Like shadows they crept along the walls and vanished through the doors. But the preparations for the dance went merrily on. I walked to the middle of the room and raised my voice. I was always listened to, for my hearers always had the hope, usually realized, that I was about to get into more trouble.
``You are determined to dance,'' I began. ``I c annot keep you from doing so. But I can and will make you regret that you have done so. The law of the State of Massachusetts is very definite in re- g ard to religious meetings and religious gatherings.
This hall was engaged and paid for by the Wesleyan Methodist Church, of which I am pastor, and we have full control of it to-night. Every man and woman who interrupts our exercises by attempting to dance, or by creating a disturbance of any kind, will be arrested to-morrow morning.''
Surprise at first, then consternation, swept through the ranks of the Free Religious Group. They denied the existence of such a law as I had mentioned, and I promptly read it aloud to them. The leaders went off into a corner and consulted. By this time not one man in my parish was left in the hall. As a result of the consultation in the corner, a committee of the would-be dancers came to me and suggested a compromise.
``Will you agree to arrest the men only?'' they wanted to know.
``No,'' I declared. ``On the contrary, I shall have the women arrested first! For the women ought to be standing with me now in the support of law and order, instead of siding with the hoodlum element you represent.''
That settled it. No girl or woman dared to go on the dancing-floor, and no man cared to revolve merrily by himself. A whisper went round, how- e ver, that the dance would begin when I had left.
When the clock struck twelve, at which hour, ac- c ording to the town rule, the hall had to be closed, I was the last person to leave it. Then I locked the door myself, and carried the key away with me.
There had been no Free Religious dance that night.
On the following Sunday morning the attendance at my church broke all previous records. Every seat was occupied and every aisle was filled. Men and women came from surrounding towns, and strange horses were tied to all the fences in East Dennis. Every person in that church was looking for excitement, and this time my congregation got what it expected. Before I began my sermon I r ead my resignation, to take effect at the discretion of the trustees. Then, as it was presumably my last chance to tell the people and the place what I t hought of them, I spent an hour and a half in fer- v idly doing so. In my study of English I had ac- q uired a fairly large vocabulary. I think I used it all that morning--certainly I tried to. If ever an erring congregation and community saw themselves as they really were, mine did on that occasion. I w as heartsick, discouraged, and full of resentment and indignation, which until then had been pent up. Under the arraignment my people writhed and squirmed. I ended:
``What I am saying hurts you, but in your hearts you know you deserve every word of it. It is high time you saw yourselves as you are--a disgrace to the religion you profess and to the community you live in.''
I was not sure the congregation would let me finish, but it did. My hearers seemed torn by conflicting sentiments, in which anger and curios- i ty led opposing sides. Many of them left the church in a white fury, but others--more than I had expected--remained to speak to me and assure me of their sympathy. Once on the streets, different groups formed and mingled, and all day the little town rocked with arguments for and against ``the gal.''
Night brought another surprisingly large attend- a nce. I expected more trouble, and I faced it with difficulty, for I was very tired. Just as I took my place in the pulpit, Captain Sears entered the church and walked down the aisle--the Captain Sears who had left us at my invitation some weeks before and had not since attended a church service. I was sure he was there to make another attack on me while I was down, and, expecting the worst, I w earily gave him his opportunity. The big old fel- l ow stood up, braced himself on legs far apart, as if he were standing on a slippery deck during a high sea, and gave the congregation its biggest surprise of the year.
He said he had come to make a confession. He had been angry with ``the gal'' in the past, as they all knew. But he had heard about the sermon she had preached that morning, and this time she was right. It was high time quarreling and backbiting were stopped. They had been going on too long, and no good could come of them. Moreover, in all the years he had been a member of that congre- g ation he had never until now seen the pulpit oc- c upied by a minister with enough backbone to up- h old the discipline of the church. ``I've come here to say I'm with the gal,'' he ended. ``Put me down for my original subscription and ten dollars extra!''
So we had the old man back again. He was a tower of strength, and he stood by me faithfully until he died. The trustees would not accept my resignation (indeed, they refused to consider it at all), and the congregation, when it had thought things over, apparently decided that there might be worse things in the pulpit than ``the gal.'' It was even known to brag of what it called my ``spunk,'' and perhaps it was this quality, rather than any other, which I most needed in that particular parish at that time. As for me, when the fight was over I d ropped it from my mind, and it had not entered my thoughts for years, until I began to summon these memories.
