The Best Man

by Harold MacGrath

  III

  THE auditorium was a great barn-like building which had been erectedoriginally for the purpose of a roller-skating rink. Nowadays thecharity bazaars were held there, the balls, political mass-meetings,amateur dramatics, and prize-fights.

  Cathewe, as he gazed curiously around, pictured to himself the contrastbetween the Thanksgiving ball of the past week and the present scene,and fell into his usual habit of philosophizing. His seat was high up inthe gallery. What faces he saw through the blue and choking haze ofsmoke! Saloon keepers, idlers, stunted youth, blase men about town, witha sprinkling of respectable business men, who ever and anon cast hastyand guilty glances over their shoulders, and when caught would raise afinger as if to say: "You rogue, what are _you_ doing here?"--these andother sights met his interested eye. Even he confessed to himself thathis presence here was not all due to the gathering of color for his newbook. Self-analysis discovered to him that the animal in him was eagerlyawaiting the arrival of the fighters. Such is human nature.

  Down below he saw the raised platform, strongly protected by ropes.Around this were the reporters' tables, the telegraph operators' desks,a few chairs for the privileged friends of the press, and pails, towelsand sponges. Yes, there was the rector, sitting at one of the reporters'tables, erect in his chair, his gaze bent upon his paper pad, apparentlyoblivious to his strange surroundings. Cathewe wondered what was goingon in that somewhat mystifying mind. He certainly would have beensurprised could he have read.

  In fact, the rector was going over again his own memorable battle inBoston some ten years ago. He was thinking how it had changed his wholecareer, how it had swerved him from the bar to the pulpit.

  Ah, to be within the magic circle of her presence, to be within sightand touch all his life, sometimes to hear her voice lifted in song, thesmooth, white fingers bringing to life the poetry of sound! He hadceased to lie to himself. He loved, with all his heart, with all hissoul. He had given up; he had surrendered completely; but she was neverto know. Even at this moment poverty took him to the mount and showedhim the abyss between him and his heart's desire. He was aroused fromhis dreams by a sudden commotion, a subdued murmur. Mr. Sullivan'santagonist, dressed in a gaudy sky-blue bath-robe, was crawling underthe ropes, followed by his seconds. The murmur grew into a prolongedcheer when Mr. Sullivan shortly followed in a bath-robe, even richer inhues.

  The reporters shifted their writing-pads, lighted fresh cigars, and drewtheir legs under the tables. The sporting editor of the _Post_ turned tothe rector.

  "I'll tip you off on the technicalities of the scrap," he said. "All youneed to do is to watch the men and describe what they do in your ownway."

  "Thank you," replied the rector. He was calm. When Mr. Sullivan noddedpleasantly, he smiled.

  The men in the ring threw aside their bath-robes, and stood forth in allthe splendor of their robust physiques. A short, pompous man, wearing awatch-chain which threatened to disconcert his physical balance, steppedto the ropes and held up his hand. Silence suddenly fell upon twothousand men.

  "Th' preliminary is off; th' 'Kid' refuses to go on because th' 'Dago'didn't weigh in as agreed. Th' main bout will now take place. Mr.Sullivan t' th' right, an' Mr. McManus t' th' left." The pompous mantook out a greasy telegram from his pocket, and said: "Lanky Williamschallenges th' winner fer a purse an' a side bet of fi' thousan'."

  He was cheered heartily. Nobody cared about the preliminary "go"; it wasSullivan and McManus the spectators had paid their money to see.

  The rector recalled the scenes in _Quo Vadis_, and shrugged hisshoulders. Human nature never changes; only politics and fashions. Hehimself was vaguely conscious of a guilty thrill as he saw the two menstep from their corners and shake hands.

  As this is a story not of how Mr. "Shifty" Sullivan won his battle fromMr. McManus, but of how the rector of St. Paul's nearly lost his, Ishall not dwell upon the battle as it was fought by rounds. Let itsuffice that the crisis came during the twelfth round. Sullivan washaving the best of this round, though in the four previous he had beenworsted. The men came together suddenly, and there was some roughin-fighting. The pompous man, who was the referee, was kept on the jump.One could hear the pad-pad of blows and the scrape-scrape of shoes onthe resined mat, so breathless were the spectators. The boxers becametangled.

  "Foul, foul!"

  The voice rang out strong and distinct. It was not the referee's voice,for the referee himself looked angrily down whence the voice came.Sullivan, his face writhed in agony, was clinging desperately to hisopponent.

  "A foul blow!"

  Pandemonium. Everybody was yelling, half not knowing why.

