PART 15 of 24 Parts
When Rollin left his club and started down the street that afternoon he had come suddenly and accidentally upon Rachel Winslow. His heart had leaped at the sight of her slim graceful figure. He walked along by her now, his spirit rejoicing.
"I have just been to see Virginia," said Rachel. "She tells me the arrangements are nearly completed for the purchase of the Rectangle property."
"Yes, It was slow going through the court. Did
"We looked over a good many. It is astonishing to me how many ideas
"
"What have you been doing all summer?" Rachel asked suddenly. "I have not seen much of you." Then her face warmed slightly, as if she might have implied more interest in Rollin than she felt.
"I’ve been busy," replied Rollin briefly.
"Tell me something about it," persisted Rachel. "You say so little. Have I a right to ask?"
"Yes, certainly," he replied with a grateful smile. "I am not certain I can tell you much. I have been trying to find some way to reach the men I once knew—"
He stopped suddenly as if he were almost afraid to go on. Yet he was encouraged by the interest on Rachel’s face.
"I made the pledge to do as I believe Jesus would do. Then I asked myself, ‘Where would I be of any use to Him?’ Where else but with my old friends?"
"That is what I do not understand. What can you do with the clubmen?"
"Did it ever occur to you that of all the neglected beings in our social system, none are quite so completely left alone as the fast young men who fill the clubs and waste their time and money as I used to do?" replied Rollin. "The churches do show concern for the poor miserable creatures like those in the Rectangle. They make some effort to reach the working men. They send money and missionaries to foreign lands. But there are no Christian efforts for reaching the fashionable, dissipated young men around town, the clubmen.
"And yet no class of people needs it more. I said to myself: ‘I know these men, their good and bad qualities. I have been one of them. I am not fitted to reach the Rectangle people; they would ridicule me. But I think I could possibly help some of my friends.’ So that is what I have been trying to do." He paused. "It has also been my cross."
Rollin’s voice was so low on the last sentence that Rachel barely heard him. She hesitated to ask what his methods were. Her interest in his plans was larger than mere curiosity. Rollin Page was so different now from the dissipated young man who had asked her to be his wife that she could not help thinking of him as if he were an entirely new acquaintance.
They had turned up the street to Rachel’s home. It was the same street where Rollin had asked Rachel why she could not love him. They were both stricken with a sudden shyness as they went on.
"In your work with the clubmen, with your old acquaintances, what sort of reception do they give you? How do you approach them? What do they say?" she finally asked.
"It depends on the man. A good many of them think I am a crank. I try to be wise. Some of the men have responded. Only a few nights ago, a dozen of us became honestly and earnestly engaged in a conversation over religious questions. I have had the great joy of seeing several of the men question their own morality. A few have started going to church. I’m too new a Christian to be a good evangelist, so I am feeling my way along. One thing I have found out. The men are not avoiding me. I think that is a good sign. Another thing, I have interested some of them in the Rectangle work. And in addition to all the rest, I have found a way to steer several young fellows away from the clutches of gamblers."
Rollin spoke with enthusiasm. His face was transformed by his interest in the subject that had now become a part of his real life. Rachel again noted the vitality of his speech. Underneath it all was a new and deep seriousness.
"Do you remember I reproached you once for not having any purpose worth living for?" she asked. "I want to say that I honor you now for your courage and your obedience to the promise you have made."
They walked along in silence. Finally, Rollin said uncertainly, "I thank you. It has been worth more to me than I can tell you to hear you say that." He looked into her face for one moment. She read his love for her in that look.
When they separated, Rachel went into the house, and sitting down in her room said to herself, "I am beginning to know what it means to be loved by a real man."
She rose and walked back and forth. Somehow a glad, new joy had come to her. And she also realized that if she were beginning to love Rollin Page, it was the Christian man she had begun to love. The other person never would have moved her to this change.
And Rollin, as he walked to his home, treasured a hope that had been a stranger to him since Rachel said no that day on the street. In that hope he went on with his work in renewed enthusiasm.
The summer had gone and Raymond was once more facing the rigor of her winter season.
Henry Maxwell was impressed, however, by how much had been done in a short time. Yet as he walked through the Rectangle one day, he could not avoid the question of the continual degradation of life there. How much had been done for this area after all? Of course, he said to himself, the redemptive work begun and carried on by the Holy Spirit in the tent meetings had its effect on the life of all of Raymond. But as he walked past saloon after saloon and noted the crowds going in and coming out of them; as he saw the wretched dens—as many as ever, apparently; as he caught the brutality and squalor and open misery and degradation on countless faces of men and women and children, he sickened at the sight.
He found himself asking how much cleansing a million dollars poured into this cesspool could accomplish. What could even such unselfish Christian discipleship as Virginia’s and Rachel’s do to lessen the stream of vice, so long as the great spring of vice and crime flowed as deep and strong as ever? Was it not a practical waste of beautiful lives for these young women to throw themselves into this earthly hell, when for every soul rescued by their sacrifice the saloon made two more that needed rescue?
He could not escape the question. It was the same that
But if the saloon was a factor in the life of Raymond, no less was First Church and its little company of disciples who had pledged to do as Jesus would do. Henry Maxwell, standing at the very center of the movement, was not in a position to judge its power as someone from the outside might have done. But Raymond itself felt the touch in many ways, not knowing all the reasons for the change.