The Crucifixion of Philip Strong | Page 5

"Are you tired to-night, Philip?" asked his wife.
"Yes, the day has been rather trying. Did you think I was nervous? Did
I preach well?" Philip was not vain in the least. He simply put the
question to satisfy his own exacting demand on himself in preaching.
And there was not a person in the world to whom he would have put
such a question except his wife.
"No, I thought you did splendidly. I felt proud of you. You made some
queer gestures, and once you put one of your hands in your pocket. But
your sermons were both strong and effective; I am sure the people were
impressed. It was very still at both services."
Philip was silent a moment. And his wife went on.

"I am sure we shall like it here, Philip; what do you think?"
"I cannot tell yet. There is very much to do."
"How do you like the church building?"
"It is an easy audience room for my voice. I don't like the arrangement
of the choir over the front door. I think the choir ought to be down on
the platform in front of the people, by the side of the minister."
"That's one of your hobbies, Philip. But the singing was good, didn't
you think so?"
"Yes, the choir is a good one. The congregation didn't seem to sing
much, and I believe in Congregational singing, even when there is a
choir. But we can bring that about in time, I think."
"Now, Philip," said his wife, in some alarm, "you are not going to
meddle with the singing, are you? It will get you into trouble. There is a
musical committee in the church, and such committees are very
sensitive about any interference."
"Well," said Philip, rousing up a little, "the singing is a very important
part of the service. And it seems to me I ought to have something
important to say about it. But you need not fear, Sarah. I'm not going to
try to change everything all at once."
His wife looked at him a little anxiously. She had perfect faith in
Philip's honesty of purpose, but she sometimes had a fear of his
impetuous desire to reform the world. After a little pause she spoke
again, changing the subject.
"What did you think of the congregation, Philip?"
"I enjoyed it. I thought it was very attentive. There was a larger number
out this evening than I had expected."
"Did you like the looks of the people?"

"They were all very nicely dressed."
"Now, Philip, you know that isn't what I mean. Did you like the
people's faces?"
"You know I like all sorts and conditions of men."
"Yes, but there are audiences, and audiences. Do you think you will
enjoy preaching to this one in Calvary Church?"
"I think I shall," replied Philip, but he said it in a tone that might have
meant a great deal more. Again there was silence, and again the
minister's wife was the first to break it.
"There was a place in your sermon to-night, Philip, where you appeared
the least bit embarrassed; as you seem sometimes at home, when you
have some writing or some newspaper article on your mind, and some
one suddenly interrupts you with a question a good way from your
thoughts. What was the matter? Did you forget a point?"
"No, I'll tell you. From where I stand on the pulpit platform, I can see
through one of the windows over the front door. There is a large
electric lamp burning outside, and the light fell directly on the sidewalk,
across the street. From time to time groups of people went through that
band of light. Of course I could not see their faces very well, but I soon
found out that they were mostly the young men and women operatives
of the mills. They were out strolling through the street, which, I am told,
is a favorite promenade with them. I should think as many as two
hundred passed by the church while I was preaching. Well, after awhile
I began to ask myself whether there was any possible way of getting
those young people to come into the church instead of strolling past?
And then I looked at the people in front of me, and saw how different
they were from those outside, and wondered if it wouldn't be better to
close up the church and go and preach on the street where the people
are. And so, carrying on all that questioning with myself, while I tried
to preach, causing a little 'embarrassment,' as you kindly call it, in the
sermon."

"I should think so! But how do you know, Philip, that those people
outside were in any need of your preaching?"
Philip appeared surprised