Chapter XII.
A GENEROUS ACT.
On Monday morning before they parted, and while Dickey was still their guest, Ben was very mysterious in his actions. He avoided Paul so much that one would have said he suspected the treasurer of having embezzled some of the funds of the concern.
But if any one knowing him had suspected that such was the case, that supposition would have been rejected as soon as a full view had been had of his face. He appeared to be in the most perfect good-humor, but considerably excited. Before he left the house he had succeeded in whispering these same words to Mopsey, Dickey, and Johnny, without having been overheard by Paul:
“Meet me at Nelly’s stand ’bout ’leven o’clock, an’ don’t let Polly know anything about it.”
The only one of that party who had not been in the best of spirits during the Sabbath, when Mrs. Green had exacted a due observance of the day by her boarders, was Paul, and he had been very sad. It was the second Sunday that had passed since he had been so unfortunately separated from his parents, and his distress of mind seemed to have increased, instead of being soothed, by time; in fact, as the days passed on, and he still found himself very far from accomplishing his purpose, he began to despair of ever succeeding.
As successful as they had been with their theatrical enterprise, the proceeds were not as large as he had expected; and when he figured out the amount which was each one’s share, he realized that it would be very long before he could get from that source money enough to buy his ticket home.
A few days previous to the giving of the entertainment, he had asked at one of the numerous ticket-offices on Broadway how much they would sell him a ticket for, and had been told that he could go for half fare, which would be fourteen dollars—a sum of money which seemed almost a fortune to him. During that day Ben had talked with him about his chances of getting home, what he would do when he got there, and many questions about his relatives, all of which Paul had answered readily, although it added to his distress to speak of such matters.
When Monday came, and the boys started out to attend to their business duties, Paul noticed that there was an evident anxiety on the part of all his companions to avoid him. This pained him more than he would have been willing to admit, and it was with a heavy heart that he went about his work, wondering what he had done to cause any change in their feelings towards him.
As all of that theatrical company had expected, they heard many criticisms on the performance they had given, and it seemed as though all of their patrons bestowed more time on giving them advice for future guidance than on their regular business. Some advised that Saturday evening performances be given each week, assuring the firm of their support during the entire season. Others were so unkind as to advise that a small theatre be built for Mopsey, where he could take all the parts himself, and very many had suggestions to give Dickey as to the kind of armor he should wear the next time he played the part of Macbeth.
Some of this advice Dickey received in a kindly spirit, assuring his friends of his determination never to play a part again that required any such uncomfortable costume; but to others he displayed considerable ill-feeling, and was so unwise as to be angry, when he should have remembered that as the public’s servant, in the capacity of an actor, he was obliged to hear their criticisms. But the partners were made happy by knowing that, in the majority of individual cases they heard of, their performance had given satisfaction, and that if they could only get a new play, since they had exhausted all of Shakespeare’s in one evening, they might feel assured of considerable patronage again.
Having been told of this at an early hour in the morning, Mopsey set about the task of writing, or thinking of, another play immediately; and it was said by those who watched him closely that he drove away at least four customers that forenoon by his seeming discourtesy, while he was trying to decide how a new play could be arranged.
At eleven o’clock, agreeably to the appointment made by Ben, all the partners, except Paul, met at Mrs. Green’s fruit-stand, wondering not a little as to why they had been summoned. Ben was there, almost bursting with importance; and when he found that all, including Mrs. Green and Nelly, were ready to listen to him, he said, as if he were again on the stage:
“I’ve got a big plan, an’ I hope you’ll all think jest the same about it that I do. You know how bad Polly feels ’cause he can’t git back to his folks, for you see how he moped round yesterday when we was all feelin’ so good. Now, I jest come from a place where they sell railroad tickets, an’ I found out that a little feller like him can get to Chicager for fourteen dollars.”
“It won’t be long before he gets that much, if nothin’ happens to the theatre,” said Mopsey, much as if he had been speaking of a gold-mine.
“Not long!” echoed Ben, almost contemptuously; “it’ll take him longer than you think for if he depends on that. I asked him yesterday to figger up an’ see how much every one would have after payin’ Mother Green, an’ he made it a dollar’n seventy cents. Now that’s a healthy pile ter go to Chicager on, ain’t it?”
“Well, how can he fix it any other way?” asked Dickey, in considerable surprise, not understanding what Ben was trying to get at.
“I’ll tell you how we can. We can all turn to, Mother Green an’ all, an’ give him the whole of the money. Then he won’t have to git only a little over two dollars to fix him right, an’ I reckon me an’ Johnny can fix him out on that.”
The partners looked at each other in surprise as this startling proposition of Ben’s was understood by them. For some moments no one spoke, and then Dickey said, as if his mind was made up so firmly that it would be impossible for any one to try to change it,
“He can have my share, an’ I’ll ’gree to put in enough more to make up as much as he’s got to have jest as soon as I kin earn it.”
“Good for you, Dickey,” said Nelly, admiringly, knowing that the ruined merchant’s offer meant a great deal, coming at a time when he was almost penniless. “Mother an’ I’ll put in our share, won’t we, mother?”
“Indeed we will,” replied Mrs. Green; and before she could say any more Johnny spoke up,
“Of course I’m in for anything Ben is, ’cause he’s my partner, an’ I’m mighty glad he thought of such a thing.”
