“He paused again, and this time his eyes began to shoot jerk-lightning, an’ when he started to speak his deep voice shook the room like the low notes of a big organ. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I am not content to walk with the Lord, only on the day of His triumph—The very ones who strewed the pathway of His majesty with palms, and filled the air with hosaners, deserted Him at the cross—but I must walk with Him every step of the way. I do not pray that my earthly garments be spotless, I do not pray that my sandals be unworn an’ free from mud; but I do pray that when I stand on my own Calvery I may stand with those who bear crosses, not with those who have spent their lives in learnin’ to wear crowns.’
“Carmichael had discarded that entire vestry by this time, and he didn’t care a blue-bottle fly what they thought of him. He towered above them with his face shinin’, and his voice rolled down over ’em like a Norther sweepin’ through the hills. ‘Many there were,’ he went on, ‘who cried to Him, Lord, Lord; but after the tomb was sealed, it was the Magdalene whose faith never faltered, it was to her He first appeared; and on the final resurrection morning, I hope the lesser Magdalenes of all the ages, and from all the nasty corners of the world into which man’s greed has crowded ’em, will know that I am their brother, and, save for a lovin’ hand at the right moment, one of them to the last sordid detail.’
“Carmichael stopped after this, and the room was so quiet you could hear the consciences o’ that vestry floppin’ up and down again’ their pocketbooks. When he began again his voice was soft, an’ the bitterness had given way to sadness. ‘The old way was best, after all,’ he said. ‘When you pay a priest a salary, you hire him and he becomes your servant. The custom is, for masters to dictate to their servants; it is an old, old custom, and hard to break. I think I could suit you; but I do not think I shall try. The roots of my own life lead back to the gutter, and through these roots shall I draw strength to lift others from the gutter. I do not value my voice as a means to amuse those already weary of amusement: I look upon it as a tool to help clean up the world. You are already so clean that you fear I may defile you by contagion. You do not need me; and with all your careful business methods, you have not money enough to hire me.
“‘What you need here, is a diplomat; while I yearn to be on the firm’ line. I care little for the etiquette of religion, I want to get down where the fightin’ is fierce an’ primitive—so I hereby resign.
“‘This girl whom you have driven out of my life, needs no defence from me or any man. I have known her since she was a little child; poverty was her lot, and self-sacrifice has become her second nature. We are forbidden to judge; so I judge neither her nor you; but I will say that often I have stood silent before the beauty of her character, and often my face has burned at the tainted money you have put on the plate. Part of this money comes from the rental of dives. I have seen the dives themselves, I have seen their fearful product; and I cannot believe that profit wrung from a helpless slave can find its way to God—even on the contribution plate.
“‘I love the music an’ the service an’ the vestments o’ this church; and I hope I need not give them up; but my heart is in rebellion, and from this time on I take the full responsibility of my acts. I shall not choose my path; but will go as the spirit moves me; and if ever I find one single spot which seems too dark for the Light of the world to enter, then shall the soul in me shrivel and die, and I shall become a beast, howling in the jungle.’”
Horace said that after the Friar had left the room, those vestry fellers sat in a sort of daze for some time, and then got up an’ sneaked out one at a time, lookin’ exceeding thoughtful; while Hugo had hustled around to his room to read off his notes.
We sat there on the hill until dark, me tryin’ to pump him for more details, but he didn’t have ’em. He said the Friar had started to work in the slums; but was soon lost sight of, and the first he had heard of him for years was when he had come up the pass, singin’ his marchin’ song. Course, I’d liked it some better if the Friar had knocked their heads together; but still, takin’ his eyes an’ voice into consideration, it must ’a’ been a fine sight; and if ever I get the chance, I’m goin’ to take on as a vestry-man, myself, for at least one term.
[CHAPTER FIFTEEN—TENDER FEELINGS]
Me an’ Horace was regular chums after this. I had got to likin’ him after he had showed up good stuff under treatment; but I never took him serious until he got enthusiastic about Friar Tuck. This proved him to have desirable qualities and made him altogether worth while. A man never gets too old to dote on flattery; but the older he gets the more particular he is about its quality. It’s just like tobacco an’ pie an’ whiskey an’ such things: we start out hungry for ’em an’ take a lot o’ trouble to get ’em in quantity; but after a time we’d sooner go without altogether than not to have a superior article; an’ it’s just the same way with flattery.