The Broad Road
"I SAY, Willis, I want a few words with you."
Gerald, who was lingering in the playground after morning school,
talking to Tom Mickle, started when thus addressed by Reginald Hope,
and glanced at him apprehensively, for he had not seen him to speak
to for several days, and did not know if he resented Mr. Willis'
interference with his actions on the preceding Tuesday evening
or not.
"All right!" Gerald responded quickly, endeavouring not to show the
uneasiness he felt. "We've been talking of the cricket match. I hope
it will be fine weather to-morrow. Mickle thinks we shall rain."
"Don't be too sure about it," Reginald said, with a laugh. "You're
always sanguine, Mickle. I'm ready to face a beating."
"So am I," Tom replied good-humouredly; "so are we all, I expect;
but I hope to see our eleven win, nevertheless!"
Another boy came up at that moment and engaged his attention; and
Reginald, turning to Gerald, remarked pleasantly—
"If you're going home now, I'll walk a little way with you."
"Oh, very well," was the response, in rather an ungracious tone.
Quitting the playground by the back entrance, they soon left the lane
for the main street. Very few words were spoken by either till they
were out of the town; but when they reached the bridge the elder boy
suggested they should sit down and hold their conversation there,
which they accordingly did.
"You've been avoiding me these last few days," Reginald commenced,
"and of course I know why. You're afraid I'm offended at what your
father said to me the other night. It was very interfering of him,
but you couldn't help it. I'm sorry for you, Willis, for you must
have to walk a pretty straight path if he's always like that. He's
awfully strict, isn't he?"
"Oh no, no! But he hates to see any one unkind. I can't think how you
could have beaten your dog so cruelly."
"Well, I lost my temper, you know, that's how it was. I'm a little
heavy-handed when I'm in a passion. But you needn't think that I bear
malice in heart; I daresay your father was right enough, looking at
the matter from his point of view. I'm not resentful against him,
anyway." Then, seeing that Gerald was not so much impressed with his
magnanimous spirit as he had anticipated he would be, he determined
to let the subject drop, and proceeded: "But that's not what I wanted
to talk to you about. What do you really think about the cricket
match to-morrow? Shall we win?"
"How can I tell? I only know Tom Mickle says he believes we shall."
"Oh, Tom Mickle!" Reginald exclaimed disparagingly. "Well, of course,
he may be right, and, anyway, I suppose you'll pin your faith upon
him, eh? I'm rather inclined to back the other eleven. I'll bet you
half-a-crown that the Grammar School gets a licking. What do you say
to that?"
"I don't think I'll bet," Gerald responded, shaking his head. "What's
the use? If I lose I shan't have the money to pay."
"Oh, nonsense! Besides, very likely you'll win. After all, Tom
Mickle's pretty shrewd, and he knows as much about cricket as any boy
in the school, although he's not in the first eleven himself yet.
I'll be bound to say he's backing the Grammar School himself."
"He doesn't bet."
"Not that you know of."
"I'm certain he doesn't. He told me he never meant to. He thinks
it wrong."
"Well, you don't think it's wrong, I suppose?"
"I don't think it's right — exactly," was the evasive response.
"I—I've been thinking a great deal about it lately, and I don't see
the good of going on with it. I've never made much by betting;
I've always lost more than I've won."
"You've been unlucky, there's no doubt of that, but some people make
fortunes by betting, I've heard. You ought to try to win back some
of what you've lost, if only to pay me. Oh, I say, here comes
Miss Goodwin! What a nuisance!"
Gerald turned his head, and saw the little lady coming towards them
from the direction of the town; she lifted the skirt of her gown
above the dust with one hand, whilst with the other she held a large
green umbrella over her head as a protection from the too fierce
sunshine.
"What an oddity she is," whispered Reginald, laughing. "Look at her
white stockings and elastic-side boots! Well, I'm off, Willis,
for she's sure to stop, and I don't want to be kept about by the old
gossip. I'll see you after school this afternoon; and, meanwhile,
think over what I've been saying. I may be able to put you up to a
good thing." And with a knowing wink he jumped off the bridge just as
Miss Goodwin reached it.
Reginald Hope took no notice of the old lady beyond a short nod as he
passed her; but Gerald, ashamed of the elder boy's rudeness, lifted
his cap as she approached, and wished her good morning very politely.
