CHAPTER XXII.
Tom was too busy just then to be thinking of promotion, or of woes by the way; the busy season was coming on, and he had just been advanced to the wholesale room; quite a step, and he couldn’t help liking it, though Hal was in the same department. Hal was a good fellow enough when he didn’t happen to feel like saying anything disagreeable, and when he did—pshaw! would Tom never get over being a goose?
Hal was busy in his turn; a customer had just come in whom the junior partner had turned over to him with the whisper that it was especially important he should be pleased, and Hal had been sharpening his business wits to capture him. But it seemed for some time as if he would not be caught; he knew precisely what he wanted and would not be taken in any other net. But if he knew what he wanted it would only be the more of a failure if Fenimore & Co. couldn’t suit him, and Hal redoubled his energies, and called every resource into requisition.
At last it seemed as if triumph were at hand. The customer caught sight of a lot of goods and stopped suddenly before them.
“There!” he exclaimed, “there’s something I should like, if they’re what they seem to be;” and he stooped to examine them.
Hal caught a look from the junior partner which said, “Don’t have any difficulty there; push your advantage,” and he waited anxiously for what should come next.
The inspection was concluded, and the goods pronounced very handsome.
“Now what do you ask for those?”
At another look from the partner, Hal named the price, a trifle lower than the mark.
“That’s reasonable,” said the customer. “I think I’ll take the whole lot;” and Hal’s triumph rose to high-water mark as the junior smiled across to him. A good piece of work for so early in the morning, for this was a man who bought heavily and paid well, but had never brought his patronage to Fenimore & Co. before.
“But wait a moment,” he said, “are these all you have?”
“All we have,” said Hal, “and we had the only invoice. We sold a smaller lot to Pollard & Leighton, and I assure you no one else will have them.”
“Ah! Pollard & Leighton have them? Then I do not care to take them, and as I see nothing else that I require, I will bid you good morning,” and with a bow he left the store.
The junior partner hardly waited for him to be out of hearing.
“And a nice piece of work you’ve made of it for a fellow almost twenty-one, and coming into the firm before long! He didn’t ask you if any of the goods had been sold, and you needn’t have gone out of your way to tell him; but even if you must needs do that, it was quite another thing to give names. We’ve lost that man now, I suppose.”
Hal walked into the next room without a word, more annoyed and chagrined than at anything that had happened since he had been in the store. He had made a great mistake and there was no getting over it, and he had sufficient pride in Fenimore & Co. to feel sorry enough at the best; but the junior being so disturbed about it made the matter worse. However there was no use fretting, and perhaps he should find something in the next room to help him forget it.
Yes there was something sure enough. Tom had got hold of an equally desirable customer, and was making a great swing with him. His spirits were rising tremendously, and by the time he had finished his sale he had forgotten that anything disagreeable had ever happened in the course of his life.
“Who was that?” asked Hal.
“A man from Illinois,” said Tom, “and a pretty good thing we’ve made of it too.”
“Let me see the bill,” said Hal, and he ran his eye over it.
“Look here,” he exclaimed, putting his finger on a point in the list where Tom’s pride was particularly centred, “you didn’t sell him those goods at the price marked here, did you?”
“Of course I did; why not?”
“Why not?” asked Hal, with the sting of the old sneer made sharper than ever by the freshness of his own annoyance, “no reason in the world that I know of, except that it is five cents a yard less than we paid for them.”
Tom stood aghast, and his tongue seem fast to the roof of his mouth. His first week in the salesroom, and a blunder like that! Should he be sent down again in disgrace, or only left to feel as if he ought to be?
Hal’s own trouble went clear out of sight, and he laughed a most exasperating laugh that Tom was only too familiar with.
“Better take that bill down to the senior,” he said. “Illinois is a great state; perhaps he’d like to send you out there to establish a branch.”
Tom’s memory suddenly ran back, he didn’t stop to ask how, to a certain night, years ago, when he sat over his game of chess under Hal’s gaslight, and the same miserable feeling that had sent him home so fast that evening hugged him tight as he went down to the counting-room to have things set right if there was any way to do it. He remembered in what a hurry he had tucked himself away under his blankets that night; but there was no such skulking to be done now; he had got to face things the best way he could.
And he could face almost anything if people only wouldn’t say something disagreeable about it! He supposed it was ridiculous, but it was no use; he would rather any one would knock him down any day. Well, he must try to keep out of Hal’s way for a few days; that was all that could be done this time.
But that was of no use either. Hal stood square in the doorway, with two or three clerks at his side, the next morning, and the very first salute was, “How’s Illinois this morning? Suppose we give three cheers for the Hoosier state?”
For one moment Tom felt as if he could have knocked somebody down; but that wasn’t like Tom, and was gone again as quickly as it came, only the old forlornness that had come to be almost an everyday thing since he came into the store, stuck by.
The last straw breaks the camel’s back, and this time Tom found himself getting desperate. He pushed past Hal, and made his way to his post, but he was thankful enough that no important business came to him that day; he should have made worse work of it than yesterday, for his only thought was how to get out of it altogether, a thousand miles away if he could, he didn’t care where or what became of him afterwards, if only he need never see Hal again! And he would get away! Hal was to be junior partner himself soon, and things would be worse than ever, and even if the day should ever come when the firm kept their promise to Mr. Willoughby, Hal would be above him still; and for ever, so far as he could see. He would rather earn his living with a pick-axe, if he could only be left to feel like a man while he carried it on his shoulder.
“Don’t care what becomes of you, Tom Haggarty! All very well, but what is going to become of the rest waiting for you at home?” whispered something in his ear.
Ah, there it was, and it always came round to that again, no matter what desperate resolves he took up for a moment.
