University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
RESCUED.

In a tone of suppressed excitement, which he tried in
vain to render steady, Mr. Bruder said—

“You haf he advantage of me, sir. I know not your
name. Vat is more, I am not fit for bissiness dis night—
indeed, I haf important bissiness elsewhere. You must
excuse me,” he added sternly, advancing toward the door
with the picture.

“Pardon me, Mr. Bruder,” said Dennis politely. “I
throw myself entirely on your courtesy, and must ask as a
very great favor that you will not take away that picture
till I see it, for that, in part, is just what I came for. I
am in the picture trade myself, and think that I am a tolerably
fair judge of paintings. I heard accidentally you
had a fine one, and from the glimpse I catch of it, I think
I have not been misinformed. If it is for sale, perhaps I
can do as well by you as any one else. I am employed in
Mr. Ludolph's great store, the “Art Building.” You
probably know all about the place.”

“Yes, I know him,” said the man, calming down somewhat.

“And now sir,” said Dennis, with a gentle winning
courtesy impossible to resist, “will you do me the favor
of showing me your picture?”

He treated poor Bruder as a gentleman, and he having
really been one, instinctively inclined toward returning
like courtesy. Therefore he said—

“O certainly, since yon vish to see him. I suppose I
might as well sell him to you as any von else.”

Mr. Bruder was a man of violent impulses, and his
mad excitement was fast leaving him under Dennis's cool
business-like manner. To gain time was now the great
desideratum.

The picture having been replaced upon the wall, Mr.
Bruder took the lamp and held it so as throw as good a
light as possible.

Dennis folded his arms calmly and commenced its
study. He had meant to act a part, to pretend deep interest
and desire for long critical study, that he might secure
more time, but in a few moments he became honestly
absorbed in the beautiful and exqusitely finished landscape.

The poor man watched him keenly. Old associations
and feelings, seemingly long dead, awoke. As he saw
Dennis manifest every mark of true and growing appreciation,
he perceived that his picture was being studied by
a connoisseur. Then his artist-nature began to quicken
into life again. His eyes glowed, and danced rapidly
from Dennis to the painting, back and forth, following up
the judgment on each and every part, which he saw written
in the young man's face. As he looked and watched,
something like hope and exultation began to light up his
sullen, heavy features—thought and feeling to spiritualize
and ennoble what but a little before had been so coarse
and repulsive.

Ernst was looking at Dennis in wrapt awe, as if he
were a messenger from heaven.

The poor wife, who had listened in a dull apathy to the
conversation, raised her head in sudden and intelligent
interest when the picture was replaced on the wall. It
would seem that her every hope was bound up in that.
As she saw Dennis and her husband standing before it, as

she saw the face of the latter begin to change somewhat
toward his old former self, her whole soul came into her
great blue eyes, and she watched as if more than life were
at stake.

If that meagre apartment with its inmates, their contrasts
of character, their expressive faces, could have then
been portrayed, it would have made a picture with power
to move the coldest heart.

At last Dennis drew a long breath, turned and gave his
hand to the man, saying with hearty emphasis,

“Mr. Bruder, you are an artist.”

The poor man lifted his face to heaven with the same
expression of joy and gratitude that had rested on it long,
long years ago, when his first real work of art had received
similar praise.

His wife saw and remembered it, and with an ecstatic
cry that thrilled Dennis's soul, exclaimed:

“Ah, mine Gott be praised, mine Gott be praised, his
artist-soul come back.”

And she threw herself on her husband's neck, and
clung to him with hysteric energy. The man melted down
completely, and bowing his head upon his wife's shoulders,
his whole frame shook with sobs.

“I will be back in half an hour,” said Dennis, hastily,
brushing tears from his own eyes. “Come with me, Ernst.”

At the foot of the stairs Dennis said:

“Take this money, Ernst, and buy bread, butter, tea,
milk, and coal, also a nice large steak, for I am going to
take supper with you to-night. I will stay here and watch,
for your father must not be permitted to go out.”

“O Gott bless you, Gott bless you,” said the boy, and
he hurried away to do his errand.

Dennis walked up and down before the door on guard.
Ernst soon returned, and carried the welcome food up-stairs.
After a little time he stole down again and said,

“Father's quiet and queer like. Mother has given
the children a good supper and put them to bed. Better
come now.”

“In a few moments more; you go back and sit down
quietly and say nothing.”

After a little Dennis went up and knocked at the door.
Mrs. Bruder opened it, and held out her hand. Her
quivering lips refused to speak, but her eyes filled with
grateful tears. The children were tucked away in bed.
Ernst crouched by the fire eating some bread and butter,
for he was cold and half-famished. Mr. Bruder sat in the
dusky corner with his head in his hands, the picture of
dejection and sorrow. But as Dennis entered, he rose
and came forward. He tried to speak, but for a moment
could not. At last he said, hoarsely,

“Mr. Fleet, (for dat is your name, my boy tells me),
you haf done me and mine a great kindness. No matter
vat the result is, I tank you as I never tanked any living
being. I believe Gott sent you, but I fear too late. You
see before you a miserable wreck. For months and years
I have been a brute, a devil. Dat picture dare show you
vat I vas, vat I might haf been. You see vat I am,” he
added, with an expression of intense loathing and self-disgust.
“I see him all to-night as if written in letters of
fire, and if dare is a worse hell than de von I feel within
my soul, Gott only knows how I am to endure him.”

