PLEASURE AND DISAPPOINTMENT.
THE day came at last when the front room at the Deckers was put in
order. I don't suppose you have any idea how pretty that room looked
when the last tack was driven, and the last fold in the curtain
twitched into place! The rag carpet was very bright. "I put a good many
red and yellows in it," said Mrs. Smith, "and now I know why I did it.
It is just bright enough for this room. I don't see how you two could
have got it down as firm as you have."
"Nettie managed it," said Mrs. Decker, "she is a master hand at putting
down carpets."
The furniture was done and in place, and certainly did justice to the
manufacturers. There were two "sofas" with backs which were so nicely
padded that they were very comfortable things to lean against, and the
gay-flowered goods that had looked "so horrid" in a dress that Mrs.
Smith could never bring herself to wear it, proved to be just the thing
for a sofa-cover. Between the windows was a very marvel of a table.
Nobody certainly to look at it, draped in the whitest of muslin, with
a pink cambric band around its waist, covered with the muslin, and
looking as much like pink ribbon as possible, would have imagined that
a square post, about six inches in diameter, and two feet long, with
a barrel head securely nailed to each end, was the "skeleton" out of
which all this prettiness was evolved. "And mine is as like it as two
peas," said Mrs. Smith, "only mine is tied with blue ribbon. Who would
have thought such things could be made out of what they had to work
with! I declare them two young things beat all!" This time she meant
Nettie and Jerry, not the two tables.
The curtains for which, after much consideration, cheap unbleached
muslin had been chosen, when their pinkish lambrequins of the same
gay-flowered goods as the sofas, had been cut and scalloped, and put in
place, were almost pretty enough to justify the extravagant admiration
which they called forth. But the crowning glory was, after all, a
chair which occupied the broad space between the window and the door.
It was cushioned, back, and sides, and arms; it was dressed in a robe
which had belonged to Job Smith's grandmother. It was delightful to
look at, and delightful to sit in. Mrs. Decker declared that the first
time she sat down in it, she felt more rested than she had in three
years.
Those two barrel chairs were triumphs of art. Jerry had been a week
over the first one, planning, trying, failing, trying again; Nettie had
seen one once, in the room of a house where she used to go sometimes
to carry flowers to a sick woman. She had admired it very much, and
the lady herself had told her how it was made, and that her nephew,
a boy of sixteen, made it for her. Now, although Jerry was not a boy
of sixteen, he had no idea there lived one of that age who could
accomplish anything which he could not; so he persevered, and I must
say his success was complete. Mrs. Smith believed there never was such
a wonderful chair made, before.
Jerry who had been missing for the last half-hour, now appeared, and
with long strides reached the nice little mantel and set thereon a
lamp, not very large, but new and bright.
"That belongs to the firm," he said, in answer to Nettie's look. "I saw
a lamp the other day that I knew would just fit nicely on that mantel,
and I couldn't rest until I had tried it."
Nettie's cheeks were red. She glanced over at her mother to see how she
would like this. Nettie did not know whether a poor boy's money ought
to be taken to provide a lamp for the new room; she much doubted the
propriety of it. "The first money I earn, or father gives me, I can pay
him back," she thought, then gave herself up to the enjoyment of her
new treasure.
None of them had planned to give a reception that evening, yet I do not
know but such an unusual state of things as was found at the Deckers
about eight o'clock, is worthy of so dignified a name. Mr. Decker and
Norm came in to supper together, and both a little late. Nettie had
trembled over what kept them, and her heart gave a great bound of
relief and thanksgiving, when they appeared at last, none the worse
for liquor. Indeed, she did not think either of them had taken even
a glass of beer. They were in good humor; a bit of what Mr. Decker
called "extra good luck" had fallen to him in the shape of a piece of
work which it was found he could manage better than any other hand in
the shop, and for which extra wages were to be paid. And Norm had been
told that he was quite a success in a certain line of work. "He kept me
after hours to give the new boy a lift," said Norm, good-naturedly; "he
said I knew how to do the work, and how to tell others better than the
other fellows."
