THE STEPPING STONE.
HUS it was that Mr. Stephens, sitting in his private room running over long rows of figures, was startled, somewhere near midnight, by a quick ring of the door-bell. His household were quiet for the night, so he went himself to answer the ring, and encountered Tode, who thrust a bit of paper toward him, and spoke rapidly.
"Here, Mr. Stephens, is your ten dollars. I didn't steal it, but it blew to me, and I kept it till I found I couldn't, and then I brought it."
"What is all this about?" asked bewildered Mr. Stephens. "Come in, my boy, and tell me what is the matter."
And presently Tode was seated in one of the great arm-chairs in Mr. Stephens' private room.
"Now, what is it, my lad, that has brought you to me at this hour of the night?" questioned that gentleman.
"Why, there's your money," said Tode, spreading out the ten dollar bill on the table before them. "You dropped it, you see, in the bookstore, and I picked it up. It blew to me, I didn't steal it, leastways I didn't think I did; but I don't know but it's just about as bad. At any rate I've brought it back, and there 'tis."
"Why!" said Mr. Stephens, "is it possible that I dropped a bill?" And he drew forth his pocket-book for examination. "Yes, that's a fact. Really, I deserve to lose it for my carelessness. And so you decided to bring it back? Well, I'm glad of that; but how came you to do it?"
"Oh," said Tode, "I couldn't sleep. The eyes of the Lord, you know, were looking at me, and I tumbled about, and thought maybe it wasn't right, and pretty soon I knew it wasn't, and then I asked the Lord Jesus to forgive me, and I didn't feel much better; and then I got up and thought I'd burn the mean thing up in the candle, and then I thought I musn't, 'cause it wasn't mine; and by that time I hated it, and didn't want it to be mine; and then after awhile I thought I ought to bring it to you, but I didn't want to, but I thought I ought to, and there 'tis."
Mr. Stephens watched the glowing face of his visitor during this recital, and said nothing. After he finished said nothing—only suddenly at last:
"Where do you live, my boy?"
"I live at one of the hotels—no, I don't, I don't live no where. I did till to-night, and to-night I sleep there, and after that I don't belong nowhere."
"Have you been employed in a hotel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you leave?"
"'Cause I can't be putting bottles to my neighbors any longer. You know what Habakkuk says about that, I suppose?"
Tode was ignorant, you see. He made the strange mistake of supposing that every educated man was familiar with the Bible. Again Mr. Stephens said nothing. Presently, with a little tremble to his voice, he asked another question:
"Have you given yourself to the Lord Jesus, my boy?"
"Yes, sir," Tode answered, simply.
"That is good. Do you know I think you have pleased him to-night? You have done what you could to right the wrong, and done it for his sake."
And now Tode's eye shone with pleasure. After a moment's silence he asked:
"What are you going to do with me, sir?"
"Do with you? I am going to be much obliged to you for returning my property."
"Yes, but I didn't do it straight off, and at first I meant to keep it."
"Which was bad, decidedly, and I don't think you will do it again. Can you write?"
"Yes, sir," Tode answered him, proudly.
"You may write your name on that card for me."
Tode obeyed with alacrity, and wrote in capitals, because he had a dim notion that capitals belonged especially to names:
T O D E M A L L.
"What are you going to do for a living after this?" further questioned Mr. Stephens, thoughtfully fingering the ten dollar bill.
"Going to keep a hotel of my own."
"Oh, you are? In what part of the town?"
"Don't know. Down by the depot somewhere, I reckon."
Mr. Stephens folded the ten dollar bill and put it in his pocket. Tode rose to go.
"Now, my friend," said Mr. Stephens, "shall you and I kneel down and thank the Lord Jesus for the care which he has had over you to-night, and for the help which he has given you?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tode, promptly, not having the remotest idea what kneeling down meant, but he followed Mr. Stephens' movement, and was commended to God in such a simple, earnest prayer that he had never heard before. He went out from the house in a sober though happy mood. He felt older and wiser than he did when he entered; he had heard a prayer offered for him, and he had been told that the Lord Jesus was pleased with his attempt to do right. Instead of going home he went around by the depot, and bestowed searching glances on each building as he passed by. Directly opposite the depot buildings there were two rum-shops and an oyster-saloon.
