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(FROM HEARST’S MAGAZINE FOR JUNE)
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP " " By Winston Churchill
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Sometimes I think that women have no morals.” said Eldon Parr bitterly. “At any rate, this modern notion of giving them their liberty is sheer folly.
Look what they have done with it! Instead of remaining at home, where they belong, they are going out into the world and turning it topsy-turvy.
And if a man doesn't let them have a free hand, they get a divorce and marry some idiot who will.”
Other articles of compelling interest in Hearst’s Magazine for June, which is now on sale
at the news stands, include: “New Standard Oil Letters,” “Modern Ships Unsafe?” by Chas.
P. Brewer; “How to Insure Safety at Sea,” by J. Bernard Walker; “How Shall We Solve the
Divorce Problem?’’ a symposium, including President Taft, Bishop Doane, Winston Church
ill, Hall Caine, h'rederick Townsend Martin, Prof E. A. Ross, Thomas Hardy and others;
“Shuster’s Own Story,” by W. Morgan Shuster; “America Is One Big Cash Register,” by
Harry Furniss; “The Story of George Helm,” by David Graham Phillips; “Captain Kidd in
Wall Street,” by George Randolph Chester, the creator of “Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford,”
and reviews of art, books and science by the best writers.
I’crimps no serial story of
(lie present day is attracting
more attention than Win
ston ('hnrchill’s newest and
most powerful novel, “I’ll E
INSIDE OE THE CUP,”
now running in HEAKST’S
MAGAZINE.
Ini he J nne number John
Hodder is brought face to
face with Ihe secrets of his
rich congregation. 'The few
excerpts here given from his
conversation with Eldon
Parr, the great man of his
parish, gives a clew to the
intense interest the story
awakens.
Hodder is calling on Parr,
and is taken through the
millionaire's house by him.
The pastor has recently re
fused to perform a wedding
cere m o n y between the
daughter of a wealthy wom
an parishioner and the man
she has chosen because the
daughter had been divorced
after an unhappy marriage.
After one of these intervals of
silence Eldon Parr looked up from
liis claret
"I eoiigral ulate yon. Hodder,
on the stand yon look in regard
io Const able 's daughter.'' he said.
Exasperation crept into Mr.
Parr’s voice.
■ I can't think what's got into
women in these times al Mrs.
< onstable's age t hey ought to
know better. Nothing restrains
them. They have reached a point
where they don't even respect the
church. And when that happens,
it is serious indeed. The church
is the governor on our social en
gine. and it is supposed to impose
•lohii Hodder gives up a p
afterward is called from a smal
ultra-conservative congregation
ways accepted unquestionably t
tastes of a wealthy and conserva
slums, for relieving poverty. T
whether these people really wis
church, tells him that poverty i
a restraint upon Hie lawless. ”
Hodder could not refrain from
smiling a little at the banker's
conception. .
“If I have spoken strongly, it is
because I feel strongly.’ he said
in a strange, thickened voice.
“Hodder, how would you like to
live in this house—alone?''
“This poison. - ' Eldon Parr went
on unevenly, “has eaten into my
own family. My daughter, who
might have been a comfort and a
companion, since she chose not io
marry, was carried away by it.
and thought it incumbent upon
her to have a career of her own.
And now I have a choice of 30
rooms, and not a soul to share
them with. Sometimes, at night. I
make up my mind to sell this
house. But I can’t do it—some
thing holds me back hope. super
stition or whatever you've a mind
to call it. You’ve never seen the
house, have yon?’’ be asked.
The rector slowly shook his
head, and the movement might
have been that he would have
used in acquiescence to the odd
whim of a child. Mr. Parr led the
way up the wide staircase to the
corridor above, traversing cham
ber after chamber, turning on the
lights.
“These were my wife’s rooms."
he said; “they are just as she left
them. And these my daughter
Alison’s, when she chooses to pay
me a visit. I dido t realize that
I'HE ATLANTA GEORGIAN AND NEWS. SATURDAY. JUNE 22. 1912.
S OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
SYNOPSI
romising legal career to become an Episcopal clergy man and soon
1 New England Parish to the rectorship of St. .lohtts ,a wealthy,
in a large city in the Middle West. The new rector, who has al
he orthodox faith in his church, is nol a man to pander to the
tive flock for policy's sake; he has plair- for redeeming the
he reception he receives is somewhat bewildering. He wonders
h achievements from their rector. Eldon Parr, the pillar of the
s inevitable: that the weak alwavs sink.
I should have to spend the last
years of my life alone. I’ve got
a boy. Hodder—l don’t know
whether I’ve ever spoken of him
to you —Preston. He's gone away,
too. But I’ve always had the hope
that he might come back and get
decently married and live here.
That's why I stay. I’ll show you
his picture."
