Grandpa surprised him by springing on him suddenly from behind the
corner with a shout of "Merry Christmas!" Grandpa had been waiting there
for ten minutes, and was as pleased as a child at having caught Bobby.
The latter dressed and went hunting for other game. Mrs. Fox was an easy
victim. Amanda he stalked most elaborately, ducking below the chairs and
tables, exercising the utmost strategy to approach behind her broad
back. Apparently his caution succeeded to admiration. Amanda went on
peeling apples, quite oblivious. And then, just as he was about to
spring upon her from the rear, she remarked, in an ordinary tone of
voice and without moving her head:
"Merry Christmas, ye young imp! I know you're there!"
This was a disappointment; but Bobby bagged Martin by hiding in the
storehouse; and Duke was too easy.
After breakfast came the inevitable delay during which Bobby sat and
eyed the parlour doors. Mr. Orde slipped in and out of them several
times. Martin, too, entered on some mysterious errand regarding the
heating. Finally everything was pronounced in readiness. All the family
but Bobby went into the parlour. Suddenly both doors were thrown back at
once. Bobby stood face to face with the Tree.
It stood, glittering and glorious, set like a jewel in the velvet of the
darkened room. Only the illumination of its own many little candles cast
radiance on its decorations and the parcels hung from its branches and
piled beneath, and dimly on the half-visible circle of the family
sitting motionless as though part of a spectacle.
Bobby drew a deep breath and entered. What a changed tree from the one
he had hung with cranberries and popcorn the day before! The cranberries
and popcorn were still there; but in addition were glittering balls, and
strings of silver, and coloured glass bells, and candy birds and angels
with spun-glass wings, and clouds of gold and silver tinsel and
cornucopias, and candy in bags of pink net, and dozens of lighted
candles, and on the very top the great silver Star of Bethlehem.
Most of the gifts were wrapped in paper and tied with green and red
ribbon. Two or three, however, were too large for this treatment, and
stood exposed to view. Bobby could not help seeing a sled--a real
sled--painted red. He declined, however, to see another larger article
quite on the other side the tree. By a perversity of will he thrust it
entirely out of his head, as though it did not exist, unwilling to spoil
the effect of its final realization.
For a full minute Bobby stood in the centre of the stage, his sturdy
legs spread apart, his hands clasped tight behind him, his eyes blinking
at the splendour. Finally he sighed.
"My, that tree's just--just--_scrumptious!_" he breathed.
The interest that had held the circle of elders silent and motionless,
like a mechanical setting for the tree, broke in a laugh. Mr. Orde
arose.
"Well, let's see what we have," said he.
He advanced and picked up a package.
"'For Grandma Orde from her loving daughter,'" he read the inscription.
"Here you are, grandma. First blood!"
Rapidly the distribution went forward. Cries of delight, of surprise
and of thanks, the rustle of many wrapping papers filled the air. Around
each member of the family these papers, tossed carelessly aside in the
impatience of the moment, accumulated knee-deep. The servants, very
clean and proper in their Sunday best, stood in a constrained group near
the door, holding their gifts, still wrapped, awkwardly in their hands.
Bobby for a few moments was kept very busy acting as messenger. By
custom his was the hand to deliver to the servants their packages. Then
grown-up excitement lulled, and he had time to gloat over his own
formidable pile.
The sled he at once turned over. Glory! Its runners were of the
round-spring variety--the very best. They were dull blue and unpolished
as yet, of course; but that fact was merely an incentive to much
coasting. Another knife filled his heart with joy! for naturally the
birthday knife was broken-bladed by now. A large square package proved
to contain a model steam engine with a brass boiler and what looked like
a lead cylinder; its furnace was a small alcohol lamp. Seven or eight
books of varying interest, another pair of knit socks from Auntie Kate,
a half-dozen big glass marbles, a box of tin soldiers completed the
miscellaneous list. A fat, round, soft package, when opened, disclosed a
set of boxing-gloves.
"Now you and Johnny can have it out," observed Mr. Orde.
Another square package held two volumes from Mr. Kincaid. They were
thick volumes with pleasant smelling red leather covers on which were
stamped in gold the name and the figure of a man in very old-fashioned
garments aiming a very old-fashioned fowling-piece at something outside
of and higher than the book. "Frank Forrester's Sporting Scenes and
Characters: The Warwick Woodlands" spelled Bobby. He lingered a moment
or so over the fat red volumes.
