Chapter XLV: Ritual of the Human Race 292 (4)

“I never heard any one say that the Historic Christ lacked in force of character. Let me think! Yes, I did, too--once; and curiously enough it was a Jewish Rabbi disparaging the greatest historic character of the chosen people. He insisted that Christ was ‘deluded,’ and deluded forsooth in direct consequence of His own good thoughts and actions. Now, how could a Personality setting the most notable example of force and power be deluded like an ordinary man or self-constituted critic? As to the ancient golden rule, known so well to Confucius in Chinese form, and the Lord’s Prayer, also possibly known in some form to the Rabbi Hillel in Hebrew fashion previously, were they not each shown by Christ Himself in a manner far more potent to all men, each after his kind?--I might say acceptable to all creation in a way never dreamed of by either Confucius or Hillel. Don’t tell me that such a character could be deluded. If such was the case, then truth itself in character is a delusion, and expediency takes its place. All sciences and religions know better, all creation knows better, all except the few who delude themselves in order to bolster up a previous impression as to character to which they feel committed. Don’t tell me that the greatest Hebrew who ever lived, great because He developed force and strength of character in civilizations strong unto this day, was deluded! That is illogical and unsound, intellect misused, the twaddle of criticism.”

Thus Adele, the young modern educated girl, free to think of truth as she saw it, decided this question for herself, and put the result of her meditations away in her mental storehouse, little realizing how soon she would have occasion to congratulate herself upon having crystallized her views on this weighty subject.

“I’m glad,” she said inwardly, “I’m glad Christianity is founded upon Christ’s personality still alive, His own words and deeds still active, and not upon what other people, ancient or modern, say about Him.”

* * * * *

Adele went to join her mother, and found Mrs. Thorn already in evidence. The latter had indeed found her curative vibrations somewhat counteracted by events due to others also meditating more actively than she. And Mrs. Thorn showed much worldly wisdom and tact in saying very little about it; simply remarking that “Mr. Onset was already in a fair way to recovery when the accident happened. Indeed, Mrs. Cultus, I feel quite confident I should have cured him with much less fuss about it.”

This latter remark was made as they sat in the same vicinity on deck enjoying the air, the day following. Much to their surprise some one answered promptly:

“I’m sure I should.”

XIV

ANOTHER COMMOTION--RELIGIOUS-CURATIVE

“Will that you won’t be sick, and you won’t be,” quoth a volunteer
adviser.

“It’s my will itself that is sick,” replied a real sufferer.

“I’m sure I should.”

Mrs. Cultus turned quickly, to find the speaker, a placid-looking person, sitting near, presumably a lady, yet who had evidently been eavesdropping. A person of matronly aspect, whose voice and expression suggested a desire to tell others something that might be of benefit to them. Not at all one whose appearance suggested mysticism in any degree; on the contrary rather ingenuous, consequently a surprise to all present when she launched at them the following dogmatic statements:

“The practice of healing, of course I mean metaphysical healing, is based upon certain ethical and religious principles, because we know that mind holds utter control over matter.”

Mrs. Cultus, at first taken aback, then much amused, replied promptly: “Mind over matter! well, I should hope so. But it strikes me mind often controls matter better than it controls itself--h’m!” and Mrs. Cultus gave a little cough, as if the very idea had produced “something-the-matter” in her own anatomy.

Miss Winchester whispered to Adele: “My dear, we have found another--metaphysical specimen this time. The ship is full of them.”

“No more cures for me,” retorted Adele. “That magnesium powder is not out of my head yet--I mean my hair.”

“Never mind that, dear. Your head will save your hair; beg pardon, I mean your heels.”

“Well,” thought Adele, laughing, “even if this individual is another new-science-expert, she can’t possibly be of the loud, vociferous variety.” Adele judged by the placid manner and quiet voice, insinuating even when making such positive and surprising assertions. She had yet to learn how extremes sometimes meet in the same personality. The Doctor could have told her that the woman’s hands showed a most ardent temperament, and that in some types suppressed zeal could assume the appearance of placidity personified.

Mrs. Thorn regarded the matronly lady with especial interest, because new mental impressions of any kind, from any source, might at any time be of use to her. Her smile was bland, mild, courtesy itself, with just a humorous tinge for business with it, as she leaned forward to catch every word. Some new point in the game might be played at any moment. This when the placid matron remarked: “No medicines are now needed, no such disturbances as we have had on board. The true method by which mind may overcome all disease in suffering humanity we have now learned.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Mrs. Cultus. “No medicines? What a blessing! But what takes their place, massage, or change of climate? We’re trying the latter.”

The placid lady, as she soon informed them, was Mrs. Geyser, of Wyoming, claiming to be an expert in the modern field of _popular_ metaphysics. Miss Winchester, who knew what popularity implied, interrupted, “Oh, tell us, Mrs. Geyser, Wyoming is noted, is it not, as a locality where the natural ebullitions produced by physical forces are very remarkable?”

“Assuredly; in the volcanic region of our Park we have many instances of nature’s activity, in the boiling springs and water volcanoes, mud----”

“Baths and smothered combustion?” interrupted Frank Winchester. Mrs. Geyser paid no attention, except to intensify her previous statement.

“I’m quite accustomed to such sights. Nature often looks so quiet and harmless, yet the ebullitions you speak of take effect when not expected.”

“Anybody scalded?” asked Miss Winchester. Mrs. Geyser began to suspect that she was being chaffed.

“Gushers by nature, don’t you think so, Mrs. Geyser?”