It was a good time for Mrs. Decker to tell what had been going on in
the square room, or rather to hint at it, and tell them when supper was
over, they should go in and see. "Nannie and I haven't been folding our
hands while you have been working," she said with a complacent air, and
a smile for Nettie as warmed that little girl's heart, making her feel
it would not be a hard thing to love this new mother a great deal.
So after supper they went in. I suppose you can hardly understand or
imagine their surprise; because, you see, you have been used all your
life to nicely arranged rooms. For Mr. Decker it stirred old memories.
There had been a time when his best room if not so fine as this, was
neat and clean, with many comforts in it. "Well, I never," he began,
and then his voice choked, and he stopped.
However, Norm could talk, and expressed his surprise and pleasure in
eager words. "Where did you get the table, and the gimcracks around
that chair? _Is_ that a chair, or a sofa, or what? Halloo! here's a new
lamp. Let's have it lighted and see how it works. I tell you what it
is, Nannie Decker, I guess you're a brick and no mistake."
Then father was coaxed to sit down in the barrel chair, and try its
strength and its softness, and guess what it was made of. And the
little girls stood at his knee and put in eager words as to the effect
that they helped, and altogether, there was such a time as that family
had not known before.
Just as Nettie was explaining that it was dark enough to try the lamp,
and Norm went for a match, Mrs. Smith made her way across the yard, and
who should march solemnly behind her but Job Smith himself!
"Come right along," said Mrs. Decker heartily, as the new lamp threw a
silvery light across the room. "Come and try the new sofa. Here, Mr.
Smith, is a chair for you, if that is too low. Decker, he's got the
seat of honor; Nettie said her pa must have the first chance in it."
The name "Nettie" seemed to slip naturally from Mrs. Decker's tongue;
she had heard Jerry use it so often during the past few days, that it
was beginning to seem like the proper name of that young woman. Mr.
Smith sat down, slowly, solemnly, in much doubt what to do or say next.
"Well, Neighbor Decker, these young folks of ours are busy people,
ain't they, and seem to be getting the upper hand of us?" Then he
laughed, a slow, pleasant laugh. Mrs. Smith laughed a round, admiring
satisfied laugh; she was _very_ proud of Job for saying that. Then they
fell into conversation, the two men, about the signs of the times as
regarded business, and prices, and various interests. Mr. Decker was
a good talker, and here lay some of his temptations; there was always
somebody in the saloons to talk with; there was never anybody in his
home. Jerry came, presently, to admire the room and the lamp, and
to have a little aside talk with Nettie. Norm was trying one of the
lounges near them.
"How did you make this thing?" he asked Jerry, and Jerry explained,
and Norm listened and asked a question now and then, until presently
he said, "I know a thing that would improve it; the next time you make
one, try it and see."
"What is that?" asked Jerry.
"Why, look here, in this corner where you put the crossbar, if you
should take a narrower piece, so, and fit it in here so," and the sofa
was unceremoniously turned upside down and inside out, and planned
over, Jerry in his turn becoming listener until at last he said: "I
understand; I mean to fix this one, some day."
Nettie nodded, her eyes bright; it was not about the sofa that they
shone; it gave her such intense pleasure as perhaps you cannot
understand, to see her father sitting beside Mr. Smith, talking
eagerly, and her mother and Mrs. Smith having a good time together,
and Jerry and Norm interested in each other. "It is exactly like other
folks!" she said to Jerry, later, "and I don't believe either father or
Norm will go down street to-night." And they didn't.
It was a very happy girl who went over to Mrs. Smith's woodhouse
chamber to sleep that night. She sang softly, while she was getting
ready for rest; and as often as she looked out of the window towards
the square room in the next house, she smiled. It looked so much
better than she had ever hoped to make it; and father and Norm had
seemed so pleased, and they had all spent such a pleasant evening.
