The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  Tom would have been glad to challenge him to a bout at fisticuffs, for he was confident he could vanquish him in short order. He often yearned to do so. More than once the hot defiance was tugging at his lips; but the memory of poor Jim Travers’s parting words, “Tom, try to be better: I tell you, you won’t be sorry when you come to die,” restrained the angry utterance and the hasty blow.

  Max Zeigler was one of those young men that are inherently mean. He was born that way, and his ugly disposition increased with his years. You occasionally meet such persons, whose nature it seems impossible to affect by any method of treatment. What was specially aggravating in Tom Gordon’s place was that Zeigler seemed to feel no dislike of any one in the store besides himself. He slurred him the first day he met him, and kept it up unremittingly.

  Tom’s first course was to accept these slurs in silence. His face often flushed, when he saw the smiles on the countenances of the other clerks, excited by some cutting witticism of Zeigler at the expense of himself. His tormentor accepted the silence as proof of the timidity or rather cowardice of the new employee, and rattled off his insults faster than ever. While kindness as a rule will disarm a foe, there are some ingrates so constituted that it moves them the other way. When Tom replied gently to Zeigler, and asked him privately why he annoyed him without cause, the fellow sneered the more at him. He took pains to indulge in profanity and obscenity before Tom, and received the full reward he sought when he saw how much his course grieved him.

  Finally Tom struck the remedy. It was simple. He showed perfect indifference toward his persecutor. When Zeigler made a cutting remark, he acted as if he did not hear him. He continued his conversation with another; and though his enemy repeated his words, they did not seem to enter the ears of Tom. Even when Zeigler put a question direct to him, it was ignored.

  It then became the turn of Zeigler to flush at the general smile that went round. At last he had been rebuffed.

  One afternoon, when there was little custom in the store, Tom entered one of the rear rooms, where were Zeigler and two other clerks. The fellow’s heart rankled at the snubbing he had received, and he was plotting some way of “getting even” with the sanctimonious fellow, who would never swear or indulge in a coarse word.

  “This is just the place for a wrestling match,” remarked Zeigler. “Gordon, I will go you.”

  There was no ignoring this challenge. Tom was a wonderfully fine wrestler, but none present knew it. He affected to be timid.

  “You are bigger than I, and it would hardly be fair,” replied Tom, surveying the bulky form of his challenger.

  “O pshaw! you are as heavy as I; besides, I will let you down easy.”

  “Try him, Gordon,” whispered one of the clerks.

  “If you will promise not to throw me too hard,” said Tom doubtfully, “I will take one turn with you.”

  “Of course I won’t hurt you,” grinned Zeigler, eager for the chance to humiliate the fellow whom he despised.

  All saw his purpose, and none more plainly than Tom himself.

  The two doffed their coats and vests, and took their station in the middle of the room, with their arms interlocked. Tom pretended an awkwardness which deceived the others, and convinced Zeigler, to use a common expression, he had a “cinch” in this little affair.

  They struggled for a minute, and then, with the suddenness seemingly of a flash of lightning, Zeigler’s heels shot toward the ceiling, and he came down on his back with a crash that shook the windows.

  “I thought you knew something about wrestling,” remarked Tom, standing erect, and looking down on him with a smile, “but you don’t know anything at all.”

  The two spectators were convulsed with laughter. Zeigler’s face was a fiery crimson, and he scrambled to his feet in a fury.

  “That was a slip; you can’t do it again!” he exclaimed, springing at Tom and hastily locking arms with him.

  “All right; we’ll see. Now do your best, for I mean to throw you just as I did a minute ago. Are you ready?”

  “Of course I am; go ahead.”

  Zeigler was not lacking in a certain skill. The lesson he had just received was not lost on him. He was cautious, tricky, and alert—more so than Tom suspected, and he put forth the utmost cunning of which he was capable.

  They twisted, swayed back and forth, and once Tom came within a hair of falling, owing to a slight slip of one foot. But he was on his mettle, and, putting forth his whole might and ability, he flung his antagonist on his back with a violence that almost drove the breath from his body.