Each of the servants contributed to Bobby's array; for they liked Bobby
and his frank manly ways. Martin gave a red silk handkerchief whose
borders showed a row of horses' heads looking out of mammoth horseshoes.
Amanda presented him with a pink china cup-and-saucer on which were
scattered bright green flowers. Mrs. Fox's offering was,
characteristically, a net-work bag for carrying school books.
The Christmas tree was stripped of everything but its decorations. Even
some of the candles had burned dangerously low and had been
extinguished. The servants had slipped away.
"Here, youngster," admonished Mr. Orde, "aren't you going to get all
your presents? You haven't looked behind the tree yet."
And then at last Bobby permitted himself to see that of which he had
been aware all the time; but which, by an effort of the will he had made
temporarily as unreal to himself as St Paul's in London. Behind the
tree, furnished, repainted, wonderful, to be reverenced, stood high and
haughty the self-inking, double roller, 5 x 7 printing press!
"What do you say to that?" cried Mr. Orde.
But Bobby had nothing to say to that. He was too overwhelmed. He
approached and pulled down the long lever. Immediately, as the platen
closed, the two rollers rose smoothly across the form and over the round
ink-plate, which at the same time made a quarter-revolution. At the nice
adjustment and correlation of these forces Bobby gave a cry of
admiration.
"Look in the drawers," advised his father.
The little boy pulled open one after another the shallow drawers in the
stand to which the press was fastened. Some were filled with leads and
quoins and blocks. Some were regular type-cases, plenished with
glittering new fonts all distributed. One contained a small composing
stone, a cleaning brush, a composing stick, a pair of narrow-pointed
pliers, a mallet and planer. Everything was complete.
"Don't you think Auntie Kate was pretty good to a little boy I know?"
asked Mrs. Orde.
"Did Auntie Kate give me all this?" asked Bobby.
"She certainly did," replied his mother.
Now the family, bearing each his presents, moved into the sitting room
to give Mrs. Fox and Martin a chance to clean up the débris. Bobby
arranged his things on the sofa. Suddenly there came to him the uneasy
feeling of having reached the end. He had mounted above the first joy
and surprise and anticipation. It was all comprehended; nothing more was
to follow. Novelty had evaporated, like the volatile essence it is; and
Bobby had not as yet entered the fuller enjoyment of use. He could not
calm to the point of doing more than glance restlessly through the
books; he had not recovered sufficiently from his morning excitement to
settle down making his engine go, or to trying his press, or to playing
with any of his new toys. There descended upon him that peculiar and
temporary sense of emptiness, which, being revealed by youngsters and
misunderstood by elders, often brings down on its victim the unjust
accusation of ingratitude.
Luckily Bobby was not long left to his own devices. A wild whoop from
outside summoned him to the window; and what he saw therefrom caused him
to jump as quickly as he could into his out-door garments.
By the horse-block stood a very black and very chubby pony. It wore a
beautiful brass-mounted harness, atop its head perched a wonderful red
and white pompon, to it was hitched a low, one-seated sleigh on the
Russian pattern, with high grilled dash, and two impressive red and
white horse-hair plumes. In this rig-in-miniature sat Johnny English, a
broad grin on his face.
"Look what I got for Christmas!" he cried to Bobby. "Jump in and have a
ride!"
Bobby jumped in, and they drove away. The pony trotted very busily with
more appearance of speed than actual swiftness. The little sleigh, being
low to the ground, emphasized this illusion; so that the two small boys
had all the exhilaration of tearing along at a racing gait.
"This is great!" cried Bobby. "What else did you get?"
"Yes, and there's a two-wheeled cart for summer," said Johnny; "and when
you slide the seat forward a little and let down the back, it makes
another seat. I'll show you when we go back."
Shortly they decided to do this. Johnny attempted to turn in his tracks,
as he had seen cutters do on the Avenue. But here the snow was not
packed flat, as it is on the thoroughfare, so that when the twisting was
applied one runner promptly left earth, and the whole sleigh canted
dangerously. A moment later, however, in response to the frantic
counterbalancing of two frightened small boys and the sensible coming to
a halt of the fuzzy pony, it sank back to solidity.
"Gee!" breathed Johnny, wide-eyed, "That was a close squeak!"