Mrs. Geyser could not question this undoubted fact. How could she? Her own ebullitions of thought were already seething. She couldn’t get a word in edgewise without interruptions. How could any one preach practical metaphysics, metaphysics with interruptions? The conditions were most unfavorable. She determined, however, not to be balked in a good cause. No! not by a flippant damsel, anyhow, with her unseemly intrusions. So she fired off one of her big statements to back up what she considered to be practical metaphysics.

“You know, I presume, that we preach the gospel or good news according to doctrine found in the Bible and stated in the tenets of religious Science.”

Mrs. Cultus remarked that she hoped her knowledge of the Bible was sufficient, but, really, she knew little about the tenets. “What are tenets, anyhow?”

“One of our tenets reads this way,” and Mrs. Geyser assumed a tone of voice most serious, as if she were uttering a revelation of mystery never before vouchsafed to ordinary mortals. “We acknowledge the way of salvation to be the power of truth over all error, sin, sickness and death, and the resurrection of human faith and understanding to seize the great possibilities, yes, possibilities, and living energies of divine life.”

Mrs. Cultus drew a long breath. “Oh, dear, tenets are awful things; so complicated! May I ask what becomes of the simplicity of the gospel?”

Adele became very attentive while Mrs. Geyser was speaking. There was something in it which appealed to her as very true, yet that word “possibilities,” it was so easy to stretch it into the impossible and unreasonable.

“Please give us a simple tenet,” asked Mrs. Cultus, now the placid speaker.

“There is nothing easier, it’s as easy as reading a book. We have keys of our own--you must use our keys--our own book to both science and health.”

Frank Winchester gave a start, as if struck by an idea. “Keys! those everlasting keys! There must be two sets!”

“Three, my dear, three! I remember them well,” said Mrs. Cultus, her memory also startled into activity. “I knew St. Peter by reputation only, but Louis also had keys. I remember Louis XVI of France very well, when I was at school. He was a locksmith also, and made Bourbon keys for the government. Poor man! he lost both his keys and his head. Why, Mrs. Geyser, I’m astonished! Don’t you know the religious-government-locksmith-business is entirely obsolete?”

“In both science and religion,” mused Adele, while her mother still kept the floor.

“Why, St. Peter himself said his keys were worn out. He told the whole world he couldn’t lock the door on those Philippine friars, when they had been caught interfering with the Government.”

“Don’t mix politics and religion with metaphysics!” exclaimed Adele, greatly amused, but beginning to feel interested in the serio-comic discussion. “Please don’t--it’s bad form.”

“I won’t, daughter. I was only thinking, thinking how astute St. Peter was to find it out before The Hague conference told him so. I rather liked that in Peter, because Paul generally showed more intellect in the long run. Peter probably was the better manager, but I suspect Paul had more--more--Oh, what shall I call it?”

“Metaphysics?” suggested Frank Winchester, struggling to conceal intense amusement.

Mrs. Geyser, in the meantime, was not the sort of person to remain “sat upon,” as she thought, “in this outrageous manner.” Her own mental ebullitions began to demand utterance, but she managed to suppress external evidence. Nevertheless the cause she represented must be defended. Yes; in spite of Paul, Apollos, Cephas, Mrs. Cephas and Miss Cephas, the truth must prevail. She must witness to show how it could and would. She must tell how the greatest thing on earth should be applied as medicine. Sincerity called for strenuosity, the fundamental element in “our religion” must be made known, preached, and she did so, thusly:

“The maintenance of health and cure of disease occupy a large space in the religious faith of our society. Love is the greatest thing on earth, the fundamental thing with us. Love conquers all things, headache and neuralgia, backache and lumbago, all included, annual and perennial, the whole list, non-chronic and chronic. To apply religion scientifically we first fix truth and love steadfastly in the patient’s thoughts and explain what religious science is, but not too soon, not until the patient is prepared for it;” and then Mrs. Geyser continued to elucidate her method, incidentally remarking that medicine was never needed, not even for babies, not even in the mild form of a preparatory mixture. Frank Winchester recalled to memory the recent preparatory mental dose given by the Doctor to Mr. Onset, but said nothing. Adele, recently graduated, could not avoid asking the question:

“Have you a diploma?”

A very dignified attitude struck Mrs. Geyser in the small of her back when Adele innocently propounded this touchy question. She straightened up to reply. “Our diplomas are attested by the supernatural powers we exert. I deny that natural causes can account for our proceedings, I mean our results.”

“It looks just that way,” remarked Mrs. Cultus, while Mrs. Geyser continued:

“But to comply with the laws of the land and render unto Cæsar the things that are his I did take a course at our Metaphysical College--twelve half-days’ instruction at three hundred dollars for the course. Ample, I assure you, to satisfy any materialistic law-maker, and quite as expensive as many other colleges.” After this incidental announcement Mrs. Geyser seemed ready to resume the practice of her profession as teacher, but Adele, by this time, did not seem inclined to let it be done so easily. Evidently a climax was approaching in Adele’s own mind as to the duty of graduates.

“I notice, Mrs. Geyser, that you lay great stress upon cures.”

“Yes, they bear witness to the truth in our religious-science.”

“Do you keep any account of failures?”

“None whatever.”

“Then you notice what suits you and ignore the rest. Is that truth in science?”

“Failures do not depend upon phenomena or cases.”

“Then upon what?” inquired Adele, intensely interested.

“Failures depend upon the Divine Word.”

A pause--Adele as one astounded at what she considered the fearful abuse of both thoughts and words in Mrs. Geyser’s statements.

