DENOUNCED

The snake lifts its head—My picture gets into the newspaper—The Reverend Mr. Hardman in his church—The opinions of ministers—Mr. Hardman points his finger at me—I reply—A scene—The real blow—May has her say—Women, religion, and this earth

It was the Saturday after my little adventure in Indiana. As I was riding downtown in a street car, my eye was caught by a coarse cut in the newspaper that the man opposite me was reading. The picture seemed in a general way familiar. Underneath it ran these flaring head-lines:—

BRIBERY OF A JUDGE!

OFFICIAL IN PACKING CONCERN IMPLICATED!

EXCLUSIVE STORY IN THE NATIONALIST!

I bought a copy of the paper, and when I reached my office I read the article. It was sprung, plainly enough, to hit Garretson, who was up for reelection, and, in the main, they had a straight story,—Lokes, Frost, the judge's brother-in-law, and all. And the right figures, too! The reference to Slocum and me was vague, and Ed was left out altogether. My picture was put in alongside of the judge's and labelled "Vice-President and General Manager of the American Meat Products Company." The inference was plain, and the paper wouldn't have dared to go so far, I judged, if they hadn't their facts where they could produce them. There was no word of the story in the other morning papers. I folded up the article and put it away in my desk, then telegraphed Slocum, who had gone to St. Louis on some railroad business for Farson and me.

Luckily, the Nationalist was not a sheet that ever found its way into my house, but that evening I looked apprehensively at Sarah. She was pale and quiet,—she had been downtown all day shopping,—but she said nothing to indicate that she was specially disturbed. The next day was Sunday, and though Mr. Hardman's preaching was not much to my liking, I drove over with Sarah to the little church on the North Side where he held forth. There was a pretty large congregation that morning, mostly women and poor people of the neighborhood, with a few North Side men whom I knew in a business way.

The Reverend Mr. Hardman never preached a good sermon that he had written out beforehand. He was one of those Episcopal preachers who come out in front of the chancel rail, cross their hands, look down on the floor, and meditate a few minutes to get their ideas in flow. Then they raise their eyes in a truly soulful manner and begin. But to-day, for some reason, Mr. Hardman didn't go through his trick. He marched out as if he had something on his mind to get rid of quick, and shot out his text:—

"What shall it profit a man if he gain all and lose his own soul?"

Then he began talking very distinctly, pausing every now and then after he had delivered a sentence. He said that we had fallen on evil days; that corruption was abroad in the land, polluting the springs of our national life. And the law breakers came and went boldly in our midst, the rich and powerful, the most envied and socially respected. Every one knows the style of his remarks from that introduction. Most preachers nowadays feel that they must say this sort of thing once or twice a year, or their people won't believe they read the papers. So long as he kept out in the open I had no objection to his volleys. I had heard it all before, and in the main I agreed with him—only he saw but a little way into the truth.

Suddenly his right arm, which had been hanging limp by his side, shot out, and as we were sitting pretty well up front on the main aisle it seemed to point at us. Sarah gave a little start, and her cheeks flushed red.

"And I say," the minister thundered, "that when such men come into our churches, when they have the effrontery to mingle with God-fearing people, and, unrepentant of their crimes, desecrate this sanctuary, yea, partake of the Holy Body, I say it is worse for them than if they were mere common thieves and robbers! I tell you, my people, that here in our very midst one of them comes—a man who has defied the laws of man and God, the most sacred; who has corrupted the source of justice; who has bought that which the law denied him! This man has used...."

I had been getting angry, and was looking the minister in the eye pretty fiercely. At that moment Sarah gave a little groan. She was very white.

"Come!" I whispered to her, getting up. "Come. It's time you got out of this."

At first she shook her head, but as I refused to sit down she rose to follow me. I had stepped to the aisle and turned to give Sarah my arm when she fainted—just sank down with a groan in my arms.

"So this is the gospel you preach!" I called out to the minister, who had paused and now stepped forward to help me raise Sarah. "Let her alone! You have hit her hard enough already. Another time when you undertake this kind of business, you had better know what you are talking about."

He stepped back to his desk and kept silent, while I and one of the ushers who had come forward to help me lifted Sarah and carried her to the door. When we got to the end of the aisle Sarah opened her eyes and stood up.

"I have had enough of your gospel, my friend!" I called back. "I am going where I shall hear religion and not newspaper scandal."

Sarah groaned and pulled gently at my arm. Once in the carriage, she turned her face to the window and looked out as if she were still shocked and sick. I tried to say something to comfort, but I could only think of curses for that meddlesome Pharisee, who thought it was his duty to judge his flock.

