All the rest of that day, Tom went about his work like a wooden thing;
he answered questions and handled things that came in his way, but his
thoughts were running heavily back and forth over the long dreary years
since Mr. Willoughby picked him up in his chaise, and always coming
round to the same miserable point at last. How brave and patient he
had meant to be, how faithful he had tried to be, through it all, for
the sake of those at home, and how he had meant to deserve all the
promotion he should ever get, and let the firm feel he had repaid them
well for all they did for him. And who had ever taken the slightest
notice whether he did or not, who had ever been the wiser for it all?
And now that it was almost over, now that he thought such recompense as
money could give was just before him, to be shunned and sneered at for
a thief!
Who had even noticed? He remembered suddenly what Aleck had said to
him, that dark terrible time, about _One_ who _always_ did, and was
always ready to help.
“Yes,” he said, “I know it. I lived on that all the next year, and I
never felt so much like a man in my life; but since I came here, that,
and everything else that had any life in it, seems to have been driven
out of me. If I _could_ have hung on to it, it might have helped me
through everything. It’s my own fault that I didn’t, I suppose, but
after a fellow gets to feeling so horridly as I have from one year’s
end to another, he lets go of everything sometimes. If I could only
have gone somewhere else! There’s Thorndyke now, he never’ll know what
a chance he had there, with Aleck always next to him! But there’s an
end to everything, and I’ll--”
But up came once more the thought of “the rest at home.” If he left the
store, and went out into the world, how many more years might it be
before he could be worth anything to them! And where could he go, and
what could he do, if he went out from Fenimore’s with such whisperings
as were likely to follow him! And yet, it seemed to him another day
there would be worse than a thousand deaths. _That_ day was done, at
last, at all events, and Tom, as he passed out into the dark, saw no
one, and scarcely knew where he was. But a familiar voice sounded in
his ears.
“I say, Haggarty, what a hurry you’re in!”
He turned and saw Davis, his old schoolfellow at the professor’s. He
had not seen him from that time, until a few days before. He only knew
that he went abroad directly after graduating, and had returned within
a fortnight, “for a visit.”
“Why, man alive,” he said, as a gaslight fell on Tom’s face, “what’s
the matter with you? How white you are! Are you sick?”
“I wish I were,” said Tom, “and sick enough to have an end come to it
all,” and then shocked at having said so much to Davis, he stopped
suddenly.
“Hallo!” said Davis, “what’s the matter? Is luck bad to-day?”
“I don’t know,” said Tom, “some people never have any, you know. How
are you?”
“Look here,” said Davis, drawing Tom’s arm through his, “come along and
let’s understand about this. We’re old friends you know. There’s no use
in being down about the way the game goes; take heart and throw again,
that’s all.”
They walked away, and Davis began to talk of old times and of the
changes that had come. “And to think of you being left head of the
family and going to business! I was expecting you over there every
year for a while, till I found out how things were. Tell me how you
like it;” and he went on with one question after another, until before
Tom could believe it himself, he had drawn from him a pretty good idea
of how matters stood.
“I wouldn’t stay there,” said Davis; “I’d clear out and be found
missing some bright morning.”
“Perhaps you would,” said Tom, “with nobody looking to you to be
anything to them, and more money than you know what to do with.”
“Oh, is that the difficulty? I didn’t know that was the case; but it
isn’t the worst thing in the world to be got over. I can tell you a
way to ease matters off and get a start on your own feet before a
very long time;” and drawing Tom’s arm closer, he dropped into a low,
confidential tone.
“But I can’t!” exclaimed Tom, starting back in horror, as Davis came to
his point at last.
“Hold on,” said Davis, and went on talking rapidly in the same low
whisper without giving Tom a chance for another word.
“Look here!” said Tom, stopping in his walk, and turning on Davis like
some desperate creature driven to bay at last; “what do you take me
for? Do you mean to insult me?”
