PAWNS
Johnny Thompson and Scott Ramsey were disheartened by the news that
Sandy’s pitchblende was of no value.
“It’s the end of one glorious dream.” Ramsey stared into space.
“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “that’s gone.”
“Not a bit of it!” Sandy’s keen old eyes snapped. “There’s pitchblende in
these rocky old ledges such as the world has never known.
“Look here. Do you know that in 1922 a pocket of several hundred pounds
of remarkably rich pitchblende was mined in the Belgian Congo, that it
yielded two or three million dollars worth of radium, and that this
discovery actually caused a drop in the price of radium? If they can do
that in South Africa, we can do it in northern Canada!” He banged the
table with his huge fist.
“And now look at this!” He drew forth an enlarged photograph to spread it
on the table. To the average person this would have seemed a snap-shot
that had gone wrong. It showed only dull stretches of rock, intermixed
with rough ledges and narrow stretches of snow.
“See that!” Sandy’s long finger trembled as he pointed. “Taken sixty
miles from here, this was. Looks like the real thing to me. Pitchblende.
Radium.” He said these last words almost reverently.
“There’s no stopping him,” Johnny told himself. “All the same, if he’ll
permit me, I’ll go out and look those ledges over for him. With the
specimens we have now, it would not be hard to gather others. Only an
analysis could give the final touch to such a find anyway. I’ll suggest
it when the right time comes.”
Scott and Sandy were ardent chess fans. As Sandy was spreading his men
over the board a little later, he looked up at Johnny.
“Ever play chess?” he demanded.
“A little.”
“You should. You should play much. Tell you why.” He allowed his powerful
hand to rest upon the board. Between his thumb and finger was the
smallest man of all, a pawn. “Chess,” he went on, “makes you think. And
thinking is always good for your soul. That’s why the study of
mathematics is worth while.
“But there’s a more important reason why you should play chess.” His
expressive eyes gleamed. “Chess is the game of life. Oh, yes, it’s the
game of war, too; but life for most of us is one long battle, so it’s the
game of life, too.
“See that little fellow?” He held up the pawn.
Johnny nodded.
“That’s you and me. All my life I’ve been a pawn. Nothing much to be
ashamed of. Out of every hundred people born in the world, ninety-nine
are pawns and always will be. So you’ve plenty of company.
“A pawn,” he went on, “is very much handicapped in his movements. If he
chooses, at the beginning of the game he may move forward two squares.
After that he must cover only one square at a time, and that straight
ahead.
“Knights, bishops, castles, queen, these have far greater freedom of
movement. These, in life, are the highly successful ones, the great
scientists and other scholars, successful lawyers, merchant princes.
“But you and I, Johnny—” He put the pawn on its spot. Very carefully
placing it in the exact center, he went on: “You and I are like this
little round-headed pawn.
“Oh, yes, he has one other chance; he may move to one side as well as
forward, but only to destroy some other pawn who happens to be on the
spot at the wrong time.”
“Poor old pawn,” Johnny sighed.
“Not so fast!” the canny old man exclaimed. “The pawn moves forward
slowly. He is insignificant, his movements unimportant. Often he is
neither noticed nor missed. But there may come a time in this battle of
the board, as in the battle of life, when knights and bishops, castles
and queens have fallen, when the poor little pawn in a single move takes
on a position of tremendous importance. All the time, with his snail-like
pace, he has been coming closer and closer to the king-row. When the time
comes, when he is prepared to glide across that last black line into the
king-row, if there is no knight, bishop or queen to stop him, then he may
look back from the king-row and say: ‘I am about to make a wish. My wish
must be granted, for I have made my long and laborious way to the
king-row. Now I wish to be a knight. I wish to be a bishop. I demand the
right to become a queen.’ And behold, his wish must be granted!
“And that, too!” he exclaimed in a booming voice, “That, too, is life!
All these long years I have been a pawn. Now, very soon, with God’s help
and for the good of my fellow men, I shall step over into the king-row.
Then I shall choose what I am to be, knight, bishop or queen.
“And you, too, my good friends,” he placed one hand on Scott’s shoulder,
the other on Johnny’s, “you shall go into the king-row with me.
“But mind you,” his tone became solemn, “when a man becomes a knight or a
bishop in this life we are living now, he assumes as great a
responsibility as did knight or bishop in those brave days of good King
Arthur and his Round Table.
“Come, Scott, boy.” His tone changed. “The men are placed. Who wins
to-night?”
Johnny smiled as the two settled down to their game. His smile was very
friendly. He was coming to love this brave old prospector more and more.
“He believes in himself and in God,” he told himself.
“‘Trust thyself. Every heart vibrates to that iron chord.’” Where had he
heard that? He could not recall. He liked it all the same.
“It’s like Sandy,” he told himself. “He did not say, ‘Let those fellows
who stole our films find gold or radium, then we’ll step in and get our
share.’ He said, ‘We’ll go out and find it.’ And by all that’s good, we
will!”
No Knight of the Round Table ever went forth with higher resolve than did
Johnny as he ventured forth on the long trail that would take him to
those rocky ledges that showed so plainly on the enlarged photograph. And
no knight of any land faced more dangers nor dreamed of higher adventures
than did he. Nor were his dreams to be in vain.