The meal over, Charlie Swift took out a pencil and paper. “Now,” said he. “To business!”
Samuel pulled up his chair and the other drew a square. “This is a house I've been studying. It's on a corner—these are streets, and here's an alley. This is the side door that I think I can open. There's a door here and one in back here. Fix all that in your mind.”
“I have it,” said the boy.
“You go in, and here's the entrance hall. The front stairs are here. What I'm after is the family plate, and it's up on the second floor. I'll attend to that. The only trouble is that over here beyond the library there's a door, and, somebody sleeps in that room. I don't know who it is. But I want you to stay in the hall, and if there's anyone stirs in that room you're to dart upstairs and give one whistle at the top. Then I'll come.”
“And what then?”
“This is the second floor,” said Charlie, drawing another square. “And here's the servant's stairway, and we can get down to this entrance in the rear, that I'll open before I set to work. On the other hand, if you hear me whistle upstairs, then you're to get out by the way we came. If there's any alarm given, then it's each for himself.”
“I see,” said Samuel; and gripped his hands so that his companion might not see how he was quaking.
Charlie got out his kit and examined it to make sure that the police had kept nothing. Then he went to a bureau drawer and got a revolver, examined it and slipped it into his pocket. “They kept my best one,” he said. “So I've none to lend you.”
“I—I wouldn't take it, anyway,” stammered the other in horror.
“You'll learn,” said the burglar with a smile.
Then he sat down again and drew a diagram of the streets of Lockmanville, so that Samuel could find his way back in case of trouble. “We don't want to take any chances,” said he. “And mind, if I get caught, I'll not mention you—wild horses couldn't drag it out of me. And you make the same promise.”
“I make it,” said Samuel.
“Man to man,” said Charlie solemnly; and Samuel repeated the words.
“How did you come to know so much about the house?” he asked after a while.
“Oh! I've lived here and I've kept my eyes open. I worked as a plumber's man for a couple of months and I made diagrams.”
“But don't the police get to know you?”
“Yes—they know me. But I skip out when I've done a job. And when I come back it's in disguise. Once I grew a beard and worked in the glass works all day and did my jobs at night; and again I lived here as a woman.”
“A woman!” gasped the boy.
“You see,” said the other with a laugh, “there's more ways than one to prove your fitness.” And he went on, narrating some of his adventures—adventures calculated to throw the glamour of romance about the trade of burglar. Samuel listened breathless with wonder.
“We'd better get a bit of sleep now,” said Charlie later on. “We'll start about one.” And he stretched himself out on the bed, while the other sat motionless in the chair, pondering hard over his problem. There was no sleeping for Samuel that night.
He would carry out his bargain—that was his decision. But he would not take his share of the plunder, except just enough to pay Mrs. Stedman. And he would never be a burglar again!
At one o'clock he awakened his companion, and they set out through the deserted streets. They crossed the bridge to the residential part of town; and then, at a corner, Charlie stopped. “There's the place,” he said, pointing to a large house set back within a garden.
They gazed about. The coast was clear; and they darted into the door which had been indicated in the diagram. Samuel crouched in the doorway, motionless, while the other worked at the lock. Samuel's knees were trembling so that he could hardly stand up.
The door was opened without a sound having been made, and they stole into the entrance. They listened—the house was as still as death. Then Charlie flashed his lantern, and Samuel had quick glimpses of a beautiful and luxuriously furnished house. It was nothing like “Fairview,” of course; but it was finer than Professor Stewart's home. There was a library, with great leather armchairs; and in the rear a dining room, where mirrors and cut glass flashed back the far-off glimmer of the light.
“There's your door over there,” whispered Charlie. “And you'd better stay behind those curtains.”
So Samuel took up his post; the light vanished and his companion started for the floor above. Several times the boy heard the stairs creaking, and his heart leaped into his throat; but then the sounds ceased and all was still.
The minutes crawled by—each one seemed an age. He stood rooted to the spot, staring into the darkness—half-hypnotized by the thought of the door which he could not see, and of the person who might be asleep behind it. Surely this was a ghastly way for a man to have to gain his living—it were better to perish than to survive by such an ordeal! Samuel was appalled by the terrors which took possession of him, and the tremblings and quiverings which he could not control. Any danger in the world he would have faced for conscience' sake; but this was wrong—he knew it was wrong! And so all the glow of conviction was gone from him.
