Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 233, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 October 1917 — Where the Ways Parted [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Where the Ways Parted

By Mary Parrish

(Copyright, by W. G. Chapman.) “Oh, these sleek, high-salaried clergymen of fashionable parishes in big cities!” exclaimed Ann Taylor. “Well, It’s about the softest job I know of!” The man sitting at her side on the beach eyed her with a mixture of amusement and opposition. He was about thirty, rather good-looking, and s>f the student type. “Well, I don’t know,” he answered. “I know one who is busy every minute when he Isn’t taking a vacation.” “Oh, lots of people are busy without doing anything big from the time they are born till they die.” “Just what do you mean by doing something ‘big?’ ” queried Speed. “You know there might be a good many different interpretations of that word.” “Yes,” she answered with a grimly sarcastic smile. “And my interpretation might differ considerably from that of the fashionable clergyman. How can anyone do big things who doesn’t take a big view of life? And how can one take a big view if he doesn’t get out among humanity, and know it from the slum to the mansion? The fashionable clergyman knows humanity of the mansion—that is, he knows it on nice terms of social etiquette. Does he know any other phase of the great human mass?” This time the man looked at her with more questioning than opposition. “There may be some truth In that,” he admitted.

“Some of these men are very much in earnest. They write sermons that show thought, scholarship and a high desire to help humanity. Doubtless they do some good. But when they get that far, I’m always wishing some heavy Jolt would strike them and drive them out of the soft, luxurious round of writing beautiful sermons in beau-

tiful studies, to read to beautiful ladles In beautiful gowns. I Insist, it’s a soft job.” “Well, according to that version—it is,” laughed the man. Mary Follin had come up In time to hear the last of the conversation. She was very much up-to-date, and very handsomely gowned. Ann Taylor glanced at the watch on her wrist, and exclaiming that she had forgotten an engagement, nodded to Miss Follin, and apologizing to both, started quickly toward the hotel. Royal Speed smiled a real welcome to the girl, and made way fdr her to sit down. “What was the 'soft job’ she was talking about?” she laughed. "Mine,” was the laconic answer. “What 1” she exclaimed in horrified amazement. “Did she dare to say that to you’.'” “I don’t think she knows I’m a clergyman. But I don’t kr.ow as it would make any difference if she did.” Rev. Royal Speed, rector of St. Anthony’s, spoke with quiet amusement, and "sifted some sand through his fingers. But Indignant nrotest played upon the features of Miss Follin. “I wouldn’t be surprised at anything she might say* she rejoined. “She’s rather a dreadful person when she gets started on those frightful, liberal Ideas of hers. I didn’t mention you were a minister when I introduced you, because I feared the first thing she would do would be to start an argument with you. She loves an argument, and I knew you came here for a - rest.” “Yes, I did. A rest —and to be with vou.” The tenderness of the last words was unmistakable. The girl gave him an answering pmile. The understanding between them seemed complete. They had been engaged to each other for several months, but the time of the wedding w<fs not yet set, and was tac-

Ttly understood to be some months yet to come. Mary Fpllin was the only daughter of a millionaire member of Speed’s fashionable congregation, and those in the secret considered him a very lucky man. The two sat for some time talking, and then strolled off together. Alone in his room at the hotel, Speed threw himself in an easy chair and picked up a book. But something seemed to come between him and the pages. He could hear the girl say: “How can anyone do anything big who doesn’t take a big view of life fl Was he taking the big view? He fell to thinking, and asking himself If he were. In his walks alone on the beach, he found himself looking for a glimpse of Ann Taylor. He would have liked to talk with her again; but he did not see her. Once he laughingly asked Mary Follln what had become of his “adversary.” “Oh, I told her who you were,” answered Mary. Sly humor twinkled in the corners of Rev. Mr. Speed’s eyes. “Did she fall down in her tracks?” he asked. “Not she. Her shriek of laughter might have been heard up to your hotel. She regarded it as a joke, and said she hoped it had done you some good. I couldn’t help telling her what I thought of such talk, and I rallied to your defense in a way she won’t forget very soon. I let her know, too, that we were engaged.” “I’m rather sorry you told her,” mused Speed. “Sorry I told her?” repeated Mary, freezingly indignant. “Don’t you want her to know it?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that, of course. I meant sorry you told her I was a clergyman. “And why, ptay?” asked Mary blankly. “Oh, I might have heard something more to my advantage,” he laughed. “Where is she stopping?” "She went home yesterday.” The acidity of this answer warned the young minister that it was time to change the subject. Ann Taylor was henceforth taboo between him and his fiancee. One stormy evening, as he sat writing his “beautiful sermon” In his “beautiful study,” his me nservant came in with the message that a woman insisted on seeing him. He went down to the reception room to find a wretched, bedraggled creature, w’ho implored him to come quickly with her to a dying woman. He hurriedly made himself ready to go with the woman. In a poor part of the city up flights of dark stairs in a tenement, she led him to the dying woman. The physician he found there told him the man who had beaten her had taken by the police, but there was no use of calling an ambulance, as she would probably die on the way, and he left her with the minister, while the other woman waited without. Speed, with much tenderness and feeling, tried to comfort the dying woman as best he could, but the broken bits of her story she tried to tell him haunted him after his return home. The squalid'misery, the warped, stunted lives he found in this hltherto-undiscoyered region to him opened up a new channel of thought—perhaps it might lead to the “big” thing for him to do. One day after his morning sermon, he spied Ann Taylor in a near-by pew. Later she came up and spoke to him. “It was a very good sermon,” she said. “Very good—as far as It went.” “So it didn’t go far enough to please you,” he smiled. “Well, while there is life there is hope—hope of getting farther on the way.”

Something in his tone caught Ann’s attention. “Yes, if you want to go,” she said. That night visit to the slums had undoubtedly started Speed on the way to a greater enlightenment. He sought for experience among all classes. Sometimes he found among those who outwardly kept up some show of prosperity, the artists and writers who tried to make the creative power of their brains bring them bread and a roof, a kind of fine courage and endurance not even guessed by the prosperous. Often he tried to find a market for their work by getting the rich or those with a “pull” interested. These things began to encroach on his duties at St. Anthony’s. The people who poured money into the church coffers, and paid his salary, complained that he neglected his clerical calls on the families of the parish. Rev. Royal Speed had come to the parting of the ways. He came to a decision. He felt that the woman who was to be his wife must be the first one to know; and he told her he meant to give up St. Anthony’s, to go down and work among the poorer classes. He expected her to rejoice with him at his wider field of work. She could help so much with the wealth at her command.

But Instead she was filled with amazement and dismay. She expostulated, then pleaded with him to give up such a “mad whim.” Then Royal Speed saw he must choose between the woman he loved and the “big” things of a larger life. He hoped he might bring her to see it as he did. But it was no use. He 1 made his choice. On one of his missions he met Ann Taylor. She grasped his hand warmly,* and said, with shining eyes: “It is splendid—what you are doing!” “It is splendid—what I am learning !” he answered. “And I might never have known —but for you.” “Then,” she *aid. “I am glad to have lived—and spoken—if I could think that.” I One day he said: “Won’t you go on helping me—always?" / Ann put her hand in his with a confidence that meant a real “yes.”

She Was Filled With Amazement and Dismay.