In His Steps - New Abridged Editon

by Charles M Sheldon

  "God bless you, my brothers," he said, and leaving them his benediction, he went away.

  In the morning, he almost dreaded to face the men. But the impression of the night had not worn away. True to his promise, the bishop secured work for them. The janitor at the Settlement needed an assistant, owing to the growth of the work there. So Burns was given the place. The bishop succeeded in getting his companion a position as driver for a firm of warehouse dray manufacturers not far from the Settlement. And the Holy Spirit, struggling in these two men, began His marvelous work of regeneration.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  IT WAS the afternoon following that morning. Burns was installed in his new position as assistant janitor and was cleaning off the front steps of the Settlement when he paused a moment, and stood up to look about him.

  The first thing he noticed was a beer sign just across the alley. He could almost touch it with his broom from where he stood. Over the street, immediately opposite, were two large saloons, and a little further down were three more.

  Suddenly the door of the nearest saloon opened and a man came out. At the same time, two more went in. A strong smell of beer floated up to Burns as he stood on the steps of the Settlement.

  He clutched his broom handle tight and began to sweep again. He had one foot on the porch and another on the step just below. He took another step down, still sweeping. The sweat stood out on his forehead, although the day was frosty and the air chill. The saloon door opened again and three or four men came out. A child went in with a pail and came out a moment later with a quart of beer. The child went by on the sidewalk just below him and the smell of the beer came up to him. He took another step down, still sweeping desperately. His fingers were purple as he clutched the handle of the broom.

  Then suddenly he pulled himself up one step and swept over the spot he had just cleaned. He then dragged himself by a tremendous effort back to the floor of the porch and went over into the corner of it farthest from the saloon, and began to sweep there. "O God!" he cried, "if the bishop would only come back!"

  The bishop had gone out with Dr. Bruce somewhere, and there was no one about the Settlement that he knew. He swept in the corner for two or three minutes. His face was drawn with the agony of the conflict.

  Gradually he edged out again towards the steps and began to go down them. He looked towards the sidewalk and saw that he had left one step unswept. The sight seemed to give him a reasonable excuse for going down there to finish his sweeping.

  He was on the sidewalk now, sweeping the last step, with his face towards the Settlement and his back turned partly on the saloon across the alley. He swept the step a dozen times. The sweat rolled over his face and dropped down at his feet. By degrees he felt that he was drawn over towards that end of the step nearest the saloon. He could smell the beer and rum, as the fumes rose around him.

  He was down in the middle of the sidewalk now, still sweeping. He cleared the space in front of the Settlement, and even went out into the gutter and swept that. He took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve over his face. His lips were pallid and his teeth chattered. He trembled all over, and staggered back and forth, as if he was already drunk. His soul shook within him.

  He had crossed over the little piece of stone flagging that measured the width of the alley, and now he stood in front of the saloon, looking at the sign and staring into the window at the pile of whiskey and beer bottles arranged in a great pyramid inside. He moistened his lips with his tongue and took a step forward, looking around him stealthily.

  The door suddenly opened again and someone came out. Again the hot, penetrating smell of the liquor swept out into the cold air, and he took another step towards the saloon door, which had shut behind the customer. As he laid his fingers on the door handle, a tall figure came around the corner. It was the bishop.

  He seized Burns by the arm and dragged him back upon the sidewalk. The frenzied man, now mad for drink, shrieked out a curse and struck at the bishop savagely. It is doubtful if he really knew at first who was snatching him away from his ruin. The blow fell upon the bishop's face and cut a gash in his cheek.

  The bishop never uttered a word. He picked Burns up as if he had been a child, and carried him up the steps and into the Settlement. He placed him down in the hall, and then shut the door and put his back against it.

  Burns fell on his knees, sobbing and praying. The bishop stood there, panting with his exertion, although Burns was a slight-built man and had not been a great weight for one of the bishop's strength to carry.

