Only two or three incidents worthy of note fell to the lot of Tom Gordon
during his second year in the employ of Josiah Warmore.
At the beginning of the year he was promoted, and received a considerable
increase of salary. The situation given to him belonged by right of
seniority of service to Max Zeigler, and was looked upon as a certainty by
him. He was so indignant at the snub, that he made no effort to conceal
his feelings. While the hurt rankled, he went to Mr. Warmore and demanded
an explanation. He got it, and resigned forthwith. No one regretted to see
him go, and least of all Tom Gordon, who gave a sigh of thankfulness at
the removal of the thorn from his side.
It was strange how Mr. Warmore found out everything about his employees.
Often they felt astonishment, and could not understand by what means he
picked up knowledge they were often certain was only known to themselves.
Thus he learned at an early date the petty persecutions suffered by Tom at
the hands of Zeigler; and there can be little doubt that that information
was one cause of the fellow receiving such a marked set-back. Then he
knew as much of that wrestling and boxing bout as if he had been a
witness. There is reason to suspect he was secretly pleased at the issue,
though he would never admit it. It is not wise at all times for the
teacher or employer to let those under his charge know the extent of his
knowledge of their doings. In other words, it is not always best to see
what you do see.
Mr. Warmore was a reserved man. He was kind, but just, toward his clerks.
He established a free reading-room in Bellemore, saw that every employee
had his regular vacation each summer or whenever he preferred it,
encouraged them to be frugal and moral, gave them good advice, forbade
coarseness of language or profanity, and hired a pew in each of the two
leading churches, which were always at the disposal of his young men
without any expense to them.
Occasionally he gave entertainments at his own handsome residence for
their benefit. Now and then he would invite some of them to dinner. His
wife was in delicate health, but a most excellent woman, who did much to
make such evenings highly enjoyable. Their only son had died in his
infancy, and their daughter Jennie was attending a boarding-school. Little
was seen of her, though when at home she often drove to the store with her
mother, to take her father out with them. She was remarkably attractive in
looks, but, like her father, reserved in manner. She recognized the
clerks, when she chanced to meet them, with the air and manner of a lady;
but all felt there was a gulf between her and them which was impassable.
They concluded (and did not criticise her therefor) that she held herself
socially above each and all of them.
The second incident that took place came to Tom Gordon in the summer-time
while away on his fortnight's vacation. He had grown to be tall, and more
attractive than when younger. He was fond of good clothes; and when he
took the steamer at the landing, and went down the Hudson to New York, it
would have been hard to find a better looking or more correctly costumed
young man than Tom. He did not show it in his manner, but how could he
help knowing it?
Strange that almost the first persons he noticed on the boat were Sam
Harper and his sister Nellie, returning from an excursion up the river.
They, too, had done considerable growing, and made a handsome couple. Tom
looked so well that Nellie was very pleased to meet him. She would have
been glad to receive attention from him, and showed by her manner that she
expected it. But Tom could not forget that snub a couple of years before,
when he was selling papers on a Broadway car. He liked Sam and his father
and mother, but couldn't forgive Nellie for hurting his feelings. So,
when the brother turned her over to him, Tom with exquisite courtesy
raised his hat, bade her good-day, and strolled to another part of the
boat. She understood the meaning of the repulse, as he meant she should,
and she felt it.
And who should he run against on the wharf in the city but his old friend
Patsey McConough, who had done him such a good turn when he first arrived
in the metropolis. The genial Irishman had driven down with a carriage to
meet his employer, who was on the steamer, so he had but little
opportunity to talk with Tom, whom he did not recognize until the youth
made himself known. But they shook hands warmly, and each was pleased to
find the other doing so well. They parted with the best wishes, hoping
soon to see each other again.
Tom, like a sensible youth, made the most of his vacation. He spent
several days among his friends at Briggsville, who heartily welcomed him
among them, even though saddened by the fact that the orphan who went away
with him could never return to them again. Then he gave a few days to the
seashore, where none enjoyed the bathing, the boating, and frolicking more
than he. All too soon the two weeks drew to an end, and he again boarded
the steamer which stopped at the landing opposite Bellemore, on its way to
more important towns and cities up the Hudson.
Strolling over the boat to see whether there were any acquaintances among
his fellow-travelers, he found none, and, having nothing better to do, sat
down on a camp-stool on the forward deck to view the picturesque scenery,
which, however, had become so familiar that he fell to studying human
nature as it appeared immediately around him.
That which interested him the most was a dudish young man, dressed in the
extreme of fashion, carrying a heavy cane, and wearing eyeglasses. He had
high cheek bones, fishy gray eyes, fine teeth, and a simpering smile. Tom
judged he was a couple of years older than himself, and became interested
in him because of his amusing efforts to charm the ladies around him. The
vulgar expression would be that he was trying to "mash" them. The word is
not a good one, but it will help my reader to understand the meaning.
Evidently he believed himself irresistible, and his smirking, posing, and
ogling were ludicrous to the last degree. Among the numerous young ladies
on board were a dozen Vassar girls, as bright, merry, and full of mischief
as they could possibly be. They met the ogling of the dude with sly
glances and smiles which made him more killing than ever. Encouraged by
this, and not doubting that he had made a conquest, he ventured to
approach and address them. The reception he met was enough to congeal
water. It fairly took away his breath. Then he blushed clear out to the
end of his ears, and withdrew to some other part of the boat, where he
could hope to be better appreciated.
Some of the girls managed to stroll thither a few minutes later, as if
unconscious of where he had gone. Tom saw some fun was coming, and he
drifted thither too.
