A BULL IN THE CHINA SHOP
On hearing his chum say that, Thad gripped Hugh's arm.
"Then get busy, Hugh," he hastened to remark. "When you start
cogitating over things there's always something interesting on foot.
What is it this time?"
"Oh! just a little speculation I've been indulging in, Thad, and on
the very subject we were talking about--whether a really bad man, or
boy, for that matter, can ever turn right-about-face, and redeem
himself. You say it's impossible; I think otherwise."
"Tell me a single instance, then, Hugh."
"Just what I'm meaning to do," came the ready response, "but it's in
romance, not history; though there are just as strong instances that
can be proven. I've heard my father mention some of them long ago.
But it happens, Thad, that I've been reading over, for the third
time, a book we once enjoyed together immensely. We got a splendid
set of Victor Hugo's works lately at our house, you remember."
"Oh!" exclaimed Thad, "you're referring to his _Les Miserables_, I
guess. And now I remember how you said at the time we read it
together that the scene where that good priest forgave the rascally
Jean Valjean for stealing his silver candlesticks and spoons, after
he had been so kind to him made a great impression on your mind.
But, see here, Hugh, are you comparing that sneak Nick Lang to Jean
Valjean, the ex-convict?"
"Yes, in a way," the other replied. "The man who had been released
from the galleys, after he had served his term for stealing a loaf
of bread was despised by society, which shut the door in his face.
He was like a wild beast, you remember, and hated everyone. Well, by
degrees, Nick is finding himself in just about the same position.
Everybody looks on him as being thoroughly bad; and so he tells
himself that since he's got the name he might as well have the
game."
"I suppose that's about the way it goes," Thad admitted.
"There's no doubt of it," Hugh told him. "Several times I remember
we had an idea Nick meant to reform; but he went back to his old
ways suddenly. I think people must have nagged him, and made him
feel ugly. But I've been wondering, Thad, what if Nick could have a
revelation about like the one that came to Jean Valjean at the time
that splendid old priest, looking straight at the thief when the
officers dragged him back with those silver candlesticks and spoons
hidden under his dirty blouse, told them the men had committed no
wrong, because he, the priest, had given the silver to him; which we
know he _had_ done in his mind, after discovering how he had been
robbed."
Thad shook his head in a dogged fashion, as though by no means
convinced.
"I reckon you'd be just the one to try that crazy scheme, Hugh, if
ever the chance came to you; but mark me when I say it'd all be
wasted on Nick."
"But why should you be so sure of that?" asked the other. "The
ex-convict was pictured as the lowest of human animals. Hugo painted
him as hating every living being, because of his own wrongs; and
believing that there was no such thing as honor and justice among
mankind. It was done to make his change of heart seem all the more
remarkable; to prove that a fellow can never sink so low but that
there _may_ be a chance for him to climb up again, if only he makes
up his mind."
Thad laughed then, a little skeptically still, it must be confessed.
"Oh! that sounds all very fine, in a story, Hugh, but it'd never
work out in real life. According to my mind that Nick Lang will go
along to the end of the book as a bad egg. He'll fetch up in the
penitentiary, or reform school, some of these fine days. I've heard
Chief Wambold has declared that the next time he has anything
connected with breaking the law on Nick he expects to take him
before the Squire, and have him railroaded to the Reformatory; and
he means it, too."
"Well, you can hardly blame the Chief," agreed Hugh, "because Nick
and his pals, Leon Disney and Tip Slavin, have certainly made life
hard for the police force of Scranton for years back. Brush fires
have been started maliciously, just to see the fire-laddies run with
the machine and create a little excitement; orchards have been
robbed time and again; and, in fact, dozens of pranks more or less
serious been played night after night, all of which mischief is laid
at the door of Nick Lang, even if much of it can't be actually
traced there."
"Of course, what you say is the exact truth, Hugh."
"Give dog Tray a bad name, and he gets it right and left," chuckled
Hugh. "I've had an idea that once in a while some of the more
respected fellows in town may have broken loose, and gone on night
expeditions. They felt pretty safe in doing it, because every
citizen would believe Nick was the guilty one. But, in spite of your
thinking my idea impossible, I'd be tempted to try it out, if ever I
ran across the chance. It'd settle a thing I've worried over more
than a little."
No more was said on that subject, though afterwards Thad had it
brought to his attention again, and in a peculiar way at that.
The two boys separated a little further on, each heading homeward.
On the following morning it was found that their predictions
concerning the weather had been amply verified. The mercury had
dropped away down in the tube of the thermometer, and every
youngster had a happy look on his or her face at school, as though
the prospect for skating brought almost universal satisfaction.
Thad, with several others, had gone out to Hobson's mill-pond to try
the new ice after high school had dismissed for the week-end. Hugh
wanted to accompany them very much, but he had promised his mother
to spend a couple of hours that afternoon in mending something,
which had gone for a long time. And once his word was given Hugh
never broke it, no matter how alluring the prospect of sport might
be abroad.
