Books: In His Steps

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"Virginia's uncle, Dr. West, will go with us, if she goes. I have
asked her to call him up by telephone and go with us. The Doctor is
a friend of the Grays, and attended some of their meetings last
winter."

Mrs. Winslow did not say anything. Her manner showed her complete
disapproval of Rachel's course, and Rachel felt her unspoken
bitterness.

About seven o'clock the Doctor and Virginia appeared, and together
the three started for the scene of the White Cross meetings.

The Rectangle was the most notorious district in Raymond. It was on
the territory close by the railroad shops and the packing houses.
The great slum and tenement district of Raymond congested its worst
and most wretched elements about the Rectangle. This was a barren
field used in the summer by circus companies and wandering showmen.
It was shut in by rows of saloons, gambling hells and cheap, dirty
boarding and lodging houses.

The First Church of Raymond had never touched the Rectangle problem.
It was too dirty, too coarse, too sinful, too awful for close
contact. Let us be honest. There had been an attempt to cleanse this
sore spot by sending down an occasional committee of singers or
Sunday-school teachers or gospel visitors from various churches. But
the First Church of Raymond, as an institution, had never really
done anything to make the Rectangle any less a stronghold of the
devil as the years went by.

Into this heart of the coarse part of the sin of Raymond the
traveling evangelist and his brave little wife had pitched a
good-sized tent and begun meetings. It was the spring of the year
and the evenings were beginning to be pleasant. The evangelists had
asked for the help of Christian people, and had received more than
the usual amount of encouragement. But they felt a great need of
more and better music. During the meetings on the Sunday just gone
the assistant at the organ had been taken ill. The volunteers from
the city were few and the voices were of ordinary quality.

"There will be a small meeting tonight, John," said his wife, as
they entered the tent a little after seven o'clock and began to
arrange the chairs and light up.

"Yes, I fear so." Mr. Gray was a small, energetic man, with a
pleasant voice and the courage of a high-born fighter. He had
already made friends in the neighborhood and one of his converts, a
heavy-faced man who had just come in, began to help in the arranging
of seats.

It was after eight o'clock when Alexander Powers opened the door of
his office and started for home. He was going to take a car at the
corner of the Rectangle. But he was roused by a voice coming from
the tent.

It was the voice of Rachel Winslow. It struck through his
consciousness of struggle over his own question that had sent him
into the Divine Presence for an answer. He had not yet reached a
conclusion. He was tortured with uncertainty. His whole previous
course of action as a railroad man was the poorest possible
preparation for anything sacrificial. And he could not yet say what
he would do in the matter.

Hark! What was she singing? How did Rachel Winslow happen to be down
here? Several windows near by went up. Some men quarreling near a
saloon stopped and listened. Other figures were walking rapidly in
the direction of the Rectangle and the tent. Surely Rachel Winslow
had never sung like that in the First Church. It was a marvelous
voice. What was it she was singing? Again Alexander Powers,
Superintendent of the machine shops, paused and listened,

"Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow,
Where He leads me I will follow,
I'll go with Him, with Him.
All the way!"

The brutal, coarse, impure life of the Rectangle stirred itself into
new life as the song, as pure as the surroundings were vile, floated
out and into saloon and den and foul lodging. Some one stumbled
hastily by Alexander Powers and said in answer to a question: "De
tent's beginning to run over tonight. That's what the talent calls
music, eh?"

Chapter Eight

"If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up
his cross daily and follow me."

HENRY MAXWELL paced his study back and forth. It was Wednesday and
he had started to think out the subject of his evening service which
fell upon that night. Out of one of his study windows he could see
the tall chimney of the railroad shops. The top of the evangelist's
tent just showed over the buildings around the Rectangle. He looked
out of his window every time he turned in his walk. After a while he
sat down at his desk and drew a large piece of paper toward him.
After thinking several moments he wrote in large letters the
following:

A NUMBER OF THINGS THAT JESUS WOULD PROBABLY DO IN THIS PARISH

Live in a simple, plain manner, without needless luxury on the one
hand or undue asceticism on the other. Preach fearlessly to the
hypocrites in the church, no matter what their social importance or
wealth. Show in some practical form His sympathy and love for the
common people as well as for the well-to-do, educated, refined
people who make up the majority of the parish. Identify Himself with
the great causes of humanity in some personal way that would call
for self-denial and suffering. Preach against the saloon in Raymond.
Become known as a friend and companion of the sinful people in the
Rectangle. Give up the summer trip to Europe this year. (I have been
abroad twice and cannot claim any special need of rest. I am well,
and could forego this pleasure, using the money for some one who
needs a vacation more than I do. There are probably plenty of such
people in the city.)

