# The Unhallowed Harvest/Chapter 7

The deliberations of boards in control of private corporations are not, as a rule, presumed to be disclosed to the public. This rule holds especially good when applied to vestries of churches. It is not, usually, either necessary or wise that the whole body of parishioners should be taken into the confidence of the vestry. There are so many things that can better be discussed and settled by a small, representative body of men, with power to act, than by the parish at large. It was, of course, tacitly understood by the members of the vestry that nothing should be said, outside their own membership, concerning the clash with the rector on the night of the vestry meeting. Nevertheless, the entire incident, with many variations and exaggerations, had become public property within twenty-four hours after its occurrence. It is a moral impossibility to keep such things hid. The very light of the next day reveals them. Moreover, most of the vestrymen were married. Their wives were as deeply interested as they in all matters pertaining to the Church. It is a man of extraordinary firmness who can hold back from an anxious and devoted wife legitimate information on a subject which is close to her heart.
At any rate, before sundown the next day, the whole parish was buzzing with the news of the conflict at the vestry meeting. Of course the people of the parish were divided in their opinions. The greater part of them, comprising nearly all of the rich and well-to-do, were strenuously opposed not only to the policy of free pews, but also to the idea of meeting the inferior classes ​on terms of social equality in any of the affairs of the Church. They were quite willing, as they had always been, to give liberally to the charities of the Church, and to uphold its institutional life and activities to the best of their ability; but when it came to a matter of social recognition, they drew the line, and they drew it straight.
It was, broadly speaking, only among the less prosperous persons in the parish that those were found who sided warmly with the rector. Those who were called "advanced," "progressive," "visionary," those with deep sympathies and humanitarian impulses, those with new theories of government, and a passionate desire to witness, if not to assist in, the overturning of the social order; these were the ones who, together with nearly all of the poor, espoused heartily the cause of the rector, and as heartily condemned the reactionary attitude of the vestry.
It was early in the afternoon of Saturday that the news reached Miss Chichester, or rather that Miss Chichester overtook the news. There was seldom anything in the way of church gossip or a parish sensation that did not early reach the ears of Miss Chichester on its way through the community. And this vestry incident was a particularly attractive, not to say sensational bit of gossip. Miss Chichester could not rest with the exhilarating burden of it on her mind. She was eaten up with curiosity to know how the Reverend Mr. Farrar was taking the blunt criticism that, according to her informant, had been hurled at his head by certain members of the vestry, and how Mrs. Farrar was bearing up under the indignities that had been heaped upon her husband. Naturally and logically the most appropriate way of satisfying her curiosity would be to call at the rectory. As she was active and diligent in church work there were plenty of excuses for such a call. She gowned herself becomingly and sallied forth. At the corner of the street ​leading to the rectory she met Barry Malleson. He also was in full afternoon dress.
"Oh, Barry!" she exclaimed, "have you heard the news?"
"What news?" he inquired.
"About the awful time they had at the vestry meeting last night."
"Yes, I heard about it. I consider it highly improper to have such a rumpus as that in a vestry meeting. I consider it time for some one with brains and judgment to interfere. I thought I'd better see what I could do. I'm just on my way up now to call on Farrar and try to get the thing settled."
"How perfectly lovely of you! I was going up there too. I wanted to see Mr. Farrar about the Doncaster family. We'll go up together."
"No; I won't interfere with your call. My errand 'll keep. I'll go some other day."
"Indeed, you won't! You'll go now. I'll not be a bit in your way."
"No; I'll wait."
"Barry! Don't be foolish! Come along!"
"All right! I can tell him in a few minutes what I think of the situation. Then you can have him the rest of the afternoon."
"What do you think of the situation, Barry?"
"I think it's ridiculous!"
"Isn't it!"
"Yes; Farrar's dead wrong. I shall tell him so."
"How I shall enjoy hearing you tell him!"
They were passing up the street in the shade of aristocratic trees beginning now to take on the flush of autumn. She looked up coyly and trustingly into his face as she walked and talked, but he was too deeply absorbed in the importance of his errand to give much heed to her patent admiration.
It was not far to the rectory. The maid who answered the bell told them that Mr. Farrar was in and ​alone. He met them in the hall and took them into his study.
