Carmen Ariza Part 160

"Just so," returned Hitt. "There exist all sorts of real thoughts about G.o.d's ideas. And these are good and eternal. But the human mind makes likewise all sorts of erroneous translations of them. We shall solve our problem of existence when we correctly interpret His thoughts, and use them only. When the human mentality becomes attuned or accustomed to certain thoughts, that kind flow into it readily from the communal mortal mind. Some people think for years along certain erroneous or criminal lines. Their minds are set in that direction, and invite such a flow of thought. But were they to reverse the 'set,'

there would be a very different and better resulting externalization in health, prosperity, and morals."

"I think I see," said Miss Wall. "And I begin to glimpse the true mission of Jesus, and why he was ready to give up everything for it."

"Yes. And now a word further about the so-called mortal mind. For, when we have collected and arranged all our data regarding it, we will find ourselves in a position to begin to work out of it, and thereby truly work out our salvation, even if with fear and trembling. I have said in a previous talk that, judging by the deductions of the physical scientists, everything seems about to leave the material basis and turn into vibrations, and 'man changes with velocity' of these. They tell us that all life depends upon water; that life began, eons ago, in the primeval sea. True, the human sense of existence, as I have said, began in the dark, primeval sea of mist, the deep and fluid mortal mind, so-called. And that sense of existence most certainly is dependent upon the fluid of mortal mind. b.i.+.c.hat has said that 'life is the sum of the forces that resist death.' Spencer has defined life as the 'continuous adjustment of internal to external relations.' Very good, as applied to the human sense of life. The human mind makes mult.i.tudes of mental concepts, and then struggles incessantly to adjust itself to them, and at length gives up the struggle, hopelessly beaten. Scientists tell us that life is due to a continuous series of bodily ferments. The body is in a constant state of ferment, and that gives rise to life. Good! We know that the human mind is in a state of incessant ferment. The human mind is a self-centered ma.s.s of writhing, seething, fermenting material thought.

And that fermentation is outwardly manifested in its concept of body, and its material environment. The scientists themselves are rapidly pus.h.i.+ng matter back into the realm of the human mind. Bodily states are becoming recognized as manifestations of mental states--not vice versa, as has been ignorantly believed for ages. A prominent physician told me the other day that many a condition of nervous prostration now could be directly traced to selfishness. We know that hatred and anger produce fatal poisons. The rattlesnake is a splendid example of that.

I am told that its poison and the white of an egg are formed of _exactly the same amounts of the same elements_. The difference in effect is the thought lying back of each."

"Well!" exclaimed Doctor Siler. "You don't pretend that the snake thinks and hates--"

"Doctor," said Hitt, "for thousands upon thousands of years the human race has been directing hatred and fear-thoughts toward the snake. Is it any wonder that the snake is now poisonous? That it now reflects back that poisonous thought to mankind?"

"But some are not poisonous, you know."

"Can we say how long they have not been so, or how soon our hatred will make them all poisonous? Do you know, moreover, that sorrow, remorse, all emotions, in fact, affect the perspiration that exudes from the human body? Do you know that hatred will render human perspiration the deadliest poison known to science? I am told that in a few minutes of murderous hatred enough of this poisonous perspiration is exuded from the human body to kill a man. And do you know that the thought which manifests upon the body in such deadly poison is just as deadly when sent into the mentality of a human being? Think what the Church's deadly hatred of so-called heretics has done in the last nineteen hundred years! Why, millions have been killed by it alone! And in the name of Christ!

"But now," he said, consulting his watch, "I must go. Even a newspaper man requires a little sleep. And I must make my apology for occupying the floor to-night to the exclusion of you all. I have gradually been filling up with these thoughts for some weeks, and I had to let them out. Besides--"

"Mr. Hitt," interrupted Father Waite, "I shall soon be ready to report on those questions of Bible research which you a.s.signed to me."

"Ah, yes," replied Hitt. "Well, have you found that Jesus really was an historical character, or not?"

"I think," said Carmen, "that he has found that it really matters little whether there ever was such a person as the human man Jesus.

The Christ has always lived; and the Christ-principle which the man Jesus is reported to have revealed to the world is with us, here, now, and always. It is the principle, rather than the man Jesus, that concerns us, is it not?"

"Miss Carmen," interposed Reverend Moore, "Jesus was the incarnate Son of G.o.d, and your remarks concerning him are--"

"Slow up, Pat!" interrupted Doctor Morton. "I'll fight that out with you on the way home. Come, the meeting's adjourned."

"We will take up that question in our next discussion," said Hitt.

"But, wait; Carmen must give us just a short song before we part."

The girl went immediately to the piano. As she pa.s.sed Hitt, she squeezed his hand. A few minutes later the little group dispersed, with the melody of the girl's voice trembling in their souls.

CHAPTER 8

For several days Ames reflected, and waited. Judging by the data which he was able to secure, the Express was eating up money at a fearful pace. To continue at that rate meant certain financial disaster in the near future. And yet the publishers of the rejuvenated sheet seemed never to count the cost of their experiment. Already they had begun the introduction of innovations that were startling and even mirth-provoking to staid, conservative publishers in the journalistic field. To survive the long period necessary for the education of the public taste to such things as the Express stood for demanded a source of income no less permanent than La Libertad itself. But at this thought Ames chuckled aloud.

