Concerning Sally

by William John Hopkins

Sally was fifteen when the final good news came from Fox. She was in Uncle John's office, waiting until he should be ready to go. Uncle John's office was on the second floor of a little old wooden building where it had always been since Uncle John had had an office. He had chosen it because it stood just at the head of a short street leading to a certain wharf—Hazen's Wharf; and because from its windows one could see the length of the street and the length of the wharf and note what was going on there and how many vessels were fitting. The number of vessels that were fitting was surprisingly great, even now, and Sally could see their yards sticking out over the wharf, although their hulls were mostly hidden behind projecting buildings. That view from his office windows had saved Mr. Hazen many steps in the course of a long life. The fact that the business centre of the town had moved up and had left him stranded disturbed him not at all. He was still in his business centre.

So Sally, thinking vaguely of Fox and Henrietta, sat at a window and watched and was very well content with the view of the harbor and the wharf and the ends of yards sticking over it, and as much of the hulls of vessels as she could see, and the row of oil casks with a rough fence of old ships' sheathing behind them, and the black dust of the street. The black dust was stirred up now and then by the feet of horses and by the wheels of the low, heavy truck that they were dragging. Then a man, with a heavy mallet in his hand, approached the row of casks and began to loosen the bungs. It was an operation that had become familiar to Sally and she knew it to be preparation for the work of the gauger, who would come along later and measure what was in the casks. The man with the mallet and the gauger with his stick were familiar figures.

But certain other familiar figures drew into her view and watched the man loosening the bungs, and seemed to be greatly interested in the proceeding. They were the Carlings and Oliver Pilcher. Sally wondered what mischief they were up to. That they were up to some mischief she had not a doubt. The man with the mallet must have been a very trusting, unsuspicious man. It is not at all likely that the angelic faces of the singing twins and Oliver Pilcher were unknown about the wharves. Even if they were, why, boys are all—even the best of them—they are all cut by the same pattern, or they ought to be. Don't we—you and I—feel a sort of contempt for a boy who is not? And don't we call him "sissy" in our hearts? The other boys will not confine their calls of "sissy" to their hearts and it is likely to go hard with that boy.

When the bungs were all loosened, that trusting man with the mallet meandered slowly away, having paid no attention whatever to the boys who watched him so innocently. Sally saw the Carlings looking after him with an alert attention, whatever there was to be done being evidently postponed until he was out of sight. She could not help thinking how differently Jane Spencer would have acted. He would have disdained to wait for the man to disappear, for there would not be any fun in it for him unless there was some interested person present. But Jane Spencer was Jane Spencer and there was only one of him.

The man must have gone into some building, although Sally couldn't be sure, for she couldn't see; but the twins turned their heads and Oliver Pilcher gave a yell and leaped for the row of casks, closely followed by the Carlings, who began chanting loudly. Sally could not hear the words, but the chant marked the time to which Oliver Pilcher leaped into the air and came down with force and precision upon one bung after another. Just one cask behind him came Harry Carling. Sally supposed it was Harry, for the Carlings always went in that order. One cask behind Harry came Horry; and the casks gave out a hollow sound, in accordance with their degrees of emptiness, after the manner of casks,—especially oil casks,—as the three boys landed on their respective bungs.

The boys disappeared behind the corner of a building, but as the chant continued, it was to be inferred that the exercise was not yet finished; and in a moment back they came in the reverse order, landing on the bungs with the same force and precision. For driving bungs solidly, this method is to be commended.

But Horry, perhaps feeling somewhat hurried as he got to the end, missed his last bung, came down with misdirected force upon the slippery staves and landed on his back in the oil-soaked dust. Harry, unable to stop, landed upon him; but Oliver Pilcher made a sidewise spring and cleared them. The twins had forgotten to sing—the moment was too full of excitement—and were stuttering and pounding each other. Their voices were just beginning to change.

Some sound made Oliver Pilcher turn his head. Evidently, he hated to.

"Cheesit!" he cried, beginning to run before the word was out of his mouth.

Harry did not wait to see what was coming, but got to his feet instantly, dragging Horry by an arm, and ran. Horry protested vehemently, but he ran, and the three boys came up the hill, directly toward the office windows, and disappeared around the corner. Down on the wharf the man with the mallet was patiently loosening the bungs again. They came hard.