"All of which we freely admit," said Mr. Hopkins, with characteristic gravity. "The problems that you name are very real and grave, but they are the problems of the nation. Rest assured that every man of force in America to-day is aware of these things, and is doing all he can to meet them squarely. Moreover, they are being met with success—slow, but continued success.
"Are you prepared to outline the plan by which you would contribute to the local solution of these national problems?"
Yes, Hartigan had it there on paper. "I must approach these people through the things which they know they need. They don't feel any need of a church, but they do feel the need of a comfortable meeting place where the wholesome love of human society may be gratified. Their lives are devoid of pleasure, except of the worst kinds. This is not choice, but is forced on them; there is not a man, woman or child among them that does not—sometimes, at least—hunger for better things—that would not enjoy the things that you enjoy, if they had the chance. I want harmless pleasures in abundance put within their reach.
"Man is an animal before he is a soul; so I would begin by providing the things needful for a body. All men glory in physical prowess; therefore I want a gymnasium, and with it, the natural accompaniments of bath house and swimming tank. In short, I don't want a church; I want an up-to-date People's Club, with a place for all and a welcome for all."
The deacons sat back and gazed at one another. "Well," said Deacon Starbuck, president of the Stock Bank, "you surely have a clear-thinking business head among your gifts."
There was a distinct split in the views of the Board. The older men objected that this was an organization for propagating the Gospel of Christ, not for solving economic problems, and proved with many Scripture texts that we must "first of all seek the Kingdom of God and His righteousness," after having secured which, the rest would follow.
But the younger men took Hartigan's view that it was no time to talk politics to a man when he was swimming for his life. Fortunately, Hopkins was able to stave off action, pending a fuller discussion, and brought that on at once.
"Let us understand. Is the club to be a charity, a benevolence, or a business proposition—that is, a free gift, a partly supported institution, or a dollar-for-dollar bargain?"
The older men believed in charity. Jim opposed it as wrong in principle. As a business proposition it was hopeless, at present; so he definitely labelled it a "benevolence."
"All right," said Hopkins, "now how much money do you want, and how long to make good?"
Again Jim referred to the paper in his hand.
"I want twenty-five thousand dollars cash to provide and equip a temporary building; I want five thousand a year to run it, and I want one thousand dollars a year salary paid to my wife, who is with me in all things, and will give all her time to it. I want three years to make good, that is to make a noticeable reduction in drink and crime, which is the same thing, and this we shall gauge by the police records. By that time I shall have fifteen hundred families in touch with the club, paying dues to it. I shall stand or fall by the result. If I satisfy you, I shall ask for a hundred-thousand-dollar building at the end of that time."
"You say nothing about street sermons," said a plaintive old gentleman with a long white beard and the liquid eyes of an exhorter.
"No, not one. I don't want them. I can work better indoors."
The president said, "Well, Mr. Hartigan, perhaps it would be well for you to retire, in order that we may freely discuss your plan. As you seem to have it on paper, would you mind leaving the document?" Jim hesitated, glanced at it, then handed it to Mr. Hopkins. It was all in a woman's hand.
In fifteen minutes, Jim was summoned to learn the decision. They accepted, not unanimously, but they accepted his entire proposition, with the exception of one item; they would not pay salary to or officially recognize his wife. It was a bitter pill, and Jim's eyes were brimming with tears and his face flushed at the injustice when he went home to tell her. Poor little woman! Her lips tightened a trifle, but she said: "Never mind, I'll work for it just the same. I'm afraid they are still in the Dark Ages; but the light will come."
CHAPTER LII
The Boss
It had been a private dwelling, far out on the prairie once, but the hot, steady lava flow of the great city had reached and split and swept around the little elevated patch of grimy green with its eleven despairing trees. A wooden house it was, and in the very nature of it a temporary shift; but the committee—Hopkins, Hartigan, and Belle—felt it worth looking into.
With the agent, these three went over it and discussed its possibilities and the cost. Ten times in that brief talk did Hopkins find himself consulting Belle when, in the ordinary process, he should have consulted Hartigan. Why? No man raises himself to the power and pitch that Hopkins had attained, without a keen, discriminating knowledge of human nature. And he felt the fact long before he admitted it even to himself: "Yes, he's a pair of giant wings, but she's the tail, all right." And he was not displeased to find this original estimate justified by events.
The three years' lease was signed; and a bulletin board appeared on the bravest of all the battered old trees at the front—the very battle front. A gnarled and twisted cedar it was, and when a richer name than "Club" was sought for the venture, it was this old tree that linked up memory with itself and the house was named, not "The People's Club," as at first intended, but "Cedar Mountain House"—the word "mountain" being justified in the fact that the house was on a prairie knoll at least a foot above the surrounding level.
The bulletin board displayed this to all passers-by:
CEDAR MOUNTAIN HOUSE
Notice
A Meeting to organize this Club will be held here
on these premises Sunday afternoon next. Men and
women who are interested are cordially invited.
REFRESHMENTS
The Board of Deacons would have had a wrangle over each and every word of that notice. That was why they never saw it till long afterward.
"Now what's going to happen?" said Hopkins.
"A few will come and act very shyly; but I've a notion the refreshments will bring them," was Belle's guess.
"I am afraid we have omitted something of importance," said Jim. "We are invading a foreign savage country without taking any count of the native chiefs."
"What's your idea?" said Hopkins, sharply.
"I mean, we have arranged matters with the real estate man, and the Church workers and the police; but we haven't taken the trouble to look up the ward boss."
"We ignored the boss because we thought he was an enemy," said Hopkins.
"I'm not so sure about that," said Jim. "I've been talking with the police sergeant, who knows him well. He says he's a queer mixture of prizefighter and politician. He can protect anything he likes, and pretty nearly drive out anything he doesn't like. Isn't it worth while making a bid for his support? It may please him to be asked."
"Who is he?"
"Oh, a saloon-keeper, Irish, ex-pugilist. His name is Michael Shay. He's easy to find," said Jim.
"Let's go now," said Hopkins. "But I'm afraid that this is where you drop out, Mrs. Hartigan."
So they went down to the headquarters of the boss. It was an ordinary Chicago saloon of less than ordinary pretensions. The plate-glass and polished-mahogany era had not yet set in. The barkeeper was packing the ice chest and a couple of "types" were getting their "reg'lar" as the two strangers from another world entered. The build of Hartigan at once suggested plain-clothes policeman, and the barkeeper eyed him suspiciously. Hopkins spoke first: