"But that's a queer pledge, Jim."
"I don't care if it is. I'll keep it."
"It's just no pledge at all."
"You're an old goose! Now give me a hammer and four nails."
"What do you want with a hammer and four nails?"
"I want to nail my pledge up over the mantelpiece."
"But it will get smoky."
"So will your aunty. Give me the hammer and nails."
Jim's wife brought them as desired, and he nailed his pledge up over
the mantelpiece, and then read it off with a proud, resolute air.
"I can keep that pledge, Sally, my old girl! And what's more, I will
keep it, too!" he said, slapping his wife upon the shoulder. "And
now for some breakfast in double quick time, for I must be at
Jones's early this morning."
Mrs. Braddock's heart was very glad, for she had more faith in this
pledge than she had ever felt in any of his promises. There was
something of confirmation in the act of signing his name, that
strengthened her hopes. It was not long before she had a good warm
breakfast on the table, of which her husband eat with a better
appetite than usual, and then, after reading his pledge over, Jim
started off.
As before, he had to go past Harry Arnold's, and early as it was,
there were already two or three of his cronies there for their
morning dram. He saw them about the door while yet at a distance,
but neither the grog-shop nor his old companions had now any
attraction for him. He was conscious of standing on a plain that
lifted him above their influence. As he drew near, they observed
him, and awaited his approach with pleasure, for his fine flow of
spirits made his company always desirable. But as he showed no
inclination to stop, he was hailed, just as he was passing, with,
"Hallo, Jim! Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"Off to my work like an honest, sober man," Jim replied, pausing to
return his answer. "I've taken the pledge, my hearties, and what's
more, I'm going to keep it. It's all down in black and white, and my
name's to it in the bargain,--so there's an end of the matter, you
see! Good bye, boys!--I'm sorry to leave you,--but you must go my
way if you want my company. Good bye, Harry! You've got the old
whiskey-barrel, and that's the last you'll ever get of mine. I never
had any good luck while it was in my house, and I am most heartily
glad it's out, and in your whiskey-shop, where I hope it will stay.
Good bye, old cronies!"
And so saying, Jim turned away, and walked off with a proud, erect
bearing. His old companions raised a feeble shout, but according to
Jim's account, the laugh was so much on the wrong side of their
mouths, that it didn't seem to him anything like a laugh.