;her brilliant eyes had played all over him, and shedemanded:

“What’s the trouble this time? Booze or women?”

“Why, that’s absolutely untrue! I’m surprised you shouldspeak like that, Sister Falconer! I’m in perfectly good standing!It’s just——I’m taking a little time off to engage inbusiness, in order to understand the workings of the lay mind,before going on with my ministry.”

“Um. That’s splendid. Well, you have my blessing,Brother! Now if you will excuse me? I must go and meetthe committee.”

She tossed him an unsmiling smile and raced away. Hefelt soggy, lumbering, unspeakably stupid, but he swore,“Damn you, I’ll catch you when you aren’t all wrapped up inbusiness and your own darn-fool self-importance, and thenI’ll make you wake up, my girl!”

II

He had to do nine days’ work, to visit nine towns, in fivedays, but he was back in Sautersville on Sunday evening andhe was on the eleven-o’clock train for Lincoln—in the newbrown suit.

His fancy for Sharon Falconer had grown into a tremblingpassion, the first authentic passion of his life.

It was too late in the evening for a great farewell, but atleast a hundred of the brethren and sisters were at the station,singing “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” and shakinghands with Sharon Falconer. Elmer saw his cornet-wieldingYankee friend, Art Nichols, with the rest of the evangelisticcrew—the aide, Cecil Aylston, the fat and sentimental tenorsoloist, the girl pianist, the violinist, the children’s evangelist,the director of personal work. (That important assistant, thepress-agent, was in Lincoln making ready for the coming ofthe Lord.) They looked like a sleepy theatrical troupe asthey sat on their suit-cases waiting for the train to come in,and like troupers, they were dismayingly different from theirstage rôles. The anemically pretty pianist, who for public usesdressed in seraphic silver robes, was now merely a small-towngirl in wrinkled blue serge; the director of personal work, whohad been nun-like in linen, was bold in black-trimmed red, andmore attentive to the amorous looks of the German violinistthan to the farewell hymns. The Reverend Cecil Aylston gaveorders to the hotel baggageman regarding their trunks morelike a quartermaster sergeant than like an Oxonian mystic.

Sharon herself was imperial in white, and the magnet forall of them. A fat Presbyterian pastor, with whiskers, buzzedabout her, holding her arm with more than pious zeal. Shesmiled on him (to Elmer’s rage), she smiled equally on the longthin Disciples-of-Christ preacher, she shook hands fervently,and she was tender to each shout of “Praise God, Sister!” Buther eyes were weary, and Elmer saw that when she turned fromher worshipers, her mouth drooped. Young she seemed then,tired and defenseless.

“Poor kid!” thought Elmer.

The train flared and shrieked its way in, and the troupebustled with suit-cases. “Good-by—God bless you—God speedthe work!” shouted every one ... every one save the Congregationalminister, who stood sulkily at the edge of the crowdexplaining to a parishioner, “And so she goes away with enoughcash for herself, after six weeks’ work, to have run our wholechurch for two years!”

Elmer ranged up beside his musical friend, Art Nichols, andas they humped up the steps of a day-coach he muttered,“Art! Art! Got your stomach-medicine here!”

“Great!”

“Say. Look. Fix it so you sit with Sharon. Then prettysoon go out for a smoke—”

“She don’t like smoking.”

“You don’t need to tell her what for! Go out so I can sitdown and talk to her for a while. Important business. About—adandy new town for her evangelistic labors. Here: stickthis in your pocket. And I’ll dig up s’more for you at Lincoln.Now hustle and get in with her.”

“Well, I’ll try.”

So, in the dark malodorous car, hot with late spring, filledwith women whose corsets creaked to their doleful breathing,with farmers who snored in shirt-sleeves, Elmer stood behindthe seat in which a blur marked the shoulders of Art Nicholsand a radiance showed the white presence of Sharon Falconer.To Elmer she seemed to kindle the universe. She was soprecious, every inch of her; he had not known that a humanbeing could be precious like this and magical. To be near herwas ecstasy enough ... almost enough.

She was silent. He heard only Art Nichols’ twanging,“What do you think about us using some of these nigg*r songs—hand’em a jolt?” and her drowsy, “Oh, let’s not talk aboutit tonight.” Presently, from Art, “Guess I’ll skip out on theplatform and get a breath of air,” and the sacred haunt besideher was free to the exalted Elmer.

He slipped in, very nervous.

She was slumped low in the seat, but she sat up, peered athim in the dimness, and said, with a grave courtesy which shuthim out more than any rudeness, “I’m so sorry, but this placeis taken.”

“Yes, I know, Sister Falconer. But the car’s crowded, andI’ll just sit down and rest myself while Brother Nichols isaway—that is, if you’ll let me. Don’t know if you rememberme. I’m—I met you at the tent in Sautersville. ReverendGantry.”

“Oh,” indifferently. Then, quickly: “Oh, yes, you’re thePresbyterian preacher who was fired for drinking.”

“That’s absolutely—!” He saw that she was watchinghim, and he realized that she was not being her saintly selfnor her efficient self but a quite new, private, mocking self.Delightedly he went on, “—absolutely incorrect. I’m theChristian Scientist that was fired for kissing the choir-leaderon Saturday.”

“Oh, that was careless of you!”

“So you’re really human?”

“Me? Good Heavens, yes! Too human.”

“And you get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“Of being the great Miss Falconer, of not being able to gointo a drug-store to buy a tooth-brush without having theclerk holler, ‘Praise God, we have some dandy two-bit brushes,hallelujah!’ ”

Sharon giggled.

“Tired,” and his voice was lulling now, “of never daringto be tired, which same is what you are tonight, and of neverhaving anybody to lean on!”

“I suppose, my dear reverend Brother, that this is a generousoffer to let me lean on you!”

“No. I wouldn’t have the nerve! I’m scared to death ofyou. You haven’t only got your beauty—no! please let metell you how a fellow preacher looks at you—and your wonderfulplatform-presence, but I kind of guess you’ve got brains.”

“No, I haven’t. Not a brain. All emotion. That’s thetrouble with me.” She sounded awake now, and friendly.

“But think of all the souls you’ve brought to repentance.That makes up for everything, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it—Oh, of course it does. It’s theonly thing that counts. Only——Tell me: What really didhappen to you? Why did you get out of the church?”

Gravely, “I was a senior in Mizpah Theological Seminary,but I had a church of my own. I fell for a girl. I won’t sayshe lured me on. After all, a man ought to face the consequencesof his own foolishness. But she certainly did—Oh, it amused her to see a young preacher go mad over her.And she was so lovely! Quite a lot like you, only not sobeautiful, not near, and she let on like she was mad aboutchurch work—that’s what fooled me. Well! Make a longstory short: We were engaged to be married, and I thought ofnothing but her and our life together, doing the work of theLord, when one evening I walked in and there she was in thearms of another fellow! It broke me up so that I——Oh, Itried, but I simply couldn’t go on preaching, so I quit for awhile. And I’ve done well in business. But now I’m readyto go back to the one job I’ve ever cared about. That’s whyI wanted to talk to you there at the tent. I needed yourwoman’s sympathy as well as your experience—and you turnedme down!”

“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” Her hand caressed his arm.

Cecil Aylston came up and looked at them with a lack ofsanctity.

When they reached Lincoln, he was holding her hand andsaying, “You poor, dear, tired child!” and, “Will you havebreakfast with me? Where are you staying in Lincoln?”

“Now see here, Brother Gantry—”

“Elmer!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! Just because I’m so fa*gged outthat it’s nice to play at being a human being, don’t try to takeadvantage—”

“Sharon Falconer, will you quit being a chump? I admireyour genius, your wonderful work for God, but it’s becauseyou’re too big to just be a professional gospel-shouter everyminute that I most admire you. You know mighty good andwell that you like to be simple and even slangy for a while.And you’re too sleepy just now to know whether you like meor not. That’s why I want us to meet at breakfast, when thesleepiness is out of the wonderful eyes—”

“Um. It all sounds pretty honest except that last stuff—you’vecertainly used that before. Do you know, I like you!You’re so completely brazen, so completely unscrupulous, andso beatifically ignorant! I’ve been with sanctimonious folkstoo much lately. And it’s interesting to see that you honestlythink you can captivate me. You funny thing! I’m stayingat the Antlers Hotel in Lincoln—no use, by the way, yourtrying to get a room near my suite, because I have practicallythe whole floor engaged—and I’ll meet you at breakfast thereat nine-thirty.”

III

Though he did not sleep well, he was up early and at histoilet; he shaved, he touched up his bluff handsomeness withlilac water and talcum, he did his nails, sitting in athleticunderwear, awaiting his new suit, sent down for pressing. Thenew purpose in a life recently so dispirited gave vitality tohis bold eyes and spring to his thick muscles as he strodethrough the gold-and-marble lobby of the Antlers Hotel andawaited Sharon at the restaurant door. She came down freshin white crash bordered with blue. As they met they laughed,admitting comradeship in folly. He took her arm gaily, ledher through a flutter of waitresses excited over the comingof the celebrated lady of God, and ordered competently.

“I’ve got a great idea,” said he. “I’ve got to beat it thisafternoon, but I’ll be back in Lincoln on Friday, and how’dit be if you billed me to address your meeting as a saved businessman, and I talked for half an hour or so on Fridayevening about the good, hard, practical, dollars-and-centsvalue of Christ in Commerce?”

“Are you a good talker?”

“A knock-out.”

“Well, it might be a good idea. Yes, we’ll do it. By theway, what is your business? Hold-ups?”

“I’m the crack salesman of the Pequot Farm ImplementCompany, Sharon, and if you don’t believe it—”

“Oh, I do. [She shouldn’t have.] I’m sure you tell thetruth—often. Of course we won’t need to mention the factthat you’re a preacher, unless somebody insists on asking.How would this be as a topic—‘Getting the Goods with aGideon Bible?’ ”

“Say, that would be elegant! How I was in some hick town,horrible weather, slush and rain and everything—dark skies,seemed like sun never would shine again—feet all soaked fromtramping the streets—no sales, plumb discouraged—sat in myroom, forgotten to buy one of the worldly magazines I’d beenaccustomed to read—idly picked up a Gideon Bible and readthe parable of the talents—found that same day you were intown—went and got converted—saw now it wasn’t just formoney but for the Kingdom of Christ, to heighten my influenceas a Christian business man, that I had to increase sales. Thatbucked up my self-confidence so that I increased sales to beatthe band! And how I owe everything to your inspired powers,so it’s a privilege to be able to testify. And about how itisn’t the weak skinny failure that’s the fellow to get saved,but takes a really strong man to not be ashamed to surrenderall for Jesus.”

“Why, I think that’s fine, Brother Elmer, I really do. Anddwell a lot on being in your hotel room there—you took offyour shoes and threw yourself down on the bed, feeling completelybeaten, but you were so restless you got up and pokedaround the room and picked up the Gideon Bible. I’ll featureit big. And you’ll make it strong, Elmer? You won’t let medown? Because I really will headline it in my announcements.I’ve persuaded you to come clear from Omaha—no, that’s notfar—clear from Denver for it. And if you do throw yourselfinto it and tear loose, it’ll add greatly to the glory of God, andthe success of the meeting in winning souls. You will?”

“Dear, I’ll slam into ’em so hard you’ll want me in everytown you go to. You bet.”

“Um, that’s as may be, Elmer. Here comes CecilAylston—you know my assistant? He looks so cross. Heis a dear, but he’s so terribly highbrow and refined and everythingand he’s always trying to nag me into being refined.But you’ll love him.”

“I will not! Anyway, I’ll struggle against it!”

They laughed.

The Rev. Cecil Aylston, of the flaxen hair and the superiorBritish complexion, glided to their table, looked at Elmerwith a blankness more infuriating than a scowl, and sat down,observing:

“I don’t want to intrude, Miss Falconer, but you know thecommittee of clergy are awaiting you in the parlor.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Sharon. “Are they as terrible as usualhere? Can’t you go up and get the kneeling and praying donewhile I finish my scrambled eggs? Have you told them they’vegot to double the amount of the pledges before this week isover or the souls in Lincoln can go right on being damned?”Cecil was indicating Elmer with an alarmed jerk of his head.“Oh, don’t worry about Elmer. He’s one of us—going to speakfor us Friday—used to be a terribly famous preacher, but he’sfound a wider field in business—Reverend Aylston, ReverendGantry. Now run along, Cecil, and keep ’em pious and busy.Any nice-looking young preachers in the committee, or arethey all old stiffs?”

Aylston answered with a tight-lipped glare, and flowed away.

“Dear Cecil, he is so useful to me—he’s actually made metake to reading poetry and everything. If he just wouldn’tbe polite at breakfast-time! I wouldn’t mind facing the wildbeasts of Ephesus, but I can’t stand starch with my eggs. NowI must go up and join him.”

“You’ll have lunch with me?”

“I will not! My dear young man, this endeth my beingsilly for this week. From this moment on I’ll be one of theanointed, and if you want me to like you——God help youif you come around looking puss*-catty while I’m manhandlingthese stiff-necked brethren in Christ! I’ll see you Friday—I’llhave dinner with you, here, before the meeting. And Ican depend on you? Good!”

IV

Cecil Aylston was a good deal of a mystic, a good deal of aritualist, a bit of a rogue, something of a scholar, frequentlya drunkard, more frequently an ascetic, always a gentleman,and always an adventurer. He was thirty-two now. At Winchesterand New College, he had been known for sprinting,snobbishness, and Greek versification. He had taken orders,served as a curate in a peculiarly muddy and ancient and unlightedchurch in the East End, and become fanatically Anglo-Catholic.While he was considering taking the three vows andentering a Church of England monastery, his vicar kicked himout, and no one was ever quite certain whether it was becauseof his “Romish tendencies” or the navvy’s daughter whom hehad got with child.

He was ordered down to a bleak, square, stone church inCornwall, but he resigned and joined the Plymouth Brethren,among whom, in resounding galvanized-iron chapels in theBlack Country, he had renown for denunciation of all thepleasant sins. He came to Liverpool for a series of meetings;he wandered by the Huskisson docks, saw a liner ready forsea, bought a steerage ticket, took the passport which he hadready for a promised flight to Rio with the wife of an evangelicalmerchant in coals and, without a word to the brethrenor the ardent lady of the coals, sailed sulkily off to America.

In New York he sold neckties in a department store, hepreached in a mission, he tutored the daughter of a greatwholesale fish-dealer, and wrote nimble and thoroughly irritatingbook-reviews. He left town two hours ahead of thefish-dealer’s eldest son, and turned up in Waco, Texas, teachingin a business college, in Winona, Minnesota, preaching ina Nazarene Chapel, in Carmel, California, writing poetry andreal estate brochures, and in Miles City, Montana, as thesummer supply in a Congregational pulpit. He was so quiet,so studious, here that the widow of a rancher picked him upand married him. She died. He lost the entire fortune in twodays at Tia Juana. He became extra pious after that andwas converted from time to time by Billy Sunday, Gipsy Smith,Biederwolf, and several other embarrassed evangelists, who didnot expect a convert so early in the campaign and had made noplans to utilize him.

It was in Ishpeming, Michigan, where he was conducting ashooting-gallery while he sought by mail a mastership inGroton School, that he heard and was more than usually convertedby Sharon Falconer. He fell in love with her, and withcontemptuous steady resolution he told her so.

At the moment she was without a permanent man first assistant.She had just discharged a really useful loud-voicedUnited Brethren D. D. for hinting to delighted sons of Belialthat his relations to her were at least brotherly. She took onthe Reverend Cecil Aylston.

He loved her, terrifyingly. He was so devoted to her thathe dropped his drinking, his smoking, and a tendency to forgerywhich had recently been creeping on him. And he did wondersfor her.

She had been too emotional. He taught her to store it upand fling it all out in one overpowering catastrophic evening.She had been careless of grammar, and given to vulgar barnyardillustrations. He taught her to endure sitting still andreading—reading Swinburne and Jowett, Pater and JonathanEdwards, Newman and Sir Thomas Browne. He taught herto use her voice, to use her eyes, and in more private relations,to use her soul.

She had been puzzled by him, annoyed by him, led meeklyby him, and now she was weary of his supercilious devotion.He was more devoted to her than to life, and for her he refuseda really desirable widow who could have got him back intothe Episcopal fold and acquired for him the dim rich sort ofchurch for which he longed after these months of sawdust andsweaty converts.

V

When Elmer descended from the train in Lincoln Fridayafternoon, he stopped before a red-and-black poster announcingthat Elmer Gantry was a power in the machinery world,that he was an eloquent and entertaining speaker, and that hisaddress “Increasing Sales with God and the Gideons” would bea “revelation of the new world of better business.”

“Jiminy!” said the power in the machinery world. “I’drather see a sermon of mine advertised like that than sell steenmillion plows!”

He had a vision of Sharon Falconer in her suite in late afternoon,lonely and clinging in the faded golden light, clingingto him. But when he reached her room by telephone she wascurt. “No, no, sorry, can’t see you ’safternoon—see you atdinner, quarter to six.”

He was so chastened that he was restrained and uncommentingwhen she came swooping into the dining-room, a knot-browed,efficient, raging Sharon, and when he found that shehad brought Cecil Aylston.

“Good evening, Sister—Brother Aylston,” he boomed sedately.

“Evening. Ready to speak?”

“Absolutely.”

She lighted a little. “That’s good. Everything else’s gonewrong, and these preachers here think I can travel an evangelisticcrew on air. Give ’em fits about tight-wad Christianbusiness men, will you, Elmer? How they hate to loosen up!Cecil! Kindly don’t look as if I’d bitten somebody. I haven’t... not yet.”

Aylston ignored her, and the two men watched each otherlike a panther and a buffalo (but a buffalo with a clean shaveand ever so much scented hair-tonic).

“Brother Aylston,” said Elmer, “I noticed in the account oflast evening’s meeting that you spoke of Mary and the anointingwith spikenard, and you quoted these ‘Idylls of the King,’by Tennyson. Or that’s what the newspaper said.”

“That’s right.”

“But do you think that’s good stuff for evangelism? Allright for a regular church, especially with a high-class richcongregation, but in a soul-saving campaign—”

“My dear Mr. Gantry, Miss Falconer and I have decidedthat even in the most aggressive campaign there is no need ofvulgarizing our followers.”

“Well, that isn’t what I’d give ’em!”

“And what, pray, would you give them?”

“The good old-fashioned hell, that’s what!” Elmer peepedat Sharon, and felt that she was smiling with encouragement.“Yes-sir, like the hymn says, the hell of our fathers is goodenough for me.”

“Quite so! I’m afraid it isn’t good enough for me, and Idon’t know that Jesus fancied it particularly!”

“Well, you can be dead sure of one thing: When he stayedwith Mary and Martha and Lazarus, he didn’t loaf arounddrinking tea with ’em!”

“Why not, my dear man! Don’t you know that tea wasfirst imported by caravan train from Ceylon to Syria in 627B. C.?

“No-o, didn’t know just when—”

“Why, of course. You’ve merely forgotten it—you musthave read in your university days of the great epicurean expeditionof Phthaltazar—when he took the eleven hundredcamels? Psaltazar? You remember!”

“Oh, yes, I remember his expedition, but I didn’t know hebrought in tea.”

“Why, naturally! Rather! Uh, Miss Falconer, the impetuousMr. Shoop wants to sing ‘Just As I Am’ for his solotonight. Is there any way of preventing it? Adelbert is agood saved soul, but just as he is, he is too fat. Won’t youspeak to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let him sing it. He’s brought in lotsof souls on that,” yawned Sharon.

“Mangy little souls.”

“Oh, stop being so supercilious! When you get to heaven,Cecil, you’ll complain of the way the seraphims—oh, do shutup; I know it’s seraphim, my tongue just slipped—you’ll complainof the kind of corsets they wear.”

“I’m not at all sure but that you really do picture that sortof heaven, with corseted angels and yourself with a goldenmansion on the celestial Park Lane!”

“Cecil Aylston, don’t you quarrel with me tonight! I feel—vulgar!That’s your favorite word! I do wish I could savesome of the members of my own crew! ... Elmer, do youthink God went to Oxford?”

“Sure!”

“And you did, of course!”

“I did not, by golly! I went to a hick college in Kansas!And I was born in a hick town in Kansas!”

“Me too, practically! Oh, I did come from a frightfullyold Virginia family, and I was born in what they called amansion, but still, we were so poor that our pride was ridiculous.Tell me: did you split wood and pull mustard whenyou were a boy?”

“Did I? Say! You bet I did!”

They sat with their elbows on the table, swapping boastsof provincial poverty, proclaiming kinship, while Cecil lookedfrosty.

VI

Elmer’s speech at the evangelistic meeting was a cloudburst.

It had structure as well as barytone melody, choice words,fascinating anecdotes, select sentiment, chaste point of view,and resolute piety.

Elmer was later to explain to admirers of his public utterancesthat nothing was more important than structure. What,he put it to them, would they think of an architect who wasfancy about paint and clapboards but didn’t plan the house?And tonight’s euphuisms were full of structure.

In part one he admitted that despite his commercial successhe had fallen into sin before the hour when, restless in hishotel room, he had idly fingered o’er a Gideon Bible and beenstruck by the parable of the talents.

In part two he revealed by stimulating examples from hisown experience the cash value of Christianity. He pointedout that merchants often preferred a dependable man to aknown crook.

Hitherto he had, perhaps, been a shade too realistic. Hefelt that Sharon would never take him on in place of CecilAylston unless she perceived the poetry with which his soulwas gushing. So in part three he explained that what madeChristianity no mere dream and ideal, but a practical humansolvent, was Love. He spoke very nicely of Love. He saidthat Love was the Morning Star, the Evening Star, theRadiance upon the Quiet Tomb, the Inspirer equally ofPatriots and Bank Presidents, and as for Music, what was itbut the very voice of Love?

He had elevated his audience (thirteen hundred they were,and respectful) to a height of idealism from which he madethem swoop now like eagles to a pool of tears:

“For, oh, my brothers and sisters, important though it isto be prudent in this world’s affairs, it is the world to comethat is alone important, and this reminds me, in closing, of avery sad incident which I recently witnessed. In businessaffairs I had often had to deal with a very prominent mannamed Jim Leff—Leffingwell. I can give his name now becausehe has passed to his eternal reward. Old Jim was thebest of good fellows, but he had fatal defects. He drankliquor, he smoked tobacco, he gambled, and I’m sorry to saythat he did not always keep his tongue clean—he took thename of God in vain. But Jim was very fond of his family,particularly of his little daughter. Well, she took sick. Oh,what a sad time that was to that household! How thestricken mother tiptoed into and out of the sick-room; howthe worried doctors came and went, speeding to aid her! Asfor the father, poor old Jim, he was bowed with anguish ashe leaned over that pathetic little bed, and his hair turnedgray in a single night. There came the great crisis, and beforethe very eyes of the weeping father that little form wasstilled, and that sweet, pure, young soul passed to its Maker.

“He came to me sobbing, and I put my arms round himas I would round a little child. ‘Oh, God,’ he sobbed, ‘thatI should have spent my life in wicked vices, and that the littleone should have passed away knowing her dad was a sinner!’Thinking to comfort him, I said, ‘Old man, it was God’s willthat she be taken. You have done all that mortal man coulddo. The best of medical attention. The best of care.’

“I shall never forget how scornfully he turned upon me.‘And you call yourself a Christian!’ he cried. ‘Yes, she hadmedical attention, but one thing was lacking—the one thingthat would have saved her—I could not pray!’

“And that strong man knelt in anguish and for all my trainingin—in trying to explain the ways of God to my fellow businessmen, there was nothing to say. It was too late!

“Oh, my brothers, my fellow business men, are you going toput off repentance till it’s too late? That’s your affair, yousay. Is it? Is it? Have you a right to inflict upon all thatyou hold nearest and dearest the sore burden of your sins? Doyou love your sins better than that dear little son, that bonniedaughter, that loving brother, that fine old father? Do youwant to punish them? Do you? Don’t you love some onemore than you do your sins? If you do, stand up. Isn’t theresome one here who wants to stand up and help a fellow businessman carry this gospel of great joy to the world? Won’tyou come? Won’t you help me? Oh, come! Come down andlet me shake your hand!”

And they came, dozens of them, weeping, while he weptat his own goodness.

They stood afterward in the secluded space behind the white-and-goldplatforms, Sharon and Elmer, and she cried, “Oh, itwas beautiful! Honestly, I almost cried myself! Elmer, itwas just fine!”

“Didn’t I get ’em? Didn’t I get ’em? Didn’t I? Say,Sharon, I’m so glad it went over, because it was your show andI wanted to give you all I could!”

He moved toward her, his arms out, and for once he was notproducing the false ardor of amorous diplomacy. He wasthe small boy seeking the praise of his mother. But she movedaway from him, begging, not sardonically:

“No! Please!”

“But you do like me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

“Not very much. I can’t like any one very much. But Ido like you. Some day I might fall in love with you. A tinybit. If you don’t rush me too much. But only physically.No one,” proudly, “can touch my soul!”

“Do you think that’s decent? Isn’t that sin?”

She flamed at him. “I can’t sin! I am above sin! I amreally and truly sanctified! Whatever I may choose to do,though it might be sin in one unsanctified, with me God willturn it to his glory. I can kiss you like this—” Quickly shetouched his cheek, “yes, or passionately, terribly passionately,and it would only symbolize my complete union with Jesus!I have told you a mystery. You can never understand. Butyou can serve me. Would you like to?”

“Yes, I would.... And I’ve never served anybody yet!Can I? Oh, kick out this tea-drinking mollycoddle, Cecil, andlet me work with you. Don’t you need arms like these aboutyou, just now and then, defending you?”

“Perhaps. But I’m not to be hurried. I am I! It is Iwho choose!”

“Yes. I guess prob’ly it is, Sharon. I think you’ve plumbhypnotized me or something.”

“No, but perhaps I shall if I ever care to.... I can doanything I want to! God chose me to do his work. I am thereincarnation of Joan of Arc, of Catherine of Sienna! I havevisions! God talks to me! I told you once, that I hadn’t thebrains to rival the men evangelists. Lies! False modesty!They are God’s message, but I am God’s right hand!”

She chanted it with her head back, her eyes closed, and evenwhile he quaked, “My God, she’s crazy!” he did not care. Hewould give up all to follow her. Mumblingly he told her so,but she sent him away, and he crept off in a humility he hadnever known.

I

two more series of meetings Sharon Falconer held that summer,and at each of them the power in the machinery worldappeared and chronicled his conversion by the Gideon Bibleand the eloquence of Sister Falconer.

Sometimes he seemed very near her; the next time shewould regard him with bleak china eyes. Once she turned onhim with: “You smoke, don’t you?”

“Why, yes.”

“I smelled it. I hate it. Will you stop it? Entirely? Anddrinking?”

“Yes. I will.”

And he did. It was an agony of restlessness and craving,but he never touched alcohol or tobacco again, and he reallyregretted that in evenings thus made vacuous he could notkeep from an interest in waitresses.

It was late in August, in a small Colorado city, after thesecond of his appearances as a saved financial Titan, that heimplored Sharon as they entered the hotel together, “Oh, letme come up to your room. Please! I never have a chanceto just sit and talk to you.”

“Very well. Come in half an hour. Don’t ’phone. Justcome right up to Suite B.”

It was a half-hour of palpitating, of almost timorous, expectancy.

In every city where she held meetings Sharon was invitedto stay at the home of one of the elect, but she always refused.She had a long standard explanation that “she could devoteherself more fully to the prayer life if she had her own place,and day by day filled it more richly with the aura of spirituality.”Elmer wondered whether it wasn’t the aura of CecilAylston for which she had her suite, but he tried to keep hisaching imagination away from that.

The half-hour was over.

He swayed up-stairs to Suite B and knocked. A distant“Come in.”

She was in the bedroom beyond. He inched into the stalehotel parlor—wallpaper with two-foot roses, a table with anatrocious knobby gilt vase, two stiff chairs and a grudgingsettee ranged round the wall. The lilies which her discipleshad sent her were decaying in boxes, in a wash-bowl, in a heapin the corner. Round a china cuspidor lay faint rose petals.

He sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the chairs. Hedared not venture beyond the dusty brocade curtains whichseparated the two rooms, but his fancy ventured fast enough.

She threw open the curtains and stood there, a flame blastingthe faded apartment. She had discarded her white robefor a dressing-gown of scarlet with sleeves of cloth of gold—goldand scarlet; riotous black hair; long, pale, white face. Sheslipped over to the settee, and summoned him, “Come!”

He diffidently dropped his arm about her, and her headwas on his shoulder. His arm drew tighter. But, “Oh, don’tmake love to me,” she sighed, not moving. “You’ll know it allright when I want you to! Just be nice and comforting tonight.”

“But I can’t always—”

“I know. Perhaps you won’t always have to. Perhaps!Oh, I need——What I need tonight is some salve for myvanity. Have I ever said that I was a reincarnated Joan ofArc? I really do half believe that sometimes. Of course it’sjust insanity. Actually I’m a very ignorant young woman witha lot of misdirected energy and some tiny idealism. I preachelegant sermons for six weeks, but if I stayed in a town sixweeks and one day, I’d have to start the music box over again.I can talk my sermons beautifully ... but Cecil wrote mostof ’em for me, and the rest I cheerfully stole.”

“Do you like Cecil?”

“Oh, is a nice, jealous, big, fat man!” She who that eveninghad been a disturbing organ note was lisping baby-talk now.

“Damn it, Sharon, don’t try to be a baby when I’m serious!”

“Damn it, Elmer, don’t say ‘damn it’! Oh, I hate the littlevices—smoking, swearing, scandal, drinking just enough to besilly. I love the big ones—murder, lust, cruelty, ambition!”

“And Cecil? Is he one of the big vices that you love?”

“Oh, he’s a dear boy. So sweet, the way he takes himselfseriously.”

“Yes, he must make love like an ice-cream cone.”

“You might be surprised! There, there! The poor man isjust longing to have me say something mean about Cecil!I’ll be obliging. He’s done a lot for me. He really knowssomething; he isn’t a splendid cast-iron statue of ignorance likeyou or me.”

“Now you look here, Sharon! After all, I am a collegegraduate and practically a B. D. too.”

“That’s what I said. Cecil really knows how to read. Andhe taught me to quit acting like a hired girl, bless him. But—Oh, I’ve learned everything he can teach me, and if I get anymore of the highbrow in me I’ll lose touch with the commonpeople—bless their dear, sweet, honest souls!”

“Chuck him. Take me on. Oh, it isn’t the money. Youmust know that, dear. In ten years, at thirty-eight, I can besales-manager of the Pequot—prob’ly ten thousand a year—andmaybe some day the president, at thirty thou. I’m notlooking for a job. But——Oh, I’m crazy about you! Exceptfor my mother, you’re the only person I’ve ever adored. I loveyou! Hear me? Damn it—yes, damn it, I said—I worshipyou! Oh, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon! It wasn’t really bunkwhen I told ’em all tonight how you’d converted me, becauseyou did convert me. Will you let me serve you? And willyou maybe marry me?”

“No. I don’t think I’ll ever marry—exactly. Perhaps I’llchuck Cecil—poor sweet lad!—and take you on. I’ll see.Anyhow—Let me think.”

She shook off his encircling arm and sat brooding, chin onhand. He sat at her feet—spiritually as well as physically.

She beatified him with:

“In September I’ll have only four weeks of meetings, atVincennes. I’m going to take off all October, before my winterwork (you won’t know me then—I’m dandy, speaking indoors,in big halls!), and I’m going down to our home, the old Falconerfamily place, in Virginia. Pappy and Mam are dead now,and I own it. Old plantation. Would you like to come downthere with me, just us two, for a fortnight in October?”

“Would I? My God!”

“Could you get away?”

“If it cost me my job!”

“Then——I’ll wire you when to come after I get there:Hanning Hall, Broughton, Virginia. Now I think I’d bettergo to bed, dear. Sweet dreams.”

“Can’t I tuck you into bed?”

“No, dear. I might forget to be Sister Falconer! Goodnight!”

Her kiss was like a swallow’s flight, and he went out obediently,marveling that Elmer Gantry could for once love somuch that he did not insist on loving.

II

In New York he had bought a suit of Irish homespun and aheather cap. He looked bulky but pleasantly pastoral as hegaped romantically from the Pullman window at the fields ofVirginia. “Ole Virginny—ole Virginny” he hummed happily.Worm fences, negro cabins, gallant horses in rocky pastures,a longing to see the gentry who rode such horses, and ever theblue hills. It was an older world than his baking Kansas, olderthan Mizpah Seminary, and he felt a desire to be part of thistraditional age to which Sharon belonged. Then, as the mileswhich still separated him from the town of Broughton creptback of him, he forgot the warm-tinted land in anticipation ofher.

He was recalling that she was the aristocrat, the moreformidable here in the company of F. F. V. friends. He wasmore than usually timid ... and more than usually proudof his conquest.

For a moment, at the station, he thought that she had notcome to meet him. Then he saw a girl standing by an oldcountry buggy.

She was young, veritably a girl, in middy blouse deep cut atthe throat, pleated white skirt, white shoes. Her red tam-o’-shanterwas rakish, her smile was a country grin as she wavedto him. And the girl was Sister Falconer.

“God, you’re adorable!” he murmured to her, as he plumpeddown his suit-case, and she was fragrant and soft in his armsas he kissed her.

“No more,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be mycousin, and even very nice cousins don’t kiss quite so intelligently!”

As the carriage jerked across the hills, as the harness creakedand the white horse grunted, he held her hand lightly inbutterfly ecstasy.

He cried out at the sight of Hanning Hall as they drovethrough the dark pines, among shabby grass plots, to the baresloping lawn. It was out of a story-book; a brick house, notvery large, with tall white pillars, white cupola, and dormerwindows with tiny panes; and across the lawn paraded apeaco*ck in the sun. Out of a story-book, too, was the pairof old negroes who bowed to them from the porch and hasteneddown the steps—the butler with green tail-coat and whitemustache almost encircling his mouth, and the mammy in greencalico, with an enormous grin and a histrionic curtsy.

“They’ve always cared for me since I was a tiny baby,”Sharon whispered. “I do love them—I do love this dear oldplace. That’s—” She hesitated, then defiantly: “That’s whyI brought you here!”

The butler took his bag up and unpacked, while Elmerwandered about the old bedroom, impressed, softly happy. Thewall was a series of pale landscapes: manor houses beyondavenues of elms. The bed was a four-poster; the fireplace ofwhite-enameled posts and mantel; and on the broad oak boardsof the floor, polished by generations of forgotten feet, werehooked rugs of the days of crinoline.

“Golly, I’m so happy! I’ve come home!” sighed Elmer.

When the butler was gone, Elmer drifted to the window, and“Golly!” he said again. He had not realized that in the buggythey had climbed so high. Beyond rolling pasture and woodswas the Shenandoah glowing with afternoon.

“Shen-an-doah!” he crooned.

Suddenly he was kneeling at the window, and for the firsttime since he had forsaken Jim Lefferts and football and joyousribaldry, his soul was free of all the wickedness which haddaubed it—oratorical ambitions, emotional org*sm, dead sayingsof dull seers, dogmas, and piety. The golden winding riverdrew him, the sky uplifted him, and with outflung arms heprayed for deliverance from prayer.

“I’ve found her. Sharon. Oh, I’m not going on with thisevangelistic bunk. Trapping idiots into holy monkey-shines!No, by God, I’ll be honest! I’ll tuck her under my arm andgo out and fight. Business. Put it over. Build somethingbig. And laugh, not snivel and shake hands with church-members!I’ll do it!”

Then and there ended his rebellion.

The vision of the beautiful river was hidden from him bya fog of compromises.... How could he keep away fromevangelistic melodrama if he was to have Sharon? And tohave Sharon was the one purpose of life. She loved her meetings,she would never leave them, and she would rule him.And—he was exalted by his own oratory.

“Besides! There is a lot to all this religious stuff. We dodo good. Maybe we jolly ’em into emotions too much, butdon’t that wake folks up from their ruts? Course it does!”

So he put on a white turtle-necked sweater and with a firmcomplacent tread he went down to join Sharon.

She was waiting in the hall, so light and young in her middyblouse and red tam.

“Let’s not talk seriously. I’m not Sister Falconer—I’mSharon today. Gee, to think I’ve ever spoken to five thousandpeople! Come on! I’ll race you up the hill!”

The wide lower hall, traditionally hung with steel engravingsand a Chickamauga sword, led from the front door, underthe balcony of the staircase, to the garden at the back, stillbold with purple asters and golden zinnias.

Through the hall she fled, through the garden, past thestone sundial, and over the long rough grass to the orchard onthe sunny hill; no ceremonious Juno now but a nymph; and hefollowed, heavy, graceless, but pounding on inescapable, thinkingless of her fleeting slenderness than of the fact that sincehe had stopped smoking his wind cer’nly was a lot better—cer’nlywas.

“You can run!” she said, as she stopped, panting, by awalled garden with espalier pears.

“You bet I can! And I’m a grand footballer, a bearcat attackling, my young friend!”

He picked her up, while she kicked and grudgingly admired,“You’re terribly strong!”

But the day of halcyon October sun was too serene even forhis coltishness, and sedately they tramped up the hill, swingingtheir joined hands; sedately they talked (ever so hard hetried to live up to the Falconer Family, an Old Mansion, andDarky Mammies) of the world-menacing perils of HigherCriticism, and the genius of E. O. Excell as a composer ofsacred but snappy melodies.

III

While he dressed, that is, while he put on the brown suitand a superior new tie, Elmer worried. This sure intimacy wastoo perfect. Something would interrupt it. Sharon had spokenvaguely of brothers, of high-nosed aunts and cousins, of acloud of Falconer witnesses, and the house was large enough tosecrete along its corridors a horde of relatives. Would he, atdinner, have to meet hostile relics who would stare at himand make him talk and put him down as a piece of Terwillingerprovinciality? He could see the implications in their levelfaded eyes; he could see Sharon swayed by their scorn anddelivered from such uncertain fascination as his lustiness andboldness had cast over her.

“Damn!” he said. “I’m just as good as they are!”

He came reluctantly down-stairs to the shabby, endearingdrawing-room, with its whatnot of curios—a Chinese slipper,a stag carved of black walnut, a shell from Madagascar—withits jar of dried cattails, its escritoire and gate-legged table,and a friendly old couch before the white fireplace. The room,the whole spreading house, was full of whispers and creakingsand dead suspicious eyes.... There had been no whispersand no memories in the cottage at Paris, Kansas.... Elmerstood wistful, a little beaten boy, his runaway hour with thedaughter of the manor house ended, too worshiping to resentlosing the one thing he wanted.

Then she was at the door, extremely unevangelistic, pleasantlyworldly in an evening frock of black satin and gold lace.He had not known people who wore evening frocks. She heldout her hand gaily to him, but it was not gaily that he wentto her—meekly, rather, resolved that he would not disgraceher before the suspicious family.

They came hand in hand into the dining-room and he sawthat the table was set for two only.

He almost giggled, “Thought maybe there’d be a lot offolks,” but he was saved, and he did not bustle about herchair.

He said grace, at length.

Candles and mahogany, silver and old lace, roses and Wedgwood,canvasback and the butler in bottle-green. He sank intoa stilled happiness as she told riotous stories of evangelism—ofher tenor soloist, the plump Adelbert Shoop, who lovedcrème de cocoa; of the Swedish farmer’s wife, who got herhusband prayed out of the drinking, cursing, and snuff habits,then tried to get him prayed out of playing checkers, whereuponhe went out and got marvelously pickled on raw alcohol.

“I’ve never seen you so quiet before,” she said. “You reallycan be nice. Happy?”

“Terribly!”

The roof of the front porch had been turned into an outdoorterrace, and here, wrapped up against the cool evening,they had their coffee and peppermints in long deck chairs.They were above the tree-tops; and as their eyes widened inthe darkness they could see the river by starlight. Thehoot of a wandering owl; then the kind air, the whispering air,crept round them.

“Oh, my God, it is so sweet—so sweet!” he sighed, as hefumbled for her hand and felt it slip confidently into his. Suddenlyhe was ruthless, tearing it all down:

“Too darn’ sweet for me, I guess. Sharon, I’m a bum. I’mnot so bad as a preacher, or I wouldn’t be if I had the chance,but me——I’m no good. I have cut out the booze and tobacco—foryou—I really have! But I used to drink like afish, and till I met you I never thought any woman exceptmy mother was any good. I’m just a second-rate travelingman. I came from Paris, Kansas, and I’m not even up to thathick burg, because they are hard-working and decent there,and I’m not even that. And you—you’re not only a prophetess,which you sure are, the real big thing, but you’re aFalconer. Family! Old servants! This old house! Oh, it’sno use! You’re too big for me. Just because I do love you.Terribly. Because I can’t lie to you!”

He had put away her slim hand, but it came creeping backover his, her fingers tracing the valleys between his knuckles,while she murmured:

“You will be big! I’ll make you! And perhaps I’m aprophetess, a little bit, but I’m also a good liar. You see I’mnot a Falconer. There ain’t any! My name is Katie Jonas.I was born in Utica. My dad worked on a brickyard. I pickedout the name Sharon Falconer while I was a stenographer. Inever saw this house till two years ago; I never saw these oldfamily servants till then—they worked for the folks that ownedthe place—and even they weren’t Falconers—they had thearistocratic name of Sprugg! Incidentally, this place isn’t aquarter paid for. And yet I’m not a liar! I’m not!I am Sharon Falconer now! I’ve made her—by prayerand by having a right to be her! And you’re going to stopbeing poor Elmer Gantry of Paris, Kansas. You’re going tobe the Reverend Dr. Gantry, the great captain of souls! Oh,I’m glad you don’t come from anywhere in particular! CecilAylston—oh, I guess he does love me, but I always feel he’slaughing at me. Hang him, he notices the infinitives I splitand not the souls I save! But you—Oh, you will serve me—won’tyou?”

“Forever!”

And there was little said then. Even the agreement thatshe was to get rid of Cecil, to make Elmer her permanent assistant,was reached in a few casual assents. He was certainthat the steely film of her dominance was withdrawn.

Yet when they went in, she said gaily that they must beearly abed; up early tomorrow; and that she would take tenpounds off him at tennis.

When he whispered, “Where is your room, sweet?” shelaughed with a chilling impersonality, “You’ll never know, poorlamb!”

Elmer the bold, Elmer the enterprising, went clumping offto his room, and solemnly he undressed, wistfully he stood bythe window, his soul riding out on the darkness to incomprehensibledestinations. He humped into bed and droppedtoward sleep, too weary with fighting her resistance to lie thinkingof possible tomorrows.

He heard a tiny scratching noise. It seemed to him that itwas the doorknob turning. He sat up, throbbing. The soundwas frightened away, but began again, a faint grating, and thebottom of the door swished slowly on the carpet. The fan ofpale light from the hall widened and, craning, he could see her,but only as a ghost, a white film.

He held out his arms, desperately, and presently she stumbledagainst them.

“No! Please!” Hers was the voice of a sleep-walker. “Ijust came in to say good-night and tuck you into bed. Sucha bothered unhappy child! Into bed. I’ll kiss you good-nightand run.”

His head burrowed into the pillow. Her hand touched hischeek lightly, yet through her fingers, he believed, flowed acurrent which lulled him into slumber, a slumber momentarybut deep with contentment.

With effort he said, “You too—you need comforting, maybeyou need bossing, when I get over being scared of you.”

“No. I must take my loneliness alone. I’m different,whether it’s cursed or blessed. But—lonely—yes—lonely.”

He was sharply awake as her fingers slipped up his cheek,across his temple, into his swart hair.

“Your hair is so thick,” she said drowsily.

“Your heart beats so. Dear Sharon—”

Suddenly, clutching his arm, she cried, “Come! It is thecall!”

He was bewildered as he followed her, white in her nightgowntrimmed at the throat with white fur, out of his room,down the hall, up a steep little stairway to her own apartments;the more bewildered to go from that genteel corridor,with its forget-me-not wallpaper and stiff engravings of Virginiaworthies, into a furnace of scarlet.

Her bedroom was as insane as an Oriental cozy corner of1895—a couch high on carven ivory posts, covered with amandarin coat; unlighted brass lamps in the likeness ofmosques and pagodas; gilt papier-mâché armor on the walls;a wide dressing-table with a score of cosmetics in odd Parisianbottles; tall candlesticks, the twisted and flowered candleslighted; and over everything a hint of incense.

She opened a closet, tossed a robe to him, cried, “For theservice of the altar!” and vanished into a dressing-room beyond.Diffidently, feeling rather like a fool, he put on therobe. It was of purple velvet embroidered with black symbolsunknown to him, the collar heavy with gold thread. He wasnot quite sure what he was to do, and he waited obediently.

She stood in the doorway, posing, while he gaped. She wasso tall and her hands, at her sides, the backs up and the fingersarched, moved like lilies on the bosom of a stream. She wasfantastic in a robe of deep crimson adorned with golden starsand crescents, swastikas and tau crosses; her feet were insilver sandals, and round her hair was a tiara of silver moonsset with steel points that flickered in the candlelight. A mistof incense floated about her, seemed to rise from her, and asshe slowly raised her arms he felt in schoolboyish awe thatshe was veritably a priestess.

Her voice was under the spell of the sleep-walker once moreas she sighed “Come! It is the chapel.”

She marched to a door part-hidden by the couch, and ledhim into a room—

Now he was no longer part amorous, part inquisitive, butall uneasy.

What hanky-panky of construction had been performed henever knew; perhaps it was merely that the floor above thissmall room had been removed so that it stretched up twostories; but in any case there it was—a shrine bright as bedlamat the bottom but seeming to rise through darkness to the sky.The walls were hung with black velvet; there were no chairs;and the whole room focused on a wide altar. It was an altarof grotesque humor or of madness, draped with Chinese fabrics,crimson, apricot, emerald, gold. There were two stages ofpink marble. Above the altar hung an immense crucifix withthe Christ bleeding at nail-wounds and pierced side; and onthe upper stage were plaster busts of the Virgin, St. Theresa,St. Catherine, a garish Sacred Heart, a dolorous simulacrumof the dying St. Stephen. But crowded on the lower stagewas a crazy rout of what Elmer called “heathen idols”: ape-headedgods, crocodile-headed gods, a god with three heads anda god with six arms, a jade-and-ivory Buddha, an alabasternaked Venus, and in the center of them all a beautiful, hideous,intimidating and alluring statuette of a silver goddess with atriple crown and a face as thin and long and passionate as thatof Sharon Falconer. Before the altar was a long velvet cushion,very thick and soft. Here Sharon suddenly knelt, waving himto his knees, as she cried:

“It is the hour! Blessed Virgin, Mother Hera, MotherFrigga, Mother Ishtar, Mother Isis, dread Mother Astarte ofthe weaving arms, it is thy priestess, it is she who after theblind centuries and the groping years shall make it known tothe world that ye are one, and that in me are ye all revealed,and that in this revelation shall come peace and wisdom universal,the secret of the spheres and the pit of understanding.Ye who have leaned over me and on my lips pressed your immortalfingers, take this my brother to your bosoms, open hiseyes, release his pinioned spirit, make him as the gods, thatwith me he may carry the revelation for which a thousandthousand grievous years the world has panted.

“O rosy cross and mystic tower of ivory—

“Hear my prayer.

“O sublime April crescent—

“Hear my prayer.

“O sword of undaunted steel most excellent—

“Hear thou my prayer.

“O serpent with unfathomable eyes—

“Hear my prayer.

“Ye veiled ones and ye bright ones—from caves forgotten,the peaks of the future, the clanging today—join in me, liftup, receive him, dread nameless ones; yea, lift us then, mysteryon mystery, sphere above sphere, dominion on dominion, tothe very throne!”

She picked up a Bible which lay by her on the long velvetcushion at the foot of the altar, she crammed it into hishands, and cried, “Read—read—quickly!”

It was open at the Song of Solomon, and bewildered hechanted:

“How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter!The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the handsof a cunning workman. Thy two breasts are like two youngroes. Thy neck is as a tower of ivory. The hair of thinehead like purple; the king is held in the galleries. How fairand how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!”

She interrupted him, her voice high and a little shrill: “Omystical rose, O lily most admirable, O wondrous union;O St. Anna, Mother Immaculate, Demeter, Mother Beneficent,Lakshmi, Mother Most Shining; behold, I am his andhe is yours and ye are mine!”

As he read on, his voice rose like a triumphant priest’s:

“I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of theboughs thereof—”

That verse he never finished, for she swayed sideways asshe knelt before the altar, and sank into his arms, her lipsparted.

IV

They sat on the hilltop, looking down on noon in the valley,sleepily talking till he roused with: “Why won’t you marryme?”

“No. Not for years, anyway. I’m too old—thirty-two toyour—what is it, twenty-eight or-nine? And I must be freefor the service of Our Lord.... You do know I mean that?I am really consecrated, no matter what I may seem to do!”

“Sweet, of course I do! Oh, yes.”

“But not marry. It’s good at times to be just human, butmostly I have to live like a saint.... Besides, I do thinkmen converts come in better if they know I’m not married.”

“Damn it, listen! Do you love me a little?”

“Yes. A little! Oh, I’m as fond of you as I can be of anyone except Katie Jonas. Dear child!”

She dropped her head on his shoulder, casually now, in thebee-thrumming orchard aisle, and his arm tightened.

That evening they sang gospel hymns together, to the edificationof the Old Family Servants, who began to call him Doctor.

I

not till December did Sharon Falconer take Elmer on asassistant.

When she discharged Cecil Aylston, he said, in a small coldvoice, “This is the last time, my dear prophet and peddler, thatI shall ever try to be decent.” But it is known that for severalmonths he tried to conduct a rescue mission in Buffalo, and ifhe was examined for insanity, it was because he was seen to sitfor hours staring. He was killed in a gambling den in Juarez,and when she heard of it Sharon was very sorry—she spoke ofgoing to fetch his body, but she was too busy with holy work.

Elmer joined her at the beginning of the meetings in CedarRapids, Iowa. He opened the meetings for her, made announcements,offered prayer, preached when she was too weary,and led the singing when Adelbert Shoop, the musical director,was indisposed. He developed a dozen sound sermons out ofencyclopedias of exegesis, handbooks for evangelists, and manualsof sermon outlines. He had a powerful discourse, usedin the For Men Only service, on the strength and joy of completechastity; he told how Jim Leffingwell saw the folly ofpleasure at the death-bed of his daughter; and he had an upliftingaddress, suitable to all occasions, on Love as the Morningand the Evening Star.

He helped Sharon where Cecil had held her back—or so shesaid. While she kept her vocabulary of poetic terms, Elmerencouraged her in just the soap-box denunciation of sin whichhad made Cecil shudder. Also he spoke of Cecil as “Osric,”which she found very funny indeed, and as “Percy,” and“Algernon.” He urged her to tackle the biggest towns, themost polite or rowdy audiences, and to advertise herself not inthe wet-kitten high-church phrases approved by Cecil but in amanner befitting a circus, an Elks’ convention, or a newmessiah.

Under Elmer’s urging she ventured for the first time intothe larger cities. She descended on Minneapolis and, with thesupport only of such sects as the Full Gospel Assembly, theNazarenes, the Church of God, and the Wesleyan Methodists,she risked her savings in hiring an armory and inserting two-columnsix-inch advertisem*nts of herself.

Minneapolis was quite as enlivened as smaller places bySharon’s voice and eyes, by her Grecian robes, by her gold-and-whitepyramidal altar, and the profits were gratifying. Thereaftershe sandwiched Indianapolis, Rochester, Atlanta, Seattle,the two Portlands, Pittsburgh, in between smaller cities.

For two years life was a whirlwind to Elmer Gantry.

It was so frantic that he could never remember which townwas which. Everything was a blur of hot sermons, writhingconverts, appeals for contributions, trains, denunciation oflazy personal workers, denunciations of Adelbert Shoop forgetting drunk, firing of Adelbert Shoop, taking back of AdelbertShoop when no other tenor so unctuously pious was to befound.

Of one duty he was never weary: of standing around andbeing impressive and very male for the benefit of lady seekers.How tenderly he would take their hands and moan, “Won’t youhear the dear Savior’s voice calling, Sister?” and all of them,spinsters with pathetic dried girlishness, misunderstood wives,held fast to his hand and were added to the carefully kepttotal of saved souls. Sharon saw to it that he dressed thepart—double-breasted dark blue with a dashing tie in winter,and in summer white suits with white shoes.

But however loudly the skirts rustled about him, so greatwas Sharon’s intimidating charm that he was true to her.

If he was a dervish figure those two years, she was a shootingstar; inspired in her preaching, passionate with him, thena naughty child who laughed and refused to be serious evenat the sermon hour; gallantly generous, then a tight-fistedvirago squabbling over ten cents for stamps. Always, in everyhigh-colored mood, she was his religion and his reason for being.

II

When she attacked the larger towns and asked for the supportof the richer churches, Sharon had to create several newmethods in the trade of evangelism. The churches were suspiciousof women evangelists—women might do very well invisiting the sick, knitting for the heathen, and giving strawberryfestivals, but they couldn’t shout loud enough to scarethe devil out of sinners. Indeed all evangelists, men andwomen, were under attack. Sound churchmen here and therewere asking whether there was any peculiar spiritual value infrightening people into groveling maniacs. They were publishingstatistics which asserted that not ten per cent. of theconverts at emotional revival meetings remained church-members.They were even so commercial as to inquire why apastor with a salary of two thousand dollars a year—when hegot it—should agonize over helping an evangelist to make tenthousand, forty thousand.

All these doubters had to be answered. Elmer persuadedSharon to discharge her former advance-agent—he had beena minister and contributor to the religious press, till the unfortunateaffair of the oil stock—and hire a real press-agent,trained in newspaper work, circus advertising, and real estatepromoting. It was Elmer and the press-agent who worked upthe new technique of risky but impressive defiance.

Where the former advance-man had begged the ministers andwealthy laymen of a town to which Sharon wanted to be invitedto appreciate her spirituality, and had sat nervously abouthotels, the new salesman of salvation was brusque:

“I can’t waste my time and the Lord’s time waiting for youpeople to make up your minds. Sister Falconer is especiallyinterested in this city because she has been informed that thereis a subterranean quickening here such as would simplyjam your churches, with a grand new outpouring of thespirit, provided some real expert like her came to set the fusealight. But there are so many other towns begging for herservices that if you can’t make up your minds immediately,we’ll have to accept their appeals and pass you up. Sorry.Can only wait till midnight. Tonight. Reserved my Pullmanalready.”

There were ever so many ecclesiastical bodies who answeredthat they didn’t see why he waited even till midnight, but ifthey were thus intimidated into signing the contract (an excellentcontract, drawn up by a devout Christian Scientistlawyer named Finkelstein) they were the more prepared to givespiritual and financial support to Sharon’s labors when she didarrive.

The new press-agent was finally so impressed by the beautiesof evangelism, as contrasted with his former circuses and realestate, that he was himself converted, and sometimes when hewas in town with the troupe, he sang in the choir and spoketo Y. M. C. A. classes in journalism. But even Elmer’s argumentscould never get him to give up a sturdy, plodding devotionto poker.

III

The contract signed, the advance-man remembered his formernewspaper labors, and for a few days became touchinglyfriendly with all the reporters in town. There were late partiesat his hotel; there was much sending of bell-boys for morebottles of Wilson and White Horse and Green River. Thepress-agent admitted that he really did think that Miss Falconerwas the greatest woman since Sarah Bernhardt, and helet the boys have stories, guaranteed held exclusive, of herbeauty, the glories of her family, her miraculous power offetching sinners or rain by prayer, and the rather vaguelydated time when, as a young girl, she had been recognized byDwight Moody as his successor.

South of the Mason and Dixon line her grandfather wasmerely Mr. Falconer, a bellicose and pious man, but farenough north he was General Falconer of Ole Virginny—preferablyspelled that way—who had been the adviser and solaceof General Robert E. Lee. The press-agent also wrote theposters for the Ministerial Alliance, giving Satan a generouswarning as to what was to happen to him.

So when Sharon and the troupe arrived, the newspaperswere eager, the walls and shop-windows were scarlet withplacards, and the town was breathless. Sometimes a thousandpeople gathered at the station for her arrival.

There were always a few infidels, particularly among thereporters, who had doubted her talents, but when they saw herin the train vestibule, in a long white coat, when she had stoodthere a second with her eyes closed, lost in prayer for this newcommunity, when slowly she held out her white nervous handsin greeting—then the advance-agent’s work was two-thirdsdone here and he could go on to whiten new fields for theharvest.

But there was still plenty of discussion before Sharon wasrid of the forces of selfishness and able to get down to the jobof spreading light.

Local committees were always stubborn, local committeeswere always jealous, local committees were always lazy, andlocal committees were always told these facts, with vigor. Theheart of the arguments was money.

Sharon was one of the first evangelists to depend for all herprofit not on a share of the contributions nor on a weeklyoffering but on one night devoted entirely to a voluntary“thank offering” for her and her crew alone. It sounded unselfishand it brought in more; every devotee saved up forthat occasion; and it proved easier to get one fifty-dollar donationthan a dozen of a dollar each. But to work up this loneoffering to suitably thankful proportions, a great deal of lovingand efficient preparation was needed—reminders given bythe chief pastors, bankers, and other holy persons of the town,the distribution of envelopes over which devotees were supposedto brood for the whole six weeks of the meetings, and innumerablenewspaper paragraphs about the self-sacrifice andheavy expenses of the evangelists.

It was over these innocent necessary precautions that thelocal committees always showed their meanness. They likedgiving over only one contribution to the evangelist, but theywanted nothing said about it till they themselves had beentaken care of—till the rent of the hall or the cost of buildinga tabernacle, the heat, the lights, the advertising, and otherexpenses had been paid.

Sharon would meet the committee—a score of clergymen, ascore of their most respectable deacons, a few angular SundaySchool superintendents, a few disapproving wives—in a churchparlor, and for the occasion she always wore the gray suit andan air of metropolitan firmness, and swung a pair of pince-nezwith lenses made of window-glass. While in familiar wordsthe local chairman was explaining to her that their expenseswere heavy, she would smile as though she knew somethingthey could not guess, then let fly at them breathlessly:

“I’m afraid there is some error here! I wonder if you arequite in the mood to forget all material things and really throwyourselves into the self-abnegating glory of a hot campaign forsouls? I know all you have to say—as a matter of fact, you’veforgotten to mention your expenses for watchmen, extra hymnbooks, and hiring camp-chairs!

