The Stillwater Tragedy

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

  VII

  Richard made an early start that morning in search of employment,and duplicated the failure of the previous day. Nobody wanted him. Ifnobody wanted him in the village where he was born and bred, avillage of counting-rooms and workshops, was any other place likelyto need him? He had only one hope, if it could be called a hope; atany rate, he had treated it tenderly as such and kept it for thelast. He would apply to Rowland Slocum. Long ago, when Richard was anurchin making pot-hooks in the lane, the man used occasionally to pathim on the head and give him pennies. This was not a foundation onwhich to rear a very lofty castle; but this was all he had.

  It was noon when Richard approached the marble yard, and the menwere pouring out into the street through the wide gate in the roughdeal fence which inclosed the works,--heavy, brawny men, covered withfine white dust, who shouldered each other like cattle, and took thesidewalk to themselves. Richard stepped aside to let them pass, eyingthem curiously as possible comrades. Suddenly a slim dark fellow, whohad retained his paper cap and leather apron, halted and thrust fortha horny hand. The others went on.

  "Hullo, Dick Shackford!"

  "What, is that you, Will? _You_ here?"

  "Been here two years now. One of Slocum's apprentices," addedDurgin, with an air of easy grandeur.

  "Two years? How time flies--when it doesn't crawl! Do you likeit?"

  "My time will be out next--Oh, the work? Well, yes; it's not bad,and there's a jolly set in the yard. But how about you? I heard lastnight you'd got home. Been everywhere and come back wealthy? The boysused to say you was off pirating."

  "No such luck," answered Richard, with a smile. "I didn't prey onthe high seas,--quite the contrary. The high sea captured my kit andfour years' savings. I will tell you about it some day. If I have alimb to my name and a breath left to my body, it is no thanks to theIndian Ocean. That is all I have got, Will, and I am looking aroundfor bread and butter,--literally bread and butter."

  "No? and the old gentleman so rich!"

  Durgin said this with sincere indignation, and was perhapsunconscious himself of experiencing that nameless, shadowysatisfaction which Rochefoucauld says we find in the adversity of ourbest friends. Certainly Richard looked very seedy in his suit ofslop-shop clothes.

  "I was on my way to Mr. Slocum's to see if I could do anythingwith him," Richard continued.

  "To get a job, do you mean?"

  "Yes, to get work,--to learn _how_ to work; to master atrade, in short."

  "You can't be an apprentice, you know," said Durgin.

  "Why not?"

  "Slocum has two."

  "Suppose he should happen to want another? He might."

  "The Association wouldn't allow it."

  "What Association?"

  "The Marble Workers' Association, of course."

  _"They_ wouldn't allow it! How is that?"

  "This the way of it. Slocum is free to take on two apprenticesevery year, but no more. That prevents workmen increasing too fast,and so keeps up wages. The Marble Workers' Association is a very neatthing, I can tell you."

  "But doesn't Mr. Slocum own the yard? I thought he did."

  "Yes, he owns the yard."

  "If he wished to extend the business, couldn't he employ morehands?"

  "As many as he could get,--skilled workmen; but not apprentices."

  "And Mr. Slocum agrees to that?" inquired Richard.

  "He does."

  "And likes it?"

  "Not he,--he hates it; but he can't help himself."

  "Upon my soul, I don't see what prevents him taking on as manyapprentices as he wants to."

  "Why, the Association, to be sure," returned Durgin, glancing atthe town clock, which marked seven minutes past the hour.

  "But how could they stop him?"

  "In plenty of ways. Suppose Slocum has a lot of unfinishedcontracts on hand,--he always has fat contracts,--and the men was toknock off work. That would be kind of awkward, wouldn't it?"

  "For a day or two, yes. He could send out of town for hands,"suggested Richard.

  "And they wouldn't come, if the Association said 'Stay where youare.' They are mostly in the ring. Some outsiders might come,though."

  "Then what?"

  "Why, then the boys would make it pretty hot for them inStillwater. Don't you notice?"