They turned more cautiously, and in a wide circle, and jingled away
toward home. It might be mentioned that the bells were not strung as a
belt to encircle the pony, but were attached below to the underside of
the thills in such a manner as to contribute chimes.
"What's his name?" asked Bobby, referring to the pony.
"He hasn't any. I got to name him."
"I knew a very nice horse once. His name was Bucephalus," remarked Bobby
tentatively.
"I tell you!" cried Johnny, who had not been listening. "I'll name him
Bobby, after you!"
"Oh!" cried that young man. "Will you?" He gazed at the pony with new
respect.
"It'll mix things up a little, though, won't it?" reflected Johnny. "I
tell you. We'll call him Bobby Junior. How's that?"
"That's fine!" agreed Bobby gravely.
In the dead cold air of the Englishes' barn, which was situated in an
alley-way, the block above their house, Bobby and Johnny examined the
cart, admired its glossy newness, and, under the coachman's
instructions, experimented with the sliding seat. They took a peek
through the folding door into the stable where stood the haughty horses.
These, still chewing, slightly turned their heads and rolled their fine
eyes back at the intruders, then, with a high-headed indifference,
returned to their hay. After this the boys scuttled into the small,
overheated "office" with its smell of leather and tobacco and harness
soap; with its coloured prints of horses, and its shining harness behind
the glass doors; with its cushioned wooden armchairs, its sawdust box
and its round hot stove with the soap-stones heating atop. Here they
toasted through and through; then clumped stiffly down to the Englishes'
house, where Johnny exhibited his other presents. They were varied,
numerous and expensive. Bobby's Christmas was as dear to him as ever;
but it no longer filled the sky. Another and higher mountain had lifted
itself beyond his ranges. The eagerness to exhibit triumphantly to
Johnny which, up to this moment, he had with difficulty restrained, was
suddenly dashed. It hardly seemed worth while.
"Come over and see my things," he suggested without much enthusiasm.
"It's dinner time now, Bobby," objected Mrs. English, who had just come
in. "After dinner."
"All right; after dinner, then," agreed Bobby. "Bring Caroline," he
added as an after-thought.
That demure damsel had also her array of presents, of which she seemed
very proud, but which did not interest Bobby in the slightest. They
seemed to be silver-handled scissors, and pincushions, and embroidered
handkerchief-holders and similar rubbish.
But when Johnny--without Caroline--appeared shortly after the elaborate
Christmas dinner the production of which constituted Grandma Orde's
chief delight in the day, Bobby's enthusiasm returned. Johnny went wild
over the printing press. Experience with the toy press had given him a
basis of comparison.
"My!" he ejaculated at last, "I believe I'd rather have this than Bobby
Junior!
"Now," continued Johnny, "we can get all sorts of orders. I'll ask papa
about envelopes and letter-heads this evening."
XIX
THE BOXING MATCH
Early after breakfast next morning appeared Johnny.
"I asked Papa about envelopes. He says he won't give us an order until
he sees samples of the type and the work, but he says if we can do it as
well as the regular printer, he doesn't mind giving us an order for a
thousand. Here's one."
The boys ascended at once to Bobby's room. Investigation of the fonts
showed that the firm possessed the proper type. Bobby set up the matter
in the composing stick--and promptly pied it when he attempted to move
it to the chase. He had forgotten to put a lead in first, so there was
nothing to bind the top line. Redistribution and rectification of the
error were in order. It took a good half-hour to get the type properly
arranged in the chase. When single letters did not drop through from the
middle, the ends of the lines fell away, and then, try as they would,
the boys were unable to lock the stickful in the chase. Either it would
not bind, or it warped out or in so that even without trial it could be
seen that a clear impression was manifestly impossible. These and other
mechanical difficulties occupied them until noon. Johnny was wild-eyed
and nervous.
"Why, we haven't even started to print!" he cried, "We'll never get a
job done at this rate! I don't believe the old press is any good,
anyhow!"
"Yes, it is," insisted Bobby doggedly. "We'll get it yet."
He hardly finished his lunch, so eager was he to be back at the problem.
Johnny did not come until after two o'clock, and then stood his hands in
his pockets, surveying his absorbed partner with some disgust.
"Well," said he, "is the old thing working yet?"
Bobby looked up absorbedly.
"She's going to in just a second--you wait," he muttered.
A moment later he lifted the locked form in triumph. It held together
and it was flat. Immediately Johnny's nearly extinct enthusiasm flamed
up.
