"Pat," said his mother the next morning at breakfast, "what's that book
you used to be studyin' that larns you to talk roight?"
"Grammar, mother."
"Well, then, your studyin' has done you small good, for you talk pretty
much the way I do mysilf, and niver a bit of that book did I be larnin'
in my loife. It don't make a bit of difference what you know, if you
don't go and _do_ what you know. But you're not too old to begin
over again, Pat, and practice talkin' roight. Roight talkin' will help
you in the store. You've got in, and that's only half of it, for you'll
not stay in if you don't do your best. And that's why helpin' a body
don't do so much good after all."
Pat blushed, and the widow felt a little compassion. She threw increased
confidence into her tone as she went on. "Not as anybody thinks you
won't stay, Pat, for, of course, you'll do your best. But about your
talkin'--you'll need somebody to watch you close, and somebody that
loves you well enough to tell you your mistakes koindly, and Andy's the
b'y to do it. He's the wan among you all that talks roight, for he loves
his book, do you moind."
And now it was Andy's turn to blush, while the widow smiled upon him. "I
hear a many of them grammar folks talk," she said, "and it's mysilf that
sees you talk jist loike 'em, barrin' the toimes when you don't. And
them's not so many, nayther."
At this little Jim scowled scornfully, but of him his mother took no
notice as she looked around with pride upon her sons.
"And it's proud I am to be havin' all sorts of b'ys in my family,
barrin' bad wans," she continued. "I'll jist be tryin' to larn a little
better ways of talkin' mysilf, so I will, not as I think there's much
chance for me, and, as there's no good of waitin' till you get as old as
Pat, Jim, you'll be takin' heed to Andy's talkin'. Andy's the talker as
would have plazed his father, for his father loiked everything done
roight, so he did."
It was pleasant to see Andy's sensitive face glow with delight at being
thus publicly commended by that potentate of the family, his mother.
Mrs. O'Callaghan saw it. "And did you think I wasn't noticin' because I
didn't say nothin'?" she asked him.
Then turning to the rest, "B'ys, you mostly niver knows what folks is
a-noticin' by what they says--that is, to your face--but you sometoimes
foinds out by hearin' what they've been sayin' behoind your back. And,
by the same token, it's mostly bad they says behoind your back."
"I don't want to be larnin' from Andy," interrupted Jim. "He's but two
years older than me anyway."
The widow eyed him severely. "Well, Jim, is it bigger and older than Pat
you are? Pat's goin' to larn from Andy. And is it older than your mother
you are, that's forty years old? Sure I'm goin' to larn from Andy."
But Jim still appeared rebellious.
"Some of these days little Barney and Tommie and Larry will be set to
larn from you. Take care they're not set to larn what not to do from
lookin' at you. 'Tis Andy that's got the gift ne'er a wan of us has, and
he'll show us how to profit by it, if we has sinse. It's thinkin' I am
your father, if he was here, would not have been above touchin' up his
own talkin' a bit under Andy's teachin'. Your father was for larnin' all
he could, no matter who from, old or young."
Now the widow might have talked long to Jim without affecting him much,
but for one thing. She had said that Andy had a gift that all the rest
lacked. He resolved from that moment that he would talk better than Andy
yet, or know why.
A pretty big resolve for so young a boy, but Jim could not endure to
yield the supremacy to Andy in anything. Pat and Mike he was content to
look up to, but Andy was too near his own age, and too small and frail
to challenge Jim's respect.
That morning Jim said little, but his ears were open. Every sentence
that Andy spoke was carefully listened to, but the little fellow went to
school not much enlightened. He could see the difference between his
speech and Andy's, but he could not see what made the difference. And
ask Andy he wouldn't.
"I'll be askin' the teacher, so I will," he thought.
That morning at recess, a small, red-headed, belligerent-looking boy,
with a pair of mischievous blue eyes, went up to Miss Slocum's desk. But
the eyes were not mischievous now. They were very earnest as they gazed
up into his teacher's face.
