UNCLE RUTHERFORD'S PRIZE.
Uncle Rutherford, the most generous, the most benevolent, of men, had,
nevertheless, the most exasperating way of carrying out his kindnesses.
He would suggest or hint at something delightful, and which just met
the views or desires of his hearers, dwell upon it for a time, then,
after leading one to the very height of expectation, would apparently
put the matter entirely from his thoughts, and for days, weeks, or
months, nothing further would be heard of it.
To urge its fulfilment, or to endeavor to discover what his intentions
might be, was never productive of any good; on the contrary, his
intimates believed that this still further deferred the wished-for
result. Even aunt Emily, his much beloved and trusted wife, had learned
to possess her soul in patience, when he was supposed to be revolving
any thing of this nature in his mind.
The question of Jim's future had never been alluded to by him since
that day last September, when it had been discussed at our seaside-home;
and now it was nearly Christmas, and Milly was on tenter-hooks to know
if there was any thing favorable in store for her _protégé_. She knew
better, as I have said, than to hurry matters, or to ask any questions.
That uncle Rutherford had not forgotten it, however, was evident from
the way in which he watched, and apparently studied, the boy's ways and
character; Jim all the while quite unconscious of such scrutiny.
"Milly," he said, on the evening of the day following that of the
episode of the "Morning Bugle,"--"Milly, I see that boy Jim has a
temper which needs some curbing."
Now, "a temper" was uncle Rutherford's _bête noir_, albeit his own was
not of the most placid type, and that it was liable to be roused to
what he called "just indignation," on that which to others appeared
small provocation. The flash was always momentary, but it was severe
while it lasted; and it had ever been a cross and a stumbling-block to
him, spite of the polite name by which he called its manifestations. It
was probably the recollection of the trouble it had brought to him, and
of the struggles which even now it cost him, an elderly man, which made
him so intolerant of its existence in others, especially the young. It
is not necessary for the reader to quote the oft-repeated proverb about
dwellers in glass houses, for uncle Rutherford was perfectly conscious
of the exceeding fragility of his own panes; and his only wish was to
warn and help those who were cursed with a fiery, impetuous spirit like
his own.
That Jim was a victim to this, no one could deny, and Milly did not
attempt to dispute it now; she merely assented meekly, and acknowledged
that Thomas and Bill were constantly rescuing him from street-fights,
and other escapades of that nature. And there were times when, in some
of his rages with his fellow-servants, the raised tones of his furious
voice had penetrated to the upper regions, and called for interference
from the higher powers; but these occasions were becoming more and more
rare. His devotion and loyalty to Milly and the other members of the
family who had befriended him were not infrequently the occasion of
these outbursts; for, at the smallest real or fancied injury or slight
to any one among us, he was up in arms, and his tongue and his fists
were only too ready to avenge us. He was very impatient, too, of any
allusion by others to his own origin, or to the state of degradation
from which Milly had rescued him and Bill, although he would discuss it
more or less freely with her, and with his boon companion and chum.
"What has Jim been doing now, uncle?" asked Milly; her hopes for the
advancement of the boy through uncle Rutherford's means falling, as she
wondered if he were noticing only to find out the flaws in a by no
means faultless character.
"Just that; been in a street-fight, or what would have proved a
street-fight, if I had not come upon the scene just in time to call him
to his senses, and to order him into the house instanter," said our
uncle; "and, from what I could learn, he attacked a boy much larger
than himself, on very small provocation,--merely, that the boy disputed
his claim to the name of Livingstone, by which it appears he chooses to
dub himself."
"He does not know his own name," said Milly, apologetically.
"That is no reason that he should call himself by yours," rejoined
uncle Rutherford.
"It is something of the old feeling of feudal times, or that which used
to make our Southern slaves adopt the surnames of their masters, I
think," said Edward. "Jim thinks that 'them as belongs to Livingstones
ought to be called Livingstone.'"
"Captain Yorke proposed to him to take his," said I, "but Jim declined,
on the ground that Yorke was not so nice a name as Livingstone for the
'President of these States.' He has it in his heart, too, to confer
honor upon our family name by the reflected glories of the position to
which he aspires."
"The boy's spirit of gratitude and appreciation, at least, are worthy
of all credit," said aunt Emily.
