I take my pen in hand to write you a few lines hoping that they
may find you as well as we all are here. Mother reads your
letters to us at dinner time. I hope you are living better. I
never knew a genius that cared much about his eating, therefore,
I do not suppose Palmer ever gave it a thought that you were
suffering. He is a good fellow and I know he will make out well,
except in the eating line.
You need not worry about your shotgun; I have it and will look
after it until such time as I feel you should be permitted to
handle dangerous weepuns. Turner Simpson says your Cousin
Charley got that hound pup weeks ago; he claims Charley said you
sent him after the pup.
All your friends inquire about you. Bill Johnston told me he was
sorry he had to have you arrested for overturning his hay stack;
that he did not believe you was to blame, the boys with you led
you into oversetting the haystack to catch the rabbit.
Your Uncle Joe was in town Saturday, got tite and carried on
high. He is getting worse as he gets older. Betsy is mortified
to death. They were just at communion afore it happened.
How is Palmer doing? Is he making money? Did he get my letter?
Hoping to hear from you very often and that you will remember
that your father and mother and all the children think of you
daily and all look forward to the time when we shall see you
again,
Your affectionate father,
J. C. H.
Alfred was living in a little world all his own. Jake, Bedford Tom, Mrs.
Palmer, Gideon, Tom White, were its inhabitants. Palmer was not of it.
He was not of the agreeable circle. Alfred often read letters from home
to Mrs. Palmer. She was greatly interested in the correspondence. Alfred
knew she desired him to read the father's letter to her. In a serious
manner he advised the letter was a business one. This seemed to make the
good woman even more anxious. She actually quizzed Alfred as to whether
the letter was not one demanding payment of money borrowed by her
husband. Alfred asked her if she knew the amount due his father. She did
not, but said she would ascertain; further, she would exert herself to
earn money to repay it. Alfred appreciated this and regretted he had
ever mentioned the flitch in his letters to the folks at home. He felt
that he had reflected upon Mrs. Palmer.
He re-read his father's letter that he might expunge the reference to
the scant living. He read to where Bill Johnston had apologized for
having him arrested; he did not care to have Mrs. Palmer know of this.
[Illustration: Palmer and the Wise Virgin]
Palmer, with his panorama and side issues, was making money, and there
was not a day, not an hour, that something coarse, selfish or mean, did
not show itself in word or deed of the man. The half dozen young women,
who took part in the final scene, were robed in long, pale blue gowns,
worn over their street apparel. It was necessary to fit the costumes on
the young ladies previous to the opening or first exhibition. In
arranging with the fathers or mothers of the girls, Palmer always
emphasized the statement that: "My wife, Mrs. Palmer will take charge of
the young ladies, show them their costumes." Mrs. Palmer was always
ready to do so but Palmer was always there. He insisted, he forced his
services in fitting the costumes. He would take an unusually long time
to smooth out the wrinkles on the waist and bust lines. All this was
done so unconcerned that none would ever suspect he was playing a part.
His wife would flush up, walk away and occupy herself with other duties.
If there was a foolish virgin among the damsels--and there were some
foolish ones in those days, though not so many as now--Palmer would
begin a flirtation, kept up until he departed. This was only one of the
many mean traits of the man that lessened Alfred's respect for him.
Palmer could not understand Alfred. Always full of fun and mischief,
always ready to laugh, yet at times the boy was positively rude to the
man nor would he permit any familiarity from Palmer.
One day in setting up the frame of the panorama, several members of the
church in which it was to be exhibited, entered the auditorium
unnoticed. Palmer, while driving a nail, miscalculated, the hammer came
down on one of his fingers. Flinging the hammer on the floor with all
the force he could command, he poured forth a torrent of profanity.
Gideon, by signs, gave Palmer to understand that others were near. With
a change as quick as a flash, Palmer grabbed Alfred by the coat collar,
nearly lifting the boy off his feet. With a voice that sounded as if it
were choking with indignation, he began: "You young scamp, I never heard
you swear like this before, and I never want to hear you again. How dare
you use such language in this house?" The onslaught was so sudden and
unexpected that Alfred was taken off his feet. He had been in high good
humor, laughing heartily at Palmer's mishap. Palmer led the intruders
out in the auditorium ere the boy gathered his scattered senses.
Jake exclaimed: "Huh! Balmur knocks his fingers und makes oudt Alfred
does der tammen." Shaking his head, he continued: "Balmur beats der
bugs."
Alfred was savage with anger. He started after Palmer but Gideon
restrained him, standing in his pathway, holding him back, appealing to
Jake to assist him in controlling the boy. Gideon persuaded Alfred to
drop the matter for the time. Jake desired that the boy call Palmer to
account. He answered Gideon's appeals in a sort of careless,
I-don't-care way: "Vell, it's yust like Alfredt feels, if he vants to
yump Balmur, I tink he kann handle him, I von't interfere. It iss none
uf my biziness, yett."
[Illustration: Palmer Grabbed Alfred by the Collar]
It was late in the afternoon when Palmer again appeared in the church.
He entered, as was his custom, all hurry and bustle. "Hello, Alfred! I
thought you'd have the panorama all set. Waiting for the boss, hey?"
