The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys Part 13

"I don't want to be helpin'. I want to be doin' mesilf," objected Jim.

"And what will you be doin'?" asked the widow. "You're full short for spreadin' bedclothes, for though nine years makes a b'y plinty big enough for some things, it laves him a bit small for others. You can't be cookin' yet, nor sweepin', nor even loightin' fires. But you shall be doin', since doin's what you want. You shall wipe the dishes, and set the table, and do the dustin', and get the kindlin', and sure you'll be tired enough when you've all that done to make you glad you're no older and no bigger. Your father, when he was noine, would have thought that a plinty for him, and so it's a plinty for you, as you'll foind. You're quite young to be permoted that high," went on his mother, seeing a discontented expression on the little fellow's face. "Only for the big b'ys gettin' ahead so fast, you wouldn't have no chance at all, and folks wouldn't think you much bigger than Barney there, so they wouldn't. B'ys of nine that gets any sort of permotion is doin' foine, let me tell you. And now's your chance to show Moike that you can kape the dishes s.h.i.+nin', and niver a speck of dust on anything as well as he could himsilf."

Jim straightened himself, and Mike smiled encouragingly upon him. "You can do it, Jim," he said with a nod.

And Jim decided then and there that he would do it.

"I'll be lookin' round when I come to visit you all from Mrs. Brady's, and I expect to be proud of Jim," added Mike.

And Jim increased his determination. He wanted to have Mike proud of him. Very likely Mike would not be proud of the little boys. There was nothing about them to be proud of. "He shall be proud of me," thought Jim, and an important look stole over his face. "He'll be tellin' me I'm the b'y, I shouldn't wonder."

And now the widow's mind went swiftly back to the General. "Sure, and it's a wonderful man he is," she cried. "Your father was jist such a man, barrin' he was Irish and no Gineral at all. 'Twas him that was at the bottom of your gettin' the place to Mr. Farnham's, a-trustin' you to do all the buyin' so's folks could see what was in you. It's sorry I am about the graduation, but the Gineral knows best, so he does."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Barney and Tommie a-takin' care of the geese."]

Then her thought turned to the finances of the family. "And how much is sixteen and fifteen?" she asked. "Sure, and it's thirty-wan. Thirty-wan dollars a month for us this winter, and Moike takin' care of himself, to say nothin' of what Moike has earned with the lawn mower. 'Blessin's on the man that invented it,' says I, 'and put folks in the notion of havin' their lawns kept neat, 'cause they could do it cheap.' And there's what Andy and Jim has made a-drivin' the cows, and Barney and Tommie a-takin' care of the geese. Wennott's the town for them as can work. And bad luck to lazy bones anyway. It's thankful I am I've got none of 'em in my family."

She paused a moment in reflection.

"Them geese now is foine. Do you think, Pat, the Gineral and Mrs. Brady would enjoy eatin' wan of 'em when it's a bit cooler? You knows what they loikes by this time."

"I think they would, mother."

"Then it's the best of the lot they shall have. Bad luck to them that's always a-takin' and niver wantin' to be givin' back."

CHAPTER XII

The fall term opened and found Mike the head of the O'Callaghan tribe, as the brothers had been jeeringly called by the Jim Barrows set. And Mike was a good head. The sort of boy to impress others with the good sense of minding their own business. His blue eyes had a determined look, as he came on the campus the first morning of the new term, that made his old persecutors think it best to withhold such choice epithets as "Biddy," "Kitchen Girl," and "Scrub Maid," which they had laid up for him. For they knew that it was Mike who now did housework at General Brady's. They had never seen Mike fight. He had always stood back and let Pat lead. But there was something in his erect and independent bearing on this autumn morning that made it very evident to the school bullies that if Mike did not fight it was not because he could not.

"Them O'Callaghans think they're some since General Brady picked 'em up," commented Jim Barrows, safely out of Mike's hearing.

"General Brady had never heard of them when Pat gave you a licking, Jim, or don't you remember?" asked Bob Farnham, who was pa.s.sing.

"Say, Jim," advised a crony, as the two sauntered off together, "we'd better let them O'Callaghans alone. I don't like the looks of that Mike.

'Twasn't any wonder that Pat licked you, for you're not much on the fight anyway. But I tell you, I wouldn't like to tackle that Mike myself. He's one of them pleasant kind that's a regular tiger when you stir him up."

"He's been runnin' lawn mowers all summer," observed Jim reflectively.

"I reckon he's got his muscle up. Don't know but we had best leave him alone."

"Let me tell you, Jim, 'twon't do just to let him alone. We've got to let 'em all alone--Andy and Jim and Barney and Tommie--or he'll light into us same as Pat did into you."

"Why can't a fellow do just his own fightin'," grumbled Jim Barrows, "and let the kids look out for themselves?"

