{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_10134/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_10134","id":"gutenberg_10134","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10134","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","Methodists -- Fiction"],"text":"JOHN WESLEY, JR.\n\nThe Story of an Experiment\n\nBY\n\nDAN B. BRUMMITT\n\n1921\n\nTO\nTHOMAS KANE, \"LAYMAN,\"\nWHOSE LONG LIFE OF NOBLE SERVICE\nIS BEARING FRUIT IN A NEW CHRISTIAN\nCONSCIENCE TOWARDS THE SUPPORT OF\nTHE WORK OF CHRIST'S KINGDOM IN\nALL THE WORLD\nAN INTRODUCTION TO THE\nEDUCATIONAL, MISSIONARY\nAND BENEVOLENT\nWORK OF THE CHURCH\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER\n\nTHE GENESIS OF THE EXPERIMENT\nI. AN INSTITUTE PANORAMA\nII. JOHN WESLEY, JR.'S BRINGING UP\nIII. CAMPUS DAYS\nIV. EXPLORING MAIN STREET\nV. HERE THE ALIEN; THERE THE LITTLE BROWN CHURCH\nVI. \"IS HE NOT A MAN AND A BROTHER?\"\nVII. THE FIRST AMERICAN CIVILIZATION\nVIII. CHRIST AND THE EAST\nTHIS EXPERIMENT TEACHETH--?\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nTHE CARTWRIGHT INSTITUTE\nTHE WESLEY FOUNDATION SOCIAL CENTER\n(This one is at Illinois University)\nMAIN STREET\nTHE TENEMENTS OF MANY DELAFIELDS\nONE OF THE HIGH LIGHTS OF MAIN STREET\nONE OF THE CANNERY COLONY\nTHERE'S HOPE FOR THE NEGRO IN A SCHOOL LIKE THIS\nTHE MEXICAN'S HOME IN THE SOUTHWEST\nTHE MEXICAN'S CHURCH IN THE SOUTHWEST\nDR. JOE CARBROOK DOES SUCH WORK AS THIS IN CHINA\n\n\n\nTHE GENESIS OF THE EXPERIMENT\n\n\nAfter years of waiting for time and place and person,\nthe Rev. Walter Drury, an average Methodist\npreacher, was ready to begin his Experiment.\n\nThe process of getting adjusted to its conditions was ended. He believed\nthat, if he had health and nothing happened to his mind, he might count\non at least eight years more at First Church, Delafield--a ten-year\npastorate is nothing wonderful in to-day's Methodism. The right preacher\nmakes his own time limit.\n\nHe would not think himself too good for Delafield, but neither did he\nrate himself too low. He just felt that he was reasonably secure against\npromotion, and that he need not be afraid of \"demotion.\" There are such\nmen. They are a boon to bishops.\n\nThe unforeseen was to be reckoned with, of course, the possible\nshattering of all his plans by some unimagined misfortune. But the man\nwho waits until he is secure against the unknown never discovers\nanything, not even himself.\n\nWalter Drury had at last found his man, or, rather, his boy, here in\nDelafield. It was necessary to the Experiment that its subject should be\na decent young fellow, not particularly keen on formal religion, but\nwell set-up in body and mind; clean, straight, and able to use the\nbrains he had when need arose.\n\nJohn Wesley, Jr., was such a boy.\n\nWould the result be worth what he was putting into the venture? That\nwould depend on one's standards. The church doesn't doubt that the more\nthan twice ten years' experiment of Helms in the south end of Boston has\nbeen worth the price. And Helms has for company a few pioneers in other\nfields who will tell you they have drawn good pay, in the outcomes of\ntheir patience.\n\nStill, Walter Drury was a new sort of specialist. The thing he had in\nmind to do had been almost tried a thousand times; a thousand times it\nhad been begun. But so far as he knew no one preacher had thought to\nfocus every possible influence on a single life through a full cycle of\nchange. He meant his work to be intensive: not in degree only, but in\nduration.\n\nAt the end of ten years! If, then, he had not shown, in results beyond\nquestion, the direction of the church's next great advance, at least he\nwould have had the measureless joy of the effort. No seeming failure\ncould rob him of his reward.\n\nNow, do not image this preacher as a dreaming scattergood; he would do\nas much as any man should, that is to say, his utmost, in his pulpit and\nhis parish. The Experiment should be no robbing of collective Peter to\npay individual Paul.\n\nBut every man has his avocation, his recreation, you know--golf, roses,\ncoins, first editions, travel. Walter Drury, being a confirmed bachelor,\nmissed both the joys and the demands of home life. No recluse, but,\nrather, a companionable man, he cared little for what most people call\namusement, but he cared tremendously for the human scene in which he\nlived and worked. He would be happy in the Experiment for its sheer\nhuman fascinations. That it held a deeper interest, that if it succeeded\nit would reveal an untapped reservoir of resources available for the\nchurch and the kingdom of God, did but make him the more eager to be at\nit in hard earnest.\n\nThe church to whose work he had joyfully given himself from his youth\nhad grown to be a mighty and a highly complex machine. Some thought it\nwas more machinery than life, more organization than organism. But\nWalter Drury knew better. It _was_ a wonderful machine, wheels within\nwheels, but there was within the wheels the living spirit of the\nprophet's vision.\n\nPartly because the church was so vast and its work of such infinite\nvariety, very few of its members knew what it did, or how, or why. It\nwas all over the land, and in the ends of the earth, for people joined\nit; and they lived their lives in the cheerful and congenial circle of\nits fellowship. But the planetary sweep of its program and its\nenterprises was to most of them not even as a tale that is told. They\nwere content to be busy with their own affairs, and had small curiosity\nto know what meanings and mysteries might be discovered out in places\nthey had never explored, even though just 'round the corner from the\nweek-by-week activities of the familiar home congregation.\n\nWalter Drury, at the end of one reasonably successful pastorate, had\nstood bewildered and baffled as he looked back over his five years of\neffort against this persistent and amiable passivity. It was not a\ndeliberate sin, or he might have denounced it; nor a temporary numbness,\nor he might have waited for it to disappear. All the more it dismayed\nhim.\n\nAt the beginning of his ministry he had set this goal before him, that\nevery soul under his care might see as he saw, and see with him more\nclearly year by year, the church's great work; its true and total\nbusiness. He had not failed, as the Annual Conference reckons failure.\nBut he knew he had been less than successful. The people of his\nsuccessive appointments were receptive people as church folk go. Then\nwho was to blame, that sermons and books and Advocates and pictures and\nhigh officials and frequent great assemblies, always accomplishing\nsomething, always left behind them the untouched, unmoved majority of\nthe people called Methodists?\n\nIt was all this and more of the same sort, which at last took shape in\nDrury's thought and fixed the manner and matter of the Experiment. This\nboy he had found, with a name that might be either prophecy or mockery,\nhe would study like a book. He would brood over his life. Mind you, he\nwould take no advantage, use no influence unfairly. He would neither\ndictate nor drive. He would not trespass even so far as to the outer\nedges of the boy's free personality. For the most part he would stay in\nthe background. But he would watch the boy, as for lesser outcomes\nDarwin watched the creatures of wood and field. Without revealing all\nhis purpose he would set before this boy good and evil; the lesser good\nand the greater. He would use for high and holy ends the method which\nthe tempter never tires of using for confusion. He would show this boy\nthe kingdoms of the children of God, and the glories of them, and would\npromise them to him, not for a moment's shame but for a life's devotion.\n\nAs to the particular form in which the result of the Experiment might\nappear he cared little. He had a certain curiosity on the subject\nnaturally, but he knew well enough that the Experiment would be useless\nif he laid interfering hands on its inner processes. That would be like\ntrimming a whitethorn tree in a formal garden, to make it resemble a\npyramid. He was not making a thorn pyramid in an Italian garden; he\nwanted an oak, to grow by the common road of all men's life. And oaks\nmust grow oak-fashion, or not at all.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFour years of the ten had passed. That part of the history of John\nWesley, Jr., which is told in the following pages, is the story of the\nother six years.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nAN INSTITUTE PANORAMA\n\n\"If anybody expects me to stay away from Institute this year, he has got\na surprise coming, that's all.\"\n\nThe meeting was just breaking up, after a speech whose closing words had\nbeen a shade less tactful than the occasion called for. But the last two\nsentences of that speech made all the difference in the world to John\nWesley, Jr.\n\nThe Epworth League of First Church, Delafield, was giving one of its\nfairly frequent socials. The program had gone at top speed for more than\nan hour. All that noise could do, re-enforced by that peculiar emanation\nby youth termed \"pep,\" had been drawn upon to glorify a certain\nforthcoming event with whose name everybody seemed to be familiar, for\nall called it simply \"the Institute.\"\n\nPennants, posters, and photographs supplied a sort of pictorial noise,\nthe better to advertise this evidently remarkable event, which, one\nmight gather, was a yearly affair held during the summer vacation at the\nseat of Cartwright College.\n\nThe yells and songs, the cheers and games and reminiscences, re-enforced\nthe noisy decorations. At the last, in one of those intense moments of\nquiet which young people can produce as by magic, came a neat little\nspeech whose purpose was highly praiseworthy. But, to John Wesley, Jr.,\nit ended on the wrong note. Another listener took mental exception to\nit, though his anxiety proved to be groundless.\n\nIt was a recruiting speech, directed at anybody and everybody who had\nnot yet decided to attend the Institute.\n\nThe speaker was, if anything, a trifle more cautious than canny when he\ncame to his \"in conclusion,\" and his zeal touched the words with\nanti-climax.\n\n\"Of course,\" he said, \"since ten, or at most twelve, is our quota, we\nare not quite free to encourage the attendance of everybody,\nparticularly of our younger members. They have hardly reached the age\nwhere the Institute could be a benefit to them, and their natural\ninclination to make the week a period of good times and mere pleasure\nwould seriously interfere with the interests of others more mature and\nserious minded.\"\n\nNow, the pastor of the church, the Rev. Walter Drury, would have put\nthat differently, he said to himself. If it produced any bad effects it\nwould need to be corrected, certainly.\n\nJust then, amid the inevitable applause, and the dismissal of the brief\nformal assembly for the social half-hour, something snapped inside of\nJohn Wesley, Jr., and it was the feeling of it which prompted him to\nsay, \"If anybody expects me to stay away from Institute this year, he\nhas got a surprise coming, that's all.\"\n\nYou see, John Wesley, Jr., had just been graduated from high school,\nand his family expected him to go to college in the fall, though he\nfaced that expectation without much enthusiasm. He felt his new freedom.\nHe addressed his rebellious remark to the League president, Marcia\nDayne, a sensible girl whom he had known as long as he had known anybody\nin the church.\n\n\"Last year everybody said I was too young. They all talked the way he\ndid just now. But they can't say I am too young now,\" and with that easy\nskill which is one of the secrets of youth, he managed to contemplate\nhimself, serenely conscious that he was personable and \"right.\"\n\nThe girl turned to him with a gesture of surprise.\n\n\"But I thought your father had agreed to let you take that trip to\nChicago you have been saving up for. Will he let you go to the Institute\ntoo?\"\n\n\"Chicago can wait,\" said John Wesley, Jr., grandly. \"Dad did say I could\ngo to Chicago to see my cousins, or I could go anywhere else that I\nwanted. Well, I am going to the Institute. It's my money, and, besides,\nI am tired of being told I am too young. A fellow's got to grow up some\ntime.\"\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Marcia, \"but what's your special interest in\nthe Institute? Do you truly want to go? How do you know what an\nInstitute is like?\"\n\nHer voice carried further than Marcia thought, and a man who seemed a\nlittle too mature to be one of the young people, turned toward her. He\nwas smiling, and any time these four years the town would have told you\nthere wasn't a friendlier smile inside the city limits. He was in\nbusiness dress, and suggested anything but the parson in his bearing,\nbut through and through he looked the good minister that he was.\n\nMarcia moved toward him with an unspoken appeal. She wanted help. He was\nwaiting for that signal, for he depended a good deal on Marcia. And he\nwas still worried about that unlucky speech.\n\n\"Well, Marcia, are you telling J.W. what the Institute really is?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"No, Mr. Drury, I'm not. I'm too much surprised at finding that he's\nabout decided to go. You're just in time to tell him for me. I want him\nto get it right, and straight.\"\n\n\"Well,\" the pastor responded, \"I'm glad of that. If he's really going,\nhe'll find out that definitions are not descriptions. Now, our Saint\nSheridan used to say that an Institute was a combination of college,\ncircus, and camp meeting. I would venture a different putting of it. An\nInstitute is a bit of young democracy in action. Its people play\ntogether, for play's sake and for finding their honest human level. They\nstudy together, to become decently intelligent about some of the real\nbusiness of the kingdom of God, and how the church proposes to transact\nthat business. They wait for new vision together, the Institute being a\ngood time and a good place for seeing life clear and seeing it whole.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Marcia, \"that's exactly it, only I never could have found\nquite the right words. Do you think J.W. will find it too poky and\npreachy?\"\n\n\"Tell him to try it and see, as you did last year,\" said Pastor Drury.\n\n\"I'll risk that,\" said John Wesley, Jr., in his newly resolute mood.\n\nHe knew when to stop, this preacher. Particularly concerned as he was\nabout John Wesley, Jr., he saw that this was one of the many times when\nthat young man would need to work things out for himself. Marcia would\ngive what help might be called for at the moment. The boy was turning\ntoward the Institute; so far so good.\n\nTo-night was nearly four years from the beginning of his interest in\nthis young fellow with the Methodist name. He was a special friend of\nthe family, though no more so than of every family in the town which\ngave him the slightest encouragement. To a degree which no one suspected\nhe shared this family's secret hopes for its son and heir; and he\ncherished hopes which even the Farwells could not suspect. Unless he was\nmuch mistaken he had found the subject for his Experiment.\n\nThat mention of the Farwells needs to be explained. Of course \"John\nWesley, Jr.,\" was only part of the boy's name. In full he was John\nWesley Farwell, Jr., son of John Wesley Farwell, Sr., of the J.W.\nFarwell Hardware Co. As a little fellow he had no chance to escape\n\"Junior,\" since he was named for his father. There were many Jacks and\nJohns and Johnnies about. His mother, good Methodist that she was,\nsecretly enjoyed calling him \"John Wesley, Jr.,\" and before long the\nneighbors and the neighborhood children followed her example.\n\nA little later he might have been teased out of it, but at the\nimpossible age when boys discover that queer names and red hair and\ncross-eyes make convenient excuses for mutual torture, it happened that\nhe had attained to the leadership of his gang. For some reason he took\npride in his two Methodist names, and made short work of those who\nventured to take liberties with them. In all other respects he played\nwithout reserve boyhood's immemorial game of give and take; but as to\nhis name or any part thereof he would tolerate no foolishness and no\nback talk. When he reached the high school period, however, most of his\nintimates rarely called him by his full name, having, like all high\nschool people, no time for long names, though possessed of infinite\nleisure for long dreams. Straightway they shortened his name to \"J.W.,\"\nwhich to this day is all that his friends find necessary.\n\nVery well, then; this is J.W. at eighteen; a young fellow worth\nknowing. Take a look at him; impulsive, generous, not what you would\ncall handsome, but possessed of a genial eye and a ready tongue, a\nstubby nose and a few scattered freckles. A fair student, he is yet far\nfrom bookishness, and he makes friends easily.\n\nOf late he has been paying furtive but detailed attention to his hair\nand his neckties and the hang of his clothes, though still in small\ndanger of being mistaken for a tailor's model.\n\nWith such a name you will understand that he's a Methodist by first\nintention; born so. He is a pretty sturdy young Christian, showing it in\na boy's modest but direct fashion, which even his teammates of the\nhigh-school football squad found it no trouble to tolerate, because they\nknew him for a human, healthy boy, and not a morbid, self-inspecting\nreligious prig. Pastor Drury, you may be sure, had taken note of all\nthat, for he and J.W. had been fast friends since the day he had\nreceived the boy into the church.\n\nThe morning after the Institute social J.W. announced at breakfast his\nsudden change of plan.\n\n\"If you don't mind, Dad, I've about decided to go to the Institute\ninstead of Chicago. There is a bunch of us going, and Mr. Drury will be\nthere. Uncle Henry's folks might not want to be bothered with me now,\nand anyway I don't know them very well. But I can go to the Institute\nwith the church crowd; and there will be tennis and swimming and plenty\nof other fun besides the big program.\" Which was quite a speech for J.\nW.\n\nJohn Wesley, Sr., didn't know much about the Institute, but he had an\nendless regard for his pastor, and the mother was characteristically\nwilling to postpone her boy's introduction to the unknown and, in her\nthought, therefore, the menacing city.\n\nSo, after the brief but unhurried devotions at the breakfast table,\nwhich had come to serve in place of the old-time family prayers,\nparental approval was forthcoming. And thus it befell that J.W.\nselected for himself a future whose every experience was to be affected\nby so slight a matter as his impulsive choice of a week's holiday. That\nchoice expressed to him the new freedom of his years, for he had not\neven been conscious of the quiet influence which had made it easier than\nhe knew to decide as he had done.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was a mixed and lively company that found itself crowded around the\nregistrar's table at the Institute one Monday evening in July, with J.\nW. and his own particular chum, Martin Luther Shenk, better known as\n\"Marty,\" right in the middle of it.\n\nJ.W. wondered where so many Epworthians could have come from. Did they\nreally hanker after the Institute, or had they come for reasons as\ntrivial as his own? He put the question to Martin Luther Shenk.\n\n\"Marty, do you reckon these are all here for real Epworth League work,\nor does the Institute want anybody and everybody?\"\n\nMarty had been scouting a little, and he answered: \"No, to both\nquestions, I should say. Some have come just to be coming, and others\nseem to be here for business. But I saw Joe Carbrook just now, and if he\nis an Epworth Leaguer I am the Prince of Puget Sound. You know how he\nstands at home. Wonder what he came for.\"\n\nJust then Joe Carbrook himself came up. He was from Delafield too,\nmember of the same League chapter as the two chums, but he had rarely\ncondescended to league affairs. Having had two rather variegated years\nat college, he felt he must show his sophistication by holding himself\nabove some of those simple old observances.\n\n\"S'pose you are here for solemn and serious work, you two,\" he remarked\nmockingly, as he saw the boys. \"I just met Marcia Dayne, and she told me\nyou were registering. Well, I'm here too--drove up in my car--but you\ndon't catch me tying myself down to all that study stuff. I'm looking\nfor fun, not work.\"\n\n\"Nothing new for you in that, Joe,\" said Marty. \"But I should think you\nmight try the study stuff, if only for a change, after you have spent\ngood money on gas and tires. And you have to pay for your meals, you\nknow.\"\n\n\"Well, I studied hard enough last month in college cramming for the\nfinal exams, so I could get within gunshot of enough sophomore credits,\nand I'm through; with study for a while. If I find a few live ones in\nthis crowd, I guess we can enjoy ourselves without interfering with any\nof you grinds, if you must study,\" and Joe Carbrook went off in search\nof his live ones.\n\nJ.W. and Marty were in no hurry to register. The crowd milling around\nin the office was interesting, and J.W. was still wondering how many of\nthem, himself included, would get enough Institute long before the week\nwas over. Besides, it was yet an hour before supper.\n\n\"Think of it, Marty. All these people come from Epworth Leagues just\nlike ours, from Springfield, and Wolf Prairie and Madison and all over\nthis part of the State. What for, I'd like to know? Will you look at\nthose pennants? Wish we had brought one or two of ours; we could add to\nthe display, anyway.\"\n\n\"I have two in my suitcase,\" said Marty. \"We'll have them out this\nevening at the introduction meeting. And maybe you'll find out 'what\nfor' by that time.\"\n\nThe introduction meeting in the chapel after supper was for the most\npart informal. Yells and songs and the waving of pennants punctuated the\nproceedings, as is quite the proper thing in an Epworth League\ngathering. Some people, who see only what is on the surface, cannot\nwholly understand the exuberance of an Epworth League crowd. But it has\nroots in something very real.\n\nThe dean of the Institute managed, amid the roystering and the intervals\nof attention, to set things up for the week. A few regulations would\nneed to be laid down; and these would be fixed, not by the faculty or by\nthe dean, but by the Student Council. Would each district group please\nget together at once, and select some one to represent the group on this\ncouncil?\n\nThis request being obeyed amid considerable confusion, with Marcia Dayne\nappointed from the Fort Adams District, and the council excused to draft\nthe basic laws for the week, the faculty was introduced, one by one.\n\nEach teacher was given the opportunity to describe his or her course, so\nthat out of the eight or nine courses offered every delegate might\nselect two besides the two which were required of all students, and so\nqualify for an Institute diploma.\n\nJ.W. found himself enjoying all this hugely. It appealed to his growing\nsense of freedom from schoolboy restraint. If he did go to any of the\nclasses, it appeared that he could pick the ones he liked. Up to now he\nhad entertained no thought of any serious work, but the faculty talks\nabout these courses made him think there might be worse ways of spending\nthe week than qualifying for an Institute diploma. The whole thing\nseemed to be so easy and so friendly. Of course he could see that the\nstudy would not be much, even if he signed up for it, being just for a\nweek, but it might not be bad fun.\n\nMorning Watch was an experience to J.W. He was surprised to find\nhimself staying awake in a before-breakfast religious meeting, and was\neven more surprised to be enjoying it. Something about this big crowd of\nyoung people stirred all his pulses, and the religion they heard about\nand talked about seemed to J.W. something very real and desirable. He\nthought of himself as a Christian, but he wondered if his Christian life\nmight not become more confident and productive. In this atmosphere one\nalmost felt that anything was possible.\n\nMeal times turned out to be times of orderly disorder. J.W. and his\nfriends were at a table with other groups from the Fort Adams District,\nand he quickly mastered the raucous roar which served the District for a\nyell. Before the end of the second day his alert good nature made him\ncheer leader, and thereafter he rarely had time to eat all that was set\nbefore him, though possessed of a boy's healthy appetite. It was simply\nthat the other possibilities of the hour seemed more alluring than mere\nfood.\n\nFrom the first day of the class work J.W. found himself keen for all\nthat was going on. There was variety enough so that he felt no\nweariness, and the range of new interests opened up each day kept him at\nconstant and pleasurable attention. Without knowing just how, he was\ncatching the Institute spirit.\n\nHe walked away from the dining hall one noon with his pastor-friend, and\nhe talked. He had to talk to somebody, and Walter Drury contrived to\nknow of his need.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Drury,\" he said, eagerly, \"I'm just finding out how little I\nknow about the church and real Christian work. I thought I was something\nof an average Methodist boy, but if the people at home are no better\nthan I am, I can see how being a preacher to such a bunch is a man's\njob.\"\n\n\"Correct, J.W.\" said the minister. \"I find that out many a time, to my\nhumbling. But honestly, now, are you learning things you never knew\nbefore?\"\n\n\"Ye-es, I am,\" J.W. answered, \"and then, again, I'm not. It seems to me\nas if I had always known a lot of what we are getting in these classes,\nthough there is plenty of new stuff too. But until now I didn't get much\nout of what I knew. I've always liked to hear you, but you're different.\nAs for most of the things I've heard, I just thought of it as religious\ntalk, church stuff, you know. It didn't seem to matter, but here it is\nbeginning to matter in all sorts of ways, and I can see that it matters\nto me.\"\n\n\"How, for instance?\"\n\nWell, take the class in home missions; Americanization, they call it.\nMaybe you noticed that the first thing the teacher did was to divide the\nclass right down the middle, and tell those on the left hand--yes, I'm\none of the goats--that for the rest of the week they were to consider\nthemselves aliens. The others were to play native-born Americans. And so\nthe study started, but believe me, we aliens have already begun to make\nit interesting for those natives. Some of 'em want to come over on our\nside already, but they can't. A few of us have found some immigration\ndope in the college library, and it is pretty strong. We'll show up\nthose Pilgrim Fathers before the week is out. They think they have done\neverything an alien could ask when they let him into the country, and\nthen they work him twelve hours a day, seven days a week, or else let\nhim hunt the country over for any sort of a job. They rob him by making\nhim pay higher prices than other people for all he has to buy. They\nforce him to live in places not fit for rats, and on top of everything\nelse they call him names, so that their kids stick up their noses at his\nchildren in the school grounds. After all that they expect he'll become\na good citizen just by hearing 'The Star-Spangled Banner' at the movies\nand watching the flag go by when there's a parade.\n\n\"Say, Mr. Drury, it makes me sick, and, if I feel that way just to be\npretending I'm a 'Wop' for a week, how do you suppose the real aliens\nfeel? Excuse me for talking like this, but honestly, something like that\nis going on in all these classes; I wish we could take up such things in\nthe League at home.\" And he forced an embarrassed little laugh.\n\nPastor Drury laughed too, and said of course they could, as he linked\narms with J.W., and they passed on down the road. The preacher talked\nbut little, contriving merely to drop a question now and then; and J.W.\ntalked on, half-ashamed to be so \"gabby,\" as he put it, and yet moved by\nan impulse as pleasant as it was novel.\n\n\"And foreign missions, Mr. Drury. You won't be offended, I hope, but\nsomehow as far back as I can remember I have always connected foreign\nmissions with collections and 'Greenland's Icy Mountains' and little\nnaked Hottentots, and something--I don't know just what--about the River\nGanges. But here--why, that China class just makes me want to see China\nfor myself and find out how much of the advantages of American life over\nChinese has come on account of religion.\"\n\n\"Well, why not, J.W.? Maybe you will go to China some day, and have a\nhand in it all,\" suggested the pastor, to try him out.\n\nThe boy shook his head.\n\n\"No, I don't think so. I am certainly getting a new line on foreign\nmissions, but I don't think there's missionary stuff in me. I'll have\nto go at the proposition some other way.\"\n\nThen Pastor Drury set him going on another subject.\n\n\"What do you think of the young folks who are here?\" he asked.\n\n\"Well, at first I thought they were all away ahead of our bunch at home,\nand some of them are; but you soon find out that the majority is pretty\nmuch of the same sort as ours. I think I've spotted a few slackers, but\nmighty few. Most of the crowd seems to be all right, and I've already\nmade some real friends. But do you know which one of them all is the\nmost interesting fellow I've met?\"\n\nThe pastor thought he did, but he merely asked, \"Who?\"\n\n\"Why, that Greek boy, Phil Khamis. He is from Salonika, you know. He\nknows the old country like a book, and he's going back some day, maybe\nto be some kind of missionary to his people, in the very places where\nthe apostle Paul preached. Honest, I never knew until he told me that\nhis Salonika is the town of those Christians to whom Paul wrote two of\nhis letters; those to the Thessalonians--'Thessalonika,' you know. Well,\nyou ought to hear Phil talk. He came over here seven years ago, and\nlearned the English language from the preacher at Westvale.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have heard about him,\" said Mr. Drury. \"They say he lived in the\nparsonage and paid the preacher for his English lessons by giving him a\nnew understanding of the Greek New Testament. Not many of us have found\nout yet how to get such pay for being decent to our friends from the\nother side.\"\n\n\"Well, he is a thoroughbred, anyway; and do you notice how he is right\nup in front when there is anything doing? The only way you can tell he\nisn't American born is that he is so anxious to help out on all the\nunpleasant work. When I look at Phil it makes me boil to think of\nfellows like him being called 'Wop.'\"\n\nBy this time the two had swung back into the campus, and J.W. found\nhimself drafted to hold down second base in the Faculty-Student ball\ngame. But that is a story for others to tell.\n\nOn the steps of the library Marcia Dayne and some other girls were\nholding an informal reception. Joe Carbrook, with one or two of his\nfriends, was finding it agreeable to assume a superior air concerning\nthe Institute. The impression the boys gave was that their coming to the\nInstitute at all had been a great concession, but that they were under\nno illusions about the place.\n\n\"All this is all right,\" Joe was saying, \"for those who need it, but\nwhat's the good of it all to us? For instance, what do you get out of\nit, Marcia?\"\n\n\"What do you think I want to get out of it? If you cared for the young\npeople's work at home, I should think you could see how 'all this,' as\nyou call it, would help you to do better work and more of it at\nDelafield.\"\n\n\"As you ought to know pretty well, Marcia,\" Joe replied, \"back home they\nthink I don't care much for the young people's work. It is a little too\nprim and ready-to-wear for me, if you'll excuse me for saying so. No fun\nin it at all, though I'll admit some of the classes here have more life\nin them than I looked for.\"\n\nOne of the other girls, who knew him well enough to speak with large\nfrankness, came to the defense of them all, saying: \"Well, Joe, I don't\nsee that you get very far with what you call fun. It's mostly at the\nexpense of other people, including your father, who pays the bills.\nBesides, since you came home from college this spring, you seem to have\nrun out of nearly all the bright ideas you started with. I wonder if it\never strikes you that being a sport, as you call it, is mostly being a\nnuisance to everybody? Some of us long ago got over thinking you clever\nand original. You must be getting over it yourself, by now, surely.\"\n\n\"Many thanks, dear lady, for them kind words,\" Joe responded, as he\nbowed low in mock acknowledgment; \"you make yourself quite plain, Miss\nAlma Wetherell.\" He flung back the insult jauntily, as he and his\ncompanions moved on, but at least one of the group suspected that the\nwords had struck home.\n\nYou who know the General Secretary could easily forgive J.W. his\ndelight in the class of which the program said the subject was\n\"Methods.\" This is the only hour in an Institute which the Epworth\nLeague takes for its own work. Rightly enough, it is a crowded hour,\nwith the whole Institute present, and usually it is an hour of\nunflagging interest.\n\nJ.W. and Marty were enjoying their first Institute too much to be late\nat any classes. They were merely a little earlier at this class; to miss\nany of it would be a distinct loss.\n\nNow, what the General Secretary talked about was no more than the\neveryday work of the League--how it meant the young people of the church\nand their work for and with young people for the sake of the future. But\nhe had a way with him. He said the League was a great scheme of self,\nwith the \"ish\" left off. In the League one practiced self-help, and\nenjoyed the twin luxuries of self-direction and self-expression, and\ncame sooner or later to that strange new knowledge which is\nself-discovery. He explained how Epworthians as such could live on\ntwenty-four hours a day, the plan being an ingenious and yet simple\nfinancial arrangement for keeping the League work moving, both where you\nare and where you aren't, even around the world. He had innumerable\nstories of the devotional meeting idea, the Win-My-Chum idea, the\nstewardship idea, the Institute idea, the life service idea, the\nrecreation idea, the study-class idea, and every other League idea so\nfar invented.\n\nBut all this is merely a hint of what the General Secretary meant to the\nInstitute, and particularly to the delegates from Delafield. Even Joe\nCarbrook had been impressed. He heard the General Secretary the morning\nafter that little exchange of compliments on the library steps, and for\nan hour thereafter let himself enjoy the rare luxury of thinking. The\nresults were somewhat disconcerting.\n\n\"It's funny,\" said Marty, as the four of them, the other three being\nJoe, Marcia, and J.W., sat under a tree in the afternoon, \"but I believe\nthat man could make even trigonometry interesting. I thought I'd heard\nall that could be said about the devotional meeting; but did you get\nthat scheme for leaders he sprung this morning? Watch me when we get\nback home, that's all.\"\n\n\"You needn't suppose you are the only one who got it,\" said Marcia.\n\"Everybody was trying to watch the General Secretary and to take notes\nat the same time, and I don't believe you are any quicker at that than\nthe rest of us. Of course all of us will use as many of his ideas as we\ncan remember, when we get home again.\"\n\nJoe Carbrook, with a new seriousness which sat awkwardly on him,\nconfessed that he could not understand just what was happening. It was\nevident that he was ill at ease; Marcia had noticed it every time she\nhad seen him since that encounter with Alma Wetherell.\n\n\"I guess you folks know I am not easily caught; but I'm ready to admit\nthat man has hold of something. Yes, and I'm half convinced that this\nInstitute has hold of something. I wish I knew what it is. If I could\nreally believe that all I hear and see at this place is part of being\nyoung and part of being a Christian, I might be thinking before long\nabout getting into the game myself. The trouble is you three and the\nother Leaguers I've watched at home are just you three and the others,\nand that's all. I know, and you know, what you can do. You'll take all\nthese ideas of League work and use them, maybe; but what I can't see is\nhow you will pick up the Big Idea of this place and get back home\nwithout losing it.\"\n\n\"We can't,\" said Marcia, \"not without all sorts of help, visible and\ninvisible. You, for instance; if you would really get into the game, as\nyou say, nobody could guess how much it would mean to our League. And it\nmight mean more to you.\"\n\n\"Marcia's right about that,\" said J.W. \"The Big Idea of this place, that\nyou speak of, is a lot too big for us to take home alone. Maybe you'll\nthink I'm preaching, but I don't care, if I say that for God to handle\nalone, it is not big enough. He makes the stars, and gives us his Son,\nwithout any help from us. Nobody else can do that. But he won't make our\nLeague at home a success without us; and all of us together can't do it\nwithout Him. I'm not saying I know how to do it, even then, but that's\nthe way it looks to me. Why, Joe,\" he said with sudden intensity as he\nfaced Joe Carbrook, \"if you ever get hold of the Big Idea, and the Big\nIdea gets hold of you, something is sure to happen, something bigger\nthan any of us can figure out now. I know you have it in you.\"\n\nAll four showed a surprised self-consciousness over J.W.'s unexpected\nventure into these rather deeper conversational waters than usual, and\nthere was more surprise when Joe Carbrook began to talk about himself.\n\nHe laughed to hide a touch of embarrassment, but with little mirth; and\nthen he said, \"Well, J.W., that's not all foolishness, though I don't\nsee why you should pick on me. Why not Marty? Of course, I came here for\nfun, and I have had some, though not just the sort I expected. And I've\nhad several jolts too. I might as well admit that if I could just only\nsee how you hitch all of this League and church business to real life, I\nwould be for it with all I've got. The trouble is, while I've never been\nespecially proud of my own record, neither have I seen much excuse yet\nfor what you 'active members' have been busy with. I have been playing\nmy way, and you have been playing yours; but it all seems mostly play to\nme. All the same, I guess I am getting tired of my kind.\" If Joe could\never have spoken wistfully, you might have suspected him of it just\nthen.\n\nClearly, thought Marcia Dayne, in the silence that followed, something\nbig was already happening. But how to help it on she could not tell; so,\nwith a desperate effort to do the right thing, she contrived to turn the\nsubject It seemed to her it had become too difficult to go further just\nnow without peril to Joe's strange new interest, as well as to a very\nnew and tremulous little hope that had begun to sing in her own heart.\n\nThe shift of the talk was a true Institute change, and would have been\nmost disconcerting to anyone unfamiliar with the ways of young\nChristians; but Marcia was sure that what had been said would not be\nforgotten, and she knew there would be another time.\n\nIt was this that made her say, \"I wish you boys would suggest what sort\nof stunt our district should give on stunt night; you know the time is\ngetting short.\"\n\n\"That's a fact,\" exclaimed Marty, sitting up. \"Stunt night is to-morrow,\nand our delegation has to fix up the stunt for the Fort Adams District.\nLet's get to work on something. We've been mooning long enough.\"\n\nFor though Marty never thought as quickly as Marcia, he too felt some\ninstinct of fear lest by an unfortunate word they should break the spell\nof Joe Carbrook's interest in the \"Big Idea,\" and promptly the four were\ndeep in a study of stunts.\n\nTo the uninitiated, stunt night at the Institute is without rime or\nreason, but not to those in charge who are looking ahead to Sunday. They\nknow that the converging and cumulative psychic forces which the\nInstitute invariably produces must be tempered, along about midway of\nthe week, by some sharp contrast in the communal life. Otherwise, the\ngroup, like over-trained athletes, will grow emotionally stale before\nthe week is done, and at the end of that is let-down and flatness. Hence\n\"stunt night.\"\n\nIn the early Institute years it was easy, as in some places it still is,\nfor stunt night to be no more than clowning, witless and cheap; but\nthere is a distinct tendency to exercise the imagination in producing\nmore self-respecting efforts.\n\nCartwright, happily, is one of the forward-looking Institutes, and stunt\nnight, crowded with most excellent fooling, produced two or three\ncreditable and thought-provoking performances. One of them deserves\nremembering for its own sake. Besides, it is a part of this story.\n\nThe home missions class furnished the inspiration for it, and called it\n\"Scum o' the Earth,\" an impromptu immigration pageant. A boy who had\nmemorized Schauffler's poem stood off stage and recited it, while group\nafter group of \"immigrants\" in the motley of the steerage passed slowly\nthrough the improvised Ellis Island sifting process. It was all\nmake-believe, of course, all but one tense moment. Then Phil Khamis\nstepped on the platform, incarnating in his own proper person the poet's\napostrophised Greek boy:\n\n\"Stay, are we doing you wrong,\n  Young fellow from Socrates' land?\nYou, like a Hermes so lissome and strong,\n  Fresh from the master Praxiteles' hand?\nSo you're of Spartan birth?\n  Descended, perhaps, from one of the band--\nDeathless in story and song--\nWho combed their long hair at Thermopylae's pass?\nAh, I forget the straits, alas!\n  More tragic than theirs, more compassion-worth,\nThat have doomed you to march in our 'immigrant class'\n Where you're nothing but 'scum o' the earth!'\"\n\nThe audience was caught unaware. It had been vastly interested in the\nspectacle, as a spectacle, the more because the unusual Americanization\nclass which produced it had attracted general attention. But, Phil\nKhamis, everybody's friend, standing there, an immigrant of the\nimmigrants, smiling his wistful friendly smile, was a picture as\ndramatic as it was unexpected. First there were ejaculations of\nastonishment and surprise. Then came the moment of understanding, and a\nshining-eyed stillness fell on all. Then, what a shout! J.W. led off,\nthe unashamed tears falling from his brimming eyes.\n\nOn Saturday morning J.W. was sitting beside Phil Khamis at Morning\nWatch. The leader had asked for answers to the question \"Why did I come\nto the Institute?\" getting several responses of the conventional sort.\nSuddenly Phil nudged J.W. and whispered, \"Shall I tell why I came?\" and\nJ.W. with the memory of stunt night's thrill not yet dulled, said\npromptly, \"Sure, go ahead.\"\n\nWhen Phil got up an attentive silence fell upon them all. The Greek boy\nhad made many friends, as much by his engaging frankness and anxiety to\nlearn as by his perpetual eagerness to have a hand in every bit of hard\nwork that turned up. Since the stunt night incident he was everybody's\nfavorite.\n\n\"Friends,\" he said, in his rather careful, precise way, \"I am here for a\ndifferent reason than any. When I was in America but a little time a\nMethodist preacher made himself my friend. I could not speak English,\nonly a few words. He took me to his home. He taught me to talk the\nAmerican way. He find me other friends, though I could do nothing at all\nfor them to pay them back. Now I am Christian--real, not only baptized.\nThe young people of the church take me in to whatever they do. They\ncall me 'Phil' and never care that I am a foreigner, so when I heard\nabout this Institute I say to myself, 'It is something strange to me,\nbut I hear that many people like those in my church will be there.' I\ncannot quite believe that, but it sounded good, and I wanted to come and\nsee. And now I know that many people are young people like those I first\nknew. They treat me just the same. It makes me love America much more;\nand if I could tell my people in the old country that all this good has\ncome to me from the church, they could not believe it. Still, it is\ntrue. Everything I have to-day has come to me by goodness of Christian\npeople.\"\n\nThere were some half-embarrassed \"Amens,\" and more than one hitherto\nunsuspected cold required considerable attention. All the way to\nbreakfast Phil held embarrassed court, while his hand was shaken and his\nshoulder was thumped and he was told, solo and chorus, by all who could\nget near him, that \"He's all right!\"--\"Who's all right?\" \"Phil Khamis!\"\n\nBut J.W. was walking slowly toward the dining hall, alone. As he had\nlistened to Phil, at first he thought, \"Good old scout, he's putting it\nover,\" but by the time the Greek's simple words were ended, J.W. was\nlooking himself straight in the eye. \"Young fellow,\" he was saying, \"you\nhave come mighty near feeling glad that you have had so many more\nadvantages than this stranger, and yet can't you see that what he says\nabout himself is almost as true about you? All you have to-day--this\nInstitute, your religion, your church, your friends, the kind of a home\nyou have and are so proud of--everything has come to you by what Phil\ncalls the goodness of Christian people.\"\n\nAnd then it was breakfast time, with an imperative call on J.W. from the\nFort Adams table for \"that new yell we fixed up last night,\" and the\nminutes in which he had talked with himself were for the time forgotten.\nBut the memory of them came back in the days after the Institute was\nitself a memory.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Saturday night camp fire at this Institute, contrary to the usual\ncustom, was not co-ed. The boys went down to the lake shore and sat\naround a big fire on the sand. The girls had their fire on the slope of\na hill at the other edge of the campus.\n\nNor does this Institute care for too much praise of itself. Its\ntraditional spirit is to work more for outcomes than for the devices\nwhich produce complacency. It stages only a few opportunities of telling\n\"Why I like this Institute.\"\n\nSo, at the camp fires a man talked to the boys and a woman to the girls,\nnot about the Institute, but about life. These speakers knew the strange\neffect an Institute week has on impressionable and romantic youth; they\nknew that by this time scores of the students were either saying to\nthemselves, \"I've got to do something big before this thing's over,\" or\nwere vainly trying to put the conviction away.\n\nThe woman who talked to the girls happened to be a preacher's wife.\nThis gave her a certain advantage when she told the listening girls that\nthe greatest of all occupations for them was not some special vocation,\nbut what Ida Tarbell has called \"the business of being a woman.\" It was\ngood preparation for the next day's program, with its specific and\nglamorous appeal, for it put first the great claim, so that special\nvocations could be seen in clear air and could be fairly measured.\n\nPastor Drury, who talked to the boys, was talking to them all, as J.W.\nvery well knew, but every word seemed for him; as, indeed, it was, in a\nsense that he did not suspect. He was not surprised that his pastor\nshould present the Christian life as effectively livable by bricklayers\nand business men as surely as by missionaries. He had heard that before.\nBut to J.W. the old message had a new setting, a new force. And never\nbefore had he been so ready to receive it.\n\nThe songs had sung themselves out, as the fire changed from roaring\nflame and flying sparks to a great bed of living coals. From the world's\nbeginning a glowing hearth has been perfect focus for straight thought\nand plain speech. The boys found it so this night.\n\nThe minister began so simply that it seemed almost as if his voice were\nonly the musings of many, just become audible. \"I know,\" said he, \"that\nto-morrow some of you will find yourselves, and will eagerly offer your\nlives for religious callings. We shall all be proud of you and glad to\nsee it. But most of you cannot do that. You are already sure that you\nmust be content to live 'ordinary Christian lives,' It is possible that\nto-morrow you may feel a little out of the picture. And those who are\nhearing a special call might regard you, quite unconsciously, of course,\nas not exactly on their level.\"\n\n\"Now, suppose we get this thing straight to-night. There is no great nor\nsmall, no high nor low, in real service. The differences are only in the\nforms of work you do. The quality may be just as fine in one place as in\nanother. The boy who goes into the ministry, or who becomes a medical\nmissionary, will have peculiar chances for usefulness. So also will the\nboy who goes into business or farming or teaching, or any other\nso-called secular occupation. Just because he is not called to religious\nwork as a daily business he dare not think that he has no call. God's\ncalling is not for the few, but for the many. And just now the man who\nputs his whole soul into being an out-and-out Christian in his daily\nbusiness and in his personal life as a responsible citizen must have the\ngenuine missionary spirit. He must live like a prophet, that is, a\nmessenger from God. He must know the Christian meaning of all that\nhappens in the world. And he must stand for the whole Christian program.\nOtherwise, not all the ministers and missionaries in the world can save\nour civilization. It is your chance of a great career. You who will make\nup the rank and file of the Christian army in the next twenty-five\nyears--do you know what you are? _You are the hope of the world!\"_\n\nAs the group broke up in the dim light of the dying embers, J.W.\nstumbled into Joe Carbrook, and the two headed for the tents together.\nThey had been on a much more friendly footing since Thursday.\n\n\"Say, J.W.,\" said Joe, abruptly, \"what's the matter with me? I came to\nthis place without knowing just why; thought I'd just have a good time,\nI suppose; but here I am being bumped up against something new and big\nevery little while, until I wonder if it's the same world that I was\nliving in before I came. Do you suppose anybody else feels that way? Is\nit the place? Or the people? Or what?