THE BOY WHO HAD PROMISED
One night a week the boys comprising the Junior Department of the local
Y. M. C. A. held a meeting in the room in the building Cliffwood’s
citizens had presented to the organization that was doing so much good
work for young men in the community.
On certain afternoons they were also allowed free use of the gymnasium.
A comparatively new swimming pool was enjoyed by many after they had
exercised. Then there was a bowling alley, and some of the more expert
among the boys ran up pretty high scores.
On the night after the ball game on the commons and the fire at the
Bratton barn, the boys commenced gathering before the time appointed
for the special meeting to take place. Little knots talked seriously as
they came together, for it was known that Dick meant to bring with him
a report of the success or failure attending their efforts to secure
the camping grounds owned by a Mr. Marley on the small lake named after
him.
“Some of you fellows,” Dan Fenwick was saying to a group around him,
“who didn’t happen to be at the ball game to-day will be interested to
know that Dick says we’re going to have a football eleven this fall, to
try to hold up the honor of Cliffwood with the rest of the towns around
this end of the woods.”
“Glad to hear that, Dan!” exclaimed one lad, warmly.
“Always said we ought to do something to show our colors,” added
another. “And it’s come all because of Mr. Howell and his scheme for
getting up this Boys’ Department of the Y. M. C. A. That’s done the
trick! You don’t run across many fellows loafing on the street corners
these nights. They’d rather be in here reading the magazines, or taking
part in some of the things that are going on every little while.”
“And there’s no reason,” a third went on to say, boldly, “why Cliffwood
shouldn’t have a hockey team, and a cracking good baseball nine next
season, to boot. We’ve got the stuff all right. With good backing we
might even hope to fetch a trophy home with us once in a while.”
“There’s Mr. Bartlett, going to call the meeting to order,” remarked
Dan.
At this speech every one of the boys settled down in a seat; for these
meetings were usually conducted with as much decorum and order as
those carried on by the older members of the Y. M. C. A. organization.
Harry Bartlett usually presided at these gatherings of the boys’ club,
but he took pleasure in frequently turning the meeting over to Dick,
who had been duly elected to the office. This evening as soon as the
meeting had been called to order he asked Dick to take the chair.
The secretary was just beginning to call the roll when there came
a series of squeals and grunts. At the same time three small pigs
were seen running wildly about the room, creating much excitement as
they darted back and forth under the chairs and amidst the legs of
twenty-odd boys gathered there.
Every one knew that Nat and his two cronies had liberated the pigs, for
they were standing in the doorway and laughing heartily at the frantic
efforts of the boys to catch the dodging pigs. All thought of business
was suspended until this duty had been accomplished, after which the
offending pigs were summarily ejected from the building.
Nat pretended to feel sorry over it.
“We meant to lug the little critters over to Mr. Bratton’s house,” he
went on to explain, “to find out if he meant to offer a reward for
their safe return. But now they’re loose again, and in the night nobody
could ever catch the slippery imps. We were goin’ to stop in and let
you know we’d be back this way before long, when they broke loose on
us. But it’s all right anyway, and no damage done, I reckon.”
Of course every one knew the incident was intended to be one of Nat’s
famous practical jokes, but since the excitement had now died down, and
Mr. Bartlett said nothing to the contrary, Dick concluded to forget it.
“The meeting will again come to order,” he called out, vigorously
rapping the table with the gavel, borrowed from the seniors. “The
secretary will start over again with roll call.”
This duty having been carried out, the regular business of the meeting
was next in order. It could easily be seen that all of the boys present
displayed more or less anxiety to hear the reports of certain of the
committees.
“I’ll ask the vice-president to occupy the chair while I make my report
as the committee of one to call on Doctor Madison and find out what our
chances are of getting Camp Marley.”
When Dick made this remark he vacated his seat, Leslie taking his place
temporarily. Every boy present leaned forward and glued his eager eyes
on Dick.
“It isn’t just the thing for the presiding officer of an organization,”
began the one who was on his feet, “to act on a committee; but in this
case it happens that I started the business with Doctor Madison, and
he asked me to drop in and see him this evening when on the way here.
He went out to Mr. Marley’s this afternoon as he expected. I’m sorry to
tell you he brought back bad news for us.”
Some of the expectant ones emitted groans at hearing this.
“It’s all off, then,” said Dan Fenwick. “I just thought things would
fall flatter than a pancake when the Cliffwood boys started to do
anything worth while. It’s hard luck, that’s what. We’re pursued by a
hoodoo, I believe.”
“Go on and tell us the worst, Dick!” urged Peg Fosdick.
“Yes, we can stand it all right, I should say,” added Elmer Jones,
grimly. “P’r’aps one knock-down may make us wake up, and think of some
other way of spending our summer vacation.”
