“AND SHE ALWAYS TRIED.”
Other business was transacted that morning which brought results. A
curious habit of Mrs. Roberts',--one which, perhaps, most strongly
marked the difference between her ways of working and those of other
people,--was that of appealing to the person at hand for information
on any subject which chanced to be the one prominent in her mind at the
time.
Where other and more systematic persons would have said, “He is not the
one to ask about this matter! there is no reason for supposing that he
has any knowledge in this direction!” Mrs. Roberts would say: “I cannot
be sure that he may not be able to give just the information which I
need. In any case, what harm will it do to try?” And she always tried.
It was on this principle that she arrested Dr. Everett's speedy
departure with a question:--
“Dr. Everett, are you familiar with boarding-houses for young men?”
Something like a vision swept instantly before the doctor, in which he
saw the long line of young men, and the long line of boarding-houses,
in the world, and he laughed with eyes and lips, the question seemed so
queerly put.
“With how many of them, madam?” There was amusement in his voice, but
there was also curiosity,--he wanted to know what this original little
lady was in search of.
“One would do, if it were of just the right stamp. I'll tell you what
I want,--a nice, quiet, comfortable _home_ sort of place, with a small
room, capable of being warmed, a single bedstead, with a passably
good bed, and a moderate rate of board. Are not those modest enough
requirements?”
“Not at all! They are preposterous! A boarding-house to which one could
conveniently apply the word '_home!_' _Fire_ in a young man's room!
He is expected to enjoy freezing in a city; and if he come from the
country, he should be grateful for the privilege! But the idea of
calling for a good bed! That is the wildest suggestion of all! Has she
ever boarded, Mr. Roberts?”
“Not at a boarding-house, at least,” said that gentleman, enjoying the
fun.
But Mrs. Roberts looked grave.
“Are you serious?” she asked, gently. “Is there no chance in this great
city for a Christian young man to have the ordinary comforts of common
life; just a little quiet room where he can pray, and where he can
invite some tempted soul, and try to help him? Doesn't it seem all
wrong?”
The laugh was gone from the doctor's face. There was a look of keen
interest and genuine respect.
“How many young men are you thinking about? There are many Christians, I
believe, among that class,--poor young men, away from home,--and I have
reason to fear that their chances for comfortable retirement are very
scarce. I have thought about the problem somewhat how to help them. In
the concrete, I don't see the way. Of how many are you thinking?”
“I am willing to think about them all,” Mrs. Roberts said,--and now it
was her turn to laugh,--“but I am panning for just one. I cannot work in
great ways, but I thought I might help one.”
“Exactly! Mr. Roberts, if every Christian in our city would undertake
to help _one_, the problem would be solved. Well, there is one
boarding-house to which the word 'home' may properly be applied; and
there is one small room on the third floor vacated yesterday. I wonder
if the Master wants it for your young man? It seems to me if there is
any one thing more than another that we need in that house just now it
is a Christian young man. Of what type is your friend? Will he help or
hinder a gay young scamp much sought after by Satan?”
“He will try hard to help,” said both Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. And before
they parted the doctor had taken Mr. Ried's address, and promised to
call on him and negotiate the matter.
“That plan will work in two ways,” said Mrs. Roberts, gleefully. “Mr.
Ried will be in the same home with, and somewhat under the influence of
that grand doctor. Isn't it splendid that we asked just him?”
And her husband smilingly assented, and added that he should not have
thought of such a thing as asking him.
On her way down town, Mrs. Roberts had dropped a letter in the mail,
which also brought results. It read thus:--
“DEAR MARION,--I have time for but a line, for I want to catch the
morning mail. I have such a nice plan. Suppose you let your Gracie come
and stay with me for a few weeks. You know she always liked me a little,
and Evan and I think we can make it pleasant for her. I will try to get
her so much interested in seven boys whom I know that she will forget
all about Professor Ellis. Mr. Barnwell a confidential clerk in the
store (old and gray-headed), will go to-morrow to transact some business
with papa. Evan will give him a letter of introduction to Dr. Dennis. He
expects to return on Saturday, and if you will trust Gracie to us, and
she is willing to come, she might travel in Mr. Barnwell's care, and
we would meet her at the depot. Dear Marion, we should like it ever
so much: and I have prayed about it all the morning, and cannot help
thinking that Jesus likes it too.”
