Brave Tom by Edward S. Ellis
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Edward S. Ellis >> Brave Tom
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"Can it be possible? Well, that beats me!"
[Illustration: Tom held on like grim death.]
The carriage was waiting for this young man, who simpered forward with
uplifted hat and greeted them effusively. Mrs. Warmore noticed Tom, and
bowed to him, inviting him to enter the carriage and ride with them,--an
invitation which, as he expressed to himself, he would not have accepted
for seventeen thousand million dollars. The dude stepped into the
carriage, dropped into the seat facing the ladies, and devoted himself to
gnawing the head of his cane and making bright remarks to them.
"Well, who in the name of the seven wonders can he be?" mused Tom, walking
briskly homeward. "He must be some relative of the Warmores; but they
ought to be ashamed of such a specimen as that. He was the laughing-stock
of the boat. I was forming quite an exalted opinion of Miss Jennie; but if
she fancies that sort of thing, my respect for her has gone down to zero."
When Tom stepped upon the porch of Farmer Pitcairn's home, and shook hands
with him, and received a motherly kiss from his good wife, he went inside,
and, sitting down to their evening meal, asked Mr. Pitcairn whether he had
noticed the young man riding in the Warmore carriage with the mother and
daughter.
"Yes; I've seen him before. He is a son of an old friend of the family.
I've an idee that he and Miss Warmore are intended for each other."
"Do you know his name?"
"Yes--let me see. Ah, it is Catherwood--G. Field Catherwood. He parts his
name, like his hair, in the middle. He is quite a dude in his dress, but
when you come to know him pretty well he isn't such a bad sort of fellow."
"How is it _you_ know so much about him?" asked Tom in surprise.
"He has stopped here a good many times when out riding with the ladies.
He's fond of mother's buttermilk."
"I thought his kind preferred sweet milk," Tom could not help remarking,
with a laugh; "but I must not judge him too harshly. We all have our
peculiarities, and he is not likely to fancy me any more than I do him."
Tom returned to his work refreshed and renewed in strength and spirits.
The year passed pleasantly. That which followed saw him promoted another
step, so that when the fourth year opened it saw him in a situation where
the salary of but a single employee exceeded his; that was the bookkeeper.
He had every reason to expect that place when the vacancy should occur.
Mr. Warmore had given so many evidences of his regard that it was conceded
by all that he was his favorite clerk. He had never violated his
principles of honesty, truthfulness, and consideration for every one with
whom he came in contact. A young man who lives up to that rule of conduct
is as sure to succeed, if his life is spared, as the sun is to rise.
The bookkeeper was an elderly gentleman, so well-to-do that, at the
beginning of the fifth year, he resigned and gave up all active work. His
son was engaged in successful business in New York, and urged his father
to join him, where he would be a partner. So he left. His successor in the
establishment of Mr. Warmore, instead of being Tom Gordon, was G. Field
Catherwood.
Chapter XXII.
It was a surprise to every employee of Mr. Warmore. To Tom Gordon it was
also a keen disappointment. He had never doubted that the plum would fall
to him. He did not dream that the dudish young man would ever demean
himself by manual labor; but Mr. Warmore departed from his usual
reticence, to the extent of taking Tom aside and explaining matters.
"Mr. Catherwood is the son of an old college friend of mine. His father
was wealthy, and, at his death some years ago, left everything to him. Mr.
Catherwood has traveled a good deal, but is disposed now to settle down in
life and become a business man. He has made an offer to put a large sum of
money in our business, and I have accepted it--that is, conditionally,"
added the merchant with a slight hesitation.
Tom bowed.
"I presume he has some thought of marriage, and has awakened to the fact
that the life of an idler is a worthless one. So he contemplates becoming
a merchant. With his help we shall be able to expand our business and thus
benefit both. I said I accepted his offer conditionally."
Noticing the hesitation of his employer, Tom interposed:--
"Mr. Warmore, there is no call for you to make this explanation. No man
could have been kinder to me than you have been. I will not deny that I
was disappointed, when I found myself checked on the next to the highest
round of the ladder, but not a word of complaint can ever be heard from
me. I should be an ingrate to utter it. I shall give you the best service
of which I am capable, as I have done in the past. My gratitude you shall
have always."
"Those manly word have decided me to say two things: From the beginning of
the year your salary shall be the same as that of Mr. Martin who has left.