“Mr. Bruder, you say I have done you a favor.”

“Gott knows you haf.”

“I want you to do me one in return. I want you to
let me be your friend, said Dennis, holding out his hand.

The man trembled, hesitated; at last he said, brokenly—

“I am not fit—to touch—your hand.”

“Mr. Bruder,” said Dennis, gently, “I hope that I am
a Christian.”

“Still more, den, am I am unfit ever to be in your presence.”

“What! am I greater than my Master? Did not Christ
take the hand of every poor struggling man on earth that
would let Him? Come, Mr. Bruder, if you have any real
gratitude for the little I have done to show my interest in
you and yours, grant me my request.”

“Do you really mean him?” he gasped. “Do you
really want to be drunken old Berthold Bruder's friend?”

“God is my witness, I do,” said Dennis, still holding
out his hand.

The poor fellow drew a few short, heavy breaths, and
then grasped Dennis's hand, and clung to it as a drowning
man might.

“Oh!” said he, after a few moments of deep emotion,
“I feel that I have a plank under me now.”

“God grant that you may soon feel that you are on the
Rock Christ Jesus,” said Dennis, solemnly.

Fearing the reaction of too great and prolonged emotion,
Dennis now did every thing in his power to calm
and quiet his new found friends. He told them that he
boarded at a restaurant, and asked him if he might take
supper with them.

“Him is yours already,” said Mr. Bruder.

“No it isn't,” said Dennis, “not after I have given it
to you. But I want to talk to you about several matters,
for I think you can be of great service to me.”

And he told them of his experience during the day;
how he had been promoted, and that he wanted Ernst to
come and aid him in his duties. Then he touched on the
matter nearest his heart—his own wish to be an artist, his
need of instruction, and how by his increase of pay he
had now the means of taking lessons, and still be able to
support his mother and sisters.

“And now, Mr. Bruder, I feel that I have been very

fortunate in making your acquaintance. You have the
touch and tone that I would be overjoyed to acquire.
Will you give me lessons?”

“Yes, morning, noon, and night, vithout von cent of
pay.'

“That will not do. I'll not take one on those terms.”

“I vill do vatever you vant me to,” said the man, simply.
“I vish I could be led and vatched over as a little
child.”

Dennis saw his pathetic self-distrust, and it touched
him deeply.

“As your friend,” he said with emphasis, I will not advise
you to do anything that I would not do myself.”

So they arranged that Ernst should come to the store
in the morning, and Dennis three nights in the week for
lessons.

All made a hearty supper save Mr. Bruder. He had
reached that desperate stage when his diseased stomach
craved drink only. But a strong cup of tea, and some
bread that he washed down with it, heartened him a little,
and it was evident that he felt better. The light of a faint
hope was dawning in his face.

Dennis knew something of the physical as well as
moral struggle before the poor man, and that after all it
was exceedingly problematical whether he could be saved.

Before he left he told Mrs. Bruder to make him some
very strong coffee in the morning, and to let him drink it
through the day. As for Bruder, he had resolved to die
rather than touch another drop of liquor again.

But how many poor victims of appetite have been
haunted to the grave by such resolves—shattered and
gone almost as soon as made.

After a long, earnest talk, in which much of the past
was revealed on both sides, Dennis drew a small Testament
from his pocket and said,

Mr. Bruder, I wish to direct your thoughts to a better
Friend than I am or can be. Will you let me read you
something about Him?”

“Yes, and tank you. But choose something strong—
suited to me.”

Dennis did read something strong—the story of the
Demoniac of Gadara, and left him “sitting at the feet of
Jesus clothed and in his right mind.”

“Mr. Bruder, permit me as your friend to say that I
think that is the only safe place for you. Your better self,
your true manhood has been overpowered by the demon
of intemperance. I do not undervalue human will and
purpose, but I think you need a divine, all-powerful Deliverer.”

“I know you are right,” said Mr. Bruder. “I haf resolved
ober and ober again, only to do vorse, and sink
deeper at de next temptation, till at last I gave up trying.
Unless I am sustained by some strength greater dan mine,
I haf no hope. I feel dat your human sympathy and
kindness vill be a great help to me, and somehow I take
him as an earnest dat Gott vill be kind to me too.”

“O! Mr. Fleet,” he continued, as Dennis rose to go,
“how much I owe to you. I vas in hell on earth ven you
came. I vould haf been in hell beneath before morning.
I proposed, from the proceeds of dat picture, to indulge
in von more delirium, and den seek to quench all in de
vaters of de lake.”

Dennis shuddered, but said,

“And I believe that God purposes that you should
have a good life here, and a happy life in heaven. Cowork
with Him.”

“If He will help me, I'll try,” said the man, humbly.
“Goot night, and Gott bless you,” and he almost crushed
Dennis' hand.

As he turned to Mrs. Bruder, he was much struck by

her appearance: she was very pale, and a wonderful light
shone from her eyes. She took his hand in both of hers,
and looked at him for a moment with an expression he
could never forget, and then slowly pointed heavenward
without a word.

Dennis hastened away, much overcome by his own
feelings. But the silent, deserted streets seemed luminous,
such was the joy of his heart.