A CHRISTMAS GIFT.
The pioneer sunbeam of next Christmas morning rattled over the Dunderbunk
hills, flashed into Richard Wade's eyes, waked him, and was off,
ricochetting across the black ice of the river.
Wade jumped up, electrified and jubilant. He had gone to bed, feeling
quite too despondent for so healthy a fellow. Christmas Eve, the time of
family-meetings, reminded him how lonely he was. He had not a relative in
the world, except two little nieces,--one as tall as his knee, the other
almost up to his waist; and them he had safely bestowed in a nook of New
England, to gain wit and virtues as they gained inches.
"I have had a stern and lonely life," thought Wade, as he blew out his
candle last night, "and what has it profited me?"
Perhaps the pioneer sunbeam answered this question with a truism, not
always as applicable as in this case,--"A brave, able, self-respecting
manhood is fair profit for any man's first thirty years of life."
But, answered or not, the question troubled Wade no more. He shot out of
bed in tip-top spirits; shouted "Merry Christmas!" at the rising disk of
the sun; looked over the black ice; thrilled with the thought of a long
holiday for skating; and proceeded to dress in a knowing suit of rough
clothes, singing, "_Ah, non giunge_!" as he slid into them.
Presently, glancing from his south window, he observed several matinal
smokes rising from the chimneys of a country-house a mile away, on a slope
fronting the river.
"Peter Skerrett must be back from Europe at last," he thought. "I hope he
is as fine a fellow as he was ten years ago. I hope marriage has not made
him a muff, and wealth a weakling."
Wade went down to breakfast with an heroic appetite. His "Merry Christmas"
to Mrs. Purtett was followed up by a ravished kiss and the gift of a
silver butter-knife. The good widow did not know which to be most charmed
with. The butter-knife was genuine, shining, solid silver, with her
initials, M.B.P., Martha Bilsby Purtett, given in luxuriant flourishes;
but then the kiss had such a fine twang, such an exhilarating titillation!
The late Perry's kisses, from first to last, had wanted point. They were,
as the Spanish proverb would put it, unsavory as unsalted eggs, for want
of a moustache. The widow now perceived, with mild regret, how much she
had missed when she married "a man all shaven and shorn." Her cheek, still
fair, though forty, flushed with novel delight, and she appreciated her
lodger more than ever.
Wade's salutation to Belle Purtett was more distant. There must be a
little friendly reserve between a handsome young man and a pretty young
woman several grades lower in the social scale, living in the same house.
They were on the most cordial terms, however; and her gift--of course
embroidered slippers--and his to her--of course "The Illustrated Poets,"
in Turkey morocco--were exchanged with tender good-will on both sides.
"We shall meet on the ice, Miss Belle," said Wade. "It is a day of a
thousand for skating."
"Mr. Ringdove says you are a famous skater," Belle rejoined. "He saw you
on the river yesterday evening."
"Yes; Tarbox and I were practising to exhibit to-day; but I could not do
much with my dull old skates."
Wade breakfasted deliberately, as a holiday morning allowed, and then
walked down to the Foundry. There would be no work done to-day, except by
a small gang keeping up the fires. The Superintendent wished only to give
his First Semi-Annual Report an hour's polishing, before he joined all
Dunderbunk on the ice.
It was a halcyon day, worthy of its motto, "Peace on earth, good-will to
men." The air was electric, the sun overflowing with jolly shine, the
river smooth and sheeny from the hither bank to the snowy mountains
opposite.
"I wish I were Rembrandt, to paint this grand shadowy interior," thought
Wade, as he entered the silent, deserted Foundry. "With the gleam of the
snow in my eyes, it looks deliciously warm and _chiaroscuro_. When the men
are here and '_fervet opus_,'--the pot boils,--I cannot stop to see the
picturesque."
He opened his office, took his Report and began to complete it with ,s,
;s, and .s in the right places.
All at once the bell of the Works rang out loud and clear. Presently the
Superintendent became aware of a tramp and a bustle in the building.
By-and-by came a tap at the office-door.
"Come in," said Wade, and, enter young Perry Purtett.
Perry was a boy of fifteen, with hair the color of fresh sawdust, white
eyebrows, and an uncommonly wide-awake look. Ringdove, his father's
successor, could never teach Perry the smirk, the grace, and the
seductiveness of the counter, so the boy had found his place in the
finishing-shop of the Foundry.
