Jim was enterprising. Far more enterprising than anybody gave him credit for. He had been set to copy the General, and that night as he lay down to sleep he resolved to outdo Pat and Mike. The little boys were insignificant in his eyes as he thought of what was before him, and even Andy offered small food for jealousy. To excel the two big boys was worth trying for.
Now the General was more familiar to Jim's ears than to his eyes. He at once resolved to remedy that.
"I'll have to be followin' him around and be seein' how he does, so I will," he told himself. "And I'll have to be gettin' my work done quick to be doin' it."
Accordingly he hustled through the dishwashing at a great rate the next morning, for his mother had lately decided that he might wash the dishes as well as wipe them. The dusting, usually carefully done, was a whisk here and a wipe there in the most exposed places. By such means did he obtain a half hour of extra time, and off he went up the railroad track on his way to General Brady's. He soon came to the point where he must leave the track for the street, and, the street being comparatively unused and so without a pavement, he was compelled to wade the snow. Into it with his short legs he plunged, only anxious to reach the house before the General started down town. And he was almost out of breath when he came to the corner and turned south on the cleared sidewalk. On he hurried and around to the kitchen door.
"Is he gone?" he inquired, poking his head into the room where his brother was busily washing dishes.
Mike stared. The door had opened so softly, the words were so breathless, and the little boy so very red in the face. "Who?" he asked in astonishment.
"The Gineral," said Jim impatiently.
"Just going," returned Mike. And at the words Jim was out with the door shut behind him.
"What's got into little Jim?" thought Mike. Out of the yard flew Jim, and took on an air of indifferent loitering as he waited. Yes, there came the General. How broad his shoulders were! How straight his back! How firm his tread! At sight of all this little Jim squared himself and, a half block in the rear, walked imitatively down the street. It was all very well for his mother to say that Jim was a born fighter. But she had entirely overlooked the fact that he was a born mimic also.
Here and there a smiling girl ran to the window to gaze after the two as they passed—the stately old General and his ridiculous little copy. But it was when they neared the square that the guffaws began. The General, being slightly deaf, did not notice, and little Jim was so intent on following copy that he paid no attention. Thus they went the entire length of the east side of the square, and then along the south side until, at the southwest corner, the old soldier disappeared in the doorway of the bank. By this time little Jim's shoulders were aching from the restraint put upon them, for Jim was not naturally erect. And his long walk at what was, to him, an usually slow pace had made his nose blue with cold. But instead of running off to get warm he pressed close against the big window and peered in at his pattern. He knew his back and his walk now, and he wanted to see his face.
Presently one of the amused spectators stepped into the bank and spoke a few words to its president, and the General turned to look at the little fellow.
"Who is he?" he asked.
"One of your O'Callaghans, General," was the laughing answer.
The General flushed. Then he beckoned to Jim, who immediately came in.
"Go back to the stove and get warm, my boy," he said. "You look cold."
Jim obeyed and presently the General's friend went out.
"Now, my boy," said the General, walking back to the stove, "what did you mean by following me?"
Little Jim's blue eyes looked up into the blue eyes of the old soldier. "Our eyes is the same color," he thought. And then he answered: "My mother told me to be makin' a pattern out of you. She told the same to Pat and Mike, too, and I'm goin' to do it better than they do, see if I don't. Why, they don't walk fine and straight like you do. But I can do it. I larned this morning."
The General laughed. "And what were you peering in at the window for?"
"Sure and I wanted to be watchin' your face, so I did. 'Tis my mother as says I'm the born fighter, and she says, 'Look at the General. Does he be goin' round fightin' in times of peace? That he don't.' And she wants me to be like you and I'm goin' to be."
"What's your name?"
"Jim."
"Well, Jim, I don't think your mother meant that you should follow me through the street and try to walk like me. And you must not do so any more."
"But I knows how now, sir," objected Jim, who was loth to discard his new accomplishment.
"Nevertheless you must not follow me about and imitate my movements any more," forbade the General.
"And how am I to be like you then, if you won't let me do the way you do?"