"Miss Chichester has an errand," said Barry, "that she wishes to dispose of, and when she's through I have something on my own mind that I want to talk about."
"Oh, no, Barry!" cried Miss Chichester. "You're entitled to the first hearing. Your errand is so much more important than mine."
"Shall I act as umpire?" inquired the rector.
"No," replied Barry. "It doesn't make much difference. I'll say what I want to and get through and get out. Why, you know, I came up to see you about—about that little trouble at the vestry meeting last night."
"How did you know that there was trouble?"
"Oh, it came to me pretty straight," replied Barry.
"Everybody knows it," added Miss Chichester.
"The vestry should have been more discreet," said the rector. "But no matter. What is it you wish to say about the meeting?"
"I want to say," replied Barry, "that I heartily disapprove of disturbances of that kind in a vestry meeting."
"I'm glad to hear you say so. So do I." The rector smiled as he spoke, and nodded his approval.
"Yes," continued Barry. "A vestry should always act harmoniously, I may say unanimously. There should, however, be a strong hand to guide them. I'm inclined to stand for election to the vestry myself, next Easter. I think I could be of a good deal of service."
"That's a splendid idea," assented Miss Chichester. "Barry has such excellent judgment."
"Yes; thank you, Jane. But," continued Barry, "I understand that the disturbance was brought on by your advocating free pews. Now, you know, Farrar, it would never do to have free pews in Christ Church."
"Don't you think so?"
"Of course not. Just imagine who might come and ​sit with you. Such a fellow as Bricky Hoover, for instance, who works in our mill, and thinks he has a right to go anywhere. I tell you, Farrar, it's impossible. Utterly impossible!"
"I'm sorry you don't approve of it."
"And, in a general way, don't you know, I don't approve of your attitude toward the laboring classes. As a prominent parishioner, a leading citizen, and as vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company, I must respectfully suggest that it is—a—extremely inappropriate for the rector of Christ Church to join with the lower classes in the attack on wealth and—a—culture, and all those things, you know. I speak as a friend, Farrar. As one man of high social grade to another man of high social grade. You see?"
"I understand. I'm glad to have the opinion of any of my parishioners on my sermons or conduct."
Barry felt that he was making a conquest; that the rector was swinging around to his views.
"You see," he went on, flicking an imaginary speck of dust, as he spoke, from the surface of an immaculate waistcoat, "we of the upper classes are responsible for the preservation and advancement in the world, of art, literature, beauty and, I may say, of religion; and it becomes our duty——"
Here Miss Chichester interrupted him to say:
"Excuse me, Barry; I just want to ask Mr. Farrar if Mrs. Farrar is at home. If she is, I would dearly love to have a five minutes' chat with her."
"She's at home," was the reply; "up-stairs, I think. I'll ask Stella."
The maid came in response to his ring, and was sent to inquire if Mrs. Farrar would see Miss Chichester. She returned in a minute to say that Mrs. Farrar would be delighted, if Miss Chichester wouldn't mind going up-stairs to the nursery, where Mrs. Farrar was temporarily engaged. Of course Miss Chichester wouldn't mind. It would be her first glimpse of the nursery ​which she had long been curious to see. She found Mrs. Farrar there in temporary charge of the youngest member of the family who had just fallen asleep.
"What a lovely child!" exclaimed Miss Chichester in a whisper, bending over the crib.
"Yes, he's a dear. He doesn't mind in the least having people talk in the room when he's asleep," said Mrs. Farrar.
"How comforting that is!" Miss Chichester took a chair near the window where she could look out across the rectory lawn to the street. "We missed you so at the Parish Aid Society Tuesday afternoon at Ruth Tracy's. You weren't ill, were you?"
"Oh, no. Mr. Farrar discovered another poor family up in the eight hundred block. The mother's bedridden, and nothing would do but I must go up and see her Tuesday afternoon."
"How kind Mr. Farrar is to the poor. What a pity it is that the vestry isn't in sympathy with him in his concern for the lower classes."
"Isn't it? I didn't know."
"I'm told it isn't. That's what led to the trouble last evening."
"What trouble, Miss Chichester?"
"Why, the trouble at the vestry meeting. Hasn't Mr. Farrar told you about it?"
"Not a word. He rarely tells me about unpleasant happenings; they worry me so. What was the trouble at the vestry meeting?"
