 | A Self-Made Man |  |
'Yes,' cried the old man, 'I've heard enough. It is just as I thought. George has robbed his dad.'
The old man's frail body quivered with grief. Two tears trickled slowly down the furrows of his face.
'Come, come, now,' said Tom, patting him tenderly on the back. 'Brace up, old feller. What you want to do is to get a lawyer and go put the screws on George.'
'Is it really?' asked the old man eagerly.
'Certainly it is,' said Tom.
'All right,' cried the old man, with enthusiasm; 'tell me where to get one.' He slid down from the railing and prepared to start off.
Tom reflected. 'Well,' he said finally, 'I might do for one myself.'
'What!' shouted the old man in a voice of admiration, 'are you a lawyer as well as a reader?'
'Well,' said Tom again, 'I might appear to advantage as one. All you need is a big front,' he added slowly. He was a profane young man.
The old man seized him by the arm. 'Come on, then,' he cried, 'and we'll go put the screws on George.'
Tom permitted himself to be dragged by the weak arms of his companion around a corner and along a side-street. As they proceeded, he was internally bracing himself for a struggle, and putting large bales of self-assurance around where they would be likely to obstruct the advance of discovery and defeat.
By the time they reached a brown stone house, hidden away in a street of shops and warehouses, his mental balance was so admirable that he seemed to be in possession of enough information and brains to ruin half the city, and he was no more concerned about the king, queen, deuce and tray than if they had been discards that didn't fit his draw. Too, he infused so much confidence and courage into his companion, that the old man went along the
He ambled up the steps of the brown stone house as if he were charging earthworks. He unlocked the door, and they passed along a dark hall-way. In a rear room they found a man seated at table engaged with a very late breakfast. He had a diamond in his shirt front, and a big of egg on his cuff.
'George,' said the old man in a fierce voice that came from his aged throat with a sound like the crackle of burning twigs, 'here's my lawyer, Mr.—er—ah—Smith, and we want to know what you did with the draft that was sent on June 25th.'
The old man delivered the words as if each one was a musket shot. George's coffee spilled softly upon the table-cover, and his fingers worked convulsively upon a slice of bread. He turned a white, astonished face toward the old man and the intrepid Thomas.
The latter, straight and tall, with a highly legal air, stood at the old man's side. His glowing eyes were fixed upon the face of the man at the table. They seemed like two little detective cameras taking pictures of the other man's thoughts.
'Father, what d-do you mean?' faltered George, totally unable to withstand the two cameras and the highly legal air.
'What do I mean?' said the old man with a feeble roar, as from an ancient lion; 'I mean that draft—that's what I mean. Give it up, or we'll—we'll—' he paused to gain courage by a glance at the formidable figure at his side, 'we'll put the screws on you.'
'Well, I was—I was only borrowin' it for 'bout a month,' said George.
'Ah,' said Tom.
George started, glared at Tom, and then began to shiver like an animal with a broken back.
There were a few moments of silence. The old man was fumbling about in his mind for more imprecations. George was wilting and turning limp before the glittering orbs of the valiant attorney. The latter, content with the exalted advantage he had gained by the use of the expression, 'Ah,' spoke no more, but continued to stare.
'Well,' said George finally, in a weak voice, 'I s'pose I can give you a check for it, though I was only borrowin' it for 'bout a month. I don't think you have treated me fairly, father, with your
The old man turned to his attorney. 'Well?' he asked. Tom looked at the son and held an impressive debate with himself. 'I think we may accept the check,' he said coldly, after a time.
George arose and tottered across the room. He drew a check that made the attorney's heart come privately into his mouth. As he and his client passed triumphantly out, he turned a last highly legal glare upon George that reduced that individual to a mere paste.
On the sidewalk the old man went into a spasm of delight and called his attorney all the admiring and endearing names there were to be had.
'Lord, how you settled him!' he cried ecstatically. They walked slowly back toward Broadway. 'The scoundrel,' murmured the old man. 'I'll never see 'im again. I'll desert 'im. I'll find a nice quiet boarding-place, and—'
'That's all right,' said Tom. 'I know one. I'll take you right up,' which he did.
He came near being happy ever after. The old man lived at advanced rates in the front room at Tom's boarding-house. And the latter basked in the proprietress's smiles, which had a commercial value and were a great improvement on many we see.
The old man, with his quantities of sage-bush, thought Thomas owned all the virtues mentioned in high-class literature, and his opinion, too, was of commercial value. Also, he knew a man who knew another man who received an impetus which made him engage Thomas on terms that were highly satisfactory. Then it was that the latter learned he had not succeeded sooner because he did not know a man who knew another man.
So it came to pass that Tom grew to be Thomas G. Somebody. He achieved that position in life from which he could hold out for good wines when he went to poor restaurants. His name became entangled with the name of Wilkins in the ownership of vast and valuable tracts of sage-bush in Tin Can, Nevada.
At the present day he is so great that he lunches frugally at high prices. His fame has spread through the land as a man who carved his way to fortune with no help but his undaunted pluck, his tireless energy, and his sterling integrity.
Newspapers apply to him now, and he writes long signed articles to struggling young men, in which he gives the best possible advice as to how to become wealthy. In these articles he, in a burst of glorification, cites the king, queen, deuce, and tray, the four aces, and all that. He alludes tenderly to the nickel he borrowed and spent for cigarettes as the foundation of his fortune.
'To succeed in life,' he writes, 'the youth of America have only to see an old man seated upon a railing and smoking a clay pipe. Then go up and ask him for a match.'
| A Self-Made Man | |