Sentimental Tommy

by J. M. Barrie

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE BRANDING OF TOMMY

  Grizel's secession had at least one good effect: it gave Tommy more timein which to make a scholar of himself. Would you like a picture of Tommytrying to make a scholar of himself?

  They all helped him in their different ways: Grizel, by declining hiscompany; Corp, by being far away at Look-about-you, adding to the inchesof a farm-house; Aaron Latta, by saying nothing but looking "college orthe herding;" Mr. McLean, who had settled down with Ailie at theDovecot, by inquiries about his progress; Elspeth by--but did Elspeth'stalks with him about how they should live in Aberdeen and afterwards(when they were in the big house) do more than send his mind a-galloping(she holding on behind) along roads that lead not to Aberdeen? Whatdrove Tommy oftenest to the weary drudgery was, perhaps, the alarm thatcame over him when he seemed of a sudden to hear the names of thebursars proclaimed and no Thomas Sandys among them. Then did he shudder,for well he knew that Aaron would keep his threat, and he hastilycovered the round table with books and sat for hours sorrowfullypecking at them, every little while to discover that his mind had soaredto other things, when he hauled it back, as one draws in a reluctantkite. On these occasions Aaron seldom troubled him, except by glancesthat, nevertheless, brought the kite back more quickly than if they hadbeen words of warning. If Elspeth was present, the warper might sitmoodily by the fire, but when the man and the boy were left together,one or other of them soon retired, as if this was the only way ofpreserving the peace. Though determined to keep his word to Jean Mylesliberally, Aaron had never liked Tommy, and Tommy's avoidance of him iseasily accounted for; he knew that Aaron did not admire him, and unlessyou admired Tommy he was always a boor in your presence, shy andself-distrustful. Especially was this so if you were a lady (howamazingly he got on in after years with some of you, what agony othersendured till he went away!), and it is the chief reason why there aresuch contradictory accounts of him to-day.

  Sometimes Mr. Cathro had hopes of him other than those that could onlybe revealed in a shameful whisper with the door shut. "Not so bad," hemight say to Mr. McLean; "if he keeps it up we may squeeze him throughyet, without trusting to--to what I was fool enough to mention to you.The mathematics are his weak point, there's nothing practical about him(except when it's needed to carry out his devil's designs) and he caresnot a doit about the line A B, nor what it's doing in the circle K, butthere's whiles he surprises me when we're at Homer. He has the spirito't, man, even when he bogles at the sense."

  But the next time Ivie called for a report--!

  In his great days, so glittering, so brief (the days of the penny Life)Tommy, looking back to this year, was sure that he had never reallytried to work. But he had. He did his very best, doggedly, wearilysitting at the round table till Elspeth feared that he was killinghimself and gave him a melancholy comfort by saying so. An hourafterwards he might discover that he had been far away from his books,looking on at his affecting death and counting the mourners at thefuneral.

  Had he thought that Grizel's discovery was making her unhappy he wouldhave melted at once, but never did she look so proud as when shescornfully passed him by, and he wagged his head complacently over hercoming chagrin when she heard that he had carried the highest bursary.Then she would know what she had flung away. This should have helped himto another struggle with his lexicon, but it only provided a breeze forthe kite, which flew so strong that he had to let go the string.

  Aaron and the Dominie met one day in the square, and to Aaron's surpriseMr. Cathro's despondency about Tommy was more pronounced than before."I wonder at that," the warper said, "for I assure you he has beenharder 'at it than ever thae last nights. What's more, he used to lookdoleful as he sat at his table, but I notice now that he's as sweer toleave off as he's keen to begin, and the face of him is a' eagernesstoo, and he reads ower to himself what he has wrote and wags his head atit as if he thought it grand."

  "Say you so?" asked Cathro, suspiciously; "does he leave what he writeslying about, Aaron?"

  "No, but he takes it to you, does he no'?"

  "Not him," said the Dominie, emphatically. "I may be mistaken, Aaron,but I'm doubting the young whelp is at his tricks again."

