Pat had now been in Mr. Farnham's employ two months and more, and never
had his faithfulness slackened. He had caught the knack of measuring
goods easily and tying up packages neatly. He could run off a length of
calico and display it to any customer that came to him, and what most
endeared him to Mr. Farnham was that he could sell.
"Best clerk I ever had," the merchant told himself. But he did not
advance this "best clerk" although Pat longed and hoped for promotion.
Upon every opportunity he studied dress goods at the front end of the
store, and carpets and cloaks at the rear. And day by day he went on
patiently selling prints, ginghams and muslins.
"'Tis the best things as are longest a-comin' sometimes," said his
mother encouragingly. "Are you sellin' what you've got as well as you
know how?"
"I am, mother."
"Well, if you are, be sure Mr. Farnham knows it, and, by the same token,
he'd be knowin' it if you was gapin' in the customers' faces or hummin'
or whistlin' soft like while you waited on 'em. Mr. Wall had a clerk
wanst that done that way. I've seen him. And, by the same token, he
ain't got him now. Ladies don't care for hummin' and whistlin' when
they're buyin' goods."
And now trade was growing heavier. The other clerks were overburdened,
while Pat in his humble place had little to do. Suddenly there came a
call for him at the dress counter. A lady had come in and both the other
clerks were busy. She was one who continually lamented in an injured
tone of voice that she lived in so small a town as Wennott, and she
rarely made purchases there. Her name was Mrs. Pomeroy.
"Let us see if Pat sells her anything. It will be a wonder if he does,"
thought Mr. Farnham.
Languidly Mrs. Pomeroy examined this and that in an uninterested way,
and all the time Pat was paying the closest attention, trying to
discover just what she wanted. His heart was beating fast. If only he
could make a sale, what might it not mean to him?
"Here is a pattern for a street dress, madam." Pat's voice was musical,
and his manner most respectful. Mrs. Pomeroy felt interested and
attracted at once. She looked on while Pat drew out the dress pattern
from its box, displaying to advantage its soft coloring and fine
texture.
Mrs. Pomeroy put her head on one side and regarded it through half-shut
eyes.
"The only pattern of exactly its sort and color," said the persuasive
voice of Pat. He had learned from the other clerks that this was a great
recommendation to a piece of goods and helped to sell it.
Mrs. Pomeroy reflected.
She asked the price and reflected again, and all the time she noticed
that Pat's interest was real and not simulated; that he was doing his
best to please her. She liked the goods, but not better than a pattern
she had seen at Wall's. But Wall's clerks were inattentive and
indifferent. They had an air that said "There are the goods. Buy 'em or
leave 'em. 'Tis nothing to us."
She was thinking of this as well as of the dress goods before her and
finally she said, "You may wrap the pattern up. I will take it."
Then did Pat's eyes dance with delight, and he thought of his mother.
But it was only a glancing thought, for in a second he was saying: "Mr.
Farnham has gloves to match."
"I will look at them."
To look was to buy when Pat was salesman, and, in a few moments, the
happiest clerk in the store, Pat walked modestly back to his own place.
"Well done, Pat!" exclaimed Mr. Farnham, going up to him. "I wish you
would keep an eye on the dress counter, and, whenever another clerk is
needed, attend there."
"I will, sir," answered Pat gratefully.
Three times more was Pat needed before the day closed, and every time he
made a good sale.
As usual Mrs. O'Callaghan was waiting alone for Pat. She was extremely
tired and almost despondent. For to earn what she could and keep her
sons up to the mark she had set for them was a great strain on her. And
she missed her husband. More and more she missed him. "Ah, Tim!" she
cried, "'twas a great thing you done for me when you taught our b'ys
that moind me they must and that without questions about it. Only for
that I couldn't do much with 'em. And without you it's hard enough, so
it is. I hain't never laid finger on wan of 'em, and I won't nayther,
for sure they're not beasts but b'ys. I mistrust my hardest toimes are
ahead of me. Pat and Moike and Andy don't trouble me none. Sure and a
bloind man can see them three is all roight. But Jim and Barney and
Tommie and Larry now--how can I be tellin' what's comin' of them? And I
can't set the big b'ys over 'em only to take care of 'em loike, for sure
b'ys as are worth anything won't be bossed by their big brothers. They
sees the unfairness of it."
And then intruding upon her thoughts came a boy's merry whistle; a
whistle that told of a heart where happiness was bubbling up and
overflowing, and the whistling came nearer and nearer.
"Whativer do be makin' Pat come home with a tune loike that?" she asked.
And she half rose as Pat's hand opened the door and the tall young
fellow stepped in. The tiny lamp was very bright, and in its light the
boy's eyes were brilliant.
"Well, Pat!" exclaimed his mother. "The lamp's but a poor match for your
eyes to-night. You've got news for me. What is it?"
And Pat told with an eager tongue how, at last, he had a chance to
attend at the dress counter when the two regular clerks there were busy
and another one was needed.
The widow was silent a moment. It was not quite what she had hoped to
hear, knowing her Pat as she did, but she was determined to keep her
son's courage up. So she said, "Well, then, if you've got so far, it
rests with yoursilf to go farther. 'Tis a blessed thing that there are
such a many things in this world a-restin' on a body's lone silf. But
there's them that niver foinds it out, and that goes about layin' their
own blame here, there and yon."
Pat's elation lasted him overnight and even well on into the next day.
