ORRIN THE BOOTBLACK.
“Shine, shine, shine!” the cry was as earnest as it was pitiful. I rose from my seat in the cabin of the Fulton Ferry boat, for I was crossing from Brooklyn to New York at the time, and found the boy; one glance into his honest blue eyes did the rest.
I at once gave him my boots to blacken, regardless of the opinion of my man Dennis, that he had put on them an extra polish that morning, and, while the almost baby hand continued to shine them into as dazzling a glare as blackened boots could reach, I asked him his name, and, giving him my card, told him to call on me that evening at seven o’clock.
“Mr. Adams, you surely do not mean me to understand that your protégé, who to-night delivered the valedictory address in this honored college, and the bootblack are one and the same?”
“I do.”
The above conversation was between the President of the college and the senior member of the Board of Trustees.
“Yes; he is the same, and yet not the same, because then he was such a sad little fellow, and now he is full of jokes and wholesome pranks, a merry wit that gladdens my old days, and almost makes a boy of me again. At one time, though, I thought he would never laugh; it was such an apology for a smile that I first saw cross his prematurely wizened face. But how long ago it now seems! Let me see,” thoughtfully counting one, two, three on his fingers, “why, it must be twelve years since then. How time flies!”
“Yes, time always does fly, when we are busy and happy. But are you aware that your Orrin is one of our youngest men? He gave his age as twenty-two!”
“Quite correct.”
“Well, I am confounded at your information. I am as curious as I am interested. Would you mind some time telling me the rest of the boy’s story?”
“Not at all; why not spend to-morrow evening with me? You know we sail Saturday for the continent, and after that our movements are uncertain. Orrin has worked hard, and I have promised him this treat, and, though he does not know it, I am contemplating leaving him at Oxford for a year or two. By the way, I would like your opinion as to that. But one thing is sure—if he stays in England, I stay too. I could not put the ocean between us. You cannot imagine how my heart holds that boy; so, if you really want to hear my chap’s story, you would better come to-morrow night.”
“I will come.”
It was evening, and, when the two men were comfortably seated in Mr. Adams’ library, the following was told.
Mr. Adams prefaced the recital with the words: “I will photograph Orrin as he first appeared in my home, and then, as nearly as my memory can recall our conversation, I will give it. Twelve years ago, about seven o’clock in the evening, a maid told me that a small poorly-clad lad, with a box under his arm, was asking to see me. He had entered by the lower door. I directed her to bring him to me, and, strangely enough, in my comfortable lounging-chair, with the evening paper for companion, I had entirely forgotten the engagement I had made, but the girl’s words instantly recalled all, and, a few moments later, I was addressing him. His manner was neither shy nor bold. He appeared neither surprised nor bewildered. I did not note the confused air, which I could reasonably expect. He met my gaze with the honest, frank look that I first noticed, but he seemed sad, even painfully. He was such a small boy. He evidently was what is so rarely found—a gentleman. I almost exclaimed as he stood in the doorway, for I noticed the way he held his cap; Beau Brummell in his most happy days could not have done better, and the bow with which he answered my ‘good evening,’ as well as the response to my asking him to take a chair, made me say to myself, ‘Adams, you must look out, or this little bootblack will leave you leagues rearward in the manner question!’ His hair was dark, very glossy, and slightly curly. His face and hands almost shone with cleanliness. I especially noticed his nails, and, knowing his business, was surprised to find that they, also, were quite clean. His height was decidedly small for his age (he did not really seem to grow much until he was about seventeen years old, and then how he shot up! he is just six feet tall now); his clothes were not patched, but threadbare and ragged. The material was fine. His trousers only came to his knees, and both shoes and stockings were visibly the worse for wear. He was not a pretty boy, but a manly-looking little fellow. His complexion was fair, but pallid; indeed, the boy wore a starved, pinched look. His jacket, which was buttoned with brass buttons to the neck, hung on him, as if he had grown thinner since it was made. So much for my photograph. Now for our conversation, which will give you a better idea of the boy, than if only using my own words.