It was about half-past three in the afternoon.
Hugh sat in his den amidst his prized possessions. He was working on
his lessons so as to get them out of the way, as there was some sort
of affair scheduled for that evening, which he meant to attend; and
he would be too tired after skating all day on Saturday to study any
that night, as he well knew.
Several times he glanced over to where his carefully polished and
well-sharpened skates, strapped together, lay on a side table. Each
look caused him to shrug his shoulders a bit. He could easily
imagine he heard the delightful clang of steel runners cutting into
that smooth sheet of new ice out at the mill pond; and the figures
of the happy skaters would pass before his eyes. Yes, probably Sue
Barnes would be there, too, with her chums, Ivy Middleton and Peggy
Noland, wondering, it might be, how he, Hugh, could deny himself
such a glorious opportunity for the first real good skate of the
season.
Then Hugh would heave a little sigh, and apply himself harder than
ever to his task. When he had an unpleasant thing to do he never
allowed temptation to swerve him. And, after all, it was pretty snug
and comfortable there in his den, Hugh told himself; besides, that
was a long walk home for a tired fellow to take, even in good
company.
Then he heard his mother speaking to someone who must have rung the
doorbell.
"Go up to the top of the stairs, and turn to the right. You will
find Hugh in his den, I believe. Hugh, are you there? Well, here's a
visitor to see you."
Supposing, of course, that it must be one of his close friends, who
for some reason had not gone off skating, and wished to see him
about some matter of importance, Hugh, after answering his mother,
had gone on skimming the subject on which his mind just then
happened to be set.
He heard the door open, and close softly. Then someone gave a gruff
cough. Hugh looked around and received quite a surprise.
Instead of Thad Stevens, Owen Dugdale, Horatio Juggins, "Just"
Smith, or Julius Hobson he saw--Nick Lang!
"Oh, hello, Nick!" he commenced to say, a little restrained in his
welcome; for, of course, he could give a guess that the other had
come again to try and buy his skates, which Hugh was not much in
favor of selling.
He shoved a chair forward, determined not to be uncivil at any rate.
After that talk with Thad about this fellow it can be understood
that Hugh was still bent on studying Nick, with the idea of deciding
whether he did actually have a grain of decency in his make-up, such
as could be used as a foundation on which to build a new structure.
The outlook was far from promising. Indeed, he could not remember
ever seeing Nick look more antagonistic than just then, even though
he tried to appear friendly.
"But then," Hugh was telling himself, "I reckon now Jean Valjean was
about as fierce looking a human wild beast as that good old priest
had ever seen at the time he invited the ex-convict into his snug
house, and horrified his sister by asking him to sit at table with
them, and spend the night there under his hospitable roof."
"You wanted to see me about something, did you, Nick?" he asked the
other.
Nick had dropped down on the chair. His furtive gaze went around
the room as if it aroused his curiosity, for this was really the
first occasion when he had ever graced Hugh's den with his company.
When his eyes alighted on the coveted skates Nick's face took on an
expressive grin. Then he turned toward Hugh, to say, almost
whiningly:
"Sure thing, Hugh. I thought mebbe I'd coax you to let me have the
skates, if I told you I'd managed to get another half dollar by
selling a pair of my pigeons. Here's a dollar and a half; take it,
and gimme the runners, won't you?"
His manner was intended to be ingratiating, but evidently Nick was
so accustomed to bullying everyone with whom he came in contact that
it was next to impossible for him to change his abusive ways. Hugh
felt less inclined than ever to accommodate him. Under other and
more favorable conditions he might have been tempted to promise Nick
to hand him over the skates, _for nothing_, after he had actually
received the expected new ones.
"I'm sorry to refuse you again, Nick," Hugh said coldly; "but at
present I have no other skates, and, as I expect to take part in a
hockey match with the scratch Seven to-morrow, I'll need my
runners."
"But there's nothing to hinder you selling me the same, say next
week, that I can see; unless mebbe you're just holdin' out on
account of an old grudge against me. How about that, Hugh?"
Hugh was still unconvinced.
"Just now I'm not in a humor to sell the skates, Nick," he said.
"If I change my mind, I'll let you know about it. That's final. And
when I dispose of my skates it's my intention to _give_ them away,
not sell them."
He turned to do something at the desk where he was sitting.
Meanwhile, Nick had shuffled away, as though meaning to leave the
room. When Hugh looked up he was half-way through the door, and
turning to say with a sneer:
"I ain't going to forget this on you, Hugh Morgan, believe me. I
thought I'd give you a chanct to smooth over the rough places
between us; but I see you don't want anything to do with a feller
who's got the reputation they give me. All right, keep your old
skates then!"
With that he hurried down the stairs. And a minute afterwards Hugh,
happening to glance over to the table at the side of the room, made
a startling discovery. The skates had disappeared!