\"\n\n\"I don't just know,\" said J.W., trying to keep from showing his\nsurprise. \"I feel a good deal that way myself. I think it's maybe that\nthis is the first time we've ever been forced to look squarely at some\nof the things that seem so natural here. At home it's easy to dodge. You\nknow that, only you've dodged one way and I've done it another.\"\n\n\"But do you feel different, the way I do, J.W.? Do you feel like saying\nto yourself: 'Looka here, Joe Carbrook, quit being a fool. See what you\ncould do if you settled down to getting ready for something real. Like\nbeing a doctor, now.' Do _you_ feel that way? You don't know it, but\nI've always thought I could be a doctor, if I could see anything in it.\nAnd then the other side of me speaks up and says: 'Joe Carbrook, don't\nkid yourself. You know you haven't got the nerve to try, even if you had\nthe grit to stick it through.' Is it that way with you, J.W.? You've\npaid more attention to religion and all that than I ever did. And what\nyou said on Thursday about the 'Big Idea' has kept me guessing ever\nsince.\"\n\n\"No, Joe, my trouble's not like yours. I know I can't be a doctor, nor a\npreacher, nor a missionary. I've got nothing of that in me. But what we\nheard to-night at the camp fire came straight at me. As I tried to say\nthe other day, if you get the 'Big Idea' of the Institute, Christian\nservice looks like a great life. But me--I've no hope to be anything\nparticular; just one of the crowd. And I never quite saw until to-night\nhow that might be a great life too.\"\n\nAs they were parting, J.W. ventured a bold suggestion. \"Say, Joe, if you\nthink you could be a doctor, _why not a missionary doctor?\"_\n\nJoe's answer was a swift turning on his heel, and he strode away with\nnever a word.\n\n\"Probably made him mad,\" thought J.W. \"I wonder why I said it. Joe's the\nlast boy in the world to have any such notion. But--well, something's\nalready begun to happen to him, that's sure--and to me too.\"\n\nOn Sunday the little world of the Institute assumed a new and no less\nattractive aspect. Everybody was dressed for Sunday, as at home. Classes\nwere over; and games also; the dining room became for the first time a\nplace of comparative quiet, with now and then the singing of a great old\nhymn, just to voice the Institute consciousness.\n\nThe Morning Watch talk had been a little more direct, a little more\ntense. And before the Bishop's sermon came the love feast. Now, the\nMethodists of the older generation made much of their love feasts, but\nin these days, except at the Annual Conference, an occasional Institute\nis almost the only place where it flourishes with something of the\nancient fervor.\n\nMany changes have come to Methodism since the great days of the love\nfeast; changes of custom and thought and speech. But your ardent young\nMethodist of any period, Chaplain McCabe, Peter Cartwright, Jesse Lee,\nCaptain Webb, would have understood and gloried in this Institute love\nfeast. It spoke their speech.\n\nOur group from Delafield will never forget it.\n\nNearly all of them spoke; Marcia Dayne first because she was usually\nexpected to lead in everything of the sort, then Marty, then J.W., and,\nlast of all and most astounding, Joe Carbrook.\n\nMarty looked the soldier, and he put his confession into military terms.\nHe spoke about his Captain and waiting for orders, and a new\nunderstanding of obedience.\n\nBefore J.W. got his chance to speak, the leader read a night letter from\nan Institute far away, conveying the greetings of six hundred young\npeople to their fellow Epworthians.\n\nJ.W. could not bring himself to speak in terms of personal experience.\nHe was still under the spell of last night's camp fire, and his brief\nencounter with Joe Carbrook, but without quite knowing what could\npossibly come of all that. And the telegram gave him an excuse to speak\nin another vein. You must remember that up to now he had been wholly\nlocal in his League interests. He had gone to no conventions, he was not\na reader of _The Epworth Herald_, and to him the Central Office was as\nthough it had not been.\n\n\"I wonder if anybody else feels as I do,\" he said, \"about this League of\nours? Until this last week I never thought much about it. But we've just\nheard that telegram from an Institute bigger than this, a thousand miles\noff. And there's fifty-five or sixty Institutes going on this year,\nbesides the winter Institutes, the conventions, and all the other\ngatherings. We seem to belong to a movement that enrolls almost a\nmillion young people, with all sorts of chances to learn how it can do\nall sorts of Christian work by actually _doing_ it. This isn't the only\nthing I've found out here, but it makes me want to see the whole League\nbecome as good as it is big. I don't want to be dazzled by the size of\nit, because I know how many other members are just as little use as I've\nbeen. Only when I get home I hope I'm going to be a different sort of an\nEpworthian, and I can't help wishing that we all felt that way about\nbeing more good in the League. We can make it a hundred times more\nuseful to the church and to our Master.\"\n\nMany others spoke like that, some of them because they could find\nnothing more intimate to say, some here and there those who, like J.W.,\ncould not quite trust themselves yet to talk of their deeper personal\nexperiences.\n\nAnd then Joe Carbrook arose. He spoke easily, as Joe always did, but it\nwas a new Joe Carbrook, and only the Delafield delegation understood how\namazing was the change.\n\n\"This Institute has made me all sorts of trouble,\" he said. \"I had\nnothing else to do, and without caring anything about it, except to get\nsome new fun out of it, I came along, intending to stir up some of you\nif I could, and I knew I could. But I've seen what a fool I was. Every\nday I've seen that a little more distinctly. And last night, just as I\nwas leaving one of the boys after the camp fire he said something about\nwhat I might do with my life. I don't know how seriously he meant it.\nMaybe he doesn't, either. I went off without answering him. There wasn't\nany answer, except that I knew I wasn't fit even to think about it. And\nthen, thank God, I met a man who understood what was wrong with me. He's\nour pastor. I haven't been anything but trouble to him at home, but that\nmade no difference to him. And he introduced me, down yonder by the\nlake, to a Friend I had never known before, some one infinitely\nunderstanding, infinitely forgiving. He showed me that before I could\nfind what I ought to be I'd have to come to terms with that Friend. And\nI have. Whatever happens to me, whatever I may find to do, I want now\nand here for the first time in my life to confess Jesus Christ as my\nSaviour and Lord!\"\n\nThe Bishop preached a great sermon, but it is doubtful whether the\nDelafield delegation rightly appreciated it. They were too much\noccupied with the incredible fact that Joe Carbrook had been converted,\nand had openly confessed it.\n\nMore was to come. The afternoon meeting, long established in the\nInstitute world as the \"Life Work Service,\" was in the hands of a few\nleaders who knew both its power and peril. An invitation would be given\nfor all to declare their purpose who felt called to special Christian\nwork. The difficulty was to encourage the most timid of those who,\ndespite their timidity, felt sure of the inner voice, and yet prevent a\nstampede among those who, without any depth of desire, were in love with\nemotion, and would enjoy being conspicuous, if only for the brief moment\nof the service.\n\nFor once a woman made the address--a wise woman, let it be said, who\nmade skillful and sure distinctions between the Christian life as a life\nand the work of the Christian Church as one way of living that life.\n\nIt would have been a successful afternoon in any case, but three\nincidents helped the speaker. When she asked those to declare themselves\nwho had decided for definite Christian work, young people in all parts\nof the room arose, and one after another they spoke, for the most part\nsimply and modestly, of their hope and purpose. And Joe Carbrook was\namong them!\n\nHe said very little, the nub of it being that he had always thought of\nbeing a doctor, but not until a chance remark made by John Wesley, Jr.,\nlast night had the idea appeared to him important. Just to make one more\namong the thousands of doctors in America was one thing, he said. It\nwas quite another to think of being the only physician among a great,\nhelpless population. But to be a missionary doctor a man had to be first\na missionary. And how could he be a missionary if he were not a\nChristian? Well, as he had confessed at the love feast, that was settled\nlast night, and as soon as it had been attended to be knew there was\nnothing else in the way. So he must work now toward being a medical\nmissionary.\n\nJoe's declaration stirred the whole assembly. And while the influence of\nit was still on them, J.W. saw Martin Luther Shenk, his classmate and\ndoubly his chum since a memorable day of the preceding October, get up\nand quietly announce his purpose of becoming a minister. \"And I hope,\"\nsaid Marty, \"that I may find my lifework in some of the new home mission\nfields we have been learning about this week.\"\n\nAt that point the leader felt more than a little anxious. These two\ndecisions, with all their restraint, had in them something infectious,\nand she feared lest some young people, not holding themselves perfectly\nin hand, might be moved to sentimental and unreflecting declaration.\n\nIf there had been any such danger, Marcia Dayne dispelled it. She was\nall aglow with a new joy of her own, whose secret none knew but herself,\nthough one other had almost dared to hope he could guess.\n\n\"May I speak?\" she asked. \"I have no decision to make for myself. Last\nyear I took the 'Whatever, whenever, wherever' pledge, and I intend to\nkeep it, though I am not yet sure what it will mean. But I know a boy\nhere who will not talk unless somebody asks him, and there's a reason\nwhy I think he should be asked. Please, mayn't we hear from John Wesley\nFarwell, Jr., about _his_ kind of a call?\"\n\nJ.W., taken unawares at the mention of his name, was still at a loss\nwhen the leader seconded Marcia's invitation; and the knowledge that he\nwas expected to say something unusual did not make for self-control. But\nhe understood Marcia's purpose, and tried to pull himself together.\n\n\"Miss Dayne is president of our home Chapter, and she had a lot to do\nwith my coming to the Institute,\" he began. \"She has heard me talk since\nI found out a little about the Institute, and I told her this morning\nsomething of what Joe Carbrook and I had discussed last night after the\ncamp fire.\"\n\nWell, to get to the point, I think she wants me to say, and I'm saying\nit to myself most of all, that for nearly all of us young people,\nChristian lifework must mean making an honest living, doing all we can\nto make our religion count at home, and then backing up with all we've\ngot, by prayer and money and brains, all these others like Joe Carbrook\nand Marty Shenk, who are going into the hardest places to put up the\nbiggest fight that's in them. We've just got to do it, or be quitters.\nAs Phil Khamis said at Morning Watch yesterday, 'Everything we have has\ncome to us by the goodness of Christian people.' We aren't willing to be\nthe last links of that chain.\n\nWe don't want any special recognition, but I hope the Bishop and the\nGeneral Secretary and the Dean and all the rest of the League leaders\nwill know they can count on us just as we know they can count on these\nfriends of ours who have just become life service volunteers.\n\nNobody knows what might have happened if some one had not spoken like\nthat, but as the group of new volunteers stood about the platform at the\nclose of the meeting, the other young people, instead of wandering off\nand feeling themselves of no significance, came crowding about them, to\nsay to them, boy-and-girl fashion, something of what J.W.'s little\nspeech had suggested. Out of some four hundred Epworthians enrolled in\nthe Institute, about forty had made definite decisions; but certainly\nnot less than two hundred more had also faced the future, and in some\nsort had made a new contract with themselves and with God.\n\nThe Institute ended there, except for a simple vesper service after the\nevening meal, and on Monday morning the whole company was homeward\nbound.\n\nThe Delafield delegation had separated. The larger group went home by\ntrain, but Joe Carbrook's insistence was not to be withstood, so J.W.\nand Marty, Marcia Dayne and Pastor Drury were Joe's passengers for the\nfifty-odd miles between Institute and home.\n\nThey sang, they cheered, they yelled the Institute yells. They lived\nover the crowded days of the week that had so swiftly passed. But most\nof all they deeply resolved that so far as they could help to do it\nwhile they were at home the League Chapter of Delafield should be made\nover into something of more use to the church to which it belonged.\n\nIt was Marty who put their purpose into the fewest words. \"We, and the\nothers who have been to the Institute, don't think we know every little\nLeague thing,\" said he, \"and we don't think we are the whole League\neither. But every time anybody in our Chapter starts anything good, he's\ngoing to have more and better help than he ever had before.\"\n\nWhich thing came to pass, as may one day be recorded. The Rev. Walter\nDrury kept his own counsel, but he knew that more had happened than the\nputting of new life into the League. The Experiment had progressed\nsafely through some most difficult stages.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nJOHN WESLEY, JR.'S BRINGING UP\n\nThose words of Phil Khamis at Morning Watch kept popping into J.W.'s\nhead in the days following the Institute--\"Everything I have to-day has\ncome to me by the goodness of Christian people.\"\n\n\"I know that must be true,\" he would say to himself, \"but it's worth\ntracing back.\"\n\nThe preacher was coming over to supper one night, as he loved to do; and\nJ.W. made up his mind to bring Phil's idea into the table talk. He was\non even better terms with the preacher than he used to be.\n\nJ.W.'s mother hadn't said much about the Institute, though she had\nlistened eagerly to all his talk of the crowded week, and she was\nvaguely ill at ease. She had hoped for something, she did not know just\nwhat, from the Institute, and she was not yet sure whether she ought to\nfeel disappointed.\n\nBut she provided a fine supper, to which the menfolk paid the most\npractical and sincere of all compliments. And since nobody had anything\nelse on for the evening, there was plenty of time for talk.\n\nThe mother had a moment aside with the minister, and there was a touch\nof anxiety in her question: \"Do you think the Institute helped my boy?\"\n\nAnd the pastor had just time to whisper back, \"It helped him much, but\nhe gave even more help than he got You have reason to be proud of him. I\nam. He's growing.\"\n\nIt was not very definite, but it brought no small comfort to the\nmother's heart.\n\n\"This Institute idea seems to be everywhere,\" said J.W., Sr., to the\npastor, \"but how did it get started? I used to be in the Epworth League,\nbut we had nothing like it then.\"\n\n\"That's not so very much of a story,\" said the pastor. \"We have the\nInstitute idea because we had to have it. And so the League gave it form\nand substance.\"\n\n\"Well,\" J.W., Jr., chimed in, \"I think it's about time more people knew\nabout it. I've wanted to ask you to explain it ever since we came back\nfrom the Institute.\"\n\nThe pastor nodded. \"I know; but remember even you were not really\ninterested until you had been at an Institute. Do you think our\nInstitute just happened, J.W.?\"\n\n\"I know it didn't,\" J.W. replied. \"Somebody did a lot of planning and\nscheming.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" returned the pastor, \"but did you notice that a large part of its\nwork touched subjects familiar to you, the local League activities, for\ninstance--the devotional meeting, and Mission Study, and stewardship,\nand the scope of the business meeting which not so long ago elected you\nto membership?\"\n\n\"Yes, you're right, though I don't see anything remarkable in that. It\nwas a League Institute, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Certainly. But still, if there had not been any local Chapter, there\ncould have been no Institute, don't you see? What I mean is that the\nInstitute came because your Chapter needed it, and you needed it; not\nbecause the Institute needed you. It's merely a matter of tracing\nthings back.\"\n\nJ.W., Jr., thought of Phil's words. \"Sure enough,\" he responded,\n\"tracing things back makes a lot of difference. I've been going over\nwhat Phil Khamis said at the Morning Watch--you remember? How everything\nhe has to-day has come to him by the goodness of Christian people. At\nfirst I thought that was no more than a description of his particular\ncase, because I knew how true it was. But when you begin to trace things\nback, as you say, what's true about Phil is true about all of\nus--anyway, about me.\"\n\n\"How is that, son?\" Mrs. Farwell asked gently.\n\n\"Well, I mean,\" J.W. smilingly answered her, though flushing a little\ntoo, \"the Institute, that seemed to me something new and different, is\nreally tied up to what you folks and the whole church have been doing\nfor me as far back as I can remember.\"\n\nAnd so they talked, parents and pastor and J.W., quite naturally and\nfreely, of the long chain of interest which had linked his life to the\nchurch's life, back through all the years to his babyhood.\n\nJ.W. had been in the League only a year or two, but it seemed to him\nthat he had been in the church always. And the memories of his boyhood\nwhich had the church for center, were intimately interwoven with all his\nother experiences.\n\nAs his father said, \"I guess, pastor, if you tried to take out of J.W.'s\nyoung life all that the church has meant to him, it would puzzle a\nprofessor to explain whatever might be left.\"\n\nJ.W. had been born in the country, on a farm whose every tree and fence\ncorner he still loved. His first recollections of the church as part of\nhis life had to do with the Sunday morning drive to the little\nmeetinghouse, which stood where the road to town skirted a low hill. It\nhad horse-sheds on one side, stretching back to the rear of the church\nlot, and some sizeable elms and maples were grouped about its front and\nsides. It was a one-room structure, unless you counted the space\ncurtained off for the primary class, as J.W. always did. For back of\nthis curtain's protecting folds he had begun his career as a Sunday\nschool pupil and had made his first friends. At that time even district\nschool was yet a year ahead of him, with its wider democratic joys and\ngriefs, and its larger freedom from parental oversight.\n\nWhen J.W. was six, going on seven, the family moved to Delafield,\nthough retaining ownership of the farm, and for years J.W. spent nearly\nevery Saturday on the old place, in free and blissful association with\nthe Shenk children, whose father was the tenant. It was here that he and\nMartin Luther Shenk, already introduced as \"Marty,\" being of the same\nage, had sworn eternal friendship, a vow which as yet showed no sign\nwhatever of the ravages of time. There were three other children, Ben\nand Alice and Jeannette. Now, Jeannette was only two years younger than\nJ.W. and Marty, but through most of the years when J.W. was going every\nweek to the farm, she was \"only a girl,\" and far behind the two chums by\nall the exacting standards which to boys are more than law. But there\ncame a time----\n\nJ.W., Sr., reveling in reminiscences before so patient a listener as the\npreacher, though it was an old story, rehearsed how he had served for\nyears as superintendent of the country Sunday school, and how Mrs.\nFarwell was teacher of the Girls' Bible Class. Their home had always\nbeen Methodist headquarters, he said, as old-time Methodists usually\nsay, and with truth.\n\nWhen they moved to town the change brought no loss of church interest;\nthe Farwells merely transferred it entire to Delafield First Church\n(\"First\" being more a title than a numeral, since there was no second).\n\nBut First Church had not a few progressive saints. They wanted the best\nthat could be had, so J.W., Sr., Sunday school enthusiast that he was,\nfound himself in a new place of opportunity. The Board of Sunday Schools\nat Chicago had been asked to help Delafield get itself in line with the\nbest ideas and methods, and J.W., Sr., found the beginnings, at least,\nof Sunday school science in active operation. At first, like a true\ncountry man, he was a little inclined to counsels of caution, but in\nhis country Sunday school work he had acquired such strong opinions\nabout old fogies that he dreaded being thought one himself.\n\n\"And that's how it happened,\" he said with a laugh, \"that I was soon\nreckoned among the progressives. In that first year I helped 'em win\ntheir fight for separate departments, and before long we had the makings\nof a real graded Sunday school. Don't you remember, mother, how proud\nyou were when young J.W. there was graduated from the Primary into the\nJunior Department?\"\n\nAll this was before Pastor Drury's time, of course, but he had gone\nthrough the same experiences in other pastorates, and needed not to have\nanything explained.\n\n\"How long have we had a teacher-training class in our Sunday school?\" he\nasked.\n\nThat called out the story of the struggles to set up what many openly\ncalled a useless and foolish enterprise. The Sunday school was\nchronically short of teachers, and yet J.W., Sr., and the other\nreformers insisted on taking out of the regular classes the best\nteachers in the school, and a score of the most promising young people.\nThis group went off by itself into a remote part of the church. It\nfurnished no substitute teachers. It wasn't heard of at all. And loud\nwere the complaints about its crippling the school.\n\n\"But, pastor, you should have seen the difference when the first dozen\nreal teachers came out of that class; we were able to reorganize the\nwhole school. Our John Wesley got a teacher he'll never forget. And, of\ncourse, we kept the training class going; it's never stopped since. The\nBoard of Sunday Schools has given us the courses and helped us keep the\nclass up to grade in its work, and you know what sort of teachers we\nhave now.\"\n\nThe pastor did, and was properly thankful. In some of his other\npastorates it had been otherwise, to his sorrow.\n\n\"Speaking of the Board of Sunday Schools,\" the elder Farwell resumed,\nfor this was a hobby he missed no chance to ride, \"it made all the\ndifference with us in our work for a better Sunday school--gave us\nexpert backing, you know. And I notice by its latest annual report--yes,\nI always get a copy, though J.W. thinks it dry reading--that it is\nhelping Sunday schools by the thousand, not in this country only, but\nwherever in the world our church is at work. Of course you know how it\nstarts Sunday schools, and how often they grow into churches. Well, it\ndidn't quite do that here, but this church is a sight better and bigger\nbecause we began to take the Board's advice when we did. It was a good\nthing for our boy, and many another boy and girl, that the Board woke us\nup.\"\n\n\"It hasn't all been easy work, though,\" the minister suggested. \"I\nremember that when I came I found there was a good deal of discontent\nover the Graded Lessons.\"\n\n\"Sure there was,\" said J.W., Sr. \"We had all been brought up on the\nUniform Lessons, and most of us thought they were just right. Besides,\nwe rather enjoyed thinking of ourselves as keeping step with the whole\nSunday school world--all over the wide earth everybody studying the same\nscripture on the same Sunday. And that was a big idea to get into the\nminds of Christians of every name everywhere.\"\n\n\"Yes, but, Dad,\" put in J.W., \"what was the good of it if the lessons\ndidn't fit everybody? Did people think that the kids in the primary and\ntheir mothers in ma's class ought to study the same lesson? or did they\nthink they could fit the same lesson to everybody by the different notes\nthey put into the Quarterlies?\"\n\n\"Well, son,\" his father replied, \"I reckon we thought both ways. And I'm\nnot so sure yet that it can't be done. But if one thing more than\nanother reconciled me to the Graded Lessons, it was that they made being\na Sunday school teacher a good deal bigger job than it had ever been. It\nwas harder work, because every lesson had to be studied by the teacher,\nand in a different way from what was thought good enough in the old\ndays. And I'm for anything, Graded Lessons or whatever, that'll make\npeople take Sunday school teaching more seriously.\"\n\nThen Mrs. Farwell ventured to take up the story. It was about that time,\nin the very beginning of the Drury pastorate, that J.W. joined the\nchurch on probation; much to her surprise and humbling.\n\n\"I hadn't even thought of it,\" she said, \"though I should have been the\nfirst one. He had been getting ready in the Junior League, as I very\nwell knew, but one day, as you may remember\"--Brother Drury did, for\nthat day was the real beginning of this story--\"you made an invitation\nat the end of a real simple sermon, and if J.W., Jr., didn't get right\nup from my side and walk straight to the front!\"\n\nAfter that there had been a probationers' class, with J.W. and perhaps\ntwenty others meeting the pastor every week for straight religious\nteaching, so that at Easter, when they came up for membership, what with\ntheir Sunday school and Junior League training, and what with the\npastor's more personal instruction, they were able to pass a pretty fair\nexamination on the great Christian truths, and on the general scheme of\nthe church's work.\n\n\"For a time mother was a trifle disappointed that J.W. hadn't waited for\nthe big revival we had the next year,\" said J.W., Sr., \"but I think she\nwas glad afterward.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was,\" the mother said. \"You see, I had been brought up to\nbelieve in revivals, and I do yet, but we had no such chance to get the\nright Christian start when we were little children, as J.W. has had, if\nyou'll let his mother say so, and that made a revival a good deal more\nimportant to us when our church did get ready for one. But the other way\nis all right too. I'm mother enough to be glad J.W. hasn't known some of\nthe experiences the boys of my time went through, and the girls as well.\nHe's no worse a Christian for having been right in the church ever since\nI put him in short dresses, are you, son? And I will say that his father\nwas always with me in holding to the promises we made when he was\nbaptized. We've not done what we might, but we've never forgotten that\nthose promises were made to be kept.\"\n\nJ.W. felt none of his old shrinking from such talk, especially since the\nInstitute, and yet he had the healthy boy's reluctance to discuss\nhimself in company. But this was interesting him, outside himself.\n\nHe turned to the pastor. \"That's what I meant when I told you what Phil\nsaid. I'm all for the church, and church people and church ways; why\nshouldn't I be? I've never known anything else. I remember well the one\nthing I didn't like when it first came along; and that was the new sort\nof Christmas celebration Dad and the others planned when I was ten or\neleven. You know what Christmas means to such kids, and I guess we were\nall selfish together, because we didn't use our heads. Well, the Sunday\nschool proposed that instead of us all getting something we should all\ngive something. It looked pretty cheap to us little fellows at first,\nand our teacher had all he could do to hold us in line. But let me tell\nyou, every boy was for it when the time came. We found that we could\nhave as much fun giving things away as we could grabbing things, and,\nanyway, nobody really cared for those mosquito net stockings filled with\nnuts and candy and one orange. It was only the idea of getting something\nfor nothing. That first 'giving Christmas,' I remember, our class\ndressed up as delivery boys, and we came on the platform with enough\ngroceries for a small truck load, that we had bought with our own money.\nThe orphanage got 'em next day. And one class was dusty millers,\ncarrying sacks of flour, and another put on a stunt of searching for\nCaptain Kidd's treasure, and they found a keg of shining coins (new\npennies, they were)--more than a thousand of 'em. Everything went to the\norphanage, or the hospital; and then when the Board of Sunday Schools\nbegan to get us interested in other Sunday schools and in missions--I\nremember a scheme they call a 'Partnership Plan' that was great; I don't\nknow what happened to it--I got right into the game every time.\"\n\n\"How do you happen to know so much about the Board of Sunday Schools,\nJ.W.?\" asked Mr. Drury.\n\n\"Oh, that's easy. You know how it is in our Sunday school: they don't\nmake one or two of us young fellows serve as librarians and secretaries\nand such and miss all the class work: they have more help, and we all\nget into class for the lesson. Well, two years ago Dad told me you had\nnominated me for something at the annual Sunday school meeting. It was\nonly a sort of assistant secretary's job, but very soon I began to catch\non, and I've seen a lot of the letters and leaflets that come from the\nBoard in Chicago. Well, let me tell you that Board of Sunday Schools is\na whale of a machine. Why, it's the whole church at work to make better\nSunday schools, and more of 'em. They have Sunday school workers in all\nsorts of wild places, and Sunday school missionaries in foreign lands.\nYes, and last year I happened to meet one of their secretaries, at your\nhouse, you may remember. But you'd never think he was just a secretary,\nhe was so keen and wide awake. He knew the Boy Scouts from A to Z, and\nthat got me, 'cause I'm not so old that I've forgotten my scouting. And\nhe knew baseball, and boys' books, and all that. Don't you think,\nBrother Drury, if more of the fellows knew what the real Sunday school\nwork is they would take to it like colts to a bran mash?\"\n\n\"They couldn't help it,\" said the pastor. \"And you may have noticed that\nyour father and the other people of our Sunday School Board are trying\nto get them to find out some of the things you have found out. For\ninstance, you know what the two organized classes of high-school\nfreshmen are doing, and the other organized classes. Seems to me their\nmembers are finding out that Sunday school is something big and fine.\"\n\n\"That they are,\" Mrs. Farwell agreed, \"and you mustn't forget my\nwonderful class of young married women, and the men's class of nearly a\nhundred. I think our Sunday school has really begun to change the ideas\nof a lot of people. Just think how little trouble we have now with what\nGraded Lessons we have, and how happy all our teachers are because they\nhave the helps they need for just the sort of pupils that are in their\nclasses.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" said J.W., Sr. \"I don't suppose even old Brother Barnacle,\n'sot' as he is, would vote to go back to the times when the\nsuperintendent reviewed the lesson the same way the teachers taught it,\nfrom a printed list of questions. Seems as if I can hear Henry J. Locke\nyet--his farm joins ours down by the creek--when he conducted the\nreviewing at Deep Creek. He would hold his quarterly at arm's length to\nfavor his eyes, and then look up from it to the school and shoot the\nquestion at everybody, 'And what did Peter do _then_, HEY?' He sure did\ncome out strong on Peter; but I'll say this for him, that he never\nskipped a question from start to finish.\"\n\nAll three laughed a little over Henry J. Locke, and then the pastor said\nhe mustn't stay much longer. But he did want to back up J.W.'s belief\nthat what Phil Khamis had said was true of everybody--we are all\ndebtors.\n\n\"Look at this young J.W. here, will you,\" he said to the father and\nmother, for once letting himself go, \"with a name he's proud of, and a\nhome life that many a Fifth Avenue and Lake Shore Drive family would be\nglad to pay a million for, if such goods were on sale in the stores. I'm\ngoing to tell him something he already knows. Young man,\" and there was\na gleam in the pastor's eye that was not all to the credit of the work\nhe was praising, \"you owe a big debt to the Sunday school. I'm not\njealous for the church, or for any other part of it, but by your own\nadmission the Sunday school has had a lot to do with your education.\nVery well; remember it is a part of what Phil said, and what you are\nbecause of the Sunday school you have become by the goodness of\nChristian people. I don't think you'll forget it, seeing that you have\ntwo of that sort of people in your own home all the time.\"\n\nAnd then, with a fine naturalness the little group knelt by the chairs,\nand two of the four, he who was pastor of the whole flock and he who\nwith simple dignity was priest in his own household, gave thanks to God\nfor the manifold goodness of Christian people, of which they were all\npartakers every day.\n\nAs he went home, Walter Drury thought of the long days that stretched\nout ahead before he could see the outcomes of the great Experiment, but\nthis night had seen a good night's work done in the laboratory, and he\nwas content.\n\nOne tale of the past had been much in J.W.'s thought that night, but\nnothing on earth could have induced him to talk about it, especially\nsince the happenings at the Institute. Only one other person knew all of\nits inwardness, though the preacher guessed most of the secret pretty\nshrewdly, and everybody was familiar with its outcome.\n\nIt was the story of Marty Shenk's conversion.\n\nThese two had been David and Jonathan from their little boy days, no\nless friends because they were so unlike; Marty, a quiet, brooding,\nknowledge-hungry youngster, and J.W. matter-of-fact, taking things as\nthey came and asking few questions, but always the leader in games and\nmischief; each the other's champion against all comers.\n\nMarty's father, tenant-farmer on the Farwell farm, was steady enough and\ndependable, but never one to get ahead much. Before the Farwells moved\nto town he had rarely stayed on the same farm more than a year or two,\nbut, as he said, \"J.W. Farwell was different, and anybody who wanted to\nbe decent could get along with him.\" So, for many Saturdays and\nvacations of boyhood years J.W. and Marty had roamed the countryside,\nand were letter-perfect in their boy-knowledge of the old farm.\n\nMarty came in to high school from the farm, and often he stayed with\nJ.W. over the weekend. His school work was uneven--ahead in mathematics,\nand the sciences, and something below the average in other studies.\nThat, however, has no place in this story.\n\nOf course he and J.W. were thick as thieves. Except when class work made\ntemporary separations necessary, they lived the high-school life\ntogether. That meant also, for these two, the social life of the church,\nwhich occasionally paid special attention to the students.\n\nSo you might find them at Epworth League socials, Sunday school class\ndoings, in the Sunday school orchestra--violin and b-flat cornet\nrespectively--and, most significant of all in its effect on all the\nlater years, they went through Win-My-Chum week together. The hand of\nthe pastor was in that, too.\n\nMarty was not a Christian. J.W. had been a church member for years, and\nearly in his course he had faced and accepted all that being a Christian\nseemed to mean to a high-school boy.\n\nThere had been hard places to get over; some of the boys and girls were\nmerciless in their unconscious tests of his religion. Some were openly\nscornful, and others sought by indirect and furtive means to break his\ninfluence in the school. For he had no small gift of leadership, and he\ncared a good deal that it should count for the decencies of high-school\nlife. By senior year the sort of trouble that a Christian boy encounters\nin school was almost all ended, but it had been more through his dogged\nresistance to opposition than because of any special zest in Christian\nservice.\n\nAnd then came the announcement of Win-My-Chum week, with J.W.\nconfronted by two stubborn facts. He had only one real chum, and that\nchum was not a Christian. Pastor Drury had let fall a remark, a month\nbefore the Week, to the effect that any Christian who had a chum could\ndodge Win-My-Chum week, but he couldn't dodge his chum. When the week\nwas past, the chum would still be on hand.\n\nThink as he would, there was no honest way of escape from whatever those\nfacts might require of him, so J.W., long accustomed to go ahead and\ntake what came, had known himself bound by the obligations of this\nmatter also, days and days before the activities of Win-My-Chum week\nbegan.\n\nThe two were out one Saturday on the north road. They had been up to the\nwoods on Barker's Hill for nuts, and with good success. The day was\nwarm, the way was long, and there was no hurry. When they came to the\nroadside at the wood's edge they sat on a fallen tree and talked. At\nleast Marty did. For J.W. was not himself.\n\nIt was his chance, and he knew it. But a thousand impulses leaped to\nlife within him to make him put off what he knew he ought to say. The\nfear of being misunderstood--even by Marty--the knowledge that Marty, in\nthe qualities by which boys judge and are judged, was quite as \"good\" as\nhimself; and, above all, his sense of total unfitness to be a pattern of\nthe Christian life to anybody, filled him with an uneasiness that\nactually hurt.\n\nAnd Marty soon discovered that something was amiss. Willing as he was to\ndo his full share of the talking, he became aware that except for\ninarticulate commonplaces he was having to do it all.\n\n\"What's the matter with you all at once, J.W.?\" he asked. \"You're not\ntaken suddenly sick, are you? You were all right when we were among the\ntrees. _Are_ you sick?\"\n\nJ.W. laughed shortly. \"No, old man, I'm not sick. But I'm up against a\nnew game, for me, and I'm not in training.\"\n\n\"Sounds interesting,\" said Marty, \"but sort of mysterious. Is it\nanything I can do team-work on?\"\n\n\"It surely is, but first I've got to say something, and I want you to\npromise that you won't think I'm putting on, or butting in, because I'm\nnot; nothing like it. Will you?\"\n\n\"Will I promise?\" said Marty, much bewildered. \"Course I'll promise not\nto think anything about you that you don't want me to think, but I must\nsay I don't know within a thousand miles what you're driving at. Out\nwith it, and even if you're the train bandit who held up the Cannonball\nor if you've plotted to kidnap the Board of Education, I'll never tell.\"\n\nMarty's quizzical humor was not making J.W.'s enterprise any easier. He\nhad always supposed that what the leaflets called \"personal evangelism\"\nhad to be done in a spirit of solemnity. But how was he to acquire the\nproper frame of mind? And certainly there was nothing solemn about Marty\njust now. Yet the thing had gone too far; it was too late to retreat. He\ntried to think how Mr. Drury would do it, but saw only that if it was\nMr. Dairy's business he would go straight to the center of it.\nDesperately, therefore, he plunged in.\n\n\"Well, Marty,\" he said, speaking now with nervous haste, \"what I'm up\nagainst is this. What's the matter with your being a Christian?\"\n\nHe will never forget the swift look of blank amazement that Marty turned\non him, nor the slow-mounting flush that followed the first astonished\nstart. For Marty did not answer, and turned his face away. J.W. was sure\nthat in his blundering bluntness he had offended and probably angered\nhis closest friend. The distress of that thought served at least to\ndrive away all the self-consciousness which thus far had plagued him.\n\n\"Say, Marty,\" he pleaded, putting his hand on the other's arm, \"forget\nit, if I've hurt your feelings. I know as well as you do that I'm not\nfit to talk about such things to anybody, and, honest, I meant nothing\nbut to say what I knew I'd got to say.\"\n\nThen Marty turned himself back slowly, and J.W. saw the troubled look\nin his eyes. In a voice that trembled despite his proud effort at\ncontrol, he said, \"Old man, you needn't apologize. You did surprise me,\nI'll admit; I wasn't looking for anything like this. It's all right,\nthough, and I'm certainly not mad about it. But, say, J.W., let me put\nsomething up to you. Why did you never think to ask me that question\nbefore?\"\n\n\"Why, it was this way,\" J.W. began, somewhat puzzled at the form of the\nquestion, and still thinking he must set himself right with Marty. \"You\nknow the Epworth League is planning for those special meetings\nsoon--'Win-My-Chum Week'--and I've been asked to lead one of the\nmeetings. But you can see that I wouldn't be ready to lead a meeting\nlike that unless I had put this thing of being a Christian up to you,\nanyway. You're the only real chum I've got. Mr. Drury said something a\nlittle while ago that made it mighty plain.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Marty, \"I can see that. But why did you never say anything\nto me about it when there wasn't any meeting coming? Haven't we always\nshared everything else, since away back? This is the one subject that\nyou and I have kept away from in our talk of all we've ever thought\nabout, and I was wondering why.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't exactly know,\" J.W. replied. \"It may have been that it\nnever seemed to be any of my business; that it was the preacher's\nbusiness, or the Sunday school teacher's, or somebody's. And you know\nI've always been surer of what you really are than I have of myself. I\nthink I was always afraid you would either make fun of me or believe I\nwas letting on to be better than you were. But when the League got into\nthis Win-My-Chum plan, why, the name itself was an eye-opener. And I've\nseen lately that a fellow's got to be a Christian, out and out, or his\nreligion is no good. And when I heard the preacher say, not long ago,\nthat a fellow might dodge Win-My-Chum week, but he couldn't forever\ndodge his chum, I knew I had to speak to you. But you're sure you're not\noffended?\"\n\n\"Let me admit a thing to you, J.W. I've never said so before, but I've\nbeen wanting somebody to ask me to be a Christian for a long time. I was\na coward about it, and wouldn't let on. I've been wanting to find out\nwhat I've got to do, but I wouldn't ask. Do you think I _could_ be a\nChristian?\"\n\n\"I know you could be a long way better Christian than I am,\" J.W.\nanswered with unwonted feeling. \"And if you did take Jesus Christ to be\nyour Master, it would be more than just your getting religion. You would\nbe the biggest kind of stand-by for me and for other people I know of.\nIt's the one thing you need to be a hundred per cent right. I'm a pretty\npoor Christian, myself, Marty, partly because I don't know how to think\nmuch about it, but you'd be dead in earnest to get all that there is in\nthe Christian life, and maybe I could follow along behind. You've always\nhelped every other way, and I've always wanted you to help me be a\ngenuine Christian.\"\n\nMarty put his hand on J.W.'s shoulder and looked him straight in the\neye: \"You've got me rated a lot too high,\" he said. \"How can I help you?\nBut we two have been pretty good chums so far, haven't we? Well, there's\na lot to settle before I can be sure I'm a Christian, but it means\neverything for you to think I can be of some use. And I promise you\nthis, J.W., I'll not let up until I am a Christian, and we'll stick\ntogether all the more, when I am, us two. Is that ago?\"\n\nIt was a go. J.W. was ready and far more than ready to call it a go. It\nhad been easier than he had expected, but then it had all been so\ndifferent from the vague and formal thing he had been afraid of. He\ncould hardly believe, but he had one request to make. \"I know you'll\nsettle whatever has to be settled,\" he said, a bit unsteadily, \"but when\nit's all done, and you tell people about it, as I know you will, please,\nMarty, don't bring me into it. Publicly, I mean. Let's just have this\nunderstanding between ourselves. I can lead my meeting now, but there's\nno need to say anything about me. Besides, I made a mess of it.\"\n\n\"It may be the best mess anybody ever stirred up for me, J.W., but I\nwon't say anything to worry you, if the time comes for me to say\nanything at all. And I believe it will.\"\n\nIt did. Marty and the pastor had two or three long interviews. From the\nlast of them the boy came away with a new light on his face and a new\nspring in his step. Evidently whatever needed to be settled, had been\nsettled.\n\nHe kept his promise to his chum, but that did not prevent him from\nchoosing the night when J.W. led the meeting to stand up at the first\nopportunity and make his straightforward confession of love and loyalty,\nsince God had made him a sharer in the life that is in Christ. Then for\na moment J.W. feared Marty might forget their agreement, but Marty said\nsimply, \"And part of the joy that is in my heart to-night is because\nthere is a new tie, the only other one we needed, between myself and my\nold-time chum, the leader of this meeting.\"\n\nIn the back of the room Walter Drury, quietly looking on, sent up a\nsilent thanksgiving. The great Experiment was going well.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nCAMPUS DAYS\n\nSo it was that J.W. and Marty had come into the inner places of each\nother's lives. Of all the developments of Institute week, naturally the\none which filled J.W.'s thoughts with a sort of awed gladness was\nMarty's decision to offer himself for the ministry. Joe Carbrook's\nright-about-face was much more dramatic, for J.W. saw, when the decision\nwas made, that Marty could not have been meant for anything but a\npreacher. It was as fit as you please. As to Joe, previous opinion had\nbeen pretty equally divided; one side leaning to the idea that he might\nmake a lawyer, and the other predicting that he was more likely to be a\nperpetual and profitable client for some other lawyer.\n\nIn the light of the Institute happenings, it was to be expected that the\nquestion of college would promptly become a practical matter to four\nDelafield people. Marty was greatly troubled, for he knew if he was to\nbe a preacher, he must go to college, and he couldn't see how. J.W. felt\nno great urge, though it had always been understood that he would go.\nMarcia Dayne had one year of normal school to her credit, and would take\nanother next year, perhaps; but this year she must teach.\n\nJoe Carbrook spent little time in debate with himself; he let everybody\nknow that he was going to be a missionary doctor, and that he would go\nto the State University for the rest of his college course.\n\n\"But what about the religious influence of the University?\" Marcia Dayne\nhad ventured to ask him one evening as they walked slowly under the elms\nof Monroe Avenue.\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" Joe answered, \"and maybe I'm making a\nmistake. But I don't think so. To begin with, there isn't any question\nabout equipment at the State University. They have everything any church\nschool has, and probably more than most church schools, for what I want.\nAnd they work in close relationship to the medical school. That's one\nthing. The big reason, though--I wonder if you'll understand it?\"\n\n\"I believe I could understand anything you might be thinking about--now,\nJoe.\" And Marcia's voice had in it a note which stirred that usually\nself-possessed young man out of all his easy composure.\n\n\"I'll remember that, Marcia,\" he said in the thrill of a swift elation.\n\"I'll remember that, because I think you do--understand, and some day\nI--but I've got at least five years of plugging ahead of me, and----\"\n\n\"You were going to tell me about your big reason for going to the State\nUniversity,\" Marcia broke in, though she wondered afterward if her\ninstinct had not played her false.\n\n\"Yes,\" Joe said, with a little effort. \"Well, this is it. You know I\ndidn't make much of a hit at college; I pulled through sophomore year,\nbut that's about all, and I doubt if the faculty will pass resolutions\nof regret when I don't show up there in the fall. The religious\ninfluences of a church school didn't prevent me from being a good deal\nof a heathen, though I will say that was no fault of the school. Maybe I\nought to go back and face the music. It wouldn't be so bad, I guess. But\nI feel more like making a clean, new start, in a new place. The State\nUniversity wouldn't be any worse for me than I should be for it, if\nnothing had happened to change my point of view. So, that isn't the\nissue. But if the State University life is able to beat me before I get\nto sawing bones at all, I'd make a pretty missionary doctor if I ever\nlanded in foreign parts, wouldn't I?\"\n\nMarcia could find nothing to say; perhaps because her thoughts were busy\nwith other and more personal aspects of Joe's plans for the future.\n\nAnd as Joe's people were completely oblivious to everything except the\nstartling change that had come over him, and were abundantly able to\nsend him to three universities at once if necessary, Joe Carbrook was as\ngood as enrolled.\n\nMarty and J.W. did not find the future opening up before them so easily.\nMarty, for all he could not imagine the way opening before such as\nhimself, was all eagerness about the nearest Methodist school, which\nhappened to be the one where the Institute had been held, Cartwright\nCollege. It was named, as may be supposed, in honor of Peter Cartwright,\nthat pioneer Methodist preacher who became famous on the same sort of\nschooling which sufficed for Abraham Lincoln, and once ran against\nLincoln himself for Congress. J.W. was not specially eager to look for a\ncollege education anywhere. Why should he be, since he was expecting to\ngo into business?\n\nThe two had many a discussion, Marty arguing in favor of college for\neverybody, and J.W. admitting that for preachers and teachers and\nlawyers and doctors it was necessary, but what use could it be in\nbusiness?