Ester Ried Yet Speaking Part 20

"That's a jolly chap as ever I saw; and I never heard anything to beat the yarn he told us, for cuteness. Who is he?"

"Why, he is Mr. Evan Roberts, the owner of this house."

"My eyes!" said d.i.c.k, gazing about him in a startled way. "Look here; he ain't that Roberts from the big store on Fourth Street?"

"Yes, he is; he is one of the partners in that store."

Then did Nimble d.i.c.k give a low whistle,--suddenly cut short, as the other boys looked at him,--and sat up straight in his chair, and for at least a minute was awed; or else was bewildered. If his mind could have been looked into for a moment something like this might have been seen there: "And here I am sittin' in one of his chairs, and been laughin' to kill over his funny story! If this ain't the greatest lark out! I wonder what they're all after, anyhow!"

Then the real business of the evening commenced.

I should like to describe that evening; but it is really worse to describe than the boys. It was designed to be one of those most difficult evenings, where every act and almost every word has been previously arranged, but arranged in such a manner as to appear like an impromptu effort, the result of merely the happenings of the hour.

For instance, Mrs. Roberts aimed at nothing less formidable than the teaching of these boys to read and write; and know as well as ever I know it, that to frankly own that she was ready and willing to give her time and patience in so teaching them would be to outwit herself. They did not belong to the cla.s.s who can be beguiled into evening schools.

There are such; Mark Calkins would have seized such an opportunity and rejoiced over it, but these were lower in the scale; they did not realize their need, and they had what they in ignorance called "independence"; they were not to be "trapped" by evening schools.

Therefore it required diplomacy; and no people can be more diplomatic, on occasion, than certain most innocent-looking little women. Mrs.

Roberts had studied her way step by step.

Therefore it was, that by the most natural pa.s.sage possible, she led the way to a discussion of different styles of writing, bringing forth to aid her a certain old autograph alb.u.m which had been to many places of note, among others Chautauqua, and had the names of distinguished persons, as well as of many who were not distinguished, except for Christian endurance in consenting to write in an autograph alb.u.m. Good writers were talked about and selected, and poor writers were talked about, and it was said by some one, accidentally of course, that a good hand was really an accomplishment.

"It is more than that!" declared Mr. Roberts. "A man's business life often turns on it. I have myself had to turn away from several otherwise suitable helpers in our business because they really could not write a good, clear hand, that could be read without studying."

"Are you a good writer, Miss Gracie?"

This remark, coming suddenly to Gracie from her host, almost embarra.s.sed her, for you are not to suppose that the very words by which these themes should be introduced had been planned, and it had not occurred to Gracie that so personal a question might be asked her. But she rallied quickly.

"No, sir; I am sorry to say that I am not. I write what papa calls a mincing hand; all jumbled up together, you know, or running into each other, the letters are, and so difficult to read that papa said when I came away he hoped I would call on his friend, Dr. Stuart, every day, and write a letter on his type-writer."

"What is that?" interrupted Nimble d.i.c.k, his face curious.

"What? A type-writer? Oh, it is a strange little machine used instead of the pen--at least, a very few people use it. It is quite new, I think, and must be very curious. I never saw one, but the writing looks just like print. Dr. Stuart, a pastor in the city, is my papa's friend, and writes to him on his, and papa reads the letter with great satisfaction, saying to me, 'There, daughter, that is something like! People who cannot write well enough for others to read should print.'"

"They are not so very uncommon, Miss Dennis," explained Dr. Everett, who saw the eagerness on Nimble d.i.c.k's face. "It is a comparatively new invention, but is being caught up very promptly. I think nearly all the leading lawyers use them, and those who do not own them are getting their copying done at the rooms. They are very ingenious little instruments."

"Did you say you never saw one?"

This question from Mr. Roberts to Gracie, and he added:--

"Mrs. Roberts, I believe you have never had other than the first glimpse I showed you in the Parker Building. I have an idea. Suppose I rent one of the little fellows to interest us? It would be pleasant to look into it and see how it works. Did none of you ever see one? Well, now, we'll try for that on next Monday evening. I'll have one sent up to-morrow, and, Miss Gracie, we'll appoint you showman for the following Monday; so it is to be hoped that you will employ your leisure in learning how to manage the creature, and perhaps send your father a readable letter at the same time."

Now, as may readily be supposed, all this about machinery had not been arranged for beforehand, but was a side issue, born of the fact that the watchful servant of his Master saw an eager look in the eyes of the boy d.i.c.k directly there was anything said that suggested machinery. One of the great aims of these evenings was to study character, however developed.

Having turned his company from the regular channel, Mr. Roberts made haste to put them skilfully back where they were before:--

"Still, it would be a pity to resort to machinery simply because one did not know how to write well. I would rather set to work to correct the error. I happen to know one of our number who can write a very enviable hand. Do you know, Ried, that the letter you wrote me was the first thing which attracted me to you? I remember I showed the note to one of our senior partners, who was particularly disturbed by poor writing, and he said: 'Engage him, Roberts, do! A young man who can write like that will be a relief.' Mrs. Roberts, I move you that we resolve ourselves at this moment into a writing-cla.s.s, to be taught by Mr. Ried. My dear sir, will you take us in hand?"