  "Pray, Burns! Pray as you never prayed before! Nothing else will save you! "

  "O God! Pray with me! Save me! Oh, save me from my hell!" cried Burns.

  And the bishop kneeled by him in the hall and prayed as only he could.

  After that they arose, and Burns went into his room. He came out of it that evening like a humble child. And the bishop went his way, older from that experience, bearing in his body the marks of the Lord Jesus. Truly he was learning something of what it meant to walk in His steps.

  But the saloon! It stood there, and all the others lined the street like so many traps set for Burns. How long would the man be able to resist? The bishop went out on the porch. The air of the whole city seemed to be impregnated with the odor of beer. "How long, O God, how long?" the bishop prayed.

  Dr. Bruce came out, and the two friends talked over Burns and his temptation.

  "Did you ever make any inquiries about the ownership of this property adjoining us?" the bishop asked.

  "No, I haven't taken time for it. I will now, if you think it would be worthwhile. But what can we do, Edward, against the saloon in this great city? It is as firmly established as the churches or politics. What power can ever remove it?"

  "God will do it in time, as He removed slavery," replied the bishop gravely. "Meanwhile, I think we have a right to know who controls this saloon so near the Settlement."

  "I'll find out," said Dr. Bruce.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  TWO DAYS later, Dr. Calvin Bruce walked into the business office of one of the members of Nazareth Avenue Church and asked to see him a few moments. He was cordially received by his old parishioner, who welcomed him into his room and urged him to take all the time he wanted.

  "I called to see you about that property next to the Settlement, where the bishop and myself now are. I am going to speak plainly, because life is too short and too serious for us both to have any foolish hesitation about this matter. Clayton, do you think it is right to rent that property for a saloon?"

  Dr. Bruce's question was as direct and uncompromising as he had meant it to be. The effect of it on his old parishioner was instantaneous.

  The hot blood mounted to the face of the man who sat there, a picture of business activity in a great city. Then he grew pale, dropped his head on his hands, and when he raised it again Dr. Bruce was amazed to see a tear roll over his parishioner's face.

  "Doctor, did you know that I took the pledge that morning with the others?"

  "Yes, I remember."

  "But you never knew how I have been tormented over my failure to keep it in this instance. That saloon property has been the temptation of the devil to me. It is the best paying investment that I have. And yet it was only a minute before you came in here that I was in an agony of remorse to think how I was letting a little earthly gain tempt me into denial of Christ whom I had promised to follow. I know well enough that He would never rent property for such a purpose. There is no need, dear Doctor, for you to say a word more."

  Clayton held out his hand, and Dr. Bruce grasped it and shook it hard.

  * * *

  Within a month the saloon next the Settlement was closed. The saloon keeper's lease had expired, and Clayton not only closed the property to the whiskey men but offered the use of the building to the bishop and Dr. Bruce for the Settlement work, which had now grown so large that the building was not sufficient for the different industries that were planned.


  One of the most important of these was the pure food department suggested by Felicia. It was not a month after Clayton turned the saloon property over to the Settlement that Felicia found herself installed as head of a department, not only of cooking but of a course of housekeeping for girls who wished to go out to service. She was now a resident of the Settlement, and found a home with Mrs. Bruce and the other young women from the city who were residents. Martha, the violinist, remained at the place where the bishop had first discovered the two girls, and came over to the Settlement certain evenings to give lessons in music.

  "Felicia, tell us your plan in full now," said the bishop one evening when, in a rare interval of rest from the pressure of work, he, with Dr. Bruce and Felicia had come in from the other building.

  "Well, I have long thought of the hired girl problem," said Felicia, with an air of wisdom that made Mrs. Bruce smile, as she looked at the enthusiastic, vital beauty of this young girl, transformed into a new creature by the promise she had made to live the Christ-like life. "And I have reached certain conclusions in regard to it that you men are not yet able to fathom, but Mrs. Bruce here will understand me."