“‘Good evening, my little man.’
“‘Good evening, sir.’
“‘You blackened my boots so well this morning, I thought I would like to talk with you about your business to-night.’
“‘Thank you, sir.’
“‘How long have you been a bootblack?’
“‘Seven weeks.’
“‘Have you made much money?’
“‘I make more now than at first, sir.’
“‘How much is the most you have made a week?’
“‘Last week, sir, I made ninety-five cents.’
“‘How much is the least you ever made?’
“‘Fifteen, sir; that was my first week, when I was new in the business.’
“‘You live with your parents, I suppose?’
“‘No, sir.’
“‘Don’t live with your parents? Whom do you live with?’
“‘With myself.’
“‘You, a little midget like you, live by yourself! Where do you sleep?’
“‘Wherever I can find a place.’
“‘Where did you sleep last night?’
“‘You won’t tell, sir, if I tell you?’
“‘No.’
“‘Well, I’ve slept for three nights, now, in a covered wagon. It has been left outside, and, some way, no one has ever seen me crawl into it. Please don’t tell any one, sir. I really don’t hurt the wagon.’
“‘But why don’t you go home? Do your parents drink?’
“‘I have no home, sir; my parents are dead; they are both in heaven.’ And then the little hands hastily undid the few top buttons of his jacket, and untied a black shoe lace which served as a chain. Then, stepping nervously towards me, he said; ‘Would you like to see mamma’s picture?’
“I tell you what, sir, this action, united to the boy’s words, unmanned me. ‘John Adams,’ I asked myself, ‘you’ll befriend this boy?’ And John Adams answered, ‘I will.’
“The picture was painted on porcelain, a medallion resting on dark blue velvet; the whole was framed in a band of narrow gold. The woman was a blonde, delicate looking, but very beautiful. She had an intellectual face, and seemed of good birth. In age about twenty-five years.
“‘Has your mother been dead long?’ I next asked.
“‘She died when I was born, and I am ten years old. Papa gave me her picture, and I always wear it. I would starve, sir, but I would never part from it.’ I am sure the boy has it on now, but I would not like to ask him to show it to you. He is sensitive, and I would not risk hurting him.”
“No, indeed, I would not have you, if you were ever so willing. And what more, Mr. Adams? It is well I did not know of this while he was in college; I am afraid I should have spoiled him.”
“Well, I asked him if he had brothers or sisters. His reply was—
“‘I had one brother; he died a year ago.’
“‘How long since your father died?’
“‘Eight weeks, sir.’
“‘And you started at the boot-blacking business one week later?’
“‘Yes, sir.’
“‘What was your father’s business?’
“‘When he was in business, he was a stockbroker.’
“‘A stockbroker!’ I exclaimed, although I was positive before, judging from his mother’s picture, that he was born above his present position. ‘And you say there was a time when your father was not in business. How long ago was that?’
“‘The last two years of his life, after he became blind.’
“‘Tell me all about it, my good boy.’
“‘My father, sir, must have made a great deal of money; we lived in such a handsome house.’
“‘As handsome as this?’
“Looking around before he replied,—
“‘Oh, yes, sir.’
“‘You say your mother was dead. Who, then, kept house for you?’
