Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 January 1902 — A CLERICAL ERROR [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A CLERICAL ERROR

By FRANOIS LYNDE.

[Copyright, 1899, by the Author.) ny way or prologue let me say that I have never been quite able to understand why my colleagues in this far western diocese call me “the padre,” coupling the innuendo with an intimation that I should have beeu a priest of the older faith rather than a poor clergyman of our own. In my own looking glass—and which of us is ever vouchsafed a peep into that of another I—l find nothing to justify the inference. The quicksilver images the figure of a middle aged person, whose sedentary habit has sicklied a face never ruddy, whose vigils with the student’s lamp have begun to accentuate the stoop in a rather ungainly pair of shoulders, whose attire is not and has never Leen, I trust, more than decently ecclesiastical in cutand ensemble. None the less, sincerity compels the admission that in traveling lam not infrequently taken for a Romish priest, and that even here in' my own little parish of Carbonoro the coal miners call me Father Penburton. It was this absurd misconception, heightened, possibly, by the fact that I was reading a small black bound book which may have been mistaken for a breviary, that led to my entanglement in a romantic affair on the railway—an entanglement which has since cost me many disquieting moments. Not that I hold myself in any way accountable or blameworthy, be it understood, but merely because it has given my clerical associates a fresh occasion for other of their ill chosen and meaningless gibes.

The beginning of it was in this wise. I had been on a visit to the bishop and had boarded the train to “return to my parish. Having taken a seat in the Pullman, I was reading tho small black bound book—which, I beg to protest, was not a breviary—when two young persons entered the car and established themselves in the section next to my own. At their incoming I fancied they were the inevitable newly married couple whose presence seems nowadays tc be a necessary complement to the passenger list of any public conveyance. The young won was a clerk of som< sort, one wot. 11 say, and his face wai vaguely familiar. It was clean cut, smooth shaven and of the alert type which marks the younger men of business in this progress ridden region. The young woman was petite and distinctively handsome. Her face was a most agreeable study in youthful beauty, and her flashing browu eyes, alight with repressed excitement, had a look in them which carried me swiftly back to my—but pardon me, this is not the story of my own youthful follies. I perceived at once that the two wen laboring under some stress of emotion which I took to be very natural embarrassment, and as they sat facing ms I thought to relieve them in some measure by taking the opposite seat with my back toward them. I desire to emphasize this point because one of my colleagues is uncharitable enough to insinuate that the change was made in order that their conversation might be the better overheard, a charge which Lwish to repel with proper scorn. That their talk was overheard is a matter of no moment. Every right minded person will agree with me that motives and not incidents are the cosmic principles underlying any code of ethics. “Great Jehoashl You say,- he did come home to dinner, after all I” The speaker was the young man, and there was a very emphatic note of uneasiness in his voice.

“Yes, he did, ” answered the young Woman. “And that isn’t all. I’m almost sure he suspected something. ” “You are? Why? What makes you think so?” “The way he acted. He was as short as pie crust all through dinner, and when I left the table he asked if you had called; said he had seen you in the carriage driving down Alameda street" The young man groaned quite audibly. “Of course he did! That idiotic driver turned out for a furniture van just as we were meeting him and drove np to the very curb. I made myself as small as I could, but he couldn’t help seeing me. What did you tell him ?” "Isaid: ’Why, poppa—Mr. Roderick! After you've forbidden ’ him the house?’ ’’ The young man chuckled as if the sinful equivocation were applausive rather than a thing to be sorrowfully deprecated. “Good ! What did he say to that?” “He was angry—as he always is when your name is mentioned. He said you were unscrupulous enough to do anything. Then he asked me if I could be ready to start for Aunt Josephine’s tomorrow." “And you told him you could?” “I did just that, but I didn’t tell him I would. Oh, why doesn’t the train start?" I beard the click of the young man’s watch case.

“Chiefly because it isn’t time. We have five minutes yet.” “Oh!" The exclamation was almost a sob. “If he catches the 1 o’clock car down town, he can overtake us here, can’t he?” The watch case clicked again. ’’J*" rnisrht but it’s unlikely. The car is due at the corner just at our leaving time, and he would have a block to walk—or run. But I was thinking of something else. If he has his wits with him we shan’t be safe till we pass the yard limits." “The yard limits? I don’t understand." “We have to stop to register at the limits. If he just misses us here, he can take a carriage, run the legs off the horses and intercept us at the yard station. It can be done. I’ve done it myself more than once with a belated passenger. ”

“Oh, honors! Alan, if you let me be taken back now, I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live!" “You needn't threaten me. It won’t be my fault if we’re captured. I’m hot any more anxious to meet your father just now than you are," asserted the youug man, earnestly. Then silence supervened, and 1 had leisure to construct the accusation. It was a wedding party, Indeed, but a priori—an elopement, in short. This sweet faced young woman with the remindful eyes was taking her future in her hand to give it over into the keeping of a young man whose consent to such a proceeding was his sufficient condemnation. I pictured to myself the distress of the father, whose wishes had been so unfilially disregarded. He was doubtess a kind and indulgent parent —are not all modern parents culpably so?—and his objections to the alert young man were probably well rooted in good judgment and common sense. The name, Roderick, and the word about belated passengers, bridged the gap in my memory, and I was able to place the intending bridegroom. He was a young man employed by the railway company in some capacity—l know not what —in the booking office. He it was who had procured for me my clergyman’s permit for half rates. At that time I had thought him a very pleasant young fellow, but it must be admitted that circumstances alter cases, and in the light of the present episode my point of view coincided immediately with that of the aggrieved father. It was not my affair, to be sure, but my sympathies were so strongly enlisted on the side of parental authority that I could with difficulty hold my peace. Indeed, it was borne in upon me so forcibly that I ought to expostulate with the young rashlings that I was about to do so when the train moved out and carried them, so to speak, suddenly across their Rubicon.

