"There's another day comin'," little Jim had said when he lay down in
acknowledged defeat on the night that followed his first day of real
trying. The other day came, and after it another and another, and still
others till the first of March was at hand. In the three months, which
was the sum of those "other days," Jim had made good progress. For many
weeks he had been perfect in the art of bed-making, but instead of
giving up the practice of that accomplishment, as he had declared he
would do so soon as he could prove to his mother that he could make a
bed, he had become so cranky and particular that nobody else could make
a bed to suit him. And as for studying--he was three classes ahead of
where the first of December had found him. He could still whip any boy
rash enough to encounter him, but his days and even his evenings, in
great part, were given to preparing a triumph over his mates in his
lessons, and a surprise for his teacher.
The widow used to lean back in her husband's chair of an evening and
watch him as he sat at the table, his elbows on the pine and his hands
clutching his short hair, while the tiny, unshaded lamp stared in his
face, and he dug away with a pertinacity that meant and insured success.
"And what book is that you've got?" she would ask when he occasionally
lifted his eyes. He would tell her and, in a moment, be lost to all
surroundings. For little Jim was getting considerable enjoyment out of
his hard work.
"Pat nor Moike niver studied loike that," thought Mrs. O'Callaghan. "Nor
did even Andy. Andy, he always jist loved his book and took his larnin'
in aisy loike. But look at that little Jim work!" As for little Jim, he
did not seem to observe that he was enjoying his mother's favorable
regard.
"And what book is it you loike the best?" she asked one evening when Jim
was about to go to bed.
"The history book," was the answer.
"And why?"
"'Cause there's always a lot about the big foightin' men in it."
[Illustration: "'Look at that little Jim work!'"]
"Ah!" said the widow. "Andy, he loiked the history book best, too. But I
didn't know before 'twas for the foightin'."
"'Tain't," briefly replied little Jim. And seeing his mother's
questioning look he went on: "The history book's got a lot in it, too,
about the way the people lived, and the kings and queens, and them that
wrote poems and things. 'Tis for that Andy loikes the history book.
He'll be writin' himself one of these days, I'm thinkin'. His teacher
says he writes the best essays in the school already."
And having thus artlessly betrayed Andy's ambition, little Jim went to
bed.
"Ah!" thought the widow, getting out her darning, for only one could use
the lamp at a time, and if Jim was of a mind to study she was of no mind
to hinder him. "And is that what Andy'd be at? I wonder now if that's a
good business? I don't know none of them that has it, and I can't tell."
She drew one of Jim's stockings over her hand and eyed ruminatingly the
prodigious hole in the heel. "That b'y do be gettin' through his
stockin's wonderful," she said dismissing Andy from her thoughts. "Well,
if he niver does no worse than that I'll not be complainin', but sure
and he can make more darnin' than Pat and Moike and Andy put together."
Why are the winds of March so high? This spring they blew a gale. As
they roared around corners and through tree tops and rushed down the
streets with fury they made pedestrians unsteady. But they did not
disturb little Jim, who buttoned up his coat tight, drew down his hat
and squared his shoulders as he went out to meet their buffets. There
was that in little Jim that rejoiced in such weather.
One day those frantic winds reached down the big schoolhouse chimney and
drew up a spark of fire from the furnace in the basement. They lodged it
where it would do the most harm, and, in a short time, the janitor was
running with a white face to the principal's office. As quietly as
possible each teacher was called out into the hall and warned. And, in a
few moments more, the pupils in every room were standing in marching
order waiting for the word to file out. Something was wrong each room
knew from the face of its teacher. And then came the clang of the fire
bell, and the waiting ranks were terrified.
Little Jim's teacher on the second floor was an extremely nervous young
woman. In a voice that trembled with fright and excitement she had
managed to give her orders. She had stationed most of the boys in a line
running north and south and farthest from the door. Nearest the door
were the girls and some of the smaller boys. And now they must wait for
the signal that should announce the turn of their room to march out. As
it happened, little Jim stood at the head of the line of boys, with the
girls not far from him. The fire bell was ringing and all the whistles
in the town screaming. Below them they could hear the little ones
hurried out; above them and on the stairs the third-floor pupils
marching; and then in little Jim's room there was panic. The girls
huddled closer together and began to cry. The boys behind little Jim
began to crowd and push. The nearest boy was against him when little Jim
half turned and threw him back to place by a vigorous jerk of his elbow.
"Boys! Boys!" screamed the teacher. "Standstill!"
But they did not heed. Again they struggled forward, while the teacher
covered her face with her hands in horror at the thought of what would
happen on the crowded stairways if her boys rushed out.
And then little Jim turned his back on the door and the girls near him
and made ready his fists. "The first boy that comes I'll knock down!" he
cried. And the line shrank back.
"We'll be burned! We'll be burned up!" shrieked a boy, one of the
farthest away.
"You won't be burned nayther," called back little Jim. "But you'll wish
you was to-morrow if wan of you gets past me. Just you jump them desks
and get past me and I'll lick you till you'll wish you was burnt up!"
Little Jim's aspect was so fierce, and the boys knew so well that he
would do just as he said, that not one moved from his place. One minute
little Jim held that line of boys. Then the door opened and out filed
the girls. When the last one had disappeared little Jim stepped aside.
