FROM FRIEND TO FRIEND.
Terry's face when he heard Captain Afleck's startling news was verily a
study. The joy which the moment before had irradiated it vanished like
a flash, and in its place came a look of blank despair that would have
touched a heart of stone.
"Whirra, whirra!" he moaned, shaking his head dolefully; "and what's to
be done now? We can't walk all that way, can we?"
In spite of his mental distress the big seaman burst out into a laugh.
"Walk all the way, Terry!" he cried; "not a bit of us. If I can't
manage better than that, you can put me down for a first-class booby."
At this moment a hand was laid gently on his shoulder, and turning
round he found at his side the gentleman who had been unintentionally
the cause of their mishap.
"Pardon my addressing you," said he courteously, "but I am really very
much grieved that you should have been put to so much inconvenience on
my account. Won't you do me the favour to come home with me to lunch?
My carriage is waiting for me."
For a moment Captain Afleck hesitated. Then, seeing that the
invitation was sincere, and feeling glad to find a friend in his time
of need, he looked at Terry, saying, "Shall we go with the gentleman,
Terry?"
Terry nodded a vigorous assent. So the invitation was accepted, and
presently they were rolling up Fifth Avenue in a luxurious carriage,
wondering what good fortune awaited them.
The carriage stopped at a handsome residence, into which they followed
their host, and being shown by a servant into a dressing-room, were
enabled to make their toilet before going to lunch.
Mr. Travers had no family, and they were therefore spared the ordeal of
facing female society, while his genial manner soon put them both so
entirely at their ease, that almost unconsciously they told him their
whole story, since the collision in Boston Harbour. Nor did their
confidence stop there; for Terry, his heart responding to the old man's
kindly interest, was moved to go further back, and tell his own
history, from the time he saved Miss Drummond's life.
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Mr. Travers when he had finished--"Mr. Drummond, of
Drummond and Brown. I know him well. We've had business relations
these many years. Now, Terry, my lad, I want to say that I believe you
fully, and that this very night I will take upon myself to write to Mr.
Drummond and say so; and when you go back to Halifax you'll find him
ready to receive your explanations, and to take you back into his
office."
How Terry's heart leaped at this, and with what boyish ardour he
expressed his gratitude! Halifax seemed very near now, and it was
brought still nearer when Mr. Travers proceeded:--
"As to your getting home, of course you will allow me to provide for
that--nothing else would be fair, and it will perhaps in some measure
make amends for what you have had to endure."
So the upshot of it was, that when the captain and Terry bade good-bye
to their new-found friend, the former had sufficient funds to pay all
expenses of the homeward journey, and with light hearts they made their
way to the station.
Once more in the train, and speeding towards Boston, they lolled about
on the cushion of the car in great good-humour.
"Well, Terry, my son," said the captain, bestowing upon him a look of
mingled affection and admiration, "you do have the greatest luck of any
fellow I ever saw. I give you credit for the whole of it, seein' that
I've never had much of it myself. No matter what sort of a scrape we
get into, out we come again smiling, and not a bit the worse. If your
luck holds, you'll be a great man some day, Terry, and no mistake."
Terry laughed, and curled up still more comfortably on the crimson
cushion.
"Faith, you make me proud, captain," he responded. "But where do you
come in yourself? Sure, it 'ud be no easy job to say where I'd be this
very minute if you'd not looked after me."
Much pleased in his turn, Captain Afleck leaned over and twitched
Terry's ear in a not ungentle fashion.
"I guess you can take pretty good care of yourself, my hearty," said
he. "Some fine day you'll be one of the bosses at Long Wharf, wearing
a big gold chain, and fine black suit, and a tall shiny hat, while, if
I'm alive, I'll be nothing better than I am now, glad if I can knock
out a living with my schooner--if I ever get another one."
"No you won't, captain," cried Terry, springing up with eyes shining
with emotion; "nothing of the kind. If ever I do get to be one of the
bosses, you shall be captain of the best ship the firm owns, and go
round the world in her, if you like."
Captain Afleck gave the boy a tender smile as he took hold of his hand.
"I know you mean every word of it, Terry; and, who knows, perhaps some
of it may come true some day."
And so they whiled away the time as the swift train sped northward.
Shortly after nightfall Terry went to sleep, and the captain, growing
weary of the confinement of the car, took advantage of a lengthy
stoppage at a junction to get out and stretch his legs. There were
trains on both sides of the platform, and it fell out that the mariner,
little used to land travel, presently lost his bearings, with the
result that, hearing the shout, "All aboard," and seeing a train move
off, he jumped on to the rear car, thinking it was all right.
