CONCERNING TOM SMITH
WHEN Bob recovered from his cold he expected that his aunt would want
his services every evening again; but she had been obliged to engage
a man during his illness, and had decided to keep the man on. She was
beginning to realise that she had really worked the boy too hard;
she had not meant to be unkind to him.
"Lady Margaret Browning was right, you do look pale and thin, Bob,"
she told him; "you might be half-starved by the look of you. But,
though everything's so dear, I don't stint you in food, and I can't
understand why you should look as if I do!"
"I think I shall be all right if I don't have such heavy loads
to carry," Bob answered; "they used to do me up, and when I got
to bed I couldn't sleep—I ached so."
Mrs. Mead looked at him uneasily. His thin white face seemed
to reproach her, and she regretted that she had not been kinder
to her brother's children. Seeing how they had grown to love her
attic lodger, she knew that she, too, might have won their love
had she tried to do so.
"Well, Bob," she said, and there was a gentler note in her voice
than the boy had ever heard in it before, "take things easy for a
while. What you've to do now is to pick up your strength and get rid
of your cough."
The first day of Bob's return to school he encountered Tom Smith
as he was coming home in the afternoon. The bully stopped him.
"Wait a minute," he said, "I want to speak to you."
"Well?" Bob said inquiringly.
"I've been reading about your father in the newspaper," Tom informed
him; "if it's true what the newspaper says he's done—"
"Of course it's true!" interrupted Bob, adding, "I told you he was
a brave man!"
"Yes, you did," Tom assented, "I suppose you're mighty proud of him?"
"That I am!"
"So you ought to be!"
Bob was astounded. That his enemy, who had sneered at his father
for being a common Tommy, should say this!
"I expect he'll get a medal or something?" Tom suggested, after a
brief silence.
"I don't know," Bob replied. Such an idea had not occurred to him
before, and he thrilled with delight at the mere thought of it.
"You know he might have been killed," Tom reminded him; "he must have
known that, yet he went out under fire again and again."
"Yes," Bob agreed; "but you see, the men he went to help were wounded
and couldn't help themselves. I've heard him say often that there's
no call to be afraid of anything or anyone whilst we're doing what's
right, because then God's with us. He just did what he thought was
right, I expect, and—well, that was how it happened!"
There was another silence, during which the two boys regarded each
other rather doubtfully. Tom was the one to break it.
"Look here," he said, "I'm sorry I called your father a common Tommy.
He's a real hero and no mistake! If he comes home I hope you won't
tell him—" He paused momentarily, then continued: "Didn't you say
he couldn't bear to see animals of any kind badly treated? Yes? Well,
look here, don't tell him I stoned that old woman's dog. I'll promise
never to do it again, if you won't tell him."
Bob gave the promise readily, astonished; and at the same time very
relieved, for he had been most anxious about Stray, fearing Tom might
do him some further injury.
"He's a capital dog," he said, "and very gentle really. He'd never
have flown at you if you hadn't—"
"Oh, I understand all about that!" interrupted Tom hastily. "What's
his mistress called?" he inquired.
"Mrs. Winter—she's a real good sort. She lives at my aunt's,
you know; rents one of the attics, so Jackie and I know her well."
"I suppose she's very poor if she lives in an attic," remarked Tom;
"what makes her keep a dog, I wonder?"
Bob explained that Mrs. Winter had found Stray, and, seeing that Tom
appeared interested, told him the story as Mrs. Winter had told it
to Jackie and Jackie had repeated it to him.
"What a queer old soul she must be!" Tom exclaimed, laughing heartily
but not ill-naturedly, "to think God sent the dog to her, I mean!
Such a funny idea! Is she quite right here?" He tapped his forehead
meaningly.
"Right in her head? Oh, yes!" Bob answered, adding, "And so you'd
find, if you talked to her!"
No more passed between the boys then; but one fine Saturday
afternoon, a few weeks later, Tom Smith waylaid Bob and Jackie,
as they were returning from a walk accompanied by Stray, and tried
to make friends with the dog. At first Stray treated Tom with
suspicion and would not be touched by him; but at last he realised
that the boy had only friendly intentions towards him now, and
allowed him to pat him.
"He's wearing a very shabby collar," observed Tom; "the leather's
nearly worn out where the fastening is. It won't last much longer."
"I'm afraid it won't," answered Bob; "I don't know what Mrs. Winter
will do about it, because I'm sure she can't afford Stray a new
collar."
"A big dog like that ought to have a really strong collar made of the
very best leather," Tom said, "but leather's gone up in price a lot
because of the war. A new collar would cost a good bit. What are you
staring at, youngster?" he asked, addressing Jackie, who was looking
at him very seriously.
"At you," the little boy answered promptly. "You're Tom Smith,
aren't you, the boy who threw the stone at Stray and hurted him?
Did you really do it on purpose—to hurt him? Oh, how could you have
been so cruel!"
"Look here, don't let's say any more about it," Tom said, reddening.
"I shan't do it again; Bob knows that. Do you like sweets?"
He produced a small packet of sweets as he spoke, and would have
pressed it into Jackie's hand, but the little boy's good will was not
to be bought.
"No, thank you," Jackie said, "unless you are sorry that you hurted
Stray. Are you?"
"Of course I am!"
Jackie glanced at Bob, who gave him a nod; then he accepted the
sweets, and after that Tom Smith walked home with them.
"I really don't know what's come over him," Bob remarked to Mrs.
Winter, when discussing Tom's changed behaviour with her that
evening; "and wasn't it strange of him to make me promise not to tell
father that he'd hurt poor Stray?"
"He evidently has a great admiration for your father," Mrs. Winter
answered, "and would not care to have his bad opinion. There must be
good in the boy or he would not feel like that."
"I don't mean to have much to do with him though," Bob said
decidedly; "I can't—after what's gone by. To-day he seemed as though
he wanted to be friendly, but—oh, I couldn't have Tom Smith for a
friend!"