BACK TO THE BREAKER.
It was a dull day in the court-room at Wilkesbarre. The jury trials
had all been disposed of, and for the last hour or more the court
had been listening to an argument on a rule for a new trial in an
ejectment case. It was a very uninteresting matter. Every one had
left the court-room with the exception of the court officers, a few
lawyers, and a half-dozen spectators who seemed to be there for the
purpose of resting on the benches rather than with any desire to hear
the proceedings before the court.
The lawyers on both sides had concluded their arguments, and the judge
was bundling together the papers in the case and trying to encircle
the bulky package with a heavy rubber band.
Then the court-room door was opened, and the sheriff came down the
aisle, accompanied by Ralph and Bachelor Billy. A moment later, Simon
Craft followed them to the bar. Sharpman, who was sitting inside the
railing by a table, looked up with disgust plainly marked on his face
as the old man entered and sat down beside him.
He had prepared the petition for a writ of _habeas corpus_, at Craft's
request, and had agreed to appear in his behalf when the writ should
be returned. He shared, in some small degree, the old man's desire for
revenge on those who had been instrumental in destroying their scheme.
But, as the day wore on, the matter took on a slightly different
aspect in his mind. In the first place, he doubted whether the court
would order Ralph to be returned into Craft's custody. In the next
place, he had no love for his client. He had been using him simply
as a tool; it was time now to cast him aside since he could be of no
further benefit to him. Besides, the old man had come to be annoying
and repulsive, and he had no money to pay for legal services. Then,
there was still an opportunity to recover some of the personal
prestige he had lost in his bitter advocacy of Craft's cause before
the jury. In short, he had deliberately resolved to desert his client
at the first opportunity.
The sheriff endorsed his return on the writ and filed it.
The judge looked at the papers, and then he called Bachelor Billy
before him. "I see," he said, "that you have produced the body of the
boy Ralph as you were directed to do. Have you a lawyer?"
"I ha' none," answered the man. "I did na ken as I needit ony."
"We do not think you do, either, as we understand the case. The
prothonotary will endorse a simple return on the writ, setting forth
the production of the boy, and you may sign it. We think that is all
that will be necessary on your part. Now you may be seated."
The judge turned to Sharpman.
"Well, Mr. Sharpman," he said, "what have you to offer on the part of
your client?"
Sharpman arose. "If the court please," he responded, "I would
respectfully ask to be allowed, at this juncture, to withdraw from
the case. I prepared and presented the petition as a matter of duty
to a client. I do not conceive it to be my duty to render any further
assistance. That client, either through ignorance or deception, has
been the means of placing me in a false and unenviable light before
the court and before this community, in the suit which has just
closed. I have neither the desire nor the opportunity to set myself
right in that matter, but I do wish and I have fully determined to
wash my hands of the whole affair. From this time forth I shall have
nothing to do with it."
Sharpman resumed his seat, while Craft stared at him in astonishment
and with growing anger.
He could hardly believe that the man who had led him into this scheme,
and whose unpardonable blunder had brought disaster on them both, was
now not only deserting him, but heaping ignominy on his head. Every
moment was adding to his bitterness and rage.
"Well, Mr. Craft," said the judge, "what have you to offer in this
matter? Your attorney seems to have left you to handle the case for
yourself; we will hear you."
"My attorney is a rascal," said Craft, white with passion, as he
arose. "His part and presence in that trial was a curse on it from the
beginning. He wasn't satisfied to ruin me, but he must now seek to
disgrace me as well. He is--"
The judge interrupted him:--
"We do not care to hear your opinion of Mr. Sharpman; we have neither
the time nor the disposition to listen to it. You caused this
defendant to produce before us the body of the boy Ralph. They are
both here; what further do you desire?"
"I desire to take the boy home with me. The judgment of this court
is that he is my grandson. In the absence of other persons legally
entitled to take charge of him, I claim that right. I ask the court to
order him into my custody."
The old man resumed his seat, and immediately fell into his customary
fit of coughing.
