When one is young and life still seems new and fresh and full of bright,
ever-changing hues, a few months seem a long period, and one that often
brings with it many changes.
And so the year that the Van Kuren children spent abroad was not without
its effect upon them. During that time they had travelled through
England, France, Italy and Germany, and, under the guidance of their
father and their tutor, had learned much of the countries through which
they passed, and of the history and customs of the different people.
With minds naturally bright and retentive, both Harry and Laura had
derived much more profit from their journeyings in foreign lands than
most people do, and although they had seen so much and enjoyed so many
things, they were both heartily glad to return to their own country.
It was on a bright, sunny morning in the early winter that the steamer
in which Mr. Van Kuren had taken passage for himself and family, sailed
up the superb harbor of New York, while the two children stood on the
deck, almost screaming with delight as they recognized such familiar
landmarks as the Brooklyn Bridge, Trinity steeple, the Produce Exchange,
and even caught a distant glimpse of the Palisades. A tall column of
smoke rising from the heart of the great city caught their eye.
“What makes that smoke?” said Harry, to his tutor who was standing
beside him.
“I don’t know,” replied Mr. Reed, doubtfully, “But I think it must be a
fire. Yes, the smoke is growing denser every moment and now we can see
bits of flame in it too.”
“I wonder if Bruce Decker is there, helping to put it out,” exclaimed
Harry, impulsively. “I tell you it must be grand to be running to the
fires all the time. I wonder how Bruce is getting along, anyway. Don’t
you think it’s funny we haven’t heard a word from him?”
Laura did not reply at first but seemed to be interested only in looking
intently at the familiar features of the scene about her, but when Harry
repeated his question she remarked carelessly, “Oh I suppose he’s too
much occupied with his own affairs to bother about us. Anyway, Harry, it
is not necessary for us to see him any more. He is very well in his way,
but not nearly so refined and elegant in his manners as those children
we used to play with in Paris. Just compare him with little Victor
Dufait for example. Why Victor was the politest boy I ever saw in my
life, and it would be a good thing for Bruce, and you too, to copy his
manners.”
“Well I’d rather copy Bruce than that little frog-eating Frenchman, any
day!” cried Harry. “You think he’s all right just because he bows and
scrapes and grins every time he sees you coming. But if you were to play
with him and the rest of those fellows, as I did, you’d soon find out
that they’re not half as nice as they seem. Besides, I’ll bet that Bruce
could lick any two of them with one hand tied behind his back.”
“Well, there are better things than being able to lick other boys, even
with both hands tied behind your back,” rejoined Laura, “and I think
that Victor is one of the nicest boys I ever met.”
“Well, you can have him for all I care, but I’d like to see Bruce again,
and as soon as we get ashore I’m going down to hunt him up.”
“You will do nothing of the sort, Harry,” interjected Mr. Reed, in a
tone of quiet determination. “You may remember, perhaps, that your
father has forbidden you to have anything to do with that young Decker,
and I am quite sure that you at least, Laura, have not forgotten the
circumstances which led to his making that rule. So I particularly
caution you not to set your hearts upon renewing an acquaintance which
your father does not consider a desirable one, and my advice is not to
mention the matter in his presence.”
The tutor’s words ended all discussion of the young fireman, and very
soon afterwards the children went down stairs to make their final
preparations for landing. Laura had been partly in earnest in what she
said about Bruce. She had made the acquaintance of several boys of
foreign parentage during their stay in Paris, and had been greatly
impressed with their polished manners and glib tongues. Victor Dufait,
whom her brother despised, was a lad well calculated to awaken the
admiration of any girl unused to superficial elegance of manners. Always
handsomely dressed and neat in his appearance, he was to all outward
appearances as gentlemanly and modest a lad, as one could hope to meet,
but the boys who played with him knew that his politeness was, as they
expressed it, “all put on,” and that among lads of his own age, or
younger, he could be selfish, ill-natured, and vindictive. Many a time
had Harry, while playing with him and other boys of his sort, thought
regretfully of the manly, good-natured, and companionable Bruce Decker,
who, although of much more humble origin than the little foreigner,
possessed a much truer breeding—that which comes from a good heart and
kindly intentions.
From the steamer Mr. Van Kuren and his family went directly to a large
and fashionable hotel on Broadway, intending to remain there until their
own house could be repaired and put in thorough order. The children
continued their studies under the direction of their tutor and an
English governess, who had accompanied them home from London, and every
afternoon went out to walk in the streets. Sometimes Harry and Mr. Reed
enjoyed long strolls along the river front, where the boy never wearied
of looking at the great ships and little fishing sloops, as they lay at
the docks, and sometimes the two went down into the poorer portions of
the town, where Mr. Reed pointed out to him the habitations of different
races of people, and explained to him their curious modes of living.
Sometimes Laura accompanied them, when they walked along the principal
avenues or through Central Park, but as a general thing she went out
with her governess, and sometimes invited some young girl of her own age
to accompany her. She was walking in this way one afternoon, talking to
a richly dressed young girl, and accompanied by the prim-looking
governess, when her young companion drew her attention to the fact that
some one was trying to attract her attention. Laura looked up hastily
and beheld Bruce Decker standing with his hat in his hand and a rosy
flush on his cheeks almost in front of her. The governess was looking in
wonder at the presuming young man, and the young girl beside her was
beginning to laugh, for to tell the truth, Bruce presented an appearance
that was not at all like that of little Victor Dufait.
“How do you do, I did not know you were back from Europe,” began the
boy. But to his amazement Laura, who had always treated him in a most
friendly manner, simply stared him in the face, bowed to him very
coldly, and then walked on with her eyes turned in another direction,
and a look in her face that was anything but pleasant or cordial. And as
she passed on she realized that the boy was standing stock still on the
pavement behind her, amazed beyond expression at the way in which he had
been treated. She knew, moreover, that what with her annoyance at her
companion’s sneers, and her fear lest the English governess should tell
her father of the chance meeting, she had treated Bruce with a degree of
harshness, which she never intended, and she would have given almost
anything—at least it seemed so to her at that moment—to have been able
to live the past few minutes over again.
It is no easy task to describe Bruce Decker’s feelings, as he stood in
the middle of the pavement on Fifth Avenue, and watched the retreating
form of the young girl, whose friendship he had once prized so highly.
His cheeks grew redder and redder, as he thought of the glance she had
given him, and the insolence of her manner. Then he glanced down on his
clothes, and his hands reddened and hardened with toil, and said to
himself, “Well, I suppose I’m not stylish enough to suit her now that
she’s been across the water, and mixed up with all sorts of foreign
people.” It seemed very hard to the boy, however, that he should be
despised just because he did not wear fashionable clothes, and he said
to himself with some bitterness of spirit, “I suppose I could rig myself
up in fine style for less than a hundred dollars, and be as good a dude
as any of them.”
It was with this feeling in his heart that he walked slowly away, and
then—for his brain did not stop working merely because of some trifling
rebuff—it occurred to him that if there was only a hundred dollars
difference between him and a dude, the obstacle was not an impossible
one to surmount, and that a few years of hard work would convert him
into a very superior quality of dude, and would thus enable him to
regain the friendship and esteem which he was positive Miss Van Kuren
once entertained for him. With this cheerful view of the case he lifted
his head bravely, and walked on toward the truck quarters with swift and
resolute steps. He said nothing to his friend Charles Weyman in regard
to his chance meeting. In fact, he did all he could to forget it
himself, but he had been too deeply wounded to put all recollection of
the young girl’s coldness to him aside, and the memory of that chance
meeting rankled in his breast for many weeks.