Derrick Sterling Part 9

He was conscious, though very weak and in great pain, and on opening his eyes he whispered, "Water."

For more than an hour he had longed for it, until his parched tongue was ready to cleave to the roof of his mouth, but n.o.body had come near him, and he could not make himself heard above the noise of the children.

Taking the tin dipper that lay on a chair beside the bed Derrick went out to the hydrant to fill it with the cool mountain water that flowed there.

Paul drew a tattered window-shade so that the hot western sun should not s.h.i.+ne full in the sick boy's face, loosened his s.h.i.+rt at the neck, smoothed back the matted hair from his forehead, and with a threatening shake of his crutch, drove a howling dog and several screaming children from the room.

These little attentions soothed the sufferer, and he looked up gratefully and wonderingly at Paul. When Derrick returned with the water he lifted his head, and stretched out his hand eagerly for it. At that moment Mrs. Tooley came bustling to the bedside to see what the boys were doing. Catching sight of the dipper she s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Derrick's hand, crying out that it would kill the boy to give him cold water, "and him ragin' wid a fever." This so frightened the boys that they hurriedly took their departure, and poor Bill cast such a wistful, despairing glance after them as they left the house that their hearts were filled with pity for him.

At the supper-table that evening Derrick asked:

"Does it hurt people who have a fever to give them water, mother?"

"No, dear; I do not think it does. My experience teaches me to give feverish patients all the cooling drinks they want."

Then Derrick told her what he had seen and learned of Bill Tooley's condition that afternoon. He so excited her pity by his description of the dirt, noise, and neglect from which the sick lad was suffering that she finally exclaimed, "Poor fellow! I wish we had room to take care of him here!"

"Do you, mother, really? I wanted to ask you, but was almost afraid to, if he couldn't come here and have my room till he gets well. You see he's always treated Polly worse than he has me, and yet Polly risked his life for him. It isn't anywhere near so much to do as that, of course; but I'd like to give up my room to him, and nurse him when I was home, if you could look after him a little when I wasn't. I can sleep on the floor close to the bed, and be ready to wait on him nights. You know I always liked the floor better than a bed, anyway, and I believe he'll die if he stays where he is."

They knew each other so well, this mother and son, that a question of this kind was easily settled between them. Though both fully realized what a task they were undertaking, it was decided that if his parents would consent Bill Tooley should be brought to their house to be nursed.

When Monk Tooley came up from the mine that evening and examined the check-board to see how the numbers to his credit compared with the tally he had kept, he became very angry, and accused the check boss of cheating him. The latter said he knew nothing about it. There were the checks to speak for themselves. He had hung each one on the peg as it came up.

"Den dey've been stolen!" exclaimed the angry man, "an' if I catch him as done it, I'll make him smart for it, dat's all."

The check boss tried to show him how perfectly useless it would be for anybody to steal another's checks. "You know yourself it wouldn't do him any good, Tooley," he said. "He couldn't claim anything on 'em, or make any kind of a raise on 'em; besides I've been right here every minute of the day, barrin' a couple when I ran inside the breaker on an errand.

Then I left Job Taskar, as honest a man as there is in the colliery, to keep watch, and he said nothing pa.s.sed while I was gone."

"Well," answered Monk Tooley, "I'm cheated outer three loads, and you know what dat is ter a man what's worked overtime ter make 'em, an' has sickness and doctor's bills at home. But I'll catch de thief yet, an'

when I do he'll wish he'd never know'd what a check was."

As he was walking down the street after supper, smoking a pipe and thinking of his sick boy, who seemed to have grown worse since morning, and of his lost checks, Monk Tooley was accosted by Derrick Sterling, who said,

"Good-evening, Mr. Tooley. How's Bill this evening?"

"None de better fer your askin'," was the surly answer, for the man felt very bitter against Derrick, to whom he attributed all his son's trouble.

"I'm sorry to hear that he isn't any better," continued the boy, determined not to be easily rebuffed.

"Well, I'm glad yer sorry, an' wish yer was sorrier."

This did not seem to promise a very pleasant conversation, but Derrick persevered, saying,

"It must be very hard for Mrs. Tooley to keep so many children quiet, and I believe the doctor said Bill must not be troubled by noise, didn't he?"

"Yes, an' if ye'd muzzle yer own mouth de whole place would be quieter."

"My mother wanted me to say to you that if you'd like to send Bill over to our house for a few days, it's so quiet over there that she thought it would do him good, and she'd be very glad to have him," said Derrick, plunging boldly into the business he had undertaken to manage.

"Tell yer mother ter mind her own brats an' leave me ter mind mine, den de road'll be wide enough for de both of us," was the ungracious answer made by the surly miner to this offer, as he turned away and left Derrick standing angry and mortified behind him.

"That comes of trying to do unto others as you would have others do unto you," he muttered to himself. "Seems to me the best way is to do unto others as they do unto you, and then n.o.body can complain. I declare if I had as ugly a temper as that man has I'd go and drown myself. I don't believe he's got one spark of human feeling in him."

