That Printer of Udell's Part 5

While the members of the Ministerial a.s.sociation were engaged in discussing Rev. Cameron's much-abused sermon, the printer, George Udell, dropped in at the office of Mr. Wicks, to make the final payment on a piece of property which he had purchased some months before. Mr.

Wicks, or as he was more often called, Uncle Bobbie, was an old resident of the county, an elder in the Jerusalem Church, and Rev. Cameron's right-hand man.

"Well," he said, as he handed George the proper papers, "that place is your'n, young man, what are ye goin' to do with it?"

"Oh I don't know," replied Udell, "it's handy to have round; good building spot, isn't it?"

"You bet it is," returned the other. "There aint no better in Boyd City, an' I reckon I know. Ye must be goin' to get a wife, talking about buildin'?"

Udell shook his head. "Well, ye ought to. Let's see--this is the third piece of property I've sold ye, aint it?--all of 'em good investments too--You're gettin' a mighty good start fer a young man. Don't it make ye think of the Being what's back of all these blessin's? Strikes me ye'r too blame good a man to be livin' without any religion. George, why don't you go to church anyway? Don't ye know you ought to?"

"Why don't I go to church," said Udell thoughtfully; "Well, Mr. Wicks, I'll tell you why I don't go to church. Just because I've got too much to do. I make my own way in the world and it takes all the business sense I have to do it. The dreamy, visionary, speculative sort of things I hear at meeting may be all right for a fellow's soul, but they don't help him much in taking care of his body, and I can't afford to fill my mind with such stuff. I am living this side of the grave.

Of course I like to hear a good talker, and I enjoy the music, but their everlasting pretending to be what they are not, is what gets me.

You take this town right here now," he continued, pushing his hat back from his forehead; "we've got ten or twelve churches and as many preachers; they all say that they are following Christ, and profess to exist for the good of men and the glory of G.o.d. And what are they actually doing to make this place better? There's not a spot in this city, outside a saloon, where a man can spend an hour when he's not at work; and not a sign of a place where a fellow down on his luck can stay all night. Only last week, a clean honest young printer, who was out of money through no fault of his own, struck me for a job, and before night fainted from hunger; and yet, the preachers say that Christ told us to feed the hungry, and that if we didn't it counted against us as though we had let him starve. According to their own teaching, what show have these churches in Boyd City when they spend every cent they can rake and sc.r.a.pe to keep their old machines running and can't feed even one hungry man? Your church members are all right on the believe, trust, hope, pray and preach, but they're not so much on the do. And I've noticed it's the _do_ that counts in this life.

Why, their very idea of Heaven is that it's a loafing place, where you get more than you ask for or have any right to expect."

"Gettin' a little excited, ain't ye?" smiled Uncle Bobbie, though there was a tear twinkling in his sharp old eyes.

"Yes I am," retorted the other. "It's enough to excite anyone who has a heart to feel and eyes to see the misery in this old world, and then to be asked eternally, 'Why don't you go to church?' Why look at 'em; they even let their own preachers starve when they get too old to work.

Societies and lodges don't do that. I don't mean to step on your toes though," he added hastily. "You know that, Uncle Bobbie. You've proven yourself a Christian to me in ways I'll never forget. My old mother was a member of the church and they let her go hungry, when I was too little to take care of her; and if it hadn't been for you she would have died then. But you fed her, and if there's a Heaven, she's there, and you'll be there too. But what makes me mad is, that these fellows who _never_ do anything, are just as sure of it as you who do so much."

"Ah, George," said Wicks; "that help I give your maw warn't nothin'.

Do you think I'd see her suffer? Why, I knowed her when she was a girl."

"I know, Uncle Bobbie, but that isn't the question. Why, don't the church _do_ some of the things they are always talking about?"

"Do infidels do any more?" asked Mr. Wicks.

"No, they don't," answered George, "but they don't thank G.o.d that Jesus Christ was crucified, so that they might get to Heaven, either."

"Thar's one fellow that I didn't feed," said the old man, after a long pause. "That same printer called here and I didn't give him nothin'

to do. I've thought of it many a time since though, and asked the Lord to forgive me for sech carelessness. And so he's got a job with you, has he? Well, I'm mighty glad. But say, George, were you at our church yesterday?"

"No," answered Udell, "Why?"

"Oh, nothin'; only I thought from the way you've been preachin'

Cameron's sermon, that you'd heard him give it, that's all."

CHAPTER V

"There's only one girl in this world for me," whistled d.i.c.k, as he made a form ready for the press. Only in his own mind he rendered it, "There's not one girl in this world for me;" and from d.i.c.k's point of view his version was the better one. Thus far in his life there had come no woman's influence; no loving touch of a girlish hand to help in moulding his character; no sweet voice bidding him do right; no soft eyes to look praise or blame. He had only the memory of his mother.