  “Fudge!” remarked Tom, turning away in disgust; “I’ll give you a few lessons if you wish to learn how to wrestle. Any way, you had better take lessons of some person before you bother me again.”

  The other two clerks had dropped upon the nearest stools, and were holding their sides with mirth.

  “Zeigler,” said one, when he recovered speech, “that’s too big a contract for you; you can’t deliver the goods.”

  “You’ll have to pay for those window-panes you shook out,” added the other.

  “I’ve got a set of boxing-gloves here,” growled Zeigler, who tried to assume an indifference, as he brushed off his clothes and looked up with flaming face. “I’d like to try you with them.”

  “I’m agreeable,” replied Tom, who had seen Zeigler bang the other clerks around with the gloves as he pleased. “I learned something of the business when I was a newsboy. I hope you are better at it than you are at wrestling.”

  While Tom was speaking he was drawing on a pair of gloves and fixing the strings at the wrist. Zeigler was a little uneasy at the coolness of his opponent, and his readiness in accepting his challenge. Then, too, when he took his position, with his left foot advanced, his right glove in front of his chest, his left arm extended, the pose was so like a professional, that Zeigler’s misgivings increased. Still he felt great confidence in his own skill, and there was no criticism to be made upon his position when he faced the youth, for whose vanquishment he would have given half his year’s salary.

  “Now,” said Tom, with his exasperating coolness, “I propose that each do his best. I don’t suppose you want any baby play. I don’t. I invite you to hit me as often and as hard as you can. I’m going to do the same with you. Time!”

  They began dancing about a common center, sawing their arms back and forth, each looking sharply in the other’s eye and on the alert for an opening.

  Tom meant to make the other lead; for, before assuming the aggressive, he wished to know more about Zeigler. It might be he possessed greater skill than Tom believed. He meant to learn something of his style.

  They had circled round several times, when Zeigler thought he saw his chance, and feinting quickly, let fly with his left. Instead of parrying the blow, Tom dodged it by throwing his head back. The opportunity was a capital one to counter on Zeigler, but Tom made no effort to do so. It looked as if he lacked the quickness and skill, and failed to see his chance.

  Zeigler now began edging nearer. He had come within an inch of reaching the face of Tom, when he failed to counter. A little closer, and he was sure he could “knock him out.” At any rate, if he failed to do so, he had nothing to fear from a foe who did not know enough to use an elemental advantage.

  A quick step forward at the instant of feinting with his right, and Zeigler again let fly with his left straight from the shoulder. It was a vicious blow, and, had it landed, would have done damage; but a flirt of the head allowed it to glide harmlessly over the shoulder. At the instant of doing so, Tom cross-countered with a quickness and force that could not have been excelled. That is to say, as Zeigler’s left glove was darting past Tom’s left ear, and the momentum of the young man’s body was throwing him forward, Tom’s right hand shot across the extended arm of the other, and landed with fearful force on the nose and mouth of his opponent.

  It was a fierce drive; for its effect was intensified by the fact that Tom’s glove met the head of t
he other as it was coming toward him. It would have been bad enough had it landed on a stationary object, but the object was approaching from the opposite direction.

  Tom and the two clerks were startled by the effect of the blow, for Zeigler went down like a log, rolling over on his back, his hands flapping full length above his head, while he lay perfectly unconscious.

  But when water was dashed in his face he revived. It was some time before he freed his mouth and nose of the crimson result of colliding with the glove; but, aided by the clerks, he donned his coat and vest, and assumed something like a presentable condition.

  While this was going on, Tom Gordon sat in a chair a few feet away, looking on as though he felt little interest in the matter. He did not help shape the other up, for two reasons. His aid was not necessary, and, again, he knew it would not be acceptable to his discomfited antagonist.

  “A rather neat blow, Zeigler,” remarked Tom; “when you wish to even up matters, I will be ready to accommodate you.”

  It sounded strange to the other clerks to hear the gentle Tom Gordon speak thus to the young man who had played the bully so long over him. They concluded that the crushed worm had at last turned. The vanquished one made no reply except to give the other a look of hatred, and leave the room.