Having thus lost the opportunity for hopeful interference, I may confess that I awaited the turn of events with no Inconsiderable degree of curiosity. Would the injured father have his “wits with him, ’’ as the young man so irreverently phrased it, and drive posthaste to intercept the train at the registering station t The day was warm and the car windows wers open. When the shriek of the airbrakes was uplifted ttad the speed began to slacken, I looked out and up the road leading down froin the city. Far away among the last scattering houses of the suburb a carriage drawn by fast galloping horses came In sight. At the same moment I he*M the young man fitly: “This sun is fearfully hbt, don’t you think so, Eleanor ? Let me dose your window. ” The bang of the sash and the whir of the shade followed quickly, fend I divined his intention. He, too, had seen the carriage. Presently the train came to a stand with the forward end of the Pullman immediately opposite the platform of the small registering station. From my window I saw the conductor come out and raise his hand to. give the signal for departure. In the very act he espied the carriage with the galloping hdrses and desisted. He was evidently going to wait for the vehicle to come up. For the next few momenta the suspense was well nigh electrical. The crucial anxiety of the two young people seemed to communicate itself in some mysterious manner to the other occupants of the car, and we all sat breathless under the weight of a silence which was surcharged with suppressed excitement. When the drumming of the horses’ hoofs became faintly audible. the vonnar man r-ould endure it no

longer. With a hasty “Excuse me a moment" to hit companion he left hie seat, and I craned my neck from the window in time to eee him join the conductor on the platform. “What are you waiting for, Graffo?” he demanded, with the air of one who is made bold by the occasion. The conductor jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the chaise. “Some drummer got left at the union depot, I guess. Serve him right if wa didn’t wait on him. ” "Don’t you fool yourself 1” The young man’s manner of speech was distressingly idiomatid, not to say vaguer

st times. “That’s Mi - . John Bostwick, ilf you don’t pull out before he gets here, I’m a dead man. Do you saves?’’ I The conductor laughed, and rejoined I with what appeared to be intended for rough pleasantry: * ‘Oh. come off! What are you giving met” I had not noticed that the young man had offered to give him anything, : but he ignored the inquiry and burst out: “Facta, by Jove! Cold facts! I 1 tell you my blood will be on your head I .f you wait till that carriage gets here!" “Pshawl D’ye mean it, honest? What you been doing to the muter mechasic? ’Nother one of your fool I pranks, I bet you. ’’ ! The chaise was in plain view by this time, and it presented the unusual spectacle of a square shouldered gentlemti. with a fierce military mustache and a very rad face leaning far out of the carriage window and gesticulating violently. The young man saw, winced and made answer of mingled plea and protest. “Pranks nothing! It’s business this time, I tell you. Give Ike the signal, quick, before it’s too late. Miss Bostwick's mixed up in it, and”— The conductor's hand shot above his head and hung there fluttering like a misshapen flag. There was an answering clangor from the bell and a hissing of steam and the wheels began to revolve. The young scapegrace and his new made confederate sprang aboard, and I gave my attention to the oncoming carriage. The cabman was certainly a most reckless driver. He lashed hie horses down the steep slope, and for a palpitant second a collision with the moving train seemed inevitable. It was happily averted at the critical instant by the madcap son of Nimehi, who stood up in bis place and dragged the plunging animals back upon their haunches by main strength. But*the sudden cramping of the vehicle jammed it between a coal car and the iron lever which operates the switching mechanism, blocking the doors as effectually as if the obstructions had been placed with ' malice aforethought. i When I sank back into my seat with a sigh of mingled regret and relief the 1 young man had rejoined bis companion, who, thanks to the’ drawn shade and closed window, had apparently neither seen nor heard aught of the exciting episode. “Are we safe, Alan?” she queried, her voice a-tremble with trepidation. "Safe as a church. Didn’t you see him?” "I saw nothing, but I thought I heard some one shouting.” Then, with a gasp of sudden and dismayed realization: "Oh, it’s my father, and he’shurt! I know be is! Stop the train, Alan! Stop it, I say! I’m going back!” “Oh, sit down! For pity's sake, sit down. Eleanor. Don’t you see everybody’s catching on?” This in an agonized whisper. "He isn’t hurt, I tell you. Not at all. That was the driver you heard yelling at his horses.” "Are you sure you’re telling me the truth?” I “Of course I am. Didn’t I see ft? I The fellow drove down between the ' switch stand and a coal car, and your , father couldn’t get either dooropen. He j wasn’t hurt an atom, but he acted as if he was a good deal disappointed.” I "Disappointed! You may depond upon it, he is simply furious. I’m awfully afraid he'll do something desperate yet.” I "I don't see but what he will have to if he stops us now. He can't get to Lavarock ahead of us, and IS minutes after we arrive you’ll be Mrs. Roderick. ” She went silent at that, as what modest young woman would not ? But after a little she plucked up courage to ask about the details. Her companion explained. [to be continued.]

Scotland has 146 parishes without paupers, poor rates or public houses, the absence of the last, perhaps, accounting for that of the first two, A large dog and a horse had a fierce battle at Hackensack, N. J., a few days ago, in which the latter came off victorious, the dog being killed.

'If you don’t pull out before he gets here. I’m a dead man.”