# The Unhallowed Harvest/Chapter 8

Disappointment was in store for those who came to Christ Church on the Sunday morning following the vestry meeting in the expectation of hearing a continuance of the rector's sermons on the duty of the rich toward the poor, and of the poor toward the Church.
No larger congregation had gathered there at any time during the two years' pastorate of the Reverend Mr. Farrar. Pews that, by reason of the voluntary absence of disaffected parishioners, would otherwise have been vacant, were filled by curious and interested persons who seldom went to any church. Long before the Venite was reached in the order of service every seat was occupied.
But the sermon, forceful and eloquent though it was, dealt only with the parable of the talents, and the lesson to be drawn from it. Nevertheless the humble folk who listened to it went away, for the most part, feeling that they had partaken of something that satisfied and strengthened them.
There was some discussion among his parishioners as to whether the rector had, after all, decided to comply with the expressed wish of his vestrymen, and forego his public criticism of the existing social order. Some of them said, with a knowing smile, that discretion was often the better part of valor. They did not know the man. Nor had they, as yet, heard of his brief address at the labor meeting in Carpenter's Hall the evening before. When, later, they did hear of it, they were indignant. In their judgment it was utterly inexcusable for the rector of Christ Church to take the stump ​at a political meeting, held under the auspices of avowed agitators, for the purpose of proclaiming to the non-churchgoing public his social heresies, and of inviting the rabble to make itself indiscriminately at home in the stately pews, and among the exclusive worshipers of Christ Church. Truly he had belittled his calling, and mocked his vestry and affronted his people. The bishop should be notified of his conduct without delay. But the Reverend Mr. Farrar, having fully decided upon his course, did not permit himself to be swerved from it by adverse criticism. He had expected opposition, therefore he was not disappointed when he received it in abundance. He had never thought that his path would be unblocked. He was prepared to suffer for the cause he had espoused. He was ready, if necessary, to be socially ostracized if his opponents saw fit to emphasize their opposition in that manner. But he wished that his wife might be spared. She was so sensitive, so weak, so timid and soft-hearted, so dependent on the companionship and favor of those who were now, for the most part, out of sympathy with him. It was an unfortunate situation. Again the regret that she was not of the stuff of which martyrs are made passed uneasily across his mind. And on the heels of his regret there came an invitation that was not only a reassurance to her, but might also be interpreted as a token of sympathy with him. The rector and his wife were asked to dine at the Tracys' with a few friends. As to Mr. Tracy, the invitation was without significance so far as it bore any relation to recent events. He never concerned himself about controversies in the Church. He never discussed religious topics with any one. The only kind of an opinion that could be obtained from him was a professional opinion, duly considered, delivered and paid for. With his wife of course it was different. She had an opinion ready on every question that arose, and she was never averse to expressing it.
​Reading between the lines the rector could see that Mrs. Tracy's purpose in giving the invitation was to reassure Mrs. Farrar as to her social standing, notwithstanding her husband's heresies. And, reading still farther between the lines, he believed that Ruth had in mind his own encouragement in the course he was pursuing. He had not seen her since the night of the vestry meeting, but word had come to him that she was loyally supporting him in his interpretation of true religion, and in his idea of the mission of the Church. And why should she not support him? He had fully expected it of her. She was alert, intelligent, conscientious, in complete accord with that spirit of the times which made for progress. Somewhere she had imbibed ideas of social justice that did not fit in harmoniously with the practical if unstudied programme of her mother. Mrs. Tracy declared that she had imbided them at Bryn Mawr, from which institution she had been graduated with high honors in the recent past. But Mr. Tracy intimated that they were due to a tendency that she had inherited from certain of her paternal ancestors who had been distinguished members of the proletariat of their day. Be that as it may, her advocacy of a reformation in the social order was open and well known, not only to her intimates but to all of her friends. Philip Westgate was the only one of them who refused to take her seriously. To him her reformatory activity was only a manifestation of an exuberance of youth and conscience which would soon exhaust itself in the face of unrewarded tasks. She was too charming as a woman to remain long as a reformer.
Mr. Farrar had guessed, with reasonable accuracy, the respective purposes which Mrs. Tracy and her daughter had in mind in sending out their dinner invitations. It was true that Mrs. Tracy, sympathizing deeply with the rector's wife, desired to show her some attention of sufficient moment to indicate to her that ​her social position was intact. She said as much to her daughter Ruth in proposing the dinner.