  Now, there is not one person in a thousand who would not have been conquered morally as well as physically by an experience like that of Max Zeigler. Such an utter overthrow would have made the bully the close friend and champion of the other; but it was altogether different with Zeigler. Before his swelled lip and bulging nose had resumed their normal appearance, he resumed his petty persecutions as before. Those who knew of the bout in the back room (and, indeed, every clerk quickly learned the particulars) urged Tom to lay out his enemy so effectually that he would stay laid out.

  Young Gordon, however, chose the better course. He affected the same indifference as before, and frequently did not seem to hear the words of his enemy. The hardest duty Tom had to do was to keep back the scathing retorts of which he thought so often, and which would have silenced Zeigler. Nothing, indeed, is more difficult for a high-spirited person than to bridle his tongue under the lashings of another. How few of us are equal to the task!

  CHAPTER XXI.

  Only two or three incidents worthy of note fell to the lot of Tom Gordon during his second year in the employ of Josiah Warmore.

  At the beginning of the year he was promoted, and received a considerable increase of salary. The situation given to him belonged by right of seniority of service to Max Zeigler, and was looked upon as a certainty by him. He was so indignant at the snub, that he made no effort to conceal his feelings. While the hurt rankled, he went to Mr. Warmore and demanded an explanation. He got it, and resigned forthwith. No one regretted to see him go, and least of all Tom Gordon, who gave a sigh of thankfulness at the removal of the thorn from his side.

  It was strange how Mr. Warmore found out everything about his employees. Often they felt astonishment, and could not understand by what means he picked up knowledge they were often certain was only known to themselves. Thus he learned at an early date the petty persecutions suffered by Tom at the hands of Zeigler; and there can be little doubt that that information was one cause of the fellow receiving such a marked set-back. Then he knew as much of that wrestling and boxing bout as if he had been a witness. There is reason to suspect he was secretly pleased at the issue, though he would never admit it. It is not wise at all times for the teacher or employer to let those under his charge know the extent of his knowledge of their doings. In other words, it is not always best to see what you do see.

  Mr. Warmore was a reserved man. He was kind, but just, toward his clerks. He established a free reading-room in Bellemore, saw that every employee had his regular vacation each summer or whenever he preferred it, encouraged them to be frugal and moral, gave them good advice, forbade coarseness of language or profanity, and hired a pew in each of the two leading churches, which were always at the disposal of his young men without any expense to them.

  Occasionally he gave entertainments at his own handsome residence for their benefit. Now and then he would invite some of them to dinner. His wife was in delicate health, but a most excellent woman, who did much to make such evenings highly enjoyable. Their only son had died in his infancy, and their daughter Jennie was attending a boarding-school. Little was seen of her, though when at home she often drove to the store with her mother, to take her father out with them. She was remarkably attractive in looks, but, like her father, reserved in manner. She recognized the clerks, when she chanced to meet them, with the air and manner of a lady; but all felt there was a gulf between her and them which was impassable. They concluded (and did not criticise her therefor) that she held herself socially above each and all of them.

  The second incident that took place came to Tom Gordon in the summer-time while away on his fortnight’s vacation. He had grown to be tall, and more attractive than when younger. He was fond of good clothes; and when he took the steamer at the landing, and went down the Hudson to New York, it would have been hard to find a better looking or more correctly costumed young man than Tom. He did not show it in his manner, but how could he help knowing it?

  Strange that almost the first persons he noticed on the boat were Sam Harper and his sister Nellie, returning from an excursion up the river. They, too, had done considerable growing, and made a handsome couple. Tom looked so well that Nellie was very pleased to meet him. She would have been glad to receive attention from him, and showed by her manner that she expected it. But Tom could not forget that snub a couple of years before, when he was selling papers on a Broadway car. He liked Sam and his father and mother, but couldn’t forgive Nellie for hurting his feelings. So, when the brother turned her over to him, Tom with exquisite courtesy raised his hat, bade her good-day, and strolled to another part of the boat. She understood the meaning of the repulse, as he meant she should, and she felt it.

