Fred found, much to his surprise, that Carl was something of a scholar,
as he could read well and write a very fair hand. He had thoroughly
mastered an elementary arithmetic, learning all of the tables and rules
so as to apply them readily and correctly.
"When did you learn so much about mathematics?" asked Fred. "You have
had no teacher."
"Well, I got a little idea of it before going into the mill, enough so
that I managed to work my way through the book after getting around
again from my sickness. Since then I have been through the book so many
times that I know it almost by heart."
"Why didn't you get a more advanced book, instead of spending so much
time on this one?"
"That is just what I wanted, but couldn't buy one."
"Almost any one would have given or lent you one, the same as I am going
to let you use my books. It is too bad that you have been kept back for
the want of suitable books; but what you have been over you have
learned so thoroughly that it is worth about as much to you as if you
had been through several higher arithmetics, and knew none of them well.
Have you ever studied geography?"
"No, I have not, and that is just the book I want to study most, for I
would like to know something about the world. Have you a geography?"
"Yes, I have two that I am done using. It is an interesting study. I
used to like to draw maps." And opening his desk--which, by the way,
Fred had made himself--he took out a large number of well executed maps,
and showed them to Carl, in whose eyes shone a gleam of admiration as he
looked them over, and said, almost incredulously:
"You didn't make them, did you? And with a pen, too? Why! they look like
boughten ones."
"Yes, I made them all with a pen and different kinds of ink; that
shading is all pen work, too. It is easy enough after one gets the hang
of it. The greatest trouble is to get just the right shape to the maps,
and to have everything in the right proportion."
"I should think that would be hard enough, but these letters are what
stick me. They are exactly like print."
"Oh, they are easy; I learned to print a long time ago. It is much
easier than good penmanship, for it is slow, while writing is done much
faster, so it takes a lot of practice to get the knack of it; but I like
it and can do pretty good work now. Here are some of my cards and a
little flourishing work, and this is what I am doing now"--showing Carl
a set of books on which he had been at work in his bookkeeping.
Again the little cripple was greatly interested to see the handsome work
before him--for handsome it was, as Fred, by dint of much practice, had
become a superior penman.
"I never saw such good writing," said Carl; "only what our writing
master used to do, when I went to school, and he didn't do any of these
birds either. Where did you learn to do it?"
"I learned it right here. You or anybody could do it by practising
enough."
"I wish I had known that before, then I could have practised when I had
no books to study; but I thought nobody could learn to write much
without a teacher."
"You were mistaken there; a good copy and plenty of the right sort of
practice will make any one a good penman. But what would you like to
study most? Tell me what you want to fit yourself for, then I will tell
you what I think will do you the most good."
"I would like to get so I could keep books. There is a place in the
finishing room where an account of the cloth and shipping is kept. It is
easy work, and pays well. I thought, perhaps, if I could only do the
work, I might some time get that job, or some good place outside of the
mill."
"Yes, that would, perhaps, be the best thing for you; so I should think
you had better practise penmanship, bookkeeping, and spelling. You know
about enough of mathematics already for keeping ordinary accounts. The
bookkeeping won't amount to very much to you in itself, but while you
are at work at that you will be gaining in the other two, and will get
used to the forms. You wanted to study geography, but you had better let
that go till you get fitted for a better position; then you can take it
up at leisure."
Fred now procured pen and paper for Carl, and set about instructing him
in penmanship. The little cripple was so much pleased with his kind
treatment that his gratitude was plainly expressed in his face, and he
commenced his task with all a boy's enthusiasm. As he carefully copied
the letters before him, his mind doubtless looked forward to the time
when he would rise above his present position in life and approach
nearer to the goal of his ambition.
The next morning Carl did not put in an appearance at the regular hour.
Time went by and still he did not come. This left Christopher Hanks'
force one hand short, and obliged him to do a good amount of work
himself to enable him and Fred to keep all the machines running.
He was quite out of sorts this morning, and Carl's absence, together
with the extra work, made him irritable, cross, and overbearing. Fred
endured this disagreeable mood for a while, but at last it grew
intolerable to him, so when Hanks ordered him in an insolent tone to
bring down more cloth he refused point blank.
Hanks fell into a rage and acted as if he would like to smash things
generally, and Fred in particular, but he very sensibly kept a good
distance from the latter, who had little regard for such a scraggy, ill
tempered individual.
"So you refuse to do yer work?" demanded Hanks excitedly.
"No, sir, I do not," replied Fred firmly.
"Then will you bring them bundles down?"
"No, sir."
"That's your work," said Hanks, cooling down at Fred's determined tone
and manner.
"That is not my work, though you have imposed it upon me since I have
been here."