They climbed to the third floor,
and while Air. Parr was searching
for the electric switch a lightning
flash broke over the forests of the
park, prematurely revealing the
room. It was a boy's room, hung
with photographs of school and
college crews and teams and
groups of intimates, with deep
window seats, and draped pennons
of Harvard university over the
fireplace. Eldon Parr turned to
one of the groups on the wall, the
earliest taken at school.
“There he is." he said, pointing
out a sunny little face at the bot
tom. a boy of twelve, bareheaded,
with short, crisping yellow hair,
smiling lips and laughing eyes.
“And here he is again." indicat
ing another group. Thus he traced
him through succeeding years un
til they came to those of college.
“ He got into scrape after scrape
at Harvard, and later he came
within an ace of marrying a wom
an. He’s my weakness today. I
can say no to everybody in the
world but to him.
“Once 1 thought I had him
started straight, and then a wom
an came along—-off the streets, or
little better. He insisted on mar
rying her and wrecking his life,
and when I got her out of the
way. as any father would have
done, he left me. He has never
forgotten me. Most of the time I
haven't even the satisfaction of
knowing where he is—Loudon,
Paris oi - New York. I try not to
think of what he does. I ought to
cut him off—l can't do it, I can't
do it, Hodder he's my one weak
ness still.
“With Alison if was different."
he said. “I never understood
her—even when she was a child.
“ It came into Alison's head that
she wanted to 'make something of
her life," as she expressed it. She
said she was wasting herself, and
began going to lectures with a lot
of faddish women, became satu
rated with these nonsensical ideas
about her sex that are doing so
much harm nowadays. I suppose
I was wrong in my treatment from
the first. I never knew how to
handle her. but we grew like flint
and steel.
“And one morning, when she
was late to breakfast. I delivered
an ultimatum. I gave her a lec
ture on a woman's place and a
woman's duty, and told her that
if she didn't marry she'd have to
stay here and live quietly with
me or I'd disinherit her.
Hodder had become absorbed
in this portrait of .Alison Parr,
drawn by her father with such un
co nsci ou s viv id n ess.
‘‘And then?” he asked.
In spite of the tone of bitterness
in which he had spoken, Eldon
Parr smiled. It was a reluctant
tribute to his daughter.
"I got an ultimatum in return,’'
he said. “Alison should have
been a man. His anger mounted
quickly as he recalled the scene.
“She said she had thought it all
out; that our relationship had be
come impossible; that she had no
doubt it was largely her fault, but
that, was the way she was made
and she couldn’t change. She
had. naturally, an affection for
me as her father, but it was very
plain we couldn’t get along to
gether; she was convinced that
she had a right to individual free
dom —as she spoke of it—to de
velop herself. She knew, if she
continued to live with me on the
terms I demanded, that her char
acter would deteriorate. Certain
kinds of sacrifice she was capable
of, she thought, but what I asked
would be a useless one. Perhaps
I didn't realize it, but it was slav
ery. Slavery.“ he repeated, “the
kind of slavery her mother had
lived.''
He took a turn around the room.
“So far as money was con
cerned. she was indifferent Io it.
She had enough from her mother
to last until she began to make
more. But there was a deter
mined look in her eyes when she
kissed me as I left for the office.
I spent a miserable day. More
than once I mad'' up my mind to
go home, but pride stopped me. I
really didn't think she meant
what she said When I got back
to the house in the afternoon she
had left for New York. « ♦ •
“Then I began to look forward
to the time when her money would
give out. She went to Paris with
Selecting a Alan to Fill Lin
coln’s Place
Will the Republicans pick a man to thunder from the
; clouds and tell the people what to do?
Chicago at this moment is the most mixed city in the
world. There is somebody here from everywhere. Every state
has its headquarters, every candidate and important politician
has his headquarters. Every big newspaper and hundreds of
little newspapers and other periodicals have their headquarters.
Every pitiful forlorn hope, from the man who thinks he
might possibly be nominated if both the other two died, to the
man desperately anxious for a small job-—all are here.
Every type of man. woman and child from all over—espe
cially the tiresome, dull type with nothing in particular to do
—may be seen.
All of these thousands of visitors and tens of thousands of
natives go about asking, ‘‘Well, what do you think?” and no
body thinks or knows anything accurate. Each thinks as he
hopes, and the vast majority think and hope in a dull, stupid
way. with little sense of the humiliating spectacle of national
inefficiency spread out here. To describe what is said and what
happens is the wise thing.
’[’here is a huge blazing sign outside one hotel. It read.*?
■'California delegation, solid for Roosevelt.” Behind that sign
a band plays, nol stopping for more than two minutes at one
time. Baek of that sign also is the " National Roosevelt Head
quarters.” one Hight up. in the Congress hotel.
PTom those headquarters, brilliant with lights, music and
crowds, come frequent thunders from the spirit that rules, while
capital cowers in its lair, or wonders what its campaign contri
bution will be.