"Plaze, ma'am, will you be sayin': I'll be larnin' it yet, so I will?"
Miss Slocum was surprised. "What did you say, Jim?" she asked.
"Plaze, ma'am, will you say: I'll be larnin' it yet, so I will?"
Miss Slocum smiled, and obligingly repeated, "I'll be larnin' it yet, so
I will."
"No," said Jim. "That's the way I said it. Say it right."
"Say it right!" exclaimed Miss Slocum.
"Yes, say it like the grammar book."
"Oh," said Miss Slocum wonderingly. "I _will_ learn it yet. Is that
what you wanted?"
"Yes, ma'am. Will you be tellin' me some more when I want to know it?"
"Certainly," responded the gratified teacher, whereat Jim went away
satisfied. He smiled to himself knowingly, as he caught sight of Andy at
a distance on the campus. "I'll not be askin' him nayther," he said. "I
_will_ learn it yet."
As for Pat, he went to the store that same morning a trifle
disconsolate. He was fond of trade, but he knew almost nothing of dry
goods; and here was his mother counseling him to improve his speech, and
holding up to him the warning that his own inefficiency might lose him
his place.
"Well, I know how to sweep and dust, anyway," he thought as he unlocked
the store door, went in and took up his broom. As thoroughly as before
he went over everything, but much more quickly, not having the
accumulated shiftlessness of former boys to contend with. And Mr.
Farnham, on his arrival, found everything spotless.
Customers at Pat's department that day found a very silent clerk, but
one eager to oblige. Many times before he went home for the night did he
display every piece of goods in his charge, and that with such an
evident wish to please, that his sales were considerable. And the widow
heard his report at bedtime with something like satisfaction.
"And what did you say to make 'em buy?" she inquired.
"Well, mother, I mostly didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say,
and I couldn't say it right, neither, and so I just watched, and if they
so much as turned their eyes on a piece, I got it out of the pile and
showed it to 'em. I just wished with all my might to sell to 'em, and I
sold to 'em."
His mother's eyes were fixed on him, and she nodded her head
approvingly. "Sure and if you couldn't do no better, that was good
enough, so 'twas," was her comment. "You'll larn. But didn't nobody say
nothin' to you?"
"They did, mother, of course."
"And who was they that spoke to you and what about?"
"Well, mother, there was old Mrs. Barter, for one. She's awful stingy.
I've seen her more than once in the groceries. Always a-wantin'
everything a little lower, and grumblin' because the quality wasn't
good. Them grocers' clerks mostly hates her, I believe. And they don't
want to wait on her, none of 'em. 'Twas her, I'm told, washed up two or
three of them wooden butter dishes and took 'em up and wanted to sell
'em back to them she got her butter from."
"Ah!" said Mrs. O'Callaghan, with her eyes sympathetically upon her son.
"And she was to buy of you to-day, was she?"
"Yes, mother."
"And did she buy anything?"
"She did."
"What was it?"
"A calico dress."
"And how come she to do it?"
"I don't know. She begun by lookin' everything over and runnin'
everything down. And at last she took hold of a piece, and says she,
'Come, young man, I've seen you a-buyin' more than once. Can you tell me
this is a good piece that won't fade?' 'I can, ma'am,' says I. 'You
won't find no better in town.'
"'Ah! but you're sellin',' says she. 'Would you tell your mother the
same?' And she looked at me sharp.
"'I would, ma'am,' says I.
"'Then I'll take it,' says she. 'I've not watched you for nothin'.'"
"And then what?" asked Mrs. O'Callaghan eagerly. This, in her opinion,
was a triumph for Pat.
"Why, nothin', mother, only I wrapped it up and give it to her, and I
says, Come again, ma'am,' and she says, 'I will, young man, you may
depend.'"
The little woman regarded him proudly. But all she said was: "When
you're doin' well, Pat, the thing is to see if you can't do better. You
had others a-buyin' of you to-day, I hope?"
"Yes, mother."