"This spot would do," said Tode, thoughtfully, halting in front of the illest looking of the rum-shops. "If I can set up right here now, why I'll do it."
A very dismal, very forbidding spot it seemed to be, and why any person should deliberately select it as a place for commencing business was a mystery; but Tode had his own ideas on the subject, and seemed satisfied. He looked about him. The night was dark save for street lamps, and there were none reflecting just where he stood. There was a revel going on down in the rum-cellar, but he was out of the range of their lights; elsewhere it was quiet enough. It was quite midnight now, and that end of the city was in comparative silence.
What did Tode mean to do next? and why was he peering about so stealthily to see if any human eye was on him? Surely with so recent a lesson fresh in mind, he had not already forgotten the All-seeing Eye? Was he going to offend it again? He waited until quite certain that no one was observing him, then he went around to the side of an old barrel and kneeled down, and clasped his hands together as Mr. Stephens had done, and he said: "O Lord Jesus, if I come down here to live I'll try to do right all around here, every time." Then he rose up and went home to his room and his bed. He had been down in the midnight and selected the spot for his next efforts, and consecrated it to the Lord. Another thing, he had found out how people did when they talked with God. After that Tode always knelt down to pray.
It was not yet eight o'clock when Tode, his breakfast eaten, his bundle packed, himself ready to migrate, sat down once more on the edge of that bed, and began to calculate the state of his finances. He had been at work in the hotel for his board and clothing; but then there had been many errands on which he had run for those who had given him a dime, or, now and then, a quarter, and his expenditures had been small; so now as he counted the miscellaneous heap, he discovered himself to be the honest owner of six dollars and seventy-eight cents.
"That ain't so bad to start on," he told himself, complacently. "A fellow who can't begin business on that capital, ain't much of a fellow. I wonder now if ever I'll take a peak at this little room of mine again; 'tain't a bad room; I'll have one of my own just like it one of these days. I'll have a square patch of carpet just that size, red and green and yellow, like that, and I'll have a patchwork quilt like this one; who'll make it for me though? Ho, I'll find somebody. I wonder who'll sleep in this bed of mine after this? Jim won't, 'cause Jim sleeps with his brother. I reckon it's fun to have a brother. Maybe there'll be some fellow here that I can come and see now and then. Well, come Tode, you and I must go, we must, there's business to be done."
So the boy rose up, put away his money carefully, slung his bundle over his shoulder, took a last, long, loving look at the familiar surroundings, coughed once or twice, choked a little, rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, and went out from his only home. On the stairs he encountered Jim.
"Jim," said he, "I'm going now; if you only wouldn't, you know."
"Give your neighbor drink."
"Pooh!" said Jim, "You're a goose; better come back and be decent."
"Good-by," was Tode's answer, as he vanished around the corner. He went directly to the spot opposite the depot, which he had selected the night before, and descended at once to the cellar.
"Want to rent that stone out down there, between your building and the alley?" he questioned of the ill-looking man, who seemed to be in attendance.
"Um, well, no, I reckon not; guess you'd have a time of getting it away."
"Don't want to get it away; it's just in the right spot for me."
"What, for the land's sake, do you mean to do?"
"I mean to set up business right out there on that stone."
This idea caused a general laugh among the loungers in the cellar; but Tode stood gravely awaiting a decision.
"What wares might you be going to keep, youngster?" at last queried one of the red-nosed customers.
"Cakes and coffee."
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the proprietor, eyeing him keenly. "And whisky, too, I wouldn't be afraid to bet."
"Not a bit of it; you keep enough of that stuff for you and me, too."
"And where might you be going to make your coffee?"
"I ain't going to make it until I get a place to put it," was Tode's brief reply.
"Do you want to rent that stone, or not, that's the question? and the quicker you tell me, the quicker I'll know."
"Well, how much will you pay for it?"
"Just as little as I can get it for." This caused another laugh from the listeners.