What could be the matter? Why should Charlie be so long? Surely he had had time enough to ransack the whole house! Could it be that he had got out by the other way—that he had planned to skip town, and leave Samuel there in the lurch?
And then again came a faint creaking upon the stairs. He was coming back! Or could it by any chance be another person? He dared not venture to whisper; he stood, tense with excitement, while the sounds came nearer—it was as if some monster were creeping upon him in the darkness, and folding its tentacles about him!
He heard a sound in the hall beside him. Why didn't Charlie speak? What was the matter with him? What—
And then suddenly came a snapping sound, and a blinding glare of light flashed up, flooding the hallway and everything about him. Samuel staggered back appalled. There was some one standing there before him! He was caught!
Thus for one moment of dreadful horror. And then he realized that the person confronting him was a little girl!
She was staring at him; and he stared at her. She could not have been more than ten years old, and wore a nightgown trimmed with lace. She had bright yellow hair, and her finger was upon the button which controlled the lights.
For fully a minute neither of them moved. Then Samuel heard a voice whispering: “Are you a burglar?”
He could not speak, but he nodded his head. And then again he heard the child's voice: “Oh, I'm so glad!”
“I'm so glad!” she repeated again, and her tone was clear and sweet. “I'd been praying for it! But I'd almost given up hope!”
Samuel found voice enough to gasp, “Why?”
“My mamma read me a story,” said the child. “It was about a little girl who met a burglar. And ever since I've been waiting for one to come.”
There was a pause. “Are you a really truly burglar?” the child whispered.
“I—I think so,” replied Samuel.
“You look very young,” she said.
And the other bethought himself. “I'm only a beginner,” he said. “This is really my first time.”
“Oh!” said the child with a faint touch of disappointment. “But still you will do, won't you?”
“Do for what?” asked the boy in bewilderment.
“You must let me reform you,” exclaimed the other. “That's what the little girl did in the story. Will you?”
“Why—why, yes”—gasped Samuel. “I—I really meant to reform.”
Then suddenly he thought he heard a sound in the hall above. He glanced up, and for one instant he had a glimpse of the face of Charlie peering down at him.
“What are you looking at?” asked the child.
“I thought—that is—there's some one with me,” stammered Samuel, forgetting his solemn vow.
“Oh! two burglars!” cried the child in delight. “And may I reform him, too?”
“I think you'd better begin with me,” said Samuel.
“Will he go away, do you think?”
“Yes—I think he's gone now.”
“But you—you won't go yet, will you?” asked the child anxiously. “You'll stay and talk to me?”
“If you wish”—gasped the boy.
“You aren't afraid of me?” she asked.
“Not of you,” said he. “But if some one else should waken.”
“No, you needn't think of that. Mamma and grandma both lock their doors at night. And papa's away.”
“Who sleeps there?” asked Samuel, pointing to the door he had been watching.
“That's papa's room,” said the child; and the other gave a great gasp of relief.
“Come,” said the little girl; and she seated herself in one of the big leather armchairs. “Now,” she continued, “tell me how you came to be a burglar.”
“I had no money,” said Samuel, “and no work.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the child; and then, “What is your work?”
“I lived on a farm all my life,” said he. “My father died and then I wanted to go to the city. I was robbed of all my money, and I was here without any friends and I couldn't find anything to do at all. I was nearly starving.”
“Why, how dreadful!” cried the other. “Why didn't you come to see papa?”
“Your father?” said he. “I didn't want to beg—”
“It wouldn't have been begging. He'd have been glad to help you.”
“I—I didn't know about him,” said Samuel. “Why should he—-”
“He helps everyone,” said the child. “That's his business.”
“How do you mean?”
“Don't you know who my father is?” she asked in surprise.
“No,” said he, “I don't.”
“My father is Dr. Vince,” she said; and then she gazed at him with wide-open eyes. “You've never heard of him!”
“Never,” said Samuel.
