Copyright, 1915,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1915 Reprinted February,
1915 Twice. March, 1915 Three Times. April, 1915 Twice May, 1915. Twice
June, 1915. Twice July, 1915. August, 1915. September, October,
November, December, 1915. January, 1916. March, 1916
TO M. A.
THE HARBOR
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
"You chump," I thought contemptuously. I was seven years old at thetime, and the gentleman to whom I referred was Henry Ward Beecher. Whatit was that aroused my contempt for the man will be more fullyunderstood if I tell first of the grudge that I bore him.
I was sitting in my mother's pew in the old church in Brooklyn. I wasaltogether too small for the pew, it was much too wide for the bend atmy knees; and my legs, which were very short and fat, stuck straight outbefore me. I was not allowed to move, I was most uncomfortable, and forthis Sabbath torture I laid all the blame on the preacher. For my motherhad once told me that I was brought to church so small in order thatwhen I grew up I could say I had heard the great man preach before hedied. Hence the deep grudge that I bore him. Sitting here this morning,it seemed to me for hours and hours, I had been meditating upon my hardlot. From time to time, as was my habit when thinking or feeling deeply,one hand would unconsciously go to my head and slowly stroke my bang. Myhair was short and had no curls, its only glory was this bang, which wasdeliciously soft to my hand and shone like a mirror from much reflectivestroking. Presently my mother would notice and with a smile she wouldput down my hand, but a few moments later up it[Pg 4] would come and wouldcontinue its stroking. For I felt both abused and puzzled. What wasthere in the talk of the large white-haired old man in the pulpit tomake my mother's eyes so queer, to make her sit so stiff and still? Whatgood would it do me when I grew up to say that I had heard him?
"I don't believe I will ever say it," I reasoned doggedly to myself."And even if I do, I don't believe any other man will care whether I sayit to him or not." I felt sure my father wouldn't. He never even came tochurch.
At the thought of my strange silent father, my mind leaped to hiswarehouse, his dock, the ships and the harbor. Like him, they were allso strange. And my hands grew a little cold and moist as I thought ofthe terribly risky thing I had planned to do all by myself that veryafternoon. I thought about it for a long time with my eyes tight shut.Then the voice of the minister brought me back, I found myself sittinghere in church and went on with this less shivery thinking.
"I wouldn't care myself," I decided. "If I were a man and another manmet me on the street and said, 'Look here. When I was a boy I heardHenry Ward Beecher before he died,' I guess I would just say to him,'You mind your business and I'll mind mine.'" This phrase I had heardfrom the corner grocer, and I liked the sound of it. I repeated it nowwith an added zest.
Again I opened my eyes and again I found myself here in church