THE LUCK CHANGES
The next day luck turned. Wayne went to work for Callahan’s Livery
Stable, and June, happening into the Union Hotel with a drummer’s
sample cases, witnessed the discharge of a bell boy, applied for the
position, got it, was thrust into a dark-blue uniform and, half an hour
later, was climbing stairs and answering calls as though he had done
nothing else all his life. The wage was only three dollars a week, and
out of that he was required to deposit ten dollars as security for the
uniform, which meant that for three weeks he would get nothing from
his employer. Ordinarily he would have had to deposit that ten dollars
before starting to work, but the fact that his services were badly
needed at the moment and the fact that he neither had ten dollars nor
could get it, caused the proprietor to waive the rule. But June didn’t
bother about that ten dollars, for he knew that it was tips and not
wages that counted in his job, and he believed in his ability to get
the tips. He didn’t return to the new home very rich that night, to be
sure, for he hadn’t yet learned the ropes and his chances had been few,
but it didn’t take him long to put his new position on a paying basis.
At the end of three days everyone in the hotel knew June and liked
him. He was always willing, always ready, and always cheerful. And he
was always polite, a fact which made him a favourite with the guests,
accustomed as they were to the half-sullen services of the other boys.
Dimes and even quarters dropped into June’s pocket at a rate that
astonished him. When, at the end of his second week of service, he
counted up his wealth and discovered that it totalled the stupendous
sum of nine dollars and eighty cents he rolled his eyes and confided to
Wayne that he “didn’ know there was so much money in the whole world!”
The main drawback to June’s work was that his period of duty began at
six o’clock in the morning and lasted until four in the afternoon,
necessitating a very early rising hour in the car. Wayne’s own duties
didn’t begin until eight, and in consequence he had two hours on his
hands that he didn’t know what to do with. Breakfast was always over by
half-past five and a minute or two later June was streaking across the
field to the railroad track. At about twenty-five minutes to six there
was a milk train due and June had become an adept at swinging himself
to a platform as it slowed down at the yard entrance. Just at first
his presence, when discovered, was resented, but presently the train
hands good-naturedly failed to see him and he rode into town huddled up
on a car step. When, as infrequently happened, the train was late June
was put to it to reach the hotel on time, but he always did it by hook
or by crook even if he had to run most of the way over the uneven ties.
Wayne’s job brought him seventy-five cents a day--when he worked. He
didn’t always work, for it was only when one of the regular men was
taken away to a drive at a funeral or a wedding that his services were
required. But he had to report every morning, in any case, and it was
rather surprising how many folks were married or buried in Medfield!
He liked driving a carriage well enough, but waiting for fares at the
station in all sorts of weather wasn’t pleasant. It was a sort of
lazy job, too. On the whole, he was far from satisfied with it and
continually kept his eyes open for something better. It was rather a
blow to his pride to have June bring home four or five dollars each
week while he almost never earned more than three. Still, he was
thankful for what he got, for it enabled them to live very comfortably
in their novel home.
One of the first things Wayne did was to recover Sam. Denny Connor
parted with the dog reluctantly, but consoled himself with the fact
that as Sam had been with him only four days and hadn’t got used to the
change he wouldn’t miss him as much as he might have.
“You see,” he confided, “it ain’t as if you slept a lot better for
having a dog howl all night in the kitchen!”
Sam took to the new home at once. He approved of it enthusiastically.
Perhaps the freedom of the country appealed to him after the
confinement of town. At all events, he had a perfectly delirious
time the first hour, running around the field, barking at everyone
who passed along the railroad track and searching for rats under the
car. His big adventure came later, though, when, after disappearing
frenziedly and at full speed into the woods he returned a quarter of
an hour after much chastened and with his muzzle bleeding profusely
from several deep scratches. What his adversary had been they never
knew. June offered the theory that Sam had been in mortal combat with
a catamount. I don’t think June knew just what a catamount was, but
he liked the word. Wayne said he guessed it was a “cat” without the
“mount.” In any event, Sam displayed a strong dislike of the woods for
weeks afterward. Wayne tried taking him to work with him at first,
but Mr. Callahan objected to having the dog in the carriage and made
Wayne tie him in an empty stall in the stable. That didn’t please Sam a
mite and he said so very loudly and continuously, so heartily, in fact,
that the edict went forth that “that fool dog” was not to be brought
there again. After that Wayne shut him up in the car when he left
at half-past seven and was pursued for a quarter of a mile by Sam’s
lamentations. Eventually the dog learned that he was not to follow,
that his duty was to remain behind and guard the domicile, and he
became reconciled.
