The Hesitant Hero
Authors: Gilbert Morris
© 2006 by Gilbert Morris
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7062-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover illustration by William Graf
Cover design by Josh Madison
To Rev. James Golden and his companion Murlene—
my Golden Missionaries—
Your faith witness to the glorious gospel of Jesus
has been a wonderful testimony to me for many years.
I keep my memories of you among my most
prized possessions—so thanks for the memories!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
The Colony Club
“Come on, Tyler, have some dinner with me. I’m starving!”
Tyler Winslow lolled back in the seat of the yellow cab and grinned faintly at the woman who was pulling at his arm and urging him to get out.
“I should go home. I’ve had a little much to drink.”
Caroline Autry was not in the habit of begging for favors. As the daughter of Denton Autry, one of the richest men in New York City, she was more accustomed to having her smallest whims fulfilled. “None of that!” she urged. “Come on. I’m famished.”
With a groan, Tyler allowed himself to be pulled out of the cab. He stood there for a moment swaying, then closed his eyes, muttering, “Is the whole world turning around, or is it just me?”
“You’re all right. Here, driver, keep the change.”
“Thank you, miss.”
Tyler opened his eyes and looked at the building in front of them. “This is the Colony Club. You know I can’t afford it, Caroline.”
“Well,
I
can.”
Indeed, the jewelry that adorned Caroline Autry could probably have made a good start toward buying the famous restaurant. Diamonds glittered at her ears and an enormous ruby necklace decorated her throat, and when she moved her hands, more diamonds caught the reflections of the lights of the club and flashed like stars. The October night was chilly,
and she wore a chinchilla coat over her shoulders. Looking up at Tyler, she said, “The night’s young and so are we, so let’s live it up.”
“All right, honey, if you say so.”
A tall, handsome doorman greeted them with a smile. “Hello, Miss Autry. And how are you, sir?”
“Hello, George,” Caroline said. “Is it a full house tonight?”
“Pretty crowded, but they’ll find you a good seat, I know.”
They went in and were greeted again by a small, dapper man in a tuxedo who smiled slightly. “Ah, Miss Autry, so good to have you.”
“We want good seats, Henry.”
“The very best that we have available. If you’ll walk this way, please.”
As the two followed the maître d’, Tyler was only vaguely aware of the ornate decorations. The Colony Club was located on Sixty-Second Street and was one of the most famous and fairly notorious restaurants in America.
Vogue
magazine had stated, “It’s harder to get a good table at the Colony than it is to hit a hole in one.”
Indeed, nothing was too good for the clientele who willingly paid the enormous prices. The famous guests were treated like visiting royalty. Every time Bernard Baruch dined at the Colony in the heat of a New York summer, the management had the air-conditioning turned off because Baruch hated it.
Something about the atmosphere of the Colony Club was displeasing to Tyler Winslow. Having been brought up in the more primitive parts of Africa, he had spent most of his life in a simpler way. Now as he glanced around the crowd, noting that the waiter was taking them to one of the better tables, he thought of how snobbish some people in New York were. He was well aware that there was a section of the Colony Club known as Siberia. It had gotten its name when socialite Peggy Hopkins Joyce had been shown to one of the less-than-desirable tables and had demanded, “Where are you taking me to? Siberia?”
But there was no way that Caroline Autry would be taken to what had been dubbed the penal section in the Colony Club—where the common people ate as opposed to the stars.
They reached a table and the waiter bowed. “I trust this will be satisfactory.”
“Yes, of course,” Caroline said as she nodded carelessly. She sat down in the chair, which the waiter held for her, and then glanced around. “Look, Tyler, there’s John Barrymore,” she said. “I think he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” Then she turned and smiled. “Present company excepted, of course.”
Tyler grinned. He had been told he was a roughly handsome man, although he had none of the smoothness of Barrymore. He was exactly six feet tall and carried a trim, hard one hundred seventy pounds of muscle, put on over years of an active life in Africa. His thick brown hair had a very slight curl, and women always told him they liked his intense blue eyes.
