ROBERT RAMSAY.
Mrs. Rand was as much amazed as Chester himself at his success as an
artist.
“How long were you in making the drawing?” she asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
“And you received ten dollars. It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I wish I could work twenty minutes every week at that rate,” laughed
Chester. “It would pay me better than working for Silas Tripp.”
“Perhaps you can get some more work of the same kind?”
“I shall send two more sketches to Mr. Conrad in a day or two. I shall
take pains and do my best.”
Two days later Chester sent on the sketches, and then set about trying
to find a job of some kind in the village. He heard of only one.
An elderly farmer, Job Dexter, offered him a dollar a week and board if
he would work for him. He would have eight cows to milk morning and
night, the care of the barn, and a multitude of “chores” to attend to.
“How much will you give me if I board at home, Mr. Dexter?” asked
Chester.
“I must have you in the house. I can’t have you trapesing home when you
ought to be at work.”
“Then I don’t think I can come, Mr. Dexter. A dollar a week wouldn’t
pay me.”
“A dollar a week and board is good pay for a boy,” said the farmer.
“It may be for some boys, but not for me.”
Chester reflected that if he worked all day at the farmer’s he could
not do any artistic work, and so would lose much more than he made. The
sketch sold by Mr. Conrad brought him in as much as he would receive in
ten weeks from Farmer Dexter.
“Wyncombe people don’t seem very liberal, mother,” said Chester. “I
thought Mr. Tripp pretty close, but Job Dexter beats him.”
In the meantime he met Abel Wood carrying groceries to a family in the
village.
“Have you got a place yet, Chester?” he asked.
“No; but I have a chance of one.”
“Where?”
“At Farmer Dexter’s.”
“Don’t you go! I worked for him once.”
“How did you like it?”
“It almost killed me. I had to get up at half-past four, work till
seven in the evening, and all for a dollar a week and board.”
“Was the board good?” inquired Chester, curiously.
“It was the poorest livin’ I ever had. Mrs. Dexter don’t know much
about cookin’. We had baked beans for dinner three times a week,
because they were cheap, and what was left was put on for breakfast the
next mornin’.”
“I like baked beans.”
“You wouldn’t like them as Mrs. Dexter cooked them, and you wouldn’t
want them for six meals a week.”
“No, I don’t think I should,” said Chester, smiling. “How do you get
along with Silas Tripp?”
“He’s always scoldin’; he says I am not half as smart as you.”
“I am much obliged to Mr. Tripp for his favorable opinion, but he
didn’t think enough of me to give me decent pay.”
“He’s awful mean. He’s talkin’ of reducin’ me to two dollars a week. He
says business is very poor, and he isn’t makin’ any money.”
“I wish you and I were making half as much as he.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand, Chester. You ain’t workin’, yet
you seem to have money.”
“How do you know I have?”
“Mr. Tripp says you came into the store three or four days ago and
changed a five-dollar bill.”
“Yes; Mr. Tripp seemed anxious to know where I got it.”
“You didn’t use to have five-dollar bills, Chester, when you were at
work.”
“This five-dollar bill dropped down the chimney one fine morning,” said
Chester, laughing.
“I wish one would drop down my chimney. But I must be gettin’ along, or
old Tripp will give me hail Columbia when I get back.”
About nine o’clock that evening, as Chester was returning from a
lecture in the church, he was accosted by a rough-looking fellow having
very much the appearance of a tramp, who seemed somewhat under the
influence of liquor.
“I say, boss,” said the tramp, “can’t you give a poor man a quarter to
help him along?”
“Are you out of work?” asked Chester, staying his step.
“Yes; times is hard and work is scarce. I haven’t earned anything for a
month.”
“Where do you come from?”
“From Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, with some hesitation.
“What do you work at when you are employed?”
“I am a machinist. Is there any chance in that line here?”
“Not in Wyncombe.”
“That’s what I thought. How about that quarter?”
“I am out of work myself and quarters are scarce with me.”
“That’s what you all say! There’s small show for a good, industrious
man.”
Chester thought to himself that if the stranger was a good, industrious
man he was unfortunate in his appearance.
“I have sympathy for all who are out of work,” he said. “Mother and I
are poor. When I did work I only got three dollars a week.”
“Where did you work?”
“In Mr. Tripp’s store, in the center of the village.”
“I know. It’s a two-story building, ain’t it, with a piazza?”
“Yes.”
“Has the old fellow got money?”
“Oh, yes; Silas Tripp is rich.”
“So? He didn’t pay you much wages, though.”
“No; he feels poor. I dare say he feels poorer than I do.”
“Such men ought not to have money,” growled the tramp. “They’re keepin’
it out of the hands of honest men. What sort of a lookin’ man is this
man Tripp? Is he as big as me?”
“Oh, no, he is a thin, dried-up, little man, who looks as if he hadn’t
had a full meal of victuals in his life.”
“What time does he shut up shop?”
“About this time,” answered Chester, rather puzzled by the tramp’s
persistence in asking questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Chester Rand.”
“Can’t you give me a quarter? I’m awful hungry. I ain’t had a bit to
eat since yesterday.”
“I have no money to give you, but if you will come to our house I’ll
give you some supper.”
“Where do you live?”
“About five minutes’ walk.”
“Go ahead, then; I’m with you.”
Mrs. Rand looked up with surprise when the door opened and Chester
entered, followed by an ill-looking tramp, whose clothes were redolent
of tobacco, and his breath of whisky.
“Mother,” said Chester, “this man tells me that he hasn’t had anything
to eat since yesterday.”
“No more I haven’t,” spoke up the tramp, in a hoarse voice.
“He asked for some money. I could not give him that, but I told him we
would give him some supper.”
“Of course we will,” said Mrs. Rand, in a tone of sympathy. She did not
admire the appearance of her late visitor, but her heart was alive to
the appeal of a hungry man.
“Sit down, sir,” she said, “and I’ll make some hot tea, and that with
some bread and butter and cold meat will refresh you.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I ain’t over-partial to tea, and my doctor tells me I
need whisky. You don’t happen to have any whisky in the house, do you?”
“This is a temperance house,” said Chester, “we never keep whisky.”
“Well, maybe I can get along with the tea,” sighed the tramp, in
evident disappointment.
“You look strong and healthy,” observed Mrs. Rand.
“I ain’t, ma’am. Looks is very deceiving. I’ve got a weakness here,”
and he touched the pit of his stomach, “that calls for strengthenin’
drink. But I’ll be glad of the victuals.”
When the table was spread with an extemporized supper, the unsavory
visitor sat down, and did full justice to it. He even drank the tea,
though he made up a face and called it “slops.”
“Where did you come from, sir?” asked Mrs. Rand.
“From Chicago, ma’am.”
“Were you at work there? What is your business?”
“I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”
“I thought you were a machinist and came from Pittsburg,” interrupted
Chester, in surprise.
“I came here by way of Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, coughing. “I am
machinist, too.”
“His stories don’t seem to hang together,” thought Chester.
After supper the tramp, who said his name was Robert Ramsay, took out
his pipe and began to smoke. If it had not been a cold evening, Mrs.
Rand, who disliked tobacco, would have asked him to smoke out of doors,
but as it was she tolerated it.
Both Chester and his mother feared that their unwelcome visitor would
ask to stay all night, and they would not have felt safe with him in
the house, but about a quarter past ten he got up and said he must be
moving.
“Good-night, and good luck to you!” said Chester.
“Same to you!” returned the tramp.
“I wonder where he’s going,” thought Chester.
But when the next morning came he heard news that answered this
question.