HARD LINES
"Though losses, and crosses,
Be lessons right severe--,
There's wit there, ye'll get there,
Ye'll find nae other where."
"BROWN'S sodas are the best in town, if they do come high,--and the
girls know it," Miss Billy had jeered a few weeks before. Theodore
repeated the words now with a wholly sober grimace, as he scrambled
into his clothes at half past six of an early July morning. Vacation
had brought him a permanent position in the drug store, at four
dollars a week, but the skeleton still walked. It was not a very
hideous skeleton, to be sure,--just a half dozen or so of remarkably
round and robust young misses,--but it had a prodigious appetite for
the confection known as ice-cream soda, and it never happened to have
any money of its own.
Theodore, red in the face from the growing heat and his hurried
exertions, frowningly continued his unpleasant reflections.
"There are two or three of those girls that have treated me
contemptibly of late,--probably because I no longer live in a
fourteen-room house. That Myrtle Blanchard is a notable example. She
scarcely takes the trouble to see me on the street, but she manages
to get around to the soda fountain every day, either alone, or with
the crowd of girls."
He was lacing his shoes now, and another side of the subject
presented itself.
"These are the shoes I vowed to buy with my own earnings, or go
without. Father bought them. I've learned to crow before my tail
feathers have grown enough to tell whether I'm going to be a Brahma
rooster or a Bantam hen. Well, I'm through cackling now: anyway,
till I get rid of those girls, and save some money. Then I'll have
something to cackle over."
He swung down to breakfast, taking time to eat only his "bale of
hay"--the shredded wheat biscuit the faithful Maggie put before
him,--and hurried off to work. At the gate he encountered John Thomas
Hennesy, going his way, with a broken bridle in his hand.
"Mornin'," said John Thomas cheerfully.
"Good-morning," returned Theodore. "Going my way? Then you'll have to
keep up with my stride. I'm late this morning."
"Workin' at Brown's steady now, ain't yer?" inquired John Thomas,
with friendly curiosity. "Much in it?"
"Four dollars a week as a starter," said Theodore, firmly pressing
the skeleton back into its closet. "It's easy work, and they are
beginning to give me a little collecting and bookkeeping of late."
John Thomas gave his companion a covert stare that took in the
neat blue serge suit and immaculate tie, the jaunty straw hat and
well-polished shoes. He noted that Theodore's eyes were grey like
Miss Billy's, and his teeth were white. Then he shoved his own stubby
hands into his pockets, and lapsed into silence. Grudgingly to
himself he admitted that Theodore was a "swell." He had soft hands,
and clean finger nails, and white teeth. He polished his shoes every
day, wore stand-up collars through the hot weather, and liked easy
jobs.
John Thomas's chin squared itself into the bulldog pattern of his
father's, and his hands shut tight in his pockets.
There was Miss Billy now. She and Theodore were as alike in looks as
two peas. But Miss Billy was no swell. Her teeth and nails were awful
clean, too,--but then, she was a girl,--and _she_ liked work. She'd
do anything,--even if she had clean hands, and finger nails, and----
John Thomas was measuring the length of his stubby legs with
Theodore's long swinging stride. "Driving team for your father, this
vacation, aren't you?" inquired Theodore, in turn. "Pretty hot in the
sun, isn't it?"
"It's hot,--yes," admitted John Thomas, the bulldog chin slowly
melting under the friendly glance of the grey eyes,--"but its good
pay,--a dollar a day, and the day's work over at six o'clock."
Theodore repressed a whistle. "Why, you'll save money, John Thomas,
if the job lasts all summer."
"It'll last all summer, all right, and longer too. Father's got more
work than he can attend to. He's bought another team and he's going
to hire another man to drive it. I worked for father all last summer,
and I've got sixty dollars saved in the bank now. I'll make it a
hundred before school commences in September."
It was Theodore, now, whose critical glance took in John Thomas,--a
sturdy square-set figure, with baggy trousers and rusty shoes, the
true Hennesy freckles and turned-up nose,--offset by keen blue eyes
and the resolute chin. "He's a man!" thought Theodore. "He's neither
afraid or ashamed of honest work,--and he saves his money, too. I
wonder what he'd do in my place now, if he had a crowd of girls to
treat every day with his hard earnings?"
But it was difficult to imagine the figure at his side presiding
at a soda fountain, and handing out refreshment to a bevy of
young beauties, so Theodore gave it up with a sigh. John Thomas,
unpleasantly aware of the scrutiny, bore it unflinchingly, but his
chin squared itself again, and he thought, "He's a tenderfoot, that's
what he is. He never had dirty hands in his life. I guess he's
wonderin' who my tailor is."
When Theodore reached the store he changed his coat for a linen one,
dusted the counters, lifted the ice into the soda fountain, and gave
all the glasses and spoons an extra polish. The recollection of
John Thomas lingered with him, together with the sixty dollars in
the bank which would be one hundred by September. "I'm in a false
position," he thought angrily. "I'm making those girls believe I have
all the money I want, and other people believe I'm an industrious and
deserving young man. I'd change jobs with John Thomas Hennesy in a
hurry if I could."