"Some of 'em can, but the O'Callaghans ain't that kind. Touch one, touch 'em all, as you'd ought to know, Jim."

"Oh, shut up! You needn't be throwin' up that lickin' to me every minute. I was surprised, I tell you. Astonished, as I might say. I wasn't lookin' to be pitched into by a low down Irish boy."

"Oh, wasn't you?" queried his friend ironically. "Well, you keep on a-hectorin', and you'll be surprised again, or astonished, as you might say. That's all."

Jim Barrows had not looked into Mike's eye for nothing. He knew for himself the truth of all his companion had been saying, and from that hour the little boys had peace.

That same Monday was the most exciting and important day of his life to Pat. He saw other clerks lagging along without interest, and he wondered at them. Hitherto, in all transactions, he had been a buyer. Now he was to sell.

Farnham's store was on the west side of the square--a fair-sized room--but rather dark, and not the best place in the world to display goods. It was not even the best place in Wennott, the storerooms of both Wall and Arnold being newer and better fitted. But displaying goods was not Pat's affair that morning. It was his part to display a clean floor and well-dusted shelves and counters to the first customer.

Mr. Farnham came in at the hour when he had usually found his other boy through with the sweeping and dusting, and Pat was still using the broom. His employer, seeing the skillful strokes of the broom, wondered.

But he was soon enlightened. Pat was not giving the middle of the floor a brush out. He was sweeping thoroughly into every corner where a broom could find entrance. For Pat knew nothing of "brush outs," though he knew all about clean floors. Every little while he stopped, swept up his collection into the dust-pan and carried it to a waste box in the back of the store. Mr. Farnham watched his movements. "He's business," he commented to himself. "Neither hurry nor lag."

At last Pat was through. One of the clerks came in, and she stared to see the shelves still wearing their dust curtains. But Pat was unconcerned. He had never opened a store before, nor seen one opened. He had been told to sweep out and dust, and he was obeying orders. That was all he was thinking about.

The sweeping done, Pat waited for the little dust that was flying to settle. Then he walked to the front end of the store and began to unhook the dust curtains. Very gingerly he took hold of them, being careful to disturb them as little as possible. Mr. Farnham and the girl clerk watched him. Every other boy had jerked them down and chucked them under the counter in a jiffy. Out went Pat with them to the rear door, gave them a vigorous shaking, brought them back, folded them quickly and neatly, and then, turning to Mr. Farnham said, "Where will you have 'em, sir?"

In silence Mr. Farnham pointed out a place, and then handed him a feather duster, showing him, at the same time, how to fleck the dust off the edges of the bolts of goods along the shelves, and also off the counter.

"This thing's no good for the gla.s.s show cases, sir. I'd ought to have a soft cloth. Something to take the dust up with, sir."

The merchant turned to the girl clerk. "Cut him off a square of cheesecloth, Miss Emlin, please," he said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The merchant turned to the girl clerk."]

"Ordinary boy!" exclaimed Mr. Farnham to himself and thinking of the General. "I should say he wasn't. But cleaning up a store and selling goods are two different things."

It was a very small place that was given to Pat in the store that day--just the calicoes, ginghams, and muslins. And Pat was dissatisfied.

"'Tisn't much of a chance I've got," he murmured to himself.

"Gingham--that's for ap.r.o.ns, and calico--that's for dresses, and muslin--that's for a lot of things. Maybe I'll sell something. But it looks as if I'd be doin' nothin', that's what it does."

He thought of the home folks and how his mother's mind would be ever upon him during this his first important day. "Maybe I'm a bit like little Jim--wantin' to do what I can't do. Maybe geese are my size," and he smiled. "Well, then I'll tend to my geese and tend 'em good, so I will."

He began emptying his calico tables upon the counter. Mr. Farnham saw him from the desk, and walked that way at once. "What's the matter, Pat?" he inquired.

"Sure I'm just gettin' acquainted with the goods, sir. I was thinkin' I could sell better, if I knew what I'd got. I'll put 'em back, sir, when I've looked 'em over."

And entirely satisfied with his newest clerk, though Pat did not suspect it, Mr. Farnham returned to his writing.

Pat had often noticed and admired the way in which the dry goods clerks ran off a length of goods, gathered it in folds, and held it up before the customer.

"If I thought n.o.body was lookin', I'd try it, so I would," he said to himself.

He glanced around. n.o.body seemed to be paying any attention. Pat tried it, and a funny affair he made of it. Mr. Farnham, who was only apparently busy, had to exert all his will power to keep back a smile.

For Pat, with the fear of observers before his eyes, unrolled the web with a softness that was almost sneaking; he held up the length with a trembling hand and a reddening cheek; and, putting his head on one side, regarded his imaginary customer with a shamefaced air that was most amusing.

Pat seemed to feel that he had made himself ridiculous. He sighed.