"Perhaps I ought not to tell you, either."
"Oh, I suppose I'll hear about it sooner or later; you might as well tell me." She settled herself back in her chair with a sigh.
"Well, they all got into a dreadful quarrel."
"Is it possible? What about?"
"About free pews. Mr. Farrar wanted the pews declared free, and they all opposed him but Mr. Emberly and Mr. Hazzard."
​"I'm so sorry! Robert is so far ahead of the times. Did Mr. Westgate oppose him?"
"Yes; Mr. Westgate and Mr. Hughes, and Mr. Claybank——"
"And Judge Bosworth?"
"Yes, Judge Bosworth, and—oh, all of the best men in the vestry. Isn't it too bad!"
"It's pitiful!" She sighed again, and her face grew a little paler and more anxious. "I hope there were no harsh words used, Miss Chichester. I couldn't stand it to have any one speak harshly to Mr. Farrar."
"Why, yes, I believe some very harsh words were used—not by your husband, my dear; he's a gentleman. But they—now really, I mustn't tell you this."
"But I want to know. No matter how dreadful it is."
"Well, they demanded Mr. Farrar's resignation as rector."
"Miss Chichester!"
"Yes, and then withdrew the demand. And then Mr. Emberly and Mr. Hazzard got very angry and said some dreadful things, and —— Oh, Mrs. Farrar, really I must not tell you any more."
"Go on, please; let me hear it all."
"Well, if I must tell it; these gentlemen and Mr. Hughes and Colonel Boston said shocking things to each other, and they were going to fight——"
"To fight! in the vestry meeting!"
"Yes, actually to fight. And Mr. Westgate and Mr. Farrar stepped between them and prevented it, and they had to adjourn the meeting before they were through, in order to avoid more trouble."
"How dreadful!"
"Isn't it dreadful! But you mustn't take my word for it, Mrs. Farrar. I'm only telling you what I heard, and just as I heard it. It's so unfortunate that all the best men in the vestry should be so bitterly opposed to Mr. Farrar."
​"Do you think they are, Miss Chichester? Do you really think they are unfriendly to Mr. Farrar?"
There was an appealing tone in the woman's voice that should have gone straight to Miss Chichester's heart, and led her into making some effort to repair the havoc she had already wrought; but Miss Chichester was enjoying too deeply the sensation she was creating to take much note of the pain she was giving to her listener.
"I'm afraid they are, Mrs. Farrar," she replied. "I'm afraid they will make it very uncomfortable for Mr. Farrar if he insists on trying to carry out his projects. I do hope he'll abandon them, if it's necessary to do it in order to avoid trouble in the church."
The child in the crib stirred and moaned in its sleep, and the mother went to it and readjusted its position and murmured some soothing words to it, and returned to her chair.
"I am so sorry," she said.
"Indeed, it is terrible," assented Miss Chichester. "I thought I must come in and give you what little comfort I could. I brought Barry Malleson along, and he's down-stairs with Mr. Farrar now, trying to prevail on him not to antagonize the vestrymen any more. Barry isn't a communicant, you know, but he's a man of such good judgment."
"Is he?"
"Oh, very."
"I do hope Mr. Farrar will listen to him."
Miss Chichester rose to take her departure, but it was five minutes later before she actually got away, and when she went down-stairs Barry had already gone. He had not accomplished all that he had hoped to accomplish when he came, but he felt that he had made it so clear to the rector that he was on the wrong track that his restoration to reason and good judgment would necessarily soon follow.
