The Hazeley Family Part 12

Probably all would have gone well with the lad, who was beginning to see a new life stretching out before him under the sunny influence of his sister, had his father lived.

While Mr. Hazeley exercised but little restraining power over his son during his life, the fact that he had a father had considerable influence over Harry. When Mr. Hazeley was killed, Harry realized that he was thrown on his own resources, and the fact that he was subject to no higher authority, took a firm hold upon him. At first, the idea aroused in him an innate, but undeveloped manliness, and he determined to stand by his mother and sister, and be a comfort to them as well as a support.

But the inherent weakness in his character soon gained the supremacy, and for the time over-ruled all his resolutions, which had been made in his own strength.

It was inevitable that he should mingle with his companions in work, and soon they gained an influence over him that was not for his highest good. Being somewhat older than he himself was, they instilled into him a false idea of their superiority, and it was by this means they retained him in their "set"--a set of wild, dissipated young men.

Where was his judgment? Alas! he had inherited sufficient of his mother's weak disposition to over-rule it, and consequently, he was one of the kind most easily deceived and led.

One of the youths, whose name was Edward Hopkins, gained considerable influence over Harry. He it was who persuaded him to leave his mother and sister, and seek employment in another town, where, he said, work could easily be secured, with shorter hours and greater pay. This seemed very inviting to Harry, who, at that time, never thought of deserting his home, but was anxious to earn more money, and thus become better able to care for the family and have more for what he called pleasure--cards and gaming and wine, for he had now become addicted to the use of the latter, through whose insidious influence he was fast losing his manly bearing.

Poor boy! How many n.o.ble men has Satan conquered and then cast off? How many homes has he ruined, and hearts broken, and hopes destroyed?

But I am glad to say that I shall not be obliged to trace Harry Hazeley to the bottom of the pit into which he had fallen, for G.o.d had most graciously heard the prayers of his loving, trusting sister, who had first set the example of prayer to the mother, who now frequently joined her, and he was not permitted to reach its utmost depths.

True, he went down pretty far, and his rescue was effected by rather severe means; but what mattered that, so he was saved?

After leaving home, Harry plunged into his new, reckless life, with a strength that not only surprised, but very soon disgusted Hopkins, who wished to preserve the appearance, at least, of a gentleman.

Harry had been able to secure a first-cla.s.s, remunerative position very readily, but so much went to satisfy his craving for excitement, that none was left to send home to make life a little easier for Mrs.

Hazeley and Flora.

After a while, however, his increasing unsteadiness secured for him dismissal from the shop where he had been employed. He was fortunate in securing place after place, but unfortunate in being unable to retain them, until at length he did but little work and a good deal of gambling. The work he then did was around and about the saloons where he had chances to game and drink.

One bitter cold night in December, a group of men stopped in front of one of these places, and after some discussion, entered. It proved to be Harry's stopping place, and he was sitting by the fire, for the time being idle.

To look at the sunken cheeks, restless eyes, and uncared-for appearance, one would never suppose this was the once straight, tall, active Harry Hazeley, so greatly was he changed.

The leader of the group of young men who entered the bar-room appeared to be attracted by the forlorn figure near the stove, as soon as he came in. He seemed to know him, for presently he walked over to him and tapping him familiarly on the shoulder, cried:

"Why, h.e.l.lo, old chap! How are you?"

Harry immediately recognized his old acquaintance, Edward Hopkins. He did not appear particularly glad to see him, however.

"Say, old fellow, you don't seem ready to shed tears of joy at seeing your old chum," remarked Ed, in a jovial tone, sitting down beside him.

Harry said nothing, but sat looking into the fire.

"Look here, now, Hal; you do look a little hard up. Haven't been getting along so well lately, I guess?"

"No, I haven't," said Harry, without turning around.

"Well, listen to me," resumed Ed. "The old proverb, 'a friend in need is a friend indeed,' is true, isn't it?"

"What of it?" questioned Harry, still apathetic.

"Just this," replied Ed, bringing his hand heavily down on his knee, "that I'm going to be a friend to you now."

Harry smiled incredulously. His confidence in the friendship of such a flashily-dressed fellow as Ed was, had been shaken.

