Only an Irish Boy; Or, Andy Burke's Fortunes

by Jr. Horatio Alger

  CHAPTER VA PROFITABLE JOB

  After finishing her work at Colonel Preston's Mrs. Burke went home.She did not see Mrs. Preston again, for the latter sent her the moneyfor her services by Ellen.

  "Mrs. Preston says you're not to come next week," said Ellen.

  "She told me so herself this morning. She is angry because I took thepart of my boy against Master Godfrey."

  "Godfrey's the hatefulest boy I ever see," said Ellen, whose grammarwas a little defective. "He's always putting on airs."

  "He struck my Andy, and Andy struck him back."

  "I'm glad he did," said Ellen, emphatically. "I hope he'll do itagain."

  "I don't want the boys to fight. Andy's a peaceable lad; and he'll bequiet if he's let alone. But he's just like his poor father, and hewon't let anybody trample on him."

  "That's where he's right," said Ellen. "I'm sorry you're not comingagain, Mrs. Burke."

  "So am I, Ellen, for I need the money, but I'll stand by my boy."

  "You iron real beautiful. I've heard Mrs. Preston say so often. Shewon't get nobody that'll suit her so well."

  "If you hear of anybody else that wants help, Ellen, will you sendthem to me?"

  This Ellen faithfully promised, and Mrs. Burke went home, sorry tohave lost her engagement, but not sorry to have stood up for Andy, ofwhom she was proud.

  Andy was at home when she returned. He had found enough to do at hometo occupy him so far. The next day he meant to go out in search ofemployment. When his mother got back she found him cutting some brushwhich he had obtained from the neighboring woods.

  "There, mother," he said, pointing to a considerable pile, "you'llhave enough sticks to last you a good while."

  "Thank you, Andy, dear. That'll save Mary and me a good deal oftrouble."

  There was nothing in her words, but something in her tone, which ledAndy to ask:

  "What's the matter, mother? Has anything happened?"

  "I've got through working for Mrs. Preston, Andy."

  "Got through? For to-day, you mean?"

  "No; I'm not going to work there again."

  "Why not?"

  "She complained of you, Andy."

  "What did she say, mother?" asked our hero, listening with attention.

  "She said you ought not to have struck Godfrey."

  "Did you tell her he struck me first?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "And what did she say, thin?"

  "She said that you ought not to have struck him back."

  "And what did you say, mother?"

  "I said my Andy wasn't the boy to stand still and let anybody beathim."

  "Good for you, mother! Bully for you! That's where you hit the nail onthe head. And what did the ould lady say then?"

  "She told me I needn't come there again to work."

  "I'm glad you're not goin', mother. I don't want you to work for thelikes of her. Let her do her own ironin', the ould spalpeen!"

  In general, Andy's speech was tolerably clear of the brogue, butwhenever he became a little excited, as at present, it was moremarked. He was more angry at the slight to his mother than he wouldhave been at anything, however contemptuous, said to himself. He hadthat chivalrous feeling of respect for his mother which every boy ofhis age ought to have, more especially if that mother is a widow.

  "But, Andy, I'm very sorry for the money I'll lose."

  "How much is it, mother?"

  "Seventy-five cents."

  "I'll make it up, mother."

  "I know you will if you can, Andy; but work is hard to get, and thepay is small."

  "You might go back and tell Mrs. Preston that I'm a dirty spalpeen,and maybe she'd take you back, mother."

  "I wouldn't slander my own boy like that if she'd take me back twentytimes."

  "That's the way to talk, mother," said Andy, well pleased. "Don't yoube afeared--we'll get along somehow. More by token, here's threedollars I brought home with me yisterday."

  Andy pulled out from his pocket six silver half-dollars, and offeredthem to his mother.

  "Where did you get them, Andy?" she asked, in surprise.

  "Where did I get them? One way and another, by overwork. We won'tstarve while them last, will we?"

  Andy's cheerful tone had its effect upon his mother.

  "Perhaps you're right, Andy," she said, smiling. "At any rate we won'tcry till it's time."

  "To-morrow I'll go out and see if I can find work."

  "Suppose you don't find it, Andy?" suggested his sister.