​But, while Barry left behind him a smiling, self-confident and optimistic host, Miss Chichester left in her wake a woman on whom the shock of disclosure had fallen with grievous and humiliating force. She had feared that something of the kind might happen, but she had never thought that it would come like this. She could not quite believe that the best people in the parish were in direct opposition to her husband; that gentlemen of the vestry who had always treated her with such marked courtesy and consideration could be so openly antagonistic toward him. And if it were all true, in what a cruel position was she herself placed. By birth, breeding and social alignment she belonged to the cultured class. She shirked none of the duties of a rector's wife, so far as her physical and mental ability enabled her to perform those duties. She was devoted to her husband, her children and her Church. It was true that the new, and to her strange and incomprehensible, ideas promulgated by her husband concerning the duty of the Church and its adherents toward the humble and the poor gave her some anxiety when she heard them or thought about them; but she considered herself so ignorant in such matters, and regarded him as being so wise, that she usually preferred to dismiss the subject from her mind rather than to dwell upon it to her own confusion. Up to this time his attitude had not interfered in any way with her Church activities or her social relaxations. It had caused her no great embarrassment, nor had it given her any particular concern. But now a point had been reached beyond which the attempted carrying out of his policy must inevitably reflect upon her. If Miss Chichester's story was true, the situation had grown suddenly acute. The most prominent men of the Church had come out in open rebellion against her husband. Their wives would naturally sympathize with them and side with them. They belonged to the class in which all of her social activities had been performed, and all ​of her social friendships maintained. How could she hope to hold her position among these people and at the same time remain loyal to her husband? It was a cruel dilemma in which she had, by no fault of her own, been suddenly and rudely placed.
At dinner time that evening her husband noticed her apparent distraction and despondency, and inquired of her concerning the cause of it. She successfully evaded his questions, and it was not until after the children had been put to bed that she repeated to him the tale that Miss Chichester had told to her that afternoon. He assured her that she had heard a grossly exaggerated account of what had actually taken place, but in its really material aspects he could not do otherwise than confirm the story. He did not consider, he said, that the opposition to his plans would necessarily lead to their suppression.
"I may never be able," he added, "to induce my vestry to act with me in these matters; nevertheless I shall not relax my effort to make Christ Church a haven for 'all sorts and conditions of men.'"
"I suppose you are right about it, Robert," she replied. "Of course you are. I must take your judgment in these matters because I don't know anything about them myself, and I've never been able to understand them. But it seems so sad to me, and so—so humiliating that it was necessary to antagonize all these people who have been such dear friends to us ever since we've been here."
"You take a narrow view of the situation, Alice. The question is not whether we are going to keep or lose friends; but it is whether I am right or wrong. If I am right, as I truly believe I am, then nothing, no opposition, no antagonism, no suffering of any kind should swerve me from my course. If these people are antagonistic, the antagonism is theirs. I have only the kindliest feeling toward all of them."
"But, Robert, it seems to me that it is so necessary ​to keep them friendly to us, and interested in the Church. What would we do without them?"
"I want to keep them interested in the Church and friendly to us, and I believe I shall. But the Church should not be exclusively for them. They are already receiving all of the benefits which the Church has to offer, while outside there is a great multitude of the Churchless who are spiritually starving and dying for want of just such aid as I am forbidden by these vestrymen to hold out to them. I must choose my own path, and I believe my paramount duty is not to the comfortably situated within the Church but to the physically and spiritually poor without it."
"I know, Robert, but couldn't we visit the poor, and supply their needs, and be kind and charitable to them in every way, and try to get them to the services and into the Church without taking them in as our social equals?"
"No, Alice; that method has been tried for ages, and the working classes are drifting farther and in larger numbers away from us. If we want them in the Church we must welcome them there as our equals. There's no other way to get them or to keep them. And there must be not only social equality in the Church, there must be a fair measure of economic equality outside. Our wealthy churchmen must set the first example of economic justice, and cease piling up great individual fortunes at the expense of the men who labor. I tell you this control of the wealth of the world by a few, and this control of the Church by those wealthy few, is so unjust and so unchristian that——"
"Oh, Robert, don't! I can't understand those arguments; I never could. I'll admit that you are right. But what worries me is what our relations are going to be with these people who are so opposed to us, and who have been our good friends."
"We shall still be friendly to them."
"But what if they won't be friendly to us?"
​"That will be their loss; and one more assurance, to my mind, that we are doing the will of our Master."
"That's easy enough to say; but how can you manage to carry on the work of the Church without the aid of Judge Bosworth, and Mr. Claybank, and Philip Westgate, and all those men who have always been so helpful and so—so splendid in every way?"
"You're crossing your bridges before you get to them. These men have not withdrawn their help. If the time comes that they do, another way will be found to carry on the work. This is one of the least of the problems that confront me."
"But, Robert, what will I do without the friendship and society of Mrs. Bosworth and Mrs. Claybank and Philip Westgate's mother, and all the other ladies who have been so perfectly lovely to me ever since I've been here? I can be good to women of another social grade, but I can't associate with them, and I must have my friends."