  "I notice there is not much chance for me," said Richard,despondingly. "Isn't that so?"

  "Can't say. Better talk with Slocum. But I must get along; I haveto be back sharp at one. I want to hear about your knocking aroundthe worst kind. Can't we meet somewhere tonight,--at the tavern?"

  "The tavern? That didn't used to be a quiet place."

  "It isn't quiet now, but there's nowhere else to go of a night.It's a comfortable den, and there's always some capital fellowsdropping in. A glass of lager with a mate is not a bad thing after ahard day's work."

  "Both are good things when they are of the right sort."

  "That's like saying I'm not the right sort, isn't it?"

  "I meant nothing of the kind. But I don't take to the tavern. Notthat I'm squeamish; I have lived four years among sailors, and havebeen in rougher places than you ever dreamed of; but all the same Iam afraid of the tavern. I've seen many a brave fellow wrecked onthat reef."

  "You always was a bit stuck up," said Durgin candidly.

  "Not an inch. I never had much reason to be; and less now thanever, when I can scarcely afford to drink water, let alone beer. Iwill drop round to your mother's some evening--I hope she'swell,--and tell you of my ups and downs. That will be pleasanter forall hands."

  "Oh, as you like."

  "Now for Mr. Slocum, though you have taken the wind out of me."

  The two separated, Durgin with a half smile on his lip, andRichard in a melancholy frame of mind. He passed from thegrass-fringed street into the deserted marble yard, where it seemedas if the green summer had suddenly turned into white winter, andthreading his way between the huge drifts of snowy stone, knocked atthe door of Mr. Slocum's private office.

  William Durgin had summed up the case fairly enough as it stoodbetween the Marble Workers' Association and Rowland Slocum. Thesystem of this branch of the trades-union kept trained workmencomparatively scarce, and enabled them to command regular and evenadvanced prices at periods when other trades were depressed. Theolder hands looked upon a fresh apprentice in the yard with much thesame favor as workingmen of the era of Jacquard looked upon theintroduction of a new piece of machinery. Unless the apprentice hadexceptional tact, he underwent a rough novitiate. In any case heserved a term of social ostracism before he was admitted to fullcomradeship. Mr. Slocum could easily have found openings each yearfor a dozen learners, had the matter been under his control; but itwas not. "I am the master of each man individually," he declared,"but collectively they are my master." So his business, instead ofnaturally spreading and becoming a benefit to the many, was keptcarefully pruned down to the benefit of the few. He was often forcedto decline important contracts, the filling of which would haveresulted to the advantage of every person in the village.

  Mr. Slocum recognized Richard at once, and listened kindly to hisstory. It was Mr. Slocum's way to listen kindly to every one; but hewas impressed with Richard's intelligence and manner, and becamedesirous, for several reasons, to assist him. In the first place,there was room in the shops for another apprentice; experienced handswere on jobs that could have been as well done by beginners; and, inthe second place, Mr. Slocum had an intuition that Lemuel Shackfordwas not treating the lad fairly, though Richard had said nothing tothis effect. Now, Mr. Slocum and Mr. Shackford were just then atswords' points.

  "I don't suppose I could annoy Shackford more," was Mr. Slocum'sreflection, "than by doing something for this boy, whom he has alwaysshamelessly neglected."

  The motive was not a high one; but Richard would have been wellsatisfied with it, if he could have divined it. He did divine thatMr. Slocum was favorably inclined towards him, and stood watchingthat gentleman
's face with hopeful anxiety.

  "I have my regulation number of young men, Richard," said Mr.Slocum, "and there will be no vacancy until autumn. If you could waita few months."

  Richard's head drooped.

  "Can't do that? You write a good hand, you say. Perhaps you couldassist the book-keeper until there's a chance for you in the yard."

  "I think I could, sir," said Richard eagerly.

