PHIL GETS A START.
"JASPER, are the boys here?" and Forbes peered into the shed where they
were so often to be found.
"No; Phil has got a day's work taking round circulars, and I expect
Rob's with him. Anyhow, I haven't seen either of them this morning."
"Well, their father has been knocked down by a runaway horse, and badly
hurt, I'm afraid; anyhow, his leg is broken in two places. We've taken
him to the Infirmary, and I've been round to their room, but it's
locked up, and the folk downstairs don't know where Mrs. Mellor has
gone."
"Broken his leg, eh? That's a long job."
"Yes, three months at least, the doctor said."
"Well, Forbes, 'pon my word I don't know that it's a bad thing; he'll
have to keep from the drink for certain, and then I should think his
wife and boys would have a better chance without him, for what they
pick up he spends."
Forbes shrugged his shoulders. "Humph! I don't know but what you're
right; but there, I think Phil's fond of his father in a way. Rob's
afraid of him, and no wonder, poor little chap. It seems to me you're
his father, Jasper; anyhow, he spends most of his time here, according
to his own accounts."
"Yes, he's always welcome to what I have, though that isn't much; and I
do really look out for their coming in."
"Well, if you see either of them, or the wife, just tell them what's
happened, will you? He's all safe up at the Infirmary, and they can go
up as soon as they like. I've left word round at their place; but maybe
they'll drop in here first."
But ill news travels fast, and as Phil and Rob were together
distributing circulars in quite another part of Helmstone, the tidings
reached them of their father's accident. One of the Mission Hall folk,
who had seen Mellor knocked down, met the boys and told them.
"You'd better be off to see him, I should think; they'll let you in all
right."
Phil hesitated. "No," he said; "I've promised to leave these circulars
every one to-day, and I can't go until I've done it, or else they would
say I wasn't truthful; but I'll be as quick as ever I can, and Rob
shall help, and then we'll both go and see father."
And so all the afternoon Stephen Mellor lay on his bed, after his leg
had been set and his injuries attended to, hardly able to realize
what had happened; surrounded by strangers and suffering, and almost
astonished at the longing in his heart to see either his wife or his
boys come in.
"Maybe they don't know it yet," he said to himself, after looking
eagerly at the opening door, which, however, only admitted the nurse.
"Or perhaps, perhaps, they don't care to come; and little wonder,
too! Glad to be rid of me. And here I am for I don't know how long,
confound it! with nothing to do but lie here and think, think, think!"
He clenched his fist almost in despair. Ah! There lay the greatest
dread; the physical pain was bad enough, but the pain at the heart was
far worse—those troubling thoughts that would not be banished, but that
clung to him with persistence, go where he would.
Yes, the three days that had elapsed since his visit to the Mission
Hall had been three wretched days, for God had been striving, and
he had been resisting that Holy Spirit, who would have led him to
repentance and peace. But his reverie was at last broken by the arrival
of Phil, who, having finished his work, had hurried to his father. He
was rather awestruck at the bandaged head and pale face lying on the
pillow, and putting his hand into his father's he said quietly, "Poor
father! I'm so sorry. Are you very bad?"
"Bad enough, and no mistake, Phil."
"How did it happen, father?"
Mellor put his hand to his head. "I hardly know," he said; "it seems
all confused; but your policeman friend, who brought me up here, said
he'd find it all out. It's all like a dream; but my leg pains me
dreadful, and my head too. I don't know, but I believe the horse kicked
me."
Phil put his hand over his father's aching brow, and said quietly,
"Yes, it's very bad to be kicked."
Mellor winced at the words, for they recalled how the bright boy before
him had more than once been kicked, not by a runaway horse, but by his
own father,—maddened, indeed, through drink. And yet, now that he was
suffering, Phil was ready to come with sympathy and love, just as if
the cruel past had never been; he was a strange lad, and no mistake!
For more than an hour did Phil stay, trying to while away the time, and
to interest the sufferer, until at last the nurse came to him and told
him he must leave, but could come again on the morrow.
