When all was definitely settled between Ned and himself, and the assets
of the firm disposed of, Hal felt, for some days, as if he had been to a
funeral. He wandered around the house disconsolately, and then,
suddenly, a new influence crossed his path which promised tangible and
immediate rewards in other fields of labor. Money prizes were offered to
graduates of the High Schools for the best two essays which should be
written, one on the Colonial Policy towards Quakers; the other on the
Value of Republican Government. The money was not considerable, but the
work looked toward political journalism, perhaps on to a career like
Motley's or Bancroft's. Hal had always been an attentive lounger around
newspaper offices on election nights, and in the Representatives Hall
of the State House when any interesting bill was being debated. This he
considered as proof of his love of history; history was the one study,
too, in which he invariably gained the highest marks at school. These
"indications" greatly encouraged him now. He felt impelled to write the
essays, even if they should be failures, because he was really
interested in the subjects and had often talked with his father about
them both.
The closing day of school soon came. The boys marched, sang, received
their diplomas and then threw up their hats, when free and in the
street. Very early the next morning Hal visited three libraries and took
down the titles of innumerable books and sketched two plans for he
intended, as I have before said, to write two essays, each in different
style thus to increase his chance of success. He selected "Nisus Sum"
and "America," as signatures. He furnished himself with a quart bottle
of ink, a box of pens, two dozens of lead pencils and two reams of
paper, and greatly enjoyed these preliminaries.
Thus equipped, he began with no depressing circumstances, except his
mother's words, that if by the first of September he had not decided
what he should like to do, she should decide for him. He went out of
town, as usual, in the hot weeks; he fished, and climbed hills, and got
lost, as usual; but through it all, he thought and read of the Colonial
Policy, and wondered whether he should have fallen in love with a Quaker
girl, and whether the troubles between England and Ireland arose from a
need of Republican government. In spite of his ramblings, and in spite
of some discouraged moods, some unexamined idea always urged him on, and
the result was that in two months he had prepared rough sketches of his
work, and his parents were, this time, convinced of his earnestness.
Coming home the very evening of the first day of September, the day and
the hour he had dreaded as the last of his liberty, because as he had
not made up his mind, it was to be made up for him, he saw two men
lifting his father out of a carriage. He stopped and looked at them. He
had no power to speak or help. He saw them carry his father up-stairs
and lay him on the bed. Then, at a word from his mother, he went for a
doctor. He never could recall the manner of his errand, but the
physician came; at last some one said to him:
"It is a slight shock of paralysis. If another does not follow, he will
soon get well." This was like saying to him, "If your father does not
die, he'll live."
How long was he to wait for that knowledge! An hour would be a year and
a year would be a century. He helped in all things as he was told to do;
but his fingers were like thumbs and his feet like clubs. He felt a
singular and confusing sense of identity with his father, as though the
paralysis had included him.
By and by, the room grew quiet. He and his mother were left alone; he
would have given anything if he had dared to speak or touch her. Nothing
was near him. Had he ever been a boy? Was there a prize essay? Were
there only three people in the world--his father, his mother and
himself?
Later came his uncle. His mother then called him by name for the first
time in those terrible hours, and bade him bid his father good-night.
As he went mechanically to do so, his father seemed to keep Hal's hand
in his own numb fingers, and to look most imploringly, the mother's hand
on to Harry's. The mother, as the hands met, said, "Hal will take care
of me, dear," and Hal exclaimed, "I will." Then they knew they were
right in their interpretation as the sick face brightened and the
eyelids slowly closed in weariness.
Hal went up-stairs to his own room. The thinking he did that night made
a man of him. He was sure his father would live, but also that his
salary would cease, and that he himself must help to support the family.
"And so help me God, I'll do it," said he, "but I'll win the prizes
too." The growing strength of his purpose soon overcame him and he fell
asleep to dream of Olympic games and wreaths of victory.
When the physician's visit was over the next day, the world did not look
quite so dark. Uncle Joe was to live with them awhile, and the father
was conscious and quiet.
