“That’s less than a week. What’s the use of waiting when we have made up our minds to go?” was the pertinent question of Tom. “I prefer not to meet those folks that are coming here.”
“That’s the way I feel,” assented the younger, striving to repress his ardor over the prospect. “They will put on airs, turn up their noses at us, and make themselves at home. I can’t bear,” he added, his voice slightly trembling, “to see them parading through the house which father owned, and walking into his room as if no one else had the right to go there.”
“Well, I’m glad, Jim, that we think alike. Tomorrow we’ll bid our friends good-by and take the afternoon train to New York.”
“That suits me. It would hardly be right to slip off without saying anything to the fellows. We’ll call on them all.”
“Yes; that is right. I promised Sam Harper to let him know about it.”
“I suppose you did, and you won’t forget to tell Nellie.”
Jim laughed at his own sly remark, and the handsome Tom blushed at this reference to the pretty sister of his playmate.
The hour grew late, but they sat a long time talking of what they would do when they made their home in the great metropolis. Bridget, the old servant, warned them once or twice that it was past bedtime; but seeing her words were unnoticed, she withdrew and left them together.
Ah, when are the dreams of life so radiant as in early youth? What pictures are so glowing, so beautiful, so vivid, so real, as those which come to the boy when he stands with his feet on the threshold, and looks far out over the limitless fields which spread before his view? The air “lets finer sunlight through,” and the skies are more golden than they can ever be again. It is the hour when to him nothing in the whole wide world is impossible. It is a sweet, soul-stirring vision which, alas, too often is darkened or swept away by storm and mists and darkness and death.
The programme of the two boys was carried out, with some modification, the next day. They found, when they came to go around among their friends to bid them good-by, that it took longer than they had counted on. They separated; and when night arrived, Tom was urged so cordially to stay and take supper with Sam Harper that he did not refuse.
Then he had to remain a while in the evening, which proved to be a most pleasant one to the visitor. The parents of his playmate were sensible people, who, finding the caller had made up his mind to go, did not attempt to dissuade him. On the contrary, they reminded him that under heaven he had every reason to hope for success.
“The instruction received from your good mother,” said Mr. Harper, “I am sure can never be forgotten by you. You have a fair education for your age; and I say to you as I did to Jimmy Travers, when he stopped here a while ago, be honest, truthful, obliging always, and your reward is certain. You will meet with disappointments and all sorts of trials, but keep up your courage. Never let go; hang fast; take whatever comes in your way and do it with all your might, and success is sure, sooner or later.”
“I have made up my mind to that,” replied Tom modestly. “Jimmy and I don’t imagine that half the merchants in New York will be waiting at the ferry for us, and will scramble over each other to see who shall have our services.”
The gentleman smiled at the picture, and his wife added,—
“There are so many dangers and pitfalls that I tremble at the thought of two boys like Tom and Jim going into such a great city, where they do not know a living person.”
“It is a matter for serious thought, but hundreds have done the same before them, and have achieved success.”
“Have not some failed?”
“Doubtless the majority have failed to attain what they expected. But the same is true right here in Briggsville, and is true everywhere. I hold the doctrine, that to the boy who is strong, rugged, honest, willing, not only to work, but to wait, that success is bound to come sooner or later.”
Tom was much encouraged by these wise words, and felt a strengthening of the resolve he had formed the night before.
It was bright, pretty Nellie who now spoke.
“Won’t it be splendid when Tom becomes a rich merchant, able to live in his fine house and have his horse and carriages and servants?”
“I am afraid it will be a long time before I get that far,” replied the lad with a blush; “but I shall do it if there is any way possible.”
“Riches are not the highest object in this life, though they are well enough in their way. Don’t think so much about them as about doing your duty. Be content to begin at the bottom of the ladder. It is an old saying, but there never was a truer one, that you will always find plenty of room at the top.”
After some more pleasant conversation, Tom shook hands with his friends and bade them good-by. He ventured to give the delicate palm of Nellie a little warmer squeeze than he had ever dared to do before, and looked meaningly in her eyes. But she was diffident and did not return the pressure, and he was not certain of the precise meaning of the look she gave him at parting.
He felt a trifle uncomfortable, while walking homeward in the crisp moonlight.
“I suppose Nellie would feel quite proud of me if I ever become a rich man; but suppose I don’t. She always was a proud girl, and likely enough will turn up her nose if I fail, which I won’t!” he added, compressing his lips and walking faster.
Tom found Jim at home and waiting for him. They sat up late again talking over their grand scheme of seeking their fortune, and even after they retired the hum of their conversation continued until far into the night.
The following morning they turned their backs upon Briggsville forever. The ride to Philadelphia was not far. They had decided to stop there for a time, as there was no call for haste. Neither held a thought of making their stay permanent. They strolled down Chestnut Street, looking at the pleasing sights that are always to be met in that fashionable thoroughfare, viewed some of the fine structures, and stared until they were tired.
