Three People Part 13

He was still thinking when the busy work of the day was done--thinking anxiously about the same thing.

"It's _there_, plain as day," he said, in a perplexed tone, sitting down on the corner of the bed, and running his fingers distractedly through his hair. "'Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that puttest thy bottle to him.' That's it, word for word, and that's the Bible, and I do it, why fifty times a day; and I've got to if I stay here. That's a fact, no getting around it. 'Tain't my bottle, though, it's Mr.

Roberts', and back of him it's Mr. Hastings'. I do declare!" And Tode paused, overwhelmed with this new thought.

"Whatever do them two men mean now, I'd like to know?" he continued, after a moment. "Don't make no kind of difference, though; that's _their_ lookout, I reckon. It's _me_ that puts the bottle to the neighbors' lips, time and time again. No gettin' around that. They ain't my neighbors, though. I ain't got no neighbors, them are folks that lives next door to you. Well, even then, there's Mr. Ryan, he's next door to mine, and there's young Holden and that peanut man, they're next door on t'other side, and there's Mr. Pierson, he's next door below.

Why, now, I've got neighbors thick as hops, nearer than most folks have, and I put the bottle to their lips every day of my life, every single one of 'em."

Silence for a little, and then another phase of the question.

"Well, now, where's the use? If _I_ didn't hand the bottle to 'em, why Jim _would_; and they'd get it all the same, so where's the difference?

That's none of my business," Tode answered himself sharply, and with a touch of the feeling which means, "Get thee behind me, Satan." "It don't say 'woe to Jim,' and I ain't got nothing to do with him; it don't say that if it's got to be done anyhow, I may as well do it as any other fellow. It just says '_woe_' right out, sharp and plain; and I know about it, and I do it, that's the point. Stick to that point, Tode Mall, you blockhead, you. If you're arguing a thing, why don't you _argue_, and not slip and slide all over creation."

Ah, Tode, if only wiser heads than yours would remember that important item.

"Well," said this young logician, rising at last from the edge of his bed, and heaving a bit of a sigh as he did so, "the long and short of it is, it can't be done--never, any more; and then there comes a thing that has got to be done right straight, and I've got to go and do it, and that's the worst of it, and I don't know what to do next, that's a fact; but that's neither here nor there."

With this extremely lucid explanation of his decision and his intentions, Tode put on his hat and went to the post-office.

Thus it happened that when Mr. Hastings mail had been delivered as usual, the boy hesitated, and finally asked with an unusual falter in his voice:

"Can I see Mr. Hastings a minute?"

"Well, sir," said that gentleman, whirling around from his table, and putting himself in a lounging att.i.tude. "Well, sir, what can I do for you this evening? Anything in the line of business?"

This he said with the serio-comic air which he seemed unable to avoid a.s.suming whenever he talked with this traveling companion of his.

Tode plunged at once into the pith of the matter.

"Yes, sir, I've come to talk about business. I've got to leave your hotel, and I thought I'd better come and let you know."

"Indeed! Have you decided to change your occupation? Going to study law or medicine, Tode?"

"I haven't made up my mind," said Tode. "I've just got to the leaving part."

"Bad policy, my boy. Never leave one good foothold until you see just where to put your foot when you spring."

"Ho!" said Tode, "I have stepped in a bog and sunk in; now I've got to spring, and trust to luck for getting on a stone."

Mr. Hastings leaned back in his chair and laughed.

"You'll do," he said at length. "But seriously, my boy, what has happened at the hotel? I heard good accounts of you, and I thought you were getting on finely. Does Jim leave all the boots for you to black, or what is the matter? You musn't quarrel with a good business for trifles."

"It's not Jim nor boots, sir, it's bottles."

"Bottles!"

"Yes, sir, bottles. I'm not going to put 'em to my neighbors any more; and I don't see what any of you mean by it. Like enough, though, you never noticed that figure?"

"Are you sure you know what you are talking about, Tode?" inquired Mr.

Hastings, with a curious mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and dignity. "Because I certainly do not seem able to follow your train of thought."

"Why, that Habakkuk; he's the one who says it, sir. But then you know it's in the Bible, and I've made up my mind not to do it."

"Ah, I begin to understand. So you came up here to-night for the purpose of delivering a temperance lecture for my benefit. That was kind, certainly, and I am all ready to listen. Proceed."

Never was sarcasm more entirely lost. Tode was as bright and sharp as ever, and had never been taught to be respectful.

"No, sir," he answered, promptly, "I didn't come for that at all. I came to tell you that I had got to quit your business; but if you want to hear a temperance lecture there's Habakkuk; he can do it better than anybody _I_ know of."

Mr. Hastings' dignity broke once more into laughter.

"Well, Tode," he said at last, "I'm sorry you're such a simpleton. I had a higher opinion of your sharpness. I think Mr. Roberts meant to do well by you. Who has been filling your head with these foolish ideas?"

"Habakkuk has, sir. Only one who has said a word."

There was no sort of use in talking to Tode. Mr. Hastings seemed desirous of cutting the interview short.

"Very well," he said, "I don't see but you have taken matters entirely into your own hands. What do you want of me?"

"Nothing, sir, only I--" And here Tode almost broke down; a mist came suddenly before his eyes, and his voice seemed to slip away from him.

The poor boy felt himself swinging adrift from the only one to whom he had ever seemed to belong. A very soft, tender feeling had sprung up in his heart for this rich man. It had been pleasant to meet him on the street and think, "I belong to him." The feeling was new to the friendless, worse than orphan boy, and he had taken great pride and pleasure in it; so now he choked, and his face grew red as at last he stammered:

"I--I like you, and--" Then another pause.

Mr. Hastings bowed.

"That is very kind, certainly. What then?"

"Would you let me bring up the mail for you evenings just the same? I wouldn't want no pay, and I'd like to keep doing it for you."

Mr. Hastings shook his head.

"Oh no, I wouldn't trouble a man of your position for the world. Jim, or some other _boy_, will answer my purpose very well. Since you choose to cut yourself aloof from me when I was willing to befriend you, why you must abide by your intentions, and not hang around after me in any way."

Tode's eyes flashed.

"I don't _want_ to hang around you," he began as he turned to go. Then he stopped again; he was leaving the house for the last time. This one friend of his was out of sorts with him, wouldn't let him come again; and the little Dora, who had showed him about making all the letters and figures, he was to see no more. All the tender and gentle in his heart, and there was a good deal, swelled up again. There were tears in his eyes when he looked back at Mr. Hastings with his message.

"Would you please tell your little girl that I'm glad about the letters and figures, and I'll never forget 'em; and--and--if I can ever do some little thing for you I'll do it."

Someway Mr. Hastings was growing annoyed. He spoke in mock dignity.

"I shall certainly remember your kindness," he said, bowing low. "And if ever I should be in need of your valuable a.s.sistance, I shall not hesitate to send for you."

So Tode went out from the Hastings' mansion feeling sore-hearted, realizing thus early in his pilgrimage that there were hard places in the way. He walked down the street with a troubled, perplexed air. What to do next was the question. That is, having settled affairs with Mr.

Roberts, and slept for the last time in his little narrow bed, whither should he turn his thoughts and his steps on the morrow? Tode had been earning his living, and enjoying the comforts of a home long enough to have a sore, choked feeling over the thought of giving them up. A sense of desolation, such as he had not felt during all his homeless days, crept steadily over him; and as he walked along the busy street, with his hands thrust drearily into his pockets, he forgot to whistle as was his wont.