The Forerunner Part 147

"I mean the child's nurse," said I, "the fifteen dollar one."

"Oh--I'm the child's nurse," said Dodo.

"You!" said I. "Do you mean to say you take all the care of this child yourself?"

"Why, of course," said Dodo, "what's a mother for?"

"But--the time it takes," I protested, rather weakly.

"What do you expect me to do with my time, Morton?"

"Why, whatever you did before--This arrived."

"I will not have my son alluded to as 'This'!" said she severely.

"Morton J. Hopkins, Jr., if you please. As to my time before? Why, I used it in preparing for time to come, of course. I have things ready for this youngster for three years ahead."

"How about the certified milk?" I asked.

Dodo smiled a superior smile; "I certify the milk," said she.

"Can you take care of the child and the house, too?"

"Bless you, Morton, 'the care' of a seven-room flat and a competent servant does not take more than an hour a day. And I market while I'm out with the baby.

"Do you mean to say you are going to push the perambulator yourself?"

"Why not?" she asked a little sharply, "surely a mother need not be ashamed of the company of her own child."

"But you'll be taken for a nurse--"

"I _am_ a nurse! And proud of it!"

I gazed at her in my third access of deep amazement. "Do you mean to say that you took lessons in child culture, _too_?"

"_Too?_ Why, I took lessons in child culture first of all. How often must I tell you, Morton, that I always intended to be married! Being married involves, to my mind, motherhood, that is what it is for! So naturally I prepared myself for the work I meant to do. I am a business woman, Morton, and this is my business."

That was twenty years ago. We have five children. Morton, Jr., is in college. So is Dorothea second. Dodo means to put them _all_ through, she says. My salary has increased, but not so fast as prices, and neither of them so fast as my family. None of those babies cost a thousand dollars the first year though, nor five hundred thereafter; Dodo's thousand held out for the lot. We moved to a home in the suburbs, of course; that was only fair to the children. I live within my income always--we have but one servant still, and the children are all taught housework in the good old way. None of my friends has as devoted, as vigorous and--and--as successful a wife as I have. She is the incarnate spirit of all the Housewives and House-mothers of history and fiction. The only thing I miss in her--if I must own to missing anything--is companions.h.i.+p and sympathy outside of household affairs.

My newspaper work--which she always calls "my business"--has remained a business. The literary aspirations I once had were long since laid aside as impracticable. And the only thing I miss in life beyond my home is, well--as a matter of fact, I don't have any life beyond my home--except, of course, my business.

My friends are mostly co-commuters now. I couldn't keep up with the set I used to know. As my wife said, she could 't dress for society, and, visibly, she couldn't. We have few books, there isn't any margin for luxuries, she says; and of course we can't go to the plays and concerts in town. But these are unessentials--of course--as she says.

I am very proud of my home, my family, and my Amazing Dodo.

WHY TEXTS?

I once listened to a sermon in the Temple Church in London; a sermon delivered with great dignity by an Eminent Divine, a Canon, as I remember.

Here was this worthy man, in that historic place, in the heart of huge London, in the fierce whirring center of so many present social problems, so many aching, hoping human hearts. He had a chance to speak to them; with the purpose, presumably, of giving light and cheer and strength to live better.

There he stood, a conspicuous and powerful figure; and there sat his audience, waiting. To say the truth, they did not look particularly hopeful; having doubtless "sat under" him before.

He took his text from the Nineteenth Chapter of "Acts"--something about "the town clark" of Ephesus; and how he appeased the people. There was some excitement, it appeared, among the citizens, and they raised a noise comparable to the convention which nominated Bryan; "and all with one voice about the s.p.a.ce of two hours cried out, Great is Diana of the Ephesians."

Well. She certainly was--is yet, for that matter, though her influence is not confined to Ephesus.

In the face of this tumult, the "town clark," who seems to have been a peaceable person, with a strong sense of justice and propriety, quieted the people with fair words, explaining to them that their vociferous statement as to the dimensions or efficacy of their G.o.ddess were quite indisputable; and "matters of common knowledge," and that if they had any complaint against these missionaries they should go to law about it.

Evidently a fair-minded and law-abiding citizen, the "town clark of Ephesus"; but--what of it?

What shadow of interest, to modern life, has this chatty anecdote about the att.i.tude of the Ancient Ephesian toward visiting preachers?

It is barely possible; intellectually conceivable, that is, that the distinguished clergyman was drawing a parallel between these long dead gentry, and ourselves; in our att.i.tude toward the advocates of new faiths.

For instance, there come among us persons teaching Socialism; and we all cry with one voice for about the s.p.a.ce of fifty years, "Great is the Compet.i.tive System!"--and are minded to destroy the teachers, no "town clark" intervening.

But this did not seem to be in his mind at all. He was talking about ancient history pure and simple; the only merit in his extract lying in its location--it was in the Bible.

Whence to my t.i.tle--Why texts?

Why does a modern sermon to modern people have to be based upon and b.u.t.tressed by a quotation from the writings of the ancient Hebrews, or the more modern group of mixed blood and more mixed language through whom came the New Testament?

This is no question either verbal or general; but a very sincere question of the need of such quotation in the religious teaching of the present time.

Suppose we have a glaring modern instance of good or evil, which every live minister feels called upon to preach about; to the genuine edification of his hearers; why must he get out his concordance and ransack the Scriptures to find an applicable remark?

In the Hebrew Church the Reading is longer and the Exposition closer, I understand; and in the "Christian Science" church there is Reading without even that much licence; but in our liberal Christian "services"

the sermon is generally intended to be of immediate use to the hearers, not merely to give them an extract from "that which is written."

What people want most is to know how to behave, now.

They want teaching that shall explain clearly what they ought to do; why they want to do it, and how they may best learn to do it.

Clear, strong, simple, convincing Explanations of Life--Directions for Action; Stimulus and Strength; Courage and Hope; Peace and Comfort--these are the things we want in our sermons.

Are they any better for the laborious far-fetched text?

THE LITTLE WHITE ANIMALS

Reprinted from "The Conservator," by courtesy of Mr. Horace Traubel.