The condition upon which I have agreed to accept Mr. Catherwood as a
partner is that he shall devote one year's hard work to the business. He
thinks he can acquire the necessary knowledge best by becoming a
bookkeeper, since he could hardly be expected to begin where you and the
rest did."
Repeating his thanks to his employer for the goodness he had always shown
toward him, Tom Gordon bowed himself out.
Sure enough, the next day Mr. Catherwood took his place at the
bookkeeper's desk. Mr. Martin agreed to stay a week in order to explain
everything necessary to him; and none could have applied himself more
assidiously than the young man, whose whole thoughts seemed to have been
centered on that of dress and the other sex.
Tom Gordon soon discovered the cause of Mr. Pitcairn's remark to the
effect that Catherwood was not such a bad fellow when you came to know
him. He wrote an excellent hand, understood the theory of bookkeeping, and
mastered that branch of the business so quickly that Mr. Martin was
dismissed with thanks at the end of three days.
True, he wore eyeglasses, parted his hair in the middle, and was an
exquisite in his dress. When he chose he could be courteous to those
around him. Most of the clerks were pleasantly disappointed by his manner.
Tom Gordon, as in duty bound, yielded full respect to the one who was not
only his superior in position, but who was likely, in the course of time,
to become his sole employer. But the young man was sensitive, and soon
became convinced that Mr. Catherwood did not feel especially friendly
toward him. It was not in anything he said or did, but rather in his
manner. It made Tom uncomfortable; but he resolved to make the best of it,
and, if he could not force Mr. Catherwood to like him, he could at least
compel his respect.
"He must have seen me laughing at him on the steamboat, when he missed his
chair; possibly he suspects I had something to do with his mishap. It is
natural that he should feel resentful toward me, but I hope it will wear
off."
In the dusk of early evening, some months later, Tom was sauntering
homeward, musing over the past, with an uncomfortable feeling that despite
the long service he had given Mr. Warmore, and the many times he had
expressed his satisfaction with him, the association was not likely to
continue much longer.
There could be no mistaking the hearty dislike which Catherwood felt for
the young man. Tom would have cared little for that had not the
discouraging conviction forced itself upon him that Mr. Warmore was
beginning to share his future partner's distrust. It seemed to be an
unconscious absorption on his part of the views of another.
This was hard to bear; but it rasped the young man's sense of manhood, for
it was an injustice which he did not expect.
"If Mr. Warmore is weak enough to let that fellow turn him against me, he
is a different man from what I suspected. His store is not the only one in
the world, and at the first unfair act on his part, I shall leave--hello!"
Coming down the road, on a swift gallop, with the reins flying, was a
spirited horse, dragging a fashionable dog-cart, which, as it swayed from
side to side, showed that it contained a single person,--a lady, who had
lost control of the animal.
"That looks bad," muttered Tom, his heart leaping with natural excitement.
"She is likely to be killed."
It looked as if the young man was to be given one of the stereotyped
opportunities to prove his heroism,--that of rescuing a beautiful young
lady whose horse was running away. He did not think of that, however, for
it would have been the same had a bitter enemy been in peril.
The steed was coming like the whirlwind. The clamp of his hoofs, his
snorting nostrils, his flying mane, and dangling reins, the frail vehicle
bounding from side to side and often on the point of overturning, the
glimpses of the lady bravely holding on and uttering no scream,--all these
made up the most startling picture on which Tom Gordon had looked for many
a day.
Stationing himself in the middle of the road, he swung his hat and arms,
and shouted to the mad animal in the hope of making him slacken his speed
sufficiently to allow the occupant to leap out. The horse saw him, shied a
little, moderated his pace a trifle, and then plunged forward on a run.
Clearly he was not to be checked by that means. Tom Gordon braced himself
for the shock of the supreme effort he had formed.
In a twinkling his strong grip had closed about the strap of the bit, and
he threw his whole weight against the brute, who reared, plunged,
struggled, struck with his fore feet, and strove to shake the incubus
loose, but in vain. Tom held on like grim death, though in imminent danger
of being struck down and trampled upon. No animal is quicker to recognize
the hand of a master than a horse, and in less time than would be supposed
possible the mad runaway was under control.
Then a gentle patting, a few soothing words, and he became more quiet,
though still trembling in every nerve.
