IN WHICH BOBBY GIVES HIS NOTE FOR SIXTY DOLLARS.
A great idea was born in Bobby's brain. His mother's weakness and the
insecurity of her position were more apparent to him than they had ever
been before. She was in the power of her creditor, who might turn her
out of the little black house, sell the place at auction, and thus,
perhaps, deprive her of the whole or a large part of his father's and
her own hard earnings.
But this was not the peculiar hardship of her situation, as her devoted
son understood it. It was not the hard work alone which she was called
upon to perform, not the coarseness of the fare upon which they lived,
not the danger even of being turned out of doors, that distressed
Bobby; it was that a wretch like Mr. Hardhand could insult and trample
upon his mother. He had just heard him use language to her that made
his blood boil with indignation, and he did not, on cool, sober, second
thought, regret that he had taken such a decided stand against it.
He cared not for himself. He could live on a crust of bread and a cup
of water from the spring; he could sleep in a barn; he could wear
coarse and even ragged clothes; but he could not submit to have his
mother insulted, and by such a mean and contemptible person as Mr.
Hardhand.
Yet what could he do? He was but a boy, and the great world would look
with contempt upon his puny form. But he felt that he was not
altogether insignificant. He had performed an act, that day, which the
fair young lady, to whom he had rendered the service, had declared very
few men would have undertaken. There was something in him, something
that would come out, if he only put his best foot forward. It was a
tower of strength within him. It told him that he could do wonders;
that he could go out into the world and accomplish all that would be
required to free his mother from debt, and relieve her from the severe
drudgery of her life.
A great many people think they can "do wonders." The vanity of some
very silly people makes them think they can command armies, govern
nations, and teach the world what the world never knew before, and
never would know but for them. But Bobby's something within him was
not vanity. It was something more substantial. He was not thinking of
becoming a great man, a great general, a great ruler, or a great
statesman; not even of making a great fortune. Self was not the idol
and the end of his calculations. He was thinking of his mother, and
only of her; and the feeling within him was as pure, and holy, and
beautiful as the dream of an angel. He wanted to save his mother from
insult in the first place, and from a life of ceaseless drudgery in the
second.
A legion of angels seemed to have encamped in his soul to give him
strength for the great purpose in his mind. His was a holy and a true
purpose, and it was this that made him think he could "do wonders."
What Bobby intended to do the reader shall know in due time. It is
enough now that he meant to do something. The difficulty with a great
many people is, that they never resolve to do something. They wait for
"something to turn up;" and as "things" are often very obstinate, they
utterly refuse to "turn up" at all. Their lives are spent in waiting
for a golden opportunity which never comes.
Now, Bobby Bright repudiated the Micawber philosophy. He would have
nothing to do with it. He did not believe corn would grow without
being planted, or that pouts would bite the bare hook.
I am not going to tell my young readers now how Bobby made out in the
end; but I can confidently say that, if he had waited for "something to
turn up," he would have become a vagabond, a loafer, out of money, out
at the elbows, and out of patience with himself and all the world.
It was "now or never" with Bobby. He meant to do something; and after
he had made up his mind how and where it was to be done, it was no use
to stand thinking about it, like the pendulum of the "old clock which
had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its
owner any cause of complaint."
Bobby walked down the road towards the village with a rapid step. He
was thinking very fast, and probably that made him step quick. But as
he approached Squire Lee's house, his pace slackened, and he seemed to
be very uneasy. When he reached the great gate that led up to the
house, he stopped for an instant, and thrust his hands down very deep
into his trousers pockets. I cannot tell what the trousers pockets had
to do with what he was thinking about; but if he was searching for any
thing in them, he did not find it; for after an instant's hesitation he
drew out his hands, struck one of them against his chest, and in an
audible voice exclaimed,--
"Now or never."
All this pantomime, I suppose, meant that Bobby had some misgivings as
to the ultimate success of his mission at Squire Lee's, and that when
he struck his breast and uttered his favorite expression, they were
conquered and driven out.
Marching with a bold and determined step up to the squire's back
door--Bobby's idea of etiquette would not have answered for the
meridian of fashionable society--he gave three smart raps.
Bobby's heart beat a little wildly as he waited a response to his
summons. It seemed that he still had some doubts as to the
practicability of his mission; but they were not permitted to disturb
him long, for the door was opened by the Squire's pretty daughter
Annie, a young miss of twelve.
"O Bobby, is it you? I am so glad you have come!" exclaimed the little
lady.
Bobby blushed--he didn't know why, unless it was that the young lady
desired to see him. He stammered out a reply, and for the moment
forgot the object of his visit.
"I want you to go down to the village for me, and get some books the
expressman was to bring up from Boston for me. Will you go?"
"Certainly, Miss Annie, I shall be very glad to go for _you_," replied
Bobby with an emphasis that made the little maiden blush in her turn.
"You are real good, Bobby; but I will give you something for going."
"I don't want any thing," said Bobby, stoutly.