“He's a clergyman,” said the little girl.
“A clergyman!” echoed Samuel aghast. Somehow it seemed far worse to have been robbing a clergyman.
“And he's so good and kind!” went on the other. “He loves everyone, and tries to help them. And if you had come to him and told him, he'd have found some work for you.”
“There are a great many people in Lockmanville out of work,” said Samuel gravely.
“Oh! but they don't come to my papa!” said the child. “You must come and let him help you. You must promise me that you will.”
“But how can I? I've tried to rob him!”
“But that won't make any difference! You don't know my papa. If you should tell him that you had done wrong and that you were sorry—you are sorry, aren't you?”
“Yes, I'm very sorry.”
“Well, then, if you told him that, he'd forgive you—he'd do anything for you, I know. If he knew that I'd helped to reform you, he'd be so glad!—I did help a little, didn't I?”
“Yes,” said Samuel. “You helped.”
“You—you weren't very hard to reform, somehow,” said the child hesitatingly. “The little girl in the story had to talk a good deal more. Are you sure that you are going to be good now?”
Samuel could not keep back a smile. “Truly I will,” he said.
“I guess you were brought up to be good,” reflected the other. “I don't think you were very bad, anyway. It must be very hard to be starving.”
“It is indeed,” said the boy with conviction.
“I never heard of anyone starving before,” went on the other. “If that happened to people often, there'd be more burglars, I guess.”
There was a pause. “What is your name?” asked the little girl. “Mine is Ethel. And now I'll tell you what we'll do. My papa's on his way home—his train gets here early in the morning. And you come up after breakfast—I'll make him wait for you. And then you can tell it all to him, and then you won't have any more troubles. Will you do that?”
“You think he won't be angry with me?” asked Samuel.
“No, I'm sure of it.”
“And he won't want to have me arrested?”
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Ethel with an injured look. “Why, my papa goes to see people in prison, and tries to help them get out! I'll promise you, truly.”
“Very well,” said Samuel, “I'll come.”
And so they parted. And Samuel found himself out upon the street again, with the open sky above him, and a great hymn of relief and joy in his soul. He was no longer a burglar!
Samuel walked the streets all that night. For he fully meant to do what he had promised the child, and he did not care to go back to Charlie Swift, and face the latter's protests and ridicule.
At eight the next morning, tired but happy, he rang the bell of Dr. Vince's house. Ethel herself opened the door; and at the sight of him her face lighted up with joy, and she turned, crying out, “Here he is!”
And she ran halfway down the hall, exclaiming: “He's come! I told you he'd come! Papa!”
A man appeared at the dining room door, and stood staring at Samuel. “There he is, papa!” cried Ethel beside herself with delight. “There's my burglar!”
Dr. Vince came down the hall. He was a stockily built gentleman with a rather florid complexion and bushy beard. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, sir,” said Samuel.
“And are you really the young man who was here last night?”
“Yes, sir,” said Samuel.
The worthy doctor was obviously disconcerted. “This is quite extraordinary!” he exclaimed. “Won't you come in?”
They sat down in the library. “I don't want you to think, sir,” said Samuel quickly, “that I come to beg. Your little girl asked me—-”
“Don't mention that,” said the other. “If the story you told Ethel is really true, I should be only too glad to do anything that I could.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Samuel.
“And so you really broke into my house last night!” exclaimed the other. “Well! well! And it is the first time you have ever done anything of the sort in your life?”
“The very first,” said the boy.
“But what could have put it into your head?”
“There was another person with me,” said Samuel—“you will understand that I would rather not talk about him.”
“I see,” said the other. “He led you to it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have never done anything dishonest before?”
“No, sir.”
“You have never even been a thief?”
“No!” exclaimed Samuel indignantly.
The other noticed the tone of his voice. “But why did you begin now?” he asked.
“I was persuaded that it was right,” said Samuel.
“But how could that be? Had you never been taught about stealing?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy—“but it's not as simple as it seems. I had met Professor Stewart—”
“Professor Stewart!” echoed the other.
“Yes, sir—the professor at the college.”
“But what did he have to do with it?”