For a moment the General seemed perplexed. Then he opened the door and motioned Jim out. "Ask your mother," he said.
"I won't," declared little Jim obstinately, when he found himself in the street. "I won't ask her."
But he did. The coasting was excellent on a certain hill, and the hill was only a short distance northwest of the O'Callaghan home.
"'Twill do Andy good to have a bit of a change and eat wanst of a supper he ain't cooked," the widow had said. And so it was that she was alone, save for Larry, when Jim came in after school. Presently the whole affair of the morning came out, and Mrs. O'Callaghan listened with horrified ears.
"And do you know how that looked to them that seen you?" she asked severely. "Sure and it looked loike you was makin' fun of the Gineral."
"But I wasn't," protested little Jim.
"Sure and don't I know that? Would a b'y of mine be makin' fun of Gineral Brady?"
"He said I wasn't to do it no more," confided little Jim humbly.
The widow nodded approbation. "And what did you say then?" she asked.
"I says to him, 'How can I get to be like you, sir, when you won't let me do the way you do?'"
"And then?"
"Then he opened the door, and his hand said, 'Go outside.' And just as I was goin' he said, 'Ask your mother.'"
"'Twasn't for naught he got made a gineral," commented Mrs. O'Callaghan. "'Tis himsilf as knows a b'y's mother is the wan. For who is it else can see how he's so full of brag he's loike to boorst and a-wantin' to do big things till he can't dust good nor wash the plates clean? Dust on the father's chair, down on the rockers where you thought it wouldn't show, and egg on the plates, and them piled so slick wan on top of the other and lookin' as innocent as if they felt thimsilves quite clean. Ah, Jim! Jim!"
The widow's fourth son blushed. He cast a hasty glance over the room and was relieved to see that Larry, his mother's only other auditor, was playing busily in a corner.
Mrs. O'Callaghan went on. She had Jim all to herself and she meant to improve her chance.
"You haint got the hang of this ambition business, Jim. That's the trouble. You're always tryin' to do some big thing and beat somebody. 'Tis well you should know the Lord niver puts little b'ys and big jobs together. He gives the little b'ys a chance at the little jobs, and them as does the little jobs faithful gets to be the men that does the big jobs easy."
Jim now sought to turn the conversation, the doctrine of faithfulness in small things not being at all to his taste. "And will I be havin' a bank, too, like the Gineral?" he asked.
His mother looked at him. "There you go again, Jim," she said. "And sure how can I tell whether you'll have a bank or not? 'Tisn't all the good foightin' men as has banks. But you might try for it. And if you've got a bank in your eye, you'd best pay particular attintion to your dustin' and your dishwashin'. Them's your two first steps."
Little Jim pondered as well as he was able. It seemed to him that the first steps to everything in life, according to his mother, were dusting and dishwashing. His face was downcast and he put the dishes on the table in an absent-minded way.
"What are you thinkin' about, Jim?" asked his mother after many a sidelong glance at him. "Cheer up!"
"Ain't there no other first steps?" he asked gloomily.
"Not for you, Jim. And it's lucky you are that you don't loike the dustin' and the dishwashin'."
Jim was evidently mystified.
"Because, do you see, Jim, iverybody has got to larn sooner or later to do things they don't loike to do. You've begun in toime, so you have, and, if you kape on, you can get a lot of it done before you come to the place where you can do what you loike, such as kapin' a bank and that. But it's no business. The Gineral's business was foightin', you know. He kapes a bank jist to pass the toime."
Little Jim's eyes widened. Here was a new outlook for him.
"But you must do 'em good," admonished his mother. "There's nothin' but bad luck goes with poor dustin' and dirty dishwashin'. And spakin' of luck, it's lucky you are I caught you at it the first toime you done 'em bad, for, do you see, I'll be lookin' out for you now for a good bit jist to be seein' that you're a b'y that can be trusted. It's hopin' I am you'll be loike your father, for 'twas your father as could be trusted ivery toime. And now I've a plan for you. We'll be havin' Moike to show you how they lays the table at the Gineral's. 'Twill be a foine thing for you to larn, and 'twill surprise Pat, and be a good thing for the little b'ys to see. Them little b'ys don't get the chance to see much otherwheres, and they'll have to be larnin' their manners to home, so they will. Pat and Moike with the good manners about eatin' they've larned at the Gineral's, and the little b'ys without a manner to their back! Sure and 'twill be a lesson to 'em to see the table when you've larned to set it roight."