Alas for Nettie! All the next day her happiness lasted. She sang over
her work; she charmed the little girls with stories. She made an apple
pudding for dinner, she baked some choice potatoes for supper; but
they were not eaten, at least only by the little girls. They waited
until seven o'clock, and half-past seven, and eight o'clock for the
father and brother who did not come. Jerry, who stopped at the door
and learned of the anxiety, slipped away to try to find out what kept
them; but he came back in a little while with a grave face and shook
his head. Both had left their shops at the usual time; nobody knew what
had become of them. Jerry could guess, so also could Mrs. Decker. The
poor woman was too used to it to be very much astonished; but Nettie
was overwhelmed. She ate no supper; she did not sing at all over the
dishwashing. She watched every step on the street, and turned pale at
the sound of passing voices. She put the little girls to bed, and cried
over their gay chatter. She coaxed her sad-faced mother to go to bed
at last, and drew a long sigh of relief when she went into her bedroom
and shut the door. It had been so dreadful to hear her say: "I told you
so; I knew just how it would be. They will both come staggering home.
It's of no use."
Nettie did not believe it. She believed that work somewhere was holding
them; people often had extra work to do, or were sent on errands, but
she went at last over to the woodhouse chamber; it would not do to keep
the Smiths up longer. Instead of making ready for bed, she kneeled down
before the little window which gave her a view of the next house, and
watched and waited. They came at last; father and son; not together.
Norm came first, and stumbled, and shuffled, and growled; his voice was
thick, and the few words she could catch had no connection or sense. He
had too surely been drinking. But he was not so far gone as the father.
_He_ had to be helped along the street by some of his companions; he
could not hold himself upright while they opened the door. And when
the gentle wind blew it shut again, he swore a succession of oaths
which made Nettie shudder and bury her face in her hands. But she
did not cry. It was the first time in her young life that her heart
was too heavy for tears. She drew great deep sighs as she went about,
at last, preparing for bed; she wished that the tears would come, for
the choking feeling might be relieved by them; but the tears seemed
dried. She tossed about on her neat little bed, in a sorrow very unlike
childhood. Poor, disappointed Nettie!
The sun shone brightly the next morning, but there was no brightness in
the little girl's heart. She was early down stairs, and stole away to
the next house without seeing anybody. Mrs. Decker was up, with a face
as wan as Nettie's.
"Well," she said, in a hopeless tone, "it's all over. Did you hear them
come in last night? Both of 'em. If it had been one at a time, we could
have stood it better; but both of 'em! I _did_ have a little hope, as
sure as you live. Your pa seemed so different by spells, and Norm, he
seemed to like you, and to stay at home more, and I kind of chirked up
and thought may be, after all, good times was coming to me; but it's
all of no use; I've give up; and it seems to me it would have been
easier to have stayed down, than to have crept up, to tumble back.
"Not that I'm blaming you, child," she said, "you did your best, and
you did wonders; and I think sometimes, maybe if I had made such a
brave shift as that in the beginning, things wouldn't have got where
they have. But I didn't, and it's too late now."
Not a word had Nettie to say. It was a sad breakfast-time. Mr. Decker
shambled down late, and had barely time to swallow his coffee very hot,
and take a piece of bread in his hand, for the seven o'clock bells were
ringing, and punctuality was something that was insisted on by his
foreman. Norm came later, and ate very little breakfast, and looked
miserable enough to be sent back to bed again. Nettie only saw him
through a crack in the door; she stayed out in the little back yard,
pretending to put it in order. He made his stay very short, and went
away without a word to mother or sister; and the heavy burden of life
went on. Mrs. Decker prepared to do the big ironing which yesterday
she had been glad over, because it would give them a chance to have
an extra comfort added to the table; but which to-day seemed of very
little importance.
Nettie washed the dishes, and wished she was at Auntie Marshall's,
and tried to plan a way for getting there. What was the use of staying
here? Hadn't she tried her very best and failed? didn't the mother say
it was harder for her than though they hadn't tried at all?
In the course of the morning, Mrs. Smith sent in a basket of corn.