\n\n\"But say, J.W., you're not going to be one of these 'born a man, died a\ngrocer' sort of business men,\" urged Marty. \"Broad-minded--that's your\nfuture, with a knowledge of more than markets. And look at the personal\nside of college life. Haven't you heard Mr. Drury say that if he hadn't\nanything else to show for his four years at college than the lifelong\nfriendships he made there it would have been worth all it cost? And you\nhave reason to know he doesn't forget the studies.\"\n\n\"That's all right, Marty,\" J.W. rejoined. \"I don't need much convincing\non that score. I can see the good times too; you know I'd try for all\nthe athletics I could get into, and I guess I could keep my end up\nsocially. But is all that worth my time for the next four years,\nstudying subjects that would be no earthly good to me in business, in\nmaking a living, I mean? The other boys in hardware stores would have\nfour years the start of me.\"\n\n\"But don't you remember, J.W., what our commencement speaker said on\nthat very point? He told us we had to be men and women first, no matter\nwhat occupations we got into. And he bore down hard on how it was a good\ndeal bigger business to make a life than to make a living. In these days\nthe most dangerous people, to themselves and to all of us, are the\nuneducated people.\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember,\" J.W. admitted. \"'Cultural and social values of\neducation,' he called that, didn't he? And that's what I'm not sure of.\nIt seems pretty foggy to me. But, old man, you're going, that's settled,\nand maybe I'll just let dad send me to keep you company, if I can't find\nany better reason.\"\n\n\"That's all very well for you to say, J.W.,\" Marty retorted, with the\nleast little touch of resentment in his tone. \"You'll _let_ your dad\nsend you. My dad can't send me, though he'll do all he's able to do, and\nhow I can earn enough, to get through is more than I can see from here.\"\n\nBut J.W. asserted, confidently: \"There's a way, just the same, and I\nthink I know how to find out about it. I haven't been a second assistant\ndeputy secretary in the Sunday school for nothing. You reminded me of\nthe commencement address; I'll ask you if you remember Children's Day?\nIt came the very next Sunday.\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember it; but what of it?\"\n\n\"Well, my boy, we took up a collection for you!\"\n\n\"We did? Not much we did, and anyway, do you think I'd accept that sort\nof help? I'm not looking for charity, yet,\" and Marty showed the hurt he\nfelt.\n\n\"Steady, Martin Luther! I wouldn't want you to get that collection\nanyway; it wasn't near big enough. But don't you know that every\nChildren's Day collection in the whole church goes to the Board of\nEducation, and that it has become a big fund, never to be given away but\nalways to be loaned to students getting ready to be preachers and such?\nIt's no charity; it's the same broad-minded business you want me to go\nto college for. I can see that much without getting any nearer to\ncollege than the Delafield First Church Sunday School. You borrow the\nmoney, just as if you stepped up to a bank window, and you agree to pay\nit back as soon as you can after you graduate. Then it goes into the\nFund again, and some other boy or girl borrows it, and so on. More than\ntwenty-five thousand students have borrowed from this fund. About\nfifteen hundred of 'em got loans last year. Ask the preacher if I'm not\ngiving you this straight.\"\n\nMarty had no immediate way of testing this unusual wealth of\ninformation, so he said, \"Well, maybe there's something in it. I'll talk\nto Brother Drury about it, anyway.\"\n\nThat observing man was quite willing to be talked to. When Marty\npresented himself at the study a few days later he found the pastor as\nwell prepared as if he had been expecting some such interview, as,\nindeed, he had.\n\nHe told Marty the story of the Student Loan Fund--how it originated in\nthe celebration of the Centenary of American Methodism, in 1866, and how\nit had been growing all through the years, both by the annual Children's\nDay offering and by the increasing return of loans from former students.\n\nThen he explained that this Fund, and many other educational affairs,\nwere in the hands of the Church's Board of Education. This Board, Marty\nheard, is a sort of educational clearing house for the whole church, and\nespecially for Methodist schools of higher learning. It helps young\npeople to go to college, and it helps the colleges to take care of the\nyoung people when they go, of course always using money which has come\nfrom the churches. It has charge of a group of special schools in the\nSouth, and it sets the scholastic standards to which all the church's\nschools and colleges must conform. Besides looking out for these\ninterests it helps the school to provide courses in the Bible and\nChristian principles, and it furnishes workers to serve the colleges in\ncaring for the religious life of the students.\n\nMarty listened carefully, and with no lack of interest, but when the\nminister paused the boy's mind sprang back to his own particular\nconcern.\n\n\"But, Mr. Drury, can any student borrow money from that fund?\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" said the preacher, \"not every student. Only those who are\npreparing for the ministry or for other careers of special service. They\nhave to show that the loan will help them in preparing to be of some\ndefinite Christian value when they graduate. That won't affect you; you\ncan borrow, not all you could use, perhaps, but enough to be a big help.\nHow much do you expect to need?\"\n\n\"Why,\" answered Marty, \"I hardly know. I hadn't really thought it\npossible I could go. But dad says he'll let me have all he can, and they\ntell me a fellow can get work to do if he's not particular about easy\njobs. I'm pretty sure I could manage, except for tuition and books,\nbut----\"\n\n\"Then you may as well consider it settled,\" said the pastor, \"Cartwright\nCollege will welcome you on those terms, or I'll know the reason why.\nAnd I think you can count on J.W. going with you.\"\n\nJ.W. was not hard to convince. His parents were all for it. The pastor\nhad no intention of overdoing his own part in the affair, and contented\nhimself with a suggestion that disposed of J.W.'s main objection.\n\nJ.W. had been saying to him one day, \"I know I should have a good time\nat college, but I should be four years later getting into business than\nthe other boys.\"\n\n\"That depends on what 'later' means,\" replied Mr. Drury. \"You would not\nneed four years to catch up, if college does for you what I think it\nwill. Besides, you're intending to be a Christian citizen, I take it,\nand that will be even more of a job than to be a successful hardware\nman. Colleges have been operating these many years, to give young people\nthe best possible preparations for a whole life. Remember what John\nMilton said: I care not how late I come, so I come fit.' You want to\ncome to your work as fit as they make 'em, don't you?\"\n\nAnd J.W. owned up that he did. \"I don't mean to be a dub in business,\nand I've no right to be a dub anywhere. Me for Cartwright, Brother\nDrury!\"\n\nAnother day's work in the laboratory. Walter Drury knew how to be\npatient, yet every experience like this was a tonic to his soul. And now\nhe must be content for a time to let others carry the work through its\nnext stages, though he would hold himself ready for any unexpected\ndevelopment that might arise.\n\nSo it befell that J.W. and Marty started to Cartwright, and a week later\nJoe Carbrook went off to the State University.\n\nThe day after they had matriculated, J.W. and Marty were putting their\nroom to rights--oh, yes, they thought it would be well to share the same\nroom--and as they puttered about they reviewed the happenings of the\nfirst day. They had made a preliminary exploration of the grounds and\nbuildings, revisiting the places which had become familiar during\nInstitute week, and living over that crowded and epochal time.\n\nMarty, scouting around for something to do, had discovered that he could\nget work, such as it was, for ten hours a week, anyway, and maybe more,\nat thirty to fifty cents an hour. He had a little money left after\npaying his tuition, and the college registrar assured him that the loan\nfrom the Board of Education would be forthcoming. Therefore the talk\nturned on money.\n\n\"That tuition bill sure reduced the swelling in my pocketbook, Marty,\"\nremarked J.W., as he examined his visible resources.\n\n\"What do you think it did to mine?\" Marty observed quietly. \"I'm still\ngiddy from being relieved of so much money in one operation. And yet I\ncan't see how they get along. Look at the big faculty they have, and all\nthese buildings to keep up and keep going. When I think of how big a\ndollar seems to me, the tuition looks like the national debt of Mexico;\nbut when I try to figure out how much it costs the college per student,\nI feel as though I were paying lunch-counter prices for a dining-car\ndinner. How _do_ they do it, J.W.?\"\n\n\"Who told you I was to be looked on in the light of a World Almanac, my\nson? I could give you the answer to that question without getting out of\nmy chair, but for one small difficulty--I just don't know. Tell you\nwhat--it's a good question--let's look in the catalogue. I'd like to\nfind information in that volume about something besides the four\ncenturies of study that loom before my freshman eyes.\"\n\nSo they looked in the catalogue and discovered that Cartwright College\nhad an endowment of $1,750,000, producing an income of about $80,000 a\nyear, and that the churches of its territory gave about $25,000 more.\nThey learned also that most of the buildings had been provided by\nfriends of the college, with the Carnegie Library mainly the gift of the\nmillionaire ironmaster. They learned also that about $500,000 of the\nendowment had been raised in the last two years, under the promise of\nthe General Education Board, which is a Rockefeller creation, to provide\nthe last $125,000. The college property was valued at about half a\nmillion dollars.\n\n\"And there you are, Martin Luther, my bold reformer,\" said J.W.,\ncheerfully. \"The people who put up the money have invested about two and\na half millions on you and me, and the other five hundred students, say\nabout $250 a year per student. And we pay the rest of what it costs to\ngive us a college career, $125 to $175 a year, depending on our taste in\ncourses. I remember I felt as if the John Wesley Farwell family had\nalmost gone broke when dad signed up for $1,000 on that last endowment\ncampaign. I thought the money gone forever, but I see now he merely\ninvested it. I've come to Cartwright to spend the income of it, and a\nlittle more. Five or six people have given a thousand dollars apiece to\nmake a college course possible for each of us. There's some reason in\ncollege endowments, after all.\"\n\nAnd Marty said, \"One good I can see in this particular endowment is that\nanybody but a selfish idiot would be glad to match four years of his\nlife against all the money and work that Christian people have put into\nCartwright College.\"\n\n\"I hope you don't mean anything personal by that remark,\" J.W. said,\nwith mock solemnity, \"because I'm inclined to believe you're more than\nhalf right. It reminds me again of what Phil Khamis said. I'm beginning\nto think I'll never have a chance to forget that Greek's Christian\nremark about Christians.\"\n\nBy being off at school together J.W. and Marty gave each other\nunconfessed but very real moral support in those first days when a lone\nfreshman would have known he was homesick.\n\nBut another antidote, both pleasant and potent, was supplied by the\nEpworth League of First Church. It had allied itself with the college\nY.M.C.A.--and for the women students, with the Y.W.C.A.--in various\nways, but particularly it purposed to see that the first few Sundays\nwere safely tided over.\n\nSo the two chums found themselves in one of the two highly attractive\nstudy courses which had been put on in partnership with the Sunday\nschool. It was in the early afternoon of one of the early Sundays that\nJ.W. called Marty's attention to a still more alluring opportunity.\n\n\"Looky here, Marty, it's raining, I know, but I've a feeling that you'd\nbetter not write that letter home until a little further on in the day.\nWhat's to stop us from taking a look at this League fellowship hour\nwe're invited to, and getting a light lunch? We don't need to stay to\nthe League meeting unless we choose, though we're members, you know.\"\n\nMarty picked up the card of invitation which J.W. had flipped across the\ntable to him, and read it.\n\n\"Well,\" he commented, \"it reads all right. Let's try it.\"\n\nOut into the rain they went and put in two highly cheerful hours,\nincluding one in the devotional meeting, so that when Marty at last sat\ndown to write home, he produced, without quite knowing how, a letter\nthat was vastly more heartening when it reached the farm than it would\nhave been if he had written it before dark.\n\nJoe Carbrook set out for the State University in what was for him a\nfashion quite subdued. Before his experience at the Institute he would\nhave gone, if at all, in his own car, and his arrival would have been\nnotice to \"the sporty crowd\" that another candidate for initiation into\nthat select circle had arrived.\n\nBut Joe was enjoying the novelty of thinking a little before he acted.\nThough he would always be of the irrepressible sort, he was not the same\nJoe. He had laid out a program which surprised himself somewhat, and\nastonished most of the people who knew him.\n\nHe knew now that he would become, if he could, a doctor; a missionary\ndoctor. No other career entered his mind. He would finish his college\nwork at the State University, and then go to medical school. He would\ndevote himself without ceasing to all the studies he would need. Not for\nhim any social life, any relaxation of purpose. Grimly he told himself\nthat his play days were over. They had been lively while they lasted;\nbut they were done.\n\nOf course that was foolish. If he had persisted in any such scholastic\nregimen, the effort would have lasted a few days, or possibly weeks; and\nthen in a reaction of disgust he might easily have come to despair of\nthe whole project.\n\nFortunately for Joe and for a good many other people, his purpose of\ndigging into his books and laboratory work and doggedly avoiding any\nother interest was tempered by the happenings of the first week.\nDoubtless he would have made a desperate struggle, but it would have\nbeen useless. Not even conversion can make new habits overnight, and in\nhis first two years at college Joe had been known to teachers and\nstudents alike as distinctly a sketchy student, wholly inexpert at\nconcentrated effort.\n\nAnd so, instead of becoming first a grind and then a discouraged rebel\nagainst it all, he had the immense good fortune to be captured by an\nobservant Junior whom he had met while they were both registering for\nChemistry III.\n\n\"You're new here,\" said the Junior, Heatherby by name, \"and I've had two\nyears of it. Maybe you'll let me show you the place. I'm the proud\nhalf-owner of a decidedly second-hand 'Hooting Nanny,' you know, and I\nrather like bumping people around town in it.\"\n\nThat was the beginning of many things. Joe liked it that Heatherby made\nno apologies for his car, and before long he discovered that the other\nhalf-owner, Barnard, was equally unaffected and friendly. It was\nsomething of a surprise, though, to learn that Barnard was not a\nstudent, but the youthful-looking pastor of the University Methodist\nChurch, of late known as the Wesley Foundation.\n\n\"I'm not up on Methodism as I should be,\" said Joe to Barnard, a day or\ntwo later, \"and I may as well admit that I never heard before of this\nWesley Foundation of yours. Is it a church affair?\"\n\n\"Well, rather,\" Barnard answered. \"It is just exactly that. You know, or\ncould have guessed, that a good many of the students here are from\nMethodist homes--about a fourth of the whole student body, as it\nhappens. And our church has been coming to see, perhaps a bit slowly,\nthat although the State could not provide any religious influences, and\ncould certainly do nothing for denominational interests, there was all\nthe more reason for the church to do it. That's the idea under the\nFoundation, so to speak, and the work is now established in nine of the\ngreat State Universities.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see,\" Joe mused, \"but just what is the Foundation's duty, and\nhow do you do it?\"\n\nBarnard laughed as he said, \"We do pretty near everything, in this\nUniversity. We have a regular Methodist church, with a membership made\nup almost entirely of faculty and students. The town people have their\nown First Church, over on the West Side. Our church has its Sunday\nschool, its Epworth League Chapter, and other activities. We try to come\nout strong on the social side, and in a little while, when our Social\nCenter building is up--we're after the money for it now--we can do a\ngood deal more. There is plenty of demand for it.\"\n\n\"That's all church work, of course. I suppose you have no relation to\nthe University, though,\" Joe asked, \"studies and all that?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and we're coming to more of it, but gradually. We are\nalready offering courses in religious subjects, with teachers recognized\nby the University, and credit given. It's all very new yet, you know,\nbut we're hoping and going ahead.\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" said Joe with emphasis. \"But where does the money\ncome from for all this? It must be Methodist money, of course; who puts\nit up?\"\n\n\"Oh, the usual people,\" said Barnard. \"A few well-to-do Methodists have\nprovided some of it, but the really big money has to come from the\nchurches--collections and subscriptions and all that. This sort of work\nis being done in forty-odd other schools, where the Wesley Foundation is\nnot organized. The money comes officially through two of the benevolent\nboards.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" queried Joe. \"I've often heard of 'the benevolences,' but I never\nthought of them as meaning anything to me. How do they hook up to a\nproposition like that?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Barnard, \"the Board of Education, naturally, is interested\nbecause of the Methodist students who are here. And the Board of Home\nMissions and Church Extension is interested because at bottom this is\nthe realest sort of home mission and church extension work.\"\n\n\"Do these boards supply all the money you need?\" was Joe's next\nquestion.\n\n\"No, not all at once, anyway,\" Barnard answered. \"We're needing a good\ndeal more before this thing really gets on its feet; and when our people\nknow what work can be done in State schools, and what a glorious chance\nwe have, I think they'll see that the money is provided. The students\nare there, half a hundred thousand of them, and the church must be there\ntoo.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Joe said, \"I admire the faith of you. And I want to join. You\nknow, although I'm a mighty green hand at religious work, I've got to go\nat it hard. There's a reason. So please count me in on everything where\nI'm likely to fit at all. I didn't tell you, did I, that I'm headed for\nmedicine?--going to be a missionary doctor, if they'll take me when I'm\nready. Maybe your Foundation can do something with me.\"\n\nBarnard thought it could, and the next two years justified his\nconfidence. Joe Carbrook, as downright in his new purpose as he had been\nin his old scornful refusal to look at life seriously, quickly found a\nplace for himself in the church and the other activities of the\nFoundation. It saved him from his first heedless resolution to study an\nimpossible number of hours a day, and from the certain crash which would\nhave followed. It gave him not a few friends, and he was soon deep in\nthe affairs of the League and the church. Besides, it made possible some\nspecial friendships among the faculty, which were to be of immense value\nin later days.\n\nWhile Joe Carbrook was fitting himself into the life of the University\nand the Wesley Foundation, the chums at Cartwright were quite as busy\nmaking themselves a part of their new world. As always, they made a\ngood team, so much so that people began to think of them not as\nindividuals, but as necessarily related, like a pair of shoes, or collar\nand tie, or pork and beans. And, though the old differences of\ntemperament and interest had not lessened, the two had reached a fine\ncontentment over each other's purposes. J.W. was happy in Marty's\npreacher-plans, and Marty believed implicitly in the wisdom of J.W.'s\nunderstood purpose to be a forthright Christian layman.\n\nBut it was not all plain sailing for J.W. Nobody bothered Marty; he was\ngoing into the ministry, and that settled that. Among the students who\nwent in for religious work were several who could not quite share\nMarty's complacence over J.W.'s program. They thought it strange that so\nactive a Christian, with the right stuff in him, as everybody\nrecognized, should not declare himself for some religious vocation.\n\nAnd from time to time men came to college--bishops, secretaries,\nspecialists--to talk to the students about this very thing. There was a\nstudent volunteer band, in which were enrolled all the students looking\nto foreign mission work. The prospective preachers had a club of their\nown, and there was even a little organized group of boys and girls who\nthought seriously of social service in some form or another as a career.\n\nNow, J.W., before the end of sophomore year, had come to know all, or\nnearly all, of these young enthusiasts. Some of them developed into\nstaunch and satisfying friends. If he had run with the sport crowd,\nwhich was always looking for recruits, or if he had been merely a hard\nstudent, working for Phi Beta Kappa, he might have been let alone. But,\nwithout being able to wear an identifying label, he yet belonged with\nthose who had come to college with a definite life purpose.\n\nJust because nobody seemed to realize that being a Christian in business\ncould be as distinct a vocation as any, J.W. was at times vaguely\ntroubled, in spite of his confident stand at the Institute. He wondered\na little at what he had almost come to feel was his callousness. Not\nthat he was uninterested; for Marty he had vast unspoken ambitions which\nwould have stunned that unsuspecting youth if they had ever become\nvocal; and he never tired of the prospects which opened up before his\nother friends. He kept up an intermittent correspondence with Joe\nCarbrook, and found himself thinking much about the strange chain of\ncircumstances which promised to make a medical missionary out of Joe. He\nmore than suspected that Joe and Marcia Dayne were vastly interested in\neach other's future, and he got a lot of satisfaction out of that. They\nwould have a great missionary career.\n\nNo; he was not unfeeling about all these high purposes of the boys and\ngirls he knew; and if he could just get a final answer to the one\nquestion that was bothering him, his college life would need nothing to\nmake it wholly satisfying. He had early forgotten all his old reluctance\nto put college before business.\n\nMarty knew something of what was passing in J.W.'s mind, and it\ntroubled him a little. He thought of tackling J.W. himself, and by this\ntime there was nothing under the sun they could not discuss with each\nother freely. But he did not quite trust himself.\n\nAt last he made up his mind to write to their pastor at home. He knew\nthat for some reason Mr. Drury had a peculiar interest in J.W. and was\nsure he could count on it now.\n\n\"I know J.W.'s bothered,\" he wrote, \"but he doesn't talk about it. I\nthink he has been disturbed by hearing so much about special calls to\nspecial work. We've had several lifework meetings lately, and the needs\nof the world have been pretty strongly stated. But the stand he took at\nthe Institute is just as right for him as mine is for me. Can't you\nwrite to him, or something?\"\n\nWalter Drury could do better than write. He turned up at Cartwright that\nsame week.\n\nIt happened that three or four prospective preachers and Christian\nworkers had been in their room that afternoon, and J.W. was trying to\nthink the thing through once more. He recalled what his pastor had said\nat the camp fire, and his own testimony on Institute Sunday in the\nlife-service meeting, after Marcia Dayne had put it up to him. But he\nwas making heavy weather of it. And just then came the pastor's knock at\nthe door.\n\nThere was a boisterous welcome from them both, with something like\nrelief in J.W.'s heart, that he would not, could not speak. But he could\nget help now. For the sake of saying something he asked the usual\nquestion. \"What in the world brings you to Cartwright?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Pastor Drury, \"I like to come to Cartwright. Your President's\nan old friend. Besides, why shouldn't I come to see you two, if I wish?\nYou are still part of my flock, you know.\"\n\nSo they talked of anything and everything. By and by Marty said he must\ngo over to the library, and pretty soon J.W. was telling his friend the\npastor all that had been disturbing him.\n\n\"It all began in the summer before I came to college, at the Institute\nhere, you know, when you spoke at the camp fire on Saturday night.\"\n\n\"I remember,\" the pastor replied. \"You hadn't taken much interest in\nyour future work before that?\"\n\n\"No real interest, I guess,\" J.W. admitted. \"I'd always taken things as\nthey came, and didn't go looking for what I couldn't see. I was enjoying\nevery day's living, and didn't care deeply about anything else. Why,\nthough I've been a Methodist all my life, you remember how I knew\nnothing at all about the Methodist Church outside of Delafield, except\nwhat little I picked up about its Sunday schools by serving as an\nassistant to our Sunday school secretary. And when I began to hear, at\nthe Institute, about home missions and foreign missions, about Negro\neducation and other business that the church was doing, I saw right off\nthat it was up to us young people to supply the new workers that were\nalways needed. But, even so, only those who had a real fitness for it\nought to offer themselves, and I thought too that something else would\nbe needed. I wasn't any duller than lots of other church members--even\nthe older ones didn't seem to know much more about the church outside\nthan I did. You would take up collections for the benevolences, but if\nyou told us what they meant, we didn't pay enough attention to get the\nidea clearly, so as to have any real understanding. I suppose the\nwomen's societies had more. I know my mother talks about Industrial\nHomes in the South, and schools in India--she's in both the societies,\nyou know--but that is about all.\"\n\n\"And it seemed when I began to find out about things, Mr. Drury, that if\nour whole church needed workers for all these places, it needed just as\nmuch to have in the local churches men and women who would know about\nthe work in a big way, and who would care in a big way, to back up the\nwhole work as it should be backed up. So, when you spoke at the camp\nfire it was just what I wanted to hear, and when I was called on, I made\nthat sort of a declaration the next day at the life decision services.\"\n\n\"Yes I remember that too,\" said Mr. Drury, \"and I remember telling Joe\nCarbrook that you had undertaken as big a career as any of them.\"\n\n\"That's what I kind of thought too,\" said J.W., simply, \"but rooming\nwith Marty Shenk--he's going to make a great preacher too--keeps me\nthinking, and I know about all the students who are getting ready for\nspecial work, and lately I've been wondering----\"\n\n\"About some special sort of work you'd like to do?\" Mr. Drury prompted.\n\n\"No; not that at all. I'm just as sure as ever I'm not that sort. If\nonly I can make good in business, there's where I belong. But can a\nfellow make good just as a Christian in the same way I expect Marty\nShenk to make good as a Christian preacher?\"\n\nThe pastor stood up and came over to J.W.'s chair. \"My boy, I know just\nwhat you are facing. It is a pretty old struggle, and there's only one\nway out of it. God hasn't any first place and second place for the\npeople that let him guide them. A man may refuse his call, either to go\nor to stay, and then no matter what he does it will be a second best.\nBut you--wait for your call. For my part, I think probably you've got\nit, and it's to a very real life. If you and those like you should fail,\nwe should soon have no more missionaries. And if the missionaries should\nfail, we should soon have no more church. God has little patience with a\nchurch that always stays at home, and I doubt if he has more for a\nchurch that doesn't stand by the men and women it has sent to the\noutposts. It is all one job.\"\n\nThere was much more of the same sort, and when J.W. walked with his\npastor to the train the next morning, the only doubt that had ever\nreally disturbed him in college was quieted for good.\n\nWalter Drury went back to Delafield and his work, surer now than ever\nthat the Experiment was going forward. He knew, certainly, that all this\nwas only the getting ready; that the real tests would come later But he\nwas well content.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was early football season of the junior year. The State University\ntook on Cartwright College for the first Saturday's game, everybody well\nknowing that it was only a practice romp for the University. Always a\nbig time for Cartwright, this year it was a day for remembering. Joe\nCarbrook, who had been graduated from the University in June, and was\nnow a medical student in the city, drove down to see the game. For\nloyalty's sake he joined the little bunch of University rooters on the\neast stand. Otherwise it was Cartwright's crowd, as well as Cartwright's\nday.\n\nTo the surprise of everybody, neither side scored until the last\nquarter, and then both sides made a touchdown, Cartwright first! A high\ntricky wind spoiled both attempts to kick goal, and time was called with\na score at 6-6. Cartwright had held State to a tie, for the first time\nin history!\n\nJoe came from the game with the chums and took supper with them. The\nwhole town was ablaze with excitement over its team's great showing\nagainst the State, and the talk at table was all of the way Cartwright's\neleven could now go romping down the schedule and take every other\ncollege into camp, including, of course, Barton Poly, their dearest foe.\n\nThe boys were happy to have Joe with them, he looked so big and fine,\nand had the same easy, breezy bearing as of old. Nor had he lost any of\nthat frank attitude toward his own career which never failed to\ninterest everybody he met. After supper they had an hour together in the\nroom.\n\n\"Those boys in the medical school surely do amuse me,\" he laughed. \"When\nI tell 'em I'm to be a missionary doctor, which I do first thing to give\n'em sort of a shock they don't often get, they stand off and say, 'What,\nyou!' as if I had told 'em I was to be a traffic cop, or a trapeze\nartist in the circus. Some of 'em seem to think I'm queer in the head,\nbut, boys, they are the ones with rooms to let. When the others talk\nabout hanging out a shingle in Chicago or Saint Louis or Cleveland or\nsome other over-doctored place, I tell 'em to watch me, when I'm the\nonly doctor between Siam and sunrise! Won't I be somebody? With my own\nhospital--made out o' mud, I know--and a dispensary and a few native\nhelpers who don't know what I'm going to do next, and all the sick\npeople coming from ten days' journey away to the foreign doctor!\" And\nthen his mood changed. \"That's what'll get me, though; all those\nhelpless, ignorant humans who don't even know what I can do for their\nbodies, let alone having any suspicion of what Somebody Else can do for\ntheir souls! But it will be wonderful; next thing to being with him in\nGalilee!\"\n\nThere was a pause, each boy filling it with thoughts he would not speak.\n\n\"Where do you expect to find that work, Joe?\" J.W. asked him.\n\nThe answer was quick and straight: \"Wherever I'm sent, J.W., boy,\" he\nsaid. \"Only I've told the candidate secretary what I want. I met him\nlast summer in Chicago, and there's nothing like getting in your bid\nearly. He's agreed to recommend me, when I'm ready, for the hardest,\nneediest, most neglected place that's open. If I'm going into this\nmissionary doctor business, I want a chance to prove Christianity where\nthey won't be able to say that Christianity couldn't have done it alone.\nIt _can_!\"\n\nThen, with one of those quick turns which were Joe Carbrook's devices\nfor concealing his feelings, he said, \"And how's everything going at\nthis Methodist college of yours? Your boys put up a beautiful game\nto-day, and they ought to have won. How's the rest of the school?\"\n\nBoth the boys assured him everything was going in a properly\nsatisfactory fashion, but Marty had caught one word that he wanted Joe\nto enlarge upon.\n\n\"Why do you say 'Methodist college'? It is a Methodist college; but is\nthere anything the matter with that?\"\n\nJoe rose to the mild challenge. \"Don't think I mean to be nasty,\" he\nsaid, \"but I can't help comparing this place with the State University,\nand I wonder if there's any big reason for such colleges as this. You\nknow they all have a hard time, and the State spends dollars to the\nchurch's dimes.\"\n\n\"Yes, we know that, don't we, J.W.?\" and Marty appealed to his chum,\nremembering the frequent and half-curious talks they had on that very\ncontrast.\n\nJ.W. said \"Sure,\" but plainly meant to leave the defense of the\nChristian college to Marty, who, to tell the truth, was quite willing.\n\n\"There's room for both, and need for both,\" said that earnest young man.\n\"Each has its work to do--the State University will probably help in\nattracting most of those who want special technical equipment, and the\nchurch colleges will keep on serving those who want an education for its\nown sake, whatever special line they may take up afterward: though each\nwill say it welcomes both sorts of students.\"\n\nThis suited Joe; he intended Marty to keep it up a while. So he said,\n\"But why is a church college, anyway?\" And he got his answer, for Marty\ntoo was eager for the fray.\n\n\"The church college,\" he retorted with the merest hint of asperity, \"is\nat the bottom of all that people call higher education. The church was\nfounding colleges and supporting them before the State thought even of\nprimary schools. Look at Oxford and Cambridge--church colleges. Look at\nHarvard and Yale and Princeton and the smaller New England\ncolleges--church colleges. Look at Syracuse and Wesleyan and\nNorthwestern and Chicago. Look at Vanderbilt, and most of the other\ngreat schools of the South. They are church colleges, founded, most of\nthem, before the first State University, and many before there was any\npublic high school. The church college showed the way. If it had never\ndone anything else, it has some rights as the pioneer of higher\nlearning.\"\n\nJ.W. had been getting more interested. He had never heard Marty in\nquite this strain, and he was proud of him.\n\n\"That's a pretty good answer he's given you, Joe,\" he said with a\nchuckle. \"Now, isn't it?\"\n\n\"It is,\" admitted Joe. \"I reckon I knew most of what you say, Marty, but\nI hadn't thought of it that way before. Now I want to ask another\nquestion, only don't think I'm doing it for meanness; I've got a reason.\nAnd my question is this: granting all that the church schools have done,\nis it worth all they cost to keep them up now; in our time, I mean?\"\n\n\"I think it is,\" Marty answered, quieter now. \"They do provide a\ndifferent sort of educational opportunity, as I said. Then, they are\nproducing most of the recruits that the churches need for their work.\nSince the churches began to care for their members in the State\nUniversities, a rather larger number of candidates for Christian service\nare coming out of the universities, but until the last year or two\nnearly all came, and the very large majority still comes, and probably\nfor years will come, from the church colleges. And there's another\nreason that you State advocates ought to remember. Our Methodist\ncolleges in this country have about fifty thousand students. If these\ncolleges were to be put out of business, ten of the very greatest State\nUniversities would have to be duplicated, dollar for dollar, at public\nexpense, to take care of the Methodist students alone. When you think of\nall the other denominations, you would need to duplicate all the State\nUniversities now in existence if you purposed to do the work the church\ncolleges are now doing. And if you couldn't get the money, or if the\nstudents didn't take to the change, the country would be short just that\nmany thousand college-trained men and women. The whole Methodist Church,\nwith the other churches, is doing a piece of unselfish national service\nthat costs up into the hundreds of millions, and where's any other big\nmoney that's better spent?\"\n\nWhen Marty stopped he looked up into Joe's good-natured face, and\nblushed, with an embarrassed self-consciousness. \"You think you've been\nstringing me, don't you?\"\n\n\"Now, Marty,\" Joe spoke genially, \"don't you misunderstand. I said I had\na reason. I have. My folks have some money they want to put into a safe\nplace. And they like Cartwright. I do too, but--you know how it is. I\nwant to be sure. Anyhow I'm glad I asked these questions. You've given\nme some highly important information; and, honestly, I'm grateful. You\nsurely don't think I'm small enough to be making fun of you, or of\nCartwright. If I seemed to be, I apologize on the spot. Believe me?\" and\nthere was no mistaking his genuine earnestness.\n\n\"Of course I believe you, old man,\" Marty rejoined, just a wee bit\nashamed. \"Forgive me too, but I've been reading up on that college thing\nlately, and it's a little different from what most people think. So you\ngot me going.\"\n\n\"I'm glad he did,\" said J.W. \"It makes me prouder than ever of\nCartwright College.\" And, as he got up he said, as though still at the\ngame, \"The 'locomotive' now!\" and gave Cartwright's favorite yell as a\nsolo, while Marty and Joe grinned approval and some students passing in\nthe street answered it with the \"skyrocket.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is material for a book, all mixt of interest varying from very\nlight comedy to unplumbed gloom, in the life of two boys at college--any\ntwo; and some day the chronicles of the Delafield Duo may be written;\nbut not now.\n\nSenior year, with its bright glory and its seriously borne\nresponsibilities. It found Marty a trifle less shy and reticent than\nwhen he came to Cartwright, and J.W., Jr., a shade more studious. Marty\nwould miss Phi Beta Kappa, but only by the merest fraction; J.W. would\nrank about number twenty-seven in a graduating class of forty-five.\nMarty had successfully represented his college twice in debate, and J.W.\nhad played second on the nine and end in the eleven, doing each job\nbetter than well, but rarely drawing the spotlight his way.\n\nCuriously enough, you had but to talk to Marty, and you would learn that\nJ.W., Jr., was the finest athlete and the most popular student in\nschool. Conversely, J.W., Jr., was prepared to set Cartwright's debating\nrecord, as incarnated in Marty, against that of any other college in the\nState. What was more, he cherished an unshakable confidence that the\n\"Rev. Martin Luther Shenk\" would be one of the leading ministers of his\nConference within five years.\n\nAnd so they came to commencement, with the Shenk and the Farwell\nfamilies, Pastor Drury, and Marcia Dayne in the throng of visitors. Mr.\nDrury rarely missed commencements at Cartwright, and naturally he could\nnot stay away this year. The Farwells thought Marcia might like to see\nher old schoolmates graduate, and the boys had written her that they\nwanted somebody they could trot around during commencement week who\nmight be trusted to join in the \"I knew him when\" chorus without being\ntempted to introduce devastating reminiscences. And Marcia, being in\nlove with life and youth, had been delighted to accept the combined\ninvitation. She was not at all in love with either of the boys, nor they\nwith her. They thought they knew where her heart had been given, and\nthey counted Joe Carbrook a lucky man.\n\n\"Tell us, Marcia,\" said J.W., Jr., one afternoon, as the three of them\nwere down by the lake, \"how it happens you went to the training school\ninstead of the normal school last year.\"\n\n\"That's just like a man,\" said Marcia. \"Here am I, your awed and\nadmiring slave, brought on to adorn the crowning event of your\nscholastic career, and you don't even remember that I finished the\nnormal school course in three years, and graduated a year ago!\"\n\nMarty rolled over on the sand in wordless glee.\n\n\"Aw, now, Marcia, why----\" J.W., Jr., boggled, fairly caught, but soon\nrecovering himself. \"You must have been ashamed of it, then. I do\nremember something about your getting through, now you mention the fact,\nbut why didn't I receive an invitation? Answer me that, young lady!\"\n\n\"Oh, we educators don't think commencement amounts to so much as all\nthat. With us, you know, life is real, life is earnest, and so forth.\nBut I'll tell you the truth, J.W. I knew you couldn't come, either of\nyou, and I was saving up a little on commencement expenses; so I left\nyou--and a good many others--off the list. I needed the money, that's\nthe simple fact; And the reason you didn't see me at home last summer\nwas because I was busy spending the money I had saved on your\ninvitations and other expensive things.\"\n\nMarty usually waited for J.W., but the idea which now occurred to him\ndemanded utterance. \"Say, Marcia, I think it's fine of you to be\nstudying dispensary work and first aid.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\" Marcia demanded.\n\n\"Never mind; I saw Joe Carbrook in Chicago when we went through on our\nway to the Buckland-Cartwright debate, and I guessed a good deal more\nthan he told me, which wasn't much.\"\n\n\"Marty,\" said Marcia, her face aglow and her brave eyes looking into\nhis, \"there's nothing secret about it. When Joe gets through medical\nschool we shall go out together to whatever field they choose for him.\nThe least I can do is to get ready to help.\"\n\n\"Is that why you've been going to training school?\" asked J.W. They had\nso long been used to such complete frankness with each other that the\nquestion was \"taken as meant.\"\n\n\"Yes, J.W., it is,\" said Marcia. \"Joe has been doing perfectly splendid\nwork in his medical course, and they say he will probably turn out to be\na wonderful all-round doctor--everybody is surprised at his\nthoroughness, except me. I know what he means by it. But, of course, he\nhas little time for training in other sorts of religious work, and so,\never since last June, I've been dividing my time between a settlement\ndispensary and the training school. Why shouldn't I be as keen on my\npreparation as he is on his, when we're going out to the same work?\"\n\n\"You should, Marcia--you should,\" J.W. agreed, vigorously, \"and we're\nproud of you; aren't we, Marty? I remember thinking two years ago what\nfine missionary pioneers you two would make. Only trouble is, we'll\nnever know anything about it, after we've once seen your pictures in\n_The Epworth Herald_ among the recruits of the year. If you were only\ngoing where a feller could hope to visit you once every two years or\nso!\"\n\nMarcia looked out across the lake, but she wasn't seeing the white sails\nthat glided along above the rippling blue of its waters. In a moment she\npulled herself together, and observed that there had been enough talk\nabout a mere visitor. \"What of you two, now that your student\noccupation's gone?\"\n\n\"Tell her about yourself, Marty,\" said J.W. \"She knows what I'm going to\ndo.\" And for the moment it seemed to him a very drab and unromantic\nprospect, in spite of his agreement with Mr. Drury that all service\nranks alike with God.\n\nMarty was always slow to talk of himself. \"It isn't much,\" he said. \"The\ndistrict superintendent is asking me to fill out the year on the Ellis\nand Valencia Circuit--the present pastor is going to Colorado for his\nhealth. So I'm to be the young circuit-rider,\" and he smiled a wry\nlittle smile. He had no conceit of himself to make the appointment seem\npoor; rather he wondered how any circuit would consent to put up with a\nboy's crude preaching and awkward pastoral effort.\n\nBut J.W., Jr., was otherwise minded. A country circuit for Marty did not\naccord with his views at all. Marty was too good for a country church,\nhe argued, mainly from his memories of the bare little one-room\nmeetinghouse of his early childhood. In his periodical trips to the farm\nhe had seen the old church grow older and more forlorn, as one family\nafter another moved away, and the multiplying cars brought the town and\nits allurements almost to the front gate of every farm.\n\nSo J.W. had tried to say \"No,\" for Marty, who would not say it for\nhimself. It was one of the rare times when they did not see eye to eye.\nBut it made no difference in their sturdy affection; nothing ever could.\nAnd Marty would take the appointment.\n\nCommencement over, for the first time in many years the chums went their\nseparate ways, Marty to his circuit, and J.W. home to Delafield. Then\nfor a little while each had frequent dark-blue days, without quite\nrealizing what made his world so flavorless. But that passed, and the\nyoung preacher settled down to his preaching, and the young merchant to\nhis merchandising; and soon all things seemed as if they had been just\nso through the years.\n\nTo J.W. came just one indication of the change that college had made.\nPastor Drury, though he found it wise to do much of his important work\nin secret, thought to make use of the college-consciousness which most\ntowns possess in June, and which is felt especially, though not\nconfessed, by the college colony. The year's diplomas are still very new\nin June. So a college night was announced for the social rooms, with a\ncollege sermon to follow on the next Sunday night. The League and the\nSenior Sunday School Department united to send a personal invitation to\nevery college graduate in town, and to every student home for the\nvacation. They responded, four score of them, to the college-night call.\n\nAs J.W. moved about and greeted people he had known for years he began\nto realize that college has its own freemasonry. These other graduates\nwere from all sorts of schools; two had been to Harvard, and one to\nPrinceton; several were State University alumni. Cartwright was\nrepresented by nine, six of them undergraduates, and the others\nconfessed themselves as being from Chicago, Syracuse, De Pauw, three or\nfour sorts of \"Wesleyan,\" Northwestern, Knox, Wabash, Western Reserve,\nand many more.\n\nNot even all Methodist, by any means, J.W. perceived; and yet the\nfellowship among these strangers was very real. They spoke each other's\ntongue; they had common interests and common experiences. He told\nhimself that here was a suggestion as to the new friends he might make\nin Delafield, without forgetting the old ones. And the prospect of life\nin Delafield began to take on new values.\n\nOn the next Sunday night not so many college people were out to hear Mr.\nDrury's straight-thinking and plain-spoken sermon on \"What our town asks\nof its college-trained youth\"; and a few of those who came were inclined\nto resent what they called a lecture on manners and duty.\n\nBut to J.W. the sermon was precisely the challenge to service he had\nbeen looking for. It made up for his feeling at commencement that he was\n\"out of it.\" It completed all which Mr. Drury had suggested at the\nInstitute camp fire four years ago, all that he himself had tried to say\nat the decision service on the day after the camp fire; all that the\npastor had urged two years ago when J.W., Jr., confessed to him his new\nhesitations and uneasiness.\n\nThe pastor had not preached any great thing. He had simply told the\ncollege folk in his audience that no matter where they had gone to\nschool, many people had invested much in them, and that the investment\nwas one which in its very nature could not be realized on by the\noriginal investors. The only possible beneficiaries were either the\nsuccessive college generations or the communities in which they found\ntheir place. If they chose to take as personal and unconditional all the\nbenefits of their education, none could forbid them that anti-social\nchoice; but if they accepted education as a trust, a stewardship,\nsomething to be used for the common good, they would be worth more to\nDelafield than all the new factories the Chamber of Commerce could coax\nto the town.\n\nAnd to those who might be interested in this view of education, Pastor\nDrury said: \"Young people of the colleges, you have been trained to some\nforms of laboratory work, in chemistry, in biology, in geology--yes,\neven in English. I invite you to think of your own town of Delafield as\nyour living laboratory, in which you will be at once experimenters and\npart of the experiment stuff. Look at this town with all its good and\nevil, its dying powers and its new forces, its dullnesses and its\nenthusiasms, its folly and wisdom, its old ways and its new people, its\nwealth and want. Do you think it is already becoming a bit of the\nkingdom of God? Or, if you conclude that it seems to be going in ways\nthat lead very far from the Kingdom, do you think it might possess any\nKingdom possibilities? If you do, no matter what your occupation in\nDelafield, Delafield itself may be your true vocation, your call from\nGod!\"\n\nFor John Wesley Farwell, Jr., it was to become all of that.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nEXPLORING MAIN STREET\n\nJ.W., Jr., found small opportunity to make himself obnoxious by becoming\na civic missionary before the time. He was busy enough with his\nadjustment to the business life of \"Delafield and Madison county,\" this\nbeing the declared commercial sphere of the John W. Farwell Hardware\nCompany. J.W. always had known hardware, but hitherto in a purely\namateur and detached fashion. Now he lived with it, from tacks to\ntractors, ten or twelve hours a day. He found that being the son of his\nfather gained him no safe conduct through the shop or with the\ncustomers. He had a lot to learn, even if he was John Wesley Farwell,\nJr. That he was the heir apparent to all this array of cast iron and\nwrought and galvanized, of tin and wire and steel and aluminum and\nnickel, did not save him from aching back and skinned knuckles, nor from\nthe various initiations staged by the three or four other employees.