440
T h e K i n g ’ s B u s i n e s s
October 1932
“ What?” asked Franz Josef eagerly. “ There are about six different kinds of storms brew ing. What this country needs is to get on its knees. We not only need a day of prayer, but days of prayer.” This was all the man would say. The garage man who let him sleep in the Ford over night was quite different. “ There isn’t any God. Can’t be,” he said. “Why do you feel that way ?” “ For five reasons. First, everybody’s scared—afraid o ’ the coming year—” “ That’s because they don’t turn to God.” “ Second, the youngsters have all gone haywire. I know. I see ’em come through here every night. They don’t have any restrictions.” “ Are you quite sure about all of us ?” “ Well, most o f you anyway. Third, religion’s only for the rich, and they use it to keep the poor quiet. They’ll get their reward hereafter. They tell ’em— ” “ The Founder of Christianity was a poor carpenter. He said He came to proclaim good tidings to the poor.” “Wait till I finish. Fourth, a God o f love wouldn’t allow war.” “ When He comes back He’ll rule as Prince of Peace, and there will be no more death or war. The prince of this world is the war-maker. Don’t you see the only solution is Christ?” . ' “ Fifth,” the man went on relentlessly, “ God shouldn’t allow gangsters to live. One of ’em shot my son—deputy sheriff.” There was such grief in the speaker’s face that it was evident a sorrowing heart, uncomforted, had been expres sing itself. A long talk followed. Franz Josef showed him, “ Let not your heart be troubled . . . in my Father’s hquse are many mansions . . . I will come again and re ceive you unto myself.” It ended finally in the doubter saying, “ Yes! I like the sound of it. And what you yourself are helps, too. You don’t talk like a lot of ’em. I’ll take the Gospel and read it.” This was the Princeling’s first real piece of work for the Lord whom he had found Constance and all her friends of the Thin Red Line serving so continuously and with such love. “ Our Christian life stands on three things,” Althea had said once, “ talking to Him every day and telling Him every thing, as Paul said, ‘bringing every thought into captivity to Christ’ ; second, reading the great love letter, as some one has called the Bible, daily; then third, telling others. Andrew went and got Peter. It’s just like a tripod that our life rests on.” He was thinking of this as hie parked his car on the main street of Los Robles. Statue number three needed some white paint, as the lather on father’s face had become grimy. How the Princeling enjoyed wielding the brush! His heart was singing over this first life he had touched for Christ. It seemed no time at all until he was back beside his Ford. To his amazement, he found a ticket fastened to the steering wheel. “ Parking over one hour,” etc. Yes, there was the parking sign and he had not seen it. He was too absorbed in his own pleasant meditations. Strange—when he had just been doing Christian work! But the Thin Red Line said that would be the time the enemy would attack.
Well, there was nothing for it but to drive to the police station and tell them a letter with a check in it was coming —might be here now. Maybe they would show mercy. Hastily and blindly he jumped into the car and the next moment realized with horror that he had collided with a pedestrian protective sign, which lodged itself firmly between the rear wheels. Out o f the car and under it now ! The thing would not budge. Could he lift the whole car?. “ Come on out, fella!” It was the voice of the minion of the law. Franz Josef emerged to hear, “ Got you on two counts—parking overtime and run ning over city property. Cost you five dollars. Ought to be twenty-five.” “ I have not that much money,” he stammered. “ Tell that to the judge.” They were in the car. They were heading judge-ward. Were the powers of darkness going to prevail ? “ But they need not prevail, if we only pray and claim the blood of the Lamb.” Some one had said that. It was Constance. Franz Josef prayed, despairingly, desperately, then— . After he had prayed, his eye fell on the newspaper in the officer’s hand. “ Distinguished visitors in Los Robles. Grand Duchess Maria and her imperial cousin, Theresa, the woman who might have been queen.” There were the pictures! There was no mistake. “ America’s overrun with royalty,” growled the police man as he reluctantly accepted five dollars at the door of Hotel el Los Robles, a half hour later. Thought you were a regular fella. Just tryin’ to scare you a little maybe.” The Princeling smiled his own real smile, although his head was awhirl with the happenings of the day. “ Good-by,” he said. “ Hope I have not ruined the city property.” “ How did you do it, Mother ?” he asked a minute later, as he sat beside the famous and beautiful Theresa, holding her white hand. “ My son, there was so little money over there. The rents are all down, and what little comes in must be used to keep up the estate. I knew you were doing well, over here, be cause every one in southern California has gold. I meant to surprise you by motoring quietly down. Maria is to lec ture before the Friday Club and has other engagements. She wanted me. And so-—” The lovely shoulders were shrugged as the imperial mother pulled Franz Josef’s curls. The Princeling thought ruefully of the Ford. O f the paint pots, of the disgusting doggerel. O f What-a-Shave. And he stalked out of the presence of his run-away mother. A few minutes later, he found himself opening the corpulent man’s letter. “What-a-Shave is on the rise. Men have to shave, even in the depression,” he read. “ I like your work. I hear you are steady and reliable.” Well, that was good, reflected Franz Josef. He had hoped for airplanes, not soapsuds, he remembered, but in these days one could not afford to be fussy. “ I like your work,” the letter concluded, “ so from now on we shall useSyou in the office, down here, at a sal ary of— ” The Princeling drew a deep, comfortable sigh, and smiled his real smile, as he said, “ The Lord does reward those who put their trust in H im !”
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