"I hope, Miss Warmore, you have not been injured."
"Not in the least, thanks to your bravery," replied the young lady,
displaying wonderful coolness. "I have had a pretty rapid ride and a bad
shock, but that is all."
Tom had caught up the reins and held them in hand, while he stood at the
side of the vehicle near the daughter of his employer.
"Perhaps, Miss Warmore, it will be safer for me to drive home with you.
The horse is nervous and liable to take fright again."
"I can never thank you sufficiently for what you have already done," she
said with emotion, moving to one side to make room for him.
"It was not difficult," he remarked lightly, stepping in beside her, and
speaking gently to the animal, as he carefully turned him around to drive
back. "I had time to prepare myself, and he was easily controlled. May I
ask how it happened?"
He was sure he never saw one so beautiful as she. The excitement had
brought a glow to her lustrous eyes, and there was deepening of the pink
tinge on the cheeks which made her complexion perfection itself. She was
still agitated, though striving hard to bring her feelings under control.
"We were driving at a brisk pace," she replied, "when a piece of paper
blew across the road in front of Jack, and he was off like a shot."
Tom noticed her use of the word "we," and knew whom she meant.
"Could not Mr. Catherwood control him?"
He glanced sideways at her when he asked the question, and noticed the
scornful expression that came upon her face.
"He might have done so had he a spark of _your_ courage; but the instant
Jack made his leap, Mr. Catherwood flung the lines over his back, and with
a call to me to jump, he sprang out of the cart and left me alone. If he
had given me the lines, I could have managed Jack myself; but he wouldn't
allow me even that poor privilege."
"He must have lost his head."
"Small loss to lose _such_ a head," exclaimed Miss Jennie, who evidently
held a small opinion of her escort; "it's the last time I shall ever go
riding with _him_."
A queer thrill passed through Tom Gordon. He was a fervent admirer of the
young lady at his side; but he had worshiped her, as may be said, as we
worship a fair and brilliant star. It is something so far beyond our reach
that we keep our admiration to ourself, and strive to drive the foolish
feeling from our heart.
"I have no wish to injure Catherwood," was his thought; "but if he is such
a coward as to desert a lady in peril, it is well she should know it
before it is too late."
When Mr. Warmore referred to the young man as not only contemplating a
partnership in his business, but as intending marriage, Tom Gordon held
not the slightest doubt of his full meaning. He was paying court to the
merchant's only daughter; and, if they were not already engaged, they
expected soon to become so.
The situation of our young friend, therefore, became a most peculiar one.
He had been given an important preliminary advantage, if he chose to
aspire to the love of the sweet one at his side; but he thought hard, and
did not lose his self-poise or sense of honor.
"It is natural that she should despise his poltroonery and feel grateful
to me," was his thought; "but, after all, it isn't likely she holds any
emotion other than simple gratitude. It would be base in me to presume
upon it. I will not do so."
The drive was comparatively a short one to the handsome residence of the
Warmores. As Tom guided the mettlesome pony through the open gate and up
the winding roadway to the front of the porch, Mrs. Warmore came out pale
with fright. She had just learned of the accident from G. Field
Catherwood, who had limped up the steps with a rambling tale of how he had
been flung headlong from the vehicle at the moment he was about to seize
Jennie and lift her free.
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the mother, when she saw her daughter unharmed;
"I was sure you were killed."
Catherwood hobbled forward from behind the lady, leaning on his cane.
"I say 'amen' to those sentiments," he added, too much flustered just then
to use his affected style of speech. "O Jennie, my heart was broken when I
was hurled out before I could save you. Allow me."
"You had better look after your own safety," she said, refusing his help,
as she stepped lightly from the cart. "Jack might start again. Mother, Mr.
Gordon here saved my life."
At this moment the groom appeared, and the blushing Tom turned the horse
over to him, and, pretending he had not heard the words of Jennie, lifted
his hat.
"It has come out all right; I bid you good-evening."
Catherwood quickly rallied from the snub of the lady. He slipped his
fingers in his vest-pocket and drew out a bill, which he handed to Tom.
"What's that for?" asked the wondering youth, taking the crumpled paper.
"Aw--that's all right, my deah fellow--you earned it--dooced clevah in
you"--
Tom Gordon compressed the paper into a small wad, and placing it between
his thumb and forefinger, as though it were a marble, shot it against the
eyeglasses of the amazed dude.