  The Dominie was right, and before many days passed he discovered whatwas Tommy's new and delicious occupation.

  For years Mr. Cathro had been in the habit of writing letters for suchof the populace as could not guide a pen, and though he often told themnot to come deaving him he liked the job, unexpected presents of a henor a ham occasionally arriving as his reward, while the personal mattersthus confided to him, as if he were a safe for the banking of privatehistories, gave him and his wife gossip for winter nights. Of late thenumber of his clients had decreased without his noticing it, soconfident was he that they could not get on without him, but hereceived a shock at last from Andrew Dickie, who came one Saturday nightwith paper, envelope, a Queen's head, and a request for a letter forBell Birse, now of Tilliedrum.

  "You want me to speir in your name whether she'll have you, do you?"asked Cathro, with a flourish of his pen.

  "It's no just so simple as that," said Andrew, and then he seemed to berather at a loss to say what it was. "I dinna ken," he continuedpresently with a grave face, "whether you've noticed that I'm a geyqueer deevil? Losh, I think I'm the queerest deevil I ken."

  "We are all that," the Dominie assured him. "But what do you want me towrite?"

  "Well, it's like this," said Andrew, "I'm willing to marry her if she'sagreeable, but I want to make sure that she'll take me afore I speirher. I'm a proud man, Dominie."

  "You're a sly one!"

  "Am I no!" said Andrew, well pleased. "Well, could you put the letter inthat wy?"

  "I wouldna," replied Mr. Cathro, "though I could, and I couldna though Iwould. It would defy the face of clay to do it, you canny lover."

  Now, the Dominie had frequently declined to write as he was bidden, andhad suggested alterations which were invariably accepted, but to hisastonishment Andrew would not give in. "I'll be stepping, then," hesaid coolly, "for if you hinna the knack o't I ken somebody that has."

  "Who?" demanded the irate Dominie.

  "I promised no to tell you," replied Andrew, and away he went. Mr.Cathro expected him to return presently in humbler mood, but wasdisappointed, and a week or two afterwards he heard Andrew and Mary JaneProctor cried in the parish church. "Did Bell Birse refuse him?" heasked the kirk officer, and was informed that Bell had never got achance. "His letter was so cunning," said John, "that without speiringher, it drew ane frae her in which she let out that she was centred onDavit Allardyce."

  "But who wrote Andrew's letter?" asked Mr. Cathro, sharply.

  "I thought it had been yoursel'," said John, and the Dominie chafed, andlost much of the afternoon service by going over in his mind the namesof possible rivals. He never thought of Tommy.

  Then a week or two later fell a heavier blow. At least twice a year theDominie had written for Meggy Duff to her daughter in Ireland a longletter founded on this suggestion, "Dear Kaytherine, if you dinna sendten shillings immediately, your puir auld mother will have neither housenor hame. I'm crying to you for't, Kaytherine; hearken and you'll hearmy cry across the cauldriff sea." He met Meggy in the Banker's Close oneday, and asked her pleasantly if the time was not drawing nigh foranother appeal.

  "I have wrote," replied the old woman, giving her pocket a boastfulsmack, which she thus explained, "And it was the whole ten shillingsthis time, and you never got more for me than five."

  "Who wrote the letter for you?" he asked, lowering.

  She, too, it seemed, had promised not to tell.

  "Did you promise to tell nobody, Meggy, or just no to tell me," hepressed her, of a sudden suspecting Tommy.

  "Just no to tell you," she answered, and at that.

  "Da-a-a," began the Dominie, and then saved his reputation by adding"gont." The derivation of the word dagont has puzzled many, but here weseem to have it.

