That Printer of Udell's Part 40

The disease was not slow in its work, and before many hours had pa.s.sed, it was clear to Cameron that the end was approaching. Frank also realized that death was not far distant, and his awful fear was pitiful.

"Brother Cameron," he whispered hoa.r.s.ely, as he held his pastor's hand, while the old negro crouched by the fire-place smoking his cob pipe.

"I must tell you--I've lived an awful life--people think that I'm a Christian--but I've lived a lie--"

Then with a look that made Cameron shudder, and in a voice strong with terror, he screamed, "O G.o.d, I shall go to h.e.l.l. I shall go to h.e.l.l.

Save me, Brother Cameron, save me. I always said that you were a good fellow. Why do you let me die here like a dog? Don't you know that I want to live? Here you cursed n.i.g.g.e.r, go fetch a doctor. I'll haunt you if you don't. Do as I say."

The colored man chattering in fright, dropped his pipe in the ashes, and half rose as though to leave the room, but sank back again with his eyes fixed on Rev. Cameron, who was bending forward, his hand on the forehead of the dying man.

"G.o.d knows all, Frank," said the minister.

"Yes," muttered the other, "G.o.d knows all--all--all." Then in a scream of anguish again, "He has been watching me all the time. He has seen me everywhere I went. He is here now. Look! don't you see his eyes?

Look! Brother Cameron; look you n.i.g.g.e.r!--Look there--" He pointed to one corner of the cabin. "Oh, see those awful eyes, watching--watching--I have fooled men but I couldn't fool G.o.d. _Don't.

Don't._--Oh, Christ, I want to live. Save me--save me--" And he prayed and plead for Jesus to heal him. "You know you could if you wanted to," he shouted, profanely; as though the Saviour of men was present in the flesh. Then to Cameron again, "I must get out of here. Don't you hear them coming? Let me go I say," as the minister held him back on the bed. "Let me go. Don't you know that I can't look G.o.d in the face? I tell you, I'm afraid."

For a moment he struggled feebly and then sank back exhausted; but soon began to talk again; and the minister heard with horror the dark secrets of his life.

Suddenly he ceased muttering, and with wide-open eyes, stared into the darkness. "Look there, Brother Cameron," he cried, hoa.r.s.e with emotion.

"Amy; don't you see her? She disgraced the family you know; ran away with that low-down printer. But see! Look! Who is that with her? Oh G.o.d, it's Kate--Kate--Yes, Kate, I'll marry you. It can't be wrong, you know, for you love me. Only we must not marry now for father would--Look Cameron--" His voice rose in a scream of fear. "She's got smallpox. Drive her out, you n.i.g.g.e.r; take her away to that cabin in the woods where you kept me. Sh'-- Don't tell anyone, Cameron, but she wants me to go with her. She's come to get me. And there's--there's--My G.o.d, look--Yes--Yes-- Kate, I'm coming--" And he sank back on the bed again.

The negro was on his knees trying to mumble a prayer, while the minister sat with bowed head. The lantern cast flickering shadows in the corners of the room, and the firelight danced and fell. A water bug crawled over the floor; a spider dropped from the rude rafters; and from without came the sound of the wind among the bare branches of the trees, and the old horse feeding on the dead gra.s.s and mouldy leaves about the cabin.

Suddenly the sick man spoke once more. "No sir, I will never disgrace you. I am as proud of our family as yourself. I am--home--day--" The sentence trailed off into a few unintelligible words in which only "Mother" and "Amy" could be distinguished. And then, with a last look about the cabin, from eyes in which anguish and awful fear was pictured, he gasped and was gone.

The next day, the old negro dug a grave not far from the house, and at evening, when the sun was casting the last long shadows through the trees, the colored man and the minister lowered the body of the rich man's son, with the help of the rope lines from the old harness, to its last resting place.

A few moments later, the darkey came around to the front of the house.

"Ready to go, sah?"

"Go where?" asked Cameron.

"Why, go home ob course. I reckoned you'd be mighty glad ter get away from dis yer place."

"I'm not going anywhere," the minister answered. "You may unhitch the horse again."

The old man did as he was told; then scratching his woolly head, said to himself, "I golly. Neber thought ob dat. I'll sure hab ter take care ob him next."