No doubt Mrs. G. imagined she was protecting her faith and religion by this placing of blame for failure upon the Spirit of Truth in the Divine Word, as if Truth itself could ever be a delusion, a fallacy, a failure; but, unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, Adele Cultus grasped the fuller import of such assertions--so abusive of facts in nature scientific and philosophical, so diametrically in opposition, or else ignoring Christ’s especial teaching by word and work. Such was Adele’s point of view.

To Adele this was utterly illogical, antagonistic to truth as she saw it. Such an atrocious conception from one who had just been talking about love, the greatest thing on earth, struck through Adele like an electric shock, and, as usual with her, the spiritual dominant. She was also outwardly calm, but mentally that violent tension which comes with strenuous effort to find the truest utterance. The horrible words again sounded in her ears: “Failures--depend--upon----”

“Mrs. Geyser, to the Divine Word let us appeal. The record states that our Saviour did depend upon the phenomena to sustain his claims, ‘Believe me for the very works’ sake,’ and He never failed. When science, some day, progresses to the standpoint of our Saviour’s knowledge and practice we too may understand the application of natural laws as He did. What is the so-called supernatural? Merely that which science has not yet explained: miracles to-day are not miracles to-morrow.”

All attention was now focused upon Adele, her eyes flashing as they often had done when tackling a difficult problem at college. Her mentality was concentrated. Mrs. Cultus thought she “looked like Portia” when she continued:

“Our Heavenly Father wrote the Divine Word in all things. Science and religion must agree. They have the same Author.”

Now if Adele had only stopped at this point and by silence let the truth further speak for itself in the heart, much of what followed would have been avoided. But youth is impulsive in method and often abuses strenuosity by becoming indiscreet. Her youth led her to jump at a conclusion embodying personal reference, which of course broke away from the direct route to assurance of faith by spiritual discernment of actual facts. The bane of both science and religion came nearer wrecking the truthful impression already germinated in Mrs. Geyser’s consciousness.

“You are a religious thaumaturgist, Mrs. Geyser--a dealer in wonder-work. Your results are not real miracles, because you have failures and abuse truthful words. Having failures when you attempt to heal, you can’t possibly be apostles of the truly ordained religious and scientific type.”

Quick as a flash, Mrs. Geyser spoke the historic truth:

“Christ’s Apostles did have failures. Your remarks have no force.”

Adele also quick as a flash:

“Precisely so! which shows the real difference between them and Him. In every instance when they did fail He called them a faithless and perverse generation. Do you know why, Mrs. Geyser?”

Mrs. Geyser refused to reply.

“Because they neglected well known means, considered scientific in those days, and so recognized yet by reasonable people. The Apostles neglected to employ prayer and fasting, that is to say, proper mental and physical treatment. They had not adequately examined the case themselves, conscientiously nor in a prayerful spirit, nor given the proper medicine already known to be useful in such cases. Our Saviour always applied common sense to his physical and spiritual healing and had no failures.” Then she added mentally, “He does it yet.”

Mrs. Geyser had never before heard the historic Christ spoken of as a physician of the regular school, which eventually resulted in modern practice. She had always thought of Him as an Oriental Healer with no pretence to manifesting cures by reasonable specific methods, such as have since been learned by the Holy Spirit of Truth in medicine, psychology, and the science of religion; by the Spirit which is Holy, which Christ promised He would send. She had often said that the Scriptures gave no direct interpretation of the scientific basis for demonstrating until the new key was discovered. In fact, Mrs. Geyser was herself very mediæval in her notions of what Christ’s personality stands for as enlightenment, the Holy Spirit of Truth in all things, the Light of the World.

Therefore what Adele asserted made little real impression other than antagonism, not as yet, not until Adele, more roused than ever, continued:

“No record of failures is shirking responsibility, and personal responsibility is one of the truest things in any religion worthy of the name. Denial of dependence upon phenomena is a false position, totally unlike our Saviour. It is a pseudo-Christianity, and it is rank pseudo-science to quote in the same breath only those phenomena which you think will suit your purpose.” She was going on to add “preposterous abuse of the Divine Word,” when her mother beckoned her to be less extreme and impulsive. Her youth therefore satisfied itself by turning the personal allusions half-way round towards herself: “I think your position is preposterous, Mrs. Geyser, and your science an imposition upon the public.”

Adele regretted her words almost as soon as uttered, but too late; an eruption imminent, it must come.

Mrs. Geyser, the mystic, had been in a suppressed condition, but the mental-effervescence was approaching nearer and nearer to the surface. Personalities which she often applied to others she could not stand when turned towards herself--they acted still more potently; in effect not unlike that of soap-suds upon the water volcanoes of her native region, temporary suppression followed by ebullitions worse than usual. She could no longer sit still, so she rose to her feet, without fear but with much trembling, and gave vent to a torrent of expostulations, hurling her words at Adele as if to deluge her with facts.

“You don’t pretend to say there have been no cures by faith?”

“I do not,” said Adele firmly, “but----”

“But what, young miss? Can you deny facts in life? Facts! facts as well authenticated as the New Testament itself!”

“I neither deny facts in nature nor the testimony of honest witnesses, but----”

“Cures which the Founder of Christianity promised His followers they should perform!” cried the Geyser, still more excited.

Adele’s indignation at this became irresistible, neither could she stand it; and the result?

A remarkable thing yet perfectly natural, phenomenon well known to both religion and science, a sudden intense appreciation that “the letter killeth but the Spirit giveth life,” affecting her whole personality, physical, mental, spiritual.

