Elmer was afraid of Dean Trosper. When he was summoned to the dean’s office, the morning after the spiritual conference in Frank Shallard’s room, he was uneasy.
He found Frank with the dean.
“God! Frank’s been tattling about my doings with women!”
“Brother Gantry,” said the dean.
“Yes, sir!”
“I have an appointment which should give you experience and a little extra money. It’s a country church down at Schoenheim, eleven miles from here, on the spur line of the Ontario, Omaha and Pittsburgh. You will hold regular Sunday morning services and Sunday School; if you are able to work up afternoon or evening services and prayer meeting, so much the better. The pay will be ten dollars a Sunday. If there’s to be anything extra for extra work—that’s up to you and your flock. I’d suggest that you go down there on a handcar. I’m sure you can get the section-gang boss here to lend you one, as it’s for the Lord’s work, and the boss’ brother does a lot of gardening here. I’m going to send Brother Shallard with you to conduct the Sunday School and get some experience. He has a particularly earnest spirit—which it wouldn’t entirely hurt you to emulate, Brother Gantry—but he’s somewhat shy in contact with sin-hardened common people.
“Now, boys, this is just a small church, but never forget that it’s priceless souls that I’m entrusting to your keeping; and who knows but that you may kindle there such a fire as may some day illumine all the world … providing, Brother Gantry, you eliminate the worldly things I suspect you of indulging in!”
Elmer was delighted. It was his first real appointment. In Kansas, this summer, he had merely filled other people’s pulpits for two or three weeks at a time.
He’d show ’em! Some of these fellows that thought he was just a mouth-artist! Show ’em how he could build up a church membership, build up the collections, get ’em all going with his eloquence—and, of course, carry the message of salvation into darkened hearts.
It would be mighty handy to have the extra ten a week—and maybe more if he could kid the Schoenheim deacons properly.
His first church … his own … and Frank had to take his orders!
II
In the virginal days of 1905 section gangs went out to work on the railway line not by gasoline power but on a handcar, a platform with two horizontal bars worked up and down like pump-handles.
On a handcar Elmer and Frank Shallard set out for their first charge. They did not look particularly clerical as they sawed at the handles; it was a chilly November Sunday morning, and they wore shabby greatcoats. Elmer had a moth-eaten plush cap over his ears, Frank exhibited absurd earmuffs under a more absurd derby, and both had borrowed red flannel mittens from the section gang.
The morning was icily brilliant. Apple orchards glistened in the frost, and among the rattling weed-stalks by the worm-fences quail were whistling.
Elmer felt his lungs free of library dust as he pumped. He broadened his shoulders, rejoiced in sweating, felt that his ministry among real men and living life was begun. He pitied the pale Frank a little, and pumped the harder … and made Frank pump the harder … up and down, up and down, up and down. It was agony to the small of his back and shoulders, now growing soft, to labor on the upgrade, where the shining rails toiled round the curves through gravel cuts. But downhill, swooping toward frosty meadows and the sound of cowbells in the morning sun, he whooped with exhilaration, and struck up a boisterous:
There is power, power, wonder-working power
In the blood
Of the Lamb—
The Schoenheim church was a dingy brown box with a toy steeple, in a settlement consisting of the church, the station, a blacksmith shop, two stores, and half a dozen houses. But at least thirty buggies were gathered along the rutty street or in the carriage-sheds behind the church; at least seventy people had come to inspect their new pastor; and they stood in gaping circles, staring between frosty damp mufflers and visored fur caps.
“I’m scared to death!” murmured Frank, as they strode up the one street from the station, but Elmer felt healthy, proud, expansive. His own church, small but somehow—somehow different from these ordinary country meetinghouses—quite a nice-shaped steeple—not one of those shacks with no steeple at all! And his people, waiting for him, their attention flowing into him and swelling him—
He threw open his overcoat, held it back with his hand imperially poised on his left hip, and let them see not only the black broadcloth suit bought this last summer for his ordination but something choice he had added since—elegant white piping at the opening of his vest.
A red-faced moustached man swaggered up to greet them, “Brother Gantry? And Brother Shallard? I’m Barney Bains, one of the deacons. Pleased to meet you. The Lord give power to your message. Some time since we had any preachin’ here, and I guess we’re all pretty hungry for spiritual food and the straight gospel. Bein’ from Mizpah, I guess there’s no danger you boys believe in this open communion!”
Frank had begun to worry, “Well, what I feel is—” when Elmer interrupted him with a very painful bunt in the side, and chanted with holy joy:
“Pleased meet you, Brother Bains. Oh, Brother Shallard and I are absolutely sound both on immersion and close communion. We trust you will pray for us, Brother, that the Holy Ghost may be present in this work today, and that all the brethren may rejoice in a great awakening and a bountiful harvest!”
Deacon Bains and all who heard him muttered, saint to saint, “He’s pretty young yet, but he’s got the right idee. I’m sure we’re going to have real rousing preaching. Don’t think