  "If you were only a draughtsman, now, I could do something muchbetter for you. I intend to set up a shop for ornamental carving, andI want some one to draw patterns. If you had a knack at designing, ifyou could draw at all"--

  Richard's face lighted up.

  "Perhaps you _have_ a turn that way. I remember the queerthings you used to scratch in the mud in the court, when you were alittle shaver. Can you draw?"

  "Why, that is the one thing I can do!" cried Richard,--"in a roughfashion, of course," he added, fearing he had overstated it.

  "It is a rough fashion that will serve. You must let me see someof your sketches."

  "I haven't any, sir. I had a hundred in my sea-chest, but that waslost,--pencillings of old archways, cathedral spires, bits of frieze,and such odds and ends as took my fancy in the ports we touched at. Irecollect one bit. I think I could do it for you now. Shall I?"

  Mr. Slocum nodded assent, smiling at the young fellow'senthusiasm, and only partially suspecting his necessity. Richardpicked up a pen and began scratching on a letter sheet which lay onthe desk. He was five or six minutes at the work, during which theelder man watched him with an amused expression.

  "It's a section of cornice on the facade of the Hindoo College atCalcutta," said Richard, handing him the paper,--"no, it's thecustom-house. I forget which; but it doesn't matter."

  The amused look gradually passed out of Mr. Slocum's countenanceas he examined the sketch. It was roughly but clearly drawn, and fullof facility. "Why, that's very clever!" he said, holding it atarms'-length; and then, with great gravity, "I hope you are not agenius, Richard; that would be too much of a fine thing. If you arenot, you can be of service to me in my plans."

  Richard laughingly made haste to declare that to the best of hisknowledge and belief he was not a genius, and it was decided on thespot that Richard should assist Mr. Simms, the bookkeeper, andpresently try his hand at designing ornamental patterns for thecarvers, Mr. Slocum allowing him apprentice wages until the qualityof his work should be ascertained.

  "It is very little," said Mr. Slocum, "but it will pay your board,if you do not live at home."

  "I shall not remain at my cousin's," Richard replied, "if you callthat home."

  "I can imagine it is not much of a home. Your cousin, not to puttoo fine a point on it, is a wretch."

  "I am sorry to hear you say that, sir; he's my only livingkinsman."

  "You are fortunate in having but one, then. However, I am wrong toabuse him to you; but I cannot speak of him with moderation, he hasjust played me such a despicable trick. Look here."

  Mr. Slocum led Richard to the door, and pointing to a row of newworkshops which extended the entire length of one side of the marbleyard, said,--

  "I built these last spring. After the shingles were on wediscovered that the rear partition, for a distance of seventy-fivefeet, overlapped two inches on Shackford's meadow. I was ready todrop when I saw it, your cousin is such an unmanageable old fiend. Ofcourse I went to him immediately, and what do you think? He demandedfive hundred dollars for that strip of land! Five hundred dollars fora few inches of swamp meadow not worth ten dollars the acre! 'Thentake your disreputable old mill off my property!' says Shackford,--hecalled it a disreputable old mill! I was hasty, perhaps, and I toldhim to go to the devil. He said he would, and he did; for he went toBlandmann. When the lawyers got hold of it, they bothered the lifeout of me; so I just moved the building forward two inches, at anexpense of seven hundred dollars. Then what does the demon do butboard up all my windows opening on the meadow! Richard, I make it acondition that you shall not lodge at Shackford's."

  "Nothing could induce me to live another day in the same housewith him, sir," answered Richard, suppressing an inclination tosmile; and then seriously, "His bread is bitter."

  Richard went back with a light heart to Welch's Court. At the gateof the marble yard he met William Durgin returning to work. Thesteam-whistle had sounded the call, and there was no time forexchange of words; so Richard gave his comrade a bright nod andpassed by. Durgin turned and stared after him.

  "Looks as if Slocum had taken him on; but it never can be asapprentice; he wouldn't dare do it."