“Carhurst,” as Wayne dubbed the new home, was slowly but steadily
rehabilitated. Now that there was money for the purpose the boys set
out to turn the abandoned horse car into a real place of residence.
Every day witnessed some improvement. The missing stovepipe was early
replaced with two sections purchased at a junk dealer’s emporium and
with a five-cent can of blacking June made stove and pipe shine like
a new beaver hat. Red builder’s paper superseded the boards across
the window frames, giving the car quite a cheerful appearance from
without even if it added little to the lighting within. Sooner or
later they meant to reglaze two windows on each side, and to that end
June brought back a fine big lump of putty one afternoon which he had
wheedled out of a painter at work in the hotel. After that, as Wayne
complacently remarked, all they needed were points, a putty knife, and
some glass! They put shelves up for their groceries, cooking utensils,
and tableware, all largely augmented with returning prosperity, set a
box on the more shaded platform to serve as an ice-chest, invested in
four blankets and, in short, surrounded themselves with all sorts of
luxuries!
June solved the fuel problem very simply. Wood soon became scarce and
they were forced to go far afield to find enough to cook meals with,
while having a fire for the mere purpose of keeping warm on some
of those raw nights of early spring was an extravagance not to be
considered. Not, that is to say, until June had his brilliant idea.
He disappeared one afternoon with the basket that they used to bring
provisions home in and returned half an hour later bearing it on his
head and filled to the brim with coal. The railroad tracks were black
with it, he reported, and all they had to do was gather it up. Wayne
found that a slight exaggeration, but it wasn’t at all a difficult
matter to fill a basket without going out of sight of home. After that,
when the weather was cold or rainy, they kept a fire going all day and
night in the tiny stove, which, in spite of some infirmities, served
them faithfully and cheerfully and consumed little fuel.
They had a few leaks to contend with when the rain drove against the
car, leaks that simply refused to be located when the weather was dry
and Wayne, armed with pieces of tin, and tacks, and a hammer went
searching for them. But even more expensive houses leak, and it was a
simple enough matter to move away from the trickles. To be sure, it
wasn’t so pleasant when they awoke one very stormy night toward the
first of April to find that the trough-shaped seat upon which they were
reposing had turned itself into a reservoir for the collection of the
rain driving in at a corner of the car. They had to open the draughts
of the little stove and dry their blankets before they could go to
sleep again on the opposite seat. And they had difficulties with the
windows, too, occasionally, for the paper had a mean habit of breaking
loose under the combined assaults of wind and rain. At such times the
old horse blanket, now discarded as an article of bedding, was used as
a temporary shutter. Wayne threatened to varnish or shellac the paper
so that it would turn the rain, but he never carried out the threat.
June was the cook and a very good one. He had a positive talent for
coffee and could really do wonders with a frying pan. They never
attempted ambitious feats of cookery, but they lived well, if simply,
and had all they wanted. Only breakfast and supper, the latter a rather
hearty meal, were eaten at “Carhurst.” The midday meal was taken in the
town. Wayne went to the Golden Star Lunch when he had opportunity, at
other times patronising the counter in the station. June skirmished his
lunches in the hotel kitchen, and, since everyone there from the chef
to the scullery maid liked him, fared well. Sam ate twice a day to the
boys’ knowledge and, it was suspected, levied toll at noon hour on the
employees of the stamping works. If there hadn’t been so many chipmunks
and squirrels and, possibly, worthier game to chase he would have waxed
fat and lazy at this period of his history.