Adele’s ideal became realized in her own person.

The psychological influence of that which is Holy became manifest.

She became, as it were, the personification of that which she believed to be true. Sober enthusiasm and convictions, both scientific and religious, came to her rescue.

She spoke, but with a revulsion in manner, quietly, slowly, each sentence distinct, and her words were the truth in soberness, moral courage and reason at its best, the Holy Spirit over all:

“Pardon me, Mrs. Geyser. I am really very sorry I offended you.” Then, after a little pause, “I can’t express all that I feel and would like to say; but it seems to me our Saviour was always reasonable. He never did imply what is unreasonable, no matter what marvels and mysteries He may have revealed to enlighten further. It seems to me nature has ever since witnessed to His wonderful obedience to her laws and His profound knowledge of the Divine Word wherever written in nature, physical or spiritual. He came not to destroy but to fulfil laws in nature, and this in spite of all that has ever been said of Him to the contrary.”

All were now absorbed, blending their own spiritual experience with hers as Adele continued:

“Now in religion the claims you make demand a marvellous thing in nature, a marvel indeed, quite unreasonable to expect in the brighter light of known truths,” and she rested her eyes calmly on Mrs. Geyser, she too having become quieter under the better influences at work.

“A marvel, indeed, Mrs. Geyser, no less than the actual presence of a perfect human being.”

Mrs. Geyser repeated the words, musing self-consciously, “A perfect human being!”

“Yes, indeed,” continued Adele. “Taking things as they are, as the truth in science has already taught us, the performance of cures by the means you attempt would demand perfection in both knowledge and technic--one who knows and one who does to perfection--a perfect man. Of course I must mean perfect in reason, reasonably perfect as nature manifests truth, at the period when the man lives.”

“What do you mean by perfection?” asked Mrs. Geyser, evidently sincere. “I don’t quite understand what you mean by that sort of high-flown talk.” This was only too true, for Mrs. Geyser, with all her pretence to metaphysics, had never formulated a definition of that word “perfection;” she knew little and perceived less in that very mode of thought to which she made claim as an expert.

Adele’s youthful eyes certainly did show a human-nature-twinkle when thus called upon to define what should have been elementary to Mrs. Geyser if an expert; and so very important to remember when “perfect cures” were claimed in spite of the known imperfections of all other systems of treatment. Adele never appreciated her college training more than when she found that she could use the knowledge thus obtained in reasoning with Mrs. Geyser.

“Well, in metaphysics as well as other studies, perfection is something like this: it is not only ‘finished in every part, completed,’ but much more, it is ‘whole, entire, existing in the widest extent, and in the highest degree--in spiritual relations _divine_ in character and quality.’ You surely believe this, Mrs. Geyser!”

Mrs. Geyser made a heroic mental effort to grasp this statement and answer the question; Adele tried to help her, anxious to share the very best of her own mental conclusions, her own spirit dominated by the Spirit that is Holy, to help others and not antagonize.

“Now to me the two words, perfection and divinity, are precisely the same in significance in relation to our present discussion, and they both touch the very highest point in reason, the acme of reason. We cannot go higher than that, can we, Mrs. Geyser?”

Mrs. Geyser acknowledged it was “pretty well up.”

Adele, properly gauging the calibre of her patient by this remark, repeated the idea:

“No, I can think of nothing higher than perfection and what it implies. No, not in physics, metaphysics, nor religion. Can you, Mrs. Geyser?”

The listener seemed somewhat confused, but sincerely anxious to learn. Adele continued:

“Religion and Philosophy both teach me that Divinity alone manifests Perfection to the extent your claims call for. No doubt you have examined into the matter thoroughly, Mrs. Geyser. May I ask what your key says on the subject?”

The matronly Mrs. Geyser, ever self-conscious, yet trying to be sincere, immediately directed her thoughts inwardly, to a sort of self-examination which her system was apt to call for in such cases; a system of self-examination very peculiar in its operation, as if trying to detect how-much-of-perfection she had within herself to be depended upon to influence or exert the Supreme Power to perfect cures. If anybody ever did try to work out her own salvation (cure herself) by means of complicated theories distorting good intentions, it was this earnest woman, misguided by a mist of words applied to the veritable mysteries in nature, a mystical abuse of the unseen truths so well recognized by all truth-seekers as mysterious. Thou canst not tell whence it cometh nor whither it goeth. Mrs. Geyser seemed worried, but in no way daunted; rather troubled because she could not state her own case as she thought it should be stated. Very like a matron indeed, with an enormous bunch of keys at her side, not one of which would fit.

Adele, also uneasy lest she had not shown that kindness and consideration in manner and tone for one older than herself, which the case called for--a case in which the Perfect Spirit alone, the Holy Spirit of Truth in Love, can do the “perfect work.”

Adele felt this deeply. “What shall I do now? Talk on? No; no more talk. I hate this rumpus, hate it! but must do something. Never again will I be caught in such a discussion and controversy. Never! but I must do something. Poor soul, she can’t even see what she can see. I wish I could see for her,” and Adele cast her eyes about, as if looking for inspiration in the surrounding objects.

A book lay upon Miss Winchester’s lap. She had been using it at the piano in the salon. The title caught Adele’s eye. “Songs Without Words,” the musical association with the title she well knew, but now, what?

