He went to work and jumbled them up as if that were grouping them, and then asked one or two of the other clerks what they thought of it. They shook their heads, and said it looked worse than before.
"I vill study over him all day to-morrow, and den vill come early
Monday and fix him;" and the perplexed youth took himself off.
Dennis felt almost sure that he could arrange it as Mr. Ludolph had done, or with something of the same effect, but did not like to offer his services, not knowing how they would be received, for Mr. Berder had taken special delight in snubbing him.
After the duties of the store were over, Dennis wrote to his mother a warm, bright, filial letter, portraying the scene of the day in its comic light, making all manner of fun of himself, that he might hide the fact that he had suffered. But he did not hide it, as a return letter proved, for it was full of sympathy and indignation that her son should be so treated, but also full of praise for his Christian manliness and patience.
"And now, my son," she wrote, "let me tell you of at least two results of your steady, faithful performance of your present humble duties. The money you send so regularly is more than sufficient for our simple wants. We have every comfort, and I am laying something by for sickness and trouble, for both are pretty sure to come before long in this world. In the second place, you have given me that which is far better than money—comfort and strength. I feel more and more that we can lean upon you as our earthly support, and not find you a 'broken reed.' While so many sons are breaking their mothers' hearts, you are filling mine with hope and joy. I am no prophetess, my son, but from the sure word of God I predict for you much happiness and prosperity for thus cheering and providing for your widowed mother. Mark my words. God has tried you and not found you wanting. He will soon give you better work to do—work more in keeping With your character and ability."
This prediction was fulfilled before Dennis received the letter containing it, and it happened on this wise.
Early on Monday morning Mr. Berder appeared and attempted the hopeless task of grouping the articles on his table in accordance with Mr. Ludolph's orders. After an hour's work he exclaimed in despair, "I cannot do him to save my life."
Dennis at a distance, with a half-amused, half-pitying face, had watched Mr. Berder's wonderful combinations, and when Rip Van Winkle was placed between two togated Roman senators, and Ichabod Crane arranged as if making love to a Greek goddess, he came near laughing outright. But when Mr. Berder spoke he approached and said, kindly and respectfully, "Will you let me try to help you?"
"Yes," said Mr. Berder; "you cannot make dings vorse." Acting upon this ungracious permission, Dennis folded his arms and studied the table for five minutes.
"Come," said Mr. Berder, "standing dere and looking so vise as an owl von't help matters. Mr. Ludolph vill be here soon."