\n\nBut he was getting his bearings, and not from the store and the\nwarehouse only. A good hardware store in a country town is a center of\ndemocracy for town and country alike. In what other place do farmers and\nartisans, country women and city women meet on so nearly equal terms?\nNot in the postoffice, nor in the bank; and certainly not in the\ndepartment store. But the hardware store's customers, men and women all,\nare masters of the tools they work with; and whoso loves the tools of\nhis craft is brother to every other craftsman.\n\nIt was in the store, therefore, that J.W. began to absorb some of the\nknowledge and acquire some of the experiences that were to make his work\nsomething to his town.\n\nFor one thing, he got a new view of local geography, in terms of tools.\nAll the farmers from the bottoms of Mill Creek called for pretty much\nthe same implements; the upland farms had different needs. The farmers'\nwives who lived along the route of the creamery wagon had one sort of\ntroubles with tinware; the women of the fruit farms another. J.W. knew\nthis by the exchange of experiences he listened to while he sold milk\nstrainers and canning outfits. He found out that the people on the edge\nof town who \"made garden\" were particular about certain tools and\nequipment which the wheat farmer would not even look at.\n\nAnd the townpeople he learned to classify in the same way. He was soon\non good terms with those store clerks who were handy men about the\nhouse, with women who did all their own work, with blacksmiths and\ncarpenters, with unskilled laborers and garage mechanics. In time he\ncould almost tell where a man lived and what he did for a living, just\nby the hardware he bought and the questions he asked about it.\nHeretofore J.W. had thought he knew most of the people in Delafield.\nBut the first weeks in the store showed him that he knew only a few. Up\nto this time \"most of the people in Delafield\" had meant, practically,\nhis school friends, the clerks and salespeople in certain stores--and\nthe members of the First Methodist Church.\n\nThat is to say, in the main, to him Delafield had been the church, and\nthe church had been Delafield. But now he realized that his church was\nonly a small part of Delafield. The town had other churches. It had\nlodges. When the store outfitted Odd Fellows' Hall with new window\nshades he learned that the Odd Fellows shared the place with strong\nlodges of the Maccabees and Modern Woodmen. And there were other halls.\nJ.W. Farwell, Sr., was a Mason, but these other lodges seemed to have as\nmany members as the Masons, and one or the other of them was always\ngetting ready for a big public display.\n\nThe same condition was true of the country people. He began to hear\nabout the Farm Federation, and the Grange, and the Farmers' Elevator,\nand the cooperative creamery, for members of all of these groups passed\nin and out of the store.\n\nOne day J.W. remarked to the pastor who had dropped into the store: \"Mr.\nDrury, I never noticed before how this place is alive with societies and\nclubs and lodges and things. Everybody seems to belong to three or four\norganizations. And they talk about 'em! But I don't hear much about our\nchurch, and nothing at all about the old church out at Deep Creek. Yet\nI used to think that the church was the whole thing!\"\n\nThe older man nodded. \"It's true, J.W.,\" he said, \"all the churches\ntogether are only a small part of the community. They are the best, and\nusually the best-organized forces we have, I'm sure of that; but the\nchurch and the town have to reckon with these others.\"\n\n\"What good are they all? They must cost a pile of money. What for?\"\n\n\"That's what you might call a whale of a question, J.W.\" John W.\nFarwell, Senior, who had been standing by, listening, essayed to answer.\n\"And you haven't heard yet of all the organizations. Look at me, for\nexample. I belong to the Chamber of Commerce and the Rotary Club. I'm on\nthe Executive Committee of the Madison County Horticultural Society, and\nI've just retired from the Board of Directors of the Civic League. Then\nyou must think of the political parties, and the County Sunday School\nAssociation, and the annual Chautauqua, and I don't know what all.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I notice, dad, that a good many of these,\" said J.W., Jr.,\n\"are just for the men. The women must have nearly as many. Why,\nDelafield ought to be a model town, and the country 'round here ought to\nbe a regular paradise, with all these helpers and uplifters on the job.\nBut it isn't. Maybe they're not all on the job.\"\n\n\"That's about it, my boy,\" his father agreed \"I sometimes think we need\njust one more organization--a society that would never meet, but between\nthe meetings of all the other societies would actually get done the\nthings they talk about and pass resolutions about and then go off and\nforget until the next meeting.\"\n\n\"Well, dad, what I want to find out,\" J.W. said, as he started off with\nMr. Drury to the post office, \"is where the church heads in. Mr. Drury\nis sure it has a big responsibility, and maybe it has. But what is it\nwilling to do and able to do, and what will the town let it do? It seems\nto me that is the question.\"\n\nJ.W. heard his father's voice echoing after him up the street, \"Sure,\nthat is the question,\" and Mr. Drury added, \"Three questions in one.\"\n\nJ.W. found himself taking notice in a way he had not done before through\nall his years in Delafield. As might be expected, he had come home from\ncollege with new ideas and new standards. The town looked rather more\nsordid and commonplace than was his boy's remembrance of it. Of late it\nhad taken to growing, and a large part of its development had come\nduring his college years. So he must needs learn his own town all over\nagain.\n\nCherishing his young college graduate's vague new enthusiasm for a\nbetter world, he had little sympathy with much that Delafield opinion\nacclaimed as progress.\n\nThe Delafield Daily Dispatch carried at its masthead every afternoon one\nor more of such slogans as these: \"Be a Delafield Booster,\" \"Boost for\nmore Industries,\" \"Put Delafield on the Map,\" \"Double Delafield in Half\na Decade,\" \"Delafield, the Darling of Destiny,\" \"Watch Delafield Grow,\nbut Don't Stop Boosting to Rubber.\"\n\nThese were taken by many citizens as a sort of business gospel; any\n\"theorist\" who ventured to question the wisdom of bringing more people\nto town, whether the town's business could give them all a decent living\nor not, was told to sell his hammer and buy a horn. J.W. said nothing;\nhe was too young and too recent a comer into the town's business life.\nBut he could not work up any zeal for this form of town \"loyalty.\"\n\nA big cannery had been built down near the river, where truck gardens\nflourished, and there was a new furniture factory at the edge of the\nfreight yards. Hereabouts a lot of supremely ugly flats had gone up, two\nfamilies to each floor and three stories high; and in J.W.'s eyes the\nrubbish and disorder and generally slattern appearance of the region was\nno great addition to Delafield's attractions.\n\nStill more did the tumbledown shacks in the neighborhood of the cannery\noffend the eyes and, to be frank, the ears and nose as well. It was a\nforlorn-looking lot of hovels, occupied by listless, frowsy adults and\nnoisy children. Here existence seemed to be a grim caricature of life;\nthe children, the only symbol of abundance to be seen, continued to be\ngrotesque in their very dirt. What clothes they had were second or\nthird-hand garments too large for them, which they seemed to be\nperpetually in danger of losing altogether.\n\nTo J.W., Delafield had always been a town of homes; but in these dismal\nquarters there was little to answer to the home idea. They were merely\nplaces where people contrived to camp for a time, longer or shorter;\nnone but a Gradgrind could call them homes.\n\nOne of the factory foremen was a great admirer of Mr. Drury, who\nintroduced him to J.W. one day when the foreman had come to the store\nfor some tools. He had talked with J.W., and in time a rather casual\nfriendliness developed between them. It was this same Foreman Angus\nMacPherson, a Scot with a name for shrewdness, who gave the boy his\nfirst glimpse of what the factory and the cannery meant to\nDelafield--especially the factory.\n\nJ.W. was down at the factory to see about some new band-saws that had\nbeen installed; and, his errand finished, he stopped for a chat with\nAngus.\n\n\"This factory wasn't here when I went off to college,\" he said. \"What\never brought it to Delafield?\"\n\nAt that MacPherson was off to a perfect start.\n\n\"Ye see, my boy,\" he began, \"Delafield is so central it is a good town\nfor a good-working plant; freights on lumber and finished stuff are not\nso high as in some places. And then there's labor. Lots of husky fellows\naround here want better than farm wages, and they want a chance at town\nlife as well. Men from the big cities, with families, hope to find a\nquieter, cheaper place to live. So we've had no trouble getting help.\nSkill isn't essential for most of the work. It's not much of a trick\nnowadays to get by in most factories--the machines do most of the\nthinking for you, and that's good in some ways. Only the men that 'tend\nthe machines can't work up much pride in the output. Things go well\nenough when business is good. But when the factory begins to run short\ntime, and lay men off, like it did last winter, there's trouble.\"\n\nJ.W. wanted to know what sort of trouble.\n\n\"Oh, well,\" said MacPherson, \"strikes hurt worst at the time, but\nstrikes are just like boils, a sign of something wrong inside. And\nshort-time and lay-offs--well, ye can't expect the factory to go on\nmaking golden oak rockers just to store in the sheds. Somebody has to\nbuy 'em. But the boys ain't happy over four-day weeks, let alone no jobs\nat all.\"\n\nHis sociology professor at Cartwright, J.W. recalled, had talked a good\ndeal about the labor question, but maybe this foreman knew something\nabout it too. So J.W. put it up to him: \"What is at the bottom of it\nall, MacPherson? What makes the thing the papers call 'labor unrest'?\"\n\nMacPherson hesitated a moment. Then he settled himself more comfortably\non a pile of boards and proceeded to deliver his soul, or part of it.\n\n\"I can tell you; but there's them that would ship me out of town if I\ntalked too much, so I'll have to be careful. John Wesley, you've got a\ngrand name, and the church John Wesley started has a good name, though\nit's not my church. I'm a Scot, you know. But I know your preacher, and\nhe and I are of the same mind about this, I know. Well, then, if your\nMethodist Church could find a method with labor, it would get hold of\nthe same sort of common people as the ones who heard Jesus gladly. These\nworking-men are not in the way of being saints, ye ken, but they think\nthat somewhere there is a rotten spot in the world of factories and\nshops and mills. They think they learn from experience, who by the way,\nis the dominie of a high-priced school, that they get most of the losses\nand few of the profits of industry. They get a living wage when times\nare good. When times are bad they lose the one thing they've got to\nsell, and that's their day's work; when a loafing day is gone there's\nnothing to show for it, and no way to make it up. Maybe that's as it\nshould be, but the worker can't see it, especially if the boss can still\nbuy gasoline and tires when the plant is idle. Oh, yes, laddie, I know\nthe working man is headstrong. I'll tell you privately, I think he's a\nfool, because so often he gets into a blind rage and wants to smash the\nvery tools that earn his bite and sup. He may have reason to hate some\nemployer, but why hate the job? It's a good job, if he makes good\nchairs. He goes on strike, many's the time, without caring that it hurts\nhim and his worse than it hurts the boss. And often the boss thinks he\nwants nothing bigger than a few more things. Maybe he _is_ wild for a\nphonograph and a Ford and golden oak rockers of his own in the parlor,\nand photographs enlarged in crayon hanging on the walls--and a steady\njob. But, listen to me, John Wesley, Jr., and you'll be a credit to your\nnamesake: these wild, unreasonable workers, with all their foolishness\nand sometimes wickedness, are whiles dreaming of a different world, a\nbetter world for everybody. 'Twould be no harm if some bosses dreamed\nmore about that too, me boy. Your preacher--he's a fine man too, is Mr.\nDrury--he understands that, and he wants to use it for something to\nbuild on. That's why I tell folks he's a Methodist preacher with a real\nmethod in his ministry. Now I'll quit me fashin' and get back to the\njob. I doubt you'll be busy yourself this afternoon.\"\n\nHe gripped J.W.'s hand, so that the knuckles were unable to forget him\nall day, but what he had said gripped harder than his handshake. If the\nfurniture factory was a mixed blessing, what of the cannery?\n\nSomewhat to his own surprise, J.W. was getting interested in his town,\nbut if at first he was inclined to wonder how he happened to develop all\nthis new concern, he soon ceased to think of it. So slight a matter\ncould not stay in the front of his thinking when he really began to know\nsomething of the Delafield to which he had never paid much attention.\n\nIt was through Joe Carbrook that he got his next jolt. Joe, now spending\nhis vacations in ways that amazed people who had memories of his wild\nyounger manner, was in and out of the Farwell store a good deal. Also he\nspent considerable time with Pastor Drury, though there is no record of\nwhat they talked about.\n\n\"J.W., old boy,\" Joe asked one day, coming away from the pastor's\nstudy, \"have you ever by any chance observed Main Street?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" J.W. answered, \"seeing that two or three or four times a day\nI walk six blocks of it back and forth to this store door, I suppose I\nhave.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, that way,\" Joe came back at him, \"and you've seen me, a\nthousand times. But did you ever observe me? My ears, for instance,\" and\nhe put his hands over them. \"Which one is the larger?\"\n\nWithout in the least understanding what his friend was driving at, and\nstupidly wondering if he ever had noticed any difference in Joe's ears,\nJ.W. stared with inane bewilderment. \"Is one really larger than the\nother?\" he asked, helplessly.\n\nJoe took his hands down, and laughed. \"I knew it,\" he said. \"You've\nnever observed my ears, and yet you think you have observed Main Street.\nAs it happens, each of my ears takes the same-sized ear-muff. But you\ndidn't know it. Well, never mind ears; I'm thinking about Main Street.\nWhat do you know of Main Street?\"\n\nJ.W. thought he could make up for the ear question. So he said, boldly,\n\"Joe Carbrook, I can name every place from here to the livery barn\nnorth, and from here to the bridge south, on both sides of the street.\nWant me to prove it?\"\n\n\"No, J.W., I don't. I reckon you can. But I believe you're still as\nblind as I've been about Main Street, just the same. I know Chicago\npretty well and I doubt if there's as big a percentage of graft and\nlittleness and dollar-pinching and going to the devil generally on\nState Street or Wabash Avenue as there is an Main Street, Delafield.\"\n\n\"You're not trying to say that our business men are crooks, are you,\nJoe?\" J.W. asked, with a touch of resentment. \"You know I happen to be\nconnected with a business house on Main Street myself.\"\n\n\"Sure, I know it, and there's Marshall Field's on State Street, and Lyon\n& Healy's on Wabash Avenue, and Hart, Schaffner & Marx over by the\nChicago River; just the same as here. But I--well, of course, there's a\nstory back of it all. Mother heard a couple of weeks ago that one of our\nold Epworth League girls was having a hard time of it--she's working at\nthe Racket store, helping to support her folks. They've had sickness,\nand the girl doesn't get big wages. So mother asked me to look her up.\nMother can't get about very easily, you know, and since I'm studying\nmedicine she seems to think I'm the original Mr. Fix-It. I made a few\ndiscreet inquiries, discreet, that is, for me, and can you guess who\nthat girl is? You can't, I know. Well, she's Alma Wetherell, and that's\nthe identical girl who gave me such a dressing down one day at the\nCartwright Institute four years ago. Remember? Say, J.W., that day she\ntold me so much of the deadly truth about myself that I hated her even\nmore for knowing what to say than I did for saying it. But she had a big\nlot to do with waking me up, and I owe her something.\"\n\nJ.W. had not remembered the Institute incident. But he recalled that\nAlma was at Cartwright that summer, and he had seen her at church\noccasionally since he came home from college. She was living in town and\nworking in some store or other he knew, but that was all.\n\n\"What did you find out?\" he asked Joe.\n\n\"I found out enough so that Alma has a better job, and things are going\neasier at home. But that was just a starter. My brave John Wesley, do\nyou remember your college sociology and economics and civics and all the\nrest? Never mind confessing; you don't; I didn't either. But I began to\nreview 'em in actual business practice. First I told the right merchant\nwhat sort of a bookkeeper I had found slaving away for ten dollars a\nweek on the dark, smelly balcony of the Racket--and he's given Alma a\njob at twenty in a sun-lighted office. Then I told Mr. Peters of the\nRacket what I had done, and why. He didn't like it, but it will do him\ngood. That made me feel able to settle anything, and I'm looking around\nfor my next joy as journeyman rescuer and expert business adjuster.\nHonest, J.W., I've not seen near all there is to see, but I'm swamped\nalready. You've got to come along, you and some others, and see for\nyourself what's the matter with Main Street.\"\n\nNot all at once, but before very long, J.W. shared Joe's aroused\ninterest. Pastor Drury was with them, of course; and the three called\ninto consultation a few other capable and trustworthy men and women.\nMarcia Dayne had come home for a few weeks' holiday, and at once\nenlisted. Alma Wetherell was able to give some highly significant\nsuggestions.\n\nThere was no noise of trumpets, and no publicity of any sort. Mr. Drury\ninsisted that what they needed first and most was not newspaper\nattention, and not even organization, but exact information. So for many\ndays a group of puzzled and increasingly astonished people set about the\nstudy of their own town's principal street, as though they had never\nseen it before. And, in truth, they never had.\n\nIt was no different from all other small town business districts. The\nGem Theater vied with the Star and the Orpheum in lavish display of\ngaudy posters advertising pictures that were \"coming to-morrow,\" and in\ntwo weeks of observation the investigators learned what sort of moving\npictures Delafield demanded, or, at least what sort it got. They took\nnote of the Amethyst Coterie's Saturday night dances--\"Wardrobe, 50\ncents, Ladies Free\"--and of the boys and girls who patronized the place.\nThe various cigar and pocket-billiards combinations were quietly\nobserved, some of the observers learning for the first time that young\nmen are so determined to get together that they are not to be deterred\nby dirt or bad air or foul and brainless talk.\n\nThe candy stores with soda fountains and some of the drug stores which\nserved refreshments took on a new importance. Instead of being no more\nthan handy purveyors of sweets, of soft drinks and household remedies,\nthey were seen to be also social centers, places for \"dates\" and\ntelephone flirtations and dalliance. Much of their doings was the merest\nsilly time-killing, but generally the youthful patrons welcomed all this\nbecause it was a change from the empty dullness of homes that had missed\nthe home secret, and from the still duller and wasting monotony of\nuninteresting toil.\n\nIt was Pastor Drury who suggested the explanation for all these forms of\nprofitless and often dangerous amusement. He was chatting with the whole\ngroup one night, and merely happened to address himself first to J.W.,\nJr.\n\nYour great namesake, J.W., was so much a part of his day that he\nbelieved with most other great religious thinkers of his time that play\nwas a device of the devil. His belief belonged to eighteenth-century\ntheology and psychology. But even more it grew out of the vicious\ndiversions of the rich and the brutalizing amusements of the poor. Both\nwere bad, and there was not much middle ground. But here on Main Street\nwe see people, most of them young, who feel, without always\nunderstanding why, that they simply must be amused. They feel it so\nstrongly that they will pay any price for it if circumstances won't let\nthem get it any other way. And Main Street is ready to oblige them.\nThere could be no amusement business if people were not clamoring to be\namused. And we know now why we have no right to say that all this clamor\nis the devil's prompting. Isn't it queer that the church is only now\nbeginning to believe in the genuineness and wholesomeness of the play\ninstinct, though it is a proper and natural human hunger? Literally\neverybody wants to play.\n\n\"People pay more for the gratification of this hunger than they do for\nbread or shoes or education or religion. They take greater moral risks\nfor it than they do for money. We have seen people who undoubtedly are\ngoing to the devil by the amusement route, unless something is done to\nstop them. They go wrong quicker and oftener in their play than in their\nwork. Are we going to be content with denouncing the dance hall and the\npoolroom and the vile pictures and the loose conduct of the soft-drink\nplaces and Electric Park? Haven't we some sort of duty to see that every\nyoung person in Delafield has a chance at first-hand, enjoyable, and\ndecent play?\"\n\nAll agreed that the pastor was right, though they were not so clear\nabout what could be done.\n\nBut commercialized amusement was not all they found in their quiet\nvoyages of discovery up and down Main Street.\n\nThe chain stores had come to Delafield--not the \"5 and 10\" only, but\nstores which specialized in groceries, tobacco, shoes, dry goods, drugs,\nand other commodities. Alongside of them were the locally owned stores.\nAltogether, Main Street had far too many stores to afford good service\nor reasonable prices. With all this duplication on the one hand, and\nabsentee-control on the other, Main Street was a street of\nunderlings--clerks and salespeople and delivery men. That condition\nproduced low wages and inefficient methods, many of the workers being\ntoo young to be out of school and too dense to show any intelligence\nabout the work they were supposed to do. Cheap help was costly, and the\nefficient help was scarcely to be found at any price.\n\nThe investigators were frankly dismayed at the extent and complexity of\nthe situation. They had thought to find occasional cases calling for\nadjustment, or even for the law. But instead they had found a whole\nfabric of interwoven questions--amusements, wages, competition,\ncooperation, ignorance, vulgarity, vice, cheapness, trickery, \"business\nis business.\" True, they had found more honest businesses than shady\nones, more faithful clerks than shirkers, more decent people in the\npleasure resorts than doubtful people. But the total of folly and evil\nwas very great; could the church do anything to decrease it?\n\nAnd that question led the little company of inquisitive Christians into\nyet wider reaches of inquiry. J.W. and Joe and Marcia at Mr. Drury's\nsuggestion agreed to be a sort of unofficial committee to find out about\nthe churches of Delafield. He told them that this was first of all a\nwork for laymen. The preachers might come in later.\n\nJoe invited the others to the new Carbrook home on the Heights into\nwhich his people had lately moved. The Heights was a new thing to\nJ.W.--a rather exclusive residential quarter which had been laid out\npark-wise in the last four or five years; with houses in the midst of\nwide lawns, a Heights club house and tennis courts and an exquisite\nlittle Gothic church.\n\n\"When our folks first talked about moving out here I thought it was all\nright; and I do yet, in some ways,\" explained Joe. \"But the Heights is\ngetting a little too good for me; I'm not as keen about being exclusive\nas I used to be. I've thought lately that exclusiveness may be just as\nbad for people inside the gates, as for the people outside. But here we\nare, as the Atlantic City whale said when the ebb tide stranded it in\nfront of the Board Walk. What are we up to, us three?\"\n\n\"We're up to finding out about the town churches,\" said J.W. \"Maybe they\ncan help the town more than they do, but we don't know how, and so far\nwe haven't found anybody else who knows how.\"\n\nAnd Marcia said: \"At least we know some things. We have the figures.\nAbout one Delafield citizen in seven goes to church or Sunday school on\nSunday. Church membership is one in ten. And as many people go to the\nmovies and the Columbia vaudeville and the dance halls and poolrooms on\nSaturday as go to church on Sunday, to say nothing of the crowds that go\non the other five days.\"\n\nJoe Carbrook whistled. \"That's a tough nut to crack, gentle people,\" he\nsaid, \"because you've simply got to think of those other five days. The\nchances are that four times as many people in Delafield go to other\npublic places as go to church and Sunday school.\"\n\n\"What can the churches do?\" asked J.W. \"You can't make people go to\nchurch.\"\n\n\"No,\" assented Marcia, \"and if you could, it would be foolish. We want\nto make people like the churches, not hate them. One thing I believe our\nchurches can do is to put their public services more into methods and\nforms that don't have to be taken for granted or just mentally dodged.\nHalf the time people don't know what a religious service really stands\nfor.\"\n\n\"Meaning by that----?\" Joe queried, as much to hear Marcia talk as for\nthe sake of what she might say.\n\n\"Well, they have seen and heard it since they were children. When they\nwere little they didn't understand it, and now it is so familiar that\nthey forget they don't understand it,\" Marcia responded, not wholly\noblivious of Joe's strategy, but too much in earnest to care. \"I've\nheard of a successful preacher in the East who seems to be making them\nunderstand. He says he tries to put into each service four\nthings--light, music, motion; that is, change--and a touch of the\ndramatic. Why not? I think it could be done without destroying the\nsolemnity of the worship. They did it in the Temple at Jerusalem, and\nthey do it in Saint Peter's at Rome and in Westminster Abbey and Saint\nJohn's Cathedral in New York. Why shouldn't we do it here in our little\nchurches?\"\n\n\"Make a note of it, J.W.,\" ordered Joe. \"It's worth suggesting to some\nof the preachers.\"\n\nJ.W. made his note, rather absently, and offered a conclusion of his\nown:\n\n\"The church must take note of the town's sore spots too. I've found out\nthat crowding people in tenements and shacks means disease and\nimmorality. Isn't that the church's affair? Angus MacPherson has taught\nme that when the jobs are gone little crimes come, followed by bigger\nones; and sickness comes too, with the death rate going up. Babies are\nborn to unmarried mothers, and babies, with names or without, die off a\nlot faster in the river shacks and the east side tenements than they do\nup this way. Maybe the church couldn't help all this even if it knew;\nbut I'm for asking it to know.\"\n\n\"I'll vote for that,\" Joe asserted, \"if you'll vote for my proposition,\nwhich is this: our churches must quit trying just to be prosperous; they\nmust quit competing for business like rival barkers at a street fair;\nthey must begin to find out that their only reason for existence is the\nservice they can give to those who need it most; they've got to believe\nin each other and work with each other and with all the other town\nforces that are trying to make a better Delafield.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" said J.W. \"I was talking to Mr. Drury this morning, and\nI asked him what he would think of our starting a suggestion list. He\nsaid it ought to be a fine thing. But he wants us to do it all\nourselves. Just the same, we can take our suggestions to him, and then,\nif he believes in them, he can talk to the other preachers about them,\nand, of course, about any ideas of his own. Because you know, I'm pretty\nsure he has been thinking about all this a good deal longer than we\nhave.\"\n\nIt was agreed that the list should be started. Marcia was not willing\nto keep it to themselves; she wanted to have it talked about in League\nand Sunday school and prayer meeting, and then, when everybody had been\ngiven the chance to add to it, and to improve on it--but not to weaken\nit--that it be put out for general discussion among all the churches.\n\n\"And then,\" said Joe Carbrook, \"we might call it 'The Everyday Doctrines\nof Delafield,' If we stick to the things every citizen will admit he\nought to believe and do, the churches will still have all the chance\nthey have now to preach those things which must be left to the\nindividual conscience.\"\n\nThat was the beginning of a document with which Delafield was to become\nvery familiar in the months which followed; never before had the town\nbeen so generally interested in one set of ideas, and to this day you\ncan always start a conversation there by mentioning the \"Everyday\nDoctrines of Delafield,\" The Methodist preacher gave them their final\nform, but he took no credit for the substance of them, though, secretly,\nhe was vastly proud that the young people, and especially J.W., should\nhave so thoroughly followed up his first suggestion of a civic creed.\n\nTHE EVERYDAY DOCTRINES OF DELAFIELD\n\n1. Every part of Delafield is as much Delafield as any other\npart We are citizens of a commonwealth, and Delafield should\nbe in fact as well as name a democratic community.\n\n2. Whenever two Delafield citizens can better do something\nfor the town than one could do it, they should get together.\nAnd the same holds good for twenty citizens, or a hundred, or\na thousand. One of the town's mottoes should be, \"Delafield\nIs Not Divided.\"\n\n3. Everything will help Delafield if it means better people,\nin better homes, with better chances at giving their children the\nright bringing-up, but anything which merely means more people,\nor more money, or more business is likely to cost more than it\ncomes to. We will boost for Delafield therefore, but we will\nfirst be careful.\n\n4. Every part of Delafield is entitled to clean streets and plenty\nof air, water, and sunlight. It is perhaps possible to be a Christian\namid ugliness and filth, but it is not easy, and it is not\nnecessary.\n\n5. Every family in Delafield has the right to a place that can\nbe made into a home, at a cost that will permit of family self-respect,\nproper privacy, and the ordinary decencies of civilized living.\nEvery case of poverty in Delafield should be considered as\na reflection on the town, as being preventable and curable by\nremedies which any town that is careful of its good name\ncan apply.\n\n6. Delafield believes that beauty pays better than ugliness.\nTherefore she is for trees and flowers, green lawns, and clean\nstreets, paint where it properly belongs, and everybody setting\na good example by caring for his own premises and so inciting\nhis neighbor to outdo him.\n\n7. The only industries Delafield needs are those which can\nprovide for their operation without forcing workers to be idle\nso much of the time as to reduce apparent income, and so to\ncause poverty, sickness, and temptation to wrongdoing. The\nstandard of income ought to be for the year, and not by the\nday; in the interest of homes rather than in the interest of lodging\nhouses and lunch rooms.\n\n8. Delafield can support, or should find ways to support, the\nworkers needed in her stores, shops, and factories, at fair pay,\nwithout making use of children, who should continue in school,\nand without reckoning on the desperation of those made poor\nby their dependence on a job.\n\n9. Amusements in Delafield can be and ought to be clean,\nself-respecting, and available for everybody. This calls for playgrounds\nand weekday playtime, as well as plenty of recreational\nopportunities provided by the churches, without money-making\nfeatures.\n\n10. The forms of amusement provided for pay can be and\nshould be influenced by public opinion, positively expressed,\nrather than by public indifference. Any picture house would\nrather be praised for bringing a good picture to town than condemned\nfor showing a bad one. Picture people enjoy praise as much as preachers\ndo.\n\n11. Delafield's many organizations should tell the whole town\nwhat they are trying to do, so that unnecessary duplication of\nplan and purpose may first be discovered and then done away with.\n\n12. Whenever a Delafield church, or club, or society, proposes\nto engage in a work that is to benefit the town, the plan ought\nto be made known, and in due time the results should be published\nas widely as was the plan. This will help us to learn by\nour Delafield failures as well as by our Delafield successes.\n\n13. The churches of Delafield are Delafield property, as the\nschools are, though paid for in a different way. Neither schools\nnor churches exist for their own sakes, but for Delafield, and\nthen some.\n\n14. Every church in Delafield should have a definite parish,\nand every well-defined section or group should have a church.\nThe churched should lead in providing for the unchurched, and\nthe overchurched might spare out of their abundance of workers\nand equipment some of the resources that are needed.\n\n15. The first concern of all the churches should be to reach\nthe unchurched and to make church friends of the church-haters.\nThis goes for all the churches; it is more important to get the\nsense of God and principles of Jesus into the thought of the\nwhole town than to set Protestant and Roman Catholic in mutually\nsuspicious and hateful opposition; devout Jew and sincere\nChristian must realize that righteousness in Delafield cannot be\nattended to by either without the other.\n\n16. The churches of Delafield believe that all matters of social\nconcern--work, wages, housing, health, amusement, and morals--are\npart of every church's business. Therefore they will not\ncease to urge their members always to deal with these matters as\nChristian citizens, not merely as Christians.\n\n17. Every child and young person in Delafield ought to be in\nthe day school on weekdays, and in Sunday school on Sunday.\nDelafield discourages needless absence from one as much as\nfrom the other.\n\n18. Delafield wants the best possible teachers teaching in all\nher schools. She insists on trained teachers on week days, and\nneeds them on Sundays. Therefore she believes that teacher-training\nis part of every church's duty to Delafield.\n\n\"There's one thing about all this that bothers me,\" said J.W. when they\nhad finished the final draft of the Every Day Doctrines, \"not that it's\nthe only one; but some of these Doctrines stand small chance of being\nput into practice until the church people are willing to spend more\nmoney on such work. It can't be done on the present income of the\nchurches, or by the usual money-raising methods.\"\n\n\"That's a fact,\" Joe Carbrook agreed. \"I'd already made up my mind that\nthe Carbrooks would have to dig a little deeper, and so must everybody\nelse who cares.\"\n\n\"Yes, but how to get everybody else to care; that's the trouble,\" J.W.\npersisted. \"Dad's one of the stewards, you know, and they find it no\neasy job to collect even what the church needs now. They have a deficit\nto worry with every year, almost.\"\n\nMarcia Dayne was the only other member of the \"Let's Know Delafield\"\ngroup who happened to be present at this last meeting. She had been\nwaiting for a chance to speak. \"I'm surprised at you two,\" she said.\n\"Don't you know the only really workable financial way out?\"\n\n\"Well, not exactly,\" J.W. admitted. \"I suppose if we could only get\npeople to care more, they would give more. It's a matter of letting them\nknow the need and all that, I guess. For instance--\"\n\nMarcia was not ready for his \"for instances.\" \"John Wesley, Jr.,\" she\ninterrupted with mock severity, \"as a thinker you have shone at times\nwith a good deal more brilliance than that. If you had said it just the\nother way 'round you would have been nearer right. People _will_ give if\nthey care, of course, but it is even more certain that they will care if\nthey give. The thing we need is to show them how to give.\"\n\nJoe Carbrook broke into an incredulous laugh. \"In other words, my fair\nMarcia, you want Christians to give before they care what it is they are\ngiving to, or even know about it. Don't you think our church will be a\nlong time financing the Every Day Doctrines on that system?\"\n\nJoe and Marcia never hesitated to take opposite sides in a discussion,\nand always with good-humored frankness. So Marcia came back promptly: \"I\nknow you think it unreasonable,\" she said, \"but there's a condition you\noverlook. We became Christians long before any of us thought about\nstudying Delafield's needs. And if we and all the rest of the Christians\nof the town had accepted our financial relation to the Kingdom and had\nacted on it from the start, there would always be money enough and to\nspare.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Joe said understandingly, \"I see now. You mean the tithe.\"\n\nMarcia knew, no matter how, that Joe had begun to think about tithing,\nand this seemed the opportune time to stress it a little more. It could\nhelp the Every Day Doctrines, and both Joe and J.W. were keen for that.\n\nSo Marcia admitted that she did mean the tithe. \"I don't pretend to know\nhow it began, any more than I know how real homes were established after\nthe Fall, or how keeping Sunday began; I do know these began long before\nthere was any fourth or fifth commandment, or any Children of Israel.\nAnd I've gone over all the whole subject with Mr. Drury--he has a lot of\npractical pamphlets on the tithe. I believe that it is the easiest,\nsurest, fairest and cheerfulest way of doing two Christian things at\nonce--acknowledging God's ownership of all we have, and going into\npartnership with God in his work for the world, what the books sometimes\ncall Christian Stewardship.\"\n\n\"I'd like to see those pamphlets,\" said J.W.\n\n\"It's queer you haven't seen them before this,\" said Marcia. \"Mr. Drury\nhas distributed hundreds of them. But maybe that was when you were away\nat Cartwright. Anyway, I'll get some for you.\"\n\nJoe was holding his thought to the main matter. \"Marcia,\" said he, \"if\nyou can make good on what you said just now, pamphlets or no pamphlets,\nI'll agree to become a tither. First, to start where you did, how is\ntithing easier than giving whenever you feel like giving?\"\n\nNow, though Marcia expected no such challenge, she was game. \"I'm not\nthe one to prove all that, but I believe what I said, and I'll try to\nmake good, as you put it. But please don't say 'give' when you talk\nabout tithing, or even about any sort of financial plan for Christians.\nThe first word is 'pay,' Giving comes afterward. Well, then; tithing is\nthe easiest way, because when you are a tither you always have tithing\nmoney. You begin by setting the tenth apart for these uses, and it is no\nmore hardship to pay it out than to pay out any other money that you\nhave been given with instructions for its use.\"\n\n\"Not bad, at all,\" said Joe. \"Now tell us why it is the surest way of\nusing a Christian's money.\"\n\nBy this time Marcia was beginning to enjoy herself. \"It is the surest\nbecause it almost collects itself. No begging; no schemes. You have\ntithing money on hand--and you have, almost always--therefore you don't\nneed to be coaxed into thinking you can spare it. If the cause is a real\nclaim, that's all you need to find out. And when you begin to put money\ninto any cause you're going to get interested in that cause. Besides,\nwhen all Christians tithe there will be more than enough money for every\ngood work.\"\n\nJ.W. had not thought much of the tithe except as being one of those\nreligious fads, and he knew that every church had a few religious\nfaddists. But he had long cherished a vast respect for Marcia's good\nsense, and what she was saying seemed reasonable enough. He wondered if\nit could be backed up by evidence.\n\nJoe smilingly took up the next excellence of the tithe which Marcia had\nnamed. \"Let me see; did you say that the tithe is the fairest of all\nChristian financial schemes?\"\n\n\"Not that, exactly,\" Marcia corrected. \"I said it was the fairest way of\nacknowledging God's ownership and of working with him in partnership.\nAnd it is. It puts definiteness in the place of whim. It is proportional\nto our circumstances. It is not difficult. Mr. Drury says that forty\nyears' search has failed to find a tither who has suffered hardship\nbecause of paying the tithe.\"\n\n\"Well, Joe,\" J.W. put in, \"if Marcia can produce the evidence on these\nthree points, you may as well take the fourth for granted. If tithing is\nthe easiest, surest and fairest plan of Christian Stewardship, seems to\nme it's just got to be cheerful. I'm going to look into it, and if she's\nright, as I shouldn't wonder, it's up to you and me to get our finances\nonto the ten per cent basis.\"\n\nJoe was never a reluctant convert to anything. When he saw the new way,\nhis instinct was for immediate action. \"Let's go over to Mr. Drury's,\"\nhe proposed, \"and see if we can't settle this thing to-day. I hope\nMarcia's right,\" and he looked into her eyes with a glance of something\nmore than friendly, \"and if she is I'm ready to begin tithing to-day.\"\n\nPastor Drury, always a busy man, reckoned interviews like this as urgent\nbusiness always. Not once nor twice, but many times in the course of a\nyear, his quiet, indirect work resulted in similar expeditions to his\nstudy, and as a rule he knew about when to expect them. He produced the\npamphlets, added a few suggestions of his own, and let the three young\npeople do most of the talking. They stayed a long time, no one caring\nabout that.\n\nAs they were thanking the pastor, before leaving, Joe said with his\nusual directness, \"Marcia _was_ right, and here's where I begin to be a\nsystematic Christian as far as my dealings with money are concerned.\"\n\nJ.W., not in the least ashamed to follow Joe's lead, said, \"Same here.\nWish I'd known it sooner. Now we've got to preach it.\"\n\nAnd Joe said to Mr. Drury, in the last moment at the door, \"Mr. Drury,\nif we could all get a conscience about the tithe, and pay attention to\nthat conscience, half the Everyday Doctrines would not even need to be\nstated. They would be self-evident. And the other half could be put into\npractice with a bang!\"\n\nThe Delafield _Dispatch_ got hold of a copy of the \"Everyday Doctrines\"\nand printed the whole of it with a not unfavorable editorial comment,\nunder the caption \"When Will All This Come True?\"\n\nBut Walter Drury, when he saw it, said to himself, \"It has already come\ntrue in a very real sense, for John Wesley, Jr., and these others\nbelieve in it.\" And he knew it marked one more stage of the Experiment,\nso that he could thank God and take courage.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nHERE THE ALIEN; THERE THE LITTLE BROWN CHURCH\n\nIt was all very well to work out the \"Everyday Doctrines of Delafield.\"\nTo secure their adoption and application by all the churches of\nDelafield was another matter. The unofficial committee scattered, for\none thing. Joe Carbrook went back to medical school, and Marcia to the\nsettlement and the training school. Marty was traveling his circuit. J.\nW. and the pastor and a few others continued their studies of the town.\nNobody had yet ventured to talk about experts, but it began to be\nevident that the situation would soon require thoroughgoing and skilled\nassistance. Otherwise, all that had been learned would surely be lost.\n\nOne day in the late fall a stranger dropped in at the Farwell Hardware\nStore and asked for Mr. J.W. Farwell, Jr. He had called first on Pastor\nDrury, who was expecting him; and that diplomat had said to him, \"Go see\nJ.W. I think he'll help you to get something started.\"\n\nJ.W., with two of the other clerks, was unloading a shipment of\nstovepipes. The marks of his task were conspicuous all over him, and he\nscarcely looked the part of the public-spirited young Methodist. But\nthe visitor was accustomed to know men when he saw them, under all\nsorts of disguises.\n\nJ.W., called to the front of the store, met the visitor with a\ngood-natured questioning gaze.\n\n\"Mr. Farwell, I am Manford Conover, of Philadelphia. Back there we have\nheard something of the 'Everyday Doctrines of Delafield,' and I've been\nsent to find out about them--and their authors.\"\n\n\"Sent?\" J.W. repeated. \"Why should anybody send you all the way from\nPhiladelphia to Delafield just for that?\" He could not know how much\npastoral and even episcopal planning was back of that afternoon call.\n\n\"Don't think that we reckon it to be unimportant, Mr. Farwell,\" said Mr.\nConover, pleasantly. \"You see I'm from a Methodist society with a long\nname and a business as big as its name--the Board of Home Missions and\nChurch Extension. The thing some of you are starting here in Delafield\nis our sort of thing. It may supply our Board with new business in its\nline, and what we can do for you may make your local work productive of\nlasting results, in other places as well as here.\"\n\nJ.W. did not quite understand, but he was willing to be instructed, for\nhe had found out that the effort to promote the \"Everyday Doctrines\" was\nforever developing new possibilities and at the same time revealing new\nexpanses of Delafield ignorance and need. Anybody who appeared to have\nintelligence and interest was the more welcome.\n\nThey talked a while, and then, \"I'll tell you what,\" proposed J.W.\n\"How long do you expect to be in town?\" Mr. Conover replied that as yet\nhe had made no arrangement for leaving.\n\n\"Then let's get together a few people to-night after prayer meeting. Our\npastor, of course, and the editor of the _Dispatch_--he's the right\nsort, if he does boost 'boosting' a good deal; and Miss Leigh, of the\nHigh School--she's all right every way; and Mrs. Whitehill, the\npresident of the Woman's Association of our church--that's the women's\nmissionary societies and the Ladies' Aid merged into one--she's a\nregular progressive; and Harry Field, who's just getting hold of his job\nin the League; and the Sunday school superintendent. That's dad, you\nknow; he's had the job for a couple of years now, and he's as keen about\nit as Harry is over the League.\"\n\nThey got together, and out of that first simple discussion came all\nsorts of new difficulties for Delafield Methodism to face and master.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nManford Conover was a preacher with a business man's training and\nviewpoint. He may have mentioned his official title, when he first\nappeared, but nobody remembered it. When people couldn't think of his\nname he was \"the man from the Board,\" which was all the same to him.\n\nAfter that first night's meeting Conover gave several days to walks\nabout Delafield. J.W. had found the shacks and the tenements, and Joe\nCarbrook had introduced J.W. to Main Street, but it was left to\nConover to show him Europe and Africa in Delafield.\n\nThere's a certain town in a Middle Western State, far better known than\nDelafield, rich, intelligent, highly self-content. Its churches and\nschools and clubs are matters for complacent satisfaction. And you would\nbe safe in saying that not one in five of its well-to-do people know\nthat the town has a Negro quarter, an Italian section, a Bohemian\nsettlement, a Scandinavian community, a good-sized Greek colony, and\nsome other centers of cultures and customs alien to what they assume is\nthe town's distinctive character.\n\nThey know, of course, that such people live in the town--couldn't help\nknowing it. Their maids are Scandinavian or Negro. They buy vegetables\nand candy from the Greeks. They hear of bootlegging and blind tigers\namong certain foreign groups. The rough work of the town is done by men\nwho speak little or no English. But all this makes small impression. It\nis a commonplace of American town life. And scarcely ever does it\npresent itself as something to be looked into, or needing to be\nunderstood.\n\nSo Conover found it to be with Delafield. The \"Everyday Doctrines\" were\nwell enough, but he knew a good deal of spade work must be done before\nthey could take root and grow. He fronted a condition which has its\ncounterpart in most American towns, each of which is two towns, one\nbeing certain well-defined and delimited areas where languages and\nBraces live amid conditions far removed from the American notion of\nwhat is endurable, and the other the \"better part of town,\" sometimes\nsmugly called \"the residence section,\" where white Americans have homes.\n\nConover and Pastor Drury compared notes. They were of one mind as to the\nconditions which Conover had found, conditions not surprising to the\nminister, who knew more about Delafield than any of his own people\nsuspected.\n\nOne afternoon they met J.W. on the street, and he led them into a candy\nstore for hot chocolate.\n\nAs they sipped the chocolate they talked; J.W., as usual, saying\nwhatever he happened to think of.\n\n\"Say, Mr. Conover,\" he remarked, \"I notice in all your talk about the\nforeigner in America you haven't once referred to the idea of the\nmelting pot. Don't you think that's just what America is? All these\npeople coming here and getting Americanized and assimilated and all\nthat?