But they were eager to go on. The metropolis of the country was their destination, and they would never be satisfied until they reached it. Accordingly, when the afternoon was well along, they boarded the train and sped away to the northward. Everything thus far, even if interesting, had been dull and commonplace, but sooner than they anticipated, they entered upon the most stirring and momentous experience of their lives.
CHAPTER VIII.
“A Man overboard!”
This was the startling cry that rang out from the multitude swarming forward on the ferry-boat D. S. Gregory, one wintry night, as she was approaching the dock at the foot of Courtlandt Street, on her trip from Jersey City.
For a few seconds confusion and excitement reigned supreme.
The boat was crowded with passengers, many of whom had passed out of the forward cabin doors, and were pushing toward the bow, eager to be the first to leap ashore, scarcely willing to wait till the lattice-like gates were drawn aside to allow them to pass.
Some were smoking, many were talking, and no one was dreaming of anything wrong, when the alarming cry resounded through the frosty air.
The captain heard it on the instant, as did the engineer; for the latter checked the swinging of the ponderous working-beam at the same second that he received the signal from the captain—a thing which never happens unless in some such emergency.
As the throbbing of the engine ceased and the boat glided smoothly along, there was such a general rush toward the bow that a dangerous dipping of the craft followed—a peril which no one beside the officials on the vessel observed.
“Who is he?”
“Did he jump over?”
“Did he fall?”
“Was he pushed?”
“Can he be saved?”
“Where is he?”
These and similar questions were on a hundred lips; and before any intelligible answer could be given, a woman gave utterance to the most heart-rending scream, and made such frantic attempts to spring into the water, that the intervention of sev
eral strong men was required to prevent her.
“It must be her husband.”
But the expression was yet in the mouth of the speaker, when, falling limp and despairing into the sturdy arms of the unknown friends, she wailed,—
“Will no one save my child? Let me go to her; she is all that is left to me—oh, let me die with her!”
“It’s a little girl that fell overboard,” called out some one who had seen the accident. “There she is—hello!”
The last exclamation was caused by a second splash, as a dark body clave the air and dropped into the water within a few yards of where the dress of the little girl could be faintly discerned.
“Heavens, that is only a little boy!” called out an excited individual. “Are all the children to be drowned before our eyes?”
The general belief was that this lad, through some strange mischance, had also fallen into the river, a belief which was quickly dispelled by another boy, no doubt his playmate, calling out,—
“That’s my chum, Tom, and you needn’t be afraid of him; he can outswim a duck and a goose and a fish all together; he jumped over to save that little girl, seeing as all you big men was afraid—and you can just bet he’ll do it too.”
There was a tone of absolute certainty in these remarkable words which lifted a mountain from more than one heart, and instantly transferred all interest to the brave young lad who had sprung into the water to save a little girl that was a stranger to him.
A cold wintry night was closing in when this accident took place, and the lights from the shipping and the great city twinkled like myriads of stars.
Great black hulls lay still and motionless in the water, as if they were enormous ogres of the deep waiting for human prey to come into their vast maws; steam-tugs were puffing and darting here and there, in and out among the shipping, as though they were playing hide-and-seek with each other; another ferry-boat was just putting out from the dock on the New York side, the paddle-wheels crunching and grinding the chunks of ice, as if masticating its food.
In the chilly gloom of the evening, the crowds that swarmed to the gunwales and peered forward could see something floating in the water; and though no one could define exactly what it was with the aid of the sight alone, yet, by a general consent, it was accepted as the form of the little girl that had fallen overboard.
A second figure was seen working his way toward the nerveless and silent one.
The two were no more than fairly out of the path of the steamer, which was gliding so closely by them that any movement of the wheels would have endangered both.
Among those who forced their way to the side of the boat was the lad who gave utterance to the words before recorded. It was natural that he should be deeply interested when his dearest friend was risking his life to save another. As soon as the lad on the boat caught fair sight of the other, he shouted,—
“Hello, Tom! do you want any help?”
“Three chaars for the wee one!” called out an Irishman, boiling over with enthusiasm, “and if there’s a spalpeen on boord that don’t jine in, I’ll crack the head of the same, or me name isn’t Patsey McConough!”
But the deck-hands had not been idle spectators during the few minutes since the accident.
Prompt as they had been, the children were, however, so far off at the moment of tossing over the life-preservers and hurling out the ropes, that none reached the lad, who was too intent on saving the child to pay any attention to these little helps, which he did not need.
When the craft stood at a dead halt, the engineer caused a slight and only partial reverse movement of the wheels, so as to approach the couple.
“Yes, there he comes,” shouted a tall fellow, leaning so far over the rail that he was in danger of falling, “and I’m blessed if he ain’t got the girl!”
Such was the fact, as all perceived the next moment. The boy was supporting the little form with one hand, while he propelled himself with the other.
As soon as Tom came within reach, another lasso-like fling was made, the coil dropping so near the boy that he succeeded in grasping it with his free hand.
Whoever the little fellow was that was acting the rôle, he certainly was a genius in his way. His presence of mind was almost marvelous.