At last her grievance and her fear had formed definite expression. The one was personal and the other was selfish. She never rose above the level of her domestic and social environment. She never caught even a glimpse of the things for which he was fighting, as they presented themselves to his spiritual vision. He tossed his head impatiently as he replied:
"I do not think you need to borrow trouble. You will not be deserted on my account. But if, by any chance, matters should come to such a pass that you are socially outlawed because of my adherence to my duties as a Christian minister, then I trust you will accept the situation with fortitude, in the spirit of the martyrs, in order to advance the cause for which I shall be fighting."
"That's all very well for you to say, Robert. But you're a man and you can go out and fight and forget. © And I'm a woman, and I'll have to stay at home, ostracized and deserted, and grieve myself to death. I was ​never intended to be a martyr, and I can't be! I can't be!"
"Then you shouldn't have married a clergyman who believes in the sacredness of his calling."
It was an unkind thing for him to say, and he knew it the moment the words had left his lips, and he regretted that he had said them. He saw her face pale, and a hurt look come into her eyes, but she did not appear to be angry. He rose, crossed over to where she was sitting, and bent down and kissed her.
"There, dear," he said, "I'm sorry if I hurt you. We won't talk about it any more, and we'll hope for the best."
She laid her hand in his; but it was evident, from the look on her face, that the hurt remained, and that she found little comfort in his expression of regret.
"I must go out now," he added after a moment, "and make a sick call—Rodney McAllister, you know. And when I come back I'll go over my sermon for tomorrow."
He got his hat, and she helped him on with his overcoat, and kissed him good-bye at the door, but over them both there was a shadow of restraint of which they had seldom been aware during the years of their married life.
It was too bad, he thought, as he descended the steps of the rectory, crossed the lawn, and went down the pavement in the shadow of the church, that his wife had not the energy and the desire to join him, not only in his campaign for souls outside, but also in his crusade for righteousness within the Church. If she could only see beyond the circle of her daily life, if she could only understand and appreciate the things he stood for and fought for, if only she were an inspiration to him instead of a retarding force, with what added courage and enthusiasm, with what relentless perseverance and unconquerable energy could he not push forward to the accomplishment of his glorious purpose.
​Not that he intended to be disloyal to her, even in his remotest thought. She was charming as a woman, she was devoted as a wife, she was ideal as a mother, but—it was such a pity that she could not see the visions that he saw, and help him to realize them. If she had but the zeal and ability and view-point of Ruth Tracy, for instance. Ah! There was a woman who was created for a rector's wife. And she was to marry a layman; a kind-hearted and brilliant, but conservative layman, who would doubtless check her aspiration toward the larger righteousness, and bind her with the chains of deadening custom. It was unfortunate; it was, in a way, deplorable; but it was one of those unpreventable situations with which only providence might dare to interfere. He heaved a sigh of regret, quickened his pace, and went forward to the accomplishment of his errand.
On his way back from Rodney McAllister's, as he passed down the main street of the city, he came to Carpenter's Hall. Inside the hall a public meeting was in progress. It had been called by certain labor leaders for the purpose of discussing and deciding upon the attitude of labor in the political campaign then fairly under way. Those who were wise in such things said that the socialists were back of it. The minister stopped to read the poster announcing the meeting, and when he had read it it occurred to him that he would enter the hall and listen to the speeches. He might learn something which would be of benefit to him, on a subject in which he was deeply interested. It was late when he pushed his way into the auditorium, and several of the speakers had already been heard. Representatives of trade-unionism, of socialism, even of syndicalism, had been duly applauded and occasionally hissed as they presented their views in turn to their audience. Representatives and candidates of the old-line parties had been excluded from the speaker's platform.
​At the moment when Mr. Farrar entered the hall Stephen Lamar was occupying the rostrum. It was apparent that he had the crowd with him. His crude eloquence always captured the audience that he saw fit to address. He was a trade-unionist, and one of the leaders of the large and growing body of socialists in the city, though his views were somewhat too radical to please all of them. However, his influence, his power and his leadership were recognized, not only by workingmen who went to him for advice, but also by politicians who went to him for aid and counsel.
