[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1897. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.
VOL. XVIII.--NO. 901. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
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[Illustration]
CRYING TOMMY.
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Jenks, the master-at-arms, otherwise known as Jimmylegs, was the best
Jimmylegs in the naval service of the United States. His countenance was
usually as stolid as a mummy's, and his voice as steady as the Sphinx's
might have been. He would have announced "The magazine is on fire, sir,"
in precisely the same tone as "John Smith has broken his liberty, sir."
Therefore when Mr. Belton, First Lieutenant of the training-ship
_Spitfire_, in his first interview after coming aboard, detected a
rudimentary grin upon Jimmylegs's usually impassive face, he stopped
short in the perilous operation of shaving while the ship had a sharp
roll on, and asked:
"What is it, master-at-arms? Out with it!"
"Just this, sir," replied old Jenks, crossing his arms and tugging at
his left whisker with his right hand. "Along o' that 'prentice boy,
Hopkins--the other boys call him Crying Tommy, because he's always
blubbering about something or 'nother. That boy'd be worth good money to
a undertaker, he's got such a distressful countenance. Well, sir, I
brought him down, with a batch o' other boys from the training-station,
and he didn't half seem to like going aboard ship. Howsomedever, I never
misdoubted as how he'd jump the ship. But after them boys was landed at
the dock, I looked around, and there wasn't no Crying Tommy. I brought
the rest of 'em along, and reported on board ship, and then I started
out on a quiet hunt for that there boy. I didn't have no luck, though;
but about dark that evening there come over the for'ard gangway a great
strappin' red-headed girl about fifteen, holdin' on to Crying Tommy like
grim death, and he scared half out of his wits. She marches him up to
me, and she says, 'Here's that dratted boy'--dratted was the very word
she used, sir--and she kep' on, 'He won't run away no more, I think--not
if my name is Mary Jane Griggs.' And I says to her, bowin' and tryin' to
keep from grinnin', for the girl had as honest a face, sir, as I ever
clapped eyes on, 'Miss Griggs, may I ask what relation you are to Mr.
Hopkins here?' And she snapped out: 'Not a bit; only after his mother
died we took him in our house, and he paid his way--when he could. Then
one day I read in the paper about naval apprentices, and I said to
Tommy, "That's the place for you." So he went and signed the articles.
That was six months ago. And this afternoon, when I come home from the
box factory where I works, there was this great lummux.' Well! how her
eyes did flash! Mr. Belton, I'm afraid o' red-headed women and girls,
sir--that I am--and Crying Tommy, I saw, was in mortal fear of Mary Jane
Griggs. And she says, 'I marched him straight back; he bellowed like a
calf--he's the greatest crier I ever see; but I want you to take him and
make him behave himself.' 'I will endeavor to do so, Miss Griggs,' says
I, and then she gave her flipper to the boy, and went off home, I
suppose, and we sailed that night."
"Well, what sort of a boy is he?" asked the Lieutenant.
Jimmylegs tugged at his whiskers harder than ever.
"Well, sir," he said, presently, "the boy ain't no shirk. He's a
foretopman, and the captain of the foretop says he's the smartest boy
he's got aloft. But he keeps on crying, and I'm mightily afraid he'll
start some of the other boys to crying, and they'll think the ship is a
penitentiary. Low spirits is ketchin','specially in the foc's'l', and I
wish that blessed brat would stop his bawling. I'd like you to speak to
him, sir; you've got such a fine way with boys, sir." Which was true
enough.
"Send him here," said the Lieutenant, wiping his face after his shave.
Presently there came a timid knock at the door, and Crying Tommy
appeared. He was a sandy-haired boy of sixteen, ill-grown for his age,
and of a most doleful countenance.
"Well, my lad," said the Lieutenant, cheerily, "I hear that you are
always piping your eye. What's that for?"
Crying Tommy shook his head helplessly, but said nothing.
"Do the men run you?"
"Yes, sir; but--'taint that."
"Do you get enough to eat?"
"Yes, sir--never had such good grub in my life before."
"Then what in the name of sense are you always howling for?"
Crying Tommy looked about him more helplessly than ever, and then burst
out suddenly and desperately:
"I don't know, sir, except that I've always had--somebody to look out
for me. Mary Jane Griggs done that--she's a corker, sir--and she made me
go and be a 'prentice--and I didn't want to; she made me go--that she
did, sir!"
"I'm not surprised that Mary Jane wanted to get rid of you if this is
the way you acted. Now mind; do you stop this boo-hooing, and do your
duty _cheerfully_. Do you understand me? For I hear that you do your
duty. And if you don't, why"--here the Lieutenant quickly assumed his
"quarter-deck" voice and roared out, "_I'll give you something to cry
for!_"
Crying Tommy fled down the gangway. Half an hour afterwards the
Lieutenant was on the bridge, the anchor was picked up, the _Spitfire_
was spreading her white wings to the freshening breeze. Mr. Belton,
watch in hand, was keenly observing the young bluejackets, and when he
saw that all plain sail was made within ten minutes, he put his watch
back with a feeling of satisfaction. He had sailor-boys to count on, not
farmers and haymakers, aloft. Especially had he noticed one boy, who,
laying out with cat-like swiftness on the very end of the topsail-yard,
did his work with a quickness and steadiness that many an old
man-o'-war's man might have envied. When this smart youngster landed on
deck Mr. Belton was surprised to see that it was Crying Tommy, looking,
as usual when he was not crying, as if he were just ready to begin.