Jim brightened at once. He had had so much lesson himself to-day that it was a great pleasure to think of his younger brothers being instructed in their turn. In they came at that moment, their red little hands tingling with cold. But they were hilarious, for kind-hearted Andy had taken them to the hill, and over and over they had whizzed down its long length with him. At another time Jim might have been jealous; but to-night he regarded them from the vantage ground of his superior information concerning them. They were to be instructed. And Jim knew it, if they did not. He placed the chairs with dignity, and hoped instruction might prove as unwelcome to Barney and Tommie as it was to him. And as they jounced down into their seats the moment the steaming supper was put upon the table, and gazed at it with eager, hungry eyes, and even gave a sniff or two, he felt that here was a field for improvement, indeed. And he smiled. Not that Jim was a bad boy, or a malicious one, but when Barney and Tommie were wrong, it was the thing that they should be set right, of course.
Pat had now been in Mr. Farnham's employ two months and more, and never had his faithfulness slackened. He had caught the knack of measuring goods easily and tying up packages neatly. He could run off a length of calico and display it to any customer that came to him, and what most endeared him to Mr. Farnham was that he could sell.
"Best clerk I ever had," the merchant told himself. But he did not advance this "best clerk" although Pat longed and hoped for promotion. Upon every opportunity he studied dress goods at the front end of the store, and carpets and cloaks at the rear. And day by day he went on patiently selling prints, ginghams and muslins.
"'Tis the best things as are longest a-comin' sometimes," said his mother encouragingly. "Are you sellin' what you've got as well as you know how?"
"I am, mother."
"Well, if you are, be sure Mr. Farnham knows it, and, by the same token, he'd be knowin' it if you was gapin' in the customers' faces or hummin' or whistlin' soft like while you waited on 'em. Mr. Wall had a clerk wanst that done that way. I've seen him. And, by the same token, he ain't got him now. Ladies don't care for hummin' and whistlin' when they're buyin' goods."
And now trade was growing heavier. The other clerks were overburdened, while Pat in his humble place had little to do. Suddenly there came a call for him at the dress counter. A lady had come in and both the other clerks were busy. She was one who continually lamented in an injured tone of voice that she lived in so small a town as Wennott, and she rarely made purchases there. Her name was Mrs. Pomeroy.
"Let us see if Pat sells her anything. It will be a wonder if he does," thought Mr. Farnham.
Languidly Mrs. Pomeroy examined this and that in an uninterested way, and all the time Pat was paying the closest attention, trying to discover just what she wanted. His heart was beating fast. If only he could make a sale, what might it not mean to him?
"Here is a pattern for a street dress, madam." Pat's voice was musical, and his manner most respectful. Mrs. Pomeroy felt interested and attracted at once. She looked on while Pat drew out the dress pattern from its box, displaying to advantage its soft coloring and fine texture.
Mrs. Pomeroy put her head on one side and regarded it through half-shut eyes.
"The only pattern of exactly its sort and color," said the persuasive voice of Pat. He had learned from the other clerks that this was a great recommendation to a piece of goods and helped to sell it.
Mrs. Pomeroy reflected.
She asked the price and reflected again, and all the time she noticed that Pat's interest was real and not simulated; that he was doing his best to please her. She liked the goods, but not better than a pattern she had seen at Wall's. But Wall's clerks were inattentive and indifferent. They had an air that said "There are the goods. Buy 'em or leave 'em. 'Tis nothing to us."
She was thinking of this as well as of the dress goods before her and finally she said, "You may wrap the pattern up. I will take it."
