SOCRATES, THE WISE MINE RAT
When Derrick and Paul found themselves descending the slope, together
with a carful of miners, the next morning, it seemed to them a long time
since they had traversed its black depths. So accustomed do the toilers
of the colliery become to exciting incidents that elsewhere would
furnish subject for weeks of thought and conversation, that often a
single day suffices to divert their attention to something new. So it
was with our two boys, in whose minds their recent adventures were
already shorn of their terrors, and only thought of as something
unpleasant, to be forgotten as quickly as possible. Therefore they did
not speak of them as they talked together in low tones, but only of the
present and the future.
"I think it's awful good of you and your mother to take Bill Tooley into
your own house and nurse him," said Paul.
"Oh no," laughed Derrick, "it isn't so very good. Revenge is what we are
after, and that is one way of getting it."
Hearing Bill Tooley's name mentioned between the boys, one of the miners
who rode in the car with them had leaned forward to learn what they were
saying. At Derrick's last remark this man started back and gazed at him
curiously.
"He's got the very stuff in him to make a Mollie of," he thought. "To
think he's so sly. He's got the fellow he hates into his own house,
pretending that he wants to nurse him, and now he's going to take out
his revenge on him. Perhaps he's going to poison him, or fix pins in the
bed so they'll stick him. Anyway, I'll have to give Monk the hint of
what he's up to." Then, admiringly, and half aloud, he muttered, still
looking at Derrick, "The young villain!"
From the foot of the slope Derrick set off for the stable to get Harry
Mule, while Paul waited for the making up of a train of empty cars, in
which he was to ride to the junction near the blacksmith's shop. There
Derrick was to meet him, take him to his post of duty, and tell him
about opening and closing the door, and tending the switch of which he
was to have charge.
In spite of the fact that he and Derrick had been friends but a single
day, Harry Mule appeared to recognize his young driver, and gave him a
cordial greeting as he entered the stable. At least he threw up his head
and uttered a tremendous bray, which went "Haw! he-haw, he-haw, he-haw!"
and sounded so absurdly like a laugh that Derrick laughed from sympathy
until the tears ran down his cheeks. The mule gazed at him with a look
of wonder in his big eyes, and stood so meek and quiet while his harness
was being put on that Derrick thought perhaps his feelings had been
hurt. To soothe them he talked to him, and told him that Paul had come
down into the mine to work.
As they left the stable, and Derrick stopped to fasten the door, Harry
started in the opposite direction from that in which he should have
gone, and ran down the gangway, kicking up his heels and braying, as
though he were a frisky young colt in a pasture instead of an old
bumping-mule down in a coal-mine. Derrick ran after him, and for some
time could see the reflection of the collar-lamp, which was swung
violently to and fro by the animal's rapid motion. The disappearance of
this light in the distance was followed by an angry shouting and a
muffled crash.
Derrick was provoked that his mule should have made all this trouble,
and was anxious to discover the full extent of the mischief done, but he
could not help laughing when he reached the scene of confusion. The
first object he saw was Harry himself, standing still and gazing
demurely at him with the wondering look which was his most common
expression. He was hitched in front of a string of mules which were
attached to a train of empty cars, and was evidently prepared to act as
their leader. The boy driver of these mules, with many muttered
exclamations, was trying to disentangle their harness from the snarl it
had got into, and in one of the cars stood Paul Evert, looking somewhat
dilapidated and greatly disgusted.
"Hullo, Derrick!" he called out. "Where did that mule come from?"
"Why, that's Harry, my bumping-mule," answered Derrick as he came up
laughing.
"Bumping-mule! I should think he was," said Paul. "He made these cars
stop so quick that I was almost bumped out of 'em, and the skin's all
knocked off my nose. I don't see what he wanted to come bumping along
this way for."
"Why, I told him you were coming," said Derrick, "and I suppose he
wanted to welcome you to the mine."
"Well, I'm sorry you told him, and--"
Just then the driver shouted "Gee up!" and Harry Mule, anxious to do his
duty in his new position, started ahead so briskly as to pull the other
three mules promptly into line and give a violent jerk to the cars.
Losing his balance with this unexpected motion, Paul sat suddenly down
in the bottom of the car he was in, and there he wisely decided to
remain.