Yes, he supposed he must stick where he was and take what came, though he believed he’d rather be a galley-slave, provided nobody ever spoke to him; it must be he wasn’t much of a man, after all, or nobody would dare taunt him quite as often as Hal!
There was his voice at this moment!
“Where’s the hoosier general betaken himself? I want to inquire how he’s brought out profit and loss this morning;” and Tom heard a laugh from the younger clerks that seemed the echo of Hal’s own.
CHAPTER XXIII.
“Doctor! are you there?” called a voice through Dr. Thorndyke’s speaking-tube, in the dead of night.
“Yes,” was the answer; “what’s wanted?”
“Come down right away, can’t you? It’s Aleck. Uncle Ralph isn’t all right, I think.”
“Wait three minutes for me,” and they were scarcely past when the front-door opened and the doctor was ready.
“What do you say, Aleck? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t tell, indeed,” said Aleck as they hurried on; “some sound I heard led me to fear that he was in trouble, and I went to his room. He seems to be sleeping, but he looks strangely, and I can’t rouse him.”
Neither could the doctor. He knew that as soon as he got one look in the face, but he did not say so; he stepped quietly to the bed and shook him gently by the shoulder, then lifted an eyelid, listened to the heavy breathing, and looked Aleck slowly in the face.
“Stimulants?” asked Aleck, eagerly.
The doctor shook his head.
“No use, my boy; we will try, if you like, but the work is done, I’m afraid.”
Aleck brought something, but only to find, as the doctor said, it was of no use.
“Oh, what is it?” he cried; “what is the matter? Why cannot we do something?”
“Because there is nothing to be done, Aleck, nothing but to wait and watch by him, that he may not be alone at the last.”
“Oh, why would not he listen to me!” groaned Aleck. “It has seemed as if he were beside himself of late, arranging his business. I could not see why he need hurry things so, but I have found him busy over his papers every night when I came home, and left him busy when I went to bed. I was sure he was doing too much, but I never thought of this!”
“That is the secret of it,” said the doctor, “but not the whole secret. He has not been well; he has felt some symptoms probably that urged him to it; either weight alone he might have borne.”
“And there is no hope? He is going to leave us? Oh, do let me call Nelly!”
“Not quite yet,” said the doctor, detaining him gently; “let us watch him awhile. A little nearer morning would be better for Nelly.”
So they watched and waited, and just as morning dawned and Nelly came, Uncle Ralph was gone, not even knowing that any one stood by his side to say good-by.
Gone! Aleck had almost forgotten all the word meant, it was so many years now since he and Nelly were first left alone together, and he had not realized how nearly his father’s place had been filled since his uncle came to make his home at the cottage. And now it was all over again! The world looked dark enough as he opened the front-door to step out into it again the next morning, but it was as real as ever, and making more demands upon him than ever before. There were a thousand things to be done and thought of, and after a day or two Aleck found himself, though still bewildered with all that had happened, called upon on every hand—everything referred to him at the store, and he knew there must be affairs to be attended to beyond what the books could show.
The first thing was to send for his uncle’s lawyer. He came at once, but the usual form of condolence was rather shortened, and he looked in Aleck’s face with a smile.
“And now, sir, you must allow me to present my congratulations to yourself.”
“To me!” exclaimed Aleck, between surprise and anger; what could he mean?
“Yes, sir, to you, as sole heir of your uncle’s estate, which has been supposed for some years to be large, but the amount disposed of in the will may even surprise yourself.”
“The will! I did not suppose a will existed, and indeed I know it did not a while ago.”
“Very possibly,” said the lawyer; “but there is one deposited in my safe at present bearing, I think, the same date with your admission into partnership, and with the exception of a handsome legacy to your sister and to the young man associated with you here—Thorndyke, I think his name is—you will find yourself the recipient of the whole; and I must beg once more to congratulate you on a fortune and a business establishment such as fall to the lot of few young men.”
Aleck stood bewildered, but when Thorndyke heard the news, the “all but me” was forgotten in his smile for once. “O Aleck, it’s glorious! The Prince Royal has given it to you, I know he has, and it’s only the small beginning of what you deserve, and what He’ll find for you some day.”
“What I deserve?” said Aleck, putting his hands on Thorndyke’s shoulders and looking earnestly in his face. “I do not deserve anything from Him.”
Thorndyke shook his head.
“What did He say about a cup of cold water to one of the least? I should have died of thirst if it had not been for the doctor and you; you know that very well.”
“And don’t you think I would rather have had Uncle Ralph than all the fortunes in the world?”
“Yes, I know you would, and I have lost him too; but, O Aleck, you can’t help my being glad for what has happened to you.”
“And something has happened to you, too, young man, if the story is true at all.”
“Oh, I hope not,” said Thorndyke; “that wouldn’t be right. What have I ever done, and I owe him everything! No, Aleck, I want you to take everything, and just let me stay and help you always; that is more than I deserve.”
“Tut,” said Aleck, “we’ll see, my boy; but if you shouldn’t stay by, the old ship would go down on very short notice; you know well enough, I was never anything more than the tail of the comet, since I undertook this business.”
“The story,” as Aleck called it, was quite true, and thanks to all the toil Uncle Ralph had expended upon his affairs, those last few weeks, Aleck stepped into his new dignities with very little perplexity or trouble.
Some people shook their heads and said they were a young set of hands left at Halliday’s, to steer such a craft as that. But they soon found that higher authorities did not think so; the physicians’ patronage came in just the same, so the rest of the world concluded to give up their doubts, and popular as Aleck and Thorndyke had always been, it was more than ever the thing to go to Halliday’s.