They had been living at “Carhurst” something over three weeks when,
quite unexpectedly, almost overnight, spring arrived. Of course, if
they were to believe the almanac, spring had really been there some
time, but they would never have suspected it. Some days there had been
a mildness in the air that had seemed to presage the lady’s appearance,
but it wasn’t until they awoke that April morning to the knowledge
that the fire in the stove, as low as it was, was “super’ogatory”--the
word is June’s, and one he was extremely fond of--and stuck their
heads outdoors to find out why, that it seemed to them she had really
arrived. It was like May rather than April. Although it was still only
five o’clock in the morning, there was an unaccustomed warmth in the
air and the east was rosy with the coming sun. It was after June had
scudded off and Wayne had washed the few breakfast dishes and hung the
dishcloth--yes, they had even attained to the luxury of a dishcloth by
then!--over the platform rail and had seated himself on the step with
Sam in his arms that the desire that affects almost all of us on the
first warm morning of spring came to him. He wanted to grow something!
At first glance the prospect of growing anything at “Carhurst” was not
encouraging. The meadow was still soft and sodden with the spring rains
and here and there little pools of water showed between the hummocks of
turf. But when one becomes really possessed with the longing to have
a garden it takes a great deal to discourage one. Wayne set Sam down
and walked around the car and frowned intently over the problem. After
all, he didn’t need a very big patch for his garden, and by filling in
a few low places along the sunny side of the car and digging out the
turf--turning it under would be better, but it entailed more labour
than he felt capable of that lazy-feeling morning--he could have a
patch about four yards long by a yard wide, quite big enough for his
needs. He had no idea of raising such useful things as vegetables. His
soul sighed for foliage and flowers. He wondered, though, what kinds
of flowers grew up here in the North. He would, he decided, have to
consult someone as to that. Probably the man he bought his seeds of
would tell him. Anyhow, at the back of the bed, where it would shade
the car in hot weather, he would have something tall. And in front he
would grow pretty things with lots of colour. He talked it over all
the while with Sam, and Sam indicated quite plainly that he considered
it a perfectly glorious idea, following Wayne around and around with
his tail never for an instant still. Finally, Wayne drew forth the
little leather bag in which he kept his money and viewed the contents
doubtfully. Two dollars didn’t seem a great deal, but it would probably
do if only he could borrow a shovel and rake and not have to buy them.
All the way to town his mind dwelt on the project and he became so
absorbed that he sometimes forgot to keep on walking and came very near
to being late at the stable.
It was June who solved the problem of shovel and rake by borrowing both
these necessary implements, as well as a hoe, at the stamping works.
June had many friends there by that time and there was no difficulty
at all. Wayne bought eight packages of flower seed--they were far
cheaper than he had dared hope--and one afternoon the boys began the
preparation of the garden. June was less enthusiastic than Wayne, but
he lent willing assistance. June advocated the growing of useful things
like corn and beans and “tomatuses,” but acknowledged that the ground
at their disposal was rather too small in area for much of a crop.
Wayne compromised by agreeing to set out some tomato plants since they
were, while not exactly flowers, attractive when in fruit. The job
was a good deal harder than they had expected, for that turf had been
growing there a long while and resented being displaced. Sam tried to
help, but his digging was merely spasmodic and seldom in the right
place.
They spent four evenings getting the plot of ground cleared of grass
and graded up, and Wayne went to bed that fourth evening very tired but
cheered by the anticipation of planting his garden the next morning.
When morning came, however, a cold east wind was blowing across the
field, the sun was hidden and it seemed as though Miss Spring must
have drawn her flimsy garments about her and gone shivering back to
the Southland. Instead of planting his seeds, Wayne spent the time
between June’s departure and his own in sitting disgustedly in front
of the stove and trying to get warm. He had awakened some time in the
night to find himself uncomfortably chilly, his cover having fallen to
the floor, and he hadn’t so far succeeded in driving away the little
shivers that coursed up and down his back. He even sneezed once or
twice and sniffed a good deal, and was sorry when the time came for
him to go to work. He felt strangely disinclined for exertion and the
thought of the walk along the tracks to town quite dismayed him. But
he put his sweater on and started out and felt better by the time he
had been in the air awhile. The station platform was a rather exposed
place and sitting beside it on the front seat of a carriage was not a
very grateful occupation today. Wayne sneezed at intervals and blew
his nose between sneezes and by noon had reached the conclusion that
he had a cold. He wasn’t used to them and resented this one every time
he had to drag his handkerchief out. There were few arrivals today and
Wayne had little to do. When he took his horse back to the stable at
twelve-thirty for his feed he climbed into an old hack in a far corner
of the carriage-room and spent an uncomfortable three-quarters of an
hour there. He didn’t want any lunch, although he had a dim notion that
a cup of hot coffee would taste good. But that meant exertion, and
exertion was something he had no liking for today.