"Some of the hands would like to see you for half a jiff, Mr. Wade," said
he. "Will you come along, if you please?"
There was a good deal of easy swagger about Perry, as there is always in
boys and men whose business is to watch the lunging of steam-engines. Wade
followed him. Perry led the way with a jaunty air that said,--
"Room here! Out of the way, you lubberly bits of cast-iron! Be careful,
now, you big derricks, or I'll walk right over you! Room now for Me and My
suite!"
This pompous usher conducted the Superintendent to the very spot in the
main room of the Works where, six months before, the Inaugural had been
pronounced and the first Veto spoken and enacted.
And there, as six months before, stood the Hands awaiting their Head. But
the aprons, the red shirts, and the grime of working-days were off, and
the whole were in holiday rig,--as black and smooth and shiny from top to
toe as the members of a Congress of Undertakers.
Wade, following in the wake of Perry, took his stand facing the rank, and
waited to see what he was summoned for. He had not long to wait.
To the front stepped Mr. William Tarbox, foreman of the finishing-shop, no
longer a boy, but an erect, fine-looking fellow, with no nitrate in his
moustache, and his hat permanently out of mourning for the late Mr. Poole.
"Gentlemen," said Bill, "I move that this meeting organize by appointing
Mr. Smith Wheelwright Chairman. As many as are in favor of this motion,
please to say 'Aye.'"
"Aye!" said the crowd, very loud and big. And then every man looked at his
neighbor, a little abashed, as if he himself had made all the noise.
"This is a free country," continues Bill. "Every woter has a right to a
fair shake. Contrary minds, 'No.'"
No contrary minds. The crowd uttered a great silence. Every man looked at
his neighbor, surprised to find how well they agreed.
"Unanimous!" Tarbox pronounced. "No fractious minorities _here_, to block
the wheels of legislation!"
The crowd burst into a roar at this significant remark, and, again
abashed, dropped portcullis on its laughter, cutting off the flanks and
tail of the sound.
"Mr. Purtett, will you please conduct the Chairman to the Chair," says
Bill, very stately.
"Make way here!" cried Perry, with the manner of a man seven feet high.
"Step out now, Mr. Chairman!"
He took a big, grizzled, docile-looking fellow patronizingly by the arm,
led him forward, and chaired him on a large cylinder-head, in the rough,
just hatched out of its mould.
"Bang away with that, and sing out, 'Silence!'" says the knowing boy,
handing Wheelwright an iron bolt, and taking his place beside him, as
prompter.
The docile Chairman obeyed. At his breaking silence by hooting "Silence!"
the audience had another mighty bob-tailed laugh.
"Say, 'Will some honorable member state the object of this meeting?'"
whispered the prompter.
"Will some honorable mumbler state the subject of this 'ere meetin'?" says
Chair, a little bashful and confused.
Bill Tarbox advanced, and, with a formal bow, began,--
"Mr. Chairman"--
"Say, 'Mr. Tarbox has the floor,'" piped Perry.
"Mr. Tarbox has the floor," diapasoned the Chair.
"Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen"--Bill began, and stopped.
"Say, 'Proceed, Sir!'" suggested Perry, which the senior did, magnifying
the boy's whisper a dozen times.
Again Bill began and stopped.
"Boys," said he, dropping grandiloquence, "when I accepted the office of
Orator of the Day at our primary, and promised to bring forward our
Resolutions in honor of Mr. Wade with my best speech, I didn't think I was
going to have such a head of steam on that the walves would get stuck and
the piston jammed and I couldn't say a word.
"But," he continued, warming up, "when I think of the Indian powwow we had
in this very spot six months ago,--and what a mean bloat I was, going to
the stub-tail dogs with my hat over my eyes,--and what a hard lot we were
all round, livin' on nothing but argee whiskey, and rampin' off on
benders, instead of makin' good iron,--and how the Works was flat
broke,--and how Dunderbunk was full of women crying over their husbands
and mothers ashamed of their sons,--boys, when I think how things was, and
see how they are, and look at Mr. Wade standing there like a"--
Bill hesitated for a comparison.
"Like a thousand of brick," Perry Purtett suggested, _sotto voce_.
The Chairman took this as a hint to himself.
"Like a thousand of brick," he said, with the voice of a Stentor.
Here the audience roared and cheered, and the Orator got a fresh start.