He was conscious, with a humility that was once a stranger to him,
that his outline of Jesus' probable action was painfully lacking in
depth and power, but he was seeking carefully for concrete shapes
into which he might cast his thought of Jesus' conduct. Nearly every
point he had put down, meant, for him, a complete overturning of the
custom and habit of years in the ministry. In spite of that, he
still searched deeper for sources of the Christ-like spirit. He did
not attempt to write any more, but sat at his desk absorbed in his
effort to catch more and more the spirit of Jesus in his own life.
He had forgotten the particular subject for his prayer meeting with
which he had begun his morning study.

He was so absorbed over his thought that he did not hear the bell
ring; he was roused by the servant who announced a caller. He had
sent up his name, Mr. Gray.

Maxwell stepped to the head of the stairs and asked Gray to come up.
So Gray came up and stated the reason for his call.

"I want your help, Mr. Maxwell. Of course you have heard what a
wonderful meeting we had Monday night and last night. Miss Winslow
has done more with her voice than I could do, and the tent won't
hold the people."

"I've heard of that. It is the first time the people there have
heard her. It is no wonder they are attracted."

"It has been a wonderful revelation to us, and a most encouraging
event in our work. But I came to ask if you could not come down
tonight and preach. I am suffering from a severe cold. I do not dare
trust my voice again. I know it is asking a good deal from such a
busy man. But, if you can't come, say so frankly, and I'll try
somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, but it's my regular prayer meeting night," began Henry
Maxwell. Then he flushed and added, "I shall be able to arrange it
in some way so as to come down. You can count on me."

Gray thanked him earnestly and rose to go.

"Won't you stay a minute, Gray, and let us have a prayer together?"

"Yes," said Gray simply.

So the two men kneeled together in the study. Henry Maxwell prayed
like a child. Gray was touched to tears as he knelt there. There was
something almost pitiful in the way this man who had lived his
ministerial life in such a narrow limit of exercise now begged for
wisdom and strength to speak a message to the people in the
Rectangle.

Gray rose and held out his hand. "God bless you, Mr. Maxwell. I'm
sure the Spirit will give you power tonight."

Henry Maxwell made no answer. He did not even trust himself to say
that he hoped so. But he thought of his promise and it brought him a
certain peace that was refreshing to his heart and mind alike.

So that is how it came about that when the First Church audience
came into the lecture room that evening it met with another
surprise. There was an unusually large number present. The prayer
meetings ever since that remarkable Sunday morning had been attended
as never before in the history of the First Church. Mr. Maxwell came
at once to the point.

"I feel that I am called to go down to the Rectangle tonight, and I
will leave it with you to say whether you will go on with this
meeting here. I think perhaps the best plan would be for a few
volunteers to go down to the Rectangle with me prepared to help in
the after-meeting, if necessary, and the rest to remain here and
pray that the Spirit power may go with us."

So half a dozen of the men went with the pastor, and the rest of the
audience stayed in the lecture room. Maxwell could not escape the
thought as he left the room that probably in his entire church
membership there might not be found a score of disciples who were
capable of doing work that would successfully lead needy, sinful men
into the knowledge of Christ. The thought did not linger in his mind
to vex him as he went his way, but it was simply a part of his whole
new conception of the meaning of Christian discipleship.

When he and his little company of volunteers reached the Rectangle,
the tent was already crowded. They had difficulty in getting to the
platform. Rachel was there with Virginia and Jasper Chase who had
come instead of the Doctor tonight.