  Mr. Shackford had nearly finished his frugal dinner when Richardentered. "If you can't hit it to be in at your meals," said Mr.Shackford, helping himself absently to the remaining chop, "perhapsyou had better stop away altogether."

  "I can do that now, cousin," replied Richard sunnily. "I haveengaged with Slocum."

  The old man laid down his knife and fork.

  "With Slocum! A Shackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

  There was so little hint of the aristocrat in Lemuel Shackford'ssordid life and person that no one suspected him of even self-esteem.He went as meanly dressed as a tramp, and as careless of contemporarycriticism; yet clear down in his liver, or somewhere in his anatomy,he nourished an odd abstract pride in the family Shackford. Heavenknows why! To be sure, it dated far back; its women had always beenvirtuous, and its men, if not always virtuous, had always beenship-captains. But beyond this the family had never amounted toanything, and now there was so very little left of it. For Richard asRichard Lemuel cared nothing; for Richard as a Shackford he had achaotic feeling that defied analysis and had never before risen tothe surface. It was therefore with a disgust entirely apart from thehatred of Slocum or regard for Richard that the old man exclaimed, "AShackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

  "That is better than hanging around the village with my hands inmy pockets. Isn't it?"

  "I don't know that anybody has demanded that you should hangaround the village."

  "I ought to go away, you mean? But I have found work here, and Imight not find it elsewhere."

  "Stillwater is not the place to begin life in. It's the place togo away from, and come back to."

  "Well, I have come back."

  "And how? With one shirt and a lot of bad sailor habits."

  "My one shirt is my only very bad habit," said Richard, with alaugh,--he could laugh now,--"and I mean to get rid of that."

  Mr. Shackford snapped his fingers disdainfully.

  "You ought to have stuck to the sea; that's respectable. In tenyears you might have risen to be master of a bark; that would havebeen honorable. You might have gone down in a gale,--you probablywould,--and that would have been fortunate. But a stone-cutter! Youcan understand," growled Mr. Shackford, reaching out for his strawhat, which he put on and crushed over his brows, "I don't keep aboarding-house for Slocum's hands."

  "Oh, I'm far from asking it!" cried Richard. "I am thankful forthe two nights' shelter I have had."

  "That's some of your sarcasm, I suppose," said Mr. Shackford, halfturning, with his hands on the door-knob.

  "No, it is some of my sincerity. I am really obliged to you. Youweren't very cordial, to be sure, but I did not deserve cordiality."

  "You have figured that out correctly."

  "I want to begin over again, you see, and start fair."

  "Then begin by dropping Slocum."

  "You have not given me a chance to tell you what the arrangementis. However, it's irrevocable."

  "I don't want to hear. I don't care a curse, so long as it is anarrangement," and Mr. Shackford hurried out of the room, slamming thedoor behind him.

  Then Richard, quite undisturbed by his cousin's unreasonableness,sat himself down to eat the last meal he was ever to eat under thatroof,--a feat which his cousin's appetite had rendered comparativelyeasy.

  While engaged in this, Richard resolved in his mind severalquestions as to his future abode. He could not r
econcile his thoughtto any of the workingmen's boarding-houses, of which there were fiveor six in the slums of the village, where the doorways were greasy,and women flitted about in the hottest weather with thick woolenshawls over their heads. Yet his finances did not permit him toaspire to lodgings much more decent. If he could only secure a smallroom somewhere in a quiet neighborhood. Possibly Mrs. Durgin wouldlet him have a chamber in her cottage. He was beginning life overagain, and it struck him as nearly an ideal plan to begin it on theidentical spot where he had, in a manner, made his first start.Besides, there was William Durgin for company, when the long nightsof the New England winter set in. The idea smiled so pleasantly inRichard's fancy that he pushed the plate away from him impatiently,and picked up his hat which lay on the floor beside the chair.

  That evening he moved from the Shackford house to Mrs. Durgin'scottage in Cross Street. It was not an imposing ceremony. With asmall brown-paper parcel under his arm, he walked from one thresholdto the other, and the thing was done.