THE MAN WHO HAD FAITH
“Good morning, Mr. Holwell!”
“Glad to see you, Harry. I suppose you are on your way to the mills,
for since you decided to act as assistant to your good father, instead
of going another two years to college, you’ve been sticking pretty
close to your work.”
Mr. Thomas Holwell, the best-loved pastor in Cliffwood, shook hands
most heartily with the fine looking young fellow whom he had met on
the main street of the town about eight o’clock in the morning of that
first day of November.
Harry Bartlett was the only son of the head of the big paper mills.
He had always been a credit to the town, and won many honors for his
school both with regard to scholarships and in athletics. Two years
in college had seen him getting along famously, when a change in his
father’s health caused him to alter all his plans, bringing him back
home to assume some of the business cares.
“Oh! I find plenty of time to be doing some other things that I care
for, in spite of the heavy work at the mills,” replied young Bartlett,
cheerily.
“Yes, I know you are taking a deep interest in the work at our local Y.
M. C. A.,” the older gentleman went on to say, still gripping Harry’s
hand warmly in his. “It was largely through the benevolence of your
good father that we were able to hire that building, and establish a
home for our many young men, where they could be kept off the street
nights, and enjoy themselves in clean sport.”
The boys and young men in Cliffwood had no better friend in all that
region than the Rev. Thomas Holwell. It had been largely through his
hearty labors that the idea of having a local Y. M. C. A. finally
assumed definite shape, and leading men of the town had subscribed
enough money to put the project through.
“I fancy the younger element in town must have been pretty busy last
night,” Harry remarked, partly to change the subject, for he was very
modest, and never liked to hear his own praises sung, even by the
minister whom he loved so well.
“Oh! as to that,” the older gentleman observed, “we always expect
something along the line of innocent pranks to happen on that one
boys’ night of the year. Wise people take in their doormats and
clothes-poles. Some I know even make it a point to hide all gates that
are removable, ash barrels, and such things. We mustn’t forget that we
were boys ourselves once upon a time.”
Harry laughed as though some memories connected with sundry doings
along those same lines haunted him.
“They seem to be getting bolder every year, I’m afraid,” he continued.
“I was out for a tramp as a sort of bracer, after daylight this
morning, and wondered what on earth old Farmer Hasty could be doing up
on the roof of his big barn. It seems some boys had taken one of his
wagons all apart, and fastened the wheels along the ridge-pole. He was
pretty mad about it too.”
Mr. Holwell sighed and shook his head.
“Some of those boys are getting to be pretty wild, I’m afraid, Harry,”
he went on to remark, reflectively. “They pursue their desire for fun
too far. I’ve been doing more or less hard thinking lately about them,
and mean to have a serious talk with you soon, to see if something can
be done to lead that love for a frolic in the right channel.”
“Here comes Mr. Nocker, and looking more severe than I ever knew him to
be,” remarked Harry Bartlett. “I wonder if any of the boys have been
playing practical jokes on the deacon. I can remember doing that same
thing, and once got a good drenching in the bargain from a bucket of
water at his hands.”
“Good morning, Deacon Nocker,” said Mr. Holwell, as the richest
storekeeper in Cliffwood reached them. “Harry here was saying you
looked worried this fine morning. I hope you have not had anything more
happen to trouble you?”
The crabbed old man shook his head as he hastened to reply to this
question.
“I’m on my way straight to the office of the Chief of Police, to swear
out warrants against three boys of this town, who entered my house
late last night, forcing a window just like ordinary burglars. It’s
high time the perverted natures of our boys were checked. I’ll see to
it these three are put under bonds to behave themselves. I’ve stood
enough, and this outrage is the last straw that breaks the patient
camel’s back.”
“Who are the three lads, Deacon Nocker?” asked Mr. Holwell, with deep
anxiety in his voice, for he loved all boys, and believed in them.
“I found this cap on my floor after I’d frightened the lot off, and
it’s marked Dick Horner,” the old man hastened to say, triumphantly
flourishing the head gear as he spoke. “Then I recognized two other
young scamps as Elmer Jones and Daniel Fenwick. I’m going to have the
law on them for breaking in. The rest of the crowd had some silly sort
of white gowns like sheets on, so I didn’t see their faces. But the
police will find out who they were, never fear.”
“They must have been trying to play ghost, thinking to frighten you,
Mr. Nocker!” exclaimed Harry, trying hard to repress the smile he felt
creeping over his face, for possibly he may have been guilty of some
such prank in his younger days.
“No matter what they meant to do,” retorted the old man, angrily. “It
was next door to a crime to break into a private house as they did. And
trying to frighten any one through such outrageous means might end in
serious results, in case the victim were afflicted with heart trouble,
as I am. I shall see that Dick Horner and his companions are made to
suffer for their escapade.”
He was about to move on when Mr. Holwell caught his arm.
“Please wait a minute, Deacon Nocker,” said the minister, seriously.