When the meeting began with a song in which Rachel sang the solo and
the people were asked to join in the chorus, not a foot of standing
room was left in the tent. The night was mild and the sides of the
tent were up and a great border of faces stretched around, looking
in and forming part of the audience. After the singing, and a prayer
by one of the city pastors who was present, Gray stated the reason
for his inability to speak, and in his simple manner turned the
service over to "Brother Maxwell of the First Church."

"Who's de bloke?" asked a hoarse voice near the outside of the tent.

"De Fust Church parson. We've got de whole high-tone swell outfit
tonight."

"Did you say Fust Church? I know him. My landlord's got a front pew
up there," said another voice, and there was a laugh, for the
speaker was a saloon keeper.

"Trow out de life line 'cross de dark wave!" began a drunken man
near by, singing in such an unconscious imitation of a local
traveling singer's nasal tone that roars of laughter and jeers of
approval rose around him. The people in the tent turned in the
direction of the disturbance. There were shouts of "Put him out!"
"Give the Fust Church a chance!" "Song! Song! Give us another song!"

Henry Maxwell stood up, and a great wave of actual terror went over
him. This was not like preaching to the well-dressed, respectable,
good-mannered people up on the boulevard. He began to speak, but the
confusion increased. Gray went down into the crowd, but did not seem
able to quiet it. Maxwell raised his arm and his voice. The crowd in
the tent began to pay some attention, but the noise on the outside
increased. In a few minutes the audience was beyond his control. He
turned to Rachel with a sad smile.

"Sing something, Miss Winslow. They will listen to you," he said,
and then sat down and covered his face with his hands.

It was Rachel's opportunity, and she was fully equal to it. Virginia
was at the organ and Rachel asked her to play a few notes of the
hymn.

"Savior, I follow on,
Guided by Thee,
Seeing not yet the hand
That leadeth me.
Hushed be my heart and still
Fear I no farther ill,
Only to meet Thy will,
My will shall be."

Rachel had not sung the first line before the people in the tent
were all turned toward her, hushed and reverent. Before she had
finished the verse the Rectangle was subdued and tamed. It lay like
some wild beast at her feet, and she sang it into harmlessness. Ah!
What were the flippant, perfumed, critical audiences in concert
halls compared with this dirty, drunken, impure, besotted mass of
humanity that trembled and wept and grew strangely, sadly thoughtful
under the touch of this divine ministry of this beautiful young
woman! Mr. Maxwell, as he raised his head and saw the transformed
mob, had a glimpse of something that Jesus would probably do with a
voice like Rachel Winslow's. Jasper Chase sat with his eyes on the
singer, and his greatest longing as an ambitious author was
swallowed up in his thought of what Rachel Winslow's love might
sometimes mean to him. And over in the shadow outside stood the last
person any one might have expected to see at a gospel tent
service--Rollin Page, who, jostled on every side by rough men and
women who stared at the swell in fine clothes, seemed careless of
his surroundings and at the same time evidently swayed by the power
that Rachel possessed. He had just come over from the club. Neither
Rachel nor Virginia saw him that night.

The song was over. Maxwell rose again. This time he felt calmer.
What would Jesus do? He spoke as he thought once he never could
speak. Who were these people? They were immortal souls. What was
Christianity? A calling of sinners, not the righteous, to
repentance. How would Jesus speak? What would He say? He could not
tell all that His message would include, but he felt sure of a part
of it. And in that certainty he spoke on. Never before had he felt
"compassion for the multitude." What had the multitude been to him
during his ten years in the First Church but a vague, dangerous,
dirty, troublesome factor in society, outside of the church and of
his reach, an element that caused him occasionally an unpleasant
twinge of conscience, a factor in Raymond that was talked about at
associations as the "masses," in papers written by the brethren in
attempts to show why the "masses" were not being reached. But
tonight as he faced the masses he asked himself whether, after all,
this was not just about such a multitude as Jesus faced oftenest,
and he felt the genuine emotion of love for a crowd which is one of
the best indications a preacher ever has that he is living close to
the heart of the world's eternal Life. It is easy to love an
individual sinner, especially if he is personally picturesque or
interesting. To love a multitude of sinners is distinctively a
Christ-like quality.