"Come, don't be so glum, Hal. I've something to say to you," Ed continued, glancing around the room.

His comrades were all occupied in another part of the room.

"Now," went on Hopkins, lowering his voice, "we fellows," nodding toward the group, "are planning a little business. And if you want to, you can help us."

"What is it?" asked Harry, indifferently.

Edward took no notice of his manner, but went on:

"Well, we're going to--er--ah--walk into a small establishment, you know," and he winked slyly at Harry.

"Steal?" asked Harry, in a cold tone.

"If you like to put it that way, yes."

"Look here, Ed Hopkins," and Harry turned in scorn upon this hypocritical friend, who seemed so desirous of ruining him entirely.

"Look here," he repeated, "let me tell you I don't want to share any of your 'little plans.' I've fallen low, I know, but I'm not a thief yet,"

and Harry straightened himself up and looked with a flashing eye into the crafty face beside him.

Hopkins was angry, as much because he had partially let Harry into his secret, as because he had refused to join him. However, he congratulated himself that he had not gone very far, and he left him abruptly, in a high temper, going over to the group at the other end of the room.

A heated discussion was progressing there about something in connection with the game of cards they were playing. They appealed to Hopkins as he joined the group. This did not seem to add peace to the scene, for the quarrel waxed hotter, and the voices grew louder.

Presently there was the sound of a scuffle, during which was heard the report of a pistol. Immediately there was a stampede, and when the officer, who had been attracted to the spot by the noise, rushed in, followed by a small crowd of men and boys, no one was to be seen but Harry Hazeley. He was lying on the floor by the stove, and gave no sign of life as the officer rolled him over. Whether the pistol had been fired accidentally or intentionally, n.o.body knew. The shot, however, was certainly not intended for the one who received it. It was found on examination that Harry was wounded in the side. He had also, in falling struck his head against the edge of the stove, and cut it.

"Well," said the officer, "I guess we'll have to take this young fellow to the hospital. From his looks he'll not be likely to have a better place to go to, even if he could tell where he belonged."

CHAPTER XIII.

IN THE HOSPITAL AND OUT AGAIN.

When Harry Hazeley returned to consciousness, he found himself in bed in one of the wards of a hospital, with his head bound up, and a dull aching in his side. He was in too much pain to wonder how he came there, so he closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, but he could not. It seemed as if his mind had never been so active as it was now that he longed to forget everything, in the hope that this might ease his throbbing head. But that troublesome thing, memory, would a.s.sert itself, and his thoughts would travel back to the home he had left, and the sorrowing ones in it, and,--perhaps it was owing to the weak state of his system,--the tears forced themselves from underneath his eyelids, and rolled down his cheeks. But what is the good of thinking about these things? he mentally asked, and so he impatiently brushed the tears away.

Poor Harry had a hard time of it. He did not improve very rapidly, although he had the best of attention and nursing. His system was so poisoned by the use of alcohol, and he was so weak from having been so long without nourishing food that, while his wound was not a very serious one, it nearly cost him his life.

The pain from his wound, together with a low fever, racked his system until it was almost unbearable. His brain, however, was unusually active, and over and over again did he recall his life since he left home, and each time his repugnance grew; and when he began to convalesce, and he realized there was hope for him, he determined to lead a different life as soon as he was able to be around again. He sincerely and deeply repented of the past, and he felt the need of a Saviour, as he had never done before. He longed for some one to come and tell him of the Christ and of his saving power. He fully realized that he must have a helper, stronger than his will or his resolutions.

One morning, when Harry was getting a little more strength, there hobbled over to his bedside a crippled young man, who supported himself upon crutches. His body was distorted, and his legs were drawn up and twisted in a sad manner; but his face was bright and cheerful and intelligent, and his shoulders, arms, and hands had a look of manliness and strength about them that was greatly at variance with the feebleness of the rest of his frame.

"Well, friend," said this odd mixture of strength and weakness, as he seated himself slowly and cautiously by the bed. "Well, friend, how goes the world with you?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Harry, drearily. "I haven't been caring much about the world lately. I ain't in much of a hurry to care either.

There'll be time enough when I get out in it again."