Then did Pat's eyes dance with delight, and he thought of his mother. But it was only a glancing thought, for in a second he was saying: "Mr. Farnham has gloves to match."
"I will look at them."
To look was to buy when Pat was salesman, and, in a few moments, the happiest clerk in the store, Pat walked modestly back to his own place.
"Well done, Pat!" exclaimed Mr. Farnham, going up to him. "I wish you would keep an eye on the dress counter, and, whenever another clerk is needed, attend there."
"I will, sir," answered Pat gratefully.
Three times more was Pat needed before the day closed, and every time he made a good sale.
As usual Mrs. O'Callaghan was waiting alone for Pat. She was extremely tired and almost despondent. For to earn what she could and keep her sons up to the mark she had set for them was a great strain on her. And she missed her husband. More and more she missed him. "Ah, Tim!" she cried, "'twas a great thing you done for me when you taught our b'ys that moind me they must and that without questions about it. Only for that I couldn't do much with 'em. And without you it's hard enough, so it is. I hain't never laid finger on wan of 'em, and I won't nayther, for sure they're not beasts but b'ys. I mistrust my hardest toimes are ahead of me. Pat and Moike and Andy don't trouble me none. Sure and a bloind man can see them three is all roight. But Jim and Barney and Tommie and Larry now—how can I be tellin' what's comin' of them? And I can't set the big b'ys over 'em only to take care of 'em loike, for sure b'ys as are worth anything won't be bossed by their big brothers. They sees the unfairness of it."
And then intruding upon her thoughts came a boy's merry whistle; a whistle that told of a heart where happiness was bubbling up and overflowing, and the whistling came nearer and nearer.
"Whativer do be makin' Pat come home with a tune loike that?" she asked. And she half rose as Pat's hand opened the door and the tall young fellow stepped in. The tiny lamp was very bright, and in its light the boy's eyes were brilliant.
"Well, Pat!" exclaimed his mother. "The lamp's but a poor match for your eyes to-night. You've got news for me. What is it?"
And Pat told with an eager tongue how, at last, he had a chance to attend at the dress counter when the two regular clerks there were busy and another one was needed.
The widow was silent a moment. It was not quite what she had hoped to hear, knowing her Pat as she did, but she was determined to keep her son's courage up. So she said, "Well, then, if you've got so far, it rests with yoursilf to go farther. 'Tis a blessed thing that there are such a many things in this world a-restin' on a body's lone silf. But there's them that niver foinds it out, and that goes about layin' their own blame here, there and yon."
Pat's elation lasted him overnight and even well on into the next day. And that day was more wonderful than the one before it. For, about the middle of the forenoon, General Brady came into the store and walked back to Mr. Farnham's desk, giving Pat a smile and a bow as he passed him, and receiving in return an affectionate look. The one evening a week with the General had not served to diminish the boy's fondness for him, but it had served to make Pat a greater favorite than ever with the old soldier.
"Mr. Farnham," said the General, after a few pleasant words had been exchanged, "Mr. Wall offers thirty dollars a month for Pat. Do you wish to keep him?"
"I suppose I shall have to come up to Wall's offer if I do?"
"Exactly," was the response with a smile. The General was delighted with Pat's success, and he could not help showing it.
"Pat is getting himself a reputation among your customers," he remarked pleasantly.
"Frankly, General," replied Mr. Farnham, "he's the best boy I ever had. He shall have his thirty dollars."
If the whistle was merry the night before, it was mad with joy on that Wednesday evening.
"Pat! Pat! what ails you?" cried his mother as the boy came bounding in with a shout and a toss of his cap. "You'll be wakin' your brothers."
"I'd like to wake 'em, mother," was the jubilant answer. "I've got news that's worth wakin' 'em for."
"And what is it?" was the eager question.
"Well, mother, then it's this. I'm to have thirty dollars a month and to stay at the dress counter."
"Pat! Pat!" exclaimed the little woman, excited in her turn. "It's forty years old I am, and sure and I know better than to be wakin' b'ys out of their slape jist to be hearin' a bit of news. But I'm goin' to wake 'em. They shall be knowin' this night what comes to a b'y that does his best when he's got Gineral Brady to back him. And would Gineral Brady back you if you didn't desarve it? That he wouldn't. I ain't heard nothin' of his backin' up street loafers nor any sort of shiftless b'ys."
