PHIL RYDER PAYS A DEBT
In a very few minutes Phil Ryder hastened back to where Alaric awaited him. "Now you come with me," he said, cheerily, "and we'll end this starvation business in a hurry. I won't take you to the hotel, for those swell waiters are too slow about serving things, and when a fellow is hungry he don't care so much about style as he does about prompt attention to his wants. I know, for I've been there myself. There's a little restaurant just around the corner on the avenue that looks as though it would exactly fill the bill. Here we are."
Almost before he realized what was happening Alaric found himself seated before the first regular breakfast-table that he had seen in weeks, while the young stranger facing him, who had so unexpectedly become his host, was ordering a meal that seemed to embrace pretty nearly the whole bill of fare.
"Bring the coffee and oatmeal first," he said to the waiter, "and see that there is plenty of cream. If they burn your fingers, so much the better, for you never saw any one in quite so much of a hurry as we are. After that you may rush along the other things as fast as you please."
Alaric attempted a feeble protest against the munificence of the order just given, but Phil silenced him with:
"Now, my friend, don't you fret; I know what you need and what you can get away with better than you do, for I've experimented considerably with starving during the past year. As for obligation, there isn't any. I am only paying a debt that I've owed for a long time."
"I don't remember ever meeting you before," said Alaric, looking up in surprise from a dish of oatmeal and cream that seemed the very best thing he had ever tasted.
"No, of course not, and I don't suppose we have ever been within a thousand miles of each other until now; but I have been in your debt, all the same. Just about a year ago I was in Victoria without a cent in my pocket, no friend or even acquaintance that I knew of in the whole city, and so hungry that it didn't seem as though I had ever eaten anything in my life. Just as I was most desperate and things were looking their very blackest, an angel travelling under the name of Serge Belcofsky came along, and spent his last dollar in feeding me. I vowed then that I'd get even with him by feeding some other hungry fellow, and this is the first chance I've run across since. You needn't be afraid, though, that I am spending my last dollar on you, glad as I would be to do so if it were necessary. That it isn't is owing to one of the best fathers in the world, who hasn't had a chance to keep me in funds for so long a time that he is now trying to make up for lost opportunities."
"You must be very fond of him," said Alaric, who was now at work on beefsteak and fried potatoes.
"Well, rather," replied Phil, earnestly, "though I never knew how much a good father was to a boy until I lost him, and had to fight my way alone through a whole year before I found him again. It's a wonder my hair didn't turn gray with anxiety while I was hunting him up in the interior of Alaska; but it's all over now, and I have him safe at last right here in Tacoma, along with my aunt Ruth and little Nel-te and Jalap——"
"Is he the dog?" asked Alaric, beginning an attack on the omelette.
"Who?"
"Jalap."
"Not much he isn't a dog," laughed Phil. "He is one of the dearest of sailormen. He's one of the wisest, too, only he lays all of his wisdom to his old friend Kite Roberson. Besides all that, he is one of the most comical chaps that ever lived, though he doesn't mean to be, and it's better than a circus to see him on snow-shoes driving a sledge team of dogs. I should have brought him over here to cheer you up, only he's off somewhere among the ships this morning. He says he's got the salt-water habit so badly that he can't keep away from them. Are you ready now for the buckwheats? Here are half a dozen hot ones to top off with, and maple-syrup too. Don't they look good, though! I say, waiter, you may as well bring me a plate of those buckwheats. I forgot to have any at breakfast-time."
So Phil rattled on, talking of all sorts of things to keep his guest amused, and allow him ample opportunity to attend strictly to the business of eating, without feeling obliged to answer questions or sustain any part of the conversation.
And how poor, heart-sick, hungry Alaric was cheered by the thoughtful kindness of this strange lad who had so befriended him in his hour of sorest need!
How grateful he was, and how, with each mouthful of food, strength and courage and hope came back to him, until, when the wonderful meal was finished, he was ready once more to face the world with a brave confidence that it should never again get the better of him! He tried to put some of his gratitude into words, but was promptly interrupted by his host, who said:
"Nonsense! You've nothing to thank me for. I told you I owed you this breakfast, and besides, though I haven't eaten very much myself, I have certainly enjoyed it as much as any meal of my life. Now we have a few minutes left before I must go, and I want you to tell me something of yourself. What is your name? Where is your home? And how did you happen to get into this fix?"
"My name is Rick Dale," began Alaric, who did not feel that he could disclose his real identity under the circumstances, "and my home is in San Francisco; but it is closed now. My mother is dead. I don't know just where my father is, and I was left with some people whom I disliked so much that I just—" Here he hesitated, and Phil, noting his embarrassment, hastened to say:
"Never mind the particulars. I had no business to ask such questions, anyway."
"Well," continued Alaric, "the result of it all is that I am here looking for work. I had a job, but it didn't pay anything, and I lost it about two weeks ago. Now I am trying to find another."
"What kind of a job do you want?"
"Anything, so long as it is honest work that will provide food, clothing, and a place to sleep."