Caroline leaned forward and playfully tousled Tyler’s hair but then stopped, lightly pulling his hair straight up. “I never noticed that before. Where’d you get that scar, Tyler?”
He touched the scar on his forehead that was usually covered with hair. “A leopard.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious!” she exclaimed. “You mean a real leopard?”
“It wasn’t imitation.”
Caroline stared at the scar. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“I didn’t have to imagine it.”
“Were you out in the jungle?”
“No, sleeping in my bed.”
“He came into your house? Didn’t you keep the doors locked?”
“I don’t think we had any locks on the doors. And we had to keep the windows open for air.”
“And he just came right in?”
“Sure he did. I was just a kid, and we were out in a village,
my folks and I. Leopards often come into villages at night. Lots of children have been stolen away. I was lucky, though,” he said. “Dad always kept his gun by his side. We were all sleeping in the same room. When the leopard made a grab at my head, I hollered, and Dad shot out of bed, grabbed his gun, and killed it. I was a bloody mess. There was no doctor, so Dad had to sew my head up himself.”
Caroline was fascinated by Tyler Winslow. Ordinarily she would never have given the son of poor missionary parents a second look, but she had encountered Tyler at an art show and had been struck by his rugged good looks. She had flirted with him, and he had asked her out. Since then she had found it a pleasure to show him the more expensive sides of New York, which he would never have been able to afford. He was an artist studying painting, but it was too soon to tell if he had enough talent to make it.
Aware that she was studying him, Tyler said, “I can read your mind, Caroline.”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re wondering why in the world you put up with a poor, struggling artist when you could be running around with rich bankers.”
“Bankers are boring.”
“Painters can be boring too. I’ve met enough of them who are.” He toyed with his glass of water, turning it in his hand and studying the fine crystal. “Some of them can’t talk about anything but art.”
“You’re not like that. You can talk about all kinds of things.” She winked suggestively and laughed. Looking around the room, she motioned to the waiter, who came scurrying forward. “What’s good tonight?” she asked.
“Almost anything you desire, Miss Autry.”
The food at the Colony Club was legendary. Waiters were pushing carts of hors d’oeuvres, roasts, soups, and even ice sculptures through the dining room. One waiter was flamboyantly displaying food skewered on flaming swords.
“I think I’ll have a hot dog on one of those swords,” Tyler said. “Set it on fire, will you, please?”
The waiter stared with astonishment. “Sir, we don’t serve hot dogs.”
“I thought you served everything.”
“Nearly everything, sir, but not hot dogs.”
“He’s only ribbing you,” Carolyn told the waiter.
“May I suggest the pheasant Souvaroff.” The waiter reeled off a list of other choices, and finally Caroline ordered eel ragout, and Tyler ordered roast lamb.
“And bring us a bottle of your best wine,” Caroline instructed. “I’ll let you choose.”
“I will do my best to please you, Miss Autry.” The waiter bowed and left.
Tyler leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “All this rich eating’s going to make me fat.”
“You’ll never be fat. What did you eat in Africa?”
Tyler grinned. “When we were visiting the Masai, the host would milk a cow, then he would open a blood vessel in the cow’s neck and fill the rest of the cup up with blood. Mighty tasty.”
“Not really!” Caroline shuddered. “How awful!”
“Well, the Masai men were some of the finest I’ve ever seen. All of them over six feet, strong, and more guts than you can imagine. Who knows? Maybe it was from drinking all that blood.”
“You’ve come a long way, Tyler. All the way from drinking blood and milk to being a promising art student in New York.”
“I don’t know how promising I am. My teachers don’t seem to think so.”
“They are teachers because they can’t paint themselves. You know what they say. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.” She laughed aloud. The waiter soon came back with the wine, allowed Tyler to taste it first, then poured them each a glass.