"That's my opinion of _you_," he said, turning about and walking off,
before the agitated Mrs. Warmore could thank him.
"I suppose I've done it," he mused, when in the highway and walking toward
Farmer Pitcairn's. "Catherwood never did like me and now he hates me. If
Miss Jennie keeps up her course toward him, he will hate me more than
ever. He will not rest till he gets me out of the store. Well, let him go
ahead. I am not an old man yet, and the world is broad and big."
He was about to sit down to the evening meal, when a servant of Mr.
Warmore arrived with a note, requesting the pleasure of Mr. Gordon's
company to dinner that evening. It was not a simple formal invitation,
but was so urgent that the young man could not refuse. He returned word
through the servant that he accepted with pleasure the invitation and
would be soon there.
Can the youth be censured, if, with a fluttering heart, he took extra
pains with his personal appearance before leaving the good farmer's home
that evening? When at last he stepped forth, in full dress, swinging his
light cane, you would have had to hunt a long way to find a handsomer
fellow than he.
And yet, with all his delightful anticipation, was mingled a feeling of
dread. He disliked meeting Catherwood, for between them a great gulf
yawned and something unpleasant was certain to occur. Jennie had witnessed
his insulting offer of a reward to him for what he had done, and must have
appreciated the style in which it was repulsed. She would show her
feelings most decisively before the evening was over.
Besides that, he dreaded hearing the family renew their expressions of
thankfulness. Tom had unquestionably performed a brave act, but no more so
than hundreds of others that were continually being done every day--some
of them entitled to far more credit than was his.
But the fact that he was about to spend an evening in the company of Miss
Jennie herself, outweighed all these slight objections. Conscious, too,
of her feeling toward him, he could not help viewing the hours just before
him with a delightful flutter of anticipation.
The first pleasant disappointment which came to Tom, after reaching the
fine residence and receiving the cordial welcome of the family, was the
discovery that G. Field Catherwood was not present, and would not form one
of the little party. That lifted a load of apprehension from his
shoulders.
Inasmuch as it had to come, Tom took the thanks of the parents like a
hero. He listened with a respectful smile, blushed under the compliments,
and blushed still more when Jennie with a straightforward, earnest look
said,--
"Mr. Gordon may say it was not much, but it saved my life, and I shall
_never_, NEVER forget it. If Mr. Catherwood had shown a hundredth part of
his courage"--
"There, there, daughter," protested her father, as they seated themselves
at the table, "a truce to all that; let us leave him out of the
conversation."
"And, if you please, drop the whole thing," added Tom, who began to feel
uncomfortable under it all.
"Since it will be more agreeable to you, we will do so," was the hearty
remark of the head of the family, as all began "discussing," as the
expression goes, the feast before them. "I will say, however, that Jennie
did meet with one experience, in which her rescuer showed possibly more
pluck than Mr. Gordon to-day."
The guest looked inquiringly at his host.
"She seems to be destined to be concerned in unpleasant adventures."
"Yes; I hope this is the last of them. What I refer to happened some five
or six years ago,--possibly more than that. At any rate, she was a small
girl, crossing the ferry at New York with her mother, when in the crowd
and crush, by some means which I never could understand, she fell
overboard. The river was full of floating ice, and she would have been
drowned but for the heroism of a boy, who sprang in after her, and, at the
risk of his own life, kept her afloat until both could be drawn on board."
Tom Gordon felt his face turning scarlet. He was so disturbed for the
moment that he could not frame any words. He could only look at his
employer and listen. In that moment there flashed upon him the explanation
of a little mystery which had troubled him for months.
The first time he looked into the face of Jennie Warmore, the suspicion
came to him that somewhere and at some time, under far different
circumstances, he had met her. When sitting at her side in the dog-cart
that afternoon, this suspicion became a certainty. He strove to account
for it on the theory that it was one of those accidental resemblances
which all of us have met in our experience; but he could not make himself
believe it to be the fact.
Strange that he never thought of associating her with that memorable
incident in his own life! He had sacredly preserved the chain and
likeness; and it was the similarity between the latter and the budding
young lady that caused the perplexity in his mind. He wondered that he had
not hit upon the explanation before it was flung in his face, as may be
said.