When they reached the junction, Derrick asked Paul to wait for him until
he and Harry Mule had distributed the empty cars to their several
destinations. Attracted by its cheerful light, Paul stepped inside the
blacksmith's shop, where Job Taskar, who was hammering away as busily as
usual, glanced up as he entered, but paid no further attention to him. A
minute later the smith, who had just begun his day's work, and still
wore his coat, pulled it off and flung it to one side. Something dropped
from one of its pockets unnoticed by him as he did so, and Paul was on
the point of calling his attention to it. He did not, however, because
the smith's helper, a slim, dreary-looking young man, to whom nobody
ever paid much attention, also noticed the falling object, and picked it
up without being seen by Job. Gazing at it curiously for a moment, he
restored it, as Paul thought, to the pocket from which it had fallen. In
reality, he slipped it into a pocket of his own coat which lay under
that of his boss.
Derrick now came back, and with him Paul went to the door that he was to
tend. Just inside of it, on a platform laid above the ditch of black,
rapidly flowing water, stood a rude arm-chair made out of rough boards.
Above it hung a board full of holes into which several pegs were thrust.
Derrick told Paul that with these pegs he must keep tally of the number
of loaded cars that passed this station, and that he must always be
ready to answer promptly the call of "Door." Within reach from the chair
was a lever by means of which the switch was moved. Paul was told that
after each door call there would come another explaining on which track
the approaching cars were to go, and that he must listen carefully for
it and set the switch accordingly. After showing him the large oil-can
from which he might refill his lamp, Derrick bade him good-by and
returned to his own work.
This morning passed much more pleasantly to the young mule-driver than
the first one had. Not only did Tom Evert greet him cordially, and thank
him for what he had done for Paul, but Monk Tooley gave him a gruff
"Mornin', lad," and most of the other men spoke pleasantly to him, as
though to atone in a measure for his previous suffering. Above all, he
occasionally had to pass Paul's station, and the mere sight of his
faithful friend leaning on his crutch and holding open the door was a
source of joy.
As Paul had much spare time on his hands, he occupied it in becoming
acquainted with his surroundings, and was especially interested in the
curious markings on the black slate walls of the gangway near his door.
Many of these were in the form of exquisite ferns, others of curious
leaves such as he had never seen, quaint patterns like the scales and
bones of queer fishes, or the ripplings of water on a smooth beach. In
one place he found tiny tracks, as though a small bird had run quickly
across it, and had stamped the imprint of its feet on the hard surface.
It was Paul's first lesson in geology, and it gave him his first idea
that this hard slate, and the veins of coal enclosed between its solid
walls, might have had a previous existence in another form. He pondered
upon the length of time that must have passed since those ferns grew,
and since that running bird made those footprints, and finally concluded
to ask Derrick if he knew.
At noon, after Harry Mule had been sent jingling to his stable, Derrick
rejoined his friend, and they ate lunch together. As they talked of the
strange markings on the walls, and Derrick confessed that he knew no
more concerning their age than Paul, the latter suddenly paused, and
with a slight gesture directed attention to something in the roadway.
Looking in the direction indicated, Derrick saw, sitting bolt-upright on
its hind-legs, and gazing steadily at them, an immense rat. He was quite
gray, and evidently very old; nor did he seem to be in the least bit
afraid of them.
"Doesn't he look wise?" whispered Paul.
"As wise as Socrates," answered Derrick.
Not having had Derrick's education, Paul did not know who Socrates was,
but the name pleased him, and he said it over softly to
himself--"Socrates, Soc, Socrates. That's what I'm going to call him,
Derrick--'Socrates.' I've seen him round here two or three times this
morning, and every time he's sat up just like that, and looked as if he
knew all that I was thinking about. I believe he could tell how old the
ferns are."
"I don't believe they're as old as he is," replied Derrick, laughing.
The rat did not seem to like this, for at Derrick's laughter he gave a
little squeak and darted away, disappearing beneath the door.
Within five minutes Paul pointed again, and there sat the rat in
precisely the same position as before.
"Perhaps this is what he wants," said Paul, throwing a bit of bread
towards the rat. Approaching it cautiously, the beast first smelled of
it, and then seizing it in his mouth again darted beneath the door.
Several times did he thus come for food, but he always carried it away
without stopping to eat even a crumb.
"He must have a large and hungry family," said Derrick.
"Or else it isn't his dinner-hour yet, and he is waiting for the proper
time to eat," laughed Paul.
