TOM LOOKS AT HIS HAIR
By the end of the week Tom had settled down into his new life. In
the mornings he was up at half-past six and by seven-thirty had
dressed, breakfasted, and reached the store. There, at first under the
superintendence of Joe Gillig and later quite by himself, he swept the
store from front to back, dusted off cases and shelves, and emptied
waste-baskets. At first Joe helped him, but gradually he was left to
attend to this work alone. By hurrying he was just able to finish it by
twenty-five minutes past eight. Then he raced across the three blocks
to the high school and arrived there usually as the gong rang. At
half-past twelve there was a half-hour recess for lunch. The second day
at school Tom discovered that there was a lunch room in the basement
and that he could buy hot soup, sandwiches, coffee, milk, cake, and
fruit at much cheaper prices than at the outside restaurants. After a
day or two he got into the habit of eating a rather hearty breakfast
in the cleanest of the little restaurants on Locust Street, satisfying
his appetite at noon with a bowl of soup, a sandwich, and a glass of
milk, and then dining after the store had closed. At three o’clock
school was over and he was free to return to the store.
There was always plenty to do there, as Mr. Wright had intimated,
and after that first day Tom didn’t have to hunt very hard for work.
He washed windows, ran errands, packed orders in big cases down in
the packing room, and learned to use marking-pot and brush with some
dexterity, replaced goods on the shelves after Mr. Wright had served
a customer--for the junior partner never was known to put goods back
into place again,--polished the brass railings outside the windows and
the brass on the door, and, in short, made himself generally useful.
Perhaps Joe Gillig imposed on him a little; Tom suspected as much; but
Joe was always kind and patient with him and Tom liked him. Later, when
the weather grew cold, Tom was put in charge of the hot-water heater in
the basement, and he had to shovel coal and ashes and sift out cinders
and trundle ash-barrels to the elevator and roll them to the edge of
the sidewalk above. It was heavy work, a whole lot of it, and if Tom
had not been used to heavy work he could hardly have got through with
it. As it was, however, the only effect it had on him was to harden and
develop his muscles and increase a naturally healthy appetite.
It was that appetite that worried Tom more than anything those days.
The second week in Amesville he conceived the idea of keeping account
of his expenditures, and the result was disheartening. The best he
could do was sixty-five cents a day, and that came to nearly four
dollars a week. Add to that his fare to and from Derry and the total
reached to almost five dollars a week! Tom’s heart sank. At such a rate
the money he had saved would be gone some time in February! For several
days after that he nearly starved himself trying to economise and got
so thin and peaked-looking that even Mr. Cummings noticed it.
It was Mrs. Cleary who finally solved his problem after a fashion.
There was a friend of hers, she informed him one evening, a Mrs. Burns
and a fine lady entirely, who had started to take table boarders in
the next street. Mrs. Cleary thought maybe Tom would like to test
Mrs. Burns’s hospitality. Tom went around there the next morning and
arranged for breakfasts and suppers. In view of the fact that he would
be away on Sundays, Mrs. Burns bargained to take him for two dollars
and a half a week. As his lunches at school seldom cost him more than
fifteen cents--and sometimes only ten--he stood to save at least fifty
cents weekly by this arrangement. And Mrs. Burns set a very good table,
as it proved. There were no dainties, but whatever she put before
her boarders was substantial and well-cooked. Her guests were mostly
workers around the railroad, men with big, honest appetites and table
manners that at first shocked Tom a good deal. After he got to know
several of the men rather well, he was quite willing to forgive them
their lack of niceties.
Every Saturday evening Tom returned to Derry. Usually either Uncle
Israel or John Green drove to the station and met him. Then there was
a supper that more than made up for any lack during the week. Aunt
Patty made a special occasion of that weekly home-coming and cooked the
things Tom best liked. Uncle Israel always greeted him as if they had
parted at dinner time, but during the evening he always had to hear
what had happened during the week.
However, if Uncle Israel’s welcome seemed lacking in warmth, there
was no fault to be found with Star’s, unless it was the fault of
over-enthusiasm. Poor Star was having lonely times those days. John
Green, himself a rather lonely, taciturn man, confided to Tom on his
second visit home that it just made his heart ache to see how that
there Star dog moped aroun’! Well, those end-of-the-week visits to
the farm were pretty fine, and during the first month at least saved
Tom from many a fit of discouragement and homesickness. After a month
they became less imperative, for by that time he had made friends
and, although he had but little time in which to cultivate them, the
knowledge of them helped a good deal. He was rather surprised, in
fact, to discover how many persons he knew in Amesville by the time
October had reached its end. There was Joe Gillig, of course, who, in
consideration of the disparity in the ages of the two boys, was quite
chummy with Tom and had twice taken him to supper at the little cottage
in Stuart’s Addition, where Joe lived with an invalid mother and an
unmarried sister some five years his senior. They were very nice folks,
Tom thought, and the only thing that marred the occasions of his
visits was the overbearing and almost rude attitude of Joe toward the
women. Tom, though, understood dimly that Joe really intended neither
discourtesy nor unkindness; that having been the head of the little
establishment for ten years or so was responsible for the rather harsh
authority he assumed. And then, too, both Mrs. Gillig and Mary did
their utmost to spoil Joe, accepting his dictates with meek admiration.