So all went on smoothly and well, only they missed Uncle Ralph more than they could tell. But as time wore on, Thorndyke, who was always watching Aleck, thought he saw more of a shadow in his face than even his loss could account for; it was not natural for Aleck to look as if his thoughts were busy with something outside, while people and things close by were forgotten, or only attended to as if they disturbed him. But once or twice when Thorndyke tried to sound him, or even ventured to ask what he was thinking about, he got for answer a sudden lighting up of Aleck’s face, and the old gay laugh that had been music to Thorndyke so many times.
“Thinking about you, old fellow!” he would say, and put his hands on Thorndyke’s shoulders a moment, and for a little while seemed to have come back again. But not for long. He had told the truth, as he always did, and he was thinking about Thorndyke; but that was not all, and the thinking went on, until at last the problem was worked out, questions were settled, and Aleck came back to stay. This time Thorndyke asked no questions; only a quick look and a smile passed between him and Aleck, and they understood each other perfectly. But Aleck had something to say, if Thorndyke did not ask, only not quite yet.
“Not yet,” he said to himself. “I must wait for his birthday; and after waiting all these years, a few months wont count for much.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
The few months slipped away and the birthday came, or at least the day that was always celebrated as such; for though neither Mrs. Ganderby nor any of the other people under the shadow of the old butternut-tree had the least idea when or where the record should have been made, the doctor called him just twelve when he first saw him, and insisted upon a birthday every year that same day in October.
Aleck went to the store an hour before time to catch him and have his talk out before people began to come in. But early as he was, Thorndyke was there before him, and a customer too; so Aleck retreated into the sheltered corner behind the desk to wait his opportunity. Thorndyke gave him a nod and a radiant look as he came in, for these birthdays were times when, for one day in the year, the “all but me” was forced to flee away; the doctor had always planned some excursion, and managed that he could bear it; and the little room, that had seemed such a paradise the first time he saw it, was gradually filling up with treasures, more and more beautiful every year, until the walls would hardly hold anything more. Uncle Ralph’s was missing this time, but all the rest were there, even to old Joan’s; and the flowers that had always come from Nelly since the very first, “went ahead,” as Aleck called it, of all that had ever come before. The doctor was in high spirits, and Thorndyke thought “the princess” had never been so bewitching in her gentle, lovely ways. He couldn’t say “All but me” this morning; he had almost forgotten it, and there was actually a bit of color in his cheeks, and the great eyes shone as Aleck had not seen them since that day he stood before the window so many years ago.
Aleck sat and watched him as he went about to fill the prescription waited for.
“Good for him!” he said to himself; “the boy looks gay this morning. But I declare I wish I didn’t remember how he looked that miserable day at the school. That thing between his shoulders was hardly worth noticing then; I wonder the boys saw it at all—and now! It seems as if it almost buried that splendid head and face of his, and I know the pain is always there by the patient, wistful look out of his eyes. And his step that flew down the street so that I couldn’t catch him that day! It never breaks now from that slow, noiseless way it has. Well, it’s no use thinking what might have been, and I suppose I should never have had him here if all had gone well. Will that man never be ready to go? Ah, there he is actually steering for the door!”
But at the same instant somebody else came in, only a little child, however, wanting something that would take but a moment. So Aleck possessed his soul in patience; there surely would not be any one else in, it was so early.
But what was the matter with Thorndyke?
The child stood innocently enough before the counter, but Thorndyke’s face was growing white, the glow was gone, and sharp lines coming in its place, and the thin fingers trembled so that it seemed as if the package never would be tied. But it was done at last, and Thorndyke handed it to the child with the same smile and the same gentle “Anything more?” that the customers had learned to expect. But when the door was shut, Aleck started. What was the matter? Thorndyke was leaning against the wall, his lips pressed tightly together, and the great veins showing blue and hard on his forehead.
“What is it, Thorndyke?” said Aleck, springing towards him.
Thorndyke covered his face with his fingers, and his whole frame quivered as Aleck had never seen it before, but as the doctor saw it once under the overhanging of the old rock.
“O Aleck, I cannot bear it! Didn’t you see? I can bear anything else. I can let a strong man look down at me, but that wondering, pitying look of a little child! That is the one thing I cannot bear! Oh, why must I always be a soldier? I am so tired, and I had almost forgotten I was one to-day!”
Aleck drew him quickly into the shelter of the desk, and got his arm round his neck.
“There, there, rest a little if you are so tired! you are the bravest little soldier in all the world, and the lightest weapons are the hardest to stand against sometimes. Is that the reason you always get out of the way when a child comes in? I noticed it, but I never knew. Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t, old fellow! don’t mind. I’ve got lots I want to say to you this morning, and I thought it should be such a happy day. If you only knew, if you only would believe how wonderful you are to every one! The doctor and Nelly would think they had nothing in the world to be proud of, if it weren’t for you; and you know what Uncle Ralph thought and everybody else is finding out. And as for fighting, you get victories every day where the strongest of us would go down.”
But Aleck had to wait awhile for his talk. The next customer that came in saw the queer little form going about just as usual, but Aleck knew it was no time for him, and waited till evening when he got Thorndyke by himself in his own room, the fire crackling and the room shining as if there had never been such a thing as a shadow in the world.
“Now, old fellow,” he began, after he had been going on merrily for a while, “I’ve got a little business proposal to make. I want you to buy me out.”
The great eyes opened in amazement.
“Buy you out, Aleck! What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I say,” and then Aleck told him all the sacrifice it had been to him to go into the store to begin with, how he had done it for Nellie’s sake and his uncle’s, and how he had gone steadily through the whole college course out of hours, as well as it was possible to do by himself.