"Good-by, mother," said Hal.
"Good-by," she answered.
The front door closed, and Hal went down town to the office of Newton &
Bryce, old friends of his father's. He walked up to the senior partner,
and said, very like a mechanical toy unwinding:
"My father has had a stroke of paralysis. He can't do anything for
months. I heard you say once that if you could get an office-boy who
could keep accounts you would make it worth while for him to stay with
you. I can."
"Stop, stop," said Mr. Bryce. "I had just heard of your father's illness
and am very sorry. But you talk so fast I don't understand you. What is
it you want? Who sent you?"
"No one. I suppose I did rattle on, but I had been saying over to myself
on the way down what I meant to say to you, like points in an essay."
"Points in an essay! The boy is a daft one."
"I'm all right, sir, or will be, if you take me. How much wages can you
pay?"
The senior partner smiled. "Three dollars a week at first, and more by
and by--is that what you want?"
"I need my evenings, sir," said Hal. "I forgot to mention that."
"You can have them--but why?" As Hal made no reply, Mr. Bryce added
kindly: "Never mind. The boy I have goes to-night. I was to tell him
to-day whether I would take his brother, or make an arrangement with the
janitor. I have no opinion of office-boys I'll confess to you, young
sir. But for your father's sake, I am going to try you. Be here
to-morrow at eight o'clock, put the office in order, get the mail, and
have my table ready for me at half-past eight."
"Much obliged, thank you. For my father's sake, I'll furnish you with an
opinion of office-boys presently," said Hal. He started and got as far
as the door, when he turned back. "I really do thank you," said he.
"That's a new sort of boy, anyway--one consolation," said Mr. Bryce.
"But it will cost something to teach him. Bother the change!"
"Mother," said Hal on reaching home, "I've been and gone and done it. I
am an office-boy at three dollars a week now; more in prospect."
"You blessed child!" she exclaimed; and then she and Hal had a good
old-fashioned cry together which saved much talking, explanation, and
advice.
Hal's work was promptly done the next morning. Mr. Bryce's table was
ready at half-past eight, in ideal order. Yet though he went to the
bank, wrote, and added figures, he still had much idle time on his
hands. Therefore, the following day, when there was really nothing more
for him to do, he felt at liberty to seat himself at a table and begin
to write. Mr. Bryce, noticing him thus occupied, walked leisurely by and
beheld out of the corner of his eye two rolls of manuscript; but if the
boy could be silent, so could his master.
Still the master's curiosity was excited. This "new kind of office-boy"
piqued his interest. "I'll call him off, and see how he'll take it,"
reasoned Mr. Bryce; and he whistled. Hal came at once, alert, attentive,
and did the errands assigned. Mr. Bryce could not detect any sign of a
preoccupied mind.
Thus passed the week. Hal bore home his first earnings, Saturday night,
and laid the bills on his father's bed with a deeper and more
pleasurable feeling of having done something worth doing than he had
ever felt or dreamt of before. Yet if any one had spoken a word of
appreciation to him, he could not have borne it.
That first week was the type of weeks to come. His office-work was not
heavy, though he was more and more trusted. At times he had to bite his
lips, as his brain came to a sudden stop in its work when the whistle
sounded for him in the midst of his own personal copying or reading. But
as the evenings grew longer and his father better, he had more time at
home to work on his essays. He had however, decided to give up trying
for two prizes, and he also had become very doubtful about the certainty
of receiving even one; as his ideal of an essay grew and perfected
itself, and as he realized how much hard work was required in both
reading and reflection and even in any truly logical arrangement of his
ideas. He had made several rough drafts of his essay. He had wholly
rewritten it twice. But the hard work of form, development and finish
remained. Still when he considered his previous failures as carpenter
and as chemist, he was determined to be patient with himself and try his
utmost with this plan. In this painstaking mood the essay was completed.
He sent it in on the last hour of the last day assigned.