The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER TWO.

  HOW I WAS PRESENTED TO A BOY, AND OF A CERTAIN JOURNEY WE TOOK TOGETHER.

  Very early next morning, when my hands scarcely pointed to five o'clock,the little household was astir. There was a noise of hurried going andcoming, and of trunks being carried down stairs, and for the first timeI heard mingled with the sedate voices of my master and his wife,another voice, cheery and musical, which I at once guessed to belong tomy future lord and master.

  It was not till after this bustle had been going on for a good whilethat I was taken out of the drawer and put back into the pocket in whichI had spent so many anxious hours the day before. But here I wasdestined not to remain long, as will be seen.

  Breakfast was a sad meal to that little family. Even the gay, high-spirited boy was sobered in anticipation of the coming parting, and asto his parents, they dared not open their lips for fear of breakingdown.

  Then there was a rumbling of wheels in the street, and a banging aboutof boxes at the hall door; then a last long embrace between mother andson. She no longer resisted her grief, and he for the time forgoteverything but her he was leaving; then father and son stepped into thecab and drove away.

  I felt the father's heart beating quicker and his chest heaving deeperas we proceeded. Presently his hand stole to the pocket where I layhid, and he said--

  "Charlie, boy, I've said all I have to say to you. You will rememberour talk last night, I am sure, and I shall remember it too. I have nogreater wish than to see my boy brave and honest and true to himself.Remember always I am your father, and never hesitate to tell me wheneveryou are in trouble, or danger, or--and I hope this won't often be--indisgrace. See here," said he, drawing me forth, "this is a watch whichyour mother and I have got for you. Think of us when you use it; andmind this, Charlie, make the best use of time, or time will become yourenemy."

  The poor man faltered out these words with a half-broken heart, as hehanded me to his son.

  The boy's eyes brightened and his face became radiant at the sight ofhis unexpected treasure. What boy does not covet a watch of his own atsome time or other?

  "Oh, father!" he cried, "how good and kind of you! What a beauty!"

  The father smiled to see his son's delight, and helped to fasten thechain to his button-hole.

  "You and mother are bricks!" exclaimed Charlie, feasting his eyes uponme, and half wild with delight. "How _did_ you know I was longing tohave one?"

  "Were you?" inquired the father.

  "Of course I was, and you knew it. What a swell I shall be! And itwill always be sure to remind me of home."

  While this talk was going on I had leisure to examine my new owner.Picture to yourselves a curly-haired, bright-eyed boy of thirteen withhonest, open face, good features, and winning smile. He is big for hisage, and strongly built. At present his form is arrayed in a brand-newsuit of grey; his collar is new and his tie is new, his boots are newand his socks are new; everything is new about him, down to the veryguard of his hat, and he himself is the newest and purest of all. Wasever such a radiant young hero turned loose into the world?

  And now, over and above his other glories, he had me to crown all. Thegraceful curve of my chain on his waistcoat gave that garment quite adistinguished appearance, and the consciousness of a silver watch in hispocket made him hold his head even higher than usual.

  "He is a beauty!" again he broke out, "exactly the kind I like most.I'll take ever such a lot of care of him." And so saying, he began toswing me at the end of the chain, till I suddenly came sharply intocollision with the door of the cab.

  "Hullo," exclaimed my young master, "that won't do. I'll put him awaynow. It _was_ good of you, father."

  With that we reached the railway station, and in the bustle that ensuedI was for the time forgotten.

  Charlie's trunks were duly labelled for Randlebury, and then came thehardest moment of all, when father and son must part.

  "I wonder if you'll be altered, Charlie, when I see you again."

  "Not for the worse I hope, anyhow," replied the boy, laughing.

  "Tickets, please!" demanded the guard.

  "There goes the bell," said Charlie, pulling me out of his pocket."They're very punctual. Hullo, we're off! Good-bye, father."

  "Good-bye, boy, and God bless you."

  And there was a close grasp of the hand, a last smile, a hasty wave fromthe window; and then we were off.

  How many grown-up men are there who cannot recall at some time or otherthis crisis in their lives, this first good-bye from the home of theirchildhood, this stepping forth into the world with all that is familiarand dear at their backs, and all that is strange and unknown andwonderful stretching away like a vast landscape before them? How manyare there who would not give much to be back once more at that thresholdof their career; and to have the chance of living over again the lifethey began there with such bright hopes and such careless confidence?Ah, if some of them could have seen whither that flower-strewn path wasto lead them, would they not rather have chosen even to die on thethreshold, than take so much as the first step forth from the innocenthome of childhood!

  But I am wandering from my story. For half an hour after that lastgood-bye Charlie leaned back in the corner of his carriage and gavehimself up to his loneliness, and I could feel his chest heaving to keepdown the tears that would every now and then rise unbidden to his eyes.

  But what boy of thirteen can be in the dumps for long? Especially if hehas a new watch in his pocket. Charlie was himself again before we hadwell got clear of London, and his reviving spirits gradually recalled tohis memory his father's parting gift, which had for a while been halfforgotten amid other cares.

