The Edward S. Ellis Megapack
Page 160
Tom was frightened. Swallowing a lump in his throat, and hiding his agitation as best he could, he said gently,—
“Jim, you are ill. Lie down on the bed again and I’ll call Mrs. Pitcairn.”
“I’m afraid there is something the matter with me,” muttered the younger lad, lying down, his face flushed and his eyes staring. He said something which showed his mind was wandering and he had become flighty.
Tom hastily donned his clothing and hurried downstairs to the farmer’s good wife, who lost no time in coming to the room of the boys. By this time Jim had lost all knowledge of his surroundings. He was muttering and saying all sorts of strange things, speaking of his father, of his sister Maggie, and even of his mother, who died when he was a very small boy.
Mrs. Pitcairn had no children of her own, but she had had great experience in the sick-room. She saw, almost at a glance, that Jim Travers was suffering from a violent and dangerous fever. She prepared him a bitter but soothing draught of herbs, and told her husband a physician must be brought without delay.
Farmer Pitcairn felt a strong affection for the two lads, whose singular coming beneath his roof has been told. He was as much concerned as his wife, and, harnessing his horse, drove off at a swift pace for the family doctor, who appeared on the scene a couple of hours later.
“He is ill, very ill,” said the physician; “his fever is of a typhus character, though not strictly that. There has been considerable of it this spring and summer in New York.”
“Is it contagious?” asked the farmer.
“Somewhat; though it seems to be more of the nature of an epidemic; that is, it travels through the air, appearing without special reason at one place, and then at another. We have had three cases in the neighborhood the past fortnight.”
“What was the result?” asked Mrs. Pitcairn.
“One was Mrs. Wilson, an elderly lady; the other her grandson, and a nephew of Mr. Chisholm,” replied the doctor, not answering the question.
“What was the result?” repeated Mr. Pitcairn for his wife.
The doctor shook his head, and, with his eyes on the flaming face of Jim Travers, whispered,—
“All three died within twenty-four hours after being taken.”
Tom Gordon’s eyes filled with tears.
“O Doctor! is it as bad as that?”
“I am sorry to say it is. We shall hope for the best with this young man. Give him the medicine every hour, and I will call again this evening. You have all been exposed to whatever danger there is in the air, so you need not be alarmed.”
“It wouldn’t make any difference about that,” said Tom; “I’m going to stay with him, and do all I can. I don’t care whether or not I catch the fever.”
“That is more creditable to your heart than your head. Don’t forget,” said the doctor, speaking to all, “to watch yourselves closely. At the first appearance of headache, ringing in the ears, and fever, take those powders that I have left on the stand. This is one of the cases where an ounce of prevention is worth a good many pounds of cure. Nothing more can be done for the boy than to follow the prescription I have given you. I will be here again in the evening, unless he should become much worse, when you can send for me.”
Tom Gordon will never forget that day and night. He refused to leave the bedside of his friend except for a few minutes. The farmer and his wife were equally faithful, and did all they could for the sufferer, whose condition seemed to show a slight improvement toward the latter part of the afternoon. So much so indeed that all felt hope.
Jim slept at intervals, but continually muttered and flung himself about. There were flashes of consciousness, when he would look fixedly at those around his bed, and smile in his winning way. He thanked them for their kindness, and hoped he would get well; but he had never felt so strange. It seemed as if his head was continually lifting his body upward, and he was so light he could fly.
After lying this way for some minutes, his hand, which rested in that of Tom’s, would suddenly tighten with incredible strength, and he would rise in bed and begin a wild, incoherent rambling, which filled the hearts of the others with anguish.
It was just growing dusk, when Jim, who had exchanged a few words of sense with his weeping friend, said, lying motionless on his pillow, and without apparent excitement,—
“Tom, I’m dying.”
“O Jim! don’t say that,” sobbed the broken-hearted lad. “You must get well. You are young and strong; you must throw off this sickness: keep up a good heart.”
The poor boy shook his head.
“It’s no use. I wish I had been a better boy; but I’ve said my prayers night and morning, and tried to do as mother and father used to tell me to do. Tom, try to be better; I tell you, you won’t be sorry when you come to die.”
“No one could have been better than you, Jim,” said the elder, feeling more calmness than he had yet shown. He realized he was bending in the awful shadow of death, and that but a few more words could pass between him find the one he loved so well.
“I haven’t been half as good as I ought to—not half as good as you, Tom.”
“O Jim! you should not say that.”
“He is right,” whispered Mrs. Pitcairn, standing at the foot of the bed, beside her husband; “he will be with us but a few minutes longer. How do you feel,” she asked gently, “now that you must soon go, Jim?”
“I am sorry to leave you and Tom, but it’s all right. I see mother and Maggie and father,” he replied, looking toward the ceiling; “they are bending over me, they are waiting to take my hand; I am glad to be with them—Tom, kiss me good-by.”
With the tears blinding his eyes, and holding the hot hand within his own warm pressure, Tom Gordon pressed his lips on those of Jim Travers, and, as he held them there, the spirit of the poor orphan wanderer took its flight.