“I had an idea, you see, of slipping off and leaving the coast to you, you were doing so splendidly and Uncle Ralph was so proud of you; but that night he talked to me about the partnership, I saw it would not do then. But now, why not? I know he thought I should always stay, but if he sees how things go among us at all, he sees what it would be to me to get away, and I know what he would say. We’ll never take the name down, old fellow, it shall be Halliday still, and I’ll hang about more or less till you have one more birthday, and when you are twenty-one, up goes ‘Halliday & Thorndyke,’ and I leave you to your own devices altogether.”
“But Aleck, where are you going? What do you want to do?”
“What do I want to do? I want to get my profession: what I have always wanted, and what my father wanted for me. He thought I should be a lawyer, I know, but I should never make one in the world; there is only one profession for me, and I am going to the headquarters you and I think most of. I’m going to study with Dr. Thorndyke. Why shouldn’t a man be a doctor if he wants to?”
“All but me!” The doctor had meant to make one of him, Thorndyke knew that very well. However that was neither here nor there. Aleck was going to leave him; that was all to be thought of now.
“But Aleck!” he cried, and then stopped himself. Aleck had sacrificed everything all these years, because his uncle wanted him; he should never know what the store and life would seem, when he hadn’t him at his side any longer!
“Only you know—why, Aleck, I can’t buy you out! you know very well what I have wouldn’t buy a corner of the store.”
“Well, put that in, if you’re not afraid to risk it, and you shall have the whole profits of the business from to-day onward; and if you manage the old concern as well as I know you can, you will own the whole of it before many years. Uncle Ralph would like it, I know, and I don’t see why we sha’n’t be jolly all around.”
“But Aleck!” said Thorndyke again, “I can’t do it! It would be just taking what belongs to you and putting it in my pocket. I never will do it in the world.”
“Well now, wait a minute,” said Aleck. “I haven’t finished my remarks about it. In the first place, there’s more than I know what to do with, without it, and in the second place, I owe it to you if there wasn’t, for you have made life in the store a different thing to me a thousand times over. Do you think I could ever have kept up heart if I hadn’t thought so much of your being there every day, or could ever have been patient through it all if I hadn’t seen such a little fighter at my side? So that’s settled so far, and now in the third place, I can’t desert the ship, unless you will take the whole command, and if you do you ought to have the whole profits. And in the fourth place,” and Aleck put his arm around his future partner’s neck again in a most unbusinesslike way, “in the fourth place, it’s all in the family, whatever you do and have, you dear, little old soldier? Don’t you know nobody could be closer to us all? Flesh and blood couldn’t bring it any nearer, and if we’re so proud of you now, what will it be by-and-by?”
Nobody could resist Aleck. It was all settled with the doctor and Thorndyke and everybody else, just as he would like it, and before they really knew what he was about, and Thorndyke very soon found himself really steering the ship, and Aleck only “hanging about more or less,” as he had said. A good deal “less,” Thorndyke thought, but it was better than losing him altogether, and he was determined he should never know how he missed him.
CHAPTER XXV.
Tom sauntered into Halliday’s now and then, as he always had, but Thorndyke saw something, he couldn’t tell what, that worried him more and more; at all events Tom looked more hopeless and forlorn every time.
“What a man you’re making, Thorndyke!” he said one day; “it was in you, I suppose, and it wasn’t in me; that’s the difference. But you don’t know what a chance you’ve had. Did Aleck ever badger you or crowd you in all the time you were together?”
“Aleck! Why, you know him, Tom!”
“Yes, I suppose so; only I can’t imagine anybody’s leaving you in peace and quiet all the time. Well, I might have made something, perhaps, if I’d been here, though not much, probably. I always was a stupid, blundering fellow, and never should have been of much account, anyhow. I’m none at all now, though, and I’d give up and let everything go to the bottom, if there was nobody that thought he could hold on to me if I didn’t. They’ll find out their mistake some day; but I suppose I ought to hold on till they do.”
“You wouldn’t like any one else to say that,” said Thorndyke, greatly troubled.
“Well, it’s not very amusing, but I do hear it every day of my life, and so I suppose it must be the truth, even if there are some people kind enough not to tell me so.”
A customer came before Thorndyke had time to answer, and Tom left the store with a slow, listless step. Work was waiting for him, however, and lively enough to stir him up and make him forget whether he could do it well or not, and when this happened, he was sure to do it well. If he had known how often the other partners thought so, it would have changed everything; but he came almost altogether in Hal’s way, and by the time he had done with him, he couldn’t believe that any kind word he had from the others was more than out of charity, and he never had a summons into the counting-room without expecting to be told what a stupid fellow he was, and wondering that it did not come.
But this time “stupid” certainly wasn’t the word. Tom was getting more and more on his mettle as buyers came thicker and faster, and he “was making things fly,” as Aleck would have called it, in a way that Hal almost looked on with envy. Business hours were just coming to a close when his run was over, and he stood near the door having a word with his last customer, and with a record of sales that made him feel as if he was somebody, for a few minutes at least.
“Oh, by the way,” said the customer, “I want a drygoods-box. What is that one worth, and can I have it?”
“Yes,” said Tom, “you can have it; about fifty cents will cover it, I suppose.”
He handed him the amount, and Tom put it in his vest-pocket, and went on laughing and chatting a few moments, feeling his extra spirits a luxury he was tempted to extend over as much ground as possible, and in fact they lasted him fairly home, and even the ghost of them came back with him to business hours in the morning.