By the time Mrs. Warmore had added her account to that of her husband, Tom
had regained mastery of himself.
"And who was the lad that did all this?" he asked in the most innocent
manner conceivable.
"That is the one feature about the affair that has always troubled me,"
said the merchant. "I have tried to find out, but have never been able to
gain the first clew to his identity. Mrs. Warmore was so frantic in mind
that she did not think of the noble rescuer until he was gone. Then she
made inquiries, but no one seemed to know anything about him."
"It distressed me," added the lady; "for I felt he must think we were
ungrateful. We advertised in the papers, but it was useless. I do not
suppose we shall ever know who he was."
"He may have been some poor boy in need of help," added Mr. Warmore; "but
so brave a lad as that is sure to get along."
"I presume _you_ remember the incident?" remarked Tom, turning toward the
daughter.
"How can I ever forget it?" she asked in reply, with a shiver. "I can feel
that icy water even now, as it closed round me that wintry night. It was
too dark to see my rescuer's face plainly, but I would know him if I met
him fifty years from now. He was remarkably handsome."
"A boy of that age changes very much in a few years."
"He could never change so as to grow out of my recollection," said Jennie
with a positiveness that made Tom Gordon smile.
"And of all the strange things that were ever done by a child," said Mrs.
Warmore, "none ever equalled what Jennie did while floating in the water."
"Indeed, what could that be?"
"Tell him yourself, daughter."
The young lady blushed and laughed.
"I don't know what possessed me to do it. I hardly think I was conscious
of matters or responsible for all I did. When the lad was fighting his way
through the icy waters, I remember snatching a chain and locket containing
my likeness from my neck, and twisting the chain about a button on his
coat. I had a feeling of wishing to do something that should help him to
remember me. After that I became wholly unconscious."
"It seems to me the little fellow was rewarded by securing the chain and
locket," remarked Tom with a significant smile.
"That was but a trifle compared to what he ought to have received,"
replied Jennie.
"You forget that it contained _your_ picture."
The compliment was so neatly put that all laughed, and the face of the
young lady became rosier than ever.
"Pardon me," Tom hastened to say; "of course the little fellow has
preserved those mementoes, and I should not he surprised if he turns up
some day when least expected."
"I hope so," was the fervent response of Jennie, in which sentiment her
parents joined.
It is not necessary to dwell upon the evening, which was a red letter one
in Tom Gordon's life. No more delightful hours were ever spent by him; and
when, without tarrying too late, he left, he could make no mistake as to
the sentiments of the three, and especially the youngest, toward him. He
had made an impression there, and it would be his own fault if it failed
to ripen into something serious.
But, as he walked homeward in the silvery moonlight, he felt a respect for
himself which, it is safe to say, would have come to few placed as he was.
He had not given the first hint that he was the boy who, at the risk of
his own life, had leaped into the wintry waters and rescued little Jennie
Warmore from death.
Who would have held back the secret in his situation? Would you or I?
Doubtful, if when smitten with love for a fair, sweet girl, we had felt
that its telling would have riveted the bonds which, at the most, were
only partly formed, and might dissolve into nothingness if not thus
strengthened.
It was the youth's fine-grained sense of honor that restrained him.
"She holds a good opinion of me now. If it should ever happen that that
feeling grows into love (and Heaven grant it may!), it must be for me
alone, and not for any accident in the past. Suppose I had not done her a
good turn to-day,--she might have discarded Catherwood for his baseness,
but what would have caused her to transfer her regard to me? No, she shall
never know the whole truth until--until"--
He dared not finish the thrilling sentence, the blissful hope, the wild
dream, that set his nerves dancing. Unto us all can come that radiant,
soulful, all-absorbing emotion but once in our life, and it is too sacred
to be trifled with; for once destroyed, once crushed, once dead, and the
holy thing vanishes forever.
Two noticeable truths became manifest to Tom Gordon on the morrow. G.
Field Catherwood's dislike of him was intensified. The young man had felt
from the first that the head clerk was not only more attractive than he in
looks, but was far brighter intellectually. Added now to this was the
feeling of jealousy. He had received from Jennie Warmore a too pointed
expression of her contempt for him to have any possible room for
misunderstanding it. When he ventured to hint at their engagement, which
had been discussed, but never formally made, she shook her head
decisively, and his heart collapsed.
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