"And, whatever he may owe to Milly and the family, he has already
repaid the debt with interest," said mother; her thoughts, doubtless,
recurring to Jim's heroic rescue of the youngling of her flock--her
baby Daisy--from a frightful death; to say nothing of his sturdy
fidelity to the welfare of our household and property under
circumstances of great temptation and fear during the last summer.
"I had thought," said uncle Rutherford, slowly, and Milly's face
lighted up; was it coming at last? "I had thought, if you judged well
of it," turning to mother, "of having him go to the public
grammar-school for this year, and there to test his capabilities, not
only in the way of learning, but even more in his power and desire to
control this temper of his. If he gives satisfaction, and proves
himself worthy of it, let him continue at school until he is fitted for
it, when I will give him a scholarship which I own in the School of
Mines. At present it is filled, but will fall vacant about the time
that Jim will be ready to take it. There is another boy on whom I have
my eye, who has the same bent for a calling that Jim has, and whom I
wish to befriend and help; but he, too, has faults which I hope to see
him correct,--faults in some respects more serious than Jim's,--and the
prize will lie between these two. Whoever proves himself most worthy
and capable, the most steady, reliable, and best master of himself,
shall take the scholarship. But, if Jim goes regularly to school, he
will, of course, have to resign, in a great measure, his duties as a
household servant. Are you willing to have him do this? For I do not
wish or intend to inconvenience you. What is your opinion of the whole
matter?"
"Ask Milly," said mother, "she is the arbitress of his fate."
And uncle Rutherford looked to that young damsel.
"What say you, Milly?"
There was little need of words. Milly's sparkling eyes and flushed
cheeks spoke for her. This was so much beyond any thing she had hoped
for on behalf of the boy, that at first it seemed to her almost too
good to be true. And, yet, there were lions in the way. And, after a
moment's consideration, she answered, somewhat hesitatingly,--
"I hardly know what to say, sir."
We all looked in astonishment. Most of the family thought that Milly's
hopes and ideas for the future of her _protégés_ were rather quixotic
and unreasonable, aiming at taking them out of their proper sphere. But
here her clear judgment and good sense saw some objections to uncle
Rutherford's plan.
"You are very kind, more than kind, uncle," she continued. "Such an
offer is, indeed, a 'chance' for Jim such as I had never dreamed of,
and there could be no question between this, and his training as a
household servant; but I fear for the effect of the emulation upon him.
If he is to gain this prize by outstripping or defeating another, the
spirit of victory for victory's sake will take possession of him, and
he will make every thing give way to it."
"Then he will not prove himself worthy of the prize," said uncle
Rutherford, who had a fancy for inciting young people to efforts of
this nature, and who was always holding out some prize to be striven
for.
"I don't know," said Milly, a little wistfully; "he is so impulsive, so
eager, so almost passionate, in the pursuit of any object on which he
has set his mind, that I am afraid too much of the spirit of rivalry
will enter into his efforts to win this."
"And," put in Norman, "he will be so cock-a-hoop if he is set to study
for a scholarship, that there will be no bearing him, and----"
But Norman was brought to an abrupt silence, by a quick reprimand from
father; while uncle Rutherford took no notice of the interruption, but
continued to urge upon Milly the acceptance of his project. It
undoubtedly presented so many advantages for Jim, that these finally
outweighed her scruples, and she agreed thereto with earnest thanks.
"Who is the other fellow, uncle?" asked Norman the irrepressible, "any
one whom we know?"
"Yorke's eldest grandson," said uncle Rutherford.
"That sneak!" ejaculated Norman.
"So that is your opinion of him," said uncle, turning towards Norman.
"Well, I have not myself much confidence in the boy. There is something
about him which I do not like; he is not frank and outspoken. He is a
bright lad, however, ambitious, and disposed to make the most of any
opportunities which fall in his way; and, for old Yorke's sake, I would
like to help him. Yorke pinched and saved and denied himself, to give
that boy's father an education, and illy he was repaid by the graceless
scoundrel, who dissipated his father's hard-earned savings, and half
broke his heart, and that of his poor mother. The captain is building
on this boy's future, now; and, if he does not show himself fit for a
college course, he may, at least, when he has had sufficient schooling,
be taught a trade, and share the burden of the family support. We shall
see which will win the prize, Jim or Theodore."