Monk Tooley was not quite so bad as Derrick thought him, but just at that time everything seemed to go wrong with him, and he was like some savage animal suffering from a pain for which it can find no relief. He began to repent of his ugliness to Derrick almost as soon as the latter had left him, saying to himself, "Maybe de lad meant kindly arter all."

Going back to his untidy, noisy home, he entered the house, and standing by his son's bedside gazed curiously at him. The boy was evidently growing worse each minute, as even the unpractised eye of the miner could see. He was tossing in a high fever, calling constantly for the water which in her ignorance his mother would not give him, nor did he appear to recognize any of those who stood near.

"I fear me his time's come," said one of the neighbor women, several of whom, attracted by curiosity, came and went in and out of the house.

Although the remark was not intended for his ears, Monk Tooley heard it, and apparently it brought him to a sudden determination. Without a word he left the house and walked directly to that of the Sterlings. Entering the open door-way without the ceremony of knocking, which was little practised in that colliery village, he found the family gathered in their tiny sitting-room, Derrick poring intently over a plan of the old workings of the mine, Helen reading, and their mother sewing.

Bowing awkwardly to Mrs. Sterling, he said, "Derrick tells me, missus, dat you're willin' to take my poor lad in and nuss him a bit. His own mither has no knowledge of de trade, an' he's just dyin' over yon. If yer mean it, and will do fer him, yer'll never want for a man to lift a hand fer you and yours as long as Monk Tooley is widin call."

"I do mean it, Mr. Tooley, and if you can only get him here, I'll gladly do what I can for him," said Mrs. Sterling.

"I'll bring him, mum, I'll go fer him now;" and Monk Tooley, with another awkward pull at the brim of his hat, left the house.

In five minutes he was back, accompanied by another miner, and between them they bore a mattress on which lay the sick boy.

He was undressed, bathed, and placed in Derrick's cool, clean bed.

Within an hour cooling drinks and outward applications had so reduced the fever and quieted him that he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Within the same time all the village knew, and wondered over the knowledge, that Monk Tooley's sick lad was being cared for in the house of the widow Sterling.

CHAPTER IX

SOCRATES, THE WISE MINE RAT

When Derrick and Paul found themselves descending the slope, together with a carful of miners, the next morning, it seemed to them a long time since they had traversed its black depths. So accustomed do the toilers of the colliery become to exciting incidents that elsewhere would furnish subject for weeks of thought and conversation, that often a single day suffices to divert their attention to something new. So it was with our two boys, in whose minds their recent adventures were already shorn of their terrors, and only thought of as something unpleasant, to be forgotten as quickly as possible. Therefore they did not speak of them as they talked together in low tones, but only of the present and the future.

"I think it's awful good of you and your mother to take Bill Tooley into your own house and nurse him," said Paul.

"Oh no," laughed Derrick, "it isn't so very good. Revenge is what we are after, and that is one way of getting it."

Hearing Bill Tooley's name mentioned between the boys, one of the miners who rode in the car with them had leaned forward to learn what they were saying. At Derrick's last remark this man started back and gazed at him curiously.

"He's got the very stuff in him to make a Mollie of," he thought. "To think he's so sly. He's got the fellow he hates into his own house, pretending that he wants to nurse him, and now he's going to take out his revenge on him. Perhaps he's going to poison him, or fix pins in the bed so they'll stick him. Anyway, I'll have to give Monk the hint of what he's up to." Then, admiringly, and half aloud, he muttered, still looking at Derrick, "The young villain!"

From the foot of the slope Derrick set off for the stable to get Harry Mule, while Paul waited for the making up of a train of empty cars, in which he was to ride to the junction near the blacksmith's shop. There Derrick was to meet him, take him to his post of duty, and tell him about opening and closing the door, and tending the switch of which he was to have charge.

In spite of the fact that he and Derrick had been friends but a single day, Harry Mule appeared to recognize his young driver, and gave him a cordial greeting as he entered the stable. At least he threw up his head and uttered a tremendous bray, which went "Haw! he-haw, he-haw, he-haw!"

and sounded so absurdly like a laugh that Derrick laughed from sympathy until the tears ran down his cheeks. The mule gazed at him with a look of wonder in his big eyes, and stood so meek and quiet while his harness was being put on that Derrick thought perhaps his feelings had been hurt. To soothe them he talked to him, and told him that Paul had come down into the mine to work.

As they left the stable, and Derrick stopped to fasten the door, Harry started in the opposite direction from that in which he should have gone, and ran down the gangway, kicking up his heels and braying, as though he were a frisky young colt in a pasture instead of an old b.u.mping-mule down in a coal-mine. Derrick ran after him, and for some time could see the reflection of the collar-lamp, which was swung violently to and fro by the animal's rapid motion. The disappearance of this light in the distance was followed by an angry shouting and a m.u.f.fled crash.