Still Jim

by Honoré Morrow

  CHAPTER II

  THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE

  "The same sand that gave birth to the coyote and the eagle gave birth to the Indian and to me. I wonder why!"

  MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT.

  Little Jim and his mother were left very much alone by Big Jim's death.Little Jim was literally the last of the Mannings. Mrs. Manning's onlyrelative, her sister, had died when Jim was a baby. There was no one towhom Mrs. Manning felt that she could turn for help.

  Jim pleaded to be allowed to quit school and go to work.

  "I'm fourteen, Mama, and as big as lots of men. I can take care of you."

  Mrs. Manning had not cried much. Her heartbreak would not give intotears easily. But at Jim's words she broke into hysterical sobs.

  "Jimmy! Jimmy! I don't see how you can ever think of such a thing afterall Papa said to you. Almost his last advice to you was about getting aneducation. He was so proud of your school work. Why, all I've got tolive for now is to carry out Papa's plans for you."

  Jimmy stood beside his mother. He was taller than she. Suddenly, withboyish awkwardness, he pulled the sobbing little woman to him and leanedhis young cheek on her graying hair.

  "Mama, I'll make myself into a darned college professor, if you justwon't cry!" he whispered.

  For several days after the funeral, Jim wandered about the house andyard fighting to control his tears when he came upon some suddenreminder of his father; the broken rake his father had mended the weekbefore; a pair of old shoes in the wood shed; one of his father's pipeson the kitchen window ledge. The nights were the worst, when the pictureof his father's last moments would not let the boy sleep. It seemed toJim that if he could learn to forget this picture a part of his griefwould be lifted. It was the uselessness of Big Jim's death that made theboy unboyishly bitter. He could not believe that any other death everhad been so needless. It was only in the years to come that Jim was tolearn how needlessly, how unremittingly, industry takes its toll oflives.

  Somehow, Jim had a boyish feeling that his father had had many things tosay to him that never had been said; that these things were very wiseand would have guided him. Jim felt rudderless. He felt that it wasincumbent on him to do the things that his father had not been able todo. Vaguely and childishly he determined that he must make good for theMannings and for Exham. Poor old Exham, with its lost ideals!

  It was in thinking this over that Jim conceived an idea that became agreat comfort to him. He decided to write down all the advice that hecould recall his father's giving him, and when his mother became lessbroken up, to ask her to tell him all the plans his father might havehad for him.

  So it was that a week or so after her husband's death, Mrs. Manningfound one of Jim's scratch pads on the table in his room, with acarefully printed title on the cover:

  MY FATHER'S ADVICES TO ME.

  After she had wiped the quick tears from her eyes, she read the fewpages Jim had completed in his sprawling hand:

  "My father said to me, 'Jimmy, never make excuses. It's always too latefor excuses.'

  "He said, 'A liar is a first cousin to a skunk. There isn't a worsecoward than a liar.'

  "He said to me, 'Don't belly-ache. Stand up to your troubles like aman.'

  "My father said, 'Hang to what you undertake like a hound to a warmscent.'

  "He said to me, 'Life is made up of obeying. What you don't learn fromme about that, the world will kick into you. The stars themselves obey alaw. God must hate a law breaker.'

  "My father said, 'Somehow us Americans are quitters.'

  "My mother said my father said, 'I want Jimmy to go through college. Iwant him to marry young and have a big family.'

  "The thing my father said to me oftenest lately was, 'Jimmy, be cleanabout women. Some day you will know what I mean when I say that sex isenergy. Keep yourself clean for your life work and your wife andchildren.'"

  Mrs. Manning read the pages over several times, then she laid the bookdown and stood staring out of the window.

  "Oh, he was a good man!" she whispered. "He was a good man! If Jimmycould have had him just two years more! I don't know how to teach himthe things a man ought to know. A boy needs his father.----Oh, my love!My love----"

  Down below, Jim was leaning on the front gate. His chum, Phil Chadwick,was coming slowly up the street. The boys had not been near Jim sincethe funeral. Jim had become a person set apart from their boy world. Noone appreciates the dignity of grief better than a boy, or underneathhis awkwardness has a finer way of showing it. Phil's mother, to hisunspeakable discomfort, had insisted now that he go call on Jim.

  Phil, his round face red with embarrassment, approached the gate alittle sidewise.