"I think it's an excellent idea," replied Ruth, "to have Mr. and Mrs. Farrar here. They are both delightful people, and at this time especially they ought to be made to feel at home in every one of our houses."
"Oh," responded the mother, "I have no sympathy for Mr. Farrar. He deserves to have a social ban placed on him. He's making himself so perfectly ridiculous and—and obnoxious; yes, really obnoxious. I don't see what he can possibly be thinking about. I'm going to tell him so if he comes, and I'm going to do it openly and aboveboard. But as for his dear little wife, she must be protected against the consequences of his folly so far as we are able to protect her. Don't you think so?"
"I don't think it's folly on his part, mother; I think it's bravery. But, whatever it is, she should not suffer. Whom shall we invite to meet them?"
"That's what worries me. So many of the best people have taken umbrage at what Mr. Farrar's been preaching that really I don't know to whom he would be acceptable."
"Why not risk Mr. and Mrs. Claybank? or Colonel Boston and his wife?"
"Oh, dear me! Colonel Boston and Mr. Claybank can't endure the man. Jane Chichester said that both of them got fairly wild at the vestry meeting when he insisted on his free pew nonsense."
"Well, if you want some one who agrees with him, there are Mr. and Mrs. Hazzard, and Mr. Emberly and his sister."
"Ruth! What are you thinking of? Such ordinary people! Neither of those women is on my calling list, and I haven't even a speaking acquaintance with the men. I haven't swallowed Mr. Farrar's ideas of social equality yet; besides, this dinner is not on his account; ​it's on Mrs. Farrar's. I feel so sorry for her. Jane Chichester says she suffers terribly from what people say about her husband. Jane went to see her, you know, and tried to comfort her."
"I think I'd rather have one of Job's comforters than to have Jane if I were in distress."
"I know she's a dreadful gossip. But she means well; and she does an immense amount of church work. I think I'll invite Jane. She ought to be perfectly acceptable to both Mr. and Mrs. Farrar. And the Chichesters are one of the oldest and best families in the city."
"Very well, mother. I'm satisfied. Who else?"
"Of course Phil and his mother. That goes without saying. Jane says that Phil actually prevented a fight the night of the vestry meeting."
"Oh, mother! That's nonsense! Nobody thought of fighting. Phil told me all about it after the exaggerated and ridiculous story had spread all over the city. But Phil is a natural peacemaker, and while he doesn't agree with Mr. Farrar, I'm sure he is on friendly terms with him."
"Well, why not invite Judge and Mrs. Bosworth? I understand the judge's attitude toward Mr. Farrar is about the same as Philip's."
"I think they will do nicely. But now you should have another man."
"That's true! Let me see! I have it; I'll invite Barry!"
"Mother! Barry is so impossible as a dinner guest!"
"Why? He belongs to the wealthiest family in the city. He is of excellent character and has the manners of a gentleman."
"But his brains, mother, his brains!"
"I'll admit that nature was not over lavish to Barry in that respect, but he'll do very well indeed. And besides it will please Jane to have him here."
​"Yes, I suppose it will. Jane seems to be pursuing him with great avidity."
"And why shouldn't she? Barry would make her a very good husband. The marriage would unite two of the best families. Besides, you didn't want him yourself, why should you object to some other girl having him?"
"I don't object. Jane is quite welcome to him so far as I'm concerned, but—poor Barry! Think of what he'd have to listen to."
"Well, if he's like most men, what his wife would say would go in at one ear and out at the other, anyway."
"Yes, and in Barry's case the passage from one ear to the other would be so easy—nothing to interfere, you know."
"Ruth! To talk that way about your guests! It's positively sinful!"
"Well, I apologize. And I'm quite willing to admit that Barry has his good points. But so many of them lie dormant, and Jane Chichester would never be the woman to bring them out. I'll tell you what Barry needs, mother. He needs a wife, not necessarily of the cultured class, but one who can supply what he lacks in intellect, and who is sufficiently forceful and tactful to use him and his social position for the benefit of themselves and the city. As he is now, unmarried, he is more or less of a joke. With Jane Chichester as his wife, he would become practically a nonentity. With such a woman as I would pick out for him, his position and his happiness would be assured."