Not until he had passed through to the next car did he discover that he
was mistaken. But by that time the train had gathered such speed that
to jump off was to risk life, so with a groan of, "Oh, but I'm the
dunderhead. How is poor Terry to get along now?" he threw himself into
a seat to wait for the conductor, from whom he might learn how soon he
could leave this train and set off in pursuit of the right one.
When the conductor did appear the captain was dismayed to find that he
was flying off due west in the direction of Chicago, instead of due
north in the direction of Boston, and that it would not be possible for
him to retrace his way until the following morning, while the train
which carried Terry would reach Boston that very night.
"Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk," soliloquized Captain Afleck
on receiving this information. "I must only make the best of it for
myself; but poor little Terry, who's to look after him? and he hasn't a
copper in his pocket."
It was some little time after the train had moved off without the
captain before Terry awoke. When he did, and looked about him for his
companion, his first thought was,--
"Oh, he's gone into one of the other cars," and he gave himself no
concern.
Presently, however, beginning to feel lonely, he thought he'd go in
search of him, and accordingly he went through the four passenger cars,
looking eagerly for the stalwart sailor.
Discovering no signs of him, he grew anxious, and questioned the
brakesman. But he could tell him nothing; and all the conductor knew
was that a man answering to Terry's description had been out on the
platform at the junction walking up and down while the train stopped.
"Do you think he's fallen under the cars, and been killed?" exclaimed
Terry, his eyes enlarged to their utmost extent at the awful notion.
"Not much," responded the conductor curtly. "Guess he went to get a
drink in the restaurant, and let the train go off without him. You
needn't worry. He'll be along by the express."
This explanation, albeit not altogether satisfactory to Terry, for he
knew the captain was practically a teetotaller, nevertheless served, in
lieu of a better one, to allay his apprehensions somewhat; and, having
inquired when the express would be along, he went back to his seat,
determined not to let the other passengers see how deep was his
distress.
For, in spite of the conductor's suggestion, he could not dismiss from
his mind the idea of some harm having befallen his kind friend, and he
worried far more over this than he did over the fact of his being
without money to pay his way when he did arrive in Boston.
It was within two hours of midnight when the train rolled into the
station, and Terry, tumbling out on the platform, looked about him with
blinking eyes of bewilderment.
"Faith, it's a lost dog I am now, and no mistake," he said, gazing
around at the confusing crowds of people, the hurrying officials, the
shouting hack-drivers, and all the other elements of confusion at a
great railroad terminus. "I'd like mighty well to know what to do now,
seein' I've never a copper in my pocket, and don't know a blessed soul
in the place."
In the hope of finding Captain Afleck, he waited until the express
train came in of which the conductor had spoken. But there was no sign
of the strayed sailor; and realizing that there was nothing to be
gained by hanging about the station, Terry went out into the streets, a
waif in a fuller sense than ever before in his life.
Yet his brave bright spirit refused to be overwhelmed. The night was
fine and warm; the streets were bright, and lined with fine buildings.
If the policemen would only let him alone, he would make a shift to get
through the night somehow, and trust to obtaining help from some
quarter in the morning.
So he strolled along through street after street, entertaining himself
with comments upon the people and buildings he passed, and keeping a
sharp eye open for any place that might promise a quiet haven for the
night.
In this way he came to a cross-street between two important
thoroughfares, and turning into it, he knew not why, he was brought to
an open door, whence issued sounds of singing.
He loved music of every kind, and this singing was so sweet and fervent
that it drew him little by little further inside the door, until,
almost before he knew it, he found himself in a bright attractive hall,
set with chairs, and nearly filled by a gathering of men and women,
singing heartily a gospel song, the like of; which he had never heard
before.
There was something so genial in the atmosphere of the place that the
homeless boy resolved to stay if he would be permitted, and so taking a
seat in the nearest corner he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the
music.
Soon a young man espied him and came towards him. Was he going to turn
him out? Poor Terry's heart sank, and he felt his face becoming
crimson. But his fears were all unfounded. Instead of asking him to
leave, the young man held out his hand, saying with a cordial smile,--
"You're very welcome, my boy. Come up nearer; and here's a hymn-book
to sing from."