“Pooh!” said Davis, in the most imperturbable tone, regaining his hold
on Tom’s arm and drawing him into step again; “don’t fly out with a
fellow for trying to befriend you. There are slow ways of getting on in
the world, and quicker ones for those who can’t afford to wait, that’s
all; and I thought you were in a hurry. If you agree, I’ll introduce
you to as gentlemanly a set of fellows as you know, and I’ll warrant
you a welcome, for the truth is we want one more, of just your measure
too, to make our set complete. Don’t make up your mind in a hurry; it’s
early yet. Meet me here again at nine o’clock.”
“But I tell you I wont,” began Tom. “I don’t want to hear any such--”
“Pooh!” interrupted Davis again; “what’s the use of toiling a dozen
years under somebody’s thumb when you might make enough to stand on
your own feet in as many months? The world owes us a living, anyhow,
and I don’t see why handling a bit of paper skilfully isn’t quite as
much the gentlemanly thing as measuring away with a yardstick half a
lifetime. Just come up like a man, and I’ll be responsible for the
rest.”
It was seven o’clock, and for an hour and a half Tom pushed drearily up
and down the streets through a drizzling mist, but the fog lay thicker
and darker in his own brain. What should he say; what should he do? He
must do something, for he would rather die than have another year like
the last. Rather die? Of course he would; but people don’t always die
for the wishing, and who would there be to take his father’s place if
he should?
These thoughts crowded and whirled, and then came Aleck’s words, those
words spoken so long ago, but never forgotten, “Some One that always
notices.”
“I can’t help it,” he cried; “I believe I’m desperate. I’ve tried to
do my best all these years, and what’s the use? as Davis says. Oh, if
I only had one friend that really cared for me that I could go to and
tell everything! I _should_ have, I suppose, if I was worth it, and Hal
would have respected me if I’d been worth it; but he never did, and of
course nobody else did, only they were kind enough to keep it out of
sight.”
If Tom could only have seen Thorndyke at that moment, and known what he
was thinking of as he sat at his desk, with papers pushed away and his
eyes fixed somewhere a good way beyond, with a pained and troubled look!
“Hoosier general!” he was saying to himself; “I wonder what that
means? Something that Tom winced under, that was plain enough. I don’t
see how Fenimore finds it in his heart to worry him so, and I’m sure
there’s more of it going on than Tom knows how to get along with. I
wish I could do something to help him out of it. I wish I could get him
over here; it would be such a comfort now that Aleck is out of the way
so much! But he’s doing so well there, and he’s worked his way almost
to the top of the ladder, I could never ask him. I heard Fenimore
praising him to the rest of the firm the other day, and I don’t wonder.”
But Tom didn’t hear; he plodded up and down without knowing that he was
tired, and that he had eaten not a mouthful since morning, and that
the drizzling mist had penetrated and chilled him through. He was only
thinking of the store and of the hour of going back, and that if he did
not soon find some way of escape by which he could still hold on to his
duty at home, he was afraid he should let go of it! Oh, why was he left
so? Why could not his father have lived? The city bell struck eight,
and the echo of Davis’ voice seemed to repeat his words.
“Come up like a man!”
“Like a man!” echoed Tom again. “Like a counterfeiter and forger! What
did he want me to bring him Fenimore & Co.’s signature for? He thinks
there’s nothing decent in me, like the rest of the world, I suppose.
But no one ever thought I could quite make a thief yet!”
He started with a sudden stab of recollection.
“Yes, they have, too! Hal called me a thief, and tried his best to show
me off for one! What difference does it make if I go with Davis? And
who cares, whatever I do?”
Nine o’clock struck at last, and as he reached the lamppost Davis had
marked as a rendezvous, a figure stepped from behind it.
“Oh, here you are! That’s the right kind of a fellow!” whispered Davis,
slipping a hand into Tom’s arm. “Now come along and I’ll introduce you
to some of my friends.”
“Stop!” said Tom, squaring himself, “I’ll tell you in the outset, I
want nothing to do with any black work you may have going on; but if
you can take me somewhere where it’s warm and bright, let’s go. I can’t
walk here all night, and I can’t go home and talk to people, to save my
life.”