  The seconds and trainers were clambering into the ring. The refereeseparated the boxers. They rushed at each other furiously. The secondsstepped in between. A general mix-up followed, during which the pompousman lost his silk hat.

  The reporter for the _Post_ pulled the rector's coat tails, and therector sank into his chair, pale and terrified. He had forgotten!Carried away by his old love of clean fighting, by his love of physicalcontests, he had forgotten, forgotten!

  "Foul! It was a foul!"

  "Ye-a! Ye-a! Foul blow!"

  "Bully fer th' parson!"

  "Sullivan, Sullivan!"

  "McManus!"

  "Foul, foul! T'row out th' referee!"

  "Give th' deacon a show fer his money!"

  These and a thousand other cries rose in the vicinity of the rector.Those reporters whose city editors had not thought of the stroke ofsending a minister of the gospel to report the fight were delighted.Here was a story worth forty fights, a story to delight thousands andthousands who looked upon St. Paul's as a place where only the richmight worship.

  "I declare the fight a draw, an' all bets off!" howled the referee,wiping the dust from his damaged hat, which he had at length recovered.

  The rector rose to move down the aisle to the entrance. He felt morallyand physically crushed. All this would be in the newspapers the nextmorning. He was disgraced; for everybody would ask, "How should he knowwhat a foul blow was?" It was terribly bitter, after having struggled solong. Presently he became aware that men, reeking with cigar smoke andliquors, were talking loudly to him, even cursing him. He caught somewords about "makin' us lose our bets, when we come all th' way fromN'York."

  A hand came into contact with his cheek, and the sting of it ran likefire through his veins. The wrath at his moral defeat broke down thedikes of his self-control; the fury which is always quickly provoked byphysical pain in the animality of man, swept aside his prudence. The manwho struck him was seen to rise bodily and fall crumpled among theseats. The man's friends--there were four in number--recovering fromtheir momentary surprise, attacked the rector swiftly, and not without acertain conformity.

  What followed has become history. Even Sullivan and his opponent forgottheir animosity for the time being, and leaned eagerly over the ropes.Far back in the surging crowd several police helmets could be discerned,but they made little progress. The rector in his tightly fitting frockwas at a disadvantage, but his wonderful vigor and activity stood him ingood stead. Quick as a cat he leaped from this side to that, dealing hisblows with the rapidity of a piston-rod and almost as terrible ineffect. Once he went down; but, like Antaeus, the touch of earth revivedhim and doubled his strength.

  Men, in the mad effort to witness this battle, trod on one another'stoes, hats were crushed, coats were torn, even blows were struck. Theystood on chairs, on tables, yelling and cheering. This was a fight that_was_ a fight. Faking had no part in it; there was no partiality ofreferees. When the police finally arrived it was all over. The rectorwas brushing his hat, while Cathewe, who had dashed down-stairs at thefirst sound of the rector's voice, was busy with the rector's coat.

  "Want t' appear against 'em?" asked one of the officers.

  "No, no! Let them go," cried the rector. "Cathewe, take me out, please;take me home." His hands shook as he put on his hat.
He was very white.The knuckles of his left hand were raw and bleeding.

  The police finally opened a pathway in the cheering crowd, and throughthis Cathewe and the rector disappeared. Outside, Cathewe hailed acarriage.

  "Cathewe, I have absolutely and positively ruined my career."

  The rector sank back among the cushions, overwhelmed. His voice wasuneven and choked.

  "Nonsense!" cried Cathewe. "What else could you do?"

  "I could have passed by the man who struck me."

  "Oh, pshaw! A man can not help being human simply because he wears thecloth. It was the bulliest fight I ever saw. It was magnificent! Theyweren't in it at any time. And you walloped four of 'em, and one was anex-pugilist. It was great."

  "Don't!"

  "They'll call you the fighting parson."

  "I shall resign to-morrow. I must begin life all over again. It will bevery hard."

  "Resign nothing! By the way, I saw General Boderick in the crowd."

  "Boderick? Oh, I must hurry. He must have my resignation before he has achance to demand it."

  "Don't you worry about him. I saw him waving his cane like mad when yougot up from the floor and smashed that second-ward ruffian. He won'tdare to say anything. His daughter thinks that he went up to the club."

  "I shall resign. I am determined upon that."

  "We'll all have something to say regarding that."

  "But the newspapers to-morrow! It will be frightful."

  "My dear fellow, I am about to visit each in turn, and you can remain inthe carriage. I'll take upon myself to fix it up so that it will receivescarcely any mention at all."

  "My eternal gratitude is yours if you can accomplish that." There was anote of hope in the rector's voice.