And that day was more wonderful than the one before it. For, about the
middle of the forenoon, General Brady came into the store and walked
back to Mr. Farnham's desk, giving Pat a smile and a bow as he passed
him, and receiving in return an affectionate look. The one evening a
week with the General had not served to diminish the boy's fondness for
him, but it had served to make Pat a greater favorite than ever with the
old soldier.
"Mr. Farnham," said the General, after a few pleasant words had been
exchanged, "Mr. Wall offers thirty dollars a month for Pat. Do you wish
to keep him?"
"I suppose I shall have to come up to Wall's offer if I do?"
"Exactly," was the response with a smile. The General was delighted with
Pat's success, and he could not help showing it.
"Pat is getting himself a reputation among your customers," he remarked
pleasantly.
"Frankly, General," replied Mr. Farnham, "he's the best boy I ever had.
He shall have his thirty dollars."
If the whistle was merry the night before, it was mad with joy on that
Wednesday evening.
"Pat! Pat! what ails you?" cried his mother as the boy came bounding in
with a shout and a toss of his cap. "You'll be wakin' your brothers."
"I'd like to wake 'em, mother," was the jubilant answer. "I've got news
that's worth wakin' 'em for."
"And what is it?" was the eager question.
"Well, mother, then it's this. I'm to have thirty dollars a month and to
stay at the dress counter."
"Pat! Pat!" exclaimed the little woman, excited in her turn. "It's forty
years old I am, and sure and I know better than to be wakin' b'ys out of
their slape jist to be hearin' a bit of news. But I'm goin' to wake 'em.
They shall be knowin' this night what comes to a b'y that does his best
when he's got Gineral Brady to back him. And would Gineral Brady back
you if you didn't desarve it? That he wouldn't. I ain't heard nothin' of
his backin' up street loafers nor any sort of shiftless b'ys."
The boys were wakened, and a difficult task it was. But when, at last,
they were all thoroughly roused and were made to understand that there
was no fire, nor any uproar in the streets, nor a train off the track,
they stared about them wonderingly. And when they had been told of Pat's
good fortune, "Is _that_ all?" asked jealous little Jim, and down
went his red head on the pillow, and shut went his eyes in a twinkling.
Barney and Tommie, who knew not the value of money, gazed solemnly at
their mother and Pat, and then into each other's eyes and composedly
laid themselves down to renewed slumber. And Larry howled till the
windows rattled, for Larry was a strong child for his years, and never
before had he been waked up in the night. But Andy sat up in bed and
clasped his brother's hand in both his while his face showed his
delight.
And then something happened to Andy. His mother, disgusted at the
conduct of the little boys, put her arm around his neck and kissed him.
"It's a jewel you are, Andy," she said, "with good understandin' in you.
You'll be wakin' up Pat in the noight some day."
"Huh!" thought jealous little Jim, who was only feigning sleep.
"Now, mother," said Pat when the tiny lamp stood once more on the
kitchen table, and the two sat beside the stove, "will you give up two
of your wash places?"
"Not I, Pat dear. With six of us, not countin' you and not countin'
Moike, who cares for himsilf, we need all the money we can honestly
get."
"Only one, then, mother; only one. My good luck is no comfort to me if I
can't think of your getting a day's rest every week out of it."
The widow regarded him earnestly. She saw how her refusal would pain him
and she yielded. "Well, then," she said, "wan place, Pat dear, I'll give
up. And it'll be Wednesday, because 'twas on a Wednesday that your luck
come to you."
Another month went by and the holiday trade was over. Nevertheless the
amount of custom at Mr. Farnham's did not diminish much. Ladies who went
out on looking tours, if they began at Farnham's ended there by
purchasing. If they stopped first at Wall's they went on to Farnham's
and bought there. Mr. Wall was not blind. And so, one day General Brady
walked into Mr. Farnham's store and back to his desk again.
"Another rise?" asked the merchant laughingly.
"Something of the sort," was the rejoinder. "Mr. Wall offers forty
dollars a month for Pat."
"He doesn't take him though," was the significant answer.
The General laughed. "I see you appreciate him," he said.
"Well, to tell the truth, General, I know my right hand man when I see
him, and Pat O'Callaghan is his name. I only wish there were two of
him."
The General's face grew thoughtful. "There may be," he said at length.
"His next brother, Mike, is at our house, and just as much of a born
trader as Pat. His ways, however, are a little different."
Mr. Farnham put out his hand. "I take this hint as very kind of you,
General. When may I have him?"
"Could you wait till next fall? He ought to finish this school year.
Next winter I could take charge of him one evening a week together with
Pat. The terms must be the same for him as they were for Pat when he
began--fifteen dollars a month and one evening each week out."
"All right, General. I'll be frank with you---I'm glad to get him on
those terms. I begin to think that it's enough of a recommendation for a
boy to be an O'Callaghan."
The General smiled as he left Mr. Farnham's desk, and on his way out of
the store, he stopped to speak to Pat.
"What is your greatest ambition, my boy?" he asked. And he knew what
answer he would receive before Pat replied, "To have a store with
O'Callaghan Brothers over the door."
Again the General smiled, and this time very kindly. "I'll tell you a
sort of a secret," he said, "that isn't so much of a secret that you
need to hesitate about speaking of it. Mike's coming to Mr. Farnham next
fall."
Then the boy got hold of the man's hand. "General Brady," he began after
a moment of silence, "you know I can't thank you as I ought in words,
but----" and then he stopped. This boy who could fight to defend his
small brother, who could face contempt to ease his mother's burdens, who
could grub and dig and win a chance for his own promotion, was very near
to tears.
He did not wish to shed those tears, and the General knew it. So with a
hearty "Good-by, Pat," the fine old soldier passed on.