George Harvey, who lost all his illusions al Peaehem. Ver
mont. before he ever saw Professor Wilson, calls attention to
the fact that as soon as Roosevelt had issued a tenth denuncia
tion of political dishonesty and impending doom, his own paid
band played “What the Hell Do We Care?”
It is a very mixed convenion, enemies next door to each
other. White and colored delegates of a business turn have
hardly time to remove their ‘‘my hat's in the ring” badge out
side a Roosevelt room before turning into a Taft room.
Eellow citizens, you should see those Roosevelt headquar
ters in the big hotel. And writers of our history one hundred
years from now should see those headquarters.
Many tables, many desks, papers on the floor, men and
women struggling, squeezing past each other, hundreds of blaz
ing lights and a blaring band Outside- —and the deification of
Theodore Roosevelt in picture and in story.
Here, verbatim, is part of one speech delivered by a man
mounted on a chair in one corner of the great room:
“Wo love him.” he shouts, waving his hand and choking
with emotion. “We love him. we love him and follow him till
death. (Long pause.) We love him because he has always
loved us.” Much applause.
“He will teach us. He will lead us. Ho will show us the
way . He is our hope. We ow’C him everything and we love him.
Even the little baby hardly six months old loves his Teddy
Bear.” Frantic applause at this homelike touch.
Such talk has been heard sometimes at a primitive religious
revival. But in this case the talk was about Roosevelt, not
about God. and the pitiful, childish adoration addressed to a
living man.
There the man was. in many a picture, for all to see and
love more than their poor little brains could express.
The far end of the hall blazes with light, and on the wall,
enormous in size, flashing under the lights surrounding it. is a
highly colored, full length picture of Roosevelt standing in war
painl above a dead lion. The lion is larger than life, and his
face has a proud look that says, “I died happy."
No Roosevelt fanatic looks upon that picture with a dry
eye. Each soul murmurs, ‘‘He killed the lion. He will take
care of me. He will be kind to his people and tve shall dwell
in his mighty shadow, like the little flower beneath the great
oa k. ”
Once nothing but a trip to Africa could show you popula
tions grovelling at the feet of a lion killer. An African sav
age kills a lion, eats the lion's heart and is adored as a supe
rior, brave being.
No need to go to Africa for that interesting spectacle, now’.
Go to Roosevelt headquarters.
Other pictures of the great one—a dozen of them —decorate
the w’alls. You see him solemn, you see him gay. You see him
gnashing his teeth and stamping both feet. You see him. in
quiet reasoning, only pounding with both fists.
And off to one side, like the knothole in the barn, you see
one tiny little picture of Lincoln, with whiskers, so wistful.
It is a sad picture—as sad as that of any serious minded
party dragged at the tail of a chariot in Caesar’s triumph.
Poor Lincoln. It is rather hard on him to be stuck up in
this moving picture show, of courage, and grandeur.
What did he ever kill? Not even a cheetali—hardly a
muskrat.
However, those that love Roosevelt like to see Lincoln's
picture there, for it shows how filly it is to compare Lincoln
to Roosevelt —how silly it is to compare anything to Roosevelt
unless perhaps the Rocky Mountains piled up on top of the Him
alayas. with the Pacific ocean running down one side—and even
that kind of a natural wonder would not equal him in strength
or grandeur.
What will happen today and during the next day?
No one knows. But this is certain: If the crowds here
and the crow’ds they represent control, Roosevelt will be nomi
nated. And if he is defeated at first by the cunning politicians
he will nominate himself—then more moving pictures and a
national show really worth seeing.
another young woman and studied
there, and then to England. She
came back to New York, hired an
apartment and a studio, and has
made a success."
The rector seemed to detect an
unwilling note of pride at the
magic word.
“It isn't thq kind of success 1
think much of, but it's what she
started out to do. She comes out
to see me once in a while, and she
designed that garden.''
He halted in front of the clergy
man.
“I suppose you think it's
strange, my telling you this,’’ he
said. ‘‘lt has come to the point,"
he declared vehemently, “where
it relieves me to tell somebody,
and you seem to be a man of dis
cretion and common sense."
PAGE SEVEN
I—MAGAZINE SECTION
Hodder looked down into Mr.
Parr's face, and was silent. Per
haps he recognized, as never be
fore, the futility of the traditional
words of comfort, or rebuke. He
beheld a soul in torture, and real
ized with sudden sharpness how
limited was his knowledge of the
conditions of existence of his own
time. Everywhere individualism
reared its ugly head, everywhere
it seemed plausibly to plead justi
fication : and once more he encoun
tered that incompatibility of
which Mr. Constable had spoken!
He might blame the son, blame the
daughter, yet he could not con
demn them utterly? ♦ * • One
thing he saw clearly, that Eldon
Parr had slipped into w r hat was
still, for him, a meaningless hell.