The rector of Christ Church was recognized by some of those who were crowding the aisles, and they made way for him so that he might get farther to the front where he could both see and hear. One man rose and offered him a seat, for the benches were filled; but he preferred to stand.
The gist of Lamar's argument was that while trade-unionism was a good thing so far as it went—he himself was a trade-unionist—it did not go far enough. It was only through socialism, and through political action under the auspices of the socialist party that the workingman would be finally disenthralled. Socialism was the only instrument under heaven which labor could successfully use to enforce its demands upon society. If conservative socialism was not sufficient to accomplish that end, then radical socialism must be employed, and if radical socialism should prove to be insufficient, then resort must be had to syndicalism. In any event, at whatever cost, the capitalist must go. The era of the industrial commonwealth must be ushered in. And with that era would come peace and plenty, comfort and enjoyment, the luxuries of life to all who cared to have them. But this glorious end could not be accomplished without a struggle, and a fierce one. If labor was ever to release itself from the burden of such laws as made John Bradley's disappointment and death a crime against humanity, it must turn deaf ears to the ​specious pleas of the old line politicians, it must wholly disregard the silly vaporings of the capitalistic press, it must shake itself free from the grasp of religious superstition and the benumbing influence of the Church, and, by its own unaided power, with the red flag of fellowship in the van, march on, as it surely had the power to do, to a splendid and overwhelming victory.
There was a whirlwind of applause. An enthusiastic adherent of the labor leader yelled:
"Go it, Steve! Give it to 'em! Give 'em hell!"
Before the last word was out of his mouth a stalwart Irishman, sitting well to the front of the hall, struggled to his feet and made himself heard.
"I object," he shouted, "to this attack on religion. It ain't nicessary and it ain't dacent. Ye're doin' small favor to the workin'men, Steve Lamar, to be ladin' 'em away from the Church. I'm a laborin' man mesilf, and I know there's nothin' like religion to steady a man an' put heart into 'im, an' give 'im a stomach to fight for what's due 'im from them that's robbin' 'im. Ye're usin' the divil's logic, Steve, to desthroy the poor."
In an instant the hall was in an uproar. A dozen men were on their feet demanding to be heard. It was only by continuous pounding with the heavy gavel that the chairman of the meeting was able to restore order to a sufficient degree to permit Lamar, stung by the Irishman's criticism, to go on with his speech.
"I had concluded my address," he said, when finally he was able to make himself heard, "but, in view of the interruption which has just occurred, I will say one word more. My friend, the objector, is evidently an adherent of a Church that puts a ban on socialism, and stands ready to give absolution on account of all sins, save the sin of making war on capital. Advanced socialism has no room within it for the pious creeds. Listen to what the leaders have declared. Karl Marx said: 'The idea of God must be destroyed!' Engel said: 'The first word of religion is a lie.' Bebel de​clared: 'Socialism denies religion altogether.' My friends, the best thinkers and the most brilliant leaders in the socialistic propaganda have pronounced against religion and the Church. I take my stand with them. It is the economic, the materialistic interpretation of history that is the key to human happiness, not the religious and the ecclesiastical. What the workingman wants is justice, not prayers; the full value of the product of his own toil, not pious charity. Capital controls and orders the Church, and muzzles the bishops and priests. Why, they dare not preach even the gospel proclaimed by the Carpenter of Nazareth whom they affect to adore, lest their masters be offended. I tell you the workingman who permits himself to be bamboozled by the preachers and the priests, and bribed by the so-called charity of the Church, is a short-sighted fool. He is forging the very chains that are to bind him. Away with the Church! Away with religion! Use your own brains and your own consciences, and your own good right arms, if necessary, to work out your own salvation. Only so will you ever be free."
Lamar stepped down from the platform amidst another storm of applause, not unmingled with vigorous protests. It was apparent that there were those in the audience who disagreed with him. Then, out of the confusion of voices, one voice rose, clear and distinct. The rector turned to look at the speaker, who stood not far from him, and at once recognized the man as Samuel Major, who had been Juror No. 7 in the Bradley case.
"Mr. Chairman," shouted Major, "I believe this attack on religion and the Church should be answered. And it should be answered now, in the presence of those who have heard it. The Reverend Robert Farrar, rector of Christ Church and a friend of labor, is here in the audience, and I call on him to take the stand in defense of religion and the Church."
