Captain Pott's Minister Part 3

What Mrs. Beaver had said concerning plans for the installation service was true. Elder Fox was carrying the full responsibility, for he wished to make this meeting one long to be remembered. He selected with great care those who were to sit on the council. The Reverend Mr. Means had been chosen for two reasons, first that he was a personal friend of the Elder, and second because his presence would add dignity to the occasion. It was even arranged that the city clergyman should be made moderator.

The eventful day arrived, and with it dignitaries of city and countryside. It was a fearfully hot humid day in July, one of those days when to move about was torment, and to work was torture. Not a breath of air stirred. The clergymen were plainly enervated as they descended from the various vehicles which had conveyed them over from Little River. The Reverend Mr. Means mopped his face as the chauffeur a.s.sisted him from the Elder's limousine. He greeted every one with deep sonorous tones.

His manner was graciously condescending, but never once familiar. He made his way up the steps of the chapel with what was evidently meant for a majestic stride, but his heavy frame turned it into a decided waddle. He shook hands with a chosen few, all the while looking far above their heads as though his vision were not of this world.

The Captain watched the clergyman till he had disappeared behind the vestibule doors, and then remarked to Mrs. Beaver, "Them kind ain't hard to sight. I could sight that feller a mile in the offin', on a dark night, with my eyes shut! If Mack McGowan was that kind, he'd get to stay here about twenty-four hours, and then he'd smell fire and brimstone."

Mrs. Beaver surprised the seaman with a wry smile and vigorous nod.

Mr. McGowan arrived in due season under tow of the Elder. Mr. Fox led him before the clergyman from the city, who was lounging near an open window in the front of the auditorium.

"How do you do, Brother Fox!" boomed the deep voice of Mr. Means. "And is this the fortunate young man who has been called to this delightful little town?"

"Yes, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. McGowan, this is the Reverend Mr. Means from New York City."

The studied dignity of the visiting clergyman seemed to receive a decided shock as he rolled up out of his chair. He stood before the candidate to whom the Elder had introduced him and forgot to look at the ceiling. He had been caught off his guard, and through the momentary look of recognition there flitted across his flabby features an expression that was far from ecclesiastical. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the Reverend Mr. Means was once more his complacent unperturbed self.

"Ho! So this is our candidate? So!" he exploded. "I am glad, Mr.

McGowan, to shake your hand, and perhaps we'd better do it now, for we might not so desire when the grilling is over. So!" He laughed vociferously at his rude joke, and offered his fish-like palm.

"I'm glad to see you again," lied the candidate, cheerfully.

"Again?" echoed the man, his mirth suddenly controlled by well-feigned astonishment. "Again?"

"Have you so soon forgotten how strongly you opposed me last year when I was up before the New York Presbytery for ordination?"

"So? Really so? Ah! Yes. I do remember, now that you call it to mind.

That probably accounts for the familiarity of your face. But I did not oppose you for personal reasons, I a.s.sure you. It was because of your radical theological beliefs. I do not allow personal reasons to enter into my religious activities."

"But why should you have personal reasons for not wishing to see me ordained?"

"Just so! Just so! I did not mean to say I had any. But, as you doubtless remember, my brethren overruled my objections, and although I greatly regret the theological laxity of our Presbytery, I am willing to abide by the decision of the majority. So!"

He dismissed the two men with a wide gesture, and dropped back into his chair. When Mr. Fox and his charge were out of sight, Mr. Means motioned to Mr. Harry Beaver. He whispered in the little man's ear, and indicated the groups of ministers gathered here and there about the room.

Harry Beaver had the misfortune to stutter, and in his eagerness to make himself understood he would support himself, stork-like, on one leg, and pump the other up and down with frantic jerks. Mr. Beaver's services were invaluable in such cases as this when gossip was to be repeated, for his stuttering compelled him to leave just enough unsaid to make his news the more startling. He was seen slowly pumping his way from group to group, and there followed in his wake the buzz of low whisperings.

When Elder Fox later saw these signs, he was greatly perturbed. He went directly to the Reverend Mr. Means and demanded particulars. On hearing what the clergymen had to say, the Elder declared that this was neither the time nor the place to air theological differences. The city clergyman leaned forward to whisper a further explanation, but was interrupted by Mr. Beaver, who announced that he had finished his task.