When the meeting closed, there was no special interest shown. No one
stayed to the after-meeting. The people rapidly melted away from the
tent, and the saloons, which had been experiencing a dull season
while the meetings progressed, again drove a thriving trade. The
Rectangle, as if to make up for lost time, started in with vigor on
its usual night debauch. Maxwell and his little party, including
Virginia, Rachel and Jasper Chase, walked down past the row of
saloons and dens until they reached the corner where the cars
passed.

"This is a terrible spot," said the minister as he stood waiting for
their car. "I never realized that Raymond had such a festering sore.
It does not seem possible that this is a city full of Christian
disciples."

"Do you think any one can ever remove this great curse of drink?"
asked Jasper Chase.

"I have thought lately as never before of what Christian people
might do to remove the curse of the saloon. Why don't we all act
together against it? Why don't the Christian pastors and the church
members of Raymond move as one man against the traffic? What would
Jesus do? Would He keep silent? Would He vote to license these
causes of crime and death?"

He was talking to himself more than to the others. He remembered
that he had always voted for license, and so had nearly all his
church members. What would Jesus do? Could he answer that question?
Would the Master preach and act against the saloon if He lived
today? How would He preach and act? Suppose it was not popular to
preach against license? Suppose the Christian people thought it was
all that could be done to license the evil and so get revenue from
the necessary sin? Or suppose the church members themselves owned
the property where the saloons stood--what then? He knew that those
were the facts in Raymond. What would Jesus do?

He went up into his study the next morning with that question only
partly answered. He thought of it all day. He was still thinking of
it and reaching certain real conclusions when the EVENING NEWS came.
His wife brought it up and sat down a few minutes while he read to
her.

The EVENING NEWS was at present the most sensational paper in
Raymond. That is to say, it was being edited in such a remarkable
fashion that its subscribers had never been so excited over a
newspaper before. First they had noticed the absence of the prize
fight, and gradually it began to dawn upon them that the NEWS no
longer printed accounts of crime with detailed descriptions, or
scandals in private life. Then they noticed that the advertisements
of liquor and tobacco were dropped, together with certain others of
a questionable character. The discontinuance of the Sunday paper
caused the greatest comment of all, and now the character of the
editorials was creating the greatest excitement. A quotation from
the Monday paper of this week will show what Edward Norman was doing
to keep his promise. The editorial was headed:

THE MORAL SIDE OF POLITICAL QUESTIONS

The editor of the News has always advocated the principles of the
great political party at present in power, and has heretofore
discussed all political questions from the standpoint of expediency,
or of belief in the party as opposed to other political
organizations. Hereafter, to be perfectly honest with all our
readers, the editor will present and discuss all political questions
from the standpoint of right and wrong. In other words, the first
question asked in this office about any political question will not
be, "Is it in the interests of our party?" or, "Is it according to
the principles laid down by our party in its platform?" but the
question first asked will be, "Is this measure in accordance with
the spirit and teachings of Jesus as the author of the greatest
standard of life known to men?" That is, to be perfectly plain, the
moral side of every political question will be considered its most
important side, and the ground will be distinctly taken that nations
as well as individuals are under the same law to do all things to
the glory of God as the first rule of action.

The same principle will be observed in this office toward candidates
for places of responsibility and trust in the republic. Regardless
of party politics the editor of the News will do all in his power to
bring the best men into power, and will not knowingly help to
support for office any candidate who is unworthy, no matter how much
he may be endorsed by the party. The first question asked about the
man and about the measures will be, "Is he the right man for the
place?" "Is he a good man with ability?" "Is the measure right?"

There had been more of this, but we have quoted enough to show the
character of the editorial. Hundreds of men in Raymond had read it
and rubbed their eyes in amazement. A good many of them had promptly
written to the NEWS, telling the editor to stop their paper. The
paper still came out, however, and was eagerly read all over the
city. At the end of a week Edward Norman knew very well that he was
fast losing a large number of subscribers. He faced the conditions
calmly, although Clark, the managing editor, grimly anticipated
ultimate bankruptcy, especially since Monday's editorial.

