IT WAS the
afternoon of that morning when Burns was installed in his
new position as assistant janitor that he was cleaning off
the front steps of the Settlement, when he paused a moment
and stood up to look about him. The first thing he noticed
was a beer sign just across the alley. He could almost touch
it with his broom from where he stood. Over the street
immediately opposite were two large saloons, and a little
farther down were three more.
Suddenly
the door of the nearest saloon opened and a man came out. At
the same time two more went in. A strong odor of beer
floated up to Burns as he stood on the steps. He clutched
his broom handle tightly and began to sweep again. He had
one foot on the porch and another on the steps just below.
He took another step down, still sweeping. The sweat stood
on his forehead although the day was frosty and the air
chill. The saloon door opened again and three or four men
came out. A child went in with a pail, and came out a moment
later with a quart of beer. The child went by on the
sidewalk just below him, and the odor of the beer came up to
him. He took another step down, still sweeping desperately.
His fingers were purple as he clutched the handle of the
broom.
Then
suddenly he pulled himself up one step and swept over the
spot he had just cleaned. He then dragged himself by a
tremendous effort back to the floor of the porch and went
over into the corner of it farthest from the saloon and
began to sweep there. "O God!" he cried, "if
the Bishop would only come back!" The Bishop had gone
out with Dr. Bruce somewhere, and there was no one about
that he knew. He swept in the corner for two or three
minutes. His face was drawn with the agony of his conflict.
Gradually he edged out again towards the steps and began to
go down them. He looked towards the sidewalk and saw that he
had left one step unswept. The sight seemed to give him a
reasonable excuse for going down there to finish his
sweeping.
He was on
the sidewalk now, sweeping the last step, with his face
towards the Settlement and his back turned partly on the
saloon across the alley. He swept the step a dozen times.
The sweat rolled over his face and dropped down at his feet.
By degrees he felt that he was drawn over towards that end
of the step nearest the saloon. He could smell the beer and
rum now as the fumes rose around him. It was like the
infernal sulphur of the lowest hell, and yet it dragged him
as by a giant's hand nearer its source.
He was
down in the middle of the sidewalk now, still sweeping. He
cleared the space in front of the Settlement and even went
out into the gutter and swept that. He took off his hat and
rubbed his sleeve over his face. His lips were pallid and
his teeth chattered. He trembled all over like a palsied man
and staggered back and forth as if he was already drunk. His
soul shook within him.
He had
crossed over the little piece of stone flagging that
measured the width of the alley, and now he stood in front
of the saloon, looking at the sign, and staring into the
window at the pile of whiskey and beer bottles arranged in a
great pyramid inside. He moistened his lips with his tongue
and took a step forward, looking around him stealthily. The
door suddenly opened again and someone came out. Again the
hot, penetrating smell of liquor swept out into the cold
air, and he took another step towards the saloon door which
had shut behind the customer. As he laid his fingers on the
door handle, a tall figure came around the corner. It was
the Bishop.
He seized
Burns by the arm and dragged him back upon the sidewalk. The
frenzied man, now mad for a drink, shrieked out a curse and
struck at his friend savagely. It is doubtful if he really
knew at first who was snatching him away from his ruin. The
blow fell upon the Bishop's face and cut a gash in his
cheek. He never uttered a word. But over his face a look of
majestic sorrow swept. He picked Burns up as if he had been
a child and actually carried him up the steps and into the
house. He put him down in the hall and then shut the door
and put his back against it.
Burns fell
on his knees sobbing and praying. The Bishop stood there
panting with his exertion, although Burns was a
slightly-built man and had not been a great weight for a man
of his strength to carry. He was moved with unspeakable
pity.
"Pray,
Burns--pray as you never prayed before! Nothing else will
save you!"
"O
God! Pray with me. Save me! Oh, save me from my hell!"
cried Burns. And, the Bishop knelt by him in the hall and
prayed as only he could pray.
After
that they rose and Burns went to his room. He came out of it
that evening like a humble child. And the Bishop went his
way older from that experience, bearing on his body the
marks of the Lord Jesus. Truly he was learning something of
what it means to walk in His steps.
