University of Virginia Library

AN EXTREMELY PRACTICAL BOY.

"TOMMY," observed a Nelson-street mother to her son, a youth of thirteen years, "you must cut some wood for the front-room stove. Mr. Crawford comes to-night."

Mr. Crawford is a young man who is "keeping

company" with Fanny, Tommy's sister. The time was a Wednesday evening. Tommy had been skating since school, and was now anxiously awaiting his supper. The announcement came upon him with disagreeable force.

"Is that old rooster comin' around here to-night?" he impetuously inquired.

"Thomas!" cried his mother in a voice of horror.

Thomas, having eased his mind somewhat of the burden, proceeded to the wood-pile without further remark.

He was not in good humor as he looked around for the axe, and articles foreign to the search were moved with graceless haste.

"This is a reg'lar dog's life," he moodily ejaculated. "First it's Sunday night, an' then it is Wednesday night, an' then it's Friday night, an' every little while an extra night thrown in. I don't see what's the use of a girl about the house. If I've got to cut wood every time that feller comes, I'll know the reason why. I won't be put on like this. I ain't goin' to be made a pack-mule of, by George! for all the Crawfords and Fannys on earth. It's all nice enough for them to be in there toasting their shins, an' actin' sickish; but I notice that I have got to do all the work. It's played out, by Jinks! I ain't that kind of hair-pin. I'd just like to have somebody tell me," he added, looking

around for the person in question, "how much of the candy an' oranges an' other stuff that Fanny gets, I get. Not one whiff, by gracious!—not one single, solitary whiff! An' here I chop wood for her an' him night after night; an', if it wasn't for me, they'd shake all the teeth outen their heads. Oh, they are a sweet-scented pair, they are!"

Closing his remarks with this gloomy observation on his sister and her company, he worked away at the wood until the amount necessary was prepared. About seven o'clock, Mr. Crawford's knock sounded at the door. Fanny's mother was to have let him in; but Tommy volunteered his service. He escorted the young gentleman into the front-room; and then, backing himself against the door, he pointed to the stove, which was throwing out a most welcome heat, and sternly inquired,—

"Is that what you'd call a good fire?"

"Yes, indeed!" said Mr. Crawford, rubbing his hands gratefully.

"Ah!" observed Tommy in a tone of relief, although his face scarcely relaxed the severity of its expression. "You couldn't very well get along in here without a fire, could you?"

"Hardly."

"I s'pose not. Now, who do you s'pose made that fire?"

"Why—I—I suppose—why, I don't know,"

said Mr. Crawford, apparently embarrassed by the question.

"No! Well, I can tell you. I made that fire. I cut the wood for it. I cut the wood, and make every fire you have here. I've been doing it all the while you've come here; and you and Fan have set by it, and toasted yourselves, and ate candy, and sucked oranges. You an' Fan have had all the comfort of it; an' I've done all the work, every bit of it. An' not one smell of them candies an' oranges have I had,—not a living smell." The unhappy boy knit his eyebrows, and instinctively clinched his hands. Scarcely less disturbed, appeared Fanny's young man. He glanced uneasily from the fireman to the stove. But he made no reply. He waited apprehensively for what was to follow.

"I'll bet you've got a pound of assorted candies in your clothes this minute for Fan!"

This came so directly in the form of an interrogation, that Mr. Crawford unhesitatingly nodded.

"So I thought," pursued Fanny's brother. "Now, I want to tell you, that, if this fire-business is to be carried on by me, there's got to be a different arrangement of awards: if not, you can come up here and cut your own wood. Will you divy on them candies?"

"Why—why—I—I hardly would like to do that, Tommy. I got these for Fanny, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Tommy grimly. "When I see you come up here again, I shall expect to see you lugging an axe over your shoulder."

Mr. Crawford looked aghast.

"But, Tommy," he expostulated. "You won't come back on me like that? I'll pay you for doing it."

"Oh! What will you pay"

"I'll give you fifty cents a week."

"Hope to die?"

"Yes," said Mr. Crawford eagerly.

"Then I am just your cheese," said the youth, the hard lines melting entirely out of his face. "There's nothing mean about me; but I don't want to go along in the dark. This thing had to be settled some way or another; for it was eating the life out of me. But, now that it is fixed, you'll find me up to the mark every time; and, if I don't make that stove rare right up on its hind-legs, I am a bald-headed leper without a pedigree."

And, with a flourish expressive of the deepest earnestness, he stalked out of the room.