“But you haven’t the experience to appreciate my expenses!I have to maintain almost as great a staff—not only workersand musicians but all my other representatives, whom younever see—as though I had a factory. Besides them, I havemy charities. There is, for example, the Old Ladies’ Home,which I keep up entirely—oh, I shan’t say anything about it,but if you could see those poor aged women turning to me withsuch anxious faces—!”

(Where that Old Ladies’ Home was, Elmer never learned.)

“We come here without any guarantee; we depend whollyupon the free-will offering of the last day; and I’m afraidyou’re going to stress the local expenses so that people will notfeel like giving on the last day even enough to pay the salariesof my assistants. I’m taking—if it were not that I abominatethe pitiful and character-destroying vice of gambling, I’d saythat I’m taking such a terrible gamble that it frightens me!But there it is, and—”

While she was talking, Sharon was sizing up this new assortmentof clergy: the cranks, the testy male old maids, the advertisingand pushing demagogues, the commonplace pulpit-job-holders,the straddling young liberals; the real mystics, thekindly fathers of their flocks, the lovers of righteousness. Shehad picked out as her advocate the most sympathetic, and shelaunched her peroration straight at him:

“Do you want to ruin me, so that never again shall I be ableto carry the message, to carry salvation, to the desperate soulswho are everywhere waiting for me, crying for my help? Isthat your purpose—you, the elect, the people chosen to help mein the service of the dear Lord Jesus himself? Is that yourpurpose? Is it? Is it?”

She began sobbing, which was Elmer’s cue to jump up andhave a wonderful new idea.

He knew, did Elmer, that the dear brethren and sisters hadno such purpose. They just wanted to be practical. Well,why wouldn’t it be a good notion for the committee to go tothe well-to-do church-members and explain the unparalleledsituation; tell them that this was the Lord’s work, and thataside from the unquestioned spiritual benefits, the revival woulddo so much good that crime would cease, and taxes thus belessened; that workmen would turn from agitation to higherthings, and work more loyally at the same wages. If theygot enough pledges from the rich for current expenses, thoseexpenses would not have to be stressed at the meetings, andpeople could properly be coaxed to save up for the final“thank offering”; not have to be nagged to give more thansmall coins at the nightly collections.

There were other annoyances to discuss with the local committee.Why, Elmer would demand, hadn’t they providedenough dressing-rooms in the tabernacle? Sister Falconerneeded privacy. Sometimes just before the meeting she andhe had to have important conferences. Why hadn’t they providedmore volunteer ushers? He must have them at once, totrain them, for it was the ushers, when properly coached, whowould ease struggling souls up to the altar for the skilledfinishing touches by the experts.

Had they planned to invite big delegations from the localinstitutions—from Smith Brothers’ Catsup Factory, from thecar-shops, from the packing house? Oh, yes, they must planto stir up these institutions; an evening would be dedicatedto each of them, the representatives would be seated together,and they’d have such a happy time singing their favoritehymns.

By this time, a little dazed, the local committee were grantingeverything; and they looked almost convinced when Sharonwound up with a glad ringing:

“All of you must look forward, and joyfully, to a sacrificeof time and money in these meetings. We have come here ata great sacrifice, and we are here only to help you.”

IV

The afternoon and evening sermons—those were the highpoints of the meetings, when Sharon cried in a loud voice, herarms out to them, “Surely the Lord is in this place and I knewit not,” and “All our righteousness is as filthy rags,” and “Wehave sinned and come short of the glory of God,” and “Oh, forthe man to arise in me, that the man I am may cease to be,”and “Get right with God,” and “I am not ashamed of the gospelof Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation.”

But before even these guaranteed appeals could reach wickedhearts, the audience had to be prepared for emotion, and toaccomplish this there was as much labor behind Sharon’seloquence as there is of wardrobes and scene-shifters and boxoffices behind the frenzy of Lady Macbeth. Of this preparationElmer had a great part.

He took charge, as soon as she had trained him, of the menpersonal workers, leaving the girls to the Director of PersonalWork, a young woman who liked dancing and glass jewelrybut who was admirable at listening to the confessions of spinsters.His workers were bank-tellers, bookkeepers in wholesalegroceries, shoe clerks, teachers of manual training. They canvassedshops, wholesale warehouses, and factories, and heldnoon meetings in offices, where they explained that the mostproficient use of shorthand did not save one from the probabilityof hell. For Elmer explained that prospects were morelikely to be converted if they came to the meetings with a fairamount of fear.

When they were permitted, the workers were to go fromdesk to desk, talking to each victim about the secret sins hewas comfortably certain to have. And both men and womenworkers were to visit the humbler homes and offer to kneel andpray with the floury and embarrassed wife, the pipe-wreathedand shoeless husband.

All the statistics of the personal work—so many souls invitedto come to the altar, so many addresses to workmen overtheir lunch-pails, so many cottage prayers, with the length ofeach—were rather imaginatively entered by Elmer and theDirector of Personal Work on the balance-sheet which Sharonused as a report after the meetings and as a talking-point forthe sale of future meetings.

Elmer met daily with Adelbert Shoop, that yearning and innocenttenor who was in charge of music, to select hymns.There were times when the audiences had to be lulled intoconfidence by “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling,” timeswhen they were made to feel brotherly and rustic with “It’sthe Old-time Religion”—

and times when they had to be stirred by “At the Cross” or“Onward, Christian Soldiers.” Adelbert had ideas about whathe called “worship by melody,” but Elmer saw that the realpurpose of singing was to lead the audience to a state of mindwhere they would do as they were told.

He learned to pick out letters on the typewriter with twofingers, and he answered Sharon’s mail—all of it that shelet him see. He kept books for her, in a ragged sufficient manner,on check-book stubs. He wrote the nightly story of hersermons, which the newspapers cut down and tucked in amongstories of remarkable conversions. He talked to local church-pillarsso rich and moral that their own pastors were afraidof them. And he invented an aid to salvation which to thisday is used in the more evangelistic meetings, though it iscredited to Adelbert Shoop.

Adelbert was up to most of the current diversions. Heurged the men and the women to sing against each other. Atthe tense moment when Sharon was calling for converts, Adelbertwould skip down the aisle, fat but nimble, pink withcoy smiles, tapping people on the shoulder, singing the chorus ofa song right among them, and often returning with three orfour prisoners of the sword of the Lord, flapping his plumparms and caroling “They’re coming—they’re coming,” whichsomehow started a stampede to the altar.

Adelbert was, in his girlish enthusiasm, almost as good asSharon or Elmer at announcing, “Tonight, you are all of youto be evangelists. Every one of you now! Shake hands withthe person to your right and ask ’em if they’re saved.”

He gloated over their embarrassment.

He really was a man of parts. Nevertheless, it was Elmer,not Adelbert, who invented the “Hallelujah Yell.”

Remembering his college cheers, remembering how greatlyit had encouraged him in kneeing the opposing tackle or jabbingthe rival center’s knee, Elmer observed to himself, “Whyshouldn’t we have yells in this game, too?”

He himself wrote the first one known in history.

That was a thing to hear, when Elmer led them; when hedanced before them, swinging his big arms and bellowing,“Now again! Two yards to gain! Two yards for the Savior!Come on, boys and girls, it’s our team! Going to let ’emdown? Not on your life! Come on then, you chipmunks, andlemme hear you knock the ole roof off! Hal, hal, hal!”

Many a hesitating boy, a little sickened by the intensebrooding femininity of Sharon’s appeal, was thus brought upto the platform to shake hands with Elmer and learn the benefitsof religion.

V

The gospel crew could never consider their converts ashuman beings, like waiters or manicurists or brakemen, butthey had in them such a professional interest as surgeons takein patients, critics in an author, fishermen in trout.

They were obsessed by the gaffer in Terre Haute who gotconverted every single night during the meetings. He mayhave been insane and he may have been a plain drunk, butevery evening he came in looking adenoidal and thoroughlybackslidden; every evening he slowly woke to his higher needsduring the sermon; and when the call for converts came, heleaped up, shouted “Hallelujah, I’ve found it!” and gallopedforward, elbowing real and valuable prospects out of the aisle.The crew waited for him as campers for a mosquito.

In Scranton, they had unusually exasperating patients.Scranton had been saved by a number of other evangelists beforetheir arrival, and had become almost anesthetic. Tennights they sweated over the audience without a single sinnercoming forward, and Elmer had to go out and hire half adozen convincing converts.

He found them in a mission near the river, and explainedthat by giving a good example to the slothful, they would bedoing the work of God, and that if the example was goodenough, he would give them five dollars apiece. The missionerhimself came in during the conference and offered to get convertedfor ten, but he was so well known that Elmer had togive him the ten to stay away.

His gang of converts was very impressive, but thereafter nomember of the evangelistic troupe was safe. The professionalChristians besieged the tent night and day. They wanted to besaved again. When they were refused, they offered to producenew converts at five dollars apiece—three dollars apiece—fiftycents and a square meal. By this time enough authentic andfree enthusiasts were appearing, and though they were fervent,they did not relish being saved in company with hoboes whosmelled. When the half-dozen cappers were thrown out, bodily,by Elmer and Art Nichols, they took to coming to the meetingsand catcalling, so that for the rest of the series they had to bepaid a dollar a night each to stay away.

No, Elmer could not consider the converts human. Sometimeswhen he was out in the audience, playing the bullyinghero that Judson Roberts had once played with him, he lookedup at the platform, where a row of men under conviction kneltwith their arms on chairs and their broad butts toward thecrowd, and he wanted to snicker and wield a small plank. Butfive minutes after he would be up there, kneeling with a sewing-machineagent with the day-after shakes, his arm roundthe client’s shoulder, pleading in the tones of a mother cow,“Can’t you surrender to Christ, Brother? Don’t you want togive up all the dreadful habits that are ruining you—keepingyou back from success? Listen! God’ll help you make good!And when you’re lonely, old man, remember he’s there, waitingto talk to you!”

VI

They generally, before the end of the meetings, worked upgratifying feeling. Often young women knelt panting, theireyes blank, their lips wide with ecstasy. Sometimes, whenSharon was particularly fired, they actually had the phenomenaof the great revivals of 1800. People twitched and jumpedwith the holy jerks, old people under pentecostal inspirationspoke in unknown tongues—completely unknown; womenstretched out senseless, their tongues dripping; and once occurredwhat connoisseurs regard as the highest example ofreligious inspiration. Four men and two women crawled abouta pillar, barking like dogs, “barking the devil out of the tree.”

Sharon relished these miracles. They showed her talent;they were sound manifestations of Divine Power. But sometimesthey got the meetings a bad name, and cynics prostratedher by talking of “Holy Rollers.” Because of this maliciousnessand because of the excitement which she found in meetingsso favored by the Holy Ghost, Elmer had particularly to comforther after them.

VII

All the members of the evangelistic crew planned effects tothrow a brighter limelight on Sharon. There was feverish discussionsof her costumes. Adelbert had planned the girdledwhite robe in which she appeared as priestess, and he wantedher to wear it always. “You are so queeeeenly,” he whimpered.But Elmer insisted on changes, on keeping the robe for crucialmeetings, and Sharon went out for embroidered golden velvetfrocks and, at meetings for business women, smart white flannelsuits.

They assisted her also in the preparation of new sermons.

Her “message” was delivered under a hypnotism of emotion,without connection with her actual life. Now Portia, nowOphelia, now Francesca, she drew men to her, did with themas she would. Or again she saw herself as veritably the scourgeof God. But however richly she could pour out passion, howeverflamingly she used the most exotic words and the mostcomplex sentiments when some one had taught them to her,it was impossible for her to originate any sentiment more profoundthan “I’m unhappy.”

She read nothing, after Cecil Aylston’s going, but the Bibleand the advertisem*nts of rival evangelists in the bulletin ofthe Moody Bible Institute.

Lacking Cecil, it was a desperate and coöperative affairto furnish Sharon with fresh sermons as she grew tired ofacting the old ones. Adelbert Shoop provided the poetry. Hewas fond of poetry. He read Ella Wheeler Wilcox, JamesWhitcomb Riley, and Thomas Moore. He was also a studentof philosophy: he could understand Ralph Waldo Trine perfectly,and he furnished for Sharon’s sermons both the coupletsabout Home and Little Ones, and the philosophical points aboutwill-power, Thoughts are Things, and Love is Beauty, Beautyis Love, Love is All.

The lady Director of Personal Work had unexpected talentin making up anecdotes about the death-beds of drunkards andagnostics; Lily Anderson, the pretty though anemic pianist,had once been a school-teacher and had read a couple of booksabout scientists, so she was able to furnish data with whichSharon absolutely confuted the rising fad of evolution; andArt Nichols, the cornetist, provided rude but moral Mainehumor, stories about horse-trading, cabbages, and hard cider,very handy for cajoling skeptical business men. But Elmer,being trained theologically, had to weave all the elements—dogma,poetry to the effect that God’s palette held the sunsetsor ever the world began, confessions of the dismally damned,and stories of Maine barn-dances—into one ringing whole.

And meanwhile, besides the Reverend Sister Falconer andthe Reverend Mr. Gantry, thus coöperative, there were Sharonand Elmer and a crew of quite human people with grievances,traveling together, living together, not always in a state ofhappy innocence.

I

sedate as a long married couple, intimate and secure, wereElmer and Sharon on most days, and always he was devoted.It was Sharon who was incalculable. Sometimes she was apriestess and a looming disaster, sometimes she was intimidatingin grasping passion, sometimes she was thin and writhingand anguished with chagrined doubt of herself, sometimes shewas pale and nun-like and still, sometimes she was a chillybusiness woman, and sometimes she was a little girl. In thelast, quite authentic rôle, Elmer loved her fondly—except whenshe assumed it just as she was due to go out and hypnotizethree thousand people.

He would beg her, “Oh, come on now, Shara, please begood! Please stop pouting, and go out and lambaste ’em.”

She would stamp her foot, while her face changed to a roundchildishness. “No! Don’t want to evangel. Want to bebad. Bad! Want to throw things. Want to go out andspank a bald man on the head. Tired of souls. Want to tell’em all to go to hell!”

“Oh, gee, please, Shara! Gosh all fishhooks! They’rewaiting for you! Adelbert has sung that verse twice now.”

“I don’t care! Sing it again! Sing songs, losh songs! Goingto be bad! Going out and drop mice down Adelbert’s fatneck—fat neck—fat hooooooly neck!”

But suddenly: “I wish I could. I wish they’d let me bebad. Oh, I get so tired—all of them reaching for me, suckingmy blood, wanting me to give them the courage they’re tooflabby to get for themselves!”

And a minute later she was standing before the audience,rejoicing, “Oh, my beloved, the dear Lord has a message foryou tonight!”

And in two hours, as they rode in a taxi to the hotel, shewas sobbing on his breast: “Hold me close! I’m so lonely andafraid and cold.”

II

Among his various relations to her, Elmer was Sharon’s employee.And he resented the fact that she was making fivetimes more than he of that money for which he had a reverentadmiration.

When they had first made plans, she had suggested:

“Dear, if it all works out properly, in three or four years Iwant you to share the offerings with me. But first I must savea lot. I’ve got some vague plans to build a big center for ourwork, maybe with a magazine and a training-school for evangelists.When that’s paid for, you and I can make an agreement.But just now——How much have you been making asa traveling man?”

“Oh, about three hundred a month—about thirty-five hundreda year.” He was really fond of her; he was lying to theextent of only five hundred.

“Then I’ll start you in at thirty-eight hundred, and in fouror five years I hope it’ll be ten thousand, and maybe twiceas much.”

And she never, month after month, discussed salary again.It irritated him. He knew that she was making more thantwenty thousand a year, and that before long she would probablymake fifty thousand. But he loved her so completelythat he scarce thought of it oftener than three or four timesa month.

III

Sharon continued to house her troupe in hotels, for independence.But an unfortunate misunderstanding came up.Elmer had stayed late in her room, engaged in a business conference,so late that he accidentally fell asleep across the footof her bed. So tired were they both that neither of themawoke till nine in the morning, when they were aroused byAdelbert Shoop knocking and innocently skipping in.

Sharon raised her head, to see Adelbert giggling.

“How dare you come into my room without knocking, yousausage!” she raged. “Have you no sense of modesty ordecency? Beat it! Potato!”

When Adelbert had gone simpering out, cheeping, “Honest,I won’t say anything,” then Elmer fretted, “Golly, do you thinkhe’ll blackmail us?”

“Oh, no, Adelbert adores me. Us girls must stick together.But it does bother me. Suppose it’d been some other guestof the hotel! People misunderstand and criticize so. Tell youwhat let’s do. Hereafter, in each town, let’s hire a big house,furnished, for the whole crew. Still be independent, but nobodyaround to talk about us. And prob’ly we can get a dandyhouse quite cheap from some church-member. That would belovely! When we get sick of working so hard all the time, wecould have a party just for ourselves, and have a dance. Ilove to dance. Oh, of course I roast dancing in my sermons,but I mean—when it’s with people like us, that understand,it’s not like with worldly people, where it would lead to evil.A party! Though Art Nichols would get drunk. Oh, lethim! He works so hard. Now you skip. Wait! Aren’t yougoing to kiss me good morning?”

They made sure of Adelbert’s loyalty by flattering him, andthe press-agent had orders to find a spacious furnished house inthe city to which they were going next.

IV

The renting of furnished houses for the Falconer EvangelisticParty was a ripe cause for new quarrels with local committees,particularly after the party had left town.

There were protests by the infuriated owners that the sacredworkers must have been, as one deacon-undertaker put it,“simply raising the very devil.” He asserted that the furniturehad been burned with cigarette stubs, that whisky had beenspilled on rugs, that chairs had been broken. He claimeddamages from the local committee; the local committee sentthe claims on to Sharon; there was a deal of fervent correspondence;and the claims were never paid.

Though usually it did not come out till the series of meetingswas finished, so that there was no interference with savingthe world, these arguments about the private affairs of theevangelistic crew started most regrettable rumors. The ungodlyemitted loud scoffings. Sweet repressed old maids wonderedand wondered what might really have happened, andspeculated together in delightful horror as to whether—uh—therecould have been anything—uh—worse than drinkinggoing on.

But always a majority of the faithful argued logically thatSister Falconer and Brother Gantry were righteous, thereforethey could not do anything unrighteous, therefore the rumorswere inspired by the devil and spread by saloon-keepers andinfidels, and in face of this persecution of the godly, the adherentswere the more lyric in support of the Falconer Party.

Elmer learned from the discussions of damages a pleasantway of reducing expenses. At the end of their stay, theysimply did not pay the rent for their house. They informed thelocal committee, after they had gone, that the committee hadpromised to provide living quarters, and that was all therewas to it.... There was a lot of correspondence.

V

One of Sharon’s chief troubles was getting her crew to bed.Like most actors, they were high-strung after the show. Someof them were too nervous to sleep till they had read the SaturdayEvening Post; others never could eat till after the meetings,and till one o’clock they fried eggs and scrambled eggs andburnt toast and quarreled over the dish-washing. Despitetheir enlightened public stand against the Demon Rum, some ofthe performers had to brace up their nerves with an occasionalquart of whisky, and there was dancing and assorted glee.

Though sometimes she exploded all over them, usuallySharon was amiably blind, and she had too many conferenceswith Elmer to give much heed to the parties.

Lily Anderson, the pale pianist, protested. They ought all,she said, to go to bed early so they could be up early. Theyought, she said, to go oftener to the cottage prayer meetings.The others insisted that this was too much to expect of peopleexhausted by their daily three hours of work, but she remindedthem that they were doing the work of the Lord, and theyought to be willing to wear themselves out in such service.They were, said they; but not tonight.

After days when Art Nichols, the cornetist, and AdolphKlebs, the violinist, had such heads at ten in the morning thatthey had to take pick-me-ups, would come days when all ofthem, even Art and Adolph, were hysterically religious; whenquite privately they prayed and repented and raised theirvoices in ululating quavers of divine rapture, till Sharon saidfuriously that she didn’t know whether she preferred to bewaked up by hell-raising or hallelujahs. Yet once she boughta traveling phonograph for them, and many records, half hecticdances and half hymns.

VI

Though her presence nearly took away his need of otherstimulants, of tobacco and alcohol and most of his cursing, itwas a year before Elmer was altogether secure from the thoughtof them. But gradually he saw himself certain of futurepower and applause as a clergyman. His ambition becamemore important than the titillation of alcohol, and he felt veryvirtuous and pleased.

Those were big days, rejoicing days, sunny days. He hadeverything: his girl, his work, his fame, his power over people.When they held meetings in Topeka, his mother came fromParis to hear them, and as she watched her son addressing twothousand people, all the heavy graveyard doubts which hadrotted her after his exit from Mizpah Seminary vanished.

He felt now that he belonged. The gospel crew had acceptedhim as their assistant foreman, as bolder and stronger andtrickier than any save Sharon, and they followed him likefamily dogs. He imagined a day when he would marrySharon, supersede her as leader—letting her preach now andthen as a feature—and become one of the great evangelists ofthe land. He belonged. When he encountered fellow evangelists,no matter how celebrated, he was pleased but not awed.

Didn’t Sharon and he meet no less an evangelist than Dr.Howard Banco*ck Binch, the great Baptist defender of theliteral interpretation of the Bible, president of the True GospelTraining School for Religious Workers, editor of The Keeperof the Vineyard, and author of “Fool Errors of So-CalledScience”? Didn’t Dr. Binch treat Elmer like a son?

Dr. Binch happened to be in Joliet, on his way to receivehis sixth D. D. degree (from Abner College) during Sharon’smeetings there. He lunched with Sharon and Elmer.

“Which hymns do you find the most effective when you makeyour appeal for converts, Dr. Binch?” asked Elmer.

“Well, I’ll tell you, Brother Gantry,” said the authority.“I think ‘Just as I Am’ and ‘Jesus, I Am Coming Home’ hit realfolksy hearts like nothing else.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t agree with you,” protested Sharon.“It seems to me—of course you have far more experience andtalent than I, Dr. Binch—”

“Not at all, my dear sister,” said Dr. Binch, with a leerwhich sickened Elmer with jealousy. “You are young, but allof us recognize your genius.”

“Thank you very much. But I mean: They’re not livelyenough. I feel we ought to use hymns with a swing to ’em,hymns that make you dance right up to the mourners’ bench.”

Dr. Binch stopped gulping his fried pork chops and held upa flabby, white, holy hand. “Oh, Sister Falconer, I hateto have you use the word ‘dance’ regarding an evangelisticmeeting! What is the dance? It is the gateway to hell!How many innocent girls have found in the dance-hall theallurement which leads to every nameless vice!”

Two minutes of information about dancing—given in thesame words that Sharon herself often used—and Dr. Binchwound up with a hearty: “So I beg of you not to speak of‘dancing to the mourners’ bench!’ ”

“I know, Dr. Binch, I know, but I mean in its sacred sense,as of David dancing before the Lord.”

“But I feel there was a different meaning to that. If youonly knew the original Hebrew—the word should not be translated‘danced’ but ‘was moved by the spirit.’ ”

“Really? I didn’t know that. I’ll use that.”

They all looked learned.

“What methods, Dr. Binch,” asked Elmer, “do you find themost successful in forcing people to come to the altar whenthey resist the Holy Ghost?”

“I always begin by asking those interested in being prayedfor to hold up their hands.”

“Oh, I believe in having them stand up if they want prayer.Once you get a fellow to his feet, it’s so much easier to coaxhim out into the aisle and down to the front. If he just holdsup his hand, he may pull it down before you can spot him.We’ve trained our ushers to jump right in the minute anybodygets up, and say ‘Now, Brother, won’t you come down frontand shake hands with Sister Falconer and make your stand forJesus?’ ”

“No,” said Dr. Binch, “my experience is that there are manytimid people who have to be led gradually. To ask them tostand up is too big a step. But actually, we’re probably bothright. My motto as a soul-saver, if I may venture to applysuch a lofty title to myself, is that one should use every methodthat, in the vernacular, will sell the goods.”

“I guess that’s right,” said Elmer. “Say, tell me, Dr.Binch, what do you do with converts after they come tothe altar?”

“I always try to have a separate room for ’em. That givesyou a real chance to deepen and richen their new experience.They can’t escape, if you close the door. And there’s no crowdto stare and embarrass them.”

“I can’t see that,” said Sharon. “I believe that if thepeople who come forward are making a stand for Christ, theyought to be willing to face the crowd. And it makes such animpression on the whole bunch of the unsaved to see a lot ofseekers at the mourners’ bench. You must admit, BrotherBinch—Dr. Binch, I should say—that lots of people who justcome to a revival for a good time are moved to convictionepidemically, by seeing others shaken.”

“No, I can’t agree that that’s so important as making adeeper impression on each convert, so that each goes out as anagent for you, as it were. But every one to his own methods.I mean so long as the Lord is with us and behind us.”

“Say, Dr. Binch,” said Elmer, “how do you count yourconverts? Some of the preachers in this last town accused usof lying about the number. On what basis do you countthem?”

“Why, I count every one (and we use a recording machine)that comes down to the front and shakes hands with me.What if some of them are merely old church-members warmedover? Isn’t it worth just as much to give new spiritual life tothose who’ve had it and lost it?”

“Of course it is. That’s what we think. And then we gotcriticized there in that fool town! We tried—that is, SisterFalconer here tried—a stunt that was new for us. We openedup on some of the worst dives and blind tigers by name. Weeven gave street numbers. The attack created a howling sensation;people just jammed in, hoping we’d attack other places.I believe that’s a good policy. We’re going to try it here nextweek. It puts the fear of God into the wicked, and slamsover the revival.”

“There’s danger in that sort of thing, though,” said Dr.Binch. “I don’t advise it. Trouble is, in such an attackyou’re liable to offend some of the leading church-members—thevery folks that contribute the most cash to a revival.They’re often the owners of buildings that get used by unscrupulouspersons for immoral purposes, and while they ofcourse regret such unfortunate use of their property, if youattack such places by name, you’re likely to lose their support.Why, you might lose thousands of dollars! It seems to mewiser and more Christian to just attack vice in general.”

“How much orchestra do you use, Dr. Binch?” askedSharon.

“All I can get hold of. I’m carrying a pianist, a violinist, adrummer, and a cornetist, besides my soloist.”

“But don’t you find some people objecting to fiddling?”

“Oh, yes, but I jolly ’em out of it by saying I don’t believein letting the devil monopolize all these art things,” said Dr.Binch. “Besides, I find that a good tune, sort of a nice,artistic, slow, sad one, puts folks into a mood where they’llcome across both with their hearts and their contributions. Bythe way, speaking of that, what luck have you folks had recentlyin raising money? And what method do you use?”

“It’s been pretty good with us—and I need a lot, becauseI’m supporting an orphanage,” said Sharon. “We’re stickingto the idea of the free-will offering the last day. We can getmore money than any town would be willing to guarantee beforehand.If the appeal for the free-will offering is made strongenough, we usually have pretty fair results.”

“Yes, I use the same method. But I don’t like the term‘free-will offering,’ or ‘thank offering.’ It’s been used so muchby merely second-rate evangelists, who, and I grieve to saythere are such people, put their own gain before the service ofthe Kingdom, that it’s got a commercial sound. In making myown appeal for contributions, I use ‘love offering.’ ”

“That’s worth thinking over, Dr. Binch,” sighed Sharon,“but, oh, how tragic it is that we, with our message of salvation—ifthe sad old world would but listen, we could solveall its sorrows and difficulties—yet with this message ready,we have to be practical and raise money for our expenses andcharities. Oh, the world doesn’t appreciate evangelists. Thinkwhat we can do for a resident minister! These preachers whotalk about conducting their own revivals make me sick! Theydon’t know the right technique. Conducting revivals is aprofession. One must know all the tricks. With all modesty,I figure that I know just what will bring in the converts.”

“I’m sure you do, Sister Falconer,” from Binch. “Say, doyou and Brother Gantry like union revivals?”

“You bet your life we do,” said Brother Gantry. “We won’tconduct a revival unless we can have the united support of allthe evangelical preachers in town.”

“I think you are mistaken, Brother Gantry,” said Dr. Binch.“I find that I have the most successful meetings with only afew churches, but all of them genuinely O. K. With all thepreachers joined together, you have to deal with a lot of thesetwo-by-four hick preachers with churches about the size ofwoodsheds and getting maybe eleven hundred a year, and yetthey think they have the right to make suggestions! No, sir!I want to do business with the big down-town preachers thatare used to doing things in a high-grade way and that don’tkick if you take a decent-sized offering out of town!”

“Yuh, there’s something to be said for that,” said Elmer.“That’s what the Happy Sing Evangelist—you know, BillButtle—said to us one time.”

“But I hope you don’t like Brother Buttle!” protested Dr.Binch.

“Oh, no! Anyway, I didn’t like him,” said Sharon, whichwas a wifely slap at Elmer.

Dr. Binch snorted, “He’s a scoundrel! There’s rumors abouthis wife’s leaving him. Why is it that in such a high callingas ours there are so many rascals? Take Dr. Mortonby!Calling himself a cover-to-cover literalist, and then his relationsto the young woman who sings for him—I would shockyou, Sister Falconer, if I told you what I suspect.”

“Oh, I know. I haven’t met him, but I hear dreadful things,”wailed Sharon. “And Wesley Zigler! They say he drinks!And an evangelist! Why, if any person connected with mewere so much as to take one drink, out he goes!”

“That’s right, that’s right. Isn’t it dreadful!” mournedDr. Binch. “And take this charlatan Edgar Edgars—thisobscene ex-gambler with his disgusting slang! Uh! Thehypocrite!”

Joyously they pointed out that this rival artist in evangelismwas an ignoramus, that a passer of bogus checks, the otherdoubtful about the doctrine of the premillennial coming; joyouslythey concluded that the only intelligent and moralevangelists in America were Dr. Binch, Sister Falconer, andBrother Gantry, and the lunch broke up in an orgy of thanksgiving.

“There’s the worst swell-head and four-flusher in America,that Binch, and he’s shaky on Jonah, and I’ve heard he chewstobacco—and then pretending to be so swell and citified. Becareful of him,” said Sharon to Elmer afterward, and, “Oh,my dear, my dear!”

I

it was not her eloquence but her healing of the sick whichraised Sharon to such eminence that she promised to becomethe most renowned evangelist in America. People were tiredof eloquence; and the whole evangelist business was limited,since even the most ardent were not likely to be saved morethan three or four times. But they could be healed constantly,and of the same disease.

Healing was later to become the chief feature of manyevangelists, but in 1910 it was advertised chiefly by ChristianScientists and the New Thoughters. Sharon came to it byaccident. She had regularly offered prayers for the sick, butonly absent-mindedly. When Elmer and she had been togetherfor a year, during her meetings in Schenectady a man led uphis deaf wife and begged Sharon to heal her. It amusedSharon to send out for some oil (it happened to be shotgunoil, but she properly consecrated it) to anoint the woman’sears, and to pray lustily for healing.

The woman screamed, “Glory to God, I’ve got my hearingback!”

There was a sensation in the tabernacle, and everybodyitched with desire to be relieved of whatever ailed him. Elmerled the healed deaf woman aside and asked her name for thenewspapers. It is true that she could not hear him, but hewrote out his questions, she wrote the answers, and he got anexcellent story for the papers and an idea for their holy work.

Why, he put it to Sharon, shouldn’t she make healing a regularfeature?

“I don’t know that I have any gift for it,” considered Sharon.

“Sure you have! Aren’t you psychic? You bet. Go toit. We might pull off some healing services. I bet the collectionswould bust all records, and we’ll have a distinct understandingwith the local committees that we get all over acertain amount, besides the collection the last day.”

“Well, we might try one. Of course, the Lord may haveblessed me with special gifts that way, and to him be all thecredit, oh, let’s stop in here and have an ice cream soda, Ilove banana splits, I hope nobody sees me, I feel like dancingtonight, anyway we’ll talk over the possibility of healing, I’mgoing to take a hot bath the minute we get home with loshbath salts—losh and losh and losh.”

The success was immense.

She alienated many evangelical pastors by divine healing,but she won all the readers of books about will-power, and herdaily miracles were reported in the newspapers. And, or so itwas reported, some of her patients remained cured.

She murmured to Elmer, “You know, maybe there really issomething to this healing, and I get an enormous thrill out ofit—telling the lame to chuck their crutches. That man lastnight, that cripple—he did feel lots better.”

They decorated the altar now with crutches and walking-sticks,all given by grateful patients—except such as Elmer hadbeen compelled to buy to make the exhibit inspiring from thestart.

Money gamboled in. One grateful patient gave Sharon fivethousand dollars. And Elmer and Sharon had their onlyquarrel, except for occasional spats of temperament. With theincrease in profits, he demanded a rise of salary, and she insistedthat her charities took all she had.

“Yuh, I’ve heard a lot about ’em,” said he: “the Old Ladies’Home and the orphanage and the hoosegow for retiredpreachers. I suppose you carry ’em along with you on theroad!”

“Do you mean to insinuate, my good friend, that I—”

They talked in a thoroughly spirited and domestic manner,and afterward she raised his salary to five thousand and kissedhim.

With the money so easily come by, Sharon burst out in hecticplans. She was going to buy a ten-thousand-acre farm for aChristian Socialist colony and a university, and she went so faras to get a three-months’ option on two hundred acres. Shewas going to have a great national daily paper, with crimenews, scandal, and athletics omitted, and a daily Bible lessonon the front page. She was going to organize a new crusade—anarmy of ten million which would march through heathencountries and convert the entire world to Christianity in thisgeneration.

She did, at last, actually carry out one plan, and create aheadquarters for her summer meetings.

At Clontar, a resort on the New Jersey coast, she boughtthe pier on which Benno Hackenschmidt used to give grandopera. Though the investment was so large that even for theinitial payment it took almost every penny she had saved,she calculated that she would make money because she wouldbe the absolute owner and not have to share contributions withlocal churches. And, remaining in one spot, she would buildup more prestige than by moving from place to place andhaving to advertise her virtues anew in every town.

In a gay frenzy she planned that if she was successful, shewould keep the Clontar pier for summer and build an all-wintertabernacle in New York or Chicago. She saw herselfanother Mary Baker Eddy, an Annie Besant, a KatherineTingley.... Elmer Gantry was shocked when she hinted that,who knows? the next Messiah might be a woman, and thatwoman might now be on earth, just realizing her divinity.

The pier was an immense structure, built of cheap knottypine, painted a hectic red with gold stripes. It was pleasant,however, on hot evenings. Round it ran a promenade outover the water, where once lovers had strolled between actsof the opera, and giving on the promenade were many barnlikedoors.

Sharon christened it “The Waters of Jordan Tabernacle,”added more and redder paint, more golden gold, and erected anenormous revolving cross, lighted at night with yellow andruby electric bulbs.

The whole gospel crew went to Clontar early in June tomake ready for the great opening on the evening of the first ofJuly.

They had to enlist volunteer ushers and personal workers,and Sharon and Adelbert Shoop had notions about a hugerobed choir, with three or four paid soloists.

Elmer had less zeal than usual in helping her, because anunfortunate thing had gone and happened to Elmer. He sawthat he really ought to be more friendly with Lily Anderson,the pianist. While he remained true to Sharon, he had cumulativelybeen feeling that it was sheer carelessness to let thepretty and anemic and virginal Lily be wasted. He had beendriven to notice her through indignation at Art Nichols, thecornetist, for having the same idea.

Elmer was fascinated by her unawakenedness. While he continuedto be devoted to Sharon, over her shoulder he was alwayslooking at Lily’s pale sweetness, and his lips were moist.

II

They sat on the beach by moonlight, Sharon and Elmer, thenight before the opening service.

All of Clontar, with its mile of comfortable summer villasand gingerbread hotels, was excited over the tabernacle, andthe Chamber of Commerce had announced, “We commend tothe whole Jersey coast this high-class spiritual feature, thelatest addition to the manifold attractions and points of interestat the snappiest of all summer colonies.”

A choir of two hundred had been coaxed in, and some ofthem had been persuaded to buy their own robes and mortarboards.

Near the sand dune against which Sharon and Elmer lolledwas the tabernacle, over which the electric cross turned solemnly,throwing its glare now on the rushing surf, now acrossthe bleak sand.

“And it’s mine!” Sharon trembled. “I’ve made it! Fourthousand seats, and I guess it’s the only Christian tabernaclebuilt out over the water! Elmer, it almost scares me! Somuch responsibility! Thousands of poor troubled souls turningto me for help, and if I fail them, if I’m weak or tired orgreedy, I’ll be murdering their very souls. I almost wish Iwere back safe in Virginia!”

Her enchanted voice wove itself with the menace of thebreakers, feeble against the crash of broken waters, passionatein the lull, while the great cross turned its unceasing light.

“And I’m ambitious, Elmer. I know it. I want the world.But I realize what an awful danger that is. But I never hadanybody to train me. I’m just nobody. I haven’t any family,any education. I’ve had to do everything for myself, exceptwhat Cecil and you and another man or two have done, andmaybe you-all came too late. When I was a kid, there wasno one to tell me what a sense of honor was. But——Oh, I’vedone things! Little Katie Jonas of Railroad Avenue—littleKatie with her red flannel skirt and torn stockings, fighting thewhole Killarney Street gang and giving Pup Monahan one inthe nose, by Jiminy! And not five cents a year, even forcandy. And now it’s mine, that tabernacle there—look atit!—that cross, that choir you hear practising! Why, I’m theSharon Falconer you read about! And tomorrow I become—oh,people reaching for me—me healing ’em—No! Itfrightens me! It can’t last. Make it last for me, Elmer!Don’t let them take it away from me!”

She was sobbing, her head on his lap, while he comfortedher clumsily. He was slightly bored. She was heavy, andthough he did like her, he wished she wouldn’t go on tellingthat Katie-Jonas-Utica story.

She rose to her knees, her arms out to him, her voice hystericagainst the background of the surf:

“I can’t do it! But you——I’m a woman. I’m weak. Iwonder if I oughtn’t to stop thinking I’m such a marvel, if Ioughtn’t to let you run things and just stand back and helpyou? Ought I?”

He was overwhelmed by her good sense, but he cleared histhroat and spoke judiciously:

“Well, now I’ll tell you. Personally I’d never’ve broughtit up, but since you speak of it yourself—I don’t admit for aminute that I’ve got any more executive ability or oratorythan you have—probably not half as much. And after all, youdid start the show; I came in late. But same time, while awoman can put things over just as good as a man, or better,for a while, she’s a woman, and she isn’t built to carry onthings like a man would, see how I mean?”

“Would it be better for the Kingdom if I forgot my ambitionand followed you?”

“Well, I don’t say it’d be better. You’ve certainly donefine, honey. I haven’t got any criticisms. But same time, Ido think we ought to think it over.”

She had remained still, a kneeling silver statue. Now shedropped her head against his knees, crying:

“I can’t give it up! I can’t! Must I?”

He was conscious that people were strolling near. Hegrowled, “Say, for goodness’ sake, Shara, don’t holler and carryon like that! Somebody might hear!”

She sprang up. “Oh, you fool! You fool!”

She fled from him, along the sands, through the rays of therevolving cross, into the shadow. He angrily rubbed his backagainst the sand dune and grumbled:

“Damn these women! All alike, even Shary; always gettingtemperamental on you about nothing at all! Still, I did kindof go off half co*cked, considering she was just beginning to getthe idea of letting me boss the show. Oh, hell, I’ll jolly herout of it!”

He took off his shoes, shook the sand out of them, andrubbed the sole of one stocking foot slowly, agreeably, for hewas conceiving a thought.

If Sharon was going to pull stuff like that on him, he oughtto teach her a lesson.

Choir practise was over. Why not go back to the houseand see what Lily Anderson was doing?

There was a nice kid, and she admired him—she’d neverdare bawl him out.

III

He tiptoed to Lily’s virgin door and tapped lightly.

“Yes?”

He dared not speak—Sharon’s door, in the bulky old housethey had taken in Clontar, was almost opposite. He tappedagain, and when Lily came to the door, in a kimono, hewhispered, “Shhh! Everybody asleep. May I come in justa second? Something important to ask you.”

Lily was wondering, but obviously she felt a pallid excitementas he followed her into the room, with its violet-broidereddoilies.

“Lily, I’ve been worrying. Do you think Adelbert oughtto have the choir start with ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God’tomorrow, or something a little snappier—get the crowd andthen shoot in something impressive.”

“Honest, Mr. Gantry, I don’t believe they could change theprogram now.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Sit down and tell me howthe choir practise went tonight. Bet it went swell, with youpounding the box!”

“Oh, now,” as she perched lightly on the edge of the bed,“you’re just teasing me, Mr. Gantry!”

He sat beside her, chuckling bravely, “And I can’t even getyou to call me Elmer!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Gantry! Miss Falconer wouldcall me down!”

“You just let me know if anybody ever dares try to call youdown, Lily! Why——I don’t know whether Sharon appreciatesit or not, but the way you spiel the music gives as muchpower to our meetings as her sermons or anything else.”

“Oh, no, you’re just flattering me, Mr. Gantry! Oh, say,I have a trade-last for you.”

“Well, I—oh, let’s see—oh, I remember: that Episcopalopianpreacher—the big handsome one—he said you ought to be onthe stage, you had so much talent.”

“Oh, go on, you’re kidding me, Mr. Gantry!”

“No, honest he did. Now, what’s mine? Though I’d ratherhave you say something nice about me!”

“Oh, now you’re fishing!”

“Sure I am—with such a lovely fish as you!”

“Oh, it’s terrible the way you talk.” Laughter—silverypeals—several peals. “But I mean, this grant opera soloistthat’s down for our opening says you look so strong that she’sscared of you.”

“Oh, she is, is she! Are you? ... Huh? ... Are you?... Tell me!” Somehow her hand was inside his, and hesqueezed it, while she looked away and blushed and at lastbreathed, “Yes, kind of.”

He almost embraced her, but—oh, it was a mistake to rushthings, and he went on in his professional tone:

“But to go back to Sharon and our labors: it’s all right tobe modest, but you ought to realize how enormously yourplaying adds to the spirituality of the meetings.”

“I’m so glad you think so, but, honest, to compare me toMiss Falconer for bringing souls to Christ—why she’s just themost wonderful person in the world.”

“That’s right. You bet she is.”

“Only I wish she felt like you do. I don’t really think shecares so much for my playing.”

“Well, she ought to! I’m not criticizing, you understand;she certainly is one of the greatest evangelists living; but justbetween you and I, she has one fault—she doesn’t appreciateany of us—she thinks it’s her that does the whole darn’ thing!As I say, I admire her, but, by golly, it does make me soresometimes to never have her appreciate your music—I meanthe way it ought to be appreciated—see how I mean?”

“Oh, that is so nice of you, but I don’t deserve—”

“But I’ve always appreciated it, don’t you think, Lily?”

“Oh, yes, indeed you have, and it’s been such an encouragement—”

“Oh, well, say, I’m just tickled to death to have you saythat, Lily.” A firmer pressure on her frail hand. “Do youlike to have me like your music?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But do you like to have me like you?”

“Oh, yes. Of course, we’re all working together—oh, likesister and brother—”

“Lily! Don’t you think we might ever be, uh, don’t youthink we could be just a little closer than sister and brother?”

“Oh, you’re just being mean! How could you ever like poorlittle me when you belong to Sharon?”

“What do you mean? Me belong to Sharon? Say! I admireher tremendously, but I’m absolutely free, you can betyour life on that, and just because I’ve always been kindashy of you—you have such a kinda flower-like beauty, youmight say, that no man, no, not the coarsest, would ever dareto ruffle it—and because I’ve stood back, sorta feeling like Iwas protecting you, maybe you think I haven’t appreciatedall your qualities!”

She swallowed.

“Oh, Lily, all I ask for is the chance now and then, wheneveryou’re down in the mouth—and all of us must feel likethat, unless we think we’re the whole cheese and absolutely ownthe gospel game!—whenever you feel that way, lemme have theprivilege of telling you how greatly one fellow appreciates theloveliness that you scatter along the road!”

“Do you really feel that way? Maybe I can play thepiano, but personally I’m nothing ... nothing.”

“It isn’t true, it isn’t true, dearest! Lily! It’s so like yourmodesty to not appreciate what sunshine you bring into thehearts of all of us, dear, and how we cherish—”

The door shot open. In the doorway stood Sharon Falconerin a black-and-gold dressing-gown.

“Both of you,” said Sharon, “are discharged. Fired. Now!Don’t ever let me see your faces again. You can stay tonight,but see to it that you’re out of the house before breakfast.”

“Oh, Miss Falconer—” Lily wailed, thrusting away Elmer’shand. But Sharon was gone, with a bang of the door. Theyrushed into the hall, they heard the key in her lock, and sheignored their rapping.

Lily glared at Elmer. He heard her key also, and he stoodalone in the hall.

IV

Not till one in the morning, sitting in flabby dejection, didhe have his story shaped and water-tight.

It was an heroic spectacle, that of the Reverend ElmerGantry climbing from the second-story balcony throughSharon’s window, tiptoeing across the room, plumping on hisknees by her bed, and giving her a large plashy kiss.

“I am not asleep,” she observed, in tones level as a steelrail, while she drew the comforter about her neck. “In factI’m awake for the first time in two years, my young friend.You can get out of here. I won’t tell you all I’ve been thinking,but among other things you’re an ungrateful dog that bitthe hand that took you out of the slimy gutter, you’re a liar,an ignoramus, a four-flusher, and a rotten preacher.”

“By God, I’ll show—”

But she giggled, and his plan of action came back to him.

He sat firmly on the edge of the bed, and calmly he remarked:

“Sharon, you’re a good deal of a damn fool. You thinkI’m going to deny flirting with Lily. I won’t take the troubleto deny it! If you don’t appreciate yourself, if you don’t seethat a man that’s ever associated with you simply couldn’tbe interested in any other woman, then there’s nothing I cansay. Why, my God, Shara, you know what you are! I couldno more be untrue to you than I could to my religion! As amatter of fact——Want to know what I was saying to Lily, toMiss Anderson?”

“I do not!”

“Well, you’re going to! As I came up the hall, her doorwas open, and she asked me to come in—she had something toask me. Well, seems the poor young woman was wondering ifher music was really up to your greatness—that’s what sheherself called it—especially now that the Jordan Tabernaclewill give you so much more power. She spoke of you as thegreatest spiritual force in the world, and she was wonderingwhether she was worthy—”

“Um. She did, eh? Well, she isn’t! And she can stayfired. And you, my fine young liar, if you ever so much aslook at another wench again, I’ll fire you for keeps....Oh, Elmer, how could you, beloved? When I’ve given youeverything! Oh, lie, lie, go on lying! Tell me a good stronglie that I’ll believe! And then kiss me!”

V

Banners, banners, banners lifting along the rafters, bannerson the walls of the tabernacle, banners moving to theair that sifted in from the restless sea. Night of the openingof Waters of Jordan Tabernacle, night of the beginning ofSharon’s crusade to conquer the world.

The town of Clontar and all the resorts near by felt herewas something they did not quite understand, something marvelousand by all means to be witnessed; and from up and downthe Jersey coast, by motor, by trolley, the religious had come.By the time the meeting began all of the four thousand seatswere filled, five hundred people were standing, and outsidewaited a throng hoping for miraculous entrance.

The interior of the pier was barnlike; the thin wooden wallswere shamelessly patched against the ravages of winter storms,but they were hectic with the flags of many nations, with immenseposters, blood-red on white, proclaiming that in themysterious blood of the Messiah was redemption from allsorrow, that in his love was refuge and safety. Sharon’s pretentiouswhite-and-gold pyramidal altar had been discarded.She was using the stage, draped with black velvet, againstwhich hung a huge crystal cross, and the seats for the choir oftwo hundred, behind a golden pulpit, were draped with white.

A white wooden cross stood by the pulpit.

It was a hot night, but through the doors along the pier thecool breeze filtered in, and the sound of waters, the sound ofwings, as the gulls were startled from their roosts. Every onefelt an exaltation in the place, a coming of marvels.

Before the meeting the gospel crew, back-stage, were excitedas a theatrical company on a first night. They rushed withgreat rapidity nowhere in particular, and tripped over eachother, and muttered, “Say—gee—gee—” To the last, AdelbertShoop was giving needless instructions to the newpianist, who had been summoned by telegraph from Philadelphia,vice Lily Anderson. She professed immense piety, butElmer noted that she was a pretty fluffy thing with a warmeye.

The choir was arriving along with the first of the audience.They filtered down the aisle, chattering, feeling important.Naturally, as the end of the pier gave on open water, therewas no stage entrance at the back. There was only onedoor, through which members of opera castes had been wontto go out to the small rear platform for fresh air between acts.The platform was not connected with the promenade.

It was to this door that Sharon led Elmer. Theirdressing-rooms were next to each other. She knocked—he hadbeen sitting with a Bible and an evening paper in his lap,reading one of them. He opened, to find her flaming withexultation, a joyous girl with a dressing-gown over her chemise.Seemingly she had forgotten her anger of the night.

She cried, “Come! See the stars!” Defying the astonishmentof the choir, who were filing into the chorus dressing-roomto assume their white robes, she led him to the door, outon the railed platform.

The black waves glittered with lights. There was spaciousnessand a windy peace upon the waters.

“Look! It’s so big! Not like the cities where we’ve beenshut up!” she exulted. “Stars, and the waves that come clearfrom Europe! Europe! Castles on a green shore! I’ve neverbeen. And I’m going! And there’ll be great crowds at theship to meet me, asking for my power! Look!” A shootingstar had left a scrawl of flame in the sky. “Elmer! It’s anomen for the glory that begins tonight! Oh, dearest, my dearest,don’t ever hurt me again!”

His kiss promised it, his heart almost promised it.

She was all human while they stood fronting the sea, buthalf an hour after, when she came out in a robe of white satinand silver lace, with a crimson cross on her breast, she wasprophetess only, and her white forehead was high, her eyeswere strange with dreaming.

Already the choir were chanting. They were starting withthe Doxology, and it gave Elmer a feeling of doubt. Surelythe Doxology was the end of things, not the beginning? Buthe looked impassive, the brooding priest, in frock coat andwhite bow tie, portly and funereal, as he moved magnificentlythrough the choir and held up his arms to command silencefor his prayer.

He told them of Sister Falconer and her message, of theirplans and desires at Clontar, and asked for a minute of silentprayer for the power of the Holy Ghost to descend upon thetabernacle. He stood back—his chair was up-stage, besidethe choir—as Sharon floated forward, not human, a goddess,tears thick in lovely eyes as she perceived the throng that hadcome to her.

“My dear ones, it is not I who bring you anything, but youwho in your faith bring me strength!” she said shakily. Thenher voice was strong again; she rose on the wave of drama.

“Just now, looking across the sea to the end of the world,I saw an omen for all of us—a fiery line written by the handof God—a glorious shooting star. Thus he apprized us of hiscoming, and bade us be ready. Oh, are you ready, are youready, will you be ready when the great day comes—”

The congregation was stirred by her lyric earnestness.

But outside there were less devout souls. Two workmen hadfinished polishing the varnished wooden pillars as the audiencebegan to come. They slipped outside, on the promenade alongthe pier, and sat on the rail, enjoying the coolness, slightlydiverted by hearing a sermon.

“Not a bad spieler, that woman. Puts it all over this guyReverend Golding up-town,” said one of the workmen, lightinga cigarette, keeping it concealed in his palm as he smoked.

The other tiptoed across the promenade to peer through thedoor, and returned mumbling, “Yuh, and a swell looker. Sametime though, tell you how I feel about it: woman’s all right inher place, but takes a real he-male to figure out this religionbusiness.”

“She’s pretty good though, at that,” yawned the first workman,snapping away his cigarette. “Say, let’s beat it. How’bout lil glass beer? We can go along this platform and getout at the front, I guess.”

“All right. You buying?”

The workmen moved away, dark figures between the seaand the doors that gave on the bright auditorium.

The discarded cigarette nestled against the oily rags whichthe workmen had dropped on the promenade, beside the flimsywalls of the tabernacle. A rag glowed round the edges, worm-like,then lit in circling flame.

Sharon was chanting: “What could be more beautiful thana tabernacle like this, set on the bosom of the rolling deep?Oh, think what the mighty tides have meant in Holy Writ!The face of the waters on which moved the spirit of AlmightyGod, when the earth was but a whirling and chaotic darkness!Jesus baptized in the sweet waters of Jordan! Jesus walkingthe waves—so could we today if we had but his faith! Odear God, strengthen thou our unbelief, give us faith like untothine own!”

Elmer, sitting back listening, was moved as in his first adorationfor her. He had become so tired of her poetizing thathe almost admitted to himself that he was tired. But tonighthe felt her strangeness again, and in it he was humble. He sawher straight back, shimmering in white satin, he saw her superbarms as she stretched them out to these thousands, and in hotsecret pride he gloated that this beauty, beheld and worshipedof so many, belonged to him alone.

Then he noted something else.

A third of the way back, coming through one of the doorsopening on the promenade, was a curl of smoke. He startled;he almost rose; he feared to rouse a panic; and sat with hisbrain a welter of terrified jelly till he heard the scream “Fire—fire!”and saw the whole audience and the choir leaping up,screaming—screaming—screaming—while the flimsy doorjambwas alight and the flame rose fan-like toward the rafters.

Only Sharon was in his mind—Sharon standing like anivory column against the terror. He rushed toward her. Hecould hear her wailing, “Don’t be afraid! Go out slowly!”She turned toward the choir, as with wild white robes theycharged down from their bank of seats. She clamored, “Don’tbe afraid! We’re in the temple of the Lord! He won’t harmyou! I believe! Have faith! I’ll lead you safely throughthe flames!”

But they ignored her, streamed past her, thrusting her aside.

He seized her arm. “Come here, Shara! The door at theback! We’ll jump over and swim ashore!”

She seemed not to hear him. She thrust his hand awayand went on demanding, her voice furious with mad sincerity,“Who will trust the Lord God of Hosts? Now we’ll try ourfaith! Who will follow me?”

Since two-thirds of the auditorium was to the shorewardside of the fire, and since the wide doors to the promenadewere many, most of the audience were getting safely out, savefor a child crushed, a woman fainting and trampled. But towardthe stage the flames, driven by the sea-wind, were beatingup through the rafters. Most of the choir and the audiencedown front had escaped, but all who were now at the back werecut off.

He grasped Sharon’s arm again. In a voice abject with fearhe shouted, “For God’s sake, beat it! We can’t wait!”

She had an insane strength; she thrust him away so sharplythat he fell against a chair, bruising his knee. Furious withpain, senseless with fear, he raged, “You can go to hell!” andgalloped off, pushing aside the last of the hysterical choir. Helooked back and saw her, quite alone, holding up the whitewooden cross which had stood by the pulpit, marching steadilyforward, a tall figure pale against the screen of flames.

All of the choir who had not got away remembered or guessedthe small door at the back; so did Adelbert and Art Nichols;and all of them were jamming toward it.

That door opened inward—only it did not open, with thescore of victims thrust against it. In howling panic, Elmersprang among them, knocked them aside, struck down a girlwho stood in his way, yanked open the door, and got throughit ... the last, the only one, to get through it.

He never remembered leaping, but he found himself in thesurf, desperately swimming toward shore, horribly cold, horriblybound by heavy clothes. He humped out of his coat.

In the inside pocket was Lily Anderson’s address, as she hadgiven it to him before going that morning.

The sea, by night, though it was glaring now with flamesfrom above, seemed infinite in its black sightlessness. Thewaves thrust him among the piles; their mossy slime was likethe feel of serpents to his frantic hands, and the barnacles cuthis palms. But he struggled out from beneath the pier,struggled toward shore, and as he swam and panted, moreand more was the sea blood-red about him. In blood he swam,blood that was icy-cold and tumultuous and roaring in hisears.

His knees struck sand, and he crawled ashore, among ashrieking, torn, sea-soaked crowd. Many had leaped from therail of the promenade and were still fighting the surf, wailing,beaten. Their wet and corpselike heads were seen clearly inthe glare; the pier was only a skeleton, a cage round a boilingof flame, with dots of figures still dropping from the promenade.

Elmer ran out a little into the surf and dragged in a womanwho had already safely touched bottom.

He had rescued at least thirty people who had alreadyrescued themselves before the reporters got to him and he hadto stop and explain the cause of the fire, the cost of the tabernacle,the amount of insurance, the size of the audience, thenumber of souls revived by Miss Falconer during all her campaigns,and the fact that he had been saving both MissFalconer and Adelbert Shoop when they had been crushed bya falling rafter.

A hundred and eleven people died that night, including allof the gospel crew save Elmer.

It was Elmer himself who at dawn found Sharon’s bodylying on a floor-beam. There were rags of white satin clingingto it, and in her charred hand was still the charred cross.

I

though to the commonplace and unspeculative eye Mrs.Evans Riddle was but a female blacksmith, yet Mrs. Riddleand her followers knew, in a bland smirking way, that she wasinstituting an era in which sickness, poverty, and folly wouldbe ended forever.

She was the proprietor of the Victory Thought-power Headquarters,New York, and not even in Los Angeles was therea more important center of predigested philosophy and pansy-paintedethics. She maintained a magazine filled with suchstarry thoughts as “All the world’s a road whereon we are butfellow wayfarers.” She held morning and vesper services onSunday at Euterpean Hall, on Eighty-seventh Street, and betweenmoments of Silent Thought she boxed with the inexplicable.She taught, or farmed out, classes in Concentration,Prosperity, Love, Metaphysics, Oriental Mysticism, and theFourth Dimension.

She instructed small Select Circles how to keep one’s husband,how to understand Sanskrit philosophy without understandingeither Sanskrit or philosophy, and how to becomeslim without giving up pastry. She healed all the diseases inthe medical dictionary, and some which were not; and in personalconsultations, at ten dollars the half-hour, she explainedto unappetizing elderly ladies how they might rouse passion ina football hero.

She had a staff, including a real Hindu swami—anyway, hewas a real Hindu—but she was looking for a first assistant.

II

The Reverend Elmer Gantry had failed as an independentevangelist.

He had been quite as noisy and threatening as the averageevangelist; to reasonably large gatherings he had stated thatthe Judgment Day was rather more than likely to occur beforesix a. m., and he had told all the chronic anecdotes of the dyingdrunkard. But there was something wrong. He could notmake it go.