Something of this kind had been planned--at least, it had been planned that Ried should be asked to do this thing; but he found the actual asking embarra.s.sing, and struggled with it with flushing cheeks. Gracie came to his aid:--

"I don't know whether I'll take lessons or not. Who wants to expose one's ignorance? Will you teach? Must we each give a specimen of our present attainments?"

Instantly Ried divined the reason for the question.

"No," he said, eagerly; "oh, no; I should begin with those horrors of your childhood, pothooks or something of that sort; lines and curves, you know. There are not many of them after all in our letters, and when once a person has conquered them it is easy to put them together."

There was more talk, easy and social. Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, the doctor, and Gracie seemed equally interested in the project, and questioned young Ried, until he a.s.sured them that he began to feel like a veritable professor. Apparently the boys were forgotten. This very fact put them at their ease, and they listened, interested and amused over the thought that these ladies and gentlemen wanted to go to school!

At first I do not think it occurred to one of them that he was included in the proposal to form an writing-cla.s.s.

How was it done? I am not sure that any one of the eager group of workers could have told you afterward, so excited did they become over this first scheme. n.o.body could remember just what words were said, nor who said them, nor whether the boys all looked equally startled when paper and pen were put into each hand. They remembered that some shook their heads emphatically, and that Nimble d.i.c.k spoke plainly: "No you don't! I can't write any more than a duck can, and I never expect to."

Mrs. Roberts knew that Dirk Colson's dark face turned a fierce red, and he snapped the offered pen half-way across the table with his indignant thumb and finger. But of these words and acts n.o.body apparently took any notice. The writing began, and the first marks given as copies were so simple, looked so easy to do, and the attempts of the ladies and gentlemen fell so far short of what the teacher desired, and were so unmercifully criticised by him, and the criticisms were so merrily received by the writers, that at last the whole thing took the form of a joke to Nimble d.i.c.k's mind, and he became possessed with a burning desire to try. One by one the boys stealthily followed his example; Alfred taking care to watch eagerly, to commend both Stephen Crowley and Gracie Dennis in the same breath for some true stroke, and criticise both Mrs. Roberts and Nimble d.i.c.k for not holding the pen aright.

The entire party became so interested that only Mrs. Roberts knew just when Dirk Colson stealthily filliped back his pen from the distance to which it had been rolled, and, sitting upright that he might attract the less notice, tried his hand on the curve which was giving even Dr.

Everett trouble.

When the young teacher discovered it he made also another discovery, which he proclaimed:--

"Upon my word, I beg the pardon of each of you, but Colson here has made the only respectable _R_-curve there is in the company."

Then if his sister Mart had seen the glow on Dirk's face, I am not sure that she would have known him. There was a momentary transformation.

As for Mrs. Roberts, she bowed low over the letter she was carefully forming, but it was to say in soft whisper heard by one ear alone:--

"Thank G.o.d!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

"YOURN'S THE WAY!"

You are not to suppose, because this first Monday evening (which, by the way, was concluded with sandwiches and coffee) was a success, p.r.o.nounced so by all concerned, that therefore the ones which followed were all rose-color.

Fortunately, not one of the workers expected this, and so were brave and cheerful under drawbacks.

These were numerous and varied.

After the first novelty wore off, it took at times only the most trivial excuses to keep the boys away. Sometimes when they called their conduct was anything but encouraging. They lolled in the easy-chairs, smelling strongly of tobacco and other bar-room odors, refused insolently to apply themselves to any work at hand, audibly p.r.o.nounced the whole thing "slow," and in numberless ways severely tried the patience of both Alfred and Gracie.

For the others, they had counted the cost,--at least the gentlemen had,--and expected to move slowly, even to appear to go backward some of the time. As for Mrs. Roberts, I have told you that she worked in a peculiar manner, with the motto, "This one thing I do," apparently ever before her.

Each evening was distinct in itself, with efforts to make and obstacles to overcome; and at its close she had a way of laying it aside, as something with which her part was done, not attempting even to calculate results; then she was ready to turn to a new day, and work steadily for that.

The winter was slipping away and Gracie Dennis lingered. She could hardly have told you why, yet there were many apparent reasons. Mrs.

Roberts wanted her, rejoiced in her, and coaxed irresistibly as often as the thought of going home was mentioned. Then Gracie, laugh over the peculiar work going on as she might, was undeniably interested in those boys. She was working for them, therefore of course she was interested.

"I don't see how you can go this week?" would young Ried say to her, with a perplexed air; "you know we have that matter all planned for next Monday evening. How can we carry out the scheme if you are not there to do your part?"