In the days which followed, Cameron wrote long letters to his wife, preparing her, with many loving words, for what was, in all probability, sure to come before she could reach home again. He also prepared an article for the Whistler, telling of Frank's death, but omitting all that would tend to injure the young man's character. To Adam Goodrich only, he wrote the awful truth. Other letters containing requests in regard to his business affairs, he addressed to d.i.c.k Falkner and Uncle Bobbie Wicks, and one to the President of the a.s.sociation, in which he made several recommendations in regard to the work. All of these, except the one to his wife, he placed in the hands of the negro to be mailed after his death, if such should be the end.

Then when the symptoms of the dread disease appeared, he calmly and coolly began his fight for life. But his efforts were of no avail; and one night, just before the break of day, he called the old colored man to his bedside and whispered, with a smile, "It's almost over, Uncle Jake; my Master bids me come up higher. Good-bye; you have been very kind to me, and the good Father will not forget you." And so talking calmly of the Master's goodness and love, he fell asleep, and the old negro sat with a look of awe and reverence on his dusky face, as the glorious sunlight filled the cabin and the chorus of the birds greeted the coming of the day.

Much that pa.s.sed in the weeks following, cannot be written here. Mrs.

Cameron's grief and anguish were too keen, too sacred, to be rendered in unsympathetic print. But sustained by that power which had enn.o.bled the life of her husband, and kept by the promises of the faith that had strengthened him, she went on doing her part in the Master's work, waiting in loving patience the call that would unite them again.

A month after the news of Cameron's death reached Boyd City, the president of the a.s.sociation called on d.i.c.k and spent an hour with him talking of the work. Before leaving, he said: "Mr. Falkner, in Rev.

Cameron's letter to me, he strongly recommended that you be called to take the place left vacant as director of the a.s.sociation. With your consent, I will announce that recommendation at our next meeting. But first, I would like to know what answer you would give."

d.i.c.k asked for a week to think over the matter, which was granted. And during that time he consulted Elder Wicks.

Uncle Bobbie only said, as he grasped his young friend by the hand, "Behold, I have set before you an open door." And d.i.c.k bowed his head in silent a.s.sent.

The same day, late in the afternoon, George Udell was bending over some work that he was obliged to finish before going home. His helper had gone to supper, and the boy, a new one in the office, was cleaning up preparatory to closing for the night. "Don't clean that press, Jim,"

said the printer, suddenly.

"What's the matter; don't you know that it's time to quit?" asked the tired youngster, a note of anxiety in his voice.

"You can quit," replied George, "but I am going to run off some of this stuff before I go." And he proceeded to lock up the form.

With a look of supreme disgust on his ink-stained countenance, the other removed his ap.r.o.n and vanished, as though fearing his employer might change his mind. At the foot of the stairs, the apprentice met Clara Wilson. "He's up there," he said with a grin, and hurried on out of the building, while the young lady pa.s.sed slowly to the upper floor.

The stamping of the press filled the room, and the printer, his eyes on his work, did not hear the door close behind the girl; and only when she stood at his elbow did he look up. The machine made three impressions on one sheet before he came to his senses; then he turned to the young lady inquiringly.

"I--I--thought I'd stop and ask you to come over to the house this evening; Mother wants to see you."

"Hum--m--m, anything important?" asked George, leaning against the press. "You see I'm pretty busy now." He shut off the power and stepped across the room as the phone rang. "h.e.l.lo--Yes, this is Udell's--I'm sorry, but it will be impossible--We close at six you know. Come over first thing in the morning--Can't do it; it's past six now, and I have an important engagement to-night. All right. Good-bye."

"Oh, if you have an engagement I will go," said Clara, moving toward the door.

"You needn't be in a hurry," said George, with one of his queer smiles.

"My engagement has been put off so many times it won't hurt to delay it a few minutes longer. And besides," he added, "the other party has done all the putting off so far, and I rather enjoy the novelty."

The young lady blushed and hung her head, and then--but there--what right have we to look? It is enough for us to know that Udell's engagement was put off no longer, and that he spent the evening at the Wilson home, where the heart of Clara's mother was made glad by the announcement she had long wished to hear.

"Law sakes," snapped the old lady; "I do hope you'll be happy. Goodness knows you ought to be; you've waited long enough." And for just that once, all parties interested were agreed.

