Elmer Gantry (42 page)

Within twenty-four hours Mr. J. E. North let Elmer know that he was really resigning in a month, and that the choice for
his successor lay between Elmer and only two other holy men; and Dr. Wilkie Bannister wrote that the Official Board of the
Yorkville Methodist Church, after watching Elmer’s career for the last few months, was ready to persuade the bishop to offer
him the pastorate, providing he should not be too much distracted by outside interests.

It was fortunate that the headquarters of the Napap were in New York City and not, as was the case with most benevolent
lobbying organizations, in Washington.

Elmer wrote to Dr. Bannister and the other trustees of the Yorkville Church that while he would titularly be the
executive secretary of the National Association for the Purification of Art and the Press (and, oh! what a credit it would
be to dear old Yorkville that their pastor should hold such a position!), he would be able to leave all the actual work of
the Napap to his able assistants, and except for possibly a day a week, give all his energy and time and prayers to the work
of guiding onward and upward, so far as might lie within his humble power, the flock at Yorkville.

Elmer wrote to Mr. J. E. North and the trustees of the Napap that while he would titularly be the pastor of the Yorkville
Methodist (and would it not be a splendid justification of their work that their executive secretary should be the pastor of
one of the most important churches in New York City?) yet he would be able to leave all the actual work to his able
assistants, and except possibly for Sabbaths and an occasional wedding or funeral, give all his energy and time to the work
of guiding, so far as might lie within his humble power, the epochal work of the National Association for the Purification
of Art and the Press.

From both of these pious assemblies he had answers that they were pleased by his explanation, and that it would be a
matter now of only a few days—

It was Hettie Dowler who composed these letters, but Elmer made several changes in commas, and helped by kissing her
while she was typing.

It was too vexatious that at this climax of his life Elmer’s mother should have invited herself to come and stay with
them.

He was happy when he met her at the station. However pleasant it might be to impress the great of the world—Bishop Toomis
or J. E. North or Dr. Wilkie Bannister—it had been from his first memory the object of life to gain the commendation of his
mother and of Paris, Kansas, the foundation of his existence. To be able to drive her in a new Willys–Knight sedan, to show
her his new church, his extraordinarily genteel home, Cleo in a new frock, was rapture.

But when she had been with them for only two days, his mother got him aside and said stoutly, “Will you sit down and try
not to run about the room, my son? I want to talk to you.”

“That’s splendid! But I’m awfully afraid I’ve got to make it short, because—”

“Elmer Gantry! Will you hold your tongue and stop being such a wonderful success? Elmer, my dear boy, I’m sure you don’t
mean to do wrong, but I don’t like the way you’re treating Cleo . . . and such a dear, sweet, bright, devout girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know what I mean!”

“Now you look here, Mother! All RIGHT, I’ll sit down and be quiet, but—I certainly do not know what you mean! The way
I’ve always been a good husband to her, and stood for her total inability to be nice to the most important members of my
congregation—And of all the chilly propositions you ever met! When I have folks here for dinner—even Rigg, the biggest man
in the church—she hasn’t got hardly a thing to say. And when I come home from church, just absolutely tired out, and she
meets me—does she meet me with a kiss and look jolly? She does NOT! She begins crabbing, the minute I enter the house, about
something I’ve done or I haven’t done, and of course it’s natural—”

“Oh, my boy, my little boy, my dear—all that I’ve got in this whole world! You were always so quick with excuses! When
you stole pies or hung cats or licked the other boys! Son, Cleo is suffering. You never pay any attention to her, even when
I’m here and you try to be nice to her to show off. Elmer, who is this secretary of yours that you keep calling up all the
while?”

The Reverend Dr. Gantry rose quietly, and sonorously he spoke:

“My dear mater, I owe you everything. But at a time when one of the greatest Methodist churches in the world and one of
the greatest reform organizations in the world are begging for my presence, I don’t know that I need to explain even to you,
Ma, what I’m trying to do. I’m going up to my room—”

“Yes, and that’s another thing, having separate rooms—”

“—and pray that you may understand. . . . Say, listen, Ma! Some day you may come to the White House and lunch with me and
the PRESIDENT! . . . But I mean: Oh, Ma, for God’s sake, quit picking on me like Cleo does all the while!”

And he did pray; by his bed he knelt, his forehead gratefully cool against the linen spread, mumbling, “O dear God, I am
trying to serve thee. Keep Ma from feeling I’m not doing right—”

He sprang up.

“Hell!” he said. “These women want me to be a house dog! To hell with ’em! No! Not with mother, but—Oh, damn it, she’ll
understand when I’m the pastor of Yorkville! O God, why can’t Cleo die, so I can marry Hettie!”

Two minutes later he was murmuring to Hettie Dowler, from the telephone instrument in the pantry, while the cook was
grumbling and picking over the potatoes down in the basement, “Dear, will you just say something nice to
me—anything—anything!”