When he had recovered, the judge, who had in the meantime been writing
rapidly, said:--
"We cannot agree with you, Mr. Craft, as to the law. Although the
presumption may be that the jury based their verdict on the boy's
testimony that he is your grandson, yet their verdict does not state
that fact specifically, and we have nothing on the record to show it.
It would be necessary for you to prove that relation here and now, by
new and independent evidence, before we could place the boy in your
custody under any circumstances. But we shall save you the trouble of
doing so by deciding the matter on other grounds. The court has heard
from your own lips, within a few days, that you are, or have been,
engaged in a business such as to make thieving and lying a common
occurrence in your life. The court has also heard from your own lips
that during the time this child was in your custody, you not only
treated him inhumanly as regarded his body, but that you put forth
every effort to destroy what has since proved itself to be a pure and
steadfast soul. A kind providence placed it in the child's power to
escape from you, and the same providence led him to the door of a man
whose tenderness, whose honor, and whose nobility of character, no
matter how humble his station in life, marks him as one eminently
worthy to care for the body and to minister to the spirit of a boy
like this.
"We feel that to take this lad now from his charge and to place him
in yours, would be to do an act so utterly repugnant to justice, to
humanity, and to law, that, if done, it ought to drag us from this
bench in disgrace. We have marked your petition dismissed; we have
ordered you to pay the cost of this proceeding, and we have remanded
the boy Ralph to the custody of William Buckley."
Simon Craft said not a word. He rose from his chair, steadied himself
for a moment on his cane, then shuffled up the aisle, out at the door
and down the hall into the street. Disappointment, anger, bitter
hatred, raged in his heart and distorted his face. The weight of
years, of disease, of a criminal life, sat heavily upon him as he
dragged himself miserably along the crowded thoroughfare, looking
neither to the right nor the left, thinking only of the evil burden of
his own misfortunes. Now and then some one who recognized him stopped,
turned, looked at him scornfully for a moment, and passed on. Then he
was lost to view. He was never seen in the city of Wilkesbarre again.
He left no friends behind him there. He was first ridiculed, then
despised, and then--forgotten.
* * * * *
It was two weeks after this before Ralph was able to return to his
work. So much excitement, so much mental distress and bodily fatigue
in so short a time, had occasioned a severe shock to his system, and
he rallied from it but slowly.
One Monday morning, however, he went back to his accustomed work at
the breaker.
He had thought that perhaps he might be ridiculed by the screen-room
boys as one who had tried to soar above his fellows and had fallen
ignominiously back to the earth. He expected to be greeted with
jeering words and with cutting remarks, not so much in the way of
malice as of fun. He resolved to take it calmly, however, and to give
way to no show of feeling, hoping that thus the boys would soon forget
to tease him.
But when he came among them that morning, looking so thin, and
pale, and old, there was not a boy in all the waiting crowd who had
the heart or hardihood to say an unpleasant word to him or to give
utterance to a jest at his expense.
They all spoke kindly to him, and welcomed him back. Some of them did
it very awkwardly indeed, and with much embarrassment, but they made
him to understand, somehow, that they were glad to see him, and that
he still held his place among them as a companion and a friend. It was
very good in them, Ralph thought, very good indeed; he could scarcely
keep the tears back for gratitude.
He took his accustomed bench in the screen-room, and bent to his task
in the old way; but not with the old, light heart and willing fingers.
He had thought never to do this again. He had thought that life held
for him some higher, brighter, less laborious work. He had thought to
gain knowledge, to win fame, to satisfy ambition. But the storm came
with its fierce blasts of disappointment and despair, and when it had
passed, hope and joy were engulfed in the ruins it left behind it.
Henceforth there remained nothing but this, this toilsome bending over
streams of flowing coal, to-day, to-morrow, next week, next year. And
in the remote future nothing better; nothing but the laborer's pick
and shovel, or, at best, the miner's drill and powder-can and fuse. In
all the coming years there was not one bright spot to which he could
look, this day, with hope. The day itself seemed very long to him,
very long indeed and very tiresome. The heat grew burdensome; the
black dust filled his throat and lungs, the ceaseless noise became
almost unendurable; the stream of coal ran down and down in a dull
monotony that made him faint and dizzy, and the bits of blue sky seen
from the open windows never yet had seemed to him to be so far and far
away.