But Mr. Belton had something else to study besides the boys, and this
was the ship. The _Spitfire_ was a fine old-fashioned, tall-masted,
big-sparred frigate, which could leg it considerably faster under her
great sails than under her small engines. She had the spacious quarters
for officers and the roomy airy spaces between decks for the men of the
ships of her class, and was altogether a much more comfortable ship for
cruising than the modern floating forts that could have blown her out of
the water with a single round. Stanch and weatherly, Mr. Belton had but
one fault to find with her, and that was her powder-magazine was exactly
where it ought not to have been; the breech of one of her guns was
directly over the chute by which the ammunition was handed up. Whenever
that gun was fired, Mr. Belton would go up to the gun captain and give
him a look of warning, and the man would respond to this silent caution
by touching his cap. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant said to himself
sometimes, "If we finish this cruise without some trouble with the
magazine, the _Spitfire_ will deserve her name of a lucky ship."
They had sailed in April, and six very satisfactory weeks had been
passed at sea. Homesickness and seasickness had disappeared after the
first week, and the whole ship's company from the Captain down--who
rejoiced in such a First Lieutenant as Mr. Belton--was happy and
satisfied, with the possible exception of Crying Tommy. The
master-at-arms never had so little disagreeable work to do, and so he
told Mr. Belton one Sunday morning after inspection.
"By-the-way," asked the Lieutenant, "I see that Hopkins boy is doing
well. He has never had a report against him. Has he stopped that habit
of howling for nothing?"
"Well, sir," replied old Jimmylegs, "he has, partly. The other boys
laughed at him, and that done him good. They've caught on to Mary Jane,
and they asks him if he has to report to Mary Jane twicet a day when he
is ashore, and such like pullin' of his legs as boys delights in. The
other day, sir, he got to cryin' about something or 'nother, and they
run him too hard. I saw 'em and heard 'em, but they didn't know it. Fust
thing Crying Tommy lights out from the shoulder, and laid the biggest of
'em sprawlin', and they shoved off pretty quick, sir. I didn't think as
'twas my duty to report him for fightin', and I 'ain't never had
occasion to report him for nothin' else. A better boy nor a smarter at
his duty I 'ain't never seen, sir."
One lovely May morning a few days after this found the _Spitfire_ off
the glorious bay of Naples. The sun shone from a sapphire sky upon a
sapphire sea, while in the distance rose the darker blue cone of
Vesuvius, crowned with fire and flame. Across the rippling water swept
innumerable sail-boats, while tall-masted merchantmen and steamships
with inky smoke pouring out of their black funnels ploughed their way in
and out the harbor. Near a huge government mole half a dozen majestic
war-ships, strung out in a semicircle, rode at anchor. A great British
battle-ship, all black and yellow, towered over the smart little cruiser
near by, which also flew a British ensign from her peak. Not far away
lay a French ship with remarkably handsome masts and spars and a
wicked-looking ram as sharp as a knife, that could cut an armored ship
in half like a cheese if ever she got the chance. Farther off still lay
three Italian men-of-war, from one of which flew the blue flag of an
Admiral. The Captain of the _Spitfire_ was with Mr. Belton on the bridge
as they came in, with a fair wind, and a mountain of canvas piled on the
ship. The Captain, knowing that no man could handle a sailing-ship more
beautifully than his First Lieutenant, was quite willing that he should
show his expertness before the thousands of sailors watching the
_Spitfire_. On she rushed, the water bellowing against her sides as her
keen bows cut her way through the blue waves. Mr. Belton, with a
seaman's eye, selected an admirable anchorage, and just as the
on-lookers were wondering where the _Spitfire_ meant to bring up, she
made a beautiful flying move. Her yards were squared like magic, and her
sails furled with almost incredible swiftness. With a gleam like
lightning and a rattle like thunder her cable rushed out of the
hawse-hole, and scarcely had the splash of her anchor resounded when the
Italian colors were broken at the mast-head and the first gun of the
salute boomed over the bright water.
"Well done, _Spitfire_!" cried the Captain; and well done it was.
Twenty guns roared out, with scarcely a second's difference in their
steady boom!--boom!--boom!--and then there was a sudden break before the
twenty-first gun was fired. Mr. Belton turned, and his eye instinctively
flashed upon the starboard gun over the magazine. Yes, there it
was--that accident he had been looking for ever since he set foot on the
ship. The shreds of a blazing cartridge-bag dropped under the breech,
and a faint puff of wind blew them over the edge of the open chute, and
down they went into the powder-magazine.
The Lieutenant hardly knew how he reached the deck and sped along it,
but in a moment he had leaped down the ladder toward the open door of
the magazine, where an ominous crackling was heard. And instead of half
a dozen men at work flooding the magazine, there were half a dozen pale,
wild-eyed, and panic-stricken creatures, as the bravest will be
sometimes, crowding out into the passage, and quite dazed with fear.