"But where is the woman?"
"Oh, I haven't the least idea. I haven't so much as—mother!"
"Well, what is it?"
"I have a thought."
"About what?"
"About whom Barry should marry."
​"Yes, you've just expressed it."
"But I mean that I have the particular person in mind."
"Well, who is it?"
"Why, it's Mrs. —— How foolish of me! I'll not mention her name. I have no right to. And I know very little about her anyway."
"Is she a widow?"
"Yes; and very beautiful. I have seen her. And she is said to be very bright mentally. There, never mind; have we settled on the guests?"
"Yes. Phil and his mother, Judge and Mrs. Bosworth, Jane and Barry, to meet Mr. and Mrs. Farrar. That's enough. I think Mrs. Farrar would dread a larger company. But about Barry——"
"I'm through talking about Barry, mother."
"Well, then, about Jane——"
"I'm through talking about Jane also."
"Then write the invitations."
Mr. and Mrs. Farrar came early on the evening of the dinner party. None of the other guests had yet arrived. Mrs. Tracy went up-stairs with the rector's wife. Mr. Tracy was still engaged in the laborious task of getting into his dinner coat. So Ruth and the rector entered the library alone.
"I've been wanting to tell you," said Ruth, "how thoroughly I approve of your recent stand for social equality in the Church. You've known my opinion, of course, but, in view of the adverse criticisms I'm afraid you've been receiving, I thought you might like to know it again."
"I am glad to know it again," responded the rector, "and you are very kind to give it to me. I value it because you know whereof you speak. Both theoretically and practically you know the needs of the poor, and the suspicions and aspirations of those in the humbler classes of society."
"And I know, too, that we shall never get those ​people into the Church, nor keep them if we do get them, until we treat them as equals. I quite agree with you that the first thing to do is to make all pews free."
"I am fully convinced of that, but I fear that I shall not be able to get my vestry to agree with me."
"Then we will elect a vestry that will agree with you."
"That is easier said than done."
"I'll turn politician for the purpose. I'll canvass the parish before the Easter election. I'm determined to do what I can to abolish class distinctions in Christ Church. Mother says I'm a fanatic. Phil more than half suspects that she is right. Father doesn't care."
"You seem to have enlisted for the war."
"I have. I'm at your command. I'm ready for any practical service to which you wish to put me. I'm tired of seeing Christ Church a mere fashionable Sunday club. I want to help make it a religious home for everybody."
"You are very brave and generous. But I'm afraid you haven't counted the cost."
"What will it cost?"
"Possibly your social standing."
"I can afford to lose that."
"You will have to face opposition, ridicule, protest, misinterpretation of your motives."
"No doubt. But these things do not worry me in the least. Mr. Farrar, my mind is made up. You cannot discourage me, nor drive me out of this contest. I shall be with you—to the end."
She stood in the soft glow of the shaded lamp, a picture of resolute and splendid young womanhood; a modern Joan of Arc, as brave-souled and pure-spirited as her prototype of old. The rector of Christ Church stepped forward and took the hand she held out to him.
"You are an inspiration," he said; "you have filled ​me with fresh courage to-night. We shall fight together. I believe God will give us the victory."
Her hand lay in his, warm, firm, clinging; pledge of her loyalty to him and of her faith in his ideals.
"There is one matter of immediate concern," he added, after a moment, "in which I want to ask your assistance."
"You shall have it."
"Thank you! You remember the Bradley case in court? The one that resulted in an enforced verdict?"
"Very well, indeed. I have fought it over with Phil several times. But I can't convince him that the verdict was unjust."
"I feel that it was. You know Bradley died?"
"Yes; and I know you said things at his burial for which his fellow-workmen have been commending you ever since. His widow declined to receive you, did she not?"
"She did. That is why I come to you for help. I want to ask if you would be willing to call on her. She is a woman of great strength of character, unusually intelligent, and has much influence in her own community. She came to church on one or two occasions prior to her husband's death, and she was present at the service last Sunday morning. While she is interested in the Church, she is distinctly hostile to it. I wish greatly that her attitude of hostility might be changed into one of at least friendliness, both for her own good and for the influence which she can command."