The suggestion met with both approval and disap​proval. A man with full black beard and black hair falling on his shoulders arose and called out:
"Mr. Presiden': Thees ees politique assembly, not prayer-meeting. We weesh that no clergy deescourse with us. I say ratha' put that preach' out."
But the sense of fair play that governs all American audiences seized now upon this one, and immediately there were cries of: "No! No! Give the preacher a chance! Farrar! Farrar!"
The cry deepened into a roar. The demand was insistent. Half the audience was on its feet yelling for "Farrar!" He was not unknown to most of them. The story of his sermons had gone abroad. They wanted to see him and to hear him. The chairman wavered, turned to consult with one of the vice-presidents of the meeting, and then called to the clergyman to come to the platform. It was an invitation that could not be refused, nor had the rector of Christ Church any thought of refusing it. Resenting Lamar's assault on Christianity, he welcomed the opportunity to reply to it. He made his way to the rostrum, mounted the steps, and turned and faced the audience now grown remarkably still. He was stalwart, clean-cut, fine featured. His garments were not of the clerical type. He appealed to the eyes of those who looked on him before he had spoken a word.
"My friends," he said, "I accept your invitation gladly. I want to deny the charges made against religion and the Church by the last speaker. I believe, with the man who replied to him from the floor, that the great need of the workingman to-day is the need of religion and the Church. Physical comforts are not the sole foundation for the happiness of mankind. History can never be properly interpreted from its economical side alone. There can be no just interpretation of it that leaves out God. Before food was, before clothes or homes or gold or silver were, before this world itself was, God was. And after all these ​things have vanished, God will still be. It is the conception of God in the souls of men, broadening, brightening, growing as the ages have grown, that has lifted man out of the ranks of the savage and brute and has made of him an enlightened human being, demanding good food, good clothes, good homes, and all the comforts and amenities of life. And we of the Christian Church believe that Jesus Christ was the inspired and final interpreter of all the wisdom of God. He was born in a manger. In childhood He felt the pinch of poverty. In early manhood He was a carpenter, working with saw and hammer as many of you are working to-day. He dwelt with the proletariat. Their problems and sufferings were His. He knew the poor and He loved them and strove for them. He had no soft word to say for the rich. If ever there was a guide, a leader, a saviour for the toilers of the world, that leader and saviour is Jesus Christ. He founded a Church upon earth and that Church is still a vital force and a mighty factor in the lives of men, even though, in its course through the centuries, it has fallen now and then from the lofty height on which He placed it. Restored and lifted up, it stands to-day the authorized agent of Christ on earth. That Church is as much for you as it is for your wealthy neighbor. Aye, more for you than for him, because yours is the greater need. Avail yourselves of its privileges. As rector of Christ Church I invite you to come to our services, to unite yourselves with us, to partake of all the privileges we enjoy. Do not let the fear of intrusion hinder you, nor any coldness of welcome on the part of the wealthy prevent you from coming. The place is yours, and its privileges are yours, and as children of God you have a right to enjoy them. And so far as I can control it, there shall be no class distinction there, no line of demarcation between the rich and the poor; but every man shall be the equal of every other man, and all be brothers in Christ.
​"My friends, I am a Christian socialist. I believe in your ideals of justice, of equality, of economic independence, and I shall rejoice with you when all those ideals have been crystallized into law. But do not deceive yourselves with the notion that you can accomplish these things without God. Do not make the mistake of attempting to realize your hopes without the aid of religion, for you will never succeed. Rob socialism of the things that hinder and debase it. Vivify it and glorify it with the religion of Jesus Christ who was the one great socialist of all the ages, and your cause cannot fail; the dawn of that splendid day of which you dream, and for which I pray, will not then be far removed from any one of us."
It was his appearance, his evident sincerity, his magnetic personality, no less than the words he uttered, that caught the audience and carried it with him. They might not yield to his appeal, they might not follow his advice, but from that moment, to the vast majority of them, he was something more than persona grata.
As he came down from the platform and made his way to the rear of the hall a great roar of applause shook the walls of the building, and many men stopped him in the aisle to shake hands with him, and to thank him for coming to their meeting, and for addressing them thus intimately from their own platform.
After that night the toilers of the whole city counted the Reverend Robert Farrar as their friend and advocate, and a protagonist of their cause.