The door gently opened a minute later and the physician stepped inside. One glance told him the truth.
“I knew it was coming when I looked at him this morning,” he remarked, in a soft, sympathetic voice. “Nothing could save him. How do you all feel?”
It seemed cruel to ask the question of the three all standing in the presence of death; but it was professional and it was wise, for, by pressing it, he withdrew their thoughts from the overwhelming sorrow that was crushing them.
Tom Gordon had flung himself on the bed with uncontrollable sorrow. One arm lay over the breast and partly round the neck of the body, which breathed no longer, and whose face was lit up by a beatific smile; for Jim Travers was with mother and Maggie and father, and they should go out no more forever.
CHAPTER XIX.
It is not well to dwell upon the second great affliction of Tom Gordon. He was older now than when his mother died, and though bowed to the earth by the loss of his cherished playmate, he was too sensible to brood over his grief. Short as had been his stay at the home of Farmer Pitcairn, he had made friends, and they were abundant with the best of counsel.
There is no remedy for mental trouble like hard work. There’s nothing the equal of it. When the dark shadow comes, apply yourself with might and main to some duty. Do your utmost to concentrate your thoughts, energies, and whole being upon it. Avoid sitting down in the gloom and bemoaning your affliction. By and by it will soften; and, relying upon the goodness of Him who doeth all things well, you will see the kindly providence which overrules all the affairs of this life. With the gentle poet you will be able to murmur:—
“Sweet the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh,
And the tear of resignation
Twinkles in the mournful eye.”
Jim Travers was laid away to rest in the beautiful country cemetery near the home of Farmer Pitcairn, and between it and the town of Bellemore. In due time a plain, tasteful shaft was erected to his memory, on which, below his name, date of birth and death, were carved the expressive words:—
“He was a tried and true friend.”
Tom Gordon was approaching young manhood. He was a tall, sturdy boy, with a fair education, and it was high time that he set to work at the serious business of life. Providence had ordered that he should pass through more than one stirring experience. He had knocked about the world a good deal more than falls to the lot of most lads of his age, and had acquired valuable knowledge. He had learned much of the ways of men, and had undergone a schooling, rough of itself, but fitted to qualify him for the rebuffs of fortune to which we must all become accustomed.
What should he do? This was the question which he often debated with himself, as was befitting in a sensible youth, who feared the danger of a mistake when standing at the “crossing of the ways.”
Somehow he felt a strong dislike to going back to New York. He and Jim had met with such rough treatment there that the memory was not pleasant. His yearning was to stay in the neighborhood of Bellemore. The soothing flow of the beautiful Hudson, the picturesque, restful scenery, and, above all, the sweet, sad halo that lingered around the last abiding place of his friend, held him to the spot, which would ever be a sacred one to him.
He could not fancy the life of a farmer, though nothing would have pleased Mr. Pitcairn more than to have the strong, thoughtful boy prepare himself to become his successor in the management of the thrifty and well-kept place. While Tom was in this state of incertitude, Providence opened the way, as it always does to the one who is waiting to accept the indication.
It was at the close of a mild day in early summer that he was sitting on the front porch of his new home, talking with Mr. Pitcairn and his wife, when a carriage stopped in front, and an elderly gentleman stepped down, tied his horse, and opened the gate.
“Why, that’s Mr. Warmore,” said Farmer Pitcairn to his wife, as he rose to greet his visitor, who walked briskly up the graveled path.
The appearance of the gentleman was prepossessing. He was tall and spare, but with a benign expression of countenance. He was well dressed, wore gold spectacles, and his scant hair and a tuft of whiskers on either side of his cheeks were snowy white, while his features were regular. He must have been an unusually handsome man in his younger days, and would still attract admiration wherever seen.
He shook hands warmly with the farmer and his wife, and was introduced to Tom, whom he treated with the same cordiality. The youth made haste to place a chair at his disposal, for which Mr. Warmore thanked him, and sitting down, crossed his legs, took off his hat, and wiped his perspiring brow with his white silken handkerchief. The chat went on in the usual way for a time, during which Tom discovered that the visitor showed considerable interest in him. His eyes continually turned in his direction, and he asked him a question now and then. The youth was too modest to intrude in the conversation, but knew how to express himself when asked to do so.
By and by the questions of Mr. Warmore became quite pointed. Once or twice Tom was disposed to resent them; but reflecting that the gentleman was much older than he, and could have no wrong purpose in thus probing into his personal affairs, he replied promptly to all he asked.
Finally, when this had continued until it began growing dark, Mr. Warmore said,—
“I wish to hire you to enter my store, how would you like it?”
The question was so unexpected that Tom was fairly taken off his feet. He replied with a pleasing laugh,—
“How can I answer, when I never saw you before, and have no idea of what your business is?”
“True, neither of us has seen the other until today; but I may say that I have heard of you from our pastor, Dr. Williams, who conducted the services of your young friend, that was buried a week ago.”
“He cannot know much about me, though we have had several talks together.”
“He talked, too, with Mr. Pitcairn here, as I did myself.”