“Mr. Marley sent word that we had made our application just three days
too late,” continued Dick, smiling sadly. “He’s promised the camp on
his lake to a party of fellows coming over from Emoryville. They belong
to the scouts there, I understand, and mean to stay most of the summer,
doing all sorts of stunts.”
As this meeting had been called especially to learn about the result of
their effort to secure a good camping ground, interest began to subside
as soon as Dick had made his depressing report. Most of the boys
looked gloomy. They had been counting so much on this outing that their
disappointment was keen.
“Remember this doesn’t mean that we’ve got to give the scheme up
altogether,” Dick told a group around him after the meeting had been
hastily adjourned. “There are more places than Lake Marley that can be
used for camping, though we’d like it a heap better if we could be near
the water. Let every fellow hustle, and try to get track of another
good site, so as to report to-morrow night when we have our regular
meeting here.”
Even Nat looked troubled, for he, too, had counted on having the
time of his life, if once the boys of the junior organization found
themselves in camp. Nat was always looking for new opportunities to
play some of his jokes, and he believed he would find many splendid
chances under the novel surroundings of camp life.
Asa Gardner walked part way home with Dick on this night, and Leslie
soon caught up with them. Asa was a pale lad who needed outdoor
exercise very much. He had been greatly depressed by the fact of their
failure to obtain permission to camp on the shore of Lake Marley.
“Oh! you don’t know how much I’ve been counting on getting a week or
two out in the open air,” he confided to Dick, as the three of them
walked along. “And besides, you promised to show me a whole lot of
things about living in the woods that I’d just love to hear about,
Dick. My mother told me I ought to stay outdoors all I could, for you
know I once had an older brother who died from lung trouble.”
“Well, don’t give it up yet, Asa,” Dick told him. “Some of us are not
going to throw up the sponge so easy as all that. Wait and see what can
be done. I’m glad that you seem to be enjoying the club. Mr. Holwell
takes a lot of interest in you, I notice. He told me only yesterday
that he expected to see the day when you’d be up among the leaders,
after you got well started.”
“Mr. Holwell is the best man living,” said Asa, warmly. “When he’s
talking to me I just seem to feel that I could do anything in the world
to please him. He makes you see things the way he does. If I ever do
amount to a row of beans it’ll be through Mr. Holwell, and not because
it was in me.”
“You’re wrong there, Asa,” said Dick, kindly. “It’s got to be in you
first of all, but he knows just how to draw it out. And any fellow who
does things the way Mr. Holwell advises is bound to climb the ladder,
as sure as he lives.”
Asa left the others soon afterward, as his home lay in a different
direction.
“I don’t know just what to make of that chap,” said Leslie, as he and
Dick continued on their way. “He used to be the sneakiest fellow
going, and was always getting things in his pockets that belonged to
others. Just couldn’t help it, I’ve heard people say, for he was like
one of his uncles who used to be a shady financier down around Wall
Street, New York City, and always grabbing things.”
Dick laughed a little at the queer conceit. Leslie was always saying
odd things calculated to make others smile, it seemed.
“Well, if Asa has really conquered that weakness,” Dick went on to say
soberly, “he deserves a heap of credit. Other fellows, who never knew
what it was to feel that itching come over them so they just couldn’t
resist a chance to take something, would never understand what the poor
fellow has been up against.”
“You seem to believe he’s really and truly reformed, Dick.”
“I certainly do,” returned the other boy, warmly. “And if you care to
hear why I’ll explain, though only if you promise never to breathe a
word of it.”
“Count on me to keep the secret, Dick. I’ll be as dumb as any oyster
you ever saw, so fire away.”
“Listen, then,” resumed the other, seriously. “One day about a week or
so ago I was sent on an errand, and crossed the town graveyard to cut a
corner. Somehow, when I was about half-way over, I thought I heard a
voice, and yet I couldn’t see any one at first. I confess I was filled
with curiosity, and looked around. Then I saw something move, and I
stepped that way as softly as I could.”
“Oh! then it was Asa,” interrupted Leslie, feelingly. “And the chances
are he was at his mother’s grave.”
“That’s where I found him,” said Dick, winking hard; “though I didn’t
let him know I was around. He was lying there with his arms outspread,
poor chap, and I guess he must have felt that his mother could hear
him saying what he did, for it was to her he kept talking, now and
then stopping to cry a little. I tell you, Leslie, it gave me a queer
feeling to hear him; and pretty soon I slipped away without his knowing
I’d been around.”
“What was he saying, Dick?” asked the other boy, with an intake of his
breath.
“As near as I can remember it,” replied Dick, “he said something like
this: ‘Oh, Mother! it’s hard to know you’re lying here all alone. But
I’ll never forget what I promised you, and I’m trying with all my might
and main to fight it out. I’ll win, too, Mother, I promise you I will!
