TEDDY’S DARKEST HOUR
Once outside the office Harry’s thoughts were again directed toward
leaving the store. Nothing would ever be the same again between himself
and Mr. Rexford. The old friendly relations were now broken forever.
Mr. Rexford had defended him, and he had repaid the buyer’s kindness by
refusing to reveal the identity of the author of the mischief. Yet he
had not found it within his heart to betray Teddy. Had he done so, Mr.
Rexford might have decided to take the matter higher. That would have
meant dismissal from the store for Teddy. Harry could not bear to think
of it.
But should he leave the store under a cloud? He knew himself to be
guiltless of any wrong doing. To leave Martin Brothers now would appear
as a direct admission not only of guilt but of failure. Resolutely
Harry put that thought away from him, also. He would stay. Some day
the clouds might lift. Some day Mr. Rexford might understand. There
was also the question of Teddy to be considered. Were he to acquaint
the impish little boy with the havoc he had created, Teddy would rush
to Mr. Rexford and confess his sins. He was too much of a man to allow
Harry to bear the brunt of his iniquities. That would probably mean
Teddy’s dismissal, too. Harry resolved that he would bear his cross in
silence.
If Harry had entertained any doubt of Teddy’s innocence, it would have
been rudely dispelled by a question which the latter asked at luncheon
that day.
“Say,” he blurted, fixing his round, child-like eyes on Harry. “What’s
a deebuttanty?”
Harry did not fall into the trap. He divined instantly that Teddy
was burning to know the result of his prank. Assuming an elaborate
carelessness he was far from feeling, Harry replied, “I guess you mean
débutante.” He spelled the word.
“Yes, that’s it. Is it Rooshun?”
“No; it is a French word. It means a young lady who is just coming out
in society. What made you ask?”
“Oh, I just wanted to know.” Teddy’s face fell. He wondered if
his splendid effort had amounted to nothing. “Very likely the old
Clothes-pole saw it and took it away ’fore anyone else got a look at
it,” was his disappointed reflection. He was on the point of telling
Harry what he had done. Then he changed his mind. It might not strike
Harry as a particularly clever trick. Nevertheless, as he returned to
house furnishings that afternoon he felt rather pleased with himself.
At least he had done his best to get the obnoxious Clothes-pole into
trouble. It was not his fault that Leon had thus escaped. Had he known
the true state of affairs he would have been a most distressed and
repentant Teddy.
As Christmas drew nearer, however, Teddy was privately worried over the
peculiar change in Harry. He seemed sad and dejected. On the way home
after work he said little, allowing Teddy to do most of the talking.
The merry, boyish laugh with which he usually responded to his chum’s
funny sallies had quite deserted him. He had also ceased to confide the
annoyances he daily underwent at Leon’s hands. Teddy became possessed
of the idea that Harry’s subdued demeanor was entirely due to fresh
persecution. He longed more than ever to worst Harry’s enemy by holding
him up to the whole store in his true colors. Since the affair of the
picture he had not dared to more than skirt the book department. It was
now overrunning with salespersons hired for the grand Christmas rush.
Whatever he might find to do to add to Leon’s discomfiture was certain
to be observed.
Night school was also an unsafe place for his operations. Unsafe in
that Teddy did not choose there to court risks. His semi-weekly drill
was the pride of his heart. While at it he had no inclination for
mischief. Although Leon was in company D, to which Teddy belonged,
the little boy kept his distance. Love of drill and school were too
strong to admit of trifling. To Teddy they were as things apart from
his usual prankish self. Occasionally while at his studies he would
forget himself far enough to make a derisive face at the ungainly
figure lounging at a desk on the opposite side of the room. He would
then concoct elaborate methods of “getting even,” only to let them die
a quick death as he made a fresh attack on his lessons.
On the last evening of school, preparatory to its close until after
the holidays, Teddy left the dairy lunch for the fifth-floor barracks,
feeling unutterably lonely. Due to an overwhelming amount of night work
to be done in Department 84, Harry had been excused from school. He had
eaten supper with Teddy, then hurried back to work, leaving his chum to
make his disconsolate way upstairs to drill.