Douglas began to laugh in his quiet way, but Norman spoke out again.
"Won't there be jolly rows, when those two come to be pitted against
one another," he said. "Either one will do his best to keep the other
from winning it, even if he don't care for it himself."
There was too much reason to believe that Norman's prophecy would prove
true. From the time that Theodore Yorke had appeared at his
grandfather's, a pronounced state of antagonism had declared itself
between the two boys; and this had continued up to the time of our
leaving the Point. Jim, who was a great favorite with the old captain
and his wife, seemed to look upon Theodore as an interloper, and
trespasser upon his preserves; and the latter at once resented the
familiar footing on which he found Jim established in his grandfather's
house, although he himself had never been there before, and had
hitherto been a stranger to all of his father's family.
It had required the exercise of the strictest authority to maintain any
thing like a semblance of peace during the remainder of our stay at the
seaside; and there were occasional outbreaks, which tended to any thing
but comfort to Captain Yorke's household. Our house and grounds were
forbidden to Theodore Yorke, in consequence of this feud; but Jim's
duties called him, at times, to the home of the old sailor, whence he
was accustomed to bring the daily supply of milk for the consumption of
the family, and where he had been wont to linger as long as he dared
when sent on this errand. More than once had he returned with a black
eye, cut lip, or other adornment of a warlike nature; and several
milk-pails had been degraded from things of usefulness, by reason of
being used as weapons of offence and defence.
And, although he knew all this, here was uncle Rutherford actually
setting up these two already belligerent lads as rivals in the race for
learning and character, with such a prize in the future to the winner.
His object would defeat itself. Was it to be supposed that tempers
would be controlled, that any little tendency to take advantage of an
enemy would be smothered, under these circumstances?
"Dear uncle," said Milly, whose face had fallen when she heard who was
to be the rival candidate, "Jim is my charge; and you will not think me
ungracious, if I say that I cannot consent to let him enter the lists
against Theodore Yorke. I know only too well that it would arouse all
his bad passions. As I said before, rivalry in any case would not be
best for him, but, against Theodore, it would be simply ruinous; and I
would rather see him remain under Thomas's tuition, learning to be a
thorough and efficient servant, and to control his temper because right
is right, than to have him take the first honors in any college in the
world, if these are to be purchased by the fostering of an envy and
jealousy which I am sure would be the result of your plan."
"Saint Millicent is right, as usual, when her brands snatched from the
burning are concerned," said father, putting his arm over her shoulder.
"I quite agree with her, Rutherford. We shall always see that both
those boys, Jim and Bill, are well provided for; and neither of them
shall lack for such an amount of education as may fit him to make his
way in some respectable calling. To Jim we owe a debt which far
outbalances the benefit he has received at our hands." And papa's eye
turned, with lingering tenderness, to the far corner of the room, where
Allie and Daisy, unconscious of the weighty matters which were being
discussed among their elders, were absorbed in happy play with dolls
and dog. "When he is old enough and steady enough, we will set him up
in some line of business which he may choose--eh, Milly?--that is, if
he shows any aptitude for a mercantile life; and he may work his way
thence to the Chief Magistracy, if he find the path which he imagines
lies open to him. As for Bill, he runs Wall Street, you know; and his
voice, and talent for music, would make _his_ way in the world. There
is something that must be cultivated."
"Do you mean, Millicent, that you are actually going to refuse my offer
for Jim?" said uncle Rutherford, in a tone of deep displeasure; for he
did not like to be circumvented when he had set his mind upon a thing,
especially if it chanced to be one of his philanthropic schemes. And
that same quick temper, which he had found his own bane, showed itself
now, in the flush which mounted to his brow, and the sudden flash which
shot from his eyes. "Then, my dear, all I have to say is----"
_That_ was all he had to say; and Milly escaped something which would
have hurt her feelings, and which uncle Rutherford himself would have
regretted when another moment should have passed, for aunt Emily laid
her hand upon his arm, half-whispering, as a noted imperial wife was
once wont to do to her impetuous and fiery lord, "Nicholas, Nicholas!"
and with a like, calming effect, for further words were arrested on his
lips.
There was a little awkward silence for a moment; then, as if by a
sudden inspiration, uncle Rutherford said pleasantly,--
"How absurd we all are! What need for either boy to know that he is a
rival to the other? Put the reward before each one, and tell him that
the winning of it depends upon himself, and then we shall see."