"Return to your duty!" shouted Mr. Belton, feeling for his pistol, and
not finding it, seizing a bucket of water that was handy and dashing it
in the men's faces. The shock brought them to their senses; they stopped
in their mad flight and turned toward the magazine. Mr. Belton rushed
like a catapult among them, wedged together in the narrow passage, and
right behind was old Jimmylegs with a bucket of water. They could see a
boyish figure on hands and knees in the magazine with a wet swab,
crawling about and putting out the sparks that flashed from all over the
floor. The next moment the whole floor was awash; the danger was over,
and Mr. Belton and the master-at-arms had time to observe that the boy
who had stood to his post when men fled was Crying Tommy, and he was
crying vigorously. When he saw that the fire was out, he sat down on the
wet floor and began to howl louder than ever. Old Jimmylegs seized him
by the shoulder, and giving him a shake that made his teeth rattle in
his head, bawled,
"Choke a luff, and tell the orficer about the fire!"
Crying Tommy was so scared at this that he actually stopped weeping, and
wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.
"I see the loose powder on the floor burning, and the men saw it, and
then one of em called out, 'Oh Lord! we're dead men!' and they all ran
away." Here Crying Tommy piped up again.
"And you didn't run away. Go on," said Mr. Belton.
"And I reached out for the swab and the water-bucket, and I swabbed the
floor the best I could."
"A-cryin' all the time, no doubt," put in old Jimmylegs.
"I couldn't help it, sir," whimpered Crying Tommy.
"Well," said Mr. Belton, "you had something to cry for this time. Now
get out of here. You've saved the ship."
Not long after this, one Sunday morning, the boatswain was directed to
pipe all hands up and aft. And when all the officers and men were
assembled, the Captain read out the appointment of Thomas Hopkins,
apprentice boy, as acting gunner's mate for his gallantry in putting out
the fire in the magazine on that May morning. Then Mr. Belton handed
Tommy a handsome watch as a gift from the officers, at which the men
cheered, and Tommy bowed and bowed again, and presently put up his
ever-ready jacket sleeve to his eye; and the officers roared with
laughing and the men grinned, and Tommy went below, weeping but very
happy.
One day, some years after this, Mr. Belton and old Jimmylegs, who were
then on different ships, met at the navy-yard gate, and, being old
shipmates, they exchanged very warm greetings. Presently there passed
them a smart-looking young gunner, and holding his arm was a tall
fine-looking young woman in a red gown, with a red feather in her hat,
red cheeks, and a brilliant red head, and she looked very proud and
smiling. Her companion, on the contrary, seemed overcome with
bashfulness on seeing the Lieutenant and the old master-at-arms, and
hurriedly saluting, made off in the opposite direction, looking
uncommonly sheepish.
"That, sir," said Jimmylegs, with a sly grin, "is Gunner Hopkins, and
that is Mrs. Hopkins. They're just married. He used to be called Crying
Tommy, and she was Mary Jane Griggs, sir."
"I remember," answered the Lieutenant, smiling.
A BOY'S APPEAL.
I wonder if grown people who have all their growing done
Remember, as they sit at ease, that growing isn't fun.
One's legs and arms have separate aches, one's head feels half asleep,
But every day, let come what may, at school one has to keep.
And there the teachers never say, "Just study as you please,"
When shooting pains are flying round about a fellow's knees.
Reports say, "Tommy's progress is not what is desired,"
And fathers call you lazy when you're only deadly tired.
You have to learn the things you hate; it almost makes you sick,
There's such a lot of grammar, there's so much arithmetic,
The maps and boundaries to draw, the text to get by heart,
And all the while those growing pains to pull your joints apart!
Now skating, and snowballing, and managing a wheel,
Are very, very different things; though tired you may feel,
You manage not to mind it; the time goes rushing so
That you are interested and forget you have to grow.
Dear mothers and grandmothers, they seem to understand;
All boys should always meet them, bowing deeply, cap in hand,
For _they_ have sense, and don't expect what fellows cannot do,
Though other people laugh and say, it's all the point of view.
But, oh! if grown-up gentlemen with growing safely done,
Would just remember now and then that growing isn't fun,
Perhaps they'd make it easier for boys who'd like to be
A trifle brighter, if they could, but are growing just like me.
TOMMY TRADDLES.
GOLF ON SHIPBOARD.
Marine golf is the very latest aberration of golfing genius, and though
the new game is but a distant relative of the "Royal and Ancient," its
novelty may commend it to those who want amusement on long sea-voyages,
and who have wearied of "shuffleboard" and "deck quoits."
It is evident that a ball is out of the question, and in its place is
employed a disk of wood about four and a half inches in diameter. A
rather heavy walking-stick, with a right-angled, flat-crooked head, is
the "club," and serves every purpose from driving to holing out. The
holes are circles about six inches in diameter chalked upon the deck,
and the links are only bounded by the available deck space, the good
nature of the Captain, and the rights of the non-golfing passengers.
Hatches, companionways, and the deck furniture in general serve as
bunkers, and the ship's roll is an omnipresent and all-pervading hazard.
As the disk is propelled over the deck and not sent into the air,
hitting is useless, and the proper stroke is something between a push
and a drag, with the club laid close behind the disk. The player, in
driving, stands with both feet slightly in advance of the disk, the
shuffleboard push from behind being barred. As the club is virtually in
contact with the disk, or "puck," keeping one's "e'e on the ba'" is not
necessary--in fact, the best results will be obtained by aiming as in
billiards and kindred games. A good drive will propel the disk for forty
yards along the deck--that is, if the wind does not interfere by getting
under the disk and sending it wildly gyrating into the scuppers. The
carrom is permissible, and furnishes occasion for scientific play, but
the great sport of the game lies in the skilful utilization of the
pitching and rolling of the ship. The disk takes a bias from the angle
of the deck, and some impossible shots may be triumphantly brought
off--round the corner, for instance. Even in putting, marine golf may
lay just claim to the variety which is the spice of (sporting) life. On
a gray day the boards will be half as slow again as when the sun is
shining, while with any spray coming aboard it is impossible to tell
whether the disk will drag or slide.