  "We acknowledge our infancy, Felicia. Go on," said the bishop humbly.

  "Then this is what I propose to do. The old saloon building is large enough to arrange into a suite of rooms that will represent an ordinary house. My plan is to have it so arranged, and then teach housekeeping and cooking to girls who will afterwards go out to service. The course will be six months long. In that time I will teach plain cooking, neatness, quickness, and a love of good work."

  "Hold on, Felicia!" the bishop interrupted. "This is not an age of miracles! "

  "Then I will make it one," replied Felicia. "I know this seems like an impossibility, but I want to try it. I know a score of girls already who will take the course, and if we can once establish something like an esprit de corps among the girls themselves I am sure it will be of great value to them. I know already that the pure food is working a revolution in many families."

  "Felicia, if you can accomplish half of what you propose to do, it will bless this whole community," said Mrs. Bruce. "I don't see how you can do it, but I say, 'God bless you,' as you try."

  "So say we all!" cried Dr. Bruce and the bishop; and Felicia plunged into the working out of her plan with the enthusiasm of her discipleship which every day grew more and more practical and serviceable.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  THE DEPTH of winter found Chicago presenting the marked contrast between riches and poverty, between culture, refinement, luxury and ease, and ignorance, depravity, destitution and the bitter struggle for bread.

  It was a hard winter, but a cheerful winter for some. Never had there been such a succession of parties, receptions, balls, dinners, banquets, fetes, gaieties. Never had the opera and the theatre been so crowded with fashionable audiences. Never had there been such a lavish display of jewels and fine dresses and equipages.

  And, on the other hand, never had the deep want and suffering been so cruel, so sharp, so murderous. Never had the winds blown so chilling over the lake and through the thin shells of tenements in the neighborhood of the Settlement. Never had the pressure for food and fuel and clothes been so urgently thrust up against the people of the city.

  Night after night, the bishop and Dr. Bruce with their helpers went out and helped rescue men and women and children from physical privation. Vast quantities of food and clothing and large sums of money were donated by the churches, the charitable societies, the civic authorities, and the benevolent associations. But the personal touch of the Christian disciple was very hard to secure for personal work.

  Where was the discipleship that was obeying the Master's command to go to the suffering? The bishop found his heart sink within him as he faced this fact more than any other. Men would give money who would not think of giving themselves. And the money they gave did not represent any real sacrifice, because they did not miss it. They gave what was the easiest to give, what hurt them the least. Where did the sacrifice come in? Was this following Jesus? Was this going with Him all the way?

  He had been to many members of his own wealthy and aristocratic congregation, and was appalled to find how few men and women of that luxurious class in the churches would really suffer any genuine inconvenience for the sake of suffering humanity.

  The bishop asked himself, is charity the giving of worn-out garments? Is it a ten dollar bill given to a paid visitor or secretary of some benevolent organization? Shall the man never go and give his gift himself? Shall the woman never deny herself her reception, or her party, or her musicale, and go and actually touch the foul, sinful sore of diseased humanity as it festers in the great metropolis?

  Shall charity be conveniently and easily done through some organization? Is it possible to organize the affections so that love works disagreeable things by proxy?

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  THE BREAKFAST-HOUR at the Settlement was the one hour in the day when the whole resident family found a little breathing-space to fellowship together. It was an hour of relaxation. There was a great deal of good-natured repartee and much real wit and enjoyable fun at this hour.

  This company of disciples was healthily humorous, in spite of the atmosphere of sorrow that constantly surrounded them. In fact, the bishop often said that the faculty of humor was as God-given as any other; and in his own case it was the only safety valve he had for the tremendous pressure put upon him.

  This particular morning the bishop was reading extracts from a morning paper, for the benefit of the others. Suddenly he paused, and his face grew stern and sad. The rest looked up, and a hush fell over the table.