“You might in your calmer moments regret having caused the Widow Horner
additional sorrow. We all know she has seen enough, as it is. If you
will listen to my advice it may not be necessary for you to proceed to
such extreme measures as to cause the arrest of those good-hearted, but
reckless, lads.”
“Boys should be taken in hand and treated severely if you want them
to amount to anything, Mr. Holwell,” protested the storekeeper, who,
nevertheless, entertained considerable respect for his pastor, and
consequently did not break away from his gentle, detaining grasp.
“I know that has always been your policy, Deacon,” said the other. “But
some of us believe boys are more sinned against than sinning. I myself
fancy there is some good in _every_ boy, if only you can find it. The
trouble is we go about it the wrong way. It is a case of the fierce
wind failing to tear the traveler’s cloak off, when the warm, genial
sunshine soon caused him to shed it.”
“But the Good Book tells us not to refrain from using the rod,” urged
the storekeeper. “I have heard you read that passage more than a few
times, Mr. Holwell.”
“Yes, but use it in moderation,” explained the minister, “and then only
in love. If I had a boy of my own I would never whip or punish him for
heedless things he may have done without a heart-to-heart talk with him
afterwards, and a reconciliation. Harsh actions do not profit one in
the case of boys. I really believe it only serves to make them think
they are being imposed upon, and their liberties destroyed, which leads
to open rebellion.”
“Well, since you ask it as a favor, Mr. Holwell,” the deacon went on to
say, reluctantly, “I will promise to forego my threat this time. But it
is the last opportunity for those three young jackanapes. If they ever
attempt to bait me again, I will surely bring them to book, no matter
what ill feeling it causes.”
“Thank you, Deacon,” said the minister, shaking the old man’s hand,
which was put in his rather reluctantly it must be confessed. “On my
part, I promise you that something is soon going to be done to curb
the reckless habit our boys have of seeking excitement, and what they
call fun. I think we shall be able to make a considerable difference in
their habits, once we get started.”
At that prophecy the crabbed old man snorted.
“I imagine that will happen, Mr. Holwell,” he said, sneeringly, “when
the heavens fall, or water starts to run uphill. Kind words never yet
controlled youthful spirits. It’s strap-oil that is needed to make
decent men of them.”
“Ah! yes, but even that stern method often fails, Deacon,” the minister
gently reminded him, and the old man’s face went whiter than usual,
while speech failed him utterly; for like a stab there must have come
to him the remembrance of the bright-faced young fellow he had sent
away from home years ago, and whom he never saw again in life.
He broke away from the hand of the minister, and muttering to himself,
stamped off; but both of them saw that at least he was now headed for
his store, and not in the direction of police headquarters.
Mr. Holwell and Harry Bartlett stood there looking after him. The young
fellow appeared somewhat amused, but his companion was very grave, and
the lines on his forehead told that serious thoughts were gripping him.
“Things are getting worse all the while, it seems, Harry,” remarked the
minister, finally. “Our boys are constantly becoming more reckless, it
strikes me, in their desire to have what they call fun. The times are
changing, and we must change with them. What answered in my younger
days will not fill the bill in these times.”
“I’m afraid you’re about right there, sir,” Harry admitted. “Even I can
notice that boys are getting out of hand very fast. They hesitate at
nothing when out for a good time. And I run across a great many boys
loitering on the street corners as late as ten o’clock at night.”
“Mostly because their homes have not been made attractive enough for
them,” the observant minister went on to say. “But I’ve tried in vain
to get the co-operation of their parents. Something else must be done,
some way found whereby we can obtain and hold the interest of these
half-grown lads. And Harry, a brilliant idea flashed into my mind last
night while I sat alone brooding in my study.”
“I should like to hear what it is, then.”
“First of all I want to tell you, Harry, that I shall surely need your
hearty backing if the plan I have in view is going to meet with a
shadow of success.”
“Before I hear a word of your scheme, sir, I can promise you that
much,” said the younger member of the newly reorganized firm of
Bartlett & Company, with hearty emphasis.
“I felt sure I could count on your whole-souled assistance, Harry!” Mr.
Holwell exclaimed, joyously. “Like myself you believe in boys to the
utmost.”
“Then tell me what it is you have been considering, sir,” urged Harry.
“A radical step in our service for young men and boys,” said the
minister, with flashing eyes, and enthusiasm beaming from every feature
of his rosy, healthy face. “It is nothing more or less than to start a
junior organization in the Y. M. C. A., giving younger lads a chance to
form a club, granting them the privileges of the gymnasium, the reading
rooms, and admission to the lecture course as well. What do you say to
that, Harry?”
“A splendid scheme, Mr. Holwell, and I’ll go into it with all my heart
and soul.”
“Come over to the parsonage tonight, then, Harry, and fetch your father
along. I’ll have a few other people, ladies as well, present, and we’ll
talk over the project; but I tell you now once for all we must push it
through; no halfway measure will do. Call it eight this evening, Harry.
And here’s wishing great luck to the Boys’ Department of the Y. M. C.
A.!”