Three People Part 22

Like to have you come every day, sir."

"Your minister!"

"Yes, sir. Didn't you know you was my minister?" chuckled Tode. "Bless me, _I_ know it, I tell _you_--known it this long time."

And then ensued a lively conversation, question and answer following each other in quick succession; and Mr. Birge went through a great many phases of feeling in a brief s.p.a.ce of time. First came a great throb of joy. The boy is safe the mother's prayer is answered--good measure, pressed down, running over--not only a temperance boy to the very core, but a Christian; then a quick little thrill of pain--oh, his work was done, but his duty had been left undone; the Lord had gathered in this stray waif, but _he_ was not the servant. Then, first great astonishment, and afterward humble, _very_ humble thanksgiving. So then he was the servant after all; the Lord had called him in to help, and the work was begun on that stormy night, that night over which he had grumbled, and had doubting, questioning thoughts. Oh, there were a great many lessons to learn during that long conversation, and the minister smiled presently to himself over the memory of how he took it for granted that because the little yellow-haired boy had run away from his intended care nine years before, he had therefore run away from G.o.d; smiled to remember how carefully he was going to approach this rough, hardened boy. "Oh well," he said to himself, as he turned from the shade of the awning, compelled by the press of customers to defer further conversation, "I shall learn after a time that although the Lord is gracious and forbearing, and kindly gives me the work to do here and there for him, he can when he chooses get along entirely without the help of John Birge."

Nevertheless he did not yet make known the fact of his early acquaintance with Tode--not so much now that he wanted to keep it to help in melting the boy's heart, as that he had come to realize that Tode's mother was already his one tender memory, and that everything about that death-bed scene, if remembered at all, must be fraught with pain; so he still kept the story until some quiet time when they should be in a pleasant room alone. But this meeting was a great thing for Tode. From that day forth Mr. Birge realized fully that he was the boy's minister. He began at once to work carefully for him. Thursday evening Tode learned to close business at an early hour, and betake himself to the Young People's Meeting. He was toled into the Sabbath-school--more than that, he coaxed Winny in, a feat which her mother had never succeeded in performing.

It was some time in September that a new duty and a new privilege dawned upon him, that of publicly uniting himself with the people of G.o.d. Tode never forgot the solemn joy which thrilled his soul at that time, when it was made known to him that this privilege was actually his. There came a wondrously beautiful October Sat.u.r.day, and Tode stood by the window in Mr. Birge's study. It was just at the close of a long conversation. On the morrow the boy was to stand up in the church and take the solemn vows upon him, and his face was grave yet glad.

"By the way," said Mr. Birge, "yours is a very singular name. Fortunate that it is, or I never would have found you again; but it must be a contraction of something."

"Why yes," answered Tode, hesitatingly. He didn't know what contraction meant. "My name was once, when I was a _very_ little youngster, _Theodore_; but I never knew myself in that way."

"Theodore! A grand name--it belonged to a brother of mine once before he was called to receive 'the new name.' I like it; and Theodore the name goes down on my record. How do you spell the other? Are you sure that's all right?"

"M-a--" began our friend, then stopped to laugh. "Why no--I'll be bound that ain't my name, either. It's Mallery, that's what it is; no Mall about it."

Mr. Birge turned and surveyed his caller leisurely, with a quiet smile on his face.

"It seems to me, Master Theodore Mallery, that you are sailing under false colors," he said at last. "What have you to do with Tode Mall?"

Tode laughed.

"Well they nicknamed me so, and I suppose it stuck, and it seems like me; but my name truly is Theodore S. Mallery."

"Then of course I shall write it so." And after he had written it Mr.

Birge came over and took the boy's hand.

"It is a pleasant idea," he said. "Let us take the new name, a picture of the new life which begins to-morrow, when you say before the world, as for me I will serve the Lord. Be very careful of the new name, dear brother; don't stain it with any shadow of evil."

Tode walked home slowly and thoughtfully in the gathering twilight, strange new thoughts stirring in his heart. He felt older and graver and wiser. He went round by his business stand; he took his knife from his pocket and carefully pried out the tacks which held his pasteboard sign; then he held it up in the waning light, and looked earnestly at the letters, his face working with new thoughts. But the only outward expression which he gave to these thoughts was to say as he rolled up the pasteboard:

"I must have a new sign. Good-by, Tode Mall, I'm done with you forever.

After this I'm Theodore S. Mallery."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XVI.

PLEDGES AND PARTNERSHIPS.

There was a little bit of a white house, cunning and cozy, nestled in among the larger ones, on a quiet, pleasant street of the city. It was a warm June day, and the side door was open, which gave one a peep into a dainty little dining-room. There was a bright carpet on the floor, a green-covered table between the windows, with books and papers scattered about on it in the way which betokens use and familiarity instead of show. The round table was set for three, and ever and anon a dear little old woman bustled in from the bit of a kitchen and added another touch to the arrangements for dinner. A young miss of perhaps sixteen was curled in a corner of the lounge, working rapidly and a little nervously with slate, and pencil, and brain. The side gate clicked, and a young man came with quick decided tread up the flower-bordered walk. The student raised her eyes and found her voice:

"Oh, Theodore! for pity's sake see what is the matter with this example?