"Yes, I'm waiting for the boss and I want to tell the boss the next time
he tries to make a scapegoat out of me before a lot of church people
he'll hear something he won't like. I'm no clod-hopper to have you make
me appear a rowdy. You daddy your own cussing."
Palmer seemed greatly surprised at this and, as usual, in an argument
with his people, became greatly excited. He endeavored to win with a
bluff. "Here, my young man, you're always playing your jokes on Jake and
all the others; I was only having a little fun with you, I didn't intend
to hurt your feeling."
"Feelings! Feelings! What about my good name? What'll those men think of
me? I'm ashamed to face them again while I'm here."
"Oh, you're too soft to travel; you ought to be at home with your gilt
edge ideas."
"Well, I can go home," hotly retorted Alfred.
"I've got a written agreement with your father and I'll hold you to it,"
threatened Palmer.
"You'll hold me to nothing. You've got no writings that'll permit your
making me out a rowdy."
"Now see here, Mr. Minstrel," and Palmer assumed mock politeness, "I've
heard enough of your slack; dry up or I'll make you."
Alfred jumped to the middle of the platform and dared Palmer to lay his
hand on him. Palmer got so excited he could not talk. Gideon, as usual,
in his quiet, argumentative way, endeavored to smooth the matter over:
"Come on, let's get ready for tonight. We're going to have the best
business since we opened."
"I've quit," announced Alfred, "I'm going home."
Jake's smile fled; his under jaw hung down, giving his face an
expression Alfred had never previously seen it wear. Gideon turned even
more yellowish looking. Bedford Tom ejected a mouthful of tobacco juice
as he blurted out: "I pity Pilgrim's Progress."
Gideon continued his plea: "Well, if this company isn't demoralized I
don't know what I'm talking about. Now see here, boys, listen to me;
we're together, let's reason like honest people should: To have you,"
and he looked at Alfred, "quit thus abruptly would cause innocent ones
to suffer. See what an embarrassment it would be to Mrs. Palmer. Why, it
would kill her. She has sacrificed everything she holds dear in the
world; she has two children." (Gideon had won his point, it was not
necessary for him to say more). "She has not seen those children in two
years; she hopes to have them with her soon. See what a disappointment
it would be to her and the children. Alfred, as at present arranged, we
could not spare you. I will get Palmer and we will fix this matter up
satisfactorily to you."
Alfred was just a boy, not unlike any other boy. He did not desire to
quit; and he knew he was indispensable to the successful production of
the panorama. He also felt that he had won thus far. He did not yield,
outwardly at least, but agreed that he would await Gideon's interview
with Palmer. He had no preconceived ideas as to what to do or say
further, but, like all who are disgruntled, he could not bring himself
to say that he would.
While Gideon was seeking Palmer, Jake endeavored to console Alfred: "Ef
you do go out of der paneramy it vill be too tam bad; I will not acdt
out annudder time. I toldt Balmur delas' time. I'm no handt at paneramy
buziness und it's no more fur Jake to do it."
Bedford Tom put another blotch on the white pine floor as he patted Jake
on the back: "You're all yerself agin, ole man, your sensibilness is
kerrect; don't try to act in a panerammer or enythin' else. Ef ye hed
seen yerself with thet tume-stun, er whatever it wus, on yer back, an'
wallerin' in thet painted pond, ye'd never went back to Bedford. Ye
certainly made a muss of hit."
"Vell, I toldt heem I vus ashamed mit myself, end he sedt: 'Oh, hell yu
kann standt und look myzerbul, kan't yu?'"
Bedford Tom laughed in the honest Dutchman's face as he assured him he
looked "myzerbul enuff but his actin' was more myzerbul then his
looks."
"Vhy don'dt yu try it ef yu tink it ees so tam easy?" was Jake's answer.
Gideon walked in, beckoned to Alfred: "Come down to Palmer's room, he
wants to talk this whole thing over."
Alfred did not care to meet Mrs. Palmer. "Tell Palmer to come up here,"
was the message Gideon carried back. Alfred was feeling just a little
ashamed of the part he had played in the dispute; he felt that he had
gone a bit further than he should. But his instinctive dislike to Palmer
had grown day by day. The man's face, that index to character, had
repulsed him when they first met. There are lines in the face chiseled
by a sculptor who never makes a wrong stroke. The face is a truthful
record of our vices and virtues. It is a map of life that outlines
character so clearly that there is no getting away from the story it
tells. The face is a signboard showing which way the man or woman is
traveling, which of life's crossroads they are on. The face cannot
betray the years one has traveled until the mind gives its consent. The
mind is the master. If the mind holds youthful, innocent thoughts, the
face will retain a youthful appearance. And the more permanent are the
marks made by petulancy, hatred and selfishness thereon. The best letter
of recommendation ever written is an open fearless face.
Palmer put in an appearance, his face showing plainly that he was not at
ease. His manner was as flambuoyant as ever: "Where is this mainstay of
the only panorama on earth? Come here, boy, I want to talk to you like a
father:
"I was a boy not long ago, unthinking, idle, wild and young,
I laughed, and danced and talked and sung."