  "Hello, Still!" he said casually.

  "Hello, Pilly!" replied Jim, blushing in sympathy.

  There was a pause, then said Phil, leaning on the gate, "Diana's got herpups. One's going to be a bulldog and two of 'em are setters.U-u-u--want to come over and see 'em and choose yours?"

  Jim's face was quivering. It was his father who had persuaded his motherthat Jim ought to have one of Diana's pups. Mrs. Manning felt towarddogs much as she might have toward hyenas.

  "I--I--guess not today, Pilly!"

  Another long pause during which the lads swung the gate to and fro andlooked in opposite directions. A locust shrilled from the elm tree.Finally Phil said:

  "Still, you gotta come up to the swimming hole. It'll do you good.He--he'd a wanted you to--to--to do what you could to cheer up. Come on,old skinny. Tell your mother. We'll keep away from the other kids. Comeon. You gotta do something or you'll go nutty in your head."

  Jim turned and went into the house. His mother forestalled his request.

  "If Phil wants you to go swimming, dear, go on. It will do you good.Don't stay in too long."

  Jim and Phil walked up the road to the old Allen place. They climbed thestile into a field where the aftermath of the clover crop was richlygreen and vibrating with the song of cricket and katydid. The path thatthe boys followed had been used in turn by Indian and Puritan. The fieldstill yielded an occasional hide scraper or stone axe.

  There was a pine grove at the far edge of the field. In the center ofthe grove was the pond that had for centuries been the swimming pool forboys, Indian and white. Ground pine and "checkerberry" grew abundantlyin the grove. Both boys breathed deep of the piney fragrance and filledtheir mouths with pungent "checkerberry" leaves. The path, deep worn bymany bare feet, circled round the great pines to the clearing where thepond lay. It was black with the shadows of the grove where it was notblue and white in mirroring the September sky. Lily pads fringed thebrim. Moss and a tender, long grass grew clear to the water's edge.

  Several boys were undressing near the ancient springboard. They lookedembarrassed and stopped their laughter when they saw Jim. He and Philgot into their swimming trunks quickly and followed each other in aclean dive into the pool. They swam about in silence for a time and thenlanded on the far side and lay in the sun on moss and pine needles.

  The beauty and sweetness of the place were subtle balm to Jim. Andsurely if countless generations of boy joy could leave association, theold swimming hole should have spoken very sweetly to Jim. The swimminghole was a boy sanctuary. The water was too shallow for men. Littlegirls were not allowed to invade the grove except in early spring fortrailing arbutus. The oldest men in Exham told that their grandfathers,as boys, had sought the swimming hole as the adult seeks his club.

  Jim looked with interest at his legs. "I've got six. How many have you,Pilly?"

  Phil counted the brown bloodsuckers that clung to his fat calves."Seven. Mean cusses, ain't they."

  Jim worked with a sharp edged stone, scraping his thin shanks. "You'vegot fat to spare. They've had enough off of me today."

  "I remember how crazy I was first time they got on me. Felt as if I hadsnakes." Phil rooted six of the suckers off his legs and paused at theseventh. "He'
s as skinny as you are, Still. I'll give him two minutesmore to finish a square meal."

  The two boys lay staring out at the pond.

  "Have you gotta go to work, Still?" asked Phil.

  "Yes," replied Jim. "Mother says I can't, though."

  Phil waited more or less patiently. His mates had long since learnedthat Jim's silences were hard to break.

  "But I'm going to get a job in the quarry as soon as I can keep fromgetting sick at my stomach every time I see a derrick."

  "My dad says your--he--he always planned to send you through college,"said Phil.

  Jim nodded. "I'll get through college. See if I don't. But I won't letmy mother support me. I've got a lot of things to finish up for him."

  "What things?" asked Phil.

  "Well," Jim hesitated for words, "he worried a lot because all the realAmericans are dying off or going, somehow, and he always said it was uskids' business to find out why. That's the chief job."

  "I don't see what you can do about it," said Phil. "That's a foolishthing to worry about. Why----"

  A boy screamed on the opposite side of the pond. It was so differentfrom the shouts and laughter of the moment before that Jim and Philjumped to their feet. Across the swimming hole a naked boy was dancingup and down, screaming hysterically,

  "Take 'em off! Take 'em off! Take 'em off!"