“Why, sir, he told me about the survival of the fittest, and how I had to starve to death because I was one of the failures. And then you see, sir, I met Master Albert—”
“Master Albert?”
“Albert Lockman, sir. And the professor had said that he was one of the fit; and I saw that he got drunk, sir, and did other things that were very wicked, and so it did not seem just right that I should starve. I can see now that it was very foolish of me; but I thought that I ought to fight, and try to survive if I possibly could. And then I met Char—that is, a bad man who offered to show me how to be a burglar.”
The other had been listening in amazement. “Boy,” he said, “are you joking with me?”
“Joking!” echoed Samuel, his eyes opening wide. And then the doctor caught his breath and proceeded to question him. He went back to the beginning, and made Samuel lay bare the story of his whole life. But when he got to the interview with Professor Stewart, the other could contain himself no longer. “Samuel!” he exclaimed, “this is the most terrible thing I have ever heard in my life.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“You have been saved—providentially saved, as I firmly believe. But you were hanging on the very verge of a life of evil; and all because men in our colleges are permitted to teach these blasphemous and godless doctrines. This is what they call science! This is our modern enlightenment!”
The doctor had risen and begun to pace the floor in his agitation. “I have always insisted that the consequence of such teaching would be the end of all morality. And here we have the thing before our very eyes! A young man of decent life is actually led to the commission of a crime, as a consequence of the teachings of Herbert Spencer!”
Samuel was listening in consternation. “Then it isn't true what Herbert Spencer says!” he exclaimed.
“True!” cried the other. “Why, Samuel, don't you KNOW that it isn't true? Weren't you brought up to read the Bible? And do you read anything in the Bible about the struggle for existence? Were you taught there that your sole duty was to fight with other men for your own selfish ends? Was it not rather made clear to you that you were not to concern yourself with your own welfare at all, but to struggle for the good of others, and to suffer rather than do evil? Why Samuel, what would your father have said, if he could have seen you last night—his own dear son, that he had brought up in the way of the Gospel?”
“Oh, sir!” cried Samuel, struck to the heart.
“My boy!” exclaimed the other. “Our business in this world is not that we should survive, but that the good should survive. We are to live for it and to die for it, if need be. We are to love and serve others—we are to be humble and patient—to sacrifice ourselves freely. The survival of the fittest! Why, Samuel, the very idea is a denial of spirituality—what are we that we should call ourselves fit? To think that is to be exposed to all the base passions of the human heart—to greed and jealousy and hate! Such doctrines are the cause of all the wickedness, of all the materialism of our time—of crime and murder and war! My boy, do you read that Jesus went about, worrying about His own survival, and robbing others because they were less fit than He? Only think how it would have been with you had you been called to face Him last night?”
The shame of this was more than Samuel could bear. “Oh, stop, stop, sir!” he cried, and covered his face with his hands. “I see it all! I have been very wicked!”
“Yes!” exclaimed the other. “You have been wicked.”
The tears were welling into Samuel's eyes. “I can't see how I did it, sir,” he whispered. “I have been blind—I have been lost. I am a strayed sheep!” And then suddenly his emotion overcame him, and he burst into a paroxysm of weeping. “I can't believe it of myself!” he exclaimed again and again. “I have been out of my senses!”
The doctor watched him for a few moments. “Perhaps it was not altogether your fault,” he said more gently. “You have been led astray—”
“No, no!” cried the boy. “I am bad. I see it—it must be! I could never have been persuaded, if I had not been bad! It began at the very beginning. I yielded to the first temptation when I stole a ride upon the train. And everything else came from that—it has been one long chain!”
“Let us be glad that it is no longer,” said Dr. Vince—“and that you have come to the end of it.”
“Ah, but have I?” cried the boy wildly.
“Why not? Surely you will no longer be led by such false teaching!”
“No, sir. But see what I have done! Why I am liable to be sent to jail—for I don't know how long.”
“You mean for last night?” asked the doctor. “But no one will ever know about that. You may start again and live a true life.”
“Ah,” cried Samuel, “but the memory of it will haunt me—I can never forgive myself!”
“We are very fortunate,” said the other gravely, “if we have only a few things in our lives that we cannot forget, and that we cannot forgive ourselves.”