The antics Palmer cut while delivering this couplet were truly amusing.
Palmer was an actor. Placing his hand on Alfred's shoulder, gazing into
his face, he continued:
"Just at the age twixt boy and youth,
When thought is speech and speech is truth."
Then quoting Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress: "I have given him my
faith and sworn my allegiance to him. How then can I go back from this
and not be hanged as a traitor?" Palmer pointed his long, bony finger at
Alfred and awaited a reply. It came:
"I was indeed engaged in your dominions but your services were hard and
your wages such as a man could not live on. For the wages of sin is
death."
Palmer, a little discomforted, led the boy to one side, saying: "Now see
here, young fellow, I'm as old as your father; I don't look it, but I
am. Now you want to quit, eh? You wouldn't be at home four days before
you would wish yourself back here. You are not rich, your father is not
rich. You have to make a living. I'll give you an opportunity to make
money. You are learning this business, you have good ideas. You remain
with me, I'll make a man of you; I'll put you in a way to make more
money than you've ever seen."
Alfred intimated that he could not see himself making a great deal of
money at twenty dollars a month.
"Why, don't you count your board, as anything?"
"Well, I'm not satisfied. I'm worth more than twenty dollars a month to
you," stubbornly contended Alfred.
"But you and your father are both bound up to me in a written agreement.
Do you want to break it? Would that be right?"
"Well, you broke your written contract with the members of Rock Hill
Church. You said Gideon made the contract without consulting you.
Grandpap made this contract without consulting me."
Palmer laughed long and loud: "Egad, that's good! This kid finds me
skinning a couple of old duffers and forthwith he sets about to skin me.
The harvest truly is plenteous but the laborers are few; ask and it
shall be given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be
opened to you." Pointing at Alfred, he continued: "But remember, the
love of money is the root of all evil. Say, what are you going to do
with all this money?"
"Buy a farm, some day," answered Alfred.
"How great a matter a little fire kindleth," quoted Palmer as he
pleadingly asked: "Say, kid, how much are you going to hang me up for?"
"Well, if you give me fifty dollars a month, I'll stick to you."
"Holy mother of all that's evil; the devil and Tom Walker! Say, who do
you take after? Not your daddy. He's easy. Fifty dollars a month? Say, I
worked two years and had a wife and two children to take care of and I
never cleared forty dollars a month. I've been a lifetime working myself
up to what I am and you jump into the game, inexperienced, green as a
cucumber, and want to hog the persimmons at the start. 'Taint fair,
'taint right; I'm an honest man; I want to treat everybody right. You're
taking advantage of me. It's the principle of the thing I look at."
"Well, get another boy, you can find one any day. If I stay with this
panorama I will get fifty dollars a month."
"Yes, and if I permit you to hold me up this time, the next move you'll
want the panorama. Your Uncle William served his time like an honest
boy, he has made a fortune. He has the best farm in Fayette County; he
has money, he is the judge of the county court. He never got where he is
by breaking written agreements."
"Yes, but that was different, Uncle William was learning a trade. He got
all kinds of chances to make money on the outside of his work."
"Hold on right there--I'll give you any opportunity you want to make
money on the side. You can sell the "Life of John Bunyan," "The
Pilgrim's Progress," "Paradise Lost," the steel engraving of the twelve
apostles or anything we sell and I'll allow you a good, big
commission."
The sale of the above mentioned articles was that which first turned
Alfred against Palmer. The sneaking, wheedling methods he employed, the
subterfuges, the lies in disposing of books and pictures, were the
things which made the man most repulsive to Alfred. He therefore felt
insulted when Palmer offered him the opportunity to make money from this
source. Alfred plainly informed Palmer that he would not have anything
to do with the sale of the books or pictures.
"Huh! I suppose you feel above selling books that are in the libraries
of the best people in the world. You'd prefer, no doubt, to sell pills."
A little abashed, Alfred came back with: "Well, if I did sell pills, I
sold them on the square and at a less price than they were worth and
they were sold to folks that needed them and if they needed them and
wern't able to pay for them they got them free and we didn't lie about
what we did with the money. We didn't pretend to send it to the
heathen."
Palmer interrupted the boy: "Wait and see how you get along when you
strike your own gait, when you get your own show out. That's your idea;
that's why you are so unreasonable. I'm going to give you the money you
ask, not because it's right but because I want to do what's right. If
I'd let you go, you'd go back to Brownsville and it would not be a week
until you'd have some fool thing afloat that would bring all sorts of
trouble on your folks. I'm doing this for your people, not for you."
Alfred had won. He was not entirely free from the feeling that he had
not acted quite right but he stilled his conscience by arguing to
himself that Grandpap had no authority to enter into a contract for him;
besides hadn't his mother declared that no indenture was valid without
her signature, that no child of hers should ever be bound to anybody?
When she demanded to see the papers it was not convenient for those
interested to have them at hand. The mother had forcibly informed Palmer
that there must be no restraint upon Alfred should he become homesick
and that he must be permitted to return to his home at any time he
desired to do so. All of which Palmer had unreservedly agreed to.