"Good morning!" she said, a bright smile lighting up her withered
countenance and shining in her clear blue eyes; then, glancing after
Reginald Hope's retreating figure, she murmured, "Dear, dear!
So young, and so ungallant!" She turned her attention to Gerald
again. "I am going home; perhaps you will walk with me? Yes. Strange
that you and Reginald Hope should be such friends!"
"Why?" Gerald could not refrain from asking.
"Because he lacks that thoughtfulness for others which always
characterises one who is a gentleman at heart," she replied,
with prompt decision.
Her companion was silenced, recognizing the truth of this statement.
He walked along by her side, looking rather depressed, whilst she
turned the conversation into other channels, trying in vain
to interest him; at last, seeing he was hardly listening to her,
she startled him by asking abruptly—
"What is on your mind, my dear boy?"
"On my mind!" he stammered; "nothing—nothing!"
She shook her head, and there was a shrewd look in the eyes which
scanned his face.
"I wish you'd tell me," she persisted, "for perhaps I could help
you."
"You, Miss Goodwin!" he exclaimed, somewhat amused at the idea.
"Oh no, I am sure you could not."
"You can't tell that. Once I had a brother of my own; when he was
about your age he was very like you in appearance, and sometimes you
remind me of him in other respects. Yes! You are a little impatient
of control; you like your own way; and often, when you are with
Angel, you treat her as my brother used to treat me—not unkindly,
but a little indifferently, without the consideration which, I think,
a sister should receive. You will excuse my remarking this, my dear;
I do so because perhaps you have never thought of it, and it may be
a kindness to point it out—it would have been a kindness, I believe,
if any one had pointed it out to my brother when he was a boy."
She spoke in a gentle musing tone, as though her mind had travelled
far back into the past. It was impossible for Gerald to be annoyed,
for her manner was so kind; but he flushed guiltily at her mention
of his sister.
"Is your brother dead, Miss Goodwin?" he inquired, his curiosity aroused.
"Oh yes, he died—I forget when!" A doubtful expression crossed the
old face, which suddenly changed to a look of gladness. "He thought
of me at the last," she said softly, "and he died a Christian. That
was what I had prayed for—that he might find Jesus—that was my
heart's desire, which God gave me in His own good time. And so,
Gerald, having had a brother myself, and remembering his boyhood so
plainly—oh, so plainly!—I do not forget the many temptations and
troubles that beset every boy's life, and I can see you are worried
about something. I want to ask you if there's anything you're keeping
from your father that ought to be told? If so, tell him, my dear,
tell him."
Gerald made no reply, and the old lady said no more; but he thought
over all she had said after he had parted from her outside Myrtle
Villa, and wished he could pluck up sufficient courage to tell his
father of his indebtedness to Reginald Hope; but he shrank from the
confession which he knew must follow.
"Father's so down on people who bet and gamble," he thought
miserably; "he was angry enough when he found out I'd had Angel's
money, and he'd be angrier still if he knew how I spent it. Hope will
have to wait until I can save enough out of my pocket-money to pay
him."
But this Reginald Hope was not willing to do. When he found that
Gerald really hesitated to bet upon the result of the cricket match,
he lost his temper, and for the first time allowed his victim
a glimpse of him in his true colours. He declared he wanted
his money, that he would have it, and threatened if he was not paid
shortly, to apply to Mr. Willis. Gerald did not pause to consider
whether Reginald would really take this plan of action or not; he was
far too horrified at the idea to be in a fit state to view the matter
with commonsense; and in sheer desperation made several bets with
different boys in hopes of gaining money, and thereby being enabled
to get out of debt. If the Grammar School won the cricket match he
would be in a position to pay all he owed; if not—but he dared not
contemplate that contingency.
There were many visitors to watch the match on Saturday afternoon,
for the weather was beautifully fine, and the field presented quite
a gay scene. The Mickles were present, and Angel with her father and
uncle; and they all seemed so happy and free from care, that Gerald
felt as though he was out in the cold. They could not tell he was
miserable; and the nervousness of his manner they ascribed to a very
natural anxiety as to the result of the game. At first it looked as
though the Grammar School boys would beat their opponents easily, and
Gerald began to think that all would be well; but when their best
batsman, in whom their highest hopes were centred, was caught out
before he had made half a dozen runs, the unhappy boy's spirits fell
and never rose again, for even Tom Mickle was obliged to admit before
long that the Grammar School "hadn't a look in," as he expressed it.
