Elmer wrote to Mr. J. E. North and the trustees of the Napap that while he would titularly be the pastor of the Yorkville Methodist (and would it not be a splendid justification of their work that their executive secretary should be the pastor of one of the most important churches in New York City?) yet he would be able to leave all the actual work to his able assistants, and except possibly for Sabbaths and an occasional wedding or funeral, give all his energy and time to the work of guiding, so far as might lie within his humble power, the epochal work of the National Association for the Purification of Art and the Press.
From both of these pious assemblies he had answers that they were pleased by his explanation, and that it would be a matter now of only a few days—
It was Hettie Dowler who composed these letters, but Elmer made several changes in commas, and helped by kissing her while she was typing.
VIII
It was too vexatious that at this climax of his life Elmer’s mother should have invited herself to come and stay with them.
He was happy when he met her at the station. However pleasant it might be to impress the great of the world—Bishop Toomis or J. E. North or Dr. Wilkie Bannister—it had been from his first memory the object of life to gain the commendation of his mother and of Paris, Kansas, the foundation of his existence. To be able to drive her in a new Willys-Knight sedan, to show her his new church, his extraordinarily genteel home, Cleo in a new frock, was rapture.
But when she had been with them for only two days, his mother got him aside and said stoutly, “Will you sit down and try not to run about the room, my son? I want to talk to you.”
“That’s splendid! But I’m awfully afraid I’ve got to make it short, because—”
“Elmer Gantry! Will you hold your tongue and stop being such a wonderful success? Elmer, my dear boy, I’m sure you don’t mean to do wrong, but I don’t like the way you’re treating Cleo . . . and such a dear, sweet, bright, devout girl.”
“What do you mean?”