Tonight, as Maxwell read to his wife, he could see in almost every
column evidences of Norman's conscientious obedience to his promise.
There was an absence of slangy, sensational scare heads. The reading
matter under the head lines was in perfect keeping with them. He
noticed in two columns that the reporters' name appeared signed at
the bottom. And there was a distinct advance in the dignity and
style of their contributions.

"So Norman is beginning to get his reporters to sign their work. He
has talked with me about that. It is a good thing. It fixes
responsibility for items where it belongs and raises the standard of
work done. A good thing all around for the public and the writers."

Maxwell suddenly paused. His wife looked up from some work she was
doing. He was reading something with the utmost interest. "Listen to
this, Mary," he said, after a moment while his lip trembled:

This morning Alexander Powers, Superintendent of the L. and T. R. R.
shops in this city, handed in his resignation to the road, and gave
as his reason the fact that certain proofs had fallen into his hands
of the violation of the Interstate Commerce Law, and also of the
state law which has recently been framed to prevent and punish
railroad pooling for the benefit of certain favored shippers. Mr.
Powers states in his resignation that he can no longer consistently
withhold the information he possesses against the road. He will be a
witness against it. He has placed his evidence against the company
in the hands of the Commission and it is now for them to take action
upon it.

The News wishes to express itself on this action of Mr. Powers. In
the first place he has nothing to gain by it. He has lost a very
valuable place voluntarily, when by keeping silent he might have
retained it. In the second place, we believe his action ought to
receive the approval of all thoughtful, honest citizens who believe
in seeing law obeyed and lawbreakers brought to justice. In a case
like this, where evidence against a railroad company is generally
understood to be almost impossible to obtain, it is the general
belief that the officers of the road are often in possession of
criminating facts but do not consider it to be any of their business
to inform the authorities that the law is being defied. The entire
result of this evasion of responsibility on the part of those who
are responsible is demoralizing to every young man connected with
the road. The editor of the News recalls the statement made by a
prominent railroad official in this city a little while ago, that
nearly every clerk in a certain department of the road understood
that large sums of money were made by shrewd violations of the
Interstate Commerce Law, was ready to admire the shrewdness with
which it was done, and declared that they would all do the same
thing if they were high enough in railroad circles to attempt it."

Chapter Nine

HENRY MAXWELL finished reading and dropped the paper.

"I must go and see Powers. This is the result of his promise."

He rose, and as he was going out, his wife said: "Do you think,
Henry, that Jesus would have done that?"

Maxwell paused a moment. Then he answered slowly, "Yes, I think He
would. At any rate, Powers has decided so and each one of us who
made the promise understands that he is not deciding Jesus' conduct
for any one else, only for himself."

"How about his family? How will Mrs. Powers and Celia be likely to
take it?"

"Very hard, I've no doubt. That will be Powers' cross in this
matter. They will not understand his motive."

Maxwell went out and walked over to the next block where
Superintendent Powers lived. To his relief, Powers himself came to
the door.

The two men shook hands silently. They instantly understood each
other without words. There had never before been such a bond of
union between the minister and his parishioner.

"What are you going to do?" Henry Maxwell asked after they had
talked over the facts in the case.

"You mean another position? I have no plans yet. I can go back to my
old work as a telegraph operator. My family will not suffer, except
in a social way."

Powers spoke calmly and sadly. Henry Maxwell did not need to ask him
how the wife and daughter felt. He knew well enough that the
superintendent had suffered deepest at that point.

"There is one matter I wish you would see to," said Powers after
awhile, "and that is, the work begun at the shops. So far as I know,
the company will not object to that going on. It is one of the
contradictions of the railroad world that Y. M. C. A.'s and other
Christian influences are encouraged by the roads, while all the time
the most un-Christian and lawless acts may be committed in the
official management of the roads themselves. Of course it is well
understood that it pays a railroad to have in its employ men who are
temperate, honest and Christian. So I have no doubt the master
mechanic will have the same courtesy shown him in the use of the
room. But what I want you to do, Mr. Maxwell, is to see that my plan
is carried out. Will you? You understand what it was in general. You
made a very favorable impression on the men. Go down there as often
as you can. Get Milton Wright interested to provide something for
the furnishing and expense of the coffee plant and reading tables.
Will you do it?"

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