"Good, old man," said that young gentleman, in a whisper, "but where in the world did you learn all that?"

"Dance hall and variety," whispered d.i.c.k. "Never thought I'd air that accomplishment at a church social."

Charlie's reply was lost in a call to the dining room, where light refreshments were served to the hungry young people by waiters from among their number; then turn about, and the waiters were waited upon; and through it all ran the laugh and jest of happy young folks, who thoroughly enjoyed each other's company, and who for one evening met on common ground. After supper, came games and more music, while a few of the more earnest ones, in an out-of-the-way corner, discussed the reading room and planned for its future. Then came a call for everyone to sing, and with Amy at the piano, they sang song after song until it was time to go. Then the bustle of leave-taking--good nights--lovely time--my house next month--and d.i.c.k found himself walking downtown, arm in arm with his friend. "Well," said the latter, "how about it?"

"Thank you for a pleasant evening," replied d.i.c.k. "But say, those folks don't know me, do they?"

"Some of them do; some don't. What does it matter?"

"Well, tell me, did those who know how I came to town, know that I would be there tonight?"

"_No, sir,_" said Charlie, emphatically. "What do you take me for, d.i.c.k?"

"Forgive me," said d.i.c.k. "I ought to have known better, only you see my experience with church people, and--well--I'm a bit sore I guess.

I couldn't believe there were any like those. I didn't know, that's all," and with a "good-night," he turned down the street toward his humble lodging place, while Charlie went on toward home.

"Yes, that's all," said the latter to himself. "d.i.c.k didn't know; and that's what's the matter with hundreds of fellows just like him; they don't know what real Christianity is like; they see so much of the sham; but he'll find out though, or I'm mistaken. My, what a worker he would make, with his experience and talents, if only once he got started right. He just made that old street song burn its way into the heart, and I felt like I wanted to be a brother to every poor, homeless chap in the world."

Meanwhile, d.i.c.k had reached the office, and throwing off his coat, laid aside his collar, tie and cuffs. Then seating himself in the rickety old chair, he tilted back as far as possible and fixed his feet as high as he could get them, against the big Prouty press.

Five--ten--fifteen-minutes went by, d.i.c.k sat without moving a muscle.

The clanging bell of the eleven-thirty train on the "Memphis" pulling into the depot, sounded plainly in his ear, but still he sat immovable.

A night-hawk cab rattled over the brick pavement, and a drunkard yelled beneath the window; still d.i.c.k held his place. So still that a little mouse that lived in one corner of the office, crept stealthily out, and glancing curiously with his bead-like eyes, at the motionless figure, ran, with many a pause, to the very legs of d.i.c.k's chair.

Crash--as d.i.c.k's feet struck the floor. The shaky old piece of furniture almost fell in ruins and the poor frightened mouse fled to cover.

Kicking the chair to one side, the young fellow walked to the window and stood with his hands in his pockets, looking into the night. Then, in sullen tones, he addressed the lamp that twinkled in the bakery across the way: "I'm a fool. I know I'm a fool; a great big fool. I ought to have told her who I was. I ought to get out a poster and label myself _dangerous_, so people would know they were talking to a tramp.

Oh, but when she finds out, as she must--and her father--." Here d.i.c.k's imagination failed him, and he laughed again and again in spite of himself, as he thought of the tramp who had applied to Adam Goodrich for work, chatting with his beautiful daughter as an equal. "Whew--but there'll be a hot time in the camp of the enemy when they learn the truth," and he took himself off to bed.

CHAPTER IX

The opinions on the part of Rev. Cameron's flock regarding the proposed reading room, were numerous and varied. Adam Goodrich, in his usual pompous manner, gave it as his judgment that Cameron would be running a free lodging house next, as though that were the greatest depth of infamy to which a poor preacher could sink, and Mrs. Goodrich declared that it would ruin the social influence of the church forever. Amy was heart and soul with the movement, but prudently refrained from discussing the matter in the presence of her parents; while Frank, though he attended all the meetings of the society and would not openly oppose their efforts for fear of being unpopular, lost no opportunity to secretly throw a stumbling block in their way, and made all manner of sneering allusions to the work when he thought it would not come to the ears of the young people.

When at last the room was finished and ready to be occupied, the committee appointed met to select a manager. The church, with the usual good judgment shown by churches in such matters, had named Elder Wicks and Deacon Wickham, and the young people had selected Charlie Bowen and two young ladies, to represent the Society. They met in the new rooms one evening and Deacon Wickham took the floor at once.

"I hope our young friends won't take offense at what I am about to say, but you know I am one of the kind who always say just what I think, for I believe that if a man has anything on his mind, it had better come out. This business ought to be in the hands of the church board; you young folks have no Scriptural rights to speak on the subject at all." The three young Christians looked at Uncle Bobbie, whose left eye remained closed for just the fraction of a second, and the speaker wondered at the confident smile with which his words were received.

"There's not one of you that has the proper qualifications for an elder or a deacon," he continued. "You girls have no right to have the oversight of a congregation, anyway, and Charlie Bowen here is not even the husband of one wife."

"Give him time, Brother Wickham; give the boy time," broke in Uncle Bobbie, with a chuckle, much to the delight of the girls, and the confusion of Charlie. "You just wait; he may surprise you some day in his qualifications."

But the deacon continued with a frown at the interruption, "As far as that goes, the whole thing is unscriptural and I was opposed to it at the first, as Brother Wicks here can tell you." Uncle Bobbie nodded.