&nbs
p; It is interesting to know what Tommy wrote. The general opinion was thathis letter must have been a triumph of eloquent appeal, and indeed hehad first sketched out several masterpieces, all of some length and indifferent styles, but on the whole not unlike the concoctions of Meggy'sformer secretary; that is, he had dwelt on the duties of daughters, onthe hardness of the times, on the certainty that if Katherine helpedthis time assistance would never be needed again. This sort of thing hadalways satisfied the Dominie, but Tommy, despite his several attempts,had a vague consciousness that there was something second-rate aboutthem, and he tapped on his brain till it responded. The letter hedespatched to Ireland, but had the wisdom not to read aloud even toMeggy, contained nothing save her own words, "Dear Kaytherine, if youdinna send ten shillings immediately, your puir auld mother will haveneither house nor hame. I'm crying to you for't, Kaytherine; hearken andyou'll hear my cry across the cauldriff sea." It was a call from theheart which transported Katherine to Thrums in a second of time, sheseemed to see her mother again, grown frail since last they met--and soall was well for Meggy. Tommy did not put all this to himself but hefelt it, and after that he _could not_ have written the letterdifferently. Happy Tommy! To be an artist is a great thing, but to be anartist and not know it is the most glorious plight in the world.

  Other fickle clients put their correspondence into the boy's hands, andCathro found it out but said nothing. Dignity kept him in check; he didnot even let the tawse speak for him. So well did he dissemble thatTommy could not decide how much he knew, and dreaded his getting hold ofsome of the letters, yet pined to watch his face while he read them.This could not last forever. Mr. Cathro was like a haughty kettle whichhas choked its spout that none may know it has come a-boil, and we allknow what in that event must happen sooner or later to the lid.

  The three boys who had college in the tail of their eye had certainprivileges not for the herd. It was taken for granted that whenknowledge came their way they needed no overseer to make them standtheir ground, and accordingly for great part of the day they had a backbench to themselves, with half a dozen hedges of boys and girls betweenthem and the Dominie. From his chair Mr. Cathro could not see them, buta foot-board was nailed to it, and when he stood on this, as he had anaggravating trick of doing, softly and swiftly, they were suddenly inview. A large fire had been burning all day and the atmosphere wassoporific. Mr. Cathro was so sleepy himself that the sight of a noddinghead enraged him like a caricature, and he was on the foot-boardfrequently for the reason that makes bearded men suck peppermints inchurch. Against his better judgment he took several peeps at Tommy, whomhe had lately suspected of writing his letters in school or at least ofgloating over them on that back bench. To-day he was sure of it. Howeverabsorbing Euclid may be, even the forty-seventh of the first book doesnot make you chuckle and wag your head; you can bring a substantive inVirgil back to the verb that has lost it without looking as if you wouldlike to exhibit them together in the square. But Tommy was thus elateduntil he gave way to grief of the most affecting kind. Now he lookedgloomily before him as if all was over, now he buried his face in hishands, next his eyes were closed as if in prayer. All this the Dominiestood from him, but when at last he began to blubber--

  At the blackboard was an arithmetic class, slates in hand, each memberadding up aloud in turn a row of figures. By and by it was known thatCathro had ceased to listen. "Go on," his voice rather than himselfsaid, and he accepted Mary Dundas's trembling assertion that four andseven make ten. Such was the faith in Cathro that even boys who couldadd promptly turned their eleven into ten, and he did not catch them atit. So obviously was his mind as well as his gaze on, something beyond,that Sandy Riach, a wit who had been waiting his chance for years,snapped at it now, and roared "Ten and eleven, nineteen" ("Go on," saidCathro), "and four, twenty," gasped Sandy, "and eight, sixteen," headded, gaining courage. "Very good," nmrmured the Dominie, whereuponSandy clenched his reputation forever by saying, in one gloriousmouthful, "and six, eleven, and two, five, and one, nocht."

  There was no laughing at it then (though Sandy held a levee in theevening), they were all so stricken with amazement. By one movement theyswung round to see what had fascinated Cathro, and the other classesdoing likewise, Tommy became suddenly the centre of observation. Bigtears were slinking down his face, and falling on some sheets of paper,which emotion prevented his concealing. Anon the unusual stillness inthe school made him look up, but he was dazed, like one uncertain of hiswhereabouts, and he blinked rapidly to clear his eyes, as a bird shakeswater from its wings.