But the
saloon! It stood there, and all the others lined the street
like so many traps set for Burns. How long would the man be
able to resist the smell of the damnable stuff? The Bishop
went out on the porch. The air of the whole city seemed to
be impregnated with the odor of beer. "How long, O
Lord, how long?" he prayed. Dr. Bruce came out, and the
two friends talked about Burns and his temptation.
"Did
you ever make any inquiries about the ownership of this
property adjoining us?" the Bishop asked.
"No,
I haven't taken time for it. I will now if you think it
would be worth while. But what can we do, Edward, against
the saloon in this great city? It is as firmly established
as the churches or politics. What power can ever remove
it?"
"God
will do it in time, as He has removed slavery," was the
grave reply. "Meanwhile I think we have a right to know
who controls this saloon so near the Settlement."
"I'll
find out," said Dr. Bruce.
Two days
later he walked into the business office of one of the
members of Nazareth Avenue Church and asked to see him a few
moments. He was cordially received by his old parishioner,
who welcomed him into his room and urged him to take all the
time he wanted.
"I
called to see you about that property next the Settlement
where the Bishop and myself now are, you know. I am going to
speak plainly, because life is too short and too serious for
us both to have any foolish hesitation about this matter.
Clayton, do you think it is right to rent that property for
a saloon?"
Dr.
Bruce's question was as direct and uncompromising as he had
meant it to be. The effect of it on his old parishioner was
instantaneous.
The hot
blood mounted to the face of the man who sat there beneath a
picture of business activity in a great city. Then he grew
pale, dropped his head on his hands, and when he raised it
again Dr. Bruce was amazed to see a tear roll over his face.
"Doctor,
did you know that I took the pledge that morning with the
others?"
"Yes,
I remember."
"But
you never knew how I have been tormented over my failure to
keep it in this instance. That saloon property has been the
temptation of the devil to me. It is the best paying
investment at present that I have. And yet it was only a
minute before you came in here that I was in an agony of
remorse to think how I was letting a little earthly gain
tempt me into a denial of the very Christ I had promised to
follow. I knew well enough that He would never rent property
for such a purpose. There is no need, Dr. Bruce, for you to
say a word more."
Clayton
held out his hand and Dr. Bruce grasped it and shook it
hard. After a little he went away. But it was a long time
afterwards that he learned all the truth about the struggle
that Clayton had known. It was only a part of the history
that belonged to Nazareth Avenue Church since that memorable
morning when the Holy Spirit sanctioned the Christ-like
pledge. Not even the Bishop and Dr. Bruce, moving as they
now did in the very presence itself of divine impulses, knew
yet that over the whole sinful city the Spirit was brooding
with mighty eagerness, waiting for the disciples to arise to
the call of sacrifice and suffering, touching hearts long
dull and cold, making business men and money-makers uneasy
in their absorption by the one great struggle for more
wealth, and stirring through the church as never in all the
city's history the church had been moved. The Bishop and Dr.
Bruce had already seen some wonderful things in their brief
life at the Settlement. They were to see far greater soon,
more astonishing revelations of the divine power than they
had supposed possible in this age of the world.
Within a
month the saloon next the Settlement was closed. The
saloon-keeper's lease had expired, and Clayton not only
closed the property to the whiskey men, but offered the
building to the Bishop and Dr. Bruce to use for the
Settlement work, which had now grown so large that the
building they had first rented was not sufficient for the
different industries that were planned.
One of
the most important of these was the pure-food department
suggested by Felicia. It was not a month after Clayton
turned the saloon property over to the Settlement that
Felicia found herself installed in the very room where souls
had been lost, as head of the department not only of cooking
but of a course of housekeeping for girls who wished to go
out to service. She was now a resident of the Settlement,
and found a home with Mrs. Bruce and the other young women
from the city who were residents. Martha, the violinist,
remained at the place where the Bishop had first discovered
the two girls, and came over to the Settlement certain
evenings to give lessons in music.
"Felicia,
tell us your plan in full now," said the Bishop one
evening when, in a rare interval of rest from the great
pressure of work, he was with Dr. Bruce, and Felicia had
come in from the other building.
"Well,
I have long thought of the hired girl problem," said
Felicia with an air of wisdom that made Mrs. Bruce smile as
she looked at the enthusiastic, vital beauty of this young
girl, transformed into a new creature by the promise she had
made to live the Christ-like life. "And I have reached
certain conclusions in regard to it that you men are not yet
able to fathom, but Mrs. Bruce will understand me."