"Stick her in!" he cried. "Come on, we can show Papa a sample to-night.
How many an hour do you suppose we can print on her, Bobby?"
"I don't know," replied Bobby.
They inserted the form, slipped a blank envelope in the corner and were
ready for the first trial.
"It won't be even on the paper," said Bobby, "but we can fix that
later."
He pulled down and back the long lever and the two heads bumped together
over the result. One side of the legend was very heavy and black and
clear, but the other was almost invisible.
"Oh, snakes!" cried Johnny in disappointment.
"Oh, that's all right," reasoned Bobby out of his experience with the
toy press. "All it needs is paper underneath."
But paper underneath proved inadequate. It was impossible with paper to
establish the nice gradation necessary to equalize the pressure. And
then, also, too much paper made too deep an impression.
At the failure of this tried expedient even Bobby's patience ran short
for the time being.
"Come on over to my house," suggested Johnny crossly. "The crowd's
coming. I got boxing gloves for Christmas too, but I bet they're no good
either. I bet they rip first thing."
Sore at heart and in glum silence the two marched around the corner to
the Englishes'.
Here already in the cold third story were Grace Jones and Martin Drake,
skipping about in a game of hop-scotch to keep warm. Shortly May and
Carter arrived together and Caroline ascended from her own room where
she had been sewing. At sight of the boxing gloves May and Morton set up
a shout.
"Nope," vetoed Johnny, "Bobby and I are going to try them first!"
The youngsters were at first a little awkward with the unusual-sized
fists, but soon forgot a detail as trivial as that. Neither knew the
first principles of hitting. Round-arm blows with the head lowered were
first choice, of which a good ninety per cent. went wild. The other ten
naturally had little force, but there was a great deal of action. In
this game Bobby stood no disadvantage with Johnny. After the first few
seconds, finding himself, to his surprise, still unhurt, he sailed in
with some confidence. Accidently Johnny ran square against his extended
fist. It jarred Johnny considerably, and made that youth exceedingly
eager to get even. Shortly he succeeded. The pair warmed up. Affairs
began to get serious. In a brisk though wild rally they clinched, and in
a moment were rolling over and over on the floor, pummelling vigorously.
But immediately Carter jerked them apart.
"Here, that's no way to box. Keep your feet. Here, May, give us a little
help."
They pulled the contestants to their feet. Johnny and Bobby were very
mussed up and dusty. Johnny's nose was bleeding slightly; Bobby's eye
was a trifle swelled. The instant their captors released them, they went
at it again, hammer and tongs. They were certainly not angry as enemies
are angry, but as certainly for the time being, in the sense that each
was grimly resolved on victory, they had ceased to be friends.
How long the combat might have lasted it would be impossible to say.
Bobby had never before used his fists, while the aggressive Johnny, at
public school, was the hero of many fights. But as long as Carter
insisted on no rough-and-tumble this fact gave the elder boy little
advantage. The damage that two light-weights can inflict on each other
with round-arm blows is inconsiderable, and Bobby was of the sort that
punishment merely renders obstinate. Probably sheer lack of breath would
in time have called the battle a draw, but all at once Bobby had an
idea. So illuminating and sudden was it that for an instant he forgot
what he was doing. Johnny closed on him like a tiger beating him with
both fists as hard as he could hit. Even then Bobby's thought was not of
defence but of explanation.
"Hold on! hold on! quit!" he kept on crying in expostulation. "Wait a
minute! I got it!"
It is doubtful if Johnny heard him. Before Carter and May could stop him
he had inflicted more damage than the rest of the fight had produced.
Bobby's nose too was bleeding, and a huge red bump was swelling on his
forehead when finally he was freed.
However, he was not even aware of those trifles.
"Don't you know those two screws--" he began eagerly to Johnny.
But that young gentleman, panting, was not yet emerged from the red haze
of combat.
"I licked!" he cried. "Didn't I lick? He quit! He hollered 'nuff, didn't
he? I licked the stuffing out of him!"
"O shut up!" said May contemptuously; "or I'll lick the stuffing out of
you."
Bobby, practically oblivious to the meaning of this exchange, had
stripped off his gloves and had advanced, eager to finish his
explanation.
"Johnny, I just thought!" said he. "You remember those two thumb screws
under the platen? I bet you if you turn those, they'll regulate the
pressure. Let's go over and try it!"