I've worked it over so many times that the figures all dance together, and don't seem to mean anything."

"What is it? Algebra?" And the young man laid his cap on the table, tossed the curls back from his forehead, and sat down beside her.

"Yes, it's algebra, and I'm thoroughly bewildered. Do you believe I ever _will_ know much about it, Theodore?"

"Why, certainly you will. You're a good scholar now, if you wouldn't get into such a flurry, and try to add and multiply and divide all at once.

See here, you've used the wrong terms twice, and that is the sum and substance of your entire trouble."

Winny looked a little perplexed and a little annoyed, and then laughed.

"Have patience with your bundle of stupidity, Theodore," she said, half deprecatingly. "I may do you credit yet some day, improbable as it looks."

And then the dear old lady, who had been trotting back and forth at intervals, now ushered in a teapot and called them to dinner; and they three sat down, and heads were reverently bowed while the young man reverently said: "Our Father, we return thee thanks for these, and all the unnumbered blessings of this day. May we use the strength which thou dost give us to thine honor and thy praise." And the old lady softly said, "Amen."

I do not know that you have ever heard the dear old lady's name, but it was McPherson--Mrs. McPherson. Of course you remember Winny, and the young man was the person who used to be familiarly known by the name of Tode Mall, but it was long since it had occurred even to him that he was ever other than Theodore Mallery, the enterprising young proprietor of that favorite refreshment-room down by the depot; for the dry-goods box had disappeared, so also had the cellar rum-hole. There was a neat building down there, the name, "Temperance House," gleamed in large letters from the gla.s.s of both windows, and "Theodore S. Mallery" shone over the door. Within all was as neat and complete as care and skill and grace could make it; and that it was a favorite resort could be seen by standing for a few moments to watch the comers and goers at almost any hour in the day.

Theodore came down the street with his peculiar rapid tread, glanced in to see if his brisk little a.s.sistant was in attendance, then went across the street and around the corner to a grocery near at hand.

"Mr. Parks," he said, speaking as one in the habit of being full of business and in haste, "can you cash this note for me? Good afternoon, Mr. Stephens," to that gentleman, who stood in a waiting att.i.tude.

"Yes," said Mr. Parks, promptly, "if you will count this roll of bills for me. I'm one of those folks that I've read about who 'count for confusion,' I guess. Anyhow, these come different every time."

"With pleasure, sir," answered Theodore, seizing upon the bills with alacrity, and fluttering them through his fingers with the rapidity of thought. "Ninety-eight--seventy-three," he announced after a few seconds of flutter and rustle.

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." And again he ran over the notes, and announced the same result.

"Thank you," said Mr. Parks, with a relieved air. And as Theodore gathered up his bills and vanished, the old gentleman looking after him said:

"That's a smart chap, Mr. Stephens. I don't know his match anywhere around this city. True as steel every time, and just as sharp as steel any day."

"Yes," answered Mr. Stephens, quietly. "I have heard of the young man before, and know something of his character."

Two hours afterward Theodore was reading a letter. It commenced:

"PRIVATE OFFICE, } "June 16, 18--.}

"_My Dear Young Friend_:

"It is something over four years since you came to me one night with my ten-dollar bill, since which time my eyes have been on you. I did not present you with the bill then and there, as I was tempted to do. I am not one of the croakers who think it sinful to reward honesty. G.o.d rewards every day our efforts toward the right; but I think the reward can come too suddenly when man takes it into his own hands. I stayed my hand. I determined instead to keep you in view, and keep the helping hand stretched out, unseen by you; but ready to come to your aid in time of need. No such a time has come to you. The Lord evidently took you for his own, and gave his angels charge concerning you. I have watched and waited. I know all about your character, young man, and more about your education than you think.

"As I said, your time of need, for which I have been waiting, has not come, but mine has. I need just such a young man as you--one who will be prompt, active and efficient. You know my place of business, and that I make few changes. I do not like the business you have chosen. Keeping an eating saloon is a respectable employment, always provided that the business is respectably conducted, which yours has been. I do not doubt that you have done much good. You have fought the giant enemy of this present time n.o.bly and well.

But the business is not suited to your capacity, by which I mean that your capacity overruns the business. Your pet enemy needs fighting, not only with strong principles but with money, and a certain kind of business power, both of which I can put you in the way to gain more rapidly.

"In short, if you choose to come to me as one of my confidential clerks, on a salary which I will name when I see you, and which shall rise as you rise, I shall be glad to talk with you this evening at eight o'clock. If you have no idea of making a change in business; if your present occupation suits you, I will not trouble you to make me any reply other than to return this communication to me through the post-office, and we will quietly let the matter drop.

"Yours truly, "JOHN S. S. STEPHENS."