"I'm boss of this here job, and what I tell yer to do is fur yer to
'tend to. Ef yer don't mind me I'll have yer discharged," said Hanks,
trying to intimidate our young friend.
"I would like to see you have me discharged for not doing your work,"
said Fred defiantly. "I have found out all about this business, and just
what I am supposed to do."
Hanks saw that he was foiled, that Fred had the advantage of him, and
that he had better let the matter drop as easily as possible, or he
might find himself in trouble if Fred should take it to Mr. Farrington.
It suddenly occurred to him that he was needed up in the other room, and
he withdrew hastily. As he turned to go he noted the evident pleasure
pictured on Jack Hickey's face at his own discomfiture and Fred's
triumph.
"Good, me b'y!" said the jolly Irishman to our young friend. "I told ye
not to stand the old spalpane's thricks."
"I don't mean to any longer," replied Fred.
"Ye has a dale of sparit, for sure. I knowed it all the time, but bedad
and I thought it wad never start."
"Now it has started I'll keep it up so far as Hanks is concerned,"
replied our hero, as he took a basket under his arm and started for a
supply of flocks.
Hanks managed to avoid him the remainder of the forenoon. No further
crash therefore occurred between them during that time. That the scraggy
old man was thoroughly angry there was no doubt--angry at Fred's triumph
over him, and most angry at poor little Carl for remaining away, and as
Hanks believed, for telling what he had forbidden him to disclose to
Fred.
About three o'clock in the afternoon Carl came in, pale and sick, but
much better than in the morning, when despite all his efforts he could
not summon strength enough to go to his work. Fred was in the drying
room at the time, and Hanks was up after a roll of cloth. He had just
brought down two, and was struggling to get an exceedingly large roll
upon his shoulder. This he succeeded in doing after one or two failures,
that caused the hands standing near to laugh at him, and make irritating
remarks, as is their custom on such occasions.
All this had its maddening effect upon him, and it so happened that one
of the employees had just taken up the stairs a bucket filled with soft
soap, and had accidentally spilled some on the three top stairs. Hanks
now came along with the roll of cloth, twice his own size, upon his
shoulder--an awkward load to handle--and started to descend. He slipped
on the first step, and in trying to regain his footing tripped himself,
and tumbled, bumped, and rolled all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
The cloth kept along with him. At one time he was on the top of the
roll, and at another it seemed to have the better of him. At any rate
they stuck by each other, and landed well out on the floor side by
side.
Jack Hickey indulged in a characteristic shout. All the employees in the
room gathered around and laughed in a manner that must have been very
tantalizing to one in Hanks' plight.
Just then Fred came in and joined the crowd. The old man saw him, and
fire almost flashed from his eyes. His two front teeth, that so annoyed
our hero by hanging loose and waving back and forth, now seemed to shake
as if worked by an electric motor.
He picked himself up, white with rage, and parting company with his roll
of cloth, rushed into his corner beneath the stairs beside the flockers.
The first object that caught his eye was Carl. Hanks rushed at him like
a madman, and catching him around the throat, pushed him roughly against
a hard iron frame and demanded to know why he dared to disobey his
orders in telling what he had been forbidden to mention.
The little cripple cried out with fear and pain, injured as he was by
Hanks' revengeful act. Fred had now made his way to the flockers, and
the half stifled cry was the first intimation he had had of Carl's
presence. He rushed at once to his assistance, and grappled with the
boy's assailant.
A fierce struggle now ensued. Hanks' blood was up. He was almost like a
wild man, and his strength was nearly doubled. At first our young friend
was hardly a match for the maddened man. They rolled and tumbled, first
one seeming to gain the supremacy and then the other.
The old man struggled desperately to win the contest. He struck Fred a
telling blow on the nose that made the blood flow copiously and added
horror to the scene. But this did not weaken our hero's courage. It
rather strengthened his determination and purpose. The fire flashed from
his eyes; all the force of his well trained physique was at his command,
and with a powerful effort he hurled his antagonist to the floor and
fell upon him.
Still the struggle went on, but soon Hanks' strength began to fail him,
and when he felt himself overpowered by Fred's superior skill and
strength he begged for mercy.
But he did not need to do this, as Fred would certainly much sooner have
been severely punished himself than have struck his antagonist while
down, however much contempt he might feel for him.
Jack Hickey and a few others now gathered around and interfered in the
interest of peace. They saw that Fred had won the fight and was master
of the situation. Each contestant was covered with blood, and presented
a pitiable sight.
Just then Mr. Farrington happened to be passing through the room on his
round of inspection, and attracted by those gathered at the flockers he
hurried there also, to learn the cause of the excitement.