BOYS IN WALL STREET.
BY COL. THOMAS W. KNOX,
AUTHOR OF THE "BOY TRAVELLERS" SERIES.
The visitor to Wall Street in business hours will see many active,
bright, pleasant-looking boys moving more or less rapidly in all
directions, and evidently absorbed in work. Some are in blue or gray
uniforms, but the majority are in plain clothes, and almost invariably
neatly dressed. The uniformed are employed by telegraph and messenger
companies, the others by bankers, brokers, and other men of affairs.
Their chances of rising are about as many as boys ever have--the really
able, honest, and pushing boys go up as they grow older. As a
dignified-looking gentleman passes along the sidewalk we are told: "That
is the president of the ---- Bank. He knows Wall Street and all its ins
and outs. Been here all his life. Began as an office-boy in a brokerage
house; became partner; got elected a member of the Stock Exchange; now
he is near the top of the heap. I could name several bank presidents who
began as brokers' boys at two or three dollars a week."
Our informant went on, "Yes, and there are lots of cashiers of banks and
other banking officials who began life in the same way. The partners in
a great many banking and brokerage firms began as Wall Street boys."
Boys have begun in Wall Street at one dollar a week. Employers can
generally tell in a week or two whether the boy is likely to "amount to
anything." If the boy is faithful and energetic his wages are advanced
so that he gets three dollars a week in two or three months from the
start. Boys usually get not far from one hundred and fifty or two
hundred dollars for the first year, and from three hundred upwards the
second year. A prominent banker of New York once told me:
"My father died when I was sixteen years old, and that threw my mother
and myself on our own resources. We had so little money or property that
it was necessary for me to leave school and go to work. As the late
Thurlow Weed had been a warm friend of my father, I came to New York to
ask for his influence in getting a clerkship in the Custom-house, or
something of the sort. I knew Mr. Weed as a boy of my age would know a
man of his, and he greeted me cordially. When I had told him my story he
said:
"'Now, Charley, find a cheap boarding-place and send your address to me.
Don't come to me again, but as soon as I have anything for you I will
write to you. Meantime look around and see what you can find for
yourself.'
"I did as he told me, and a week went by without my hearing from him.
One day I found a place in a broker's office where they would pay me two
hundred dollars a year, and that very day I received a letter from Mr.
Weed saying he had a place for me in the Custom-house at seven hundred
dollars a year. I went to him, thanked him for his kindness, and
declined his offer, telling him I preferred the broker's office,
although the salary was much smaller. He patted me on the shoulder and
said,
"'Charley, you have decided rightly, and you'll never regret it.'
"And I never have. I think it was pretty smart for a boy of sixteen."
Many Wall Street boys lose their places by loitering on errands.
Employers know perfectly well how long it takes on the average to reach
a certain point, transact the necessary business, and return. There
_are_ delays now and then, but if a boy returns late to the office
several times in a day with excuses for delay his employers understand
the situation perfectly, and he is soon "bounced."
A Wall Street boy is expected to be at the office at nine o'clock in the
morning, and remain there as long as his services are needed, though he
usually gets away about four o'clock. He has an allowance of half an
hour at noon for luncheon, but the rest of the time belongs to his
employer. He is expected to be neat in appearance, clean as to hands and
face, well mannered, truthful at all times, prompt in obedience, and
faithful in guarding the secrets of his employers.
The duties first assigned to him are to carry messages, deliver stocks
at other brokerage offices, and obtain checks for them. After a while he
is advanced to making comparisons of sales of stocks and taking the
checks received from other brokers to be certified at the banks.
Of late years the Stock Exchange Clearing-house has done away with so
much of the stock delivery by boys that the number of them on the Street
is not more than half what it used to be. Formerly it was not uncommon
to see from twenty-five to one hundred boys waiting in line at each of
the prominent banks to get checks certified, and nearly every bank
employed a private policeman to keep the boys in line and in order.
A story is told of a new boy on the Street who once went to make a
delivery of stock. When the bookkeeper made up the accounts at the close
of the day he found himself eighty thousand dollars short, and an
examination of the books showed that one of the boys had failed to bring
back a check in return for some stock he had delivered.
He was perfectly innocent about the matter, and said that he had handed
the papers in at the office where he was sent to make the delivery, and
as they gave him nothing he supposed there was nothing for him to get.
His employer treated him kindly, and told him to be careful not to make
the same mistake again. He never did. That boy is now at the head of one
of the largest brokerage houses on Broad Street.
As the Wall Street boy advances in proficiency he is put upon the
purchase and sale books. Then he takes charge of the comparison tickets,
and then of the stock ledgers. Then he becomes a bookkeeper or cashier,
and if he shows himself valuable enough he receives a junior
partnership, and later on rises to a higher one.
[Illustration: WALL STREET BOYS.]
