THE WAY OPENS.
The seed thus sown by Miss Drummond began to take root at once. Terry
now gave more thought to getting a chance to make a start in life than
he did to having a good time. And here, as it happened, fortune
favoured him in a most unusual way. On the Saturday morning of the
week after the talk which had set him thinking, he was sitting at the
end of the Long Wharf watching a big steamer making her way slowly up
the harbour. It being the noon hour, the wharf hands were all away at
dinner, and the place was almost deserted.
Suddenly he was startled out of his reverie by the sound of hoofs
beating with alarming rapidity upon the resounding planks, and turning
round he saw what caused him to spring to his feet with every nerve and
muscle athrill. Thundering down the wharf in blind and reckless flight
came Miss Drummond's pony, while in the carriage behind sat the owner,
tugging desperately upon the reins, her face white and set with terror.
Acting upon the first impulse of the moment, Terry ran forward,
shouting and waving his cap. Then, seeing that to be of no avail, he
sprang at the maddened creature's head, hoping to seize the reins. But
by a quick swerve the pony eluded him, and the next moment plunged
headlong off the end of the wharf, dragging the carriage and its
helpless occupant after her. There was a piercing shriek, a splash, a
whirl of seething foam, and then the clear green depths closed over all!
For the first moment, Terry, overcome by the startling suddenness of
the accident, knew not how to act. Then the impulse to rescue welled
up mightily in his breast, and at once he leaped into the disturbed
waters, which closed over his curly head.
Rising almost instantly to the surface, he looked eagerly about him,
and caught sight of a hand thrust up in the agony of a struggle for
life. A few quick strokes brought him to it, and then, taking in the
situation intuitively, he swerved round so as to grasp Miss Drummond at
the neck. He had not spent his life about a wharf without learning
something of the difficulty of dealing with drowning persons, and that,
strong, expert swimmer as he was, he must not suffer those hands to
fasten their frantic grip upon him, or it would mean death for both.
So, deftly avoiding the girl's wild clutch, he took good hold of her
from the back, and saying beseechingly, "Keep ye still now, ma'am, and
I'll save ye all right," shoved her through the water in the direction
of the wharf. Happily she was a young woman of rare self-possession.
As soon as she felt Terry's firm hand her terror gave way to trust.
She ceased her vain strugglings, and committed herself to her rescuer.
Otherwise, indeed, the poor boy could hardly have been equal to the
task. As it was, his strength just lasted until he reached the first
row of barnacle-covered spiles; pressing Miss Drummond up to which he
hoarsely directed her--"Take good hold of that now, ma'am, and I'll
yell for somebody."
But he did not need to yell twice. Already helpers had gathered above
them, and were shouting down words of encouragement; and a moment later
a boat darted round the corner of the wharf, propelled by eager oarsmen.
On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond, yielding to the reaction,
fainted for the moment; whereat Terry, who had never seen a woman faint
before, set up a wail of grief, thinking she must be dead.
[Illustration: "_On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond fainted
for the moment._"]
"Oh, the dear lady's dead!" he cried. "Ye must be getting a doctor
quick."
But the others reassured him, and to his vast delight the blue eyes
opened again to give him a look of inexpressible gratitude ere the boat
touched the landing-steps.
Here Mr. Drummond, pale and trembling, the first thrill of numbing
horror having just given place to ecstatic joy, awaited them. The
instant the boat was within reach he sprang into it, and, regardless of
her dripping garments, clasped his daughter to his breast, kissing her
again and again, while his quivering lips murmured, "My darling, my
darling! God be thanked for your rescue!"
Releasing herself gently from his arms, Miss Drummond reached out her
hand for Terry, who was just scrambling awkwardly ashore.
"Don't forget to thank him too, father," she said, with a meaning smile.
Thus reminded, Mr. Drummond, blushing at the excess of feeling which
had caused him to forget everything save that his only daughter, the
joy and pride of his life, had been saved from death, laid hold of
Terry, and drew him back into the boat, where, taking both the boy's
hands in his, he said in tones of deep emotion,--
"My boy, you have done my daughter and me a service we can never
adequately repay. But all that grateful hearts can do we will not fail
to do. Tell me your name and where you live."
Poor Terry was so abashed at being thus addressed by the great Mr.
Drummond that his tongue refused its office. But one of the bystanders
came to his relief.
"Sure and he's Black Mike's son, sur, and he lives up Blind Alley," was
the information volunteered.
Accepting it as though it came from Terry himself, Mr. Drummond, giving
the boy's hands another grateful shake, said,--
"Thank you. You will hear from me before the day ends."
Then taking his daughter by the arm, he continued,--
"Come now, darling; we must make all haste up to my office, and see
what can be done for you."
Not until she stepped upon the wharf did Miss Drummond remember her
pony. Then the question as to what had become of it flashed into her
mind, and she turned to look down the wharf, exclaiming,--
"Oh, but my pony! Poor, dear Dolly! What's become of her?"
