All He Knew(@@), John Habberton [good beach reads .txt] 📗

step. But that was not all; Bartram had for some years been the leader of the unbelievers in the town; the logic of a young man who was smart enough to convince judges on the bench in matters of law was good enough for the general crowd when it was brought to bear upon religion. As one lounger at Weitz's saloon expressed himself,--

"None of the preachers or deacons or class-leaders was ever able to down that young feller before, but now he's just the same as gone and hollered 'enough.' It's no use for the rest of us to put on airs after that; nobody'll believe us, and like as not he'll be the first man to tell us what fools we be. I'm thinkin' a good deal of risin' for prayers myself, if it's only to get through before he gives me a talkin' to."

When, however, the entire membership of the church aroused to the fact that work was to be done, and Judge Prency and other solid citizens began to take part in the church work, Bartram rested from his efforts and began again to spend his evenings at the home of the young woman whom he most admired. A change seemed to have come over others as well as himself. Mrs. Prency greeted him more kindly than ever, but Eleanor seemed different. She was not as merry, as defiant, or as sympathetic as of old. Sometimes there was a suggestion of old times in her manner, but suddenly the young woman would again become reserved and distant.

CHAPTER XIX.page 116

One evening, when she had begun to rally him about something, and quickly lapsed into a different and languid manner, Bartram said,--

"Eleanor, nothing seems as it used to be between you and me. I wish I knew what was wrong in me."

The girl suddenly interested herself in the contents of an antiquated photograph album.

"I must have become dreadfully uninteresting," he continued, "if you prefer the faces in that album, of which I've heard you make fun time and again. Won't you tell me what it is? Don't be afraid to talk plainly: I can stand anything--from you."

"Oh, nothing," said Eleanor, continuing to pretend interest in the pictures.

"'Nothing' said in that tone always means something--and a great deal of it. Have I said or done anything to offend you?"

"No," said Eleanor, with a sigh, closing the book and folding her hands, "only--I didn't suppose you ever could become a prosy, poky old church-member."

The reply was a laugh, so merry, hearty, and long that Eleanor looked indignant, until she saw a roguish twinkle in Bartram's eyes; then she blushed and looked confused.

"Please tell me what I have said or done that was poky or prosy," asked Bartram. "We lawyers have a habit of asking for proof as well as charges. I give you my word, my dear girl, that never in all my previous life did I feel so entirely cheerful and good-natured as I do nowadays. I have nothing now to trouble my conscience, or spoil my temper, or put me out of my own control, as used frequently to happen. I never before knew how sweet and delightful it was to live and meet my fellow-beings,--particularly those I love. I can laugh at the slightest provocation now, instead of sometimes feeling ugly and saying sharp things. Every good and pleasant thing in life I enjoy more than ever; and as you, personally, are the very best thing in life, you seem a thousand times dearer and sweeter to me than ever before

CHAPTER XIX.page 117

Perhaps you will laugh at me for saying so, but do you know that I, who have heretofore considered myself a little better than any one else in the village, am now organizing a new base-ball club and a gymnasium association, and also am trying to get enough subscribers to build a toboggan slide? I never was in such high spirits and in such humor for fun."

Eleanor looked amazed, but she relieved her mind by replying,--

"I never saw religion work that way on other people."

"Indeed! Where have your blessed eyes been? Hasn't your own father been a religious man for many years, and is there any one in town who knows better how to enjoy himself when he is not at work?"

"Oh, yes; but father is different from most people."

"Quite true; he must be, else how could he be the parent of the one incomparable young woman--"

"Ray!"

"Don't try to play hypocrite, please, for you're too honest. You know you agree with me."

"About father? Certainly; but--"

"'About father?' More hypocrisy. You know very well what I mean. Dear little girl, listen to me. I suppose there are people scared into religion through fear of the wrath to come, who may become dull and uninteresting. It is a matter of nature, in a great many cases. I suppose whatever is done for selfish reasons, even in the religious life, may make people uncertain and fearful, and sometimes miserable. But when a man suddenly determines to model his life after that of the one and only perfect man and gentleman the world ever knew, he does not find anything to make him dull and wretched. We hear so much of Jesus the Saviour that we lose sight of Jesus the man. He who died for us was also He whose whole recorded life was in conformity with the tastes and sympathies of people of His day.

CHAPTER XIX.page 118

Do you imagine for an instant that if He had been of solemn, doleful visage, any woman would ever have pressed through a crowd to touch the hem of His garment, that she might be made well? Do you suppose the woman of Samaria would have lingered one instant at the well of Jacob, had Jesus been a man with a face like--well, suppose I say Deacon Quickset? Do you think mothers would have brought their children to Him that He might bless them? Do you imagine any one who had not a great, warm heart could have wept at the grave of his friend Lazarus, whom He knew He had the power to raise from the dead? Didn't He go to the marriage jollification at Cana, and take so much interest in the affair that He made up for the deficiency in the host's wine-cellar? Weren't all His parables about matters that showed a sympathetic interest in the affairs which were nearest to the hearts of the people around Him? If all these things were possible to one who had His inner heart full of tremendous responsibilities, what should not His followers be in the world,--so far as all human cheer and interest go?"

"I've never heard him spoken of in that way before," said Eleanor, speaking as if she were in a brown study.

"I'm glad--selfishly--that you hear it the first time from me, then. Never again will I do anything of which I think He would disapprove; but, my dear girl, I give you my word that although occasionally--too often--I have been lawless in word and action, I never until now have known the sensation of entire liberty and happiness. You never again will see me moody, or obstinate, or selfish. I'm going to be a gentleman in life, as well as by birth. You believe me?"

"I must believe you, Ray; I can't help believing whatever you say. But I never saw conversion act that way upon any one else, and I don't understand it."

Bartram looked quizzically at the girl a moment, and then replied,--

"Try it yourself; I'm sure it will affect you just as it does me."

"Oh, Ray, no; I never can bring myself to stand up in church to be prayed for."

"Don't do it, then. Pray for yourself. I don't know of any one to whom Heaven would sooner listen. But you can't avoid being prayed for by one repentant sinner: have the kindness to remember that."

"Ray!" murmured Eleanor.

CHAPTER XIX.page 119

"And," continued Bartram, rising and placing an arm around Eleanor's shoulders, "the sooner our prayers can rise together, the sooner you will understand me, believe me, and trust me. My darling,--the only woman whom I ever loved,--the only woman of whom I ever was fond,--the only one to whom I ever gave an affectionate word or caress--"

There are conversations which reach a stage where they should be known only to those who conduct them. When Bartram started to depart, his love-life was unclouded.

"Ray," said Eleanor, at the door, "will you oblige me by seeing Sam Kimper in the morning and asking him to tell his daughter that I particularly wish she would come back to us?"