The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys Part 17

But little Jim appeared discontented. All this praise of Andy quite took the edge off what he himself had received. His mother sighed.

"But I'll not give him up yet," she thought after a moment. "No, I'll not give him up, for he's Tim's b'y, though most unlike him. I do moind hearin' wanst that Tim had a brother of that sort. Jim's loike him, no doubt, and he come to a bad end, so he did, a-gettin' to be an agitator, as they calls 'em. And sure what's an agitator but wan that's sour at iverybody's good luck but his own, and his own good luck turnin' out bad on account of laziness and consate? I'm needin' more wisdom than I've got when I'd be dealin' with Jim."

While the mother sat silent her sons were talking together in low tones.

Andy and Jim told of the rabbits they had trapped in the hazel brush, and how they had eaten some and some they had sold in the stores. And Mike, in his turn, told them how many rabbits there were in the Brady neighborhood, and how n.o.body seemed to wish to have them disturbed.

"What are they good for, if you can't catch 'em?" asked Jim, who could never catch enough.

"Good to look pretty hopping about, I guess," responded Mike.

"Huh!" exclaimed Jim, who, like many a one older than he, had small respect for opinions that clashed with his own.

"He'll be turnin' to be an agitator sure, only maybe I can head him off," thought the mother, who had been idly listening.

"Jim," she said, "'twas your father as was iver for hearin' both sides of iverything. If there's them that thinks rabbits looks pretty jumpin'

around, why, no doubt they do. 'Tisn't iverybody that's trappin', you'll moind. If you was a horse now, you'd be called strong in the mouth, and you'd need a firm hand on the lines. And if you'd been brung up among horses, as your father was, you'd know as them obstinate wans as wants the bits in their teeth are the wans as gets the beatin's. You're no horse, but things will go crossways to you all your loife if you don't do different. When there's nayther roight nor wrong in the matter let iverybody have their own way."

And then little Jim became downright sulky.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Little Jim became downright sulky."]

"Rabbits is for trappin'," he said stubbornly.

"Well, well," thought the widow, "I'll have to be waitin' a bit. But I'll be makin' something out of Jim yet."

Then she turned to Mike. "And how are you comin' on at the Gineral's?"

she inquired. "It's hopin' I am you're watchin' him close and larnin' to be loike him."

"I'm trying, mother," was the modest answer.

Mrs. O'Callaghan nodded approvingly. "A pattern's a good thing for us all to go by," she said. "Your father's gone, and you can only be loike him by heedin' to what I'm tellin' you about him. But the Gineral you can see for yoursilves. If you can get to be loike your father and the Gineral both, it's proud I'll be of you. And I will say that you're a-comin' to it, Moike.

"And there's another thing. The little b'ys has their chance, too. And it's because Andy here takes as natural to bein' a gintleman as thim geese takes to squawkin'. Whether it's loikin' his book or what it is, he's the wan to have handy for the little b'ys to pattern by. As far as he's gone he knows, and he can't be beat in knowin' how to treat other folks nice. And he's that quiet about what he knows that you wouldn't think he knows anything only for seein' him act it out."

And now little Jim was completely miserable. Constantly craving praise was little Jim, and the loss of it was torture to him. The widow glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She saw it was time to relieve him.

"But there's wan thing Jim's got that no other wan of my b'ys has," she continued.

Jim p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.

"He's the born foighter, is Jim. If he was big now, and there was a war to come, he'd be a soldier, I'm thinkin'. He's for foightin' iverything, even the words of a body's mouth."

This praise might be equivocal, but little Jim did not so understand it, and his pride returned.

His mother observed it. "But what you need, Jim," she went on, "is to be takin' a tuck in yoursilf. Look at the Gineral. Does he go foightin' in toimes of peace? That he don't. Will you look at the Gineral, Jim?"

Now Pat and Mike had been instructed to look at the General as their pattern. This appeal was placing Jim alongside of his two big brothers.

"Will you look at the Gineral, Jim?" repeated Mrs. O'Callaghan.

"I will," said Jim.

CHAPTER XV

Jim was enterprising. Far more enterprising than anybody gave him credit for. He had been set to copy the General, and that night as he lay down to sleep he resolved to outdo Pat and Mike. The little boys were insignificant in his eyes as he thought of what was before him, and even Andy offered small food for jealousy. To excel the two big boys was worth trying for.

Now the General was more familiar to Jim's ears than to his eyes. He at once resolved to remedy that.

"I'll have to be followin' him around and be seein' how he does, so I will," he told himself. "And I'll have to be gettin' my work done quick to be doin' it."

Accordingly he hustled through the dishwashing at a great rate the next morning, for his mother had lately decided that he might wash the dishes as well as wipe them. The dusting, usually carefully done, was a whisk here and a wipe there in the most exposed places. By such means did he obtain a half hour of extra time, and off he went up the railroad track on his way to General Brady's. He soon came to the point where he must leave the track for the street, and, the street being comparatively unused and so without a pavement, he was compelled to wade the snow.

Into it with his short legs he plunged, only anxious to reach the house before the General started down town. And he was almost out of breath when he came to the corner and turned south on the cleared sidewalk. On he hurried and around to the kitchen door.

"Is he gone?" he inquired, poking his head into the room where his brother was busily washing dishes.

Mike stared. The door had opened so softly, the words were so breathless, and the little boy so very red in the face. "Who?" he asked in astonishment.

"The Gineral," said Jim impatiently.

"Just going," returned Mike. And at the words Jim was out with the door shut behind him.

"What's got into little Jim?" thought Mike. Out of the yard flew Jim, and took on an air of indifferent loitering as he waited. Yes, there came the General. How broad his shoulders were! How straight his back!

How firm his tread! At sight of all this little Jim squared himself and, a half block in the rear, walked imitatively down the street. It was all very well for his mother to say that Jim was a born fighter. But she had entirely overlooked the fact that he was a born mimic also.

Here and there a smiling girl ran to the window to gaze after the two as they pa.s.sed--the stately old General and his ridiculous little copy. But it was when they neared the square that the guffaws began. The General, being slightly deaf, did not notice, and little Jim was so intent on following copy that he paid no attention. Thus they went the entire length of the east side of the square, and then along the south side until, at the southwest corner, the old soldier disappeared in the doorway of the bank. By this time little Jim's shoulders were aching from the restraint put upon them, for Jim was not naturally erect. And his long walk at what was, to him, an usually slow pace had made his nose blue with cold. But instead of running off to get warm he pressed close against the big window and peered in at his pattern. He knew his back and his walk now, and he wanted to see his face.

Presently one of the amused spectators stepped into the bank and spoke a few words to its president, and the General turned to look at the little fellow.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"One of your O'Callaghans, General," was the laughing answer.

The General flushed. Then he beckoned to Jim, who immediately came in.

"Go back to the stove and get warm, my boy," he said. "You look cold."

Jim obeyed and presently the General's friend went out.

"Now, my boy," said the General, walking back to the stove, "what did you mean by following me?"

Little Jim's blue eyes looked up into the blue eyes of the old soldier.

"Our eyes is the same color," he thought. And then he answered: "My mother told me to be makin' a pattern out of you. She told the same to Pat and Mike, too, and I'm goin' to do it better than they do, see if I don't. Why, they don't walk fine and straight like you do. But I can do it. I larned this morning."

The General laughed. "And what were you peering in at the window for?"