  Now again I was produced, I was turned over and over, was listened to,was peeped into, was flourished about, was taken off my chain, and puton again with the supremest satisfaction. At every station we came to,out I came from his pocket, to be compared with the railway time. Bythe clock at Batfield I was a minute slow--a discrepancy which was nosooner discovered than I felt my glass face opened, and a fat finger andthumb putting forward my hand to the required time. At Norbely I wastwo minutes fast by the clock, and then (oh, horrors!) I found myselfput back in the same rough-and-ready way. At Maltby I was full half aminute behind the great clock, and on I went again. At the next stationthe clock and I both gave the same time to a second, and then what musthe do but begin to regulate me! After a minute calculation he made theastounding discovery that I had lost a minute and a quarter in fourhours, and that in order to compensate for this shortcoming it would benecessary for him to move my regulator forward the two hundred andfortieth part of an inch. This feat he set himself to accomplish withthe point of his scarf-pin while the train was jolting forward at therate of thirty miles an hour!

  I began to grow nervous. If this was a sample of what I was to expect,I had indeed need be the healthy, hardy watch I was represented to be bymy maker.

  And yet I could not be angry with my brave, honest little tormentor.

  It was a sight to see him during that long journey, in all the glory ofa new suit, with a high hat on his head for the first time, and a watchin his pocket. _In_ his pocket, did I say? I was hardly ever so lucky.Every five minutes he whipped me out to see how the time was going. Ifhe polished me up once with his handkerchief, he did it twenty times,and each time with such vigour that I was nearly red-hot under theoperation. And no sooner was he tired of polishing me, than he took topaying his hat the same attention, till that wretched article ofdecoration must have trembled for its nap. Then he would take towhistling and singing (what boy can help doing one or the other in atrain?) and as I heard all his little artless songs and gay chirping, Ithought it the pleasantest music one could possibly listen to. And, notto let his hands be less busy than his throat, he would bring out thewonderful six-bladed knife his uncle had given him, and exploring allits wonders, and opening all its blades at the same time, together withthe corkscrew, the gimlet,
the pincers, and the button-hook, atdifferent angles, would terrify the lives out of his fellow-passengersby twirling the awful bristling weapon in his fingers within a foot orso of their faces.

  "Mind, dear," said an old lady on the seat opposite, "you'll cut yourfingers off, I'm certain."

  "Oh, no, I won't," exclaimed he, taking out his handkerchief, andbeginning to polish the blades one after another.

  The old lady trembled as she watched him, and sighed with relief whenthe operation was over.

  Presently, having nothing particular to do, he stared at her. "Wouldyou like to know the time, ma'am?" he inquired.

  "If you please," replied the good old soul.

  "Well, it's just seventeen minutes and nineteen seconds past three by mywatch. Would you like to see for yourself, ma'am?"

  And, pleased to have a confidant of his possessions, he loosed my chain,and flourished me bodily before the eyes of his new friend.

  She took me kindly, and said, "What a fine watch you've got, dear?"

  "Yes," replied he, with lofty condescension; "like to see his works?"

  "You should be careful, you know," she said, "watches so easily get outof order."

  "Oh, I won't hurt it," said he, proceeding to take off my coat andwaistcoat. "There! there are his works. Don't breathe hard, or you'lldamp them."

  So the old lady held her breath and peeped in, much to my young master'sgratification.

  "And so you're going to school, my man?" said she presently.

  "Yes; who told you! Did my father tell you?"

  "No, I guessed."

  "Did you though? Can you guess what the name of the school is?"

  "No, I can't do that."

  "Have a try."

  "Well, then, I guess Randlebury, because my boy is there, and it's theonly one I can think of."

  The boy stared at her. "How ever did you know that?"

  "What!" she exclaimed, "you don't mean to tell me you _are_ going toRandlebury?"

  "I am, though."

  "Well, I never," cried the good old soul, "who would have believed it!Think of your going to the same school as my Tom."

  "Is Tom your boy's name?"

  "Yes."

  "Is he a nice boy?"

  Such a question to ask any one's mother!

  The old lady burst into tears instead of answering--a proceeding whichgreatly alarmed and disconcerted my master.

  "Don't cry," he said excitedly. "Look here! I didn't mean--oh, don't!Look here, shall I tell you the time? It's--it's sixteen minutes tofour--I didn't mean, you know. Of course he's a nice boy--oh, don'tcry!"

  And he got into such a state that the old lady dried her eyes at once.

  "Never mind me, dear," said she, "it wasn't you made me cry: it wasthinking of my Tom. You'll be a good friend to him, won't you, dear?"

  "Perhaps he won't like me."

  "Now I'm sure he will," exclaimed the lady warmly; so warmly that Iquite loved her for my little master's sake. Both were silent for sometime, and then Charlie asked,--

  "I say, has he got a watch?"

  "No."

  "Oh, never mind," said he, in a tone of evident relief, "I can tell himthe time, you know, whenever he wants to know."

  "To be sure you can."

  Then Charlie took to polishing me and the chain up again, an occupationwhich lasted until we arrived at Gunborough Junction, where passengerschanged for Randlebury.

  "Good-bye, dear," said the old lady, as Charlie proceeded to gettogether his things.

  "Good-bye," said he. "Would you like to know the time before I go?It's eight past five. Good-bye."

  "May I give you a kiss?" said she.

  Charlie blushed, but offered his cheek hurriedly.

  "And you promise to be a good friend to Tom," said she, kissing him,"won't you?"

  "All right," said the boy, jumping out on to the platform, and runningto see after his luggage.

  In a moment however he returned to the window and put his head in.

  "I say," said he, "what's his name--Tom what?"

  "Drift," said the old lady, "Tom Drift!"

  "Oh!" replied my master, "all right, good-bye;" and next minute thetrain went on, and he was left standing surrounded by his luggage in themiddle of the platform, like a lighthouse in the middle of an island.