Sharon was with him, beckoning him, intolerably summoninghim, intolerably rebuking him. Sometimes he worshiped heras the shadow of a dead god; always he was humanly lonelyfor her and her tantrums and her electric wrath and herabounding laughter. In pulpits he felt like an impostor, andin hotel bedrooms he ached for her voice.

Worst of all, he was expected everywhere to tell of her“brave death in the cause of the Lord.” He was very sickabout it.

Mrs. Evans Riddle invited him to join her.

Elmer had no objection to the malted milk of New Thought.But after Sharon, Mrs. Riddle was too much. She shavedregularly, she smelled of cigar smoke, yet she had a nickeringfancy for warm masculine attentions.

Elmer had to earn a living, and he had taken too much ofthe drug of oratory to be able to go back to the road as atraveling-salesman. He shrugged when he had interviewedMrs. Riddle; he told her that she would be an inspiration toa young man like himself; he held her hand; he went out andwashed his hand; and determined that since he was to dwell inthe large brownstone house which was both her Thought-powerHeadquarters and her home, he would keep his doorlocked.

The preparation for his labors was not too fatiguing. Heread through six copies of Mrs. Riddle’s magazine and, justas he had learned the trade-terms of evangelism, so he learnedthe technologies of New Thought: the Cosmic Law of Vibration;I Affirm the Living Thought. He labored through achapter of “The Essence of Oriental Mysticism, Occultism, andEsotericism” and accomplished seven pages of the “Bhagavad-Gita”;and thus was prepared to teach disciples how to winlove and prosperity.

In actual practise he had much less of treading theHimalayan heights than of pleasing Mrs. Evans Riddle. Onceshe discovered that he had small fancy for sitting up aftermidnight with her, she was rather sharp about his bringing innew chelas—as, out of “Kim,” she called paying customers.

Occasionally he took Sunday morning service for Mrs. Riddleat Euterpean Hall, when she was weary of curing rheumatismor when she was suffering from rheumatism; and always he hadto be at Euterpean to give spiritual assistance. She liked tohave her hairy arm stroked just before she went out to preach,and that was not too hard a task—usually he could recoverwhile she was out on the platform. She turned over to himthe Personal Consultations with spinsters, and he found itcomic to watch their sharp noses quivering, their dry mouthswabbling.

But his greatest interest was given to the Prosperity Classes.To one who had never made more than five thousand a yearhimself, it was inspiring to explain before dozens of pop-eyedand admiring morons how they could make ten thousand—fiftythousand—a million a year, and all this by the WonderPower of Suggestion, by Aggressive Personality, by the DivineRhythm, in fact by merely releasing the Inner Self-shine.

It was fun, it was an orgy of imagination, for him who hadnever faced any Titan of Success of larger dimensions than thechairman of a local evangelistic committee to instruct a thirty-a-weekbookkeeper how to stalk into Morgan’s office, fix himwith the penetrating eye of the Initiate, and borrow a hundredthousand on the spot.

But always he longed for Sharon, with a sensation of emptinessreal as the faintness of hunger and long tramping. Hesaw his days with her as adventures, foot-loose, scented withfresh air. He hated himself for having ever glanced over hisshoulder, and he determined to be a celibate all his life.

In some ways he preferred New Thought to standardProtestantism. It was safer to play with. He had never beensure but that there might be something to the doctrines he hadpreached as an evangelist. Perhaps God really had dictatedevery word of the Bible. Perhaps there really was a hell ofburning sulphur. Perhaps the Holy Ghost really was hoveringaround watching him and reporting. But he knew withserenity that all of his New Thoughts, his theosophical utterances,were pure and uncontaminated bunk. No one coulddeny his theories because none of his theories meant anything.It did not matter what he said, so long as he kept them listening;and he enjoyed the buoyancy of power as he bespelledhis classes with long, involved, fruity sentences rhapsodic asperfume advertisem*nts.

How agreeable on bright winter afternoons, in the gilt andvelvet elegance of the lecture hall, to look at smart women,and moan, “And, oh, my beloved, can you not see, do you notperceive, have not your earth-bound eyes ingathered, the supremacyof the raja’s quality which each of us, by that innercontemplation which is the all however cloaked by the seeming,can consummate and build loftily to higher aspiring spheres?”

Almost any Hindu word was useful. It seems that theHindus have Hidden Powers which enable them to do whateverthey want to, except possibly to get rid of theMohammedans, the plague, and the cobra. “Soul-breathing”was also a good thing to talk about whenever he hadnothing to say; and you could always keep an audience ofsatin-bosomed ladies through the last quarter-hour of lecturingby coming down hard on “Concentration.”

But with all these agreeable features, he hated Mrs. Riddle,and he suspected that she was, as he put it, “holding out thecoin on him.” He was to have a percentage of the profits,besides his thin salary of twenty-five hundred a year. Therenever were any profits, and when he hinted that he would liketo see her books—entirely out of admiration for the beautiesof accountancy—she put him off.

So he took reasonable measures of reprisal. He moved fromher house; he began to take for himself the patients who camefor Personal Consultations, and to meet them in the parlor ofhis new boarding-house in Harlem. And when she was notpresent at his Euterpean Hall meetings, he brought back toVictory Thought-power Headquarters only so much of thecollection as, after prayer and meditation and figuring on anenvelope, seemed suitable.

That did it.

Mrs. Evans Riddle had a regrettable suspiciousness. Shecaused a marked twenty-dollar bill to be placed in the collectionat vespers, a year after Elmer had gone to work for the higherpowers, and when he brought her the collection-money minusthe twenty dollars, she observed loudly, with her grinningswami looking heathenish and sultry across the room:

“Gantry, you’re a thief! You’re fired! You have a contract,but you can sue and be damned. Jackson!” A largenegro houseman appeared. “Throw this crook out, will you?”

III

He felt dazed and homeless and poor, but he started out withProsperity Classes of his own.

He did very well at Prosperity, except that he couldn’tmake a living out of it.

He spent from a month to four months in each city. Hehired the ballroom of the second-best hotel for lectures threeevenings a week, and advertised himself in the newspapers asthough he were a cigarette or a brand of soap:

His students were school-teachers who wanted to own tearooms,clerks who wanted to be sales-managers, clergymen whowanted to be newspapermen, newspapermen who wanted to bereal estate dealers, real estate dealers who wanted to be bishops,and widows who wanted to earn money without loss of elegance.He lectured to them in the most beautiful language, all out ofMrs. Riddle’s magazine.

He had a number of phrases—all stolen—and he made hisdisciples repeat them in chorus, in the manner of all religions.Among the more powerful incantations were:

They were all of them ready for a million a year, excepttheir teacher, who was ready for bankruptcy.

He got pupils enough, but the overhead was huge and hispupils were poor. He had to hire the ballroom, pay for advertising;he had to appear gaudy, with a suite in the hotel,fresh linen, and newly pressed morning coat. He sat in twenty-dollar-a-dayred plush suites wondering where he would getbreakfast. He was so dismayed that he began to study himself.

He determined, with the resoluteness of terror, to be loyalto any loves or associates he might have hereafter, to say inhis prayers and sermons practically nothing except what hebelieved. He yearned to go back to Mizpah Seminary, to getDean Trosper’s forgiveness, take a degree, and return to theBaptist pulpit in however barren a village. But first he mustearn enough money to pay for a year in the seminary.

He had been in correspondence with the manager of theO’Hearn House in Zenith—a city of four hundred thousandin the state of Winnemac, a hundred miles from Mizpah. Thiswas in 1913, before the Hotel Thornleigh was built, and GilO’Hearn, with his new yellow brick tavern, was trying to takethe fashionable business of Zenith away from the famous butdecayed Grand Hotel. Intellectual ballroom lectures add tothe smartness of a hotel almost as much as a great co*cktail-mixer,and Mr. O’Hearn had been moved by the prospectus ofthe learned and magnetic Dr. Elmer Gantry.

Elmer could take the O’Hearn offer on a guarantee and besure of a living, but he needed money for a week or two beforethe fees should come in.

From whom could he borrow?

Didn’t he remember reading in a Mizpah alumni bulletinthat Frank Shallard, who had served with him in the rusticchurch at Schoenheim, now had a church near Zenith?

He dug out the bulletin and discovered that Frank was inEureka, an industrial town of forty thousand. Elmer hadenough money to take him to Eureka. All the way there hewarmed up the affection with which a borrower recalls anold acquaintance who is generous and a bit soft.

I

frank shallard had graduated from Mizpah TheologicalSeminary and taken his first pulpit. And now that he was aminister, theoretically different from all ordinary people, hewas wondering whether there was any value to the ministrywhatever.

Of what value were doggerel hymns raggedly sung? Whatvalue in sermons, when the congregation seemed not at alldifferent from people who never heard sermons? Were allministers and all churches, Frank wondered, merely superstitioussurvivals, merely fire-insurance? Suppose there weresuch things as inspiring sermons. Suppose there could be sucha curious office as minister, as Professional Good Man; such athing as learning Goodness just as one learned plumbing ordentistry. Even so, what training had he or his classmates,or his professors—whose D. D. degrees did not protect themfrom indigestion and bad tempers—in this trade of ProfessionalGoodness?

He was supposed to cure an affliction called vice. But hehad never encountered vice; he didn’t know just what werethe interesting things that people did when they were beingvicious. How long would a drunkard listen to the counsel ofone who had never been inside a saloon?

He was supposed to bring peace to mankind. But what didhe know of the forces which cause wars, personal or class ornational; what of drugs, passion, criminal desire; of capitalism,banking, labor, wages, taxes; international struggles fortrade, munition trusts, ambitious soldiers?

He was supposed to comfort the sick. But what did he knowof sickness? How could he tell when he ought to pray andwhen he ought to recommend salts?

He was supposed to explain to troubled mankind the purposesof God Almighty, to chat with him, and even advise him abouthis duties as regards rainfall and the church debt. But whichGod Almighty? Professor Bruno Zechlin had introducedFrank to a hundred gods besides the Jewish Jehovah, or Yahveh,who had been but a poor and rather surly relation ofsuch serene aristocrats as Zeus.

He was supposed to have undergone a mystic changewhereby it was possible to live without normal appetites. Hewas supposed to behold girls’ ankles without interest and, forlight amusem*nt, to be satisfied by reading church papers andshaking hands with deacons. But he found himself most uncomfortablyinterested in the flicker of ankles, he longed forthe theater, and no repentance could keep him from readingnovels, though his professors had exposed them as time-wastingand frivolous.

What had he learned?

Enough Hebrew and Greek to be able to crawl through theBible by using lexicons—so that, like all his classmates oncethey were out of the seminary, he always read it in English.A good many of the more condemnatory texts of the Bible—ratherless than the average Holy Roller carpenter-evangelist.The theory that India and Africa have woes because they arenot Christianized, but that Christianized Bangor and DesMoines have woes because the devil, a being obviously morepotent than omnipotent God, sneaks around counteracting thework of Baptist preachers.

He had learned, in theory, the ways of raising money throughchurch fairs; he had learned what he was to say on pastoralvisits. He had learned that Roger Williams, Adoniram Judson,Luther, Calvin, Jonathan Edwards, and George Washingtonwere the greatest men in history; that Lincoln was givento fervent prayer at all crises; and that Ingersoll had calledhis non-existent son to his death-bed and bidden him becomean orthodox Christian. He had learned that the Pope at Romewas plotting to come to America and get hold of the government,and was prevented only by the denunciations of theBaptist clergy with a little help from the Methodists andPresbyterians; that most crime was caused either by alcoholor by people leaving the Baptist fold for Unitarianism; andthat clergymen ought not to wear red ties.

He had learned how to assemble Jewish texts, Greek philosophy,and Middle-Western evangelistic anecdotes into asermon. And he had learned that poverty is blessed, but thatbankers make the best deacons.

Otherwise, as he wretchedly examined his equipment, facinghis career, Frank did not seem to have learned anything whatever.

From Elmer Gantry’s relations to Lulu Bains, from HarryZenz’s almost frank hint that he was an atheist, Frank perceivedthat a preacher can be a scoundrel or a hypocrite andstill be accepted by his congregation. From the manners ofDean Trosper, who served his God with vinegar, he perceivedthat a man may be free of all the skilled sins, may follow everyrule of the church, and still bring only fear to his flock. Listeningto the celebrated divines who visited the seminary andshowed off to the infant prophets, he perceived that a mancould make scholarly and violent sounds and yet not say anythingwhich remained in the mind for six minutes.

He concluded, in fact, that if there was any value inchurches and a ministry, of which he was not very certain,in any case there could be no value in himself as a minister.

Yet he had been ordained, he had taken a pulpit.

It was doubtful whether he could have endured the necessarylying had it not been for Dean Trosper’s bullying andhis father’s confusing pleas. Frank’s father was easy-goingenough, but he had been a Baptist clergyman for so manyyears that the church was sacred to him. To have had his sondeny it would have broken him. He would have been shockedto be told that he was advising Frank to lie, but he explainedthat the answers to the ordination examination were after allpoetic symbols, sanctified by generations of loving usage;that they need not be taken literally.

So Frank Shallard, pupil of Bruno Zechlin, said nervouslyto an examining cleric that, yes, he did believe that baptismby immersion was appointed by God himself as the only validway of beginning a righteous life; that, yes, unrepentant sinnerswould go to a literal Hell; that, yes, these unrepentantsinners included all persons who did not go to evangelicalchurches if they had the chance; and that, yes, the Maker ofa universe with stars a hundred thousand light-years apartwas interested, furious, and very personal about it if a smallboy played baseball on Sunday afternoon.

Half an hour after the ordination and the somewhat comfortingwelcome by veterans of the ministry, he hated himself,and ached to flee, but again the traditional “not wanting tohurt his father” kept him from being honest. So he stayedin the church ... and went on hurting his father for yearsinstead of for a day.

II

It was a lonely and troubled young man, the Frank Shallardwho for his first pastorate came to the Baptist Church atCatawba, a town of eighteen hundred, in the same state withZenith and the Mizpah Seminary. The town liked him, anddid not take him seriously. They said his sermons were “realpoetic”; they admired him for being able to sit with old Mrs.Randall, who had been an invalid for thirty years, a bore forsixty, and never ill a day in her life. They admired him fortrying to start a boys’ club, though they did not go so far intheir support as to contribute anything. They all called him“Reverend,” and told him that he was amazingly sound indoctrine for one so unfortunately well educated; and he stayedon, in a vacuum.

Frank felt well about his fifth sermon in Catawba; felt thathe was done with hesitations. He had decided to ignorecontroversial theology, ignore all dogma, and concentrate onthe leadership of Jesus. That was his topic, there in the chapelwith its walls of glaring robin’s-egg blue—the eager-eyed, curly-headedboy, his rather shrill voice the wail of a violin as hegave his picture of Jesus, the kindly friend, the unfailingrefuge, the gallant leader.

He was certain that he had done well; he was thinking ofit on Monday morning as he walked from his boarding-houseto the post office.

He saw one Lem Staples, a jovial horse-doctor who wasknown as the Village Atheist, sitting on a decayed carriageseat in front of the Fashion Livery Barn. Doc Staples was asubscriber to the Truth Seeker, a periodical said to be infidel,and he quoted Robert Ingersoll, Ed Howe, Colonel Watterson,Elbert Hubbard, and other writers who were rumored to believethat a Catholic was as good as a Methodist or Baptist.The Doc lived alone, “baching it” in a little yellow cottage, andFrank had heard that he sat up till all hours, eleven and evenlater, playing cribbage in Mart Blum’s saloon.

Frank disliked him, and did not know him. He was preparedto welcome honest inquiry, but a fellow who was anavowed atheist, why, Frank raged, he was a fool! Who madethe flowers, the butterflies, the sunsets, the laughter of littlechildren? Those things didn’t just happen! Besides: whycouldn’t the man keep his doubts to himself, and not try totake from other people the religion which was their one comfortand strength in illness, sorrow, want? A matter not ofMorality but of reverence for other people’s belief, in fact ofGood Taste—

This morning, as Frank scampered down Vermont Street,Lem Staples called to him, “Fine day, Reverend. Say! Ina hurry?”

“I’m——No, not especially.”

“Come sit down. Couple o’ questions I’m worried about.”

Frank sat, his neck prickling with embarrassment.

“Say, Reverend, old Ma Gherkins was telling me about yoursermon yesterday. You figger that no matter what kind of acreed a fellow’s got, the one thing we can all bank on, absolute,is the teaching of Jesus?”

“Why, yes, that’s it roughly. Doctor.”

“And you feel that any sensible fellow will follow his teaching?”

“Why, yes, certainly.”

“And you feel that the churches, no matter what faults theymay have, do hand out this truth of Jesus better than if wedidn’t have no churches at all?”

“Certainly. Otherwise, I shouldn’t be in the church!”

“Then can you tell me why it is that nine-tenths of the reallysure-enough on-the-job membership of the churches is madeup of two classes: the plumb ignorant, that’re scared of hell andthat swallow any fool doctrine, and, second, the awful’ respectablefolks that play the church so’s to seem more respectable?Why is that? Why is it the high-class skilled workmen andthe smart professional men usually snicker at the church anddon’t go near it once a month? Why is it?”

“It isn’t true, perhaps that’s why!” Frank felt triumphant.He looked across at the pile of rusty horseshoes and plowsharesamong the mullen weeds beside the blacksmith’s shop;he reflected that he would clean up this town, be a power forgood. Less snappishly he explained, “Naturally, I haven’t anystatistics about it, but the fact is that almost every intelligentand influential man in the country belongs to some church orother.”

“Yeh—belongs. But does he go?”

Frank plodded off, annoyed. He tried to restore himself byinsisting that Doc Staples was a lout, very amusing in theway he mingled rustic grammar with half-digested words fromhis adult reading. But he was jarred. Here was the CommonMan whom the church was supposed to convince.

Frank remembered from his father’s pastorates how manytheoretical church-members seemed blithely able month onmonth to stay away from the sermonizing; he remembered themerchants who impressively passed the contribution plate yetafterward, in conversation with his father, seemed to have butvague notions of what the sermon had been.

He studied his own congregation. There they were: thestiff-collared village respectables, and the simple, kindly, rusticmass, who understood him only when he promised Heaven asa reward for a life of monogamy and honest chicken-raising, orthreatened them with Hell for drinking hard cider.

Catawba had—its only urban feature—a furniture factorywith unusually competent workmen, few of whom attendedchurch. Now Frank Shallard had all his life been insulatedfrom what he gently despised as “the working class.” Maidsat his father’s house and the elderly, devout, and incompetentnegroes who attended the furnace; plumbers or electricianscoming to the parsonage for repairs; railway men to whom hetried to talk on journeys; only these had he known, and alwayswith unconscious superiority.

Now he timidly sought to get acquainted with the cabinet-makersas they sat at lunch in the factory grounds. Theyaccepted him good-naturedly, but he felt that they chuckledbehind his back when he crept away.

For the first time he was ashamed of being a preacher, ofbeing a Christian. He longed to prove he was nevertheless a“real man,” and didn’t know how to prove it. He found thatall the cabinet-makers save the Catholics laughed at thechurch and thanked the God in whom they did not believe thatthey did not have to listen to sermons on Sunday mornings,when there were beautiful back porches to sit on, beautifulsporting news to read, beautiful beer to drink. Even theCatholics seemed rather doubtful about the power of a purchasedmass to help their deceased relatives out of Purgatory.Several of them admitted that they merely “did their Easterduty”—went to confession and mass but once a year.

It occurred to him that he had never known how large arace of intelligent and independent workmen there were inbetween the masters and the human truck-horses. He hadnever known how casually these manual aristocrats despisedthe church; how they jeered at their leaders, officers of theA. F. of L., who played safe by adhering to a voluble Christianity,He could not get away from his discoveries. Theymade him self-conscious as he went about the village streetstrying to look like a junior prophet and feeling like a masquerader.

He might have left the ministry but for the ReverendAndrew Pengilly, pastor of the Catawba Methodist Church.

III

If you had cut Andrew Pengilly to the core, you would havefound him white clear through. He was a type of clergymanfavored in pious fiction, yet he actually did exist.

To every congregation he had served these forty years, hehad been a shepherd. They had loved him, listened to him,and underpaid him. In 1906, when Frank came to Catawba,Mr. Pengilly was a frail stooped veteran with silver hair, thinsilver mustache, and a slow smile which embraced the world.

Andrew Pengilly had gone into the Civil War as a drummerboy, slept blanketless and barefoot and wounded in the frostof Tennessee mountains, and come out still a child, to “clerkin a store” and teach Sunday School. He had been convertedat ten, but at twenty-five he was overpowered by the preachingof Osage Joe, the Indian evangelist, became a Methodistpreacher, and never afterward doubted the peace of God. Hewas married at thirty to a passionate, singing girl with kindlips. He loved her so romantically—just to tuck the crazy-quiltabout her was poetry, and her cowhide shoes were to himfairy slippers—he loved her so ungrudgingly that when she died,in childbirth, within a year after their marriage, he had nothingleft for any other woman. He lived alone, with the undiminishedvision of her. Not the most scandalmongeringMother in Zion had ever hinted that Mr. Pengilly lookeddamply upon the widows in his fold.

Little book-learning had Andrew Pengilly in his youth, andto this day he knew nothing of Biblical criticism, of the originof religions, of the sociology which was beginning to absorbchurch-leaders, but his Bible he knew, and believed, wordby word, and somehow he had drifted into the reading ofecstatic books of mysticism. He was a mystic, complete; theworld of plows and pavements and hatred was less to him thanthe world of angels, whose silver robes seemed to flash in theair about him as he meditated alone in his cottage. He wasas ignorant of Modern Sunday School Methods as of singletax or Lithuanian finances, yet few Protestants had read morein the Early Fathers.

On Frank Shallard’s first day in Catawba, when he wasunpacking his books in his room at the residence of DeaconHalter, the druggist, the Reverend Mr. Pengilly was announced.Frank went down to the parlor (gilded cattails and a basketof stereopticon views) and his loneliness was warmed by Mr.Pengilly’s enveloping smile, his drawling voice:

“Welcome, Brother! I’m Pengilly, of the Methodist Church.I never was much of a hand at seeing any difference betweenthe denominations, and I hope we’ll be able to work togetherfor the glory of God. I do hope so! And I hope you’ll gofishing with me. I know,” enthusiastically, “a pond wherethere’s some elegant pickerel!”

Many evenings they spent in Mr. Pengilly’s cottage, whichwas less littered and odorous than that of the village atheist,Doc Lem Staples, only because the stalwart ladies of Mr. Pengilly’scongregation vied in sweeping for him, dusting for him,disarranging his books and hen-tracked sermon-notes, andbullying him in the matters of rubbers and winter flannels.They would not let him prepare his own meals—they madehim endure the several boarding-houses in turn—but sometimesof an evening he would cook scrambled eggs for Frank. Hehad pride in his cooking. He had never tried anything butscrambled eggs.

His living-room was overpowering with portraits and carbonprints. Though every local official board pled with him aboutit, he insisted on including madonnas, cinquecento resurrections,St. Francis of Assisi, and even a Sacred Heart, with suchMethodist worthies as Leonidas Hamline and the cloakedromantic Francis Asbury. In the bay window was a pyramidof wire shelves filled with geraniums. Mr. Pengilly was anearnest gardener, except during such weeks as he fell intodreams and forgot to weed and water, and through the winterhe watched for the geranium leaves to wither enough so thathe could pick them off and be able to feel busy.

All over the room were the aged dog and ancient cat, whodetested each other, never ceased growling at each other, andat night slept curled together.

In an antiquated and badly listed rocking-chair, padded withcalico cushions, Frank listened to Mr. Pengilly’s ramblings.For a time they talked only of externals; gossip of theirparishes; laughter at the man who went from church to churchfretting the respectable by shouting “Hallelujah”; local chatternot without a wholesome and comforting malice. Frank wasat first afraid to bare his youthful hesitancies to so serene anold saint, but at last he admitted his doubts.

How, he demanded, could you reconcile a Loving God withone who would strike down an Uzza for the laudable act oftrying to save the Ark of the Covenant from falling, who wouldkill forty-two children (and somewhat ludicrously) for shoutingat Elisha as any small boy in Catawba today would shout?Was it reasonable? And, if it wasn’t, if any part of the Biblewas mythical, where to stop? How could we know if anythingin the Bible was “inspired”?

Mr. Pengilly was not shocked, nor was he very agitated.His thin fingers together, far down in his worn plush chair,he mused:

“Yes, I’m told the higher critics ask these things. I believeit bothers people. But I wonder if perhaps God hasn’t putthese stumbling blocks in the Bible as a test of our faith, ofour willingness to accept with all our hearts and souls a thingthat may seem ridiculous to our minds? You see, our mindsdon’t go far. Think—how much does even an astronomerknow about folks on Mars, if there are any folks there? Isn’tit with our hearts, our faith, that we have to accept JesusChrist, and not with our historical charts? Don’t we feel hisinfluence on our lives? Isn’t it the biggest men that feel itthe most? Maybe God wants to keep out of the ministry allthe folks that are so stuck on their poor minds that they can’tbe humble and just accept the great overpowering truth ofChrist’s mercy. Do you——When do you feel nearest to God?When you’re reading some awful’ smart book criticizing theBible or when you kneel in prayer and your spirit just flowsforth and you know that you’re in communion with him?”

“Oh, of course—”

“Don’t you think maybe he will explain all these puzzlingthings in his own good time? And meanwhile wouldn’t yourather be a help to poor sick worried folks than write a cutelittle book finding fault?”

“Oh, well—”

“And has there ever been anything like the Old Book forbringing lost souls home to happiness? Hasn’t it worked?”

In Andrew Pengilly’s solacing presence these seemed authenticarguments, actual revelations; Bruno Zechlin was faroff and gray; and Frank was content.

Equally did Mr. Pengilly console him about the intelligentworkmen who would have none of the church. The old mansimply laughed.

“Good Heavens, boy! What do you expect, as a preacher?A whole world that’s saved, and nothing for you to do? Reckonyou don’t get much salary, but how do you expect to earn thatmuch? These folks don’t go to any Christian church? Huh!When the Master started out, wa’n’t anybody going to a Christianchurch! Go out and get ’em!”

Which seemed disastrously reasonable to the shamed Frank;and he went out to get ’em, and didn’t do so, and continuedin his ministry.

He had heard in theological seminary of the “practise ofthe presence of God” as a papist mystery. Now he encounteredit. Mr. Pengilly taught him to kneel, his mind free of allworries, all prides, all hunger, his lips repeating “Be thouvisibly present with me”—not as a charm but that his lipsmight not be soiled with more earthly phrases—and, when hehad become strained and weary and exalted, to feel a Somethingglowing and almost terrifying about him, and to experiencethus, he was certain, the actual, loving, proven nearnessof the Divinity.

He began to call his mentor Father Pengilly, and the oldman chided him only a little ... presently did not chide himat all.

For all his innocence and his mysticism, Father Pengillywas not a fool nor weak. He spoke up harshly to a loud-mouthedgrocer, new come to town, who considered the patriarcha subject for what he called “kidding,” and who shouted,“Well, I’m getting tired of waiting for you preachers to prayfor rain. Guess you don’t believe the stuff much yourselves!”He spoke up to old Miss Udell, the purity specialist of thetown, when she came to snuffle that Amy Dove was carryingon with the boys in the twilight. “I know how you like ascandal, Sister,” said he. “Maybe ’tain’t Christian to deny youone. But I happen to know all about Amy. Now if you’dgo out and help poor old crippled Sister Eckstein do her washing,maybe you’d keep busy enough so’s you could get alongwithout your daily scandal.”

He had humor, as well, Father Pengilly. He could smileover the cranks in the congregation. And he liked the villageatheist, Doc Lem Staples. He had him at the house, and ithealed Frank’s spirit to hear with what beatific calm FatherPengilly listened to the Doc’s jibes about the penny-pinchersand the sinners in the church.

“Lem,” said Father Pengilly, “you’ll be surprised at this,but I must tell you that there’s two-three sinners in your fold,too. Why, I’ve heard of even horse-thieves that didn’t belongto churches. That must prove something, I guess. Yes, sir,I admire to hear you tell about the kind-hearted atheists, afterreading about the cannibals, who are remarkably little plaguedwith us Methodists and Baptists.”

Not in his garden only but in the woods, along the river,Father Pengilly found God in Nature. He was insane aboutfishing—though indifferent to the catching of any actual fish.Frank floated with him in a mossy scow, in a placid backwaterunder the willows. He heard the gurgle of water among theroots and watched the circles from a leaping bass. The oldman (his ruddy face and silver mustache shaded by a shockinghayfield straw hat) hummed “There’s a wideness in God’smercy like the wideness of the sea.” When Father Pengillymocked him, “And you have to go to books to find God, youngman!” then Frank was content to follow him, to be his fellowpreacher, to depend more on Pengilly’s long experience than onirritating questions, to take any explanation of the validityof the Bible, of the mission of the church, the leadership ofChrist, which might satisfy this soldier of the cross.

Frank became more powerful as a preacher. He went fromCatawba, via pastorates in two or three larger towns, toEureka, a camp of forty thousand brisk industrialists, and herehe was picked up and married by the amiable Bess.

IV

Bess Needham, later to be Bess Shallard, was remarkablylike a robin. She had the same cheerfulness, the same roundruddiness, and the same conviction that early rising, chirping,philoprogenitiveness, and strict attention to food were the aimsof existence. She had met Frank at a church “social,” she hadpitied what she regarded as his underfed pallor, she had directedher father, an amiable and competent dentist, to inviteFrank home, for “a real feed” and bright music on the phonograph.She listened fondly to his talk—she had no notion whatit was about, but she liked the sound of it.

He was stirred by her sleek neck, her comfortable bosom,by the dimpled fingers which stroked his hair before he knewthat he longed for it. He was warmed by her assertion thathe “put it all over” the Rev. Dr. Seager, the older Baptistparson in Eureka. So she was able to marry him without astruggle, and they had three children in the shortest possibletime.

She was an admirable wife and mother. She filled the hotwater bottle for his bed, she cooked corn beef and cabbageperfectly, she was polite to the most exasperating parishioners,she saved money, and when he sat with fellow clerics companionablyworrying about the sacraments, she listened to him,and him alone, with beaming motherliness.

He realized that with a wife and three children he couldnot consider leaving the church; and the moment he realizedit he began to feel trapped and to worry about his conscienceall the more.

V

There was, in Eureka, with its steel mills, its briskness, itsconflict between hard-fisted manufacturers and hard-headedsocialists, nothing of the contemplation of Catawba, wherethoughts seemed far-off stars to gaze on through the mist.Here was a violent rush of ideas, and from this rose the“Preachers’ Liberal Club,” toward which Frank was drawnbefore he had been in Eureka a fortnight.

The ring-leader of these liberals was Hermann Kassebaum,the modernist rabbi—young, handsome, black of eye andblacker of hair, full of laughter, regarded by the elect of thetown as a shallow charlatan and a dangerous fellow, and actuallythe most scholarly man Frank had ever encountered, exceptfor Bruno Zechlin. With him consorted a placidly atheisticUnitarian minister, a Presbyterian who was orthodox on Sundayand revolutionary on Monday, a wavering Congregationalist,and an Anglo-Catholic Episcopalian, who was enthusiasticabout the beauties of the ritual and the Mithraic origin of thesame.

And Frank’s fretting wearily started all over again. Here-read Harnack’s “What Is Christianity?” Sunderland’s“Origin and Nature of the Bible,” James’s “Varieties of ReligiousExperience,” Frazer’s “Golden Bough.”

He was in the pleasing situation where whatever he did waswrong. He could not content himself with the discussions ofthe Liberal Club. “If you fellows believe that way, why don’tyou get out of the church?” he kept demanding. Yet he couldnot leave them; could not, therefore, greatly succeed amongthe Baptist brethren. His good wife, Bess, when he diffidentlyhinted of his doubts, protested, “You can’t reach people justthrough their minds. Besides, they wouldn’t understand youif you did come right out and tell ’em the truth—as you see it.They aren’t ready for it.”

His worst doubt was the doubt of himself. And in this quiteundignified wavering he remained, envying equally RabbiKassebaum’s public scoffing at all religion and the thunderingcertainties of the cover-to-cover evangelicals. He who eachSunday morning neatly pointed his congregation the way toHeaven was himself tossed in a Purgatory of self-despisingdoubt, where his every domestic virtue was cowardice, his everymystic aspiration a superstitious mockery, and his every desireto be honest a cruelty which he must spare Bess and his well-lovedbrood.

He was in this mood when the Reverend Elmer Gantrysuddenly came, booming and confident, big and handsome andglossy, into his study, and explained that if Frank could lethim have a hundred dollars, Elmer, and presumably the Lord,would be grateful and return the money within two weeks.

The sight of Elmer as a fellow pastor was too much forFrank. To get rid of him, he hastily gave Elmer the hundredhe had saved up toward payment of the last two obstetricalbills, and sat afterward at his desk, his head between his laxhands, praying, “O Lord, guide me!”

He leapt up. “No! Elmer said the Lord had been guidinghim! I’ll take a chance on guiding myself! I will—” Again,weakly, “But how can I hurt Bess, hurt my dad, hurt FatherPengilly? Oh, I’ll go on!”

I

the Reverend Elmer Gantry was writing letters—he had nofriends, and the letters were all to inquirers about his ProsperityClasses—at a small oak-desk in the lobby of the O’HearnHouse in Zenith.

His Zenith classes here had gone not badly, not brilliantly.He had made enough to consider paying the hundred dollarsback to Frank Shallard, though certainly not enough to do so.He was tired of this slippery job; he was almost willing toreturn to farm implements. But he looked anything but discouraged,in his morning coat, his wing collar, his dotted bluebow tie.

Writing at the other half of the lobby desk was a little manwith an enormous hooked nose, receding chin, and a Byzantinebald head. He was in a brown business suit, with a livelygreen tie, and he wore horn-rimmed spectacles.

“Vice-president of a bank, but started as a school-teacher,”Elmer decided. He was conscious that the man was watchinghim. A possible student? No. Too old.

Elmer leaned back, folded his hands, looked as pontificalas possible, cleared his throat with a learned sound, andbeamed.

The little man kept glancing up, rat-like, but did not speak.

“Beautiful morning,” said Elmer.

“Yes. Lovely. On mornings like this all Nature exemplifiesthe divine joy!”

“My God! No business for me here! He’s a preacher oran osteopath,” Elmer lamented within.

“Is this—this is Dr. Gantry, I believe.”

“Why, yes. I’m, uh, sorry, I—”

“I’m Bishop Toomis, of the Zenith area of the MethodistChurch. I had the great pleasure of hearing one of your exordiumsthe other evening, Dr. Gantry.”

Elmer was hysterically thrilled.

Bishop Wesley R. Toomis! For years he had heard of thebishop as one of the giants, one of the pulpit-orators, one ofthe profound thinkers, exalted speakers, and inspired executivesof the Methodist Church, North. He had addressed tenthousand at Ocean Grove; he had spoken in Yale chapel; hehad been a success in London. Elmer rose and, with a handshakewhich must have been most painful to the bishop, heglowed:

“Well, well, well, sir, this certainly is a mighty great pleasure,sir. It sure is! So you came and listened to me! Well,wish I’d known that. I’d of asked you to come sit on theplatform.”

Bishop Toomis had risen also; he waved Elmer back intohis chair, himself perched like a keen little hawk, and trilled:

“No, no, not at all, not at all. I came only as an humblelistener. I dare say I have, by the chance and circ*mstance ofa*ge, had more experience of Christian life and doctrine thanyou, and I can’t pretend I exactly in every way agreed withyou, you might say, but at the same time, that was a veryimpressive thought about the need of riches to carry on thework of the busy workaday world, as we have it at present,and the value of concentration in the silence as well as inthose happy moments of more articulate prayer. Yes, yes.I firmly believe that we ought to add to our Methodist practisesome of the Great Truths about the, alas, too often occultedand obstructed Inner Divine Powers possessed in unconsciousnessby each of us, as New Thought has revealed them to us,and that we ought most certainly not to confine the Church toalready perceived dogmas but encourage it to grow. It standsto reason that really devout prayer and concentration shouldmost materially effect both bodily health and financial welfare.Yes, yes. I was interested in what you had to say about itand——The fact is that I am going to address the Chamberof Commerce luncheon this noon, along much these same lines,and if you happen to be free, I should be very glad if—”

They went, Elmer and Bishop Toomis, and Elmer added tothe bishop’s observations a few thoughts, and the most caressingcompliments about bishops in general, Bishop Wesley R.Toomis in particular, pulpit oratory, and the beauties ofprosperity. Everybody had a radiant time, except possiblythe members of the Chamber of Commerce, and after theluncheon Elmer and the bishop walked off together.

“My, my, I feel flattered that you should know so muchabout me! I am, after all, a very humble servant of theMethodist Church—of the Lord, that is—and I should nothave imagined that any slight local reputation I might havewould have penetrated into the New Thought world,” breathedthe bishop.

“Oh, I’m not a New Thoughter. I’m, uh, temporarily conductingthese courses—as a sort of psychological experiment,you might say. Fact is, I’m an ordained Baptist preacher, andof course in seminary your sermons were always held up to usas models.”

“I’m afraid you flatter me, Doctor.”

“Not at all. In fact they attracted me so that—despite mygreat reverence for the Baptist Church, I felt, after readingyour sermons, that there was more breadth and vigor in theMethodist Church, and I’ve sometimes considered asking someMethodist leader, like yourself, about my joining your ministry.”

“Is that a fact? Is that a fact? We could use you. Uh—Iwonder if you couldn’t come out to the house tomorrow nightfor supper—just take pot-luck with us?”

“I should be most honored, Bishop.”

Alone in his room, Elmer exulted, “That’s the stunt! I’msick of playing this lone game. Get in with a real big machinelike the Methodists—maybe have to start low down, but climbfast—be a bishop myself in ten years—with all their spondulixand big churches and big membership and everything to backme up. Me for it. O Lord, thou hast guided me.... No,honest, I mean it.... No more hell-raising. Real religionfrom now on. Hurray! Oh, Bish, you watch me hand youthe ole flattery!”

II

The Episcopal Palace. Beyond the somber length of thedrawing-room an alcove with groined arches and fan-tracery—remainsof the Carthusian chapel. A dolorous crucifixionby a pupil of El Greco, the sky menacing and wind-drivenbehind the gaunt figure of the dying god. Mullioned windowsthat still sparkled with the bearings of hard-riding bishopslong since ignoble dust. The refectory table, a stony expanseof ancient oak, set round with grudging monkish chairs. Andthe library—on either side the lofty fireplace, austerely shiningrows of calf-bound wisdom now dead as were the bishops.

The picture must be held in mind, because it is so beautifullyopposite to the residence of the Reverend Dr. Wesley R.Toomis, bishop of the Methodist area of Zenith.

Bishop Toomis’ abode was out in the section of Zenithcalled Devon Woods, near the junction of the Chaloosa andAppleseed rivers, that development (quite new in 1913, whenElmer Gantry first saw it) much favored by the next-to-the-bestsurgeons, lawyers, real estate dealers, and hardware wholesalers.It was a chubby modern house, mostly in tapestrybrick with varicolored imitation tiles, a good deal of imitationhalf-timbering in the gables, and a screened porch with rocking-chairs,much favored on summer evenings by the episcopalbut democratic person of Dr. Toomis.

The living-room had built-in book-shelves with leaded glass,built-in seats with thin brown cushions, and a huge electrolierwith shades of wrinkled glass in ruby, emerald, and wateryblue. There were a great many chairs—club chairs, Morrischairs, straight wooden chairs with burnt-work backs—and agreat many tables, so that progress through the room wasapologetic. But the features of the room were the fireplace,the books, and the foreign curios.

The fireplace was an ingenious thing. Basically it was composedof rough-hewn blocks of a green stone. Set in betweenthe larger boulders were pebbles, pink and brown and earth-colored,which the good bishop had picked up all over theworld. This pebble, the bishop would chirp, guiding you aboutthe room, was from the shore of the Jordan, this was a fragmentfrom the Great Wall of China, and this he had stolenfrom a garden in Florence. They were by no means all theattractions of the fireplace. The mantel was of cedar of Lebanon,genuine, bound with brass strips from a ship wreckedin the Black Sea in 1902—the bishop himself had bought thebrass in Russia in 1904. The andirons were made from plowsharesas used by the bishop himself when but an untutoredfarm lad, all unaware of coming glory, in the cornfields ofIllinois. The poker was, he assured you, a real whaling harpoon,picked up, surprisingly cheap, at Nantucket. Its rudeshaft was decorated with a pink bow. This was not the doingof the bishop but of his lady. Himself, he said, he preferredthe frank, crude, heroic strength of the bare wood, but Mrs.Toomis felt it needed a touch, a brightening—

Set in the rugged chimney of the fireplace was a plaque ofsmooth marble on which was carved in artistic and curly andgilded letters: “The Virtue of the Home is Peace, the Gloryof the Home is Reverence.”

The books were, as the bishop said, “worth browsing over.”There were, naturally, the Methodist Discipline and the MethodistHymnal, both handsomely bound, Roycrofty in limp bluecalfskin with leather ties; there was an impressive collectionof Bibles, including a very ancient one, dated 1740, and oneextra-illustrated with all the Hoffmann pictures and one hundredand sixty other Biblical scenes; and there were thenecessary works of theological scholarship befitting a bishop—Moody’sSermons, Farrar’s “Life of Christ,” “Flowers andBeasties of the Holy Land,” and “In His Steps,” by CharlesSheldon. The more workaday ministerial books were kept inthe study.

But the bishop was a man of the world and his books fairlyrepresented his tastes. He had a complete Dickens, a completeWalter Scott, Tennyson in the red-line edition bound inpolished tree calf with polished gilt edges, many of the betterworks of Macaulay and Ruskin and, for lighter moments,novels by Mrs. Humphry Ward, Winston Churchill, andElizabeth of the German Garden. It was in travel and nature-studythat he really triumphed. These were represented bynot less than fifty volumes with such titles as “How to Studythe Birds,” “Through Madagascar with Camp and Camera,”“My Summer in the Rockies,” “My Mission in DarkestAfrica,” “Pansies for Thoughts,” and “London from a Bus.”

Nor had the bishop neglected history and economics: hepossessed the Rev. Dr. Hockett’s “Complete History of theWorld: Illustrated,” in eleven handsome volumes, a secondhandcopy of Hadley’s “Economics,” and “The Solution ofCapitalism vs. Labor—Brotherly Love.”

Yet not the fireplace, not the library, so much as the souvenirsof foreign travel gave to the bishop’s residence a flairbeyond that of most houses in Devon Woods. The bishopand his lady were fond of travel. They had made a sixmonths’ inspection of missions in Japan, Korea, China, India,Borneo, Java, and the Philippines, which gave the bishop anauthoritative knowledge of all Oriental governments, religions,psychology, commerce, and hotels. But besides that, six severalsummers they had gone to Europe, and usually on the morerefined and exclusive tours. Once they had spent three solidweeks seeing nothing but London—with side-trips to Oxford,Canterbury, and Stratford—once they had taken a four-daywalking trip in the Tyrol, and once on a channel steamer theyhad met a man who, a steward said, was a Lord.

The living-room reeked with these adventures. Thereweren’t exactly so many curios—the bishop said he didn’tbelieve in getting a lot of foreign furniture and stuff when wemade the best in the world right here at home—but as topictures——The Toomises were devotees of photography, andthey had brought back the whole world in shadow.

Here was the Temple of Heaven at Peking, with the bishopstanding in front of it. Here was the Great Pyramid, withMrs. Toomis in front of it. Here was the cathedral at Milan,with both of them in front of it—this had been snapped forthem by an Italian guide, an obliging gentleman who hadassured the bishop that he believed in prohibition.

III

Into this room Elmer Gantry came with overpowering politeness.He bent, almost as though he were going to kiss it, overthe hand of Mrs. Toomis, who was a large lady with eye-glassesand modest sprightliness, and he murmured, “If youcould only know what a privilege this is!”

She blushed, and looked at the bishop as if to say, “This,my beloved, is a good egg.”

He shook hands reverently with the bishop and boomed,“How good it is of you to take in a homeless wanderer!”

“Nonsense, nonsense, Brother. It is a pleasure to make youat home! Before supper is served, perhaps you’d like to glanceat one or two books and pictures and things that Mother andI have picked up in the many wanderings to which we havebeen driven in carrying on the Work.... Now this may interestyou. This is a photograph of the House of Parliament,or Westminster, as it is also called, in London, England, correspondingto our Capitol in Washington.”

“Well, well, is that a fact!”

“And here’s another photo that might have some slight interest.This is a scene very rarely photographed—in fact itwas so interesting that I sent it to the National GeographicMagazine, and while they were unable to use it, because of anoverload of material, one of the editors wrote to me—I havethe letter some place—and he agreed with me that it was avery unusual and interesting picture. It is taken right in frontof the Sacra Cur, the famous church in Paris, up on the hill ofMontmarte, and if you examine it closely you will see bythe curious light that it was taken just before sunrise! And yetyou see how bully it came out! The lady to the right, there,is Mrs. Toomis. Yes, sir, a real breath right out of Paris!”

“Well, say, that certainly is interesting! Paris, eh!”

“But, oh, Dr. Gantry, a sadly wicked city! I do not speakof the vices of the French themselves—that is for them to settlewith their own consciences, though I certainly do advocate themost active and widespread extension of our American Protestantmissions there, as in all other European countries’ whichsuffer under the blight and darkness of Catholicism. But whatsaddens me is the thought—and I know whereof I speak, I myselfhave seen that regrettable spectacle—what would saddenyou, Dr. Gantry, is the sight of fine young Americans goingover there and not profiting by the sermons in stones, thehistory to be read in those historical structures, but lettingthemselves be drawn into a life of heedless and hectic gaietyif not indeed of actual immorality. Oh, it gives one to think,Dr. Gantry.”

“Yes, it certainly must. By the way, Bishop, it isn’t Dr.Gantry—it’s Mr. Gantry—just plain Reverend.”

“But I thought your circulars—”

“Oh, that was a mistake on the part of the man who wrotethem for me. I’ve talked to him good!”

“Well, well, I admire you for speaking about it! It isnone too easy for us poor weak mortals to deny honors andtitles whether they are rightly or wrongly conferred upon us.Well, I’m sure that it is but a question of time when you willwear the honor of a Doctor of Divinity degree, if I may withoutimmodesty so refer to a handle which I myself happen topossess—yes, indeed, a man who combines strength with eloquence,charm of presence, and a fine high-grade vocabularyas you do, it is but a question of time when—”

“Wesley, dear, supper is served.”

“Oh, very well, my dear. The ladies, Dr. Gantry—Mr.Gantry—as you may already have observed, they seem to havethe strange notion that a household must be run on routinelines, and they don’t hesitate, bless ’em, to interrupt even anabstract discussion to bid us come to the festal board whenthey feel that it’s time, and I for one make haste to obey and—After supper there’s a couple of other photographs that mightinterest you, and I do want you to take a peep at my books. Iknow a poor bishop has no right to yield to the lust for materialpossessions, but I plead guilty to one vice—my inordinate lovefor owning fine items of literature.... Yes, dear, we’re comingat once. Toojoor la fam, Mr. Gantry!—always the ladies!Are you, by the way, married?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Well, well, you must take care of that. I tell you in theministry there is always a vast, though often of course unfair,amount of criticism of the unmarried preacher, which seriouslycramps him. Yes, my dear, we are coming.”

There were rolls hidden in the cornucopia-folded napkins,and supper began with a fruit co*cktail of orange, apple, andcanned pineapple.

“Well,” said Elmer, with a courtly bow to Mrs. Toomis,“I see I’m in high society—beginning with a co*cktail! I tellyou I just have to have my co*cktail before the eats!”

It went over immensely. The bishop repeated it, choking.

IV

Elmer managed, during supper, to let them know that notonly was he a theological seminary man, not only had hemastered psychology, Oriental occultism, and the methods ofmaking millions, but also he had been general manager forthe famous Miss Sharon Falconer.

Whether Bishop Toomis was considering, “I want this man—he’sa comer—he’d be useful to me,” is not known. Butcertainly he listened with zeal to Elmer, and cooed at him, andafter supper, with not more than an hour of showing him thelibrary and the mementos of far-off roamings, he took himoff to the study, away from Mrs. Toomis, who had been interrupting,every quarter of an hour, with her own recollectionsof roast beef at Simpson’s, prices of rooms on BloomsburySquare, meals on the French wagon restaurant, the speed ofFrench taxicabs, and the view of the Eiffel Tower at sunset.

The study was less ornate than the living-room. There wasa business-like desk, a phonograph for dictation, a card catalogueof possible contributors to funds, a steel filing-cabinet,and the bishop’s own typewriter. The books were strictlypractical: Cruden’s Concordance, Smith’s Dictionary of theBible, an atlas of Palestine, and the three published volumesof the bishop’s own sermons. By glancing at these for notmore than ten minutes, he could have an address ready forany occasion.

The bishop sank into his golden oak revolving desk-chair,pointed at his typewriter, and sighed, “From this horrid roomyou get a hint of how pressed I am by practical affairs. WhatI should like to do is to sit down quietly there at my belovedmachine and produce some work of pure beauty that would lastforever, where even the most urgent temporal affairs tend,perhaps, to pass away. Of course I have editorials in theAdvocate, and my sermons have been published.”

He looked sharply at Elmer.

“Yes, of course, Bishop, I’ve read them!”

“That’s very kind of you. But what I’ve longed for allthese years is sinfully worldly literary work. I’ve alwaysfancied, perhaps vainly, that I have a talent——I’ve longed todo a book, in fact a novel——I have rather an interestingplot. You see, this farm boy, brought up in circ*mstances ofwant, with very little opportunity for education, he struggleshard for what book-learning he attains, but there in the greenfields, in God’s own pure meadows, surrounded by the leafytrees and the stars overhead at night, breathing the sweet openair of the pastures, he grows up a strong, pure, and reverentyoung man, and of course when he goes up to the city—I hadthought of having him enter the ministry, but I don’t wantto make it autobiographical, so I shall have him enter a commercialline, but one of the more constructive branches of thegreat realm of business, say like banking. Well, he meets thedaughter of his boss—she is a lovely young woman, buttempted by the manifold temptations and gaieties of the city,and I want to show how his influence guides her away from thebroad paths that lead to destruction, and what a splendideffect he has not only on her but on others in the mart ofaffairs. Yes, I long to do that, but——Sitting here, just ustwo, one almost feels as though it would be pleasant to smoke——Doyou smoke?”

“No, thanks be to God, Bishop. I can honestly say that foryears I have never known the taste of nicotine or alcohol.”

“God be praised!”

“When I was younger, being kind of, you might say, avigorous fellow, I was led now and then into temptation, butthe influence of Sister Falconer—oh, there was a sanctified soul,like a nun—only strictly Protestant, of course—they so upliftedme that now I am free of all such desires.”

“I am glad to hear it, Brother, so glad to hear it.... Now,Gantry, the other day you said something about havingthought of coming into the Methodist fold. How seriouslyhave you thought about it?”

“Very.”

“I wish you would. I mean—Of course neither you norI is necessary to the progress of that great Methodist Church,which day by day is the more destined to instruct and guide ourbeloved nation. But I mean—When I meet a fine youngman like you, I like to think of what spiritual satisfaction hewould have in this institution. Now the work you’re doing atpresent is inspiring to many fine young men, but it is single-handed—ithas no permanence. When you go, much of thegood you have done dies, because there is no institution likethe living church to carry it on. You ought to be in one of thelarge denominations, and of these I feel, for all my admirationof the Baptists, that the Methodist Church is in some waysthe great exemplar. It is so broad-spirited and democratic,yet very powerful. It is the real church of the people.”

“Yes, I rather believe you’re right, Bishop. Since I talkedwith you I’ve been thinking——Uh, if the Methodist Churchshould want to accept me, what would I have to do? Wouldthere be much red tape?”

“It would be a very simple matter. As you’re already ordained,I could have the District Conference, which meetsnext month at Sparta, recommend you to the Annual Conferencefor membership. I am sure when the Annual Conferencemeets in spring of next year, a little less than a yearfrom now, with your credits from Terwillinger and MizpahI could get you accepted by the Conference and your ordersrecognized. Till then I can have you accepted as a preacheron trial. And I have a church right now, at Banjo Crossing,that is in need of just such leadership as you could furnish.Banjo has only nine hundred people, but you understand thatit would be necessary for you to begin at the bottom. Thebrethren would very properly be jealous if I gave you a first-classappointment right at the first. But I am sure I couldadvance you rapidly. Yes, we must have you in the church.Great is the work for consecrated hands—and I’ll bet a cookieI live to see you a bishop yourself!”

V

He couldn’t, Elmer complained, back in the refuge of hishotel, sink to a crossroads of nine hundred people, with a salaryof perhaps eleven hundred dollars; not after the big tent andSharon’s throngs, not after suites and morning coats and beingDr. Gantry to brokers’ wives in ballrooms.

But also he couldn’t go on. He would never get to the topin the New Thought business. He admitted that he hadn’tquite the creative mind. He could never rise to such originalityas, say, Mrs. Riddle’s humorous oracle: “Don’t be scared ofupsetting folks ’coz most of ’em are topsy-turvy anyway, andyou’ll only be putting ’em back on their feet.”

Fortunately, except in a few fashionable churches, it wasn’tnecessary to say anything original to succeed among the Baptistsor Methodists.

He would be happy in a regular pastorate. He was a professional.As an actor enjoyed grease-paint and call-boards andstacks of scenery, so Elmer had the affection of familiarity forthe details of his profession—hymn books, communion service,training the choir, watching the Ladies’ Aid grow, the dramaof coming from the mysteries back-stage, so unknown andfascinating to the audience, to the limelight of the waitingcongregation.

And his mother——He had not seen her for two years, buthe retained the longing to solace her, and he knew that shewas only bewildered over his New Thought harlequinade.

But—nine hundred population!

He held out for a fortnight; demanded a bigger church fromBishop Toomis; brought in all his little clippings about eloquencein company with Sharon.

Then the Zenith lectures closed, and he had ahead only themost speculative opportunities.

Bishop Toomis grieved, “I am disappointed, Brother, thatyou should think more of the size of the flock than of thegreat, grrrrrrrreat opportunities for good ahead of you!”

Elmer looked his most flushing, gallant, boyish self. “Oh,no, Bishop, you don’t get me, honest! I just wanted to beable to use my training where it might be of the most value.But I’m eager to be guided by you!”

Two months later Elmer was on the train to Banjo Crossing,as pastor of the Methodist Church in that amiable villageunder the sycamores.

I

a thursday in June 1913.

The train wandered through orchard-land and cornfields—twoseedy day-coaches and a baggage car. Hurry andefficiency had not yet been discovered on this branch line, andit took five hours to travel the hundred and twenty miles fromZenith to Banjo Crossing.

The Reverend Elmer Gantry was in a state of grace. Havingresolved henceforth to be pure and humble and humanitarian,he was benevolent to all his traveling companions. He wasmothering the world, whether the world liked it or not.

But he did not insist on any outward distinction as a parson,a Professional Good Man. He wore a quietly modest graysack suit, a modestly rich maroon tie. Not just as a minister,but as a citizen, he told himself, it was his duty to make lifebreezier and brighter for his fellow wayfarers.

The aged conductor knew most of his passengers by theirfirst names, and they hailed him as “Uncle Ben,” but he resentedstrangers on their home train. When Elmer shouted,“Lovely day, Brother!” Uncle Ben looked at him as if tosay “Well, ’tain’t my fault!” But Elmer continued his philadelphianviolences till the old man sent in the brakeman tocollect the tickets the rest of the way.

At a traveling salesman who tried to borrow a match, Elmerroared, “I don’t smoke, Brother, and I don’t believe GeorgeWashington did either!” His benignancies were received withso little gratitude that he almost wearied of good works, butwhen he carried an old woman’s suit-case off the train, shefluttered at him with the admiration he deserved, and he wasmoved to pat children upon the head—to their terror—and toexplain crop-rotation to an ancient who had been farming forforty-seven years.

Anyway, he satisfied the day’s lust for humanitarianism, andhe turned back the seat in front of his, stretched out his legs,looked sleepy so that no one would crowd in beside him, andrejoiced in having taken up a life of holiness and authority.

He glanced out at the patchy country with satisfaction.Rustic, yes, but simple, and the simple honest hearts of hiscongregation would yearn toward him as the bookkeepers couldnot be depended upon to do in Prosperity Classes. He picturedhis hearty reception at Banjo Crossing. He knew thathis district superintendent (a district superintendent is a lieutenant-bishopin the Methodist Church—formerly called apresiding elder) had written the hour of his coming to Mr.Nathaniel Benham of Banjo Crossing, and he knew that Mr.Benham, the leading trustee of the local church, was the chiefgeneral merchant in the Banjo Valley. Yes, he would shakehands with all of his flock, even the humblest, at the station; hewould look into their clear and trusting eyes, and rejoice to betheir shepherd, leading them on and upward, for at least a year.

Banjo Crossing seemed very small as the train staggered intoit. There were back porches with wash-tubs and broken-downchairs; there were wooden sidewalks.

As Elmer pontifically descended at the red frame station, ashe looked for the reception and the holy glee, there wasn’t anyreception, and the only glee visible was on the puffy face ofthe station-agent as he observed a City Fellow trying to showoff. “Hee, hee, there ain’t no ’bus!” giggled the agent. “Guessyuh’ll have to carry your own valises over to the hotel!”

“Where,” demanded Elmer, “is Mr. Benham, Mr. NathanielBenham?”

“Old Nat? Ain’t seen him today. Guess yuh’ll find him atthe store, ’bout as usual, seeing if he can’t do some farmer outof two cents on a batch of eggs. Traveling man?”

“I am the new Methodist preacher!”

“Oh, well, say! That a fact! Pleased to meet yuh!Wouldn’t of thought you were a preacher. You look too wellfed! You’re going to room at Mrs. Pete Clark’s—the WidowClark’s. Leave your valises here, and I’ll have my boy fetch’em over. Well, good luck, Brother. Hope you won’t havemuch trouble with your church. The last fellow did, but thenhe was kind of pernickety—wa’n’t just plain folks.”

“Oh, I’m just plain folks, and mighty happy, after the greatcities, to be among them!” was Elmer’s amiable greeting, butwhat he observed as he walked away was “I am like hell!”

