He had preached about Hagar in the wilderness, about Lot's wife, about the visit of the angels, about the intended sacrifice of Isaac, about a dozen other things suggested by the ancient narrative.Somehow this time it all seemed different to him.The people he read about were altered to his vision.Heretofore a poetic light had shone about them, where indeed they had not glowed in a halo of sanctification.Now, by some chance, this light was gone, and he saw them instead as untutored and unwashed barbarians, filled with animal lusts and ferocities, struggling by violence and foul chicanery to secure a foothold in a country which did not belong to them--all rude tramps and robbers of the uncivilized plain.
The apparent fact that Abram was a Chaldean struck him with peculiar force.How was it, he wondered, that this had never occurred to him before? Examining himself, he found that he had supposed vaguely that there had been Jews from the beginning, or at least, say, from the flood.
But, no, Abram was introduced simply as a citizen of the Chaldean town of Ur, and there was no hint of any difference in race between him and his neighbors.
It was specially mentioned that his brother, Lot's father, died in Ur, the city of his nativity.Evidently the family belonged there, and were Chaldeans like the rest.
I do not cite this as at all a striking discovery, but it did have a curious effect upon Theron Ware.Up to that very afternoon, his notion of the kind of book he wanted to write had been founded upon a popular book called "Ruth the Moabitess," written by a clergyman he knew very well, the Rev.E.Ray Mifflin.This model performance troubled itself not at all with difficult points, but went swimmingly along through scented summer seas of pretty rhetoric, teaching nothing, it is true, but pleasing a good deal and selling like hot cakes.Now, all at once Theron felt that he hated that sort of book.HIS work should be of a vastly different order.He might fairly assume, he thought, that if the fact that Abram was a Chaldean was new to him, it would fall upon the world in general as a novelty.Very well, then, there was his chance.
He would write a learned book, showing who the Chaldeans were, and how their manners and beliefs differed from, and influenced--It was at this psychological instant that the wave of self-condemnation suddenly burst upon and submerged the young clergyman.It passed again, leaving him staring fixedly at the pile of books he had taken down from the shelves, and gasping a little, as if for breath.Then the humorous side of the thing, perversely enough, appealed to him, and he grinned feebly to himself at the joke of his having imagined that he could write learnedly about the Chaldeans, or anything else.But, no, it shouldn't remain a joke!
His long mobile face grew serious under the new resolve.
He would learn what there was to be learned about the Chaldeans.
He rose and walked up and down the room, gathering fresh strength of purpose as this inviting field of research spread out its vistas before him.Perhaps--yes, he would incidentally explore the mysteries of the Moabitic past as well, and thus put the Rev.E.Ray Mifflin to confusion on his own subject.That would in itself be a useful thing, because Mifflin wore kid gloves at the Conference, and affected an intolerable superiority of dress and demeanor, and there would be general satisfaction among the plainer and worthier brethren at seeing him taken down a peg.
Now for the first time there rose distinctly in Theron's mind that casual allusion which Father Forbes had made to the Turanians.He recalled, too, his momentary feeling of mortification at not knowing who the Turanians were, at the time.Possibly, if he had probed this matter more deeply, now as he walked and pondered in the little living-room, he might have traced the whole of the afternoon's mental experiences to that chance remark of the Romish priest.
But this speculation did not detain him.He mused instead upon the splendid library Father Forbes must have.
"Well, how does the book come on? Have you got to 'my Lady Keturah' yet?'"It was Alice who spoke, opening the door from the kitchen, and putting in her head with a pretence of great and solemn caution, but with a correcting twinkle in her eyes.
"I haven't got to anybody yet," answered Theron, absently.
"These big things must be approached slowly."Come out to supper, then, while the beans are hot,"said Alice.
The young minister sat through this other meal, again in deep abstraction.His wife pursued her little pleasantry about Keturah, the second wife, urging him with mock gravity to scold her roundly for daring to usurp Sarah's place, but Theron scarcely heard her, and said next to nothing.
He ate sparingly, and fidgeted in his seat, waiting with obvious impatience for the finish of the meal.
At last he rose abruptly.
"I've got a call to make--something with reference to the book," he said."I'll run out now, I think, before it gets dark."He put on his hat, and strode out of the house as if his errand was of the utmost urgency.Once upon the street, however, his pace slackened.There was still a good deal of daylight outside, and he loitered aimlessly about, walking with bowed head and hands clasped behind him, until dusk fell.Then he squared his shoulders, and started straight as the crow flies toward the residence of Father Forbes.
