“Get a bottle of Watkins’ Relief!” piped a shrill voice through the partially opened window.
Taken by surprise, and with his mouth open, the Elder lost every expression of dignity as he gazed in the direction whence the advice had come. Before he could again gather up the threads of his closing remarks several men were demanding the floor. The Elder scanned the faces of all, in order to place friend and foe. He then fixed his glance on some one at the rear of the room. In answer to the Elder’s nod a heavy basso pealed forth.
Every head turned about, and as the buzz of comment broke from the astonished crowd the Elder rapped for order. The Reverend Mr. Means of New York City moved ponderously forward.
The faces of the sympathetic ones in the audience 166 became exceedingly serious as each looked into the face of the city clergyman. Certainly, this meeting must be of tremendous importance to lead so great a man to leave his metropolitan pulpit to attend a gathering in so small a church.
“We must have better order!” cried Mr. Fox, smiling a welcome to the visiting minister. “We have the unexpected pleasure of a visit from––er––our much-loved friend and brother. Shall we dispense with the business of the hour and hear what the Reverend Mr. Means may have on his heart?”
Mr. Means took his position near the moderator. With a long sympathetic look he searched the invisible among the shadows of the ceiling. He was calm, too calm, thought the Captain. He drew his frock coat about him, and plunged the fingers of his right hand in between the two buttons over his heart. That attitude, as of one weary with the struggles of men and yet tolerant because of long-suffering kindness, had an immediate effect on part of the audience. From somewhere near the center of the room applause started, and 167 soon swelled to a moderate ovation. He acknowledged the respect shown him by bringing his eyes down to the level of his audience.
“Brethren,”––his voice trembled as he began to speak,––“I have no special message for you to-night; my heart is too sore from the things I have just seen and heard. I have been in the rear of this room during your entire service. I have listened to the unfortunate sermon which your bright young minister was so unwise as to preach. I do not marvel that you are like a flock of sheep having no shepherd; that sermon was enough to confuse even me, and I have been in the ministry a great many years. I feel I must say something, but I earnestly pray that it may not influence you in this matter which is yours to decide. I do not intend to even suggest what action you ought to take on the report of your parish committee. You must remember that what you do to-night may affect the future of our young brother, and you must not wreck that future. Mr. McGowan and I do not agree on matters of theology, but that fact does not prevent me from admiring some of 168 his fine qualities to which your senior Elder referred to-night. Time may cool the ardor of his youth into sane and safe ideas.
“But,”––he lifted his hands toward heaven and his voice toward the people,––“what your parish committee chairman has told you in his report is true, only too true. We cannot afford to permit our churches to suffer from such teachings as those given you to-night, and I dare say, which have been given you many times past. Brethren, as great as is our love for this young minister, it is as nothing in comparison with the devotion that should be ours where the doctrines of our church are concerned. I opposed the ordination of Mr. McGowan in the New York Presbytery a year ago on the ground that he was not sound in doctrine, but when my brethren passed him over my protest I acquiesced as a Christian must always do when the voice of the majority speaks. But I must say that I greatly deplored the action taken at that time. Not that I hold any personal feelings against the young man, but because I am opposed to unorthodox men being called to our pulpits.
“Now, brethren, I should gladly waive all this,” he continued, dropping his voice to a soothing whisper, “but theological differences are not all that stand between the young man and a faithful church. You’ve heard him suggest that the church which should be the house of God, and which Scripture calls the house of prayer, be turned into a playhouse for the community. I cannot imagine any man with a passion to save souls holding to an idea that he can accomplish this by desecrating the place of Divine Worship by turning it into a gymnasium. The only explanation possible is that Mr. McGowan has not been reared under the influences of our best families. Not that this is anything against his character, but fact is fact.”