Altogether depressed now, he expected to find the establishmentof Brother Benham a littered and squalid crossroadsstore, but he came to a two-story brick structure withplate-glass windows and, in the alley, the half-dozen truckswith which Mr. Benham supplied the farmers for twentymiles up and down the Banjo Valley. Respectful, Elmerwalked through broad aisles, past counters trim as a smalldepartment-store, and found Mr. Benham dictating letters.

If in a small way Nathaniel Benham had commercial genius,it did not show in his aspect. He wore a beard like a bathsponge, and in his voice was a righteous twang.

“Yes?” he quacked.

“I’m Reverend Gantry, the new pastor.”

Benham rose, not too nimbly, and shook hands dryly. “Oh,yes. The presiding elder said you were coming today. Gladyou’ve come, Brother, and I hope the blessings of the Lordwill attend your labors. You’re to board at the WidowClark’s—anybody’ll show you where it is.”

Apparently he had nothing else to say.

A little bitterly, Elmer demanded, “I’d like to look overthe church. Have you a key?”

“Now let’s see. Brother Jones might have one—he’s got thepaint and carpenter shop right up here on Front Street. No,guess he hasn’t, either. We got a young fella, just a boy youmight say, who’s doing the janitor work now, and guess he’dhave a key, but this bein’ vacation he’s off fishin’ more’nlikely. Tell you: you might try Brother Fritscher, the shoemaker—hemight have a key. You married?”

“No. I’ve, uh, I’ve been engaged in evangelistic work, soI’ve been denied the joys and solaces of domestic life.”

“Where you born?”

“Kansas.”

“Folks Christians?”

“They certainly were! My mother was—she is—a realconsecrated soul.”

“Smoke or drink?”

“Certainly not!”

“Do any monkeying with this higher criticism?”

“No, indeed!”

“Ever go hunting?”

“I, uh——Well, yes!”

“That’s fine! Well, glad you’re with us, Brother. SorryI’m busy. Say, Mother and I expect you for supper tonight,six-thirty. Good luck!”

Benham’s smile, his handshake, were cordial enough, but hewas definitely giving dismissal, and Elmer went out in a furyalternating with despair.... To this, to the condescensionof a rustic store-keeper, after the mounting glory with Sharon!

As he walked toward the house of the Widow Clark, towhich a loafer directed him, he hated the shabby village, hatedthe chicken-coops in the yards, the frowsy lawns, the oldbuggies staggering by, the women with plump aprons and wetred arms—women who made his delights of amorous adventuresseem revolting—and all the plodding yokels with their deadeyes and sagging jaws and sudden guffawing.

Fallen to this. And at thirty-two. A failure!

As he waited on the stoop of the square, white, characterlesshouse of the Widow Clark, he wanted to dash back to thestation and take the first train—anywhere. In that momenthe decided to return to farm implements and the bleak lonelyfreedom of the traveling man. Then the screen door wasopened by a jolly ringleted girl of fourteen or fifteen, whocaroled, “Oh, is it Reverend Gantry! My, and I kept youwaiting! I’m terrible sorry! Ma’s just sick she can’t be hereto welcome you, but she had to go over to Cousin Etta’s—CousinEtta busted her leg. Oh, please do come in. My,I didn’t guess we’d have a young preacher this time!”

She was charming in her excited innocence.

After a faded provincial fashion, the square hall was stately,with its Civil War chromos.

Elmer followed the child—Jane Clark, she was—up to hisroom. As she frisked before him, she displayed six inches ofankle above her clumsy shoes, and Elmer was clutched by thatfamiliar feeling, swifter than thought, more elaborate than thestrategy of a whole war, which signified that here was a girlhe was going to pursue. But as suddenly—almost wistfully,in his weary desire for peace and integrity—he begged himself,“No! Don’t! Not any more! Let the kid alone! Please bedecent! Lord, give me decency and goodness!”

The struggle was finished in the half-minute of ascending thestairs, and he could shake hands casually, say carelessly, “Well,I’m mighty glad you were here to welcome me, Sister, and Ihope I may bring a blessing on the house.”

He felt at home now, warmed, restored. His chamber wasagreeable—Turkey-red carpet, stove a perfect shrine ofpolished nickel, and in the bow-window, a deep arm-chair.On the four-poster bed was a crazy-quilt, and pillow-shamsembroidered with lambs and rabbits and the motto, “GodBless Our Slumbers.”

“This is going to be all right. Kinda like home, afterthese doggone hotels,” he meditated.

He was again ready to conquer Banjo Crossing, to conquerMethodism; and when his bags and trunk had come, he set out,before unpacking, to view his kingdom.

II

Banjo Crossing was not extensive, but to find the key to theFirst Methodist Church was a Scotland Yard melodrama.

Brother Fritscher, the shoemaker, had lent it to Sister Andersonof the Ladies’ Aid, who had lent it to Mrs. Pryshetski,the scrubwoman, who had lent it to puss* Byrnes, president ofthe Epworth League, who had lent it to Sister Fritscher, consortof Brother Fritscher, so that Elmer captured it next doorto the shoemaker’s shop from which he had irritably set out.

Each of them, Brother Fritscher and Sister Fritscher, SisterPryshetski and Sister Byrnes, Sister Anderson and most of thepeople from whom he inquired directions along the way, askedhim the same questions:

“You the new Methodist preacher?” and “Not married, areyou?” and “Just come to town?” and “Hear you come from theCity—guess you’re pretty glad to get away, ain’t you?”

He hadn’t much hope for his church-building. He had notseen it yet—it was hidden behind the school-building—but heexpected a hideous brown hulk with plank buttresses. He wasdelighted then, proud as a worthy citizen elected mayor, whenhe came to an agreeable little church covered with grayshingles, crowned with a modest spire, rimmed with croppedlawn and flower-beds. Excitedly he let himself in, greeted bythe stale tomb-like odor of all empty churches.

The interior was pleasant. It would hold two hundredand ninety, perhaps. The pews were of a light yellow, tooglaring, but the walls were of soft cream, and in the chancel,with a white arch graceful above it, was a seemly white pulpitand a modest curtained choir-loft. He explored. There wasa goodish Sunday School room, a basem*nt with tables and asmall kitchen. It was all cheerful, alive; it suggested a chanceof growth.

As he returned to the auditorium, he noted one good coloredmemorial window, and through the clear glass of the othersthe friendly maples looked in at him.

He walked round the building. Suddenly he was overwhelmedand exalted with the mystic pride of ownership. Itwas all his; his own; and as such it was all beautiful. Whatbeautiful soft gray shingles! What an exquisite spire! Whata glorious maple-tree! Yes, and what a fine cement walk, whata fine new ash-can, what a handsome announcement board,soon to be starred with his own name! His! To do with as hepleased! And, oh, he would do fine things, aspiring things, veryimportant things! Never again, with this new reason forgoing on living, would he care for lower desires—for pride, forthe adventure of women.... His!

He entered the church again; he sat proudly in each of thethree chairs on the platform which, as a boy, he had believedto be reserved for the three persons of the Trinity. He stoodup, leaned his arms on the pulpit, and to a worshiping throng(many standing) he boomed, “My brethren!”

He was in an ecstasy such as he had not known since hishours with Sharon. He would start again—had started again,he vowed. Never lie or cheat or boast. This town, it mightbe dull, but he would enliven it, make it his own creation, liftit to his own present glory. He would! Life opened beforehim, clean, joyous, full of the superb chances of a Christianknighthood. Some day he would be a bishop, yes, but eventhat was nothing compared with the fact that he had won avictory over his lower nature.

He knelt, and with his arms wide in supplication he prayed,“Lord, thou who hast stooped to my great unworthiness andtaken even me to thy Kingdom, who this moment hast shownme the abiding joy of righteousness, make me whole and keepme pure, and in all things, Our Father, thy will be done.Amen.”

He stood by the pulpit, tears in his eyes, his meaty handsclutching the cover of the great leather Bible till it cracked.

The door at the other end of the aisle was opening, and hesaw a vision standing on the threshold in the June sun.

He remembered afterward, from some forgotten literary adventurein college, a couplet which signified to him the youngwoman who was looking at him from the door:

She was younger than himself, yet she suggested a serenematurity, a gracious pride. She was slender, but her bosomwas full, and some day she might be portly. Her face waslovely, her forehead wide, her brown eyes trusting, and smoothher chestnut hair. She had taken off her rose-trimmed strawhat and was swinging it in her large and graceful hands.... Virginal, stately, kind, most generous.

She came placidly down the aisle, a hand out, crying, “It’sReverend Gantry, isn’t it? I’m so proud to be the first towelcome you here in the church! I’m Cleo Benham—I leadthe choir. Perhaps you’ve seen Papa—he’s a trustee—he hasthe store.”

“You sure are the first to welcome me, Sister Benham, andit’s a mighty great pleasure to meet you! Yes, your fatherwas so nice as to invite me for supper tonight.”

They shook hands with ceremony and sat beaming at eachother in a front pew. He informed her that he was certainthere was “going to be a great spiritual awakening here,” andshe told him what lovely people there were in the congregation,in the village, in the entire surrounding country. And herpanting breast told him that she, the daughter of the villagemagnate, had instantly fallen in love with him.

III

Cleo Benham had spent three years in the Sparta Women’sCollege, specializing in piano, organ, French, English literature,strictly expurgated, and study of the Bible. Returned toBanjo Crossing, she was a fervent church-worker. She playedthe organ and rehearsed the choir: she was the superintendentof the juvenile department in the Sunday School; she decoratedthe church for Easter, for funerals, for the Halloween Supper.

She was twenty-seven, five years younger than Elmer.

Though she was not very lively in summer-evening front porchchatter, though on the few occasions when she sinnedagainst the Discipline and danced she seemed a little heavy onher feet, though she had a corseted purity which was dismayingto the earthy young men of Banjo Crossing, yet she was handsome,she was kind, and her father was reputed to be worthnot a cent less than seventy-five thousand dollars. So almostevery eligible male in the vicinity had hinted at proposing toher.

Gently and compassionately she had rejected them one byone. Marriage must, she felt, be a sacrament; she must be thehelpmate of some one who was “doing a tremendous amount ofgood in the world.” This good she identified with medicineor preaching.

Her friends assured her, “My! With your Bible trainingand your music and all, you’d make a perfect pastor’s wife.Just dandy! You’d be such a help to him.”

But no detached preacher or doctor had happened along,and she had remained insulated, a little puzzled, hungry overthe children of her friends, each year more passionately givento hymnody and agonized solitary prayer.

Now, with innocent boldness, she was exclaiming to Elmer:“We were so afraid the bishop would send us some pastor thatwas old and worn-out. The people here are lovely, but they’rekind of slow-going; they need somebody to wake them up.I’m so glad he sent somebody that was young and attractive—Oh,my, I shouldn’t have said that! I was just thinking ofthe church, you understand.”

Her eyes said that she had not been just thinking of thechurch.

She looked at her wrist-watch (the first in Banjo Crossing)and chanted, “Why, my gracious, it’s six o’clock! Would youlike to walk home with me instead of going to Mrs. Clark’s—youcould wash up at Papa’s.”

“You can’t lose me!” exulted Elmer, hastily amending,“—as the slangy youngsters say! Yes, indeed, I should bevery pleased to have the pleasure of walking home with you.”

Under the elms, past the rose-bushes, through dust emblazonedby the declining sun, he walked with his statelyabbess.

He knew that she was the sort of wife who would help himto capture a bishopric. He persuaded himself that, with allher virtue, she would eventually be interesting to kiss. Henoted that they “made a fine couple.” He told himself thatshe was the first woman he had ever found who was worthy ofhim.... Then he remembered Sharon.... But the panglasted only a moment, in the secure village peace, in the gentleflow of Cleo’s voice.

IV

Once he was out of the sacred briskness of his store, Mr.Nathaniel Benham forgot discounts and became an affablehost. He said, “Well, well, Brother,” ever so many times, andshook hands profusely. Mrs. Benham—she was a large woman,rather handsome; she wore figured foulard, with an apron overit, as she had been helping in the kitchen—Mrs. Benham wasequally cordial. “I’ll just bet you’re hungry, Brother!” criedshe.

He was, after a lunch of ham sandwich and coffee at a stationlunch-room on the way down.

The Benham house was the proudest mansion in town. Itwas of yellow clapboards with white trim; it had a hugescreened porch and a little turret; a staircase window with aborder of colored glass; and there was a real fireplace, thoughit was never used. In front of the house, to Elmer’s admiration,was one of the three automobiles which were all that wereto be found in 1913 in Banjo Crossing. It was a bright redBuick with brass trimmings.

The Benham supper was as replete with fried chicken andtheological questions as Elmer’s first supper with Deacon Bainsin Schoenheim. But here was wealth, for which Elmer had atouching reverence, and here was Cleo.

Lulu Bains had been a tempting mouthful; Cleo Benhamwas of the race of queens. To possess her, Elmer gloated,would in itself be an empire, worth any battling.... And yethe did not itch to get her in a corner and buss her, as he hadLulu; the slope of her proud shoulders did not make hisfingers taut.

After supper, on the screened porch pleasant by dusk, Mr.Benham demanded, “What charges have you been holding,Brother Gantry?”

Elmer modestly let him know how important he had been inthe work of Sister Falconer; he admitted his scholarly researchat Mizpah Seminary; he made quite enough of his successat Schoenheim; he let it be known that he had been practicallyassistant sales-manager of the Pequot Farm ImplementCompany.

Mr. Benham grunted with surprised admiration. Mrs.Benham gurgled, “My, we’re lucky to have a real high-classpreacher for once!” And Cleo—she leaned toward Elmer, ina deep willow chair, and her nearness was a charm.

He walked back happily in the June darkness; he felt neighborlywhen an unknown muttered, “Evening, Reverend!” andall the way he saw Cleo, proud as Athena yet pliant as golden-skinnedAphrodite.

He had found his work, his mate, his future.

Virtue, he pointed out, certainly did pay.

I

he had two days to prepare his first sermon and unpack histrunk, his bags, and the books which he had purchased inZenith.

His possessions were not very consistent. He had a beautifulnew morning coat, three excellent lounge suits, patent leathershoes, a noble derby, a flourishing top hat, but he had onlytwo suits of underclothes, both ragged. His socks were of blacksilk, out at the toes. For breast-pocket display, he had silkhandkerchiefs; but for use, only cotton rags torn at the hem.He owned perfume, hair-oil, talcum powder; his cuff links wereof solid gold; but for dressing-gown he used his overcoat; hisslippers were a frowsy pulp; and the watch which he carriedon a gold and platinum chain was a one-dollar alarm clock.

He had laid in a fruitful theological library. He had boughtthe fifty volumes of the Expositors’ Bible—source of ready-madesermons—secondhand for $13.75. He had the sermonsof Spurgeon, Jefferson, Brooks, and J. Wilbur Chapman. Hewas willing to be guided by these masters, and not insist onforcing his own ideas on the world. He had a very usefulbook by Bishop Aberman, “The Very Appearance of Evil,”advising young preachers to avoid sin. Elmer felt that thiswould be unusually useful in his new life.

He had a dictionary—he liked to look at the colored platesdepicting jewels, flags, plants, and aquatic birds; he had aBible dictionary, a concordance, a history of the MethodistChurch, a history of Protestant missions, commentaries on theindividual books of the Bible, an outline of theology, and Dr.Argyle’s “The Pastor and His Flock,” which told how to increasechurch collections, train choirs, take exercise, placatedeacons, and make pasteboard models of Solomon’s Temple tolead the little ones to holiness in the Sunday School.

In fact he had had a sufficient library—“God’s artillery inblack and white,” as Bishop Toomis wittily dubbed it—to informhimself of any detail in the practice of the ProfessionalGood Man. He would be able to produce sermons which wouldbe highly informative about the geography of Palestine, yetuseful to such of his fold as might have a sneaking desire toread magazines on the Sabbath. Thus guided, he could increasethe church membership; he could give advice to errant youth;he could raise missionary funds so that the heathen in Calcuttaand Peking might have the opportunity to become likethe Reverend Elmer Gantry.

II

Though Cleo took him for a drive through the country, mostof the time before Sunday he dedicated to refurbishing a sermonwhich he had often and successfully used with Sharon.The text was from Romans 1:16: “For I am not ashamed ofthe gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvationto every one that believeth.”

When he came up to the church on Sunday morning, tall andample, grave and magnificent, his face fixed in a smile offriendliness, his morning coat bright in the sun, a Bible underhis arm, Elmer was exhilarated by the crowd filtering into thechurch. The street was filled with country buggies and a Fordor two. As he went round to the back of the church, passing aknot at the door, they shouted cordially, “Good morning,Brother!” and “Fine day, Reverend!”

Cleo was waiting for him with the choir—Miss Kloof, theschool-teacher, Mrs. Diebel, wife of the implement-dealer, EdPerkins, deliveryman for Mr. Benham, and Ray Faucett,butter-maker at the creamery.

Cleo held his hand and rejoiced, “What a wonderful crowdthere is this morning! I’m so glad!”

Together they peeped through the parlor door into the auditorium,and he almost put his arm about her firm waist....It would have seemed natural, very pleasant and right andsweet.

When he marched out to the chancel, the church was full,a dozen standing. They all breathed with admiration. (Helearned later that the last pastor had had trouble with his falseteeth and a fondness for whining.)

He led the singing.

“Come on now!” he laughed. “You’ve got to welcome yournew preacher! The best way is to put a lot of lung-powerinto it and sing like the dickens! You can all make somekind of noise. Make a lot!”

Himself he gave example, his deep voice rolling out in hymnsof which he had always been fond: “I Love to Tell the Story”and “My Faith Looks up to Thee.”

He prayed briefly—he was weary of prayers in which thepriest ramblingly explained to God that God really was God.This was, he said, his first day with the new flock. Let theLord give him ways of showing them his love and his desireto serve them.

Before his sermon he looked from brother to brother. Heloved them all, that moment; they were his regiment, and hethe colonel; his ship’s crew, and he the skipper; his patients,and he the loyal physician. He began slowly, his great voiceswelling to triumphant certainty as he talked.

Voice, sureness, presence, training, power, he had them all.Never had he so well liked his rôle; never had he acted so well;never had he known such sincerity of histrionic instinct.

He had solid doctrine for the older stalwarts. With comfortingpositiveness he preached that the atonement was theone supreme fact in the world. It rendered the most sickly andthreadbare the equals of kings and millionaires; it demandedof the successful that they make every act a recognition of theatonement. For the young people he had plenty of anecdotes,and he was not afraid to make them laugh.

While he did tell the gloomy incident of the boy who wasdrowned while fishing on Sunday, he also gave them the humorousstory of the lad who declared he wouldn’t go toschool, “because it said in the Twenty-third Psalm that theLord made him lie down in green pastures, and he sure didprefer that to school!”

For all of them, but particularly for Cleo, sitting at theorgan, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes loyal, he wingedinto poetry.

To preach the good news of the gospel, ah! That was not,as the wicked pretended, a weak, sniveling, sanctimoniousthing! It was a job for strong men and resolute women. Forthis, the Methodist missionaries had faced the ferocious lionand the treacherous fevers of the jungle, the poisonous cold ofthe Arctic, the parching desert and the fields of battle. Werewe to be less heroic than they? Here, now, in Banjo Crossing,there was no triumph of business so stirring, no despairing needof a sick friend so urgent, as the call to tell blinded and perishingsinners the necessity of repentance.

“Repentance—repentance—repentance—in the name of theLord God!”

His superb voice trumpeted it, and in Cleo’s eyes were inspiredtears.

Beyond controversy, it was the best sermon ever heard inBanjo Crossing. And they told him so as he cheerily shookhands with them at the door. “Enjoyed your discourse a lot,Reverend!”

And Cleo came to him, her two hands out, and he almostkissed her.

III

Sunday School was held after morning service. Elmer determinedthat he was not going to attend Sunday School everyweek—“not on your life; sneak in a nap before dinner”—butthis morning he was affably and expansively there, encouragingthe little ones by a bright short talk in which he advisedthem to speak the truth, obey their fathers and mothers, andgive heed to the revelations of their teachers, such as MissMittie Lamb, the milliner, and Oscar Scholtz, manager of thepotato warehouse.

Banjo Crossing had not yet touched the modern SundaySchool methods which, in the larger churches, in another tenyears, were to divide the pupils as elaborately as public schooland to provide training-classes for the teachers. But at leastthey had separated the children up to ten years from theolder students, and of this juvenile department Cleo Benhamwas superintendent.

Elmer watched her going from class to class; he saw hownaturally and affectionately the children talked to her.

“She’d make a great wife and mother—a great wife for apreacher—a great wife for a bishop,” he noted.

IV

Evening services at the Banjo Crossing Methodist Churchhad normally drawn less than forty people, but there were ahundred tonight, when, fumblingly, Elmer broke away fromold-fashioned church practise and began what was later tobecome his famous Lively Sunday Evenings.

He chose the brighter hymns, “Onward, Christian Soldiers,”“Wonderful Words of Life,” “Brighten the Corner Where YouAre,” and the triumphant pæan of “When the Roll is Calledup Yonder, I’ll be There.” Instead of making them dronethrough many stanzas, he had them sing one from each hymn.Then he startled them by shouting, “Now I don’t want any ofyou old fellows to be shocked, or say it isn’t proper in church,because I’m going to get the spirit awakened and maybe get theold devil on the run! Remember that the Lord who made thesunshine and the rejoicing hills must have been behind thefellows that wrote the glad songs, so I want you to all pipeup good and lively with ‘Dixie’! Yes, sir! Then, for theold fellows, like me, we’ll have a stanza of that magnificent oldreassurance of righteousness, ‘How Firm a Foundation.’ ”

They did look shocked, some of them; but the youngsters,the boys and the girls keeping an aseptic tryst in the backpews, were delighted. He made them sing the chorus of“Dixie” over and over, till all but one or two rheumatic saintslooked cheerful.

His text was from Galatians: “But the fruit of the Spirit islove, joy, peace.”

“Don’t you ever listen for one second,” he commanded,“to these wishy-washy fellows that carry water on both shoulders,that love to straddle the fence, that are scared of thesternness of the good old-time Methodist doctrine and tell youthat details don’t mean anything, that dogmas and the disciplinedon’t mean anything. They do! Justification meanssomething! Baptism means something! It means somethingthat the wicked and worldly stand for this horrible stinkingtobacco and this insane alcohol, which makes a man like amurderer, but we Methodists keep ourselves pure and unspottedand undefiled.

“But tonight, on this first day of getting acquainted withyou, Brothers and Sisters, I don’t want to go into these details.I want to get down to the fundamental thing which detailsmerely carry out, and that fundamental thing——What is it?What is it? What is it but Jesus Christ, and his love for eachand every one of us!

“Love! Love! Love! How beauteous the very word! Notcarnal love but the divine presence. What is Love? Listen!It is the rainbow that stands out, in all its glorious many-coloredhues, illuminating and making glad again the darkclouds of life. It is the morning and the evening star, thatin glad refulgence, there on the awed horizon, call Nature’shearts to an uplifted rejoicing in God’s marvelous firmament!Round about the cradle of the babe, sleeping so quietly whileo’er him hangs in almost agonized adoration his loving mother,shines the miracle of Love, and at the last sad end, comfortingthe hearts that bear its immortal permanence, round even thequiet tomb, shines Love.

“What is great art—and I am not speaking of ordinarypictures but of those celebrated Old Masters with their greatmoral lessons—what is the mother of art, the inspiration ofthe poet, the patriot, the philosopher, and the great man ofaffairs, be he business man or statesman—yes, what inspirestheir every effort save Love?

“Oh, do you not sometimes hear, stealing o’er the plains atdawn, coming as it were from some far distant secret place, asound of melody? When our dear sister here plays the offertory,do you not seem sometimes to catch the distant rustleof the wings of cherubim? And what is music, lovely, lovelymusic, what is fair melody? Ah, music, ’tis the voice of Love!Ah, ’tis the magician that makes right royal kings out of plainfolks like us! ’Tis the perfume of the wondrous flower, ’tisthe strength of the athlete, strong and mighty to endure ’midthe heat and dust of the valorous conquest. Ah, Love, Love,Love! Without it, we are less than beasts; with it, earth isheaven and we are as the gods!

“Yes, that is what Love—created by Christ Jesus and conveyedthrough all the generations by his church, particularly,it seems to me, by the great, broad, democratic, liberal brotherhoodof the Methodist Church—that is what it means to us.

“I am reminded of an incident in my early youth, while Iwas in the university. There was a young man in my class—Iwill not give you his name except to say that we called himJim—a young man pleasing to the eye, filled with every possibilityfor true deep Christian service, but alas! so beset withthe boyish pride of mere intellect, of mere smart-aleck egotism,that he was unwilling to humble himself before the source ofall intellect and accept Jesus as his savior.

“I was very fond of Jim—in fact I had been willing to goand room with him in the hope of bringing him to his sensesand getting him to embrace salvation. But he was a man whohad read books by folks like Ingersoll and Thomas Paine—fool,swell-headed folks that thought they knew more thanAlmighty God! He would quote their polluted and devil-inspiredravings instead of listening to the cool healing streamthat gushes blessedly forth from the Holy Bible. Well, Iargued and argued and argued—I guess that shows I waspretty young and foolish myself! But one day I was inspiredto something bigger and better than any arguments.

“I just said to Jim, all of a sudden, ‘Jim,’ I said, ‘do youlove your father?’ (A fine old Christian gentleman his fatherwas, too, a country doctor, with that heroism, that self-sacrifice,that wide experience which the country doctor has.) ‘Doyou love your old dad?’ I asked him.

“Naturally, Jim was awful’ fond of his father, and he waskind of hurt that I should have asked him.

“ ‘Sure, of course I do!’ he says. ‘Well, Jim,’ I says, ‘doesyour father love you?’ ‘Why, of course he does,’ said Jim.‘Then look here, Jim,’ I said; ‘if your earthly father can loveyou, how much more must your Father in Heaven, who createdall Love, how much more must he care and yearn for you!’

“Well, sir, that knocked him right over. He forgot all thesmart-aleck things he’d been reading. He just looked at me,and I could see a tear quivering in the lad’s eyes as he said, ‘Isee how you mean, now, and I want to say, friend, that I’mgoing to accept Jesus Christ as my lord and master!’

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, how beautiful it is, the golden glory ofGod’s Love! Do you not feel it? I mean that! I don’t meanjust a snuffling, lazy, mechanical acceptance, but a passionate—”

V

He had them!

It had been fun to watch the old fanatics, who had objectedto the singing of Dixie, come under the spell and admit hispower. He had preached straight at one of them after another;he had conquered them all.

At the end they shook hands even more warmly than in themorning.

Cleo stood back, hypnotized. When he came to her sheintoned, her eyes unseeing, “Oh, Reverend Gantry, this is thegreatest day our old church has ever known!”

“Did you like what I said of Love?”

“Oh ... Love ... yes!”

She spoke as one asleep; she seemed not to know that hewas holding her hand, softly; she walked out of the churchbeside him, unspeaking, and of her tranced holiness he felta little awe.

VI

In his attention to business, Elmer had not given especialheed to the collections. It had not been carelessness, for heknew his technique as a Professional Good Man. But thefirst day, he felt, he ought to establish himself as a spiritualleader, and when they all understood that, he would see to itthat they paid suitably for the spiritual leadership. Was notthe Laborer worthy of his Hire?

VII

The reception to welcome Elmer was held the next Tuesdayevening in the basem*nt of the church. From seven-thirty,when they met, till a quarter of eight, he was busy with aprodigious amount of hand-shaking.

They told him he was very eloquent, very spiritual. Hecould see Cleo’s pride at their welcome. She had the chanceto whisper, “Do you realize how much it means? Mostly theyaren’t anything like so welcoming to a new preacher. Oh, Iam so glad!”

Brother Benham called them to order, in the basem*nt, andSister Kilween sang “The Holy City” as a solo. It was prettybad. Brother Benham in a short hesitating talk said theyhad been delighted by Brother Gantry’s sermons. BrotherGantry in a long and gushing talk said that he was delightedby Brother Benham, the other Benhams, the rest of the congregation,Banjo Crossing, Banjo County, the United Statesof America, Bishop Toomis, and the Methodist EpiscopalChurch (North) in all its departments.

Cleo concluded the celebration with a piano solo, and therewas a great deal more of hand-shaking. It seemed to be therule that whoever came or was pushed within reach of thepastor, no matter how many times during the evening, shouldattack his hand each time.

And they had cake and homemade ice cream.

It was very dull and, to Elmer, very grateful. He felt accepted,secure, and ready to begin his work.

VIII

He had plans for the Wednesday evening prayer-meeting,He knew what a prayer-meeting in Banjo Crossing would belike. They would drone a couple of hymns and the faithful,half a dozen of them, always using the same words, would popup and mumble, “Oh, I thank the Lord that he has revealedhimself to me and has shown me the error of my ways andoh that those who have not seen his light and whose heartsare heavy with sin may turn to him this evening while they stillhave life and breath”—which they never did. And the sullenlyunhappy woman in the faded jacket, at the back, would demand,“I want the prayers of the congregation to save my husbandfrom the sins of smoking and drinking.”

“I may not,” Elmer meditated, “be as swell a scholar as oldToomis, but I can invent a lot of stunts and everything towake the church up and attract the crowds, and that’s worth awhole lot more than all this yowling about the prophets andtheology!”

He began his “stunts” with that first prayer-meeting.

He suggested, “I know a lot of us want to give testimony,but sometimes it’s hard to think of new ways of saying things,and let me suggest something new. Let’s give our testimonyby picking out hymns that express just how we feel about thedear Savior and his help. Then we can all join together in thegladsome testimony.”

It went over.

“That’s a fine fellow, that new Methodist preacher,” saidthe villagers that week.

They were shy enough, and awkward and apparently indifferent,but in a friendly way they were spying on him,equally ready to praise him as a neighbor or snicker at him asa fool.

“Yes,” they said; “a fine fellow, and smart’s a whip, andmighty eloquent, and a real husky man. Looks you rightstraight in the eye. Only thing that bothers me—He’s toogood to stay here with us. And if he is so good, why’d theyever send him here in the first place? What’s wrong with him?Boozer, d’ye think?”

Elmer, who knew his Paris, Kansas, his Gritzmacher Springs,had guessed that precisely these would be the opinions, andhe took care, as he handshook his way from store to store,house to house, to explain that for years he had been out inthe evangelistic field, and that by advice of his old and truefriend, Bishop Toomis, he was taking this year in a smallergarden-patch to rest up for his labors to come.

He was assiduous, but careful, in his pastoral calls on thewomen. He praised their gingerbread, Morris chairs, andsouvenirs of Niagara, and their children’s school-exercise books.He became friendly, as friendly as he could be to any male,with the village doctor, the village homeopath, the lawyer, thestation-agent, and all the staff at Benham’s store.

But he saw that if he was to take the position suitable tohim in the realm of religion, he must study, he must gatherseveral more ideas and ever so many new words, to be puttogether for the enlightenment of the generation.

IX

His duties at Banjo Crossing were not violent, and hourafter hour, in his quiet chamber at the residence of the WidowClark, he gave himself trustingly to scholarship.

He continued his theological studies; he read all the sermonsby Beecher, Brooks, and Chapman; he read three chaptersof the Bible daily; and he got clear through the letter Gin the Bible dictionary. Especially he studied the MethodistDiscipline, in preparation for his appearance before the AnnualConference Board of Examiners as a candidate for full conferencemembership—full ministerhood.

The Discipline, which is a combination of Methodist prayerbookand by-laws, was not always exciting. Elmer felt a lackof sermon-material and spiritual quickening in the paragraph:

The concurrent recommendation of two-thirds of all themembers of the several Annual Conferences present andvoting, and of two-thirds of all the members of the LayElectoral Conferences present and voting, shall suffice toauthorize the next ensuing General Conference by a two-thirdsvote to alter or amend any of the provisions of thisConstitution excepting Article X, § i; and also, wheneversuch alteration or amendment shall have been first recommendedby a General Conference by a two-thirds vote,then so soon as two-thirds of all the members of the severalAnnual Conferences present and voting, and two-thirdsof all the members of the Lay Electoral Conferencespresent and voting, shall have concurred therein, suchalteration or amendment shall take effect; and the resultof the vote shall be announced by the General Superintendents.

He liked better, from the Articles of Religion in the Discipline:

The offering of Christ, once made, is that perfect redemption,propitiation, and satisfaction for all the sinsof the whole world, both original and actual; and there isnone other satisfaction for sin but that alone. Whereforethe sacrifice of masses, in the which it is commonly saidthat the priest doth offer Christ for the quick and thedead, to have remission of pain or guilt, is a blasphemousfable and dangerous deceit.

He wasn’t altogether certain what it meant, but it had sucha fine uplifting roll. “Blasphemous fable and dangerous deceit.”Fine!

He informed his edified congregation the next Sunday thatthe infallibility of the Pope was “a blasphemous fable and adangerous deceit,” and they almost jumped.

He had much edification from these “Rules for a Preacher’sConduct” in the Discipline:

Be Serious. Let your motto be, “Holiness to the Lord.”Avoid all lightness, jesting, and foolish talking. Conversesparingly and conduct yourself prudently withwomen.... Tell every one under your care what youthink wrong in his conduct and temper, and that lovinglyand plainly, as soon as may be; else it will fester in yourheart.

As a general method of employing our time we adviseyou, 1. As often as possible to rise at four. 2. From fourto five in the morning and from five to six in the eveningto meditate, pray, and read the Scriptures with notes.

Extirpate out of our Church buying or selling goods whichhave not paid the duty laid upon them by government.... Extirpate bribery—receiving anything, directly or indirectly—forvoting at any election.

Elmer became a model in all these departments except, perhaps,avoiding lightness and jesting; conducting himself incomplete prudence with women; telling every one under hiscare what he thought wrong with them—that would have takenall his spare time; arising at four; and extirpating sellers ofsmuggled goods.

For his grades, to be examined by the Annual Conference,he wrote to Dean Trosper at Mizpah. He explained to thedean that he had seen a great new light, that he had workedwith Sister Falconer, but that it had been the early influenceof Dean Trosper which, working somewhat slowly, had ledhim to his present perfection.

He received the grades, with a letter in which the dean observed:

“I hope you will not overwork your new zeal for righteousness.It might be hard on folks. I seem to recall a tendencyin you to overdo a lot of things. As a Baptist, let me congratulatethe Methodists on having you. If you really domean all you say about your present state of grace—well,don’t let that keep you from going right on praying. Theremay still be virtues for you to acquire.”

“Well, by God!” raged the misjudged saint, and, “Oh, rats,what’s the odds! Got the credentials, anyway, and he saysI can get my B. D. by passing an examination. Trouble withold Trosper is he’s one of these smart alecks. T’ hell withhim!”

X

Along with his theological and ecclesiastical researches, Elmerapplied himself to more worldly literature. He borrowedbooks from Cleo and from the tiny village library, housed inthe public school; and on his occasional trips to Sparta, thenearest sizable city, he even bought a volume or two, when hecould find good editions secondhand.

He began with Browning.

He had heard a lot about Browning. He had heard that hewas a stylish poet and an inspiring thinker. But personallyhe did not find that he cared so much for Browning. Therewere so many lines that he had to read three or four timesbefore they made sense, and there was so much stuff aboutItaly and all those Wop countries.

But Browning did give him a number of new words for thenote-book of polysyllables and phrases which he was to keepfor years, and which was to secrete material for some of hismost rotund public utterances. There has been preserved apage from it:

incinerate—burn up

Merovingian—French tribe bout a. d. 500

rem Golgotha was scene crucifixn

Leigh Hunt—poet—1840—n. g.

lupin—blue flower

defeasance—making nix

chanson (pro. Shan-song)—French kind of song

Rem: Man worth while is m. who can smile when ev thinggoes dead wrong

Sermon on man that says other planets inhabited—nix.cause Bible says o of Xt trying to save THEM.

Tennyson, Elmer found more elevating than Browning. Heliked “Maud”—she resembled Cleo, only not so friendly; andhe delighted in the homicides and morality of “Idylls of theKing.” He tried Fitzgerald’s Omar, which had been recommendedby the literary set at Terwillinger, and he made a discoverywhich he thought of communicating through the press.

He had heard it said that Omar was non-religious, but whenhe read:

he perceived that in this quatrain Omar obviously meant thatthough teachers might do a whole lot of arguing, Omar himselfstuck to his belief in Jesus.

In Dickens Elmer had a revelation.

He had not known that any literature published previous tothe Saturday Evening Post could be thrilling. He did not careso much for the humor—it seemed to him that Mr. Dickens wasvulgar and almost immoral when he got Pickwick drunk andcaused Mantalini to contemplate suicide—but he loved thesentiment. When Paul Dombey died, Elmer could have wept;when Miss Nickleby protected her virtue against Sir MulberryHawk, Elmer would have liked to have been there, both as aparson and as an athlete, to save her from that accursed societyman, so typical of his class in debauching youth and innocence.

“Yes, sir, you bet, that’s great stuff!” exulted Elmer.“There’s a writer that goes right down to the depths of humannature. Great stuff. I’ll preach on him when I get thesehicks educated up to literary sermons.”

But his artistic pursuits could not be all play. He had tomaster philosophy as well; and he plunged into Carlyle andElbert Hubbard. He terminated the first plunge, very icy,with haste; but in the biographies by Mr. Hubbard, at thattime dominating America, Elmer found inspiration. He learnedthat Rockefeller had not come to be head of Standard Oil bychance, but by labor, genius, and early Baptist training. Helearned that there are sermons in stones, edification in farmers,beatitude in bankers, and style in adjectives.

Elmer, who had always lived as publicly as a sparrow, couldnot endure keeping his literary treasures to himself. But foronce Cleo Benham was not an adequate mate. He felt that shehad read more of such belles-lettres as “The Message to Garcia”than even himself, so his companion in artistic adventurewas Clyde Tippey, the Reverend Clyde Tippey, pastor of theUnited Brethren Church of Banjo Crossing.

Clyde was not, like Elmer, educated. He had left highschool after his second year, and since then he had had only oneyear in a United Brethren seminary. Elmer didn’t think much,he decided, of all this associating and fellowshiping with alot of rival preachers—it was his job, wasn’t it, to get theirparishioners away from them? But it was an ecstasy to have,for once, a cleric to whom he could talk down.

He called frequently on the Reverend Mr. Tippey in themodest cottage which (at the age of twenty-six) Clyde occupiedwith his fat wife and four children. Mr. Tippey hadpale blue eyes and he wore a fourteen-and-a-half collar encirclinga thirteen neck.

“Clyde,” crowed Elmer, “if you’re going to reach the greatestnumber and not merely satisfy their spiritual needs butgive ’em a rich, full, joyous life, you gotta explain greatliterature to ’em.”

“Yes. Maybe that’s so. Haven’t had time to read much,but I guess there’s lot of fine lessons to be learned out of literature,”said the Reverend Mr. Tippey.

“Is there! Say, listen to this! From Longfellow. Thepoet.

and this—just get the dandy swing to it:

I read that way back in school-reader, but I never had anybodyto show me what it meant, like I’m going to do with mycongregation. Just think! ‘The grave is NOT its goal!’Why, say, Longfellow is just as much of a preacher as you orI are! Eh?”

“Yes, that’s so. I’ll have to read some of his poetry. Couldyou lend me the book?”

“You bet I will, Clyde! Be a fine thing for you. A youngpreacher like you has got to remember, if you’ll allow an olderhand to say so, that our education isn’t finished when we startpreaching. We got to go on enlarging our mental horizons.See how I mean? Now I’m going to start you off reading‘David Copperfield.’ Say, that’s full of fine passages. There’sthis scene where——This David, he had an aunt that everybodythought she was simply an old crab, but the poor littlefellow, his father-in-law——I hope it won’t shock you to hear apreacher say it, but he was an old son of a gun, that’s whathe was, and he treated David terribly, simply terribly, andDavid ran away, and found his aunt’s house, and then it provedshe was fine and dandy to him! Say, ’ll just make the tearscome to your eyes, the place where he finds her house andshe don’t recognize him and he tells her who he is, and thenshe kneels right down beside him——And shows how none ofus are justified in thinking other folks are mean just becausewe don’t understand ’em. You bet! Yes, sir. ‘David Copperfield.’You sure can’t go wrong reading that book!”

“ ‘David Copperfield.’ I’ve heard the name. It’s mightynice of you to come and tell me about it, brother.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, nothing at all! Mighty glad to helpyou in any way I can, Clyde.”

Elmer’s success as a literary and moral evangel to Mr. ClydeTippey sent him back to his excavations with new fervor. Hewould lead the world not only to virtue but to beauty.

Considering everything, Longfellow seemed the best newsto carry to this surprised and waiting world, and Elmer managedto get through many, many pages, solemnly marking thepassages which he was willing to sanction, and which did notmention wine.

Elmer did not, perhaps, know very much about Simonides,but with these instructive lines he was able to decorate a sermonin each of the pulpits he was henceforth to hold.

He worked his way with equal triumph through James RussellLowell, Whittier, and Ella Wheeler Wilcox. He gave upKipling because he found that he really enjoyed reading Kipling,and concluded that he could not be a good poet. But hewas magnificent in discovering Robert Burns.

Then he collided with Josiah Royce.

XI

Bishop Wesley R. Toomis had suggested to Elmer that heought to read philosophy, and he had recommended Royce.He himself, he said, hadn’t been able to give so much time toRoyce as he would have liked, but he knew that here was asplendid field for any intellectual adventurer. So Elmer cameback from Sparta with the two volumes of Royce’s “The Worldand the Individual,” and two new detective stories.

He would skip pleasantly but beneficially through Royce,then pick up whatever ideas he might find in all these otherphilosophers he had heard mentioned: James and Kant andBergson and who was that fellow with the funny name—Spinoza?

He opened the first volume of Royce confidently, and drewback in horror.

He had a nice, long, free afternoon in which to become wise.He labored on. He read each sentence six times. His mouthdrooped pathetically. It did not seem fair that a Christianknight who was willing to give his time to listening to people’sideas should be treated like this. He sighed, and read the firstparagraph again. He sighed, and the book dropped into hislap.

He looked about. On the stand beside him was one of thedetective stories. He reached for it. It began as all properdetective stories should begin—with the tap-room of the Catand Fiddle Inn, on a stormy night when gusts of rain beatagainst the small ancient casem*nt, but within all was brightand warm; the Turkey-red curtains shone in the firelight, andthe burnished handles of the beer-pump—

An hour later Elmer had reached the place where the ScotlandYard Inspector was attacked from the furze-bush by themaniac. He excitedly crossed his legs, and Royce fell to thefloor and lay there.

But he kept at it. In less than three months he had reachedpage fifty-one of the first volume of Royce. Then he boggeddown in a footnote:

The scholastic text-books, namely, as for instance theDisputations of Suarez, employ our terms much as follows.Being (ens), taken quite in the abstract, such writers said,is a word that shall equally apply both to the what and tothe that. Thus if I speak of the being of a man, I may,according to this usage, mean either the ideal nature ofa man, apart from man’s existence, or the existence of aman. The term “Being” is so far indifferent to both of thesharply sundered senses. In this sense Being may beviewed as of two sorts. As the what it means theEssence of things, or the Esse Essentiæ. In this sense, bythe Being of a man, you mean simply the definition of whata man as an idea means. As the that, Being means the ExistentBeing, or Esse Existentiæ. The Esse Existentiæof a man, or its existent being, would be what it wouldpossess only if it existed. And so the scholastic writersin question always have to point out whether by the termEns, or Being, they in any particular passage are referringto the what or to the that, to the Esse Essentiæ or to theExistentiæ.

The Reverend Elmer Gantry drew his breath, quietly closedthe book, and shouted, “Oh, shut up!”

He never again read any philosophy more abstruse than thatof Wallace D. Wattles or Edward Bok.

XII

He did not neglect his not very arduous duties. He wentfishing—which gained him credit among the males. He procureda dog, also a sound, manly thing to do, and though heoccasionally kicked the dog in the country, he was clamorouslyaffectionate with it in town. He went up to Sparta now andthen to buy books, attend the movies, and sneak into theaters;and though he was tempted by other diversions even less approvedby the Methodist Discipline, he really did make aneffort to keep from falling.

By enthusiasm and brass, he raised most of the church debt,and made agitation for a new carpet. He risked condemnationby having a cornet solo right in church one Sunday evening.He kept himself from paying any attention, except forrollickingly kissing her once or twice, to the fourteen-year-olddaughter of his landlady. He was, in fact, full of good worksand clerical exemplariness.

But the focus of his life now was Cleo Benham.

I

with women Elmer had always considered himself what hecalled a “quick worker,” but the properties of the ministry, thedelighted suspicion with which the gossips watched a preacherwho went courting, hindered his progress with Cleo. He couldnot, like the young blades in town, walk with Cleo up the railroadtracks or through the willow-shaded pasture by BanjoRiver. He could hear ten thousand Methodist elders croaking,“Avoid the vurry appearance of evil.”

He knew that she was in love with him—had been ever sinceshe had first seen him, a devout yet manly leader, standing bythe pulpit in the late light of summer afternoon. He wascertain that she would surrender to him whenever he shoulddemand it. He was certain that she had every desirable quality.And yet—

Oh, somehow, she did not stir him. Was he afraid of beingmarried and settled and monogamic? Was it simply that sheneeded awakening? How could he awaken her when her fatherwas always in the way?

Whenever he called on her, old Benham insisted on stayingin the parlor. He was, strictly outside of business hours, anamateur of religion, fond of talking about it. Just as Elmer,shielded by the piano, was ready to press Cleo’s hand, Benhamwould lumber up and twang, “What do you think, Brother?Do you believe salvation comes by faith or works?”

Elmer made it all clear—muttering to himself, “Well, you,you old devil, with that cut-throat store of yours, you betterget into Heaven on faith, for God knows you’ll never do it onworks!”

And when Elmer was about to slip out to the kitchen withher to make lemonade, Benham held him by demanding,“What do you think of John Wesley’s doctrine of perfection?”

“Oh, it’s absolutely sound and proven,” admitted Elmer,wondering what the devil Mr. Wesley’s doctrine of perfectionmight be.

It is possible that the presence of the elder Benhams, preventingtoo close a communion with Cleo, kept Elmer fromunderstanding what it meant that he should not greatly havelonged to embrace her. He translated his lack of urgency intovirtue; and went about assuring himself that he was indeeda reformed and perfected character ... and so went homeand hung about the kitchen, chattering with little Jane Clarkin pastoral jokiness.

Even when he was alone with Cleo, when she drove him inthe proud Benham motor for calls in the country, even whilehe was volubly telling himself how handsome she was, he wasnever quite natural with her.

II

He called on an evening of late November, and both herparents were out, attending Eastern Star. She looked drearyand red-eyed. He crowed benevolently while they stood atthe parlor door, “Why, Sister Cleo, what’s the matter? Youlook kind of sad.”

“Oh, it’s nothing—”

“Come on now! Tell me! I’ll pray for you, or beat somebodyup, whichever you prefer!”

“Oh, I don’t think you ought to joke about——Anyway,it’s really nothing.”

She was staring at the floor. He felt buoyant and dominating,so delightfully stronger than she. He lifted her chin withhis forefinger, demanding, “Look up at me now!”

In her naked eyes there was such shameful, shameless longingfor him that he was drawn. He could not but slip his armaround her, and she dropped her head on his shoulder, weeping,all her pride gone from her. He was so exalted bythe realization of his own power that he took it for passion,and suddenly he was kissing her, conscious of the pale finenessof her skin, her flattering yielding to him; suddenly he wasblurting, “I’ve loved you, oh, terrible, ever since the firstsecond I saw you!”

As she sat on his knee, as she drooped against him unresisting,he was certain that she was very beautiful, altogetherdesirable.

The Benhams came home—Mrs. Benham to cry happily overthe engagement, and Mr. Benham to indulge in a deal of cordialback-slapping, and such jests as, “Well, by golly, now I’mgoing to have a real live preacher in the family, guess I’ll haveto be so doggone honest that the store won’t hardly pay!”

III

His mother came on from Kansas for the wedding, in January.Her happiness in seeing him in his pulpit, in seeing thebeauty and purity of Cleo—and the prosperity of Cleo’sfather—was such that she forgot her long dragging sorrowin his many disloyalties to the God she had given him, in hishaving deserted the Baptist sanctuary for the dubious, thealmost agnostic liberalisms of the Methodists.

With his mother present, with Cleo going about roused toa rosy excitement, with Mrs. Benham mothering everybodyand frantically cooking, with Mr. Benham taking him out tothe back-porch and presenting him with a check for five thousanddollars, Elmer had the feeling of possessing a family, ofbeing rooted and solid and secure.

For the wedding there were scores of cocoanut cakes andhundreds of orange blossoms, roses from a real city florist inSparta, new photographs for the family album, a tub of strictlytemperance punch and beautiful but modest lingerie for Cleo.It was tremendous. But Elmer was a little saddened by thefact that there was no one whom he wanted for best man; noone who had been his friend since Jim Lefferts.

He asked Ray Faucett, butter-maker at the creamery andchoir-singer in the church, and the village was flattered thatout of the hundreds of intimates Elmer must have in the greatworld outside, he should have chosen one of their own boys.

They were married, during a half blizzard, by the districtsuperintendent. They took the train for Zenith, to stop overnighton their way to Chicago.

Not till he was on the train, the shouting and the rice-showersover, did Elmer gasp to himself, looking at Cleo’s rather unchangingsmile, “Oh, good God, I’ve gone and tied myself up,and I never can have any fun again!”

But he was very manly, gentlemanly in fact; he concealed hisdistaste for her and entertained her with an account of thebeauties of Longfellow.

IV

Cleo looked tired, and toward the end of the journey, inthe winter evening, with the gale desolate, she seemed scarceto be listening to his observations on graded Sunday Schoollessons, the treatment of corns, his triumphs at Sister Falconer’smeetings, and the inferiority of the Reverend Clyde Tippey.

“Well, you might pay a little attention to me, anyway!” hesnarled.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I really was paying attention. I’m justtired—all the preparations for the wedding and everything.”She looked at him beseechingly. “Oh, Elmer, you must takecare of me! I’m giving myself to you entirely—oh, completely.”

“Huh! So you look at it as a sacrifice to marry me, doyou!”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way—”

“And I suppose you think I don’t intend to take care of you!Sure! Prob’ly I stay out late nights and play cards andgamble and drink and run around after women! Of course!I’m not a minister of the gospel—I’m a saloon-keeper!”

“Oh, dear, dear, dear, oh, my dearest, I didn’t mean to hurtyou! I just meant——You’re so strong and big, and I’m—oh,of course I’m not a tiny little thing, but I haven’t got yourstrength.”

He enjoyed feeling injured, but he was warning himself,“Shut up, you chump! You’ll never educate her to make loveif you go bawling her out.”

He magnanimously comforted her: “Oh, I know. Of course,you poor dear. Fool thing anyway, your mother having thisbig wedding, and all the eats and the relatives coming in andeverything.”

And with all this, she still seemed distressed.

But he patted her hand, and talked about the cottage theywere going to furnish in Banjo Crossing; and as he thought ofthe approaching Zenith, of their room at the O’Hearn House(there was no necessity for a whole suite, as formerly, whenhe had had to impress his Prosperity pupils), he became moreardent, whispered to her that she was beautiful, stroked herarm till she trembled.

V

The bell-boy had scarcely closed the door of their room,with its double bed, when he had seized her, torn off her overcoat,with its snow-wet collar, and hurled it on the floor. Hekissed her throat. When he had loosened his clasp, she retreated,the back of her hand fearfully at her lips, her voiceterrified as she begged, “Oh, don’t! Not now! I’m afraid!”

“That’s damned nonsense!” he raged, stalking her as shebacked away.

“Oh, no, please!”

“Say, what the devil do you think marriage is?”

“Oh, I’ve never heard you curse before!”

“My God, I wouldn’t, if you didn’t act so’s it’d try thepatience of a saint on a monument!” He controlled himself.“Now, now, now! I’m sorry! Guess I’m kind of tired, too.There, there, little girl. Didn’t mean to scare you. Excuse me.Just showed I was crazy in love with you, don’t you see?”

To his broad and apostolic smirk she responded with aweak smile, and he seized her again, laid his thick hand on herbreast. Between his long embraces, though his anger at herlimpness was growing, he sought to encourage her by shouting,“Come on now, Clee, show some spunk!”

She did not forbid him again; she was merely a pale acquiescence—palesave when she flushed unhappily as he madefun of the old-fashioned, long-sleeved nightgown which shetimidly put on in the indifferent privacy of the bathroom.

“Gee, you might as well wear a gunny-sack!” he roared,holding out his arms. She tried to look confident as she slowlymoved toward him. She did not succeed.

“Fellow ought to be brutal, for her own sake,” he told himself,and seized her shoulders.

When he awoke beside her and found her crying, he reallydid have to speak up to her.

“You look here now! The fact you’re a preacher’s wifedoesn’t keep you from being human! You’re a fine one toteach brats in Sunday School!” he said, and many other strongspirited things, while she wept, her hair disordered round hermeek face, which he hated.

VI

The discovery that Cleo would never be a lively lover threwhim the more into ambition when they had returned to BanjoCrossing.

Cleo, though she was unceasingly bewildered by his furies,found something of happiness in furnishing their small house,arranging his books, admiring his pulpit eloquence, and in receiving,as the Pastor’s Wife, homage even from her oldfriends. He was able to forget her, and all his thought wentto his holy climbing. He was eager for the Annual Conference,in spring; he had to get on, to a larger town, a larger church.

He was bored by Banjo Crossing. The life of a small-townpreacher, prevented from engaging even in the bucolic pleasures,is rather duller than that of a watchman at a railroad-crossing.

Elmer hadn’t, actually, enough to do. Though later, in“institutional churches,” he was to be as hustling as any otherbusiness man, now he had not over twenty hours a week ofreal activity. There were four meetings every Sunday, ifhe attended Sunday School and Epworth League as wellas church; there was prayer-meeting on Wednesday evening,choir practise on Friday, the Ladies’ Aid and the MissionarySociety every fortnight or so, and perhaps once a fortnighta wedding, a funeral. Pastoral calls took not over six hours aweek. With the aid of his reference books, he could prepare histwo sermons in five hours—and on weeks when he felt lazy,or the fishing was good, that was three hours more than heactually took.

In the austerities of the library Elmer was indolent, but hedid like to rush about, meet people, make a show of accomplishment.It wasn’t possible to accomplish much in Banjo.The good villagers were content with Sunday and Wednesday-eveningpiety.

But he did begin to write advertisem*nts for his weeklyservices—the inception of that salesmanship of salvation whichwas to make him known and respected in every advertising cluband forward-looking church in the country. The readers ofnotices to the effect that services would be held, as usual, inthe Banjo Valley Pioneer were startled to find amongthe Presbyterian Church, the Disciples Church, the UnitedBrethren Church, the Baptist Church, this advertisem*nt:

He improved his typewriting, and that was a fine thing todo. The Reverend Elmer Gantry’s powerful nature had beencramped by the slow use of a pen; it needed the gallop of thekeys; and from his typewriter were increasingly to come floodsof new moral and social gospels.

In February he held two weeks of intensive evangelisticmeetings. He had in a traveling missioner, who wept, andhis wife, who sang. Neither of them, Elmer chuckled privily,could compare with himself, who had worked with SharonFalconer. But they were new to Banjo Crossing, and he sawto it that it was himself who at the climax of hysteria chargeddown into the frightened mob and warned them that unlessthey came up and knelt in subjection, they might be snatchedto hell before breakfast.

There were twelve additions to the church, and five renewalsof faith on the part of backsliders, and Elmer was able to havepublished in the Western Christian Advocate a note whichcarried his credit through all the circles of the saints:

The church at Banjo Crossing has had a remarkable andstirring revival under Brother T. R. Feesels and SisterFeesels, the singing evangelist, assisted by the local pastor,Reverend Gantry, who was himself formerly in evangelisticwork as assistant to the late Sharon Falconer. Agreat outpouring of the spirit and far-reaching resultsare announced, with many uniting with the church.

He also, after letting the town know how much it added tohis burdens, revived and every week for two weeks personallysupervised a Junior Epworth League—the juvenile departmentof that admirable association of young people whosepurpose is, it has itself announced, to “take the wreck out ofrecreation and make it re-creation.”

He had a note from Bishop Toomis hinting that the bishophad most gratifying reports from the district superintendentabout Elmer’s “diligent and genuinely creative efforts” andhinting that at the coming Annual Conference, Elmer wouldbe shifted to a considerably larger church.

“Fine!” glowed Elmer. “Gosh, I’ll be glad to get away.These rubes here get about as much out of high-class religion,like I give them, as a fleet of mules!”

VII

Ishuah Rogers was dead, and they were holding his funeralat the Methodist Church. As farmer, as store-keeper, as postmaster,he had lived all his seventy-nine years in Banjo Crossing.

Old J. F. Whittlesey was shaken by Ishuah’s death. Theyhad been boys together, young men together, neighbors on thefarm, and in his last years, when Ishuah was nearly blind andliving with his daughter Jenny, J. F. Whittlesey had come intotown every day to spend hours sitting with him on the porch,wrangling over Blaine and Grover Cleveland. Whittleseyhadn’t another friend left alive. To drive past Jenny’s nowand not see old Ishuah made the world empty.

He was in the front row at the church; he could see hisfriend’s face in the open coffin. All of Ishuah’s meanness andfussiness and care was wiped out; there was only the dumbnobility with which he had faced blizzard and August heat,labor and sorrow; only the heroic thing Whittlesey had lovedin him.

And he would not see Ishuah again, ever.

He listened to Elmer, who, his eyes almost filled at the dramaof a church full of people mourning their old friend, lulledthem with Revelation’s triumphant song:

These are they that come out of the great tribulation, andthey washed their robes, and made them white in the bloodof the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne ofGod; and they serve him day and night in his temple;and he that sitteth on the throne shall spread his tabernacleover them. They shall hunger no more, neitherthirst any more; neither shall the sun strike upon them,nor any heat: for the Lamb that is in the midst of thethrone shall be their shepherd, and shall guide them untofountains of waters of life: and God shall wipe away everytear from their eyes.

They sang “O God, Our Help in Ages Past,” and Elmer ledthe singing, while old Whittlesey tried to pipe up with them.

They filed past the coffin. When Whittlesey had this lastmoment’s glimpse of Ishuah’s sunken face, his dry eyes wereblind, and he staggered.

Elmer caught him with his great arms, and whispered, “Hehas gone to his glory, to his great reward! Don’t let’s sorrowfor him!”

