CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AN UNEXPECTED CACHE
Humans is the most disappointin' of all the animals: when a mule openshis mouth, you know what sort of a noise is about to happen, an' canbrace yourself accordin'; an' the same is true o' screech-owls, an'guinea-hens an' such; but no one can prepare for what is to come forthwhen a human opens his mouth. You meet up with a professor what knowsall about the stars an' the waterlines in the hills an' the petrifiedfishes, an' such; but his method o' bein' friendly an' agreeable is tosing comic songs like a squeaky saw, an' dance jigs as graceful as astore box; while the fellow what can sing an' dance is forever tryin'to lecture about stuff he is densely ignorant of.
The other animals is willin' to do what they can do, an' they takepride in seein' how well they can do it; but not so a human. He onlytakes pride in tryin' to do the things he can't do. A hog don't try tofly, nor a butterfly don't try to play the cornet, nor a cow don't setan' fret because she can't climb trees like a squirrel; but not sowith man: he has to try everything 'at anything else ever tried, an'he don't care what it costs nor who gets killed in the attempt.Sometimes you hear a wise guy say: "No, no that's contrary to humannature." This is so simple minded it allus makes me silent. Humannature is so blame contrary, itself, that nothin' else could possiblybe contrary to it. To think of Horace knowin' about the Friar, an' yetdoggin' me all over the map with that song of his, was enough to makeme shake him; but I didn't. I wanted the story, so I pumped him forit, patient an' persistent.
"I never was very religious," began Horace. Most people begin storiesabout other people, by tellin' you a lot about themselves, so I had myresignation braced for this. "I allus liked the Greek religion better'n airy other," he went on. "It was a fine, free, joyous religion,founded on Art an' music, an' symmetry--"
I was willin' to stand for his own biography; but after waitin' thislong for a clue to the Friar's past, I wasn't resigned to hearin' ajoint debate on the different religions; so I interrupted, by askin'if him believin' in the Greek religion was what had made Friar Tuckthrow up his job.
"No, you chump,"--me an' Horace was such good friends by this timethat we didn't have any regard for one another's feelin's. "No, youchump," he sez, "I told you he quit on account of a girl. I don't looklike a girl, do I?"
"Well," sez I, studying him sober, "those side-burns look as if theymight 'a' been bangs which had lost their holt in front an' slippeddown to your lip; but aside from this you don't resemble a girl enoughto drive a man out o' church."
I allus had better luck with Horace after I'd spurred him up a bit.
"You see, Friar Tuck, as you call him, was a good deal of a fanatic,those days," sez Horace, after he'd thrown a stone at me. "He took hisreligion serious, an' wanted to transform the world into what it wouldbe if all people tried their best to live actual Christ-like lives. Hewas a big country boy, fresh from college, an' full of ideals, an'feelin' strong enough to hammer things out accordin' to the pattern hehad chose.
"It was his voice which got him his place. He had a perfectlymarvelous voice, an' I never heard any one else read the service likehe did. This was what took me to church, and I'd have gone as long ashe stayed. You see, Happy, life is really made up of sensations an'emotions; and it used to lift me into the clouds to see his shinin'youth robed in white, an' hear that wonderful voice of his fillin' thegreat, soft-lighted church with melody an' mystery. It was all I askedof religion an' it filled me with peace an' inspiration. Of course,from a philosophical standpoint, the Greek religion--"
"Did the girl believe in the Greek religion?" I asked to switch himback.
"No, no," he snapped. "This Greek religion that I'm speakin' of diedout two thousand years ago."
"Then let's let it rest in peace," sez I, "an' go on with your story."
"You understand that this was a fashionable church," sez Horace. "Theywas willin' to pay any sum for music an' fine readin' an' all that;but they wasn't minded to carry out young Carmichaels plan in thematter of Christianizin' the world. They was respectable, an' theyinsisted that all who joined in with 'em must be respectable, too;while he discovered that a lot o' the most persistent sinners wasn'trespectable at all. His theory was, that religion was for the vulgarsinners, full as much as for the respectable ones; so he made around-up an' wrangled in as choice a lot o' sinners as a body eversaw; but his bosses wouldn't stand for his corralin' 'em up in thatfashionable church.
"He stood out for the sinners; an' finally they compromised by gettin'him a little chapel in the slums, an' lettin' him go as far as heliked with the tough sinners down there through the week; but readin'the service on Sundays to the respectable sinners in the big church.This plan worked smooth as ice, until they felt the need of a sopranosinger who could scrape a little harder again' the ceilin' than theone they already had. Then Carmichael told 'em that he had discovereda girl with a phe-nominal voice, an' had been teachin' her music forsome time. He brought her up an' gave her a trial--"
"An' she was the girl, huh?" I interrupted.
