University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
RAKING UP THE FIRE.

THE cream of an evening company is the latter end
of it, after the more ceremonious have slipped
away and only “we and our folks” remain to croon and
rake up the fire.

Mr. and Mrs. Van Arsdel, Angelique, and Marie
went home in the omnibus. Alice staid to spend the
night with Eva, and help put up the portfolios, and put
back the plants, and turn the bower back into a work-room,
and set up the vases of flowers in a cool place
where they could keep till morning; because, you know
—you who are versed in these things—that flowers in
December need to be made the most of, in order to go as
far as possible.

Bolton yet lingered in his arm-chair, in his favorite
corner, gazing placidly at the coals of the fire. Dr.
Campbell was solacing himself, after the unsatisfied longings
of the evening, with seeing how his own article
looked in print, and Jim Fellows was helping miscellaneously
in setting back flower-pots, re-arranging books,
and putting chairs and tables, that had been arranged
festively, back into humdrum household places. Meanwhile,
the kind of talk was going on that usually follows
a social venture—a sort of review of the whole scene and
of all the actors.

“Well, Doctor, what do you think of our rector?”
said Eva, tapping his magazine briskly.

He lowered his magazine and squared himself round
gravely.

“That fellow hasn't enough of the abdominal to
carry his brain power,” he said. “Splendid head—a little
too high in the upper stories and not quite heavy
enough in the basement. But if he had a good broad,
square chest, and a good digestive and blood-making
apparatus, he'd go. The fellow wants blood; he needs
mutton and beef, and plenty of it. That's what he
needs. What's called common sense is largely a matter
of good diet and digestion.”

“Oh, Doctor, you materialistic creature!” said Eva,
“to think of talking of a clergyman as if he were a
horse—to be managed by changing his feed!”

“Certainly, a man must be a good animal before he
can be a good man.”

“Well,” said Alice, “all I know is, that Mr. St. John
is perfectly, disinterestedly, heart and soul and body, devoted
to doing good among men; and if that is not noble
and grand and godlike, I don't know what is.”

“Well,” said Dr. Campbell, “I have a profound respect
for all those fellows that are trying to mop out the
Atlantic Ocean; and he mops cheerfully and with good
courage.”

“It's perfectly hateful of you, Doctor, to talk so,”
said Eva.

“Well, you know I don't go in for interfering with
nature—having noble, splendid fellows waste and wear
themselves down, to keep miserable scalawags and ill-begotten
vermin from dying out as they ought to. Nature
is doing her best to kill off the poor specimens of
the race, begotten of vice and drunkenness; and what
you call Christian charity is only interference.”

“But you do it, Doctor; you know you do. Nobody
does more of that very sort of thing than you do, now.
Don't you visit, and give medicine and nursing, and all
that, to just such people?”

“I may be a fool for doing it, for all that,” said the
Doctor. “I don't pretend to stick to my principles any
better than most people do. We are all fools, more or
less; but I don't believe in Christian charity: it's all
wrong—this doctrine that the brave, strong good specimens
of the race are to torment and tire and worry their
lives out to save the scum and dregs. Here's a man
who, by economy, honesty, justice, temperance and hard
work, has grown rich, and has houses, and lands, and
gardens, and pictures, and what not, and is having a
good time as he ought to have, and right by him is another
who, by dishonesty, and idleness, and drinking,
has come to rags and poverty and sickness. Shall the
temperate and just man deny himself enjoyment, and
spend his time, and risk his health, and pour out his
money, to take care of the wife and children of this
scalawag? There's the question in a nutshell? and I
say, no! If scalawags find that their duties will be
performed for them when they neglect them, that's all
they want. What should St. John live like a hermit for?
deny himself food, rest and sleep? spend a fortune that
might make him and some nice wife happy and comfortable,
on drunkards' wives and children? No sense in it.”

“That's just where Christianity stands above and
opposite to nature,” said Bolton, from his corner. “Nature
says, destroy. She is blindly striving to destroy
the maimed and imperfect. Christianity says, save. Its
God is the Good Shepherd, who cares more for the
one lost sheep than for the ninety and nine that went
not astray.”

“Yes,” said Eva; “He who was worth more than
all of us put together, came down from heaven to labor
and suffer and die for sinners.”

“That's supernaturalism,” said Dr. Campbell. “I
don't know about that.”

“That's what we learn at church,” said Eva, “and
what we believe; and it's a pity you don't, Doctor.”

“Oh, well,” said Dr. Campbell, lighting his cigar,
previous to going out, “I won't quarrel with you. You
might believe worse things. St. John is a good fellow,
and, if he wants a doctor any time, I told him to call me.
Good night.”

“Did you ever see such a creature?” said Eva.

“He talks wild, but acts right,” said Alice.

“You had him there about visiting poor folks,” said
Jim. “Why, Campbell is a perfect fool about people
in distress—would give a fellow watch and chain, and
boots and shoes, and then scold anybody else that wanted
to go and do likewise.”

“Well, I say such discussions are fatiguing,” said
Alice. “I don't like people to talk all round the points
of the compass so.”

“Well, to change the subject, I vote our evening a
success,” said Jim. “Didn't we all behave beautifully!”

“We certainly did,” said Eva.

“Isn't Miss Dorcas a beauty!” said Jim.

“Come, now, Jim; no slants,” said Alice.

“I didn't mean any. Honest now, I like the old girl.
She's sensible. She gets such clothes as she thinks right
and proper, and marches straight ahead in them, instead
of draggling and draggletailing after fashion; and it's a
pity there weren't more like her.”

“Dress is a vile, tyrannical Moloch,” said Eva. “We
are all too much enslaved to it.”

“I know we are,” said Alice. “I think it's the question
of our day, what sensible women of small means are
to do about dress; it takes so much time, so much
strength, so much money. Now, if these organizing,
convention-holding women would only organize a dress
reform, they would do something worth while.”

“The thing is,” said Eva, “that in spite of yourself
you have to conform to fashion somewhat.”

“Unless you do as your Quaker friends do,” said
Bolton.

“By George,” said Jim Fellows, “those two were the
best dressed women in the room. That little Ruth was
seductive.”

“Take care; we shall be jealous,” said Eva.

“Well,” said Bolton, rising, “I must walk up to the
printing-office and carry that corrected proof to Daniels.”

“I'll walk part of the way with you,” said Harry.
“I want a bit of fresh air before I sleep.”