In Elmer’s confident strength old Whittlesey found reassurance.He clung to him, muttering, “God bless you, Brother,”before he hobbled out.

VIII

“You were wonderful at the funeral today! I’ve never seenyou so sure of immortality,” worshiped Cleo, as they walkedhome.

“Yuh, but they don’t appreciate it—not even when I saidabout how this old fellow was a sure-enough hero. We gotto get on to some burg where I’ll have a chance.”

“Don’t you think God’s in Banjo Crossing as much as in acity?”

“Oh, now, Cleo, don’t go and get religious on me! Yousimply can’t understand how it takes it out of a fellow to doa funeral right and send ’em all home solaced. You may findGod here, but you don’t find the salaries!”

He was not angry with Cleo now, nor bullying. In these twomonths he had become indifferent to her; indifferent enoughto stop hating her and to admire her conduct of the SundaySchool, her tactful handling of the good sisters of the churchwhen they came snooping to the parsonage.

“I think I’ll take a little walk,” he muttered when theyreached home.

He came to the Widow Clark’s house, where he had livedas bachelor.

Jane was out in the yard, the March breeze molding her skirtabout her; rosy face darker and eyes more soft as she sawthe pastor hailing her, magnificently raising his hat.

She fluttered toward him.

“You folks ever miss me? Guess you’re glad to get rid ofthe poor old preacher that was always cluttering up the house!”

“We miss you awfully!”

He felt his whole body yearning toward her. Hurriedly heleft her, and wished he hadn’t left her, and hastened to gethimself far from the danger to his respectability. He hatedCleo again now, in an injured, puzzled way.

“I think I’ll sneak up to Sparta this week,” he fumed, then:“No! Conference coming in ten days; can’t take any chancestill after that.”

IX

The Annual Conference, held in Sparta, late in March. Thehigh time of the year, when the Methodist preachers of halfa dozen districts met together for prayer and rejoicing, tohear of the progress of the Kingdom and incidentally to learnwhether they were to have better jobs this coming year.

The bishop presiding—Wesley R. Toomis, himself—withhis district superintendents, grave and bustling.

The preachers, trying to look as though prospective highersalaries were unworthy their attention.

Between meetings they milled about in the large auditoriumof the Preston Memorial Methodist Church: visiting laymenand nearly three hundred ministers.

Veteran country parsons, whiskered and spectacled, rusty-coatedand stooped, still serving two country churches, or threeor four; driving their fifty miles a week; content for readingwith the Scriptures and the weekly Advocate.

New-fledged country preachers, their large hands still callousedfrom plow-handle and reins, content for learning withtwo years of high school, content with the Old Testament forhistory and geology.

The preachers of the larger towns; most of them hard torecognize as clerics, in their neat business suits and modestfour-in-hands; frightfully cordial one to another; perhaps aquarter of them known as modernists and given to readingpopular manuals of biology and psychology; the other three-quartersstill devoted to banging the pulpit apropos of Genesis.

But moving through these masses, easily noticeable, theinevitable successes: the district superintendents, the pastorsof large city congregations, the conceivable candidates forcollege presidencies, mission-boards, boards of publication,bishoprics.

They were not all of them leonine and actor-like, these staffofficers. No few were gaunt, or small, wiry, spectacled, andearnest; but they were all admirable politicians, long in memoryof names, quick to find flattering answers. They believed thatthe Lord rules everything, but that it was only friendly to helphim out; and that the enrollment of political allies helped almostas much as prayer in becoming known as suitable materialfor lucrative pastorates.

Among these leaders were the Savonarolas, gloomy fellows,viewing the progress of machine civilization with biliousness;capable of drawing thousands of auditors by their spicy butchaste denunciations of burglary, dancing, and show-windowsfilled with lingerie.

Then the renowned liberals, preachers who filled city tabernaclesor churches in university towns by showing that skippingwhatever seemed unreasonable in the Bible did not interferewith considering it all divinely inspired, and that there arelarge moral lessons in the paintings of Landseer and RosaBonheur.

Most notable among the aristocrats were a certain numberof large, suave, deep-voiced, inescapably cordial clerical gentlemenwho would have looked well in Shakespearean productionsor as floor-walkers. And with them was presently to be foundthe Reverend Elmer Gantry.

He was a new-comer, he was merely hoping to have the Conferencerecognize his credentials and accept him as a member,and he had only a tiny church, yet from somewhere crept therumor that he was a man to be watched, to be enrolled in one’sown political machine; and he was called “Brother” by a pastorwhose sacred rating was said to be not less than ten thousanda year. They observed him; they conversed with him notonly on the sacraments but on automobiles and the use ofpledge-envelopes; and as they felt the warmth of his handshake,as they heard the amiable bim-bom of his voice, sawhis manly eyes, untroubled by doubts or scruples, and notedthat he wore his morning clothes as well as any spiritual magnateamong them, they greeted him and sought him out andrecognized him as a future captain of the hosts of the Almighty.

Cleo’s graciousness added to his prestige.

For three whole days before bringing her up to the Conference,Elmer had gone out of his way to soothe her, flatterher, assure her that whatever misunderstandings they mighthave had, all was now a warm snugness of domestic bliss, sothat she was eager, gently deferential to the wives of olderpastors as she met them at receptions at hotels.

Her obvious admiration of Elmer convinced the betterclerical politicians of his domestic safeness.

And they knew that he had been sent for by the bishop—oh,they knew it! Nothing that the bishop did in these criticaldays was not known. There were many among the middle-agedministers who had become worried over prolonged stays insmall towns, and who wanted to whisper to the bishop howwell they would suit larger opportunities. (The list of appointmentshad already been made out by the bishop and his council,yet surely it could be changed a little—just the least bit.)But they could not get near him. Most of the time the bishopwas kept hidden from them at the house of the president ofWinnemac Wesleyan University.

But he sent for Elmer, and even called him by his firstname.

“You see, Brother Elmer, I was right! The MethodistChurch just suits you,” said the bishop, his eyes bright underhis formidable brows. “I am able to give you a larger churchalready. It wouldn’t be cricket, as the English say—ah, England!how you will enjoy going there some time; you will findsuch a fruitful source of the broader type of sermons in travel;I know that you and your lovely bride—I’ve had the pleasureof having her pointed out to me—you will both know the joyand romance of travel one of these days. But as I was saying:I can give you a rather larger town this time, though it wouldn’tbe proper to tell you which one till I read the list of appointmentsto the Conference. And in the near future, if you continueas you have in your studies and attention to the needs ofyour flock and in your excellence of daily living, which thedistrict superintendent has noted, why, you’ll be due for a muchlarger field of service. God bless you!”

X

Elmer was examined by the Conference and readily admittedto membership.

Among the questions, from the Discipline, which he was ableto answer with a hearty “yes” were these:

Are you going on to perfection?

Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?

Are you earnestly striving after it?

Are you resolved to devote yourself wholly to God and hiswork?

Have you considered the Rules for a Preacher, especiallythose relating to Diligence, to Punctuality, and to Doing theWork to which you are assigned?

Will you recommend fasting or diligence, both by preceptand example?

*******

It was, the Conference members said, one to another, apleasure to examine a candidate who could answer the questionswith such ringing certainty.

*******

Celebrating his renunciation of all fleshy devices and pleasuresby wolfing a steak, fried onions, fried potatoes, corn, threecups of coffee, and two slices of apple pie with ice cream, Elmercondescended to Cleo, “I went through a-whooping! Liked toof seen any of those poor boobs I was with in the seminaryanswer up like I did!”

XI

They listened to reports on collections for missions, on thecreation of new schools and churches; they heard ever so manyprayers; they were polite during what were known as “inspirationaladdresses” by the bishop and the Rev. Dr. S. PalmerShootz. But they were waiting for the moment when thebishop should read the list of appointments.

They looked as blank as they could, but their nails creasedtheir palms as the bishop rose. They tried to be loyal to theirarmy, but this lean parson thought of the boy who was goingto college, this worried-faced youngster thought of the operationfor his wife, this aged campaigner whose voice had beenfailing wondered whether he would be kept on in his well-paddedchurch.

The bishop’s snappy voice popped:

Sparta District:

Albee Center, W. A. Vance

Ardmore, Abraham Mundon—

And Elmer listened with them, suddenly terrified.

What did the bishop mean by a “rather larger town”? Somehorrible hole with twelve hundred people?

Then he startled and glowed, and his fellow priests noddedto him in congratulation, as the bishop read out “Rudd Center,Elmer Gantry.”

For there were forty-one hundred people in Rudd Center;it was noted for good works and a large pop factory; and hewas on his way to greatness, to inspiring the world and becominga bishop.

I

a year he spent in Rudd Center, three years in Vulcan, andtwo years in Sparta. As there were 4,100 people in RuddCenter, 47,000 in Vulcan, and 129,000 in Sparta, it may be seenthat the Reverend Elmer Gantry was climbing swiftly in Christianinfluence and character.

In Rudd Center he passed his Mizpah final examinationsand received his Bachelor of Divinity degree from the seminary;in Rudd Center he discovered the art of joining, whichwas later to enable him to meet the more enterprising and solidmen of affairs—oculists and editors and manufacturers of bathtubs—andenlist their practical genius in his crusades forspirituality.

He joined the Masons, the Odd Fellows, and the Maccabees.He made the Memorial Day address to the G. A. R., and hemade the speech welcoming the local representative home fromCongress after having won the poker championship of theHouse.

Vulcan was marked, aside from his labors for perfection, bythe birth of his two children—Nat, in 1916, and Bernice, whomthey called Bunny, in 1917—and by his ceasing to educate hiswife in his ideals of amour.

It all blew up a month after the birth of Bunny.

Elmer had, that evening, been addressing the Rod and GunClub dinner. He had pointed out that our Lord must havebeen in favor of Rods and Guns for, he said, “I want you boysto notice that the Master, when he picked out his first disciples,didn’t select a couple of stoop-shouldered, pigeon-toedmollycoddles but a pair of first-class fishermen!”

He was excited to intoxication by their laughter.

Since Bunny’s birth he had been sleeping in the guest-room,but now, walking airily, he tiptoed into Cleo’s room at eleven,with that look of self-conscious innocence which passionlesswives instantly catch and dread.

“Well, you sweet thing, it sure went off great! They allliked my spiel. Why, you poor lonely girl, shame you have tosleep all alone here, poor baby!” he said, stroking her shoulderas she sat propped against the pillows. “Guess I’ll have tocome sleep here tonight.”

She breathed hard, tried to look resolute. “Please! Notyet!”

“What do you mean?”

“Please! I’m tired tonight. Just kiss me good-night, andlet me pop off to sleep.”

“Meaning my attentions aren’t welcome to Your Majesty!”He paced the floor. “Young woman, it’s about time for a showdown!I’ve hinted at this before, but I’ve been as charitableand long-suffering as I could, but, by God, you’ve gotten awaywith too much, and then you try to pretend——‘Just kiss megood-night!’ Sure! I’m to be a monk! I’m to be one ofthese milk-and-water husbands that’s perfectly content to hangaround the house and not give one little yip if his wife don’tcare for his method of hugging! Well, believe me, youngwoman, you got another guess coming, and if you think thatjust because I’m a preacher I’m a Willie-boy——You don’teven make the slightest smallest effort to learn some passion,but just act like you had hard work putting up with me!Believe me, there’s other women a lot better and prettier—yet,and more religious!—that haven’t thought I was such a damn’pest to have around! I’m not going to stand——Never evenmaking the slightest effort—”

“Oh, Elmer, I have! Honestly I have! If you’d only beenmore tender and patient with me at the very first, I mighthave learned—”

“Rats! All damned nonsense! Trouble with you is, youalways were afraid to face hard facts! Well, I’m sick of it,young woman. You can go to the devil! This is the last time,believe me!”

He banged the door; he had satisfaction in hearing her sobthat night; and he kept his vow about staying away from her,for almost a month. Presently he was keeping it altogether;it was a settled thing that they had separate bedrooms.

And all the while he was almost as confused, as wistful,as she was; and whenever he found a woman parishioner whowas willing to comfort him, or whenever he was called on importantbut never explained affairs to Sparta, he had no boldswagger of satisfaction, but a guilt, an uneasiness of sin, whichdisplayed itself in increasingly furious condemnation of thesame sin from his pulpit.

“O God, if I could only have gone on with Sharon, I mighthave been a decent fellow,” he mourned, in his sorrow sympatheticwith all the world. But the day after, in the sanctuary,he would be salving that sorrow by raging, “And thesedance-hall proprietors, these tempters of lovely innocent girls,whose doors open to the pit of death and horror, they shall havereward—they shall burn in uttermost hell—burn literally—BURN!—andfor their suffering we shall have but joy that theLord’s justice has been resolutely done!”

II

Something like statewide fame began to cling about theReverend Elmer Gantry during his two years in Sparta—1918to 1920. In the spring of ’18 he was one of the mostcourageous defenders of the Midwest against the imminent invasionof the Germans. He was a Four-Minute Man. He saidviolent things about atrocities, and sold Liberty Bonds hugely.He threatened to leave Sparta to its wickedness while he wentout to “take care of our poor boys” as a chaplain, and he mighthave done so had the war lasted another year.

In Sparta, too, he crept from timidly sensational church advertisem*ntsto such blasts as must have shaken the Devilhimself. Anyway, they brought six hundred delighted sinnersto church every Sunday evening, and after one sermon on thehorrors of booze, a saloon-keeper, slightly intoxicated, remarked“Whoop!” and put a fifty-dollar bill in the plate.

Not to this day, with all the advance in intellectual advertising,has there been seen a more arousing effort to sell salvationthan Elmer’s prose poem in the Sparta World-Chronicle on aSaturday in December, 1919:

III

While he was in Sparta, national prohibition arrived, withits high-colored opportunities for pulpit-orators, and in Spartahe was inspired to his greatest political campaign.

The obviously respectable candidate for mayor of Spartawas a Christian Business Man, a Presbyterian who was a manufacturerof rubber overshoes. It is true that he was accusedof owning the buildings in which were several of the worstbrothels and blind tigers in the city, but it had amply beenexplained that the unfortunate gentleman had not been able tokick out his tenants, and that he gave practically all his receiptsfrom the property to missionary work in China.

His opponent was a man in every way objectionable toElmer’s principles: a Jew, a radical who criticized the churchesfor not paying taxes, a sensational and publicity-seeking lawyerwho took the cases of labor unions and negroes without fee.When he consulted them, Elmer’s Official Board agreed thatthe Presbyterian was the only man to support. They pointedout that the trouble with the radical Jew was that he was notonly a radical but a Jew.

Yet Elmer was not satisfied. He had, possibly, less objectionto houses of ill fame than one would have judged fromhis pulpit utterances, and he certainly approved the Presbyterian’sposition that “we must not try dangerous experimentsin government but adhere courageously to the proven meritsand economies of the present administration.” But talkingwith members of his congregation, Elmer found that the PlainPeople—and the plain, the very plain, people did make up sucha large percentage of his flock—hated the Presbyterian andhad a surprised admiration for the Jew.

“He’s awful’ kind to poor folks,” said they.

Elmer had what he called a “hunch.”

“All the swells are going to support this guy McGarry, butdarned if I don’t think the Yid’ll win, and anybody that rootsfor him’ll stand ace-high after the election,” he reasoned.

He came out boisterously for the Jew. The newspaperssquealed and the Presbyterians bellowed and the rabbis softlychuckled.

Not only from his pulpit but in scattered halls Elmer campaignedand thundered. He was smeared once with rotteneggs in a hall near the red-light district, and once an illicitbooze-dealer tried to punch his nose, and that was a very happytime for Elmer.

The booze-dealer, a bulbous angry man, climbed up on thestage of the hall and swayed toward Elmer, weaving with hisfists, rumbling, “You damn’ lying gospel-shark, I’ll showyou—”

The forgotten star of the Terwillinger team leaped into life.He was calm as in a scrimmage. He strode over, calculatinglyregarded the point of the bootlegger’s jaw, and caught him onit, exact. He saw the man slumping down, but he did notstand looking; he swung back to the reading-stand and wenton speaking. The whole audience rose, clamorous with applause,and Elmer Gantry had for a second become the mostfamous man in town.

The newspapers admitted that he was affecting the campaign,and one of them swung to his support. He was so strongon virtue and the purity of womanhood and the evils of liquorthat to oppose him was to admit one’s self a debauchee.

At the business meeting of his church there was a stirringsquabble over his activities. When the leading trustee, a friendof the Presbyterian candidate, declared that he was going toresign unless Elmer stopped, an aged janitor shrieked, “Andall the rest of us will resign unless the Reverend keeps it up!”There was gleeful and unseemly applause, and Elmer beamed.

The campaign grew so bellicose that reporters came up fromthe Zenith newspapers; one of them the renowned Bill Kingdomof the Zenith Advocate-Times. Elmer loved reporters.They quoted him on everything from the Bible in the schoolsto the Armenian mandate. He was careful not to call them“boys” but “gentlemen,” not to slap them too often on theback; he kept excellent cigars for them; and he always said,“I’m afraid I can’t talk to you as a preacher. I get too muchof that on Sunday. I’m just speaking as an ordinary citizenwho longs to have a clean city in which to bring up his kiddies.”

Bill Kingdom almost liked him, and the story about “thecrusading parson” which he sent up to the Zenith Advocate-Times—theThunderer of the whole state of Winnemac—wasrun on the third page, with a photograph of Elmer thrustingout his fist as if to crush all the sensualists and malefactors inthe world.

Sparta papers reprinted the story and spoke of it withreverence.

The Jew won the campaign.

And immediately after this—six months before the AnnualConference of 1920—Bishop Toomis sent for Elmer.

IV

“At first I was afraid,” said the bishop, “you were making agreat mistake in soiling yourself in this Sparta campaign.After all, it’s our mission to preach the pure gospel and thesaving blood of Jesus, and not to monkey with politics. Butyou’ve been so successful that I can forgive you, and the timehas come——At the next Conference I shall be able to offeryou at last a church here in Zenith, and a very large one, butwith problems that call for heroic energy. It’s the old WellspringChurch, down here on Stanley Avenue, corner of Dodsworth,in what we call ‘Old Town.’ It used to be the mostfashionable and useful Methodist church in town, but thesection has run down, and the membership has declined fromsomething like fourteen hundred to about eight hundred, andunder the present pastor—you know him—old Seriere, finenoble Christian gentleman, great soul, but a pretty rottenspeaker—I don’t guess they have more than a hundred or soat morning service. Shame, Elmer, wicked shame to see thisgreat institution, meant for the quickening of such vast multitudesof souls, declining and, by thunder, not hardly giving acent for missions! I wonder if you could revive it? Go lookit over, and the neighborhood, and let me know what you think.Or whether you’d rather stay on in Sparta. You’ll get lesssalary at Wellspring than you’re getting in Sparta—four thousand,isn’t it?—but if you build up the church, guess theOfficial Board will properly remunerate your labors.”

A church in Zenith! Elmer would—almost—have taken itwith no salary whatever. He could see his Doctor of Divinitydegree at hand, his bishopric or college presidency or fabulouspulpit in New York.

He found the Wellspring M. E. Church a hideous graystonehulk with gravy-colored windows, and a tall spire ornamentedwith tin gargoyles and alternate layers of tiles in distressingred and green. The neighborhood had been smart, but thebrick mansions, once leisurely among lawns and gardens, werescabrous and slovenly, turned into boarding-houses withdelicatessen shops in the basem*nts.

“Gosh, this section never will come back. Too many of thedoggone hoi polloi. Bunch of Wops. Nobody for ten blocksthat would put more’n ten cents in the collection. Nothingdoing! I’m not going to run a soup-kitchen and tell a bunchof dirty bums to come to Jesus. Not on your life!”

But he saw, a block from the church, a new apartment-house,and near it an excavation.

“Hm. Might come back, in apartments, at that. Mustn’tjump too quick. Besides, these folks need the gospel just asmuch as the swell-headed plutes out on Royal Ridge,” reflectedthe Reverend Mr. Gantry.

Through his old acquaintance, Gil O’Hearn of the O’HearnHouse, Elmer met a responsible contractor and inquired intothe fruitfulness of the Wellspring vineyard.

“Yes, they’re dead certain to build a bunch of apartment-houses,and pretty good ones, in that neighborhood these nextfew years. Be a big residential boom in Old Town. It’s nearenough in to be handy to the business section, and far enoughfrom the Union Station so’s they haven’t got any warehousesor wholesalers. Good buy, Reverend.”

“Oh, I’m not buying—I’m just selling—selling the gospel!”said the Reverend, and he went to inform Bishop Toomis thatafter prayer and meditation he had been led to accept thepastorate of the Wellspring Church.

So, at thirty-nine, Cæsar came to Rome, and Rome heardabout it immediately.

I

he did not stand by the altar now, uplifted in a vow thathe would be good and reverent. He was like the new generalmanager of a factory as he bustled for the first time throughthe Wellspring Methodist Church, Zenith, and his first commentwas “The plant’s run down—have to buck it up.”

He was accompanied on his inspection by his staff: MissBundle, church secretary and personal secretary to himself,a decayed and plaintive lady distressingly free of seductiveness;Miss Weezeger, the deaconess, given to fat and goodworks; and A. F. Cherry, organist and musical director, engagedonly on part time.

He was disappointed that the church could not give him apastoral assistant or a director of religious education. He’dhave them, soon enough—and boss them! Great!

He found an auditorium which would hold sixteen hundredpeople but which was offensively gloomy in its streaky windows,its brown plaster walls, its cast-iron pillars. The rear wall ofthe chancel was painted a lugubrious blue scattered with starswhich had ceased to twinkle; and the pulpit was of dark oak,crowned with a foolish, tasseled, faded green velvet cushion.The whole auditorium was heavy and forbidding; the stretchof empty brown-grained pews stared at him dolorously.

“Certainly must have been a swell bunch of cheerful Christiansthat made this layout! I’ll have a new church here infive years—one with some pep to it, and Gothic fixin’s and anup-to-date educational and entertainment plant,” reflected thenew priest.

The Sunday School rooms were spacious enough, but dingy,scattered with torn hymn books; the kitchen in the basem*nt,for church suppers, had a rusty ancient stove and piles ofchipped dishes. Elmer’s own study and office was airless, andlooked out on the flivver-crowded yard of a garage. And Mr.Cherry said the organ was rather more than wheezy.

“Oh, well,” Elmer conferred with himself afterward, “whatdo I care! Anyway, there’s plenty of room for the crowds, and,believe me, I’m the boy can drag ’em in! ... God, what afrump that Bundle woman is! One of these days I’ll have asmart girl secretary—a good-looker. Well, hurray, ready forthe big work! I’ll show this town what high-class preachingis!”

Not for three days did he chance to think that Cleo mightalso like to see the church.

II

Though there were nearly four hundred thousand people inZenith and only nine hundred in Banjo Crossing, Elmer’s receptionin the Zenith church basem*nt was remarkably like hisreception in the Banjo basem*nt. There were the same rugged,hard-handed brothers, the same ample sisters renowned formaking doughnuts, the same brisk little men given to gigglingand pious jests. There were the same homemade ice creamand homemade oratory. But there were five times as manypeople as at the Banjo reception, and Elmer was ever a loverof quantity. And among the transplanted rustics were severalprosperous professional men, several well-gowned women, andsome pretty girls who looked as though they went to dancingschool, Discipline or not.

He felt cheerful and loving toward them—his, as he pointedout to them, “fellow crusaders marching on resolutely toachievement of the Kingdom of God on earth.”

It was easy to discover which of the members present fromthe Official Board of the church were most worth his attentions.Mr. Ernest Apfelmus, one of the stewards, was the owner ofthe Gem of the Ocean Pie and Cake Corporation. He lookedlike a puffy and bewildered urchin suddenly blown up to vastsize; he was very rich, Miss Bundle whispered; and he did notknow how to spend his money except on his wife’s diamondsand the cause of the Lord. Elmer paid court to Mr. Apfelmusand his wife, who spoke quite a little English.

Not so rich but even more important, Elmer guessed, wasT. J. Rigg, the famous criminal lawyer, a trustee of WellspringChurch.

Mr. Rigg was small, deep-wrinkled, with amused and knowingeyes. He would be, Elmer felt instantly, a good man withwhom to drink. His wife’s face was that of a girl, round andsmooth and blue-eyed, though she was fifty and more, and herlaughter was lively.

“Those are folks I can shoot straight with,” decided Elmer,and he kept near them.

Rigg hinted, “Say, Reverend, why don’t you and your goodlady come up to my house after this, and we can loosen up andhave a good laugh and get over this sewing-circle business.”

“I’d certainly like to.” As he spoke Elmer was consideringthat if he was really to loosen up, he could not have Cleoabout. “Only, I’m afraid my wife has a headache, poor girl.We’ll just send her along home and I’ll come with you.”

“After you shake hands a few thousand more times!”

“Exactly!”

Elmer was edified to find that Mr. Rigg had a limousine witha chauffeur—one of the few in which Elmer had yet ridden.He did like to have his Christian brethren well heeled. But thesight of the limousine made him less chummy with the Riggses,more respectful and unctuous, and when they had droppedCleo at the hotel, Elmer leaned gracefully back on the velvetseat, waved his large hand poetically, and breathed, “Sucha welcome the dear people gave me! I am so grateful! Whata real outpouring of the spirit!”

“Look here,” sniffed Rigg, “you don’t have to bepious with us! Ma and I are a couple of old dragoons. Welike religion; like the good old hymns—takes us back to thehick town we came from; and we believe religion is a fine thingto keep people in order—they think of higher things instead ofall these strikes and big wages and the kind of hell-raisingthat’s throwing the industrial system all out of kilter. And Ilike a fine upstanding preacher that can give a good show. SoI’m willing to be a trustee. But we ain’t pious. And any timeyou want to let down—and I reckon there must be times whena big cuss like you must get pretty sick of listening to thesniveling sisterhood!—you just come to us, and if you want tosmoke or even throw in a little jolt of liquor, as I’ve beenknown to do, why we’ll understand. How about it, Ma?”

“You bet!” said Mrs. Rigg. “And I’ll go down to thekitchen, if cook isn’t there, and fry you up a couple of eggs, andif you don’t tell the rest of the brethren, there’s always a coupleof bottles of beer on the ice. Like one?”

“Would I!” cheered Elmer. “You bet I would! Only—I cutout drinking and smoking quite a few years ago. Oh, I hadmy share before that! But I stopped, absolute, and I’d hateto break my record. But you go right ahead. And I want tosay that it’ll be a mighty big relief to have some folks in thechurch that I can talk to without shocking ’em half to death.Some of these holier-than-thou birds——Lord, they won’t leta preacher be a human being!”

The Rigg house was large, rather faded, full of books whichhad been read—history, biography, travels. The smallersitting-room, with its log fire and large padded chairs, lookedcomfortable, but Mrs. Rigg shouted, “Oh, let’s go out to thekitchen and shake up a welsh rabbit! I love to cook, and Idon’t dast till after the servants go to bed.”

So his first conference with T. J. Rigg, who became the onlyauthentic friend Elmer had known since Jim Lefferts, was heldat the shiny white-enamel-topped table in the huge kitchen,with Mrs. Rigg stalking about, bringing them welsh rabbit,with celery, cold chicken, whatever she found in the ice box.

“I want your advice, Brother Rigg,” said Elmer. “I wantto make my first sermon here something sen—well, somethingthat’ll make ’em sit up and listen. I don’t have to get the subjectin for the church ads till tomorrow. Now what do youthink of some pacifism?”

“Eh?”

“I know what you think. Of course during the war I wasjust as patriotic as anybody—Four-Minute Man, and in anothermonth I’d of been in uniform. But honest, some of thechurches are getting a lot of kick out of hollering pacifismnow the war’s all safely over—some of the biggest preachers inthe country. But far’s I’ve heard, nobody’s started it here inZenith yet, and it might make a big sensation.”

“Yes, that’s so, and course it’s perfectly all right to adoptpacifism as long as there’s no chance for another war.”

“Or do you think—you know the congregation here—do youthink a more dignified and kind of you might say poetic expositorysermon would impress ’em more? Or what about agood, vigorous, right-out-from-the-shoulder attack on vice?You know, booze and immorality—like short skirts—by golly,girls’ skirts getting shorter every year!”

“Now that’s what I’d vote for,” said Rigg. “That’s whatgets ’em. Nothing like a good juicy vice sermon to bring inthe crowds. Yes, sir! Fearless attack on all this drinkingand this awful sex immorality that’s getting so prevalent.”Mr. Rigg meditatively mixed a highball, keeping it light becausenext morning in court he had to defend a lady accused ofrunning a badger game. “You bet. Some folks say sermonslike that are just sensational, but I always tell ’em: once thepreacher gets the folks into the church that way—and mightyfew appreciate how hard it is to do a good vice sermon; jolt’em enough and yet not make it too dirty—once you get in thefolks, then you can give ’em some good, solid, old-time religionand show ’em salvation and teach ’em to observe the laws anddo an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, ’stead ofclock-watching like my doggone clerks do! Yep, if you askme, try the vice.... Oh, say, Ma, do you think the Reverendwould be shocked by that story about the chambermaid andthe traveling man that Mark was telling us?”

Elmer was not shocked. In fact he had another droll talehimself.

He went home at one.

“I’ll have a good time with those folks,” he reflected, inthe luxury of a taxicab. “Only, better be careful with oldRigg. He’s a shrewd bird, and he’s onto me.... Now whatdo you mean?” indignantly. “What do you mean by ‘ontome’? There’s nothing to be onto! I refused a drink and acigar, didn’t I? I never cuss except when I lose my temper,do I? I’m leading an absolutely Christian life. And I’mbringing a whale of a lot more souls into churches than anyof these puss*-footing tin saints that’re afraid to laugh andjolly people. ‘Onto me’ nothing!”

III

On Saturday morning, on the page of religious advertisem*ntsin the Zenith newspapers, Elmer’s first sermon was announcedin a two-column spread as dealing with the promisingproblem: “Can Strangers Find Haunts of Vice in Zenith?”

They could, and with gratifying ease, said Elmer in hissermon. He said it before at least four hundred people, asagainst the hundred who had normally been attending.

He himself was a stranger in Zenith, and he had gone forthand he had been “appalled—aghast—bowed in shocked horror”at the amount of vice, and such interesting and attractive vice.He had investigated Braun’s Island, a rackety beach and dance-floorand restaurant at South Zenith, and he had found mixedbathing. He described the ladies’ legs; he described the twoamiable young women who had picked him up. He told ofthe waiter who, though he denied that Braun’s Restaurant itselfsold liquor, had been willing to let him know where toget it, and where to find an all-night game of poker—“and,mind you, playing poker for keeps, you understand,” Elmerexplained.

On Washington Avenue, North, he had found two moviesin which “the dreadful painted purveyors of putrescent vice”—hemeant the movie actors—had on the screen danced “suggestivesteps which would bring the blush of shame to thecheeks of any decent woman,” and in which the same purveyorshad taken drinks which he assumed to be the deadly co*cktails.On his way to his hotel after these movies three ladies of thenight had accosted him, right under the White Way of lights.Street-corner loafers—he had apparently been very chummywith them—had told him of blind pigs, of dope-peddlers, ofstrange lecheries.

“That,” he shouted, “is what one stranger was able to findin your city—now my city, and well beloved! But could hefind virtue so easily, could he, could he? Or just a lot of easy-goingchurches, lollygagging along, while the just God threatensthis city with the fire and devouring brimstone that destroyedproud Sodom and Gomorrah in their abominations! Listen!With the help of God Almighty, let us raise here in this churcha standard of virtue that no stranger can help seeing! We’relazy. We’re not burning with a fever of righteousness. Onyour knees, you slothful, and pray God to forgive you andto aid you and me to form a brotherhood of helpful, joyous,fiercely righteous followers of every commandment of the LordOur God!”

The newspapers carried almost all of it.... It had justhappened that there were reporters present—it had just happenedthat Elmer had been calling up the Advocate-Times onSaturday—it had just happened that he remembered he hadmet Bill Kingdom, the Advocate reporter, in Sparta—it hadjust happened that to help out good old Bill he had let himknow there would be something stirring in the church, comeSunday.

The next Saturday Elmer advertised “Is There a RealDevil Sneaking Around with Horns and Hoofs?” On Sundaythere were seven hundred present. Within two months Elmerwas preaching, ever more confidently and dramatically, tolarger crowds than were drawn by any other church in Zenithexcept four or five.

But, “Oh, he’s just a new sensation—he can’t last out—hasn’tgot the learning and staying-power. Besides, Old Townis shot to pieces,” said Elmer’s fellow vinters—particularly hisannoyed fellow Methodists.

IV

Cleo and he had found a gracious old house in Old Town, tobe had cheap because of the ragged neighborhood. He hadhinted to her that since he was making such a spiritual sacrificeas to take a lower salary in coming to Zenith, her father,as a zealous Christian, ought to help them out; and if sheshould be unable to make her father perceive this, Elmer wouldregretfully have to be angry with her.

She came back from a visit to Banjo Crossing with twothousand dollars.

Cleo had an instinct for agreeable furniture. For the oldhouse, with its white mahogany paneling, she got reproductionsof early New England chairs and commodes and tables. Therewas a white-framed fireplace and a fine old crystal chandelierin the living-room.

“Some class! We can entertain the bon ton here, and, believeme, I’ll soon be having a lot of ’em coming to church!... Sometimes I do wish, though, I’d gone out for theEpiscopal Church. Lots more class there, and they don’t beefif a minister takes a little drink,” he said to Cleo.

“Oh, Elmer, how can you! When Methodism stands for—”

“Oh, God, I do wish that just once you wouldn’t deliberatelymisunderstand me! Here I was just carrying on a philosophicaldiscussion, and not speaking personal, and you go and—”

His house in order, he gave attention to clothes. He dressedas calculatingly as an actor. For the pulpit, he continued towear morning clothes. For his church study, he chose offensivelyinoffensive lounge suits, gray and brown and stripedblue, with linen collars and quiet blue ties. For addressesbefore slightly boisterous lunch-clubs, he went in for manlytweeds and manly soft collars, along with his manly voice andmanly jesting.

He combed his thick hair back from his strong, square face,and permitted it to hang, mane-like, just a bit over his collar.But it was still too black to be altogether prophetic.

The two thousand was gone before they had been in Zenitha month.

“But it’s all a good investment,” he said. “When I meet theBig Bugs, they’ll see I may have a dump of a church in a bumsection but I can put up as good a front as if I were preachingon Chickasaw Road.”

V

If in Banjo Crossing Elmer had been bored by inactivity, inZenith he was almost exhausted by the demands.

Wellspring Church had been carrying on a score of institutionalaffairs, and Elmer doubled them, for nothing brought inmore sympathy, publicity, and contributions. Rich old hyenaswho never went to church would ooze out a hundred dollarsor even five hundred when you described the shawled motherscoming tearfully to the milk station.

There were classes in manual training, in domestic science, ingymnastics, in bird study, for the poor boys and girls of OldTown. There were troops of Boy Scouts, of Camp Fire Girls.There were Ladies’ Aid meetings, Women’s Missionary Societymeetings, regular church suppers before prayer-meeting, aBible Training School for Sunday School teachers, a sewingsociety, nursing and free food for the sick and poor, half adozen clubs of young men and women, half a dozen circles ofmatrons, and a Men’s Club with monthly dinners, for whichthe pastor had to snare prominent speakers without payment.The Sunday School was like a small university. And everyday there were dozens of callers who asked the pastor forcomfort, for advice, for money—young men in temptation,widows wanting jobs, old widows wanting assurance of immortality,hoboes wanting hand-outs, and eloquent book-agents.Where in Banjo the villagers had been shy to exposetheir cancerous sorrows, in the city there were always lonelypeople who reveled in being a little twisted, a little curious, alittle shameful; who yearned to talk about themselves andwho expected the pastor to be forever interested.

Elmer scarce had time to prepare his sermons, though hereally did yearn now to make them original and eloquent. Hewas no longer satisfied to depend on his barrel. He wanted toincrease his vocabulary; he was even willing to have new ideas,lifted out of biology and biography and political editorials.

He was out of the house daily at eight in the morning—usuallyafter a breakfast in which he desired to know of Cleowhy the deuce she couldn’t keep Nat and Bunny quiet whilehe read the paper—and he did not return till six, burning withweariness. He had to study in the evening.... He wasalways testy.... His children were afraid of him, even whenhe boisterously decided to enact the Kind Parent for one eveningand to ride them pickaback, whether or no they wantedto be ridden pickaback. They feared God properly and kepthis commandments, did Nat and Bunny, because their fatherso admirably prefigured God.

When Cleo was busy with meetings and clubs at the church,Elmer blamed her for neglecting the house; when she slackenedher church work, he was able equally to blame her for nothelping him professionally. And obviously it was because shehad so badly arranged the home routine that he never hadtime for morning Family Worship.... But he made up forit by the violence of his Grace before Meat, during which heglared at the children if they stirred in their chairs.

And always the telephone was ringing—not only in hisoffice but at home in the evening.

What should Miss Weezeger, the deaconess, do about thisold Miss Mally, who wanted a new nightgown? Could theReverend Gantry give a short talk on “Advertising and theChurch” to the Ad Club next Tuesday noon? Could he addressthe Letitia Music and Literary Club on “Religion andPoetry” next Thursday at four—just when he had a meetingwith the Official Board. The church janitor wanted to startthe furnace, but the coal hadn’t been delivered. What advicewould the Reverend Mr. Gantry give to a young man whowanted to go to college and had no money? From what bookwas that quotation about “Cato learned Greek at eightySophocles” which he had used in last Sunday’s sermon?Would Mr. Gantry be so kind and address the Lincoln Schoolnext Friday morning at nine-fifteen—the dear children wouldbe so glad of any Message he had to give them, and theregular speaker couldn’t show up. Would it be all right forthe Girls’ Basket Ball team to use the basem*nt tonight?Could the Reverend come out, right now, to the house of BenT. Evers, 2616 Appleby Street—five miles away—becausegrandmother was very ill and needed consolation. What thedickens did the Reverend mean by saying, last Sunday, thathell-fire might be merely spiritual and figurative—didn’t heknow that that was agin Matthew V:29: “Thy whole bodyshould be cast into hell.” Could he get the proof of the churchbulletin back to the printers right away? Could the officersof the Southwest Circle of Women meet in Mr. Gantry’s studytomorrow? Would Reverend Gantry speak at the Old TownImprovement Association Banquet? Did the Reverend wantto buy a secondhand motor-car in A-1 shape? Could theReverend—

“God!” said the Reverend; and, “Huh? Why, no, of courseyou couldn’t answer ’em for me, Cleo. But at least you mighttry to keep from humming when I’m simply killing myselftrying to take care of all these blame’ fools and sacrificingmyself and everything!”

And the letters.

In response to every sermon he had messages informing himthat he was the bright hope of evangelicism and that he was acloven-hoofed fiend; that he was a rousing orator and a humansaxophone. One sermon on the delights of Heaven, which hepictured as a perpetual summer afternoon at a lake resort,brought in the same mail four comments:

And he was expected, save with the virulent anonymous letters,to answer all of them ... in his stuffy office, facing ashelf of black-bound books, dictating to the plaintive MissBundle, who never caught an address, who always single-spacedthe letters which should have been double-spaced, and whohad a speed which seemed adequate until you discovered thatshe attained it by leaving out most of the verbs and adjectives.

VI

Whether or not he was irritable on week days, Sundays wereto his nervous family a hell of keeping out of his way, andfor himself they had the strain of a theatrical first night.

He was up at seven, looking over his sermon-notes, preparinghis talk to the Sunday School, and snarling at Cleo, “GoodLord, you might have breakfast on time today, at least, andwhy in heaven’s name you can’t get that furnace-man here soI won’t have to freeze while I’m doing my studying—”

He was at Sunday School at a quarter to ten, and often hehad to take the huge Men’s Bible Class and instruct it in themore occult meanings of the Bible, out of his knowledge ofthe original Hebrew and Greek as denied to the laity.

Morning church services began at eleven. Now that heoften had as many as a thousand in the audience, as he peepedout at them from the study he had stage-fright. Could he holdthem? What the deuce had he intended to say about communion?He couldn’t remember a word of it.

It was not easy to keep on urging the unsaved to come forwardas though he really thought they would and as though hecared a hang whether they did or not. It was not easy, oncommunion Sundays, when they knelt round the altar rail, tokeep from laughing at the sanctimonious eyes and prim mouthsof brethren whom he knew to be crooks in private business.

It was not easy to go on saying with proper conviction thatwhosoever looked on a woman to lust after her would go boomingdown to hell when there was a pretty and admiring girlin the front row. And it was hardest of all, when he had donehis public job, when he was tired and wanted to let down, tostand about after the sermon and be hand-shaken by agedspinster saints who expected him to listen without grinningwhile they quavered that he was a silver-plated angel and thatthey were just like him.

To have to think up a new, bright, pious quip for each ofthem! To see large sporting males regarding him the while asthough he were an old woman in trousers!

By the time he came home for Sunday lunch he was lookingfor a chance to feel injured and unappreciated and pesteredand put upon, and usually he found the chance.

There were still ahead of him, for the rest of the day, theSunday evening service, often the Epworth League, sometimesspecial meetings at four. Whenever the children disturbed hisSunday afternoon nap, Elmer gave an impersonation of theprophets. Why! All he asked of Nat and Bunny was that, asa Methodist minister’s children, they should not be seen onthe streets or in the parks on the blessed Sabbath afternoon,and that they should not be heard about the house. He toldthem, often, that they were committing an unexampled sin bycausing him to fall into bad tempers unbecoming a Man of God.

But through all these labors and this lack of domesticsympathy he struggled successfully.

VII

Elmer was as friendly as ever with Bishop Toomis.

He had conferred early with the bishop and with the cannylawyer-trustee, T. J. Rigg, as to what fellow-clergymen inZenith it would be worth his while to know.

Among the ministers outside the Methodist Church, theyrecommended Dr. G. Prosper Edwards, the highly culturedpastor of the Pilgrim Congregational Church, Dr. John JennisonDrew, the active but sanctified leader of the ChathamRoad Presbyterian Church, that solid Baptist, the ReverendHosea Jessup, and Willis Fortune Tate, who, though he wasan Episcopalian and very shaky as regards liquor and hell, hadone of the suavest and most expensive flocks in town. And ifone could endure the Christian Scientists’ smirking convictionthat they alone had the truth, there was the celebrated leaderof the First Christian Science Church, Mr. Irving Tillish.

The Methodist ministers of Zenith Elmer met and studiedat their regular Monday morning meetings, in the funeraland wedding chapel of Central Church. They looked like agroup of prosperous and active business men. Only two ofthem ever wore clerical waistcoats, and of these only one compromisedwith the Papacy and the errors of Canterbury byturning his collar around. A few resembled farmers, a fewstone-masons, but most of them looked like retail shops. TheReverend Mr. Chatterton Weeks indulged in claret-colored“fancy socks,” silk handkerchiefs, and an enormous emeraldring, and gave a pleasant suggestion of vaudeville. Nor werethey too sanctimonious. They slapped one another’s backs,they used first names, they shouted, “I hear you’re grabbingoff all the crowds in town, you old cuss!” and for the manlierand more successful of them it was quite the thing to use nowand then a daring “damn.”

It would, to an innocent layman, have been startling to seethem sitting in rows like schoolboys; to hear them listeningnot to addresses on credit and the routing of hardware but toshort helpful talks on Faith. The balance was kept, however,by an adequate number of papers on trade subjects—the sortof pews most soothing to the back; the value of sending postcardsreading “Where were you last Sunday, old scout? Wesure did miss you at the Men’s Bible Class”; the comparativevalues of a giant imitation thermometer, a giant clock, and agiant automobile speedometer, as a register of the moneycoming in during special drives; the question of gold and silverstars as rewards for Sunday School attendance; the effectivenessof giving the children savings-banks in the likeness of ajolly little church to encourage them to save their pennies forChristian work; and the morality of violin solos.

Nor were the assembled clergy too inhumanly unboastful intheir reports of increased attendance and collections.

Elmer saw that the Zenith district superintendent, one FredOrr, could be neglected as a creeping and silent fellow who wasall right at prayer and who seemed to lead an almost irritatinglypure life, but who had no useful notions about increasing collections.

The Methodist preachers whom he had to take seriously asrivals were four.

There was Chester Brown, the ritualist, of the new andultra-Gothic Asbury Church. He was almost as bad, theysaid, as an Episcopalian. He wore a clerical waistcoat buttonedup to his collar; he had a robed choir and the processional;he was rumored once to have had candles on what waspractically an altar. He was, to Elmer, distressingly literaryand dramatic. It was said that he had literary gifts; hisarticles appeared not only in the Advocate but in the ChristianCentury and the New Republic—rather whimsical essays,safely Christian but frank about the church’s sloth and wealthand blindness. He had been Professor of English Literatureand Church History in Lucco*ck College, and he did suchsermons on books as Elmer, with his exhausting knowledge ofLongfellow and George Eliot, could never touch.

Dr. Otto Hickenlooper of Central Church was an even moredistressing rival. His was the most active institutional churchof the whole state. He had not only manual training andgymnastics but sacred pageants, classes in painting (neverfrom the nude), classes in French and batik-making and sexhygiene and bookkeeping and short-story writing. He hadclubs for railroad men, for stenographers, for bell-boys; andafter the church suppers the young people were encouraged tosit about in booths to which the newspapers referred flippantlyas “courting corners.”

Dr. Hickenlooper had come out hard for Social Service. Hewas in sympathy with the American Federation of Labor, theI. W. W., the Socialists, the Communists, and the NonpartisanLeague, which was more than they were with one another.He held Sunday evening lectures on the Folly of War, theMinimum Wage, the need of clean milk; and once a monthhe had an open forum, to which were invited the most dangerousradical speakers, who were allowed to say absolutelyanything they liked, provided they did not curse, refer toadultery, or criticize the leadership of Christ.

Dr. Mahlon Potts, of the First Methodist Church, seemedto Elmer at first glance less difficult to oust. He was fat,pompous, full of heavy rumbles of piety. He was a stageparson. “Ah, my dear Brother!” he boomed; and “How arewe this morning, my dear Doctor, and how is the lovely littlewife?” But Dr. Potts had the largest congregation of anychurch of any denomination in Zenith. He was so respectable.He was so safe. People knew where they were, with him. Hewas adequately flowery of speech—he could do up a mountain,a sunset, a burning of the martyrs, a reception of the same bythe saints in heaven, as well as any preacher in town. But henever doubted nor let any one else doubt that by attending theMethodist Church regularly, and observing the rules of repentance,salvation, baptism, communion, and liberal giving,every one would have a minimum of cancer and tuberculosisand sin, and unquestionably arrive in heaven.

These three Elmer envied but respected; one man he enviedand loathed.

That was Philip McGarry of the Arbor Methodist Church.

Philip McGarry, Ph. D. of the University of Chicago in economicsand philosophy—only everybody who liked him, laymanor fellow-parson, seemed to call him “Phil”—was at the age ofthirty-five known through the whole American MethodistChurch as an enfant terrible. The various sectional editionsof the Advocate admired him but clucked like doting andalarmed hens over his frequent improprieties. He was accusedof every heresy. He never denied them, and the onlydogma he was known to give out positively was the leadershipof Jesus—as to whose divinity he was indefinite.

He was a stocky, smiling man, fond of boxing, and even ata funeral incapable of breathing, “Ah, sister!”

He criticized everything. He criticized even bishops—forbeing too fat, for being too ambitious, for gassing about Charityduring a knock-down-and-drag-out strike. He criticized, butamiably, the social and institutional and generally philanthropicDr. Otto Hickenlooper, with his clubs for the study of KarlMarx and his Sunday afternoon reception for lonely traveling-men.

“You’re a good lad, Otto,” said Dr. McGarry—and openly,in the preachers’ Monday meetings: “You mean well, butyou’re one of these darned philanthropists.”

“Nice word to use publicly—’darned’!” meditated theshocked Reverend Elmer Gantry.

“All your stuff at Central, Otto,” said Dr. McGarry, “ispaternalistic. You hand out rations to the dear pee-pul andkeep ’em obedient. You talk about socialism and pacifism, andsay a lot of nice things about ’em, but you always explain thatreforms must come in due time, which means never, and thenonly through the kind supervision of Rockefeller and HenryFord. And I always suspect that your activities have behind’em the sneaking purpose of luring the poor chumps intoreligion—even into Methodism!”

The whole ministerial meeting broke into yelps.

“Well, of course, that’s the purpose—”

“Well, if you’ll kindly tell me why you stay in the MethodistChurch when you think it’s so unimportant to—”

“Just what are you, a minister of the gospel, seeking exceptreligion—”

The meeting, on such a morning, was certain to stray fromthe consideration of using egg-coal in church furnaces to thequestion as to what, when they weren’t before their congregationsand on record, they really believed about the whole thing.

That was a very dangerous and silly thing, reflected ElmerGantry. No telling where you’d get to, if you went blattingaround about a lot of these fool problems. Preach the straightBible gospel and make folks good, he demanded, and leaveall these ticklish questions of theology and social service tothe profs!

Philip McGarry wound up his cheerful attack on Dr. Hickenlooper,the first morning when Elmer disgustedly encounteredhim, by insisting, “You see, Otto, your reforms couldn’t meananything, or you wouldn’t be able to hold onto as many prosperousmoney-grabbing parishioners as you do. No risk of theworking-men in your church turning dangerous as long asyou’ve got that tight-fisted Joe Hanley as one of your trustees!Thank Heaven, I haven’t got a respectable person in my wholeblooming flock!”

(“Yeh, and there’s where you gave yourself away, McGarry,”Elmer chuckled inwardly. “That’s the first thingyou’ve said that’s true!”)

Philip McGarry’s church was in a part of the city incomparablymore run-down than Elmer’s Old Town. It wascalled “The Arbor”; it had in pioneer days been the vineyard-shelteredvillage, along the Chaloosa River, from which hadgrown the modern Zenith. Now it was all dives, brothels,wretched tenements, cheap-jack shops. Yet here McGarrylived, a bachelor, seemingly well content, counseling pick-pocketsand scrubwomen, and giving on Friday evenings aseries of lectures packed by eager Jewish girl students, radicalworkmen, old cranks, and wistful rich girls coming in limousinesdown from the spacious gardens of Royal Ridge.

“I’ll have trouble with that McGarry if we both stay in thistown. Him and I will never get along together,” thought Elmer.“Well, I’ll keep away from him; I’ll treat him with some ofthis Christian charity that he talks so darn’ much about andcan’t understand the real meaning of! We’ll just dismisshim—and most of these other birds. But the big three—how’llI handle them?”

He could not, even if he should have a new church, outdoChester Brown in ecclesiastical elegance or literary messages.He could never touch Otto Hickenlooper in institutions andsocial service. He could never beat Mahlon Potts in appealingto the well-to-do respectables.

Yet he could beat them all together!

Planning it delightedly, at the ministers’ meeting, on hisway home, by the fireplace at night, he saw that each of thesestars was so specialized that he neglected the good publicity-bringingfeatures of the others. Elmer would combine them;be almost as elevating as Chester Brown, almost as institutionaland meddling as Otto Hickenlooper, almost as solidlysafe and moral as Mahlon Potts. And all three of them,in fact every preacher in town except one Presbyterian, wereneglecting the—well, some people called it sensational, but thatwas just envy; the proper word, considered Elmer, was powerful,or perhaps fearless, or stimulating—all of them were neglectinga powerful, fearless, stimulating, and devil-challengingconcentration on vice. Booze. Legs. Society bridge. Youbet!

Not overdo it, of course, but the town would come to knowthat in the sermons of the Reverend Elmer Gantry there wouldalways be something spicy and yet improving.

“Oh, I can put it over the whole bunch!” Elmer stretchedhis big arms in joyous vigor. “I’ll build a new church. I’lltake the crowds away from all of ’em. I’ll be the one bigpreacher in Zenith. And then——Chicago? New York?Bishopric? Whatever I want! Whee!”

I

it was during his inquiry about clerical allies and rivals—theywere the same thing—that Elmer learned that two ofhis classmates at Mizpah Seminary were stationed in Zenith.

Wallace Umstead, the Mizpah student-instructor in gymnastics,was now general secretary of the Zenith Y. M. C. A.

“He’s a boob. We can pass him up,” Elmer decided.“Husky but no finesse and culture. No. That’s wrong.Preacher can get a lot of publicity speaking at the Y., and getthe fellows to join his church.”

So he called on Mr. Umstead, and that was a hearty andtouching meeting between classmates, two strong men comeface to face, two fellow manly Christians.

But Elmer was not pleased to learn of the presence of thesecond classmate, Frank Shallard. He angrily recalled:“Sure—the fellow that high-hatted me and sneaked around andtried to spy on me when I was helping him learn the game atSchoenheim.”

He was glad to hear that Frank was in disgrace with thesounder and saner clergy of Zenith. He had left the BaptistChurch; it was said that he had acted in a low manner as acommon soldier in the Great War; and he had gone as pastorto a Congregational Church in Zenith—not a God-fearing,wealthy Congregational Church, like that of Dr. G. ProsperEdwards, but one that was suspected of being as shaky andcowardly and misleading as any Unitarian fold.

Elmer remembered that he still owed Frank the hundreddollars which he had borrowed to reach Zenith for the last ofhis Prosperity lectures. He was furious to remember it. Hecouldn’t pay it, not now, with a motor-car just bought and onlyhalf paid for! But was it safe to make an enemy of thiscrank Shallard, who might go around shooting his mouth offand telling a lot of stories—not more’n half of ’em true?

He groaned with martyrdom, made out a check for a hundred—itwas one-half of his present bank-balance—and sentit to Frank with a note explaining that for years he hadyearned to return this money, but he had lost Frank’s address.Also, he would certainly call on his dear classmate just assoon as he got time.

“And that’ll be about sixteen years after the Day of Judgment,”he snorted.

II

Not all the tenderness, all the serene uprightness, all themystic visions of Andrew Pengilly, that village saint, had beenable to keep Frank Shallard satisfied with the Baptist ministryafter his association with the questioning rabbi and the Unitarianminister at Eureka. These liberals proved admirablythe assertion of the Baptist fundamentalists that to tamperwith biology and ethnology was to lose one’s Baptist faith,wherefore State University education should be confined toalgebra, agriculture, and Bible study.

Early in 1917, when it was a question as to whether hewould leave his Baptist church or be kicked out, Frank wascaught by the drama of war—caught, in his wavering, by whatseemed strength—and he resigned, for all of Bess’ bewilderedprotests; he sent her and the children back to her father,and enlisted as a private soldier.

Chaplain? No! He wanted, for the first time, to be normaland uninsulated.

Through the war he was kept as a clerk in camp in America.He was industrious, quick, accurate, obedient; he rose to asergeancy and learned to smoke; he loyally brought his captainhome whenever he was drunk; and he read half a hundredvolumes of science.

And all the time he hated it.

He hated the indignity of being herded with other men, nolonger a person of leisure and dignity and command, whoseidiosyncrasies were important to himself and to other people,but a cog, to be hammered brusquely the moment it made anyrattle of individuality. He hated the seeming planlessness ofthe whole establishment. If this was a war to end war, heheard nothing of it from any of his fellow soldiers or hisofficers.

But he learned to be easy and common with common men.He learned not even to hear cursing. He learned to like largemales more given to tobacco-chewing than to bathing, and innocentof all words longer than “hell.” He found himselfso devoted to the virtues of these common people that hewanted “to do something for them”—and in bewildered reflectionhe could think of no other way of “doing something forthem” than to go on preaching.

But not among the Baptists, with their cast-iron minds.

Nor yet could he quite go over to the Unitarians. He stillrevered Jesus of Nazareth as the one path to justice and kindness,and he still—finding even as in childhood a magic in thestories of shepherds keeping watch by night, of the glorifiedmother beside the babe in the manger—he still had an unreasonedfeeling that Jesus was of more than human birth, andveritably the Christ.

It seemed to him that the Congregationalists were the freestamong the more or less trinitarian denominations. Each Congregationalchurch made its own law. The Baptists weresupposed to, but they were ruled by a grim general opinion.

After the war he talked to the state superintendent of Congregationalchurches of Winnemac. Frank wanted a freechurch, and a poor church, but not poor because it was timidand lifeless.

They would, said the superintendent, be glad to welcome himamong the Congregationalists, and there was available just theflock Frank wanted: the Dorchester Church, on the edge ofZenith. The parishioners were small shopkeepers and factoryforemen and skilled workmen and railwaymen, with a fewstray music-teachers and insurance agents. They were mostlypoor; and they had the reputation of really wanting the truthfrom the pulpit.

When Elmer arrived, Frank had been at the DorchesterChurch for two years, and he had been nearly happy.

He found that the grander among his fellow Congregationalpastors—such as G. Prosper Edwards, with his down-townplush-lined cathedral—could be shocked almost as readilyas the Baptists by a suggestion that we didn’t really quiteknow about the virgin birth. He found that the worthybutchers and haberdashers of his congregation did not radiatejoy at a defense of Bolshevik Russia. He found that he wasstill not at all certain that he was doing any good, aside fromproviding the drug of religious hope to timorous folk frightenedof hell-fire and afraid to walk alone.

But to be reasonably free, to have, after army life, thefleecy comfort of a home with jolly Bess and the children, thiswas oasis, and for three years Frank halted in his fumblingfor honesty.

Even more than Bess, the friendship of Dr. Philip McGarry,of the Arbor Methodist Church, kept Frank in the ministry.

McGarry was three or four years younger than Frank, butin his sturdy cheerfulness he seemed more mature. Frank hadmet him at the Ministerial Alliance’s monthly meeting, andthey had liked in each other a certain disdainful honesty. McGarrywas not to be shocked by what biology did to Genesis,by the suggestion that certain Christian rites had been stolenfrom Mithraic cults, by Freudianism, by any social heresies,yet McGarry loved the church, as a comradely gathering ofpeople alike hungry for something richer than daily selfishness,and this love he passed on to Frank.

But Frank still resented it that, as a parson, he was considerednot quite virile; that even clever people felt they musttreat him with a special manner; that he was barred fromknowing the real thoughts and sharing the real desires ofnormal humanity.

And when he received Elmer’s note of greeting he groaned,“Oh, Lord, I wonder if people ever class me with a fellow likeGantry?”

He suggested to Bess, after a spirited account of Elmer’seminent qualities for spiritual and amorous leadership, “I feellike sending his check back to him.”

