The Shoemaker's Daughters CHAPTER 14.
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"'Any luck, Ike?' was the first salutation I met from my two fellow-runaways.
"'None at all,' I replied, despondingly.
"'This is rather a poor kind of business, I'm thinking,' said Bill, with an effort to seem indifferent. But I could see that he was far from being easy in mind.
"'Poor enough,' I said, 'as far as I have had anything to do with it. I wish I was safely back in Baltimore again.'
"'Well, I can't just say that I do,' replied Tom. 'I'm a free man, now, and free I'm determined to remain. I'm going to quit the trade, what do you think of that?'
"'Going to quit the trade!' I said, in surprise. 'Well, and what then?'
"'Why, I mean to go to sea; for there is no chance of getting work here. Every shoemaker in the place suspects me of being a runaway apprentice, and won't have anything to do with me.'
"'But how are you going to get on board of a vessel?' I asked.
"'That's easy enough. A schooner sails from here tomorrow for Norfolk; and the captain says he will give me a passage down; and when once there, he says, there will be chances enough to get to sea, either in the United States or merchant service. I want Bill to go, but he's afraid of salt water. Won't you go? I think I can get you a passage down.'
"To this I shook my head. I never liked the idea of going to sea. 'And what are you going to do, Bill?' I asked.
"'Me?' he said, with a slight uneasy emotion. 'Why — why — seeing no chance of getting any work here, for everyone that I've been to see, will have nothing to do with me; I have agreed to keep bar in a tavern.'
"'Keep bar?' I said, in surprise; for as bad as I was, I had always thought it degrading to mix liquor for every drunken fellow and worthless negro.
"'It's a fact,' said Bill, rather sadly. 'I never thought I would come to this, but I must do it — or starve.'
"'When do you begin?' I asked.
"'The present bar-keeper has become so worthless, that he is to be sent away this afternoon, and then I shall commence.'
"'You'd better go to sea with me,' said Tom.
"Bill shook his head.
"'Suppose we all go back,' said I.
"'Never!' replied Tom, emphatically, and, "'Never,' added Bill, with less heartiness.
"After wandering about for a while, we went down to the wharf on the Potomac, where lay the vessel in which Tom was to sail for Norfolk. The captain, who seemed to have taken a liking to him, wanted us all to stay to dinner. After this was over, we shook hands with Tom, who was to leave in the morning, and Bill and I went back to the city, a little melancholy at parting with an old companion, and at the doubtful prospect before us.
"As we entered the city, near the market-house, Bill pointed to a sign before a low, dirty-looking saloon, on which were the words — 'Lafayette Hotel and Traveler's Retreat.'
"'That's the place,' he said.
"'What place?' I asked, for I did not understand him.
"'Why the tavern where I am going.'
"'Don't call that a tavern, Bill,' said I.
'It's nothing but a base, mean, dirty saloon.'
"'Well, that's the place,' he said, 'any how. You know the old copy the master set us at night school: Necessity knows no law.'
"I did not reply, for I felt too bad. In a few moments we were at the door, and I went in with him. The appearance inside was even worse than it was outside. The room was small, with a counter and lattice work on one side. A row of decanters occupied one shelf, and below this were three barrels, marked 'Whiskey,' 'brandy,' and 'rum.' The upper shelves behind the counter were filled with a medley that it would be hard to describe. There were apples, cakes, herrings, onions, and tumblers containing marbles, slate pencils, etc. In the window were several decanters of liquor, with lemons between them; some cakes and some herrings. At the end of the row of shelves, hung several strings of onions. This was the tavern!
"The inhabitants consisted of a red-faced man behind the counter, who greeted Bill as we entered with a kind word and a smile — two men playing dominoes at a table — a negro drinking at the counter, and a man half drunk, lounging upon a bench. The fumes of the place, at first, made me feel sick; but in a little while I could breathe the air more freely. The keeper of the shop drew us some liquor, and after I had taken a glass, I began to feel much happier than I had been for several days. Bill took his place as bar-keeper, and drew liquor and mixed drinks with a dexterity which seemed to gratify the owner of the place very much; for he looked upon every movement with a peculiar smile. I stayed until nearly night, and then went over again to Georgetown. The old lady seemed glad to see me, and asked why I had not been to dinner. I made some excuse, but did not give the true reason.
"'I think I have got you some work,' she said. 'I went to see an old friend of mine, in the trade, and he said he thought he could engage you.'
"I was, of course, very much pleased at this news, and, in the morning, Mrs. Armor went with me to the shop where work had been promised. I was surprised and confused on entering, to find myself in the same shop, where, but two or three days before, I had falsely stated that I had served my time in Washington.
"'This is the young man I was speaking to you about,' said my kind old friend, advancing to the counter, behind which stood the master, busy at the cutting-board.
"'I am sorry to tell you, Mrs. Armor,' said the man, gravely, 'that I can't engage him in my shop;' eyeing me at the same time with a forbidding aspect.
"'And why not?' she asked.