But the day had an end at last, as all days must have, and Ralph came
down from his seat in the dingy castle to walk with Bachelor Billy to
their home.
They went by a path that led through green fields, where the light of
the setting sun, falling on the grass and daisies, changed them to a
golden yellow as one looked on them from the distance.
When they turned the corner of the village street, they were surprised
to see horses and a carriage standing in front of Mrs. Maloney's
cottage. It was an unaccustomed sight. There was a lady there talking
to Mrs. Maloney, and she had a little girl by her side. At the second
look, Ralph recognized them as Mrs. Burnham and Mildred. Then the lady
descended from her carriage and stood at the door waiting for Bachelor
Billy and the boy to come to her. But Ralph, looking down at his black
hands and soiled clothing, hesitated and stopped in the middle of the
road. He knew that his face, too, was so covered with coal-dust as to
be almost unrecognizable. He felt that he ought not to appear before
Mrs. Burnham in this guise.
But she saw his embarrassment and called to him.
"I came to see you, Ralph," she said. "I want to talk to you both. May
I go into your house and find a chair?"
Both boy and man hurried forward then with kindly greetings, and
Bachelor Billy unlocked the door and bade her enter.
She went in and sat in the big rocking-chair, looking pale and weak,
while Ralph hurried away to wash the black dust from his face and
hands.
"Ye were verra kind, Mistress Burnham," said the man, "to sen' Ralph
the gude things to eat when he waur sick. An' the perty roses ye gie'd
'im,--he never tired o' watchin' 'em."
"I should have come myself to see him," she replied, "only that I too
have been ill. I thought to send such little delicacies as might tempt
his appetite. I knew that he must be quite exhausted after so great a
strain upon his nervous system. The excitement wore me out, and I had
no such struggle as he had. I am glad he has rallied from the shock."
"He's not ower strang yet; ye ken that by lukin' at 'im; but he's a
braw lad, a braw lad."
The lady turned and looked earnestly into Bachelor Billy's face.
"He's the bravest boy," she said, "the very bravest boy I ever knew
or heard, of, and the very best. I want him, Billy; I have come here
to-night to ask you if I may have him. Son or no son, he is very dear
to me, and I feel that I cannot do without him."
For a minute the man was silent. Down deep in his heart there had been
a spark of rejoicing at the probability that Ralph would stay with him
now indefinitely. He had pushed it as far out of sight as possible,
because it was a selfish rejoicing, and he felt that it was not right
since it came as a result of the boy's misfortune.
And now suddenly the fear of loss had quenched it entirely, and the
dread of being left alone came back upon him in full force.
He bit his lip before replying, to help hold back his mingled feeling
of pleasure at the bright prospect opening for Ralph, and of pain for
the separation which must follow.
"I dinna ken," he said at last, "how aught could be better for the
lad than bein' wi' ye. Ye're ower kin' to think o' it. It'll be hard
partin' wi' im, but, if the lad wishes it, he s'all gae. I ha'
no claim on 'im only to do what's best for 'im as I ken it. He's
a-comin'; he'll speak for 'imsel'."
Ralph came back into the room with face and hands as clean as a
hurried washing could make them. "What thenk ye," said Bachelor Billy
to him, "that the lady wants for ye to do?"
"I don't know," replied the boy, looking uneasily from one to the
other; "but she's been very good to me, an', whatever it is, I'll try
to do it."
"I want you to go home with me, Ralph," said Mrs. Burnham, "and live
with me and be my son. I am not sure yet that you are not my child. We
shall find that out. With the new light we have we shall make a new
search for proofs of your identity, but that may take weeks, perhaps
months. In the meantime I cannot do without you. I want you to come to
me now, and, whatever the result of this new investigation may be, I
want you to stay with me and be my son. Will you come?"
She had taken both the boy's hands and had drawn him to her, and was
looking up into his face with tenderness and longing.