And then there was Mrs. Cleary, his landlady, who mothered him in her
good-hearted Irish way, and Dan, her husband, a big, raw-boned man with
a voice like a fog-horn and a laugh like a young tornado. Frequently
when Tom came home after supper he stopped downstairs and visited for
a little while with the Clearys. The eldest son, who drove a delivery
wagon for Miller and Tappen, was seldom there, but he made friends with
the other children and listened to Dan Cleary’s stories of happenings
in the railroad yard and roundhouse. It was a little bit like home, and
when he went on upstairs to his own tiny room he felt less lonesome.
Then, too, he made the acquaintance of two or three of the boarders
at Mrs. Burns’s--rough, hard-working men with unlovely ways and kind
hearts. It was about this time that Tom made a discovery that helped
him a good deal in later years, which was that folks are very much
alike under the skin whether they ride in carriages or drive spikes
into railway ties.
At school Tom knew a dozen boys well enough to speak to, but the fact
that he had no time to join them in their after-school or holiday
pursuits and pleasures kept him from forming any close friendships.
When the others hurried away to the athletic field to play football or
watch it, Tom plodded across to Cummings and Wright’s. But he followed
closely and patriotically the fortunes of the Amesville High eleven,
listened avidly to the chat of the fellows at school, and read the
accounts of the contests with rival teams in the morning paper. Never
having seen a football game, Tom would have liked mighty well to go
out and look on some afternoon, but the only glimpse of football he
got was one day when he was despatched by street car to deliver a
forgotten tool to Steve Connors, who was doing a job of plumbing in a
house on the north of town. The trolley car left him two blocks from
his destination, and when he saw a crowd of boys in an open field and
heard the shouting he correctly surmised that he had happened on the
athletic field and the high school team in action. He delivered the
tool to Connors and then, on his way back, joined the throng of boys
and girls on the side lines and watched interestedly for as long as his
conscience would let him. After ten minutes he tore himself reluctantly
away, very much wishing himself a gentleman of leisure!
And yet he did make a friend finally, and it happened in this way.
After Tom had been with Cummings and Wright a month or so, he was
permitted to wait on customers occasionally when the others were busy.
Joe had initiated him into the mysteries of the cost marks and he
had eventually got so that he could translate the puzzling letters
that adorned every article into numerals and knew at a glance that,
for instance “F O Z” meant that the article had cost $1.37 and that
the following “G L Y” intimated that it was to be sold for $1.75. As
time passed Tom became more and more a member of the selling force
and speedily reached a degree of efficiency that made it no longer
necessary for him to consult Joe Gillig or one of the partners before
disposing of goods. November had passed, Tom had eaten his Thanksgiving
dinner at the farm, the high school football team had finished a not
too glorious season, and now, in the first week of December, a hard
freeze had come and at school the fellows were eagerly talking skating
and hockey. One afternoon, just as it was getting dark in the store,
Joe called to Tom, who was marking a case in the packing room.
“Tom, come up and wait on a customer, will you?” shouted Joe down the
stairway. Mr. Cummings, Mr. Wright, and Joe were all busy when Tom
emerged from the basement, and Joe nodded toward the front of the
store. “See what that lady wants, Tom,” he said. “And as you come by
switch on the lights, will you?”
The lady was standing by a showcase in which Joe had just finished
arranging a display of skates. She was quietly dressed, but Tom knew
that such clothes cost a deal of money. She smiled in a friendly way at
the boy as he leaned inquiringly across the counter, copying Joe’s best
manner, and Tom decided then and there that she must be awfully nice
and jolly. She had laid a big black muff on the case and now she moved
it aside that she might see better what lay beneath. Then she raised
her glance to Tom again as he asked, “Is there something I can show
you, ma’am?”
“I want a pair----” she began. Then her smile deepened and Tom thought
afterward that she had even laughed a tiny bit. At all events, her
subsequent remark was strangely at variance with her start, for, her
eyes twinkling, she asked amazingly, “Does your hair still bother you?”
“Ma’am!” ejaculated Tom, thinking he must have misunderstood.
This time she really did laugh--a short, rippling little murmur of a
laugh--as she answered: “I asked if your hair still bothered you. But
it was rather an impertinent question, perhaps, so I won’t demand an
answer.” She ended demurely, apologetically, and seemed waiting for Tom
to say something. He had an uncomfortable but not altogether unpleasant
sensation of being made fun of.
“I--I guess I don’t just understand you,” he stammered.
“Never mind,” she replied sweetly. “It’s of no consequence. I want to
get a pair of skates, please. For a boy,” she added.
“Yes’m. All-clamp?”
“Goodness, are there different kinds?” she asked in a pretty dismay.