But the sound of Hal’s voice calling for the hoosier general dispelled all that was left in a minute; there was nothing that tormented Tom like that nickname, and it seemed as if it never would be done with. Even if it was dropped once in a while, until he began to flatter himself it had really gone under, up it came again, always at a moment when he felt least like bearing it, and he was sure to see some of the younger clerks daring to grin; and what could he say if they did? Hadn’t he made a blunder that almost any of them would have been disgraced for; and if the junior partner chose to remind him of it, he supposed they had a right to grin.
He got through with what Hal wanted, but it seemed to him Hal gave him a peculiar look now and then. There was no mistake about it, and it came oftener and oftener as the day went on. What did it mean? It followed him home after hours, and worried him every time he knew where he was through the night. What had he done now, and how many people would hear of it as soon as he did? He should hear of it soon, he was sure, for the same look was there when he came in the next morning.
“Sent in your accounts, since Thursday’s sales, general?” asked Hal.
“Why, yes, of course,” said Tom.
“Oh, very good,” and the look was more significant than ever.
Poor Tom was miserable again. Should he ever get through life, and be done with it? Unluckily he had to get through to-day first, and it dragged miserably enough, but the next promised no better. There was the look again, and the same question: “Sent in your accounts, general?”
What did it mean? He couldn’t get Hal to say that it meant anything, but the same look and the same question came every day, until it seemed to Tom he should go distracted, and he was divided between thankfulness and agony when he heard Mr. Vickery, the next partner, ask suddenly,
“What do you mean, Fenimore? I’ve heard you ask Haggarty that same thing every day for a week; doesn’t he send in his accounts as a matter of course?”
“I don’t know that he doesn’t,” said Hal, “but I’ve noticed a little deficiency, and I’ve been waiting to see it made up.”
“Deficiency!” exclaimed Tom; “what do you mean?”
“Perhaps you thought the item too trifling for a place in the books,” said Hal, with the old intolerable taunt in his tone; “there are people who don’t like to trouble themselves about trifles.”
“Not business people,” said Mr. Vickery, “and Haggarty knows that well enough; if there is anything wrong, it had better be set right as soon as possible,” and he looked searchingly in Tom’s face.
Tom’s desperation gave him boldness for once, as he stepped in front of Hal.
“Tell me what you mean!” he exclaimed. “Wait a moment, Mr. Vickery, if you please, and hear what he means.”
“Oh, nothing of any consequence, only that I saw you make a sale the other day and put the money in your pocket, and I’ve seen no return of it in your accounts.”
Mr. Vickery’s look was piercing now; Tom stood bewildered for a moment, and then thrust his finger into his vest-pocket with a sharp exclamation such as no one in the store had ever heard him use before.
“I sold a drygoods-box the other day,” he said, “and upon my word and honor I have never thought of it from that moment to this! You know how we had been worked that day, Fenimore, and I had two hours to come after that though it was past time to close then. There is the money, and there it might have been till next year, if you had not reminded me of it, but I think it is the first time my memory has defrauded the house of even such a sum as fifty cents.”
“Possibly,” said Hal, with the sneer still on his face; “but it may be well to look out for it in the future;” and he turned to his books without another word.
“Let it pass, Haggarty,” said the other partner gravely; “it was a trifle to be sure, but the world is built on trifles, and that is one of the first things to be remembered in business.”
Tom turned away with tight-shut lips and a white face. How many had overheard the conversation? There were plenty within reach of it, at any rate, and he might be called a thief all through the store before night! And even if he escaped that, he did not believe Mr. Vickery would ever feel sure of him again. Hal knew better, but he had come very little in the second partner’s way.
CHAPTER XXVI.
All the rest of that day, Tom went about his work like a wooden thing; he answered questions and handled things that came in his way, but his thoughts were running heavily back and forth over the long dreary years since Mr. Willoughby picked him up in his chaise, and always coming round to the same miserable point at last. How brave and patient he had meant to be, how faithful he had tried to be, through it all, for the sake of those at home, and how he had meant to deserve all the promotion he should ever get, and let the firm feel he had repaid them well for all they did for him. And who had ever taken the slightest notice whether he did or not, who had ever been the wiser for it all? And now that it was almost over, now that he thought such recompense as money could give was just before him, to be shunned and sneered at for a thief!
Who had even noticed? He remembered suddenly what Aleck had said to him, that dark terrible time, about One who always did, and was always ready to help.
“Yes,” he said, “I know it. I lived on that all the next year, and I never felt so much like a man in my life; but since I came here, that, and everything else that had any life in it, seems to have been driven out of me. If I could have hung on to it, it might have helped me through everything. It’s my own fault that I didn’t, I suppose, but after a fellow gets to feeling so horridly as I have from one year’s end to another, he lets go of everything sometimes. If I could only have gone somewhere else! There’s Thorndyke now, he never’ll know what a chance he had there, with Aleck always next to him! But there’s an end to everything, and I’ll—”
But up came once more the thought of “the rest at home.” If he left the store, and went out into the world, how many more years might it be before he could be worth anything to them! And where could he go, and what could he do, if he went out from Fenimore’s with such whisperings as were likely to follow him! And yet, it seemed to him another day there would be worse than a thousand deaths. That day was done, at last, at all events, and Tom, as he passed out into the dark, saw no one, and scarcely knew where he was. But a familiar voice sounded in his ears.
“I say, Haggarty, what a hurry you’re in!”
He turned and saw Davis, his old schoolfellow at the professor’s. He had not seen him from that time, until a few days before. He only knew that he went abroad directly after graduating, and had returned within a fortnight, “for a visit.”
“Why, man alive,” he said, as a gaslight fell on Tom’s face, “what’s the matter with you? How white you are! Are you sick?”
“I wish I were,” said Tom, “and sick enough to have an end come to it all,” and then shocked at having said so much to Davis, he stopped suddenly.
“Hallo!” said Davis, “what’s the matter? Is luck bad to-day?”
