Slowly he began to see what that spirit might mean to him.
No man of ordinary intelligence could long be in Memorial Church, without
learning that it was ruled by a ring, as truly as any body politic was
ever so ruled. Dan Matthews understood too clearly that his position in
Memorial Church depended upon the "bosses" then in control. And he saw
farther--saw, indeed, that his final success or failure in his chosen
calling depended upon the standing that should be given him by this, his
first charge; depended at the last upon these two men who had shown
themselves, each in his own way, so easily influenced by the low, vicious
tales of a few idle-minded town gossips.
As one in the dark--stepping without warning into a boggy hole--Dan
groped for firmer ground.
As one standing alone in a wide plain sees on the distant horizon the
threat of a gathering storm, and--watching, shudders at the shadow of a
passing cloud, Dan stood--a feeling of loneliness and dread heavy upon
him.
He longed for companionship, for someone to whom he could speak his
heart. But to whom in Corinth could he go? These men who had just
"advised him" were, theoretically, his intimate counselors; to them he
was supposed, and had expected, to look--in his inexperience, for advice
and help. These men, old in the service of the church--how would they
answer his troubled thoughts? He shrugged his shoulders and smiled
grimly. The Doctor? He smiled again.
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