Thus it came to pass that when Mrs. Roberts took her seat on the next
Sabbath afternoon before her seven boys at the South End Mission, a
vision of loveliness, such as the mission had not often seen, came in
with her, and looked with wide-open eyes on all the new and strange
sights and sounds about her. A very pretty creature was Gracie Dennis.
Her eyes had lost none of their brightness, although they had shed some
tears during her recent experiences. They were fairly sparkling to-day,
for the great city into which she had come for the first time was like
fairyland to her; albeit, she had passed through scenes that afternoon
which bore no resemblance to her idea of fairyland. What the boys
thought of her could only be determined from their stares. Let us hope
that her presence had nothing to do with their conduct, for never,
in all the annals of the South End Mission, had seven boys comported
themselves as did those before whom Mrs. Roberts sat that winter
afternoon.
Nimble Dick, as if to be revenged for his unintentional courtesy of the
Monday before, placed his ill-kept feet on the seat in front of him, in
alarming proximity to Mrs. Roberts' shoulders, and chewed his tobacco,
and defiled the floor with its juice, and talked aloud, and was in
every sense disgusting. Neither was Dirk Colson one whit behind him. The
spirit of entertainment was upon him. He mimicked Mr. Durant's somewhat
hoarse tones, exaggerating the imitation, of course, until it was
ludicrous. He imitated the somewhat shrill tenor, and the nasal tones
of Deacon Carter, who was doing good work with a class of meek-looking
women. He even imitated Mrs. Roberts' soft, low voice, as she essayed to
interest them in Moses and some of the wonders which he performed.
Vain hope! Struggle as she might to be intensely dramatic in her
narrative, she did not for a moment gain the ascendency.
“Moses?” interrupted Nimble Dick in the very midst of one of her most
earnest sentences. “Let's see! that was the old fellow who swallowed the
serpents, wasn't it? I should have thought he would have been used up.”
“You don't know nothin',” interrupted Stephen Crowley, with a nudge at
Dirk that the latter pretended tipped him entirely off the seat, and
left him a limp heap at Mrs. Robert' feet.
“He don't know nothin'!” repeated Stephen, addressing Mrs. Roberts in
a confidential tone. “'T was the serpents swallowed Moses, wasn't it?
Question is, How did he get around again?”
“Quit that!” came at this point from Dirk Colson, in his fiercest tone.
“Look here, you Bill Snyder, if you try pinching on me again I'll pitch
you over the head of old Durant in less than a second!”
What was the poor, pale little woman to do? With one boy crawling about
the floor and two others in a hand-to-hand fight, with the rest in a
giggle, of what use to try to talk to them about Moses? You should have
seen Gracie Dennis eyes by that time! Horror and disgust were about
equally expressed, and rising above them both, a look of actual fear.
Mr. Durant came over to attempt a rescue, his face distressed beyond
measure.
“Mrs. Roberts, this is too much. I am sure that patience has ceased to
be a virtue. They have never gone so far before. I suspected mischief
to-day. I have heard from several of them during the week, and never
anything but evil. I am prepared for it; there is a full police force
on guard in the next room; what I propose is to have every one of these
fellows taken to the lock-up. It will be a lesson that they richly
deserve, and may do them good.”