"Of course, father, if I get work you won't see me; because, you know,
I shall have to keep the family now." He said the words laughingly,
while in his heart he knew they would be better off without him; and
secretly he saw a more prosperous, peaceful time during his father's
enforced absence, than he had hitherto known. But of all this he said
nothing, and promising that either he or his mother should come on the
morrow, he went away, leaving his father once more to the unpleasant
society of his thoughts.
The ward in which he lay was a small one, and the bed on either side
empty, so that Mellor was left pretty much to himself; but the nurse
was kind, and sat by him, talking to him, until at last, weary with
pain, he fell asleep.
Phil's first errand the next morning was to his friend Forbes, to find
out from him the owner of the horse that had knocked down his father.
"Because, you see, Mr. Forbes, I should think he ought to do something
for us, and I'm going to try; only I wish I looked more decent; you
see my clothes are so very shabby." Phil looked longingly at Forbes'
blue coat, with its bright buttons, and then sadly at his own patched
garments. "Mother sat up last night mending my jacket," he said, half
apologetically; "because, you know, rags look dreadful."
"Well, let's see, Phil, I think I could find an old waistcoat of my
Tom's that would look better than yours, and a necktie too. There; now
you'll do. Well, it's Mr. Cross, the news-agent down in George Street,
whose horse knocked your father down; not that he was to blame, though,
from all I hear, for the horse is quiet enough, they say, but took
fright at a traction engine. Anyhow, you might call down, Phil, and
tell your story."
So off the boy went; and after a patient waiting, found himself in the
presence of Mr. Cross, one of the busiest tradesmen in Helmstone, an
advertising and news-agent.
"Now, my lad, what's your business?"
In few words Phil told of his father's accident. "And I should be very
much obliged, sir, if you could give me work; because, you see, I shall
have to keep mother and Rob now."
"Work, eh?" and Mr. Cross looked down at the little lad beside him,
with his bright honest face, that had such a wonderful attraction about
it. "Work? I fancy I should have the School Board officer down on me if
I took you on here. How old are you?"
"Thirteen last Sunday, sir; so you see I'm all right that way; and, oh,
please, sir, take me. I'll do anything."
Mr. Cross paused. He did want a boy just then. "Is there anybody knows
you?" he said.
"Oh yes, sir; Mr. Forbes, the policeman, and Mr. Jasper up at the shed
in Preece's Place."
The man smiled at Phil's two references. "Known to the police, eh?" he
said.
"And there's Mr. Armstrong, sir, my teacher up at the Mission Hall in
John Street, he can tell you all about me, and he lives up in Sydney
Square."
"Mr. Armstrong the lawyer? I know him. Well, you can call round
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and then I'll see what I can do for
you, if he gives you a good character; but you must tidy yourself up a
bit."
Phil looked despondent. "I'm afraid I can't, sir; these are all
the clothes I have, and mother sat up last night mending them; but
of course, if you take me on, sir—" and his face brightened at
the thought—"I shall soon be able to buy some, and then I'll look
respectable." And away he bounded in high spirits, confident that Mr.
Armstrong would speak well of him. He was not mistaken, Mr. Armstrong's
recommendation was good indeed.
"I believe he's perfectly straightforward and genuine, Mr. Cross; I've
known him for nearly three years, and have never found him out in the
smallest deception. His surroundings have been of the worst, but amidst
all the lad has been kept true and honest; and I don't believe you'll
ever regret taking him; and I should be glad to know he had work."
And so the next morning, when Phil presented himself punctually at
nine o'clock, with face and hands as clean as soap and water could
make them, the foreman met him with the welcome news that Mr. Cross
would give him a trial, and he was set to work at once; sorting old
newspapers, of which, to Phil's astonished eyes, there seemed to be
thousands in that large warehouse behind the shop.
And so some good had come out of Stephen Mellor's accident; for thereby
the boy was rescued from the dangers of a life in the streets, and
taken into good regular employment.