So, then, was it settled, to the satisfaction of all; uncle Rutherford,
it is true, a little disappointed that the stimulus of emulation was
not to enter into the contest; and the discussion was here brought to a
close by the appearance of Bill with a box of flowers "for Miss Amy."
But there was a factor in the case, upon which we had not counted.
In the privacy of their room over the stable, Bill and Jim held
converse that night; and this was the substance of their communing,
divested of unnecessary adornments of speech, with which those young
gentlemen were wont to garnish their conversation when removed from the
restraints of polite society.
"There's a big thing up for you, Jim," said Bill. "You'll hear of it
yourself soon, I guess, from Miss Milly or Mr. Rutherford; but I got
first word of it."
"What is it?" asked Jim.
"You're goin' to school; you and Theodore Yorke," said Bill.
"I ain't goin' to no school with Theodore Yorke," interrupted Jim.
"There ain't no school would hold me an' him."
"Yes, you are, if you know what's good for yourself," said Bill; "and
there's some kind of a big prize for whichever comes out best man."
"Then I'll go, if Miss Milly lets me; an' beat him, too, if it was just
for the sake of beatin'," said Jim, verifying the prophecy of his young
mistress. "But how do you know so much, an' what do you mean, Bill?"
"I didn't hear all they was sayin', and I s'pose I wasn't meant to hear
none of it," answered Bill. "It was all the fam'ly folks, 'cept the
children, was talkin'. Mr. Brady sent me to open the front-door when
the bell rang, and it was some flowers for Miss Amy; and, when I went
to the door with 'em, they was all talkin' so busy they didn't hear me
knock. I couldn't make out just what it all was; but you're to get
schoolin', you and Theodore, and whichever does the best is to get more
schoolin', and some prize at the end when the schoolin's done; but Miss
Milly, she didn't want you nor him to know you was fightin' for it,
'cause she didn't think 'twould be good for _you_. She thought you'd be
too set on it, maybe, just to spite Theodore. She knows him and you,
you see."
"Yes, she might ha' knowed I wouldn't let _him_ get the best of me,"
said Jim, viciously. "And you say I wasn't to be let know I was set on
to beat him."
"No, them was Miss Milly's orders; and I take it Mr. Rutherford didn't
like it too much," answered Bill. "He wanted you to know, and be set on
yer mettle. But Miss Milly, she's boss of _us_, you know, and she got
her own way. So, as I say, they ain't goin' to tell you nothin' about
Theodore."
"Then, maybe you oughtn't to ha' told me," said Jim, musingly. "I don't
believe you ought."
"I don't see the harm," said Bill. "I wasn't told not to tell; they
didn't know I heard."
"All the same," said Jim, "you oughtn't to ha' told, when Miss Milly
didn't want me to know. I am glad I do know, so as I can set out to
beat Theodore; and, Bill, this is goin' to give me a first-rate chance.
You see if I don't get to be President, now. An', when I do, you'll see
what'll be done to Theodore Yorke."
"What?" asked Bill.
"I don' know, I've got to think," answered Jim; "but jus' you wait till
I get to be top man of these States. Won't Theodore get it!"
"Miss Milly didn't want you to know, 'cause she thought you'd be so set
against him, and she thought you was bad enough that way a'ready," said
Bill.
"I feel kinder sneaky to know it when she didn't want me to," said Jim.
"I guess, after all, I'm sorry you tole me, Bill; you hadn't a right
to, I guess. You come by it yourself kinder listenin'."
Here the question of conscience and honor was broken in upon by the
coachman, who slept in an adjoining room, and who bade the boys cease
their chattering, as they disturbed him.
Uncle Rutherford had left to Milly the telling of his plans for Jim's
future; and the following morning she called the boy to her, and set
them forth before him.
He was to go to school this winter, beginning as soon as the Christmas
holidays were over. With many earnest warnings, she pressed upon him
the necessity for self-control, as well as attention to his studies;
telling him of the prize to be won if his course should prove
satisfactory to Mr. Rutherford, but making no mention, of course, of
the other candidate. He promised over and over again, that he would do
his very best to prove a credit to her, and to make her "awful proud"
of him in the future, and that she should have no cause for complaint,
either with his temper, or his lack of diligence.