He was back at the station for the two-twenty-four and picked up two
passengers for the hotel. He hoped that June would come out for the
luggage, but it was another boy who attended to the arrivals and Wayne
drove off again without seeing June. It got no warmer as the afternoon
progressed and Wayne was shivering most of the time. When the five
o’clock express was in and he had satisfied himself that there were no
fares for his conveyance he drove back to the stable as fast as the
horse would trot, unharnessed, and set out for home. That walk seemed
interminable and he thoroughly envied a gang of track workers who,
having eaten their supper, were sitting at ease around a stove in an
old box car which had been fitted up for living purposes. It was all
Wayne could do to drag a tired and aching and shivering body past that
stove!
It was almost dusk when he finally crept down the embankment, squirmed
between the wires of the fence and, with the light from “Carhurst”
guiding him, floundered across the field. June had a fine fire going
in the stove and when Wayne had pushed the door half open and squeezed
through he simply slumped onto the seat and closed his eyes, immensely
thankful for warmth and shelter. June viewed him at first with
surprise and then with misgiving.
“What’s the matter with you, Mas’ Wayne?” he asked.
Wayne shook his head and muttered: “Just tired, June.” Then he had
a spasm of shivering and reached for a blanket. June observed him
anxiously for a moment. Then:
“You got a chill, that’s what you got,” he said decisively. “You lay
yourself right down there an’ I’ll cover you up. My sakes!”
The last exclamation was called forth by a sudden fit of sneezing that
left Wayne weak and with streaming eyes.
“Lawsy-y-y, child, but you got a cold sure enough!” said June.
“What-all you been doin’, I like to know? You fix yourself for bed this
yere minute. My goodness, ’tain’ goin’ to do for you to go an’ get
sick, Mas’ Wayne!”
June bustled around and brewed a pot of tea, a cup of which he insisted
on Wayne’s swallowing while it was still so hot that it almost
burned the latter’s mouth. After that June piled all the blankets on
the invalid and sternly told him to go to sleep. Rather to Wayne’s
surprise, he found that, as tired and played out as he was, sleep
wouldn’t come. He had aches in queer places and his head seemed due
to burst apart almost any moment. With half-closed eyes he lay and
watched June cook and eat his supper. Now and then he dozed for a
minute or two. The warmth from the stove, the hot tea he had drank, and
the piled-on blankets presently had their effect, and Wayne, muttering
remonstrances, tried to throw off some of the cover. But June was after
him on the instant.
“Keep them blankets over you, Mas’ Wayne,” he commanded sternly. “You
got to sweat that cold out.”
“I’m hot,” protested Wayne irritably.
“I know you is, an’ you goin’ to be hot! Jus’ you leave them blankets
alone an’ go to sleep.”
After a long while Wayne opened his eyes again. He had been sleeping
hours, he thought. He felt horribly uncomfortable and wondered what
time it was. Then his gaze fell on June hunched up near the stove with
Sam on his knees, and sighed. If June was still awake it couldn’t be
late, after all. Presently he fell again into a restless, troubled
sleep. In the corner June nodded, roused himself, looked at the
recumbent form on the seat, reached across and tucked a corner of a
gray blanket in and settled back in his corner. The firelight, finding
its way through cracks and crevices in the stove, made streaks and
splotches of light on the wall and ceiling, and one ray fell fairly on
June’s face. Perhaps it was that ray of light that did the business,
for presently his eyelids slowly closed----
Somewhere, afar off, a clock struck three.