Her active mind, trained to work by association of ideas, and her spiritual faculties longing to determine what to do then and there, the two worked together. If the beautiful art of music she loved so well could speak without words through the ear, why, surely there must be a way to speak by--by----

She left her chair, crossed over to where Mrs. Geyser sat, and held out a friendly hand, her attitude the reverse of antagonistic, her eyes speaking the meekness which is always followed by the promised reward. There was no mistake as to the words uttered by those lovely eyes, they asked first for peace, peace first, then hope, then charity, showing that meekness which inherits the earth. Herself illumined by that wonderful light that never was by sea or land, but sometimes is reflected on the human face.

XV

TWO SIMULTANEOUS SOLILOQUIES

The countenance of Mrs. Cultus after this trying scene was a study in itself. She was attempting to understand her own daughter. Worldly wisdom was well developed in Mrs. Cultus, and it was fortunate for Adele that her mother had suppressed dangerous personalities early in the interview, else the result would have been permanently bad instead of what it proved to be. Much of what Adele said Mrs. Cultus had fully appreciated, but not all; not when her daughter began talking of what constituted perfection, and the consequences. Then worldly wisdom failed, and the mother regarded her daughter with amazement.

“The child! What does she know of metaphysics? Yet she talked as if she knew all about it as well as she knows her own classmates. She must have studied both religion and science at college. I don’t wonder they made her valedictorian of her class, to get in the last word. She is just like her father, intellectual, and I certainly was with her when she became angry with that woman for not giving medicine to sick babies. Extraordinary, isn’t it, how some people can crowd out their natural instincts for an idea--it is not safe to live, not with such notions. What new-fangled medical schools without medicine are being propagated! Here are two new ones on board this ship--even in mid-ocean there’s no getting rid of them. Well, I’m rejoiced that Adele has not been educated out of her natural instincts. It is so much safer to be orthodox about such things, and take medicine; and these fads, why, never bother with fads except for amusement. Now that telepathic reading we had one night at home was almost as good as the other evening with hypnotics, both were so diverting. But, oh! deliver me from these new sciences. Now I mustn’t forget; I must tell Adele how much I admired her standing up for old-fashioned medicine and orthodoxy in religion.”

Thus soliloquized Mrs. Cultus in her state-room, while a door, slamming every ten seconds in the passageway, somewhat interfered with the continuity of her thoughts.

There was yet another of the party whose estimation of Adele rose immensely. Paul Warder had overheard the discussion; it gave him an insight as to Adele’s character which he would have been a long time discovering, and he felt strengthened himself by the thoughts she had expressed. Paul was not given to ostentation in religious matters any more than Adele herself, nor did he feel quite able to discuss such things even if opportunity offered. He was not so constituted, either by heredity or education. His antecedents had been of good Quaker stock, his own affiliations with churchmen, his daily associations with Doctor Wise, from whom he had heard views almost to the verge of heterodoxy.

Paul kept his own counsel and, like Adele, preferred to show by acts rather than words what his principles were. He and Adele were physically and mentally different, but spiritually not at all unlike. Without appreciating it themselves at this time they already embodied that potent yet mysterious combination in nature which affords the most solid, durable foundation for true friendship, the secure and real basis upon which marriage should stand. To hear Adele speak her mind freely, as she did, was a new experience to Paul, an insight which from its very nature forced him to think about her. It was one of these incidents in his own life he could never forget, never forget her nor what she had said.

Paul’s vernacular when he soliloquized was not so Emersonian as it might have been; if it lacked anything it certainly was even a suspicion of transcendentalism. No; Paul had a vernacular of his own, equally characteristic and, from his own point of view, even more forcible. He still retained some of his college idioms when talking aloud to the bed-post, and there was in them a peculiar virility. When he found himself alone after this new experience his youth effervesced in this style:

“By Jove, what a girl! No nonsense there! And she was right, too; O. K. every time. How she did pick out the flaws in that queer woman’s racket. I could see that it was absurd myself, but I never could have spotted the thing as Adele did and then finally smoothed things down so well. She must be an awfully good girl. I wonder if a man can ever be as good as a woman. And these college girls get on to things we fellows never grasp by the right end, and then they put them in practice, too. I detest women preachers, but, hang it! I believe Adele Cultus could preach first-rate if she wished. I hope she won’t get into the habit, but it is a deuced good thing to be able to say exactly what you really think when occasion arises. By Jove, she is a stunner! Take care, old boy, and don’t fall in love with a strong-minded girl, whatever you do. I never heard her talk so before, and if it had not been for the provocation given her by that crank and the preposterous statements she made about all-metaphysics and no-medicine Adele would never have been roused. No, it was not that either which aroused her--it was the abuse of the serious words and what Adele saw differently that roused her. No, that was not uncalled-for interference, but a regular spontaneous stand-up for the truth as she saw it. But she must have gone over it somehow beforehand, in her mind. We fellows always have to peg over such things, or get the exact words from books, so we can be sure of our ground. I expect she has a good verbal memory; I wish I had. Science, religion, and metaphysics all mixed up in the same breath. I believe she’s right, metaphysics and religion do go together in brain work, but it’s very dangerous ground for weak minds. Great Scott! when a bright girl does use her intellect how attractive she can be, and a fellow can’t help seeing and feeling how lovely she is.”

Why should Paul have been so moved? He had just learned something well worth knowing of a truly good woman whose intellect worked comprehensively, not in grooves; one who really knew more than he did on certain lines, and had the courage of her convictions, the convictions being precisely what he himself most highly approved, instinctively and by education. His youth did the rest.