"Don't talk about it!" Sarah exclaimed, as if my words gave her pain.

So we rode home in silence all the way. At the end she turned to me:—

"Just say it isn't true, Van!"

I began to say a few words of explanation.

"No, just say it isn't true!" she interrupted. "I can't understand all that you are saying. Just say that you haven't done anything wrong. That's all I want."

"Some people would think it was wrong, Sarah," I had to say after a while.

She gave a little groan and shut her lips tight. When we entered the house May was there, with her children.

"Why, my land!" she exclaimed on seeing us. "What brings you people back so soon? Sarah looks sick!"

Sarah was ready to faint again. May helped her up to her room, and I went into my study. Pretty soon May came down to me.

"What's the matter with Sarah, Van?" she asked sharply. "She seems all queer and out of her head."

Then I told her what had happened.

"Did you see the piece in the paper?" I asked at the end.

May shook her head. "But I shouldn't wonder if Sarah had seen it."

"Why do you think so?" I asked.

"Why, she seemed troubled about something yesterday when she came into the house after she had been downtown shopping. She asked me whether I generally believed the things I saw in the papers. I asked her what kind of things, and she said,—'Scandals about people in business.' I thought it was queer at the time."

"She won't talk to me about it," I said.

May didn't make any reply to this, and we sat there some time without talking. Then May asked in a queer little voice:—

"Tell me, Van, is there anything in that story? Is it true in the least way?"

"I'll tell you just how it was," I answered.

May was not the kind of person that could be put off with a general answer, and I was glad to give her the inside story. So I told her the circumstances of the case. "It was blackmail and robbery—the judge was waiting to be bought. These rats stood between us and what we had a perfect right to do. There's hardly a business man in this city who, under the circumstances, would not have done what we did!"

"I don't believe that!" May exclaimed in her sharp, decisive little way.

She sat looking at me rather sternly with the same look on her face that I had remembered for twenty years. And the next thing that she said was pretty much what I thought she was going to say:—

"Van, you are always a great hand to think what you want to believe is the only thing to believe! You know that!"

She smiled unconsciously, with the little ironical ripple which I knew so well, and I smiled, too. I couldn't help myself. We both seemed to have gone back to the old boy and girl days. But I was angry, as well, and began to defend myself.

"No," she interrupted. "It isn't a mite of use for you to bluster and get angry, Van. I don't trust you! I haven't for some time. I have been worried for Will. Don't you let him mix himself up in your ways of doing things, Van Harrington!"

"If he is so terribly precious," I said hotly, "I guess you had better take him back to Jasonville."

"Maybe I shall," she answered quietly. "I'd take him to the meanest little place in creation rather than know he had done any such thing as you say you have done!"

We were both pretty angry by this time, and yet we both smiled. She was such a snappy, strong little woman—I admired her all the time she was making me angry! Somehow it brought back all that time long ago when I had thought the world began and ended with her. We had never been so near each other since. And I think she felt somewhat in the same way.

"Well," I said at last, "I am not going to fight this thing out with you, May, or with any other woman. I have too much else on hand. I am answerable for all I do or have done. If you and Will don't like my company, why, we have got to do without you."

I wished I hadn't been so small as to make that fling. She flashed a look at me out of her eyes that brought me to my senses in a moment. I took her by the shoulders. "See here, May, we mustn't quarrel. Let's all hang together in this, as in other things. You women don't know what business means."

She smiled back into my eyes and retorted, "It seems to be just as well we don't!" In a moment more she added: "But you mustn't think that I can make up like this. You and I don't look at things in the same way."

"Never did!" I said dryly. "At any rate, you had better go up now and look after Sarah. She can't keep on this way. She's got to look at this more sensibly. She isn't like you, May!"

"No," May retorted, "she isn't! But this hurts her, too. Perhaps she cares more what folks say than I do. And she believes in her religion, Van."

"That's all right. Her religion tells her to forgive, and not to judge, and a few other sensible truths, which that minister seemed to forget to-day."

"I never expected to see you, Van Harrington, asking for quarter in that way!" she flashed.

Then she went back to Sarah. What my sister-in-law said set me to thinking queer thoughts. I admired the way she took the matter, though it made me pretty angry at the time. It seemed straight and courageous, like her. If we had married, down there at home in the years past, there would have been some pretty lively times between us. I could never have got her to look at things my way, and I don't see how I could have come to see things her way. For in spite of all the preacher and May had to say, my feeling was unchanged: women and clergy, they were both alike, made for some other kind of earth than this. I was made for just this earth, good and bad as it is,—and I must go my way to my end.