  And who should he run against on the wharf in the city but his old friend Patsey McConough, who had done him such a good turn when he first arrived in the metropolis. The genial Irishman had driven down with a carriage to meet his employer, who was on the steamer, so he had but little opportunity to talk with Tom, whom he did not recognize until the youth made himself known. But they shook hands warmly, and each was pleased to find the other doing so well. They parted with the best wishes, hoping soon to see each other again.

  Tom, like a sensible youth, made the most of his vacation. He spent several days among his friends at Briggsville, who heartily welcomed him among them, even though saddened by the fact that the orphan who went away with him could never return to them again. Then he gave a few days to the seashore, where none enjoyed the bathing, the boating, and frolicking more than he. All too soon the two weeks drew to an end, and he again boarded the steamer which stopped at the landing opposite Bellemore, on its way to more important towns and cities up the Hudson.

  Strolling over the boat to see whether there were any acquaintances among his fellow-travelers, he found none, and, having nothing better to do, sat down on a camp-stool on the forward deck to view the picturesque scenery, which, however, had become so familiar that he fell to studying human nature as it appeared immediately around him.

  That which interested him the most was a dudish young man, dressed in the extreme of fashion, carrying a heavy cane, and wearing eyeglasses. He had high cheek bones, fishy gray eyes, fine teeth, and a simpering smile. Tom judged he was a couple of years older than himself, and became interested in him because of his amusing efforts to charm the ladies around him. The vulgar expression would be that he was trying to “mash” them. The word is not a good one, but it will help my reader to understand the meaning.

  Evidently he believed himself irresistible, and his smirking, posing, and ogling were ludicrous to the last degree. Among the numerous young ladies on board were a dozen Vassar girls, as bright, merry, and full of mischief as they could po
ssibly be. They met the ogling of the dude with sly glances and smiles which made him more killing than ever. Encouraged by this, and not doubting that he had made a conquest, he ventured to approach and address them. The reception he met was enough to congeal water. It fairly took away his breath. Then he blushed clear out to the end of his ears, and withdrew to some other part of the boat, where he could hope to be better appreciated.

  Some of the girls managed to stroll thither a few minutes later, as if unconscious of where he had gone. Tom saw some fun was coming, and he drifted thither too.

  The dude had succeeded in making an impression on a simpering girl, and was seated on one of the camp-stools beside her, talking in his drawling way, and pointing out the beautiful scenery as they swept past. He frequently raised his heavy cane and indicated the different objects, the better to enlighten his companion.

  “Aw, that is Haverstraw,” he volunteered, bringing the stick to a level. “It is—aw—quite a famous place; reminds me of Holland across the water, you know.”

  “What is there about Haverstraw to suggest Holland?” inquired his lady friend.

  “They make bricks there—aw—a good many bricks—aw—may I inquire, doncherknow, did you ever see a brick?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, with an impertinent glance from her mischievous eyes; “I think I am looking at one now.”

  “You mean to say that I am a brick—aw—good, dooced good; I must tell that at the club—dooced clevah; couldn’t do much bettah meself, doncherknow? Now, if you will kindly rise from your seat—aw—I will point out a vewy interesting mountain peak.”

  “Thank you, I can see well enough without rising.”

  Nevertheless, the dude came to a stooping posture, and, with one gloved hand on the railing to steady him self, wabbled the bulky cane again in the direction of the shore.

  “Aw—I’m a little off soundings, doncherknow, and am not suah whether that is Dunderberg Mountain or Saint Anthony’s Olfactory Organ—aw—that’s clevah, don’t you think,—Saint Anthony’s Olfactory Organ, doncherknow”—At the moment of partly rising to his feet, a couple of Vassar girls walked past. When directly opposite the camp-stool of the dude, one of them touched it with the toe of her shoe and shoved it to one side. The lady seated near and listening to the young man’s chatter saw it, but pretended she did not, and, therefore, made no effort to save her new friend from his impending catastrophe. It was the same with a dozen other persons.