It is proper to say, however, that only a small proportion of the boys
who begin life in Wall Street work their way upward to positions of
consequence. Fully fifty per cent. of them go wrong, or, at all events,
leave the Street, and are not heard of afterward. Not less than half of
the others remain in subordinate places. Either they lack the
intelligence, energy, and fidelity necessary to secure advancement, or
they have vicious tendencies which lead them into trouble.
There is a class of speculating establishments in the neighborhood of
Wall Street which are known among the brokers as "bucket-shops," where
any one can go and risk one dollar, or as much more as he likes in
speculation in stocks. Suppose he has but one dollar; he places it upon
a certain stock, and watches the indicator till it goes up or down. If
it rises a point, he makes a dollar, but if it goes down he loses, and
the dollar he risked is wiped out.
Men with very limited capital are the chief patrons of these
bucket-shops, but a good many of the boys slip around to them, and risk
anywhere from one dollar to five dollars in speculation. Sooner or later
they come to grief. A knowledge of their conduct reaches the ears of
their employers, they lose their situations, and have great difficulty
in getting others.
Boys are taken into brokerage offices only upon good recommendations,
and it is almost invariably required that a boy shall live with his
parents and not by himself. Employers well know that a boy not living at
home is far more likely to fall into evil ways than one who has a home
and is under the eyes of father and mother.
In addition to their regular wages the boys in Wall Street offices
receive presents in money at Christmas-time, the amount depending partly
upon the good conduct of the boy himself, and partly on the condition of
business in the year just closing. If times have been hard, speculation
light, and incomes small, the broker's gratuities to his employees are
much smaller than if the reverse is the case. In the one instance, he
feels poor and forced to economize; in the other, he feels prosperous
and is liberal.
There are other kinds of boys on Wall Street than the ones just
described. In the Stock Exchange about one hundred and fifty boys are
employed as pages to run with messages for members in the Board Room,
not outside. They receive from three to five dollars a week, with a
gratuity at Christmas.
There is no prospect of these pages rising to higher positions while in
the employ of the Exchange, and when they grow too large for employment
there they drift away to other places. Many are the applicants for these
positions, and in order to secure one there a boy must be well
recommended. The pages wear gray uniforms with brass buttons, and are
generally bright little fellows who soon learn to know every member of
the Stock Exchange by name.
Perhaps two hundred members of the Stock Exchange have private
telephones in the building, and there is a squad of some fifty or more
boys in blue uniforms who look after these telephones. The Stock
Exchange has its own messenger service, each boy wearing a gray uniform
with a military cap. The duties of these messengers is to run from the
Exchange to the offices of the members.
All these boys are remembered at Christmas-time. The members of the
Exchange subscribe from five to twenty-five dollars each to make up the
gratuity fund, which is divided among the boys according to their time
of service. Those who have been there two or three years obtain quite a
handsome little present during the holiday season.
Then there are boys connected with the American District Messenger
service; there are Western Union Telegraph boys; Cable Telegraph boys;
boys in the offices of lawyers, corporations, and the like. But the
principal and most important boy of all is the one who starts in an
office at a small salary, determined to win his way to fame and fortune,
and possessing the ability and intelligence to do so.
THE MIDDLETON BOWL.[1]
[1] Begun in HARPER'S ROUND TABLE No. 898.
BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
CHAPTER IV.
"Boys," said Mrs. Hoyt, "the Misses Middleton have met with a great
loss. Their beautiful bowl is broken. You have seen it, and you have
heard of its value, and you can imagine how badly they feel about it,
and now they are trying to find out who broke it. You were at their
house this morning, I believe. Do you know anything about it?"
Raymond and Clement were unmistakably very much surprised. They had not
heard of the accident before, it was plainly to be seen, and they
eagerly disclaimed all knowledge of the affair.
"Was that the broken china you found in the currant-bushes?" exclaimed
Raymond. "How on earth did it get there?"
"Oh, I say!" cried Clement, in the same breath. "Teddy, what were you
and Arthur doing by the currant-bushes before the kitten's funeral?
Don't you remember, Ray?" And then he stopped abruptly. He did not want
to "give them away," he said to himself.
"And what do you know about it, Arthur?" asked his mother.
Arthur said nothing.
"Did you go into Miss Middleton's parlor this morning?"
Still there was no answer.
"Arthur, come here to me. Now tell me, darling, did you go into Miss
Middleton's parlor this morning?"
"Yes, mother," he said, in a very low voice.
"Did you break the bowl?"
The silk gowns of the three visitors rustled audibly as they leaned
forward to listen. Teddy drew a step nearer and waited eagerly for his
reply, and the other boys gathered about their mother and brother, as
though to sustain the family honor through this terrible emergency. But
Arthur remained silent.
"Did you break the bowl, Arthur?"
"No, mother, I didn't."
And then, boy of eleven though he was, and with his older brothers
looking on, he began to cry.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Raymond, "don't be a baby, Art! If you did it, why
don't you own up?"
"Because I didn't do it," said Arthur. "I didn't do it, and I wish I'd
never seen the old bowl!"
"Why, Arthur," said Theodora, "I thought-- Are you sure you didn't do
it?"
"Of course I'm sure; just as sure as you are, or anybody else."
"Do you know anything about it?" asked Mrs. Hoyt. "Do you know who did
do it?"
To this there was no reply whatever.