"Never mind the pony, dear," said Mr. Drummond; "the men will look
after her. Come, come; you'll catch your death of cold staying out
here in your dripping clothes."
Somewhat reluctantly Miss Drummond obeyed. Reassuringly though her
father had spoken, she had misgivings as to her pony's fate--misgivings
which were in fact only too well founded; for, dragged to the bottom by
the weight of the carriage, the poor creature had been drowned in spite
of its desperate struggles.
When the Drummonds disappeared, Terry found himself the centre of a
circle of admirers, each of whom sought in his own way to give
expression to his admiration and envy.
"Sure and your fortune's made this day, Terry, me boy," said the
storeman, who wished in his heart that he had been lucky enough to
rescue his employer's daughter. "Mr. Drummond's not the man to forgit
his word; and didn't he say he'd do anything in the world for ye?"
But Terry's triumph was complete when the appearance of his father
lounging sullenly back to work, with a short clay pipe between his
teeth, was hailed with shouts from the crowd of,--
"Mike! Mike! come here wid ye, till we tell ye what yer boy's been
doin'. Oh, but you're the lucky man to have a boy like Terry!"
Without a change in his dark countenance, or a quickening of his step,
Black Mike drew near, and silently awaited explanations. When the
matter was made clear to him, his face did brighten a little; but
whether it was with pride at his son's achievement, or selfish pleasure
at the prospect of the benefits that might accrue from it, the keenest
observer would have been puzzled to say.
He managed, however, to get out something that more closely approached
praise than anything Terry had ever heard from his lips before, and
this delighted the boy so that he had to execute a few steps of his
favourite clog dance to relieve his feelings. Then, bethinking himself
that he had stayed long enough inside his uncomfortably wet clothing,
he raced up the wharf, and made for his home in Blind Alley.
Here his mother received him with a shower of questions, in the
answering of which he found rare delight.
"Me blessed boy!" the excited woman exclaimed, her feelings strangely
divided betwixt horror at the thought of the risk her son had run and
joy at its successful issue. "It's proud I am of you this day. No
doubt but ye'll be your mother's comfort."
"And make ye ride in a carriage with glass sides, eh, mother?" said
Terry with a merry twinkle in his eye.
"Ah! now don't be talking such foolishness, Terry," returned Mrs.
Ahearn, in a tone that implied to do so was tempting Providence
perchance. "If your old mother has only a bit and sup sure to the end
of her days, and a decent gown to put on, she'll be content enough
without the carriage."
That afternoon Mr. Drummond picked his way carefully through the perils
of Blind Alley to the grimy tenement where the Ahearns abode, and
inquired for Terry. The latter, having exchanged his wet garments for
the only others his scanty wardrobe contained, had gone down again to
Long Wharf; so, after exchanging a few kind words with his mother, Mr.
Drummond followed him thither, saying to himself, as he cautiously
stepped from stone to stone, for the alley was little better than a
mere muddy gutter, "The boy must be detached from these surroundings if
anything is to be made of him. And he has a bright face. He ought to
have good stuff in him. Certainly he shall have a fair trial at my
hands, for I owe him more than money can repay."
On reaching his office, Mr. Drummond sent one of the clerks out to hunt
Terry up, and presently he returned with the lad in tow, looking very
bashful and ill at ease. He was attired in his "Sunday best," and
boasted a face and hands of unwonted cleanliness. The merchant gave
him a warm greeting, and made him sit down in a chair in front of him,
while he scanned his countenance closely.
"My dear boy," said he after a pause, and seeming well satisfied with
the result of his inspection, "as I have already told you, I feel that
I am indebted to you for a service the worth of which cannot be put
down in money; and it is not by offering you money that I would prove
my gratitude. The money would be soon spent, leaving you no better,
and possibly worse, than before it was given you. No; you have saved
my daughter's life, and in return I want to save yours, though in a
somewhat different way. Look me straight in the eyes, please."
For the first time since he had entered Mr. Drummond's presence Terry
lifted his big brown eyes, and looked full into his face, his freckles
being submerged in the warm flush that swept over his face as he did so.
"Ah!" said Mr. Drummond, "I was not mistaken. Your face gives warrant
of many good qualities that you've had small chance to develop thus
far. It will be my privilege and pleasure to give you the opportunity
circumstances have hitherto denied you. How would you like to go to a
nice school?"
Terry had been listening with eager attention and brightening
countenance; but at the mention of the word "school" his face suddenly
fell, and from the restless twitching of his body it was very evident
that the idea had no attraction for him at all.
Mr. Drummond's keen eye did not fail to note the effect of his
question, and without stopping to argue the point he promptly put
another.
"Well, then, how would you like to be taken into my office and taught
to be a clerk?"