The day was very warm, and by nine o'clock the soda water trade was
brisk. Myrtle Blanchard was one of the early callers. She was a miss
of fashion, like her older sisters, and aptly imitated their mincing
ways.
"Oh, isn't it just too dreadfully warm?" she gasped, fanning herself
with her lace handkerchief and sinking onto one of the stools. "I
really couldn't have gone another step without resting, if I had been
paid for it."
"It's hot," acquiesced Theodore, preparing a glass of orange
phosphate for another customer. "Mr. Brown," he called over to the
proprietor, who was sitting at the desk, "do you want me to collect
that bill I was told to call for this morning?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Brown, "you'd better go right away. We've had to
wait long enough for that money. Frank, you take Theodore's place at
the fountain."
Miss Myrtle's face assumed a look of hauteur. She was not accustomed
to being pushed aside, even for business. But she hastened to say,
"Oh, I am so warm! I believe I'll have a cherry phosphate. I came
away without my purse this morning, but please don't charge such a
small amount to papa."
Theodore prepared the phosphate and placed it before her. His eyes
took on the steady, level expression that Miss Billy's habitually
wore, but his voice was cool and bland as he said aloud, "Frank,
please make a charge against Miss Myrtle Blanchard,--one phosphate,
ten cents."
The other customers gazed in astonishment at this unheard of
publicity in entering a charge. Miss Myrtle turned from pink to
crimson, and slowly back to pink,--but she philosophically concluded
to drink her phosphate and think the matter out afterward. Theodore,
meantime, had taken his hat, and getting the bill and some change
from Mr. Brown, left the store.
"The mean thing!" inwardly raged Miss Myrtle. "He meant that for a
snub,--I know he did. And he never so much as glanced at me as he
went out. Just wait! I'll get even with him."
Out in the hot sunshine Theodore's other conscience was accusing him.
"It's a mean thing to use a girl that way! But if it has to be done,
I'm glad Myrtle Blanchard got it first. Yet it's all my own fault! If
I hadn't treated them at the first, they wouldn't have come to expect
it. But I feel as mean as a cur that's stolen another cur's bone."
A walk of half a mile brought Theodore to a handsome house in a
fashionable street. He ascended the steps, touched the bell, and
heard a voice on the inside distinctly say, "If that's that boy from
Brown's, Nora, tell him I'm not at home."
The door opened and a maid in a white cap glibly repeated the
message: "Mrs. Thorpe isn't at home this morning. Won't you call
again?"
"She expects me this morning," said Theodore, firmly,--"so with your
permission, I'll wait." As he spoke, he entered and seated himself in
the reception hall.
"She may not be home to luncheon," faltered the maid. "If you
could----"
"My time is my own," interrupted Theodore. "Mrs. Thorpe expected me,
so I'll wait."
There was a rustle of skirts above, and a whispered consultation. In
fifteen minutes' time Mrs. Thorpe descended the stairs, looking cool
and beautiful in a pale blue silken wrapper.
"The maid was quite mistaken," she asserted sweetly. "I was taking a
little rest, and she thought I had gone out. Oh, yes,--you have that
bill. How troublesome for you to have had the long walk for so small
an amount! Fifteen dollars, is it? Please receipt the bill. And you
have change there! May I trouble you to change this five-dollar bill
for me, as well?"
Theodore tucked the fifteen dollars, three crisp notes, into his
pocket, with satisfaction, and receipted the bill for the silken
lady. Then he counted out to her five dollars in change, and taking
his hat, bowed himself out. He was flushed with pride at having
outwitted the notorious Mrs. Thorpe. The other clerks at the store
had tried innumerable times to collect this bill. He hurried over
the hot pavements toward the store, the success of this undertaking
driving Myrtle Blanchard and the other girls, for the time, from his
mind.
Mr. Brown was still at the desk when he reached the store. He handed
in the three bills with conscious triumph. "And the five dollars in
change, I gave you?" suggested Mr. Brown pleasantly.
"Oh, I exchanged that for----" he stopped suddenly, with a startled
air. He had given Mrs. Thorpe the five dollars in silver, but she
had given him no bill in return. He remembered now, distinctly. He
was perfectly sure.
"You may have lost it," corrected Mr. Brown gravely. "You must be
careful not to attribute its loss to Mrs. Thorpe. She is one of our
wealthiest customers. However, you may go back and inquire."
Mrs. Thorpe rustled down at Theodore's second summons. Certainly, she
had given him the bill! He had probably lost it on the street. Then
she rustled upstairs again, and Nora, the maid, showed him out.
The brick buildings that radiated the heat, and the dusty streets
with their clanging cars, swam before his tired and angry eyes. "A
woman that would lie, might steal," he reflected fiercely. "Mrs.
Thorpe has that five-dollar bill, together with the change I gave
her, in her purse!"
He took his way back, in helpless anger and misery, to the store, and
reported once more at the desk.