He was attracted to her, as he said, and even more than he thought, but he was not enamored of her--the masculine desire for possession had not yet asserted itself; he was being unconsciously led, however, in that direction. Nature’s preparatory course was on a much higher plane than was the human style of preparation given by the Doctor to Mr. Onset. Paul felt beginning to blossom within him such an honest regard, such a profound admiration for Adele, for her sincerity and the truth in her, that he was led to “believe in her,” trusted her perfectly, and was ready to defend her in all things. But he did not love her in the complete sense of the term under natural laws: the “for better or for worse” in the supreme sense had not yet made its appeal, nor had either of them yet seen Aphrodite rising from the sea.

What was Paul’s condition from a purely philosophical standpoint? He had acquired through Adele’s force of character that which was far better, the permeating sacred spirit in which all true affection must rest if it is to endure. Paul was as true in type as Adele. Her mentality had conquered by manifesting her spirit from within, he had obtained a firm intellectual belief based upon certain phenomena in nature. Would the realizing sense of the need of each other follow? If so, what direction, what line would it take--physical or spiritual, downwards or upwards, for better or for worse? The blossom might fall blighted before the perfect fruit was formed.

As a matter of fact they themselves were absorbed simply in the beauty of the flower as it unclosed, with little thought of else than the enjoyable present.

XVI

COURAGE VERSUS FOOLHARDINESS

While yet thinking about Adele, Paul stood near the stern of the vessel, overlooking the foamy roadway produced by the constantly revolving propeller; he noticed the rapid progress made by the ship which bore him onwards. Looking outwards his thoughts at first turned hopefully towards the future--towards the region to which they were going; but soon, very soon, that which was before his very eyes drew his mind towards the past, suggested by the boiling wake extending in imagination clear back to the land they had quitted. Yet as a matter of fact it was neither the past nor the future that was just then most urgent with a crucial test for him; he was about to realize that the present is always more urgent and important than either.

Paul stood musing about this luminous pathway which led back to their native land, their home, yet each moment took him farther away from such associations, to meet strangers from whom in the very nature of things he could not expect such spontaneous sympathy as with his own countrymen.

Phosphorescence shone upon the troubled waters, marking the wake of the ship for some distance. The sky clear, and in the sheen of the moonlight details of the white-crested waves could easily be defined. It was one of those glorious evenings when the seascape appears artistically perfect, but cold and unsympathetic. Moonbeams are not inherently sympathetic, they have no warmth, they come not direct from that source of heat and life which gives the vital energy to all material things. But to imagination and in idealization moonbeams may excite or allay fear, and they often give a clearer vision of what sympathy really is, namely, hope and succor when most needed. Nature is always kind if we have the spiritual discernment to appreciate her, but variable according to her own methods.

Paul had but little of the red-hot-heroic in his physical make-up, nor was he especially romantic, but he did have something a great deal better. As often with those of his type, his sound mind in healthy body was supplemented by a keen sense of duty. Moonbeams and romanticism he could joke about, but underneath the jokes he had most decided opinions that a fellow ought to help others when necessity arose, and also his own ideas as to what was practical and what was foolhardy.

While still musing he could not avoid admiring the scene, and spontaneously associating it with one he knew could enjoy it; the picture was complete, ready to be admired. “I think Adele would enjoy it, she ought to see it. The ship is not going too rapidly, so the noise of the propeller amounts to little. I’ll go and find her,” and he turned to seek her whose pleasure was now more to him than heretofore.

Hurrying away, he had taken but a few steps before his attention was arrested by a commotion forward. There were voices, then the rapid patter and scuffling of feet on the deck, then a sharp cry, a cry the most soul-stirring a landsman can hear when in mid-ocean:

“Man overboard!”

“Which side?” exclaimed Paul, spontaneous.

“Port, sir!”

This caused such a complete revolution in Paul’s emotion that for an instant he was confused. Like many a landsman, with little fear of the water itself, yet with little or no practice at sea, the simplest nautical phrase was apt to convey confused ideas. He could not on the instant remember whether he should look forward or aft (as in a theatre) to determine port from starboard on board ship, and as usual rushed over to the wrong side. The light was bad, the moon shone the wrong way to see clearly, he rushed back again, leaned over the hand rail and thought he saw something bobbing about on the water, but was not sure--only an instant, then could distinguish the waving arms of some one struggling. The figure was yet ahead, but approaching, not quite near yet, but about to pass as he looked on.

The situation was painfully dramatic, but from the deck as Paul saw it not so perilous if actions were prompt.

“Where are those life preservers?” and with pocket-knife he cut one loose and threw it overboard, then a second, and some smaller cork-floats. Why several? He did not stop to think, for another cry, this time from the deep, reached his ear, the cry of a drowning man. It came sharp on the night air, like a personal appeal, and so sounded to Paul--a personal appeal, for none could have now heard it as clearly as he.

This was more than Paul could stand without making instant response. Two more rips of the knife blade, this time on his own shoe-strings, off went the shoes, then coat and waistcoat.

He answered with his college call, “All right, old fellow!” then sprang on the hand rail and plunged headlong into the ocean, a clear dive from the deck outwards, to find the drowning man.

None but a deck hand caught a glimpse of the youthful figure springing into space, of course too late for him to interfere. “Two overboard!” cried the sailor promptly, then giving vent to his own reflections, “Some blasted fool who wants to do the thing hisself!” mumbling as he went forward to report.

Increased excitement, passengers calling for help.

“Where was the other man?” exclaimed several voices among a group coming aft to the new center of interest. “Where?”