\"\n\n\"I'd think America was the melting pot if I could see more signs of the\nmelting,\" Conover answered. \"But look at Delafield; how much does the\nmelting pot melt here?\"\n\nThen he looked across the store. \"Do you know the proprietor, Mr.\nFarwell?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, indeed; Nick and I are good friends,\" answered J.W.\n\n\"Then I wish you'd introduce me,\" returned Conover.\n\n\"Oh, Nick,\" J.W. called, \"will you come over here a minute?\"\n\nNick came, wiping his hands on his apron.\n\n\"Nick,\" said J.W., doing the honors, \"you know Mr. Drury, the pastor of\nour church. And this is Mr. Conover from Philadelphia, a very good\nfriend of ours. He's been looking around town, and wants to ask you\nsomething.\"\n\nNick's brisk and cheerful manner was at its best, for he liked J.W.,\nbesides liking the trade he brought.\n\n\"Sure,\" said he, \"I tell him anything if I know it. Glad for the\nchance.\"\n\n\"Mr. Dulas,\" said Conover--he had taken note of the name on the window,\n\"you know the East Side pretty well, do you? Then, you know that many\nItalians live just north of Linden Street, and there's a block or so of\nPolish homes between Linden and the next street south?\"\n\n\"Sure I do,\" said Nick, confidently, \"I live on other side of them\nmyself. See 'em every day.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" Conover went on. \"What I want to know is this: how do the\nItalians and the Poles get along together?\"\n\n\"They don't have nothing much to do with one another,\" Nick replied.\n\"It's like this, the Poles they talk Polish, and maybe a little English.\nThe Italians, they speak Italian, and some can talk English, only not\nmuch. But Poles they can't talk Italian at all, and Italians can't talk\nPolish. So how could they get together?\"\n\n\"That's just the question, Mr. Dulas,\" Conover agreed. \"I'm telling\nthese gentlemen that it is harder for the different foreign-born people\nto know one another and to be friendly with one another than it is for\nthem to know and associate with Americans.\"\n\n\"Sure, Mister,\" Nick said, with great positiveness. \"Sure. Before I\nspeak English I know nobody but Greeks, and when I start learning\nEnglish I got no time to learn Polish, or Italian, or whatever it is.\nEnglish I got to speak, if I run a candy store, but not those other\nlanguages.\"\n\nAnd he went off to serve a customer who had just entered.\n\n\"There you have that side,\" said Conover to the minister and J.W. \"The\nneed of English as an Americanizing force, and the meed of it as a\nmedium of communication between the different foreign groups. Looks as\nthough we've got to bear down hard on English, don't you think?\"\n\n\"As Nick says, 'Sure I do,'\" Mr. Drury assented. \"It will come out all\nright with the children, I hope; they're getting the English. But it\nmakes things hard just now.\"\n\n\"What can the church do?\" J.W. put in. \"Should it undertake to teach\nEnglish, as that preacher taught Phil Khamis, you remember, Mr. Drury;\nor Americanization, or what?\"\n\n\"I think it should do something else first,\" said Conover. \"Why should\nwe Americans try to make Europeans understand us, unless we first try to\nunderstand them? Isn't ours the first move?\"\n\n\"But this is the country they're going to live in,\" returned J.W. \"They\ncan't expect us to adjust ourselves to European ways. They've got to do\nthe adjusting, haven't they?\"\n\n\"Why?\" Conover came back. \"Because we were here first? But the Indian\nwas here before us. We told him he needn't do any adjusting at all, and\nsee what we've made of him. Maybe these Europeans can add enriching\nelements to our American culture.\"\n\n\"I guess so, but\"--and J.W. was evidently at a loss--\"but they've got\nto obey our laws, you know, and fit into our civilization. The Indian\nwas different. We couldn't make Indians of ourselves, and he wouldn't\nbecome civilized.\"\n\n\"Americanized, you mean?\" and Conover laughed a little at the irony of\nit.\n\n\"No, no; not that. But he wouldn't meet us half way, even,\" J.W. said.\n\n\"I think,\" suggested Pastor Drury, \"that what Mr. Conover means is that\nwe'd better be a little less stiff to newcomers than the Indian was to\nus. Am I right?\"\n\n\"Exactly right,\" returned Conover. \"Europe is in a general way the\nmother-land of us all. But many of her children were late in getting\nhere. The earlier ones have made their contributions; why may not the\nlater ones also bring gifts for our common treasure?\"\n\n\"Well, what in particular do you mean?\" asked J.W., who was finding\nhimself adrift. He had been quite willing in the Institute days to be an\nadmirer of Phil Khamis, and to forget that Phil was of alien birth; but\nthis was something more complicated.\n\n\"Particulars are not so simple,\" Conover said. \"But, for instance: some\nEuropean peoples have a fine musical appreciation. Some delight in\noratory. Some are mystical and dreamy. Some are very children in their\nlove of color. Some are almost artists in their feeling for beauty in\ntheir work. Some do not enjoy rough play, and others cannot endure to be\nquiet. Some have inherited a passionate love of country, and great\ntraditions of patriotism.\"\n\n\"We can't value all these things in just the way they do, but at least\nwe can believe that such interests and instincts are worth something to\nAmerica. Then our Americanization work will be not only more intelligent\nbut far more sympathetic.\"\n\n\"If I may turn to the immediate business,\" Mr. Drury said with a smile\nof apology, \"suppose you tell J.W. what your Board has to suggest for us\nhere in Delafield, Mr. Conover?\"\n\nConover turned to J.W. \"I wonder if you know anything about Centenary\nChurch?\" he asked.\n\n\"That little old brick barn over in the East Bottoms? Why, yes, or I\nused to; if was quite a church when I was a youngster, but I haven't\nbeen that way lately. I guess it's pretty much run down, with all those\nforeigners moving in. Most of the old members have probably moved away.\nI know there were two Methodist boys with me in high school who lived\ndown there, but they've moved up to the Heights. One of them lives next\nto the Carbrooks.\"\n\n\"Mr. Drury should take you down that way one of these days,\" said\nConover, \"and you'd find that when your friends moved out of the church\nthe foreigners who live nearby did not move in. Centenary Church is run\ndown, as you say.\"\n\nMr. Drury added, \"And the few members who are left don't know which way\nto turn. They have a supply pastor, who isn't able to do much. He gets a\npitiful salary, but they can't pay more, and there's no money at all,\nnor any accommodations, for any special attention to the newcomers.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Conover, \"I'm instructed to tell you Delafield Methodists\nthat the Board of Home Missions and Church Extension is ready to help\nmake a new Centenary Church, for the people who now live around it. We\nhave a department that pays special attention to immigrant and alien\npopulations. Our workers know, in general, what is needed. We can put\nsome trained people into Centenary, with a pastor who knows how to\ndirect their work. I should not be surprised to see a parish house\nthere, and a modernized church building, and a fine array of everyday\nwork being done there.\"\n\n\"My, but that sounds great, Mr. Drury, doesn't it?\" asked J.W., in a\nglow of enthusiasm. Then he checked himself. \"It sounds well enough,\" he\nsaid, \"but all that means a lot of money. Where's the money to come\nfrom?\"\n\n\"From you, of course,\" Conover replied, \"but not all or most from you.\nMy Board is a benevolent board--that is to say, it is the whole church\nat work in such enterprises as this. That's one way in which its share\nof the church's benevolent offerings is used\"\n\n\"But you don't mean to tell us,\" said J.W., incredulously, \"that you can\ndrop in on a place like Delafield, make up your mind what is needed, and\nthen dump a lot of money into a played-out church, just like that?\"\n\n\"Oh, it's not so informal as all that,\" Conover said, \"The thing has to\ngo through the official channels, of course. Your district\nsuperintendent and Brother Drury and the Bishop and several others have\nhad a hand in it already. All concerned have agreed as to the needs and\npossibilities. But Delafield is also a good place to put on a\ndemonstration, an actual, operating scheme. I have been making ready for\na survey of the whole East Side, just a preliminary study, and before\nanything positive is done we must make a more thorough inquiry. We\nexpect to find out everything that needs to be known.\"\n\n\"There was only one anxiety I had about it,\" Pastor Drury said, \"and\nthat has been all taken away. I was keen to have this be a truly\nChristian demonstration--not just a settlement or a parish house or\nnight school classes, but a real demonstration of Christian service\namong people who now know little about it. In some places these\nactivities are being set going because church people know they ought to\ndo something, and it is easier to give money and have gymnasiums and\nmoving pictures than to make real proof of partnership with Christ by\npersonal service and sacrifice. Take your old friend Martin Luther\nShenk, J.W.--do you know that he's working at this very difficulty? And\nI hear he's finding, even in the country, that some people will really\ngive themselves, while others will give only their money and their\ntime.\"\n\nJ.W. thought of Win-My-Chum week, and how he had had to drive himself to\nspeak to Marty, so he knew the pastor was right. And he went home with\nall sorts of questions running through his mind, but with no very\nsatisfying answers to make them.\n\nComing back in a wakeful night to Mr. Drury's casual mention of Marty,\nthe thought of his chum set him to wondering how that sturdy young\nitinerant was making it go on the Ellis and Valencia Circuit, just as\nthe pastor guessed it might. To wonder was to decide. He would take a\nlong-desired holiday. A word or two with his father in the morning gave\nhim the excuse for what he wanted to do. Then he got Valencia on the\nlong distance, and the operator told him she would find the \"Reverend\"\nShenk for him in a few minutes. He had started out that morning to visit\nalong the State Line Highway, as it was part of her business to know. At\nthe third try Marty was found, and he answered J.W.'s hail with a shout.\n\nAfter the first exchange of noisy greetings, \"Say, Marty, dad's asked me\nto run down in your part of the world and look at some new barn\nfurniture that's been put in around Ellis--ventilators and stanchions\nand individual drinking cups for the Holsteins--not like the way we used\nto treat the cows on our farm, hey? Well, what do you say if I turn\nfashionable for once and come down for the week-end--not this week, but\nnext?\"\n\nNo need to ask Marty a question like that. \"Come on down. Make it Friday\nand I'll show you the sights. We've got something doing at the Ellis\nChurch, something I want you to see.\"\n\nThen Marty thought of a few books that he had left at home--\"And--hello,\nJ.W., are you listening? Well, how'd you like to go out to the farm\nbefore you come down here? Jeanette has gathered a bundle of my books,\nand I need 'em. Won't you get 'em for me and bring them along?\"\n\nCertainly, J.W. would. The farm was home to both the boys, and J.W. was\nalmost as welcome there as Marty; to one member of the family quite so,\nthough she had never mentioned it.\n\nOn the next Sunday morning J.W. drove out of town in time to get to the\nlittle old church of his childhood for morning service. Then he would go\nhome with the Shenks for dinner, spend the afternoon, get the books and\ncome home when he was ready. There was no hurry. J.W., Sr., had given\nhim two Sundays' leave of absence from Sunday school. The next Sunday\nwould be his and Marty's, but this would be his and Jeannette's.\n\nNot that he needed to make any special plans for being with Jeannette\nShenk; of late he had found the half hour drive down to the old farm the\nprelude to a pleasant evening. Sometimes he would make the round trip\ntwice, running out to bring Jeanette into town, when something was\ngoing on, and taking her home afterward in the immemorial fashion.\n\nAs J.W. turned to the church yard lane leading up to the old horseshed,\nhe noticed that there were only two cars there besides his own--and one\nold-time sidebar buggy, battered and mud-bedaubed, with a decrepit and\ndejected-looking gray mare between the shafts.\n\nIt was time for meeting, and he contrasted to-day's emptiness of the\nlong sheds with the crowding vehicles of his childhood memories. In\nthose days so tightly were buggies and surries and democrats, and even\nspring wagons and an occasional sulky wedged into the space, that it was\nnothing unusual for the sermon to be interrupted by an uproar in the\nsheds, when some peevish horse attempted to set its teeth in the neck of\na neighbor, with a resultant squealing and plunging, a cramping of\nwheels and a rattle of harness which could neutralize the most\nvociferous circuit rider's eloquence.\n\nAt the door, J.W. fell in with the little group of men, who, according\nto ancient custom, had waited in the yard for the announcement of the\nfirst hymn before ending their talk of crops and roads and stock, and\njoining the women and children within.\n\nInside the contrast with the older day was even more striking. The\nchurch, small as it was, seemed almost empty. The Shenks were there,\nincluding Jeannette, as J.W. promptly managed to observe. Father Foltz\nand his middle-aged daughter stood in their accustomed place; they had\ncome in the venerable sidebar buggy, just as for two decades past.\nMother Foltz hadn't been out of the house in years, and among J.W.'s\nearliest recollections were those of the cottage prayer meetings that he\nhad attended with his father in Mrs. Foltz's speckless sickroom. Then\nthere were the four Newells, and Mrs. Bellamy, and Mr. and Mrs. Haggard\nwith their two little girls, and a few people J.W. did not know--perhaps\ntwenty-five altogether. No wonder the preacher was disheartened, and\npreached a flavorless sermon.\n\nWhere were the boys and girls of even a dozen years ago? where the\nchildren who began their Sunday school career in the little recess back\nof the curtain? and where the whole families that once filled the place?\nSurely, old Deep Creek Church had fallen on evil days.\n\nIt was a dismal service, with its dreary sermon and its tuneless hymns.\nAfter the benediction J.W. shook hands with the preacher, whom he knew\nslightly, and exchanged greetings with all the old friends.\n\n\"Well, John Wesley,\" said Father Foltz, with glum garrulity, \"this ain't\nthe church you used to know when you was little. I mind in them times\nwhen you folks lived on the farm how we thought we'd have to enlarge the\nmeetinghouse. But it's a good thing we never done it. There's room\nenough now,\" and the old man indulged in a mirthless, toothless grimace.\n\nThe Shenks didn't invite him to dinner; their understanding was finer\nthan that. Pa Shenk just said, \"Let me drive out first, John Wesley;\nI'll go on ahead and open the gate,\" And J.W. said to Jeannette, \"Jump\ninto my car, Jean; it isn't fair to put everybody into Pa Shenk's Ford\nwhen mine's younger and nearly empty.\"\n\nSo that was that; all regular and comfortable and proper. If Mrs. Newell\nsmiled as she watched them drive away, what of it? She was heard to say\nto Mrs. Bellamy, \"I've known for three years that those two ought to\nwake up and fall in love with each other, and they've been slower than\nFather Foltz's old gray mare. But it looks as though they were getting\ntheir eyes open at last.\"\n\nAt the farm Mrs. Shenk hurried to finish up the dinner preparations,\nwith Jeannette to help. Ben and little Alice contended for J.W.'s favor,\nuntil he took Alice on his knee and put one arm about her and the other\nabout her brother, standing by the chair. And Pa Shenk talked about the\nchurch.\n\n\"I reckon I shouldn't complain, John Wesley,\" he said, \"seeing that our\nMarty is a country preacher, and maybe he'll be having to handle a job\nlike this some time. But I can't believe he will. His letters don't read\nlike it.\"\n\n\"But, Pa Shenk,\" said J.W., \"don't you suppose the trouble here in Deep\nCreek is because you're so near town? Nine miles is nothing these days,\nbut when you first came to the farm there was only one automobile in the\ntownship. Now everybody can go into town to church.\"\n\n\"They can, boy,\" Pa Shenk answered, \"but they don't. Not all of 'em.\nSome don't care enough to go anywhere. One-year tenants, mostly, they\nare. Some go to town, all right enough, but not to church. A few go to\nchurch, I admit, but only a few.\"\n\nJ.W. started to speak, hesitated, then blurted it out. \"Maybe dad and\nothers like him are responsible for some of the trouble. They've pulled\nout and left just a few to carry the load. You're all right, of course;\nyou really belong here. But a lot of the farmers who have moved to town\nhave rented their places to what you call one-year tenants, and it seems\nto me that's a poor way to build up anything in the country, churches or\nanything else. Tenants that are always moving don't get to know anybody\nor to count for anything. It's not much wonder they are no use to the\nchurch.\"\n\n\"There's a good deal in that, John Wesley,\" said Pa Shenk. \"Your father\nand me, we get along fine. We're more like partners than owner and\ntenant. But it isn't so with these short-term renters. The owner raises\nthe rent as the price of land rises, and the tenant is mostly too poor\nto do anything much after he's paid the rent. Besides, he's got no stake\nin the neighborhood. Why should he pay to help build a new church, when\nhe's got to move the first of March? And the church has been as careless\nabout him as he has been about the church.\"\n\n\"That's what bothers me,\" J.W. commented. \"But even so, I should think\nsomething could be done to interest these folks. They've all got\nfamilies to bring up.\"\n\n\"Something can be done, too,\" said Pa Shenk. \"You remember when the\npeople on upper Deep Creek used to come here to church, four miles or\nso? Well, now they are going to Fairfield Church--owners, renters,\neverybody. It's surprising how Fairfield Church is growing. That's going\naway from town, not to it, and they're as near to town as we are.\"\n\n\"Then,\" persisted J.W., \"how do you account for it?\"\n\n\"Only one way, my boy,\" said Pa Shenk. \"I'm as much to blame as any, but\nwe've had some preachers here that didn't seem to understand, and then\nlately we've had preachers who stayed in town all the time except on\npreaching Sunday, and we scarcely saw or heard of 'em all the two weeks\nbetween. They haven't held protracted meetings for several years, and I\nain't blaming 'em. What's the use of holding meetings when you know\nnobody's coming except people that were converted before our present\npastor was born?\"\n\n\"You say some people are going over to Fairfield?\" asked J.W. \"Why do\nthey go there, when they could go to town about as easy?\"\n\n\"Well, John Wesley,\" Pa Shenk answered, soberly. \"I think I know. But\nyou say you're going to spend next Sunday with Marty. From what Marty\nwrites I've a notion it's much the same on his work as it is at\nFairfield, except that Marty has two points. Wait till next week, and\nthen come back and tell us how you explain the difference between Deep\nCreek Church and Ellis.\"\n\nIn the afternoon Jeannette and J.W. took a ride around the\nneighborhood, whose every tree and culvert and rural mail-box they knew,\nwithout in the least being tired of seeing it. Their talk was on an old,\nold subject, and not remarkable, yet somehow it was more to them both\nthan any poet's rhapsody. And their occasional silences were no less\neloquent.\n\nBut in a more than usually prosaic moment Jeannette said, \"John Wesley,\nI wonder if there's any hope to get the Deep Creek young people\ninterested in church the way they used to be? I'm just hungry for the\nsort of good times the older boys and girls used to have when you and\nMarty and I were nothing but children. They enjoyed themselves, and so\ndid everybody else. What's the matter with so many country churches,\nnowadays?\"\n\nTo which question J.W. could only answer: \"I don't know. I didn't\nrealize things were so bad here. Maybe I'll get some ideas about it next\nSaturday and Sunday. Your father seems to think Marty is getting started\non the right track. And that reminds me; don't let me go away without\nthose books he wants, will you?\"\n\nThis is not a record of that Sunday afternoon's drive, nor of the many\nothers which followed on other Sundays and on the days between. Some\nother time there may be opportunity for the whole story of Jeannette and\nJ.W.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs J.W. drove up to Ellis Corners post office late the next Friday\nafternoon Marty waylaid him and demanded to be taken aboard. \"Drive a\nhalf-mile further east,\" he said after their boisterous greetings.\n\"That's where we eat to-night--at Ambery's. Then just across the road to\nthe church. We've got something special on.\"\n\n\"A box supper,\" asked J.W., \"or a bean-bag party?\" But he knew better.\n\nMarty told him to wait and see. Supper was a pleasant meal, the Amberys\nbeing pleasant people, who lived in a cozy new house. But J.W. was\nmystified to hear Marty speak of Henry Ambery as a retired farmer. He\nknew retired farmers in town, plenty of them, and some no happier for\nbeing there. But in the country?\n\n\"Oh,\" said Marty, \"that's easy. Our church is the social hub of all this\ncommunity, and I told the Amberys that if they built here they would be\nas well off as in town. I'm right too. They bought two acres for less\nthan the price of a town lot, and they have most of the farm comforts as\nwell as all the modern conveniences. You didn't notice any signs of\nhomesickness, did you?\"\n\nNo, J.W., hadn't, though he knew the retired-farmer sort of homesickness\nwhen he saw it.\n\n\"And the Amberys are worth more to the church than they ever were,\"\nMarty added. \"I'm thinking of a scheme to colonize two or three other\nretiring farmers within easy reach of this church. Why not? They've got\ncars, and can drive to the county seat in an hour if they want to.\nThat's better than living there all the time, with nothing to do.\"\n\nBy this the two were at the church, a pretty frame building, L-shaped,\nwith a community house adjoining the auditorium. People were beginning\nto arrive in all sorts of vehicles--cars, mostly. J.W. looked for signs\nof a feed, but vainly. No spread tables, no smell of cooking or rattle\nof dishes from the kitchen.\n\n\"What is it, Marty?\" he asked. And Marty laughed as he answered,\n\"Old-fashioned singing school, with some new-fashioned variations,\nthat's all.\" Certainly it was something which interested the\ncountryside, for there was every indication of a crowded house.\n\nJ.W. heard the singing and noted with high approval the variations which\nmodernized the old order. He thought the idea plenty good enough even\nfor Delafield, which, for him, left nothing more to be said. And there\n_was_ a feed, after all; but it was distinctly light refreshments, such\nas J.W. was used to at Delafield First Church.\n\nOn the way back to the Amberys', and well into the night in Marty's\nroom, they talked about the circuit and its work.\n\n\"It isn't a circuit, rightly, you know,\" Marty said. \"I preach every\nSunday at both places, and for the present\"--J.W. grinned--\"I can get\nacross the whole parish every day if necessary. But I'm working it a\nlittle more systematically than that.\"\n\n\"You must be. I can hardly believe even what I've seen already,\" J.W.\nreplied. \"When I was at Deep Creek last Sunday I was sure it was all\noff with the country church, and on the way down here I passed three\nabandoned meetinghouses. So I made up my mind to persuade you out of it.\nYou know I wasn't much in favor of your coming here in the first place.\nBut maybe that's a bigger job than I thought.\"\n\n\"You're right, John Wesley, about that. I don't budge, if I can make\nmyself big enough for the job. It's too interesting. And things are\nhappening. There's no danger of this church being abandoned.\"\n\n\"But what do you do, Marty, to make things happen? I know they don't\njust happen. I'm from the country too, remember that.\"\n\n\"What do I do? Not 'I' but 'we.' Well, we work with our heads first, and\nour hearts. Then we get out and go at it. Take our very first social\ndifficulty; in Delafield you have a dozen places to go to. Here it's\neither the church or the schoolhouse--that's all the choice there is.\nAnd the schoolhouse has its limitations. So our folks have decided to\nmake the church, both here and at Valencia, the center of the community.\nThat explains the social hall; we call it 'Community House.' Everything\nthat goes on, except the barn dances over east that we can't do much\nwith so far, goes on in the church, or starts with the church, or ends\nat the church. That's the first scheme we put over. It was fairly easy,\nyou know, because all our country people are pretty much one lot. We\nhave no rich, and no really poor. And they're not organized to death,\neither, as you are in Delafield.\"\n\n\"Do you try to have something going on every night, and nearly every\nday, as Brother Drury does with us?\" J.W. asked.\n\n\"Not quite,\" replied Marty; \"we can't. We're too busy growing the food\nfor you town folks. But we keep up a pretty stiff pace, for the\npreacher; I have no time hanging on my hands.\"\n\n\"I should think not,\" J.W. commented, \"if you try to run everything.\nMr. Drury always seems to have lots of time, just because he makes the\nrest of us run the works in Delafield First.\"\n\n\"Oh, he does, does he?\" said Marty, shortly, who knew something of the\nolder minister's strategy. \"That's according to how you look at it. I'm\nnot above learning from him, and I don't run everything, either. But I'm\nthere, or thereabouts, most of the time.\"\n\n\"How do you get time for your study and your sermons, then,\" queried J.\nW., \"if you're on the go so much?\"\n\nMarty turned a quizzical look at J.W. \"My beloved chum, how did you and\nI get time for our studies at Cartwright?\" he said. \"Besides, I'm making\none hand wash the other. The social life here, for instance, used to be\npretty bad, before Henderson came--that's the preacher whose place I\ntook. It was pulling away from the church; now it draws to the church.\nHenderson started that. The people who are my main dependence in the\nother affairs are mostly the same people I can count on in the Sunday\nschool and League and the preaching service. The more we do the better\nit is for what we do Sundays.\"\n\n\"Then, there's another Because these people and I know one another so\nwell, I couldn't put on airs in the pulpit if I wanted to. I've just got\nto preach straight, and I won't preach a thing I can't back up myself. I\nuse country illustrations; show them their own world. It's one big white\nmark for the Farwell farm, as you might suppose, that I know the best\nside of country life, though I don't advertise your real estate.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said J.W. \"But don't you find country people pretty hard to\nmanage? That's our experience at the store. They are particular and\ncritical, and think they know just what they want.\"\n\n\"They do too,\" Marty asserted, \"Why shouldn't they? I believe I can tell\nyou one big difference between the city boy and the country. You've been\nboth; see if I'm right. The country boy minds his folks, and his\nteacher. But everything else minds him. He is boss of every critter on\nthe place, from the hens to the horses, whenever he has anything to do\nwith them at all. So he learns to think for them, as well as for\nhimself. In the city the boy has no chance to give orders--he's under\norders, all the time; the traffic cop, the truant officer, the boss in\nthe shop or the office, the street car conductor, the janitor--everybody\nbosses him and he bosses nothing, except his kid brothers and sisters.\nSo he may come to be half cringer and half bully. The country boy is not\nlikely to be much afraid, and he soon learns that if he tries to boss\neven the boys without good reason it doesn't pay. Maybe that's the\nreason so many country boys make good when they go to the city.\"\n\n\"And the reason why a city boy like me,\" suggested J.W., \"would be a\nmisfit in the country.\"\n\n\"Oh, you,\" scoffed Marty. \"You don't count. You're a half-breed. But, as\nI meant to say, you're right about country folks. They are a little\nclose, maybe. They are more independent in their business than town\npeople, but they learn how to work together; they exchange farm work,\nand work the roads, and they are fairly dependent on one another for all\nsocial life.\"\n\n\"On Deep Creek the tenant farmers are the biggest difficulty, your dad\ntold me last Sunday,\" said J.W. \"They go to town when they go anywhere,\nand not to church, either.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Marty. \"And I don't much blame 'em, from all I hear. But\nHenderson changed that considerably in this community. He found out that\nthe tenants were just as human as the others, only they had the idea\nthat nobody cared about them, because they might be here to-day and gone\nto-morrow. And, what do you think? I find tenant farmers around here are\nbeginning to take longer leases; one or two are about like dad's been\nwith your father--more partners than anything else. Every renter family\nin this neighborhood comes to our church, and only three or four fight\nshy of us at Valencia.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said J.W., drowsily. \"Go to sleep now; I've got to inspect\nthat Holstein hotel in the morning, and I know what country hours are.\"\n\nThe next day J.W. drove off toward the big barns of his customer, and\nleft Marty deep in the mysteries of Sunday's sermon. Marty was yet a\nvery young preacher, and one sermon a week was all he could manage, as\nseveral of his admirers had found out to his discomfiture, when one\nSunday they followed him from Ellis in the morning to Valencia at night.\nBut the \"twicers\" professed to enjoy it.\n\nJ.W.'s farmer was quite ready to talk about the new barn equipment and\nhow it was working, and he had remarkably few complaints, these more for\nform's sake than anything else. That business was soon out of the way.\n\nBut Farmer Bellamy was interested in other things besides ventilators\nand horse-forks.\n\n\"So you're a friend of our preacher,\" he said, in the questioning\naffirmative of the deliberate country. \"Well, he's quite a go-ahead\nyoung fellow; you never get up early enough to find him working in a\ncold collar. Maybe he's a mite ambitious, but I don't know.\"\n\nJ.W., as always, came promptly to Marty's defense. \"He's not ambitious\nfor himself, Mr. Bellamy; I'll vouch for that. But I shouldn't wonder he\nis ambitious about his work, and maybe that's not a bad thing for a\ncountry preacher in these days.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" Mr. Bellamy assented. \"But I doubt we keep him. He'll be\ngetting a church in town before long.\"\n\nNow J.W. had no instructions from Marty, but he thought he might\nventure. And he had been introduced to a few ideas that he had never met\nin the days when he objected to Marty's taking a country circuit.\n\n\"I'll tell you something, Mr. Bellamy,\" he said. \"Marty is a farmer's\nboy who loves the country. If he has the right sort of backing, I\nshouldn't wonder he stayed here a good long time. He's got enough plans\nahead for this circuit of his.\"\n\nMr. Bellamy laughed. \"He has that; if he waits to get 'em all going\nwe're sure of him for a while. Why, he wants to make the church the most\nimportant business in the whole neighborhood; and, what's more, he's\ngetting some of us to see it that way too.\"\n\n\"Yes, I guess that's his dream,\" J.W. said. \"And it's so much better\nthan the reality up around where I used to live that I wouldn't head him\noff if I were you.\"\n\n\"Head him off!\" Mr. Bellamy laughed again. \"Why, do you know what he did\nin the fall, when some of us told him we couldn't do much for missions?\nHe phoned all over the neighborhood the day before he set out with a\nton-and-a-half truck he had hired for the job. Told us to put into the\ntruck anything we could spare. And what do you think? Before night he\ndrove into Hill City with a big overload, even for that truck, of wheat,\ncorn, butter, eggs, chickens, sausage, apples, potatoes, and dear knows\nwhat. Sold the lot for sixty-nine dollars. He paid nine dollars for the\ntruck--got a rate on it--and turned in for missions sixty dollars. We've\nnever given more than twenty, in cash.\"\n\n\"But that wasn't all. Next Sunday he reported, and before any of us\ncould say 'Praise the Lord!' says he, 'Don't think the Lord's giving any\nof us much credit for that stuff. We owe him a good deal more than a few\neggs that we'll never miss. I just wanted to show you that when we\ncountry people really start paying our tithe to the Almighty our\nmissionary and other offerings will make that truckload look like the\ncrumbs from our tables. I've proved that we're rich, instead of being\ntoo poor to provide for missions. And it's all our Father's, you know.\nWhen we pay him our tithe we admit that in the only practical way,'\nFunny thing was the whole business had been so queer, nobody got mad\nover his plain talk. Some of us have begun to tithe, and to enjoy it.\nYes; that young feller is quite a go-ahead young feller.\"\n\nJ.W. rather admired the tale of the truck; it was like Marty, right\nenough, to get his tithing talk illustrated with a load of produce; but\nthere was more than a hint of a new Marty, with a new directness and\nconfidence.\n\nSo he asked, \"What else is he doing that's making a difference?\"\n\nAnd the floodgates were lifted. The Bellamy gift of utterance had a\ncongenial theme. For an hour the stream ran strong and steady, and when\nit would have stopped none could tell. But J.W. remembered he had\npromised to be back with Marty for dinner, and so, in the midst of a\nstory about Marty's Saturday afternoon outings with the boys, highly\nreminiscent of their own old-time Saturdays in the Deep Creek timber,\nJ.W. made his excuses and hurried away.\n\nIn that hour he had heard of the observing of special days, Thanksgiving\nand Christmas particularly; of the rage for athletic equipment on every\nfarm which had youngsters, so that the usual anaemic croquet outfit had\ngiven place to basketball practice sets, indoor-outdoor ball,\nvolley-ball nets, and other paraphernalia. Some of it not much used now,\nsince winter had come, but under Marty's leadership, a skating rink\nconstruction gang had thrown up a dirt embankment in a low spot near the\ncreek and then cut a channel far enough upstream to flood about four\nacres of swamp. Mr. Bellamy told about the skating tournaments every\nafternoon of the cold weather for the school children, and Saturday\nafternoons for the older young folks. More people went than skated too,\nthe garrulous farmer asserted. It was just another of that young\npreacher's sociability schemes, and there was no end to 'em, seemed like\nto him.\n\nThere was even more on the business side of country life: how Marty had\njoined forces with the Grange and the county agent and the cooperators\nof the creamery and the elevator and the school teachers. And so on, and\nso on.\n\nJ.W. would be the last to worry about such a program; it just fitted\nhis ideas. But it made him a little more interested in the Sunday\nservices. Would Marty's preaching match his community work?\n\nBut before Sunday morning came J.W. had other questions to ask. He put\nthem to Marty in intervals of the skating races; and again after supper,\nbefore going over to the church to meet a little group of Sunday-school\nfolk--\"my teacher-partners\" Marty called them--who were learning with\nhim how to adapt Sunday school science and the teaching art to the\nconditions of the open country.\n\nAll of J.W.'s questions were really one big question: \"Say, Marty, boy,\nI always knew you had something in you that didn't show on the surface,\nbut I never thought it was exactly the stuff they need to make\nup-to-date country preachers. How does it happen that you've blossomed\nout in these few months as a Moses to lead a 'rural parish'--if that's\nthe right scientific name--out of such a wilderness as I saw at Deep\nCreek last Sunday?\"\n\nMarty made a pass at his chum in the fashion of the Cartwright days, and\nwaited for the return punch before answering. \"Don't you 'Moses' me,\nJohn Wesley. Besides, this circuit was no wilderness. Henderson, the\npreacher who was here before me, was just the man for this work. He knew\nthe country, and believed it had the makings of even more attractive\nlife than the town. Too bad he had to quit. But he started these folks\nthinking the right way. And then, don't you remember I wrote last\nsummer that I was spending two weeks at a school for rural ministers?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I remember that,\" J.W. answered, \"but that's no explanation. I\nspent four years at a college for town and country boys, and now look at\nme! Two weeks is a little too short a course to produce miracles, even\nwith such an intellect as yours, notwithstanding your name is bigger\nthan mine, Martin Luther! Now, if you'd said four weeks, I might almost\nhave believed you, but two weeks--well, it just isn't done, that's all!\"\n\n\"Make fun of it, will you!\" said Marty, with another short-arm jab.\n\"Now, listen to me. That thing is simple enough. First off, I'd been\nthinking four years about being a preacher. On top of that, I'd been a\ncountry boy for twenty-three years. I know the Deep Creek neighborhood\nbetter than you do, because I had to live there. You were just visiting\nthe farm your father paid taxes on. When I came here I found that\nHenderson had set things going. He told me what his dream was. So, when\nI went to that two-weeks' school I was ready to take in every word and\nsee every picture and get a grip on every principle. Maybe you don't\nknow that it was one of many such schools set up by the rural work\nleaders of our Home Missions Board, and it was a great school. They had\nno use for rocking-chair ruralists, so the faculty, instead of being\nmade up of paper experts, was a bunch of men who _knew_. It was worth a\nyear of dawdling over text-books. You see, I knew I could come back here\nand try everything on my own people. It was like the Squeers school in\n'Nicholas Nickleby,' 'Member? When the spelling class was up, Squeers\nsays to Smike, the big, helpless dunce, 'Spell window,'\" And Smike says,\n'W-i-n-d-e-r,' 'All right,' Squeers says, 'now go out and wash 'em,'\nWell, I hope I got the spelling a little nearer right, but I came home\nand began washing my windows. That's all.\n\nJ.W. said \"Huh!\" and that stood for understanding, and approval, and\nconfidence.\n\nAs to Marty's preaching, it was a boy's preaching, naturally, but it was\npreaching. And the people came for it; J.W., remarked to himself the\ncontrast between the close-parked cars around Ellis church and the\nforlornly vacant horse-sheds he had seen at Deep Creek the Sunday\nbefore.\n\nThe hearty singing of people glad to be singing together, the contagious\ninterest of a well-filled house, and the simple directness of the\npreacher were all of a piece. Here was no effort to ape the forms of a\ncathedral, but neither was there any careless, cheap slovenliness. And\nassuredly there were no religious \"stunts.\"\n\nMarty preached the Christian evangel, not moralized agriculture. He made\nthe gospel invitation a social appeal, without blinking its primary\nmessage to the individual to place himself under the authority of\nChrist's self-forgetting love. He put first things in front--\"Him that\ncometh unto me,\" and then with simple illustrations and words as simple\nhe showed that they who had accepted Christ's lordship were honor bound\nto live together under a new sort of law from that of the restless,\npushing, self-centered world: \"It shall not be so among you.\" Besides,\nhe told them they could not separate service from profit. They knew, for\ninstance, that their farm values were a third higher because of the\npresence of the church and its work, but they would find that the profit\nmotive was not big enough to keep the church going. They had to love the\nwork, and do it for love of it.\n\nThat afternoon the friends drove over to Valencia, where at night Marty\nwould preach again this his one sermon of the week; and J.W. left him\nthere, turning his car homeward for the fifty-two miles to Delafield.\n\nAs they parted, J.W. gripped Marty's hand and said: \"Old man, I own up.\nI thought you ought not to bury yourself in the country, but I had no\nneed to worry. I know preachers who are buried in town all right; you\nhave a bigger field and a livelier one than they will ever find. And\nI'll never say another word about your two-weeks' school. If the Home\nMissions Board had nothing else to do, such work as it showed you how to\ndo would be worth all the Board costs. I'm going to make trouble for Mr.\nDrury and the district superintendent and the bishop and the Board and\nanybody else I can get hold of, until Deep Creek gets the same sort of\nchance as this circuit of yours. If only they knew where to find another\nMartin Luther Shenk--that's the rub!\" And with a last handclasp the\nchums went their separate ways.\n\nOn Monday J.W. called up Pastor Drury and gave that gentleman, who was\nexpecting it, a five-minute summary of his day with Marty. \"I'm awfully\nglad I happened to think of going over there,\" he said, \"not only for\nthe sake of being with the old boy again, but because I've got some new\nnotions about the country church, and about what we Methodists are\nbeginning to do for the places where Methodism got its start.\"\n\nAnd Walter Drury said, \"Yes, I'm glad, too.\" So he was; he could put\ndown a new mark on the credit side of the Experiment.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\n\"IS HE NOT A MAN AND A BROTHER?\"\n\nThe colored Methodists of Delafield, who called their church \"Saint\nMarks,\" had always been on good terms with their white co-religionists.\nMr. Drury and the pastor of Saint Marks found many occasions of helping\neach other in their work. The single way in which these two showed\nthemselves conscious of the color line was that while the pastor of\nFirst Church often \"preached\" in Saint Marks, when the pastor of Saint\nMarks appeared in the pulpit of First Church, it was \"to speak on some\naspect of his work.\"\n\nJ.W. knew Saint Marks of old. In his high-school days that church had\nfor its preacher one of a fast-vanishing race, a man mighty in\nexhortation, even though narrowly circumscribed in scholastic equipment.\nHis preaching was redolent of the camp meeting, and he counted that\nsermon lost which did not evoke a shout or two from the front benches.\n\nA few of First Church's younger people often went to sing at Saint Marks\non special occasions, and went all the more cheerfully because of the\nchance it afforded to hear Brother King Officer preach. Where he got\nthat name is not known, but he had no other.\n\nDo not think the young people either went to scoff or remained to pray.\nIf at times they were amused at Brother Officer's peculiarities, so\nwere some members of his own flock, and Brother Officer was wise enough\nto assume that no disrespect was intended. And if the white visitors\ntreated his fervent appeals to the unconverted and backsliders as part\nof the program, but having no slightest application to them, this was\nalso the regular thing, and nobody was troubled thereat.\n\nBut while J.W. was away at college a new pastor had come to Saint Marks,\na college and seminary graduate. And he had come just in time. Brother\nOfficer was getting old, but the determining factor which made the\nchange necessary was that Delafield happened to be near one of the\ngeneral routes by which thousands of colored people were moving\nnorthward. \"Exoduses\" have been before; Kansas still remembers the\nexodus from Tennessee of forty years ago; but this latest exodus had no\none starting-point nor any single destination. It was a vast shifting of\nNegro populations from below Mason and Dixon's line, and it swept\nnorthward toward all the great industrial centers. Its cause and\nconsequences make a remarkable story, for which there is no room in this\nchronicle.\n\nDelafield thought it could not absorb many more Negroes, but before the\nexodus movement subsided the stragglers who had turned aside at\nDelafield had more than doubled the Negro population of the town.\n\nA heavy burden of new responsibility was on the young pastor of Saint\nMarks. The newcomers had no such alertness and resourcefulness as his\nown people. They were helpless in the face of new experiences. Soon\nthey became a worry and an enigma to the town authorities; but\nespecially and inevitably they turned to the churches of their own\ncolor, of which Delafield could boast but two, a Methodist and a\nBaptist. So Saint Marks and its pastor found both new opportunity and\nnew troubles.\n\nOne day in the early spring Mr. Drury dropped in to the Farwell store\nand asked J.W. if he would be busy that night. The road to Deep Creek\nwas at its spring worst, and J.W. had nothing special on. He said as\nmuch, and answering his look of inquiry the pastor said, \"There's a man\nspeaking at Saint Marks to-night who's a Yale graduate and a Negro. He's\nalso a Methodist. Does the combination interest you?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" J.W. answered, \"it might. You know I used to go with the\nbunch to Saint Marks when Brother Officer was pastor, but I haven't been\nsince he left. I'd like to see what the new preacher is doing, and it\nought to be worth something to hear a Negro alumnus of Yale.\"\n\nWilliam Hightower, it seemed, was the speaker's name--a strong-voiced;\nconfident man in his thirties. As J.W., soon discovered, Hightower was a\ndistinctively modern Negro. Where King Officer had been almost cringing,\nHightower's thought, however diplomatically spoken, was that of an\nup-standing mind; where Officer accepted as part of the social order the\ncolored man's dependence on the white, Hightower spoke of something he\ncalled racial solidarity. It was plain that he meant his Negro hearers\nto make much of the Negro's capacity for self-direction.\n\nThere was little bitterness and no radicalism in the speech, but to J.W.\nit had a queer, new note. He said as much to Mr. Drury, on the way home.\n\"Why, that Hightower hardly ever mentioned the church, although he was\nspeaking at a church meeting. And how independent he was!\"\n\n\"So you noticed that, did you?\" the pastor responded. \"To me it is one\nof the signs of a new day.\"\n\n\"But do you think it is a good day, Mr. Drury?\" queried J.W.\n\n\"Yes--perhaps; I don't know. Anyhow, it is new, and some of the blame\nfor it is on our shoulders. The way the Negro thinks and feels to-day is\na striking proof of the fact, often forgotten, that when you settle old\nquestions you raise new ones.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" said J.W. doubtfully, \"but I didn't know we had settled the\nNegro question.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" agreed Mr. Drury. \"What we--I mean, we Methodists--settled when\nwe began to deal with the Negro right after emancipation was not the\nrace question. It was not even a missionary question, in the old sense,\nbut it was the question of the nature of the education we should give\nthe young colored people. For we set out deliberately to give them\nschooling first, with evangelism as an accompaniment. The stress was on\neducation, and we decided at the outset on a certain sort of education.\"\n\n\"I should think,\" ventured J.W., \"that any old sort of education would\nserve; the first teachers had to begin at the bottom, didn't they?\"\n\n\"Yes, and lower than any beginnings you know anything about,\" the pastor\nreplied. \"Our first workers began without equipment, without\nencouragement, and without everything else except a great pity for the\nfreedman. Did you notice, by the way, that the speaker to-night never\nsaid 'freedman' or mentioned slavery? It is a new day, I tell you.\"\n\n\"I wish you'd explain just what you mean by that, Mr. Drury,\" J.W. said.\n\"I don't seem to get it.\"\n\n\"I mean,\" said Mr. Drury, \"that as soon as our church had decided to do\nsomething for the emancipated slaves, it began to work out a scheme of\nNegro education. That was before Tuskegee, and even before Hampton\nInstitute. Maybe we never thought of the Booker Washington idea, or\npurely industrial education, but at any rate we went on the theory that\nthe Negro deserved and in time could take as good an education as any\nother American. So we started academies and colleges and even\nuniversities for him, and a medical school and a theological seminary.\"\n\n\"I can see myself that there's a difference between that and the\nindustrial idea,\" said J.W.\n\n\"Decidedly, there is,\" answered the minister; \"all the difference which\nhas helped to bring this new day I'm talking about, and to produce such\nNegro leaders as William Hightower. You see, J.W., it's this way: Booker\nWashington believed that after the Negro had been taught to read and\nwrite and cipher, his next and greatest educational need was to learn\nto make a living.\"\n\n\"Well, what's the matter with that?\" retorted J.W. \"Seems to me it's\ncommon sense.\"\n\n\"Possibly,\" Mr. Drury answered, dryly. \"But what would you say was the\nfirst thing needed in the fight against the almost total illiteracy of\nthe freedmen?\"\n\n\"Why, teachers, I suppose,\" said J.W. \"And it would sure take a lot of\nteachers, even to make a start.\"\n\nMr. Drury said, \"That's exactly the fact. It has called for so many that\nto this day there isn't anything like enough teachers, although some of\nour schools and those of other churches have been at work for fifty\nyears. And, remember, that practically all of these teachers, except in\na few advanced schools, must be black teachers, themselves brought up\nout of ignorance.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said J.W., \"that's my point. The quicker we could teach the\nteachers, the sooner they would be ready to teach others.