“Let’s see it,” said Bess and, placing the check in her stocking,she observed derisively, “There’s a new suit for Michael,and a lovely dinner for you and me, and a new lip-stick, andmoney in the bank. Cheers! I adore you, Reverend Shallard,I worship you, I adhere to you in all Christian fidelity, butlet me tell you, my lad, it wouldn’t hurt you one bit if youhad some of Elmer’s fast technique in love-making!”

I

elmer had, even in Zenith, to meet plenty of solemn andwhiskery persons whose only pleasure aside from not doingagreeable things was keeping others from doing them. Butthe general bleakness of his sect was changing, and he found inWellspring Church a Young Married Set who were nearly ascheerful as though they did not belong to a church.

This Young Married Set, though it was in good odor, thoughthe wives taught Sunday School and the husbands elegantlypassed collection plates, swallowed the Discipline with suchfriendly ease as a Catholic priest uses toward the latest bleedingMadonna. They lived, largely, in the new apartment-houseswhich were creeping into Old Town. They were notrich, but they had Fords and phonographs and gin. Theydanced, and they were willing to dance even in the presenceof the Pastor.

They smelled in Elmer one of them, and though Cleo’s presencestiffened them into uncomfortable propriety, when hedropped in on them alone they shouted, “Come on, Reverend,I bet you can shake a hoof as good as anybody! The wifesays she’s gotta dance with you! Gotta get acquainted withthese Sins of the World if you’re going to make snappy sermons!”

He agreed, and he did dance, with a pretty appearance ofbeing shocked. He was light-footed still, for all his weight,and there was electricity in his grasp as his hands curled abouthis partner’s waist.

“Oh, my, Reverend, if you hadn’t been a preacher you’dhave been some dancing-man!” the women fluttered, and forall his caution he could not keep from looking into their fascinatedeyes, noting the flutter of their bosoms, and murmuring,“Better remember I’m human, honey! If I did cut loose—Zowie!”

And they admired him for it.

Once, when rather hungrily he sniffed at the odors of alcoholand tobacco, the host giggled, “Say, I hope you don’t smellanything on my breath, Reverend—be fierce if you thought agood Methodist like me could ever throw in a shot of liquor!”

“It’s not my business to smell anything except on Sundays,”said Elmer amiably, and, “Come on now, Sister Gilson, let’stry and fox-trot again. My gracious, you talk about me smellingfor liquor! Think of what would happen if BrotherApfelmus knew his dear Pastor was slipping in a little dance!Mustn’t tell on me, folks!”

“You bet we won’t!” they said, and not even the elderlypietists on whom he called most often became louder adherentsof the Reverend Elmer Gantry, better advertisers ofhis sermons, than these blades of the Young Married Set.

He acquired a habit of going to their parties. He washungry for brisk companionship, and it was altogether depressingnow to be with Cleo. She could never learn, not after tenefforts a day, that she could not keep him from saying“Damn!” by looking hurt and murmuring, “Oh, Elmer, howcan you?”

He told her, regarding the parties, that he was going out tocall on parishioners. And he was not altogether lying. Hisambition was more to him now than any exalted dissipation,and however often he yearned for the mechanical pianos andthe girls in pink kimonos of whom he so lickerishly preached,he violently kept away from them.

But the jolly wives of the Young Married Set——Particularlythis Mrs. Gilson, Beryl Gilson, a girl of twenty-five, bornfor cuddling. She had a bleached and whining husband, whowas always quarreling with her in a weakly violent sputtering;and she was obviously taken by Elmer’s confidentstrength. He sat by her in “cozy-corners,” and his arm wastense. But he won glory by keeping from embracing her.Also, he wasn’t so sure that he could win her. She wasflighty, fond of triumphs, but cautious, a city girl used tomany suitors. And if she did prove kind——She was a memberof his church, and she was talkative. She might go aroundhinting.

After these meditations he would flee to the hospitality ofT. J. Rigg, in whose cheerfully sloven house he could relaxsafely, from whom he could get the facts about the privatebusiness careers of his more philanthropic contributors. Butall the time the attraction of Beryl Gilson, the vision of herdove-smooth shoulders, was churning him to insanity.

II

He had not noticed them during that Sunday morningsermon in late autumn, not noticed them among the admirerswho came up afterward to shake hands. Then he startled andcroaked, so that the current hand-shaker thought he was ill.

Elmer had seen, loitering behind the others, his one-timeforced fiancée, Lulu Bains of Schoenheim, and her lanky,rugged, vengeful cousin, Floyd Naylor.

They strayed up only when all the others were gone, whenthe affable ushers had stopped pouncing on victims and pump-handlingthem and patting their arms, as all ushers always doafter all church services. Elmer wished the ushers were staying,to protect him, but he was more afraid of scandal than ofviolence.

He braced himself, feeling the great muscles surge along hisback, then took quick decision and dashed toward Lulu andFloyd, yammering, “Well, well, well, well, well, well—”

Floyd shambled up, not at all unfriendly, and shook handspowerfully. “Lulu and I just heard you were in town—don’tgo to church much, I guess, so we didn’t know. We’re married!”

While he shook hands with Lulu, much more tenderly, Elmergave his benign blessing with “Well, well! Mighty glad tohear it.”

“Yep, been married—gosh, must be fourteen years now—gotmarried just after we last seen you at Schoenheim.”

By divine inspiration Elmer was led to look as though hewere wounded clear to the heart at the revived memory of thatunfortunate last seeing. He folded his hands in front of hisbeautiful morning coat, and looked noble, slightly milky andmelancholy of eye.... But he was not milky. He was staringhard enough. He saw that though Floyd was still as clumsilyuncouth as ever, Lulu—she must be thirty-three or-fournow—had taken on the city. She wore a simple, almost smarthat, a good tweed top-coat, and she was really pretty. Hereyes were ingratiatingly soft, very inviting; she still smiled witha desire to be friendly to every one. Inevitably, she had grownplump, but she had not yet overdone it, and her white littlepaw was veritably that of a kitten.

All this Elmer noted, while he looked injured but forgivingand while Floyd stammered:

“You see, Reverend, I guess you thought we played you apretty dirty trick that night on the picnic at Dad Bains’,when you came back and I was kind of hugging Lulu.”

“Yes, Floyd, I was pretty hurt, but——Let’s forget andforgive!”

“No, but listen, Reverend! Golly, ’twas hard for me tocome and explain to you, but now I’ve got going——Lulu andme, we weren’t making love. No, sir! She was just feelingblue, and I was trying to cheer her up. Honest! Then whenyou got sore and skipped off, Pa Bains, he was so doggonemad—got out his shotgun and cussed and raised the old Ned,yes, sir, he simply raised Cain, and he wouldn’t give me nochance to explain. Said I had to marry Lu. ‘Well,’ I says,‘if you think that’s any hardship—’ ”

Floyd stopped to chuckle. Elmer was conscious that Luluwas studying him, in awe, in admiration, in a palpitating resurgenceof affection.

“ ‘If you think that’s any hardship,’ I says, ‘let me tell youright now, Uncle,’ I says, ‘I been crazy to marry Lu ever sinceshe was so high. Well, there was a lot of argument. DadBains says first we had to go in town and explain everythingto you. But you was gone away, next morning, and whatwith one thing and another—well, here we are! And doingpretty good. I own a garage out here on the edge of town,and we got a nice flat, and everything going fine. But Luleand I kind of felt maybe we ought to come around and explain,when we heard you were here. And got two fine kids,both boys!”

“Honestly, we never meant—we didn’t!” begged Lulu.

Elmer condescended, “Of course, I understand perfectly,Sister Lulu!” He shook hands with Floyd, warmly, and withLulu more warmly. “And I can’t tell you how pleased I amthat you were both so gallant and polite as to take the troubleand come and explain it to me. That was real courtesy, whenI’d been such a silly idiot! That night—I suffered so overwhat I thought was your disloyalty that I didn’t think I’dlive through the night. But come! Shall we not talk of itagain? All’s understood now, and all’s right!” He shookhands all over again. “And now that I’ve found you, two oldfriends like you—of course I’m still practically a stranger inZenith—I’m not going to let you go! I’m going to come outand call on you. Do you belong to any church body here inZenith?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” said Floyd.

“Can’t I persuade you to come here, sometimes, and perhapsthink of joining later?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Reverend, in the auto business—kind ofa*gainst my religion, at that, but you know how it is, in theauto business we’re awful’ busy on Sunday.”

“Well, perhaps Lulu would like to come now and then.”

“Sure. Women ought to stick by the church, that’s what Ialways say. Dunno just how we got out of the habit, here inthe city, and we’ve always talked about starting going again,but—Oh, we just kinda never got around to it, I guess.”

“I hope, uh, I hope, Brother Floyd, that our miscomprehension,yours and mine that evening, had nothing to do with youralienation from the church! Oh, that would be a pity! Yes.Such a pity! But I could, perhaps, have a—a comprehensionof it.” (He saw that Lulu wasn’t missing one of his dulcetand sinuous phrases; so different from Floyd’s rustic blurting.She was pretty. Just plump enough. Cleo would be a fatold woman, he was afraid, instead of handsome. He couldn’tof married Lulu. No. He’d been right. Small-town stuff.But awful nice to pat!) “Yes, I think I could understand it ifyou’d been offended, Floyd. What a young chump I was, evenif I was a preacher, to not—not to see the real situation.Really, it’s you who must forgive me for my wooden-headedness,Floyd!”

Sheepishly, Floyd grunted, “Well, I did think you flew off thehandle kind of easy, and I guess it did make me kind of sore.But it don’t matter none now.”

Very interestedly, Elmer inquired of Floyd, “And I’ll betLulu was even angrier at me for my silliness!”

“No, by gosh, she never would let me say a word againstyou, Reverend! Ha, ha, ha! Look at her! By golly, if sheain’t blushing! Well, sir, that’s a good one on her all right!”

Elmer looked, intently.

“Well, I’m glad everything’s explained,” he said unctuously.“Now, Sister Lulu, you must let me come out and explain aboutour fine friendly neighborhood church here, and the splendidwork we’re doing. I know that with two dear kiddies—two,was it?—splendid!—with them and a fine husband to lookafter, you must be kept pretty busy, but perhaps you mightfind time to teach a Sunday School class or, anyway, youmight like to come to our jolly church suppers on Wednesdaynow and then. I’ll tell you about our work, and you can talkit over with Floyd and see what he thinks. What would be agood time to call on you, and what’s the address, Lulu?How, uh, how would tomorrow afternoon, about three, do?I wish I could come when Floyd’s there, but all my eveningsare so dreadfully taken up.”

Next afternoon, at five minutes to three, the Reverend ElmerGantry entered the cheap and flimsy apartment-house in whichlived Floyd and Mrs. Naylor, impatiently kicked a baby-carriageout of the way, panted a little as he skipped up-stairs,and stood glowing, looking at Lulu as she opened the door.

“All alone?” he said—he almost whispered.

Her eyes dropped before his. “Yes. The boys are inschool.”

“Oh, that’s too bad! I’d hoped to see them.” As the doorclosed, as they stood in the inner hall, he broke out, “Oh,Lulu, my darling, I thought I’d lost you forever, and now I’vefound you again! Oh, forgive me for speaking like that! Ishouldn’t have! Forgive me! But if you knew how I’vethought of you, dreamed of you, waited for you, all theseyears——No. I’m not allowed to talk like that. It’s wicked.But we’re going to be friends, aren’t we, such dear, trusting,tender friends ... Floyd and you and I?”

“Oh, yes!” she breathed, as she led him into the shabbysitting-room with its thrice-painted cane rockers, its couchcovered with a knitted shawl, its department-store chromosof fruit and Versailles.

They stood recalling each other in the living-room. Hemuttered huskily, “Dear, it wouldn’t be wrong for you to kissme? Just once? Would it? To let me know you really doforgive me? You see, now we’re like brother and sister.”

She kissed him, shyly, fearfully, and she cried, “Oh, mydarling, it’s been so long!” Her arms clung about his neck,invincible, unrestrained.

When the boys came in from school and rang the clickerbell down-stairs, the romantics were unduly cordial to them.When the boys had gone out to play, she cried, wildly, “Oh, Iknow it’s wrong, but I’ve always loved you so!”

He inquired interestedly, “Do you feel wickeder becauseI’m a minister?”

“No! I’m proud of it! Like as if you were different fromother men—like you were somehow closer to God. I’m proudyou’re a preacher! Any woman would be! It’s—you know.Different!”

He kissed her. “Oh, you darling!” he said.

III

They had to be careful. Elmer had singularly little relishfor having the horny-handed Floyd Naylor come in some afternoonand find him with Lulu.

Like many famous lovers in many ages, they found refugein the church. Lulu was an admirable cook, and while in hernew life in Zenith she had never reached out for such urbanopportunities as lectures or concerts or literary clubs, she hadby some obscure ambitiousness, some notion of a shop of herown, been stirred to attend a cooking-school and learn saladsand pastry and canapés. Elmer was able to give her a weeklyTuesday evening cooking-class to teach at Wellspring, andeven to get out of the trustees for her a salary of five dollarsa week.

The cooking-class was over at ten. By that time the rest ofthe church was cleared, and Elmer had decided that Tuesdayevening would be a desirable time for reading in his churchoffice.

Cleo had many small activities in the church—clubs, EpworthLeague, fancy-work—but none on Tuesday evening.

Before Lulu came stumbling through the quiet church basem*nt,the dark and musty corridor, before she tapped timidlyat his door, he would be walking up and down, and when heheld out his arms she flew into them unreasoning.

He had a new contentment.

“I’m really not a bad fellow. I don’t go chasing afterwomen—oh, that fool woman at the hotel didn’t count—notnow that I’ve got Lulu. Cleo never was married to me; shedoesn’t matter. I like to be good. If I’d just been married tosomebody like Sharon! O God! Sharon! Am I untrue toher? No! Dear Lulu, sweet kid, I owe something to her, too.I wonder if I could get to see her Saturday—”

A new contentment he had, and explosive success.

I

in the autumn of his first year in Zenith Elmer started hisfamous Lively Sunday Evenings. Mornings, he announced,he would give them solid religious meat to sustain themthrough the week, but Sunday evenings he would provide thebest cream puffs. Christianity was a Glad Religion, and hewas going to make it a lot gladder.

There was a safe, conservative, sanguinary hymn or two athis Lively Sunday Evenings, and a short sermon about sunsets,authors, or gambling, but most of the time they were justhappy boys and girls together. He had them sing “Auld LangSyne,” and “Swanee River,” with all the balladry whichmight have been considered unecclesiastical if it had not beenhallowed by the war: “Tipperary” and “There’s a Long, Long,Trail,” and “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bagand Smile, Smile, Smile.”

He made the women sing in contest against the men; theyoung people against the old; and the sinners against theChristians. That was lots of fun, because some of the mostfirmly saved brethren, like Elmer himself, pretended for amoment to be sinners. He made them whistle the chorus andhum it and speak it; he made them sing it while they wavedhandkerchiefs, waved one hand, waved both hands.

Other attractive features he provided. There was a ukulelesolo by the champion uke-player from the University ofWinnemac. There was a song rendered by a sweet little girl ofthree, perched up on the pulpit. There was a mouth-organcontest, between the celebrated Harmonica Quartette from theHigginbotham Casket Factory and the best four harmonicistsfrom the B. & K. C. railroad shops; surprisingly won (accordingto the vote of the congregation) by the enterprising andpleasing young men from the railroad.

When this was over, Elmer stepped forward and said—youwould never in the world have guessed he was joking unlessyou were near enough to catch the twinkle in his eyes—hesaid, “Now perhaps some of you folks think the pieces theboys have played tonight, like ‘Marching Through Georgia’and ‘Mammy,’ aren’t quite proper for a Methodist Church, butjust let me show you how well our friend and brother, BillyHicks here, can make the old mouth-organ behave in a realhighbrow religious hymn.”

And Billy played “Ach Du Lieber Augustin.”

How they all laughed, even the serious old stewards! Andwhen he had them in this humor, the Reverend Mr. Gantrywas able to slam home, good and hard, some pretty straighttruths about the horrors of starting children straight for hellby letting them read the colored comics on Sunday morning.

Once, to illustrate the evils of betting, he had them bet as towhich of two frogs would jump first. Once he had therepresentative of an illustrious grape-juice company handaround sample glasses of his beverage, to illustrate the superiorityof soft drinks to the horrors of alcohol. And once he hadup on the platform a sickening twisted motor-car in whichthree people had been killed at a railroad-crossing. With thisas an example, he showed his flock that motor speeding wasbut one symptom of the growing madness and worldliness andmaterialism of the age, and that this madness could be curedonly by returning to the simple old-time religion as preachedat the Wellspring Methodist Church.

The motor-car got him seven columns of publicity, withpictures of himself, the car, and the killed motorists.

In fact there were few of his new paths to righteousnesswhich did not get adequate and respectful attention from thepress.

There was, perhaps, no preacher in Zenith, not even theliberal Unitarian minister or the powerful Catholic bishop, whowas not fond of the young gentlemen of the press. The newspapersof Zenith were as likely to attack religion as they wereto attack the department-stores. But of all the clerics, nonewas so hearty, so friendly, so brotherly, to the reporters as theReverend Elmer Gantry. His rival parsons were merely cordialto the sources of publicity when they called. Elmer didhis own calling.

Six months after his coming to Zenith he began preparinga sermon on “The Making and Mission of a Great Newspaper.”He informed the editors of his plan, and had himself takenthrough the plants and introduced to the staffs of theAdvocate-Times, its sister, the Evening Advocate, the Press,the Gazette, and the Crier.

Out of his visits he managed to seize and hold the acquaintanceshipof at least a dozen reporters. And he met the magnificentColonel Rutherford Snow, owner of the Advocate, awhite-haired, blasphemous, religious, scoundrelly old gentleman,whose social position in Zenith was as high as that of abank-president or a corporation-counsel. Elmer and the Colonelrecognized in each other an enterprising boldness, and theColonel was so devoted to the church and its work in preservingthe free and democratic American institutions that heregularly gave to the Pilgrim Congregational Church more thana tenth of what he made out of patent medicine advertisem*nts—cancercures, rupture cures, tuberculosis cures, and thenotices of Old Dr. Bly. The Colonel was cordial to Elmer, andgave orders that his sermons should be reported at least oncea month, no matter how the rest of the clergy shouted forattention.

But somehow Elmer could not keep the friendship of BillKingdom, that peculiarly hard-boiled veteran reporter of theAdvocate-Times. He did everything he could; he called Billby his first name, he gave him a quarter cigar, and he said“damn,” but Bill looked uninterested when Elmer came aroundwith the juiciest of stories about dance-halls. In grieved andrighteous wrath, Elmer turned his charm on younger membersof the Advocate staff, who were still new enough to be pleasedby the good-fellowship of a preacher who could say “damn.”

Elmer was particularly benevolent with one Miss Coey, sob-sisterreporter for the Evening Gazette and an enthusiasticmember of his church. She was worth a column a week. Healways breathed at her after church.

Lulu raged, “It’s hard enough to sit right there in thesame pew with your wife, and never be introduced to her,because you say it isn’t safe! But when I see you holdinghands with that Coey woman, it’s a little too much!”

But he explained that he considered Miss Coey a fool, thatit made him sick to touch her, that he was nice to her onlybecause he had to get publicity; and Lulu saw that it was allproper and truly noble of him ... even when in the churchbulletins, which he wrote each week for general distribution, hecheered, “Let’s all congratulate Sister Coey, who so brilliantlyrepresents the Arts among us, on her splendid piece inthe recent Gazette about the drunken woman who was savedby the Salvation Army. Your pastor felt the quick tearsspringing to his eyes as he read it, which is a tribute to SisterCoey’s powers of expression. And he is always glad to fellowshipwith the Salvation Army, as well as with all other branchesof the true Protestant Evangelical Universal Church. Wellspringis the home of liberality, so long as it does not weakenmorality or the proven principles of Bible Christianity.”

II

As important as publicity to Elmer was the harassing drive offinance.

He had made one discovery superb in its simple genius—thebest way to get money was to ask for it, hard enough andoften enough. To call on rich men, to set Sunday Schoolclasses in competition against one another, to see that everyone received pledge-envelopes, these were all useful and hepursued them earnestly. But none of them was so useful as totell the congregation every Sunday what epochal good Wellspringand its pastor were doing, how much greater good theycould do if they had more funds, and to demand their supportnow, this minute.

His Official Board was charmed to see the collections increasingeven faster than the audiences. They insisted thatthe bishop send Elmer back to them for another year—indeedfor many years—and they raised Elmer’s salary to forty-fivehundred dollars.

And in the autumn they let him have two subordinates—theReverend Sidney Webster, B.A., B.D., as Assistant Pastor,and Mr. Henry Wink, B.A., as Director of Religious Education.

Mr. Webster had been secretary to Bishop Toomis, and itwas likely that he would some day be secretary of one of thepowerful church boards—the board of publications, the boardof missions, the board of temperance and morals. He was aman of twenty-eight; he had been an excellent basket-ballplayer in Boston University; he was tight-mouthed as a NewEngland president, efficient as an adding machine, and cold asthe heart of a bureaucrat. If he loved God and humanity-in-generalwith rigid devotion, he loved no human individual; ifhe hated sin, he was too contemptuous of any actual sinnerto hate him—he merely turned his frigid face away and toldhim to go to hell. He had no vices. He was also competent.He could preach, get rid of beggars, be quietly devout in death-bedprayers, keep down church expenses, and explain about theTrinity.

Henry Wink had a lisp and he told little simpering stories,but he was admirable in the direction of the Sunday School,vacation Bible schools, and the Epworth Leagues.

With Mr. Webster and Mr. Wink removing most of thechurch detail from him, Elmer became not less but moreoccupied. He no longer merely invited the public, but gallopedout and dragged it in. He no longer merely scolded sin. Hegratifyingly ended it.

III

When he had been in Zenith for a year and three-quarters,Elmer formed the Committee on Public Morals, and conductedhis raids on the red-light district.

It seemed to him that he was getting less publicity. Evenhis friend, Colonel Rutherford Snow, owner of the Advocate-Times,explained that just saying things couldn’t go on beingnews; news was essentially a report of things done.

“All right, I’ll do things, by golly, now that I’ve got Websterand Wink to take care of the glad hand for the brethren!”Elmer vowed.

He received an inspiration to the effect that all of a sudden,for reasons not defined, “things have gotten so bad in Zenith,immorality is so rampant in high places and low, threateningthe morals of youth and the sanctity of domesticity, that it isnot enough for the ministry to stand back warning the malefactors,but a time now to come out of our dignified seclusionand personally wage open war on the forces of evil.”

He said these startling things in the pulpit, he said themin an interview, and he said them in a letter to the most importantclergymen in town, inviting them to meet with him toform a Committee on Public Morals and make plans for openwar.

The devil must have been shaken. Anyway, the newspaperssaid that the mere threat of the formation of the Committeehad caused “a number of well-known crooks and women of badreputation to leave town.” Who these scoundrels were, thepapers did not say.

The Committee was to be composed of the Reverends ElmerGantry and Otto Hickenlooper, Methodists; G. Prosper Edwards,Congregationalist; John Jennison Drew, Presbyterian;Edmund St. Vincent Zahn, Lutheran; James F. Gomer, Disciples;Father Matthew Smeesby, Catholic; Bernard Amos,Jewish; Hosea Jessup, Baptist; Willis Fortune Tate, Episcopalian;and Irving Tillish, Christian Science reader; with WallaceUmstead, the Y. M. C. A. secretary, four moral laymen,and a lawyer, Mr. T. J. Rigg.

They assembled at lunch in a private dining-room at thepalatial Zenith Athletic Club. Being clergymen, and havingto prove that they were also red-blooded, as they gatheredbefore lunch in the lobby of the club they were particularlyboisterous in shouting to passing acquaintances, florists anddoctors and wholesale plumbers. To one George Babbitt, areal estate man, Dr. Drew, the Presbyterian, clamored, “Hey,Georgie! Got a flask along? Lunching with a bunch ofpreachers, and I reckon they’ll want a drink!”

There was great admiration on the part of Mr. Babbitt, andlaughter among all the clergymen, except the Episcopal Mr.Tate and the Christian Scientific Mr. Tillish.

The private dining-room at the club was a thin red apartmentwith two pictures of young Indian maidens of Lithuanianorigin sitting in native costumes, which gave free play to theirlegs, under a rugged pine-tree against a background of extremelyhigh mountains. In Private Dining-room A, besidethem, was a lunch of the Men’s Furnishers Association, addressedby S. Garrison Siegel of New York on “The RentedDress Suit Business and How to Run It in a High-class Way.”

The incipient Committee on Public Morals sat about a longnarrow table in bent-wood chairs, in which they were alwaysvainly trying to tilt back. Their table did not suggest debaucheryand the demon rum. There were only chilly andnaked-looking goblets of ice water.

They lunched, gravely, on consommé, celery, roast lamb,which was rather cold, mashed potatoes, which were arctic,Brussels sprouts, which were overstewed, ice cream, which waswarm; with very large cups of coffee, and no smoking afterward.

Elmer began, “I don’t know who is the oldest amongus, but certainly no one in this room has had a more distinguishedor more valuable term of Christian service thanDr. Edwards, of Pilgrim Congregational, and I know you’lljoin me in asking him to say grace before meat.”

The table conversation was less cheerful than the blessing.

They all detested one another. Every one knew of somecase in which each of the others had stolen, or was said tohave tried to steal, some parishioner, to have corrupted hisfaith and appropriated his contributions. Dr. Hickenlooperand Dr. Drew had each advertised that he had the largestSunday School in the city. All of the Protestants wanted tothrow ruinous questions about the Immaculate Conception atFather Smeesby, and Father Smeesby, a smiling dark man offorty, had ready, in case they should attack the CatholicChurch, the story of the ant who said to the elephant, “Moveover, who do you think you’re pushing?” All of them, exceptMr. Tillish, wanted to ask Mr. Tillish how he’d ever beenfooled by this charlatan, Mary Baker Eddy, and all of them,except the rabbi, wanted to ask Rabbi Amos why the Jewswere such numbskulls as not to join the Christian faith.

They were dreadfully cordial. They kept their voices bland,and smiled too often, and never listened to one another.Elmer, aghast, saw that they would flee before making anorganization if he did not draw them together. And what wasthe one thing in which they were all joyously interested?Why, vice! He’d begin the vice rampage now, instead ofwaiting till the business meeting after lunch.

He pounded on the table, and demanded, “Most of you havebeen in Zenith longer than myself. I admit ignorance. It istrue that I have unearthed many dreadful, dreadful cases ofsecret sin. But you gentlemen, who know the town so muchbetter——Am I right? Are Conditions as dreadful as I think,or do I exaggerate?”

All of them lighted up and, suddenly looking on Elmer asa really nice man after all, they began happily to tell of theirwoeful discoveries.... The blood-chilling incident of thefather who found in the handbag of his sixteen-year-old daughterimproper pictures. The suspicion that at a dinner of warveterans at the Leroy House there had danced a young ladywho wore no garments save slippers and a hat.

“I know all about that dinner—I got the details from a manin my church—I’ll tell you about it if you feel you ought toknow,” said Dr. Gomer.

They looked as though they decidedly felt that they oughtto know. He went into details, very, and at the end Dr.Jessup gulped, “Oh, that Leroy House is absolutely a den ofiniquity! It ought to be pulled!”

“It certainly ought to! I don’t think I’m cruel,” shoutedDr. Zahn, the Lutheran, “but if I had my way, I’d burn theproprietor of that joint at the stake!”

All of them had incidents of shocking obscenity all overthe place—all of them except Father Smeesby, who sat backand smiled, the Episcopal Dr. Tate, who sat back and lookedbored, and Mr. Tillish, the healer, who sat back and lookedchilly. In fact it seemed as though, despite the efforts of themselvesand the thousands of other inspired and highly trainedChristian ministers who had worked over it ever since itsfoundation, the city of Zenith was another Sodom. But thealarmed apostles did not appear to be so worried as they saidthey were. They listened with almost benign attention whileDr. Zahn, in his German accent, told of alarming crushes betweenthe society girls whom he knew so well from dining oncea year with his richest parishioner.

They were all, indeed, absorbed in vice to a degree gratifyingto Elmer.

But at the time for doing something about it, for passingresolutions and appointing sub-committees and outlining programs,they drew back.

“Can’t we all get together—pool our efforts?” pleaded Elmer.“Whatever our creedal differences, surely we stand alike inworshiping the same God and advocating the same code ofmorals. I’d like to see this Committee as a permanent organization,and finally, when the time is ripe——Think how itwould jolt the town! All of us getting ourselves appointedspecial police or deputy sheriffs, and personally marchingdown on these abominations, arresting the blood-guiltywretches, and putting them where they can do no harm! Maybeleading our church-members in the crusade! Think of it!”

They did think of it, and they were alarmed.

Father Smeesby spoke. “My church, gentlemen, probablyhas a more rigid theology than yours, but I don’t think we’requite so alarmed by discovering the fact, which seems to astonishyou, that sinners often sin. The Catholic Church maybe harder to believe, but it’s easier to live with.”

“My organization,” said Mr. Tillish, “could not think ofjoining in a wild witch-hunt, any more than we could in indiscriminatecharity. For both the poverty-laden and thevicious—” He made a little whistling between his beautifulbut false teeth, and went on with frigid benignancy. “Forall such, the truth is clearly stated in ‘Science and Health’and made public in all our meetings—the truth that bothvice and poverty, like sickness, are unreal, are errors, to begot rid of by understanding that God is All-in-all; that disease,death, evil, sin deny good, omnipotent God, life. Well! Ifthese so-called sufferers do not care to take the truth when itis freely offered them, is that our fault? I understand yoursympathy with the unfortunate, but you are not going to putout ignorance by fire.”

“Golly, let me crawl too,” chuckled Rabbi Amos. “If youwant to get a vice-crusading rabbi, get one of these smart-aleckyoung liberals from the Cincinnati school—and they’llmostly have too much sympathy with the sinners to help youeither! Anyway, my congregation is so horribly respectablethat if their rabbi did anything but sit in his study and looklearned, they’d kick him out.”

“And I,” said Dr. Willis Fortune Tate, of St. Colomb’sEpiscopal, “if you will permit me to say so, can regard such aproject as our acting like policemen and dealing with thesemalefactors in person as nothing short of vulgar, as well asuseless. I understand your high ideals, Dr. Gantry—”

“Mr. Gantry.”

“—Mr. Gantry, and I honor you for them, and respect yourenergy, but I beg you to consider how the press and theordinary laity, with their incurably common and untrainedminds, would misunderstand.”

“I’m afraid I must agree with Dr. Tate,” said the CongregationalDr. G. Prosper Edwards, in the manner of the Pilgrim’sMonument agreeing with Westminster Abbey.

And as for the others, they said they really must “take timeand think it over,” and they all got away as hastily and cordiallyas they could.

Elmer walked with his friend and pillar, Mr. T. J. Rigg,toward the dentist’s office in which even an ordained minister ofGod would shortly take on strangely normal writhings andgurglings.

“They’re a fine bunch of scared prophets, a noble lot ofapostolic ice-cream cones!” protested Mr. Rigg. “Hard luck,Brother Elmer! I’m sorry. It really is good stuff, this vice-crusading.Oh, I don’t suppose it makes the slightest differencein the amount of vice—and I don’t know that it oughtto make any. Got to give fellows that haven’t our advantagessome chance to let off steam. But it does get the church alot of attention. I’m mighty proud of the way we’re buildingup Wellspring Church again. Kind of a hobby with me. Butmakes me indignant, these spiritual cold-storage eggs notsupporting you!”

But as he looked up he saw that Elmer was grinning.

“I’m not worried, T. J. Fact, I’m tickled to death. Firstplace, I’ve scared ’em off the subject of vice. Before they getback to preaching about it, I’ll have the whole subject absolutelypatented for our church. And now they won’t havethe nerve to imitate me if I do this personal crusading stunt.Third, I can preach against ’em! And I will! You watchme! Oh, not mention any names—no come-back—but tell ’emhow I pleaded with a gang of preachers to take practical methodsto end immorality, and they were all scared!”

“Fine!” said the benevolent trustee. “We’ll let ’em knowthat Wellspring is the one church that’s really following thegospel.”

“We sure will! Now listen, T. J.: if you trustees will standfor the expense, I want to get a couple of good private detectivesor something, and have ’em dig up a lot of real addressesof places that are vicious—there must be some of ’em—andget some evidence. Then I’ll jump on the police for not havingpinched these places. I’ll say they’re so wide open that thepolice must know of ’em. And probably that’s true, too. Man!A sensation! Run our disclosures every Sunday evening fora month! Make the chief of police try to answer us in thepress!”

“Good stuff! Well, I know a fellow—he was a governmentman, prohibition agent, and got fired for boozing and blackmail.He’s not exactly a double-crosser, lot straighter thanmost prohibition agents, but still I think he could slip ussome real addresses. I’ll have him see you.”

IV

When from his pulpit the Reverend Elmer Gantry announcedthat the authorities of Zenith were “deliberately conniving inprotected vice,” and that he could give the addresses andownerships of sixteen brothels, eleven blind tigers, and twoagencies for selling cocaine and heroin, along with an obsceneprivate burlesque show so dreadful that he could only hint atthe nature of its program, when he attacked the chief ofpolice and promised to give more detailed complaints nextSunday, then the town exploded.

There were front-page newspaper stories, yelping replies bythe mayor and chief of police, re-replies from Elmer, interviewswith everybody, and a full-page account of white slaveryin Chicago. In clubs and offices, in church societies and theback-rooms of “soft-drink stands,” there was a blizzard of talk.Elmer had to be protected against hundreds of callers, telephoners,letter writers. His assistant, Sidney Webster, andMiss Bundle, the secretary, could not keep the mob from him,and he hid out in T. J. Rigg’s house, accessible to no one,except to newspaper reporters who for any Christian andbrotherly reason might care to see him.

For the second Sunday evening of his jeremiad, the churchwas full half an hour before opening-time, standing-roomwas taken even to the back of the lobby, hundreds clamoredat the closed doors.

He gave the exact addresses of eight dives, told what dreadfuldrinkings of corn whisky went on there, and reported thenumber of policemen, in uniform, who had been in the moreattractive of these resorts during the past week.

Despite all the police could do to help their friends closeup for a time, it was necessary for them to arrest ten or fifteenof the hundred-odd criminals whom Elmer named. But thechief of police triumphed by announcing that it was impossibleto find any of the others.

“All right,” Elmer murmured to the chief, in the gentlenessof a boxed newspaper interview in bold-face type, “if you’llmake me a temporary lieutenant of police and give me a squad,I’ll find and close five dives in one evening—any evening saveSunday.”

“I’ll do it—and you can make your raids tomorrow,” saidthe chief, in the official dignity of headlines.

Mr. Rigg was a little alarmed.

“Think you’re going too far, Elmer,” he said. “If youreally antagonize any of the big wholesale bootleggers, they’llget us financially, and if you hit any of the tough ones, they’relikely to bump you off. Darn’ dangerous.”

“I know. I’m just going to pick out some of the smallerfellows that make their own booze and haven’t got any policeprotection except slipping five or ten to the cop on the beat.The newspapers will make ’em out regular homicidal gangsters,to get a good story, and we’ll have the credit without beingfoolish and taking risks.”

V

At least a thousand people were trying to get near theCentral Police Station on the evening when a dozen armedpolicemen marched down the steps of the station-house andstood at attention, looking up at the door, awaiting theirleader.

He came out, the great Reverend Mr. Gantry, and stoodposing on the steps, while the policemen saluted, the crowdcheered or sneered, and the press cameras went off in a furyof flashlight powder. He wore the gilt-encircled cap of apolice lieutenant, with a lugubrious frock coat and blacktrousers, and under his arm he carried a Bible.

Two patrol wagons clanged away, and all the women in thecrowd, except certain professional ladies, who were grievouslyprofane, gasped their admiration of this modern Savonarola.

He had promised the mob at least one real house of prostitution.

VI

There were two amiable young females who, tired of workingin a rather nasty bread factory and of being unremunerativelyseduced by the large, pale, puffy bakers on Sunday afternoons,had found it easier and much jollier to set up a small flat ina street near Elmer’s church. They were fond of reading themagazines and dancing to the phonograph and of going tochurch—usually Elmer’s church. If their relations to theirgentlemen friends were more comforting than a preacher couldexpect, after his experience of the sacred and chilly state ofmatrimony, they entertained only a few of these friends, oftenthey darned their socks, and almost always they praisedElmer’s oratory.

One of the girls, this evening, was discoursing with a manwho was later proved in court not to be her husband; the otherwas in the kitchen, making a birthday-cake for her niece andhumming “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” She was dazed by arumbling, a clanging, a shouting in the street below, then mob-soundson the stairs. She fluttered into the living-room, to seetheir pretty imitation mahogany door smashed in with a riflebutt.

Into the room crowded a dozen grinning policemen, followed,to her modest shame, by her adored family prophet, theReverend Gantry. But it was not the cheerful, laughing Mr.Gantry that she knew. He held out his arm in a horriblegesture of holiness, and bawled, “Scarlet woman! Thy sinsbe upon thy head! No longer are you going to get away withleading poor unfortunate young men into the sink and cesspoolof iniquity! Sergeant! Draw your revolver! Thesewomen are known to be up to every trick!”

“All right, sure, loot!” giggled the brick-faced policesergeant.

“Oh, rats! This girl looks as dangerous as a goldfish,Gantry,” remarked Bill Kingdom, of the Advocate-Times ...he who was two hours later to do an epic of the heroism of theGreat Crusader.

“Let’s see what the other girl’s up to,” snickered one of thepolicemen.

They all laughed very much as they looked into the bedroom,where a half-dressed girl and a man shrank by the window,their faces sick with shame.

It was with her—ignoring Bill Kingdom’s mutters of “Oh,drop it! Pick on somebody your size!”—that Elmer the vice-slayerbecame really Biblical.

Only the insistence of Bill Kingdom kept Lieutenant Gantryfrom making his men load the erring one into the patrolwagon in her chemise.

Then Elmer led them to a secret den where, it wassecurely reported, men were ruining their bodies and souls byguzzling the devil’s brew of alcohol.

VII

Mr. Oscar Hochlauf had been a saloon-keeper in the daysbefore prohibition, but when prohibition came, he was a saloon-keeper.A very sound, old-fashioned, drowsy, agreeable resortwas Oscar’s Place; none of the grander public houses had moreartistic soap scrawls on the mirror behind the bar; none hadspicier pickled herring.

Tonight there were three men before the bar: Emil Fischer,the carpenter, who had a mustache like an ear-muff; his sonBen, whom Emil was training to drink wholesome beerinstead of the whisky and gin which America was forcing onthe people; and old Daddy Sorenson, the Swedish tailor.

They were discussing jazz.

“I came to America for liberty—I think Ben’s son will goback to Germany for liberty,” said Emil. “When I was ayoung man here, four of us used to play every Saturday evening—Bachwe played, and Brahms—Gott weiss we playedterrible, but we liked it, and we never made others listen. Now,wherever you go, this jazz, like a St. Vitus’s. Jazz iss to musicwhat this Reverend Gantry you read about is to an old-timePrediger. I guess maybe he was never born, that Gantryfellow—he was blowed out of a saxophone.”

“Aw, this country’s all right, Pa,” said Ben.

“Sure, dot’s right,” said Oscar Hochlauf contentedly, whilehe sliced the foam off a glass of beer. “The Americans, likewhen I knew dem first, when dere was Bill Nye and EugeneField, dey used to laugh. Now dey get solemn. When deystart laughing again, dey roar dere heads off at fellows likeGantry and most all dese preachers dat try to tell everybodyhow dey got to live. And if the people laugh—oof!—Godhelp the preachers!”

“Vell, that’s how it is. Say, did I tell you, Oscar,” said theSwedish tailor, “my grandson Villiam, he got a scholarship inthe university!”

“That’s fine!” they all agreed, slapping Daddy Sorenson onthe back ... as a dozen policemen, followed by a large andgloomy gentleman armed with a Bible, burst in through thefront and back doors, and the gloomy gentleman, pointingat the astounded Oscar, bellowed, “Arrest that man and holdall these other fellows!”

To Oscar then, and to an audience increasing ten a second:

“I’ve got you! You’re the kind that teaches young boysto drink—it’s you that start them on the road to every hellishvice, to gambling and murder, with your hellish beverages,with your draught of the devil himself!”

Arrested for the first time in his life, bewildered, broken,feebly leaning on the arms of two policemen, Oscar Hochlaufstraightened at this, and screamed:

“Dot’s a damned lie! Always when you let me, I handleEitelbaum’s beer, the finest in the state, and since den I makemy own beer. It is good! It is honest! ‘Hellish beverage!’Dot you should judge of beer—dot a pig should judgepoetry! Your Christ dot made vine, he vould like my beer!”

Elmer jumped forward with his great fist doubled. Only thesudden grip of the police sergeant kept him from striking downthe blasphemer. He shrieked, “Take that foul-mouthed bumto the wagon! I’ll see he gets the limit!”

And Bill Kingdom murmured to himself, “Gallant preachersingle-handed faces saloon full of desperate gun-men and rebukesthem for taking the name of the Lord in vain. Oh, I’llget a swell story.... Then I think I’ll commit suicide.”

VIII

The attendant crowd and the policemen had whispered that,from the careful way in which he followed instead of leading,it might be judged that the Reverend Lieutenant Gantry wasafraid of the sinister criminals whom he was attacking. Andit is true that Elmer had no large fancy for revolver duels.But he had not lost his delight in conflict; he was physicallyno coward; and they were all edified to see this when theraiders dashed into the resort of Nick Spoletti.

Nick, who conducted a bar in a basem*nt, had been a prizefighter;he was cool and quick. He heard the crusaders comingand shouted to his customers, “Beat it! Side door! I’llhold ’em back!”

He met the first of the policemen at the bottom of the steps,and dropped him with the crack of a bottle over his head. Thenext tripped over the body, and the others halted, peering,looking embarrassed, drawing revolvers. But Elmer smelledbattle. He forgot holiness. He dropped his Bible, thrust asidetwo policemen, and swung on Nick from the bottom step. Nickslashed at his head, but with a boxer’s jerk of the neck Elmerslid away from the punch, and knocked out Nick with a deliberatelymurderous left.

“Golly, the parson’s got an awful wallop!” grunted the sergeant,and Bill Kingdom sighed, “Not so bad!” and Elmerknew that he had won ... that he would be the hero ofZenith ... that he was now the Sir Lancelot as well as theWilliam Jennings Bryan of the Methodist Church.

IX

After two more raids he was delivered at his home by patrolwagon, and left with not entirely sardonic cheers by the policemen.

Cleo rushed to meet him, crying, “Oh, you’re safe! Oh, mydear, you’re hurt!”

His cheek was slightly bleeding.

In a passion of admiration for himself so hot that it extendedeven to her, he clasped her, kissed her wetly, and roared,“It’s nothing! Oh, it went great! We raided five places—arrestedtwenty-seven criminals—took them in every sort ofhorrible debauchery—things I never dreamed could exist!”

“You poor dear!”

There was not enough audience, with merely Cleo, and themaid peering from the back of the hall.

“Let’s go and tell the kids. Maybe they’ll be proud oftheir dad!” he interrupted her.

“Dear, they’re asleep—”

“Oh! I see! Sleep is more important to ’em than to knowtheir father is a man who isn’t afraid to back up his gospel withhis very life!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—I meant—Yes, of course, you’re right.It’ll be a wonderful example and inspiration. But let me putsome stickum plaster on your cheek first.”

By the time she had washed the cut, and bound it andfussed over it, he had forgotten the children and their need ofan heroic exemplar, as she had expected, and he sat on theedge of the bath-tub telling her that he was an entire Trojanarmy. She was so worshipful that he became almost amorous,until it seemed to him from her anxious patting of his armthat she was trying to make him so. It angered him—thatshe, so unappealing, should have the egotism to try to attracta man like himself. He went off to his own room, wishing thatLulu were here to rejoice in his splendor, the beginning of hisfame as the up-to-date John Wesley.

I

elmer, in court, got convictions of sixteen out of the twenty-sevenfiends whom he had arrested, with an extra six monthsfor Oscar Hochlauf for resisting arrest and the use of abusiveand profane language. The judge praised him; the mayorforgave him; the chief of police shook his hand and invitedhim to use a police squad at any time; and some of theyounger reporters did not cover their mouths with their hands.

Vice was ended in Zenith. It was thirty days before any ofthe gay ladies were really back at work—though the gentlemanlyjailers at the workhouse did let some of them out foran occasional night.

Every Sunday evening now people were turned from thedoor of Elmer’s church. If they did not always have a sermonabout vice, at least they enjoyed the saxophone solos, andsinging “There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.”And once they were entertained by a professional jugglerwho wore (it was Elmer’s own idea) a placard proclaimingthat he stood for “God’s Word” and who showed how easy itwas to pick up weights symbolically labeled “Sin” and “Sorrow”and “Ignorance” and “Papistry.”

The trustees were discussing the erection of a new and muchlarger church, a project for which Elmer himself had begunto prepare a year before, by reminding the trustees how manynew apartment-houses were replacing the run-down residencesin Old Town.

The trustees raised his salary to five thousand, and they increasedthe budget for institutional work. Elmer did not instituteso many clubs for students of chiropractic and the artof motion-picture acting as did Dr. Otto Hickenlooper ofCentral Methodist, but there was scarcely an hour from ninein the morning till ten at night when some circle was not tryingto do good to somebody ... and even after ten there wereoften Elmer and Lulu Bains Naylor, conferring on cookingclasses.

Elmer had seen the danger of his crusading publicity andhis Lively Sunday Evenings—the danger of being considereda clown instead of a great moral leader.

“I’ve got to figure out some way so’s I keep dignified andyet keep folks interested,” he meditated. “The thing is sortof to have other people do the monkey-business, but me, I gotto be up-stage and not smile as much as I’ve been doing. Andjust when the poor chumps think my Sunday evening is nothingbut a vaudeville show, I’ll suddenly soak ’em with a regularold-time hell-fire and damnation sermon, or be poetic and thatstuff.”

It worked, reasonably. Though many of his rival preachersin Zenith went on calling him “clown” and “charlatan” and“sensationalist,” no one could fail to appreciate his loftysoul and his weighty scholarship, once they had seen him standin agonized silent prayer, then level his long forefinger andintone:

“You have laughed now. You have sung. You have beenmerry. But what came ye forth into the wilderness for tosee? Merely laughter? I want you to stop a moment nowand think just how long it is since you have realized that anynight death may demand your souls, and that then, laughter orno laughter, unless you have found the peace of God, unlessyou have accepted Christ Jesus as your savior, you may withno chance of last-minute repentance be hurled into horribleand shrieking and appalling eternal torture!”

Elmer had become so distinguished that the Rotary Clubelected him to membership with zeal.

The Rotary Club was an assemblage of accountants, tailors,osteopaths, university-presidents, carpet-manufacturers, advertisingmen, millinery-dealers, ice-dealers, piano salesmen,laundrymen, and like leaders of public thought, who met weeklyfor the purposes of lunching together, listening to addressesby visiting actors and by lobbyists against the recognition ofRussia, beholding vaudeville teams in eccentric dances, andindulging in passionate rhapsodies about Service and BusinessEthics. They asserted that their one desire in their severalcallings was not to make money but only to serve and benefita thing called the Public. They were as earnest about this aswas the Reverend Elmer Gantry about vice.

He was extraordinarily at home among the Rotarians;equally happy in being a good fellow with such good fellows asthese and in making short speeches to the effect that “JesusChrist would be a Rotarian if he lived today—Lincoln wouldbe a Rotarian today—William McKinley would be a Rotariantoday. All these men preached the principles of Rotary: onefor all and all for one; helpfulness towards one’s community,and respect for God.”

It was a rule of this organization, which was merry and fullof greetings in between inspirational addresses, that every oneshould, at lunch, be called by his first name. They shoutedat the Reverend Mr. Gantry as “Elmer” or “Elm,” while hecalled his haberdasher “Ike” and beamed on his shoe-seller as“Rudy.” A few years before, this intimacy might have ledhim into indiscretions, into speaking vulgarly, or even desiringa drink. But he had learned his rôle of dignity now, and thoughhe observed, “Dandy day, Shorty!” he was quick to follow it upunhesitatingly with an orotund “I trust that you have been ableto enjoy the beauty of the vernal foliage in the country thisweek.” So Shorty and his pals went up and down informingthe citizenry that Reverend Gantry was a “good scout, a princeof a good fellow, but a mighty deep thinker, and a real honest-to-Godorator.”

When Elmer informed T. J. Rigg of the joys of Rotary, thelawyer scratched his chin and suggested, “Fine. But lookhere, Brother Elmer. There’s one thing you’re neglecting: thereally big boys with the long pockets. Got to know ’em. Notmany of ’em Methodists—they go out for Episcopalianism orPresbyterianism or Congregationalism or Christian Science, orstay out of the church altogether. But that’s no reason whywe can’t turn their money Methodist. You wouldn’t find butmighty few of these Rotarians in the Tonawanda CountryClub—into which I bought my way by blackmailing, you mightsay, a wheat speculator.”

“But—but—why, T. J., those Rotarians—why there’s fellowsin there like Ira Runyon, the managing editor of theAdvocate, and Win Grant, the realtor—”

“Yeh, but the owner of the Advocate, and the banker that’sletting Win Grant run on till he bankrupts, and the corporationcounsel that keeps ’em all out of jail, you don’t find thosemalefactors going to no lunch club and yipping about Service!You find ’em sitting at small tables at the old Union Club, andlaughing themselves sick about Service. And for golf, theygo to Tonawanda. I couldn’t get you into the Union Club.They wouldn’t have any preacher that talks about vice—thekind of preacher that belongs to the Union talks about thenew model Cadillac and how hard it is to get genuwine Eye-talianvermouth. But the Tonawanda——They might let youin. For respectability. To prove that they couldn’t have thegin they’ve got in their lockers in their lockers.”

It was done, though it took six months and a deal of secretpolitics conducted by T. J. Rigg.

Wellspring Church, including the pastor of Wellspring,bloomed with pride that Elmer had been so elevated sociallyas to be allowed to play golf with bankers.

Only he couldn’t play golf.

From April to July, while he never appeared on the links withother players, Elmer took lessons from the Tonawanda professional,three mornings a week, driving out in the smartnew Buick which he had bought and almost paid for.

The professional was a traditionally small and gnarled andsandy Scotchman, from Indiana, and he was so traditionallyrude that Elmer put on meekness.

“Put back your divots! D’you think this is a church?”snapped the professional.

“Damn it, I always forget, Scotty,” whined Elmer. “Guessit must be hard on you to have to train these preachers.”

“Preachers is nothing to me, and millionaires is nothing tome, but gawf grounds is a lot,” grunted Scotty. (He was azealous Presbyterian and to be picturesquely rude to Christiancustomers was as hard for him as it was to keep up the Scotchaccent which he had learned from a real Liverpool Irishman.)

Elmer was strong, he was placid when he was out-of-doors,and his eye was quick. When he first appeared publicly atTonawanda, in a foursome with T. J. Rigg and two most respectabledoctors, he and his game were watched and commended.When he dressed in the locker-room and did notappear to note the square bottle in use ten feet away, he wasaccepted as a man of the world.

William Dollinger Styles, member of the Tonawanda housecommittee, president of the fabulous W. D. Styles WholesaleHardware Company—the man who had introduced the BiteEdge Ax through all the land from Louisville to Detroit, andintroduced white knickers to the Tonawanda Club—this baron,this bishop, of business actually introduced himself to Elmerand made him welcome.

“Glad to see you here, dominie. Played much golf?”

“No, I’ve only taken it up recently, but you bet I’m goingto be a real fan from now on.”

“That’s fine. Tell you how I feel about it, Reverend. Wefellows that have to stick to our desks and make decisions thatguide the common people, you religiously and me commercially,it’s a good thing for us, and through us for them, to go outand get next to Nature, and put ourselves in shape to tackleour complicated problems (as I said recently in an after-dinnerspeech at the Chamber of Commerce banquet) and keepa good sane outlook so’s we won’t be swept away by everybreeze of fickle and changing public opinion and so inevitably—”

In fact, said Mr. William Dollinger Styles, he liked golf.

Elmer tenderly agreed with “Yes, that’s certainly a fact;certainly is a fact. Be a good thing for a whole lot of preachersif they got out and exercised more instead of always reading.”

“Yes, I wish you’d tell my dominie that—not that I go tochurch such a whole lot, but I’m church treasurer and take kindof an interest—Dorchester Congregational—Reverend Shallard.”

“Oh! Frank Shallard! Why, I knew him in theologicalseminary! Fine, straight, intelligent fellow, Frank.”

“Well, yes, but I don’t like the way he’s always carryingon and almost coming right out and defending a lot of thesecrooked labor unions. That’s why I don’t hardly ever hearhis sermons, but I can’t get the deacons to see it. And as Isay, be better for him if he got outdoors more. Well, glad tomet you, Reverend. You must join one of our foursomessome day—if you can stand a little cussing, maybe!”

“Well, I’ll try to, sir! Been mighty fine to have met you!”

“H’m!” reflected Elmer. “So Frank, the belly-aching highbrow,has got as rich a man as Styles in his fold, and Stylesdoesn’t like him. Wonder if Styles could turn Methodist—wonderif he could be pinched off Frank? I’ll ask Rigg.”

But the charm of the place, the day, the implied social position,was such that Elmer turned from these purely religiousbroodings to more esthetic thoughts.

Rigg had driven home. Elmer sat by himself on the hugeporch of the Tonawanda Club, a long gray countryhouse ona hill sloping to the Appleseed River, with tawny fields ofbarley among orchards on the bank beyond. The golf-coursewas scattered with men in Harris tweeds, girls in short skirtswhich fluttered about their legs. A man in white flannelsdrove up in a Rolls-Royce roadster—the only one in Zenithas yet—and Elmer felt ennobled by belonging to the sameclub with a Rolls-Royce. On the lawn before the porch, menwith English-officer mustaches and pretty women in pale frockswere taking tea at tables under striped garden-umbrellas.

Elmer knew none of them actually, but a few by sight.

“Golly, I’ll be right in with all these swells some day! Mustwork it careful, and be snooty, and not try to pick ’em up tooquick.”

A group of weighty-looking men of fifty, near him, wereconversing on the arts and public policy. As he listened, Elmerdecided, “Yep, Rigg was right. Those are fine fellows at theRotary Club; fine, high-class, educated gentlemen, and certainlyraking in the money; mighty cute in business but upholdingthe highest ideals. But they haven’t got the class ofthese really Big Boys.”

Entranced, he gave heed to the magnates—a bond broker,a mine-owner, a lawyer, a millionaire lumberman:

“Yes, sir, what the country at large doesn’t understand isthat the stabilization of sterling has a good effect on our tradewith Britain—”

“I told them that far from refusing to recognize the rightsof labor, I had myself come up from the ranks, to some extent,and I was doing all in my power to benefit them, but I certainlydid refuse to listen to the caterwauling of a lot of hiredagitators from the so-called unions, and that if they didn’t likethe way I did things—”

“Yes, it opened at 73½, but knowing what had happenedto Saracen Common—”

“Yes, sir, you can depend on a Pierce-Arrow, you certainlycan—”

Elmer drew a youthful, passionate, shuddering breath atbeing so nearly in communion with the powers that governedZenith and thought for Zenith, that governed America andthought for it. He longed to stay, but he had the task, unworthyof his powers of social decoration, of preparing a shortclever talk on missions among the Digger Indians.

As he drove home he rejoiced, “Some day I’ll be able to putit over with the best of ’em socially. When I get to be abishop, believe me I’m not going to hang around jawing aboutSunday School methods! I’ll be entertaining the bon ton,senators and everybody.... Cleo would look fine at a bigdinner, with the right dress.... If she wasn’t so darn’ priggish.Oh, maybe she’ll die before then.... I think I’ll marryan Episcopalian.... I wonder if I could get an Episcopalbishopric if I switched to that nightshirt crowd? More class.No; Methodist bigger church; and don’t guess the Episcopalopianswould stand any good red-blooded sermons on viceand all that.”

II

The Gilfeather Chautauqua Corporation, which conductsweek-long Chautauquas in small towns, had not been interestedwhen Elmer had hinted, three years ago, that he had a Messageto the Youth of America, one worth at least a hundred aweek, and that he would be glad to go right out to the Youthand deliver it. But when Elmer’s demolition of all vice inZenith had made him celebrated, and even gained him a paragraphor two as the Crusading Parson, in New York andChicago, the Gilfeather Corporation had a new appreciation.They came to him, besieged him, offered him two hundred aweek and headlines in the posters, for a three-months tour.

But Elmer did not want to ask the trustees for a three-monthsleave. He had a notion of a summer in Europe a yearor two from now. That extended study of European culture,first hand, would be just the finishing polish to enable him tohold any pulpit in the country.

He did, however, fill in during late August and early Septemberas substitute for a Gilfeather headliner—the renownedJ. Thurston Wallett, M. D., D. O., D. N., who had delightedthousands with his witty and instructive lecture, “Diet or Die,Nature or Nix,” until he had unfortunately been taken ill atPowassie, Iowa, from eating too many green cantaloupes.

Elmer had planned to spend August with his family inNorthern Michigan—planned it most uncomfortably, for whileit was conceivable to endure Cleo in the city, with his work,his clubs, and Lulu, a month with no relief from her solemndrooping face and cry-baby voice would be trying even to aProfessional Good Man.

He explained to her that duty called, and departed withspeed, stopping only long enough to get several books of inspirationalessays from the public library for aid in preparinghis Chautauqua lecture.

He was delighted with his coming adventure—money, famein new quarters, crowds for whom he would not have to thinkup fresh personal experiences. And he might find a womanfriend who would understand him and give to his own solidgenius that lighter touch of the feminine. He was, he admitted,almost as tired of Lulu as of Cleo. He pictured aChautauqua lady pianist or soprano or ventriloquist or soloiston the musical saw—he pictured a surprised, thrilled meetingin the amber light under the canvas roof—recognition betweenkindred fine and lonely souls—

And he found it of course.

III

Elmer’s metaphysical lecture, entitled “Whoa Up, Youth!”with its counsel about abstinence, chastity, industry, andhonesty, its heaven-vaulting poetic passage about Love (theonly bow on life’s dark cloud, the morning and the eveningstar), and its anecdote of his fight to save a college-mate namedJim from drink and atheism, became one of the classics amongChautauqua masterpieces.