Two evenings after Elmer’s mother had almost alienated him, he settled down in his study at home to prepare three or four
sermons, with a hope of being in bed by eleven. He was furious when the Lithuanian maid came in and said, “Somebody on the
‘phone, Doctor,” but when he heard Hettie the ragged edges went out of his voice.

“Elmer? Hettie calling.”

“Yes, yes, this is Dr. Gantry.”

“Oh, you are so sweet and funny and dignified! Is the Lettish pot-walloper listening?”

“Yes!”

“Listen, dear. Will you do something for me?”

“You bet!”

“I’m so terribly lonely this evening. Is oo working hard?”

“I’ve got to get up some sermons.”

“Listen! Bring your little Bible dictionary along and come and work at my place, and let me smoke a cigarette and look at
you. Wouldn’t you like to . . . dear . . . dearest?”

“You bet. Be right along.”

He explained to Cleo and his mother that he had to go and comfort an old lady in extremis, he accepted their
congratulations on his martyrdom, and hastened out.

Elmer was sitting beside Hettie on the damask couch, under the standard lamp, stroking her hand and explaining how unjust
his mother was, when the door of her suite opened gravely and a thin, twitching-faced, gimlet-eyed man walked in.

Hettie sprang up, stood with a hand on her frightened breast.

“What d’you want here?” roared Elmer, as he rose also.

“Hush!” Hettie begged him. “It’s my husband!”

“Your—” Elmer’s cry was the bleat of a bitten sheep. “Your—But you aren’t married!”

“I am, hang it! Oscar, you get out of here! How dare you intrude like this!”

Oscar walked slowly, appreciatively, into the zone of light.

“Well, I’ve caught you two with the goods!” he chuckled.

“What do you mean!” Hettie raged. “This is my boss, and he’s come here to talk over some work.”

“Yeh, I bet he has. . . . This afternoon I bribed my way in here, and I’ve got all his letters to you.”

“Oh, you haven’t!” Hettie dashed to her desk, stood in despair looking at an empty drawer.

Elmer bulked over Oscar. “I’ve had enough of this! You gimme those letters and you get out of here or I’ll throw you
out!”

Oscar negligently produced an automatic. “Shut up,” he said, almost affectionately. “Now, Gantry, this ought to cost you
about fifty thousand dollars, but I don’t suppose you can raise that much. But if I sue for alienation of Het’s affections,
that’s the amount I’ll sue for. But if you want to settle out of court, in a nice gentlemanly manner without acting rough,
I’ll let you off for ten thousand—and there won’t be the publicity—oh, maybe that publicity wouldn’t cook your reverend
goose!”

“If you think you can blackmail me—”

“Think? Hell! I know I can! I’ll call on you in your church at noon tomorrow.”

“I won’t be there.”

“You better be! If you’re ready to compromise for ten thousand, all right; no feelings hurt. If not, I’ll have my lawyer
(and he’s Mannie Silverhorn, the slickest shyster in town) file suit for alienation tomorrow afternoon—and make sure that
the evening papers get out extras on it. By-by, Hettie. ‘By, Elmer darling. Whoa, Elmer! Naughty, naughty! You touch me and
I’ll plug you! So long.”

Elmer gaped after the departing Oscar. He turned quickly and saw that Hettie was grinning.

She hastily pulled down her mouth.

“My God, I believe you’re in on this!” he cried.

“What of it, you big lummox! We’ve got the goods on you. Your letters will sound lovely in court! But don’t ever think
for one moment that workers as good as Oscar and I were wasting our time on a tin-horn preacher without ten bucks in the
bank! We were after William Dollinger Styles. But he isn’t a boob, like you; he turned me down when I went to lunch with him
and tried to date him up. So, as we’d paid for this plant, we thought we might as well get our expenses and a little piece
of change out of you, you short-weight, and by God we will! Now get out of here! I’m sick of hearing your blatting! No, I
don’t think you better hit me. Oscar’ll be waiting outside the door. Sorry I won’t be able to be at the church
tomorrow—don’t worry about my things or my salary—I got ’em this afternoon!”

At midnight, his mouth hanging open, Elmer was ringing at the house of T. J. Rigg. He rang and rang, desperately. No
answer. He stood outside then and bawled “T. J.! T. J.!”

An upper window was opened, and an irritated voice, thick with sleepiness, protested, “Whadda yuh WANT!”

“Come down quick! It’s me—Elmer Gantry. I need you, bad!”

“All right. Be right down.”

A grotesque little figure in an old-fashioned nightshirt, puffing at a cigar, Rigg admitted him and led him to the
library.

“T. J., they’ve got me!”

“Yuh? The bootleggers?”

“No. Hettie. You know my secretary?”

“Oh. Yuh. I see. Been pretty friendly with her?”

Elmer told everything.