When the waves from the threshing-paddle so unexpectedly overwhelmed him, he had just time to draw a deep inspiration before he was environed by death. The most skillful swimmer in the world cannot sustain himself in sea-foam, or in the white caps of the breakers. The only safe course when thus caught is to hold your breath and wait for “solid water,” where you can paddle your own canoe.
Almost any one thus entrapped would have let go the rope and been drowned, but the boy held on with the grip of death, and as soon as he could catch a mouthful of fresh air, shouted,—
“Pull up; I’m all right.”
A dozen hands were outstretched to help, and the next minute the brave lad, still holding the senseless girl with one arm, was drawn up on deck, and received into the crowd, who almost pulled him apart in their frenzied congratulations.
It was found that the little girl was alive, and carrying her into the cabin where her mother had just recovered from her swoon, a medical gentleman announced that there was nothing to fear.
The wheels of the ferry-boat were again in motion, and the slip was reached, while a hundred men were demanding the name of the young hero, praising him, offering to make up a purse, hurrahing, and going wild over what was unquestionably a most praiseworthy deed.
In the midst of the excitement and rattling of chains, the crowd swarmed off the boat, and the lads were lost sight of.
CHAPTER IX.
Tom Gordon was not only brave, but he was modest; and he hurried away from the swarming crowd as soon as he was free of the ferry-boat, for he found it anything but pleasant to be looked upon and treated as a lion. Turning off into one of the intersecting streets, the two lads walked along in silence, when Tom said,—
“Do you know, Jim, I’m half-frozen?”
The rattling teeth emphasized the question.
“I should think you would be. Here’s a place of some kind; let’s go in and have something to eat, and you can warm yourself.”
Jim led the way; and as he pushed open the green-baize doors, which worked on springs, he saw they had entered one of those nondescript shops, so numerous in certain parts of New York, where a person can obtain any kind of alcoholic drink, a cigar, a lunch, a “square meal,” or a night’s lodging, or all.
Jim recognized the resort, and he would have withdrawn but through sympathy for his shivering companion. The latter could scarcely stand from cold, his clothing was soaked, and, in the keen air, had congealed so that it rattled like tarpauling as he walked.
Just back from the door was a large stove, whose bulging, white-washed cylinder, gleamed red with heat.
Tom immediately stepped up to this and began to thaw himself out.
“Ah, that feels nice!” he laughed to his companion.
“Well, young man, what do you want in here?” asked the bartender, in a sharp, business-like style, bustling from behind the counter with the evident intention of “bouncing” the lads.
“I want to get dry and warm,” was the reply of Tom, from whose clothing the steam was beginning to ascend.
“This ain’t a shop to dry out boys. Why don’t you go home?”
“We haven’t any home.”
“That’s played; go where you stayed last night.”
“That’s near a hundred miles from here.”
Two or three loungers laughed at the rather pert style in which Tom made his replies, though in truth the lad meant no disrespect. The bartender turned red in the face, and was angered at being taken up as he was.
“Hello, my wharf-rat, how did you get so wet?”
“In the water.”
“He jumped off the ferry-boat to save a little girl,” said Jim, seeing the storm brewing, and desirous of putting in a goo
d word for his friend.
This declaration was received with a guffaw, not one of the hearers believing a word of it.
“Jumped off to get away from the Bobbies,” sneered the bartender. “If you don’t get out of here quicker’n lightning I’ll hand you over to them.”
“We can go out if you say so,” said Tom, in the same good-natured manner; “but we came in to get our supper and stay all night.”
“Have you got the stamps to pay for it?”
“If we hadn’t we’d know better than to come in here.”
“All right; my terms are a half a dollar apiece for supper and lodging.”
“What is it with breakfast?”
“Seventy-five cents.”
“We might as well pay you now.”
And in his off-hand fashion Tom drew from his water-soaked pocket his portemonnaie, remarking to Jim that they would arrange it between themselves, and handed the exact change to the somewhat surprised bartender and clerk.
That made a difference; and the servant became as obsequious as if he had just recognized in his visitor a millionaire that had dropped in to spend a part of his fortune with him.
The boys were hungry, as may be supposed, and they fell to eating like a couple of famished wanderers. Only a mouthful or two was swallowed when Jim exclaimed,—
“Hello, Tom; where did you get that gold chain?”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Tom, looking up at his friend.
“I’ll show you;” and, as Jim spoke, he reached over and unhooked a tiny gold chain from the upper button of his friend’s coat, around which it was twined in a singular manner.
More than that, there was a locket attached to it.
“That’s the strangest thing I ever heard tell of,” said Tom, as he examined the chain and locket. “I never knew it was there till you spoke.”
“You must have got it from that girl in the water, when you helped her out.”
“That’s so! Wait here till I come back!” and with this exclamation the lad sprang up and darted outdoors.
He was gone but a short time, when he returned.
“I’ve been down to the ferry-house to see whether I could find the woman and give her back her jewelry; but nobody there knows anything about her, and I’ll have to keep it till I learn who she is.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 154