Instantly the boy's face burst into bloom, so to speak, and giving the
merchant a look which said as plain as words, "I hope you really mean
it," he exclaimed,--
"Sure, sir, an' it's now ye're talkin'."
Mr. Drummond could not suppress a smile at Terry's quaint phrase that
went so straight to the mark.
"You shall have your own way then," he responded in his pleasantest
tone, "and you may begin as soon as you like. Let me just say this to
you, my boy," he continued, drawing Terry towards him with one hand,
and placing the other on his shoulder. "I want to be your friend for
life. You can always rely upon that. But I cannot do for you what you
alone can do for yourself. You will meet with many trials and
temptations that you will have to fight all by yourself. I will at all
times be glad to give you the best counsel I can. But in the end you
must make your own way. No one else can make it for you. By being
faithful to my interests, Terry, you will most surely advance your own.
Never forget that. And now, good-bye for the present. Mr. Hobart in
the outer office has some business to do with you right away, and I
will look for you bright and early on Monday morning."
Rather relieved at the interview being over, and feeling as though he
would have to go prancing and shouting down the whole length of Long
Wharf to give vent to his delight at what Mr. Drummond had said, Terry
slipped out of the merchant's sanctum, and found a pleasant-looking
young man evidently awaiting him in the office.
"Come in here, Terry," said he, "and tell us your good-luck."
In the fulness of his heart Terry was only too glad to find a
confidant, and without reserve he related all that had been said, as
well as he could remember it.
"Phew!" whistled the clerk. "You've got on the right side of the old
man, and no mistake. No putting you off with a sovereign and a
paragraph in the papers. Whatever he says goes, I can tell you. Come
along now; I'm to have the pleasure of making a swell out of you."
In some bewilderment as to Mr. Hobart's meaning, Terry obediently
accompanied him up to Granville Street, where they entered a
gentleman's outfitting establishment, before whose broad plate-glass
windows the boy had often stood in covetous appreciation of the fine
things so dexterously displayed therein. With an air of easy
self-possession that Terry profoundly admired, Mr. Hobart called upon a
brilliantly-arrayed clerk to show them their ready-made clothing. They
went into the rear part of the shop, and then the purpose of their
coming was made clear.
"You're to have a complete outfit of good clothes, Terry," said Mr.
Hobart. "And Mr. Drummond, knowing my good taste in such matters, has
put the business in my hands, so you'll please be good enough to
entirely approve of my selections."
His manner was so kind and pleasant that Terry felt as though there was
hardly anything on earth that he would not have been willing to do for
him, let alone approving of the benefactions he was the instrument of
bestowing.
"Indeed that I will, sir," he responded, with a warmth that made the
clerk smile in such a patronizing way that Mr. Hobart cut him short by
saying curtly,--
"Well, then, let me see something in the way of pepper-and-salt tweeds."
So the work of fitting Terry out began. Mr. Hobart seemed no less
particular than if he were choosing the various articles for his own
wardrobe. He had _carte-blanche_ from Mr. Drummond, and the matter of
cheapness was not to be taken into account. It all seemed like a
beautiful dream to Terry. A fine suit of clothes, that fitted him as
though they had been cut to order; a pair of scarlet braces with bright
brass clasps such as his heart had often vainly hungered for; three
good flannel shirts for week-day wear, and three lovely linen ones for
Sabbaths; a sheaf of collars and a roll of cuffs; and, finally, to top
it all, a hard felt hat, the like of which had never before been on his
head;--one after another were these fine feathers procured, and the
money for them paid down from a bundle of notes which Terry, in his
ignorance of money in that form, thought must contain at least a
thousand pounds.
It took over an hour to complete the business, Mr. Hobart evidently
enjoying it in no small degree himself. At last, however, he seemed
satisfied with his work, and giving Terry a friendly clap on the back,
he said,--
"There, now; you're qualified to be a credit to Drummond and Brown's
office, so far as appearance goes at all events. You can trot along
home now. They'll send the things there for you."
Eager to tell his mother of the wonders of the day, Terry darted off,
and in a few minutes was at home in Blind Alley. With many
exclamations of gratitude to the "blessed saints," and many interjected
questions, did Mrs. Ahearn listen to his wonderful story; and when the
parcels arrived, she spread out their contents upon the bed and fell
upon her knees before them. For many years her life had known but
scant rays of sunshine, and this sudden outburst almost overwhelmed
her. With trembling fingers she gently touched the different articles,
as though to assure herself that her eyes were not playing her false.
Then rising to her feet again, her eyes streaming and lips quivering,
she threw her arms around Terry and hugged him to her heart.
With a mother's fond prescience she grasped the fact that in him, and
in him alone, had she hope of redress for the sorrows which had so
deeply shadowed her life. Terry's chance had come, and his future and
hers depended upon the way in which he availed himself of it.