"You're a cute one," complimented the owner. "Well, now, seeing it's you, you can have it on trial for two dollars a week, I reckon."
"I reckon it will be after this when I do," said Tode, turning on his heel.
"Hold up. What's the matter? Don't the terms suit? Why that's very reasonable!"
"All right. Then rent it to the first chap who'll take it for two dollars; but I ain't acquainted with him."
"How much will you give then?"
"How much will you take?"
"Well, now, I like to help the young, so I'll take a dollar a week."
"Not from me," said Tode, promptly.
"Do hear the fellow! As generous as I've been to him, too. Well, come, now, its your turn to make an offer."
"I'll give you fifty cents a week, and pay you every Saturday night at seven o'clock."
"It's a bargain," exclaimed the man, striking his hand down on the counter, till the dirty glasses jingled. There was a further attempt to discover the intention of the new firm, but Tode made his escape the moment the bargain was concluded, and went off vigorously to work to get the old barrel out of his premises. Then he departed, and presently made his appearance again with an old dry-goods box, which he brought on a wheelbarrow, and deposited squarely on the stone. Off again, and back with boards, hammer and nails. And then ensued a vigorous pounding, which, when it was finished, was productive of three neat fitting shelves inside the dry-goods box.
"Jolly," he said, eyeing his work triumphantly and his fingers ruefully, "I'm glad I own a hotel instead of a carpenter's shop. I wonder now which I did pound the oftenest, them nails or my thumb? Ain't my shelves some though? So much got along with; now for my next move. I wonder where the old lady lives what's going to lend her stove for my coffee? Must be somewhere along here, because I couldn't go far away from my place of business after it, specially if all my waiters should happen to be out when the rush comes. I may as well start off and hunt her up."
Just next to the oyster-saloon was a little old yellow house. Thither Tode bent his steps, and knocked boldly at the door. No reply.
"Not at home," he said, shaking his head as he peeped in at the curtainless window. "No use of talking about you then. You won't do, 'cause you see my old lady must be at home. I can't be having her run off just at the busiest time."
There were two doors very near together, and our young adventurer tried the next one. It was quickly opened, and a very slatternly young woman appeared to him with a baby in her arms, and three almost babies hanging to various portions of her dress.
"Does Mr. Smith live here?" queried Tode.
The woman shook her head and slammed the door.
"That's lucky now," soliloquized Tode; "because he does live most everywhere, and I don't want to see him just about now—fact is, it would never do to have them nine babies tumbling into my coffee and getting scalded."
He trudged back to a little weather-worn, tumble-down building on the other side of his new enterprise, and knocked. Such a dear little old fat woman in a bright calico dress, and with a wide white frill to her cap, answered his knock. He chuckled inwardly, and said at once: "I guess you're the woman what's going to let me boil my coffee on your stove, and warm a pie now and then, ain't you?"
"Whatever is the lad talking about?" asked the bewildered old lady.
"Why—" said Tode, conscious that he had made a very unbusiness-like opening, and he begun at the beginning, and told her his story.
"Well now, I never!" said the woman, sinking into a chair. "No, I never did in all my life! And so you left that there place, because you wasn't going to give bottles to your neighbors no longer, and now you're going into business for yourself? Well, well, the land knows I wish there wasn't no bottles to put to 'em—and then they wouldn't be put, you know; and if there's anything I do pray for with all my might and main, next to prayin' that my two boys would let the bottles alone—which I'm afraid they don't, and more's the pity—it's that the bottles will all get clean smashed up one of these days, in His own good time you know."
Tode turned upon her an eager, questioning look.
"Who do you pray to?" he asked, abruptly.
"Why, bless the boy! I ain't a heathen, you know, to bow down to wood and stone, the work of men's hands, and them things as it were. I pray to the dear Lord that made me, and died for me too, and, for the matter of that, lives for me all the time."
A bright color glowed in Tode's cheek, and a bright fire sparkled in his eye.
"I know him," he said, briefly and earnestly.
"Now, do you, though?" said the little old lady, as eager and earnest as himself, "and do you pray to him?"