The boys were wakened, and a difficult task it was. But when, at last, they were all thoroughly roused and were made to understand that there was no fire, nor any uproar in the streets, nor a train off the track, they stared about them wonderingly. And when they had been told of Pat's good fortune, "Is that all?" asked jealous little Jim, and down went his red head on the pillow, and shut went his eyes in a twinkling. Barney and Tommie, who knew not the value of money, gazed solemnly at their mother and Pat, and then into each other's eyes and composedly laid themselves down to renewed slumber. And Larry howled till the windows rattled, for Larry was a strong child for his years, and never before had he been waked up in the night. But Andy sat up in bed and clasped his brother's hand in both his while his face showed his delight.
And then something happened to Andy. His mother, disgusted at the conduct of the little boys, put her arm around his neck and kissed him.
"It's a jewel you are, Andy," she said, "with good understandin' in you. You'll be wakin' up Pat in the noight some day."
"Huh!" thought jealous little Jim, who was only feigning sleep.
"Now, mother," said Pat when the tiny lamp stood once more on the kitchen table, and the two sat beside the stove, "will you give up two of your wash places?"
"Not I, Pat dear. With six of us, not countin' you and not countin' Moike, who cares for himsilf, we need all the money we can honestly get."
"Only one, then, mother; only one. My good luck is no comfort to me if I can't think of your getting a day's rest every week out of it."
The widow regarded him earnestly. She saw how her refusal would pain him and she yielded. "Well, then," she said, "wan place, Pat dear, I'll give up. And it'll be Wednesday, because 'twas on a Wednesday that your luck come to you."
Another month went by and the holiday trade was over. Nevertheless the amount of custom at Mr. Farnham's did not diminish much. Ladies who went out on looking tours, if they began at Farnham's ended there by purchasing. If they stopped first at Wall's they went on to Farnham's and bought there. Mr. Wall was not blind. And so, one day General Brady walked into Mr. Farnham's store and back to his desk again.
"Another rise?" asked the merchant laughingly.
"Something of the sort," was the rejoinder. "Mr. Wall offers forty dollars a month for Pat."
"He doesn't take him though," was the significant answer.
The General laughed. "I see you appreciate him," he said.
"Well, to tell the truth, General, I know my right hand man when I see him, and Pat O'Callaghan is his name. I only wish there were two of him."
The General's face grew thoughtful. "There may be," he said at length. "His next brother, Mike, is at our house, and just as much of a born trader as Pat. His ways, however, are a little different."
Mr. Farnham put out his hand. "I take this hint as very kind of you, General. When may I have him?"
"Could you wait till next fall? He ought to finish this school year. Next winter I could take charge of him one evening a week together with Pat. The terms must be the same for him as they were for Pat when he began—fifteen dollars a month and one evening each week out."
"All right, General. I'll be frank with you—-I'm glad to get him on those terms. I begin to think that it's enough of a recommendation for a boy to be an O'Callaghan."
The General smiled as he left Mr. Farnham's desk, and on his way out of the store, he stopped to speak to Pat.
"What is your greatest ambition, my boy?" he asked. And he knew what answer he would receive before Pat replied, "To have a store with O'Callaghan Brothers over the door."
Again the General smiled, and this time very kindly. "I'll tell you a sort of a secret," he said, "that isn't so much of a secret that you need to hesitate about speaking of it. Mike's coming to Mr. Farnham next fall."
Then the boy got hold of the man's hand. "General Brady," he began after a moment of silence, "you know I can't thank you as I ought in words, but——" and then he stopped. This boy who could fight to defend his small brother, who could face contempt to ease his mother's burdens, who could grub and dig and win a chance for his own promotion, was very near to tears.
He did not wish to shed those tears, and the General knew it. So with a hearty "Good-by, Pat," the fine old soldier passed on.
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