August 1929
387
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
you, more than anyone in the Senior Class, are fitted to represent the large group of students hitherto unrecognized among us. The next meeting will’be. just after the opening of the Fall semester. A dinner in the club rooms will be given in honor of Maryone Power, of Hollyrude, who has kindly consented to direct the dress rehearsals for “Mistletoe Men,” the original four-act drama to be given by “The Merrymakers,” on Christmas Eve. At this performance the faculty and President of the Uni versity will be guests of honor. We bespeak your kind interest and participation in this and all other activities of “The Merrymakers.” Very sincerely yours, Althea Hitchcock Sumner, Corr. Sec’y. A h ! That was i t ! Lawrence walked over to the mirror of his chiffonier and looked at himself. He, a governor of “The Merry makers.” Phew! He inspected his features closely. How should he look sitting up there on the platform at the governors’ table, with the eyes of the “hoi polloi,” dining down below, upon him as he exchanged quips with Mary- one Power—of Hollyrude! Of course it was an honor! Of course he was glad! But—Maryone Power! Sis would sure be mad—and as for the rest of the family! Well, let them! They fussed too much anyway. His life was his own and he was twenty-one,—had been twenty-one ever since week before last. Those pictures of Maryone Power on the bill-boards were certainly not much in her favor, but Althea Sumner had .said that anyone who wanted to get on in the theatrical world had to resort to certain measures—like that, for instance, And Althea Sumner had Colonial furniture in her drawing room and all sorts of Chippendale things in the dining room, and was alto gether sophisticated. Lawrence leaned his elbows on the chiffonier and looked at the note once more as he ran his fingers through the crisp brown curls that never would lie flat. “Mistletoe Men” ! An original four-act drama! How about the juvenile lead in that? If one made up to Mary one Power perhaps! He could foresee it all—flowers, footlights—excitement! The curtain going up, the little draught that wafted in from the auditorium as it rose— the orchestra hushing—the fun of a gallant, breezy en trance down stage. Something dropped at his feet. The other letter! The thin red line! He picked it up remorse fully. They were his friends too, these boys, and he knew they loved him. He liked them because they never nagged, and they never urged, and they never preached. They were just men through and through—all of them. Great days in Soph year when they held those street meetings of a Sunday afternoon at Broad and Main! Harold on the soap box—hat in one hand and Testament m the other! Crowds of listeners pouring out of the Excursion Depot across the street. Elise at the little fold ing organ, pumping and playing with all her might when the chorus sang Gospel hymns, and little old Pauline scouting afound the edges of the crowd, rounding up the stray sheep, and coaxing various hard-hearted sinners to accept and promise to read the little, red-covered Gospel of John. One day in especial Lawrence had left the crowd around Harold and had discovered Pauline backed up against an iron railing with a mob of Bolshevik appear-, ance about her, fiercely questioning her. He remembered the courage in the young girl’s face as she looked calmly into their angry countenances. “Tell us one thing in your religion that is for those that labor,” shouted a bearded individual as he flourished an untidy fist in an indiscriminate manner in the air. “Yes! Fer them as labor,” reiterated a cockney voice behind him.
“I do hope you will continue to contribute those delightful ‘Heart to Heart’ articles in T he K ing ' s B usiness . Lowest criticism is certainly prevalent in these days and when members of the body of Christ criticise other members before unsaved or immature Christians it makes ■ one heartsick, knowing what a stumbling block such things are to those who are not ‘looking unto Jesus the Author and Finisher of our faith.’"—From a reader who appreciates Mrs. Whit- well’s splendid ‘‘Talks.’’ How exalted was the look of his little friend as she replied: “ ‘Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.’ ” And then the sudden silence that fell upon that ill- assorted throng as this message from another world pene trated the turgid atmosphere in which they lived. It was almost as if an angel had spoken! Talk about drama! Excitement! Here was something better and deeper than either! He admitted this squarely, even though he knew he was not going to accept whatever the thin red line offered him. John Dowling had put it to them that day when he made his famous Vespers address. It was this enthusiasm which was better than excitement. En Theos! In God— so much in God that you were aglow and cared not for men and their world-ways! B r-r-r-r-! The telephone on his desk! “Are you there, Lawrence? And do you recognize my gay, girlish voice? Yes! This is Althea Sumner. You received the invitation? Good! Well, we all welcome you. No, I didn’t call you just to discuss little what-nots, and this and that, nor even to tell you how to make the wheels go round. Now listen! Hillary Dare of the New York Theater Guild is here, and he and Maryone Power are to be driven over to our campus tomorrow by yours indefi nitely—if I can only handle father’s new car as well as I do other people’s affairs. They will wish to see a student’s room and you are unanimously elected.1So put out of sight all those small-town decorations—mottoes, lambre quins and such like, and put up the photograph of Mary one Power which I ’ll send you, and something else that’s classic—and then something that’s ritzy—if you know what I mean. Get one of the raging dragons your family brought home from China—only don’t let your mission ary friends, Harold and Elise, in, or they’ll try and ‘wit ness,’ and that will spoil the party. Hillary Dare is a pure Hellenist—Greek intellect to go with his Greek profile. And Maryone Power thinks all the evangelicals frightfully undignified. You know she’s ultra high-church—thinks all that should be done from the pulpit. Well—can’t wait! The entire family steps out tonight . . . . What? Oh, about noon!” Hillary Dare and Maryone Power here . . . tomorrow! Lawrence looked about the familiar quarters, which sud denly appeared to him cramped and colorless and unat tractive. He had better start right now to change things. What ought to come down first? A bit of a stroll around the room, hands in pockets and a casual whistle on the lips, appeared to be in order. All this covered a certain inner tumult that was unbecoming a governor of “The Merrymakers” who was about to entertain the worlds best dramatic talent. No fear as to their opinion of him crossed his mind. People always liked Lawrence, for this child of a missionary family had been endowed by nature in such a way that it was usually a question of whom he chose to cultivate out of a large surrounding group.
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