Mr. Means looked at his watch, declared it was time to open the session, and rapped sharply for order.

Minor matters of business were quickly dispatched, and Mr.

Means--according to the prearranged plan--was duly elected moderator.

"Brethren and sisters," he roared in his most effective tones, "we now come to the most important, and, I hope, the most delightful part of this program. We are to be favored with a statement from the Reverend Mr. McGowan, who is the candidate for installation as pastor of this very beautiful church. The members of the council will be given an opportunity to question Mr. McGowan after he has read to us his statement. A word of caution needs to be uttered: you are to confine your questions to theological matters as they may affect the fellowship of the ministers and churches represented to-day by pastor and delegate.

Mr. McGowan will please come forward."

Mr. McGowan came forward in more ways than one. He concisely stated his belief in applied Christianity, and followed with a program for future work in the village. His short statement left the council under the spell of an embarra.s.sed silence. But the first question broke the silence, and was followed by others both new and old, which were hurled at the head of the candidate like shots from a rapid-fire gun.

Captain Pott stood the fusillade as long as his patience permitted, and then retreated to the quiet of the out-of-doors, where he dragged a box into the shade of the building, and lit his pipe. Here Elizabeth Fox found him, when she, too, felt the need of a little fresh air.

"Uncle Josiah, did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Why did you come out here?"

"I felt sort as if I was coming up into a reg'lar twister, and thought it would be safer to reef a mite and make for ca'm waters. My head begun to whirl, and I cal'lated I'd best weigh anchor while my soundings was good."

"But isn't it bad form for you to desert like this?" she asked, her big eyes dancing mischievously.

"I ain't exactly deserting, I cal'late. If I'd been able to pitch into that crew and shake the devil out of 'em, I'd stayed on deck. But----"

"I want you to go back with me. It's getting too funny to miss!"

"I ain't got much hankering for them officers' meeting, Beth. It makes me feel like busting chairs on their heads."

"But you must go back! You should hear what he is saying to them.

Come!"

Before the seaman could obey the summons, Miss Edna Splinter emerged from the rear door. She hurried toward the two. Miss Splinter was one of those fine spinsters which one so often finds stranded in small villages located near large cities. She was one of the few friends of the Captain in Little River.

"It's the most disgusting thing I ever saw or heard!" declared Miss Splinter, angrily stamping her foot.

"It's really too funny for words!" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"What in tarnation is he doing to them?"

"Doing to them!" flashed Miss Splinter indignantly. "My word! It's what they're trying to do to him. It is positively disgraceful."

The seaman decided that a scene which could have such opposite effects on two of his best friends must at least be interesting. He knocked the tobacco from his pipe and followed them inside. As he listened, his interest grew, not so much in the ecclesiastical storm of big words, as in the wildly gesticulating clergymen. The moderator had risen and was rapping loudly for order.

"Brethren!" he thundered. "It is time that we recognize some of our laymen. I see Mr. Harry Beaver of this church asking for the floor. Mr.

Beaver may speak."

"M-Mr. Ch-chairman, does M-Mr. Mc-McGowan b-believe in e-ev----"

The unfortunate man blinked, backed, pumped, emitted a series of hissing sounds like escaping steam, but remained hopelessly stuck. Those round him dodged his foot gestures, and smiled appreciatively, while those not engaged in trying to escape mutilation of corns, encouragingly suggested words such as everlasting, everpresent, etc., which might have bearing on the subject previously under discussion. The little man spurned them all with vigorous backings and increased hissings. At last, between a discouraged hiss and a triumphant sputter, the awful word rolled out.

"Evolution!" he shouted, and sat down.

After the laughter had subsided, the moderator demanded that the candidate answer the question.

"Yes, Mr. Moderator."

Mr. Means was on his feet in an incredibly short time for one so bulky.

"Then, you deny here in the face of these wise men, as you did before your superiors in the New York Presbytery, the creation story of the Bible?"

"I did not deny it then, and I do not deny it now."

"Brethren, we have the right to an explanation from our young brother. I was denied that privilege at the time of his ordination. But I consider his contradictory statements so serious a thing that I shall give you the opportunity that was denied me."

Elder Fox, plainly nettled by the turn affairs had taken, rose and demanded the floor.