Tom Darcy, yet a young man, had grown to be a very hard one. Although
naturally kind-hearted, active, and intelligent, he lacked strength of
will to resist temptation, and had therefore fallen a victim to
intemperance. He had lost his place as foreman of the great
machine-shop, and what money he now earned came from odd jobs of
tinkering which he was able to do here and there at private houses;
for Tom was a genius as well as a mechanic, and when his head was
steady enough, he could mend a clock or clean a watch as well as he
could set up and regulate a steam-engine, and this latter he could do
better than any other man ever employed by the Scott Falls
Manufacturing Company.
One day Tom was engaged to mend a broken mowing-machine and reaper,
for which he received five dollars; and on the following morning he
started for his old haunt, the village tavern. He knew that his wife
sadly needed the money, and that his two little children were
absolutely suffering for want of clothing, and that morning he held a
debate with the better part of himself, but the better part had become
weak, and the demon of appetite carried the day.
So away to the tavern Tom went, where, for two or three hours, he felt
the exhilarating effects of the alcoholic draught, and fancied himself
happy, as he could sing and laugh; but, as usual, stupefaction
followed, and the man died out. He drank while he could stand, and
then lay down in a corner, where his companions left him.
It was almost midnight, when the landlord's wife came to the barroom
to see what kept her husband up, and she quickly saw Tom.
"Peter," said she, not in a pleasant mood, "why don't you send that
miserable Tom Darcy home? He's been hanging around here long enough."
Tom's stupefaction was not sound sleep. The dead coma had left his
brain, and the calling of his name stung his senses to keen attention.
He had an insane love of rum, but he did not love the landlord. In
other years, Peter Tindar and he had wooed the same maiden,--Ellen
Goss,--and he had won her, leaving Peter to take up with the
sharp-tempered damsel who had brought him the tavern, and Tom knew
that lately the tapster had gloated over the misery of the woman who
had once discarded him.
"Why don't you send him home?" demanded Mrs. Tindar, with an impatient
stamp of her foot.
"Hush, Betsey, he's got money. Let him be, and he'll be sure to spend
it before he goes home. I'll have the kernel of that nut, and his wife
may have the husk."
Betsey turned away, and shortly afterward Tom Darcy lifted himself up
on his elbow.
"Ah, Tom, are you awake?"
"Yes."
"Then rouse up and have a warm glass."
Tom got upon his feet and steadied himself.
"No; I won't drink any more to-night."
"It won't hurt you, Tom--just one glass."
"I know it won't!" said Tom, buttoning up his coat by the solitary
button left. "I know it won't!"
And with this he went out into the chill air of midnight. When he got
away from the shadow of the tavern, he stopped and looked up at the
stars, and then he looked down upon the earth.
"Aye," he muttered, grinding his heel in the gravel, "Peter Tindar is
taking the kernel, and leaving poor Ellen the worthless husk,--a husk
more than worthless! and I am helping him do it. I am robbing my wife
of joy, robbing my dear children of honor and comfort, and robbing
myself of love and life--just that Peter Tindar may have the kernel,
and Ellen the husk! We'll see!"
It was a revelation to the man. The tavern-keeper's speech, not meant
for his ears, had come on his senses as fell the voice of the Risen
One upon Saul of Tarsus.
"We'll see!" he said, setting his foot firmly upon the ground; and
then he wended his way homeward.
On the following morning he said to his wife, "Ellen, have you any
coffee in the house?"
"Yes, Tom." She did not tell him that her sister had given it to her.
She was glad to hear him ask for coffee, instead of the old, old
cider.
"I wish you would make me a cup, good and strong."
There was really music in Tom's voice, and the wife set about her work
with a strange flutter at her heart.
Tom drank two cups of the strong fragrant coffee, and then went out,
with a resolute step, and walked straight to the great manufactory,
where he found Mr. Scott in his office.
"Mr. Scott, I want to learn my trade over again."
"Eh, Tom, what do you mean?"
"I mean that it's Tom Darcy come back to the old place, asking
forgiveness for the past, and hoping to do better in the future."
"Tom," cried the manufacturer, starting forward and grasping his hand,
"are you in earnest? Is it really the old Tom?"
"It's what's left of him, sir, and we'll have him whole and strong
very soon, if you'll only set him at work."
"Work! Aye, Tom, and bless you, too. There is an engine to be set up
and tested to-day. Come with me."
Tom's hands were weak and unsteady, but his brain was clear, and under
his skilful supervision the engine was set up and tested; but it was
not perfect. There were mistakes which he had to correct, and it was
late in the evening when the work was complete.
"How is it now, Tom?" asked Mr. Scott, as he came into the
testing-house and found the workmen ready to depart.
"She's all right, sir. You may give your warrant without fear."
"God bless you, Tom! You don't know how like music the old voice
sounds. Will you take your old place again?"
"Wait till Monday morning, sir. If you will offer it to me then, I
will take it."
At the little cottage, Ellen Darcy's fluttering heart was sinking.
That morning, after Tom had gone, she found a dollar bill in the
coffee-cup. She knew that he left it for her. She had been out and
bought tea and sugar, and flour and butter, and a bit of tender steak;
and all day long a ray of light had been dancing and glimmering before
her,--a ray from the blessed light of other days. With prayer and
hope she had set out the tea-table, and waited; but the sun went down
and no Tom came. Eight o'clock--and almost nine.
Hark! The old step! quick, strong, eager for home. Yes, it was Tom,
with the old grime upon his hands, and the odor of oil upon his
garments.
"I have kept you waiting, Nellie."
"Tom!"
"I did not mean to, but the work hung on."
"Tom! Tom! You have been to the old shop!"
"Yes, and I'm bound to have the old place, and----"
"Oh, Tom!"
And she threw her arms around his neck, and pressed a kiss upon his
lips.
"Nellie, darling, wait a little, and you shall have the old Tom back
again."
"Oh, I have him now! God bless you, my husband!"
It was a banquet, that supper--with the bright angels of peace, and
love, and joy, spreading their wings over the board.
On the following Monday morning, Tom resumed his place at the head of
the great machine-shop, and those who thoroughly knew him had no fear
of his going back into the slough of joylessness.
A few days later, Tom met Peter Tindar on the street.
"Eh, Tom, old boy, what's up?"
"I am up, right side up."
"Yes, I see; but I hope you haven't forsaken us, Tom."
"I have forsaken only the evil you have in store, Peter. The fact is,
I concluded that my wife and little ones had fed on husks long enough,
and if there was a good kernel left in my heart, or in my manhood,
they should have it."
"Ah, you heard what I said to my wife that night."
"Yes, Peter; and I shall be grateful to you for it as long as I live.
My remembrance of you will always be relieved by that tinge of warmth
and brightness."