Christopher And The Clockmakers Part 33

There were so many things he wanted! Why, although he would have blushed to admit it, there was lying in his pocket this very minute a list of gifts carefully written out in case his father or mother asked for suggestions as they often had done in the past. But they did not inquire for it. May eighteenth and May nineteenth slipped by without an allusion to the fact that on May twentieth he had been born, and so oblivious was everybody to his existence that had he not looked in the gla.s.s and verified it, he would almost have begun to doubt he was alive himself.

When at length the great day dawned, he descended to breakfast with that mingled antic.i.p.ation and self-consciousness that always overwhelmed him on such occasions. He was wont to feel very foolish and vividly aware of his hands and feet when he made his annual advent into the dining room.

As it happened, however, he need have experienced no embarra.s.sment to-day for the fact that fourteen years ago he had entered into this vale of tears was not mentioned. True, his mother did kiss him a trifle more warmly than usual, and an additional salutation, which she instantly repressed, seemed trembling on her tongue. But there was nothing else out of the ordinary.

Therefore he sat down and ate his breakfast with the chagrined conviction that for the first time in history the anniversary to which he had habitually looked forward with such keen pleasure had slipped his parents' memory. It was strange that each of them should have forgotten.

Even if his father had been too busy about the shipment of the gems expected from Holland to bear it in mind, one would have thought his mother would have remembered. She was, to be sure, much taken up with doing over the library and fussing about curtains which she declared she never would be able to match. But for all that you would have thought she would recall that May twentieth was coming. It wasn't at all like her to let her own interests crowd out those of her family.

Perhaps they thought he was getting too old for birthdays. That would be a tragedy indeed, since it would mean that he never would have any more presents. Oh, it wasn't likely they thought that! No, the whole thing was just a mistake, and as long as it was Christopher shrank from correcting the error. You couldn't very well shout, "This is my birthday, good people. Any contributions you would like to give me will be gratefully received." Once he would not have hesitated to do this.

But now he was older and had more pride.

Therefore he ate his orange and his cereal as serenely as he could, hoping the disappointment he experienced would not be evident in his face. Apparently it was not. With customary impatience Mr. Burton swallowed his coffee and, rising from the table, cautioned his son to hurry up and not keep him waiting; and on hearing this familiar admonition, Christopher's last weak hope that the day was to be different from other days vanished, and he dashed for his hat and coat.

"Good-by, Mother," he called up the stairway.

"Your mother is going into town with us to-day," Mr. Burton explained.

"She has some errands to do."

"She didn't say so at breakfast."

"She forgot to, most likely. She was in a good deal of a hurry. Here she comes now. Don't stop to put on your gloves, my dear. You can do it in the car."

Off they went to the station and then into New York they whizzed by train. There was not much opportunity to talk. Christopher's father read the paper, and his mother consumed the time by holding various sc.r.a.ps of gauzy blue stuff up to the light and asking which of them he liked best. Then they bundled into a taxi and riding to the store entered it, where the counterpart of every other day in the year began. And yet, after all, did the day start as other days were wont to do? To begin with, there was his mother who, instead of rolling off downtown to her shopping, as would have been her customary program, alighted from the taxicab with his father and himself. Moreover the interior of the shop did not seem quite the same. Nonsensical as it was to suppose it, there seemed to be in the atmosphere a subtle air of suspense quite new and unusual. Besides that, there were flowers on his father's desk; and what was more surprising, apparently he was the only one to notice these innovations.

Nevertheless he did not speak of them but pulled off his coat and stood for a moment hesitating before going to hunt up McPhearson. It was in his mind to accompany his mother down in the elevator and see her to the door after she should have finished her business. Perhaps she had come to get money for her shopping; or possibly, as she sometimes did, she was going to select a wedding present downstairs. But if any such missions stimulated her she was, to judge by appearances, in no haste to fulfill them; instead she loosened her scarf and sat down as if she had no other aim in the world than to remain all day.

He couldn't quite make it out.

Then presently the door opened and in came Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings, McPhearson, and even the old colored elevator man, who every day had carried him up and down. Mr. Norcross also stole in from his office and so did the prim Miss Elkins.

Then, to the boy's astonishment, Mr. Rhinehart stepped forward and began a little speech. At first Christopher did not grasp the fact that it was directed to himself; but soon, when in the name of all the employees of his father's firm, the kindly clerk wished him a happy birthday and handed him a small red leather case, it gradually dawned on him that he was actually the hero of a surprise party.

The flowers, the tensity that pervaded the shop, his mother's coming to the city were all because on May twentieth, fourteen years ago, he had been born. The day had not been forgotten as he had thought. On the contrary, more people had this time thought of him and taken pains to let him know it than he had ever supposed cared whether he was alive or not. And to prove it, they were now giving him a present. Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings, McPhearson, old Saunders--all of them had had a part in it--and they said it was because they had become fond of him and admired him for being so cheerful and patient about his eyes. Their kindness overwhelmed him and brought a queer, tight, choky feeling into his throat. He didn't deserve any of the things Mr. Rhinehart said. It didn't seem to him that he had been very patient. On the contrary, he had often rebelled inside at being so helpless. How ashamed he was when he thought of his secret grumblings!

