TWO T'S.
Evil days had fallen upon Tode. He stood before the window with an
unmistakable frown on his face. The demon "Ambition" had taken
possession of him, and metamorphosed him so that he didn't know himself.
The Hastings' carriage passed in its elegant beauty, and as Tode gazed
his frown deepened. Not that he wanted to be seated among the velvet
cushions with Mrs. Hastings and Miss Dora. Oh no, he still belonged to
that other sphere; but he did long with a burning, absorbing passion to
be seated on the box, not with the driver, but alone, himself _the_
driver, above all others. Oh to be able to grasp those reins, to guide
and direct those two proud-stepping horses, to wind in and out of the
crowded street, to drive where no other dared to go, to extricate the
wheels very skillfully from among the bewildering confusion, to be a
prince among drivers! He could do it, he _knew_ he could, if only he
had the chance; but how was that to be had? Poked up here, carrying
plates and cups, and cleaning knives, wouldn't help him to that
longed-for place, Tode said, and drummed crossly on the window pane.
Already he was changed in the short space of six weeks. The clothes
clean, and whole, the clean warm bed, the plentiful supply of food, had
become every-day affairs to him, and were now just nothing at all in
comparison with those prancing horses, and his desire to get dominion
over them. Sad results had come of this new desire; all his list of
duties had dropped suddenly into entire insignificance, and he had taken
to leaving black stains on the knives, and rivers of water on the
plates, and being just exactly as long as he chose to be in doing
everything. Mr. Roberts was getting out of sorts with him, and things
were looking very much as though he would soon be discharged, and
permitted to gaze after the black horses with no troublesome
interruptions such as came to him at this present moment.
"Bother the coffee and the old fellow who wants it. I hope it will be
hot enough to scald him. I'll drink it half up on the way in, anyhow,"
muttered Tode, as he turned slowly and reluctantly from the window,
whence he could see Jonas just getting into a delightful snarl among
the wheels. Jonas was Mr. Hastings' coachman. Three gentlemen were
waiting for coffee and oysters; two friends talking and laughing while
they ate; one, sitting apart from the others, eating with haste and with
a preoccupied air. Tode having served them, fell into his accustomed
habit of hovering near, ready for service, and making use of his ears.
Curious yet respectful glances were cast now and again at the
preoccupied stranger; and when he paid his bill and departed in haste,
the two broke into a conversation concerning him.
"Richest man in this city," remarked one of them, swallowing an immense
oyster. "Made it all in ten years, too. Came here a youngster
twenty-five years ago; had exactly twenty-five cents in the world."
"How did he make his money?" queried his friend.
Whereat Tode drew nearer and listened more sharply. He was immensely
interested. He was certainly a youngster, and twenty-five cents was the
exact amount of money he possessed.
"I heard a man ask him just that question once, and he answered,
book-fashion. He's a precise sort of a fellow, and it makes me think of
Ben Franklin, or some of those fellows who ate and drank and slept by
rule.
"'Well, sir,' he said, drawing himself up in a proud way that he has.
'Well, sir, the method is very simple. I made it a point to live up to
three maxims: Do everything exactly in its time. Do everything as well
as possible. Learn everything I possibly can about everything that can
be learned.'"
The two laughed immensely over these directions, then swallowed their
last drops of coffee and departed, leaving Tode in an ecstasy of glee.
He had learned how to secure the management of those horses; they were
not beyond his reach after all. If so great things were attainable
merely from the following out of those simple rules, why then the
position of coachman was attainable to him.
"Easy enough thing to do," he said, as he freshened the tables for new
comers. "It's just going straight ahead, pitching into what you've got
to do, and doing it first-rate, and finding out about everything under
the sun as fast as you can. I can do all _that_."
And having reduced the synopsis of all success to language that best
suited his style, Tode straightened the cloths and brought fresh
napkins, and gave an extra touch to the glittering silver, and managed
to throw so much practice from his newly acquired stock in trade into
his movements, that Mr. Roberts, passing through the room, said within
himself: "That queer scamp is improving again. I believe I'll hold on to
him a while longer." So sunshine came back to Tode. Not that he gave up
the horses--not he, it was not his way to give up; but he had bright
visions in the dim distant future of himself seated grandly on a stylish
coach box, and he whistled for joy and pushed ahead.
The very next afternoon Tode was sent on an errand to the Hastings
mansion. It wasn't often he got out in the daytime, so he made the most
of his walk; and the voice was fresh and cheery which floated up to
Pliny Hastings as he tossed wearily among the pillows in his mother's
room.
"Is that Tode? Yes, it is, I hear his voice. Dora, ring the bell, I want
to have him come up here."
"My son--" began Mrs. Hastings.