\"\n\n\"That is to say,\" Mr. Drury interpreted, \"the less we taught them, the\nbetter? Seems to me I heard something of a small revolt in your time at\nCartwright because it seemed necessary that a young tutor should be\ntemporarily assigned to the class in sophomore English.\"\n\nJ.W. chuckled. \"It was my class. Why, that fellow was never more than\ntwo jumps ahead of the daily work. We knew he had to study his own\nlesson assignments before he could hear a recitation. We weren't\ngetting anything out of it except the bare text. So some of the boys\nmade things lively for a few days, and he asked to be relieved.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Your class had every imaginable advantage over the colored\nboys and girls in our schools--just one teacher below par. And yet you\nthink it would be all right to have all colored teachers no more than\ntwo jumps ahead of their pupils.\"\n\n\"Well, yes, I see,\" J.W. said, with a touch of thoughtfulness. \"I\nsuppose a good teacher needs more than the minimum text-book knowledge.\nIs that the Methodist theory?\"\n\n\"Now you're talking like yourself,\" Mr. Drury told him. \"Yes, that's the\nMethodist theory. For the fifty years of the old Freedmen's Aid\nSociety--now the Board of Education for Negroes--it has run these\nschools, eighteen of them now, with five thousand seven hundred and two\nearnest students enrolled, on a double theory. The first part of the\ntheory is that every child--black, white, red or yellow--ought to have\nall the education he can use. Anything less than that would be as good\nas saying that America cares to develop its human resources only just so\nfar, and not to the limit. The other part of the theory is that the last\nperson in the world to be put off with half an education is a preacher\nor a teacher. The best is just good enough for all teachers, whether\nthey teach from a desk or from a pulpit.\"\n\n\"I guess that's so too,\" said J.W. \"You're getting me interested. Now go\non and tell me some more.\"\n\n\"The new pastor of Saint Marks told me,\" said Mr. Drury, irrelevantly,\n\"that they would be wanting some new roofing for the barn they're\nturning into a community house. I shouldn't be surprised if you sold the\nchurch a nice little bill of goods. And while you are at it, you might\ntalk to the pastor--Driver's his name--about this thing from his side of\nthe road. He knows more than I do.\"\n\nJ.W. said he would. And, though he would have meant it in any case, the\nhint about roofing made certain that \"Elder\" Driver would have a call in\nthe morning from a rising young hardware salesman.\n\nBy this time they were at the Farwell gate, and J.W. said goodnight. Mr.\nDrury walked home, but before he got ready for his beloved last hour of\nthe day, with its easy chair and its cherished book, he called up his\ncolored colleague, and they had a brief talk over the 'phone.\n\nNow, Walter Drury had taken no one into his confidence about the\nExperiment, nor did he intend to; he had the best of reasons for keeping\nhis own counsel, through the years. So Elder Driver could not know the\ntrue inwardness of this telephone call; indeed, it was so casual that he\ndid not even think to mention it to J.W. when that alert roofing\nspecialist turned up next morning.\n\n\"I heard you were going to put new roofing on that barn you are fixing\nup, Mr. Driver, and I thought I might get your order for the job. Maybe\nyou know that we do a good deal of that sort of work, and we can give\nyou expert service; the right roofing put on to stay, and to stay put.\"\n\nYes, they were thinking of that roof; had to, because it leaked like a\nmarket basket, and they needed the place right now, what with the many\ncolored Methodists who had come to town and had no home--only rooms in\nthe little houses of the colored settlement that had been too small for\ncomfort even before the exodus. But the place would be worth a lot to\ntheir work when they got it.\n\n\"About how much do you think of spending, Mr. Driver?\" J.W. asked.\nKnowing the limited means of Saint Marks, he expected to supply the\ncheapest roofing the Farwell Hardware Company had in stock, but Pastor\nDriver had a surprise for him.\n\n\"Why,\" he said, \"we want the best there is. That building was a barn,\nI'll admit, but it is strongly built, and we expect to fix it pretty\nthoroughly. We have a gift from the Board of Home Missions and Church\nExtension, and we match that with as much again of our own money, enough\nin all to swing the building around off the alley, put it on a new\nfoundation next to the church, and remodel it for our needs.\"\n\n\"That's news to me,\" said J.W., \"though of course I'm glad to hear it.\nBut I didn't know that the Board put money into such work as this.\nSomehow I supposed you were under the Board of Education for Negroes.\"\n\n\"No, not for this sort of church work,\" the colored pastor answered. \"I\nwas 'under' the Board of Education for Negroes, as you put it, for a\nlong time myself, in the days when it was called the Freedmen's Aid\nSociety. And so was my wife. But now we're doing missionary work, and\nthat's the other Board's job.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" J.W. assented. \"I might have known that. And you mean that\nyou were under the Freedmen's Aid Society when you were going to\nschool--is that it?\"\n\n\"That's it,\" said Pastor Driver, with a gleaming smile. \"I was in two of\nthe schools. Philander Smith College, at Little Rock, Arkansas, and\nClark University, at Atlanta, Georgia. Then I got my theological course\nat Gammon, on the same campus as Clark.\"\n\n\"You say your wife was in school too?\"\n\n\"Yes\"--with an even brighter smile--\"she was at Clark when I met her.\nLike me, she attended two schools on that campus. The other was Thayer\nHome, a girls' dormitory, supported by the Woman's Home Missionary\nSociety.\"\n\n\"A home? Then how could it be a school?\" J.W. asked.\n\n\"That's just it, Mr. Farwell,\" the minister explained. \"It was a school\nof home life, not only cooking and sewing and scrubbing, and what all\nyou think of as domestic science, but a school of the home spirit--just\nthe thing my people need. Thayer was, and is, a place where the girl\nstudents of Clark University learn how to make real homes. And in the\ncollege classes they learn what you might suppose any college student\nwould learn. That's why I said Mrs. Driver went to two schools.\"\n\nJ.W. recalled the Hightower speech of the night before, and the\ndiscussion with Mr. Drury on the way home. He wanted to go into it all\nwith this pastor, who wasn't much past his own age, and evidently had\nsome ideas. For the first time he wondered too how it happened that in\nthat draft of the Everyday Doctrines of Delafield they had altogether\nignored the Negro. Was that a symptom of something? Then he remembered\nhis errand, and the work which was waiting up at the store.\n\nSo he said: \"Excuse me, Mr. Driver, for being so inquisitive. I've never\nthought much about our church's colored work, but what I heard at last\nnight's meeting started me. Rather curious that I should be here talking\nabout it with you the very next morning, isn't it? But about that\nroofing, now. Of course you'll look around and get other estimates, but\nanyway I'd be glad to take the measurements and give you our figures. I\npromise you they'll be worth considering.\"\n\n\"I'm sure of that, Mr. Farwell,\" said the other, heartily, \"and if I\nhave any influence with the committee--and I think I have--you needn't\nlose any sleep over any other figures we might get. As for being\ninquisitive about our work here, I wish more of this town's white\nMethodists would get inquisitive. And that reminds me: there's to be an\nEpworth League convention here week after next, and I've been told to\ninvite one of the League leaders in your church to make a short address\non the opening night. You're a League leader, I know, and the first one\nI've thought about. So I'm asking you, right now. Will you come over and\nspeak for us?\"\n\nNow, though J.W. always said he was no speaker, he had never hesitated\nto accept invitations to take part in League conventions. But this was\ndifferent. He made no answer for a minute. And in the pause his mind was\nbusy with all he knew, and all he had acquired at second hand, about the\nrelations of colored Christians and white, and particularly about what\nmight be thought and said if it should be announced that he was to speak\nat a Negro Epworth League convention. And then he had the grace to\nblush, realizing that this colored pastor, waiting so quietly for his\nanswer, must infallibly have followed his thoughts. In his swift\nself-blame he felt that the least amends he could make for his unspoken\ndiscourtesy was a prompt acceptance of the invitation.\n\nSo he looked up and said, hurriedly: \"Mr. Driver, forgive me for not\nspeaking sooner. I'll do the best I can\"; and then, regaining his\ncomposure, \"Have you any idea as to the subject I'm supposed to talk\nabout?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the colored minister replied, not without a touch of curious\ntenseness in his voice. \"The committee wanted me to get a representative\nfrom your Chapter to make a ten-minute address of welcome on behalf of\nthe Epworthians of First Church!\"\n\nAgain J.W. was forced to hesitate. Here he was an Epworthian, but\nknowing nothing at all about the work of these other young Methodists.\nUntil to-day he scarcely knew they existed. And now he was asked to\nwelcome them to town in the name of the League!\n\nBut once again shame compelled him to take the bold course. With an\napologetic smile he said, \"Well, that's the last subject I could imagine\nyou'd give to any of us at First Church. Your young people and ours have\nhardly been aware of each other, and it seems queer that you should ask\nme to make an address of welcome in your church. But as I think of it,\nmaybe this is just what somebody ought to do, and I might as well try\nit. Trouble is, what am I going to say?\"\n\n\"We'll risk that, Mr. Farwell,\" said Pastor Driver, confidently. \"Just\nsay what you think, and you'll do all right.\"\n\nJ.W. was by no means sure of that, and the more he thought about his\nspeech in the next few days, the more confused he became. Any ordinary\nspeech of welcome would be easy--\"Glad you were sensible enough to come\nto Delafield,\" \"make yourselves at home,\" \"freedom of the city,\" \"our\nlatch strings are out,\" \"command us for anything we can do,\"\n\"congratulate you on the fine work you are doing,\" \"know when we return\nthis visit and come to the places you represent you will make us\nwelcome\"--and so on. But it was plainly impossible for him to talk like\nthat. It wouldn't be true, and it would certainly not be prudent.\n\nHe put the thing up to J.W., Sr. \"What'll I say, dad?\" he asked. \"You\nknow we haven't had much to do with the people of Saint Marks, and maybe\nit wouldn't be best for us to make any sudden change as to that, even\nif some of us wanted to. But I've got to talk like a Christian, whether\nI feel like one or not.\"\n\n\"My son,\" his father answered him, sententiously, \"it's your speech, not\nmine. But if an old fogy may suggest something, why not forget all about\nthe usual sort of welcome address? Why not say something of the whole\nprogram of our church as it affects our colored people? It touches the\nyoung folks more than any others. Welcome them to that.\"\n\n\"That's all very fine,\" J.W. objected. \"Everybody who's on for an\naddress of welcome is advised by his friends to cut out the old stuff,\nbut it means work. And you know that I don't know the first thing about\nwhat you call the whole program of our church for the colored people.\nThat man Driver knows, but I can't ask him.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" assented J.W., Sr., \"but you can ask somebody else.\nI'll venture Mr. Drury can tell you where to find all you would want to\ntalk about. Ask him. You're never bothered by bashfulness with him, if I\nremember right.\"\n\nJ.W. admitted he had already thought of that. \"He and I were talking\nabout this very thing the night before I went to see about that roofing.\nBut here's the point--I'm not to represent the pastor, but the young\npeople. And I'm not so sure that what Mr. Drury might give me, if he\nwere willing, could be made to fit into a League speech, under the\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"I'd try it anyway,\" said the elder Farwell. \"He's nearly always\nwilling, seems to me, and a pretty safe adviser most of the time.\"\n\n\"All right,\" agreed J.W., \"I'll see him, but he'll probably tell me to\nfind things out for myself. He's a good scout, is Mr. Drury; the best\npastor I ever knew or want to know, but sometimes he has the queerest\nstreaks; won't help a fellow a little bit, and when you're absolutely\nsure he could if he would. It won't be enough to see him, though; even\nif he is in a generous mood and gives me more dope than I can use. I'd\nbetter talk to some of the League people.\" And still he gravitated\ntoward the pastor's study. It was the easiest way.\n\nThe pastor was always in a more generous mood than J.W. gave him credit\nfor. It was only that he never supplied crutches when people needed to\nuse their legs, nor brains when they needed to use their heads, nor\nemotions when they needed to use their hearts.\n\nHe told J.W. to rummage through the one bookshelf in the study which\nheld his small but usable collection of books and pamphlets on the\nNegro, and see what he might find. And, as always, they talked.\n\n\"I can tell by that preacher at Saint Marks,\" said J.W., \"how I had the\nwrong end of the argument that night we came from Hightower's address. A\nman with a big job like his has to be a pretty big man, and he needs all\nthe education he can get.\"\n\n\"There's a principle in that, J.W.,\" suggested Mr. Drury; \"see if this\nseems a reasonable way to state it: In dealing with any people, the\nmore needy they are, the better equipped and trained their leaders\nshould be.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, it sounds reasonable enough,\" J.W. admitted. \"And yet I never\nthought of it until now. But you said something the other night that I\ndon't see yet.\"\n\n\"That may be no fault of yours, my boy,\" said the minister, with a\nlaugh. \"What was it?\"\n\n\"Why, you said men like Hightower are inclined to overlook the work of\nthe church, and that it was the church's own fault; something about\nraising new questions when you settle old ones.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" said Mr. Drury, \"I remember. Maybe saying it's the church's\nown fault is not just the way to put it. Say instead that you can't\neducate children, nor yet races that are developing, and expect them to\nturn out exactly according to your notions of the future. Because, when\ntheir minds are growing they are developing, not according to something\nin you, but according to something in them. So every teacher, and I\nsuppose every parent, has moments of wondering how it ever happens that\nyoung people learn so much that is not taught them. And it's the same\nway with races.\"\n\n\"You mean,\" inquired J.W., \"that Hightower is like that?\"\n\n\"I mean,\" Pastor Drury replied, \"that everybody is like that. If we had\ngiven the Negro no education at all, we could probably have kept him\ncontented for a good many years with just being 'free.' If we had given\nno Negro anything but a common-school chance, the race would have been\npretty slow to develop discontent. But Hightower went to Yale, and Du\nBois went to Harvard and Germany, and Pickens went to Yale, and so on.\nThousands of colored men and women have been graduated from colleges of\nliberal arts. And so they are not satisfied with conditions which would\nhave been heavenly bliss to their grandfathers and grandmothers.\"\n\n\"I know I'm stupid,\" said J.W., a trifle ruefully, \"but I've always\nsupposed that education was good for everybody. Now you seem to say that\neducation makes people discontented.\"\n\n\"Of course it does,\" said Mr. Drury, \"that's the reason it is good for\nthem. Would you be content to call a one-room shack home, and live as\nthe plantation hand lives? If you would, the world's profit out of you,\nand your own profit out of yourself, wouldn't be much. Real education\ndoes exactly mean discontent. And the people who are discontented may be\nuncomfortable to live with, if we think they ought to be docile, but\nthey get us forward.\"\n\n\"Maybe you're right,\" J.W. conceded, \"and the church is not to be\nblamed. Still, if our work for the black man has made him troublesome,\nand given him ideas bigger than he can hope to realize, how does that\nfit in with our Christianity? Shouldn't the church be a peacemaker,\ninstead of a trouble-maker?\"\n\n\"Now, John Wesley, Jr.,\" the other said, in mock protest, \"that sermon\nof mine on 'Not Peace, but a Sword' must have been wasted on you. Our\nLord most certainly came to make peace, and he spoke a great blessing on\npeacemakers. But he was himself the world's greatest disturber. Peace\nwhile there is injustice, or ignorance, or any sort of wickedness, has\nnothing to do with Christ's intentions. I know that the old-time\nslave-traders of the North, and the more persistent slave-buyers of the\nSouth, were always asking for that sort of peace. But they couldn't have\nit. Nobody ever can have it, so long as Jesus has a single follower in\nthe world.\"\n\n\"Well, what has all this to do,\" asked J.W., \"with our church's special\nwork for the colored people?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" the pastor answered, \"that's the very thing you must find out\nbefore you make that address of welcome.\"\n\nBy this time J.W. had gathered up a pile of books, pamphlets, reports,\nand papers--enough, he thought, to serve as the raw material of a Ph.D.\nthesis, and he said to Mr. Drury, \"Would you mind if I took this home?\nI'll bring it all back, and it's not likely I'll damage it much.\".\n\nThe asking was no more than a form; for years the people of First Church\nhad known themselves freely welcome to any book in the preacher's\nshelves. An interest in his books was passport to his special favor. His\nown evident love for books had been the best possible insurance that\nthese particular borrowers would be more scrupulous than the general.\nThis bit of pastoral work, it should be said, with the frequent\nbook-talk that grew out of it, was not least among all the reasons why\nFirst Church people thought their bachelor minister just the man for\nthem.\n\nSo off went J.W. with his armful, and for a week thereafter you might\nhave supposed he was cramming for a final exam of some sort. Early in\nhis preparation he decided that his father's advice was wise, and he put\nthe stress of his effort on the church's work and how Negro youth had\nresponded to it. The other matter was too delicate, he felt, for his\namateur handling, and, besides, he was not altogether sure even of his\nown position.\n\nOn the convention night Saint Marks was crowded with young colored\npeople, some of whom came from places a hundred miles away. They were\nbadged and pennanted quite in the fashion to which J.W. was accustomed.\nBut for their color, and, to be frank, for a little more restraint and\nthoughtfulness in their really unusual singing, they were just young\nMethodists at a convention, not different from Caucasian Methodists of\nthe same age.\n\nWhen J.W.'s turn came to speak, the chairman introduced him in the\nfewest possible words, but with the courtesy which belongs to\nself-respect, saying, \"Mr. Farwell will make the delegates welcome in\nthe name of the First Church Epworthians.\"\n\nAnd he did. He had his notes, pretty full ones, to which he made\nfrequent references, but the quality in his speech which drew the\nconvention's cheers was its frank and natural simplicity.\n\n\"I would have begged off from this duty, if I could,\" he began, \"but I\nknew from the moment I was asked that I had no decent excuse. But I knew\nso little of what I ought to say that it was necessary for me to dig,\njust as I used to do at school.\"\n\nThe result of my digging is that I know now and I want you to know that\nI know, why First Church young people should join in welcoming you to\nDelafield. Some of them don't know yet, any more than I did ten days\nago; but I intend to enlighten them the first chance I get.\n\nWe First Church Epworthians might welcome you for many reasons, but I\nhave decided to stick to two, because, as I have said, I have just been\nlearning something about them.\n\nWe welcome you, then, because you represent the most eager hunger for\ncomplete education that exists in America to-day, unless our new Hebrew\ncitizens can match it. No others can. The record of our church's schools\nfor your race prove that it simply is not possible to keep the Negro\nyouth out of school. They will walk further, eat less, work harder, and\nstay longer to get an education than for anything else in the world.\n\nNot so many days ago I ignorantly thought that the 'three R's' was all\nthat ought to be offered, partly because the need is so great. I hope\nyou will forgive me that thought, when I tell you that now I know what\nignorance it revealed in me. The great need is the strongest argument\nfor the highest education. Because of your great numbers, and because\nof your ever intenser racial self-respect, the Negro must educate the\nNegro, be physician for the Negro, preach to the Negro, nurse the Negro,\nlead the Negro in all his upward effort. Otherwise these things will be\ndone badly, or patronizingly, or not at all.\n\nBut if you are to do your own educational work, your educators must be\nfully equipped. It is not possible to send the whole race to college,\nbut it is possible to send college-trained youth to the race. For this\nreason our church has established normal schools, colleges of liberal\narts, professional schools, homes for college girls, so that the coming\nleaders of your people may have access to the best the world offers in\nscience and literature, in medicine and law, in business and religion.\n\nYou will not mistake my purpose, I am sure, in saying that you know\nbetter than we can guess how your people, through no fault of theirs,\nhave been long in bondage to the unskilled hand, the unawakened mind,\nand the uninspired heart. But it is more and more an unwilling bondage.\n\nAnd our church, your church, has set up these schools and these\ntraining homes I have mentioned, as though she were saying, in the words\nof one of your own wonderful songs, 'Let my people go!' And the results\nare coming. Your two bishops, one in the South and one in Africa, your\nleaders in the church's highest councils, your educators, your\nfar-seeing business men, your great preachers, are part of the answer\nto your church's passion to give full freedom to all her people.\n\nFor you are _her_ people, the people of the Christian Church; we are\nall God's people. It seems to me that just now God is interested in\nbringing to every race in the world the chance of liberty for hand and\nhead and heart. God has greater things for us all to do than we can now\nunderstand, but all his purposes must wait on our getting free from\neverything that would defeat our work.\n\nOur First-Church young people welcome you because with all else you\nrepresent a great purpose to make religion intelligent. You know, as we\ndo, that piety to be vital must be mixed with sound learning. You have\nthe missionary spirit, which never thrives in an atmosphere of\nresistance to education. You are 'fellow Christians,' fellow workers. We\nare sharers with you in personal devotion to our Lord, and in the common\npurpose to make him Master of all life.\n\nAnd, finally, let me say it bluntly, we welcome you because we believe\nin your pride of race, and honor it in you as we honor it in our fellow\ncitizens of other races. They and you have some things in common, but\nyou will not misunderstand me when I congratulate you on what is\npeculiar to you. You have been fully Americanized for more generations\nthan most other Americans. You have no need to strive after the American\nspirit. I have a friend of Greek birth, who thinks pridefully back to\nthe Golden Age of Greece, and I envy him his glorying. But your pride\nof race, turning away from the unhappy past, sees your Golden Age in\nthe days to come, not in the dim yesterdays. You are the makers, not the\ninheritors, of a great destiny.\n\n\"For that noble future which is to be yours in our common America, you\ndo well to hold as above price the purity and strength of your racial\nlife. Better than we of Caucasian stock, you know that only so may all\nthe values be fully realized which are to be Africa's contribution to\nthe spiritual wealth of America and the world.\"\n\nThere was a moment of silence, for the implications of the last sentence\nwere not as plain as they might have been. But when the audience caught\nJ.W.'s somewhat daring appeal to its racial self-respect it broke into\nsuch cheers as are not given to the polite phraser of conventional\ncommonplaces.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nTHE FIRST AMERICAN CIVILIZATION\n\nThe full record of J.W.'s commercial career must he left to some other\nchronicler, but an occasional reference to it cannot be omitted from\nthese pages.\n\nPastor Drury's brother Albert, a Saint Louis business man who knew the\nold city by the Mississippi from the levees to the University, was a\ncitizen who loved his city so well that he did not need to join a\nBoosters' Club to prove it. The two Drurys saw each other, as both\naverred, all too seldom. On the infrequent occasions when they met, as,\nfor instance, during a certain church federation gathering which had\nbrought the minister down to Saint Louis from Delafield, their\n\"visiting\" was a joyous thing to see.\n\nLounging in the City Club one day after lunch, with every other subject\nof common interest at least touched on, Brother Albert turned to Brother\nWalter: \"And how goes the church and parish of Delafield? You told me\nlong ago that you wanted to stay there ten years; it's more than eight\nnow. Does the ten-year mark yet stand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Al., it still stands, if nothing should interfere,\" said Walter.\nHe had never told his brother the reason back of that ten-year mark, and\nhe was not ready, even yet, for that. Of late he had taken to wondering\nwhen and how the Experiment would come to its crisis. He wanted some\nhelp just now, and here might be an opening. So he went on, \"I've been\nworking away at several special jobs, as you know I like to do, and one\nof them has a good deal to do with a young fellow named Farwell, John\nWesley Farwell, Jr., who'll be the mainstay of the best hardware store\nin Delafield before long if he sticks to it. Everybody calls him 'J.W.,'\nand he's the sort of boy that has always interested me, he's so\n'average,'\" He paused; his thoughts busy with the Experiment.\n\n\"Well,\" his brother broke in, after a moment, \"what's this young John\nWesley Methodist been doing?\"\n\n\"It isn't altogether what he has been doing, but it's what I'd like to\nsee him get a chance to do,\" explained the preacher. \"He's tied to the\nstore and to Delafield, so far, and I've reasons for wanting him to see\nsome parts of this country he'll never see from Main Street in our\ntown.\"\n\n\"Well, brother mine, maybe he could be induced to leave that particular\nMain Street. There's where we get the best citizens of this village. Has\nhe any objections to making a change--to travel, for instance?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Walter; \"probably not. He's young, and has a pretty\ngood education. I do know that he's ambitious to make himself the best\nhardware man in our section, and I believe he'll do it, in time.\nPersonally, I _want_ him to travel. But how would anybody go about\ngetting him the chance?\"\n\nAlbert Drury laughed. \"That's easy, only a preacher couldn't be\nexpected to see it. If any country boy really knows the stuff he\nhandles, whether it is hardware or candy or hides, he can get the chance\nall right. This town wants him. Don't you know that the big wholesale\nhouses recruit their sales forces by spotting just such boys as your\nJohn Wesley Farwell may be? But what do you mean by calling him average,\nif he's such a keen judge of hardware?\"\n\n\"Oh, well, he _is_ more than average on hardware, but he's so\nbeautifully average human; one of those chaps who do most of the real\nwork of the world.\"\n\n\"All right, old man; I'm not sure that I follow you; but, anyway, I may\nbe of some use. I'll tell you what I'll do; I know the very man. Peter\nMcDougall, who's a friend I can bank on, is sales manager of the\nCummings Hardware Corporation. Nothing will come of it if Peter is not\nimpressed, but all I need to do is to tell him there's a prospective\nstar salesman up at Delafield, and his man who has that territory will\nbe looking up your John Wesley before you have time to write another\nsermon. By the way,\" he added, \"what part of the country did you say you\nwanted young Farwell to see?\"\n\n\"I didn't say,\" the preacher admitted, \"but I would like him to see\nsomething of the Southwest. I want to see what will happen when he bumps\nup against the sort of civilization that followed the Spanish to\nAmerica.\"\n\n\"Well, of course, you know that wholesale hardware houses don't run\nsalesmen's excursions to help Methodist preachers try out the effect of\nAmerican history on their young parishioners, no matter how lofty the\nmotive,\" and Albert Drury poked his brother in the ribs. \"But supposing\nthis boy is otherwise good stuff he'll be in the right place, if he goes\nwith the Cummings people. A big share of their business is in that end\nof the world.\"\n\nIf J.W. had been told of this conversation, which he wasn't, he might\nnot have been quite so mystified over the letter from the great Peter\nMcDougall, which came a few weeks after the preacher's return from Saint\nLouis. McDougall he knew well by reputation, having heard about him from\nevery Cummings man who unpacked samples in Delafield. And to be invited\nto Saint Louis by the great man, with the possibility of \"an opening,\nultimately, in our sales force,\" was a surprise as interesting as it was\nunexpected. Naturally, J.W. could not know how much careful\ninvestigation had preceded the writing of that letter. The Cummings\nCorporation did not act on impulse. But he would have accepted the\ninvitation in any case.\n\nAnd that is enough for the present purpose of the story of J.W.'s first\nbusiness venture away from Delafield. Not without some hesitation did he\nclose with the Cummings offer; but after he had talked it all over with\nthe folks at home, and then all over again out at Deep Creek with\nJeannette Shenk, who was both sorry and proud, it was settled. Reaching\nSaint Louis, the canny McDougall looked him over and thought him worth\ntrying out; so over he went to the stock department. Then followed busy\nweeks in the buildings of the Cummings Hardware Corporation down by the\nriver, learning the stock. He discovered before the end of the first day\nthat he had never yet guessed what \"hardware\" meant; he wandered through\nthe mazes of the vast warehouses until his legs ached much and his eyes\nached more.\n\nAt last came the day when he found himself on the road, not alone, of\ncourse, but in tow of Fred Finch, an old Cummings salesman who had\noccasionally \"made\" Delafield. The Cummings people did not throw their\nnew men overboard and let them swim if they could. They had a careful\ntraining system, of which the stockroom days were one part, and this\npersonally conducted introduction to the road was another.\n\nAlbert Drury had been sufficiently interested in his brother's wish to\ndrop a hint to McDougall, to which that hard-headed executive would have\npaid no attention if it had not fitted in just then with the\nrequirements of his sales policy. But the hint sent J.W. out with Finch\nover the longest route which the house worked for trade. On the map this\nroute was a great kite-shaped thing, with its point at Saint Louis, and\nthe whole Southwest this side of the Colorado River included in the\nsweep of its sides and top.\n\nTo Fred Finch it was a weary journey, but J.W. gave no thought to its\ndiscomforts. He was seeing the country, as well as learning to sell\nhardware, and both occupations were highly absorbing. Before long he\nfound too that he was seeing a new people. Storekeepers he knew, as\nbeing of his own guild; the small towns were much like Delafield, when\nyou had become used to their newer crudeness of architecture and their\nsprawling planlessness; and the people who used hardware were very much\nlike his customers at home.\n\nHe had no fear of failing to become a salesman, after the first few\nexperiences under Finch's watchful eye; his father had taught him a sort\nof salesmanship which experience could only make more effective. He knew\nalready never to sell what he could see his customer ought not to buy,\nand he knew always to contrive as much as possible that the customer\nshould do the selling to himself. The elder Farwell used to say, \"Let\nyour customer once see the advantage that buying is to him, and he won't\ncare what advantage selling is to you.\"\n\nNow, as has been said before, this is not a salesman's story. Let it\nsuffice to say that before the two got back to Saint Louis J.W. knew he\nhad found his trade. He was a natural salesman, and so Fred Finch\nreported to Peter McDougall. \"If it's hardware,\" he said, \"that boy can\nsell it, and I don't care where you put him. He can sell to people who\ncan't speak English, and I believe he could sell to deaf mutes or the\nblind. He knows the line, and they know he knows it. Why, this very\nfirst trip he's sold more goods on his own say-so than on the house\nbrand. Said he knew what the stuff would do, and people took that who\nusually want to know about the guarantee.\" All of which Peter McDougall\nfiled where he would not forget it.\n\nBut to go back to the trip itself. Along the railway in Kansas J.W.\nbegan to see box-cars without trucks, roughly fitted up for dwellings.\nDark-skinned men and women and children were in occupation, and all the\nhousehold functions and processes were going on, though somewhat\nprimitively.\n\n\"Mexicans,\" said Finch, as J.W. pointed out the cars. \"Section hands;\nwhen I first began to make this territory you never saw them except\nright down on the border, but they have moved a long way east and north.\nI saw lots of them in the yards at Kansas City last time I was there.\"\n\nJ.W. watched the box-car life with a good deal of curiosity. Here and\nthere were poor little attempts at color and adornment; flowers in\nwindow boxes and bits of lace at the windows. Delafield had plenty of\nforeigners, but these were foreigners of another sort. They seemed to be\nentirely at home.\n\n\"I suppose,\" he said to Finch, \"these Mexicans have come to the States\nto get away from the robbery and ruin that Mexico has had instead of\ngovernment these last ten years and more.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Finch answered, \"thousands of 'em. But not all. Some of these\nMexicans are older Americans than we are. We took 'em over when we got\nTexas and New Mexico and California from Old Mexico. They were here\nthen, speaking the Spanish their ancestors had learned three hundred\nyears ago and more. But they're all the same Mexicans, no matter on\nwhich side of the Rio Grande they were born. Of course those born on\nthis side have had some advantages that the peons never knew.\"\n\n\"But do you mean,\" J.W. wanted to know, \"that they are not really\nAmerican citizens?\"\n\nFred Finch said no, he didn't mean exactly that. Certainly, those born\non this side were American citizens in the eyes of the law, and those\nwho came across the Rio Grande could get naturalized. But that made\nlittle real difference. A Mexican was a Mexican, and you had to deal\nwith him as one.\n\nJ.W. was not quite satisfied with that explanation, but he preferred to\nwait until he had seen enough so that he could ask his questions more\nintelligently. So he kept relatively still, but his eyes did not cease\nfrom observing.\n\nAs the trip progressed, and the jumps between towns became longer, the\nyoung salesman had time to see a good deal. In the far Southwest he\nbecame aware that the increasingly numerous Mexican population was no\nlonger a matter of box-car dwellers, more or less migratory. It was a\nsettled people. Its little adobe villages, queer and quaint as they\nseemed to Middle-Western eyes, were centers of established life. And he\ndiscovered that in these villages always one building overshadowed all\nthe rest.\n\nOne day as they were headed towards El Paso he ventured to mention this\nto his traveling companion. \"Seems to me,\" he said, \"that none of these\nlittle mud villages is too poor to have a church, and mostly a pretty\ngood church too. How do they manage it?\"\n\nNow Finch was no student of church life, but he did know a little about\nthe country. \"That's the way it is all over this Southwest, my boy, and\nacross the line in Old Mexico it's a good deal more so. My guess is that\nthe churches and the priests began by teaching the people that whatever\nelse happened they had to put up for the church, and from what I've\nnoticed I reckon that now nothing else matters much to the church. It\nhas become a kind of poor relation that's got to be fed and helped,\nwhether it amounts to anything or not. But it's a long way from being as\nhumble and thankful as you would naturally expect a poor relation to\nbe.\"\n\nDuring the El Paso layover the two of them took a day across the\nInternational Bridge. J.W. had watched the Mexicans coming over, and he\nwanted to see the country they came from.\n\n\"You'll not see much over there,\" a friendly spoken customs official\ntold him. \"It's a pretty poor section of desert 'round about these\nparts. You ought to get away down into the heart of the country.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so,\" J.W. responded, \"but there isn't time on this trip.\nAre such people as these coming over to the United States right along?\"\n\n\"I should say they are,\" said the man of authority with emphasis. \"In\nthe last four or five years the Mexican population of the United States\nhas about doubled; three quarters of a million have crossed the Rio\nGrande somewhere, or the border further west. You people from the East\nmake a big fuss over immigration from Europe, but you hardly seem to\nknow that a regular flood has been pouring in through these southwestern\ngateways. You will some day.\"\n\nWhat they saw on the Mexican side of the bridge was, as the customs man\nhad said, nothing much. But J.W. came away with a strange sense of\ndepression. He had never before seen so much of the raw material of\nmisery and squalor; what he had observed with wondering pity in the\nvillages on the American side was as nothing to the unrelieved\nhopelessness of the south bank of the river.\n\nThat night in the hotel lobby J.W. noticed a fresh-faced but rather\nelderly man whom he recognized as one whom he had seen over in Mexico\nearlier in the day. With the memory of what he had seen yet fresh upon\nhim, J.W. ventured a commonplace or two with the stranger, and found him\nso genial and interesting that they were still talking long after Fred\nFinch had yawned himself off to bed.\n\n\"I thought I remembered seeing you over there,\" said the unknown, \"and\nyou didn't look like a seasoned traveler; more like the amateur I am\nmyself, though I do get about a little.\"\n\n\"I'm no seasoned sightseer,\" said J.W.; \"this is my first time out. And\nthat's maybe the reason I've developed so much curiosity about the\npeople we saw to-day. Do you know much about them?\"\n\n\"Who? the Mexicans?\" The other man smiled, and then was suddenly\nserious. \"My friend, I begin to think I'm making the Mexicans my hobby.\nI don't know who you are, but if you are really interested in the\nMexicans as human beings I'd rather tell you what I know than do\nanything else I can think of to-night. It isn't often I find a traveling\nman who cares.\"\n\n\"Well, I do care,\" J.W. asserted, stoutly. \"They're people, folks,\naren't they? And it looks as though they could stand having somebody get\ninterested in them a little.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see now what you are; you are that remarkable combination, a\ntraveling man and a Christian. Am I right?\"\n\n\"Why, I suppose so,\" said J.W., with a smile and a touch of the old\nboyish pride in his name. \"My initials, as you might say, are 'John\nWesley,' and I'm not ashamed of them.\"\n\n\"And that means you are not only a Christian, but a Methodist? My dear\nman, we must shake on that. I'm a Methodist myself, as the stage robber\nsaid to Brother Van, with the romantic name of Tanner. Got my first\ninterest in Mexico and the Mexicans when my daughter married a young\nMethodist preacher and they went down there as missionaries. I make a\ntrip to see them and the babies about once a year. But now I am getting\ninterested in these people as an American and, I hope, a Christian who\ntries to work at the business. What did you say your other name was?\"\n\nJ.W. hadn't said, but now he did, and the two settled to their talk.\nThis William Tanner, some sort of retired business man, certainly seemed\nto know his Mexico. And he had that most subtle of all stimulants\nto-night, a curious and sympathetic hearer. By consequence he was eager\nto give all that J.W. would take.\n\nBefore long J.W. had edged in a question about the church. He said, \"You\nknow, Mr. Tanner, we have a pretty good Roman Catholic church in my home\ntown, though Father O'Neill doesn't tie up much to what the other\nchurches are trying to do, and some of his flock seem to me pretty wild,\nfor sheep. Now, these churches down here are all Roman Catholic too, yet\nthey certainly don't look any kin to Saint Ursula's at Delafield. Are\nthey?\"\n\nIt was the sort of question which William Tanner had asked himself many\na time when he first came to Mexico. \"This is the way of it, Mr.\nFarwell,\" he said. \"The church came to Mexico, and to all Latin America,\nfrom Spain and Portugal. It had a few great names, we must acknowledge,\nin those early times. But in a little while it settled down to two\nactivities--to make itself the sole religious authority and to get rich.\nIt was a church of God and gold, and as a matter of course it preached\nthat it was the supreme arbiter of life and death in matters of faith,\nand extended its authority into every relation of life. It brought from\nthe lands of the Inquisition the idea of priestly power, and there was\nnone to dispute it in Latin America, as there was in the colonies of our\nown country. It gave the people little instruction, and no\nresponsibility or freedom. It made outward submission the test of piety\nand faith. And so when Spain lost its grip on the western hemisphere the\nchurch found itself with nothing but its claim of power to fall back on.\nWell, you know that would work only with the ignorant and the\nsuperstitious.\"\n\n\"Mexico, and all Latin America for that matter, clear to the Straits of\nMagellan, is a land of innumerable crosses, but no Christ. The church\nhas had left to it what it wanted; that is, the priestly prerogatives;\nit marries, baptizes, absolves, buries, where the people can pay the\nfees, and the people for various reasons have not cared that this is\nall. If they are afraid, or want to make a show, they call in the\nchurch; if they don't care, or if they are poor, they go unbaptized,\nunmarried, unshriven, and do not see that it makes any difference. They\nhave no understanding of the church as a Christian institution; in fact,\nI think it would puzzle most of them to tell what a true church ought to\nbe. Now, all this is the church's reward for its ancient choice, which,\nso far as I can see, is still its choice. To the average Latin American\nthe church is, and in the nature of things must be, a demander of pay\nfor ceremonial, and a bitterly jealous defender of all its old\nautocratic claims. That is of the nature of the church.\"\n\n\"But I don't understand,\" interposed J.W. \"If the people have no real\nuse for the church, why do they support it? It certainly is supported.\"\n\n\"That, Mr. Farwell, is the tragedy of the church in all these lands,\"\nsaid Mr. Tanner, soberly. \"The church began by looking to its own\ninterests first. It wanted great establishments and a docile people. It\nfound the gospel hard to preach to the natives--the real gospel, I mean.\nThe cruelties and greed of the conquest had made impossible any\npreaching of a ministering, merciful, and unselfish Christ. In fact, the\nvast majority of the priests who came over from Europe brought with them\nno such ideas. The church was ruler, not missionary. And so far as it\ndares it sticks stubbornly to that notion even to this day. So it has\nhad to make practical compromise with the paganism and superstition it\nfound here. Many of its religious observances are the aboriginal pagan\npractices disguised in Christian dress and given Christian names. The\nchurch has sold its birthright for the privilege of exploiting the\ncredulity and the fears of the people. It has made merchandise of all\nits functions. Now, after the centuries have come and gone, both church\nand people through long custom are willing to have it so. The people\nhave their great churches, with incense and lights and all the pomp of\nmedaeival days. But they have no living Christ and no thought of him. The\npriests have their trade in ceremonial and their perquisites, but they\nhave no power over the hearts of men.\"\n\nAs his new acquaintance paused for breath after this long answer to a\nshort question, J.W., remembering something Fred Finch had said, brought\nthe remark in: \"The man who is showing me the ropes as a hardware man\ntells me that all over Latin America the church is likely to be the one\nreal building in every town and village. Is that also something that\nthe people are so used to that they don't notice it any more?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" Mr. Tanner assented. \"I suppose the contrast between the\nchurch and the miserable little hovels around it never occurs to any of\nthem. It has always been so. The church has built itself up out of the\ncommunity, and for the most part it puts very little back. It conducts\nschools, to be sure; and yet eighty per cent of the Mexican people are\nilliterate, it has some few institutions of help and mercy; but the\nwhole land cries out for doctors and teachers and friendly human\nconcern.\"\n\n\"Is that really so?\" J.W. asked. \"Do the people really want our\nmissionaries, or are we Protestants just shoving ourselves in? I can see\nthat something is desperately wrong, but we are mostly Saxon, and they\nare Latins. Do these people want what to them must seem a queer religion\nand a lot of strange ideas?\"\n\n\"So long as they do not understand what we come for, naturally they are\nsuspicious. When they find out, they take to mission work and\nmissionaries with very little urging. I wish you would meet my\nson-in-law,\" Mr. Tanner said with positiveness. \"Why, the one tormenting\ndesire of that man's life is to see more missionaries sent down into\nMexico; more doctors, more teachers, more workers of every sort. He\nwrites letters to the Board of Foreign Missions that would make your\nheart ache. The church at home couldn't oversupply Mexico with the sort\nof help it desperately needs if it should turn every recruit that way,\nand disregard all the rest of the world's mission fields.\"\n\n\"Do you mean,\" asked J.W., who was seeing new questions bob up every\ntime an earlier one was answered, \"do you mean that so many missionaries\ncould be used on productive Christian work right away? Or is it that we\nought to have a big force to prepare for the long future of our work in\nMexico?\" Now, J.W. was not so sure that this was an intelligent\nquestion, but he had heard that in some mission fields it was necessary\nto wait years for real and permanent results.\n\nHis companion saw nothing out of the way in the question. It was part of\nthe whole problem. \"I mean it both ways,\" he said. \"What I've seen of\nour Methodist work down in these parts, particularly its schools and one\nwonderful hospital, makes me sure we could get big harvests of interest\nand success right off. We're doing it already, considering our\nrelatively small force and our limited equipment.\"\n\n\"But all Latin American work takes patience. I've made one trip down as\nfar as Santiago de Chile, and what is true in Mexico is, I guess, about\nas true in other parts. The Roman Catholic Church has been here four\nhundred years, and its biggest result is that the people who don't fear\nit despise it. Latin America is called Christian, but it is a world in\nwhich what you and I call religion simply does not count. Well, then,\nthat's what makes me talk about the need of persistence and patience.\nThe bad effects of three or four hundred years of such religion as has\nbeen taught and practiced between the Rio Grande and Cape Horn can't be\ngot rid of in a hurry. Wait till Mexico has had a real chance at the\nChrist of the New Testament for three hundred years, and then see!\"\n\nJ.W. had yet another question to ask before he was ready to call it a\nday. \"If all that you say is so--and I believe it is, Mr. Tanner--why\nshould so many of the Mexicans hate the United States? They do, for I've\nheard it spoken of a good deal lately, and I remember what was always\nsaid when some one proposed that we should intervene to make peace and\nrestore order in Mexico. It would take ten years and a million men, and\nall Mexico would unite to oppose us. You talk about how much the\nMexicans need us and want us. But a great many of them surely don't want\nus at all.\"\n\n\"I know what that means,\" Mr. Tanner admitted. And it is true. We are\nall influenced by the past. Look at the history of our dealings with\nMexico. The very ideas we fought to establish as the charter of our own\nfreedom we repudiated when we dealt with Mexico three quarters of a\ncentury ago. We had every advantage, and what we wanted we took.\nCertainly, we have done better by it than Mexico might have done, but I\nnever heard that reason given in a court of law to excuse the same sort\nof transaction if it touched only private individuals. Then, in late\nyears big business has gone into Mexico. It has had to take big chances.