“I don’t know,” said Tom, “some people never have any, you know. How are you?”
“Look here,” said Davis, drawing Tom’s arm through his, “come along and let’s understand about this. We’re old friends you know. There’s no use in being down about the way the game goes; take heart and throw again, that’s all.”
They walked away, and Davis began to talk of old times and of the changes that had come. “And to think of you being left head of the family and going to business! I was expecting you over there every year for a while, till I found out how things were. Tell me how you like it;” and he went on with one question after another, until before Tom could believe it himself, he had drawn from him a pretty good idea of how matters stood.
“I wouldn’t stay there,” said Davis; “I’d clear out and be found missing some bright morning.”
“Perhaps you would,” said Tom, “with nobody looking to you to be anything to them, and more money than you know what to do with.”
“Oh, is that the difficulty? I didn’t know that was the case; but it isn’t the worst thing in the world to be got over. I can tell you a way to ease matters off and get a start on your own feet before a very long time;” and drawing Tom’s arm closer, he dropped into a low, confidential tone.
“But I can’t!” exclaimed Tom, starting back in horror, as Davis came to his point at last.
“Hold on,” said Davis, and went on talking rapidly in the same low whisper without giving Tom a chance for another word.
“Look here!” said Tom, stopping in his walk, and turning on Davis like some desperate creature driven to bay at last; “what do you take me for? Do you mean to insult me?”
“Pooh!” said Davis, in the most imperturbable tone, regaining his hold on Tom’s arm and drawing him into step again; “don’t fly out with a fellow for trying to befriend you. There are slow ways of getting on in the world, and quicker ones for those who can’t afford to wait, that’s all; and I thought you were in a hurry. If you agree, I’ll introduce you to as gentlemanly a set of fellows as you know, and I’ll warrant you a welcome, for the truth is we want one more, of just your measure too, to make our set complete. Don’t make up your mind in a hurry; it’s early yet. Meet me here again at nine o’clock.”
“But I tell you I wont,” began Tom. “I don’t want to hear any such—”
“Pooh!” interrupted Davis again; “what’s the use of toiling a dozen years under somebody’s thumb when you might make enough to stand on your own feet in as many months? The world owes us a living, anyhow, and I don’t see why handling a bit of paper skilfully isn’t quite as much the gentlemanly thing as measuring away with a yardstick half a lifetime. Just come up like a man, and I’ll be responsible for the rest.”
It was seven o’clock, and for an hour and a half Tom pushed drearily up and down the streets through a drizzling mist, but the fog lay thicker and darker in his own brain. What should he say; what should he do? He must do something, for he would rather die than have another year like the last. Rather die? Of course he would; but people don’t always die for the wishing, and who would there be to take his father’s place if he should?
These thoughts crowded and whirled, and then came Aleck’s words, those words spoken so long ago, but never forgotten, “Some One that always notices.”
“I can’t help it,” he cried; “I believe I’m desperate. I’ve tried to do my best all these years, and what’s the use? as Davis says. Oh, if I only had one friend that really cared for me that I could go to and tell everything! I should have, I suppose, if I was worth it, and Hal would have respected me if I’d been worth it; but he never did, and of course nobody else did, only they were kind enough to keep it out of sight.”
If Tom could only have seen Thorndyke at that moment, and known what he was thinking of as he sat at his desk, with papers pushed away and his eyes fixed somewhere a good way beyond, with a pained and troubled look!
“Hoosier general!” he was saying to himself; “I wonder what that means? Something that Tom winced under, that was plain enough. I don’t see how Fenimore finds it in his heart to worry him so, and I’m sure there’s more of it going on than Tom knows how to get along with. I wish I could do something to help him out of it. I wish I could get him over here; it would be such a comfort now that Aleck is out of the way so much! But he’s doing so well there, and he’s worked his way almost to the top of the ladder, I could never ask him. I heard Fenimore praising him to the rest of the firm the other day, and I don’t wonder.”
But Tom didn’t hear; he plodded up and down without knowing that he was tired, and that he had eaten not a mouthful since morning, and that the drizzling mist had penetrated and chilled him through. He was only thinking of the store and of the hour of going back, and that if he did not soon find some way of escape by which he could still hold on to his duty at home, he was afraid he should let go of it! Oh, why was he left so? Why could not his father have lived? The city bell struck eight, and the echo of Davis’ voice seemed to repeat his words.
“Come up like a man!”
“Like a man!” echoed Tom again. “Like a counterfeiter and forger! What did he want me to bring him Fenimore & Co.’s signature for? He thinks there’s nothing decent in me, like the rest of the world, I suppose. But no one ever thought I could quite make a thief yet!”
He started with a sudden stab of recollection.
“Yes, they have, too! Hal called me a thief, and tried his best to show me off for one! What difference does it make if I go with Davis? And who cares, whatever I do?”
Nine o’clock struck at last, and as he reached the lamppost Davis had marked as a rendezvous, a figure stepped from behind it.
“Oh, here you are! That’s the right kind of a fellow!” whispered Davis, slipping a hand into Tom’s arm. “Now come along and I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.”
“Stop!” said Tom, squaring himself, “I’ll tell you in the outset, I want nothing to do with any black work you may have going on; but if you can take me somewhere where it’s warm and bright, let’s go. I can’t walk here all night, and I can’t go home and talk to people, to save my life.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Cumbermede was ploughing her way merrily under a favoring breeze; her home run was half made, and everything had prospered as if Captain Carter were making his first voyage under a propitious star. His dream was realized at last, and he stood commander on his own quarter-deck. And commander he was indeed; every one on board found that out very speedily, for Carter had aimed at perfection from the day he shipped as a raw hand, and the eight years of holding fast to his motto hadn’t made him less devoted to it. Perfect order, perfect discipline, perfect action, nothing less was accepted; but somehow, instead of the thankless working, like wooden things, that most of them had always found a sailor’s life to mean, every one sprang to his duty with a will, and the ropes were pulled to a merry tune, instead of the unearthly guttural groan that served just as well to keep the time on many a ship.