The worthy doctor had been anticipating a long struggle to bring the young criminal to see the error of his ways; but instead, he found that he had to use his skill in casuistry to convince the boy that he was not hopelessly sullied. And when at last Samuel had been persuaded that he might take up his life again, there was nothing that would satisfy him save to go back where he had been before, and take up that struggle with starvation.
“I must prove that I can conquer,” he said—“I yielded to the temptation once, and now I must face it.”
“But, Samuel,” protested the doctor, “it is no man's duty to starve. You must let me help you, and find some useful work for you, and some people who will be your friends.”
“Don't think I am ungrateful,” cried the boy—“but why should I be favored? There are so many others starving, right here in this town. And if I am going to love them and serve them, why should I have more than they have? Wouldn't that be selfish of me? Why, sir, I'd be making profit out of my repentance!”
“I don't quite see that,” said the other—
“Why, sir! Isn't it just because I've been so sorry that you are willing to help me? There are so many others who have not been helped—some I know, sir, that need it far more than I do, and have deserved it more, too!”
“It seems to me, my boy, that is being too hard upon yourself—and on me. I cannot relieve all the distress in the world. I relieve what I find out about. And so I must help you. And don't you see that I wish to keep you near me, so that I can watch after your welfare? And perhaps—who knows—you can help me. The harvest is plenty, you have heard, and the laborers are few. There are many ways in which you could be of service in my church.”
“Ah, sir!” cried Samuel, overwhelmed with gratitude—“if you put it that way—”
“I put it that way most certainly,” said Dr. Vince. “You have seen a new light—you wish to live a new life. Stay here and live it in Lockmanville—there is no place in the world where it could be more needed.”
All this while the little girl had been sitting in silence drinking in the conversation. Now suddenly she rose and came to Samuel, putting her hand in his. “Please stay,” she said.
And Samuel answered, “Very well—I'll stay.”
So then they fell to discussing his future, and what Dr. Vince was going to do for him. The good doctor was inwardly more perplexed about it than he cared to let Samuel know.
“I'll ask Mr. Wygant,” he said—“perhaps he can find you a place in one of his factories.”
“Mr. Wygant?” echoed Samuel. “You mean Miss Gladys's father?”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “Do you know Miss Gladys?”
“I have met her two or three times,” said the boy.
“They are parishioners of mine,” remarked the other.
And Samuel gave a start. “Why!” he exclaimed. “Then you—you must be the rector of St. Matthew's.”
“Yes,” was the reply. “Didn't you know that?”
The boy was a little awed. He had seen the great brownstone temple upon the hill—a structure far more splendid than anything he had ever dreamed of.
“Have you never attended?” asked the doctor.
“I went to the mission once,” said Samuel—referring to the little chapel in the poor quarters of the town. “A friend of mine goes there—Sophie Stedman. She works in Mr. Wygant's cotton mill.”
“I should be glad to have you come to the church,” said the other.
“I'd like to very much,” replied the boy. “I didn't know exactly if I ought to, you know.”
“I am sorry you got that impression,” said Dr. Vince. “The church holds out its arms to everyone.”
“Well,” began Samuel apologetically, “I knew that all the rich people went to St. Matthew's—-”
“The church does not belong to the rich people,” put in the doctor very gravely; “the church belongs to the Lord.”
And so Samuel, overflowing with gratitude and happiness, joined St. Matthew's forthwith; and all the while in the deeps of his soul a voice was whispering to him that it was Miss Gladys' church also! And he would see his divinity again!
Samuel went back in great excitement to the Stedmans', to tell them of his good fortune. And the family sat about in a circle and listened to the recital in open-eyed amazement. It was a wonderful thing to have an adventurer like Samuel in one's house!
But the boy noticed that Sophie did not seem as much excited as he had anticipated. She sat with her head resting in her hands. And when the others had left the room—“Oh, Samuel,” she said. “I feel so badly to-day! I don't see how I'm going to go on.”
“Listen, Sophie,” he said quickly. “That's one of the first things I thought about—I can give you a chance now.”
“How do you mean?”
“I can get Dr. Vince to help you find some better work.”