Then an idea occurred to him. The Beaubien, of course, in her crippled financial condition was affording the Express no monetary a.s.sistance. Carmen had nothing. Haynerd's few thousands were long since dissipated. Hitt's income was measured. But--ah, Miss Wall! And her estate was handled by Ames and Company! And handled, we may add, in such a manner that Miss Wall knew naught regarding it, except that she might draw upon it as one dips water from a hillside spring.

Thus Ames reflected. And as he meditated upon the new paper and its promoters, there gradually formed within him a consuming desire to see again the fair young girl who had drawn him so strongly, despite his mountainous wrath and his flaming desire to crush her when she boldly faced him in his own house on the night of his grand reception. Why had he let her escape him then? He had been a fool! True, women had meant little to him, at least in the last few years. But this girl had seemed to stir within him new emotions, or those long slumbering. He knew not, coa.r.s.ely materialistic as was his current thought, that in him, as in all who came within the radius of her pure affection, she had swept chords whose music he had never heard before.

Days pa.s.sed, while Ames still mused. And then one morning he took down the receiver and called up the office of the Express.

No, Mr. Hitt was not there--but this was his a.s.sistant. And:

"You didn't want to see Mr. Hitt, did you? You wanted to see me. Well, you may come over."

Ames nearly dropped the receiver in his astonishment. In the first place, the girl had read his thought; and in the second, he was not accustomed to being told that he might go to see people--they came cringing to him.

"You may come at twelve-fifteen," continued the clear, firm voice.

"And remain a half hour; I'm very busy."

Ames put down the instrument and looked about, thankful that no one was there to comment on his embarra.s.sment. Then he leaned back in his chair and went slowly over in thought the experiences of that eventful night in his house. Why, this slip of a girl--a half-breed Indian at best--this mere baby--! But he glanced up at the great electric wall clock, and wished it were then twelve-fifteen.

At noon Ames, jauntily swinging his light walking stick, strolled casually into the office of the Express. His air was one of supreme confidence in his own powers. He was superhuman, and he knew it. And the knowledge rendered him unafraid of G.o.d, man, or beast. He had met and conquered everything mundane, excepting this young girl. But that thought was now delightful to him. In her he had unearthed a real novelty, a ceaseless interest. She reminded him of a beautiful kitten.

She scratched and nettled him; but she was as nothing in his grasp.

The first thing that impressed him on entering the office was the air of prosperity which hung over the place. The environment, he mentally commented, was somewhat unusual for a newspaper plant. Order, quiet, and cleanliness were dominant notes in the prevailing harmony. He first walked back into the pressroom to see if the same conditions prevailed there. Then he retraced his steps, and at length came to a halt before a door bearing the inscription, "Miss Ariza," on the gla.s.s. Turning the k.n.o.b, he peered curiously in.

The room was small, but light and airy. Its furnis.h.i.+ngs were new, and its walls had been freshly tinted. A few pictures of good quality hung about them. A handsome rug lay upon the floor. At the desk, bending over a new typewriter, sat Carmen.

"I beg pardon," said Ames, hesitating in the doorway.

The girl glanced up quickly. "Oh, come in," she said. "I was expecting you."

He entered and took the chair indicated. "You don't mind if I finish this article, do you?" she said, bending again to her work. "It's got to go to the compositors right away."

"Certainly--don't stop," replied Ames easily. "When we talk I want your undivided attention."

"Oh, you're sure to get it," she returned, laughing. And Ames wondered just what she meant.

He sat back in his chair and watched her closely. How wondrous fair she was! Yet, there was just a slight tint in her skin, he thought.

Perhaps the report that she was a mulatto was not wholly unfounded, although the strain must have been greatly mixed. How simply she was dressed. He remembered her in her beautiful ball gown. He thought he preferred this. How rapidly her fingers sped over the keys. And what fingers! What a hand! He wanted to bend over and take it in his own.

Then he suddenly remembered what the Beaubien had once told him--that she always seemed to be a better woman in this girl's presence.

But--what changes had come since then! Could he go on persecuting the hara.s.sed woman? But he wouldn't, if--

"There!" said the girl, with what seemed to be a little sigh of relief. She pressed a b.u.t.ton, and handed the typewritten sheets to the boy who responded. Then, turning to Ames:

"You've come to apologize, haven't you? But you needn't. I'm not a bit offended. I couldn't be, you know."

Apologize! Well, he certainly had not had any such intention when he came in. In fact, he knew not just why he was there.

"You see, Congressman Wales didn't vote for the unaltered schedule.

And so everything's all right, isn't it?" she went on lightly.

Ames's face darkened. "No vote has been taken," he said, a dull anger rising within him.

"Oh, you are mistaken," replied the girl. "The bill was voted out of committee an hour ago. That's what I was writing up. Here's the wire, showing the alterations made. Mr. Wales voted for them."

Ames read the message, and handed it back. Beyond the clouding of his features he gave no indication of his feelings.