“There is no person on this earth rich enough, or powerful enough, to dictate what I shall say, or what I shall not say, as a preacher of the gospel. You may have this pulpit, and you may secure, to fill it, some one who will be your slave; but I will wear no other bonds than those of the Master, whether in the pulpit or out, and no man, even though he be a thousand times a millionaire, will shape my words or actions, as a minister of the gospel, or as a private citizen.�
There was much in Ralph Cutter’s mind that did not find expression in words. He had been disgusted with the First Church in Papyrus, or rather with its bosses, before he had been with it a fortnight. Only the magical charm of a pair of black eyes, and the lovable personality behind them, had made life in the Paper Town endurable to him. Recently Zechariah Baldwin had given the young preacher plain notice that if he continued to occupy the pulpit of the First Church, he must cut out some of his pet hobbies from future sermons. He must cease to meddle with the relations between labor and capital, both in the pulpit and out—and, in short, he must omit everything which could possibly offend the Honorable Zechariah. This dictation the young preacher positively refused to submit to.
He tried to imagine the changed attitude of the people toward him at the close of to-morrow’s sermon. There would be faces averted from him which had always before been friendly. There would be hands withheld which had always before sought his in friendly greeting.
There was one peculiarly sharp thorn in this thorny affair. How he wished that those searching black eyes did not belong to a member of the “Royal Family�, as the Baldwin family was sometimes called.
Nature was not disturbed by his eloquence. A hawk sailed with unmoved wings, in mighty circles, high above him. The noisy blue jays were mobbing an owl in the oak grove close by. The blossoms of the trailing arbutus were as lavish of their fragrance as if no one in the world were troubled, or perplexed, or in love.
All unconscious that any human being was within hearing, the preacher continued:—
“When I first came to Papyrus I delivered a sermon against the disfranchisement of negroes at the South. After the service a workingman asked me why I did not ask a full and free ballot for the white paper-maker of Massachusetts, as well as for the negro cotton-planter of Mississippi? I was much surprised when the workman told me that mill-hands in Papyrus, who are legal voters, do not have a full vote in town-government, and cannot secure it.
“I have since investigated actual conditions here, and find that the Papyrus mill-hand, even if he owns his home, cannot vote appropriations for schools, highways, street-lights, sewers, and other public improvements for which he is taxed. The mill-hand, it is claimed, is given two hours in which to attend town-meeting. That period of two hours always includes the dinner-hour. The trip to and from the town-hall, in some cases, takes nearly the whole of the two hours.
“Two hours for the rightful monarch of Papyrus to say how the town shall be governed! A two-hour limit to prevent the real creator of all your wealth from saying how that wealth shall be taxed! Two hours limit for a free citizen of the grand old Commonwealth of Massachusetts on Town-Meeting-Day—the day that taught New England to be free! In reality, not two hours, not one hour. Barely time for the rightful monarch to mark a ballot for town-officers and return to the mill, while the usurper remains and dictates what sums shall be spent by the town for schools, highways and other needs.
“I have consulted one of the best lawyers in the state. He says: ‘The Commonwealth of Massachusetts does not guarantee to its mill-hands, who may be legal voters, the right to vote in town-affairs. The paltry two-hour provision only makes a farce of free government in mill-towns. It does not apply to town-meetings. In some towns the workman’s full rights are secured by shutting down the mills on town-meeting day, and in others by holding the business meeting, for appropriations, in the evening. But where the town authorities and the employers, as in Papyrus, are both opposed to allowing the mill-hands to vote on appropriations, they have no legal remedy. The political leaders, or bosses, of the State have been asked to correct the law, but they say the matter is of no importance,—as if anything could possibly be more important than the principle of equal rights, upon which our nation is founded.’