But oh! if I could only see you once more I’d be so happy!’”
Leslie was silent for a short time after Dick said this. He was not
quite sure of his voice, which did sound a bit unsteady when he finally
spoke.
“I’m sorry now I ever believed Asa was bound to fall back again into
his old ways, Dick. But Dan keeps on saying mean things about him,
because once, you know, Asa stole something he valued a heap, and Dan
has never quite forgotten it. After what you heard I reckon he _will_
win out, and for one I’m going to help him all I can. The poor fellow
needs friends to back him, just as Mr. Holwell said.”
“That sounds just like you, Leslie,” remarked Dick, slapping his chum
heartily on the back at the same time. “And I’m with you every time. We
may be of some help to poor lonely Asa; and anyway he’ll feel stronger
if he sees that we believe in him.”
“Well, here’s where I have to say good night, Dick,” the other
remarked, a few minutes later.
“It’s early still, Leslie. Why not come with me over to Mr. Nocker’s
house. He’ll be expecting me after the meeting.”
“Hello! what’s in the wind now?” demanded Leslie, with a vein of boyish
curiosity in his voice.
“Oh! nothing much,” came the answer. “I promised to let the deacon know
how the meeting turned out, that’s all. You remember he’s taking a
whole lot of interest nowadays in everything that concerns boys, and
especially the fellows belonging to the Juniors of the Y. M. C. A.”
“That’s right; he is for a fact,” said Leslie, with a laugh. “It is one
of the latter-day miracles, my folks say. Time wasn’t so long ago when
Deacon Nocker seemed just to despise all boys. I guess it was because
he made a foozle of bringing up his own son, who got in trouble, ran
away from home, and left a wife and child when he died.”
“Well, we had something to do with making the old gentleman fall in
love with his own grandson,” chuckled Dick in turn. “For that, it seems
he’s never forgiven us, for he keeps trying to do us favors right
along.”
They continued walking, and presently turned in at a gate. The grounds
belonging to Deacon Nocker’s place were quite extensive. He was the
richest storekeeper in Cliffwood, and had been a surly old fellow until
recently, when a marvelous change for the better had come over him.
The deacon himself let them in, and his thin face was wreathed with a
smile as they shook hands heartily with him. People used formerly to
say that it felt like touching a snake to grasp the deacon’s cold hand.
But that was when his heart was chilly too. Nowadays he was smiling all
the day long, and really there was a vigor in the way he squeezed an
outstretched hand that amazed his fellow townsmen.
“Little Billy wanted to stay up when he heard you were coming over
later,” he was telling Dick, as he ushered the boys into his library,
where his daughter-in-law, Tilly, was seated, doing some sewing at the
table.
“I’m sorry he couldn’t,” remarked Dick, shaking hands with the pretty
mother of the youngster, and who always had a smile for this boy friend
who had done so much to assist her to make peace with Billy’s stern
grandfather.
“I have just come downstairs after putting him to bed,” she told
Dick. “I wish you could hear him at his prayers. He always insists
on remembering you after he mentions his ‘darling mother’ and his
‘grand-daddy.’ You’re Billy’s one hero, Dick. He will never forget
how you saved him from the fire,” she added, referring to an incident
already related in my previous story.
“Well, he’s a dear little chap, that’s a fact,” remarked the boy,
turning red with confusion as he always did when being praised. “But
we’ve only stopped in as I promised you I would, Mr. Nocker, to report
the poor success we’ve had so far in finding a suitable camp-site.”
The deacon raised his eyebrows, nor could Leslie believe that he looked
in the least sorry.
“Tell me how you came out with regard to that site on Lake Marley,”
requested the deacon.
“We had news through Doctor Madison that it has been promised to the
scout troop over in Emoryville,” Dick went on to say. “So far we seem
to be up in the air as to just where we can go. But, of course, we’ll
find some place or other.”
“When do you have your next meeting?” asked Mr. Nocker, as the boys
prepared to take their departure.
“To-morrow, sir, is the regular night for it,” he was told. “Every one
has been asked to pick up any information he can in connection with
another camp-site.”
“Well, I certainly hope that you will be successful in finding
something to suit you, boys,” the deacon said, as they reached the
door. “If I can be of any help, let me know, won’t you?”
“We certainly will, with pleasure, sir, and thank you for the offer.”
As Dick said this he and his chum strode toward the gate. Leslie was
muttering to himself in a peculiar way he had. A minute later he broke
out with:
“I don’t believe the deacon cares very much whether we get a camp or
not, Dick. He was chuckling to himself most of the time, and rubbing
his hands together like a miser. Perhaps he’s getting tired of playing
godfather to a pack of boys.”
“Wait and see,” said Dick, mysteriously, and soon afterwards the chums
separated.