With pounding heart and cheeks that burned he looked down at the red leather case in his hand.

Think of the men doing this for him! He wanted to tell them how wonderful he thought it was, to tell them he didn't merit such a gift; but no words would come.

Then he heard his father speaking:

"I am sure, Christopher, you wish to thank Mr. Rhinehart and through him the others who have so generously given you this beautiful present."

"I do want to, Dad," cried he, looking up, "but you see I don't know how. I never was so surprised in all my life. It's knocked the breath out of me."

Laughter greeted this nave confession. Then everything became easier.

"Suppose," suggested his mother, "you open the box and see what's in it."

The idea was a happy one. With action his shyness vanished and centering his attention on the square case in his hand a cry of pleasure escaped him. Lying there on the dark crimson velvet was a watch--a gold repeater--bearing the stamp of America's first and oldest watchmaking factory. He knew all about that particular watch, for he had often seen it in the show case and coveted it. And now, miracle of miracles, there it was in his hand with his own monogram adorning its back cover. He had never expected to possess anything so precious.

"You see, Christopher, we've all enjoyed having you round the store this winter," murmured McPhearson. "You've brought cheer to everybody. We shall miss you when you go back to school next season. Nevertheless we rejoice your eyes are on the mend and we wanted you to know how glad we are."

"It was bully of you all--simply bully!" burst out the lad. "I don't deserve anything of the sort, for I know I must have been more bother to everybody than I was worth. You are the ones who have been patient. But the watch is a dandy. It is exactly the one I would have picked out could I have had my choice. You see, I've never owned a line watch. I guess it was just as well, too, for I never appreciated watchmaking until Mr. McPhearson told me what a really good watch meant. Now I'd as soon starve a kitten as not take care of it."

A clapping of hands greeted the a.s.sertion.

"But you were wrong about one thing, Dad," the boy continued. "I am not going to thank the men through Mr. Rhinehart or anybody else. I am going round the store to thank every person myself."

"Bravo, son!" replied Mr. Burton. "But before you start on this pilgrimage I have just a word to add. The gift you hold in your hand has been presented to you by the men of Burton and Norcross. Your mother and I have had no part in it, and the present we have planned for you has not yet been delivered. It is a different sort from the one you usually receive from us. Nevertheless, although it is neither a wireless, a typewriter, a dog, or a bicycle I hope you are going to like it."

He paused for a moment and glanced round the office.

"There is one man in our employ who has been here longer than any of the others," he went on. "He is a man whom we all respect and whose loyalty and friendship we value highly. Years ago he left his native land to become a citizen of this country and give to America his skill and knowledge. His faithful, intelligent labor has had much to do with the building up of our business and the establishment of a standard for thorough, reliable work. You all know the man I have in mind--Angus McPhearson."

Cheers broke in on the speech. The old Scotchman was a general favorite.

It was easy to see that.

"This winter," added Mr. Burton, "this craftsman has annexed to his other duties that of tutor. He has taken you, Christopher, and taught you more in a few short months than I ever knew you to learn before in all your history. Because your mother and I are grateful to him for his kindness, interest, and instruction; because, as the head of this firm I value his services and wish to recognize them, I have selected for you a birthday present that shall include him. I know you like him very much--"

"You bet I do!" interrupted Christopher enthusiastically.

"And so," continued Mr. Burton, bestowing on the comment only a smile, "we have planned to send you two to Europe this summer on a clock-seeing expedition."

"Oh!" cried Christopher.

"Oh, sir!" came in a bewildered whisper from the Scotchman.

"You will first go to Scotland," explained Mr. Burton, "and there McPhearson is to visit his old home and the friends he wishes to hunt up. He is not to hurry about it, either. Then, while you are there, he is to take you for a trip through the Scotch Lakes that you may see the beauty of the land that turns out such splendid men as he. After that you will travel down through England, seeing all you can as you go and searching out the old clocks and the famous collections of them that he has told you about. Then across the Channel in an airship (you will like that, Christopher) and on to France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

How does the proposition strike you, son?"

"We'll see the bears of Berne, Mr. McPhearson," cried Christopher excitedly. "And the Straasburg clock, too! And that wonderful clock in Venice. Think of it!"

"I am scarcely able to think of it," gasped the little Scotchman.

"You would like to go?" inquired Mr. Burton gently.

"Oh, sir, it has been my dream for years. I have thought and thought of sometime making such a journey. But it never has been possible. The expense--"

"It is going to be possible now," cut in Mr. Burton, smiling. "That is, if you are willing to take Christopher along."

"Nothing would please me better," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the watchmaker. "He is a fine lad. This year I have come to--"

"We know you have, Mr. McPhearson," a.s.serted Mrs. Burton softly. "Your kindness to our boy has proved that. That is why we are going to trust him to you. He is the most precious thing we have in the world. We should not let everybody borrow him."

With that the group broke up. Mr. Norcross hurried into his office; Mrs.

Burton opened her bag and once more began to fumble with her foolish gauzy samples; and Mr. Burton took up from his desk a handful of letters and glanced curiously over them. Even Mr. Rhinehart, Hollings, and the others scattered to their awaiting tasks, and Christopher and McPhearson were left alone.

"That's a present worth having, isn't it?" the boy cried with delight.