And Elmer better than any one else among the Talent (exceptperhaps the gentleman who played national anthems onwater glasses, a Lettish gentleman innocent of English) sidesteppedon the question of the K. K. K.

The new Ku Klux Klan, an organization of the fathers,younger brothers, and employees of the men who had succeededand became Rotarians, had just become a political difficulty.Many of the most worthy Methodist and Baptist clergymensupported it and were supported by it; and personally Elmeradmired its principle—to keep all foreigners, Jews, Catholics,and negroes in their place, which was no place at all, and letthe country be led by native Protestants, like Elmer Gantry.

But he perceived that in the cities there were prominentpeople, nice people, rich people, even among the Methodistsand Baptists, who felt that a man could be a Jew and still anAmerican citizen. It seemed to him more truly American, alsoa lot safer, to avoid the problem. So everywhere he took amessage of reconciliation to the effect:

“Regarding religious, political, and social organizations, Idefend the right of every man in our free America to organizewith his fellows when and as he pleases, for any purpose hepleases, but I also defend the right of any other free Americancitizen to demand that such an organization shall not dictatehis mode of thought or, so long as it be moral, his mode ofconduct.”

That pleased both the K. K. K. and the opponents of theK. K. K., and everybody admired Elmer’s powers of thought.

He came with a boom and a flash to the town of BlackfootCreek, Indiana, and there the local committee permitted theMethodist minister, one Andrew Pengilly, to entertain his renownedbrother priest.

IV

Always a little lonely, lost in the ceaseless unfolding of hismysticism, old Andrew Pengilly had been the lonelier sinceFrank Shallard had left him.

When he heard that the Reverend Elmer Gantry was coming,Mr. Pengilly murmured to the local committee that it wouldbe a pleasure to put up Mr. Gantry and save him from thescurfy village hotel.

He had read of Mr. Gantry as an impressive orator, acourageous fighter against Sin. Mr. Pengilly sighed. Himself,somehow, he had never been able to find so very much Sinabout. His fault. A silly old dreamer. He rejoiced that he,the mousy village curé, was about to have here, glorifyinghis cottage, a St. Michael in dazzling armor.

V

After the evening Chautauqua Elmer sat in Mr. Pengilly’shovel, and he was graciously condescending.

“You say, Brother Pengilly, that you’ve heard of our workat Wellspring? But do we get so near the hearts of the weakand unfortunate as you here? Oh, no; sometimes I think thatmy first pastorate, in a town smaller than this, was in manyways more blessed than our tremendous to-do in the greatcity. And what is accomplished there is no credit to me. Ihave such splendid, such touchingly loyal assistants—Mr.Webster, the assistant pastor—such a consecrated worker, andyet right on the job—and Mr. Wink, and Miss Weezeger, thedeaconess, and dear Miss Bundle, the secretary—such a faithfulsoul, so industrious. Oh, yes, I am singularly blessed! But,uh, but—Given these people, who really do the work, we’vebeen able to put over some pretty good things—with God’sleading. Why, say, we’ve started the only class in show-windowdressing in any church in the United States—and I shouldsuppose England and France! We’ve already seen the mostwonderful results, not only in raising the salary of several ofthe fine young men in our church, but in increasing businessthroughout the city and improving the appearance of show-windows,and you know how much that adds to the beautyof the down-town streets! And the crowds do seem to beincreasing steadily. We had over eleven hundred present onmy last Sunday evening in Zenith, and that in summer! Andduring the season we often have nearly eighteen hundred, inan auditorium that’s only supposed to seat sixteen hundred!And with all modesty—it’s not my doing but the methodswe’re working up—I think I may say that every man, woman,and child goes away happy and yet with a message to sustain’em through the week. You see—oh, of course I give ’em thestraight old-time gospel in my sermon—I’m not the least bitafraid of talking right up to ’em and reminding them of theawful consequences of sin and ignorance and spiritual sloth.Yes, sir! No blinking the horrors of the old-time proven Hell,not in any church I’m running! But also we make ’em gettogether, and their pastor is just one of their own chums,and we sing cheerful, comforting songs, and do they like it?Say! It shows up in the collections!”

“Mr. Gantry,” said Andrew Pengilly, “why don’t you believein God?”

his friendship with Dr. Philip McGarry of the Arbor Churchwas all, Frank Shallard felt, that kept him in the church. Asto his round little wife Bess and the three respectable children,he had for them less passion than compassion, and he could,he supposed, make enough money somehow to care for them.

McGarry was not an extraordinary scholar, not especiallyeloquent, not remarkably virtuous, but in him there was kindnessalong with robust humor, a yearning for justice steeled bycommon sense, and just that quality of authentic good-fellowshipwhich the Professional Good Fellows of Zenith, whetherpreachers or shoe-salesmen, blasphemed against by shoutingand guffawing and back-slapping. Women trusted in hisstrength and his honor; children were bold with him; men disclosedto him their veiled sorrows; and he was more nimbleto help them than to be shocked.

Frank worshiped him.

Himself a bachelor, McGarry had become an intimate ofFrank’s house. He knew where the ice-pick was kept, andwhere the thermos bottles for picnics; he was as likely asFrank to wash up after late suppers; and if he called and theelder Shallards were not in, he slipped up-stairs and was foundthere scandalously keeping the children awake by stories ofhis hunting in Montana and Arizona and Saskatchewan.

It was thus when Frank and Bess came home from prayer-meetingone evening. Philip McGarry’s own prayer-meetingswere brief. A good many people said they were as artificial aform of religious bait as Elmer Gantry’s Lively Sunday Evenings,but if McGarry did also have the habit of making peoplesing “Smile, Smile, Smile” on all public events except possiblyfunerals, at least he was not so insistent about their shouting it.

They drifted down to the parsonage living-room, which Besshad made gay with chintzes, Frank studious with portentousbooks of sociology. Frank sat deep in a chair smoking a pipe—hecould never quite get over looking like a youngish collegeprofessor who smokes to show what a manly fellow he is.McGarry wandered about the room. He had a way of pointingarguments by shaking objects of furniture—pokers, vases,books, lamps—which was as dangerous as it looked.

“Oh, I was rotten at prayer-meeting tonight,” Frank grumbled.“Darn it, I can’t seem to go on being interested in thefact that old Mrs. Besom finds God such a comfort in hertrials. Mrs. Besom’s daughter-in-law doesn’t find Mrs. Besomany comfort in her trials, let me tell you! And yet I don’tsee how I can say to her, after she’s been fluttering aroundamong the angels and advertising how dead certain she is thatJesus loves her—I haven’t quite the nerve to say, ‘Sister, youtight-fisted, poison-tongued, old hellcat—’ ”

“Why, Frank!” from Bess, in placid piety.

“ ‘—you go home and forget your popularity in Heaven andask your son and his wife to forgive you for trying to makethem your kind of saint, with acidity of the spiritualstomach!’ ”

“Why, Frank!”

“Let him rave, Bess,” said McGarry. “If a preacher didn’tcuss his congregation out once in a while, nobody but St. Johnwould ever’ve lasted—and I’ll bet he wasn’t very good atweekly services and parish visiting!”

“And,” went on Frank, “tomorrow I’ve got a funeral. ThatHenry Semp. Weighed two hundred and eighty pounds fromthe neck down and three ounces from the neck up. Perfectlygood Christian citizen who believed that Warren G. Hardingwas the greatest man since George Washington. I’m sure henever beat his wife. Worthy communicant. But when hiswife came to hire me, she wept like the dickens when she talkedabout Henry’s death, but I noticed from the window that whenshe went off down the street she looked particularly cheerful.Yes, Henry was a bulwark of the nation; not to be sneered atby highbrows. And I’m dead certain, from something she said,that every year they’ve jipped the Government out of everycent they could on their income tax. And tomorrow I’m supposedto stand up there and tell his friends what a moralexample and intellectual Titan he was, and how the poor littlewoman is simply broken by sorrow. Well, cheer up! Fromwhat I know of her, she’ll be married again within six months,and if I do a good job of priesting tomorrow, maybe I’ll getthe fee! Oh, Lord, Phil, what a job, what a lying compromisingjob, this being a minister!”

It was their hundredth argument over the question.

McGarry waved a pillow, discarded it for Bess’ purse, whileshe tried not to look alarmed, and shouted, “It is not! AsI heard a big New York preacher say one day: he knew howimperfect the ministry is, and how many second-raters get intoit, and yet if he had a thousand lives, he’d want to be a ministerof the gospel, to be a man showing the philosophy of Jesus tomankind, in every one of ’em. And the church universal, nomatter what its failings, is still the only institution in which wecan work together to hand on that gospel. Maybe it’s yourfault, not the church’s, young Frank, if you’re so scared ofyour people that you lie at funerals! I don’t, by Jiminy!”

“You do, by Jiminy, my dear Phil! You don’t know it.No, what you do is, you hypnotize yourself until you’re convincedthat every dear departed was a model of some virtue,and then you rhapsodize about that.”

“Well, probably he was!”

“Of course. Probably your burglar was a model of courage,and your gambler a model of kindness to everybody except thepeople he robbed, but I don’t like being hired to praise burglarsand gamblers and respectable loan-sharks and food-hounds likeHenry Semp, and encourage youngsters to accept their standards,and so keep on perpetuating this barbarous civilization forwhich we preachers are as responsible as the lawyers or thepoliticians or the soldiers or even the school-masters. No, sir!Oh, I am going to get out of the church! Think of it! Apreacher, getting religion, getting saved, getting honest, gettingout! Then I’d know the joys of sanctification that youMethodys talk about!”

“Oh, you make me tired!” Bess complained, not very aggressively.She looked, at forty-one, like a plump and amiablegirl of twenty. “Honestly, Phil, I do wish you could showFrank where he’s wrong. I can’t, and I’ve been trying thesefifteen years.”

“You have, my lamb!”

“Honestly, Phil, can’t you make him see it?” said Bess.“He’s—of course I do adore him, but of all the cry-babies Iever met—He’s the worst of all my children! He talks aboutgoing into charity work, about getting a job with a labor bankor a labor paper, about lecturing, about trying to write. Can’tyou make him see that he’d be just as discontented whateverhe did? I’ll bet you the labor leaders and radical agitators andthe Charity Organization Society people aren’t perfect littleangels any more than preachers are!”

“Heavens, I don’t expect ’em to be! I don’t expect to becontent,” Frank protested. “And isn’t it a good thing to havea few people who are always yammering? Never get anywherewithout. What a joke that a minister, who’s supposedto have such divine authority that he can threaten people withhell, is also supposed to be such an office-boy that he can becussed out and fired if he dares to criticize capitalists or hisfellow ministers! Anyway—Dear Bess, it’s rotten on you.I’d like to be a contented sort, I’d like to ‘succeed,’ to be satisfiedwith being half-honest. But I can’t.... You see, Phil,I was brought up to believe the Christian God wasn’t a scaredand compromising public servant, but the creator and advocateof the whole merciless truth, and I reckon that training spoiledme—I actually took my teachers seriously!”

“Oh, tut, tut, Frank; trouble with you is,” Philip McGarryyawned, “trouble with you is, you like arguing more than youdo patiently working out the spiritual problems of some poor,dumm, infinitely piteous human being that comes to you forhelp, and that doesn’t care a hoot whether you advocate Zoroastrianismor Seventh-day Adventism, so long as he feels thatyou love him and that you can bring him strength from apower higher than himself. I know that if you could loseyour intellectual pride, if you could forget that you have tomake a new world, better’n the Creator’s, right away tonight—youand Bernard Shaw and H. G. Wells and H. L. Menckenand Sinclair Lewis (Lord, how that book of Lewis’, ‘MainStreet,’ did bore me, as much of it as I read; it just rambledon forever, and all he could see was that some of the GopherPrairie hicks didn’t go to literary teas quite as often as he does!—thatwas all he could see among those splendid heroicpioneers)! Well, as I was saying, if instead of starting inwhere your congregation has left off, because they never hadyour chance, you could draw them along with you—”

“I try to! And let me tell you, young fellow, I’ve got a fewof ’em far enough along so they’re having the sense to leaveme and my evangelical church and go off to the Unitariansor stay away from church altogether—thus, Bess darling, deprivingmy wife and babes of a few more pennies! Butseriously, Phil—”

“A man always says ‘But seriously’ when he feels the previousarguments haven’t been so good yet!”

“Maybe. But anyway, what I mean to say is: Of coursemy liberalism is all foolishness! Do you know why my peoplestand for it? They’re not enough interested to realize whatI’m saying! If I had a successor who was a fundamentalist,they’d like him just as well or better, and they’d go backa-whooping to the sacred hell-fire that I’ve coaxed ’em out of.They don’t believe I mean it when I take a shot at the fearof eternal punishment, and the whole magic and taboo systemof worshiping the Bible and the ministry, and all the otherskull-decorated vestiges of horror there are in so-calledChristianity! They don’t know it! Partly it’s because they’vebeen trained not to believe anything much they hear in sermons.But also it’s my fault. I’m not aggressive. I oughtto jump around like a lunatic or a popular evangelist, andshout, ‘D’ you understand? When I say that most of yourreligious opinions are bunk, why, what I mean is, they’re bunk!’I’ve never been violently enough in earnest to be beaten forthe sake of the Lord our God! ... Not yet!”

“Hah, there I’ve got you, Frank! Tickles me to see you tryto be the village atheist! ‘For the sake of the Lord’ you justsaid. And how often I’ve heard you say at parting ‘God blessyou’—and you meant it! Oh, no, you don’t believe in Christ!Not any more than the Pope at Rome!”

“I suppose that if I said ‘God damn you,’ that would alsoprove that I was a devout Christian! Oh, Phil, I can’t understandhow a man as honest as you, as really fond of helpingpeople—and of tolerating them!—can stand being classed witha lot of your fellow preachers and not even kick about it!Think of your going on enduring being a fellow Methodistpreacher right in the same town with Elmer Gantry and notstanding up in ministers’ meeting and saying, ‘Either he getsout or I do!’ ”

“I know! You idiot, don’t you suppose those of us thatare halfway decent suffer from being classed with Gantry, andthat we hate him more than you do? But even if Elmer israther on the swine side, what of it? Would you condemn afine aspiring institution, full of broad-gauged, earnest fellows,because one of them was a wash-out?”

“One? Just one? I’ll admit there aren’t many, not verymany, hogs like Gantry in your church, or any other, but letme give my loving fraternal opinions of a few others of yoursplendid Methodist fellows! Bishop Toomis is a gas-bag.Chester Brown, with his candles and chanting, he’s merely anEpiscopalian who’d go over to the Episcopal church if heweren’t afraid he’d lose too much salary in starting again—justas a good share of the Anglo-Catholic Episcopalians aremerely Catholics who’d go over to Rome if they weren’t afraidof losing social caste. Otto Hickenlooper, with his institutions—therich are so moved by his charities that they hand himmoney and Otto gets praised for spending that money. Finevicious circle. And think of some poor young idiot studyingart, wasting his time and twisting his ideas, at Otto’s strictlymoral art class, where the teacher is chosen more for his opinionson the sacraments than for his knowledge of composition.”

“But, Frank, I’ve said all—”

“And the sound, the scholarly, the well-balanced Dr. MahlonPotts! Oh, he’s a perfectly good man, and not a fanatic.Doesn’t believe that evolution is a fiendish doctrine. The onlytrouble with him—as with most famous preachers—is that hehasn’t the slightest notion what human beings are like. He’sinsulated; has been ever since he became a preacher. He goesto the death-beds of prostitutes (but not very often, I’ll bet!)but he can’t understand that perfectly decent husbands andwives often can’t get along because of sexual incompatibility.

“Potts lives in a library; he gets his idea of human motivesout of George Eliot and Margaret Deland, and his ideas ofeconomics out of editorials in the Advocate, and his idea as towhat he really is accomplishing out of the flattery of hisLadies’ Aid! He’s a much worse criminal than Gantry! Iimagine Elmer has some desire to be a good fellow and sharehis swag, but Dr. Potts wants to make over an entire worldof living, bleeding, sweating, loving, fighting human beings intothe likeness of Dr. Potts—of Dr. Potts taking his afternoonnap and snoring under a shelf of books about the doctrines ofthe Ante-Nicene Fathers!”

“Golly, you simply love us! And I suppose you think Iadmire all these fellows! Why, they regard me as a heretic,from the bishop down,” said Philip McGarry.

“And yet you stay with them!”

“Any other church better?”

“Oh, no. Don’t think I give all my love to the Methodists.I take them only because they’re your particular breed. Myown Congregationalists, the Baptists who taught me that immersionis more important than social justice, the Presbyterians,the Campbellites, the whole lot—oh, I love ’em all aboutequally!”

“And what about yourself? What about me?”

“You know what I think of myself—a man too feeble tostand up and risk being called a crank or a vile atheist! Andabout you, my young liberal friend, I was just saving you tothe last in my exhibit of Methodist parsons! You’re the worstof the lot!”

“Oh, now, Frank!” yawned Bess.

She was sleepy. How preachers did talk! Did plasterersand authors and stock-brokers sit up half the night discussingtheir souls, fretting as to whether plastering or authorship orstock-broking was worth while?

She yawned again, kissed Frank, patted Philip’s cheek, andmade exit with, “You may be feeble, Frank, but you certainlycan talk a strong, rugged young wife to death!”

Frank, usually to be cowed by her jocose grumbling andPhilip’s friendly jabs, was tonight afire and unquenchable.

“Yes, you’re the worst of all, Phil! You do know somethingof human beings. You’re not like old Potts, who’s always soinformative about how much sin there is in the world andalways so astonished when he meets an actual sinner. Andyou don’t think it matters a hang whether a seeker after decencygets ducked—otherwise baptized—or not. And yetwhen you get up in the pulpit, from the way you wallow inprayer people believe that you’re just as chummy with theDeity as Potts or Gantry. Your liberalism never lasts youmore than from my house to the street-car. You talk aboutthe golden streets of Heaven and the blessed peace of the hereafter,and yet you’ve admitted to me, time and again, that youhaven’t the slightest idea whether there is any personal lifeafter death. You talk about Redemption, and the Sacramentof the Lord’s Supper, and how God helps this nation to win awar and hits that other with a flood, and a lot more things thatyou don’t believe privately at all.”

“Oh, I know! Thunder! But you yourself—you prayin church.”

“Not really. For over a year now I’ve never addressed aprayer to any definite deity. I say something like ‘Let us inmeditation, forgetting the worries of daily life, join our spiritsin longing for the coming of perpetual peace’—something likethat.”

“Well, it sounds like a pretty punk prayer to me, Frankie!The only trouble with you is, you feel you’re called on to re-writethe Lord’s Prayer for him!”

Philip laughed gustily, and slapped Frank’s shoulder.

“Damn it, don’t be so jocular! I know it’s a poor prayer.It’s terrible. Nebulous. Meaningless. Like a barker at theNew Thought side-show. I don’t mind your disliking it, butI do mind your trying to be humorous! Why is it that youlads who defend the church are so facetious when you reallyget down to discussing the roots of religion?”

“I know, Frank. Effect of too much preaching. But seriously:Yes, I do say things in the pulpit that I don’t meanliterally. What of it? People understand these symbols;they’ve been brought up with them, they’re comfortable withthem. My object in preaching is to teach the art of living asfar as I can; to encourage my people—and myself—to be kind,to be honest, to be clean, to be courageous, to love God andtheir fellow-men; and the whole experience of the church showsthat those lessons can best be taught through such really nobleconcepts as salvation and the presence of the Holy Ghost andHeaven and so on.”

“Hm. Does it? Has the church ever tried anything else?And just what the dickens do you mean by ‘being clean’ and‘being honest’ and ‘teaching the art of living’? Lord, how wepreachers do love to use phrases that don’t mean anything!But suppose you were perfectly right. Nevertheless, by usingthe same theological slang as a Gantry or a Toomis or a Potts,you unconsciously make everybody believe that you thinkand act like them too.”

“Nonsense! Not that I’m particularly drawn by the charmsof any of these fellow sages. I’d rather be wrecked on a desertisland with you, you old atheist!—you darned old fool! Butsuppose they were as bad as you think. I still wouldn’t feelit was my duty to foul my own nest, to make this grand oldMethodist Church, with its saints and heroes like Wesley andAsbury and Quayle and Cartwright and McDowell andMcConnell—why, the tears almost come to my eyes when Ithink of men like that! Look here: Suppose you were at war,in a famous regiment. Suppose a lot of your fellow soldiers,even the present commander of the regiment himself, wererotters—cowards. Would you feel called on to desert? Orto fight all the harder to make up for their faults?”

“Phil, next to the humorous ragging I spoke of, and theuse of stale phrases, the worst cancer in religious discussion isthe use of the metaphor! The Protestant church is not aregiment. You’re not a soldier. The soldier has to fight whenand as he’s told. You have absolute liberty, outside of a fewmoral and doctrinal compulsions.”

“Ah-hah, now I’ve got you, my logical young friend! Ifwe have that liberty, why aren’t you willing to stay in thechurch? Oh, Frank, Frank, you are such a fool! I know thatyou long for righteousness. Can’t you see that you can get itbest by staying in the church, liberalizing from within, insteadof running away and leaving the people to the ministrations ofthe Gantrys?”

“I know. I’ve been thinking just that all these years.That’s why I’m still a preacher! But I’m coming to believethat it’s tommyrot. I’m coming to think that the hell-howlingold mossbacks corrupt the honest liberals a lot more than theliberals lighten the backwoods minds of the fundamentalists.What the dickens is the church accomplishing, really? Whyhave a church at all? What has it for humanity that you won’tfind in worldly sources—schools, books, conversation?”

“It has this, Frank: It has the unique personality and teachingsof Jesus Christ, and there is something in Jesus, thereis something in the way he spoke, there is something in thefeeling of a man when he suddenly has that inexpressible experienceof knowing the Master and his presence, which makesthe church of Jesus different from any other merely humaninstitution or instrument whatsoever! Jesus is not simplygreater and wiser than Socrates or Voltaire; he is entirelydifferent. Anybody can interpret and teach Socrates or Voltaire—inschools or books or conversation. But to interpretthe personality and teachings of Jesus requires an especiallycalled, chosen, trained, consecrated body of men, united inan especial institution—the church.”

“Phil, it sounds so splendid. But just what were the personalityand the teachings of Jesus? I’ll admit it’s the heartof the controversy over the Christian religion:—aside fromthe fact that, of course, most people believe in a church becausethey were born to it. But the essential query is: DidJesus—if the Biblical accounts of him are even half accurate—havea particularly noble personality, and were his teachingsparticularly original and profound? You know it’s almostimpossible to get people to read the Bible honestly. They’vebeen so brought up to take the church interpretation of everyword that they read into it whatever they’ve been taught tofind there. It’s been so with me, up to the last couple of years.But now I’m becoming a quarter free, and I’m appalled tosee that I don’t find Jesus an especially admirable character!

“He is picturesque. He tells splendid stories. He’s a goodfellow, fond of low company—in fact the idea of Jesus, whomthe bishops of his day cursed as a rounder and wine-bibber,being chosen as the god of the Prohibitionists is one of thefunniest twists in history. But he’s vain, he praises himselfoutrageously, he’s fond of astonishing people by little magicaltricks which we’ve been taught to revere as ‘miracles.’ He isfurious as a child in a tantrum when people don’t recognizehim as a great leader. He loses his temper. He blasts the poorbarren fig-tree when it doesn’t feed him. What minds peoplehave! They hear preachers proving by the Bible the exactopposites, that the Roman Catholic Church is divinely ordainedand that it is against all divine ordinances, and it neveroccurs to them that far from the Christian religion—or anyother religion—being a blessing to humanity, it’s producedsuch confusion in all thinking, such secondhand viewing ofactualities, that only now are we beginning to ask what andwhy we are, and what we can do with life!

“Just what are the teachings of Christ? Did he come tobring peace or more war? He says both. Did he approveearthly monarchies or rebel against them? He says both. Didhe ever—think of it, God himself, taking on human form tohelp the earth—did he ever suggest sanitation, which wouldhave saved millions from plagues? And you can’t say hisfailure there was because he was too lofty to consider meresickness. On the contrary, he was awfully interested in it, alwayshealing some one—providing they flattered his vanityenough!

“What did he teach? One place in the Sermon on theMount he advises—let me get my Bible—here it is: ‘Let yourlight so shine before men that they may see your good worksand glorify your Father which is in heaven,’ and then fiveminutes later he’s saying, ‘Take heed that ye do not your almsbefore men, to be seen of them, otherwise ye have no rewardof your Father which is in heaven.’ That’s an absolute contradiction,in the one document which is the charter of thewhole Christian Church. Oh, I know you can reconcile them,Phil. That’s the whole aim of the ministerial training: toteach us to reconcile contradictions by saying that one of themdoesn’t mean what it means—and it’s always a good stunt tothrow in ‘You’d understand it if you’d only read it in theoriginal Greek’!

“There’s just one thing that does stand out clearly and uncontradictedin Jesus’ teaching. He advocated a system ofeconomics whereby no one saved money or stored up wheator did anything but live like a tramp. If this teaching of hishad been accepted, the world would have starved in twentyyears after his death!

“No, wait, Phil, just one second and then I’m through!”

He talked till dawn.

Frank’s last protest, as they stood on the steps in the coldgrayness, was:

“My objection to the church isn’t that the preachers arecruel, hypocritical, actually wicked, though some of them arethat, too—think of how many are arrested for selling fakestock, for seducing fourteen-year-old girls in orphanages undertheir care, for arson, for murder. And it isn’t so much thatthe church is in bondage to Big Business and doctrines aslaid down by millionaires—though a lot of churches are that,too. My chief objection is that ninety-nine per cent. of sermonsand Sunday School teachings are so agonizingly dull!”

I

however impatient he was with Frank, Philip McGarry’slast wish was to set Elmer Gantry piously baying on Frank’strail. It was rather an accident. Philip sat next to Elmer ata dinner to discuss missionary funds; he remembered thatFrank and Elmer had been classmates; and with a sincerelyaffectionate “It’s too bad the poor boy worries so over whatare really matters for Faith,” he gave away to Elmer most ofFrank’s heresies.

Now in the bustle of raising funds to build a vast newchurch, Elmer had forgotten his notion of saving the renownedhardware impresario, Mr. William Dollinger Styles, and hismillions from contamination by Frank’s blasphemies.

“We could use old Styles, and you could get some fine publicityby attacking Shallard’s attempt to steal Jesus and evenHell away from us,” said Elmer’s confidant, Mr. T. J. Rigg,when he was consulted.

“Say, that’s great. How liberalism leads to atheism. Fine!Wait till Mr. Frank Shallard opens his mouth and puts hisfoot in it again!” said the Reverend Elmer Gantry. “Say, Iwonder how we could get a report of his sermons? The poorfish isn’t important enough so’s they very often report hisjunk in the papers.”

“I’ll take care of that. I’ve got a girl in my office, good fastworker, that I’ll have go and take down all his sermons.They’ll just think she’s practising stenography.”

“Well, by golly, that’s one good use for sermons. Ha, ha,ha!” said Elmer.

“Yes, sir, by golly, found at last. Ha, ha, ha!” said Mr.T. J. Rigg.

II

In less than a month Frank maddened the citizens of Zenithby asserting, in the pulpit, that though he was in favor oftemperance, he was not for Prohibition; that the methods ofthe Anti-Saloon League were those of a lumber lobby.

Elmer had his chance.

He advertised that he would speak on “Fake Preachers—andWho They Are.”

In his sermon he said that Frank Shallard (by name) was aliar, a fool, an ingrate whom he had tried to help in seminary,a thief who was trying to steal Christ from an ailing world.

The newspapers were pleased and explicit.

Elmer saw to it—T. J. Rigg arranged a foursome—that heplayed golf with William Dollinger Styles that week.

“I was awfully sorry, Mr. Styles,” he said, “to feel it myduty to jump on your pastor, Mr. Shallard, last Sunday, butwhen a fellow stands up and makes fun of Jesus Christ—well,it’s time to forget mercy!”

“I thought you were kind of hard on him. I didn’t hear hissermon myself—I’m a church-member, but it does seem likethings pile up so at the office that I have to spend almost everySunday morning there. But from what they’ve told me, hewasn’t so wild.”

“Then you don’t think Shallard is practically an atheist?”

“Why, no! Nice decent fellow—”

“Mr. Styles, do you realize that all over town people arewondering how a man like you can give his support to a manlike Shallard? Do you realize that not only the ministers butalso laymen are saying that Shallard is secretly both an agnosticand a socialist, though he’s afraid to come out and admitit? I hear it everywhere. People are afraid to tell you.Jiminy, I’m kind of scared of you myself! Feel I’ve got a lotof nerve!”

“Well, I ain’t so fierce,” said Mr. Styles, very pleased.

“Anyway, I’d hate to have you think I was sneaking arounddamning Shallard behind his back. Why don’t you do this?You and some of the other Dorchester deacons have Shallardfor lunch or dinner, and have me there, and let me put a fewquestions to him. I’ll talk to the fellow straight! Do youfeel you can afford to be known as tolerating an infidel in yourchurch? Oughtn’t you to make him come out from undercover and admit what he thinks? If I’m wrong, I’ll apologizeto you and to him, and you can call me all the kinds of nosey,meddling, cranky, interfering fool you want to!”

“Well——He seems kind of a nice fellow.” Mr. Styles wasuncomfortable. “But if you’re right about him being reallyan infidel, don’t know’s I could stand that.”

“How’d it be if you and some of your deacons and Shallardcame and had dinner with me in a private room at theAthletic Club next Friday evening?”

“Well, all right—”

III

Frank was so simple as to lose his temper when Elmer hadbullied him, roared at him, bulked at him, long enough, withFrank’s own deacons accepting Elmer as an authority. He wasirritated out of all caution, and he screamed back at Elmer thathe did not accept Jesus Christ as divine; that he was not sureof a future life; that he wasn’t even certain of a personal God.

Mr. William Dollinger Styles snapped, “Then just why, Mr.Shallard, don’t you get out of the ministry before you’re kickedout?”

“Because I’m not yet sure——Though I do think our presentchurches are as absurd as a belief in witchcraft, yet I believethere could be a church free of superstition, helpful to theneedy, and giving people that mystic something stronger thanreason, that sense of being uplifted in common worship of anunknowable power for good. Myself, I’d be lonely with nothingbut bleak debating-societies. I think—at least I still think—thatfor many souls there is this need of worship, even ofbeautiful ceremonial—”

“ ‘Mystic need of worship!’ ‘Unknowable power for good!’Words, words, words! Milk and water! That, when you havethe glorious and certain figure of Christ Jesus to worship andfollow!” bellowed Elmer. “Pardon me, gentlemen, for intruding,but it makes me, not as a preacher but just as a humbleand devout Christian, sick to my stomach to hear a fellow feelthat he knows so blame’ much he’s able to throw out of thewindow the Christ that the whole civilized world has believedin for countless centuries! And try to replace him with a lotof gassy phrases! Excuse me, Mr. Styles, but after all, religionis a serious business, and if we’re going to call ourselvesChristians at all, we have to bear testimony to the proven factof God. Forgive me.”

“It’s quite all right, Dr. Gantry. I know just how you feel,”said Styles. “And while I’m no authority on religion, I feelthe same way you do, and I guess these other gentlemen do,too.... Now, Shallard, you’re entitled to your own views,but not in our pulpit! Why don’t you just resign before wekick you out?”

“You can’t kick me out! It takes the whole church to dothat!”

“The whole church’ll damn well do it, you watch ’em!”said Deacon William Dollinger Styles.

IV

“What are we going to do, dear?” Bess said wearily. “I’llstand by you, of course, but let’s be practical. Don’t youthink it would make less trouble if you did resign?”

“I’ve done nothing for which to resign! I’ve led athoroughly decent life. I haven’t lied or been indecent orstolen. I’ve preached imagination, happiness, justice, seekingfor the truth. I’m no sage, Heaven knows, but I’ve given mypeople a knowledge that there are such things as ethnologyand biology, that there are books like ‘Ethan Frome’ and ‘PèreGoriot’ and ‘Tono-Bungay’ and Renan’s Jesus, that there isnothing wicked in looking straight at life—”

“Dear, I said practical!”

“Oh, thunder, I don’t know. I think I can get a job in theCharity Organization Society here—the general secretary happensto be pretty liberal.”

“I hate to have us leave the church entirely. I’m sort of athome there. Why not see if they’d like to have you in theUnitarian Church?”

“Too respectable. Scared. Same old sanctified phrases I’mtrying to get rid of—and won’t ever quite get rid of, I’mafraid.”

V

A meeting of the church body had been called to decide onFrank’s worthiness, and the members had been informed byStyles that Frank was attacking all religion. Instantly a numberof the adherents who had been quite unalarmed by whatthey themselves had heard in the pulpit perceived that Frankwas a dangerous fellow and more than likely to injure omnipotentGod.

Before the meeting, one woman, who remained fond of him,fretted to Frank, “Oh, can’t you understand what a dreadfulthing you’re doing to question the divinity of Christ and all?I’m afraid you’re going to hurt religion permanently. If youcould open your eyes and see—if you could only understandwhat my religion has meant to me in times of despair! I don’tknow what I would have done during my typhoid without thatconsolation! You’re a bright, smart man when you let yourselfbe. If you’d only go and have a good talk with Dr. G.Prosper Edwards. He’s an older man than you, and he’s adoctor of divinity, and he has such huge crowds at PilgrimChurch, and I’m sure he could show you where you’re wrongand make everything perfectly clear to you.”

Frank’s sister, married now to an Akron lawyer, came to staywith them. They had been happy, Frank and she, in thetepid but amiable house of their minister-father; they hadplayed at church, with dolls and salt-cellars for congregation;books were always about them, natural to them; and at theirfather’s table they had heard doctors, preachers, lawyers, politicians,talk of high matters.

The sister bubbled to Bess, “You know, Frank doesn’t believehalf he says! He just likes to show off. He’s a real goodChristian at heart, if he only knew it. Why, he was such agood Christian boy—he led the B. Y. P. U.—he couldn’t havedrifted away from Christ into all this nonsense that nobodytakes seriously except a lot of long-haired dirty cranks! Andhe’ll break his father’s heart! I’m going to have a good talkwith that young man, and bring him to his senses!”

On the street Frank met the great Dr. McTiger, pastor ofthe Royal Ridge Presbyterian Church.

Dr. McTiger had been born in Scotland, graduated at Edinburgh,and he secretly—not too secretly—despised all Americanuniversities and seminaries and their alumni. He was a large,impatient, brusque man, renowned for the length of hissermons.

“I hear, young man,” he shouted at Frank, “that you haveread one whole book on the pre-Christian mysteries and decidedthat our doctrines are secondhand and that you are nowgoing to destroy the church. You should have more pity!With the loss of a profound intellect like yours, my youngfriend, I should doubt if the church can stagger on! It’s apity that after discovering scholarship you didn’t go on andget enough of that same scholarship to perceive that by thewondrous beneficence of God’s mercy the early church wasled to combine many alien factors in the one perfection of theChristian brotherhood! I don’t know whether it’s ignoranceof church history or lack of humor that chiefly distinguishesyou, my young friend! Go and sin no more!”

From Andrew Pengilly came a scrawled, shaky letter beggingFrank to stand true and not deliver his appointed flock to thedevil. That hurt.

VI

The first church business meeting did not settle the questionof Frank’s remaining. He was questioned about his doctrines,and he shocked them by being candid, but the men whom hehad helped, the women whom he had consoled in sickness, thefathers who had gone to him when their daughters “had gotteninto trouble,” stood by him for all the threats of Styles.

A second meeting would have to be called before they tooka vote.

When Elmer read of this, he galloped to T. J. Rigg. “Here’sour chance!” he gloated. “If the first meeting had kickedFrank out, Styles might have stayed with their church, thoughI do think he likes my brand of theology and my Republicanpolitics. But why don’t you go to him now, T. J., and hintaround about how his church has insulted him?”

“All right, Elmer. Another soul saved. Brother Styleshas still got the first dollar he ever earned, but maybe we canget ten cents of it away from him for the new church. Only—Himbeing so much richer than I, I hope you won’t go to himfor spiritual advice and inspiration, instead of me.”

“You bet I won’t, T. J.! Nobody has ever accused ElmerGantry of being disloyal to his friends! My only hope is thatyour guidance of this church has been of some value to youyourself.”

“Well—yes—in a way. I’ve had three brother Methodistclients from Wellspring come to me—two burglary and oneforgery. But it’s more that I just like to make the wheelsgo round.”

Mr. Rigg was saying, an hour later, to Mr. William DollingerStyles, “If you came and joined us, I know you’d like it—you’veseen what a fine, upstanding, two-fisted, one-hundred-percenthe-man Dr. Gantry is. Absolutely sound about business.And it would be a swell rebuke to your church for notaccepting your advice. But we hate to invite you to come overto us—in fact Dr. Gantry absolutely forbade me to see you—forfear you’ll think it was just because you’re rich.”

For three days Styles shied, then he was led, trembling, upto the harness.

Afterward, Dr. G. Prosper Edwards of Pilgrim Congregationalsaid to his spouse, “Why on earth didn’t we think ofgoing right after Styles and inviting him to join us? It wasso simple we never even thought of it. I really do feel quitecross. Why didn’t you think of it?”

VII

The second church meeting was postponed. It looked toElmer as though Frank would be able to stay on at DorchesterCongregational and thus defy Elmer as the spiritual and moralleader of the city.

Elmer acted fearlessly.

In sermon after sermon he spoke of “that bunch of atheistsout there at Dorchester.” Frank’s parishioners were alarmed.They were forced to explain (only they were never quite surewhat they were explaining) to customers, to neighbors, tofellow lodge-members. They felt disgraced, and so it was thata second meeting was called.

Now Frank had fancied a spectacular resignation. He heardhimself, standing before a startled audience, proclaiming, “Ihave decided that no one in this room, including your pastor,believes in the Christian religion. Not one of us would turnthe other cheek. Not one of us would sell all that he has andgive to the poor. Not one of us would give his coat to someman who took his overcoat. Every one of us lays up allthe treasure he can. We don’t practise the Christian religion.We don’t intend to practise it. Therefore, we don’t believe init. Therefore I resign, and I advise you to quit lying anddisband.”

He saw himself, then, tramping down the aisle among hisgaping hearers, and leaving the church forever.

But: “I’m too tired. Too miserable. And why hurt thepoor bewildered souls? And——I am so tired.”

He stood up at the beginning of the second meeting and saidgently, “I had refused to resign. I still feel I have an honestright to an honest pulpit. But I am setting brother againstbrother. I am not a Cause—I am only a friend. I have lovedyou and the work, the sound of friends singing together, thehappiness of meeting on leisurely Sunday mornings. This Igive up. I resign, and I wish I could say, ‘God be with youand bless you all.’ But the good Christians have taken Godand made him into a menacing bully, and I cannot even say‘God bless you,’ during this last moment, in a life given altogetherto religion, when I shall ever stand in a pulpit.”

Elmer Gantry, in his next sermon, said that he was so broad-mindedthat he would be willing to receive an Infidel Shallardin his church, providing he repented.

VIII

When he found that he liked the Charity Organization Societyand his work in that bleak institution no better than hiswork in the church, Frank laughed.

“As Bess said! A consistent malcontent! Well, I am consistent,anyway. And the relief not to be a preacher anymore! Not to have to act sanctimonious! Not to have menconsider you an old woman in trousers! To be able to laughwithout watching its effect!”

Frank was given charge, at the C. O. S., of a lodging-house,a woodyard at which hoboes worked for two hours daily topay for lodging and breakfast, and an employment bureau.He knew little about Scientific Charity, so he was shocked bythe icy manner in which his subordinates—the aged virgin atthe inquiry desk, the boss of the woodyard, the clerk at thelodging-house, the young lady who asked the applicants abouttheir religion and vices—treated the shambling unfortunatesas criminals who had deliberately committed the crime ofpoverty.

They were as efficient and as tender as vermin-exterminators.

In this acid perfection, Frank longed for the mystery thatclings to even the dourest or politest tabernacle. He fell inthe way of going often to the huge St. Dominic’s CatholicChurch, of which the eloquent Father de Pinna was pastor,with Father Matthew Smeesby, the new sort of American,state-university-bred priest, as assistant pastor and liaisonofficer.

St. Dominic’s was, for Zenith, an ancient edifice, and thecoal-smoke from the South Zenith factories had aged the graystone to a semblance of historic centuries. The interior, withits dim irregularity, its lofty roof, the curious shrines, themysterious door at the top of a flight of stone steps, unloosedFrank’s imagination. It touched him to see the people kneelingat any hour. He had never known a church to which theplain people came for prayer. Despite its dusky magnificence,they seemed to find in the church their home. And when hesaw the gold and crimson of solemn high mass blazing at theend of the dark aisle, with the crush of people visibly believingin the presence of God, he wondered if he had indeed foundthe worship he had fumblingly sought.

He knew that to believe literally in Purgatory and the ImmaculateConception, the Real Presence and the authority ofthe hierarchy, was as impossible for him as to believe in Zeus.

“But,” he pondered, “isn’t it possible that the whole thingis so gorgeous a fairy-tale that to criticize it would be liketrying to prove that Jack did not kill the giant? No sane priestcould expect a man of some education to think that sayingmasses had any effect on souls in Purgatory; they’d expect himto take the whole thing as one takes a symphony. And, oh, Iam lonely for the fellowship of the church!”

He sought a consultation with Father Matthew Smeesby.They had met, as fellow ministers, at many dinners.

The good father sat at a Grand Rapids desk, in a room altogetherbusiness-like save for a carved Bavarian cupboard anda crucifix on the barren plaster wall. Smeesby was a man offorty, a crisper Philip McGarry.

“You were an American university man, weren’t you,Father?” Frank asked.

“Yes. University of Indiana. Played half-back.”

“Then I think I can talk to you. It seems to me that somany of your priests are not merely foreign by birth, Polesand whatnot, but they look down on American mores and wantto mold us to their ideas and ways. But you——Tell me:Would it be conceivable for an—I won’t say an intelligent, butat least a reasonably well-read man like myself, who finds itquite impossible to believe one word of your doctrines—”

“Huh!”

“—but who is tremendously impressed by your ritual andthe spirit of worship—could such a man be received into theRoman Catholic Church, honestly, with the understanding thatto him your dogmas are nothing but symbols?”

“Most certainly not!”

“Don’t you know any priests who love the Church but don’tliterally believe all the doctrines?”

“I do not! I know no such persons! Shallard, you can’tunderstand the authority and reasonableness of the Church.You’re not ready to. You think too much of your puerilepowers of reasoning. You haven’t enough divine humility tocomprehend the ages of wisdom that have gone to building upthis fortress, and you stand outside its walls, one pitifullylonely little figure, blowing the trumpet of your egotism, anddemanding of the sentry, ‘Take me to your commander. Iam graciously inclined to assist him. Only he must understandthat I think his granite walls are pasteboard, and I reservethe right to blow them down when I get tired of them.’Man, if you were a prostitute or a murderer and came to mesaying ‘Can I be saved?’ I’d cry ‘Yes!’ and give my life to helpingyou. But you’re obsessed by a worse crime than murder—prideof intellect! And yet you haven’t such an awfully overpoweringintellect to be proud of, and I’m not sure but that’sthe worst crime of all! Good-day!”

He added, as Frank ragingly opened the door, “Go home andpray for simplicity.”

“Go home and pray that I may be made like you? Prayto have your humility and your manners?” said Frank.

It was a fortnight later that for his own satisfaction Frankset down in the note-book which he had always carried forsermon ideas, which he still carried for the sermons they wouldnever let him preach again, a conclusion:

“The Roman Catholic Church is superior to the militantProtestant Church. It does not compel you to give up yoursense of beauty, your sense of humor, or your pleasant vices.It merely requires you to give up your honesty, your reason,your heart and soul.”

IX

Frank had been with the Charity Organization Society forthree years, and he had become assistant general secretary atthe time of the Dayton evolution trial. It was at this timethat the brisker conservative clergymen saw that their influenceand oratory and incomes were threatened by anyauthentic learning. A few of them were so intelligent as toknow that not only was biology dangerous to their positions,but also history—which gave no very sanctified reputation tothe Christian church; astronomy—which found no convenientHeaven in the skies and snickered politely at the notionof making the sun stand still in order to win a Jewish borderskirmish; psychology—which doubted the superiority of aBaptist preacher fresh from the farm to trained laboratoryresearchers; and all the other sciences of the modern university.They saw that a proper school should teach nothingbut bookkeeping, agriculture, geometry, dead languages madedeader by leaving out all the amusing literature, and theHebrew Bible as interpreted by men superbly trained to ignorecontradictions, men technically called “Fundamentalists.”

This perception the clergy and their most admired laymenexpressed in quick action. They formed half a dozen competentand well-financed organizations to threaten rustic statelegislators with political failure and bribe them with unctuousclerical praise, so that these back-street and backwoods Solonswould forbid the teaching in all state-supported schools andcolleges of anything which was not approved by the evangelists.

It worked edifyingly.

To oppose them there were organized a few groups ofscholars. One of these organizations asked Frank to speakfor them. He was delighted to feel an audience before himagain, and he got leave from the Zenith Charity OrganizationSociety for a lecture tour.

He came excitedly and proudly to his first assignment, in aroaring modern city in the Southwest. He loved the town;believed really that he came to it with a “message.” He tastedthe Western air greedily, admired the buildings flashing upwhere but yesterday had been prairie. He smiled from thehotel ’bus when he saw a poster which announced that theReverend Frank Shallard would speak on “Are the FundamentalistsWitch Hunters?” at Central Labor Hall, auspicesof the League for Free Science.

“Bully! Fighting again! I’ve found that religion I’ve beenlooking for!”

He peered out for other posters.... They were all defaced.

At his hotel was a note, typed, anonymous: “We don’t wantyou and your hellish atheism here. We can think for ourselveswithout any imported ‘liberals.’ If you enjoy life, you’dbetter be out of this decent Christian city before evening.God help you if you aren’t! We have enough mercy to givewarning, but enough of God’s justice to see you get yours rightif you don’t listen. Blasphemers get what they ask for. Wewonder if you would like the feeling of a blacksnake acrossyour lying face? The Committee.”

Frank had never known physical conflict more violent thanboyhood wrestling. His hand shook. He tried to sound defiantwith: “They can’t scare me!”

His telephone, and a voice: “This Shallard? Well this is abrother preacher speaking. Name don’t matter. I just wantto tip you off that you’d better not speak tonight. Some ofthe boys are pretty rough.”

Then Frank began to know the joy of anger.

The hall of his lecture was half filled when he looked acrossthe ice-water pitcher on the speaker’s table. At the front werethe provincial intellectuals, most of them very eager, most ofthem dreadfully poor: a Jewish girl librarian with hungry eyes,a crippled tailor, a spectacled doctor sympathetic to radicaldisturbances but too good a surgeon to be driven out of town.There was a waste of empty seats, then, and at the back agroup of solid, prosperous, scowling burghers, with a leonineman who was either an actor, a congressman, or a popularclergyman.

This respectable group grumbled softly, and hissed a littleas Frank nervously began.

America, he said, in its laughter at the “monkey trial” atDayton, did not understand the veritable menace of the Fundamentalists’crusade. (“Outrageous!” from the leonine gentleman.)They were mild enough now; they spoke in the nameof virtue; but give them rope, and there would be a new Inquisition,a new hunting of witches. We might live to seemen burned to death for refusing to attend Protestant churches.

Frank quoted the Fundamentalist who asserted that evolutionistswere literally murderers, because they killed orthodoxfaith, and ought therefore to be lynched; William JenningsBryan, with his proposal that any American who took a drinkoutside the country should be exiled for life.

“That’s how these men speak, with so little power—as yet!”Frank pleaded. “Use your imaginations! Think how theywould rule this nation, and compel the more easy-going half-liberalclergy to work with them, if they had the power!”

There were constant grunts of “That’s a lie!” and “Theyought to shut him up!” from the back, and now Frank sawmarching into the hall a dozen tough young men. They stoodready for action, looking expectantly toward the line of prosperousChristian Citizens.

“And you have here in your own city,” Frank continued,“a minister of the gospel who enjoys bellowing that any onewho disagrees with him is a Judas.”

“That’s enough!” cried some one at the back, and the youngtoughs galloped down the aisle toward Frank, their eyes hotwith cruelty, teeth like a fighting dog’s, hands working—hecould feel them at his neck. They were met and held amoment by the sympathizers in front. Frank saw the crippledtailor knocked down by a man who stepped on the body as hecharged on.

With a curious lassitude more than with any fear, Franksighed, “Hang it, I’ve got to join the fight and get killed!”

He started down from the platform.

The chairman seized his shoulder. “No! Don’t! You’llget beaten to death! We need you! Come here—come here!This back door!”

Frank was thrust through a door into a half-lighted alley.

A motor was waiting, and by it two men, one of whom cried,“Right in here, Brother.”

It was a large sedan; it seemed security, life. But as Frankstarted to climb in he noted the man at the wheel, then lookedcloser at the others. The man at the wheel had no lips butonly a bitter dry line across his face—the mouth of an executioner.Of the other two, one was like an unreformed bartender,with curly mustache and a barber’s lock; one was gaunt,with insane eyes.

“Who are you fellows?” he demanded.

“Shut your damned trap and get t’ hell in there!” shriekedthe bartender, pushing Frank into the back of the car, so thathe fell with his head on the cushion.

The insane man scrambled in, and the car was off.

“We told you to get out of town. We gave you your chance.By God, you’ll learn something now, you God damned atheist—andprobably a damn’ socialist or I. W. W. too!” the seemingbartender said. “See this gun?” He stuck it into Frank’sside, most painfully. “We may decide to let you live if youkeep your mouth shut and do what we tell you to—and againwe may not. You’re going to have a nice ride with us! Justthink what fun you’re going to have when we get you in thecountry—alone—where it’s nice and dark and quiet!”

He placidly lifted his hands and gouged Frank’s cheek withhis strong fingernails.

“I won’t stand it!” screamed Frank.

He rose, struggling. He felt the gaunt fanatic’s fingers—justtwo fingers, demon-strong—close on his neck, dig in withpain that made him sick. He felt the bartender’s fist smashinghis jaw. As he slumped down, limp against the forward seat,half-fainting, he heard the bartender chuckle:

“That’ll give the blank, blank, blank of a blank some ideaof the fun we’ll have watching him squirm bimeby!”

The gaunt one snapped, “The boss said not to cuss.”

“Cuss, hell! I don’t pretend to be any tin angel. I’ve donea lot of tough things. But, by God, when a fellow pretendingto be a minister comes sneaking around trying to make fun ofthe Christian religion—the only chance us poor devils havegot to become decent again—then, by God, it’s time to showwe’ve got some guts and appreciation!”

The pseudo-bartender spoke with the smugly joyous tonesof any crusader given a chance to be fiendish for a moralreason, and placidly raising his leg, he brought his heel down onFrank’s instep.

When the cloud of pain had cleared from his head, Franksat rigid.... What would Bess and the kids do if these menkilled him? ... Would they beat him much before he died?

The car left the highway, followed a country road and ranalong a lane, through what seemed to Frank to be a cornfield.It stopped by a large tree.

“Get out!” snapped the gaunt man.

Mechanically, his legs limp, Frank staggered out. Helooked up at the moon. “It’s the last time I’ll ever see themoon—see the stars—hear voices. Never again to walk ona fresh morning!”

“What are you going to do?” he said, hating them too muchto be afraid.

“Well, dearie,” said the driver, with a dreadful jocosity,“you’re going to take a little walk with us, back here in thefields a ways.”

“Hell!” said the bartender, “let’s hang him. Here’s a swelltree. Use the tow-rope.”

“No,” from the gaunt man. “Just hurt him enough so he’llremember, and then he can go back and tell his atheist friendsit ain’t healthy for ’em in real Christian parts. Move, you!”

Frank walked in front of them, ghastly silent. They followeda path through the cornfield to a hollow. The cricketswere noisily cheerful; the moon serene.

“This’ll do,” snarled the gaunt one; then to Frank: “Nowget ready to feel good.”

He set his pocket electric torch on a clod of earth. In itslight Frank saw him draw from his pocket a coiled blackleather whip, a whip for mules.

“Next time,” said the gaunt one, slowly, “next time youcome back here, we’ll kill you. And any other yellow traitorand stinker and atheist like you. Tell ’em all that! This timewe won’t kill you—not quite.”

“Oh, quit talking and let’s get busy!” said the bartender.

“All right!”

The bartender caught Frank’s two arms behind, bendingthem back, almost breaking them, and suddenly with a painappalling and unbelievable the whip slashed across Frank’scheek, cutting it, and instantly it came again—again—in adarkness of reeling pain.

X

Consciousness returned waveringly as dawn crawled overthe cornfield and the birds were derisive. Frank’s only clearemotion was a longing to escape from this agony by death.His whole face reeked with pain. He could not understand whyhe could scarce see. When he fumblingly raised his hand, hediscovered that his right eye was a pulp of blind flesh, andalong his jaw he could feel the exposed bone.

He staggered along the path through the cornfield, stumblingover hummocks, lying there sobbing, muttering, “Bess—oh,come—Bess!”

His strength lasted him just to the highroad, and he slopedto earth, lay by the road like a drunken beggar. A motorwas coming, but when the driver saw Frank’s feebly upliftedarm he sped on. Pretending to be hurt was a device of hold-upmen.

“Oh, God, won’t anybody help me?” Frank whimpered, andsuddenly he was laughing, a choking twisted laughter. “Yes,I said it, Philip—‘God’ I said—I suppose it proves I’m a goodChristian!”

He rocked and crawled along the road to a cottage. Therewas a light—a farmer at early breakfast. “At last!” Frankwept. When the farmer answered the knock, holding up alamp, he looked once at Frank, then screamed and slammedthe door.

An hour later a motorcycle policeman found Frank in theditch, in half delirium.

“Another drunk!” said the policeman, most cheerfully,snapping the support in place on his cycle. But as he stoopedand saw Frank’s half-hidden face, he whispered, “Good GodAlmighty!”

XI

The doctors told him that though the right eye was gonecompletely, he might not entirely lose the sight of the otherfor perhaps a year.

Bess did not shriek when she saw him; she only stood withher hands shaky at her breast.

She seemed to hesitate before kissing what had been hismouth. But she spoke cheerfully:

“Don’t you worry about a single thing. I’ll get a job that’llkeep us going. I’ve already seen the general secretary at theC. O. S. And isn’t it nice that the kiddies are old enough nowto read aloud to you.”

To be read aloud to, the rest of his life ...

XII

Elmer called and raged, “This is the most outrageous thingI’ve ever heard of in my life, Frank! Believe me, I’m goingto give the fellows that did this to you the most horrible beatingthey ever got, right from my pulpit! Even though it mayhinder me in getting money for my new church—say, we’regoing to have a bang-up plant there, right up to date, cost overhalf a million dollars, seat over two thousand. But nobodycan shut me up! I’m going to denounce those fiends in a waythey’ll never forget!”

And that was the last Elmer is known ever to have said onthe subject, privately or publicly.

I

the Reverend Elmer Gantry was in his oak and Spanishleather study at the great new Wellspring Church.

The building was of cheerful brick, trimmed with limestone.It had Gothic windows, a carillon in the square stone tower,dozens of Sunday School rooms, a gymnasium, a social roomwith a stage and a motion-picture booth, an electric range inthe kitchen, and over it all a revolving electric cross and adebt.

But the debt was being attacked. Elmer had kept on theprofessional church-money-raiser whom he had employed duringthe campaign for the building fund. This financial crusaderwas named Emmanuel Navitsky; he was said to be thedescendant of a noble Polish Catholic family converted toProtestantism; and certainly he was a most enthusiastic Christian—exceptpossibly on Passover Eve. He had raised moneyfor Presbyterian Churches, Y. M. C. A. buildings, CongregationalColleges, and dozens of other holy purposes. He didmiracles with card indices of rich people; and he is said tohave been the first ecclesiastical go-getter to think of invitingJews to contribute to Christian temples.

Yes, Emmanuel would take care of the debt, and Elmercould give himself to purely spiritual matters.

He sat now in his study, dictating to Miss Bundle. He washappy in the matter of that dowdy lady, because her brother,a steward in the church, had recently died, and he could presentlyget rid of her without too much discord.

To him was brought the card of Loren Latimer Dodd, M. A.,D. D., LL. D., president of Abernathy College, an institutionof Methodist learning.

“Hm,” Elmer mused. “I bet he’s out raising money. Nothingdoing! What the devil does he think we are!” and aloud:“Go out and bring Dr. Dodd right in, Miss Bundle. A greatman! A wonderful educator! You know—president ofAbernathy College!”

Looking her admiration at a boss who had such distinguishedcallers, Miss Bundle bundled out.

Dr. Dodd was a florid man with a voice, a Kiwanis pin, anda handshake.

“Well, well, well, Brother Gantry, I’ve heard so much ofyour magnificent work here that I ventured to drop in andbother you for a minute. What a magnificent church you havecreated! It must be a satisfaction, a pride! It’s—magnificent!”

“Thanks, Doctor. Mighty pleased to meet you. Uh. Uh.Uh. Visiting Zenith?”

“Well, I’m, as it were, on my rounds.”

(“Not a cent, you old pirate!”) “Visiting the alumni, Ipresume.”

“In a way. The fact is I—”

(“Not one damn’ cent. My salary gets raised next!”)

“—was wondering if you would consent to my taking a littletime at your service Sunday evening to call to the attentionof your magnificent congregation the great work and direneeds of Abernathy. We have such a group of earnest youngmen and women—and no few of the boys going into the Methodistministry. But our endowment is so low, and what withthe cost of the new athletic field—though I am delighted to beable to say our friends have made it possible to create a reallymagnificent field, with a fine cement stadium—but it has leftus up against a heart-breaking deficit. Why, the entire chemistrydepartment is housed in two rooms in what was a cow-shed!And—

“Can’t do it, doctor. Impossible. We haven’t begun to payfor this church. Be as much as my life is worth to go to mypeople with a plea for one extra cent. But possibly in twoyears from now——Though frankly,” and Elmer laughedbrightly, “I don’t know why the people of Wellspring shouldcontribute to a college which hasn’t thought enough of Wellspring’spastor to give him a Doctor of Divinity degree!”

The two holy clerks looked squarely at each other, withpoker faces.

