Some chronicles are so burdened with matters that are irrelevant as to
cause to those who have an eye for the main story and nothing else much
trouble and more annoyance. But in this, the true chronicle of events
in one period of the life of William Adolphus Turnpike, only that which
is of importance has been dealt with. This is almost a superfluous
explanation, for the reader who has managed to keep awake thus far has
long ago become seized of the fact. There lapses between what has gone
before and what is here written a period of nearly five years. Happy
years they had been to William and the Turnpike "bunch." The elder
Turnpike's business prospered exceedingly, and William was well
advanced towards his cherished goal. Whimple and Tommy had long ceased
to worry over him, for the lad was developing into a sturdy and healthy
youth, taller than the average, still on the slim side, but strong and
sinewy. There was little grace about his movements, though he had
developed in courtesy and consideration to a surprising degree. He
sometimes worried over his lack of graceful movements. "I've stood in
front of the glass many a time," he said to Epstein, "and practised
trying to be graceful, but it's no go. I'm as awkward as a duck;
what'll I do?"
"Nothing," said Epstein, gravely, "nothing, my boy. It will be best
for you if you are always naturally as awkward as you are to-day. Many
comedians have tried for years to acquire what you have as a gift of
nature. It's a great asset." And William took the old man's word for
it. "You know best," he said emphatically, "and whatever you say goes."
Epstein smiled happily. The old comedian did not seem to have aged
very much in the five years. He declared he felt younger, in fact.
Between him and William there had grown a friendship strong and
complete. The lad trusted implicitly in the man: his gratitude to him
was unbounded, he evinced it by his attention to the lessons, still
continued, by every little thing he could do to show that the tuition,
so unselfishly given, was bearing good fruit. It was hard drilling
often: there were days and weeks when the heart of William was torn
with doubts and fears, but always when it seemed that he could not bear
the strain, he tackled his tasks once more with the determination his
friends had so often noted, and the difficulties would fly, the rocky
path become smooth, and the heart of William would rejoice in another
victory.
Whimple's business had attained quite respectable proportions now. He
was able to pay William a fairly good salary, and the lad was earning
it, for he had adopted as his motto one of Tommy Watson's proverbs:
"The man who earns what he gets is a dub; the fellow who always does
more than he's paid for gets to the winning post first." Whimple
himself, on the shrewd advice of his aunt, had bought and re-sold to
excellent advantage pieces of property in the rapidly developing
suburbs, and was beginning to be known as an expert on law in regard to
property. He had also, on the advice of his heart, and without
consulting any one but the lady herself, married Mrs. Stewart, and
William was almost as proud of his "boss" for doing that as he was of
his own ability to keep the books and do all the clerical work of the
office.
There was a new Watson too--you have guessed that, of course. A
one-year-old image of Tommy, who would have had half the doctors and
all the trained nurses in town at the newcomer's advent, if his friends
had not restrained him.
And Tommy, who, at the time of his marriage, had considered himself
fairly well able to meet all current demands on his purse, and even to
retire and live in reasonable comfort on what he had managed to put
away, got cold feet as soon as he realised that he was a father. The
first cry from Tommy junior brought the cold sweat to the brow of the
auctioneer, who was sitting in his home "den" awaiting news from his
wife's room. He stole softly downstairs and made his way to the
verandah, in the belief that some of the neighbour's children were
playing there, and bent upon driving them away. But there were no
youngsters on the verandah, and Tommy, with a sudden realisation of the
meaning of that cry, went back to the den, grinning foolishly, and
hungrier than ever for news. When the doctor finally came to him with
a hearty, "Well, Dad, there's a bouncing Tommy junior to look after
now," Tommy asked first, "How is she?"
"Fine," answered the doctor.
"And the kiddo's a boy?"
"Yes," said the doctor, "and he's a dandy; you can see 'em both soon,"
he added, as he left the room.
"Me a father!" said Tommy to himself. "Me! Oh, joy--and a boy!" He
seized the cushions on the lounge and threw them up to the ceiling
joyously. "If I was at the store," he said aloud, and addressing the
cushions, "I'd use you to smash something with."
Then he took a writing pad and began to cover it with figures, and the
more he figured, the less pleased he seemed to be with the results.
Finally, "Ahem," said Tommy, "I've got to work now: this'll never do;
can't let the wife and kiddy want for anything. Wonder what we'll have
to get for him first?" And after more figuring, "Well, it's no good
getting cold feet over the proposition: it's me with me nose to the
grindstone, and I guess I can stand it for some years yet."
There was joy in his store when he arrived there the next morning,
proudly happy. Epstein and Whimple were there, and they greeted him
with dignified pleasure. The Scottish and English assistants, who were
still at loggerheads over the battle of Bannockburn, were no less
sincere in their congratulations. When Jimmy Duggan, M.P.P., called to
add the compliments of the People's Party, Tommy was fairly beaming.
Oh, but it was good to have such friends. But the congratulations that
touched him most of all were those of William and Lucien, who called
together. The youths were embarrassed, they hardly knew what to say,
and what they did say was incoherent. But Tommy knew the kindliness of
the hearts that had prompted the call, and he blew his nose and
shuffled his feet uneasily as the boys, after an awkward silence,
departed.
Lucien and William were fast friends now. The former was still with
Simmons, the architect, who, like Whimple, was beginning to achieve
success, and now occupied a separate office suite. He was growing
fast; was stouter than William, much slower in action and speech, and
was giving promise of developing into a successful business man.
William had confided his plans to Lucien long ago, and had been
delighted with the real interest with which they had been received.
They often talked about them, and Lucien had even given some
suggestions that William had acted upon and found to be good. And one
day Lucien had completed his conquest of the coming comedian by a
simple remark. William, in a more than usual friendly outburst of
confidence, had built castles in the air, based on his conviction of
attaining success.
"And if," said Lucien, "you should become a famous and wealthy actor,
and have a theatre of your own--I--I----" he looked at William
wistfully.
"Yes, Lucien."
"Wouldn't it be nice if--if--I was architect enough to design it for
you? I--I would like----"
"Oh, Lucien!" That was all William said, but Lucien laughed happily.