"I will call on her. I shall be very glad to. She is an unusual woman in appearance. I have heard that she is unusual also in character and ability. I'll do my best to persuade her."
"Thank you again. That's splendid!"
What a comfort she was! What an inspiration! What a pity that she was not the wife, not to become the wife of a progressive rector of an advancing church!
​Mrs. Tracy swept into the room, with Mrs. Farrar in tow.
"Oh, here you are!" she exclaimed, giving the rector a warm hand-grasp. "I suppose Ruth has been vowing allegiance to your heresies, Mr. Farrar. I can't get her to look at the matter reasonably, and Philip can't either; and her father just smiles and says she's of age and can do as she wants to."
"You'll have to convert Mr. Farrar first, mother," laughed Ruth, "and then let him convert me."
"It would serve you both right," continued the mistress of the house, "if we had Jim Dodder, the blacksmith, here to dine with you, with his three hundred and fifty pound wife who is bald on the back of her head."
"Oh, mother!" protested Ruth, "she doesn't weigh a bit over two hundred."
"Three hundred if she weighs a pound," insisted Ruth's mother. "Why, when she came the other day to call on our cook, the rocking-chair in the maid's sitting-room collapsed under her."
"And shall that be attributed to her for unrighteousness?" asked the rector.
"Now, Mr. Farrar," remonstrated the hostess, "don't try to evade the issue. You know what I'm driving at. Your ideas of social equality are perfectly ridiculous, I declare! Perfectly ridiculous!"
Mr. Farrar made no attempt to defend himself. Nor did he feel in the least hurt. He was quite accustomed to Mrs. Tracy's blunt, direct way of expressing her opinions. He knew, moreover, that she had the kindest of hearts, and always tempered her criticism with great mercy for her victim.
"Mother's afraid," said Ruth, "that in the new régime she'll have to wear a calico gown and a green sunbonnet to church, so as not to arouse the envy of the proletarians."
"And you'll have to wear them forever, in the New ​Jerusalem," retorted Mrs. Tracy, "if you keep on consorting with the lower classes here."
Then Judge and Mrs. Bosworth came, closely followed by Barry and Miss Chichester; and Mr. Tracy, having finally gotten into his evening coat, joined the group in the library.
Every one was cordial to the rector, and more than cordial to the rector's wife. The party bade fair to be all that Mrs. Tracy and Ruth had hoped for it. No untoward event occurred, and no unfortunate remark was made, until the dinner had been more than half served. Then it was Barry Malleson who blundered, as it might have been expected that he would, into what should have been forbidden ground.
He turned to Judge Bosworth, who was sitting diagonally across the table from him and said:
"This is the first opportunity I have had, Judge, to compliment you on the masterly way in which you wound up that Bradley case against us. As vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company I feel personally grateful to you. You will kindly accept my thanks."
The judge's face flushed with the annoyance he felt.
"You owe me nothing," he said, "not even thanks. The law in such cases is well settled. There was no chance for me to do otherwise than as I did."
"Judge," replied Barry, "you are too modest. It was your genius in applying the law so that it should serve the best interests of society that led to the judgment in our favor. The Malleson Manufacturing Company, as the great industrial plant of this city, paying out thousands of dollars weekly in wages, must not be subject to attack by any common laborer who happens to get hurt while in our employ. The lesson which the court has taught to that class of people will doubtless prove to be a most salutary one."
Then Barry, with a sense of duty well performed, resumed activity with his fork. But Judge Bosworth's ​face had grown redder, the rector's lips were tightly set, as if in an effort to prevent the escape from them of inadvertent words, and Ruth, fearful of the upsetting of her plans for a harmonious dinner, was nervously tapping the damask cloth with a shapely finger. Miss Chichester, seeing that Barry had unwittingly gotten himself into trouble, felt that it was her instant duty to help him out of it.
"Oh, but Barry's going to give Mrs. Bradley some money anyway, now that her husband's dead. Aren't you, Barry? I call that very generous."
"Yes," replied Barry, "if she'll take it. Something as a gift, you know. Purely as a gift. No obligation connected with it at all."
"A small sum as an honorarium, I suppose, Barry," said Mr. Tracy, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Exactly!" replied Barry, "an honorarium." The word sounded good to him. He meant to stow it away in his memory, for use on some other occasion.