"'Tis too late to hear about it to-night, for 'tis good sleep that
sharpens the wits. And the broightest wits will bear that koind of
sharpening', so they will. I wouldn't be knowin' what to do half the
time if it wasn't for sleepin' good of nights. And, by the same token,
if any of them high-steppin' clerks comes around with a cigar and
a-wantin' you to go here and yon of nights, jist remimber that your wits
is your stock in trade, and Mr. Farnham's not wantin' dull wans about
him, nayther."
Thus having headed off any designs that might be had upon Pat, his
mother went to sharpen her own wits for whatever the morrow might have
in store for her.
And now a change began to come over Jim. He left his younger brothers in
unhectored peace. He had not much to say, but ever he watched Andy from
the corner of a jealous eye, and listened for him to speak. All his
pugnacity was engaged in what seemed to be a profitless struggle with
the speech of the grammar. "I _will_ larn it yet," he repeated over
and over. And even while the words were in his mouth, if he had had less
obstinacy in his make-up, he would have yielded himself to despair. But
a good thing happened to him. Miss Slocum, not knowing his ignoble
motive, and seeing a very earnest child striving to improve himself, set
about helping him in every possible way.
One day she called him to her. "Jim," she said, "asking me questions is
slow work. Suppose I correct you every time you make a mistake?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Jim vaguely, not knowing the meaning of
_correct_.
"You don't understand me?"
"No, ma'am."
"_Correct_ means to make right. Suppose I set you right whenever
you go wrong?"
"That's it!" cried Jim enthusiastically. "That's it! I can larn that way
sure."
"_Learn_, not _larn_, Jim."
Jim looked at her. "'Tis learn and not larn I'll be sayin'," he
declared.
"Not _I'll be sayin'_," corrected Miss Slocum, "but _I'll
say_."
"_Learn_, not _larn_, and _I'll say_, not _I'll be
sayin'_," amended the obedient Jim, and then he sped away.
And that night he did what never a child of Mrs. O'Callaghan's had done
before. The family were at supper. Pat, paying good heed to his tongue,
was manifestly improving, and the widow was congratulating him in her
own way.
"What did I be sayin' to you, Pat dear? Did I be tellin' you you wasn't
too old to larn? And I'll be sayin' it again, so I will."
"_Larn's_ not the right of it," interrupted Jim. "_Learn's_
what you ought to be sayin'. _I'll be sayin'_ ain't right,
nayther," he continued. "It's _I'll say_," and he looked very
important.
Pat and Andy regarded him in displeased astonishment, but the widow
could take care of her own.
"And it's glad I am to see that you know so much, Jim," she said
quietly. "What more do you know? Let's hear it."
Thus brought to book Jim grew confused. He blushed and stammered under
the unfavorable regard of his mother and two older brothers, and finally
confessed that he knew nothing more. At which Barney and Tommie nudged
each other. They did not understand what all the talk was about, but
they could see that Jim was very red in the face, and not at all at his
ease, and their beforetime hectored little selves rejoiced.
"B'ys," said the mother, "I told you if your blessed father was here
he'd not be above learning from any one, old or young. And he wouldn't,
nayther. And sure he said _larn_ himsilf. And from Jim here he'd
learn better than that, and he'd learn, too, how them that knows very
little is the quickest to make a show of it. But kape on, Jim. It's glad
I am you know the difference betwane _larn_ and _learn_, and
sure the only difference is that wan's wrong and the other's roight."
Jim had hoped to quite extinguish Andy by his corrections, and he hardly
knew where he was when his mother finished; and he was still more abroad
when Pat took him out after supper and vigorously informed him that bad
manners were far worse than bad grammar.
"Well, well," thought the widow that evening as she waited alone for
Pat, "Jim do be gettin' ahead of me, that he do. He's loike to have the
consate, so he is, take him down as a body will. But there's wan good
thing about it. While he's studyin' to beat us all on the talkin' he's
lettin' the little b'ys alone famous. He didn't never do much to 'em,
but he jist riled 'em completely, so he did, and made 'em cross at
iverybody."