SWIMMING INTO A FRIENDSHIP.
Although Glen found no difficulty in coming to the surface, almost at
the spot where the roll of plans floated, and grasping it, he did not
find it so easy to bring it safely to shore. To begin with, the roll
occupied one hand, so that he had but one for swimming. Then the current
was strong, and the banks steep. He was very near the middle of the
river. Any other Brimfield boy would have been in despair at finding
himself in such a situation. But, then, no other boy in Brimfield would
have taken that leap.
For a moment Glen wondered what he should do. Then he remembered the
"back-set" at the Bend, a quarter of a mile below the bridge. It would
put him right in to the bank, at a place where it was low, too. The
anxious watchers on the bridge wondered to see the boy turn on his back
and quietly drift away with the current, at the same time holding the
roll of plans, for which he had dared so much, clear of the water.
They shouted to him to swim towards one or the other bank and they would
fling him a rope; but Glen only smiled without wasting any breath in
answering. Most of the men ran to one end of the bridge, because it
looked to them as though the boy were nearer that bank than the other;
but Mr. Hobart, who had studied the river, remembered the Bend, and
hurried to the other end. When he reached it he ran down along the bank,
towards the place where he felt certain the boy would attempt to land.
He got there in time to see Glen swimming with all his might to get out
of the main current and into the "back-set." With two hands he would
have done it easily; but with only one it was hard work. Then, too, his
clothing dragged heavily.
Mr. Hobart shouted to him to let go the roll. "Drop it and make sure of
your own safety," he cried. "They are not worth taking any risks for."
But Glen was not the kind of a boy to let go of a thing that he had once
made up his mind to hold on to, so long as he had an ounce of strength
left.
So he struggled on, and at last had the satisfaction of feeling that
something stronger than his own efforts was carrying him towards shore.
He had gained the "back-set," and, though its direction was rather up
along the bank, than in towards it, the swimmer had still strength
enough left to overcome this difficulty.
A tree, growing straight out from the bank, overhung the stream, so that
Glen at length drifted under it, and caught hold of a drooping branch.
He had not strength enough to pull himself up; but it was not needed.
With the activity that comes from a life spent in the open air, the
engineer had run out on the horizontal trunk, and now, lying flat on it,
he could just reach the boy's hand. In another minute the strong arms
had drawn Glen up to a secure resting-place, where he might regain his
breath and drip to his heart's content.
"Here are the plans, Mr. Hobart," he said, shyly, and at the same time
proudly. "I hope they are not spoiled by the water. I held them out of
it as much as I could."
"I hope you are not spoiled by the water, Glen Matherson," laughed the
engineer, as he took the wet roll from the boy's hand. "You have done
splendidly, and I am sincerely grateful to you for rescuing my plans,
which are indeed of great value. At the same time I wouldn't do such a
thing again, if I were you, for anything less important than the saving
of life. It was a big risk to take, and I should have suffered a
life-long sorrow if anything had gone wrong with you."
Although it was a warm June day, and Glen laughed at the idea of
catching cold, he had been in the water long enough to be thoroughly
chilled. So, when they regained the bank, Mr. Hobart insisted that he
should take off his clothes, wring them, and let them dry in the hot
sun. In the meantime a workman had come down from the bridge with the
boy's hat, jacket, and shoes. He lent him his overalls, and, thus
comically arrayed, Glen sat and talked with the engineer while his
clothes were drying.
How kindly the brown-bearded face was, and with what interest the man
listened to all the boy had to say. How pleasant was his voice, and, in
spite of his age (he was about thirty-five) and wisdom, how easy it was
to talk to him! It was so easy, and he proved such a sympathetic
listener, that before Glen knew it he found himself confiding all his
troubles and hopes and perplexities to this new friend. It began with
his name, which he told the engineer was not Matherson, and then he had
to explain why it was not.
Then they wondered together what sort of a man Glen's real father could
be, provided he were alive; and if, by any strange chance, he and his
son would ever meet and know each other. Mr. Hobart did not think it at
all likely they ever would. From this the boy was led to tell of his
dislike for study, and into what trouble it had led him. He even told of
the decision reached by his adopted father and himself the evening
before, and the undesirable choice of work that had been presented to
him.
"And so you don't think you would fancy either the mill or the store?"
asked Mr. Hobart.
"No, sir, I do not. Each one, when I think of it, seems worse than the
other, and they both seem worse than most anything else."
"Worse than studying?"
"Just as bad, because either of them means being shut up, and I hate to
stay in the house. I should like some business that would keep me
out-of-doors all the time."
"Ploughing, for instance, or driving a horse-car, or digging clams, or
civil-engineering, or something nice and easy, like any of those?"
suggested Mr. Hobart, gravely.
"Civil-engineering is what I think I should like better than anything
else in the world!" exclaimed the boy, eagerly. "That's what you are,
isn't it, sir?"
"That is what I am trying to be," answered Mr. Hobart, smiling; "and if,
by years of hard work, hard study, and unceasing effort, I can reach a
generally recognized position as an engineer, I shall be satisfied with
my life's work."
"Do you have to study?" asked Glen, in amazement.
"Indeed I do," was the answer. "I have to study continually, and fully
as hard as any schoolboy of your acquaintance."
Glen looked incredulous. It is hard for a boy to realize that his school
is only the place where he is taught how to study, and that his most
important lessons will have to be learned after he leaves it.
"I think I should like to be a civil-engineer, anyhow," he remarked,
after a thoughtful pause, "because it is an out-of-door business."
"Yes," admitted the other, "it is to a great extent."
Then they found that Glen's clothing was dry enough to be worn, and also
that it was dinnertime. So, after Mr. Hobart had shaken hands with the
boy, and said he hoped to see him again before long, they separated.
That afternoon Glen, still wearing a perplexed expression on his usually
merry face, walked down to the mill and looked in at its open door. It
was so hot and dusty and noisy that he did not care to stay there very
long. He had been familiar with it all his life; but never before had it
struck him as such an unpleasant place to work in, day after day, month
after month, and even year after year, as it did now. How hard people
did have to work, anyway! He had never realized it before. Still,
working in a mill must be a little harder than anything else. At any
rate, he certainly would not choose to earn his living there.
Then he walked down to Deacon Brown's store. The deacon did a large
retail business; this was a busy afternoon, and the place was filled
with customers. How tired the clerks looked, and what pale faces they
had. How people bothered them with questions, and called on them to
attend to half a dozen things at once. How close and stuffy the air of
the store was. It was almost as bad as that of the mill. Then, too, the
store was kept open hours after the mill had shut down; for its evening
trade was generally very brisk. It did not seem half so attractive a
place to Glen now as it had at other times, when he had visited it
solely with a view of making some small purchase. Perhaps going to
school, and keeping up with one's class, was not the hardest thing in
the world after all.
So the poor boy returned home, more perplexed as to what he should do
than ever, and he actually dreaded the after-supper talk with his
adopted father that he usually enjoyed so much.
When the time came, and Mr. Matherson asked, kindly, "Well, my boy, what
have you decided to do?" Glen was obliged to confess that he was just as
far from a decision as he had been the evening before.