  "It's the new minister's kid, Charlie," laughed Phil. "The fellows havegot the bloodsuckers on him. Ain't he the booby? Told me he was fifteenand he's bigger'n you are. Screams like a girl."

  Jim stood staring, his hand shielding his gray eyes from the sun. Acrossthe pond, the boys were doubled up with laughter, watching theminister's son writhe and tear at his naked body. Suddenly, Jim shotround the edge of the pond, followed by Phil. A dozen naked boys hoppedjoyfully around the twisting Charlie. They were of all ages, from eightto sixteen.

  When Jim ran up to the new boy, his mates shouted: "Don't butt in, now,Jim. Don't butt in. He's a darned sissy."

  Jim did not reply. Charlie was considerably larger than he. He had afinely muscled pink and white body, liberally dotted now with wrigglingbrown suckers. This was a familiar form of hazing with the Exham boys.There was a horror in a first experience with the little brown peststhat usually resulted in a mild form of hysteria very pleasing to theyoung spectators. But Charlie was in an agony of loathing, far ahead ofanything the boys had seen.

  As Jim ran up, Charlie struck at him madly and the boys yelled indelight. Jim turned on them.

  "Shut up!" he shouted. "Shut up _now_!"

  Thin and tall, his boyish ribs showing, his damp hair tossed back fromhis beautiful gray eyes that were now black with anger, Jim dominatedthe crowd. There was immediate silence, broken only by Charlie's wildsobs.

  "Take 'em off! Take 'em off!"

  "He's going to have a fit!" exclaimed Phil.

  Charlie's lips were blue and foam flecked. Again as Jim approached him,the minister's boy planted a blow on his ribs that made Jim spin.

  "Charlie!" cried Jim. "_Shut up!_"

  The same peculiarly commanding note that had silenced his mates piercedthrough Charlie's hysteria. He paused for a moment, and in that momentJim said, "Hold your breath and they can't draw blood. I'll have 'emoff you in a second."

  "C-c-can't they?" sobbed Charlie.

  "Hold your breath and I'll show you," said Jim. "Here, Phil, take hold."

  As they stripped the squirming suckers, Jim kept a hand on Charlie'sarm. "Can you fight, kid?" he asked. "You've got muscle. You'd betterlick the fellow that started this on you or you'll never hear the end ofit."

  The blue receded from the older boy's lips. He had a fine, sensitiveface. "I can fight," he replied. "But I fight fellows and not snakes orworms."

  Jim nodded as he pulled off the last sucker. Then he turned to the boys,his hand still on Charlie's arm. He spoke in his usual drawl:

  "They's a difference between hazing a fellow and torturing him. Somemighty gritty people can't stand snakes or suckers. You kids ought touse sense. Who started this?"

  The biggest boy in the crowd, Fatty Allen, answered: "I did. And if yourfather hadn't just died I'd lick the stuffing out of you, Still, forbutting in."

  A shout of derision went up from the boys. Jim's lips tightened. "Youlick the new kid first," he answered, "then tackle me. Get after him,Charlie!"

  Charlie, quite himself again, leaped toward Fatty and the battle was on.

  There had been, unknown to the boys, an interested spectator to thisentire scene. Just as Charlie's screams had begun, a heavy set man,ruddy and well dressed, with iron gray hair and black lashed, blue eyes,had paused beside a pine tree. It was a vividly beautiful picture thathe saw; the pine set pool, rush and pad fringed, and the naked boys, nowgathered about the struggling two near the ancient springboard. One ofthe smaller boys, moving about to get a better view of the battle, camewithin arm reach of the stranger, who clutched him.

  "Who's this boy they call Still?" he asked. "Stand up here on thisstump. I'll brace you."

  The small boy heaved a sigh of ecstasy at his unobstructed view. "It'sStill Jim Manning. His father just got killed. He's boss of our gang."

  "But he's not the biggest," said the stranger.

  "Naw, he ain't the biggest, but he can make the fellows mind. He don'ttalk much but what he says goes."

  "Can he lick the big fellow?"

  "Who? Fatty Allen? Bet your life! Still's built like steel wire."

  "What did he start this fight for?" asked the man.

  "Aw, can't you see they'd never let up on this new kid after he belleredso, unless he licked Fatty? Gee! What a wallop! That Charlie kid isgoing to lick whey out of Fatty."

  "So Still is boss?" mused the stranger. "Could he stop that fight, now?"