"But what if she won't accept it?" asked Mrs. Tracy. "That kind of people are so very independent."
"Barry intends to keep calling on her and urging her, periodically, until she does accept it. Don't you, Barry?" inquired Westgate. Mr. Tracy and Westgate never seemed able to let escape them a good opportunity of having a little quiet amusement at Barry's expense.
"Why," replied Barry, "it might take one or two more visits to induce her to be reasonable about it, I don't know."
"Well," said Miss Chichester, "if she doesn't take it the second time it's offered to her, she should never have another chance. Barry can't afford to be perpetually chasing after ungrateful people to force money on them. Can you, Barry?"
"But what if Barry enjoys the chase?" asked Westgate.
Then the vice-president of the Malleson Manufactur​ing Company awoke to a dim consciousness of the fact that he was being made the subject of gentle raillery.
"Oh, now, look here, Phil," he said, "the woman's handsome and all that, you know; but really, belonging, as she does, to the laboring class, it's not to be presumed that she would drive so conservative a man as I am suddenly daft."
"She hasn't driven you suddenly daft, Barry," replied Westgate. "I'm sure that no one who has known you for any length of time would accuse her of having done that."
"Philip," remonstrated Ruth, "behave yourself!"
"And it seems to me," added Mrs. Tracy, "that it's entirely out of place anyway to talk about the attractions of a widow whose husband has only been dead for two or three weeks. A woman so recently bereaved is much more likely to spend her time in prayer and meditation than in making herself attractive to men."
"Mrs. Bradley isn't," said Westgate. "Is she, Mr. Farrar? You've had some talk with her along religious lines."
In spite of Ruth's warning glances, Westgate seemed determined that the conversation should remain centered on Mrs. Bradley.
"I'm afraid," replied the rector seriously, "that Mrs. Bradley is not much given to prayer as yet. But I have strong hope that we shall eventually make a good church-woman of her. With that in view I have asked Miss Tracy to take an early opportunity to call on her."
"Quite proper," said Barry. "I heartily approve of it."
"Oh, Ruth!" exclaimed Miss Chichester, "let me go with you when you go to call."
"No, Jane," replied Ruth firmly, "I think I can do more with her if I see her alone."
It might have ended there if Mrs. Tracy had not seen fit to declare:
​"Well, I don't see any use, anyway, in chasing after people of that class to get them into the Church. There's plenty of material to be worked on in our own grade of society. There are enough irreligious persons in our own social set to crowd the church if they could all be induced to attend the services. Mr. Farrar, why don't you and Ruth get after some of the upper-class derelicts? You might start with Effingham G. Tracy."
Mr. Tracy, sitting at the head of the table, smiled faintly but made no response. He did not seem to be in the least concerned about his wife's opinion of him.
"Very good, Mrs. Tracy!" exclaimed Barry. "Very good, indeed! I think, myself, that Mr. Tracy would be a proper subject for evangelization."
Mr. Tracy's smile broadened, but still he did not respond. Like another celebrated character, he could be silent in seven languages. Then Mr. Farrar replied to Mrs. Tracy's question.
"We feel," he said, "that those who have not had the advantages of wealth and education and culture are entitled to our first efforts. The Christian message is primarily to the humble and the poor."
"There you go again," she responded. "'The humble and the poor,' 'equality in the Church' and all that. Upon my word, Mr. Farrar, if you and Ruth had your way we should be hobnobbing to-night with the élite of Factory Hill."
"And why not?" The rector's voice was gentle enough, but there was not one of the company who did not feel the earnest thrill of it, the ring of determination in it, not one, save Barry. He simply noticed that no one else replied to the rector's question, and he considered that it was quite his duty to make a response.
"Oh, now, look here, Farrar," he said. "You don't mean that. Why should we make companions of the kind of people who live on Factory Hill?"
"Because Jesus Christ did."