\nIt has paid better wages than the peon could earn any other way. It has\na lot to its credit; but it has been much like big business in other\nplaces, and, anyway, the admitted great profits have enriched the\nforeigner, not the Mexican.\n\n\"Besides, Mexico is not the States. As you say, it is Latin in its\ncivilization, not Saxon. It does not want our sort of culture. And some\nof our missionaries, both of the church and of industry, have thought\nthat the Mexican ought to be 'Americanized.' That's a fatal mistake in\nany mission field outside the States. All in all, you can see that it\nisn't entirely inevitable that the Mexican should understand our\nmotives, or appreciate them when he does understand. But that's all the\nmore reason for bearing down hard on every form of genuine missionary\nwork. It's the only thing that we Americans can do in Mexico with any\nhope of avoiding suspicion or of our presence being acceptable to the\nMexicans in the long run. We've got to fight the backfire of our\nAmerican commercialism, and the prejudice which is as real on the Texas\nside of the river as it is on the other; for if the Mexican thinks in\nterms of 'gringo,' the American of the Southwest is just as likely to\nthink in terms of 'greaser.'\"\n\nWhen J.W. and Mr. Tanner parted for the night it was with the mutual\npromise that they would have another talk some time the next day, but\nthe promise could not be kept. The retired business man heard from some\nof his business in the early morning, and had just time to say a hurried\nfarewell. As he put it, \"I thought I had retired, but unless I get back\nto look after this particular affair I may have to get into the harness\nagain, and that is not a cheerful prospect at my age. So I go to\nbusiness to avert the danger of going back to business.\"\n\nA little later the two hardware salesmen were in El Paso again, after a\ncouple of side trips. J.W. took advantage of a long train wait to hunt\nup the city library. He wanted to know whether Mr. Tanner was right in\nsaying that the Latin-American question was much the same everywhere.\n\nHe wrote a letter to Mr. Drury that night, having thus far used picture\npostcards until he was ashamed. In the letter he took occasion to\nmention his talk with the \"missionary father-in-law,\" and his own bit of\nreading up on the subject.\n\nSaid he: \"I guess that man Tanner was right. He did not speak much of\nthe difference between the people of one country and those of another,\nwhich rather surprised me. He said nothing of the two great classes, the\nrulers with much European blood, and the peons, largely or altogether\nIndian. There must be all sorts of Latin Americans, rich and poor, mixed\nblood of many strains, Castilian and Aztec and Inca, and whatever other\npeople were here when Columbus set the fashion for American voyages. But\nthis is where this 'missionary father-in-law' hit the heart of the\ntrouble: Latin America has all sorts and conditions of men, but\neverywhere it has the same church. And it is a church that can't ever\nmake good any more. It might, at the beginning, but it can't now. It has\na reputation as fixed as Julius Caesar's. I'm hardly ready to set up as\nan expert observer, being only a cub salesman on his first trip, but,\nMr. Drury, I believe I can see already that the only chance for these\npeople to get religion and everything else which religion ought to\nproduce, is for us to send it to them. Maybe that would stir up the\nchurch down here, and help to give it another chance at the people's\nconfidence, though I'm not sure.\"\n\nOur church ought to send doctors; the amount of fearful disease that\nflourishes among the poorer people is just frightful. If Joe Carbrook\nwere not so set on going to the Orient, he could do a big work here, and\nso could a thousand other doctors. It would be so much more than mere\ndoctoring; it would be the biggest kind of preaching.\n\nAnd the church should send teachers. You know I believe in conversion;\nbut if the Mexicans I have seen are samples of Latin America's common\npeople, they need teachers who have the patience of Christ a good deal\nmore than they need flaming evangelists who make a big stir and soon\npass on. Because these folks have just _got_ to be made over, in their\nvery minds. They are not ready for the preaching of the gospel until\nthey have seen it lived. Long experience has made them doubtful of\nliving saints, though plenty of them pray to dead ones.\n\nThis is the whole trouble, Mr. Drury, it seems to me. They've known\nonly a church that had got off the track. Any religious work that\nreaches them now has almost to begin all over again. It has to undo\ntheir thinking about prayer and faith and God's love and human conduct\nand nearly every other Christian idea. They have a Christian vocabulary,\nbut it means very little. They think they can buy religion, if they want\nit--any kind they want. And if they can't afford it, or don't want it,\nthey don't quite think they'll be sent to hell for that, in spite of\nwhat the priest says. They think enough to be afraid, but not enough to\nbe sure of anything. The missionaries have to teach them a new set of\nreligious numerals, if you get what I mean, before it is any use to\nteach them the arithmetic of the gospel.\n\n\"I'm beginning to see that everything among the Latin Americans runs\nback to the need of Christian living. The wrong notion of religion has\ngot them all twisted. I know Delafield is a long way from being\nChristian, but the difference between Delafield and such a pitiful mud\nvillage as I've seen lately has more to do with the sort of Christianity\neach place has been taught than with anything else whatever. But I never\nthought of that before.\"\n\nAs Pastor Drury read that letter his heart warmed within him. He said to\nhimself, \"John Wesley, Jr., is 'beginning to see,' he says. Please God\nhe musn't stop now until he gets his eyes wide open. The thing is\nworking out. He's groping around for something, and some day he'll find\nit.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nCHRIST AND THE EAST\n\nFor a first trip the Southwestern expedition under Fred Finch's tutelage\nhad been something of an exploit. Finch's report to Peter McDougall was\nmore than verified by the order sheets, and the observant Peter, keeping\ntrack of things during the succeeding weeks, noticed with quiet\nsatisfaction that not a single order Was canceled.\n\nTo himself he said, \"The lad's a find, I'm thinking. From Finch's talk I\nshould say he has not only a natural knack of selling, but he sells for\nkeeps. And that's the idea, Peter. Anybody can sell if the buyer means\nto call off the order by the next mail. This John Wesley boy may go far,\nand I'll have to tell Albert Drury the next time I see him that he's\ndone the house of Cummings a real favor.\"\n\nThe months went by. J.W. kept his wits about him, and on the road he\nstuck to his salesman's faith that goods are better sold by those who\nknow exactly how they may be used and that they are never sold until\nthey are bought. So he found favor in the sight of Peter McDougall. The\nproof of that is easy. Peter gave him a week off before the end of his\nfirst year.\n\nDelafield looked better to the homecoming salesman than it had to the\nboy coming back from college. And the town was glad to see him. He\nmeant something to not a few of its people, altogether outside the\ninterest of the Farwells--and Pastor Drury--and Jeannette!\n\nDeep Creek was his first port of call, after his first half-day at home.\nHe had been welcomed with deep, quiet gladness by the home folks, and he\nhad talked a little over the telephone with the preacher. Then time was\na laggard until he could head the Farwell car toward Deep Creek and the\nold farm.\n\nJeannette's welcome was all that even he could ask, though, of course,\njust precisely what it was is none of our business. In the car, and by\nthe fireplace in the Shenk living room, and around the farm, they\nconsidered many things, some of them not so personal as others. J.W.\ntold the story of his life in Saint Louis and on the road; Jeannette\nlistening like another Desdemona to the recital. And once again it was\nnot the adventure which supplied the thrill, but the adventurer.\n\nAnd Jeannette told him the news of Delafield. How Joe Carbrook and\nMarcia Dayne's wedding had been the most wonderful wedding ever seen in\nDelafield, with the town as proud of its one-time scapegrace as it was\nof the beautiful bride. How brother Marty had been finding many excuses\nof late for driving up from his circuit, and how he managed to see Alma\nWetherell a good deal. How Alma was now head bookkeeper and cashier of\nthe Emporium, the town's biggest store, and how she was such a dear\ngirl. How Pastor Drury and Marty had become great friends. How the\nminister was not so well as usual, and people were getting to be a\nlittle worried about him. How the Delafield church had taken up tithing,\nand was not only doing a lot better financially, but in every other way.\nHow Deep Creek was going to have a new minister, a friend whom Marty had\nmet at the summer school for rural ministers, who would try to help the\nDeep Creek people get an up-to-date church building and learn to use it.\nHow the Everyday Doctrines of Delafield had been first boosted and then\nforgotten, and now again several of them were being practiced in some\nquarters. And much more, though never to the wearing out of J.W.'s\ninterest. Certainly not, the news being just what he wanted to know, and\nthe reporter thereof being just the person he wanted to tell it to him.\n\nOne bit of news Jeannette did not tell, for the sufficient reason that\nshe did not know it. Pastor Drury and Brother Marty _had_ become great\nfriends, but what Jeannette could not tell was the special bond of\ninterest which was back of the fact. Marty had long been aware that for\nsome reason the Delafield pastor was peculiarly concerned about J.W.\nNever did he guess Walter Drury's secret, but he knew well enough there\nwas one.\n\nThese two, the town preacher and the young circuit rider, read to each\nother J.W.'s letters, and talked much about him and his experiences, and\nmade J.W. in general the theme of many discussions.\n\n\"It has been good for the boy that he has had that border trip,\" said\nthe pastor to Marty a few days before J.W. got back. \"Don't you think\nso?\"\n\nMarty was, as ever, J.W.'s ardent and self-effacing chum. \"I certainly\ndo,\" he said. \"He's growing, is J.W., and growing the right way. We need\nbusiness men of just the quality that's showing in him.\"\n\nThe pastor hesitated a moment. Then he spoke: \"Marty, when J.W. comes\nhome I hope something will set him thinking about the outer world that\nhas no word of our Christ. He hasn't seen it yet, not clearly; and you\nknow that there isn't any hope for that world to get out of the depths\nuntil it gets the news of a Helper. I'm counting on you to help me with\nJ.W. if the chance comes. Just between ourselves, you know.\"\n\n\"I'll do all I can, Mr. Drury; you may be sure of that,\" said Marty. And\nhe did.\n\nJ.W.'s holiday brought several young people together who had not met for\na long time. Marty came up again, and spent the day with J.W., all over\ntown, from the store to the house and back again. In the evening Mrs.\nFarwell made a feast, to which, besides Marty, Jeannette and Alma and\nPastor Drury were bidden. Mrs. Farwell was much more to Delafield than\nthe best cook and the most remarkable housekeeper in the place, but her\nson insisted that she was these to begin with. Certainly, she had not\nbeen experimenting on the two J.W.'s all these years for nothing.\n\nAfter dinner--talk. No need of any other game in that company at such a\ntime. There was plenty to talk about, and all had their reasons for\nenjoying it. Naturally, J.W. must tell about himself. Letters are all\nvery well, but they are no more than makeshifts, after all. He was\nmodest enough about it, not having any special exploits to parade before\ntheir wondering eyes, but quite willing. His Western experiences being\ncalled for, he was soon telling, not of desert and cactus and\nirrigation, but of the people who had so taken his attention, the\nMexicans.\n\n\"I believe,\" said he, \"that we can do something really big down there.\nAnd it's our business. Nobody except American Christians will do it;\nnobody else can. Besides, the Mexicans are Christians in name, now. What\nthey need is the reality. They are not impossible--just uncertain. All I\nheard and what little I saw made me believe they are suffering from bad\nleadership and ignorance more than from anything hopelessly wrong. They\nseem easy to get along with. The women are the most patient workers I\never heard of. And the poor Mexicans, the 'peons,' do want an end to\nfighting and banditry.\"\n\n\"Well, J.W.,\" Marty asked, \"what's the first thing we ought to think\nabout for Mexico?\"\n\n\"I told you I don't know anything about Mexico, except at second-hand.\nBut, I should say, schools. Schools are good for any land, don't you\nthink, Mr. Drury? And in Mexico they are such great disturbers of the\nold slouching indifference. They will make the right kind of\ndiscontent. Schools bring other things; new ideas of health and\nsanitation, home improvement, social outlook, and all that. Then, with\nthe schools, I guess, the straight gospel. The Mexicans won't get\nconverted all at once, and they won't become like us, ever. But I'm\nabout ready to say that whether missions are needed anywhere else or\nnot, they surely are needed in Mexico. And Mexico is the first\nstepping-stone to South America; which is next on my list of the places\nthat ought to have the whole scheme of Christian teaching and life.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Alma, \"and you know, I suppose, that the beginning of our\nPanama Mission was an Epworth League Institute enterprise? Well, it was.\nCalifornia young people assumed the support of the first missionary sent\nthere, and later he went on down to South America, with the same young\npeople determined to take him on as their representative, just as they\ndid in Panama.\"\n\n\"Where did you get that story?\" J.W. wanted to know.\n\n\"Oh, I forgot,\" Alma answered him, laughing. \"You haven't had time to\nread The Epworth Herald in Saint Louis.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have, young lady,\" J.W. retorted, \"but I missed that. Anyway,\nit's on the right track. I think we've got to change the thinking of all\nLatin America about Christianity, if we can. Most of the men, they say,\nare atheists, made so very largely by their loss of faith in the church;\nand many of the women substitute an almost fierce devotion to the same\nchurch for what we think of as being genuine religion.\"\n\nThe minister spoke up just here. \"I should think it would be pretty\ndifficult to treat our United States Mexicans in one way, and those\nacross the Rio Grande in another. We must evangelize on both sides of\nthe river, but only on this side can we even attempt to Americanize.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" J.W. affirmed. \"And even on this side we can't do what\nwe may do in Delafield. The language is a big question, and it has two\nsides. But no matter what the difficulties, I'm for a great advance of\nmissions and education, starting with Mexico and going all the way to\nCape Horn.\"\n\n\"That's all very fine,\" interposed Marty, \"but what about the rest of\nthe world, J.W.? What about the world that has not even the beginning of\nChristian knowledge?\" Marty had put the question on the urge of the\nmoment, and not until it was out did he remember that Mr. Drury had\nasked him to help raise this very issue.\n\n\"Well,\" J.W. answered, slowly, \"maybe that part of the world is worse,\nthough I don't know. But we can't tackle everything. Latin America is an\nimmense job by itself, and we have some real responsibility there; a\nsort of Christian Monroe Doctrine. Ought we to scatter our forces? The\nnon-Christian world has its own religions, and has had them for\nhundreds, maybe thousands of years. What's the hurry just now? If we\ncould do everything, we Protestant Christians, I mean, in this country\nand Britain, it might be different, but we can't. Why not concentrate?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Marty came back, \"but not because Latin America is so nearly\nChristian. What about this atheism and superstition and ignorance; isn't\nit just a non-Christian civilization with Christian labels on some parts\nof it?\"\n\n\"One thing I've heard,\" put in Jeannette, not that she wanted to argue,\nbut she felt she ought to say something on J.W.'s side if she could,\n\"that the religions of the Orient, at least, are really great religions,\nmore suited to the minds of the people than any other. 'East is East,\nand West is West,' you know. But, of course, the people don't live up to\nthe high levels of their beliefs. Americans don't, either.\"\n\nMr. Drury shot an amused yet admiring glance at Jeannette. What a loyal\nsoul she was! Then said he: \"The religions of the East _are_ great\nreligions, Jeannette. They represent the best that men can do. The\nOrient has a genius for religion, and it has produced far better systems\nthan the West could have done. Some of the truth that we Western people\nget only in Christianity the thinkers of Asia worked out for themselves.\nBut God was back of it all.\"\n\nThat suited J.W.'s present mood. \"All right, then; let's clean up as we\ngo--Delafield, Saint Louis, the Southwest, Mexico, Latin America; that's\nthe logical order. Then the rest of the world.\"\n\nMarty put in a protest here: \"That won't do, old man. Your logic's lame.\nYou want us to go into Mexico now, with all we've got. Your letters\nhave said so, and you've said it again to-night. But we're not 'cleaning\nup as we go.' Look at Delafield; the town you've moved away from. Look\nat Saint Louis; the town where you make your living. Are they\nChristianized? Cleaned up? Yet you are ready for Mexico. No; you're all\nwrong, J.W. I don't believe the world's going to be saved the way you\nbreak up prairie sod, a field at a time, and let the rest alone. We've\ngot to do our missionary work the way they feed famine sufferers. They\ndon't give any applicant all he can eat, but they try to make the supply\ngo 'round, giving each one a little. Remember, J.W., the rest of the\nworld is as human as our western hemisphere.\"\n\n\"I know,\" admitted J.W. \"And I don't say I've got the right of it. I'd\nhave to see the Orient before I made up my mind. But those countries\nhave waited a long while. A few more years wouldn't be any great\nmatter.\"\n\nAlma Wetherell now joined the opposition. It looked as though J.W. and\nJeannette must stand alone, for the old people said nothing, though they\nlistened with eager ears. Said Alma, \"I think it would matter a lot. The\nmore we do for one people, while ignoring all the others, the less we\nshould care to drop a developing work to begin at the bottom somewhere\nelse.\"\n\n\"There's something in that,\" J.W. conceded. \"I'm not meaning to be\nstubborn. But I've had just a glimpse of the size of the missionary job\nin one little corner of the world. Even that is too big for us. We could\nput our whole missionary investment into Mexico without being able to do\nwhat is needed.\"\n\n\"The missionary job, as you call it, is too big, certainly, for our\npresent resources,\" said the pastor. \"Everybody knows that.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Marty, who wondered if Mr. Drury had forgotten their compact\nabout J.W., \"but why limit ourselves to our present resources? They are\nnot all we could get, if the church came to believe in the bigness of\nher privilege. I'd like to see for myself, as J.W. says, but I can't.\nWhy don't you get a real traveling job, and go about the world looking\nthings over for us, old man?\"\n\n\"Me?\" J.W. said, sarcastically; \"yes, that's a likely prospect. Just as\nI'm getting over being scared by a sample case. I'll do well to hold the\njob I've got.\"\n\nAlma didn't know what Marty's game was, but she played up to his\nsuggestion. \"Why shouldn't you go?\" she asked. \"You've told us that\nCummings hardware and tools are sold all over the world. Doesn't that\nmean salesmen? And aren't you a salesman? They have to send somebody;\nwhy shouldn't they pick on you some time?\"\n\nJ.W. rose to the lure, for the moment all salesman. \"Nothing in it,\nAlma; no chance at all. But I would like to show the world the\ncivilizing values of good tools, and I'd go if I got the chance.\"\n\nJeannette's reaction was quicker than thinking; \"Would you go half way\naround the world just for that?\" she asked, with a hint of alarm.\n\n\"Why, yes, I would,\" said J.W., \"that is, if you were willing.\"\n\nWhereupon everybody laughed but Jeannette, whose pale cheeks flamed into\nsudden rosiness.\n\nThe minister came to her rescue. \"It would be a good thing every way, if\nmore laymen would see the realities of Oriental life and bring back an\nimpartial report. Suppose you should be right, J.W., and we found that\nthe Orient could wait until the western hemisphere had been thoroughly\nChristianized. Think how many thousands--perhaps millions--of dollars\ncould be directed into more productive channels. I can see what a great\ninfluence such reports would have if they came from Christian laymen. We\nhave learned to expect stories of complete failure when the ordinary\ntraveler comes back; and maybe the missionaries have their bias too. But\nbusiness men with Christian ideals--that would be different.\"\n\nNow, all this was far from unpleasant to J.W. He detested posing, but\nwhy wouldn't it be worth something to have laymen report on missionary\nwork? Of course, though, if the time ever came when the firm was willing\nto trust him abroad, he wouldn't have much chance to study missions.\nBusiness would have to come first. It was no less a dream for being an\nagreeable one.\n\n\"There's no danger of my going,\" he told them. \"The Cummings people are\nnot sending cub salesmen to promote their big Asiatic trade. What could\nthey make by it?\"\n\nThen the talk drifted to the Carbrooks. Marty said, \"Well, we've spoiled\nyour scheme a little, J.W., right here in Delafield. Joe Carbrook and\nMarcia are in China by now, and I'd like to see both of 'em as they get\ndown to work. You can't keep all our interest on this side of the\nPacific so long as those two are on the other.\"\n\n\"No,\" said J.W., warmly, \"and I don't want to. I'll help to back up\nthose two missionaries wherever they go.\" And his thoughts went back to\ncamp fire night at Cartwright Institute, when he had said to Joe\nCarbrook without suspecting the consequences, \"Say, Joe; if you think\nyou could be a doctor, why not a missionary doctor?\"\n\nThen he asked the company, \"Just where have these missionary infants\nbeen sent?\"\n\nNobody knew, exactly. They had the name of the town and the province,\nbut the geography of China is not as yet familiar even to those who\nsupport the missions and missionaries of that vast, mysterious land.\n\nThe pastor thought it was two or three hundred miles inland from\nFoochow. \"Anyhow,\" said he, \"it is a good-sized town, of about one\nhundred thousand people or more, and Joe's hospital is the only one in\nthe whole district. The man whose place he takes is home on furlough,\nand I've looked up his work in the Annual Report of the Foreign Missions\nBoard. Six or eight years ago the hospital was a building of sun-dried\nbrick, with a mud floor and accommodations for about seventy-five\npatients. He was running it on something like five dollars a day. But it\nis better now, costs more too. And there's a school attached, where\nMarcia has already begun to make herself necessary, or I'm much\nmistaken.\"\n\nSo the talk ran on, until the evening was far spent, and everybody\nwished there could be half a dozen such evenings before J.W. must go\nback to Saint Louis and the road.\n\nNo other opportunity offered, however, and all too soon for some people\nJ.W. was gone again from Delafield.\n\nWalter Drury, seeing his chance, set himself to follow up the talk of\nthat one evening. It had given him a lead as to the next phase of the\nExperiment, and he wanted to try out the idea before anything else might\nhappen.\n\nSo he wrote to his brother Albert in Saint Louis. \"I know I'm a bother\nto you,\" the letter ran, \"but you have always been generous, being your\nown unselfish self. It's about young Farwell, 'John Wesley, Jr.,' you\nknow. I judge he's a boy with a fine business future, and I've found out\nfrom his father some of the reasons why he is making good. Now, I don't\nknow much about business, but it seems to me that the very qualities\nwhich make J.W. a good salesman for a beginner would be profitable to\nhis company if they sent him to their Oriental trade. He's young enough\nto learn something over there. My own interest is not on that side of\nthe affair, but I know it would be out of the question to suggest his\ngoing unless the Cummings people could see a business advantage in it.\nIf you think it is not asking too much, I wish you would talk to Mr.\nMcDougall about it. Tell him what I have written, and what I told you\nlong ago about J.W.\"\n\nAlbert Drury had unbounded confidence in his brother's sincerity and\nsense, so he lost no time in getting an interview with his friend\nMcDougall.\n\n\"See here, Peter,\" said he, \"I'll be frank with you; I know you think\nI'd better be if I'm to get anywhere.\"\n\n\"That's very true,\" said McDougall, with assumed severity.\n\n\"Well, then, read my brother's letter; and then tell me if he's wanting\nthe impossible.\"\n\nPeter McDougall read the letter twice. \"No,\" he said, when he handed it\nback, \"he's not wanting the impossible. He's given me an idea. I owe you\nsomething already, for finding this young fellow, and I'll tell you what\nI'm thinking of. Of course the boy isn't seasoned enough yet, but he's\ngetting there fast. A couple of long trips, a few months under my own\neye here in the office, and he'll be ready. Now, your brother has hinted\nat exactly what young Farwell is good for. That boy sells goods by\ngetting over onto the buyer's side. And he knows tools--knew 'em before\nwe hired him. Well, then, here's the idea; one big need of our foreign\ntrade is to show our agencies what can really be done with American\nhardware and tools. It takes more than a salesman; and Farwell has the\nknack. So there you are. Tell your brother the boy shall have his\nchance.\"\n\nA few months later McDougall sent for J.W. and put the whole proposal\nbefore him.\n\n\"But I'm not an expert, Mr. McDougall,\" J.W. protested. \"I haven't the\nexperience, and I might fall down completely in a new field like that.\"\n\n\"We're not looking for an expert,\" said McDougall, shortly. \"You know\nwhat every user of our stuff ought to know; you can put yourself in his\nplace; and you'll be a sort of missionary. How about it?\"\n\nAt the word J.W.'s memory awoke, and he heard again what had been said\nin the living room at Delafield when he was last at home. A missionary!\nAnd here was the very chance they had all talked about.\n\n\"Of course I should like to go, if you think I'll do,\" he said.\n\nPeter looked at him more kindly than was his wont. \"My boy,\" he said, \"I\nknow something about you outside of business, though not much. And I\nthink you'll do. Mind you, your missionary work will be tools and\nhardware, not the Methodist Church. You will have to show people who\nhave their own ideas about tools how much more convenient our goods are;\nhandier, lighter, more adaptable. What they need over there is modern\nstuff. It will help them to raise more crops and do better work and earn\na better income. You've nothing to do with selling policies, finance,\ncredits, and all that. Just be a tool and hardware missionary.\"\n\n\"Where had you thought of sending me?\" asked J.W., still somewhat\ndazed.\n\n\"Oh, wherever we have agencies that you can use as bases: China, the\nPhilippines, Malaysia, India. You will have to figure on a year or\nnearly that. And you mustn't stick to the ports or the big cities. Get\nhold of people who'll show you the country; the places where our goods\nare most needed and least known. Study the people and their tools. Work\nout better ways of doing things. Don't try to hustle the East, but\nremember that the East is doing a little hustling on its own account\nthese days. And talk turkey to our agencies--when you're sure you have\nsomething to talk about.\"\n\nThe rest is detail. The trip determined on, preparations were hastened.\nA month before the date of starting J.W. had time for no more than a\nhurried visit to Delafield, to say good-by to the home folk and to the\npreacher whom he had come to think of as Timothy might have thought of\nPaul. Then he had something else to say to Jeannette. His prospects were\nbecoming so promising that he could ask her a very definite question,\nand he dared to hope for a definite answer.\n\nJeannette, troubled at the thought of his long absence in strange lands,\nconsoled herself by her promise, which was his promise also. As soon as\nhe came home again they would be married. Brother Drury should\nofficiate, assisted by \"the Rev. Martin Luther Shenk, brother of the\ncharming bride,\" as J.W. put it.\n\nWalter Drury was not his usual alert self, J.W. thought, and it hurt him\nto see his much-loved friend touched even a little by the years. But\nthe pastor brightened up, and grew visibly better as J.W. told him all\nhis plans.\n\n\"Just think, Mr. Drury,\" he said with animation, \"I'm to be a\nmissionary, after all. Once long ago I remember you suggested I might go\nto China and see for myself the difference between their religion and\nours; and now I'm going to China. Who knows, maybe I'll see Joe Carbrook\nat his work. And then I'm to go all over the East, to preach the gospel\nof better tools.\" Then he became thoughtful. \"Don't you think that's\nalmost as good as the gospel of better bodies--Joe's gospel?\"\n\n\"Surely, I do,\" said the pastor, \"if you and Joe preach in the same\nspirit, knowing that China won't be saved even by hospitals and modern\nhardware. They help. But remember our understanding; you have your\nchance now to see the religions of the East. Going right among the\npeople, as you will, you can find out more in a week than the average\ntourist ever discovers. I'll give you the names of some people who will\ngladly help you. And we shall want a full report when you come back. God\nbless you, J.W.\"\n\nIt was a tired preacher who went to bed that night. This new adventure\nof his boy's; what would it mean to the Experiment? He had done his best\nto keep that long-ago pledge to himself. Not always had the project been\neasy; he could not control all its circumstances, but in the main it had\ngone well.\n\nAnd now J.W. was in the last stage of the Experiment Walter Drury had\ncontrived to shape its larger conditions, with the help of many friendly\nbut unsuspecting conspirators. This tour in the interest of better tools\nwas due mainly to his initiative. But he could do nothing more. The\nevent was now out of his hands. The relaxed tension made him realize\nthat his nerves were shaky, and he had a sense of great depression. But\nbefore he went to bed he pulled himself together long enough to write to\nfive missionaries, including Joe Carbrook, whose fields were on or near\nthe route J.W. would travel. He had told J.W. that he would let these\nmen know of his coming, but he did more. To each one he said a word of\nappeal. \"Don't argue much with this boy of mine; I want him to see it\nwithout too many second-hand opinions. Explain all you please, and let\nhim get as near as he can to the people you are dealing with. If, as I\nhope, he gets a glimpse of the work's inner meaning, I shall be\nsatisfied.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe first day which J.W. spent in Shanghai was a big day for him. Even\namid the strangeness of the scene he felt almost at home. The people who\nhad the Cummings agency had received their instructions, and were\nprepared to help him every way. He could begin an up-country trip at\nonce if he wished. Then he met the first of the men to whom Pastor Drury\nhad written, Mark Rutledge, and at once he saw that this well-groomed,\nalert young missionary, who used modern speech in deliberate but direct\nfashion, would be of immense service to him.\n\nRutledge received J.W.'s gospel of tools with almost boyish\nenthusiasm. \"I've always said,\" he exclaimed, \"that if the other\nbusiness men of America had as much sense as the tobacco folks they\nwould hasten the Christianizing of China by many a year. Not that\ntobacco is helping; far from it. But it's the idea of fitting their\nproduct to this particular market. And your house has evidently caught\nthat idea. You must have a real sales manager in Saint Louis! Of course\nI'll help you all I can.\"\n\nSome of the help which Mark Rutledge gave him was of a sort that J.W.\ncould not rightly estimate at the time, but he knew it was good. As long\nas he stayed in Shanghai, and as often he came back to the city as a\nbase, he and Rutledge were pretty frequently together. The missionary\nkept his own counsel as to the Drury letter, merely dropping a hint now\nand then, or a suggestion which fitted both the Cummings agency's\nprogram and the pastor's desire.\n\nThe inland trips for business purposes kept J.W. busy for weeks; he\nfound himself in so utterly novel a situation that he saw he could not\nwork out anything without careful study and expert Chinese cooperation.\nAs he came and went he saw, under Rutledge's guidance, much of the\ninside of mission work. In Shanghai he found a Methodist publishing\nhouse, sending out literature all over China, as well as two monthly\npapers, one in Chinese and one in English. Many missionary boards had\nheadquarters here. From Shanghai as a business center every form of\nmissionary work was being promoted, reaching as far as the foothills of\nthe Thibetan plateau. Hospital equipment was distributed, and school\nequipment, and supplies of every variety. He saw that it was the\nfinancial center too, and mission finance is a special science. Shanghai\nseemed to J.W. to be one of the great capitals of the missionary world.\n\nRutledge's own work, many sided as J.W. saw it was, had two aspects of\nspecial significance. Rutledge was sending back to America all the\ninformation he could gather from the whole field. With the skill of a\ntrained reporter he showed the missionaries how to write so as to make a\ngenuine story seem convincing, and how to subordinate the details to the\nimportance of making a clear and single impression.\n\nThe other work of Rutledge's which caught J.W.'s eye was his activity\nin behalf of the young people of China. Until lately nothing at all had\nbeen done comparable to the specialized development of young people's\nwork in America, but now the Epworth League was beginning to be utilized\nand adapted to Chinese ways. Funds were available--not much, but a\nbeginning. Leaders were being trained. A larger measure of local,\nChinese help was being employed.\n\nJ.W. asked Mark Rutledge about all this one day. \"Isn't it going to\nmake a difference with the work by and by, if you get so many natives\ninto places of responsibility? Are they ready for it?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Rutledge, \"they're not. But we must make them ready. You\nhaven't begun to see China yet, but already you can see that the\ncountry could never be 'evangelized,' even in the narrowest use of that\nword, by foreign missionaries. And it ought not to be.\"\n\n\"You mean that we Americans ought to consider our work in China as\ntemporary?\" J.W. asked.\n\nRutledge answered, \"Frankly, I do, if you let me put my own meaning into\n'temporary,' We must start things. And much that must be done in the\nlong run has not yet been started. We must stay here beyond my life\nexpectation or yours. But China will be Christianized by the Chinese,\nnot by foreigners. As far ahead as we can see the work will have help\nfrom outside, but I honestly want the time to come when we missionaries\nwill be looked upon as the foreign helpers of the Chinese Church; not,\nas now, controlling the work ourselves and enlisting the services of\n'native helpers.'\"\n\n\"Then tell me another thing,\" J.W. persisted. \"Is our Christianity, as\nthe Chinese get it, any advance on their own religion? Or is their\nreligion all right, if they would work it as we hope they may work the\nChristian program?\"\n\n\"That's two questions,\" said Rutledge, dryly, \"but, after all, it is\nonly one. Our Christianity as the Chinese get it is far ahead of the\nbest they have, in ideals, in human values, everything, even if they\nwere more consistent in responding to its claims than Christians are.\nThe old religions--and China has several--are helpless. We are not\nkilling off the old faiths. If we should get out to-morrow these would\nnone the less die out in time, but then China would be left without any\nreligion at all. Instead, she's going to have the Christian faith in a\nform that will accord with the genius of the Chinese mind. That's my\nsure confidence, or I wouldn't be here.\"\n\nIt was necessary that J.W. should run down the coast to Foochow, the\nbase for his next operations in the hardware adventure. \"I know I'm\ngreen,\" he said to Rutledge, \"and I may be thinking of impossibilities,\nbut do you suppose there'll be any chance for me to get up to Dr.\nCarbrook's place from Foochow? I've told you about him and his wife, and\nI'd rather see those two than anybody else in all the East.\"\n\n\"It's not impossible at all,\" Rutledge assured him. \"Carbrook's post is\nnot so very far from Foochow, as distances go in China, and Ralph Bellew\nat the college will help you.\"\n\n\"Yes, my pastor at home told me to be sure and call on him,\" said J.W.,\nand took his leave of a man he would long remember.\n\nThe call of Professor Bellew was not delayed long after J.W. had found\nhis bearings in Foochow, and the Professor's welcome was even more\ncordial than that of the Cummings agency, though these gentlemen were,\nof course, the soul of courtesy. If they were not so sure as Peter\nMcDougall that J.W. or any other American could teach them anything\nabout selling the Cummings line in China, at least they would not put\nanything in his way.\n\nOne important interior town, Yenping, they had hoped J.W. might visit,\nbut unfortunately there was no one connected with the agency who could\nbe sent with him. They understood that some of his missionary friends\nwere ready to help him in the general enterprise, and perhaps they might\nbe able to suggest something.\n\nWhen the difficulty was stated to Professor Bellew he said: \"Why, that's\none of our stations. It is a little out of the way to go up to Dr.\nCarbrook's place on the way to Yenping, but we'll see that you get to\nboth towns.\"\n\n\"That's certainly good of you, Professor,\" said J.W., gratefully. \"I've\ntold you about Joe Carbrook, and I can hardly wait until I get to him.\"\nAs a matter of fact, he had told everybody about Joe Carbrook.\n\nProfessor Bellew was sympathetic. \"I know,\" he said, \"and I understand.\nWhen you come back, if we can manage the dates, you may find something\nhere which you ought to see.\"\n\nThe Carbrook Hospital--it has another name in the annual reports, but\nthis will identify it sufficiently for our purposes--spread itself all\nover the compound and beyond in its welcome to J.W. Joe and Marcia were\nfirst, and joyfullest. The school turned out to the last scholar, and\neven the hospital's \"walking cases\" insisted on having a share in the\nwelcome to the foreign doctor's friend.\n\n\"Tell us what you are up to,\" said the Carbrooks, when they were back in\nthe house after a sketchy inspection of the whole establishment;\nhospital, dispensary, school, chapel, and so forth. And, \"Tell me what\nyou are doing with it, now that you have the hospital you have been\ndreaming about so long,\" said J.W.\n\nBut J.W. told his story first, just to get it out of the way, as he\nsaid. Then he turned to Marcia and said, \"How about it, 'Mrs.\nCarbrook'?\"\n\n\"Well, J.W.,\" said Marcia, \"that name is not so strange as it was. I'm\nfeeling as if I had been married a long time, judging by the\nresponsibilities, that are dumped on me just because I am the doctor's\nwife. And this doctor man of mine hardly knows whether to be happy or\nmiserable. He's happy, because he has found the very place he wanted.\nAnd he's miserable because he ought to be learning the language and\ncan't get away from the work that crowds in on him.\"\n\n\"And you yourself, Marcia,\" J.W. asked, \"are you happy or miserable, or\nboth?\"\n\n\"She's as mixed up as I am, old man,\" Joe answered for her. \"Talk about\nthe language! I don't hanker after learning it, but I've got to, some\ntime. If they would just let me be a sort of deaf-mute doctor I'd be\nmuch obliged. The work is fairly maddening. You know, it was a question\nof closing up this hospital or putting me in as a green hand. Of course\nthere are the nurses, and a couple of students. But I'm glad they put me\nin; only, look at the job! Never a day without new patients. A steady\nstream at the out-clinic. Why, J.W., I've done operations alone here\nthat at home they'd hardly let me hold sponges for. Had to do 'em.\"\n\n\"Well,\" J.W. commented, \"isn't that what you came for?\"\n\n\"It is,\" Marcia answered--these two had a queer way of speaking for each\nother--\"and it would be a good plenty if the hospital were all. But we\nare putting up a new building to take the place of an adobe horror, and\nJoe has to buy bricks and deal with workmen and give advice and dispense\nmedicine and do operations, all with the help of a none too sure\ninterpreter. He's the busiest man, I do believe, between here and\nFoochow.\"\n\nJ.W. wanted to draw Dr. Joe out about the work in general. What of the\nevangelistic work, and the educational work, and all the rest.\n\nBut Dr. Joe would not rise to it. \"I'll tell you honestly, J.W., I just\ndon't know. Haven't had time to find out. When I got here I found people\nstanding three deep around the hospital doors, some wanting help for\nthemselves, and some anxious to bring relatives or friends. I was at\nwork before anything was unpacked except my instruments. And I've been\nat it ever since. Everything else could wait, but all this human misery\ncouldn't. And I don't know much of what the evangelistic value of it all\nwill be. We have a Bible woman and a teacher in the school who are very\ndevoted. They read and pray every day with the patients, and as for\ngratitude, I never expected to be thanked for what I did as I have been\nthanked here. I'll tell you one thing; I didn't dream a man could be so\ncontent in the midst of such a hurricane of work. I'm done to a\nstandstill every day; I bump into difficulties and tackle\nresponsibilities that I hadn't even heard of in medical school, though I\nhaven't killed anybody yet. And all the time I remember how I used to\nwish I might be the only doctor between Siam and sunrise. I'm plenty\nnear enough to that, in all conscience. The only doctor in this town of\none hundred thousand, and a district around us so big that I'm afraid to\nmeasure it. On one side the next doctor is a good hundred miles away.\nNow, do you know how I feel? Oh, yes; insufficient until it hurts like\nthe toothache, yet somehow as though I were carrying on here, not in\nplace of the man who has gone home on furlough, but in place of Jesus\nChrist himself. You know I'm not irreverent; I might have been, but this\nhas taken all of the temptation out of me. It is his work, not mine.\"\n\nJ.W. turned to Marcia again. \"I thought you said this Joe of yours was\nmiserable, I've seen him when he was enjoying himself pretty well, but I\nnever saw him like this.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Marcia admitted, \"and I didn't mean he was really unhappy. But\nit is a big strain, and there's no sign of its letting up until the\nregular doctor gets back.\"\n\nThe next day J.W. watched his old friend amid the press of duties which\ncrowded the hours, and he marveled as much as the wretchedness of the\npatients as he did at the steady resourcefulness of the man whom he had\nknown when he was Delafield's adventurous and spendthrift idler.\n\nAs he looked on, J.W. could understand something which had been a closed\nbook to him before. No one could stand by and see this abjectness of\nneed, this helplessness, this pathetic faith which was almost fatalistic\nin the foreign doctor's miraculous powers--it recalled that beseeching\ncry in the New Testament story, \"Lord, if thou _wilt_ thou\n_canst_\"--without being deeply, poignantly glad that there were such men\nas Joe Carbrook. It was all very well to talk at long range about\nletting China and other places wait. But on the spot nobody could talk\nthat way.\n\nThe visit might have lasted two weeks, instead of two days, and then the\nCarbrooks would have hung on and besought him to stay a little longer.\nTorture would not have drawn any admission from them, but back of all\nthe joy in the work was a something that left them without words as J.W.\nand his little group from Foochow set out for the next stopping place.\nJust before the last silent hand-grips, J.W. told his friends about\nJeannette and himself, and promised Joe a wedding present. \"You see,\" he\nsaid, \"I never sent you one when you were married, and I'd like to send\nyou a double one now, for yourselves and for us. You send me word what\nit is you most need for the hospital, an X-ray outfit, or a sterilizer,\nor a thingamajig for making cultures, microscope included, and Jeannette\nand I will see that you get it. I'm a tither, you know, and my salary's\nbeen raised, and I want to do something to show what a fool I was before\nI knew what sort of a business you were really in out here. So don't be\nmodest; you can't hurt my feelings!\"\n\nBack at Foochow in the course of the slow days which Chinese travel\ngives to those who go aside from the beaten path, Professor Bellew\nwelcomed J.W. with eager warmth. \"You're back just in time, if you can\nstay a few days; the celebration of the fortieth anniversary of the\ncollege begins to-morrow.\"\n\nJ.W. had at least a week's business with the Cummings agents. He had\nfound some conditions on his inland journey which called for much\ndiscussion. So he had time for sharing in a good deal of the\ncelebration. It was something to marvel at, that a Christian college had\nbeen at work in this great city for forty years.\n\nThe president of the college and his wife started the proceedings with a\nformal reception, at which a Chinese orchestra furnished music outside\nthe house, and Western musicians rendered more familiar selections in\nthe parlors. Alumni flocked to the reception, men of every variety of\noccupation, but all one in their devotion to their Alma Mater. The next\nafternoon was given over to athletics, and the evening to a lecture,\nquite in the American fashion.\n\nThe third day being Sunday, J.W. listened to an American missionary in\nthe morning, who spoke boldly of the prime need for a college like this\nif the youth of China were to be trained for the highest service to\ntheir country. At night he sat through nearly three hours of the most\namazing testimony meeting he had ever seen. It was led by a Chinese who\nhad been graduated from the college thirty years before. The eagerness,\nalmost impatience, to confess what Jesus Christ and Christian education\nhad meant to these Chinese leaders--for it was evident they _were_\nleaders--was a thing to stir the most sluggish Christian pulse. J.W.'s\nmind took him back to a memorable love feast at Cartwright Institute,\nwhen Joe Carbrook had made his first confession of and surrender to\nJesus Christ, and it seemed to him that the likeness between these two\nso different gatherings was far more real than all their contrasts.\n\nOn Monday the anniversary banquet brought the American consul, a\nrepresentative of the provincial governor, and many other dignitaries.\nAnd on Tuesday the students put on a pageant which illustrated in\ngorgeousness of color and costume and accessories the history of the\ncollege. Besides all this pomp and circumstance there was a wonderful\nindustrial exhibit. The president of China sent a scroll, as did also\nthe prime minister. Former students in the cities of China, from Peking\nto Amoy, sent subscriptions amounting to twenty-five thousand dollars\nfor new buildings, and other old students in the Philippines sent a\nsecond twenty-five thousand dollars.\n\nAll of which stirred J.W. to the very soul. Here was a Christian college\nolder than many in America. Its results could not be measured by any\nvisible standards, yet he had seen graduates of the school and students\nwho did not stay long enough to graduate, men of light and leading, men\nof wealth and station, officials, men in whom the spirit of the new\nChina burned, Christian workers; and all these bore convincing testimony\nthat this college had been the one great mastering influence of their\nlives. A Christian college--in China!\n\nJ.W. thought of it all and said to himself: \"I wonder if I am the same\nindividual as he who not so many months ago was talking about the good\nsense of letting China wait indefinitely for Christ? Anyhow, somebody\nhas had better sense than that every day of the last forty years!\"\n\nThe \"tour of the tools\" was teaching J.W. more than he could teach the\nmerchants of Asia. And yet he was doing no little missionary work, as\nevidenced both in his own reports to Peter McDougall, and still more in\nthe reports which went to that observant gentleman after J.W. had moved\non from any given place. The Cummings Hardware Corporation may be\nwithout a soul, as corporations are known to be, but it has many eyes.\n\nThese eyes followed J.W.'s progress from Shanghai to Foochow, to Hong\nKong, to Manila. They observed how he studied artisans and their ways\nwith tools, and the ways of builders with house fittings, and the\nvarious devices with which in field and garden the toilers set\nthemselves to their endless labor. As the eyes of the Cummings\norganization saw these things, the word went back across the water to\nSaint Louis, and Peter McDougall took credit to himself for a\ncommendable shrewdness.