  "Sure," answered the child, "but he wouldn't."

  "We'll see," said the stranger. He crossed over to the ring of boys andtouched Jim on the shoulder. "I want to speak to you, Manning."

  Jim looked at the stranger in astonishment, then answered awkwardly,"Can you wait? I've got to referee this fight."

  "You will have to come now," said the man. "Your mother said to comeback at once, with me."

  Jim walked into the ring, between the two combatants. "Drop it, fellows.I've got to go home. We'll finish this fight tomorrow. Fatty can tackleme then, too."

  There were several protests but Fatty had had enough. He was glad of theopportunity to dive into the pond. One after the other the boys ran upthe springboard until only Jim and the stranger were left. The manwalked back into the grove and in a moment Jim, in his knickerbockersand blouse, joined him.

  "I'm glad to see you can obey, as well as boss, me boy," said the man."Your mother says you don't know that a few days ago she advertised inthe N. Y. _Sun_ for a position as housekeeper. I liked the ad and cameup to see her. I'm a lawyer in New York, a widower. I like your mother.She's a lady to the center of her. But when she told me she had a boyyour age, I felt dubious. She wanted to send for you but I insisted oncoming meself. I wanted to see you among boys. Me name is MichaelDennis."

  Jim flushed painfully. "I don't want my mother to work like that. I cansupport her."

  "I'm glad that you feel that way, me boy. But on the other hand, you'renot old enough to support her the way she can support herself and you,too."

  "I'll never let my mother support me!" cried Jim.

  "What can you do to prevent it?" asked Mr. Dennis. "Wouldn't you like tolive in New York?"

  Jim hesitated. Dennis put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "I like you, meboy. I never thought to want another child about me house. Come, we'lltalk it over with your mother."

  Jim followed into the cottage sitting room, where his mother eyed thetwo anxiously.

  "I thought something must have happened," she said. "Did you havetrouble finding the pond?"

  Mr. Dennis smiled genially. "Not a bit! I was just getting acquaintedwith your boy. He's quite a lad, Mrs. Manning, and I'm going to tell youI'll be glad t
o have him in me house. Now I'll just tell you what mehouse is like and what we'll have to expect of each other."

  After an hour's talk Dennis said: "I will give you fifty dollars a monthand board and lodging for the lad."

  Mrs. Manning flushed with relief. Jim, who had not said a word sincecoming into the house, spoke suddenly in his father's own drawl:

  "I don't want anyone to give me my keep. I'll take care of the furnaceand do the work round the house you pay a man to do, and if that isn'tenough to pay for keeping me, I'll work for you in your officeSaturdays."

  Mr. Dennis looked at the tall boy keenly, then said whimsically, "Well,I thought you'd been smitten dumb."

  "He's very still, Jim is, except when he's fearfully worked up. All theMannings are that way," said his mother.

  Mr. Dennis nodded. "The house takes lots of care. Your mother will get amaid to help her and I'll let the man go who has been doing janitorservice for me. With this arrangement, I'll make your mother's salary$65 a month."

  And so the decision was made.

  It was the last week in September when Jim and his mother left Exham.The day before they left the old town, Jim tramped doggedly up thestreet toward the old Manning mansion. He had not been there since hisfather's death.

  When he reached the dooryard he stopped, pulled off his cap and stoodlooking at the doorway that had welcomed so many Mannings and sped somany more. The boy stood, erect and slender, the wind ruffling his thickdark hair across his dreamer's forehead, his energetic jaw set firmly.Now and again tears blinded his gray eyes, but he blinked them backresolutely.

  Jim must have stood before the door of his old home for half an hour, asilent, lonely young figure at whom the quarry men glanced curiously.When the whistle blew five Jim made an heroic effort and turned andlooked at the derrick, again spliced into place. He shuddered but forcedhimself to look.

  It was after sunset when Jim finally turned away. It was many yearsbefore he came to this place again. Yet Exham had made its indelibleimprint on the boy. The convictions that had molded his first fourteenyears were to mold his whole life. Somehow he felt that his father hadbeen a futile sacrifice to the thing that was destroying New England andthat old New England spirit which he had been taught to revere. What thething was he did not know. And yet, with his boyish lips trembling, hepromised the old mansion to make good for his father and for Exham--poorold Exham, with its lost ideals!