“Did he say he would?” asked the child.
“No,” was the reply—“but he is so good to everyone. And all the rich people go to his church, you know. He said he wanted me to help him; so I shall find out things like that for him to do.”
And Samuel went on, pouring out his praises of the kind and gentle clergyman, and striving to interest Sophie by his pictures of the new world that was to open before her. “I'm going to see him again to-morrow,” he said. “Then you'll see.”
“Samuel,” announced the doctor when he called the next morning, “I have found a chance for you.” And Samuel's heart gave a great leap of joy.
It appeared that the sexton of St. Matthew's was growing old. They did not wish to change, but there must be some one to help him. The pay would not be high; but he would have a chance to work in the church, and to be near his benefactor. The tears of gratitude started into his eyes as he heard this wonderful piece of news.
“I'll see more of Miss Gladys!” the voice within him was whispering eagerly.
“Doctor,” he said after a pause, “I've some good news for you also.”
“What is it?” asked the other.
“It's a chance for you to help some one.”
“Oh!” said the doctor.
“It's little Sophie Stedman,” said Samuel; and he went on to tell how he had met the widow, and about her long struggle with starvation, and then of Sophie's experiences in the cotton mill.
“But what do you want me to do?” asked the other, with a troubled look.
“Why,” said Samuel, “we must save her. We must find her some work that will not kill her.”
“But, Samuel!” protested the other. “There are so many in her position—and how can I help it?”
“But, doctor! She can't stand it!”
“I know, my boy. It is a terrible thing to think of. Still, I can't undertake to find work for everyone.”
“But she will die!” cried the boy. “Truly, it is killing her! And, doctor, she has never had a chance in all her life! Only think—how would you feel if Ethel had to work in a cotton mill?”
There was a pause. “I honestly can't see—” began the bewildered clergyman.
“It will be quite easy for you to help her,” put in the boy; “because, you see, Mr. Wygant belongs to your church!”
“But what has that to do with it?”
“Why—it's Mr. Wygant's mill that she works in.”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “But—I—-”
“Surely,” exclaimed Samuel, “you don't mean that he wouldn't want to know about it!”
“Ahem!” said the other; and again there was a pause.
It was broken by Ethel, who had come in and was listening to the conversation. “Papa!” she exclaimed, “wouldn't Miss Gladys be the one to ask?”
Samuel gave a start. “The very thing!” he said.
And Dr. Vince, after pondering for a moment, admitted that it might be a good idea.
“You will come to church with me to-morrow,” said Ethel. “And if she is there we'll ask her.”
And so Samuel was on hand, trembling with excitement, and painfully conscious of his green and purple necktie. He sat in the Vince's pew, at Ethel's invitation; and directly across the aisle was Miss Wygant, miraculously resplendent in a springtime costume, yet with a touch of primness, becoming to the Sabbath. She did not see her adorer until after the service, when they met face to face.
“Why, Samuel!” she exclaimed. “You are here?”
“Yes, Miss Gladys,” he said. “I'm to work in the church now.”
“You don't tell me!” she responded.
“I'm to help the sexton,” he added.
“And he belongs to the church, too,” put in little Ethel. “And oh, Miss Gladys, won't you please let him tell you about Sophie!”
“About Sophie?” said the other.
“She's a little girl who works in your papa's mill, Miss Gladys. And her family's very poor, and she is sick, and Samuel says she may die.”
“Why, that's too bad!” exclaimed Miss Gladys. “Tell me about her, Samuel.”
And Samuel told the story. At the end a sudden inspiration came to him, and he mentioned how Sophie had received her Christmas present from Miss Gladys, and how she had kept her pictures in her room.
And, of course, Miss Wygant was touched. “I will see what I can do for her,” she said. “What would you suggest?”
“I thought,” said he boldly, “that maybe there might be some place for her at your home. That would make her so happy, you know.”
“I will see,” said the other. “Will you bring her to see me to-morrow, Samuel?”
“I will,” said he; and then he chanced to look into her face, and he caught again that piercing gaze which made the blood leap into his cheeks, and the strange and terrible emotions to stir in him. He turned his eyes away again, and his knees were trembling as he passed on down the aisle.