That he was enchanted with the opportunity thus offered to him, there
could be no doubt, but he did not appear as much surprised as Milly
imagined that he would be; and there was something in his manner,
which, at the time, struck Milly as rather strange,--a something
repressed, as it were, but excited; and, all the while, there was a
gleam of mischief in his eye. In the light of later developments, the
cause of this was made plain; but now it was a mystery.
"And now, Jim," continued his young mistress, when she had told him of
all that lay within his grasp, and had added a gentle and persuasive
modicum of moral suasion,--"now that you are going out into the world
to make a way, it may be a name, for yourself, you must choose what
that name shall be. You remember," soothingly, for this was a sore
point with the boy,--"you remember that we know you only as Jim."
"It's Livin'stone, Jim--no, I mean James Rutherford Livin'stone," said
the boy, decidedly. "I'm goin' to put in the Rutherford on account of
Mr. Rutherford bein' so good to me, Miss Milly; an' won't you an' him
be set up when you see Rutherford Livin'stone names onto a President of
these States? I ain't never goin' to disgrace them names, that I
ain't."
But Milly, mindful of the prejudices of her relatives, and of the
objections which she foresaw from both sides of the family, found it
needful to decline the compliment. In order to avoid hurting the boy's
pride, however, she went about it most diplomatically.
"Do you not think, Jim," she said, "that it would be a good thing for
you to call yourself by the name of Washington, the first and greatest
of our Presidents?"
"Jim George Washington, Miss Milly?" answered the lad. "Well, that
would sound nice; but, you see, I wanted to put the compliment on
_you_, an' to show what lots of gratitude I've got for you an' your
folks, Miss Milly."
"The best compliment you could pay to me, and to my care for you, Jim,
would be to show yourself in any way worthy of bearing the name of that
great and good man," said Milly, non-plussed how to carry her point,
and still not to wound her charge. "And," she continued, "that name
might always prove a reminder to you of the truth and uprightness, the
bravery and self-control, which distinguished him."
"Miss Milly," Jim broke forth, irrelevantly, it would seem, "you know
Bill gets time for lots of readin' an' studyin' down at the office.
When Mr. Edward don't have any thin' for him to do, an' he might be
just loafin' round, he's doin' his 'rithmetic, or his jography or
spellin', an', if he wants a bit of help, Mr. Edward gives it to him,
if he ain't _too_ busy just then; so Bill, he's comin' on with his
learnin' heaps faster than me; he's gettin' splendid at figgers, an' he
reads the paper, too, on'y Mr. Edward, he don't like him to read the
murders an' the hangin's, and them _very_ interestin' things; but Bill
read the other day in the paper how a man said George Washington had a
big temper, an' could get as mad--as mad as any thin'. But Bill, he
said he'd heard Mr. Edward an' some other gentleman talkin' 'bout how
folks was always tryin' now to be upsettin' of hist'ry; an' Bill says
he reckons that 'bout George Washington was just another upsettin', an'
him an' me ain't goin' to believe it."
"That's right, Jim, keep your faith in Washington, and show that you do
so by adopting his name," said Milly.
Do not let it be thought that Milly slighted the Father of her country,
by thus turning over to him the "compliment" she declined for herself
and her family; for, in the multitude of namesakes who have helped to
perpetuate that illustrious memory, poor Jim could reflect but an
infinitesimal share of credit or discredit.
Jim pondered. The advantages of the world-renowned historic cognomen
were, doubtless, great. But the "compliment" to his friends! could he
defraud them of that?
Suddenly his face lighted; a brilliant idea had struck him. He could
combine both.
"Miss Milly," he said, "I'll tell you. Now, I'll be named James
Rutherford Livin'stone Washin'ton, an' stick to that till I get inter
President polyticks; then I'll put the Livin'stone last, James
Rutherford Washin'ton Livin'stone, so folks'll be sure I belong to you.
Bill says folks can change their names, if they has a mind to, when
they come twenty-one. Bill's learned lots of law down to Wall Street,
Miss Milly; he's up in it, I can tell you."
"Very well, that will be best," said Milly, content to defer to the
doubtful future the risk of having the family names appear in
"President polyticks;" and so it was arranged, and her charge prepared
to face the world as James Washington.