"She had a wonderful voice, all right," sez Horace, not heedin' me;"but she wasn't as well trained as that church demanded; so they hiredher for twenty-five dollars a Sunday on the condition that she takelessons from a professor who charged ten dollars an hour. She wasgame, though, an' took the job, an' made good with it, too, improvin'right along until it was discovered that she was singin' weeknights ina cafe, from six to eight in the evenin', an' from ten to twelve atnight.
"The girl had been singin' with a screen o' flowers in front of her;and some o' the fashionable male sinners from the big church had beengoin' there right along to hear her sing; but they couldn't work anyplan to get acquainted with her, and this made her a mystery, and drew'em in crowds. Finally, as her voice got better with the trainin',critics admitted 'at she could make an agreeable noise; and the commonsinners was tickled to have their judgement backed up, so they beganto brag about it. The result o' this was, that one ol' weasel had toswaller his extra-work-at-the-office excuse, and take his own wife tohear the singer. Then the jig was up. The woman recognized the voicefirst pop; and within a week it was known that Carmichael had beengoin' home with her every night.
"Now, you may be so simple-minded that you don't know it; but really,this was a perfectly scandalous state of affairs, and the wholecongregation began to buzz like a swarm of angry bees. Carmichael wasas handsome a young feller as was ever seen; but he had never takenkindly to afternoon teas and such-like functions, which is supposed tobe part of a curate's duties; so now, when they found he had beengoin' home nights with a girl 'at sang in a cafe it like to havestarted an epidemic of hysteria.
"They found that the girl lived in a poor part o' the town, andsupported her mother who was sickly, that they were strangers to thecity, and also not minded to furnish much in the way o' past history.They insisted upon her givin' up the cafe-singin' at once; and fromwhat I've heard, they turned up their noses when they said it.
"Carmichael pointed out that she was givin' up twenty a week forlessons which they had insisted upon; and asked 'em if they were surea girl could be any more, respectable, supportin' a sickly mother onfive a week, than if she added fifteen to it by singin' in a cafe. Hegot right uppish about it and said right out that he couldn't seewhere it was one bit more hellish for her to sing at the cafe than forother Christians to pay for a chance to listen to her.
"This tangled 'em up in their own ropes consid'able; but what finallysettled it was, 'at their richest member up and died, and they simplyhad to have a sky-scrapin' soprano to start him off in good style; sothey gave her twenty a week and paid for her lessons. The cafe peoplesoon found what a card she'd been and they offered her fifty a week;but she was game and stuck to the agreement."
"How did you find out all this, Horace?" I asked.
"A friend o' mine belonged to the vestry," sez Horace; "and he kept meposted to the minute. This was his first term at it, and it was hislast; but he was a lucky cuss to get the chance just when h
e did. Ihave since won him over to see the beauty o' the Greek religion."
"What became o' the girl?" sez I with some impatience, for I didn'tcare as much as a single cuss-word for the Greek religion.
"Carmichael was a gentle spoken young feller," sez Horace, "but forall that, he wasn't a doormat by inheritance nor choice, and he kepton payin' attention to the girl, and got her to sing at his annex inthe slums. Night after night he filled the place with the bestassortment o' last-chance sinners 'at that locality could furnish; andhe an' the girl an' the sinners all pitched in and offered up songmusic to make the stars rock; but St. Holiernthou wasn't the sort of aparish to sit back and let a slum outfit put over as swell a line o'melody as they were servin', themselves; so they ordered Carmichael tocut her off his list. He tried to get 'em to hire another curate, andlet him have full swing at the annex; but they told him they'd closeit up first.
"Next, a delegation o' brave an' inspired women took it upon 'emselvesto call on the girl. They pointed out that she was standin' in the wayo' Carmichael's career, that, under good conditions, his advance wascertain; but that a false step at the start would ruin it all. Theywent on and hinted that if it wasn't for her, he might have married anheiress, and grow up to be one o' the leadin' ministers o' the wholecountry."
"What did she do, Horace?" sez I.
"The girl was proud; she thanked the delegation for takin' so muchinterest in her--and said that she would not detain 'em any longer;but would think it over as careful as she could. Then she walked outo' the room; and the delegation strutted off with their faces shinin'like a cavey o' prosperous cats. The girl vanished, just simplyvanished. She wrote Carmichael a letter, and that was the end of it.Some say she committed suicide, and some say she went to Europe andbecame a preemie donner--a star singer--but anyway, that was the endof her, as far as that region was concerned."
"She was a fine girl," sez I; "though I wish that instead of slippin'off that way, she had asked me to drown the members o' that delegationas inconspicuous as possible. I wouldn't put on mournin', if the wholeoutfit of 'em was in the same fix your confounded Greek Religion is.What was her name, Horace?"
"Janet Morris," sez he.
I said it over a time or two to myself; and it seemed to fit her. "Ilike that name," sez I. "Now tell me the way 'at the Friar cut looseand tied into that vestry. I bet he made trade boom for hospitals andundertakers."
Friar Tuck Page 15