Sarah Jane brought it. "Some folks on a farm that mother ironed for,
when they lived in town, sent her a great basket full; heaps more than
we can use, and mother said it would be just the thing for your men
folks; they always like corn, you know."
Mrs. Decker took the basket without a smile on her face. "Your mother
is a very kind woman," she said, "the kindest one I ever knew; in fact,
I haven't known many kind people, and that's the truth. She has done
all she could to help us, but I don't know as we can be helped; it
seems as though some people couldn't."
Sarah Jane went back and told her mother that Mrs. Decker seemed
dreadful downhearted and discouraged; and Mrs. Smith replied with a
sigh that she didn't know as she wondered at it; poor thing! Nettie
made the dinner as nice as she could. Mr. Decker ate with a relish,
and said the corn was good, and he had sometimes thought that the bit
of ground back of the house might be made to raise corn; and Nettie
brightened a little, and looked over at Norm and was just going to say,
"Let's have a garden next summer," when he spoiled it by declaring that
he wouldn't slave in a garden for anybody. It was hard enough to work
ten hours a day. Then his father told him that he guessed he did not
hurt himself with work; and he retorted that he guessed they neither
of them would die with over-work; and his father told him to hold his
tongue. In short, nothing was plainer than that these two were ashamed
of themselves, and of each other, and were much move irritable than
they had been for several days.
The afternoon work was all done, and Nettie had just hung up her
apron, and wondered whether she should offer to iron for awhile, or
run away to the woodhouse chamber, and write to Auntie Marshall, when
Jerry appeared in the door. She had not seen him since the sorrow of
the night before had come upon them; Nettie thought he avoided coming
in, because he too was discouraged. Her face flushed when she heard
his step, and she wished something would happen so that she need not
turn around to him. She felt so ashamed of her own people, and of his
efforts to help them. His voice, however, sounded just as usual.
"Through, Nettie? Then come out on the back step; I want to talk with
you."
"There is no use in talking," she said, sadly. But she followed him
out, and sat down listlessly on the broad low step, which the jog in
Mr. Smith's house shaded from the afternoon sun.
Jerry took no notice of the words if indeed he heard them.
"I heard some news this morning," he began. "Two of the older boys at
the corner, that one in Peck's store, you know, and the one next door
told me that a lot of fellows were going off to-night on what he called
a lark. They have hired a boat, and are going to row across to Duck
Island, and catch some fish and have a supper in that mean little hole
which is kept on the island; they mean to make an all-night of it. I
don't know what is to be done next; play cards, I suppose; they do,
whenever they get together, and lots of drinking. It is a dreadful
place. Well, I heard, by a kind of accident, that they thought of
asking Norm to join 'em. At first they said they wouldn't, because he
wouldn't be likely to have any money to help pay the bills; but then
they remembered that he was a good rower, and thought they would get
his share out of him in that way; and I say, Nettie, let's spoil their
plans for them."
"How?" asked Nettie, drearily.
Jerry talked on eagerly. "I have a plan; I rented a boat for this
afternoon, and was going to ask Mrs. Decker to let me take you and
the chicks for a ride, and I meant to catch some fish for our supper;
but this will be better. I propose to invite Norm and two fellows
that he goes with some, to go out with me, fishing. I have a splendid
fishing rig, you know, and I'll lend it to them, and help them to have
a good time, and then if you will plan a kind of treat when we get
back--coffee, you know, and fish, and bread and butter, we could have
a picnic of our own and as much fun as they would get with that set
on the island. I believe Norm would go; he is just after a good time,
you see, and if he gets it in this way, he will like it as well, maybe
better, than though he spent the night at it and got the worst of
his bargain. Anyhow, it is worth trying; if we can save him from this
night's work it will be worth a good deal. Don't you think so?"
Instead of the hearty, "yes, indeed," which he expected, Nettie said
not a word; and when he turned and looked at her, to learn what was the
matter, her face was red and the tears were gathering in her eyes.