"When you came, Mr. Wade," he resumed, "we was about sick of putty-heads
and sneaks that didn't know enough or didn't dare to make us stand round
and bone in. You walked in, b'ilin' over with grit. You took hold as if
you belonged here. You made things jump like a two-headed tarrier. All we
wanted was a live man, to say, 'Here, boys, all together now! You've got
your stint, and I've got mine. I'm boss in this shop,--but I can't do the
first thing, unless every man pulls his pound. Now, then, my hand is on
the throttle, grease the wheels, oil the walves, poke the fires, hook on,
and let's yank her through with a will!'"
At this figure the meeting showed a tendency to cheer. "Silence!" Perry
sternly suggested. "Silence!" repeated the Chair.
"Then," continued the Orator, "you wasn't one of the uneasy kind, always
fussin' and cussin' round. You wasn't always spyin' to see we didn't take
home a cross-tail or a hundred-weight of cast-iron in our pants' pockets,
or go to swiggin' hot metal out of the ladles on the sly."
Here an enormous laugh requited Bill's joke. Perry prompted, the Chair
banged with his bolt and cried, "Order!"
"Well, now, boys," Tarbox went on, "what has come of having one of the
right sort to be boss? Why, this. The Works go ahead, stiddy as the North
River. We work full time and full-handed. We turn out stuff that no shop
needs to be ashamed of. Wages is on the nail. We have a good time
generally. How is that, boys,--Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen?"
"That's so!" from everybody.
"And there's something better yet," Bill resumed. "Dunderbunk used to be
full of crying women. They've stopped crying now."
Here the whole assemblage, Chairman and all, burst into an irrepressible
cheer.
"But I'm making my speech as long as a lightning-rod," said the speaker.
"I'll put on the brakes, short. I guess Mr. Wade understands pretty well,
now, how we feel; and if he don't, here it all is in shape, in this
document, with 'Whereas' at the top and 'Resolved' entered along down in
five places. Mr. Purtett, will you hand the Resolutions to the
Superintendent?"
Perry advanced and did his office loftily, much to the amusement of Wade
and the workmen.
"Now," Bill resumed, "we wanted, besides, to make you a little gift, Mr.
Wade, to remember the day by. So we got up a subscription, and every man
put in his dime. Here's the present,--hand 'em over, Perry!
"There, Sir, is THE BEST PAIR OF SKATES to be had in York City, made for
work, and no nonsense about 'em. We Dunderbunk boys give 'em to you, one
for all, and hope you'll like 'em and beat the world skating, as you do in
all the things we've knowed you try.
"Now, boys," Bill perorated, "before I retire to the shades of private
life, I motion we give Three Cheers--regular Toplifters--for Richard
Wade!"
"Hurrah! Wade and Good Government!" "Hurrah! Wade and Prosperity!"
"Hurrah! Wade and the Women's Tears Dry!"
Cheers like the shout of Achilles! Wielding sledges is good for the
bellows, it appears. Toplifters! Why, the smoky black rafters overhead had
to tug hard to hold the roof on. Hurrah! From every corner of the vast
building came back rattling echoes. The Works, the machinery, the
furnaces, the stuff, all had their voice to add to the verdict.
Magnificent music! and our Anglo-Saxon is the only race in the world
civilized enough to join in singing it. We are the only hurrahing
people,--the only brood hatched in a "Hurrah's nest."
Silence restored, the Chairman, prompted by Perry, said, "Gentlemen, Mr.
Wade has the floor for a few remarks."
Of course Wade had to speak, and did. He would not have been an American
in America else. But his heart was too full to say more than a few hearty
and earnest words of good feeling.
"Now, men," he closed, "I want to get away on the river and see if my
skates will go as they look; so I'll end by proposing three cheers for
Smith Wheelwright, our Chairman, three for our Orator, Tarbox, three for
Old Dunderbunk,--Works, Men, Women, and Children; and one big cheer for
Old Father Iron, as rousing a cheer as ever was roared."
So they gave their three times three with enormous enthusiasm. The roof
shook, the furnaces rattled, Perry Purtett banged with the Chairman's
hammer, the great echoes thundered through the Foundry.
And when they ended with one gigantic cheer for IRON, tough and true, the
weapon, the tool, and the engine of all civilization,--it seemed as if the
uproar would never cease until Father Iron himself heard the call in his
smithy away under the magnetic pole, and came clanking up, to return
thanks in person.