  "Shot and killed while taking a lump of coal from a coal car. His family was freezing, and he had had no work for six months. His six children and a wife all packed into a cabin with three rooms on the West Side. One child wrapped in rags in a closet."

  These were headlines that the bishop read slowly. He then went on and read the detailed account of the shooting and the visit of the reporter to the tenement where the family lived.

  There were various comments on the part of the residents. One of the newcomers at the table, a young man preparing for the ministry, said, "Why didn't the man apply to one of the charity organizations for help? Or to the city? It certainly is not true that, even at its worst, this city full of Christian people would knowingly allow anyone to go without food or fuel."

  "No, I don't believe that it would," replied Dr. Bruce. "But we don't know the history of that man's case. He may have asked for help so often before, that finally in a moment of desperation he determined to help himself. I have known such cases this winter."

  "That is not the terrible fact in this case," said the bishop. "The awful thing about it is the fact that the man had not had any work for six months."

  "Why don't such people go out into the country?" asked the divinity student.

  Someone who had made a study of the opportunities for work in the country, answered the question. The places that were possible for work in the country were exceedingly few for steady employment, and in almost every case they were offered only to men without families. Suppose a man's wife and children were ill. How could he move or get into the country? How could he pay even the meager sum necessary to move his few goods? There were probably a thousand reasons why this particular man did not go elsewhere.

  "Meanwhile, there are the wife and children," said Mrs. Bruce. "How awful. Where is the place, did you say?"

  The bishop took up the paper. "Why, it's only three blocks from here, in the Penrose district. I believe Penrose himself owns half of the houses in that block. They are among the worst houses in this part of the city. And Penrose is a church member."

  "He belongs to the Nazareth Avenue Church," replied Dr. Bruce.

  The bishop rose from the table, the very figure of divine wrath. He had opened his lips to say what seldom came from him in the way of denunciation, when
the doorbell rang, and one of the residents went to the door.

  "Tell Dr. Bruce and the bishop I want to see them. Penrose is the name -- Clarence Penrose. Dr. Bruce knows me."

  The family at the breakfast table heard every word. The bishop exchanged a significant look with Dr. Bruce, and the two men instantly left the table and went out into the hall.

  "Come in here, Penrose," said Dr. Bruce, and he and the bishop ushered the visitor into the reception room. They closed the door and were alone.

  Clarence Penrose was one of the most elegant-looking men in Chicago. He came from an aristocratic family of great wealth and social distinction. He was exceedingly wealthy, and had large property holdings in different parts of the city. He had been a member of Dr. Bruce's church all his life.

  This man faced the bishop and his former pastor with a look of agitation. He was pale, and he trembled as he spoke. When had Clarence Penrose ever before yielded to such a strange emotion of feeling?

  "This affair of the shooting. You understand? You have read it. The family lived in one of my houses. It is a terrible event. But that is not the primary cause of my visit." He looked anxiously into the faces of the two men.

  The bishop still looked stern. He could not help feeling that this elegant man of leisure could have done a great deal to alleviate the horrors in his tenements, possibly prevented this tragedy, if he had sacrificed some of his personal ease and luxury to better the condition of the people in his district.

  Penrose turned to Dr. Bruce. "Doctor!" he exclaimed, and there was almost a child's terror in his voice, "I came to say that I have had an experience so unusual that nothing but the supernatural can explain it. You remember I was one of those who took the pledge to do as Jesus would do. I thought at the time, poor fool that I was, that I had all along been doing the Christian thing. I gave liberally out of my abundance to the church and charity. But I never gave myself, to cost me any suffering. I have been living in a perfect hell of contradictions ever since I took the pledge.

  "My little girl Diana, you remember, also took the pledge with me. She has been asking me a great many questions lately about the poor people and where they lived. I was obliged to answer her. One of her questions last night touched me sore. Did I own any houses where those people lived? Were they nice and warm like ours? You know how child will ask questions like these.