BARRY STUMBLES
As Barry Wynn and Joe Hart were walking down Pennsylvania Avenue the
following morning, Joe suddenly turned to his friend and exclaimed
laughingly:
"Barry, this is the happiest day of all the glad new year!"
Barry looked at Joe blankly.
"Why; what's happened? Have you good news?"
"Bully news."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you guess?"
"No, I can't."
"Why, you old hayseed, this is pay-day."
Barry's face beamed. Naturally he looked forward with great pleasure to
the first money he had ever earned. He voiced his feelings to Joe:
"The work here has been so pleasant that I actually lost count of the
days. I never dreamt that I'd been in Washington for a month."
"Well," said the practical one, "you'll know all right when you go up to
the cashier's office this morning."
The experienced boy led the novice to that part of the Capitol building
where the pages received their checks. Barry had to sign the pay-roll
and after that swore that he had rendered the service for which he was
about to be paid. He was handed a nice, bright, crisp check drawn to the
order of Barry Wynn against the Treasurer of the United States. He
looked at it with ill-concealed curiosity and then gave a gasp of
delight. The check was for sixty-eight dollars. He had worked a little
less than a month, but the sight of the voucher for so much money gave
him a sense of elation that he had never felt before.
With Joe still acting as mentor, he cashed the check, and on reporting
for duty to the Sergeant-at-Arms, was gratified to learn that he had
been given leave of absence for the day. Joe also, by some occult
influence, managed to be excused. Barry's first move was to call on
Congressman Carlton and to inform him of the amount of money he had
received. Mr. Carlton was delighted, but somewhat taken aback when Barry
handed him a ten-dollar note.
"What's this for?" he asked, somewhat stiffly.
"It's the money you advanced for my railroad fare to Washington."
The good-natured man burst into a hearty laugh. He clapped his big palm
on Barry's shoulder and said jovially:
"Just put that away. You'll have lots of use for it. The money I sent
you was a present."
"But, Mr. Carlton," insisted Barry, "mother made me promise that the
first money I received should be used to pay you back the ten dollars
you sent me for my ticket."
"Nonsense! I don't want it."
"But, I must give it to you," persisted Barry. "If I don't my mother
will never forgive me."
Mr. Carlton accepted the note somewhat reluctantly.
"By the way," he said, reaching into his pocket, "here's an old wallet
that I have no more use for. Now that you have become a man of wealth it
may be a convenient thing for holding your money."
Barry took the gift and thanked Mr. Carlton.
"Now, Barry," said the statesman, "I don't want to overburden you with
advice, but if I were in your place my first move would be to pay your
landlady for the board that is due her, and then give her a week or so
in advance. After that lay some money aside for your personal use, and
then skedaddle to the postoffice and make out a money order for the
balance in favor of your mother. She will appreciate it more than words
can tell."
"I'll do it," was the fervent response.
"All right. Good-bye, and good luck to you."
As Barry left the Capitol building he came in contact with Joe Hart, who
had also cashed his warrant. The two boys proceeded to their boarding
house and both of them paid Mrs. Johnson the money that was due her,
together with an advance payment towards the coming month.
"Now, what are you going to do?" asked Joe.
"I'm going up stairs and write a letter to my mother," said Barry. "I
want to enclose a money order to her and get it off in the mail as soon
as possible."
"All right," said Joe. "I'll wait for you, and then we'll go down town
together. Or, if you want to," he added, as an after consideration, "you
can walk right over to the postoffice building and write your letter
there."
Barry adopted the suggestion and the two boys left the house together.
As they turned the corner of the Treasury building, the clock in the
neighborhood struck the hour of twelve.
"Jiminy!" exclaimed Joe, "it's time to eat."
The remark put an idea into Barry's head.
"Joe," he said, "this is pay-day; let's celebrate!"
"Celebrate?" echoed the other.
"Yes. I want you to take dinner with me today."
Joe looked at his friend in silence for a moment, and then something
suspiciously like moisture glistened in the corner of each eye.
"Barry," he said, "I'll go you--it's the first time in my life that I
ever remember anybody asking me out to dinner."
Barry was determined to do the honors becomingly, so he sought out a
first-class restaurant and ordered dinner for two. The linen was white
and the dining room splendidly furnished. An orchestra, hidden behind a
cluster of palms, enlivened the occasion with the popular songs of the
day. The meal was complete; it began with soup and ended with ice
cream. To say that the two boys enjoyed themselves would be putting it
very mildly indeed. They felt as though they were in an enchanted
fairyland. The fact that Joe's legs were too short to touch the floor,
and that he swung them to and fro on the chair did not detract from his
dignity in the least, and when the head waiter, who had seated them with
all the pomp and ceremony which can only be employed effectively by a
head waiter, and addressed them as "gentlemen," their cup of happiness
seemed full to overflowing, but the limit had not yet been reached.