Almost all were new hands this voyage. Penfield had disappeared long ago, and only the first mate and one of the crew had ever seen the vessel before. But that one stood by like one of her own timbers, “long-limbed Jake.” His name had been on the ship’s papers ever since the voyage when Carter had transferred him to his own watch, and restless as sailors are, always believing the last vessel they sail in the worst that ever ploughed the sea, no departing ship’s company could ever tempt him away with them. He reappeared as regularly as repairs were made and cargo entered, and his only restless times were before Carter came aboard; as soon as his voice was heard, all right, and Jake was himself again, and the best man in the ship’s crew, all officers agreed.
It was rather hard times for Jake, this voyage. It seemed to him life would never be anything again, now that Carter no longer had the watch. But the something, Jake couldn’t have told what, that reached his heart, and kindled a spark of life there, with that first “Belay there, my hearty!” had kept its hold ever since, and did not need many words to help it. The “Take care of yourself, Jake, and there’s a berth for you next voyage if you want it,” as Carter went ashore, and the “On hand again, my man?—that’s all right,” as he came aboard for another voyage, set Jake about his business with a new glow, and the spark grew brighter, and the bit of life warmer, as every trip went on. He had been restless, this time, dreading lest he shouldn’t get his greeting now that Carter came as captain. But there it was, just the same, and with the same hearty tone and friendly look, and with that and his pride in seeing him take command, Jake had enough to live on, though the distance was doubled between them, and orders could never come direct from him again; he should hear his voice at any rate, and could watch for his coming on deck. What it had all been to Jake, Carter could never know, for he couldn’t know all the deadly blackness that had filled his heart that night of Penfield’s watch; and he couldn’t see all the thoughts and memories that crowded the murderous hatred out, as Jake lay in his bunk that night, sobbing like a baby.
They had come back so many times since, that it seemed as if the very bunk would know them.
“It may be true after all,” they began that night, “it may be true after all, what she always taught me, that I’ve got a soul of my own, and the One that made it cares what becomes of it. If He cares for me, mayhap it would be a pity not to care for myself. I might even think of what the old woman at home is always saying, and wonder if it could be true. I can remember the day when it did seem as if I was something more than a dog, and it’s not so many years aback, either; but I’ve been told I wasn’t, till I began to think other folks were right. It’s a hard feeling, though, and goes against a man, if he is a man. And he wouldn’t have looked at me like that if he hadn’t thought I was one!”
It was the same thing over and over many a night, only stronger and clearer as time went on, until Jake’s thoughts ventured a little farther still.
“And if it should be true, that there’s a man in me after all, mayhap there’s something in more of what she had to say. She said the One that made me was looking for something from me; but if he is, he sees plain enough I’ve made a poor cruise of it so far. I’m a good many points out of my course, there’s no mistake about that; the only question is how I’m to get back again. She used to say he’d help me; that he died to bring my reckoning right, and he was ready to head me towards port again. Maybe it’s true. I wouldn’t have believed it once, but they say he’s better than the best of us, and if he’s got more the heart of a man in him than the mate has, he must be ready to lend a hand. Maybe he could bring me to my bearings again, if he’d take the wheel; and I’d set my sails square to the wind, if he would, for it comes rough on a man when he really believes he might make port, and knows he’s drifting on the rocks. And as for anything he wants of me, if there’s more pleasure in bearing a hand or shifting a course for him than there is for the mate, I should draw my pay in advance a hundred times over.”
Out from that dark, comfortless bunk, out from that heart so lately full of bitterness and revenge, went the first upreachings of faith and loyalty towards Him who was waiting and watching for them—the first faint “ay, ay, sir,” to orders that were to save him from going down a wreck. Jake did not know they were the first yielding to whispers he would never listen to before; but the Whisperer knew and cherished them as only He knows how to do. And many a night, as the voyages went on, He drew nearer and said more; and as Jake listened, the lonely heart reached out more strongly towards the Voice, and fell nearer and nearer into its course, the homeward track of a soul that God has called.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Cumbermede had passed the line of gentle winds, and had struck a point where strong ones and even storms might be looked for. Still the sailors took no notice of the clouds; they believed too strongly in luck, and the new captain had been running in a “streak” of it ever since he hoisted anchor for the outward trip; he would get in all safe, no fear of that. But the captain had less faith in his star, and more in watchfulness, and was more frequently on deck as every day went by.
“I don’t like those clouds there to starboard, Morton,” he said to his first officer one afternoon; “they look a little ugly to me.”
The mate took a sharp look towards them.
“I don’t believe there’s much in them,” he said, “and they’re to leeward of us, too, or have been, rather; the wind’s getting round a trifle, I see.”
“That’s just it,” said the captain; “and if it gets round a little farther we may find out what’s in them before night. Keep a good lookout, and I’ll be on deck again in half an hour.”
Before the half hour had passed the wind had shifted decidedly, and was blowing very brisk from where the clouds lay.
“Reef the topsails,” said the captain the moment he came up.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the mate, and passed the order to the men. But the winds worked faster than the men could, and before the order was fairly executed it was time to issue another, and still another followed. All hands were called, and in another half hour the vessel was driving, close-reefed, before a constantly increasing gale. “A half a gale,” as the sailors called it at first, then “a gale of wind,” and by the time the darkness gathered, “a living gale of wind.”