In this dark mood Teddy scornfully eschewed taking one of the few
elevators now running and clumped dejectedly up the long flight of
stairs, pausing at each landing for a brief rest. Rounding the corner
of the third flight he halted to peer aimlessly down the long aisle
that opened into the picture department. Of a sudden his gaze came
to a focus on a tall, ungainly figure, bobbing about the decorative
entrance that was one of the beauty spots of the store. In that bobbing
form Teddy instantly recognized Leon Atkins. Here and there he flitted,
poking at one object, laying irreverent fingers on another. Now he
dipped grotesquely forward to seize what looked like a long, slender,
black stick. Pausing, he juggled the stick, catching it in one hand or
the other, balancing it first on the end of his nose then on the tips
of his long fingers. His eyes becoming riveted on something directly
in front of him, Teddy saw him raise the long, black stick on high and
leap forward as though about to annihilate an enemy.
“What’s the Clothes-pole up to?” wondered Teddy. Soundlessly he stole
along the polished floor toward the cavorting Leon. The entrance to
“pictures” was illuminated by an overhanging arc light turned on for
the benefit of the night workers, most of whom were now at supper. By
its white radiance Teddy was able to discern clearly the object of
Leon’s capering attentions. It was a huge oil painting reposing on a
strongly built easel.
On either side of the entrance to the galleries an imposing bronze
dragon supported from one upraised, gripping paw a gaily-colored
lantern of painted silk. These fantastic beasts were of Chinese origin.
In consequence, they owned many tortuous curves, from which terrifying
spines and points stood out in every direction. Under the lanterns
their savage heads drooped low, with glaring eyes, snarling jaws and an
array of sharp-pointed, bristling whiskers. A little to the right of
one of them stood the easel, its precious freight apparently under the
crouching watch of his formidable dragonship.
Unaware of an audience to his manoeuvers, Leon brandished his weapon
and went through the performance of charge, retreat and charge again.
Curious to discover why the picture should call forth such unusual
action on the part of the sluggard, Teddy took advantage of the other’s
preoccupation to slip softly nearer.
If in the past Dame Fortune had attended Teddy Burke, for once she
basely deserted her small favorite. As Teddy noiselessly advanced,
he had just time to glimpse a remarkably realistic representation
of a battle scene with a regiment in furious attack. Then something
happened. He caught a fleeting vision of a lengthy body plunging
riotously forward. This time Leon charged farther than he had intended.
Unable to check himself he dashed plump into the easel and fell
sprawling under it. The heavy canvas swayed, tottered, poised briefly
in air and descended sidewise like a huge avalanche.
Crash! The major part of the heavily framed painting hit the floor
with a noise not unlike thunder. Simultaneous with the crash came an
ominous ripping sound. The baleful Chinese guardian had added to the
effect by impaling a side of the ill-fated painting on one of his
numerous murderous horns.
Teddy darted forward, uttering a shrill cry of horror. Leon, however,
stood not upon the order of his going. Picking himself up, he tore
off in the direction from which Teddy had come and clattered down the
stairs, craven fear lending wings to his feet.
“Stop!” yelled Teddy. Turning to pursue Leon, he felt himself being
spun about by the momentum of a heavy gripping hand on his shoulder.
“Caught in the act!” roared a fearsome voice. It proceeded from the
owner of the gripping hand, a big man, who glared threateningly down
upon his captive. “Tried to run away, eh? But I got you, you young
vandal!”
Teddy tried to twist himself free of that iron grasp. “Let me go,” he
choked, his black eyes blazing. “I didn’t do it. You’ve got the wrong
boy.”
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” was the sarcastic reply. “Don’t try to put
anything like that over on me. You’re the only boy I’ve seen so far.”
Not for an instant did the cruel hold relax.
Having heard the ominous crash from the interior of the picture
department, two more men now came running to the scene.
“Whew!” ejaculated one of them. Both stared aghast at the wreck.
Stooping over the other grasped the maltreated painting, partially
raising it from the floor. The man who had indulged in the horrified
exclamation now sprang to the assistance of his companion. Between them
they disengaged it from the dragon’s horn and held it upright.
But it was a sorry sight. The spiked bronze protuberance had been
the means of ripping a long gash in the canvas, which cut in two a
particularly fine figure of a soldier.
“This is a positive crime,” burst forth the big man. “The picture’s
ruined. It’s one of the Martin collection, you know. Belongs to Mr.
Edward. It used to hang above the central archway on the third floor.