“All right,” said Rigg. “I’ll be there at twelve to meet Oscar with you. We’ll stall for time, and I’ll do something.
Don’t worry, Elmer. And look here. Elmer, don’t you think that even a preacher ought to TRY to go straight?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, T. J.! I swear this is the last time I’ll ever step out, even look at a girl. God, you’ve been a
good friend to me, old man!”

“Well, I like anything I’m connected with to go straight. Pure egotism. You better have a drink. You need it!”

“No! I’m going to hold onto THAT vow, anyway! I guess it’s all I’ve got. Oh, my God! And just this evening I thought I
was such a big important guy, that nobody could touch.”

“You might make a sermon out of it—and you probably will!”

The chastened and positively-for-the-last-time-reformed Elmer lasted for days. He was silent at the conference with Oscar
Dowler, Oscar’s lawyer, Mannie Silverhorn, and T. J. Rigg in the church study next noon. Rigg and Silverhorn did the
talking. (And Elmer was dismayed to see how friendly and jocose Rigg was with Silverhorn, of whom he had spoken in most
unMethodist terms.)

“Yuh, you’ve got the goods on the Doctor,” said Rigg. “We admit it. And I agree that it’s worth ten thousand. But you’ve
got to give us a week to raise the money.”

“All right, T. J. See you here a week from today?” said Mannie Silverhorn.

“No, better make it in your office. Too many snooping sisters around.”

“All right.”

Everybody shook hands profusely—except that Elmer did not shake hands with Oscar Dowler, who snickered, “Why, Elmer, and
us so closely related, as it were!”

When they were gone, the broken Elmer whimpered, “But, T. J., I never in the world could raise ten thousand! Why, I
haven’t saved a thousand!”

“Hell’s big bells, Elmer! You don’t suppose we’re going to pay ’em any ten thousand, do you? It may cost you fifteen
hundred—which I’ll lend you—five hundred to sweeten Hettie, and maybe a thousand for detectives.”

“Uh?”

“At a quarter to two this morning I was talking to Pete Reese of the Reese Detective Agency, telling him to get busy.
We’ll know a lot about the Dowlers in a few days. So don’t worry.”

Elmer was sufficiently consoled not to agonize that week, yet not so consoled but that he became a humble and tender
Christian. To the embarrassed astonishment of his children, he played with them every evening. To Cleo he was almost
uxorious.

“Dearest,” he said, “I realize that I have—oh, it isn’t entirely my fault; I’ve been so absorbed in the Work: but the
fact remains that I haven’t given you enough attention, and tomorrow evening I want you to go to a concert with me.”

“Oh, Elmer!” she rejoiced.

And he sent her flowers, once.

“You see!” his mother exulted. “I knew you and Cleo would be happier if I just pointed out a few things to you. After
all, your old mother may be stupid and Main–Street, but there’s nobody like a mother to understand her own boy, and I knew
that if I just spoke to you, even if you are a Doctor of Divinity, you’d see things different!”

“Yes, and it was your training that made me a Christian and a preacher. Oh, a man does owe so much to a pious mother!”
said Elmer.

Mannie Silverhorn was one of the best ambulance-chasers in Zenith. A hundred times he had made the street-car company pay
damages to people whom they had not damaged; a hundred times he had made motorists pay for injuring people whom they had not
injured. But with all his talent, Mannie had one misfortune—he would get drunk.

Now, in general, when he was drunk Mannie was able to keep from talking about his legal cases, but this time he was drunk
in the presence of Bill Kingdom, reporter for the Advocate–Times, and Mr. Kingdom was an even harder cross-examiner than Mr.
Silverhorn.

Bill had been speaking without affection of Dr. Gantry when Mannie leered, “Say, jeeze, Bill, your Doc Gantry is going to
get his! Oh, I got him where I want him! And maybe it won’t cost him some money to be so popular with the ladies!”

Bill looked rigorously uninterested. “Aw, what are you trying to pull, Mannie! Don’t be a fool! You haven’t got anything
on Elmer, and you never will have. He’s too smart for you! You haven’t got enough brains to get that guy, Mannie!”

“Me? I haven’t got enough brains—Say, listen!”

Yes, Mannie was drunk. Even so, it was only after an hour of badgering Mannie about his inferiority to Elmer in
trickiness, an hour of Bill’s harsh yet dulcet flattery, an hour of Bill’s rather novel willingness to buy drinks, that an
infuriated Mannie shrieked, “All right, you get a stenographer that’s a notary public and I’ll dictate it!”

And at two in the morning, to an irritated but alert court reporter in his shambles of a hotel room, Mannie Silverhorn
dictated and signed a statement that unless the Reverend Dr. Elmer Gantry settled out of court, he would be sued (Emmanuel
Silverhorn attorney) for fifty thousand dollars for having, by inexcusable intimacy with her, alienated Hettie Dowler’s
affections from her husband.