  Mr. Cathro first uttered what was afterward described as a kind ofthrottled skirl, and then he roared "Come here!" whereupon Tommy steppedforward heavily, and tried, as commanded, to come to his senses, but itwas not easy to make so long a journey in a moment, and several times,as he seemed about to conquer his fears, a wave of feeling set themflowing again.

  "Take your time," said Mr. Cathro, grimly, "I can wait," and this hadsuch a helpful effect that Tommy was able presently to speak up for hismisdeeds. They consisted of some letters written at home but brought tothe school for private reading, and the Dominie got a nasty jar when hesaw that they were all signed "Betsy Grieve." Miss Betsy Grieve, servantto Mr. Duthie, was about to marry, and these letters wereacknowledgments of wedding presents. Now, Mr. Cathro had written similarletters for Betsy only a few days before.

  "Did she ask you to write these for her?" he demanded, fuming, and Tommyreplied demurely that she had. He could not help adding, though he feltthe unwisdom of it, "She got some other body to do them first, but hisletters didna satisfy her."

  "Oh!" said Mr. Cathro, and it was such a vicious oh that Tommy squeakedtremblingly, "I dinna know who he was."

  Keeping his mouth shut by gripping his underlip with his teeth, theDominie read the letters, and Tommy gazed eagerly at him, all fearforgotten, soul conquering body. The others stood or sat waiting,perplexed as to the cause, confident of the issue. The letters were muchfiner productions than Cathro's, he had to admit it to himself as heread. Yet the rivals had started fair, for Betsy was a recent immigrantfrom Dunkeld way, and the letters were to people known neither to Tommynor to the Dominie. Also, she had given the same details for theguidance of each. A lady had sent a teapot, which affected to be new,but was not; Betsy recognized it by a scratch on the lid, and wanted toscratch back, but politely. So Tommy wrote, "When you come to see me weshall have a cup of tea out of your beautiful present, and it will belike a meeting of three old friends." That was perhaps too polite, Betsyfeared, but Tommy said authoritatively, "No, the politer the nippier."

  There was a set of six cups and saucers from Peter something, who hadloved Betsy in vain. She had shown the Dominie and Tommy the ear-ringsgiven her long ago by Peter (they were bought with 'Sosh checks) and thepoem he had written about them, and she was most anxious to gratify himin her reply. All Cathro could do, however, was to wish Peter well insome ornate sentences, while Tommy's was a letter that only a tenderwoman's heart could have indited, with such beautiful touches about thedays which are no more alas forever, that Betsy listened to it withheaving breast and felt so sorry for her old swain that, forgetting shehad never loved him, she all but gave Andrew the go-by and returned toPeter. As for Peter, who had been getting over his trouble, he saw nowfor the first time what he had lost, and he carried Betsy's dear letterin his oxter pocket and was inconsolable.

  But the masterpiece went to Mrs. Dinnie, baker, in return for a flagonbun. Long ago her daughter, Janet, and Betsy had agreed to marry on thesame day, and many a quip had Mrs. Dinnie cast at their romanticcompact. But Janet died, and so it was a sad letter that Tommy had towrite to her mother. "I'm doubting you're no auld enough for this ane,"soft-hearted Betsy said, but she did not know her man. "Tell me some onething the mother used often to say when she was taking her fun off thepair of you," he said, and "Where is she buried?" was a suggestivequestion, with the happy tag, "Is there a tree hanging over the grave?"Thus assisted, he composed a letter tha
t had a tear in every sentence.Betsy rubbed her eyes red over it, and not all its sentiments wereallowed to die, for Mrs. Dinnie, touched to the heart, printed the bestof them in black licorice on short bread for funeral feasts, at whichthey gave rise to solemn reflections as they went down.