"Don't you know what has happened?" she asked at last. "I thought I
heard you in your room last night when he came home."
"Yes," said Jerry, speaking gravely, "I was up. What of it?"
"What of it? O Jerry!" and here the tears which had been choking poor
Nettie all day had it their own way for a few minutes. She had not
meant to cry; but she felt at once how quickly the tears relieved the
lump in her throat.
"I don't mean that, exactly," Jerry said, after waiting a minute for
the sobs to grow less deep, "of course it was a great trouble, and I
have been so sorry for Mrs. Decker all day that I wanted to stay away,
because I could not think of the right thing to say; but it's only
another reason why we should work and plan in all ways to get ahead of
them and save Norm."
"O Jerry! don't you think it is too late?"
"Too late! What in the world can you mean? Has anything happened to-day
that I haven't heard of? Where is Norm? Has he gone away anywhere?"
"O, no," said Nettie, "he has gone to work; but I mean--I
meant--doesn't it all seem to you of no use at all? After we worked so
hard and got everything nice, and he seemed so pleased, and stayed at
home all the evening and talked with us, and then the very next night
to come home like that!"
Jerry stared in blank astonishment.
"I don't believe I understand," he said at last. "You did not think
that Norm was going to reform the very minute you did anything pleasant
for him, did you?"
"N-no," said Nettie slowly, "I don't suppose I did; but it all seemed
so dreadful! I expected something, I hardly know what, and I could not
help feeling disappointed and miserable." Nettie's face was growing
red; she began to suspect she might be a very foolish girl.
"Why, that is queer," said Jerry. "Now I am not disappointed a bit.
I am sorry, of course, but I expected just that thing. Why, Nettie,
they go after men sometimes for months and years before they get real
hold and are sure of them. There is a lawyer in New York that father
says kept three men busy for five years trying to save him. They didn't
succeed, either, but they got him to go to the One who could save him.
He is a grand man now. Suppose they had given up during those five
years!"
"Do you think it may take five years to get hold of Norm?" There were
tears in Nettie's eyes, but there was a little suggestion of a smile on
her face, and she waited eagerly for Jerry's answer.
"I'm sure I hope not," he said, "but if it does, we are not to give him
up at the end of five years; nor _before_ five years, that is certain."
Nettie wiped the tears away, and smiled outright; then sat still in
deep thought for several minutes. Then she arose, decision and energy
on her face.
"Thank you, Jerry; I wish you had come in this morning. I have been a
goose, I guess, and I almost spoiled what we tried to do. We'll get
up a nice supper if you can get Norm and the others to come. I don't
believe they will, but we can try. We have coffee enough to make a nice
pot of it, and Mrs. Smith sent us some milk out of that pail from the
country that is almost cream. I will make some baked potato balls, they
are beautiful with fish; all brown, you know; and I was going to make
a johnny-cake if I could get up interest enough in it. I'm interested
now, and I shouldn't wonder if I staid so," and she blushed and laughed.
"You see," said Jerry, "you must not expect things to be done in a
minute. Why, even God doesn't do things quickly, when he could, as well
as not. And he doesn't get tired of people, either; and that I think is
queer. Have you ever thought that if you were God, you would wipe most
all the people out of this world in a second, and make some new ones
who could behave better?"
"Why, no," said Nettie, wonderment and bewilderment struggling together
in her face, this strange thought sounded almost wicked to her. "Well,
I do," said Jerry sturdily; "I have often thought of it; I believe
almost any _man_ would get out of patience with this old world, full
of rum saloons, and gambling saloons and tobacco. I think it is such a
good thing that men don't have the management of it.
"I'll tell you what it is, Nettie, we shall have a pretty busy
afternoon if we carry out our plans, won't we? Suppose you go and talk
the thing up with your mother, and I will go and see what Norm says.
Or, hold on, suppose we go together and call on him; I'll ask him to go
fishing, and you ask him to bring his friends home to eat the fish. How
would that do?"