After the meal was finished and the attendant placed a finger bowl in
front of each of the boys, the giggling and the whispering and the
mischievous glances that passed between them would have been sufficient
to have gladdened the heart of the most confirmed pessimist. But the
crowning act of all came when Barry, after having paid the bill,
majestically tipped the waiter. From that moment he was a superior being
in the eyes of Joe Hart.
After leaving the restaurant they resumed their walk down Pennsylvania
Avenue. The events of the preceding hour had raised them both in their
own estimation. They strolled along very proudly, indeed, and did not
feel a bit ashamed when three Justices of the Supreme Court passed them
on the street. Senators and members of the lower House of Congress they
looked upon as very ordinary beings indeed; in fact, when the President
shot by in an automobile on his way to the White House, they regarded
it--as it was in fact in Washington--as an incident of everyday life. It
was about two o'clock by this time, and they were half way down the
avenue when Barry's attention was attracted by a large sign advertising
a moving picture show.
"Joe," he said, with proper dignity in his voice and manner, "I want to
do this treat right. Let's take in the picture show."
Joe did not require a second invitation. In a few minutes they had paid
their dimes and were ushered into the seats of the little temporary
theatre. In the rush of hurrying in, the two boys had become separated,
although they managed to obtain places in the same row. A woman with a
market basket was on one side of Barry, while a burly fellow, with a red
necktie, was on the other. Presently the place was filled and the lights
were turned down. The films began to operate upon the canvas. The scene
represented an explosion in a coal mine. It was very vivid and very
lifelike. There was a flash of lightning and then a low rumbling sound
which marked the beginning of the disaster. At the most interesting
stage of the performance Barry felt himself being crowded by the man who
sat next to him. The fellow acted so roughly that Barry protested.
"Stop pushing me!" he cried.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," was the polite reply, "I didn't intend to annoy
you. It was an accident."
The moment that Barry had spoken he was sorry. It was probable, he
thought, that the man had leaned against him unintentionally and he
regretted his resentment. He wondered whether he should not apologize.
The lights went up in a minute or two, but Barry found, to his surprise,
that his neighbor with the red necktie had already departed.
The two boys wended their way out to the street together and were glad
to get in a whiff of fresh air. They made their way slowly towards the
new postoffice building on Pennsylvania Avenue, and after selecting a
convenient desk, Barry began writing his letter to his mother. The work
of composition was aided by Joe Hart, who, at intervals, offered many
unique and unsolicited suggestions. Finally the missive was completed
and Barry exclaimed:
"Now for the money order. I'll go over to the window and buy it."
He reached into his pocket for the wallet in which he had placed his
money. His hand slid into vacancy. A look of grief overspread his face.
"What's the matter, Barry," cried Joe; "are you sick?"
"No," said Barry, "I'm not sick. The pocketbook's gone!"
The two boys stood looking at each other speechlessly for many moments.
Presently Joe spoke:
"Do you think you had it when you went into the moving picture show?"
"I _know_ I had it then."
"Well, the answer's simple--you've been robbed!"
For the time being Barry felt as though the universe had gone to pieces
and lay in chaos at his feet, but after awhile he came to his senses,
and at the suggestion of his friend, the two of them started to retrace
their steps from the postoffice to the moving picture theatre. They had
gone about two blocks when Joe Hart suddenly exclaimed:
"Look. What's that in the street?"
Barry followed the glance of his friend and saw a red wallet lying on
the asphalt, in front of a Pennsylvania Avenue store. He ran over and
picked it up. It was his own. He opened it and looked into one side of
the wallet. It was empty. He turned to the other and looked in, and to
his satisfaction, found a solitary ten-dollar bill. He showed it to Joe
Hart.
"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"I think the man that stole the wallet took the money out of the one
side and thought that that was all there was in it. Then he threw the
wallet away to get rid of it."
After that the boys walked back to the postoffice, where Barry bought a
postal order for ten dollars. He destroyed the letter which he had
written to his mother originally, and began the composition of a second
one. It was a slow and painful task.
"I don't know just what to say," he said. "I've told mother that I got
sixty-eight dollars for my month's pay and I've explained how I used
part of it in paying Mr. Carlton and another part in settling what I owe
Mrs. Johnson. I'm sending her the other ten dollars, but she'll wonder
what I've done with the rest. I haven't got the nerve to tell her that
I've lost it. What would _you_ do?"
"Don't know," said Joe, aimlessly.
"Maybe it would worry her," said Barry. "I'll just--"
"I say, Barry," interrupted Joe, with his queer expression; "do you know
the best way?"
"No."
"Just tell her the truth--tell her exactly what happened."
And Barry did.