"No," said Mr. Brown. "I didn't think Mrs. Thorpe had it. You must be
extremely careful what you say. You have either carelessly lost it,
or----"
"Or what?" demanded Theodore angrily.
Mr. Brown flushed in return. "I have noticed since you have been in
my employ," he said coldly, "that you have extravagant habits, as
well as extravagant friends. It is the shortest road to dishonesty,
although I make no accusations. Of course you will make this loss
good. Is there any money coming to you?"
"Very little. What was coming to me I drew Saturday night," said
Theodore, the colour all gone from his face. "Mr. Brown, you are
doing me an injustice. I _was_ extremely careless. It is right that
I should return the money because of that carelessness. But I am
honest, and I have been taught to be truthful. I beg you to believe
me when I say that the money is, knowingly or unknowingly, with Mrs.
Thorpe. I distinctly remember that she did not give me the bill."
Mr. Brown's voice was like ice: "I do not wish to have any more
discussion of the matter. The money will be charged to your father
until you repay its loss. You may go to dinner."
Mr. Hennesy and John Thomas, seated on a little hillock of dirt,
were eating their dinner from a bountifully filled dinner pail, when
a noontide visitor strode in upon them. The horses looked mildly up
from their improvised feed boxes upon Theodore, who, reckless of
the polished shoes and blue serge suit, seated himself upon another
hillock in their midst.
"Mr. Hennesy," he said, coming straight to the point, "have you hired
a man yet, to drive that new team you've bought?"
"Well," said Mr. Hennesy warily, and confining his gaze to a generous
crescent his teeth had described in a quarter of an apple pie,
"there's a red-headed man that's been afther the job, an' there's
another that's as bald as an acorn----"
"If you'll give it to me," broke in Theodore, "I'll do my best
to please you, and I'll work cheaper than a man. I have handled
horses before. Try me for a week, Mr. Hennesy, and if I don't give
satisfaction you needn't pay me a cent, and there will be no hard
feeling."
Mr. Hennesy's first shock of surprise expanded slowly into a grin.
John Thomas's eyes were like saucers.
"Why-ee--" gurgled Mr. Hennesy, "ye'd burn the shkin all off av yer
nose, an' tan yer neck, an' blishter yer han's so yer own mother
wouldn't be afther knowin' ye. Ye couldn't niver----"
"Come now, Mr. Hennesy," said Theodore, rising abruptly, "if I look
like a fool, I assure you I'm not one. Will you give me the chance?"
Mr. Hennesy's grin vanished, and his chin squared.
"Thot I will!" he said, extending his hand cordially. "Ye can go to
work in the mornin'. But moind me,--ye'll do yer full dhuty, or
ye'll git fired!"
Theodore was gone, as suddenly as he had come, and John Thomas still
sat, the picture of helpless surprise.
"Well--I'll--be blowed!" he ejaculated, at last. "I wouldn't have
thought it of him. He looked too good to spoil his hands. Somethin'
must have gone wrong at the drug store."
"Which same ye'll not be mintionin' to him, John Thomas," said Mr.
Hennesy, with the true instincts of a gentleman.
"As if I would!" returned John Thomas scornfully.
Dinner was over, and Miss Billy was out weeding the pansy bed when
her brother reached home. The long walk from the outskirts of the
town where Mr. Hennesy was working, and the noontide heat of the
day, had failed to bring the colour back to his pale face. He seemed
to have grown taller, and older, in a single morning. Miss Billy,
looking up from her flowers, instantly read the trouble in his face,
and sprang to her feet.
"Wilhelmina," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and looking
down into her face (it was the first time in his life he had called
her that), "I've got to borrow your Christmas gold piece. I never
thought I'd come down so low, but,--well, I have! I'm in trouble, and
I've got to have it to square myself."
"Is that all?" cried Miss Billy, brightening. "It can't be a very
great trouble that that paltry gold piece can drive away. And I'm so
glad to let you have it, Ted."
"No,--that's not all," went on Theodore, in a hard voice. "Mr. Brown
thinks I'm a sneak, if not a thief!--and I've quit my job. Don't tell
father and mother,--not yet, I mean."
"Theodore!" There was anguish in Miss Billy's tones that brought the
tears for the first time to Theodore's eyes.
"But I've hired out to Mr. Hennesy to drive a team, and start to work
in the morning."
"Brother, you _can't_ do that!" Miss Billy, in spite of herself, was
crying now.
"Do you remember," said Theodore, "we were reading the other day that
a man is as great--not as his father's money, or his grandfather's
name, but as the force within himself? Miss Billy, I have force
enough to drive Mr. Hennesy's team, and stick to it! Inasmuch as
that, I am a man."
Miss Billy looked up, overawed. Laziness, heedlessness, vanity, had
dropped away as a mantle, and from the steady grey eyes looked the
serious spirit of a man.
Like a rainbow of promise, Miss Billy smiled through her tears.
"Theodore Lee," she said, wiping the last drop off her nose,
"Theodore Lee, I'm proud of you!"