It was finally agreed that that would do beautifully, and Jerry went to
see whether his long flat stick fitted, while Nettie ran to her mother.
Mrs. Decker was ironing, her worn face looking older and more worn,
Nettie thought, than she had ever seen it before. Poor mother! Why had
not she helped her to bear her heavy burden, instead of almost sulking
over failure?
"O, mother," she began, "Jerry has a plan, and we want to know what you
think of it; he has heard of things that are to be done this evening."
And she hurried through the story of the intended frolic on the island,
and the fishing party that was, if possible, to be pushed in ahead.
Mrs. Decker listened in silence, and at first with an uninterested
face; presently, when she took in the largeness of the plan, she stayed
her iron long enough to look up and say:
"What's the use, child? I thought you and Jerry had given up."
"O, mother," and the cheeks were rosy red now, "I'm ashamed that I felt
so discouraged; Jerry isn't at all; and he thinks it is the strangest
thing that I should have been! He says they have to work for years,
sometimes, to get hold of people. He knew a man that they kept working
after for five years, and now he is a grand man. He says we must hold
on to Norm if it is five years, though I don't believe it will be. I'm
going to begin over again, mother, and not get discouraged at anything.
It is true, as Jerry says, that we can't expect Norm to reform all
in a minute. He says the boys that Norm goes with the most are not
bad fellows, only they haven't any homes, and they keep getting into
mischief, because they have nowhere to go to have any pleasant times.
Don't you think Norm would like it to have them asked home with him to
supper, and show them how to have a real good time? Jerry says the two
boys that he means board at a horrid place, where they have old bread
and weak tea for supper, and where people are smoking and drinking in
the back end of the room while they are eating. I am sure I don't know
as it is any wonder that they go to the saloons sometimes."
Mrs. Decker still held her iron poised in air, on her face a look that
was worth studying. "Norm hasn't ever had a decent place to ask anybody
to, nor a decent time of any kind since he was old enough to care much
about it," she said slowly. "I thought I had done about my best, but
it may be I'll find myself mistaken. Well, child, let's try it, for
mercy's sake, or anything else that that boy thinks of. You and him
together are the only ones that's done any thinking for Norm in years;
and if I don't go half-way and more too for anybody that wants to do
anything, it will be a wonder."
In a very few minutes Nettie was in her neat street dress, and the two
were walking down the shady side of the main street, toward Norm's
shop. They passed Lorena Barstow, and though Jerry, without thinking,
took off his cap to her, she tossed her head and looked the other way.
Jerry laughed. "I did not know she was so nearsighted as all that, did
you?" he asked, and then continued the sentence which the sight of her
had interrupted. Nettie could not laugh; she was sore over the thought
that she had so spoiled Jerry's life for him that his old acquaintances
would not bow to him on the street.
Norm was at work, and worked with energy; they stood and looked at him
through the window for a few minutes. "He works fast," said Jerry, "and
he works as though he would rather do it than not; Mr. Smith says there
isn't a lazy streak in him. He ought to make a smart man, Nettie; and I
shouldn't wonder if he would."
Then they went in. To say that Norm was astonished at sight of them,
would be to tell only half the story. He stood in doubt what to say,
but Jerry was equal to the occasion; nothing could have been more
matter-of-course than the way in which he told about his plans for
going fishing, declaring that the afternoon was prime for such work,
and that he was tired of going alone. "Wouldn't Norm and his two
friends go too?" Now a ride in a boat was something that Norm rarely
had. In the first place, boats cost money, and in the second place they
took time. To be sure, after working hours, there was time enough for
rowing, but boats were sure to be scarce then, even if money had been
plenty.
Norm wiped his face with a corner of his work-apron, and admitted that
he would like to go, first-rate, but did not know as he could get away.
They were not over busy it was true, neither was the foreman troubled
with good nature; he would be next to certain to say no, if Norm asked
to be let off at five o'clock.
"Let's try him," said Jerry, and he walked boldly to the other side of
the room where the foreman stood.