​Even Barry could realize, now, that the rector had picked up the gauntlet thrown down to him by his hostess and her fatuous guest, and stood ready to defend his ideal against all the company. The light in his eye, the color in his cheeks, denoted the spirit and the zeal that were blazing within him. For a moment no one spoke. Mrs. Bosworth sent a warning glance across the table to her husband. Mrs. Farrar's eyes dropped, and her face paled with apprehension. Ruth looked appealingly at her lover, as though to beg him not, at this time, to cross swords with the rector. Even Mrs. Tracy, feeling that the situation was rapidly getting beyond her control, sought some method of gently relieving it. Turning to Barry she said, quietly:
"Now, Barry, don't you and Mr. Farrar get into any argument. It wouldn't be a bit interesting to the rest of us. We're just going to convict Mr. Farrar and Ruth without giving them a chance to make any defense. There, you're convicted, both of you."
"Of what?" asked the rector, smiling again.
"Heaven knows!" responded his hostess. "But I turn you over to Judge Bosworth for sentence."
The judge, falling easily into the drift of Mrs. Tracy's thought, glad to avert what had promised to be a most incongruous and unfortunate incident, rose readily to the occasion.
"Very well," he said. "The sentence of the court is that you, the Reverend Robert Farrar, and you, Miss Ruth Tracy, each pay a visit to Mrs. John Bradley, and undergo an imprisonment in her house at hard labor with her for a period of at least twenty minutes, and that you stand committed to Mr. Tracy's views on church polity until this sentence is complied with."
Westgate broke in at once.
"Your Honor," he said, "my client, Barry Malleson, desires to plead guilty of a similar offense, provided he may receive a similar sentence."
​With assumed gravity the judge commanded the prisoner to stand up. Barry rose, looking somewhat bewildered. The comedy was being played rather too rapidly for him to take it completely in as it progressed.
"Barry Malleson," said the judge, "the court accepts your plea of guilty. Your offense is aggravated beyond that of the other defendants, in that, by your own confession, you have offered money to a proletarian, by means of which she might have placed herself on a par with the four hundred of this city. Nor are there any extenuating circumstances in your case. The sentence of the court therefore is that you also pay a visit to Mrs. John Bradley; that you undergo an imprisonment in her house, for a period of at least forty minutes, that you come away with a whole purse and a whole heart; and you are hereby paroled in the custody of Miss Jane Chichester until this sentence is complied with."
"And I'll see," said Miss Chichester, "that Barry doesn't break his parole."
It was most inconsequential foolery, but it served its purpose. The strain was relaxed. The atmosphere was cleared. Mrs. Farrar and Mrs. Bosworth were relieved of their apprehensions, and Ruth was once more at ease. New subjects of conversation were introduced, and the dinner progressed to a happy and harmonious close.
If Mr. Farrar had expected that either Judge Bosworth or Westgate would show any lack of friendliness or loss of cordiality toward him, he was agreeably disappointed. There appeared to be no change in the attitude of either of them. So far as Westgate was concerned he still had a most kindly feeling for the rector. The two men had been on terms of more than usual intimacy. They were nearly of the same age, possessed of similar cultured tastes, endowed with an equal degree of intellectuality. It is true that while ​the minister was vigorous, enthusiastic, and perhaps visionary, Westgate was calm, logical and conservative. But their differing traits were complementary, and added to, instead of detracting from, their liking for each other. Westgate had watched, with deep regret, the rector's gradual drift toward the shoals of socialism. He feared that, sooner or later, lured on by these beautiful fallacies which made so strong an appeal to his humanitarian sense, the minister would wreck a career otherwise brilliant with promise. He did not concede that he, himself, was lacking in the broader vision, or that he had failed to discover the drift of humanity toward a better social order. He freely admitted that such a betterment was desirable; but he insisted that progressives and enthusiasts like Farrar were going about the business in an utterly mistaken way, and that the effect of their propaganda would be to retard instead of to advance the coming of the ideal state. He had not yet found the opportunity to have that talk with the rector which he had declared to the vestry he intended to have. It was unfortunate, too, because he expected to leave the city the following day for an extended trip in the West; and after his return it might be too late. Events often follow each other rapidly in affairs like these. While coffee was being served in the library it occurred to him that he might have a brief interview with the minister on this occasion. It would be better than none at all. Excusing themselves on Westgate's plea that he desired to talk over some Church matters with the minister before going West, they entered the den of the master of the house, adjoining the library. Closeted here, with fragrant wreaths of tobacco smoke curling toward the ceiling, the two men plunged at once into friendly combat. They discussed socialism in all of its phases as expounded by its great protagonists, from Marx and Engel down to Spargo and Hillquit.