He stood and watched Miss Gladys enter her motor. Then he bade good-by to Ethel and her mother, and hurried back into the vestry room to tell Dr. Vince of his good fortune.
The good doctor had just slipped out of his vestments, and was putting on his cuffs. “I am so glad to hear it!” he said. “It was the very thing to do!”
“Yes,” said Samuel. “And, doctor, I've thought of something else.”
“What is that, Samuel?”
“I'll have to have a minute or two to tell you about it.”
“I'm just going to dinner now”—began the doctor.
“I'll walk with you, if I may,” said Samuel. “It's really very important.”
“All right,” responded the doctor in some trepidation.
“I thought of this in the middle of the night,” explained the boy, when they had started down the street. “It kept me awake for hours. Dr. Vince, I think we ought to convert Master Albert Lockman!”
“Convert him?” echoed the other perplexed.
“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “He is leading a wild life, and he's in a very bad way.”
“Yes, Samuel,” said the clergyman. “It is terrible, I know—”
“We must labor with him!” exclaimed Samuel. “He must not be allowed to go on like that!”
“Unfortunately,” said Dr. Vince hastily, “it wouldn't do for me to try it. You see, the Lockmans have always been Presbyterians, and so Bertie is under Dr. Handy's care.”
“But is Dr. Handy doing anything about it?” persisted the other.
“I really don't know, Samuel.”
“Because if he isn't, we ought to, Dr. Vince! Something must be done.”
“My boy,” said the doctor, “perhaps it wouldn't be easy for you to understand it. But there is a feeling—would it be quite good taste for me to try to take away a very rich parishioner from another church?”
“But what have his riches to do with it?” asked the boy.
“Unfortunately, Samuel, it costs money to build churches; and most clergymen are dependent upon their salaries, you know.”
The good doctor was trying to make a jest of it; but Samuel was in deadly earnest. “I hope,” he said, “that you are not dependent upon the money of anyone like Master Albert.”
“Um—no,” said the doctor quickly.
“Understand me, please,” went on the other. “It's not simply that Master Albert is wrecking his own life. I suppose that's his right, if he wants to. But it's what he can do to other people! It's his money, Dr. Vince! Just think of it, he has seven hundred thousand dollars a year! And he never earned a cent of it; and he doesn't know what to do with it! Doctor, you KNOW that isn't right!”
“No,” said the clergyman, “it's very wrong indeed. But what can you do about it?”
“I don't know, doctor. I haven't had time to think about it—I've only just begun to realize it. But I thought if somebody like yourself—some one he respects—could point it out to him, he might use his money to some good purpose. If he won't, why then he ought to give it up.”
The other smiled. “I'm afraid, Samuel, he'd hardly do that!”
“But, doctor, things can't go on as they are! Right here in this town are people dying of starvation. And he has seven hundred thousand dollars a year! Can that continue?”
“No, I trust not, my boy. It will be better some day. But it must be left to evolution—”
“Evolution!” echoed Samuel perplexed. “Do you believe in evolution?”
“Why,” said the other embarrassed—“what I mean is, that there are vast social forces at work—great changes taking place. But they move very slowly—”
“But why do they move so slowly?” objected the boy. “Isn't it just because so many people, don't care?”
“Why, Samuel—”
“If everyone would take an interest in them—then they would happen quickly!”
The two walked on for a minute in silence. Finally, the clergyman remarked, “Samuel, you take a great interest in social questions.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy. “You see, I have been down at the bottom, and I know how it feels. Nobody else can possibly understand—not even you, sir, with all your kind heart. You don't know what it means, sir—you don't know what it means!”
“Perhaps not, my boy,” said the other. “But my conscience is far from easy, I assure you. The only thing is, we must not be too impatient—we must learn to wait—”
“But, doctor!” exclaimed Samuel. “Will the people wait to starve?”
That question was a poser; and perhaps it was just as well that Dr. Vince was nearing the steps of his home. “I must go in now, Samuel,” he said. “But we will talk about these questions another time.”
“Yes, sir,” said Samuel, “we will.”
And the other glanced at him quickly. But the boy's face wore its old look of guileless eagerness.