\n\nBut the ever-watchful eyes had no instructions to report on the tool\nmissionary's other activities, and therefore no report was made. None\nthe less they saw, and wondered, and thought that there was something\nback of it all. There was more back of it than they could have guessed.\n\nFor J.W. had come to a new zest for both of his quests. The business\nwhich had brought him into the East was daily becoming more fascinating\nin its possibilities and promise. In even greater measure the interests\nwhich belong especially to this chronicle were taking on a new\nimportance. Everywhere he went he sought out the missions and the\nmissionaries. He plied the workers with question on question until they\ntold him all the hopes and fears and needs and longings which often they\nhesitated to put into their official letters to the Boards.\n\nIn Manila he saw, after a little more than two decades of far from\ncomplete missionary occupation, the signs that a Christian civilization\nwas rising. The schools and churches and hospitals and other\norganization work established in Manila were proof that all through the\nislands the everyday humdrum of missionary service was going forward,\nperhaps without haste, but surely without rest.\n\nWhen he came to Singapore, that traffic corner to which all the sea\nroads of the East converge, he heard the story of a miracle, and then\nhe saw the miracle itself, the Anglo-Chinese College.\n\nThey told him what it meant, not the missionaries only, but the Chinese\nmerchants who controlled the Cummings line for all the archipelago, and\nSumatra planters, and British officials, and business men from Malaysian\ntrade centers whose names he had never before heard.\n\nThe teacher who put himself at J.W.'s service was one of the men to\nwhom Pastor Drury had written his word of appeal on J.W.'s behalf. He\nrespected it altogether, and the more because he well knew that here was\nno need for mere talk. A visitor with eyes and ears could come to his\nown conclusions. If the college were not its own strongest argument, no\nwords could strengthen it.\n\nThe college had been started by intrepid men who had no capital but\nfaith and an overmastering sense of duty. That was a short generation\nago. Now J.W. saw crowded halls and students with purposeful faces, and\nhe heard how, at first by the hundreds and now by thousands, the product\nof this school was spreading a sense of Christian life-values through\nall the vast island and ocean spaces from Rangoon to New Guinea, and\nfrom Batavia to Sulu.\n\nBut it may as well be told that, even more than China, India made the\ndeepest impress on the mind and heart of our tool-traveler. From the\nmoment when he landed in Calcutta to the moment when he watched the low\ncoasts of the Ganges delta merge into the horizon far astern, India\nwould not let him alone. He saw poverty such as could scarcely be\ndescribed, and religious rites the very telling of which might sear the\ntongue. If China's poor had a certain apathy which seemed like poise,\neven in their wretchedness, not so India's, but, rather, a slow-moving\nmisery, a dull progress toward nothing better, with only nothingness and\nits empty peace at last.\n\nOnce in Calcutta, and his business plans set going, he started out to\nfind some of the city's Christian forces. They were not easy to find. As\nin every Oriental city, missionary work is relatively small. Indeed, J.\nW. began to think that this third city of Asia had little religion of\nany sort.\n\nHe had been prepared in part for the first meager showing of mission\nwork. On shipboard he had encountered the usual assortment of missionary\ncritics; the unobservant, the profane, the superior, the loose-living,\nand all that tribe. The first of them he had met on the second day out\nfrom San Francisco, and every boat which sailed the Eastern seas\nappeared to carry its complement of self-appointed and all-knowing\nenemies of the whole missionary enterprise. While steaming up the Bay of\nBengal, the anti-mission chorus appeared at its critical best. J.W. was\ntold as they neared Calcutta that the Indian Christian was servile, and\nslick and totally untrustworthy. Never had these expert observers seen a\ngenuine convert, but only hypocrites, liars, petty thieves, and\ngrafters.\n\nIn spite of it all, at last he found the Methodist Mission, and it was\nnot so small, when once you saw the whole of it. By great good fortune\nhis instructions from home ordered him up country as far as Cawnpore.\nAnd to his delight he met a Methodist bishop, one of the new ones, who\nwas setting out with a party for the Northwest. So, on the bishop's most\ncordial invitation, he joined himself to the company, and learned in a\nday or two from experts how to make the best of India's rather trying\ntravel conditions.\n\nBenares, Allahabad, Cawnpore, Lucknow--J.W. came to these cities with a\nqueer feeling of having been there before. Long ago, in his early Sunday\nschool days, the names of these places and the wonders of them had been\nthe theme of almost the only missionary book he had at that age cared to\nread.\n\nAt Allahabad, said his companions of the way, an All-India Epworth\nLeague convention was to be held, and J.W. made up his mind that a\nLeague convention in India would be doubly worth attending. He did\nattend it too, but it left no such memory as another gathering in the\nsame city; a memory which he knows will last after every other picture\nof the East has faded from his recollection.\n\nThe party had reached Allahabad at the time of the Khumb Mela, a vast\noutpouring of massed humanity too great for any but the merest guesses\nat its numbers. This \"Mela,\" feast, religious pilgrimage, whatever it\nmight mean to these endless multitudes, is held here at stated times\nbecause the two sacred rivers, the Jumna and the Ganges, come together\nat Allahabad, and tradition has it that a third river flows beneath the\nsurface to meet the others. So the place is trebly sacred, its waters\npotent for purification, no matter how great one's sin.\n\nWith the others J.W. set out for an advantageous observation point, on\nthe wall of the fort which stands on the tongue of land between the two\nstreams. On the way J.W. assured himself that if Calcutta seemed without\nreligion, here was more than enough of it to redress the balances. In\nthe throng was a holy man whose upraised arm had been held aloft until\nit had atrophied, and would never more swing by his side. And yonder\nanother holy one sat in the sand, with a circle of little fires burning\nclose about him. The seeker after he knew not what who made his search\nwhile lying on a bed of spikes was here. And once a procession passed,\ntwo hundred men, all holy after the fashion of Hindu holiness, all\nutterly naked, with camels and elephants moving in their train. As if to\nshow how these were counted men of special sanctity, the people fell on\ntheir faces to the ground beside them as they passed, and kissed their\nshadows on the sand.\n\nThe point of vantage reached, J.W.'s bewildered eyes could scarce make\nhis brain believe what they saw. He was standing on a broad wall, thirty\nfeet above the water, and perhaps a hundred feet back from it. Up and\ndown the stream was an endless solid mass of heads. J.W. looked for some\nbreak in the crowd, some thinning out of its packed bodies, but as far\nas he could see there was no break, no end. Government officials had\nestimated the number of pilgrims at two millions!\n\nA signal must have been given, or an hour had come--J.W. could not tell\nwhich--but somehow the people knew that now was the opportunity to enter\nthe water and gain cleansing from all sin. A mighty, resistless movement\ncarried the human stream to meet the river. Inevitably the weaker\nindividuals were swept along helpless, and those who fell arose no more.\nHorrified, J.W. stood looking down on the slow, irresistible movement\nof the writhing bodies, and he saw a woman drop. A British police\nofficer, standing in an angle of the wall beneath, ordered a native\npoliceman to get the woman out But the native, seeing the crush and\nunwilling to risk himself for so slight a cause, waited until his\nsuperior turned away to another point of peril, and then, snatching the\nred-banded police turban from his head, was lost in the general mass.\n\nThe woman? Trampled to death, and twenty other men and women with her,\nin sight of the stunned watchers on the wall, who were compelled to see\nthese lives crushed out, powerless to help by so much as a finger's\nweight.\n\nWhat was it all for? J.W. asked his companions on the wall. And they\nsaid that the word went out at certain times and the people flocked to\nthis Mela. They came to wash in the sacred waters at the propitious\nmoment. Nothing else mattered; not the inescapable pollution of the\nrivers, not the weariness and hunger and many distresses of the way. It\nwas a chance, so the wise ones declared, to be rid of sin. Certainly it\nmight not avail, but who would not venture if mayhap there might be\ncleansing of soul in the waters of Mother Ganges?\n\nOn another day J.W. came to a temple, not a great towering shrine, but\na third-rate sort of place, a sacred cow temple. Here was a family which\nhad journeyed four hundred miles to worship before the idols of this\ntemple. They offered rice to one idol, flowers to another, holy water\nfrom the river to a third. No one might know what inner urge had driven\nthem here. The priest, slow to heed them, at length deigned to dip his\nfinger in a little paint and with it he smeared the caste mark on the\nforeheads of the worshipers. It was heartless, empty formality.\n\nJ.W. watched the woman particularly. Her face was an unrelieved\nsadness; she had fulfilled the prescribed rites, in the appointed place,\nbut there was no surcease from the endless round of dull misery which\nshe knew was her ordained lot. Thought J.W.: \"I suppose this is a sort\nof joining the church, an initiation or something of that sort. Not much\nlike what happened when I joined the church in Delafield. Everybody was\nglad there; here nobody is glad, not even the priest.\"\n\nAt Cawnpore J.W. was able to combine business with his missionary\ninquiries. Here he found great woollen and cotton mills, not unlike\nthose of America, except that in these mills women and children were\nworking long hours, seven days a week, for a miserable wage. It was\nheathenism plus commercialism; that is to say, a double heathenism. For\nwhen business is not tempered by the Christian spirit, it is as pagan as\nany cow temple.\n\nIn these mills was a possible market for certain sorts of Cummings\ngoods, as J.W. learned in the business quarter of the city. He wanted\nmore opportunity to see how the goods he dealt in could be used, and,\nhaving by now learned the path of least resistance, he appealed to a\nmissionary. It was specially fortunate that he did, for the missionary\nintroduced him to the secretary of the largest mills in the city, an\nIndian Christian with a history.\n\nNow, this is a hint at the story of--well, let us call him Abraham. His\nown is another Bible name, of more humble associations, but he deserves\nto be called Abraham. Thirty years ago a missionary first evangelized\nand then baptized some two hundred villagers--outcasts, untouchables,\nsocial lepers. Being newly become Christians, they deposed their old\nvillage god. The landlord beat them and berated them, but they were done\nwith the idol. Now, that was no easy adventure of faith, and those who\nthus adventured could not hope for material gain. They were more\ndespised than ever.\n\nYet inevitably they began to rise in the human scale. The missionary\nfound one of them a young man of parts. Him he took and taught to read,\nto write, to know the Scriptures. He began to be an exhorter; then a\nlocal preacher; and at last he joined the Conference as a Methodist\nitinerant at six dollars a month. Now this boy was the father of\nAbraham.\n\nAs a preacher he opened village schools, and taught the children their\nletters, his own boy among them. Abraham learned quickly. A place was\nfound for him in a mission boarding school. Thence he moved on and up to\nLucknow Christian College. It was this man who escorted J.W. through the\ngreat mills of which he was an executive. He had a salary of two hundred\ndollars a month. If his father had been an American village preacher at\ntwelve hundred dollars a year, Abraham's salary, relatively, would need\nto be twenty or thirty thousand dollars.\n\nAbraham was the superintendent of a Sunday school in Cawnpore. He was\ngiving himself to all sorts of betterment work which would lessen the\nmisery of the poor. He had a seat in the city council. A hostel for boys\nwas one of his enterprises. Here was a man doing his utmost to\nChristianize the industry in which thousands of his country men spent\ntheir lives; a second-generation Christian, and a man who must be\nreckoned with, no longer spurned and despised as a casteless nobody.\n\nJ.W. followed Abraham about the mills with growing admiration. Inside\nthe walls, light, orderly paths, flowers, cleanliness. Outside the gate,\nto step across the road was to walk a thousand years into the past,\namong the smells and the ageless noises of the bazaar, with its\nchaffering and cheating, its primitive crudities, and its changeless\nwares. Certainly, a Cawnpore mill is not the ideal industrial\ncommonwealth, but without men like Abraham to alleviate its grimness the\ncoming of larger opportunities through work like this might well lay a\nheavier burden on men's lives than the primitive and costly toil which\nit has displaced.\n\nThere was just time for a visit to Lucknow, a city which to the British\nis the historic place of mutiny and siege; to American Methodists a\nplace both of history and of present-day advance. J.W. worshiped in the\ngreat Hindustani Methodist church, the busy home of many activities. In\nthe congregation were many students, girls from Isabella Thoburn\nCollege, and boys from Lucknow Christian College. Lifelong Methodist as\nhe was, J.W. quickly recognized, even amid these new surroundings, the\nfamiliar aspects of a Methodist church on its busy day. The crowding\ncongregations were enough to stir one's blood. A noble organ sounded out\nthe call to worship and led the choir and people in the service of\npraise. There was a Sunday school in full operation, and an Epworth\nLeague Chapter, completely organized and active. His guide confided to\nJ.W. that this church had yet another point of resemblance to the great\nchurches at home; it was quite accustomed to sending a committee to\nConference, to tell the bishop whom it wanted for preacher next year!\n\nJ.W. was not quite satisfied. The days of his wanderings must soon be\nover, but before he left India he wanted to see the missionary in actual\ncontact with the immemorial paganism of the villages, for he had\ndiscovered that the village is India. How was the Christian message\nmeeting all the dreary emptinesses and limitations of village life?\n\nOnce more he appealed to his missionary guide; this latest one, the last\nof the five men to whom Pastor Drury had written before J.W. had set out\non his travels. Could he show his visitor a little of missionary work in\nvillage environment?\n\n\"Surely. Nothing easier,\" the district superintendent said. \"We'll jump\ninto my Ford--great thing for India, the Ford; and still greater for us\nmissionaries--and we'll go a-villaging.\"\n\nThe village of their quest once reached, the Ford drew up before a neat\nbrick house built around three sides of a courtyard, with verandas on\nthe court side. This was no usual mud hut, but a house, and a parsonage\nwithal. Here lived the Indian village preacher and his family. The\npreacher's wife was neatly dressed and capable; the children clean and\nwell-mannered. The room had its table, and on the table books. That\nmeant nothing to J.W., but the superintendent gave him to understand\nthat a table with books in an Indian village house was comparable in its\nrarity to a small-town American home with a pipe organ and a butler!\n\nThe lunch of native food seemed delicious, if it was \"hot,\" to J.W.'s\nhealthy appetite, and if he had not seen over how tiny a fire it had\nbeen prepared he would have credited the smiling housewife with a\nlavishly equipped kitchen.\n\nPeople began to drop in. It was somewhat disconcerting to the visitor,\nto see these callers squatting on their heels, talking one to another,\nbut watching him continually out of the corners of their eyes. One of\nthem, the chaudrie, headman of the village, being introduced to J.W.,\ntold him, the superintendent acting as interpreter, how the boys' school\nflourished, and how he and other Christians had gone yesterday on an\nevangelizing visit to another village, not yet Christian, but sure to\nask for a teacher soon.\n\nThe preacher, in a rather precise, clipped English, asked J.W. if he\ncared to walk about the village. \"We could go to the _mohulla_ [ward],\nwhere most of our Christians live. They will be most glad to welcome\nyou.\"\n\nThe way led through dirty, narrow streets, or, rather, let us say,\nthrough the spaces between dwellings, to the low-caste quarter. Here\nwere people of the bottom stratum of Indian life, yet it was a Christian\ncommunity in the making. The little school was in session--a group of\nfifteen or twenty boys and girls with their teacher. It was all very\ncrude, but the children read their lessons for the visitor, and did sums\non the board, and sang a hymn which the pastor had composed, and recited\nthe Lord's Prayer and the Twenty-third psalm.\n\n\"These,\" said the pastor, \"are the children of a people which for a\nthousand years has not known how to read or write. Yet see how they\nlearn.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" the superintendent agreed, \"but that isn't the best of it, as you\nknow. They are untouchables now, but even caste, which is stronger than\ndeath, yields to education. Once these boys and girls have an education\nthey cannot be ignored or kept down. They will find a place in the\nsocial order.\"\n\n\"I can see that,\" J.W. said, thinking of Abraham. \"But education is not\na missionary monopoly, is it? If these children were educated by Hindus,\nwould not the resulting rise in their condition come just the same?\"\n\n\"It would, perhaps,\" the missionary answered, \"but your 'if' is too big.\nFor the low caste and the out-caste people there is no education unless\nit is Christian education. We have a monopoly, though not of our\nchoosing. The educated Hindu will not do this work under any\ncircumstances. It has been tried, with all the prestige of the\ngovernment, which is no small matter in India, and nothing comes of it.\nNot long ago the government proposed a wonderful scheme for the\neducation of the 'depressed classes.' The money was provided, and the\nequipment as well. There were plenty of Hindus, that is, non-Christians,\nwho were indebted to the government for their education. They were\ninvited to take positions in the new schools. But no; not for any money\nor any other inducement would these teachers go near. And there you are.\nI know of no way out for the great masses of India except as the gospel\nopens the door.\"\n\n\"Is there no attempt of any sort on the part of Indians who are not\nChristians? Surely, some of them are enlightened enough to see the need,\nand to rise above caste.\" J.W. suspected he was asking a question\nwhich had but one answer.\n\n\"Yes, there is such an effort occasionally,\" the superintendent\nadmitted. \"The Arya Samaj movement makes an attempt once in a while, but\nit always fails. If a few are bold enough to disregard caste, they are\nnever enough to do anything that counts. The effort is scarcely more\nthan a gesture, and even so it would not have been made but for the\nactivities of the missionaries.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd so ended J.W.'s Indian studies. Before many days he was retracing\nhis way--Calcutta, Singapore, Hongkong, Shanghai, Yokohama. And then on\na day he found himself aboard a liner whose prow turned eastward from\nJapan's great port, and his heart was flying a homeward-bound pennant\nthe like of which never trailed from any masthead.\n\n\n\nTHIS EXPERIMENT TEACHETH--?\n\nFor the first day or so out from Japan J.W. behaved himself as does any\nordinary American in similar case; all the sensations of the journey\nwere swallowed up in the depths of his longings to be home. The voyage\nso slow; the Pacific so wide!\n\nBut shortly he resigned himself to the pervading restfulness of\nshipboard, and began to make acquaintances. Of them all one only has any\ninterest for us--Miss Helen Morel, late of Manila. Her place was next\nto his at the table. Like J.W., she was traveling alone, and before they\nhad been on board twenty-four hours they had discovered that both were\nMethodists; he, from Delafield in the Middle West, she from\nPennsylvania. J.W. found, altogether to his surprise, that she listened\nwith flattering attention while he talked. For J.W. is no braggart, nor\nis he overmuch given to self-admiration; we know him better than that.\nBut it was pleasant, none the less, on good days to walk up and down the\nlong decks, and on other days to sit in comfortable deck chairs, with\nnothing to do but talk.\n\nMiss Morel, being a teacher going home after three years of steady,\nclose work in a Manila high school, was ready to talk of anything but\nschool work. She found herself immensely interested in J.W.'s\nexperiences. He had told her of the double life, so to say, which he\nhad led; preaching the good news of better tools, and studying the work\nof other men and women, as truly salesmen as himself, who preached a\nmore arresting and insistent gospel.\n\n\"I'm glad to meet some one who knows about missions at first hand,\" Miss\nMorel began one morning, as they stepped out on the promenade deck for\ntheir constitutional. \"You know, I think people at home don't understand\nat all. They are so absorbed with their little parish affairs that they\ncan't appreciate this wonderful work that is being done so far from\nhome.\"\n\nJ.W. agreed, though not without mental reservations. He knew how true\nit was that many of the home folks did not rightly value mission work,\nbut he was not so sure about their \"little parish affairs.\" He watched\nto see if Miss Morel meant to expand that idea.\n\nBut she evidently had thought at once of something else. Said she,\n\"Sometimes I think that if the gossip about missionaries and missions\nwhich is so general in the Orient gets back home, as it surely does in\none way or another, it must have a certain influence on what people\nthink about the work.\"\n\n\"Oh, that,\" said J.W., with no little scorn. \"That stuff is always\nignorant or malicious, and I doubt if it gets very far with church\npeople. Of course it may with outsiders. I've heard it, any amount of\nit; you can't miss it if you travel in the East And there's just enough\nexcuse for it to make it a particularly vicious sort of slander. You\ncould say as much about the churches at home, and a case here and there\nwould not be lacking to furnish proof.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the teacher. \"And yet missions are so wonderful; so\nmuch more worth while than anything that is being done at home, don't\nyou think?\"\n\nThere it was again. \"I'm afraid I don't follow you, Miss Morel,\" J.W.\nsaid, with a puzzled air. \"Do you mean that the churches at home are not\nonto their job, if you'll excuse the phrase?\"\n\nHis companion laughed as she answered, \"Maybe not quite as strong as\nthat. But they are doing the same old thing in the same old way. Going\nto church and home again, to Sunday school and home again, to young\npeople's meeting and home again. But out here,\" and her hand swung in a\nhalf circle as though she meant to include the whole Pacific basin, \"out\nhere men and women are doing such splendid pioneer work, in all sorts of\nfascinating ways.\"\n\n\"True enough,\" J.W. assented. \"I've seen that, all right. But the home\nchurch isn't so dead as you might think. Just before I left Delafield to\ngo to Saint Louis, for instance, a new work for the foreign-speaking\npeople of our town was being started, with the Board of Home Missions\nand Church Extension backing up the local workers. They were planning to\nmake a great church center for all these people, and I hear that it is\ngetting a good start.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I can well believe that, Mr. Farwell,\" Miss Morel hastened to\nsay. \"I think work for the immigrant is so very interesting, don't you?\nBut, of course, that's not quite what I meant. The usual dull things\nthat churches do, you know.\"\n\n\"Well, take another instance that I happen to remember,\" J.W. had a\ntouch of the sort of feeling he used to delight in at Cartwright, when\nhe was gathering his material for a debate. \"My first summer after\nleaving college, a few of us in First Church got busy studying our own\ntown. We found two of the general church boards ready to help us with\nfacts and methods. The Home Missions people gave us one sort of help,\nand another board, with the longest name of them all, the Board of\nTemperance, Prohibition, and Public Morals, showed us how to go about an\ninvestigation of the town's undesirable citizens and their influence. It\nis in that sort of business for all of us, you know.\"\n\n\"That must have been exciting,\" said Miss Morel. \"I know I should enjoy\nsuch work. What did you find out, and what could you do about it?\"\n\nThat was a question not to be glibly answered, J.W. knew. But he meant\nto be fair about it. \"We found out plenty that surprised us; a great\ndeal,\" he added, \"that ought to be done, and much more that needed to be\nchanged. We even went so far as to draw up a sort of civic creed, 'The\nEveryday Doctrines of Delafield,' The town paper printed it, and it was\ntalked about for a while, but probably we were the people who got the\nmost out of it; it showed us what we church members might mean to the\ntown. And that was worth something.\"\n\nMiss Morel was sure it was. But she came back to her first idea about\nthe home churches. \"Don't you think that much of the preaching, and all\nthat, is pretty dull and tiresome? I came from a little country church,\nand it was so dreary.\"\n\nJ.W. thought of Deep Creek, and said, \"I know what you mean; but even\nthe country church is improving. I must tell you some time about Marty,\nmy chum. He's a country preacher, helped in his training by the Rural\nDepartment of the Home Missions Board, and his people come in crowds to\nhis preaching. Country churches are waking up, and the Board people at\nPhiladelphia have had a lot to do with it.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm glad. But anyway, home missions is rather commonplace,\nhaven't you noticed?\" and Miss Morel looked almost as though she were\nasking a question of state.\n\n\"I can't say I've found it so,\" J.W. said, stoutly, \"I was some time\nlearning, but I ran into a lot of experiences before I left home. Take\nthe work for colored people, for instance. I had to make a speech at a\nconvention, and I found out that our church has a Board of Education for\nNegroes which is doing more than any other agency to train Negro\npreachers and teachers and home makers, and doctors and other leaders.\nThat's not so very commonplace, would you say so?\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" the young lady admitted. \"It is very important work, of\ncourse; and I'd dearly love to have a share in it. I am a great\nbeliever in the colored races, you know. But you are making me begin to\nthink I am all wrong about the church at home. I don't mean to belittle\nit. Perhaps I appreciate it more than I realized. Anyway, tell me\nsomething else that you have found out.\"\n\n\"There isn't time,\" J.W. objected. \"But if you won't think me a\nnuisance, maybe I can tell you part of it. For example, Sunday school.\nLong ago I discovered that the whole church was providing for Sunday\nschool progress through a Board of Sunday Schools, and there isn't a\nmodern Sunday school idea anywhere that this Board doesn't put into its\nscheme of work. I was a very small part of it myself for a while, so I\nknow.\"\n\n\"Yes, and even I know a little about the Sunday School Board,\" confessed\nMiss Morel. \"It has helped us a lot in the Philippines. And so I must\nadmit that the church does try to improve and extend Sunday school work.\nWhat else?\"\n\nJ.W. told about his experiences on the Mexican border, where home\nmissions and foreign missions came together. Then, seeing that she was\nreally listening, he told of his and Marty's college days, how Marty had\nborrowed money from the Board of Education, and how the same Board had a\nhand in the college evangelistic work. He told about the deaconesses who\nmanaged the hospital at Manchester, and the training school which Marcia\nDayne Carbrook had attended when she was getting ready to go to China.\nThat school had sent out hundreds of deaconesses and other workers.\n\nThe thought of Marcia made him think of Joe, and he told what he knew of\nhow the Wesley Foundation at the State University had helped Joe when he\ncould easily have made shipwreck of his missionary purpose. Of course\nthe story of his visit to the Carbrooks in China must also be told.\n\nMiss Morel changed the subject again. \"Tell me, Mr. Farwell,\" she asked,\n\"were you in the Epworth League when you were at home?\"\n\n\"I surely was,\" said J.W. \"That was where I got my first start; at the\nCartwright Institute.\" And the story jumped back to those far-off days\nwhen he was just out of high school.\n\nAs he paused Miss Morel said, \"I was an Epworthian, too, and in the\nyoung women's missionary societies. We had a combination society in our\nchurch, so I was a 'Queen Esther' and a 'Standard Bearer' as well. Those\norganizations did me a world of good. You know, when I think of it, the\nwomen's missionary societies have done a wonderful work in America and\neverywhere.\"\n\n\"I guess they have,\" said J.W. \"I know my mother has always been a\nmember of both, and she's always been the most intelligent and active\nmissionary in the Farwell family.\"\n\nThe talk languished for a while, and then Miss Morel exclaimed, \"I know\nwhy we've stopped talking; we're hungry. It is almost time for luncheon,\nand if you have an appetite like mine, you're impatient for the call.\"\n\nJ.W. looked at his watch and saw that there was only ten minutes of the\nmorning left. So they separated to get ready against the sounding of the\ndinner gong.\n\nBut J.W. was not hungry. He was struggling with an old thought that to\nhim had all the tantalizing quality of novelty. The talk of the morning\nhad become a sort of roll-call of church boards. How did it happen that\nthe church was busy with this and that and the other work? Why a Board\nof Hospitals and Homes? Why a Deaconess Board, even though deaconess\nwork happened to be merciful and gentle and Christlike? What was the\nchurch doing with a Book Concern? How came it that we had that board\nwith the long name--Temperance, Prohibition, and Public Morals? He had\ntraveled from Yokohama to Lucknow and back, and everywhere he had found\nthis same church doing all sorts of work, with no slightest suspicion\nbut that all of it was her proper business.\n\nSo picture after picture flickered before his mind's eye, as though his\nbrain had built up a five-reel mental movie from all sorts of memory\nfilm; a hundred feet of this, two hundred of that, a thousand here,\nthere just a flash. It had all one common mark; it was all \"the church,\"\nbut the hit-and-miss of it, its lightning change, bewildered him. The\npictures leaped from Cartwright to Cawnpore, from the country church at\nEllis to Joe Carbrook's hospital in China; from New York and\nPhiladelphia and Chicago and Cincinnati and Washington to the ends of\nthe country and the ends of the earth; and in and through it all, swift\nbits of unrelated yet vivid hints of _Advocates_ and _Heralds_, of\nprayer meetings and institutes, of new churches and old colleges, of\nrevivals and sewing societies, of League socials and Annual Conferences,\nof deaconesses visiting dreary homes, and soft-footed nurses going about\nin great hospitals; of beginners' departments and old people's homes; of\nkindergartens and clinics and preparatory classes. There seemed no end\nto it all, every moment some new aspect of the church's activity showed\nitself and then was gone.\n\nIt was a most confused and confusing experience; and all through the\nrest of the day J.W. caught himself wondering again and again at the\nvariety and complexity of the church's affairs.\n\nWhy should a church be occupied with all this medley? Why should it be\nso distracted from its main purpose, to be a Jack of all trades? Why\nshould it open its doors and train its workers and spend its money in\npersistent response to every imaginable human appeal?\n\nPerhaps that might be it; \"_human_.\" Once a philosopher had said, \"I am\na man, and therefore nothing human is foreign to me.\" What if the church\nby its very nature must be like that? what if this really were its main\npurpose--all these varied and sometimes almost conflicting activities no\nmore than its effort to obey the central law of its life?\n\nJ.W. was in his stateroom; he paced the narrow aisle between the\nberths--three steps forward, three steps back, like a caged wild thing.\nSomething was coming to new reality in his soul; he was scarce conscious\nof the walls that shut him in. Once he stopped by the open port. He\nlooked out at the tumbling rollers of the wide Pacific. And as he looked\nhe thought of the vastness of this sea, how its waters washed the icy\nshores of Alaska and the palm-fronded atolls of the Marquesas; how they\ncarried on their bosom the multitudinous commerce of a hundred peoples;\nhow from Santiago to Shanghai and from the Yukon to New Zealand it was\none ocean, serving all lands, and taking toll of all.\n\nIn spite of all the complexities and diversities of the lands about this\nocean, they had one possession which all might claim, as it claimed\nthem--the sea. It gave them neighbors and trade, climate and their daily\nbread. In the sociology and geography and economics of the Orient this\nPacific Ocean was the great common denominator. _And in the geography\nand economics and sociology of the kingdom of God? Might it not be--must\nit not be, the church_!\n\nNot only the Pacific basin, but the round world was like that, every\npart of it dependent on all the rest, and growing every day more and\nmore conscious of all the rest. Railways helped this process, and so did\nsteamships and air routes and telegraph and wireless. More than that,\nall the world was becoming increasingly related to the life of every\npart. With raw material produced in Brazil to make tires for the\nlimousines of Fifth Avenue and the Lake Shore Drive, what of the new\nkinship between the producers in Brazil and the users in the States? All\ngood was coming to be the good of all the earth; and all evil was able\nto affect the lives of unsuspecting folk half the earth's circumference\naway.\n\nIn such a time, what an insistent call for the program and power of the\nChristian faith! And the call could be answered. J.W. had seen the\nchurch applying the program as well in a Chinese city and in an Indian\nvillage as in his home town and on the Mexican border. He was sure that\nthe power that was in the Christian message could heal all the hurts of\nthe world, and bring all peoples into \"a world-commonwealth of good\nwill.\"\n\nThis was what Jesus meant to do; not just to save here and there a\nlittle group for heaven out of the general hopelessness, but to save and\nmake whole the heart of mankind. The church was not, first of all,\nseeking its own enlargement, but extending the reach of its Founder's\npurpose. It did all its many-sided work for a far greater reason than\nany increase in its own numbers and importance; in a word, for the\nChristianizing of life, Sunday and every day, in Delafield as well as in\nthe forests of the Amazon and the huddled cities of China.\n\nJ.W. sat on the edge of his berth. In the first glow of this new\nunderstanding his nerves had steadied to a serenity that was akin to\nawe. Yet he knew he had made no great discovery. The thing he saw had\nbeen there all the time.\n\nThen his mind set to work again on that motley procession of pictures\nwhich he had likened to a patchwork film. Was it as disjointed as it\nseemed? Could it not be so put together as to make a true continuity,\nconsistent and complete?\n\nWhy not? In the events of his own life, strangely enough, he had the\nclue to its right arrangement. By what seemed to be accidental or\nincidental opportunity it had been his singular fortune to come in\ncontact with some aspect or another of all the work his church was\ndoing. And every element of it, from the beginners' class at Delafield\nto the language school at Nanking, from the college social in First\nChurch to the celebration at Foochow--it was all New Testament work. Its\ncenter was always Jesus Christ's teaching or example, or appeal. There\nwas in its complexity a vast simplicity; each was a part of all, and all\nwas in each.\n\n\"John Wesley Farwell, Jr.,\" said that young man to himself, \"this thing\nis not your discovery--but how does that bit of Keats' go?\"\n\n'Then felt I like some watcher of the skies\n   When a new planet swims into his ken;\nOr like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes\n   He stared at the Pacific--and all his men\nLooked at each other with a wild surmise--\n   Silent, upon a peak in Darien,'\n\nThere you have it! But I might have known. Cortez, if it _was_ Cortez,\ncould not have guessed the Pacific. He had nothing to suggest it. But I\nmight have guessed the singleness of the church's work. What is my name\nfor, unless I can appreciate the man who said 'The world is my parish,'\nand who would do anything--sell books, keep a savings bank, open a\ndispensary--for the sake of saving souls? That's the single idea, the\nsimple idea. It makes all these queer activities part of one great\nactivity; and rests them all on one under-girding truth--'The Church's\none foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord.'\n\nBut the wonderful thing to me is that, after all this time, I should\nsuddenly have found this out for myself!\n\n\"What a story to take home to Delafield! Pastor Drury is going to have\nthe surprise of his life!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThree people met J.W. as his train pulled in to the station at\nDelafield. The other two were his father and mother.\n\nAfter the first tearfully happy greetings, J.W. looked around the\nplatform. \"I rather thought Brother Drury might have come too,\" he said.\n\nThe others exchanged meaning glances, and his father asked, \"Then you\ndidn't get my second letter at San Francisco?\"\n\n\"No,\" said J.W., in vague alarm, \"only the one. What's wrong? Is Mr.\nDrury--\"\n\n\"He's at home now, son,\" said the elder Farwell, gravely. \"He came home\nfrom our Conference hospital at Hillcrest two weeks ago. We hope he's\ngoing to gain considerable strength, but he's had some sort of a\nstroke, we don't rightly know what, and he's pretty hard hit. He's\nbetter than he was last week, but he can't leave his room; sits in his\neasy chair and doesn't say much.\"\n\nJ.W.'s heart ached. Without always realizing it, he had been counting\non long talks with the pastor; there was so much to tell him. And\nespecially so since that wonderful day out in the middle of the Pacific,\nwhen he had seen what he even dared to call his 'vision' of the church.\n\nSo he said, \"You and mother drive on home; I'll walk up with Jeannette.\"\n\nFor lovers who had just met after a year's separation these two were\nstrangely subdued. They had everything to say to each other, but this\nsudden falling of the shadow of suffering on their meeting checked the\nwords on their lips.\n\n\"Will he get better?\" J.W. asked Jeannette.\n\n\"They fear not,\" she answered. \"The doctors say he may live for several\nyears, but he will never preach again. He just sits there; he's been so\nanxious to see you. You must go to-day.\"\n\n\"Of course. And what shall I say about the wedding? If he can't leave\nhis room----\"\n\nJeannette interrupted him: \"If he can't leave his room, it will make no\ndifference. Church wedding or home wedding I should have chosen, as I\nhave told you; but you and I, John Wesley, are going to be married by\nWalter Drury, wherever he is, if he's alive on our wedding day.\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said J.W., with a little break in his voice, \"it wouldn't\nseem right any other way. We can have the dinner, or breakfast or\nwhatever it is, just the same, but we'll be married in his room. I'm\nglad you feel that way about it too; though it's just like you.\"\n\nAnd it was so. J.W. went up to the study as soon as he could rid himself\nof the dust of the day's travel, more eager to show Walter Drury he\nloved him than to tell his story or even to arrange for the wedding.\n\nAs to that ceremony, the plans had long ago been understood; nothing\nmore was needed than to tell Walter Drury his study afforded a better\nbackground and setting for this particular wedding than a cathedral\ncould provide.\n\nJ.W. was prepared for a great change in Pastor Drury, but he noticed no\nsuch signs of breakdown as he had expected to see. He did not know that\nthe beloved pastor was keyed up for this meeting. He could not guess\nthat the beaming eye, the old radiant smile, the touch of color in a\nface usually pale, were on special if unconscious display because the\npastor's heart was thanking God that he had been permitted to welcome\nhome his son in the gospel.\n\nThose had been dreary days, in the hospital, despite the ceaseless\nministries of nurses and doctors and friends from Delafield. This\nhospital was a place of noble service, one of many such places which\nhave arisen in the Methodism of the last forty years. It was a hospital\nthrough and through--the last word in equipment and competence, but not\nat all an \"institution.\" It was at once a home for the sick and a\ntraining school of the Christian graces, where the distressed of body\nand mind could be given the relief they needed--all of it given gladly,\nin Christ's name.\n\nWalter Drury was not unmindful of the care and skill which the hospital\nstaff lavished on him, though no more faithfully on him than on many an\nunknown or unresponsive patient. But he was in a pitifully questioning\nmood. The doctors had told him he could not expect to preach again. When\nthe district superintendent had come to visit him, he carried away with\nhim Walter Drury's request for retirement at the coming session of the\nAnnual Conference.\n\nIn his quiet moments--there were so many of them now--the broken man\ncounted up his years of service, all too few, as it seemed to him, and\nlacking much of what they might have shown in outcomes for the church\nand the kingdom. His Conference was one of the few which paid the full\nannuity claim of its retired preachers, but even so he had not much to\nlook forward to. His twenty-five years in the active ranks meant that he\ncould count on twenty-five times $15 a year, $375, on which to live,\nwhen he gave up his work.\n\nPerhaps he could live on this, with what little he had been able to put\naside; at any rate he could be glad now that there was none but himself\nto think about. But was it worth all he had put into his vocation? His\nbrother in Saint Louis, not remarkably successful in his business, had\nbeen able at least to make some provision for his old age. He too might\nhave been a moderately successful business or professional man. Truly it\nwas more than the older preachers had, this Conference annuity, which\nwould keep him from actual want; so much, surely, had been gained by the\nchurch's growing sense of responsibility for its veterans.\n\nBut had it really paid? Was all the gentle efficiency of the hospital,\nand all the church's money which would come to him from the Conference\nfunds and the Board of Conference Claimants, enough to compensate him\nfor the long years when he had been spendthrift of all his powers for\nthe sake of his work?\n\nHe knew, of course, the answer to his questions; no one better. But he\nwas a broken-down preacher, old before his time; and knowing the answer\nwas not at all the same as _having_ the answer. So he had been brought\nhome from Hillcrest, mind-weary and much cast down. Nor did he regain\nany of his old buoyancy of spirit until the day when they told him J. W,\nwould be home next week.\n\nIt was then that he told himself, \"If J.W. has come back with only a\nstory to tell\"--and gloom was in his face; \"But if he has come back with\n_the_ story to tell\"--and his heart leaped within him at the thought.\n\nThe pastor and J.W. were soon talking away with the old familiarity,\nbut mostly about inconsequentials. Neither was quite prepared for more\nintimate communion; and, of course, the returning traveler had much to\ndo. The wedding was near at hand, and everybody but himself had been\ngetting ready this long time. So the call was too brief to suit either\nof them, with the longer visits each hoped for of necessity deferred to\na more convenient season.\n\nJ.W. must make a hurried journey to Saint Louis to turn in his report\nto Peter McDougall, which report Peter was much better prepared to\nreceive than J.W. suspected. And a highly satisfactory arrangement was\nmade for J.W.'s continued connection with the Cummings Hardware\nCorporation.\n\nDoubtless all weddings are much alike in their ceremonial aspects; short\nor long, solemn-spoken ancient ritual or commonplace legal form, the\nessence of them all is that this man and this woman say, \"I will.\" So it\nwas in Walter Drury's study. And then the little group seated itself\nabout the pastor; Marty with Alma Wetherell, soon to become Mrs. Marty;\nall the Shenks, the elder Farwells, John Wesley, Jr., and Jeannette. The\ndinner would not be for an hour yet, and this was the pastor's time.\n\nPastor Drury could not talk much. He had kept his chair as he read the\nritual, and now he sat and smiled quietly on them all. But once and\nagain his eye sought J.W. and the look was a question yet unanswered.\n\n\"What sort of a voyage home did you have?\" Mrs. Farwell asked her son,\nmotherlike, using even a query about the weather to turn attention to\nher boy.\n\n\"A good voyage, mother,\" said J.W. \"A fine voyage. But one day--will\nyou let me tell it here, all of you? I've hardly been any more eager\nfor my wedding day than for a chance to say this. I won't tire you, Mr.\nDrury, will I?\"\n\n\"You'll never do that, my boy,\" said the preacher. \"But don't bother\nabout me, I've long had a feeling that what you are going to say will be\nbetter for me than all the doctors.\" For he had seen the eager glow on\nJ.W.'s face, and his heart was ready to be glad.\n\nThus it was that J.W. told the story of his great moment; how he had\ntalked with Miss Morel one morning of the many-sided work of the church,\nand how in the afternoon he had looked through the open port of his\nstateroom and had seen an ocean that looked like the church, and a\nchurch that seemed like the ocean.\n\n\"I shall remember that day forever, I think,\" he said. \"For the first\ntime in my life I could put all the pieces of my life together; my home,\nmy church, the Sunday school, the League, college, the needy life of\nthis town, your country work, Marty, Mexico, China, India--everything;\nand I could see as one wonderful, perfect picture, every bit of it\nnecessary to all the rest. Our church at work to make Jesus Christ Lord\nof all life, in my home and clear to the 'roof of the world' out yonder\nunder the snows of Tibet. Can you see it, folks? I think _you_ always\ncould, Mr. Drury!\" and he put his hand affectionately on the pastor's\nknee.\n\nPastor Drury's face was even paler than its wont, but in his eyes glowed\nthe light that never was on sea or land. He was hearing what sometimes\nhe had feared he might not last long enough to hear. The Experiment was\njustified, and he was comforted!\n\nHe picked up the Bible that lay near his hand, and turned to the Gospel\nby Luke. \"I hope none of you will think _I_ wrest the Book's words to\nlesser meanings,\" he said, \"but there is only one place in it that can\nspeak what is in my heart to-day.\" And he read the song of Simeon in the\ntemple: \"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine\neyes have seen thy salvation,\" and so to the end.\n\nIt was very still when his weak voice ceased; but in a moment the\nsilence was broken by a cry from J.W.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Drury, it has been _you_, all these years!\"\n\n\"What do you mean, J.W.?\". said Marty, somewhat alarmed and thoroughly\nmystified.\n\n\"Exactly what I say, Marty. Can't you see it too? Can't all of you see\nit?\" and J.W. looked from one face to another around the room.\n\"Jeannette, _you_ know what I mean, don't you?\"\n\nAnd Jeannette, at once smiling and tearful, said, \"Yes, J.W., I've\nthought about it many times, and I know now it is true.\"\n\nMarty said, \"Maybe so; but what?\" for he was still bewildered.\n\n\"Why,\" J.W. began, with eager haste, \"Mr. Drury planned all this--years\nand years ago. Not our wedding, I don't mean that,\" and he paused long\nenough to find Jeannette's hand and get it firmly in his own, \"we\nmanaged that ourselves, didn't we, dear? But--I don't know why--this\nblessed minister of God began, somewhere far back yonder, to show me\nwhat God was trying to do through our church, and, later, through the\nother churches. He saw that I went to Institute. He steered me through\nmy Sunday school work. He showed me my lifework. He made me want to go\nto college. He introduced me to the Delafield that is outside our own\nchurch. He got me my job in Saint Louis--don't you dare to deny it,\" as\nthe pastor raised a protesting hand. \"I've talked with our sales\nmanager; he put the idea of the Far Eastern trip into Mr. McDougall's\nmind--and, well, it has been Pastor Drury all these years, _and he knew\nwhat he was doing_!\"\n\nPastor Drury had kept his secret bravely, but there was no need to keep\nit longer, and now he was well content that these dear friends should\nhave discovered it on such a day of joy. After all, it had been a\nbeautiful Experiment, and not altogether without its value. So he made\nno more ado, and in his heart there was a great peace.","title":"John Wesley, Jr.: The Story of an Experiment","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":72049}