Terry would have preferred his corner, but he felt it would be
ungracious to refuse so kind an invitation, and he therefore followed
obediently till he was assigned a seat not far from the desk, at which
stood a venerable man with long white beard, whose countenance seemed
to radiate tenderness and sympathy.
When the singing ended, the leader began to speak. His theme was the
love of Christ for sinners, and he spoke with rare simplicity and
winning force. Terry listened with every faculty attent. It was all
strangely new to him. What little religious instruction he had got in
the Roman Catholic Church was in no way a preparation for this earnest,
direct, personal gospel, which not only took a strong hold upon his
heart, but seemed to arouse some sort of response there, as though it
were awakening faculties which had been hitherto dormant.
The speaker evidently observed the boy's rapt attention, for he turned
upon him many a look of loving appeal, that made Terry feel as though
he were looking right down into his heart and reading all that was
there.
Yet, strange to say, Terry had no disposition to resent this. So
spell-bound was he that he could hardly have resisted any command the
old man might have laid upon him; and when, at the close of his
address, the leader invited all who wished to learn more about the
Saviour to remain for a little while after the meeting had been
dismissed, Terry was among those who stayed in their seats.
Not only so, but when this after-meeting came to an end Terry still
lingered, partly because he was loath to go out again into the strange
streets, which offered him no refuge for the night, and partly because
he wanted to hear something more about this Jesus, who seemed so
different from the only Son of Mary of whom he had any knowledge.
The venerable leader, the moment he was disengaged, went up to Terry,
and laying his hand kindly on his head, said in a tone of great
tenderness,--
"Well, my dear boy, I am very glad to see you here; and do you love
Jesus too?"
The full purport of this question Terry hardly grasped, and not knowing
what answer to make he hung his head in silence, whereupon the leader
added gently,--
"Never mind answering that question just now. Come with me. I'm going
home, and you can tell me all your story there."
Completely won by the gracious charm of his manner, Terry lifted his
head, and looking up gratefully into the noble countenance bending over
him, said,--
"Indeed, sir, I'm glad you've asked me, for it's without a place to
sleep in I am this night."
"You shall be all right with me, then," was the cordial response. "Let
us go now, and you can tell me about yourself as we walk along."
Passing on through the now deserted streets, Terry told his new-found
friend much of the story of his life, his narration being listened to
with deep sympathy and interest. As they stopped at the door of a
comfortable-looking house the old gentleman said,--
"Providence has put you in my way, my boy, and it will be my joy to
assist you to the best of my ability. Here is my home. You shall
share it until the way opens for you to continue your journey."
A beautiful old lady gave them both a warm welcome and a bountiful
supper, to which Terry did full justice, for he had been fasting since
mid-day.
Then his host told him something of the place where they had met. It
was a midnight mission carried on by himself, at his own expense, for
the benefit of fallen humanity. This was his life-work, and he
rejoiced in it, because of the many opportunities it afforded him of
being both a temporal and a spiritual helper to the victims of vice or
of misfortune. Terry felt irresistibly drawn towards Mr. Sargent and
his wife, whose hearts so overflowed with love; and when they proposed
that he should stay with them for a few days, in order that he might
try to find Captain Afleck, he gladly assented.
Thus it came about that he was with these kind good people for the
remainder of the week, looking about the streets and wharves for the
captain in the day-time, attending the mission meetings at night, and
all the time being more and more deeply influenced by the beautiful
piety of his friends.
Recognizing how much Terry had to learn of the very essentials of
religion, Mr. Sargent took abundant pains to make the matter clear to
the Irish boy, whose warm heart readily responded to the argument from
the infinite love of the Father, and he had his reward in finding his
pupil laying hold upon the truth with a grasp that would not be readily
shaken.
Each day the attachment between them deepened, until Mr. Sargent began
to wish that he might keep Terry altogether; he discovered in him such
possibilities of good.
But, sincerely grateful as he was, Terry's anxiety to get back to
Halifax grew keener every day. He seemed so near now, and there were
vessels sailing every day, on one of which he could without difficulty
obtain a passage.
Of Captain Afleck no trace could be found. As a matter of fact, he,
too, on reaching Boston had spent some time hunting for Terry; but
being unsuccessful, concluded that Terry had gone on to Halifax, and
accordingly gave up the search until he should hear from that place.
It had just been arranged that Terry should take the train for Halifax
one afternoon, when, in the morning, walking along Tremont Street, he
caught sight of a familiar face over the way, and darting across the
street he cried delightedly,--
"Mr. Hobart! is it yourself?"