"You are too generous! Ah, I heard what you did this forenoon; and pa
says that a great many men would not have dared to do what you did. I
always thought you were as brave as a lion; now I know it."
"The books are at the express office, I suppose," said Bobby, turning
as red as a blood beet.
"Yes, Bobby; I am so anxious to get them that I can't wait till pa goes
down this evening."
"I will not be gone long."
"O, you needn't run, Bobby; take your time."
"I will go very quick. But, Miss Annie, is your father at home?"
"Not now; he has gone over to the wood lot; but he will be back by the
time you return."
"Will you please to tell him that I want to see him about something
very particular, when he gets back?"
"I will, Bobby."
"Thank you, Miss Annie;" and Bobby hastened to the village to execute
his commission.
"I wonder what he wants to see pa so very particularly for," said the
young lady to herself, as she watched his receding form. "In my
opinion, something has happened, at the little black house, for I could
see that he looked very sober."
Either Bobby had a very great regard for the young lady, and wished to
relieve her impatience to behold the coveted books, or he was in a
hurry to see Squire Lee; for the squire's old roan horse could hardly
have gone quicker.
"You should not have run, Bobby," said the little maiden when he placed
the books in her hand; "I would not have asked you to go if I had
thought you would run all the way. You must be very tired."
"Not at all; I didn't run, only walked very quick," replied he; but his
quick breathing indicated that his words or his walk had been very much
exaggerated. "Has your father returned?"
"He has; he is waiting for you in the sitting room. Come in, Bobby."
Bobby followed her into the room, and took the chair which Annie
offered him.
"How do you do, Bobby? I am glad to see you," said the squire, taking
him by the hand, and bestowing a benignant smile upon him--a smile
which cheered his heart more than any thing else could at that moment.
"I have heard of you before to-day."
"Have you?"
"I have, Bobby; you are a brave little fellow."
"I came over to see you, sir, about something very particular," replied
Bobby, whose natural modesty induced him to change the topic.
"Indeed; well, what can I do for you?"
"A great deal, sir; perhaps you will think I am very bold, sir, but I
can't help it."
"I know you are a very bold little fellow, or you would not have done
what you did this forenoon," laughed the squire.
"I didn't mean that, sir," answered Bobby, blushing up to the eyes.
"I know you didn't; but go on."
"I only meant that you would think me presuming, or impudent, or
something of that kind."
"O, no, far from it. You cannot be presuming or impudent. Speak out,
Bobby; any thing under the heavens that I can do for you, I shall be
glad to do."
"Well, sir, I am going to leave Riverdale."
"Leave Riverdale!"
"Yes, sir; I am going to Boston, where I mean to do something to help
mother."
"Bravo! you are a good lad. What do you mean to do?"
"I was thinking I should go into the book business."
"Indeed!" and Squire Lee was much amused by the matter-of-fact manner
of the young aspirant.
"I was talking with a young fellow who went through the place last
spring, selling books. He told me that some days he made three or four
dollars, and that he averaged twelve dollars a week."
"He did well; perhaps, though, only a few of them make so much."
"I know I can make twelve dollars a week," replied Bobby, confidently,
for that something within him made him feel capable of great things.
"I dare say you can. You have energy and perseverance, and people take
a liking to you."
"But I wanted to see you about another matter. To speak out at once, I
want to borrow sixty dollars of you;" and Bobby blushed, and seemed
very much embarrassed by his own boldness.
"Sixty dollars!" exclaimed the squire.
"I knew you would think me impudent," replied our hero, his heart
sinking within him.
"But I don't, Bobby. You want this money to go into business with--to
buy your stock of books?"
"O, no, sir; I am going to apply to Mr. Bayard for that."
"Just so; Mr. Bayard is the gentleman whose daughter you saved?"
"Yes, sir. I want this money to pay off Mr. Hardhand. We owe him but
sixty dollars now, and he has threatened to turn us out, if it is not
paid by tomorrow noon."
"The old hunks!"
Bobby briefly related to the squire the events or the morning, much to
the indignation and disgust of the honest, kind-hearted man. The
courageous boy detailed more clearly his purpose, and doubted not he
should be able to pay the loan in a few months.
"Very well, Bobby, here is the money;" and the squire took it from his
wallet, and gave it to him.
"Thank you, sir. May Heaven bless you! I shall certainly pay you."
"Don't worry about it, Bobby. Pay it when you get ready."
"I will give you my note, and--"
The squire laughed heartily at this, and told him, that, as he was a
minor, his note was not good for any thing.
"You shall see whether it is, or not," returned Bobby. "Let me give it
to you, at least, so that we can tell how much I owe you from time to
time."
"You shall have your own way."
Annie Lee, as much amused as her father at Bobby's big talk, got the
writing materials, and the little merchant in embryo wrote and signed
the note.
"Good, Bobby! Now promise that you will come and see me every time you
come home, and tell me how you are getting along."
"I will, sir, with the greatest pleasure;" and with a light heart Bobby
tripped away home.