“Of course, Doctor,” said Elmer, “I’ve been offered the degreea number of times, but by small, unimportant colleges,and I haven’t cared to accept it. So you can see that this is inno way a hint that I would like such a degree. Heaven forbid!But I do know it might please my congregation, make themfeel Abernathy was their own college, in a way.”

Dr. Dodd remarked serenely, “Pardon me if I smile! Yousee I had a double mission in coming to you. The second partwas to ask you if you would honor Abernathy by accepting aD.D.!”

They did not wink at each other.

Elmer gloated to himself, “And I’ve heard it cost old MahlonPotts six hundred bucks for his D. D.! Oh, yes, Prexy, we’llbegin to raise money for Abernathy in two years—we’llbegin!”

II

The chapel of Abernathy College was full. In front werethe gowned seniors, looking singularly like a row of arm-chairscovered with dust-cloths. On the platform, with the presidentand the senior members of the faculty, were the celebritieswhose achievements were to be acknowledged by honorary degrees.

Besides the Reverend Elmer Gantry, these distinguishedguests were the Governor of the state—who had started as adivorce lawyer but had reformed and enabled the public servicecorporations to steal all the water-power in the state; Mr.B. D. Swenson, the automobile manufacturer, who had givenmost of the money for the Abernathy football stadium; andthe renowned Eva Evaline Murphy, author, lecturer, painter,musician, and authority on floriculture, who was receiving aLitt. D. for having written (gratis) the new Abernathy CollegeSong:

President Dodd was facing Elmer, and shouting:

“—and now we have the privilege of conferring the degreeof Doctor of Divinity upon one than whom no man in ourhonored neighboring state of Winnemac has done more to inculcatesound religious doctrine, increase the power of thechurch, uphold high standards of eloquence and scholarship,and in his own life give such an example of earnestness as isan inspiration to all of us!”

They cheered—and Elmer had become the Reverend Dr.Gantry.

III

It was a great relief at the Rotary Club. They had longfelt uncomfortable in calling so weighty a presence “Elmer,”and now, with a pride of their own in his new dignity, theycalled him “Doc.”

The church gave him a reception and raised his salary toseventy-five hundred dollars.

IV

The Rev. Dr. Gantry was the first clergyman in the stateof Winnemac, almost the first in the country, to have his servicesbroadcast by radio. He suggested it himself. At that time,the one broadcasting station in Zenith, that of the Celebes Gumand Chicle Company, presented only jazz orchestras and retiredsopranos, to advertise the renowned Jolly Jack Gum.For fifty dollars a week Wellspring Church was able to usethe radio Sunday mornings from eleven to twelve-thirty. ThusElmer increased the number of his hearers from two thousandto ten thousand—and in another pair of years it would be ahundred thousand.

Eight thousand radio-owners listening to Elmer Gantry—

A bootlegger in his flat, coat off, exposing his pink silk shirt,his feet up on the table.... The house of a small-towndoctor, with the neighbors come in to listen—the drug-storeman, his fat wife, the bearded superintendent of schools....Mrs. Sherman Reeves of Royal Ridge, wife of one of the richestyoung men in Zenith, listening in a black-and-gold dressing-gown,while she smoked a cigarette.... The captain of aschooner, out on Lake Michigan, hundreds of miles away, listeningin his cabin.... The wife of a farmer in an Indianavalley, listening while her husband read the Sears-Roebuckcatalogue and sniffed.... A retired railway conductor, veryfeeble, very religious.... A Catholic priest, in a hospital,chuckling a little.... A spinster school-teacher, mad withloneliness, worshiping Dr. Gantry’s virile voice.... Fortypeople gathered in a country church too poor to have a pastor.... A stock actor in his dressing-room, fa*gged with an all-nightrehearsal.

All of them listening to the Rev. Dr. Elmer Gantry as heshouted:

“—and I want to tell you that the fellow who is eaten byambition is putting the glories of this world before the gloriesof Heaven! Oh, if I could only help you to understand thatit is humility, that it is simple loving kindness, that it is tenderloyalty, which alone make the heart glad! Now, if you’ll let metell a story: It reminds me of two Irishmen named Mike andPat—”

V

For years Elmer had had a waking nightmare of seeing JimLefferts sitting before him in the audience, scoffing. It wouldbe a dramatic encounter and terrible; he wasn’t sure but thatJim would speak up and by some magic kick him out of thepulpit.

But when, that Sunday morning, he saw Jim in the thirdrow, he considered only, “Oh, Lord, there’s Jim Lefferts! He’spretty gray. I suppose I’ll have to be nice to him.”

Jim came up afterward to shake hands. He did not lookcynical; he looked tired; and when he spoke, in a flat prairievoice, Elmer felt urban and urbane and superior.

“Hello, Hell-cat,” said Jim.

“Well, well, well! Old Jim Lefferts! Well, by golly! Say,it certainly is a mighty great pleasure to see you, my boy!What you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“Looking up a claim for a client.”

“What you doing now, Jim?”

“I’m practising law in Topeka.”

“Doing pretty well?”

“Oh, I can’t complain. Oh, nothing extra special. I was inthe state senate for a term though.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! Say, how long gonna be intown?”

“Oh, ’bout three days.”

“Say, want to have you up to the house for dinner; but doggoneit, Cleo—that’s my wife—I’m married now—she’s goneand got me all sewed up with a lot of dates—you know howthese women are—me, I’d rather sit home and read. But suregot to see you again. Say, gimme a ring, will you?—at thehouse (find it in the tel’phone book) or at my study here inthe church.”

“Yuh, sure, you bet. Well, glad to seen you.”

“You bet. Tickled t’ death seen you, old Jim!”

Elmer watched Jim plod away, shoulders depressed, a mandiscouraged.

“And that,” he rejoiced, “is the poor fish that tried to keepme from going into the ministry!” He looked about his auditorium,with the organ pipes a vast golden pyramid, with theChubbuck memorial window vivid in ruby and gold andamethyst. “And become a lawyer like him, in a dirty stinkinglittle office! Huh! And he actually made fun of me andtried to hold me back when I got a clear and definite Call ofGod! Oh, I’ll be good and busy when he calls up, you canbet on that!”

Jim did not telephone.

On the third day Elmer had a longing to see him, a longingto regain his friendship. But he did not know where Jim wasstaying; he could not reach him at the principal hotels.

He never saw Jim Lefferts again, and within a week he hadforgotten him, except as it was a relief to have lost his embarrassmentbefore Jim’s sneering—the last bar between himand confident greatness.

VI

It was in the summer of 1924 that Elmer was granted a three-monthsleave, and for the first time Cleo and he visited Europe.

He had heard the Rev. Dr. G. Prosper Edwards say, “Idivide American clergymen into just two classes—those whocould be invited to preach in a London church, and those whocouldn’t.” Dr. Edwards was of the first honorable caste, andElmer had seen him pick up great glory from having sermonizedin the City Temple. The Zenith papers, even the nationalreligious periodicals, hinted that when Dr. Edwards was inLondon, the entire population from king to navvies had gallopedto worship under him, and the conclusion was that Zenithand New York would be sensible to do likewise.

Elmer thoughtfully saw to it that he should be invited also.He had Bishop Toomis write to his Wesleyan colleagues, hehad Rigg and William Dollinger Styles write to their Nonconformistbusiness acquaintances in London, and a monthbefore he sailed he was bidden to address the celebratedBrompton Road Chapel, so that he went off in a glow not onlyof adventure but of message-bearing.

VII

Dr. Elmer Gantry was walking the deck of the Scythia, abright, confident, manly figure in a blue suit, a yachting cap,and white canvas shoes, swinging his arms and beaming pastorallyon his fellow athletic maniacs.

He stopped at the deck chairs of a little old couple—a delicateblue-veined old lady, and her husband, with thin handsand a thin white beard.

“Well, you folks seem to be standing the trip pretty good—forold folks!” he roared.

“Yes, thank you very much,” said the old lady.

He patted her knee, and boomed, “If there’s anything I cando to make things nice and comfy for you, mother, you justholler! Don’t be afraid to call on me. I haven’t advertisedthe fact—kind of fun to travel what they call incognito—butfact is, I’m a minister of the gospel, even if I am a husky guy,and it’s my pleasure as well as my duty to help folks anywayI can. Say, don’t you think it’s just about the loveliest thingabout this ocean traveling, the way folks have the leisure toget together and exchange ideas? Have you crossed before?”

“Oh, yes, but I don’t think I ever shall again,” said the oldlady.

“That’s right—that’s right! Tell you how I feel about it,mother.” Elmer patted her hand. “We’re Americans, andwhile it’s a fine thing to go abroad maybe once or twice—there’snothing so broadening as travel, is there!—still, in Americawe’ve got a standard of decency and efficiency that these poorold European countries don’t know anything about, and in thelong run the good old U. S. A. is the place where you’ll findyour greatest happiness—especially for folks like us, that aren’tany blooming millionaires that can grab off a lot of castles andthose kind of things and have a raft of butlers. You bet!Well, just holler when I can be of any service to you. So long,folks! Got to do my three miles!”

When he was gone, the little, delicate old lady said to herhusband:

“Fabian, if that swine ever speaks to me again, I shall jumpoverboard! He’s almost the most offensive object I have everencountered! Dear——How many times have we crossednow?”

“Oh, I’ve lost track. It was a hundred and ten two yearsago.”

“Not more?”

“Darling, don’t be so snooty.”

“But isn’t there a law that permits one to kill people whocall you ‘Mother’?”

“Darling, the Duke calls you that!”

“I know. He does. That’s what I hate about him! Sweet,do you think fresh air is worth the penalty of being called‘Mother’? The next time this animal stops, he’ll call you‘Father’!”

“Only once, my dear!”

VIII

Elmer considered, “Well, I’ve given those poor old birdssome cheerfulness to go on with. By golly, there’s nothingmore important than to give people some happiness and faithto cheer them along life’s dark pathway.”

He was passing the veranda café. At a pale green tablewas a man who sat next to Elmer in the dining salon. Withhim were three men unknown, and each had a whisky-and-sodain front of him.

“Well, I see you’re keeping your strength up!” Elmer saidforgivingly.

“Sure, you betcha,” said his friend of the salon. “Don’tyou wanta sit down and have a jolt with us?”

Elmer sat, and when the steward stood at ruddy Britishattention, he gave voice:

“Well, of course, being a preacher, I’m not a big huskyathalete like you boys, so all I can stand is just a ginger ale.”To the steward: “Do you keep anything like that, buddy, orhave you only got hooch for big strong men?”

When Elmer explained to the purser that he would be willingto act as chairman of the concert, with the most perspiratoryregret the purser said that the Rt. Hon. Lionel Smith had, unfortunately,already been invited to take the chair.

IX

Cleo had not been more obnoxiously colorless than usual, butshe had been seasick, and Elmer saw that it had been an errorto bring her along. He had not talked to her an hour all theway. There had been so many interesting and broadeningcontacts; the man from China, who gave him enough ideas fora dozen missionary sermons; the professor from Higgins PresbyterianInstitute, who explained that no really up-to-datescientist accepted evolution; the pretty journalist lady whoneeded consolation.

But now, alone with Cleo in the compartment of a trainfrom Liverpool to London, Elmer made up for what she mighthave considered neglect by explaining the difficult aspects ofa foreign country:

“Heh! English certainly are behind the times! Think ofhaving these dingy coops instead of a Pullman car, so you cansee your fellow-passengers and get acquainted. Just goes toshow the way this country is still riddled with caste.

“Don’t think so much of these towns. Kind of pretty, cottageswith vines and all that, but you don’t get any feeling thatthey’re up and coming and forward-looking, like Americanburgs. I tell you there’s one thing—and don’t know’s I’veever seen anybody bring this out—I might make a sermonout of it—one of the big advantages of foreign travel is, itmakes you a lot more satisfied with being an American!

“Here we are, coming into London, I guess. Cer’nly issmoky, isn’t it.

“Well, by golly, so this is what they call a depot in London!Well, I don’t think much of it! Just look at all those dinkylittle trains. Why, say, an American engineer would beashamed to take advantage of child-sized trains like them!And no marble anywhere in the depot!”

X

The page who took their bags up to their room in the Savoywas a brisk and smiling boy with fabulous pink cheeks.

“Say, buddy,” said the Rev. Dr. Gantry, “what do youpull down here?”

“Sorry, sir, I don’t think I quite understand, sir.”

“Whadda you make? How much do they pay you?”

“Oh. Oh, they pay me very decently, sir. Is there anythingelse I can do, sir? Thank you, sir.”

When the page was gone, Elmer complained, “Yuh, finefriendly kid that bell-boy is, and can’t hardly understand theEnglish language! Well, I’m glad we’re seeing the Old Country,but if folks aren’t going to be any friendlier than he is, Isee where we’ll be mighty darn glad to get back. Why, say,if he’d of been an American bell-boy, we’d of jawed along for anhour, and I’d of learned something. Well, come on, come on!Get your hat on, and let’s go out and give the town theonce-over.”

They walked along the Strand.

“Say,” Elmer said portentously, “do you notice that? Thecops got straps under their chins! Well, well, that certainly isdifferent!”

“Yes, isn’t it!” said Cleo.

“But I don’t think so much of this street. I always heardit was a famous one, but these stores—why, say, we got adozen streets in Zenith, say nothing of N’ York, that got betterstores. No git up and git to these foreigners. Certainly doesmake a fellow glad he’s an American!”

They came, after exploring Swan & Edgar’s, to St. James’sPalace.

“Now,” said Elmer knowingly, “that certainly is an ancientsite. Wonder what it is? Some kind of a castle, I guess.”

To a passing policeman: “Say, excuse me, Cap’n, but couldyou tell me what that brick building is?”

“St. James’s Palace, sir. You’re an American? The Princeof Wales lives there, sir.”

“Is that a fact! D’you hear that, Cleo? Well, sir, that’scertainly something to remember!”

XI

When he regarded the meager audience at Brompton RoadChapel, Elmer had an inspiration.

All the way over he had planned to be poetic in his firstLondon sermon. He was going to say that it was the strongman, the knight in armor, who was most willing to humblehimself before God; and to say also that Love was the bow onlife’s dark cloud, and the morning and evening star, both. Butin a second of genius he cast it away, and reflected, “No!What they want is a good, pioneering, roughneck American!”

And that he was, splendidly.

“Folks,” he said, “it’s mighty nice of you to let a plainAmerican come and bring his message to you. But I hope youdon’t expect any Oxford College man. All I’ve got to giveyou—and may the dear Lord help my feebleness in giving youeven that—is the message that God reigns among the grimfrontiersmen of America, in cabin and trackless wild, even ashe reigns here in your magnificent and towering city.

“It is true that just at the present moment, through novirtue of my own, I am the pastor of a church even larger thanyour beautiful chapel here. But, ah, I long for the day whenthe general superintendent will send me back to my own belovedfrontier, to——Let me try, in my humble way, to giveyou a picture of the work I knew as a youth, that you may seehow closely the grace of God binds your world-compellingcity to the humblest vastnesses.

“I was the pastor—as a youngster, ignorant of everythingsave the fact that the one urgent duty of the preacher is tocarry everywhere the Good News of the Atonement—of a logchapel in a frontier settlement called Schoenheim. I came atnightfall, weary and anhungered, a poor circuit-rider, to thehouse of Barney Bains, a pioneer, living all alone in his logcabin. I introduced myself. ‘I am Brother Gantry, the Wesleyanpreacher,’ I said. Well, he stared at me, a wild look inhis eyes, beneath his matted hair, and slowly he spoke:

“ ‘Brother,’ he said, ‘I ain’t seen no strangers for nigh ontoa year, and I’m mighty pleased to see you.’

“ ‘You must have been awfully lonely, friend,’ I said.

“ ‘No, sir, not me!’ he said.

“ ‘How’s that?’ I said.

“ ‘Because Jesus has been with me all the time!’ ”

XII

They almost applauded.

They told him afterward that he was immense, and invitedhim to address them whenever he returned to London.

“Wait,” he reflected, “till I get back to Zenith and tell oldPotts and Hickenlooper that!”

As they rode to the hotel on the ’bus, Cleo sighed, “Oh, youwere wonderful! But I never knew you had such a wildtime of it in your first pastorate.”

“Oh, well, it was nothing. A man that’s a real man has totake the rough with the smooth.”

“That’s so!”

XIII

He stood impatiently on a corner of the Rue de la Paix,while Cleo gaped into the window of a perfumer. (She wastoo well trained to dream of asking him to buy expensive perfume.)He looked at the façades in the Place Vendôme.

“Not much class—too kind of plain,” he decided.

A little greasy man edged up to him, covertly sliding towardhim a pack of postcards, and whispered, “Lovely cards—onlytwo francs each.”

“Oh,” said Elmer intelligently, “you speak English.”

“Sure. All language.”

Then Elmer saw the topmost card and he was galvanized.

“Whee! Golly! Two francs apiece?” He seized the pack,gloating——But Cleo was suddenly upon him, and he handedback the cards, roaring, “You get out of here or I’ll call a cop!Trying to sell obscene pictures—and to a minister of thegospel! Cleo, these Europeans have dirty minds!”

XIV

It was on the steamer home that he met and became intimatewith J. E. North, the renowned vice-slayer, executive secretaryof the National Association for the Purification of Art and thePress—affectionately known through all the evangelical worldas “the Napap.” Mr. North was not a clergyman (though hewas a warm Presbyterian layman), but no clergyman in thecountry had more furiously pursued wickedness, more craftilyforced congressmen, through threats in their home districts, tosee legislation in the same reasonable manner as himself. Forseveral sessions of congress he had backed a bill for a federalcensorship of all fiction, plays, and moving-pictures, with apenitentiary sentence for any author mentioning adultery evenby implication, ridiculing prohibition, or making light of anyChristian sect or minister.

The bill had always been defeated, but it was gaining morevotes in every session....

Mr. North was a tight-mouthed, thin gentleman. He likedthe earnestness, uprightness, and vigor of the Reverend Dr.Gantry, and all day they walked the deck or sat talking—anywheresave in the smoking-room, where fools were befoulingtheir intellects with beer. He gave Elmer an inside view ofthe great new world of organized opposition to immorality; hespoke intimately of the leaders of that world—the executivesof the Anti-Saloon League, the Lord’s Day Alliance, the Watchand Ward Society, the Methodist Board of Temperance, Prohibition,and Public Morals—modern St. Johns, armed withcard indices.

He invited Elmer to lecture for him.

“We need men like you, Dr. Gantry,” said Mr. North, “menwith rigid standards of decency, and yet with a physical powerwhich will indicate to the poor misguided youth of this awfulflask-toting age that morality is not less but more virile thanimmorality. And I think your parishioners will appreciateyour being invited to address gatherings in places like NewYork and Chicago now and then.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for appreciation. It’s just that if Ican do anything in my power to strike a blow at the forces ofevil,” said Elmer, “I shall be most delighted to help you.”

“Do you suppose you could address the Detroit Y. M. C. A.on October fourth?”

“Well, it’s my wife’s birthday, and we’ve always made rathera holiday of it—we’re proud of being an old-fashioned homeyfamily—but I know that Cleo wouldn’t want that to stand inthe way of my doing anything I can to further the Kingdom.”

XV

So Elmer came, though tardily, to the Great Idea which wasto revolutionize his life and bring him eternal and splendidfame.

That shabby Corsican artillery lieutenant and author, Bonaparte,first conceiving that he might be the ruler ofEurope—Darwin seeing dimly the scheme of evolution—Paolorealizing that all of life was nothing but an irradiation ofFrancesca—Newton pondering on the falling apple—Paul ofTarsus comprehending that a certain small Jewish sect mightbe the new religion of the doubting Greeks and Romans—Keatsbeginning to write “The Eve of St. Agnes”—none of these men,transformed by a Great Idea from mediocrity to genius, wasmore remarkable than Elmer Gantry of Paris, Kansas, whenhe beheld the purpose for which the heavenly powers had beentraining him.

He was walking the deck—but only in the body, for his soulwas soaring among the stars—he was walking the deck alone,late at night, clenching his fists and wanting to shout as hesaw it all clearly.

He would combine in one association all the moral organizationsin America—perhaps, later, in the entire world. Hewould be the executive of that combination; he would be thesuper-president of the United States, and some day the dictatorof the world.

Combine them all. The Anti-Saloon League, the W. C. T. U.,and the other organizations fighting alcohol. The Napap andthe other Vice Societies doing such magnificent work in censoringimmoral novels and paintings and motion-pictures andplays. The Anti-Cigarette League. The associations lobbyingfor anti-evolution laws in the state legislatures. The associationsmaking so brave a fight against Sunday baseball, Sundaymovies, Sunday golfing, Sunday motoring, and the otherabominations whereby the Sabbath was desecrated and thepreachers’ congregations and collections were lessened. Thefraternities opposing Romanism. The societies which gallantlywanted to make it a crime to take the name of the Lord in vainor to use the nine Saxon physiological monosyllables. Andall the rest.

Combine the lot. They were pursuing the same purpose—tomake life conform to the ideals agreed upon by theprincipal Christian Protestant denominations. Divided, theywere comparatively feeble; united, they would represent thirtymillion Protestant church-goers; they would have such a treasuryand such a membership that they would no longer have tocoax Congress and the state legislatures into passing morallegislation, but in a quiet way they would merely state to therepresentatives of the people what they wanted, and get it.

And the head of this united organization would be the Warwickof America, the man behind the throne, the man whowould send for presidents, of whatever party, and give orders... and that man, perhaps the most powerful man sincethe beginning of history, was going to be Elmer Gantry. Noteven Napoleon or Alexander had been able to dictate what awhole nation should wear and eat and say and think. That,Elmer Gantry was about to do.

“A bishop? Me? A Wes Toomis? Hell, don’t be silly!I’m going to be the emperor of America—maybe of the world.I’m glad I’ve got this idea so early, when I’m only forty-three.I’ll do it! I’ll do it!” Elmer exulted. “Now let’s see: Thefirst step is to kid this J. E. North along, and do whateverhe wants me to—until it comes time to kick him out—and geta church in New York, so they’ll know I’m A-1.... My God,and Jim Lefferts tried to keep me from becoming a preacher!”

XVI

“—and I stood,” Elmer was explaining, in the pulpit ofWellspring Church, “there on the Roo deluh Pay in Paris, filledalmost to an intolerable historical appreciation of those agedand historical structures, when suddenly up to me comes a manobviously a Frenchman.

“Now to me, of course, any man who is a countryman ofJoan of Arc and of Marshal Foch is a friend. So when this mansaid to me, ‘Brother, would you like to have a good time tonight?’I answered—though truth to tell I did not like hislooks entirely—I said, ‘Brother, that depends entirely on whatyou mean by a good time’—he spoke English.

“ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I can take you places where you can meetmany pretty girls and have fine liquor to drink.’

“Well, I had to laugh. I think I was more sorry for himthan anything else. I laid my hand on his shoulder and I said,‘Brother, I’m afraid I can’t go with you. I’m already dated upfor a good time this evening.’

“ ‘How’s that?’ he said. ‘And what may you be going todo?’

“ ‘I’m going,’ I said, ‘back to my hotel to have dinner withmy dear wife, and after that,’ I said, ‘I’m going to do somethingthat you may not regard as interesting but which is my ideaof a dandy time! I’m going to read a couple of chapters ofthe Bible aloud, and say my prayers, and go to bed! And now,’I said, ‘I’ll give you exactly three seconds to get out of here,and if you’re in my sight after that—well, it’ll be over you thatI’ll be saying the prayers!’

“I see that my time is nearly up, but before I close I wantto say a word on behalf of the Napap—that great organization,the National Association for the Purification of Art and thePress. I am pleased to say that its executive secretary, mydear friend Dr. J. E. North, will be with us next month, andI want you all to give him a rousing greeting—”

I

for over a year now it had been murmured throughout thechurch-world that no speaker was more useful to the reformorganization than the Rev. Dr. Elmer Gantry of Zenith. Hisown church regretted losing his presence so often, but theywere proud to hear of him as speaking in New York, in LosAngeles, in Toronto.

It was said that when Mr. J. E. North retired from theNapap because of the press of his private interests (he was theowner of the Eppsburg, N. Y., Times-Scimitar), Dr. Gantrywould be elected executive secretary of the Napap in his stead.It was said that no one in America was a more relentless foe ofso-called liberalism in theology and of misconduct in privatelife.

It was said that Dr. Gantry had refused support for electionas a bishop at the 1928 General Conference of the MethodistChurch, North, two years from now. And it was definitelyknown that he had refused the presidency of SwensonUniversity in Nebraska.

But it was also definitely known, alas, that he was likely tobe invited to take the pastorate of the Yorkville MethodistChurch in New York City, which included among its membersDr. Wilkie Bannister, that resolute cover-to-cover fundamentalistwho was also one of the most celebrated surgeons in thecountry, Peter F. Durbar, the oil millionaire, and Jackie Oaks,the musical-comedy clown. The bishop of the New York areawas willing to give Dr. Gantry the appointment. But—Well, there were contradictory stories; one version said thatDr. Gantry had not decided to take the Yorkville appointment;the other said that Yorkville, which meant Dr. Bannister, hadnot decided to take Dr. Gantry. Anyway, the Wellspringflock hoped that their pastor, their spiritual guardian, theirfriend and brother, would not leave them.

II

After he had discharged Miss Bundle, the church secretary—andthat was a pleasant moment; she cried so ludicrously—Elmerhad to depend on a series of incapable girls, good Methodistsbut rotten stenographers.

It almost made him laugh to think that while everybodysupposed he was having such a splendid time with his newfame, he was actually running into horrible luck. This confoundedJ. E. North, with all his pretenses of friendship, keptdelaying his resignation from the Napap. Dr. Wilkie Bannister,the conceited chump—a fellow who thought he knewmore about theology than a preacher!—delayed in advisingthe Official Board of the Yorkville Church to call Elmer. Andhis secretaries infuriated him. One of them was shocked whenhe said just the least little small “damn”!

Nobody appreciated the troubles of a man destined to bethe ruler of America; no one knew what he was sacrificing inhis campaign for morality.

And how tired he was of the rustic and unimaginative devotionof Lulu Bains! If she lisped “Oh, Elmer, you are sostrong!” just once more, he’d have to clout her!

III

In the queue of people who came up after the morning serviceto shake hands with the Reverend Dr. Gantry was a youngwoman whom the pastor noted with interest.

She was at the end of the queue, and they talked withouteavesdroppers.

If a Marquis of the seventeenth century could have beenturned into a girl of perhaps twenty-five, completely and ardentlyfeminine yet with the haughty head, the slim hookednose, the imperious eyes of M. le Marquis, that would havebeen the woman who held Elmer’s hand, and said:

“May I tell you, Doctor, that you are the first person in mywhole life who has given me a sense of reality in religion?”

“Sister, I am very grateful,” said the Reverend Dr. Gantry,while Elmer was saying within, “Say, you’re a kid I’d like toget acquainted with!”

“Dr. Gantry, aside from my tribute—which is quite genuine—Ihave a perfectly unscrupulous purpose in coming andspeaking to you. My name is Hettie Dowler—Miss, unfortunately!I’ve had two years in the University of Wisconsin.I’ve been secretary of Mr. Labenheim of the Tallahassee LifeInsurance Company for the last year, but he’s been transferredto Detroit. I’m really quite a good secretary. And I’m aMethodist—a member of Central, but I’ve been planning toswitch to Wellspring. Now what I’m getting at is: If youshould happen to need a secretary in the next few months—I’mfilling in as one of the hotel stenographers at the Thornleigh—”

They looked at each other, unswerving, comprehending.They shook hands again, more firmly.

“Miss Dowler, you’re my secretary right now,” said Elmer.“It’ll take about a week to arrange things.”

“Thank you.”

“May I drive you home?”

“I’d love to have you.”

IV

Not even the nights when they worked together, alone in thechurch, were more thrilling than their swift mocking kisses betweenthe calls of solemn parishioners. To be able to dashacross the study and kiss her soft temple after a lugubriouswidow had waddled out, and to have her whisper, “Darling,you were too wonderful with that awful old hen; oh, you areso dear!”—that was life to him.

He went often of an evening to Hettie Dowler’s flat—apleasant white-and-blue suite in one of the new apartmenthotels, with an absurd kitchenette and an electric refrigerator.She curled, in long leopard-like lines, on the damask couch,while he marched up and down rehearsing his sermons andstopped for the applause of her kiss.

Always he slipped down to the pantry at his house and telephonedgood-night to her before retiring, and when she waskept home by illness he telephoned to her from his study everyhour or scrawled notes to her. That she liked best. “Yourletters are so dear and funny and sweet,” she told him. So hewrote in his unformed script:

Dearest ittle honeykins bunnykins, oo is such a darlings,I adore you, I haven’t got another doggoned thing to saybut I say that six hundred million trillion times. Elmer.

But—and he would never have let himself love her otherwise,for his ambition to become the chief moral director of thecountry was greater even than his delight in her—HettieDowler was all this time a superb secretary.

No dictation was too swift for her; she rarely made errors;she made of a typed page a beautiful composition; she noteddown for him the telephone numbers of people who calledduring his absence; and she had a cool sympathetic way ofgetting rid of the idiots who came to bother the Reverend Dr.Gantry with their unimportant woes. And she had such stimulatingsuggestions for sermons. In these many years, neitherCleo nor Lulu had ever made a sermon-suggestion worth anythingbut a groan, but Hettie—why, it was she who outlinedthe sermon on “The Folly of Fame” which caused such a sensationat Terwillinger College when Elmer received his LL.D.,got photographed laying a wreath on the grave of the latePresident Willoughby Quarles, and in general obtained publicityfor himself and his “dear old Alma Mater.”

He felt, sometimes, that Hettie was the reincarnation ofSharon.

They were very different physically—Hettie was slimmer,less tall, her thin eager face hadn’t the curious long lines ofSharon’s; and very different were they mentally. Hettie, howevergaily affectionate, was never moody, never hysterical.Yet there was the same rich excitement about life and thesame devotion to their man.

And there was the same impressive ability to handle people.

If anything could have increased T. J. Rigg’s devotion toElmer and the church, it was the way in which Hettie, instinctivelyunderstanding Rigg’s importance, flattered him andjested with him and encouraged him to loaf in the churchoffice, though he interrupted her work and made her stay laterat night.

She carried out a harder, more important task—she encouragedWilliam Dollinger Styles, who was never so friendlyas Rigg. She told him that he was a Napoleon of Finance.She almost went too far in her attentions to Styles; she lunchedwith him, alone. Elmer protested, jealously, and she amiablyagreed never to see Styles again outside of the church.

V

That was a hard, a rather miserable job, getting rid of theLulu Bains whom Hettie had made superfluous.

On the Tuesday evening after his first meeting with Hettie,when Lulu came cooing into his study, Elmer looked depressed,did not rise to welcome her. He sat at his desk, his chinmoodily in his two hands.

“What is it, dear?” Lulu pleaded.

“Sit down—no, please, don’t kiss me—sit down over there,dearest. We must have an earnest talk,” said the ReverendDr. Gantry.

She looked so small, so rustic, for all her new frock, as shequivered in an ugly straight chair.

“Lulu, I’ve got something dreadful to tell you. In spite ofour carefulness, Cleo—Mrs. Gantry—is onto us. It simplybreaks my heart, but we must stop seeing each other privately.Indeed—”

“Oh, Elmer, Elmer, oh, my lover, please!”

“You must be calm, dear! We must be brave and face thisthing honestly. As I was saying, I’m not sure but that itmight be better, with her horrible suspicions, if you didn’t cometo church here any more.”

“But what did she say—what did she say? I hate her!I hate your wife so! Oh, I won’t be hysterical but——I hateher! What did she say?”

“Well, last evening she just calmly said to me——You canimagine how surprised I was; like a bolt out of the blue! Shesaid—my wife said, ‘Well, tomorrow I suppose you’ll be meetingthat person that teaches cooking again, and get home aslate as usual!’ Well, I stalled for time, and I found that shewas actually thinking of putting detectives on us!”

“Oh, my dear, my poor dear! I won’t ever see you again!You mustn’t be disgraced, with your wonderful fame that I’vebeen so proud of!”

“Darling Lulu, can’t you see it isn’t that? Hell! I’m aman! I can face the whole kit and boodle of ’em, and tell ’emjust where they get off! But it’s you. Honestly, I’m afraidFloyd will kill you if he knows.”

“Yes, I guess he would.... I don’t know’s I care much.It would be easier than killing myself—”

“Now you look here, young woman! I’ll have none of thisidiotic suicide talk!” He had sprung up; he was standingover her, an impressive priestly figure. “It’s absolutely againstevery injunction of God, who gave us our lives to use for hisservice and glory, to even think of self-slaughter! Why, Icould never have imagined that you could say such a wicked,wicked, wicked thing!”

She crawled out after a time, a little figure in a shabby top-coatover her proud new dress. She stood waiting for a trolleycar, alone under an arc-light, fingering her new beaded purse,which she loved because in his generosity He had given it toher. From time to time she wiped her eyes and blew her nose,and all the time she was quite stupidly muttering, “Oh, mydear, my dear, to think I made trouble for you—oh, my dear,my very dear!”

Her husband was glad to find, the year after, that she hadby some miracle lost the ambitiousness which had annoyedhim, and that night after night she was willing to stay homeand play cribbage. But he was angry and rather talkativeover the fact that whenever he came home he would find hersitting blank-faced and idle, and that she had become so carelessabout her hair. But life is life, and he became used toher slopping around in a dressing-gown all day, and sometimessmelling of gin.

VI

By recommendation of J. E. North, it was Elmer who waschosen by the Sacred Sabbath League to lead the fight againstSunday motion-pictures in Zenith. “This will be fine trainingfor you,” Mr. North wrote to Elmer, “in case the directorselect you my successor in the Napap; training for the daywhen you will be laying down the law not merely to a citycouncil but to congressmen and senators.”

Elmer knew that the high lords of the Napap were watchinghim, and with spirit he led the fight against Sunday movies.The State of Winnemac had the usual blue law to the effectthat no paid labor (except, of course, that of ministers of thegospel, and whatever musicians, lecturers, educators, janitors,or other sacred help the ministers might choose to hire) mightwork on the Sabbath, and the usual blissful custom of ignoringthat law.

Elmer called on the sheriff of the county—a worried man,whose training in criminology had been acquired in a harness-shop—andshook hands with him handsomely.

“Well, Reverend, it’s real nice to have the pleasure of makingyour acquaintance,” said the sheriff. “I’ve read a lot aboutyou in the papers. Have a smoke?”

Elmer sat down impressively, leaning over a little, his elbowon the arm of the chair, his huge fist clenched.

“Thanks, but I never touch tobacco,” he said grimly. “Nowlook here, Edelstein, are you the sheriff of this county?”

“Huh! I guess I am!”

“Oh, you guess so, do you! Well then, are you going to seethat the state law against Sunday movies is obeyed?”

“Oh, now look here, Reverend! Nobody wants me to enforce—”

“Nobody? Nobody? Only a couple of hundred thousandcitizens and church-members! Bankers, lawyers, doctors, decentpeople! And only an equal number of wops and hunkiesand yids and atheists and papes want you to let the Sabbathbe desecrated! Now you look here, Edelstein! Unless youpinch every last man, movie owners and operators and ushersand the whole kit and bilin’ of ’em that are responsible forthis disgraceful and illegal traffic of Sunday movies, I’mgoing to call a giant mass-meeting of all the good citizens intown, and I’m going to talk a lot less to ’em about the movie-proprietorsthan I am about you, and it’s one fine, fat, nicechance you’ll have of being re-elected, if two hundred thousandelectors of this county (and the solid birds that take thetrouble to vote) are out for your hide—”

“Say, who do you think is running this county? The Methodistsand Baptists and Presbyterians?”

“Certainly!”

“Say, you look here now—”

In fact, upon warrants sworn to by the Reverend Dr. ElmerGantry, all persons connected with the profanation of theSabbath by showing motion-pictures were arrested for threeSundays in succession (after which the motion-pictures wenton as before), and Elmer received telegrams of esteem fromthe Sacred Sabbath League, J. E. North, Dr. Wilkie Bannisterof the Yorkville Methodist Church of New York City, and ahundred of the more prominent divines all over the land.

VII

Within twenty-four hours Mr. J. E. North let Elmer knowthat he was really resigning in a month, and that the choicefor his successor lay between Elmer and only two other holymen; and Dr. Wilkie Bannister wrote that the Official Boardof the Yorkville Methodist Church, after watching Elmer’scareer for the last few months, was ready to persuade thebishop to offer him the pastorate, providing he should not betoo much distracted by outside interests.

It was fortunate that the headquarters of the Napap werein New York City and not, as was the case with most benevolentlobbying organizations, in Washington.

Elmer wrote to Dr. Bannister and the other trustees of theYorkville Church that while he would titularly be the executivesecretary of the National Association for the Purification ofArt and the Press (and, oh! what a credit it would be to dearold Yorkville that their pastor should hold such a position!),he would be able to leave all the actual work of the Napap tohis able assistants, and except for possibly a day a week, giveall his energy and time and prayers to the work of guidingonward and upward, so far as might lie within his humblepower, the flock at Yorkville.

Elmer wrote to Mr. J. E. North and the trustees of theNapap that while he would titularly be the pastor of the YorkvilleMethodist (and would it not be a splendid justification oftheir work that their executive secretary should be the pastorof one of the most important churches in New York City?)yet he would be able to leave all the actual work to his ableassistants, and except possibly for Sabbaths and an occasionalwedding or funeral, give all his energy and time to the work ofguiding, so far as might lie within his humble power, theepochal work of the National Association for the Purificationof Art and the Press.

From both of these pious assemblies he had answers thatthey were pleased by his explanation, and that it would be amatter now of only a few days—

It was Hettie Dowler who composed these letters, but Elmermade several changes in commas, and helped by kissingher while she was typing.

VIII

It was too vexatious that at this climax of his life Elmer’smother should have invited herself to come and stay withthem.

He was happy when he met her at the station. Howeverpleasant it might be to impress the great of the world—BishopToomis or J. E. North or Dr. Wilkie Bannister—it had beenfrom his first memory the object of life to gain the commendationof his mother and of Paris, Kansas, the foundation of hisexistence. To be able to drive her in a new Willys-Knightsedan, to show her his new church, his extraordinarily genteelhome, Cleo in a new frock, was rapture.

But when she had been with them for only two days, hismother got him aside and said stoutly, “Will you sit down andtry not to run about the room, my son? I want to talk toyou.”

“That’s splendid! But I’m awfully afraid I’ve got to makeit short, because—”

“Elmer Gantry! Will you hold your tongue and stop beingsuch a wonderful success? Elmer, my dear boy, I’m sure youdon’t mean to do wrong, but I don’t like the way you’re treatingCleo ... and such a dear, sweet, bright, devout girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean!”

“Now you look here, Mother! All right, I’ll sit down and bequiet, but——I certainly do not know what you mean! Theway I’ve always been a good husband to her, and stood forher total inability to be nice to the most important membersof my congregation——And of all the chilly propositions youever met! When I have folks here for dinner—even Rigg, thebiggest man in the church—she hasn’t got hardly a thing tosay. And when I come home from church, just absolutelytired out, and she meets me—does she meet me with a kissand look jolly? She does not! She begins crabbing, theminute I enter the house, about something I’ve done or Ihaven’t done, and of course it’s natural—”

“Oh, my boy, my little boy, my dear—all that I’ve got inthis whole world! You were always so quick with excuses!When you stole pies or hung cats or licked the other boys! Son,Cleo is suffering. You never pay any attention to her, evenwhen I’m here and you try to be nice to her to show off.Elmer, who is this secretary of yours that you keep calling upall the while?”

The Reverend Dr. Gantry rose quietly, and sonorously hespoke:

“My dear mater, I owe you everything. But at a timewhen one of the greatest Methodist churches in the world andone of the greatest reform organizations in the world arebegging for my presence, I don’t know that I need to explaineven to you, Ma, what I’m trying to do. I’m going up to myroom—”

“Yes, and that’s another thing, having separate rooms—”

“—and pray that you may understand.... Say, listen,Ma! Some day you may come to the White House and lunchwith me and the president! ... But I mean: Oh, Ma, forGod’s sake, quit picking on me like Cleo does all the while!”

And he did pray; by his bed he knelt, his forehead gratefullycool against the linen spread, mumbling, “O dear God,I am trying to serve thee. Keep Ma from feeling I’m not doingright—”

He sprang up.

“Hell!” he said. “These women want me to be a housedog! To hell with ’em! No! Not with mother, but——Oh,damn it, she’ll understand when I’m the pastor of Yorkville!O God, why can’t Cleo die, so I can marry Hettie!”

Two minutes later he was murmuring to Hettie Dowler,from the telephone instrument in the pantry, while the cookwas grumbling and picking over the potatoes down in the basem*nt,“Dear, will you just say something nice to me—anything—anything!”

I

two evenings after Elmer’s mother had almost alienated him,he settled down in his study at home to prepare three or foursermons, with a hope of being in bed by eleven. He wasfurious when the Lithuanian maid came in and said, “Somebodyon the ’phone, Doctor,” but when he heard Hettie theragged edges went out of his voice.

“Elmer? Hettie calling.”

“Yes, yes, this is Dr. Gantry.”

“Oh, you are so sweet and funny and dignified! Is theLettish pot-walloper listening?”

“Yes!”

“Listen, dear. Will you do something for me?”

“You bet!”

“I’m so terribly lonely this evening. Is oo working hard?”

“I’ve got to get up some sermons.”

“Listen! Bring your little Bible dictionary along and comeand work at my place, and let me smoke a cigarette andlook at you. Wouldn’t you like to ... dear ... dearest?”

“You bet. Be right along.”

He explained to Cleo and his mother that he had to go andcomfort an old lady in extremis, he accepted their congratulationson his martyrdom, and hastened out.

II

Elmer was sitting beside Hettie on the damask couch, underthe standard lamp, stroking her hand and explaining how unjusthis mother was, when the door of her suite opened gravelyand a thin, twitching-faced, gimlet-eyed man walked in.

Hettie sprang up, stood with a hand on her frightened breast.

“What d’you want here?” roared Elmer, as he rose also.

“Hush!” Hettie begged him. “It’s my husband!”

“Your—” Elmer’s cry was the bleat of a bitten sheep.“Your——But you aren’t married!”

“I am, hang it! Oscar, you get out of here! How dareyou intrude like this!”

Oscar walked slowly, appreciatively, into the zone of light.

“Well, I’ve caught you two with the goods!” he chuckled.

“What do you mean!” Hettie raged. “This is my boss, andhe’s come here to talk over some work.”

“Yeh, I bet he has.... This afternoon I bribed my way inhere, and I’ve got all his letters to you.”

“Oh, you haven’t!” Hettie dashed to her desk, stood indespair looking at an empty drawer.

Elmer bulked over Oscar. “I’ve had enough of this! Yougimme those letters and you get out of here or I’ll throw youout!”

Oscar negligently produced an automatic. “Shut up,” hesaid, almost affectionately. “Now, Gantry, this ought to costyou about fifty thousand dollars, but I don’t suppose you canraise that much. But if I sue for alienation of Het’s affections,that’s the amount I’ll sue for. But if you want to settle out ofcourt, in a nice gentlemanly manner without acting rough, I’lllet you off for ten thousand—and there won’t be the publicity—oh,maybe that publicity wouldn’t cook your reverend goose!”

“If you think you can blackmail me—”

“Think? Hell! I know I can! I’ll call on you in yourchurch at noon tomorrow.”

“I won’t be there.”

“You better be! If you’re ready to compromise for tenthousand, all right; no feelings hurt. If not, I’ll have mylawyer (and he’s Mannie Silverhorn, the slickest shyster intown) file suit for alienation tomorrow afternoon—and makesure that the evening papers get out extras on it. By-by,Hettie. ‘By, Elmer darling. Whoa, Elmer! Naughty,naughty! You touch me and I’ll plug you! So long.”

Elmer gaped after the departing Oscar. He turned quicklyand saw that Hettie was grinning.

She hastily pulled down her mouth.

“My God, I believe you’re in on this!” he cried.

“What of it, you big lummox! We’ve got the goods on you.Your letters will sound lovely in court! But don’t ever thinkfor one moment that workers as good as Oscar and I werewasting our time on a tin-horn preacher without ten bucks inthe bank! We were after William Dollinger Styles. But heisn’t a boob, like you; he turned me down when I went to lunchwith him and tried to date him up. So, as we’d paid for thisplant, we thought we might as well get our expenses and a littlepiece of change out of you, you short-weight, and by Godwe will! Now get out of here! I’m sick of hearing yourblatting! No, I don’t think you better hit me. Oscar’ll bewaiting outside the door. Sorry I won’t be able to be at thechurch tomorrow—don’t worry about my things or my salary—Igot ’em this afternoon!”

III

At midnight, his mouth hanging open, Elmer was ringing atthe house of T. J. Rigg. He rang and rang, desperately. Noanswer. He stood outside then and bawled “T. J.! T. J.!”

An upper window was opened, and an irritated voice, thickwith sleepiness, protested, “Whadda yuh want!”

“Come down quick! It’s me—Elmer Gantry. I need you,bad!”

“All right. Be right down.”

A grotesque little figure in an old-fashioned nightshirt,puffing at a cigar, Rigg admitted him and led him to thelibrary.

“T. J., they’ve got me!”

“Yuh? The bootleggers?”

“No. Hettie. You know my secretary?”

“Oh. Yuh. I see. Been pretty friendly with her?”

Elmer told everything.

“All right,” said Rigg. “I’ll be there at twelve to meetOscar with you. We’ll stall for time, and I’ll do something.Don’t worry, Elmer. And look here. Elmer, don’t you thinkthat even a preacher ought to try to go straight?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, T. J.! I swear this is the lasttime I’ll ever step out, even look at a girl. God, you’ve beena good friend to me, old man!”

“Well, I like anything I’m connected with to go straight.Pure egotism. You better have a drink. You need it!”

“No! I’m going to hold onto that vow, anyway! I guessit’s all I’ve got. Oh, my God! And just this evening Ithought I was such a big important guy, that nobody couldtouch.”

“You might make a sermon out of it—and you probablywill!”

IV

The chastened and positively-for-the-last-time-reformedElmer lasted for days. He was silent at the conference withOscar Dowler, Oscar’s lawyer, Mannie Silverhorn, and T. J.Rigg in the church study next noon. Rigg and Silverhorndid the talking. (And Elmer was dismayed to see how friendlyand jocose Rigg was with Silverhorn, of whom he had spoken inmost un-Methodist terms.)

“Yuh, you’ve got the goods on the Doctor,” said Rigg. “Weadmit it. And I agree that it’s worth ten thousand. But you’vegot to give us a week to raise the money.”

“All right, T. J. See you here a week from today?” saidMannie Silverhorn.

“No, better make it in your office. Too many snoopingsisters around.”

“All right.”

Everybody shook hands profusely—except that Elmer didnot shake hands with Oscar Dowler, who snickered, “Why,Elmer, and us so closely related, as it were!”

When they were gone, the broken Elmer whimpered, “But,T. J., I never in the world could raise ten thousand! Why, Ihaven’t saved a thousand!”

“Hell’s big bells, Elmer! You don’t suppose we’re goingto pay ’em any ten thousand, do you? It may cost you fifteenhundred—which I’ll lend you—five hundred to sweeten Hettie,and maybe a thousand for detectives.”

“Uh?”

“At a quarter to two this morning I was talking to PeteReese of the Reese Detective Agency, telling him to get busy.We’ll know a lot about the Dowlers in a few days. So don’tworry.”

V

Elmer was sufficiently consoled not to agonize that week,yet not so consoled but that he became a humble and tenderChristian. To the embarrassed astonishment of his children,he played with them every evening. To Cleo he was almostuxorious.

“Dearest,” he said, “I realize that I have—oh, it isn’t entirelymy fault; I’ve been so absorbed in the Work: but thefact remains that I haven’t given you enough attention, andtomorrow evening I want you to go to a concert with me.”

“Oh, Elmer!” she rejoiced.

And he sent her flowers, once.

“You see!” his mother exulted. “I knew you and Cleowould be happier if I just pointed out a few things to you.After all, your old mother may be stupid and Main-Street, butthere’s nobody like a mother to understand her own boy, and Iknew that if I just spoke to you, even if you are a Doctor ofDivinity, you’d see things different!”

“Yes, and it was your training that made me a Christian anda preacher. Oh, a man does owe so much to a pious mother!”said Elmer.

VI

Mannie Silverhorn was one of the best ambulance-chasers inZenith. A hundred times he had made the street-car companypay damages to people whom they had not damaged; a hundredtimes he had made motorists pay for injuring people whom theyhad not injured. But with all his talent, Mannie had one misfortune—hewould get drunk.

Now, in general, when he was drunk Mannie was able to keepfrom talking about his legal cases, but this time he was drunkin the presence of Bill Kingdom, reporter for the Advocate-Times,and Mr. Kingdom was an even harder cross-examinerthan Mr. Silverhorn.

Bill had been speaking without affection of Dr. Gantrywhen Mannie leered, “Say, jeeze, Bill, your Doc Gantry isgoing to get his! Oh, I got him where I want him! Andmaybe it won’t cost him some money to be so popular withthe ladies!”

Bill looked rigorously uninterested. “Aw, what are youtrying to pull, Mannie! Don’t be a fool! You haven’t gotanything on Elmer, and you never will have. He’s too smartfor you! You haven’t got enough brains to get that guy,Mannie!”

“Me? I haven’t got enough brains——Say, listen!”

Yes, Mannie was drunk. Even so, it was only after an hourof badgering Mannie about his inferiority to Elmer in trickiness,an hour of Bill’s harsh yet dulcet flattery, an hour of Bill’srather novel willingness to buy drinks, that an infuriatedMannie shrieked, “All right, you get a stenographer that’s anotary public and I’ll dictate it!”

And at two in the morning, to an irritated but alert courtreporter in his shambles of a hotel room, Mannie Silverhorndictated and signed a statement that unless the Reverend Dr.Elmer Gantry settled out of court, he would be sued(Emmanuel Silverhorn attorney) for fifty thousand dollars forhaving, by inexcusable intimacy with her, alienated HettieDowler’s affections from her husband.

I

when Mr. Mannie Silverhorn awoke at ten, with a head, heremembered that he had been talking, and with agitation helooked at the morning’s Advocate-Times. He was cheered tosee that there was no trace of his indiscretion.

But the next morning Mr. Silverhorn and the Reverend Dr.Gantry at about the same moment noted on the front page ofthe Advocate-Times the photostat of a document in whichEmmanuel Silverhorn, atty., asserted that unless Dr. Gantrysettled out of court, he would be sued for alienation of affectionsby Mr. Oscar Dowler, of whose wife, Dowler maintained,Dr. Gantry had taken criminal advantage.

II

It was not so much the clamor of the Zenith reporters, trackinghim from his own house to that of T. J. Rigg and out tothe country—it was not so much the sketches of his career andhints of his uncovered wickedness in every Zenith paper, morningand evening—it was not so much the thought that he hadlost the respect of his congregation. What appalled him wasthe fact that the Associated Press spread the story through thecountry, and that he had telegrams from Dr. Wilkie Bannisterof the Yorkville Methodist Church and from the directors ofthe Napap to the effect: Is this story true? Until the matteris settled, of course we must delay action.

III

At the second conference with Mannie Silverhorn and OscarDowler, Hettie was present, along with Elmer and T. J. Rigg,who was peculiarly amiable.

They sat around Mannie’s office, still hearing Oscar’s opinionof Mannie’s indiscretion.

“Well, let’s get things settled,” twanged Rigg. “Are weready to talk business?”

“I am,” snarled Oscar. “What about it? Got the tenthou.?”

Into Mannie’s office, pushing aside the agitated office-boy,came a large man with flat feet.

“Hello, Pete,” said Rigg affectionately.

“Hello, Pete,” said Mannie anxiously.

“Who the devil are you?” said Oscar Dowler.

“Oh—Oscar!” said Hettie.

“All ready, Pete?” said T. J. Rigg. “By the way, folks, thisis Mr. Peter Reese of the Reese Detective Agency. You see,Hettie, I figured that if you pulled this, your past record mustbe interesting. Is it, Pete?”

“Oh, not especially; about average,” said Mr. Peter Reese.“Now, Hettie, why did you leave Seattle at midnight on January12, 1920?”

“None of your business!” shrieked Hettie.

“Ain’t, eh? Well, it’s some of the business of Arthur L. F.Morrissey there. He’d like to hear from you,” said Mr.Reese, “and know your present address—and present name!Now, Hettie, what about the time you did time in New Yorkfor shop-lifting?”

“You go—”

“Oh, Hettie, don’t use bad language! Remember there’s apreacher present,” tittered Mr. Rigg. “Got enough?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Hettie said wearily. (And for the momentElmer loved her again, wanted to comfort her.) “Let’sbeat it, Oscar.”

“No, you don’t—not till you sign this,” said Mr. Rigg. “Ifyou do sign, you get two hundred bucks to get out of town on—whichwill be before tomorrow, or God help you! If you don’tsign, you go back to Seattle to stand trial.”

“All right,” Hettie said, and Mr. Rigg read his statement:

I hereby voluntarily swear that all charges against theReverend Dr. Elmer Gantry made directly or by implicationby myself and husband are false, wicked, and absolutelyunfounded. I was employed by Dr. Gantry ashis secretary. His relations to me were always those ofa gentleman and a Christian pastor. I wickedly concealedfrom him the fact that I was married to a man with acriminal record.

The liquor interests, particularly certain distillers whowished to injure Dr. Gantry as one of the greatest foes ofthe booze traffic, came to me and paid me to attack thecharacter of Dr. Gantry, and in a moment which I shallnever cease to regret, I assented, and got my husband tohelp me by forging letters purporting to come from Dr.Gantry.

The reason why I am making this confession is this: Iwent to Dr. Gantry, told him what I was going to do, anddemanded money, planning to double-cross my employers,the booze interests. Dr. Gantry said, “Sister, I am sorryyou are going to do this wrong thing, not on my behalf,because it is a part of the Christian life to bear anycrosses, but on behalf of your own soul. Do as seemsbest to you, Sister, but before you go further, will youkneel and pray with me?”

When I heard Dr. Gantry praying, I suddenly repentedand went home and with my own hands typed this statementwhich I swear to be the absolute truth.

When Hettie had signed, and her husband had signed acorroboration, Mannie Silverhorn observed, “I think you’veoverdone it a little, T. J. Too good to be true. Still, I supposeyour idea was that Hettie’s such a fool that she’d slopover in her confession.”

“That’s the idea, Mannie.”

“Well, maybe you’re right. Now if you’ll give me the twohundred bucks, I’ll see these birds are out of town tonight,and maybe I’ll give ’em some of the two hundred.”

“Maybe!” said Mr. Rigg.

“Maybe!” said Mr. Silverhorn.

“God!” cried Elmer Gantry, and suddenly he was disgracinghimself with tears.

That was Saturday morning.

IV

The afternoon papers had front-page stories reproducingHettie’s confession, joyfully announcing Elmer’s innocence,recounting his labors for purity, and assaulting the booze interestswhich had bribed this poor, weak, silly girl to attackElmer.

Before eight on Sunday morning, telegrams had come in fromthe Yorkville Methodist Church and the Napap, congratulatingElmer, asserting that they had never doubted his innocence,and offering him the pastorate of Yorkville and the executivesecretaryship of the Napap.

V

When the papers had first made charges against Elmer, Cleohad said furiously, “Oh, what a wicked, wicked lie—darling,you know I’ll stand back of you!” but his mother had crackled,“Just how much of this is true, Elmy? I’m getting kind ofsick and tired of your carryings on!”

Now, when he met them at Sunday breakfast, he held outthe telegrams, and the two women elbowed each other to readthem.

“Oh, my dear, I am so glad and proud!” cried Cleo; andElmer’s mother—she was an old woman, and bent; verywretched she looked as she mumbled, “Oh, forgive me, myboy! I’ve been as wicked as that Dowler woman!”

VI

But for all that, would his congregation believe him?

If they jeered when he faced them, he would be ruined, hewould still lose the Yorkville pastorate and the Napap. Thushe fretted in the quarter-hour before morning service, pacinghis study and noting through the window—for once, withoutsatisfaction—that hundreds on hundreds were trying to getinto the crammed auditorium.

His study was so quiet. How he missed Hettie’s presence!

He knelt. He did not so much pray as yearn inarticulately.But this came out clearly: “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll neverlook at a girl again. I’m going to be the head of all the moralagencies in the country—nothing can stop me, now I’ve gotthe Napap!—but I’m going to be all the things I want otherfolks to be! Never again!”

He stood at his study door, watching the robed choir filingout to the auditorium chanting. He realized how he hadcome to love the details of his church; how, if his people betrayedhim now, he would miss it: the choir, the pulpit, thesinging, the adoring faces.

It had come. He could not put it off. He had to face them.

Feebly the Reverend Dr. Gantry wavered through the doorto the auditorium and exposed himself to twenty-five hundredquestion marks.

They rose and cheered—cheered—cheered. Theirs were theshining faces of friends.

Without planning it, Elmer knelt on the platform, holding hishands out to them, sobbing, and with him they all knelt andsobbed and prayed, while outside the locked glass door of thechurch, seeing the mob kneel within, hundreds knelt on thesteps of the church, on the sidewalk, all down the block.

“Oh, my friends!” cried Elmer, “do you believe in my innocence,in the fiendishness of my accusers? Reassure me witha hallelujah!”

The church thundered with the triumphant hallelujah, andin a sacred silence Elmer prayed:

“O Lord, thou hast stooped from thy mighty throne andrescued thy servant from the assault of the mercenaries ofSatan! Mostly we thank thee because thus we can go on doingthy work, and thine alone! Not less but more zealously shallwe seek utter purity and the prayer-life, and rejoice in freedomfrom all temptations!”

He turned to include the choir, and for the first time hesaw that there was a new singer, a girl with charming anklesand lively eyes, with whom he would certainly have tobecome well acquainted. But the thought was so swift thatit did not interrupt the pæan of his prayer:

“Let me count this day, Lord, as the beginning of a newand more vigorous life, as the beginning of a crusade for completemorality and the domination of the Christian churchthrough all the land. Dear Lord, thy work is but begun! Weshall yet make these United States a moral nation!”

THE END

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected.Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has beenemployed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obviousprinter errors occur.

[The end of Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis]

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELMER GANTRY ***