Tode gravely bowed his head.
"Then I'll let you have my stove and my coffee-pot, and my oven, and welcome, and I'll look after the coffee and the pies now and then myself. I'll give you a lift as sure as I have a coffee-pot to lend. Like enough you're one of the Lord's own, and have been sent right straight here for me to give a cup of cold water to, you know, or to look after your coffee for you, and it's all the same, you know, so you do it in the name of a disciple."
Will Tode ever forget the feeling of solemn joy with which he finally turned away from the dear little old lady's door? He had really talked with one of those who knew the Lord, and he was to see her every day, two or three times a day, and perhaps she knew things that he did not; about Habakkuk—like enough. "She knew about that bottle business as well as I did," he said gleefully, as he flew back to his dry-goods box. Such delightful arrangements as he made with her, too!—elegant cakes she was to make him, better than any that could be bought at the baker's he was sure, though he had called there on his way for the dry-goods box, and made what he considered a very fine bargain with him. Altogether it was a very busy day; he had never flown around more industriously at the hotel than he did on this first day of business for himself. He dined on crackers and cheese, and missed, as little as he could help, the grand dinner which would have been sure to fall to his share at his old quarters, and which he hardly understood that he had given up for conscience' sake. "There now," he said, with a final chuckle of satisfaction, just as the twilight was beginning to fall, "I'm fixed all snug and fine—by to-morrow morning, bright and early, I'll be ready for business!" Then suddenly he dived his hands into his pockets, and gave a low, long, perplexed whistle—then gave vent to his new idea in words:
"Where in the name of all that's funny and ridiculous, be I going to spend the time 'tween this and to-morrow morning? Just as true as you're alive and hearty, Tode Mall, I never once thought of that idea till this blessed minute—did you?
"Whatever is to be did! I've slept, to be sure, in lots of places, on the steps, and in barrels, and I ain't no ways discomflusticated; but then, you see, after a fellow has slept on a bed for a spell, why, he has a kind of a hankering after a bed to sleep on some more. Hold on, though! why don't I board? That's the way men do when they go into business. Tode, you're green, very green, I'm afraid, not to think of that before. Course I'll board! I'll go right straight down to the old lady, and order rooms."
But the old lady shook her head, and looked troubled. "You see," said she, "I ain't got but one bed for spare, and I've got a boy. I've got two of 'em; but they don't sleep at home, only my youngest; he comes a visiting sometimes, and if he should come and find a stranger sleeping in his bed, why, he'd feel kind of homesick, I'm afraid, and I want Jim to feel that this is the best home that ever was, I do."
Tode bestowed a very searching look on the earnest little old woman in answer to this, and then spoke rapidly:
"I shouldn't wonder one bit if you was our Jim's mother down at the Euclid House—that's where I lived, and that's where he lives, only he don't sleep there—he sleeps with his brother Rick, down at the livery stable. Now, ain't they your two boys?"
"They are so!" the old lady answered, speaking as eagerly as he had done.
"And so you know them! Well, now, don't things work around queer?" Then she shut the door and locked it, and came over to Tode so close that her cap frills almost touched his curly head, before she whispered her next sentence:
"Now, I know you will tell me just the truth. Do them two boys of mine touch the bottles for themselves?"
How gently and pitifully Tode answered the poor mother! "I guess they do, a little—all the fellows do, except just me—they don't think it's any harm."
"I knew it, I knew it!" she said, pitifully. "Their father would, and they will."
Then, after a moment, she rallied.
"But I don't give up hope for 'em, not a bit, and I ain't going to so long as I can pray for 'em. Now I'll tell you what we'll do. The Lord has sent you to help me, I do guess—I asked him if I couldn't have somebody just to give me a lift with them. You'll have Jim's room, and when he comes you'll be just nice and comfortable together, seeing you know each other. Rick, he never comes home for all night, 'cause he can't get away. And then you'll help me keep an eye on Jim, and say a word to him now and then when you can, and pray for him every single day—will you now?"
So when the night closed in, Tode's bundle was unpacked, and his clothes hung on Jim's nails, and once again he had a home.