Charlie Bowen is in an eastern college fitting himself for the ministry.

His expenses are paid by Mr. Wicks. "To-be-sure," said Uncle Bobbie, "I reckon a feller might as well invest in young men as any other kind o' stock, an' the church needs preachers who know a little about the business of this world, as well as the world what's comin'. I don't know how my business will get along without the boy though, but I reckon if we look after Christ's interests he won't let us go broke.

To-be-sure, college only puts the trimmins' on, but if you've got a Christian business man, what's all _man_ to begin with, they sure do put him in shape; an' I reckon the best 'aint none too good for G.o.d.

But after all, it's mighty comfortin' for such old, uneducated sticks as me to know that 'taint the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs the good Father looks at. Ye can't tell a preacher by the long words in his sermon, no more 'n you can tell a church by the length of its steeple."

Five years later, two traveling men, aboard the incoming "Frisco"

pa.s.senger, were discussing the business outlook, when one pointed out of the window to the smoke-shrouded city. "That town is a wonder to me," he said.

"Why?" asked his fellow-drummer, who was making his first trip over that part of the road. "What's the matter with it? Isn't it a good business town?"

"Good business town," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the other, "I should say it was.

There's not a better in this section of the country. But it's the change in the character of the place that gets me. Five years ago, there wasn't a tougher city in the whole west. Every other door on Broadway was a joint, and now--"

"Oh yes, I've heard that," interrupted the other, with a half sneer; "struck by a church revival or something, wasn't they? And built some sort of a Salvation Army Rescuing Home or Mission?"

"I'm not sure about the church revival," returned the other slowly, "though they do say there are more church members there now than in any other city of its size in the country. But I'm sure of one thing; they were struck by good, common-sense business Christianity. As for the Rescue Home, I suppose you can call it that if you want to; but it's the finest block in the business portion of the city; and almost every man you meet owns a share in it. But here we are; you can see for yourself; only take my advice, and if you want to do business in Boyd City, don't try to sneer at the churches, or laugh at their a.s.sociation."

And indeed the traveling man might well wonder at the change a few years had brought to this city in the great coal fields of the middle west. In place of the saloons that once lined the east side of Broadway and the princ.i.p.al streets leading to it, there were substantial buildings and respectable business firms. The gambling dens and brothels had been forced to close their doors, and their occupants driven to seek other fields for their degrading profession. Cheap variety and vulgar burlesque troops had the city listed as no good, and pa.s.sed it by, while the best of musicians and lecturers were always sure of crowded houses. The churches, of all denominations, had been forced to increase their seating capacity; and the attendance at High School and Business College had enlarged four-fold; the city streets and public buildings, the lawns and fences even, by their clean and well-kept appearance, showed an honest pride, and a purpose above mere existence. But a stranger would notice, first of all, the absence of loafers on the street corners, and the bright, interested expressions and manners of the young men whom he chanced to meet.

And does this all seem strange to you, reader, as to our friend, the traveling man? Believe me, there is no mystery about it. It is just the change that comes to the individual who applies Christ's teaching to his daily life. High purpose, n.o.ble activity, virtue, honesty and cleanliness. G.o.d has but one law for the corporation and the individual, and the teaching that will transform the life of a citizen will change the life of a city if only it be applied.

The reading-room and inst.i.tution established by the young people of the Jerusalem Church had accomplished its mission, and was absorbed into the larger one established by the citizens, where boys and girls, men and women, could hear good music, uplifting talk, and helpful entertainment; where good citizenship, good health, good morals, were all taught in the name of Jesus. The inst.i.tution was free in every department; visitors were restricted only by wholesome rules that in themselves were educational. Co-operating with the city officials, it separated the vicious from the unfortunate, and removed not only the influence of evil, but the last excuse for it, by making virtue a pleasure, and tempting the public to live wholesomely. And as the traveling man testified, it paid from a business standpoint; or as Uncle Bobbie Wicks tells his customers from other towns, "Folks come to Boyd City to live 'cause they 'aint 'fraid to have their boys 'n girls walk down the street alone." And after all, that's about the best recommendation a place can have. And perhaps the happiest couple in all that happy, prosperous city, as well as the best-loved of her citizens, is the young manager of the a.s.sociation, Mr. Richard Falkner, and his beautiful wife, Amy.