  "Then I'll take in washing," said Andy, laughing. "It's an iligantwasher I'd make, wouldn't I now?"

  "Nobody'd hire you more than once, Andy."

  By and by they had supper. If they had been alone they would have gotalong on bread and tea; but "Andy needs meat, for he's a growing boy,"said his mother.

  And so Mary was dispatched to the butcher's for a pound and a half ofbeefsteak, which made the meal considerably more attractive. Mrs.Burke felt that it was extravagant, particularly just as her incomewas diminished, but she couldn't bear to stint Andy. At first she wasnot going to eat, herself, meaning to save a part for Andy'sbreakfast; but our hero found her out, and declared he wouldn't eat abit if his mother did not eat, too. So she was forced to take hershare, and it did her good, for no one can keep up a decent share ofstrength on bread and tea alone.

  The next morning Andy went out in search of work. He had no verydefinite idea where to go, or to whom to apply, but he concluded toput in an application anywhere he could.

  He paused in front of the house of Deacon Jones, a hard-fisted oldfarmer, whose reputation for parsimony was well known throughout thevillage, but of this Andy, being a newcomer, was ignorant.

  "Wouldn't you like to hire a good strong boy?" he asked, entering theyard.

  The deacon looked up.

  "Ever worked on a farm?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you milk?"

  "Yes."

  "Where did you work?"

  "In Carver."

  "What's your name?"

  "Andy Burke."

  "Where do you live?"

  "With my mother, Mrs. Burke, a little way down the road."

  "I know--the Widder Burke."

  "Have you got any work for me?"

  "Wait a minute, I'll see."

  The deacon brought out an old scythe from the barn, and felt of theedge. There was not much danger in so doing, for it was as dull as ahoe.

  "This scythe needs sharpening," he said. "Come and turn thegrindstone."

  "Well, here's a job, anyhow," thought Andy. "Wonder what he'll giveme."

  He sat down and began to turn the grindstone. The deacon bore onheavily, and this made it hard turning. His arms ached, and theperspiration stood on his brow. It was certainly pretty hard work, butthen he must be prepared for that, and after all he was earning moneyfor his mother. Still the time did seem long. The scythe was sointolerably dull that it took a long time to make any impression uponit.

  "Kinder hard turnin', ain't it?" said the deacon.

  "Yes," said Andy.

  "This scythe ain't been sharpened for ever so long. It's as dull as ahoe."

  However, time and patience work wonders, and at length the deacon,after a careful inspection of the blade of the scythe, released Andyfrom his toil of an hour and a half, with the remark:

  "I reckon that'll do."

  He put the scythe in its place and came out.

  Andy lingered respectfully for the remuneration of his labor.

  "He ought to give me a quarter," he thought. But the deacon showed nodisposition to pay him, and Andy became impatient.

  "I guess I'll be goin'," he said.

  "All right. I ain't got anything more for you to do," said the deacon.

  "I'll take my pay now," said Andy, desperately.

  "Pay? What for?" inquired the deacon, innocently.

  "For turning the grindstone."

  "You don't mean ter say you expect anything for that?" sai
d the deaconin a tone of surprise.

  "Yes I do," said Andy. "I can't work an hour and a half for nothing."

  "I didn't expect to pay for such a trifle," said the old man, fumblingin his pocket.

  Finally he brought out two cents, one of the kind popularly known asbung-towns, which are not generally recognized as true currency.

  "There," said he in an injured tone. "I'll pay you, though I didn'tthink you'd charge anything for any little help like that."

  Andy looked at the proffered compensation with mingled astonishmentand disgust.

  "Never mind," he said. "You can keep it. You need it more'n I do, I'mthinkin'!"

  "Don't you want it?" asked the deacon, surprised.

  "No, I don't. I'm a poor boy, but I don't work an hour and a half fortwo cents, one of 'em bad. I'd rather take no pay at all."

  "That's a cur'us boy," said the deacon, slowly sliding the penniesback into his pocket. "I calc'late he expected more just for a littlejob like that. Does he think I'm made of money?"

  As Andy went out of the yard, the idea dawned upon the deacon that hehad saved two cents, and his face was luminous with satisfaction.