"We
acknowledge our infancy, Felicia. Go on," said the
Bishop humbly.
"Then
this is what I propose to do. The old saloon building is
large enough to arrange into a suite of rooms that will
represent an ordinary house. My plan is to have it so
arranged, and then teach housekeeping and cooking to girls
who will afterwards go out to service. The course will be
six months' long; in that time I will teach plain cooking,
neatness, quickness, and a love of good work."
"Hold
on, Felicia!" the Bishop interrupted, "this is not
an age of miracles!"
"Then
we will make it one," replied Felicia. "I know
this seems like an impossibility, but I want to try it. I
know a score of girls already who will take the course, and
if we can once establish something like an esprit de corps
among the girls themselves, I am sure it will be of great
value to them. I know already that the pure food is working
a revolution in many families."
"Felicia,
if you can accomplish half what you propose it will bless
this community," said Mrs. Bruce. "I don't see how
you can do it, but I say, God bless you, as you try."
"So
say we all!" cried Dr. Bruce and the Bishop, and
Felicia plunged into the working out of her plan with the
enthusiasm of her discipleship which every day grew more and
more practical and serviceable.
It must
be said here that Felicia's plan succeeded beyond all
expectations. She developed wonderful powers of persuasion,
and taught her girls with astonishing rapidity to do all
sorts of housework. In time, the graduates of Felicia's
cooking school came to be prized by housekeepers all over
the city. But that is anticipating our story. The history of
the Settlement has never yet been written. When it is
Felicia's part will be found of very great importance.
The depth
of winter found Chicago presenting, as every great city of
the world presents to the eyes of Christendom the marked
contrast between riches and poverty, between culture,
refinement, luxury, ease, and ignorance, depravity,
destitution and the bitter struggle for bread. It was a hard
winter but a gay winter. Never had there been such a
succession of parties, receptions, balls, dinners, banquets,
fetes, gayeties. Never had the opera and the theatre been so
crowded with fashionable audiences. Never had there been
such a lavish display of jewels and fine dresses and
equipages. And on the other hand, never had the deep want
and suffering been so cruel, so sharp, so murderous. Never
had the winds blown so chilling over the lake and through
the thin shells of tenements in the neighborhood of the
Settlement. Never had the pressure for food and fuel and
clothes been so urgently thrust up against the people of the
city in their most importunate and ghastly form. Night after
night the Bishop and Dr. Bruce with their helpers went out
and helped save men and women and children from the torture
of physical privation. Vast quantities of food and clothing
and large sums of money were donated by the churches, the
charitable societies, the civic authorities and the
benevolent associations. But the personal touch of the
Christian disciple was very hard to secure for personal
work. Where was the discipleship that was obeying the
Master's command to go itself to the suffering and give
itself with its gift in order to make the gift of value in
time to come? The Bishop found his heart sing within him as
he faced this fact more than any other. Men would give money
who would not think of giving themselves. And the money they
gave did not represent any real sacrifice because they did
not miss it. They gave what was the easiest to give, what
hurt them the least. Where did the sacrifice come in? Was
this following Jesus? Was this going with Him all the way?
He had been to members of his own aristocratic, splendidly
wealthy congregations, and was appalled to find how few men
and women of that luxurious class in the churches would
really suffer any genuine inconvenience for the sake of
suffering humanity. Is charity the giving of worn-out
garments? Is it a ten-dollar bill given to a paid visitor or
secretary of some benevolent organization in the church?
Shall the man never go and give his gift himself? Shall the
woman never deny herself her reception or her party or her
musicale, and go and actually touch, herself, the foul,
sinful sore of diseased humanity as it festers in the great
metropolis? Shall charity be conveniently and easily done
through some organization? Is it possible to organize the
affections so that love shall work disagreeable things by
proxy?
All this
the Bishop asked as he plunged deeper into the sin and
sorrow of that bitter winter. He was bearing his cross with
joy. But he burned and fought within over the shifting of
personal love by the many upon the hearts of the few. And
still, silently, powerfully, resistlessly, the Holy Spirit
was moving through the churches, even the aristocratic,
wealthy, ease- loving members who shunned the terrors of the
social problem as they would shun a contagious disease.