“Yes’m, we have four or five kinds and they sell all the way from
seventy-five cents to six dollars. I guess, though, you want a pair of
half-clamp at about three dollars. Like these.” Tom opened the case
and laid a pair of skates on the counter alongside. The lady looked at
them doubtfully, held one up, and then thoughtfully ran it along the
counter, shaking her head.
“I think I’ll have to leave it to you,” she said, “for I know very
little about skates, especially boys’ skates. You see, I want them for
my boy. They were to be a Christmas present, but he’s been ill at home
for two weeks now and the doctor has promised him he can get out of
the house in a few days and he’s very eager to go skating. Of course
he can’t, just right away, because he hurt his shoulder rather badly
playing football and I suppose skating wouldn’t be good for it. But it
seemed too bad to make him wait nearly a month for skates when the
skating has already begun. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes’m,” said Tom heartily.
“That’s what I thought. So his father and I decided he should have the
skates now. I dare say there’ll be plenty of other things he will want
by Christmas,” she added smilingly. “Oh, I almost forgot. He wanted
hockey skates. Are these hockey skates?”
“No’m; at least, they ain’t--aren’t called hockey skates. We have
regular hockey skates here; two kinds. They cost more, though. These
are five dollars and a quarter and these are six.”
“But they’re quite different, aren’t they?” she said perplexedly.
“Yes’m. These they call tubular.”
“Which are the best?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. I never played hockey.”
“Really? Don’t you skate, either?”
“Yes’m, but I don’t have much time. I go to school from half-past eight
to three and other times I work here.”
“High school, do you mean?”
“Yes’m.”
“Then perhaps you know my boy?” she said eagerly.
“No’m, I know him by sight, that’s all. It was too bad his getting hurt
in that game.”
“Wasn’t it? You see, it kept him out of the big game and he was quite
heart-broken about it. Of course his father and I aren’t very happy
when he’s playing, but Mr. Morris insists that it’s a fine thing for
him, and Sidney himself loves it.”
“I--I hope he’s getting on all right, ma’am,” said Tom.
“Oh, yes, thank you, he’s doing very well. I wish you knew him. He’s
rather a nice boy----”
“Yes’m, he’s awfully popular at school.”
“And,” continued Mrs. Morris smilingly, “you seem a very nice boy, too.
I think you ought to know each other.”
Tom blushed a little. “Yes’m; I mean thank you,” he murmured.
Mrs. Morris laughed softly again. Tom liked that laugh of hers
immensely, it was so sort of happy and kind and friendly. “Well,” she
said, “we haven’t decided about the skates, have we? Perhaps the best
thing to do is to have you send both pairs around and let Sidney take
his choice. Could you send them this evening?”
“I--I’m afraid not,” answered Tom, glancing at the clock and knowing
that the last delivery had left the store a half-hour ago.
Mrs. Morris’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I did want him to have them
to-night. He’s been so--so unhappy and grumpy to-day, you see. But
perhaps I could take them myself if you did them up.”
“They’d be pretty heavy,” demurred Tom. “If--if you’ll let me, I’ll
bring them myself after I get through.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of troubling you! We live quite a distance. I
dare say to-morrow will do just as well.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing it a bit,” said Tom eagerly. “I--I’d be glad to!”
“Really? That’s very kind of you. If you’re quite certain it won’t be
too much trouble, I’d love to have you. Besides, I want you to know my
boy, and it will do him good to have someone of his own sort to talk to
for a little while.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of going in!” declared Tom in a mild panic.
“But you really must! I want you to. It’s a part of the bargain.” She
smiled, and Tom knew right there and then that if Mrs. Morris wanted
the moon she had only to smile at him to set him off after it! “You
won’t fail to come, will you? Sidney would be so disappointed if you
should. And Sidney’s mother, too,” she added as she took up her muff
and nodded charmingly. Then, pausing on her way to the door, she turned
a very serious face toward Tom. He was not near enough to see the
mischievous mockery in her brown eyes. “If you don’t come,” she said,
“I shall know that it’s your troublesome hair!”
“Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?” demanded Tom of no one in
particular, unless it was Alexander the Greater, who was approaching
over the tops of the showcases. Alexander the Greater was a very large,
very dignified, and very lazy maltese cat. His predecessor had been
named Alexander the Great and so, of course, his name could only be
Alexander the Greater. Tom absently dug his fingers in the cat’s thick
ruff and repeated the question, “Now, _what_ do you suppose she meant
by that?” He passed an inquiring hand over his hair and then, in spite
of the fact that a customer had just entered and was looking vaguely
around, he hurried to the stairway, bolted down it, switched on the
light over the wash-bowl, and looked anxiously at his reflection in the
cracked mirror. Except that a stray lock stood up independently on his
crown, he could not see that his hair was different from usual or, for
that matter, different from any other fellow’s hair--except in colour.
He had never been particularly pleased with the colour of his hair.
There was too much red in it. Perhaps that was it; perhaps Mrs. Morris
had been poking sly fun at the colour of his hair. And yet---- He shook
his head as he hurried back upstairs to do up the two pairs of skates.
It didn’t seem as though that was just it.