"Go out now," he said with fine contempt, "you that are so afraid you'll
get burned yourselves that you'd tramp the girls down."
The last to leave the room were the teacher and little Jim. Her grasp on
his arm trembled, but it did not let go, even when they had reached the
campus which was full of people. Every business man had locked his doors
and had run with his clerks to the fire. For this was no ordinary fire.
The children of the town were in danger. At a distance Jim could see Pat
with Larry in his arms and Barney and Tommie close beside him, and here
and there, moving anxiously through the crowd, he saw General Brady and
Mike and Andy. But the teacher's grasp on his arm did not relax. The
fire was under control now and no damage had been done that could not be
repaired. And the teacher was talking. And everybody near was listening,
and more were crowding around and straining their ears to hear. Those
nearest were passing the story on, a sentence at a time, after the
manner of interpreters, and suddenly there was a shout, "Three cheers
for little Jim O'Callaghan!"
[Illustration "'Three cheers for little Jim O'Callaghan.'"]
And then Mike came tearing up and gave him a hug and a pat on the back.
And up came Andy with a look in his eyes that made little Jim forgive
him on the spot for being first in that housework team in which he
himself had been placed second by his mother. And the General had him by
the hand with a "Well done, Jim!" At which Jim appeared a trifle
bewildered. His fighting propensities had been frowned on so long.
At her wash place the widow had heard nothing, the wind having carried
all sounds of commotion the other way, and there were no children in the
family to come unexpectedly home bringing the news. It was when she
stepped into her own kitchen, earlier than usual, and found Barney and
Tommie there with Larry, who had accompanied them that day as visitor,
that she first heard of the fire. And the important thing to Barney and
Tommie was that their vacation had come sooner than they had hoped.
Later came Jim, stepping high from the General's praise. But his mother
thought nothing of that. Jim's ways were apt to be airy.
But when Pat and Mike came to supper the story was told. The widow
listened with an expression of pride. And when the story and the supper
were finished she took little Jim by the hand and led him along the
tortuous path through the furniture to the family seat of honor. "Sit
there in the father's chair," she commanded. "I niver thought to be
puttin' wan of my b'ys there for foightin', but foightin's the thing
sometimes."
This was on Tuesday. The next day the leading paper of the town came
out, and it contained a full account of little Jim's coolness and
bravery.
"They'll be spoilin' little Jim, so they will," said the widow as she
read with glistening eyes. Then she rose to put the paper carefully away
among the few family treasures, and set about making little Jim a
wonderful pudding. If he were to be spoiled she might as well have a
hand in it. "Though maybe he won't be nayther," she said. "Him that had
that much sinse had ought to have enough to stand praisin'."
That evening home came Andy to find his mother absorbed in the
fascinating occupation of hearing from little Jim's own lips what each
individual person had said to him during the day.
"Well," little Jim was saying just as Andy came in, "I should think
they'd said 'most enough. I didn't do anything but keep them lubberly
boys from trampin' the girls down, and it was easy enough done, too."
At which speech the widow perceived that, as yet, little Jim was not
particularly spoiled by all his praise. "'Twas the history book that
done it," thought the mother thankfully. "Sure and he knows he's done
foine, but he ain't been braggin' on himself much since he took to that,
I've noticed. There's books of all sorts, so there is, some for wan
thing and some for another, but it's the history book that cures the
consate."
"We're very busy up at our house," observed Andy. And the widow could
scarcely bring herself to heed him.
"Yes," went on Andy. "We've been baking cake to-day, and there's more to
do to-morrow. The General and Mrs. Brady are going to give little Jim a
party Friday evening. General Brady is wonderfully pleased with Jim."
Then indeed he had his mother's attention. "A party, is it?" she said
with gratified pride. "'Tis the Gineral and Mrs. Brady that knows how to
take a body's full cup and jist run it over. I couldn't have wished
nothin' no better than that. And nobody couldn't nayther. I'll be up
to-morrow mysilf to help and the nixt day, too. Don't tell me there's
nothin' I can't be doin'. Jim can run things to home, can't you, Jim?"
Little Jim thought he could.
"I'll have Pat and Moike see to gettin' him a new suit to-morrow. It's
late to be gettin' him a new suit and him a-growin'; but if he can't
wear it nixt fall Barney can, and it's proud he'll be to do it, I'm
thinkin'. 'Tisn't often the nixt youngest b'y has a chance to wear a new
suit got for his brother because he done good and hadn't nothin' fit to
wear to a party, nayther. But Wennott's the town. A party for my Jim,
and at Gineral Brady's, too! Would anybody have belaved it when we come
with nothin' to the shanty? 'Tis the proudest thing that iver come to
us, but no pride could there be about it if little Jim hadn't desarved
it."
The widow's heart was full. "Ivery b'y? as he has come along, has made
me proud," she went on. "First Pat and then Moike and then you, Andy,
with your book, and now little Jim with his foightin'. And that's what
beats me, that I should be proud of my b'y's foightin'. And I am that."
Friday evening seemed a long way off to little Jim when he lay down on
his bed that night. He had never attended a party in his life. Andy had
spoken of cake, and, by private questioning, little Jim had discovered
that there would be ice cream. He tried to imagine what a party was
like, but having no knowledge to go on, he found the effort wearisome
and so dropped asleep.