he had conquered. He had seen these indifferent millions swallow
cabinets, presidents, princes and kings, and rush on their way
without a thought whether they lived or died. He had made himself
heard. But this power that worshiped a dollar and called it God,
that controlled the finances of the church and sought to control
its pastor and strangle his soul--this was the force slowly choking
him to death unless he could conquer it.

The average preacher, when he landed in New York and faced the roar
of its advancing ocean of materialism, fluttered hopelessly about
for a year or two like a frightened sand-fiddler in the edge of
the surf of a cyclone, was engulfed, and disappeared.

To conquer this sea and lift his voice in power above its thunder,
and then be strangled in a little yellow puddle full of tadpoles,
was more than his soul could endure.

"I'll not submit to it," he growled, with clenched fist.

When he entered the meeting, the dozen men were hanging on Van
Meter's lips as on the inspired word of Moses.

"I was just telling the Board," he suavely explained, "that Mr.
Wellford, on whom we must depend for such a building enterprise
involving millions, has declared his hostility to the scheme. He is
out of sympathy with the sensational methods of the Pilgrim Church."

"I'll inform the Board," said Gordon, as he advanced toward Van
Meter and thrust his hands in his pockets, "that it's not true. I
have seen Mr. Wellford, by his invitation, this week at his home.