I
Franklin Mills was now on better terms with himself than at any time since Bruce Storrs’s appearance in town. Open weather had made it possible for him to go to Deer Trail once or twice a week for a ride, and he walked several miles every day. Leila had agreed to accompany him on a trip to Bermuda the first of February. In his absence the machinery he had set in motion would be projecting the Hardens a little further into the social limelight without his appearing to be concerned in it.
He was hoping that the trip would serve effectually to break off Thomas’s attentions to Leila, and that within the next year he would see her engaged to Carroll. Leila couldn’t be driven; to attempt to force the thing would be disastrous. But the thought of her marrying Thomas, a divorced man, was abhorrent, while Carroll was in all ways acceptable. What Shepherd lacked in force and experience, Carroll would bring into the family. Mills was annoyed that he had ever entertained a thought that he could be denied anything in life that he greatly coveted, or deprived of the comfort and peace he had so long enjoyed. He would prolong his Indian Summer; his last years should be his happiest.
He enjoyed the knowledge that he exercised, with so little trouble to himself, a real power in the community. In a directors’ meeting no one spoke with quite his authoritative voice. No other business man in town was so thoroughly informed in finance and economics as he. He viewed the life of his city with the tranquil delight of a biologist who in the quiet of his laboratory studies specimens that have been brought to the slide without any effort on his own part. And Mills liked to see men squirm—silly men who overreached themselves, pretentious upstarts who gestured a great deal with a minimum of accomplishment. Blessed with both brains and money, he derived the keenest satisfaction in screening himself from contact with the vulgar while he participated in the game like an invisible master chess player....
Doctor Lindley had asked him to come in to St. Barnabas to look at the Mills Memorial window, which had been restored with Mills’s money. He stopped on his way to the office a few days before Christmas and found Lindley busy in his study. They went into the church and inspected the window, which was quite as good as new. While they were viewing it Mrs. Torrence came in, her vivacity subdued to the spirit of the place. She was on a committee to provide the Christmas decorations.
“You’re just the man I want to see,” she said to Mills. “I was going to call you up. There’s some stuff in your greenhouses I could use if you don’t mind.”
“Anything I’ve got! Tell me what you want and I’ll have the people at the farm deliver it.”
“That’s fine! I knew you’d be glad to help. The florists are such robbers at Christmas.” She scribbled a memorandum of her needs on an envelope and left them.
Mills stood with his hand resting on the Mills pew for a last glance at the transept window. The church, which had survived all the changes compelled by the growth of the city, was to Mills less of a holy place than a monument to the past. His grandfather and father had been buried from the church; here he had been married, and here Shepherd and Leila had been baptized. Leila would want a church wedding.... His thoughts transcribed a swift circle; then, remembering that the rector was waiting, he followed him into the vestry.
“Can’t you come in for a talk?” asked Lindley after Mills had expressed his gratification that the window had been repaired so successfully.
“No; I see there are people waiting for you.” Mills glanced at a row of men and women of all ages—a discouraged-looking company ranged along the wall outside the study door. One woman with a shawl over her head coughed hideously as she tried to quiet a dirty child. “These people want advice or other help? I suppose there’s no end to your work.”
“It’s my business to help them,” the rector replied. “They’re all strangers—I never saw any of them before. I rather like that—their sense of the church standing ready to help them.”
“If they ask for money, what do you do?” asked Mills practically. “Is there a fund?”
“Well, I have a contingency fund—yes. Being here in the business district, I have constant calls that I don’t feel like turning over to the charity society. I deal with them right here the best I can. I make mistakes, of course.”
“How much have you in hand now?” Mills asked bluntly. The bedraggled child had begun to whimper, and the mother, in hoarse whispers, was attempting to silence it.
“Well, I did have about four dollars,” laughed Lindley, “but Mrs. Torrence handed me a hundred this morning.”
“I’ll send you a check for a thousand for these emergency cases. When it gets low again, let me know.”
“That’s fine, Mills! I can cheer a good many souls with a thousand dollars. This is generous of you, indeed!”
“Oh—Lindley!” Mills had reached the street door when he paused and retraced his steps. “Just a word—sometime ago in my office I talked to you in a way I’ve regretted. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite—quite just, to you and the church—to organized religion. I realize, of course, that the church——”
“The church,” said Lindley smilingly, “the church isn’t these walls; it’s here!” He tapped his breast lightly. “It’s in your heart and mine.”
“That really simplifies the whole thing!” Mills replied, and with a little laugh he went on to his office.
He thought it fine of the minister to give audience to the melancholy suppliants who sought him for alms and counsel. He didn’t envy Lindley his job, but it had to be done by someone. Lindley was really a very good fellow indeed, Mills reflected—a useful man in the community, and not merely an agreeable table companion and witty after-dinner speaker.