November 1931
503
T h e
K i n g ' s
B u s i n e s s
lo Ç J Ù a r l w i l l
Ç jÙ a r l
r
. . . By FLORENCE NYE WHITWELL
PILGRIM’S ROCK “And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and, a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land” (Isa. 32:2). j F ^ qdney ! I ’m going to stop this engine and have you get out and put up the top. It’s no fun to drive an open car while you stand upside down against the windshield.” “What?” “Sit down—quick!” Constance pleaded. “No thanks. I ’m enjoying myself.” “People will think I have a lunatic out in my car!” “Do you still care what people think?” “But why be like ‘Father William,’ and repose on your head and hands, and wave your feet in the air, darling?” “Because I ’ve been trying all the morning to get you to listen to my interesting opinions, and you just didn’t seem to hear me.” “You’ll be flooding your six cylinder mind, little boy, if you stay upside down. Really, Rodney, I wish you’d behave.” Silence! Then Constance exclaimed, in great vexa tion, . “Here comes a motor cop !* I ’m going to drive in here, before he—” It was too late, however. He had seen them. And Constance reluctantly obeyed the familiar gesture—a wave of the majestic, thumb of the law—as she parked near the curb. ' “What’s the matter, sister?” was the question as tht motor cycle drew up alongside. Connie faltered a moment. “Case of flaming youth, somewhere in the car?” he asked suspiciously, looking under the rear seat. “Not a thing, even on my hip,” declared Rodney, sud denly sitting upright with a tousled head. “Misdirected energies,” Constance announced. “Not a psycho-patient, out for an airing, hey?” in quired the policeman, beginning to smile. “Just a dear little playful boy cousin, of nearly twenty, who needs an outlet,” replied Connie bitterly. “Run along then, boy cousin. And if you take my ad vice, you’ll find an outlet in steeple jacking, or parachut ing for the Olympics. Otherwise some real cross police man will get you, sure. But it’s Thanksgiving Day, and you’ll have to eat that turkey.” “Well, Rodney! What will be your next outlet?” asked his cousin. “You’ve electrified our neighbors by cherishing those cute little lion cubs, after the lioness was forcibly removed, because her roars shattered all of our nerves. You’ve been turned down twice out in Pansy’s—or Mar guerite’s studio, as it is now, since Pansy is retiring. And back of that you performed with the Mountain Boys down at Desert Dream. What next?”
Rodney looked admiringly at the fair white velvetiness of Constance’s face and throat, at her cloudy black hair, and her grey eyes. The fact that she was nearly two years older than he only added to her attractivenss in this young cousin’s eyes. “Imagine his suspecting us of having bootleg on board!” Constance was saying as she started her car. “Most natural thing he could suspect,” was the non chalant reply of the boy cousin. “Rodney!” “Surest thing, you know! Why they’ve just shut down two speak-easies right by. my own precious subur ban high school. And, let me tell you, the kids have stag gered away, I ’ve seen them, after they’ve been on a visit to those places!” Constance shivered and caught her under lip between her teeth. Rodney was sorry he had told her, when he saw two tears slowly well up in the innocent eyes he so loved and trusted. “Aw, Connie! Don’t take it so hard! I never went-jl|j give you my word. Honest! The whole thing made me sick. Kids that ought to be drinking milk, going on like tha t! And their parents are either too indifferent to look after them, or else use them to get their own flasks fu ll!” Connie drew a gasping breath, saying, “And then the sociology profs at college tell us that the young people of today are no different than they ever were! Really, Rod, I ’m afraid of the world, since I ’ve been discovering what it is ! It—scares me!” Rodney thought for a moment. “Is that why you’ve—-you’ve become so Christian? You know what I mean! Does He—does Christ make you feel safe?” “That’s one of His dearest names, Rodney—the Sav iour! He saves me and then He. keeps me safe. ‘Neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand.’ ” As these sweet words, with their hallowed associa tions, fell from the lips of the cousin he so loved, Rodney lowered his eyes shyly, for something that had been grow ing in his heart for some time now seemed suddenly to burst into flower. But there was still one hindrance to its perfect blossoming—just a careless word dropped by a man he admired, a man who did not scruple to announce views which he called “liberal.” Constance was aware of this new something in Rodney’s spirit, and she re solved within herself to take him to the one who under stood them all—Uncle Alan. * * * “I will not be a slave, Uncle Alan.” “Christ makes you free—you’re no longer a slave of sin, if you’re His, Rodney.” . “I do not mean a slave of sin. What I ’m getting at is this. You have a regular machine-made creed to which you force all to subscribe. If they don’t, you put them out side the pale. Mental or religious tyranny, I call i t !” And Rodney set his jaw, which was rather square, like his sis ter Eleanor’s.
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