They dissected the doctrine of the materialistic con​ception of history, the doctrine of surplus values, of collective ownership, of the distribution of wealth among the workers, in short all of the material doctrines predicated on socialism. But there was little yielding on either side, and they found little common ground. When they advanced, in the argument, to that modified form of socialism advocated by some Christian workers, including Farrar himself, they found still fewer points of agreement. The rector contended that the ideals of socialism were entirely consistent with, and simply an evolution of the doctrines propounded by the Founder of Christianity who was, Himself, distinctly of the leveling type; that the materialism which had been injected into the socialistic philosophy was due entirely to the personal prejudices, and these in turn to the environment, of some of the great leaders of the movement, and was not inherent in the philosophy itself. He insisted that the anti-religious and unmoral, if not immoral, vagaries that had attached themselves to the socialistic faith could and eventually would be swept away, leaving a body of doctrine which might and ought to be adopted by every sincere advocate of the coming of the kingdom of Christ.
To which Westgate replied that Jesus Christ was not a socialist, that while the government of His time and country was honeycombed with corruption, and brutal in its oppression of the common people, He neither attacked it, nor made any attempt to reform existing political or social conditions. He condemned the rich because the riches of His day were mostly ill-gotten, and He pitied and tried to comfort the poor because they were, of all men of His generation, most miserable. But His chief concern, and His constant plea, was for the spiritual regeneration of the individual man. Moreover, that, since socialism declared the evils of society to be solely the product of blind economic forces, and not, in any sense, the result of individual unrighteousness, and since it denied any spiritual ​incentive to good behavior, and made economic justice the sole factor in the establishment of right relations between man and man, it was therefore, and must of necessity be, diametrically opposed, not only to Christianity but to all religions. And its advocacy of freedom from certain moral restraints, particularly the avowed doctrine of practically all of its great propagandists—a doctrine flowing naturally and necessarily from its basic theory—to the effect that the bonds of marriage should be assumed and thrown off, as the amorous fancy of those concerned might dictate, that divorce should be granted freely, without stated cause, at the will of the parties; this in itself was sufficient to put socialism, in any form, outside the pale of the Church, and make it abhorrent to Christian civilization.
So they talked and argued, always in perfect good nature, always with a feeling of personal friendliness, but they reached no common ground. The rector would not yield his idealism. Westgate would not yield his conservatism. Then they came directly to the question of the trouble in the Church. Again Mr. Farrar explained his ambition to make Christ Church a church of the people. He had the kindliest feeling toward all of his parishioners. He would not offend nor hurt any man willingly or wantonly. But his whole heart went out to the hundreds and thousands in the city who were deprived of the benefits and comforts of religion because of the social attitude toward them of those in the churches. There must come a change in Christ Church. He prayed that it might be a peaceful one; but if a conflict should be necessary in order to effect it, then he would welcome the conflict.
Westgate assured him that so far as his concern for the poor and the churchless was concerned he did not stand alone; that he himself was ready to adopt any course that would permanently better their condition, either religious or secular, so long as it did not conflict with the rights and the welfare of the parish at large; but that ​he was not willing to sacrifice the mental and physical comfort and self-respect of the bulk of the parishioners for the sake of temporarily gratifying the class-consciousness of a portion of the community that Christ Church could never hope to retain. He pointed out, moreover, in plain terms, the probable result of persistence by the rector in the course which he had marked out. The financial supporters of the church would become lukewarm, or openly antagonistic. The revenues would decrease. The proper work of the church would languish. If the conflict continued, enmity would be aroused, hatred would be engendered, the parish would be split into warring factions, a breach would be opened that years would not serve to close.
"It was proof of the true Messiah," replied the rector, "that the poor had the gospel preached to them. Would you, because of these material dangers which I grant you are imminent, have me fail to do my duty to the poor whom Christ loved?"
"By no means," said Westgate. "But your proper duty to the poor can be performed without sacrificing the interests of the rich and the well-to-do, to whom you also owe a duty, and whose souls may be as precious in the sight of the Almighty as are the souls of the destitute. A soul is a soul, regardless of its physical environment."