"In that case," said Phil, thoughtfully, "I don't know but what I can put you in the way of one, though—"
"It must be a job for two of us," interposed Alaric, "for I have a friend who is in the same fix as myself."
"I only wish I had known that in time to have him breakfast with us," said Phil; "but the job I am thinking of, if it can be had at all, will serve for two of you as well as for one. You see, it is this way. There is a Frenchman over at the hotel whose name is Filbert, and who—"
Just here both lads started at the sound of a shrill whistle announcing the hour of noon.
"I had no idea it was so late," explained Phil, "and I must run; for we leave here on the one-o'clock train."
"I must hurry too, for I promised to meet Bonny at noon," said Alaric.
"Who is Bonny?"
"The friend I told you of."
"Then I want you to give this to him from me, for fear he may not have found any breakfast." So saying, Phil slipped something hard and round into Alaric's hand. "Now good-bye, Rick Dale," he said. "I hope we may meet again sometime. At any rate, be sure to call on Monsieur Filbert at the hotel this afternoon. I guess you can get a job from him; but even if you don't, always remember that, as my friend Jalap Coombs says, 'It's never so dark but what there's a light somewhere.'"
Then the lads parted, one filled with the happiness that results from an act of kindness, and the other cheered and encouraged to renewed effort.
With grateful and loving glances Alaric watched Phil Ryder until he disappeared in the direction of the hotel, and then hastened to keep his appointment with Bonny. On the road leading to the wharves he passed a tall, lank figure, whose whole appearance was that of a sailor. His shrewd face was weather-beaten and wrinkled, but so kindly and smiling that Alaric could not help but smile from sympathy as they met.
He found Bonny impatiently awaiting him, and in such cheerful spirits as to be hardly recognizable for the despondent, half-starved lad of two hours before.
"Hello, Rick!" he shouted, as his friend approached. "I know you've had good luck, for I see it in your face."
"Indeed I have!" replied Alaric; "and, what's more, I've had the best breakfast I ever ate in my life."
"That's what I meant by luck; and I've had the same."
"What's more," continued Alaric, "I have brought something that was sent especially to you, for fear you hadn't found anything to eat." Thus saying, he handed over a big bright silver dollar.
"Well, if that don't beat the owls!" exclaimed Bonny at sight of the shining coin, "for here is his twin-brother that was handed me to give to you, or rather to the first fellow I met who needed it more than I did."
"I must be the one, then," said Alaric, joyously, "for I haven't a cent to my name, and as you now have two dollars, I'm willing to divide with you. But who gave it to you, and how did he happen to?"
"The queerest and dearest old chap I ever saw. You know how badly I was feeling when we separated. Well, that was nothing to what came afterwards. I set out to board every ship in port until I should find a cook or steward who would fill me up and let me have something extra to bring to you. On the first half-dozen or so I was treated worse than a dog, and fired ashore almost before I opened my mouth. It made me feel meaner than dirt, and but for thinking of how disappointed you would be if I came back as miserable as I went, I should have given up in despair. I must say, though, that all the fellows who treated me that way were Dagoes, Dutch, or Chinamen.
"At length I boarded a Yankee bark that carried an Irish steward, and the minute I said I was hungry he cried out: 'Don't spake a wurrud, lad, for ye couldn't do yer looks justice. Jist be aisy, and come wid me.'
"With that he led me to a sort of a cuddy at the forward end of the after deck-house, and set me down to such a spread as I haven't seen since I left Cape Cod. There was cold roast beef, corned beef, potatoes, bread and butter, pie, pickles, coffee, and—well, it would be no use trying to tell all the things that steward gave me to eat, for you just wouldn't believe it. He laid 'em all out, told me to pitch in, and then went off, so, as he said, I'd be free to act according to nature.
"I sat there and ate until I hadn't room for as much as a huckleberry. As I was looking at the last piece of squash pie, and thinking what a pity it was that it must be left, I heard a chuckle behind me, and turned around in a hurry. There stood one of the mates and the dear old chap I was just telling you about.
"'Why don't you eat it, son?' says the mate.
"'Reason enough,' says I, 'because I can't; but if you don't mind, sir, I'd like awfully to take it to my partner in starvation,' meaning you.
"'Who is he? And how does he happen to be starved?' says the dear old chap. Then I up and told them the whole story of our experience on the Fancy, being chased by the revenue-men, and all, and it tickled 'em most to death.
"When I got through, the stranger, who was just down visiting the vessel, slipped a dollar into my hand, and told me to give it to the first chap I met who needed it more than I did. He said he used to know Cap'n Duff, and told me a lot of yarns about him as we walked back here together."
"Was his name Jalap Coombs?" asked Alaric.
"I expect it must have been, for he had a lot to say about somebody named Kite Roberson, who allus useter call him 'Jal.' Why? Do you know him?"
"Yes. That is, I feel as if I did. But, Bonny, I mustn't stop to tell you of my experiences now, for I have made an important business engagement for both of us up-town, and we must attend to it at once."