The dude had succeeded in making an impression on a simpering girl, and
was seated on one of the camp-stools beside her, talking in his drawling
way, and pointing out the beautiful scenery as they swept past. He
frequently raised his heavy cane and indicated the different objects, the
better to enlighten his companion.
"Aw, that is Haverstraw," he volunteered, bringing the stick to a level.
"It is--aw--quite a famous place; reminds me of Holland across the water,
you know."
"What is there about Haverstraw to suggest Holland?" inquired his lady
friend.
"They make bricks there--aw--a good many bricks--aw--may I inquire,
doncherknow, did you ever see a brick?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, with an impertinent glance from her mischievous
eyes; "I think I am looking at one now."
"You mean to say that I am a brick--aw--good, dooced good; I must tell
that at the club--dooced clevah; couldn't do much bettah meself,
doncherknow? Now, if you will kindly rise from your seat--aw--I will point
out a vewy interesting mountain peak."
"Thank you, I can see well enough without rising."
Nevertheless, the dude came to a stooping posture, and, with one gloved
hand on the railing to steady him self, wabbled the bulky cane again in
the direction of the shore.
"Aw--I'm a little off soundings, doncherknow, and am not suah whether that
is Dunderberg Mountain or Saint Anthony's Olfactory Organ--aw--that's
clevah, don't you think,--Saint Anthony's Olfactory Organ,
doncherknow"--At the moment of partly rising to his feet, a couple of
Vassar girls walked past. When directly opposite the camp-stool of the
dude, one of them touched it with the toe of her shoe and shoved it to one
side. The lady seated near and listening to the young man's chatter saw
it, but pretended she did not, and, therefore, made no effort to save her
new friend from his impending catastrophe. It was the same with a dozen
other persons.
There is no form of practical joking more to be condemned than that of
taking a chair from under a person when he is about to sit down. Lasting
injury has resulted in more than one instance, and no person should ever
do it himself or permit it to be done by another. Possibly, however, the
case now in hand was an exception; for it was evident that the principal
performer was so soft that no harm could come to him from the fall. No
spectator felt any misgiving on that score.
Finding his companion did not rise as he had requested, the young man
began slowly to sit down. He continued doing so, until he struck the deck
with a bump which caused his hat to fly off, the cane to drop from his
hand, and his eyeglasses to fall from his nose. He gradually picked
himself up, and, amid the laughter of every one near, made his way to the
_salon_ below, and busied himself reading a copy of an English paper.
This incident would not be worth the telling but for that which followed.
The dudish young man who caused so much entertainment on board the steamer
that afternoon was destined to cross the path of Tom Gordon in a way of
which neither dreamed.
Tom gave no more thought to him until, when waiting to walk ashore at the
landing, he saw, to his surprise, the young man was about to do the same.
It looked as if he intended to make a call at Bellemore. Greater
astonishment came when Tom saw the handsome carriage of Mr. Warmore at the
landing. The driver was perched on the high seat in front, while Mrs.
Warmore and her daughter Jennie occupied the rear seat, facing the vacant
one.
"Can it be possible? Well, that beats me!"
[Illustration: Tom held on like grim death.]
The carriage was waiting for this young man, who simpered forward with
uplifted hat and greeted them effusively. Mrs. Warmore noticed Tom, and
bowed to him, inviting him to enter the carriage and ride with them,--an
invitation which, as he expressed to himself, he would not have accepted
for seventeen thousand million dollars. The dude stepped into the
carriage, dropped into the seat facing the ladies, and devoted himself to
gnawing the head of his cane and making bright remarks to them.
"Well, who in the name of the seven wonders can he be?" mused Tom, walking
briskly homeward. "He must be some relative of the Warmores; but they
ought to be ashamed of such a specimen as that. He was the laughing-stock
of the boat. I was forming quite an exalted opinion of Miss Jennie; but if
she fancies that sort of thing, my respect for her has gone down to zero."
When Tom stepped upon the porch of Farmer Pitcairn's home, and shook hands
with him, and received a motherly kiss from his good wife, he went inside,
and, sitting down to their evening meal, asked Mr. Pitcairn whether he had
noticed the young man riding in the Warmore carriage with the mother and
daughter.
"Yes; I've seen him before. He is a son of an old friend of the family.
I've an idee that he and Miss Warmore are intended for each other."
"Do you know his name?"
"Yes--let me see. Ah, it is Catherwood--G. Field Catherwood. He parts his
name, like his hair, in the middle. He is quite a dude in his dress, but
when you come to know him pretty well he isn't such a bad sort of fellow."
"How is it _you_ know so much about him?" asked Tom in surprise.
"He has stopped here a good many times when out riding with the ladies.
He's fond of mother's buttermilk."
"I thought his kind preferred sweet milk," Tom could not help remarking,
with a laugh; "but I must not judge him too harshly. We all have our
peculiarities, and he is not likely to fancy me any more than I do him."
Tom returned to his work refreshed and renewed in strength and spirits.
The year passed pleasantly. That which followed saw him promoted another
step, so that when the fourth year opened it saw him in a situation where
the salary of but a single employee exceeded his; that was the bookkeeper.
He had every reason to expect that place when the vacancy should occur.
Mr. Warmore had given so many evidences of his regard that it was conceded
by all that he was his favorite clerk. He had never violated his
principles of honesty, truthfulness, and consideration for every one with
whom he came in contact. A young man who lives up to that rule of conduct
is as sure to succeed, if his life is spared, as the sun is to rise.
The bookkeeper was an elderly gentleman, so well-to-do that, at the
beginning of the fifth year, he resigned and gave up all active work. His
son was engaged in successful business in New York, and urged his father
to join him, where he would be a partner. So he left. His successor in the
establishment of Mr. Warmore, instead of being Tom Gordon, was G. Field
Catherwood.