"But Christ was the Master and the Judge of souls. And He did not favor the rich. His entire concern was for the poor. I consider my paramount duty, in accordance with His teaching, to be to the poor."
"And in the performance of that supposed duty you are willing to bring about the destruction of Christ Church?"
"My purpose is not to bring about the destruction of Christ Church, but to bring about the destruction of that spirit of selfishness and exclusiveness in the church which is even now destroying it."
It was plain to Westgate that the rector would not ​listen to reason, and that argument must give way to action. When he next spoke it was with determination.
"We shall not permit you to send this church to wreck, Mr. Farrar."
"God forbid that I should do so! It is my purpose to make Christ Church bigger, stronger, more spiritual than she has been before in all her history."
"You are a visionary."
"I am a prophet. You shall see."
"Very well."
Westgate rose and discarded the stump of his cigar. "I am not with you; therefore I shall be against you. Let me make that plain."
"I am sorry. You would have been a splendid comrade in the fight."
The rector was going on to say something more, but there came a knock at the door leading to the library, and he opened it. Mrs. Tracy stood there with an inquiring look on her face.
"May I ask," she said, "when this star-chamber session is to end?"
"It is at an end now, Mrs. Tracy," replied Westgate.
"Well, I should hope so," she responded. "Do you men know how long you have been closeted together? Exactly an hour and forty minutes. Ruth and Jane have played all the music they know; Barry's told all the funny stories he can remember; Mrs. Farrar's yawning, and Mrs. Bosworth says she's simply got to go home. So I think it's time for you to come out and apologize."
They did come out and apologize. Westgate took all the blame for their apparent rudeness on his shoulders; and Miss Chichester promised forgiveness if only they would disclose what they had been talking about. She surmised, but she never knew.
At any rate, Mrs. Tracy's purpose in giving the dinner had been accomplished; the apprehensive soul ​of Mrs. Farrar had, for the time being, been reassured, and Ruth had had an opportunity to show to Mr. Farrar that he was not yet persona non grata to certain of the wealthy members of his parish.
During the few minutes that Westgate had alone with Ruth before leaving the Tracy home, he took occasion to say to her:
"I've had it out with the rector to-night, but he'll not be convinced. I have told him that, in my humble judgment, he is steering Christ Church straight on the rocks."
"I too," she replied, "have talked with him to-night, and I have told him that in my humble judgment he is absolutely in the right, and that I shall be with him to the end."
"Ruth, I am very sorry."
"Why should you be sorry?"
"Because you will not only help this man to wreck the church, but you will do yourself a great injustice."
"The church will not be wrecked, and I am willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of the disinherited poor."
"Then this dreamer has not only blinded you to the fate of Christ Church, but has led you to the brink of self-immolation?"
"He is not a dreamer, Philip. He has not blinded me, nor has he sought to blind me. He has not led me, nor has he sought to lead me. I have offered myself voluntarily for service in his cause. I believe in him, and in his ideals, and in his method of applying Christianity to the conditions that surround us. I have enlisted for the war under his command, and I have told him so."
Looking on her as she stood there, erect, clear-eyed and self-confident, Westgate could have no doubt of her entire belief in the rector, and of her complete absorption in his cause. His heart was stirred with keen regret and sharp foreboding, for he could see only sorrow and bitter disappointment for her, long before the ​end of this chimerical crusade could be reached. And yet he was powerless to hold her back. He knew that in her present condition of mind neither argument nor entreaty would be of any avail. She must be permitted to go her way unchecked until the day of final disillusionment. He prayed that that day might speedily come, with only a modicum of disaster.
"We'll not quarrel about it now, dear," he said. "It will be a good many days before I shall see you again, and we must part, to-night, as lovers."
Holding his hands she looked up into his face with moist eyes.
"If I could only have you with me in the fight," she murmured; "you would make such a splendid comrade."
He did not reply at once. The similarity of her expression with that used by the rector earlier in the evening struck in upon him ominously.
"You will have me," he said at last, "to rescue you, and bind up your wounds when the battle goes against you."
"And are you not afraid that you will be giving aid and comfort to the enemy?"
"Oh, no! I will simply be taking the part of the Good Samaritan."
He had drawn her into his arms, and, though clouds and darkness obscured the future, there could be no doubt that, to-night at least, they were still lovers.