"Oh now, mother, do let a fellow breathe. I've staid poked up here until
I'm ready to fly, and he's just as cute as he can be. Ring the bell,
Dora."
Dora obeyed, and in a very few minutes thereafter Tode was ushered into
the elegance of Mrs. Hastings' sitting-room.
"_You_ sick," he said, pausing in his work of gazing eagerly about him
to bestow a pitying glance on Pliny's pale face. "Jolly! that's awful
stupid work, ain't it? What's the matter?"
"I should think it was," Pliny answered, laughing a little though at
Tode's tone. "I've a confounded sick headache, that's what's the
matter."
"Pliny!" Mrs. Hastings said, rebukingly.
"Oh bother, mother! Excruciating headache then, if that suits you
better. Tode, have you seen Ben to-day?"
"Not a sign of him. Couldn't think what had become of you two. You're as
thick as hops, ain't you?"
Pliny glanced uneasily at his mother, but a summons to the parlor
relieved him, and the three were left alone. Dora returned to her
writing, and her small fingers glided swiftly over the page. Tode
watched her with wondering and admiring eyes.
"Be you writing?" he exclaimed at last.
"Why, yes," said Dora. "Don't you see I am?"
"How old be you?"
"I'm eleven years old. You never studied grammar, did you?"
"And you know how to write?"
"Why, yes," said Dora again, this time laughing merrily. "I've known how
more than a year."
Tode's answer was grave and thoughtful:
"I'm fifteen."
"Are you, though?" said Pliny. "That's just my age."
"And can't _you_ write?" questioned Dora.
"Me?" said Tode, growing gleeful over the thought. "I shouldn't think I
could."
"Aren't you ever going to learn?"
"Never thought of it. Is it fun? No, I don't suppose I'll ever learn.
Yes, I will, too. You learn me, will you?"
"How could I? Do you mean it? Do you truly want to learn? Dear me! I
never could teach you; mamma wouldn't allow it."
For an answer Tode stepped boldly forward, deterred by no feeling of
impropriety, and looked over the little lady's shoulder at the round
fair letters.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the first letter of a sentence.
"That is T; capital T. Why, that's the very first letter of your name."
"I don't see anything capital about it; it twists around like a snake.
What do you curl it all up like that for?"
"Why, that's the way to make it. Mamma says I make a very pretty letter
T, and it's a capital because--because--Oh, Pliny, why is it a capital?"
"Because it is," answered Pliny, promptly.
"Oh yes," said Tode, quickly. "Course that's the reason. Queer we
didn't think of it." Then to Dora. "Let's see you snarl that thing
around."
Dora quickly and skillfully obeyed.
"Do it again, and don't go so like lightning. How can a fellow tell what
you're about?"
So more slowly, and again and again was the feat repeated until at last
Tode seized hold of the pen as he said:
"Let me have a dab at the fellow; see if I can draw him."
"Why, you do it real well. Really and truly he does, Pliny," said the
delighted Dora.
"But do you know there are two t's?" she added, turning again to her
pupil. "One has a cross to it, just so. You make a straight mark with a
little crook to it; then you cross it, _so_."
Pliny from his sofa chuckled and exclaimed over this explanation: "A
straight mark with a little crook to it. Oh, ho!" But the others were
absorbed, and bent eagerly over their paper, and thus the horrified Mrs.
Hastings found them on her return from the parlor, the offshoot from a
cellar rum hole bending his curly head close beside _her daughter's_!
She exclaimed in indignant astonishment:
"Dora Hastings!"
And eager, innocent Dora hastened to make answer:
"Mamma, he can make the two t's; the capital and the other, you know;
and he has them both on this piece of paper. Just see, mamma."
"Say, now," interrupted Tode, "I've decided to do them all. You learn
me, will you? I'm to come up here every night after this with the seven
o'clock mail. Just you make a letter on a paper for me, the big fellow,
and the little one, you know, and I'll work at it off and on the next
day, and have it ready for you at night. Will you do it? Come now."
Pliny raised himself on one elbow, his face full of interest:
"Take a figure, Tode, with your letters; figures are a great deal
sharper than letters. I'll make one a night for you."
"All right," said Tode. "I don't mind working in a figure now and then.
A fellow might need to use 'em."
"Mamma," said Dora, "may I? I should so love to; it would be real
teaching, you know. He is fifteen years old, and he don't know how to
write, and it won't take one little minute of my time. Oh please yes,
mamma."
What _could_ the elegant Mrs. Hastings say? What was there to say to so
simple, original, yet so absurd a request? Still she was annoyed, and
looked it, but she did not speak it, and Tode was not sensitive to
looks, or words either, for that matter, and moved with a brisker, more
business-like step back to the hotel, and someway felt an inch taller,
for was he not to have a new letter and a figure every evening, and did
he not know how to make two t's?
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