The game was over at last, the strangers being the victors. Gerald
was simply stunned, realizing that he was now in a worse position
than ever. Reginald Hope came up behind him as he stood staring
blankly at the deserted wickets with unseeing eyes, listening to the
cheering, and touched him on the shoulder. Gerald turned around with
a start, and to his intense relief noticed that the other's face was
beaming with satisfaction.
"So we're beaten," Gerald said; "it's an awful blow!"
"Not to me," Reginald replied, dropping his voice to a confidential
whisper; "I've made a good thing of it to-day. I backed our
visitors."
"I've lost!" Gerald exclaimed bitterly. "I don't know what I shall
do. I haven't a penny to pay any one."
"Ask your father to come to the rescue. Get a draw from him. I see
he's here! Or, how about your uncle?"
"That won't do."
Reginald stood thoughtfully whistling under his breath. Perhaps his
conscience pricked him at the sight of his companion's dejected
appearance, for after hesitating a few minutes, he put his hand
in his pocket and drew out half a sovereign.
"I can lend you that if it's any good to you," he said, "and you can
pay me at some future day. I'm flush of money at present, wonderful
to say."
Gerald was quite overcome with gratitude. After all, Hope was really
a good-natured fellow. He accepted the loan with a profusion of
thanks, and immediately went and paid his debts; after which he
joined his own people, and was so merry and light-hearted, that his
uncle remarked one would have thought the Grammar School had won the
match.
Later in the evening, when Gerald found himself alone with
Mr. Bailey, he asked him if he had known Miss Goodwin's brother.
"Why, yes," was the response. "I remember him as a young man when I
was a boy. A fine, handsome fellow he was too, but no good—no good!"
"How was that, Uncle Edward?"
"He was a gambler. I believe he took to betting when he was a boy
at school, and never gave up the habit. He squandered everything
he could lay his hands upon, not his own money only."
"Do you consider betting very wrong?" Gerald inquired, wishing
to hear what his uncle thought upon the subject.
"Do you consider betting right?" was the question Mr. Bailey put
in return.
"N—o—o, I suppose not!" the boy admitted.
"You suppose not? I am certain it is not. And if it's not right,
it's bound to be wrong. There can be no two thoughts about the
matter. I've met many folks who've tried to persuade themselves there
was no harm in betting and gambling, but they all went one way."
"What way was that, Uncle Edward?"
"The broad road which is so easy to travel because it's all downhill—
the broad road which leads to destruction."
Gerald shuddered, for his uncle's tone had so much conviction in it.
The broad road which leads to destruction! The words sounded again
and again in his ears; he could not forget them.
"I suppose the chief idea of the gambler is to gain riches without
labour," Mr. Bailey continued, "and that is wrong to begin with,
for work is the salt of life; then, the gambler is generally a thief,
for he always becomes unscrupulous as to how he obtains money. Never
let any one persuade you, Gerald, that there is no harm in betting—
it is one of the greatest curses of the present age, and is the cause
of untold misery and sin. I believe people will bet on almost
anything nowadays; indeed, Gilbert Mickle told me this afternoon
that he suspected a lot of money would be won and lost over that
cricket match we watched with so much interest. How terrible to think
of turning a harmless recreation to such a purpose!"
Gerald mumbled some unintelligible reply. He regretted now that he
had broached the subject of betting to his uncle at all, seeing how
strongly he was set against it.
"If I could only raise the money to pay Hope I would never bet
again," he thought; and then he remembered once more how Miss Goodwin
had asked him if there was anything he was keeping from his father
that ought to be told. What a sharp old lady she was; and how he
wished he dared take her advice and tell his father his troubles.
But, poor Gerald, though he had plenty of pluck in many ways, was a
moral coward, and shrank from blame; besides which, his conscience
was not wholly awakened even now. It is doubtful if the fact of his
having betted would have weighed upon his mind if he had won his
bets; he did not yet realize his sin.
The broad road which leads to destruction! How the words haunted him.
Even in his sleep they must have been in his mind, for that night
he dreamt he was running down a steep, broad road, at the bottom
of which was a yawning ravine. Terror was in his heart, for it
appeared to him that he could not stop running; and he felt he was
falling headlong into unknown depths, when, with a start and a cry
of affright, he awoke, shaking from head to foot, but thankful
to find himself safe in bed. Thank God, it was only a dream!