  Nevertheless, this letter affected none so much as the writer of it. Hisfirst rough sketch became so damp as he wrote that he had to abandon hispen and take to pencil; while he was revising he had often to desist todry his eyes on the coverlet of Aaron's bed, which made Elspeth weepalso, though she had no notion what he was at. But when the work wasfinished he took her into the secret and read his letter to her, and healmost choked as he did so. Yet he smiled rapturously through his woe,and she knew no better than to be proud of him, and he woke next morningwith a cold, brought on you can see how, but his triumph was worth itsprice.

  Having read the letter in an uncanny silence, Mr. Cathro unbottled Tommyfor the details, and out they came with a rush, blowing away the corkdiscretion. Yet was the Dominie slow to strike; he seemed to find moresatisfaction in surveying his young friend with a wondering gaze thathad a dash of admiration in it, which Tommy was the first to note.

  "I don't mind admitting before the whole school," said Mr. Cathro,slowly, "that if these letters had been addressed to me they would havetaken me in."

  Tommy tried to look modest, but his chest would have its way.

  "You little sacket," cried the Dominie, "how did you manage it?"

  "I think I thought I was Betsy at the time," Tommy answered, with properawe.

  "She told me nothing about the weeping-willow at the grave," said theDominie, perhaps in self-defence.

  "You hadna speired if there was one," retorted Tommy, jealously.

  "What made you think of it?"

  "I saw it might come in neat." (He had said in the letter that theweeping-willow reminded him of the days when Janet's bonny hair hungdown kissing her waist just as the willow kissed the grave.)

  "Willows don't hang so low as you seem to think," said the Dominie.

  "Yes, they do," replied Tommy, "I walked three miles to see one to makesure. I was near putting in another beautiful bit aboutweeping-willows."

  "Well, why didn't you?"

  Tommy looked up with an impudent snigger. "You could never guess," hesaid.

  "Answer me at once," thundered his preceptor. "Was it because--"

  "No," interrupted Tommy, so conscious of Mr. Cathro's inferiority thatto let him go on seemed waste of time. "It was because, though it is abeautiful thing in itself, I felt a servant lassie wouldna have thoughto't. I was sweer," he admitted, with a sigh; then firmly, "but I cut itout."

  Again Cathro admired, reluctantly. The hack does feel the differencebetween himself and the artist. Cathro might possibly have had the idea,he could not have cut it out.

  _But_ the hack is sometimes, or usually, or nearly always the artist'smaster, and can make him suffer for his dem'd superiority.

  "What made you snivel when you read the pathetic bits?" asked Cathro,with itching fingers.

  "I was so sorry for Peter and Mrs. Dinnie," Tommy answered, a littlepuzzled himself now. "I saw them so clear."

  "And yet until Betsy came to you, you had never heard tell of them?"

  "No."

  "And on reflection you don't care a doit about them?"

  "N-no."

  "And you care as little for Betsy?"

  "No now, but at the time I a kind of thought I was to be married toAndrew."

  "And even while you blubbered you were saying to yourself, 'What aclever billie I am!'"

  Mr. Cathro had certainly intended to end the scene with the strap, butas he stretched out his hand for it he had another idea. "Do you knowwhy Nether Drumgley's sheep are branded with the letters N.D.?" he askedhis pupils, and a dozen replied, "So as all may ken wha they belong to."

  "Precisely," said Mr. Cathro, "and similarly they used to brand a letteron a felon, so that all might know whom _he_ belonged to." He crossed tothe fireplace, and, picking up a charred stick, wrote with it on theforehead of startled Tommy the letters "S.T."

  "Now," said the Dominie complacently, "we know to whom Tommy belongs."

  All were so taken aback that for some seconds nothing could be heardsave Tommy indignantly wiping his brow; then "Wha is he?" cried one, themouthpiece of half a hundred.

  "He is one of the two proprietors we have just been speaking of,"replied Cathro, dryly, and turning again to Tommy, he said, "Wipe away,Sentimental Tommy, try hot water, try cold water, try a knife, but youwill never get those letters off you; you are branded for ever andever."