Whispering was not one of Mr. Durant's strong points. He meant to convey
secret intelligence of carefully-laid plans to Mrs. Roberts alone. In
reality not a boy in the class but heard every word. They were startled
into silence. “A full police force!” They were not fonder of the lock-up
than are most boys who deserve that punishment. They were skilful in
escaping the hands of policemen. They had not believed that the South
End Mission would resort to any such means. They recognized in the
Mission an attempt to do them good; and, without any effort at reasoning
it out, they had by tacit consent decided that policemen and lock-ups
and Christian effort did not match. They had chuckled much over the
stationing of “little Duffer” at the door on guard. Any two of the
strong young fellows were a match for him, and in the event of a riot,
which they would like no better fun than to help get up, how many choice
spirits all about the room would join them if given the word, and in the
delightful confusion which would result how easy to escape from sight
and hearing while Policeman Duffer was summoning aid! They had felt
comparatively safe. But “a full police force” detailed for duty was
quite another thing. They felt caught in a trap. Nimble Dick got up in
haste from the floor and took his seat, and the boys looked from one to
another with ominous frowns. There were reasons why none of them cared
to come before the police court just now. What was to be done?
While they waited and considered, Mrs. Roberts did it. Her hand was on
Mr. Durant's arm, and directly the loud whispering ceased, she spoke in
low, but distinctly emphatic tones:--
“I beg of you, Mr. Durant, do no such thing. I would dismiss every
policeman at once, with thanks, if I were you. We shall not need their
help. I give you my word of honor that the boys will be quiet during
the rest of the session, not because they are afraid of policemen,
but because they respect me, and do not want to see me frightened or
annoyed. Please don't let a policeman come near us.”
I am not sure which was the more astonished, the superintendent or
the boys. He returned to his desk with the bewildered air of one whose
deep-laid schemes had come to naught in an unexpected manner without
giving him time to rally; and the boys looked at one another in
perplexity, and were silent.
Mrs. Roberts turned to them with quiet voice:--
“Boys,” she said, “you have spoiled the story that I was going to tell
you. I have lost my place, and there isn't time to go back and find it.
I am sorry, for I think you would have liked the story. I spent a good
deal of time this week trying to make it interesting. But never mind
now, there is something else I want to say. Will you spend the hours
from eight to ten with me to-morrow evening at my house? I brought cards
with me for each of you, containing my address, that you might have no
trouble in finding the place.”
Whereupon she produced the delicate bits of pasteboard, with her name
and address handsomely engraved thereon.
Nimble Dick took his between his soiled thumb and finger, turned it over
in a pretence of great interest, and finally endeavored to “sight” it
with his eye, as a workman does his board.
“What'll you do with us if we come?” Stephen Crowley asked, fixing what
was intended as a wise look upon her, the leer in his eye hinting that
he was smart enough to see another trap, and meant not to fall into it.
Mrs. Roberts laughed pleasantly.
“It is an unusual question, when one invites company,” she said; “but I
don't mind answering it. For one thing I thought we would have an oyster
stew and some good coffee together. Then, if any of you like music, I
have a friend with me who is a good singer; and I have a few pictures I
should like you to see, if you cared to; and--I don't know whether you
are fond of flowers, but some of you may have a mother, or sister at
home who is, and the greenhouse is all aglow just now. Oh, how can I
tell what I should do to entertain guests? Just what seemed to me to be
pleasant at the time. That is the way I generally do. May I expect you?”
The boys stared. This was a new departure, indeed! How much of it
did she mean? What was she trying to do? Was it a trap? Still she had
rescued them from the police force, and they had not expected that,
for every boy of them knew that he had treated her shamefully. Timothy
Haskell was generally the quietest one of the group, and perhaps the
most straightforward. He went directly to the point of the question that
he saw in the eyes of the others.
“What do you do it for?”
“Yes, that's the talk,” said Nimble Dick. “What do you want of us?”
“Why, I want you to spend the evening with me. Didn't I tell you? If
you really mean to be friends with me of course I must invite you to my
home. What _could_ I want except to have a nice time? I'm trying to make
you like me. Of course I want you to like me. How can we have pleasant
times together unless you do?”