"It is very strange," said Miss Joanna, grimly. "Theodora and Arthur
both had something to do with the calamity, for Arthur acknowledges that
he was there, and Theodora carried away the fragments. One of them must
be guilty of it. Is your boy truthful, Mrs. Hoyt?"
Before his mother could speak, Raymond stepped forward and stood in
front of the Misses Middleton.
"Look here," said he. "I guess you'd better understand that we Hoyts
aren't cowards and we aren't liars. If my brother Arthur broke that
bowl, you bet he'd say so!"
"Hush, Ray!" said his mother. "That is not the proper way to speak to
ladies. But I think, Miss Middleton, that what Raymond says is the case.
If Arthur had done it he would acknowledge it."
"But, Arthur," cried Teddy, whose face expressed her complete
mystification, "I thought--I don't understand!"
"Hush up!" said Arthur, between his sobs.
"Suppose we ask Teddy to give an account of what transpired this
morning," said Mrs. Hoyt. "Did you find Arthur in the parlor?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hoyt," said Theodora. "I wasn't going to tell this, on
Arthur's account, but I suppose I'll have to as long as you ask me. When
I went down to wait for Aunt Tom to go to the garden I went to the
parlor, and there I met Arthur coming out. He was crying, and he seemed
terribly frightened, and was saying, 'Hide it! hide it!' and he ran
away. When I went in, there was the bowl on the floor, broken. And then
I heard Aunt Tom coming down stairs, and I didn't stop to think, but
just picked up the pieces and carried them out under my apron."
"And is that all you know?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hoyt, it is all I know."
No one could doubt the truthfulness of this statement, and the three
Misses Middleton rose to go, satisfied, if only for the moment, that
their niece was guiltless. They drove off, Theodora occupying the fourth
seat in the old barouche, and Mrs. Hoyt was left alone with her boys.
* * * * *
A week passed away, and the mystery of the broken bowl was as far from
being solved as it had been at the beginning. It was carefully carried
by three of the ladies to the old china-mender in the town of Alden, who
skilfully cemented the pieces together in such a manner that the
uninitiated would never discover that it had been broken; but its owners
knew only too well that this treasure was no longer what it had once
been, and their feelings had received a shock from which they could not
soon recover.
As Miss Joanna remarked, when she examined the bowl upon its return,
"Mr. Jones has done it very well; but he cannot mend our hearts, which
were broken when the Middleton bowl was broken, and even if the cracks
_are_ well hidden, they will always stare us in the face!"
Though her aunts no longer thought that Theodora was actually
responsible for the accident, they were quite sure that she knew who
was, and they censured her severely for her silence. Even Miss Thomasine
felt that she might tell them more if she would. But Teddy had already
given her version of the affair, and there was nothing more to be said.
She had supposed from the beginning that Arthur was the author of the
misfortune, and though she did not like to doubt his word, she greatly
feared that he was not speaking the truth when he denied this.
His brothers stoutly maintained his innocence when talking to Theodora,
or to any one outside of the family, but with one another they
acknowledged having some misgivings.
"You see, Art has been sick such a lot that I guess he is afraid to own
up," said they among themselves. "He isn't just like the rest of us.
Look how afraid he is in the dark, and in that spooky place in the
woods, and of lots of other things. I suppose he is afraid father will
punish him if he owns up, and so he's going to keep it dark as long as
he can."
Mr. and Mrs. Hoyt were both greatly troubled by the affair. They knew
the value of the bowl, a value which could not be made good by any
amount of money, and they knew that such a rare work of art could never
be replaced; and, besides, the fact that if Arthur had broken it he
lacked sufficient moral courage to confess was a bitter grief to them.
But the "if" was a large one, and Arthur's mother could not bring
herself to believe that her boy was not speaking the truth.
Arthur himself showed plainly that he was suffering. He grew pale and
lost his appetite; he started at every sound, and when he was
out-of-doors he would stop constantly in his play to look about
apprehensively, to peer behind bushes or trees, and to take refuge in
the house did he see any one coming.
He and Teddy discussed the subject more than once, but never with any
satisfactory result. It usually ended in his running to his mother to
declare, with tears and sobs, that he did not break the old bowl, and he
wished that he had never seen it.
In the mean time Teddy continued to ride the bicycle. Her aunts seemed
to have completely forgotten having seen her in the very act. They did
not mention the subject again, being absorbed in conjectures and grief
about the bowl, and Theodora, apparently believing that silence gave
consent, did not recall it to their minds.
The boys were all perfectly willing now that she should use their
wheels, for she soon rode as well as they did, and as there were so many
bicycles in the family, there was usually one that she could take.
One afternoon Teddy had been off on quite a little excursion by herself.
She was on Arthur's wheel, and she had gone "around the square," as they
called it, coming home by a back way. Just as she drew near her aunts'
house a heavy shower which had been gathering for some time, unnoticed
by Theodora, came pattering down.
There was hail as well as rain, and Teddy rode quickly to the house and
went in by the kitchen door. She took the wheel in with her and placed
it in the back hall, in an out-of-the-way corner, intending to return it
to Arthur as soon as the storm should be over.
But it lasted longer than she expected, and by the time it had ceased to
rain supper was ready. It was quite dark now by six o'clock, and
Theodora knew that her aunts would not allow her to go out alone so
late, so she determined to get up early the next morning, and take the
wheel back then. She said nothing of this plan, however, and did not
mention to her aunts that a hated bicycle was in the house.