The captain’s voice could be heard clear and sharp above the tempest for some time, but at last it was almost impossible for either his or the mate’s to be distinguished, though there was little to do by that time but to let the vessel drive.
“I don’t know what’s coming of this, Morton,” said the captain during a moment’s lull; “but, however we come out, we’ve done all we can.”
“I’m afraid we have, sir; but I can’t think this will last much longer. It seems to be holding off a little just now; and it would be hard to see anything go wrong so near home, and after such a run as we have had.”
But the momentary lull seemed only to have redoubled the strength of the tempest; the beating and the roar increased until it seemed as if every sail, close-reefed as it was, would be carried away. At last, through all the commotion, a sharp, tearing crash and a heavy fall announced that the foretopmast had yielded to the strain.
“Clear away there!” shouted the captain, and the men sprang forward with their axes. It was almost impossible to do anything, with the vessel pitching as if she would go under with every wave, but the work must be done, and the captain’s voice was heard now above everything.
But something else was not heard: a broken spar, just above the captain’s head, was swaying back and forth, crackling and snapping for one instant before it should come down. Only Jake’s eye, raised for one instant, caught sight of it. To shout or to gesture through the roar and darkness would have been vain; only a momentary flash of lightning had shown the danger to Jake. In one instant, almost like the lightning itself, he was at the captain’s side.
“Stand from under!” he shouted, and pointed upward. The captain sprang aside, Jake turned to do the same, but a pitch of the vessel destroyed his balance. The one second taken to recover it, was the one second too late. With a crash near enough now to be heard over all, the spar was down, and Jake—? Where was he? Overboard? For one moment it seemed so, but another flash showed him lying senseless against the windlass. If he could but have known that it was the captain himself who sprang toward him, lifted him up, and drew him to a place of safety?
In another half hour, as if the storm with this last cruel blow had wreaked its vengeance, it had passed away, a fine steady breeze was all that remained of its force, and the clouds were breaking in rifts along the sky. And with just such a momentary uncertain light as the moon was sending through them, Jake’s consciousness was returning; enough, though to show him that the captain was standing by his bunk and holding water to his lips. That moment repaid Jake for all the bygone years that had made his life a wretchedness.
“On hand again, my man? That’s all right! I was afraid you had shipped for another voyage, and all for my sake too!”
If Jake could only have told him what was in his heart! He would have given worlds to do it, but he could not speak.
“You saved my life, my hearty, and I shall remember that I owe it to you,” said the captain again.
Jake made a tremendous effort. He would speak! “No, captain,” he said, “I owed it to you before! Ever since the night you took me into your watch. I did not know I had a soul, before that, or that anybody cared for it if I had, but when I found you did, I believed Another might. I’ve lived for you ever since, and have tried to live a little for Him, if He’d accept it, and I’d have died for you any day. If I do now, it’s all right, and more than I ever thought He’d grant me. It’s only shipping for another voyage, as you say, and if he takes me safe to port, you’ll follow.”
When the morning sun rose over a calm blue sea, Jake’s voyage was ended, and the Divine hand he had reached out to grasp, in the loneliness of his comfortless bunk, that night so long ago, had steered him safely home!
CHAPTER XXIX.
At the moment Carter was listening to the few words Jake could summon strength to utter, Thorndyke sat in a little office Aleck had enclosed for him at one side of the store, where he could slip away for a little rest now and then without really leaving his new responsibilities, and once more Tom and his fortunes came uppermost in his thoughts.
“I wonder what has become of Haggarty,” he was saying to himself. “I can’t remember when he has been in here. And he didn’t look right, the last time he came. There was a while he seemed quite himself again, but he went down lower than ever before long. I wish I could find out what is going wrong with him. It can’t be anything at the store, for Hal’s making a trip abroad for the firm, and wont be back for another month, and I know the senior partners think well of Tom. Indeed, I suppose he’ll go in himself before long, and yet something is certainly dragging on him. He looks worried and keeps out of the way. I’ve a great mind to go up to the house and see if I can get hold of him.”
Thorndyke got up from his easy chair, a very different affair from the piece of workmanship old Enoch had been so proud of years ago, and went out into the darkness.
“So tired to-day,” was the entry he had made that morning in his pocket journal, the only visible friend that ever heard a word about the pain, or how the battle went; only the great Captain himself heard the rest. “So tired to-day! Should give out utterly if I could leave the store.” But he wanted to find Tom! It was a long walk from the store, but that did not signify; he could rest when he reached there.
No, Tom was not at home and no one could tell him where he might be found. So he turned and retraced his steps—it is a great thing to be used to being tired! It was after midnight when Tom passed Halliday’s and took the same way Thorndyke had gone so wearily over a few hours ago.
“Good night, Haggarty,” Davis’ voice was saying, “don’t be so down, man! What can you expect after letting you share our good times so long, but that we should want a little work out of you some day? All play and no work makes Jack a poor boy, and you’ll just have to let us have that signature. If we make a handsome thing out of it, you go halves, and you certainly couldn’t ask anything more. Perhaps you don’t realize that you’re a little mixed up with us already, one of us, to all intents and purposes, and we could make that plain enough if we chose. We have a claim upon you, mind that.”
Tom plunged on into the darkness hardly knowing or caring which way he took; not a star was to be seen, not a footstep stirred the stillness after Davis’ tread had died away.
Suddenly that echo of Aleck’s words came again, ringing in his ears, “Some One who always sees; who never thinks it beneath him to notice.”
Tom pressed his hands to his forehead. No, no, he could not think of that! He dared not think of it now! If he had only held on to it once! If he could only think, now, that he had one friend who cared for him!