“There, ma’am!” said the deck hand, pointing; “he left his boots.”

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Miss Winchester. “Oh, Adele, what a legacy! Just think of it, boots!”

The crowd rushed to look at the boots. They were held up for inspection. Frank Winchester no sooner turned her eyes upon them than she rushed forward, recognized the coat and waistcoat, and stood aghast.

“It’s Paul!”

Adele did not move, she seemed turned to stone.

Her eyes were fixed, looking straight ahead, trying to pierce the shadowy deep, the boundless expanse. The ocean seemed enormous, terrible, and, oh, so cold, heartless, consuming! “What! There? Lost!”

But she was quiet only for an instant, then seizing any loose articles she could find threw them overboard, and with strong emotion invited others to do the same. “Anything that will float--will float! It may reach them; it may, it must!” and the passengers followed her example.

More life preservers, several deck stools and steamer chairs then followed overboard before the enraged boatswain could interfere to stop their useless efforts.

“Don’t you see we’re b’arin’ round?” growled the old salt. “The boats’ll pick ’em up. There’s no sea on now.”

“I truly hope so,” breathed Adele.

“They’ve got plenty of floats already,” said the sailor.

“How do you know?” demanded Miss Winchester, nettled at the fellow’s brusque manner.

“Well, he’s got plenty anyway. Look here!” and it was indeed a great relief to see the dangling ends of those cut ropes, cut by Paul only a few minutes before, not insignificant items, for they told of presence of mind and foresight instead of reckless venture.

A lull followed, while the vessel began to turn in its course. Several boats were made ready to be lowered into the water.

“Adele,” said Miss Winchester, striving to grasp the situation, “Adele, I knew he could swim, all right, but, really, really I did not take him for that sort of man.”

“H’m!”

“He’s very brave, Adele.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand him as well as I do,” and Adele’s voice betrayed a greater intensity of feeling than she had intended. Then, as if catching herself before too late, she added in a very different tone, and casting her eyes towards the center of the ship, where the officer of the deck was giving directions:

“Frank, he’ll not be left--not if I can help it. Just wait a minute.”

Each had done what she could thus far.

XVII

TWO RESCUES--AND TWO GIRLS

The turning of the steamer appeared to take an interminable time, especially to the only two members of the Cultus party who knew that Paul was overboard. The passengers watched the great curve of foam left behind as the huge monster crept around in its course. Then whispers were heard, irrepressible, nervous whispers from people who could not keep still, and who jerked their hands up and down as if they themselves were in a dilemma.

“We’ll never find ’em, never! We’re only getting further off! Will she never turn round? We’re miles away now! Why don’t they steer straight for where they are?”

“I wish I had my hands on that wheel, I’d yank her around in a jiffy.” This critic was judging by a cruise he had made in a cat-boat on Barnegat Bay.

“I hope they’ve got them preservers hitched up high,” quoth a kind, thoughtful old dame, wearing a knitted hood and shawl crosswise. “It’s awful important not to be top-heavy in the sea, nor to swallow too much water; it’s awful salt, you know”--this kind suggestion the result of experience in a surf bath at Atlantic City.

The boatswain’s whiskers surrounded a capacious grin as he listened to this sagacious advice, while at the same time he was watching the great semicircle of foam change to a horseshoe curve, the two ends converging toward a point in the open. He took a shy glance towards the bridge, observing what was going on there, and then called out:

“Keep a lookout for’ard! Who’s got the best eyes?”

All strained their necks to catch a glimpse ahead.

The vessel had by this time veered and was ploughing back in a direct course. Suddenly a beam of light shot out from above the bridge, illuminating far ahead, penetrating the moonlight, making objects on the surface distinctly visible.

“The search light! The search light!” and a burst of cheers went forth loud enough to be heard a long distance.

“Give ’em another, boatswain!” exclaimed the Barnegat critic.

“Those fellows ain’t deaf, give ’em another, boatswain!” This from the thoughtful hood and shawl.

The old salt looked disgusted, for he had not taken part in this demonstration, but the advisory committee took it up at once, cheering again and again, as if the rescue depended upon the noise they made.

Adele put her arm in Frank Winchester’s and drew her away towards one of the life boats amidship. The boat was already manned, waiting to be lowered at the right time.

Professor Cultus and the Doctor were standing near these boats, when Adele touched the latter on the shoulder.

He turned quickly, something in her manner impressed him, and he drew her aside.

“Please go in that boat, Doctor Wise.”

“What, you want _me_ to go?”

“Yes, by all means.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, but you will, if you’ll only go.”

“But there’s no reason for my going.”

“Yes, there is. Don’t ask me, but go, please, you really ought to go.”

“Ought, ought to?” repeated the Doctor curious, very thoughtful.

Now Doctor Wise had already learned that the first man overboard was Mr. Onset, the very man he had frightened by his amateur mental science treatment. Could the hysteria have returned in some new form? Was it no cure after all? Could the man have attempted suicide? If so, didn’t he himself have some personal responsibility from tampering with such a case? He should have left it for regular treatment. A successful cure would probably have brought no such adverse consequences as this; but if unsuccessful who would be to blame? At any rate he was now identified with Onset on board that ship and could not remain passive in such an emergency, even if the ship’s crew could do the work better.

Such thoughts rushed through the Doctor’s mind when Adele told him he ought to go with the rescue party, as he supposed, to help Onset.

An executive officer was superintending the boat close by, when Doctor Wise approached and asked nervously:

“Where is the physician of the ship?”

“With the next boat ahead.”

