James Oxley - Terry's Trials and Triumphs

"My dear boy," said he after a pause, and seeming well satisfied with the result of his inspection, "as I have already told you, I feel that I am indebted to you for a service the worth of which cannot be put down in money; and it is not by offering you money that I would prove my gratitude. The money would be soon spent, leaving you no better, and possibly worse, than before it was given you. No; you have saved my daughter's life, and in return I want to save yours, though in a somewhat different way. Look me straight in the eyes, please."

For the first time since he had entered Mr. Drummond's presence Terry lifted his big brown eyes, and looked full into his face, his freckles being submerged in the warm flush that swept over his face as he did so.

"Ah!" said Mr. Drummond, "I was not mistaken. Your face gives warrant of many good qualities that you've had small chance to develop thus far. It will be my privilege and pleasure to give you the opportunity circumstances have hitherto denied you. How would you like to go to a nice school?"

Terry had been listening with eager attention and brightening countenance; but at the mention of the word "school" his face suddenly fell, and from the restless twitching of his body it was very evident that the idea had no attraction for him at all.

Mr. Drummond's keen eye did not fail to note the effect of his question, and without stopping to argue the point he promptly put another.

"Well, then, how would you like to be taken into my office and taught to be a clerk?"

Instantly the boy's face burst into bloom, so to speak, and giving the merchant a look which said as plain as words, "I hope you really mean it," he exclaimed, —

"Sure, sir, an' it's now ye're talkin'."

Mr. Drummond could not suppress a smile at Terry's quaint phrase that went so straight to the mark.

"You shall have your own way then," he responded in his pleasantest tone, "and you may begin as soon as you like. Let me just say this to you, my boy," he continued, drawing Terry towards him with one hand, and placing the other on his shoulder. "I want to be your friend for life. You can always rely upon that. But I cannot do for you what you alone can do for yourself. You will meet with many trials and temptations that you will have to fight all by yourself. I will at all times be glad to give you the best counsel I can. But in the end you must make your own way. No one else can make it for you. By being faithful to my interests, Terry, you will most surely advance your own. Never forget that. And now, good-bye for the present. Mr. Hobart in the outer office has some business to do with you right away, and I will look for you bright and early on Monday morning."

Rather relieved at the interview being over, and feeling as though he would have to go prancing and shouting down the whole length of Long Wharf to give vent to his delight at what Mr. Drummond had said, Terry slipped out of the merchant's sanctum, and found a pleasant-looking young man evidently awaiting him in the office.

"Come in here, Terry," said he, "and tell us your good-luck."

In the fulness of his heart Terry was only too glad to find a confidant, and without reserve he related all that had been said, as well as he could remember it.

"Phew!" whistled the clerk. "You've got on the right side of the old man, and no mistake. No putting you off with a sovereign and a paragraph in the papers. Whatever he says goes, I can tell you. Come along now; I'm to have the pleasure of making a swell out of you."

In some bewilderment as to Mr. Hobart's meaning, Terry obediently accompanied him up to Granville Street, where they entered a gentleman's outfitting establishment, before whose broad plate-glass windows the boy had often stood in covetous appreciation of the fine things so dexterously displayed therein. With an air of easy self-possession that Terry profoundly admired, Mr. Hobart called upon a brilliantly-arrayed clerk to show them their ready-made clothing. They went into the rear part of the shop, and then the purpose of their coming was made clear.

"You're to have a complete outfit of good clothes, Terry," said Mr. Hobart. "And Mr. Drummond, knowing my good taste in such matters, has put the business in my hands, so you'll please be good enough to entirely approve of my selections."

His manner was so kind and pleasant that Terry felt as though there was hardly anything on earth that he would not have been willing to do for him, let alone approving of the benefactions he was the instrument of bestowing.

"Indeed that I will, sir," he responded, with a warmth that made the clerk smile in such a patronizing way that Mr. Hobart cut him short by saying curtly, —

"Well, then, let me see something in the way of pepper-and-salt tweeds."

So the work of fitting Terry out began. Mr. Hobart seemed no less particular than if he were choosing the various articles for his own wardrobe. He had carte-blanche from Mr. Drummond, and the matter of cheapness was not to be taken into account. It all seemed like a beautiful dream to Terry. A fine suit of clothes, that fitted him as though they had been cut to order; a pair of scarlet braces with bright brass clasps such as his heart had often vainly hungered for; three good flannel shirts for week-day wear, and three lovely linen ones for Sabbaths; a sheaf of collars and a roll of cuffs; and, finally, to top it all, a hard felt hat, the like of which had never before been on his head; – one after another were these fine feathers procured, and the money for them paid down from a bundle of notes which Terry, in his ignorance of money in that form, thought must contain at least a thousand pounds.

It took over an hour to complete the business, Mr. Hobart evidently enjoying it in no small degree himself. At last, however, he seemed satisfied with his work, and giving Terry a friendly clap on the back, he said, —

"There, now; you're qualified to be a credit to Drummond and Brown's office, so far as appearance goes at all events. You can trot along home now. They'll send the things there for you."

Eager to tell his mother of the wonders of the day, Terry darted off, and in a few minutes was at home in Blind Alley. With many exclamations of gratitude to the "blessed saints," and many interjected questions, did Mrs. Ahearn listen to his wonderful story; and when the parcels arrived, she spread out their contents upon the bed and fell upon her knees before them. For many years her life had known but scant rays of sunshine, and this sudden outburst almost overwhelmed her. With trembling fingers she gently touched the different articles, as though to assure herself that her eyes were not playing her false. Then rising to her feet again, her eyes streaming and lips quivering, she threw her arms around Terry and hugged him to her heart.

With a mother's fond prescience she grasped the fact that in him, and in him alone, had she hope of redress for the sorrows which had so deeply shadowed her life. Terry's chance had come, and his future and hers depended upon the way in which he availed himself of it.

It was with a queer jumble of feelings palpitating in his young bosom that Terry, attired as never before in his life, set out for Long Wharf on Monday morning. Blind Alley seemed to swarm with women and children, who first gazed in wild-eyed astonishment at his appearance, and then proceeded to give vent to their admiration or envy in remarks that would have sorely tried the composure of a stump orator hardened by many campaigns.

"The blessed saints presarve us! Did ye ever see the loike?" gasped Mrs. O'Rafferty, with a side glance at the gutter, where her own Phelim was hunting for a lost marble, and looking more like a mud-turtle than a bit of humanity.