Bankers -- Fiction; Christian life -- Fiction; Fraud -- Fiction; Fugitives from justice -- Fiction
When Felix returned from his brief and clouded holiday to his work in
that corner of the great vineyard, so overcrowded with busy husbandmen
that they were always plucking up each others' plants, and pruning and
repruning each others' vines, till they made a wilderness where there
should have been a harvest, he found that his special plot there had
suffered much damage. John Nixey, following up the impression he had so
successfully made, had spread his story abroad, and found ears willing
to listen to it, and hearts willing to believe it. The small Provident
Club, instituted by Felix to check the waste and thriftlessness of the
people, had already, in his short absence, elected another treasurer of
its scanty funds; and the members who formed it, working men and women
who had been gathered together by his personal influence, treated him
with but scant civility. His evening lectures in the church
mission-house were sometimes scarcely attended, whilst on other days
there was an influx of hearers, among whom John Nixey was prominent,
with half-a-dozen rough and turbulent fellows like himself, hangers-on
at the nearest spirit-vaults, who were ready for any turn that might
lead to a row. The women and children who had been accustomed to come
stayed away, or went to some other of the numerous preaching-places, as
though afraid of this boisterous element in his little congregation.
Now and then, too, he heard his name called out aloud in the streets by
some of Nixey's friends, as he passed the prospering gin-palaces with
their groups of loungers about the doors; but though he could catch the
sound of the laugh and the sneer that followed him, he could take no
notice. He could not turn round in righteous indignation and tell the
fellows, and the listening bystanders, that what they said of his father
was a lie. The poor young curate, with his high hopes and his
enthusiastic love of the work he had chosen for the sake of his
fellow-men, was compelled to pass on with bowed head, and silent lips,
and a heart burdened with the conviction that his influence was
altogether blighted and uprooted.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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