He had it moved up here over Christmas because he thought it would
look nice at this entrance. I was telling him only yesterday that I
wouldn’t risk a valuable painting like that on an easel. It _was_ worth
five thousand dollars. It’s not worth five now, thanks to this little
ruffian.” He cast a withering glance at poor Teddy.
“I didn’t do it,” shrieked Teddy, his freckled face white with
righteous rage. “I won’t be blamed for something I didn’t do!”
Unknowingly, Teddy had uttered Harry’s very words of a few days past.
“Tell that to the marines,” sneered the big man. “If you didn’t, who
did?”
“It was another fellow. I’m not saying who. He was here before I
got here. He had that in his hand.” Teddy pointed to Leon’s hastily
discarded implement of warfare. It was a woman’s black silk umbrella,
tightly rolled. It lay on the floor precisely where Leon had fallen. “I
was going up to the barracks and when I got to this floor I saw this
fellow waving it around in front of that picture. I wondered what he
was doing, and I came up to see. Just’s I got here, he smashed into
the easel with it and tipped it over. Then he ran down those stairs. I
yelled at him, but he kept on running. That’s the truth. I never went
near the old picture.”
“You’re a pretty foxy kid to cook up a mess of yarns as quick as all
that,” jeered his captor.
“They’re not yarns,” contradicted Teddy. “I don’t tell lies.”
“Oh, keep quiet, you little rat,” growled the big man, giving Teddy an
ungentle shake.
“What do you suppose Mr. Edward’ll say when he hears about it?” said
one of the two men who had run to the scene.
“Search me,” retorted the big man gloomily. “He’s got himself to blame
for putting the picture here. He’ll fire this rowdy, but what’s that
amount to when the damage is done?”
It amounted to a good deal to Teddy Burke. “Won’t you please believe
me?” he pleaded, very near to tears. “I told you the truth. I did, I
did.” His voice rose to a desperate wail.
“Maybe the boy is on the square,” suggested the other of the two men.
He had been somewhat impressed by Teddy’s plea.
“Forget it,” growled the big man. “These boys are all alike. You can’t
believe any of them. They’re always ready for mischief and just as
quick to wriggle out of it. I’m going to take him to Keene. He’s up at
the barracks. These kids all work for him. He’ll read the riot act to
this one and can him. If he don’t, Mr. Martin will. He’ll froth at the
mouth when he sees this.” He jerked his head toward the picture.
Teddy’s dejected face brightened at mention of Mr. Keene. There at
least, was someone who would believe him. “I wish you _would_ take me
to Mr. Keene,” he cried out vehemently. “He’ll see, if you won’t, that
I’m telling the truth.”
“My, what a brave boy!” jibed the big man. “Come on. We’ll see how much
stock Keene’ll take in that fairy tale of yours.”
To the little red-haired boy came the most dreadful moment of his short
life when he was marched into the well-filled drill room ahead of the
determined picture salesman. His Titian head drooped in shame as the
man loudly recounted the misdeed in which he had played no part to the
superintendent of the store messenger force.
Mr. Keene made no comment as the salesman blared forth the wretched
tale. His kind eyes rested gravely upon Teddy, as though he could not
believe what he was hearing.
“Leave this boy to me,” he said, when the man had finished his recital.
“Go over there, Teddy, and sit down. I will talk with you later.”
Burdened with shame, Teddy sought a bench at one side of the room.
He seated himself upon it too crushed even to think. Five minutes
afterward the drill began. Teddy watched it with unseeing eyes. To
him the ranks of uniformed boys were as so many shadows. He did not
even try to ascertain if Leon were among them. But Leon was not there.
He, too, had been excused that evening to help in Department 84. His
presence at the entrance to the picture department had been due to
one of the numerous jaunts about the store which he was prone to take
whenever the fancy seized him.
The next hour seemed a year to poor Teddy. Would the endless tramp of
feet never cease? Those boys must be tired. It was ages since they had
begun to drill. Ah, it was over at last. They had broken ranks and now
were trooping to the smaller side room to put away their equipment.
Mr. Keene would soon be ready for him. The superintendent was looking
toward him. Teddy sat up from the despondent attitude into which he
had fallen. From his usually rougish face every vestige of color had
fled. But one thought lived behind his anguished eyes. Would Mr. Keene
believe him?