In fact she was not at all sure that she was doing right to ride without
their permission, and she made up her mind that she would tell them
to-morrow. Now that she had attained her object, and had learned how,
she would not mind so much if she were forbidden by them to ride, for
she was sure that when her father and mother returned to this country in
the spring they would buy her a wheel, and until then she could wait.
Indeed, she hoped, from what she had heard her mother say, that Mrs.
Middleton would learn to ride herself, in spite of the sentiments of her
sisters-in-law upon the subject.
Eight o'clock was Teddy's bedtime, and she bade her aunts good-night at
that hour as usual. She had been asleep but a short time when she was
awakened by a commotion in the hall, most unusual in that quiet
household. There were hurried footsteps and half-smothered exclamations,
and presently she was quite sure that she heard moans of pain.
Springing out of bed, she ran to the door and opened it just in time to
see Miss Thomasine hurry through the hall with a mustard plaster in her
hand, while in the distance appeared Miss Melissa with a hot-water bag,
and from another room emerged Miss Dorcas with a bottle of medicine.
"What is the matter, Aunt Tom?" asked Teddy. "Is any one sick?"
"Your aunt Joanna is very ill," whispered Miss Thomasine, as she passed.
Much startled, Teddy went back to her room and waited. Then she
concluded to dress herself and go to her aunt's door to see if she could
be of any help. This did not take long, but when she knocked at the door
it was opened by Miss Dorcas, who told her that she had better not come
in.
Theodora was sadly frightened, and the groans which she heard did not
tend to reassure her. Her aunt must be very ill; perhaps she was even
dying.
"Have you sent for the doctor?" she asked.
"There is no one to send," said Miss Dorcas, "for John is in bed with a
bad attack of rheumatism; so your aunt Melissa is going with Catherine,
the cook. They are getting ready now, but I am afraid it will take them
a long time to get to Dr. Morton's house; and it is so very late for
women to be out alone--after ten o'clock!"
And then she shut the door again, and her niece was left alone in the
hall, with the sound of her aunt Joanna's moans in her ears.
She went to look for her aunt Melissa, and found that she was just
rousing Catherine from her first heavy slumber. Though ten o'clock was
not late in the eyes of the world, the Middleton household had been in
bed for an hour, and to them it seemed like the middle of the night.
It would take Catherine a long time to get awake, to say nothing of
dressing. Miss Melissa herself was in her wrapper, and Theodora supposed
that she would not go forth even upon an errand of life and death
without arraying herself as if for a round of calls, down to the very
last pin in the shoulder of her camel's-hair shawl--and in the mean time
Aunt Joanna might die!
How dreadful it was! Teddy wished that she could do something. She did
not love Aunt Joanna as she did either of her other aunts, but she would
do anything to save her life. She could run to Dr. Morton's in half the
time that it would take Aunt Melissa and old Catherine to get there.
Suddenly she bethought herself of Arthur's wheel down in the back entry.
She would go on that!
[Illustration: ANOTHER MOMENT SHE MOUNTED AND WAS OFF.]
No sooner said than done. She did not tell her aunts of her inspiration,
knowing that valuable time would be lost in the discussion that would
ensue, and she would probably be back before Aunt Melissa had left their
own gates. She flew down stairs, picking up her worsted cap as she ran
through the hall. It took but a moment to unfasten the back door and
lift the wheel down the short flight of steps. Another moment and she
was mounted and off.
The storm clouds had rolled away, and the sky was now perfectly clear.
The moon had risen an hour since, making the night as bright as day with
its strange, weird light, the light that transforms the world into such
a different place from that which the sun reveals. Teddy had seldom been
out at night, and now to go alone on such an errand and in such a manner
filled her with excitement.
To be fleeing away on a bicycle at dead of night to save her aunt's life
was something which she had never dreamed it would be her fate to do.
Puddles of rain-water stood here and there in her path, but the Alden
roads were noted for their excellence, and even after the heavy shower
they were hard as boards, and the pools were easily avoided. The
moonlight cast strange shadows over the lawn, and as she flew past the
gate-post it almost seemed as if some one were standing there and had
moved; but of course that was only her imagination, Teddy told herself.
The child had not a thought of fear.
Her aunts' house was on the outskirts of the town, and at this hour the
street was but little frequented, and she met no one as she skimmed over
the broad white road. Dr. Morton's house was about a mile from that of
the Misses Middleton, and it did not take long to get there. The
doctor's buggy was at the door, and he himself was just in the act of
alighting, when there was the whiz of a wheel on the gravelled driveway
and the sharp, sudden ring of a bicycle-bell.
The doctor turned in time to see a small girlish figure swing herself to
the ground.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed he, much startled. "Who is this?"
"It's Teddy Middleton, and Aunt Joanna is very ill. Please come just as
quick as you can, Dr. Morton."
"Bless my soul!" repeated the Doctor. "You don't mean to tell me the
good ladies have allowed you to come out at this hour of the night, and
on a bicycle?"
He knew them well, and had heard them discourse more than once on the
subject of their pet aversion.
"No, they don't know anything about it," said Teddy. "And Aunt Melissa
and old Catherine are getting ready to walk here, so I must hurry back
and stop them; and I think Aunt Joanna is dying, Dr. Morton, so please
hurry."
