Seeing the Old Year Out: A True Story.
Scene, four young fellows were seated together in the dining-room
drinking "the old year out" in a punch of Patrick Hallahan's best brew.
"Well, here's to the good old year of '82," said Patrick, raising his
glass high above his head, "may the incoming year be as kind to us."
"Amen to that," said Phil, his brother.
"And so say all of us," chimed in Denis Walker and Arthur Floyd.
Up went the clouds of smoke in fanciful, weird wreathes to the white
ceiling; up went the glasses with the "nectar of the gods!" to the
healthy lips of these four friends, tried and true, again and again,
until the huge, lanky-legged clock in the hall chaunted in deep monotone
the hour of twelve.
The four rose as one man, and joined hands across the table.
"A happy new year," they said, in one and the same breath, and they
ushered the poor, innocent yearling in to the tune of "For he's a jolly
good fellow--for he's a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us."
"Stop," said Patrick, "what's that?"
The dining-room was but a pace from the hall door, and Patrick had heard
quite distinctly a thud, as of something heavy falling down.
In a second he was out into the darkness, and nearly stumbled over an
inert mass of humanity. It was a man--or the remains of one.
"He looks bad, Phil," said Patrick, "run for Dr. Naughten while I put
him on the sofa." Phil threw his warm Inverness cape about him and
seized his hat and was off in a trice; meanwhile the three men, left
with the unconscious fourth, laid their burden down upon the sofa,
loosened his neckerchief and collar, but no sign of life was there.
"Drink," said Arthur, "that cursed drink." The other men shook their
heads in silent acquiescence. It seemed an age before the doctor, who
lived only a few doors off, came upon the scene, not in the best of
humors either, for he, too, had been making the night merry after the
fashion of these four friends.
The doctor felt his pulse. "I'm no use here," said he. "The fellow's
been dead this half-hour."
"Dead?" echoed the friends. "Dead?"
"Yes."
"But," said Patrick, "we heard the fall only a few minutes ago."
"Likely enough," said the doctor, "he had got as far as your door,
propped himself up against the corner, and then went completely off into
his last long sleep."
"Impossible!" they all exclaimed. "A man to die standing up!"
"Possible," retorted the doctor, "and in this case, as you say you heard
the fall, most certain. Good evening, gentlemen, there is nothing more
for me to do," and the doctor hurried away.
So this poor wretch of a fellow-man had been "seeing the old year out,"
but the old year was made of tougher stuff than he, and had seen him
out.
They went for the police, who came with the stretcher (ah! what tales
that rough canvas bed could tell, if it had the gift of tongue!), the
body was taken away, and the four friends sat around the table again,
but they raised the glass no more to their lips, though the punch-bowl
was steaming still--their eyes turned fearfully to the sofa where death
so lately lay in state, and for a few minutes a dreadful silence
reigned.
"Oh! that awful drink, what harm it is working. I'll not taste another
drop these six months." This from Patrick Hallahan.
"Nor I," said Phil.
"Nor I," said Denis.
"Nor I," said Arthur.
"Agreed," they all said, "and let us see if we cannot keep our word."
"And now let's break up, for I'm feeling sick at heart," were Patrick's
words, and they separated.
* * * * *
They met six months after at the same place, and they had kept their
word, though they never spoke of it to each other. They had been out to
dinner parties, to "at homes," to balls and routs, for they were
well-to-do, wealthy men of business, but they succumbed never once. They
simply said, "No, thank you," when the wine was passed on, the grog went
round. They still entertained, as was their wont, and gave their guests
the best of their wine cellar, but they abstained themselves. One of
them employed more than one hundred workmen. These men noticed a change
in their master; he was more gentle with them in a way, quite as severe
in the matter of time-keeping and of hard work, but he took an interest
in their welfare, asked after their homes. One of them who brought him
his luncheon from an eating-house near at hand, remarked that "the
master never used the corkscrew now," and that "the bottom of his
master's tumbler was never stained." The ninety-nine other men knew this
ninety-nine seconds after. "If the governor, who works harder than any
of us, can do without his liquor, dang it all, I can." Jack Furniss gave
this forth to two pals, and these three entered quietly into a compact,
upon fine of 1 d., to take no beer for a week; they took no beer for
four weeks, for six months. Men are after all like sheep who follow
their superior, the shepherd's dog; the dog leads this way or that way,
and the flock follows. The dog (Jack Furniss was foreman to his master,
a kind of shepherd's dog to the rest) led the way to pure spring water,
and the whole flock--save the traditional black sheep--followed, not all
at once, but little by little.
* * * * *
Now let us back to the shepherd and his three friends, who are met
together six months after that awful death. The cloth is laid for four;
sherry and claret shine upon the table, the champagne is underneath the
sideboard in an iced pail--lemon, sugar, the silver ladle in the family
punch-bowl.
They sat down, and after the soup, when the fish was put on the table,
Patrick Hallahan passed the sherry to Arthur, Arthur passed it to Phil,
and Phil handed it to Denis. Curiously, yet true enough, the decanter
came back in the same state as it started.
Then these four plain men of business rose like one man, and joined
hands across the table. Not a word was spoken, but that grip of the hand
spoke all they had to say to one another.
It is said they were satisfied with themselves and with one another, so
satisfied that they had no wish to go from their word, even though the
time of keeping it had gone by.
Afterwards they acknowledged one to the other over their cigars--for if
they drank nothing strong they smoked very strong, and, be it said, very
good tobacco--they acknowledged that their life had been brighter,
lighter than before, their mental vision clearer, their home happier;
and many a fellow-creature round about them could have added that
_their_ lives had been made brighter and lighter, and their mental
vision clearer, and their homes happier, by the example and kindness of
these four friends.
* * * * *
There is an anecdote told of a certain priest who once happened to be
riding a spirited young horse along a road in Ireland. His reverence
whilst thus engaged was met by two gentlemen who had lately been raised
to the magistracy of the county, and being in a good humor, they thought
they would amuse themselves by quizzing him. "How comes it, good
Father," said one of them, "that you are mounted on such a fine horse?
Your predecessors, the Apostles, I understand, always performed their
journeys on asses."--"That's easily explained," answered his reverence;
"the fact is, that the Government has of late been making magistrates of
the asses, and therefore I should not consider it respectful to travel
about on the back of one of the fraternity."
Juvenile Department.