“Yes,” said the farmer, “he asked me many questions about you, and so did Mr. Warmore the other day when I was in his place.”
“I keep the largest store in Bellemore. I have kept it for forty years, as did my father before me. It is what may be called a combination establishment. My father started it toward the close of the last century, when a journey to New York meant a great deal more than it does today. So he tried to provide the neighbors with everything they could need, such as dry goods, groceries, hardware, farmers’ implements, and, as I said, about all that a large and growing family are likely to require. I have followed in his footsteps, expanding the business, until now my clerks and assistants number nearly a dozen. I am in need of a large, strong, wide awake, active boy, who can write a good hand, and who is willing to begin at the lowest round of the ladder and work his way up.”
It was the personality of the man, rather than the business, which attracted Tom Gordon. He liked Mr. Warmore so well that he secretly resolve to go with him. But the youth was not lacking in diplomacy.
“How do you know I will suit you, Mr. Warmore?” he asked.
“I don’t; no one can know how another will serve him until the trial is made. You may not suit at all. Perhaps I won’t keep you beyond a week. That’s a risk we must all take. I’m willing to take it. Are you ready to see how you like me and the business?”
“What is to be my pay?” asked Tom, still veiling his growing inclination to accept the proposal of the merchant.
“Not much at first. Five dollars a week, which shall be made six at the end of a month if you suit. An increase will be given at the end of every half year; I don’t say provided you earn it, for, if you don’t, I won’t keep you. What do you say, young man?”
“I’ll try it; when do you wish me?”
“Today is Friday. Come Monday morning. Don’t be later than eight o’clock. Good-night, all.”
Mr. Warmore had risen to his feet and raised his hat politely to all three. The farmer, who had hardly spoken a word during the interview, also arose and walked to the gate with his caller, where they talked for a few minutes.
“Yes, I like his looks,” remarked the merchant in a low voice, as he untied his horse and flung the strap under the seat. “There is something good in his face. He looks honest; he is well put together; he is not afraid of work. Is he fully recovered from his injured leg?”
“I never saw one get well so quick. You wouldn’t know that anything had ever happened to him. Of course one would say that coming to my house in the strange manner he did, I haven’t had much chance to judge him. That would be the case with a man, but a boy can’t play the hypocrite for long. My wife and I are very fond of him, and he will still be able to board with us.”
“There is no reason why he should not. It is hardly a mile from here to the store, and it won’t trouble him to walk it summer and winter. Now and then, when we are busy, I shall have to keep him in the evenings, but from what I hear, he has learned how to take care of himself. Well, Joseph, we are liable to make mistakes, and it may be we have done so in this case, but we’ll chance it. Good-night again.”
The merchant sprang lightly into his buggy, and drove down the road at a rapid pace, while the farmer, gazing for a moment or two in the direction of the cloud of dust, rejoined his wife and Tom on the porch.
CHAPTER XX.
And now let’s take a big jump forward. Hold your breath while we gather our muscles for the effort, for when we land, it is at a point four years from the day when Tom Gordon entered the employ of Josiah Warmore, the leading merchant in the town of Bellemore, on the Hudson.
There have been many changes in those years, but in some respects slight differences could be noted. It would be hard to tell from looking at Mr. Warmore that he was one day older than when he stopped at the home of Farmer P
itcairn and hired Tom Gordon. His hair and whiskers were so white at that time that they could not grow any whiter. The face wears the same kindly expression, the shoulders are no more stooped than they were then, and his walk is as brisk and sprightly as ever. Few of his clerks are more alert of movement than he.
Much the same may be said of Farmer Pitcairn and his wife. Possibly there is an additional wrinkle or two on their homely faces, but their hearts are as genial and as kindly as ever. They love Tom Gordon as if he were their own son, and he fully returns the affection they feel for him.
And how has it been with Tom during those four years?
Well, he has had his shadow and sunshine, like the rest of us, but there has been far more of the latter than the former. How could it be otherwise, when I tell you that he has stood as firm as a rock upon the principles that were implanted in his heart and soul by his noble mother? He could never forget her teachings, which were added to by other wise and good persons with whom he was thrown in contact later.
Now, Tom Gordon became what I call a healthy, sensible Christian youth. He was not the good boy we used to read about in the Sunday-school books, who mopes around, forever preaching a sermon whenever he opens his lips, and finding a “lesson” in everything, even the leap of a grasshopper. When those boys become so good that they can be no better, they generally lie down, call all their playmates around them, deliver a farewell sermon, and then depart. The mistake of that sort of life is that it makes religion unattractive. It gives the idea that “the good die young,” and that a jolly, genial, fun-loving boy, bubbling over sometimes with mischief, cannot be a Christian, when he is the very one that most pleases his heavenly Father.
Tom had his fun, his enjoyment, and now and then his crosses. Such things are inevitable and must be looked for. A thorn appeared in his side from the first. A young clerk that had entered the store a few weeks ahead of him was a sly, mean, gnarly fellow, who showed a dislike to the new-comer and annoyed him in every way possible. He was larger and apparently stronger than Tom, and seemed determined to provoke a quarrel with him.