Mopsey was the only one who appeared to be at all averse to the generous deed, and there seemed to be a great struggle going on in his mind, when he should have been the first to agree to it, since he had more money than all the others save Mrs. Green.
“Shame on you, Mopsey, for not speaking right up, and saying that you’ll do as much as the others will,” cried Nelly, in great excitement, lest one of the party should frustrate the others in their good work.
“Why don’t you give a feller a chance to say what he’ll do?” replied Mopsey, angry with himself for having hesitated at such a time. “I’m willin’ to come in with the rest, only I want to think it over first.”
“Then you’ll agree to it, will you?” asked Ben, anxious for the success of his plan.
“Of course I will; didn’t I say so?” asked the pea-nut merchant, sulkily.
“Then it’s all right,” said Ben, joyfully; “an’ now let’s get what money he’s got of ours, in some way so’s he won’t know what we want it for, an’ add enough to it so’s to buy the ticket, an’ give it to him to-night.”
The others, with the possible exception of Mopsey, were eager to complete the good work at once and Mrs. Green was called upon to tell them how much money was needed, and how much each person would be obliged to give. She was not an adept in the art of arithmetic, but after some little time, during which a good many figures were made, she informed them that the total amount needed was two dollars and thirty-five cents, and that as there were six of them, including herself and Nelly, each one would be obliged to give a fraction over thirty-nine cents.
Ben responded at once with forty cents, although he then had but ten cents left, and in a few moments the entire sum was contributed. It was only necessary to get the money which Paul had, and the ticket could be purchased.
It was decided that, since Ben had formed the plan, he should carry it out—a task which he was perfectly willing to perform; and, after promising to let his partners know as soon as he had succeeded, he started off, happy at the thought of being able to give Paul so much pleasure. When he met the boy whom he was eager to make happy once more, he had not been able to form any plan for getting the theatrical funds from him without running the risk of raising his suspicions. But since there was no other course which he could pursue, he said, as innocently as possible,
“I’ve been talkin’ with the other fellers, Paul, an’ I want you to let me have the money that come from the theatre. We’re thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ with it, an’ when you come home to-night we’ll tell you what it is.”
Paul had been thinking so much of his home and of his parents, whom he feared he should not see again, that he could have had no idea of Ben’s purpose, even though he had spoken more plainly, and he handed him the money without a word.
During the remainder of that day Paul was considerably mystified at the singular behavior of his friends; they indulged in the most wonderful winks and nods to one another whenever they were where he was, and something which Ben showed them from time to time seemed to please them immensely. Whenever he asked the reason for their unusual good-humor, and apparent secrecy about something, he was told that he should know at dinner-time, but not before.
Without having the slightest suspicion as to what his friends had done for him, Paul was so excited by the evident secret which was being kept from him that he was very impatient for the time to come when he could know what it was.
Never before had the boys seemed so anxious to be with him as they were during that afternoon, and he quite forgot their seeming coolness of the morning. One or all of them—excepting Mopsey, of course, who was obliged to remain at his stand in the absence of the boy who sometimes acted as clerk for him—kept near Paul all the day; and when it was time to go to dinner, it seemed as if they were escorting him home.
Once or twice while they were eating dinner some one of the party had said, “Now, Ben, now!” but Ben had shaken his head significantly and continued eating, as if he had no other duty before him.
When the meal was finished, instead of getting up from the table as they were in the habit of doing, each one of Mrs. Green’s boarders, as well as herself and Nelly, remained at the table as if waiting for something, and Paul looked at them in the greatest surprise.
“Mister Weston,” said Ben, gravely, as he pushed his plate farther on the table, and arose from his seat as if he had a long speech to deliver, “us fellers have seen that you wasn’t feelin’ very nice at havin’ to stay with us, an’ we kinder thought you wanted to leave us ’cause things didn’t go to suit you.”
As he paused for a moment, Paul, who had been in a perfect maze of wonder at this preface to the speech, said, quickly,
“I’m sure things go to please me as much as you can make them; but you mustn’t feel angry if I don’t want to stay, ’cause you know just how it happened that I came here; an’ when I think of my father an’ mother an’ my sister, I can’t—help—feeling—”
“MISTER WESTON,” SAID BEN, GRAVELY.
Here Paul burst into a flood of tears at the thought that his companions were reproving him for grieving for those whom he loved so dearly, and whom he feared he might never meet again. Ben hesitated at this grief of his friend, and for a moment it seemed as if he could not continue until he had tried to console him; but like one who has a duty to perform, and must do it as quickly as possible, he continued:
“We ain’t layin’ anything up agin you ’cause you don’t want to stay round here, for we don’t blame you, seeing how you’ve got a good home to go to; an’ if we had one we should tear round worse’n you do. But all the same, we’ve seen how you felt about it, an’ we’ve come to the ’clusion that you’d better not stay here any longer.”
Paul looked up in fear and surprise, for it certainly seemed as if he was being turned away.
“No,” continued Ben, in a loud voice, growing more emphatic the nearer he approached the conclusion of his speech—“we’ve made up our minds that you’ve got to go, an’ Dickey here’s all ready to take your place as one of the boarders. We give a pretty good show Saturday night, an’ we got so much money out of it that we’ve bought this for you so’s you can go home.”
Ben handed Paul the ticket, which he had opened to full length as he ceased speaking, and it was some moments before the surprised boy could understand it all. But when he realized that now he could go to his friends, if not to his parents, his joy was more than he could control, and from its very excess came the tears in an irresistible torrent.