“‘Mrs. Prentiss, our housekeeper. I had a nurse first, Nurse Ann, and when I got to be a big boy, I had a governess. She taught me to read, write, and all I know. I have never been to school. We had several servants, and my father kept horses. It was the house in which mamma died, and everything, papa said, must be as she kept house. But, one day, I know not how it happened, my father lost a great deal of money, and a lot of strange people came to the house, and almost all of our beautiful things were sold. All the servants left but one, and my governess. Papa and I lived then in a few rooms. I used to hear papa talk about his eyes, at that time, and one day he went to see a doctor about them. When he came back he told me: ‘My son, I am going to be blind,’ and then explained to me exactly what that meant. He told me that the reason he would be blind was because he had used too much tobacco. My father smoked a great many cigars every day, and sometimes a pipe. He chewed tobacco too. I felt frightened when I heard all of this, and I remember I cried and papa comforted me. He afterwards asked me to repeat these words after him. ‘My papa was blind. His optic nerves were hurt because he used too much tobacco. I will never smoke or chew.’ My papa had me repeat these words until I knew them perfectly, and then I said them once every day to him until he died. I say them every day to myself now. My papa became blind very soon after we left our home, and about six months before he died he was sick most of the time. My governess left one day, and then I had no more lessons. And almost every day our things would be sold, until, when papa died, we had most nothing left. About a week after he was buried, some men came to our rooms, and then our girl left, and the men told me I must go too. I could not live there any more. They gave me my clothes, and one of the men gave me a dollar. I cried so hard that another man said he would take me home with him, and I could stay two or three nights at his house until I could get some work and make money for myself. That was why I became a bootblack. This man told me it was a good business, and, because I was so little and did not know what to do, the man and his wife made me a present of my outfit and told me to watch other bootblacks and cry out: “Shine, shine,” and so get business. The man gave me his boots to black while I stopped at the house and that taught me the way, for I never had blackened boots before. I stayed with these kind people for one week, and since then I have taken care of myself.’
“‘Have you no relations?’
“‘None I have ever seen. The day before papa died, he told me I was soon to be all alone in the world, that I had no relatives, and then he said: “Your relatives are all dead, my son, or dead to you.” That is all I know, sir.’
“My heart ached for the child as he finished, and I thought, let the consequence be what it would, he should not leave my house that night. I asked him his name.
“‘Orrin Thorndyke,’ was the reply.
“I told him he was to remain overnight with me, and that to-morrow I would investigate his story. This he readily did. He seemed to be satisfied to do exactly as he was told; he had evidently not yet gotten away from the manner of obeying his father. I think I told you he was prematurely old; his strange life had made him so. That night I scarcely slept, so full of plans was I for the future. As you know, I have always been a bachelor with plenty of money and no relatives who will ever need help through me. Before morning I decided that, if on investigation I found the bootblack’s story correct, I would at once adopt him and do for him as I would for an only son. This I have conscientiously tried to do, and, coming in and out of this house as the friend you are, I trust you think I have done right.”
“You certainly have.”
“I have noticed your admiration for my boy, and I have been very glad of it; and how well I remember the first time you saw him! You said I was to be congratulated in having for my protégé such a manly little fellow, and then you added, ‘Blood is sure, Adams, and I give up judging forever after, if good blood is not in this boy’s veins.’ Of course, when the child became mine, I wanted him to bear my name, but you never knew before that the Orrin Thorndyke part was his own. Some way, I could not ask him to part with it altogether, and so I had mine simply added.”
“Oh, what a man you are; it takes time to know you, Adams. And at last, I have found out why you so suddenly gave up smoking.”
“That is a fact. How could I smoke with that child’s story running not only in my ears, but through my heart? But what do you think of Orrin smoking three cigars every day!”
“Surely, you are joking!”
“No; I will tell you how he does it. When he was fourteen years of age, I gave him a monthly allowance, because I wished him to early learn the management of money. One day, shortly after, he came to me with the question, would I permit him to set aside the value of three five-cent cigars a day, and when the amount would reach five dollars he desired to put it in the bank and so open a smoking account. He also said he would regularly add to this amount as he could accumulate five dollars, and that he would not withdraw the money, but allow it to increase both principal and interest until he was thirty years of age, at which time he and I could decide what would be done with it. This I readily agreed to do. And now that he has been ‘smoking,’ as he puts it, three five-cent cigars every day for eight years, the amount already in the bank, at four per cent. interest, is not a small one. Why, in the first year, without interest, he saved nearly fifty-five dollars!”
“If only I had tried that scheme when I was fourteen years old, I would be a rich man now,” replied the President; “however, it is not yet too late to start the plan with my grandchildren.”