"But you've gone ahead in spite of what I and the Scriptures teach, and you've got your reading rooms; and now I mean to see to it that you have a good Brother, who is eminently qualified to teach, at the head of the concern; a good man who is thoroughly grounded in the faith, and who has arrived at years of discretion; a workman that needeth not to be ashamed of his handiwork, rightly dividing the word of truth. Such a man could get the young Christians together evenings and lay out their Bible reading for them, spending an hour or two perhaps, each week, in explaining the more difficult pa.s.sages. If I had time I would be glad to do the work myself, for there's nothing I like better than teaching. I don't know, I might possibly find time if the Brethren thought best for me to take the work. I am always ready to do what the Lord wants me to, and I promise you that I'd teach those young people the Scriptures, and make them interested, too. Why, when I was in Bear City, down in Oklahoma, I had a--"

"But, Brother Wickham," interrupted Uncle Bobbie, who knew from experience that if the good deacon ever got started on his work in Oklahoma they never would get to the business of the evening, "it strikes me you ain't got jist the right ide' of this. Tain't to be a Sunday School, ner a place to teach the Bible, as I understand it, though I reckon it's in line with the teachin' of Christ. It is--"

"Not to teach the Bible?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the astonished deacon. "What on earth can you teach in the church except the Bible, and what kind of a reading room can you have in the Lord's house I'd like to know?"

"The ide', Brother Wickham," said the old elder, as gently as he could, "is to furnish some place where young men of the town can go and spend their time when they aint working. This room will be stocked with the latest books, magazines and papers; there will be tables with writin'

material and sich stuff, if a feller wants to write to his girl, you know, and the room in there will be fixed with easy chairs and sofas for them that wants to talk er play games, er have a good time generally. Seems to me what we want fer a manager is some young man who's got good boss sense, and who could make things pleasant, even if he don't know so much Scripture."

"And it's to be free to every loafer who wants to come in and use the place?"

"Yes, just as free as Christ's invitation to come and be saved."

"But you'll fill the church with a lot of trash who don't know anything about the Bible, or the plan of salvation. How can you, when the Scriptures say, have no fellowship with such?"

"We'll save a few young men who are startin' fer h.e.l.l by way of the saloons and bawdy houses."

"No you won't. The Gospel and the Gospel alone, is the power of G.o.d unto salvation. G.o.d never ordained that men should be saved by reading rooms and such."

"I believe I know just the man we want," said Uncle Bobbie, turning to the young people, when the deacon had at last subsided into an att.i.tude of sullen protest.

"Who?" asked one of the young ladies, with the hint of a laugh in her eyes, as she looked at their stand-by.

"That printer of Udell's. He's a clean, strong young feller, and I believe would be glad of some sech place to spend his evenin's.

Of course he aint a Christian, but--"

"Not a Christian," cried Wickham, starting to his feet again; "not a Christian? And you propose to let an alien take charge of the Lord's work? I wash my hands of the whole matter."

"Are you sure he will be all right?" asked the other girl on the committee.

"Sure," replied Wicks, "if he will take it, and I think we can get Charlie here to see to that."

Charlie nodded. "It will be a splendid thing for him," he said; and then he told them how d.i.c.k spent his evenings alone in the office, rather than go to the only places open to him.

"Well," said Uncle Bobbie, "let's fix it that way. Brother Wickham, we have decided to ask Richard Falkner to take charge of the rooms."

"I've got nothing to say about it, sir," answered the good deacon. "I don't know anything about it. I wash my hands of the whole matter."

And so the work at the Jerusalem Church was established. It took no little power of persuasion on the part of Charlie Bowen, to bring his friend to the point of accepting the committee's offer, even when it was endorsed by the entire Young People's Society, and a large part of the congregation. But his arguments finally prevailed and d.i.c.k consented to be at the rooms between the hours of seven and eleven every evening, the time when a strong, tactful man in authority would be most needed.

The rooms were furnished by friends of the cause and were cheery, comfortable, homelike apartments, where everyone was made welcome.

Many a poor fellow, wandering on the streets, tired of his lonely boarding house, and sorely tempted by the air of cheerfulness and comfort of the saloons, was led there, where he found good books and good company; and at last, for what was more natural, became a regular attendant at the only church in the city which did not close its doors to him during the week.

d.i.c.k enjoyed the work, and in a short time had many friends among the young men. He treated everybody in the same kindly, courteous manner, and was always ready to recommend a book, to introduce an acquaintance, or to enter into conversation with a stranger. Indeed he soon grew so popular among the young folks that George Udell told Miss Wilson it seemed as though he had always lived in Boyd City, he knew so many people, and so many knew him. And of course Clara answered, "I told you so." What woman could resist such an opportunity? "Didn't I say that he was no common tramp? You needn't tell me I don't know a man when I see him."

The two were driving in the evening, on the road that leads south from town, down a hill, across a bridge, and along the bank of a good-sized creek, where the trees bend far over to dip the tips of their branches in the water, and the flowers growing rank and wild along the edges, nod lazily at their own faces reflected in the quiet pools and eddies.

"You may know a man when you see him," replied George, letting the horse take his own time beneath the overhanging boughs, "but you take precious good care that you don't see too much of one that I could name."

"Who do you mean; Mr. Falkner?" replied Clara, with a provoking smile, as she tried in vain to catch one of the tall weeds that grew close to the side of the road.

"Hang Mr. Falkner," returned Udell impatiently. "You know what I mean, Clara. What's the use of you and me pretending? Haven't I told you ever since I was ten years old that I loved you, and would have no one else to be my wife? And haven't you always understood it that way, and by your manners toward me given a.s.sent?"

The girl looked straight ahead at the horse's ears as she answered slowly, "If my manner has led you to have false hopes it is very easy to change it, and if accepting your company gives a.s.sent to all the foolish things you may have said when you were ten years old, you'd better seek less dangerous society."

"Forgive me dear, I spoke hastily," said George, in a much softer tone.