Before the doctor could reply she had mounted her wheel and had
disappeared in the shadow of the trees at the gate. Without waiting
another moment he stepped into his buggy, and turning his tired horse
once more away from home, he drove after her as quickly as possible.
Teddy reached the house just as her aunt, clothed with the care which
she had suspected, and accompanied by the still half-asleep Catherine,
emerged from the front door. The sight of some one at the foot of the
steps nearly caused Miss Melissa to faint with horror upon the spot.
"Oh!" she gasped. "Burglars! Murder!"
"No, it isn't, Aunt Melissa. It's only Teddy. You needn't go for the
doctor; he is coming."
"Child, what do you-- Catherine, your arm, please! Surely you haven't
been--and on that!"
The unwonted excitement under which Miss Melissa was laboring caused her
to be more incoherent even than usual.
"Yes, I have been for him," said Teddy, coolly, as she lifted the
bicycle up the steps and stood it on the piazza, "and here he comes
now."
The roll of wheels and the quick tread of a horse's hoofs were heard
upon the avenue, and in another moment the doctor had alighted. Miss
Melissa, incapable of further speech, turned and followed him into the
house.
He found Miss Joanna indeed very ill with a sharp attack of the heart
trouble to which she was subject. It was some time before she was
relieved, but at length the pain passed by, and she was at least out of
danger; but it had been a narrow escape.
"If I had been five minutes later I doubt if I could have saved her,"
said the doctor, "and it is all owing to that niece of yours that I got
here in time."
"May I ask what you mean, doctor?" said Miss Middleton. "I thought that
my sister Melissa went to you."
"Miss Melissa was just about to leave the house when I drove up. That
bright little Teddy came for me on a wheel. Where she got it I don't
know, unless you have relented and given her one. If you haven't, it is
high time you did, for she deserves it for her presence of mind. And it
is high time, too, that you changed your minds about bicycles, for it is
all owing to one that Miss Joanna is alive now. I tell you that if I had
been five minutes later she wouldn't be living now."
"Oh, doctor!" exclaimed the three ladies who were with him in the room
next to Miss Joanna's, while the fourth watched by the invalid's bed.
"It is the truth," continued Dr. Morton, who was in the habit of
speaking his mind plainly to the awe-inspiring Misses Middleton as well
as to every one else; "and that bright little Teddy deserves a wheel of
her own--if you haven't given her one already."
* * * * *
In the mean time Teddy had been wandering about the big house, not
knowing quite what to do with herself. She went to her own room at
first, but she could not stay there. It was just near enough to her aunt
Joanna for her to hear muffled sounds from her room without knowing what
they meant. She could not go in there, and her aunts were all too much
occupied in obeying the doctor's commands and in waiting upon their
sister to speak to her.
The servants had collected in the back part of the hall, very much
frightened at the state of affairs, weeping and exclaiming with one
another. Theodora, after trying each unoccupied room in turn, at last
found herself in the parlor. It was very dark at first, but she pulled
up the Venetian-blinds at the front windows, and let in a flood of
moonlight.
Teddy had never before seen the room look so attractive. It was not
often so brilliantly illuminated, for the shades were always carefully
drawn. She moved restlessly about for a time, not daring to touch any of
the treasures, but looking at them with interest and curiosity.
The mended bowl was again in its place upon the Chinese table, the
beautiful yellow porcelain shining in the silvery light.
"I wonder if Arthur really didn't do it?" thought Teddy. "It is the
queerest, strangest thing that ever happened. I wish we could find out
about it."
She thought about this for some time, and then spying a Chinese puzzle
which hung from a corner of a cabinet, she took it down and began to
play with it. It was composed of a number of slender sticks of carved
ivory which were strung horizontally upon silken cords of various
colors. Theodora had seen it before, and she never wearied of slipping
the sticks up and down the silk, first disclosing a dozen cords, then
but two or three, sometimes more, sometimes less, the mechanism of which
constituted the puzzle. She worked at it for ten minutes, sitting in the
full glory of the moonlight; and then suddenly she became conscious that
she was not alone in the room.
A slight, almost imperceptible noise behind her, the faintest of
movements in the back of the room, told her that unquestionably some one
was there!
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
A LOYAL TRAITOR.
A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XV.
A GENTLEMAN VALET.
I breakfasted next morning with my three titled friends, and during the
discussion we held it was agreed that the best way to keep suspicion
from me--for they were apparently quite as apprehensive of my being
taken by the authorities as an escaped prisoner as I was myself--was for
me to assume the position of private servant for the nonce to my patron
and kind friend Monsieur de Brissac.
We started about nine o'clock in the morning along the post-road to the
eastward, with a ride of some hundred and ten miles and over before us,
I was informed.
The two gentlemen drove ahead in a high-wheeled chaise, while I and the
servant of Monsieur le Marquis de Senez followed by the coach within a
few minutes of their starting. It was our intention to pass the night at
Oxford, and we expected to reach London on the afternoon of the
following day.
They had spoken very openly before me, and although they had not
indulged in any explanations, I garnered from the earnestness of their
talk, and from the substance of it, that they had not given up all ideas
of dwelling once more in France, and returning to the grandeur they had
been accustomed to. Their bitterness against Napoleon was extreme, but
with him out of it, I do not see how they ever expected to live in a
country whose inhabitants they hated as a nation; for if the common and
middle class of people do not compose a nation's blood and body, I miss
my reckoning.