Always after this Socrates the rat was a regular attendant upon the boys
at lunch-time, and he never failed to receive a share of whatever they
had to eat. Often at other times, when no sound save the steady gurgle
of the black water beneath him broke the tomb-like silence of the
gangway, Paul would see the little beady eyes flashing here and there in
the dim lamplight, and would feel a sense of companionship very
comforting to his loneliness. At such times Paul would talk to the rat
about the queer pictures on the walls, and ask him questions concerning
them. For hours he talked thus to his wise-looking companion, until he
began to believe that the rat understood him, and could really answer if
he chose.
Sometimes when he was asked a question he could not answer, he would
reply, "I don't know, but I'll speak to Socrates about it"; and at the
first opportunity he would explain the whole difficulty to his
gray-whiskered friend. Frequently, by thus thinking and talking the
matter over, he would arrive at some conclusion, more or less correct,
and this he would report as "What Socrates thinks."
At noon that day Monk Tooley, as usual, ate his lunch and smoked his
pipe with Job Taskar in the blacksmith's shop; but he was very quiet,
and not inclined to be talkative as was his habit. When he left, the
blacksmith's helper slipped out after him, and saying, "'Ere's summut I
think belongs to you, Mr. Tooley," handed him three bits of wood, on
each of which was deeply scored M. T.
"My lost checks!" exclaimed the miner. "Where'd yer get 'em, Boodle?"
"They dropped out hof Taskar's pocket when 'e flung hoff 'is coat this
mornin', and hi picked 'em hup unbeknownst to 'im."
"So he's de one as stole 'em, is he?" began the miner in a passion.
Then, changing his tone, he added, "But never mind, Boodle; of course he
only took 'em for de joke, and we'll say no more about it. Yer needn't
mention havin' found 'em."
"Hall right, Mr. Tooley, hit shall be has you says," replied the helper,
meekly, though he was really greatly disappointed at this turn of
affairs. He disliked as much as he feared his boss, and had hoped that
this little incident might lead to a quarrel between him and the miner
whose lost property he had just restored.
Monk Tooley went back to his work muttering to himself, "All dis means
summut; but we'll just lie low a bit, and mebbe Body-master an me'll
have a score ter settle yet."
The Young Sleepers had been so badly demoralized by the incidents
following their attempt to extract a treat from Derrick, and especially
by the mishap of their leader, that they had not the courage to repeat
the experiment. Derrick and Paul therefore left the mine that evening
without being molested. They took pains, however, not to be very far
behind two brawny pillars of strength in the shape of Tom Evert and Monk
Tooley when they reached the foot of the slope.
Before going home Monk Tooley walked with Derrick to the Widow
Sterling's, to inquire after his boy, and was much pleased to learn that
he was getting along nicely.
"It lightens my heart ter hear yer say dat, missus," he said to Mrs.
Sterling, "an' it's not one woman in ten thousand would do what yer
doin' fer my poor lad."
"Derrick proposed it," said Mrs. Sterling, with a mother's anxiety that
her son should receive all the credit due him. "Without his help I'm
afraid I should not have been able to invite Bill to come here."
"He's a fine lad, missus," replied the miner, "an' if de time ever comes
dat I can serve you or him, my name's not Monk Tooley if I don't jump at
de chance."
After sitting a while with Bill, and doing what lay in his power to make
him comfortable, Derrick again got out his father's plans of the old
workings of the mine, and pored over them intently. Finally he
exclaimed, "It's all right; I am sure of it!"
"What are you so sure of, my son?" asked his mother, looking up from her
work.
"Something I have been trying to find out for Mr. Jones, mother, but he
does not want a word said about it; so I must keep the secret to myself,
at any rate until after I have seen him."
"Seems to me that you and Mr. Jones have a great many secrets together.
You really are becoming quite an important young man, Derrick."
Although Derrick only smiled in reply, he thought to himself that his
mother was about right, and hoped others would take the same view of his
importance that she did.
Selecting some tracing-paper from among the things left by his father,
the boy made a tracing from the plan he had been studying. He followed
all the lines of the original carefully, except in one place where the
plan was so indistinct that he could not tell exactly where they were
intended to go. Being in a hurry, and feeling confident that they should
be continued in a certain direction, he drew them so without verifying
his conclusions.
When he had finished he left the house, and went directly to that of the
mine boss, taking the tracings he had just made with him.