Ralph could not speak. He was dumb with the joy of hearing her kindly
earnest words. A light of great gladness broke in upon his mind. The
world had become bright and beautiful once more. He was not to be
without home and love and learning after all. Then came second
thoughts, bringing doubt, hesitancy, mental struggling.
Still he was silent, looking out through the open door to the eastern
hills, where the sunlight lingered lovingly with golden radiance. On
the boy's face the lights and shadows, coming and going, marked the
progress of the conflict in his mind.
The lady put her arm around him and drew him closer to her, regardless
of his soiled and dusty clothing. She was still looking into his eyes.
"You will come, will you not, Ralph? We want you so much, so very
much; do we not, Mildred?" she asked, turning to her little daughter,
who stood at the other side of her chair.
"Indeed we do," answered the child. "Mamma wants you an' I want you.
I don't have anybody to play wiv me half the time, 'cept Towser; an'
yeste'day I asked Towser if he wanted you, an' Towser said 'bow,' an'
that means 'yes.'"
"There! you see we all want you, Ralph," said Mrs. Burnham, smiling;
"the entire family wants you. Now, you will come, won't you?"
The boy had looked across to the little girl, over to Bachelor Billy,
who stood leaning against the mantel, and then down again into the
lady's eyes. It was almost pitiful to look into his face and see the
strong emotion outlined there, marking the fierceness of the conflict
in his mind between a great desire for honest happiness and a stern
and manly sense of the right and proper thing for him to do. At last
he spoke.
"Mrs. Burnham," he said, in a sharp voice, "I can't, I can't!"
A look of surprise and pain came into the lady's face.
"Why, Ralph!" she exclaimed, "I thought,--I hoped you would be glad
to go. We would be very good to you; we would try to make you very
happy."
"An' I'll give you half of ev'ry nice thing I have!" spoke out the
girl, impetuously.
"I know, I know!" responded Ralph, "it'd be beautiful, just as it was
that Sunday I was there; an' I'd like to go,--you don't know how I'd
like to,--but I can't! Oh, no! I can't!"
Bachelor Billy was leaning forward, watching the boy intently,
surprise and admiration marking his soiled face.
"Then, why will you not come?" persisted the lady. "What reason have
you, if we can all be happy?"
Ralph stood for a moment in deep thought.
"I can't tell you," he said, at last. "I don't know just how to
explain it, but, some way, after all this that's happened, it don't
seem to me as though I'd ought to go, it don't seem to me as though
it'd be just right; as though it'd be a-doin' what--what--Oh! I can't
tell you. I can't explain it to you so'st you can understand. But I
mus'n't go; indeed, I mus'n't!"
At last, however, the lady understood and was silent.
She had not thought before how this proposal, well meant though it
was, might jar upon the lad's fine sense of honor and of the fitness
of things. She had not realized, until this moment, how a boy,
possessing so delicate a nature as Ralph's, might feel to take a
position now, to which a court and jury had declared he was not
entitled, to which he himself had acknowledged, and to which every one
knew he was not entitled.
He had tried to gain the place by virtue of a suit at law, he had
called upon the highest power in the land to put him into it, and his
effort had not only ended in ignominious failure, but had left him
stamped as a lineal descendant of one whose very name had become a
by-word and a reproach. How could he now, with the remotest sense of
honor or of pride, step into the place that should have been occupied
by Robert Burnham's son?
The lady could not urge him any more, knowing what his thought was.
She could only say:--
"Yes, Ralph; I understand. I am very, very sorry. I love you just the
same, but I cannot ask you now to go with me. I can only hope for a
day when we shall know, and the world shall know, that you are my son.
You would come to me then, would you not, Ralph?"
"Indeed I would!" he said. "Oh, _indeed_ I would!"
She drew his head down upon her bosom and kissed his lips again
and again; then she released him and rose to go. She inquired very
tenderly about his health, about his work, about his likes in
the way of books and food and clothing; and one could see that,
notwithstanding her resolution to leave Ralph with Bachelor Billy, she
still had many plans in her mind, for his comfort and happiness. She
charged Billy to be very careful of the boy; she kissed him again, and
Mildred kissed him, and then they stepped into the carriage and the
restless brown horses drew them rapidly away.