Johnny looked at Bobby uncertainly. He drew a deep breath, then his
round, cheerful grin broke over his face.
"I guess I didn't lick you after all, old socks," said he. "I don't know
what you're talking about. Go on try your old press. I'm sick of her."
Bobby washed his bruised face and went home. Sure enough, the thumb
screws did regulate the pressure. Within a half-hour he was back at the
Englishes'. The boxing gloves were still in commission. Morton was
dancing around and around May, slapping her with his open glove first on
one side the face, then on the other. The girl, in spite of her
strength, agility and superior age was as awkward as are most girls at
hitting with their fists. She made short angry rushes at the dodging
Morton who slipped easily in and out of her guard. He was getting even
for a long tyranny. Finally May stopped short and stamped her foot with
vexation. Her face was very red and she actually had tears in her eyes.
"Oh!" she cried. "You wait 'till I get hold of you, you miserable little
thing!"
At that the boxing ended. Bobby drew Johnny one side. "Look there!" said
he with pardonable pride. "Show that to your papa. I bet he can't tell
it from the regular printers. Look out; it's wet yet."
Johnny gazed with awe on the perfect production. The next instant all
his dead enthusiasm leaped to life.
"I bet we can print the whole thousand in one morning!" he cried
gleefully, "And then there's the letter-heads, and bill-heads and May's
cards--and perhaps your father and Carter's will give us jobs--and--"
They clattered down the stairs to the tune of Johnny's business
expansions.
XX
THE PARTNERS
The thousand envelopes were printed and delivered. Mr. English expressed
himself as entirely satisfied, and allowed the new firm to experiment on
bill heads. Mr. Orde promised an order of more envelopes when these were
finished.
Johnny's commercial instincts were thoroughly aroused. He saw visions of
wealth beyond the dreams of wood-box-filling or street-sprinkling with
the garden hose in summer. In that community even Johnny English had to
earn his own pocket money. Bobby, too, entered into the game with
enthusiasm--for over a week. Then he grew tired of the mechanical
repetition of that which he had acquired so painfully. It no longer
interested him to set the type, to lock the form, to ink and clean the
ink plates. He had carried these things to their last refinement of
skill. As for the actual printing--the endless insetting of paper,
pulling down on the lever, removing the paper--this he could no longer
stand for more than half an hour at a time. Then a deep lethargy seized
his every faculty. His mind sank to stupor. Time no longer possessed
dimensions, but blew into a vast Present which was never going to cease.
If he kept at it a half-hour after this condition manifested itself he
emerged from the ordeal as tired and sleepy as though he had undergone
hard physical labour. It was more than mere boredom; it was a revolt of
the soul.
At first his loyalty to the firm and his sense of duty drove him on.
Then gradually he relinquished the printing to Johnny. That young man
could cheerfully have stuck to the press twelve hours a day, if he had
been permitted. Each printed bit of paper laid aside on the growing pile
to his left represented just that much more pocket money.
So, strangely enough, the relative position of the two boys toward the
work in hand was reversed. At first, when the mechanical difficulties
seemed insurmountable, Bobby's perseverance had been inexhaustible,
while Johnny was a dozen times inclined to let the whole problem go
smash. Now, when the task of feeding into the press the thousand
necessary to fill orders seemed endless, Johnny's patience rose more
than adequate to the occasion, while Bobby's spirit shrank at the mere
size of it.
Finally matters adjusted themselves so that Bobby saw to the alignment,
the perfection of the impression, all the rest of getting ready; then
Johnny took hold.
But one day Bobby, walking glumly over to the composing stone, suggested
something new.
"Let's start a newspaper," said he.
The clang of the press came to an abrupt stop.
"Let's start a newspaper," he repeated. "We've got enough pica to print
one page at a time."
Rashly Johnny agreed. All went well until it came time to print the
sheet. Eighteen subscribers were secured at five cents a copy. Johnny
and Bobby wrote the entire number between them. Bobby set it up,
happily. Johnny, also happily, turned out certain letter-heads at the
press. Then came time to print. And at that moment trouble began.
The first copy was legible but smudgy. Bobby was not satisfied and
attempted improvement, most of which, so far from improving, gave cause
for fresh defects. Johnny was standing about impatiently.
"Come on," said he at last, "that's good enough. They can read it, all
right, and those few letters don't matter. Let it go at that."