“That’s splendid! But I’m awfully afraid I’ve got to make it short, because—”
“Elmer Gantry! Will you hold your tongue and stop being such a wonderful success? Elmer, my dear boy, I’m sure you don’t mean to do wrong, but I don’t like the way you’re treating Cleo … and such a dear, sweet, bright, devout girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think you know what I mean!”
“Now you look here, Mother! All right, I’ll sit down and be quiet, but—I certainly do not know what you mean! The way I’ve always been a good husband to her, and stood for her total inability to be nice to the most important members of my congregation—And of all the chilly propositions you ever met! When I have folks here for dinner—even Rigg, the biggest man in the church—she hasn’t got hardly a thing to say. And when I come home from church, just absolutely tired out, and she meets me—does she meet me with a kiss and look jolly? She does not! She begins crabbing, the minute I enter the house, about something I’ve done or I haven’t done, and of course it’s natural—”
“Oh, my boy, my little boy, my dear—all that I’ve got in this whole world! You were always so quick with excuses! When you stole pies or hung cats or licked the other boys! Son, Cleo is suffering. You never pay any attention to her, even when I’m here and you try to be nice to her to show off. Elmer, who is this secretary of yours that you keep calling up all the while?”
The Reverend Dr. Gantry rose quietly, and sonorously he spoke:
“My dear mater, I owe you everything. But at a time when one of the greatest Methodist churches in the world and one of the greatest reform organizations in the world are begging for my presence, I don’t know that I need to explain even to you, Ma, what I’m trying to do. I’m going up to my room—”
“Yes, and that’s another thing, having separate rooms—”
“—and pray that you may understand. … Say, listen, Ma! Some day you may come to the White House and lunch with me and the president! … But I mean: Oh, Ma, for God’s sake, quit picking on me like Cleo does all the while!”
And he did pray; by his bed he knelt, his forehead gratefully cool against the linen spread, mumbling, “O dear God, I am trying to serve thee. Keep Ma from feeling I’m not doing right—”
He sprang up.
“Hell!” he said. “These women want me to be a house dog! To hell with ’em! No! Not with mother, but—Oh, damn it, she’ll understand when I’m the pastor of Yorkville! O God, why can’t Cleo die, so I can marry Hettie!”
Two minutes later he was murmuring to Hettie Dowler, from the telephone instrument in the pantry, while the cook was grumbling and picking over the potatoes down in the basement, “Dear, will you just say something nice to me—anything—anything!”
Chapter XXXII
I
Two evenings after Elmer’s mother had almost alienated him, he settled down in his study at home to prepare three or four sermons, with a hope of being in bed by eleven. He was furious when the Lithuanian maid came in and said, “Somebody on the phone, Doctor,” but when he heard Hettie the ragged edges went out of his voice.
“Elmer? Hettie calling.”
“Yes, yes, this is Dr. Gantry.”
“Oh, you are so sweet and funny and dignified! Is the Lettish pot-walloper listening?”
“Yes!”
“Listen, dear. Will you do something for me?”
“You bet!”
“I’m so terribly lonely this evening. Is oo working hard?”
“I’ve got to get up some sermons.”
“Listen! Bring your little Bible dictionary along and come and work at my place, and let me smoke a cigarette and look at you. Wouldn’t you like to … dear … dearest?”
“You bet. Be right along.”
He explained to Cleo and his mother that he had to go and comfort an old lady in extremis, he accepted their congratulations on his martyrdom, and hastened out.
II
Elmer was sitting beside Hettie on the damask couch, under the standard lamp, stroking her hand and explaining how unjust his mother was, when the door of her suite opened gravely and a thin, twitching-faced, gimlet-eyed man walked in.
Hettie sprang up, stood with a hand on her frightened breast.
“What d’you want here?” roared Elmer, as he rose also.
“Hush!” Hettie begged him. “It’s my husband!”
“Your—” Elmer’s cry was the bleat of a bitten sheep. “Your—But you aren’t married!”
“I am, hang it! Oscar, you get out of here! How dare you intrude like this!”
Oscar walked slowly, appreciatively, into the zone of light.
“Well, I’ve caught you two with the goods!” he chuckled.
“What do you mean!” Hettie raged. “This is my boss, and he’s come here to talk over some work.”
“Yeh, I bet he has. … This afternoon I bribed my way in here, and I’ve got all his letters to you.”
“Oh, you haven’t!” Hettie dashed to her desk, stood in despair looking at an empty drawer.
Elmer bulked over Oscar. “I’ve had enough of this! You gimme those letters and you get out of here or I’ll throw you out!”
Oscar negligently produced an automatic. “Shut up,” he said, almost affectionately. “Now, Gantry, this ought to cost you about fifty thousand dollars, but I don’t suppose you can raise that much. But if I sue for alienation of Het’s affections, that’s the amount I’ll sue for. But if you want to settle out of court, in a nice gentlemanly manner without acting rough, I’ll let you off for ten thousand—and there won’t be the publicity—oh, maybe that publicity wouldn’t cook your reverend goose!”
“If you think you can blackmail me—”
“Think? Hell! I know I can! I’ll call on you in your church at noon tomorrow.”
“I won’t be there.”
“You better be! If you’re ready to compromise for ten thousand, all right; no feelings hurt. If not, I’ll have my lawyer (and he’s Mannie Silverhorn, the slickest shyster
