Stealing away from the ones at home, who would be sad when they found out
about it; stealing away from honor, purity, cleanliness, goodness, and
manliness, the minister's boy and the boy next door were preparing to smoke
their first cigarettes. They had skulked across the back pasture, and were
nearing the stone wall that separated Mr. Meadow's corn-field from the
road; and here, screened by the wall on one side and by corn on the other,
they intended to roll the little "coffin nails," and smoke them unseen.
The minister's boy, whose name was Johnny Brighton, and who was an
innocent, unsuspicious child, agreed that it would be a fine, manly thing
to smoke. So the lads waited and planned, and now their opportunity had
come. The boy next door, whose name was Albert Beecher, saw old Jerry
Grimes, the worst character in Roseland, drop a small bag of tobacco and
some cigarette-papers. The lad, being unobserved, transferred the stuff
from the sidewalk to his pocket, then hid it in the wood-shed.
At last their plan seemed about to be carried out. Albert's mother was
nursing a sick friend, and the minister, secure in his study, was preparing
a sermon. Johnny's mother was dead. His aunt Priscilla was his father's
housekeeper, and she was usually so busy that she had little time for small
boys. Today, as she began her sewing, Johnny slipped quietly from the house
and joined his chum.
The boys reached the stone wall and sat down, with the tobacco between
them, to enjoy (?) what they considered a manly deed. After considerable
talk and a few blunders, each succeeded in rolling a cigarette, and was
about to pass it to his lips, when a strange voice, almost directly above
their heads, said, pleasantly, "Trying to kill yourselves, boys?"
With a guilty start, Johnny and Albert turned instantly, and beheld the
strangest specimen of humanity that either had ever seen. An unmistakable
tramp, with a pale, sickly face, covered partly with grime and partly with
stubby black beard, stood leaning with his arms on top of the wall, looking
down at them. Although it was summer, he wore a greasy winter cap, and his
coat, too, spoke of many rough journeys through dirt and bad weather. His
lips were screwed into something resembling a smile; but as he spoke, his
haunted, sunken eyes roved restlessly from one upturned face to the other.
As the only answer the boys gave him was an astonished, frightened stare,
the man continued: "I would not do it, boys. It is an awful thing--awful! I
was trying to get a little sleep over here," he continued, "when I heard
your voices, and thought I would see what was going on. Did not any one
ever tell you about cigarettes? Why, each one contains enough poison to
kill a cat; if it was fixed right, I mean." He passed a thin, shaking hand
over his face, and went on: "Do you want to fool with such things?--Not if
you are wise. You see, the cigarette habit will kill you sometime, by
inches, if not right away, or else drive you crazy; and no sane person
wants to kill himself or spoil his health. That is what I am doing,
though," he admitted, with a bitter smile and a sad shake of his head. "But
I cannot stop it now. I have gone too far, and I cannot help myself. I am a
wreck, a blot on the face of the earth."
Both lads had thrown their cigarettes to the ground, scrambled to their
feet. Johnny, sober-faced and round-eyed, was gazing intently up at the
man; but Albert, feigning indifference, stood digging his toe into the
earth. He was listening, however.
"It is this way with me," the stranger went on, seeing he had an audience:
"I have gone from bad to worse till I cannot stop, no matter how hard I
try. Why, I was once a clean little chap like you, but I got to reading
trash, and then I began to smoke, and pretty soon I had drifted so far into
evil ways that I had no control over myself."
Here Johnny and Albert exchanged a painful glance.
"The worst thing about cigarettes," the man continued, "is that they
usually lead to something worse. I am a drunkard and a thief, because of
evil associations. Tramps never have any ready money; so when I have to
have cigarettes, which is all the time, I either steal them or steal the
money to buy them with. Besides," with another sad shake of the head, "I am
what is known as a drug fiend, and--yes, I guess I am everything bad. If
your folks knew who was talking to you, their blood would run cold.
"And it is all principally due to cigarettes!" he broke forth, savagely,
emphasizing his words with his fist and speaking more excitedly. "Just look
at me and behold a splendid example of the cigarette curse. Why, I was
naturally bright; I might have been a man to honor. But a bad habit,
uncontrolled, soon ruins one. My nerves are gone. I am only a fit companion
for jailbirds and criminals. I cannot even look an honest man in the face,
yet I am not naturally bad at heart. The best way is never to begin; then
you will never have to suffer. Cigarettes will surely hurt you some day,
though you may not be able to see the effects at first."
The speaker's manner had changed greatly during the past few moments. At
first he had spoken calmly, but he was now more than agitated. His eyes
rolled and flashed in their dark caverns, and he spoke vehemently, with
excited gestures. Johnny and Albert stood close together, regarding him
with frightened eyes.
"I wish I could reform," he exclaimed, "but I cannot! The poison is in my
veins. A thousand devils seem dragging me down. I wish I could make every
boy stop smoking those things. I wish I could warn them of the horrible
end."
With a sudden shriek, the man threw up his hands, fell backward, and
disappeared. After a second's hesitation, both lads ran to the wall,
climbed up, and looked over. In an unmistakable fit, the man was writhing
on the ground. Johnny and Albert ran quickly across lots and into Rev. Paul
Brighton's study. After learning that the boys had found a man in a fit,
Johnny's father hailed two passing neighbors, and the little party of
rescuers followed the lads to the scene of the strange experience.
It was a sorry spectacle that greeted them. The poor fellow's paroxysm had
passed, and he lay still and apparently lifeless, covered with dust and
grime. The minister bent over him, and, ascertaining that he was alive and
conscious, lifted him up; then, with the help of the two men, took the
outcast to the parsonage.
That evening, before the minister had asked his boy three questions, Johnny
broke into convulsive sobs, and made a clean breast of the matter from the
beginning. Blaming himself for not having won the child's heart securely
long before this, the minister did not censure him severely. He knew that
after such an example, the sensitive lad would never go wrong as far as
cigarettes were concerned.
Aunt Priscilla took her nephew in her arms, and, kissing the lips that were
yet sweet and pure, said, "If I have neglected you, Johnny, I am sorry; and
after this I am going to spend considerable time being good to my precious
laddie."
Johnny slipped an arm around Aunt Priscilla's neck. "That is just what I
want," he said, happily.
"I hope this will teach you a lesson, Albert," said Mrs. Beecher to her
son, when he, with the help and advice of the minister, had made a full
confession of his share in the matter. "After such an example, I should
think you would never want to see another cigarette."
"I do not," said Albert, soberly, "and if I can help it, I am not going to;
I will fight them. Cigarettes certainly did not make a man of that fellow.
They _unmade_ him."
For several days, during which the minister thought of what could be done
for him, the outcast stayed at the parsonage. He was invited to try the
gospel cure. "If you will put yourself unreservedly in the hands of God,
and remain steadfast," said Mr. Brighton, "there is hope for you. Besides,
I know of some medical missionaries who can help doctor the poison out of
your system, if you will let them."
At last the poor fellow yielded. And after a hard, bitter struggle, during
which a higher power helped him, he won the victory. He joined a band of
religious people whose work is to help rebuild wrecked lives; and although
weak at first and never robust, he was still able to point the right way to
many an erring mortal. He did much good; and Johnny and Albert, at least,
never forgot the practical example he gave them of what the cigarette can
accomplish for its slaves. BENJAMIN KEECH.