  It was after eleven o'clock when Cathewe deposited the rector before theparsonage. Cathewe was a great favorite with the newspaper men, and hehad had no trouble at all in suppressing the sensational part of theaffair.

  As for the rector, he sank wearily into his study chair and buried hisface in his hands. He had won one fight, but he had lost another of farmore importance. Somehow, he had always just reached the promised landto feel the earth slip from under his feet. He was a failure. The onlything he had to be thankful for was that he stood alone in his disgrace.His father and mother were dead. Where should he go from here? He hadn'tthe slightest idea. He certainly would never don the cloth again, forthis disgrace would follow him wherever he went. He was unfitted formercantile life; he loved outdoors too well. If only he possessed thetalent of Cathewe, who could go anywhere and live anywhere, withoutaltering his condition! Well, he would go to the far West; he would puthis geological learning into action; and by the time the little money hehad saved was gone, he would have something to do.

  Ah, but these things did not comprise the real bitterness in his heart.He had stepped outside the circle, stepped down below the horizon of heraffairs. True, his wildest dreams had never linked his life with hers;but the nearness to her was as life to him. And now all that was over.

  He reached for his writing-pad and wrote his resignation. It was a frankletter, straightforward and manly. He sealed it and stole out anddeposited it in the letter-box just in time for the night collector totake it up. He had burned his bridges. They would be only too glad toget rid of him. He was absently straightening the papers on his table,when a small blue envelope attracted his attention. A faintness seizedhim as he recognized the delicate handwriting. It was an invitation,couched in the most friendly terms, to dine with General and MissBoderick the following evening. If only he had seen this note earlier!He bent his head on his arms, and there was no sound save the wind inthe chimney.

  "The rector, sir," announced the general's valet.

  "Show him in here, James, and light up," said the general.

  When the rector entered, the general greeted him cheerfully.

  "Sit down, sit down, and let us talk it all over," the general began. "Ihave not yet turned over your resignation to the trustees; and yet, inmy opinion, this resignation is the best thing possible under thecircumstances. You were not exactly cut out for a minister, though youhave done more good to the poor than a dozen of your predecessors. Iwish to apologize to you for some thoughts I have harbored against you.Wait a minute, wait a minute," as the rector raised a protesting hand."I have called you a milksop because you always accepted the trustees'rebuffs with a meek and lowly spirit. But when I saw you lick half adozen ruffians last night (yes, I was there; and while I'm a churchman,I am a man and a soldier besides), I knew that I had done you aninjustice. By the way, are you related to the late Chaplain Allen of the----st Regiment?"

  "He was my father," wonderingly.

  "Humph!"

  "It was out of regard for him that I became a divinity student."

  "Parsons sons are all alike. I never saw a parson's son who wasn't alimb of the Old Scratch. You became a divinity student after you leftHarvard?"

  The rector sent his host a startled glance.

  "Oh, I have heard all about that episode; and I like you all the betterfor it. You should have been a soldier. We used to call your father the'fighting parson.' Now, I've a proposition to make to you. Do you knowanything about mining? anything about metals and geology?"

  "Yes, sir; I have had a large reading upon those subjects." The rector'sheart was thumping.

  "A practical knowledge?"

  "As practical as it is possible for a man in my position to acquire."

  "Very good. It is a sorry thing to see a young man with misdirectedenergies. I'll undertake to direct yours. In January I want you to go toMexico for me."

  "Mexico?"

  "Mexico. I have large mining interests there which need the presence ofa man who can fight, both mentally and physically. I will pay you a goodsalary, and if you win, some stock shall go with the victory. Now don'tthink that I'm doing this out of sympathy for you. I am looking at youfrom a purely commercial point of view. Will you accept?"

  "With all my heart," with a burst of enthusiasm.

  "That's the way to talk. We'll arrange about the salary after dinner.Now, go down to the music-room. You will find Miss Boderick there. Shewill manage to entertain you till dinner time; and while you are aboutit, you may thank her instead of me. I shouldn't have thought of you butfor her. Don't worry over what the newspapers have said. In six monthsthis affair will have blown over, and you will have settled the miningdispute one way or the other. You will excuse me now, as I have someimportant letters to write. And, mind you, if you breathe a word that Iwas at the fight last night ..."

  So the Reverend Richard Allen stole quietly down to the music-room. Itwas dark; and he entered softly and sat down in a corner at the fartherend of the room, so as not to disturb the musician. In all the years ofhis life, the life which numbered thirty variegated years, he had neverknown such happiness.

  In the study above the general chuckled as he wrote, and murmured fromtime to time the word: "Milksop!"