“Then I should like to go with this one.”

“Contrary to all rules,” said the officer, sharply.

Adele overheard this and before Doctor Wise decided what to do she had the executive officer by the sleeve, holding on firmly.

He politely but forcibly told her to let go and keep cool, but she would not, not until she drew herself near enough to whisper in his ear. If he could have seen her eyes he would have listened even more quickly than he did, but she made her voice speak from her heart.

Those close by only heard the first words, “Doctor Wise will be of the greatest use, he----” the rest in an undertone.

Several of the self-constituted advisory critics at once volunteered the opinion that two doctors were not too many for two men overboard. The title “Doctor” carried its own weight and the rush of events prevented any questions.

Miss Winchester meanwhile had worked her way through the crowd to the side of the vessel and was straining every nerve to discover the whereabouts of the two men struggling in the water. No doubt they had been sighted already by the officers on the bridge, because the speed of the vessel had been slackened and the search light kept in a definite direction, but Frank wanted to see them with her own eyes, alive and kicking, if possible, especially the kicking, to make sure they were alive. She thought she saw them, then knew she did not; she put up her hands to look through the fingers curved to form binoculars, but this was no better. Then eagerly looking around she spied a pair of glasses in the hands of a lady. “Oh, excuse me, just a minute!” and without waiting for a response, took the glasses without ceremony. Mrs. Thorn let her keep the glasses, but watched her excited fingers attempting to focus them in the dim light.

The speed was now so much less that boats could be lowered, ready to be let adrift at a moment’s notice. Miss Winchester saw the Doctor in the second boat, then noticed a small white spot in the distance upon the surface of the sea, and while struggling to focus those “obstinate glasses” on the white spot only made matters worse. Annoyed, clumsy just when most anxious and impatient, she pressed her lips together to steady her usually strong nerves, almost biting the end of her tongue, and lo! the glasses were all right, and into vision sprang the white spot, a life preserver supporting some one waving a handkerchief; one end of it was in his teeth and the other corner was held at full length, not at all unlike a flag of truce or a “peace-flag” amid all the commotion and excitement.

“Oh, Adele, I see them! He doesn’t seem to mind it in the least.”

“Both?” asked Adele, eagerly.

“Yes! no! yes!--I can’t make out what he’s got. Yes, two! I think so.”

“They’re both there, ma’am,” said a sailor, respectfully. “The Captain gave orders for each boat to bring a man. He’s seen ’em ’way back.”

The boats were cast off; they rose and fell upon the undulations of the mighty deep, now more impressive than when traversed at the more rapid speed. The tiny boats ascended to the summits of the white-crested waves and then were hidden in the deep valleys of the dark sea. Paul, fluttering his little white flag, rose and fell with them. They approached each other with the movements of a stately minuet upon the ocean. The fixed lights in the heavens above and the creeping search light of man below illumined the scene.

When Doctor Wise recognized Paul it gave him an icy chill down the middle of his back. It will never be known which was really experiencing the worst chill at the instant, the Doctor or Paul. However, the Doctor managed to shake himself back into a normal condition, then stood up in the boat and motioned with a peculiar movement, knowing Paul would recognize one of their private signals. Paul did recognize it and gave the reply. The Doctor then felt in his hip pocket for his whiskey flask--it was all right--and then waited until the boat was near enough to throw a line; Paul seized it.

The rescued Mr. Warder was found floating in a circular life preserver as serenely as a duck in a pond. He held Onset tightly with one arm, while Onset clung to him with both, though safe enough if he could but have realized it. There was nothing tragic whatever about either of them, except Onset’s state of mind, which he showed by his convulsed clasp of Paul.

Paul had taken a great risk, from the popular point of view, but in so doing had trusted to the good faith of others to aid him and had not been deceived. Without formulating these facts in his own mind on the instant, he had acted nevertheless upon the presumption that the science of navigation was able to meet such a case, and he had faith in human nature when embodied in sincere men. He had trusted the truth, and that had made him free to act for the best, as he saw it; and all this spontaneously, because he had the courage of such convictions ingrained in his character.

XVIII

A SENSATION VERSUS AN IMPRESSION

“Why did you do it?” asked the Doctor, as they rowed back to the ship.

“He called me.”

“Who? Onset?”

“Yes. There was no real danger, only some risk.”

“The deuce there wasn’t,” rather surprised at Paul’s nonchalance.

“I knew you would pick me up. Onset floated, but was nearly a goner when I reached him.”

“What possessed the fellow?”

“I don’t know. He was scared wild when I first saw him, beating his arms about in every direction. That’s what kept him from sinking, even if his head went under at times. Got any more whiskey?”

Paul had been in the water only about half an hour, no longer than during many a previous dip in the surf, but the nervous tension had been severe.

The Doctor took hold of his hands and found the finger tips were merely cold, not blue, and as usual the form and vitality of the hand showed every element of power to give many a good grip yet.

“Ah!” thought the Doctor, “your type can put forth the strenuous effort if your spirit calls for it, and it does sometimes draw upon the physical too much; the best swimmers are for this cause sometimes drowned. Don’t do it again, my boy. When the reaction comes you require stimulants even more than at the time of exertion,” and he again gave Paul the flask.

Mr. Onset was similarly cared for in the other boat. When the two crews came together near the steamer Doctor Wise inquired of the physician in charge what Onset had to say for himself.

“He says he became giddy and fell over. I don’t believe him.”

“H’m,” mused the Doctor, “weak head and hysterical legs--what will he do next?”