It was less than a week ago that the poor outcast had fainted from lack of food, but he had already become a fixture in the office. George Udell confided to Miss Wilson that he did not know how he could get along without him, and that he was, by long odds, the best hand he had ever had. He was quick and sure in his work, and as George put it, "You don't have to furnish him a map when you tell him to do anything."

With three good meals a day and a comfortable cot in the office for the night, with the privilege of spending his evenings by the fire, and the a.s.surance that there was work for him for many weeks ahead, it was no wonder that d.i.c.k whistled as he bent over the stone. Locking up the form, he carried it to the press and was fixing the guide pins, when the door opened and a young lady came in.

d.i.c.k's whistle stopped instantly and his face flushed like a school girl as he gave her a chair and went to call Udell, who was in the other room trying to convince the boy that the stove needed a bucket of coal.

"Faith," said d.i.c.k to himself, as he went back to the press, "If there is one girl in this world for me I hope she looks like that one. What a lovely voice," he added, as he carefully examined the first impression; "and a heavenly smile;" as he finished his work and went back to the composing case; "and what eyes,"--he turned sideways to empty his stick--"And what hair;" trying to read his copy--"a perfect form;" reaching for the type again. "I wonder who--"

"d.i.c.k!" shouted Udell. Crash went the overturned stool, and, "Yes Sir,"

answered the young man, with a very red face, struggling to his feet.

A merry light danced in the brown eyes, though the girlish countenance was serious enough.

Udell looked at his a.s.sistant in mingled wonder and amus.e.m.e.nt. "What's the matter, d.i.c.k?" he asked, as the latter came toward him.

"Nothing, Sir--I only--I was--" he looked around in confusion at the overturned stool, and the type on the floor.

"Yes, I see you were," said his employer with a chuckle. "Miss Goodrich, this is Mr. Falkner; perhaps he can help us out of our difficulty. Mr.

Falkner is just from Kansas City," he added, "and is up in all the latest things in printing."

"Oh yes," and Amy's eyes showed their interest. "You see, Mr. Falkner, we are trying to select a cover design for this little book. Mr. Udell has suggested several, but we cannot come to any decision as to just the proper one. Which would you choose?"

d.i.c.k's embarra.s.sment left him at once when a matter of work was to be considered. "This would be my choice," he said, selecting a design.

"I like that too," said the young lady; "but you see it is not _just_ what I want;" and she looked not a little worried, for above all things, Miss Goodrich liked things _just_ as she liked them; and besides, this was _such_ an important matter.

"I'll tell you what," said d.i.c.k. "If you'll let me, and Mr. Udell does not object, I'll set up a cover for you to-night after supper."

"O, indeed, you must not think of it," said Amy.

"But I would enjoy it," he answered.

"You need to rest after your day's work," she replied; "and besides, it would be so much trouble for you to come way down here in the night.

No, you need not mind; this will do very well."

"But we often work after hours, and I--I--do not live far from here,"

said d.i.c.k.

"What do you think, Mr. Udell?"

"I am sure, Miss Goodrich, that Mr. Falkner would enjoy the work, for we printers have a good bit of pride in that kind of thing you know, and, as he says, we often work after supper. I think you might let him do it, without too great a feeling of obligation."

After some further talk, the matter was finally settled as he had suggested, and d.i.c.k went back to his work; as he picked up his overturned stool, he heard the door close and then Udell stood beside him, with a broad grin on his face.

"Well, I'll be shot," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the printer, "I've seen fellows take a tumble before, but hang me if I ever saw a man so completely kerflummuxed. Great shade of the immortal Benjamin F--! But you were a sight--must be you're not used to the ladies. Seemed all right though when you got your legs under you and your mouth agoing. What in time ailed you anyway?"

"Who is she?" asked d.i.c.k, ignoring the other's laughter, and dodging his question.

"Who is she? Why I introduced you to her, man; her name is Amy Goodrich.

Her daddy is that old duffer who keeps the hardware store, and is so eminently respectable that you can't get near him unless you have a pedigree and a bank account. Amy is the only daughter, but she has a brother though who takes after the old man. The girl takes after herself I reckon." d.i.c.k made no reply and Udell continued: "The whole family are members of the swellest church in the city, but the girl is the only one who works at it much. She teaches in the Mission Sunday School; leads in the Young People's Society and all that. I don't imagine the old folks like it though; too common you know." And he went off to look after the boy again, who was slowly but painfully running off the bill-heads that d.i.c.k had fixed on the press.

"What's the matter with him, George?" asked that individual, leaning wearily against the machine; "Did he faint agin, or was he havin' a fit?"

"You shut up and get that job off sometime this week," answered Udell, as he jerked the lever of the electric motor four notches to the right.