"'Because he is a runaway apprentice, and a liar to boot!' replied the man, in a half angry tone.
"Mrs. Armor turned upon me a look of doubt and inquiry, and thus appealed to, I said —
"'I am sorry to say, Mrs. Armor, that, when questioned here a few days ago, I said that I had served my time in Washington. But, what could I say? If I had confessed that I had left my master — what chance would there have been for work?'
"'You understand now, sir, how he is situated, and why he tried to mislead you,' said the old woman, turning to the owner of the shop. 'He has been very badly treated, and almostforced to leave his master. He must have work — or he can't live. Won't you give him just a little? Without money or friends in a strange place, his situation is necessarily a distressing one.'
"'No, I will not give him a bit of work!' he replied. 'Let him go home to his master and behave himself. A boy that will lie about one thing — will lie about another. And, if you'll take my advice, Mrs. Armor, you'll turn him out of doors, and tell him to go about his business!'
"'Never!' said the old woman, as she turned away, and we left the shop together.
"We walked along in silence until we came to her house, which we entered, and then she said kindly —
"'Ike, you must not be discouraged. All the people in Georgetown aren't like that man, even if he is an old friend of mine. You must stay here until something turns up in your favor; and that will be right soon, I feel certain.'
"'I hope so,' I said, gloomily. But I felt too bad to say much. After supper that night, I went over to the city to see Bill. I found him busy behind the counter, mixing liquor for several people who stood around the bar. He seemed cheerful, and even pleased with his new employment; for he chatted away as lively as any of the noisy inhabitants of the tavern. He did not see me when I entered, for the room was pretty full, and, as I retired to the back part, near a table where some men were playing cards, and others throwingdice, I had a chance to look on without being observed. I soon saw him pour out some brandy in a glass, and after adding some sugar and water — drank it off himself. I now perceived that his face was flushed, and that, about his manner, there was an unusual degree of excitement. 'Getting tipsy, as I live!' I said, laughing to myself. At that moment, his eye rested upon me, and I advanced to the bar.
"'What'll you drink, Ike?' was his first salutation.
"'Give me some brandy toddy,' I said.
"'That's the stuff for you. It will do your heart good, Ike,' he said, as he pushed my glass across the counter.
"I drank it off at a single draught, and soon began to feel my spirits rising. Bill was kept busy for the next hour by the constant calls of customers, and I had but little chance to talk with him. I sat near the table most of this time, looking at the tavern-keeper of the place and another man, who were playing cards. They had a good deal of money staked, and the tavern-keeper won at almost every game. The man with whom he was playing, was a stout countryman, who grew more and more restless and excited every moment. Suddenly he sprang from the table —
"'You have cheated me!' he said, with a bitter curse, clenching his fist, and looking the tavern-keeper fiercely in the face.
"'You are a liar!' said the tavern-keeper, also springing up and seizing the countryman by the throat. In the next moment, a powerful blow from the latter knocked him at full length upon the floor.
"He was soon upon his feet again, his face inflamed, and his eyes flashed fire. With a dreadful curse, he hurled a chair, which he had seized, in rising, at the head of his antagonist, who, in turn, fell to the floor. Without giving him an opportunity to rise, the tavern-keeper kicked him in the face and stomach three or four times, causing the blood to gush from his mouth and nose. Then dragging him to the door, be dashed him into the street, swearing, that if he came in again — he would murder him. The man did not attempt to re-enter, and I felt greatly relieved. While the scuffle was going on, I had retreated inside of the bar. Already, Bill seemed to have a degree of relish for such scenes.
"'He's a whole team, isn't he?' he said, alluding to the keeper of the tavern. I felt no inclination to reply, and so remained silent. In a few minutes I went away, half resolving never again to enter the place. Still more troubled in mind, I hastened along the lonesome way back to Georgetown. But I will not trouble you with these minute details. In the course of the next few weeks, I was enabled to get some work; and nearly all the money I earned, I gave to my kind old friend. Every now and then my desire to see Bill would return, and then I would go over to the city, and spend an evening at the 'Lafayette Hotel.' Bill had learned to play cards, and dominoes, and to handle the dice-box. He would always insist upon my playing, and I soon grew fond of the pastime. Some little stake was always necessary to keep up the interest of the game, and this created a desire to be winner — and at last, for the profits of successful playing. But I could rarely get ahead of Bill, who would win and pocket my money with as much pleasure as if I had been a stranger or his enemy.
"This continued, until one night, in returning from the city, I was caught in a heavy thunder-shower, and wetted to the skin. From that night, for two or three months, I was unable to do anything at all. I had a long spell of sickness, and suffered much. But never once, during that time, did old Mrs. Armor treat me with coldness. She continued like a mother, in all her actions towards me. When I got able to go about, I could get no work. My clothes were nearly all worn out, and I did not want to be a burden any longer, upon my old friend. As I said before, she gave me money enough to pay my passage as far as Fredericksburg. I did not see Bill before I left. To tell the truth, I was afraid that he would persuade me to play a game, and win my passage money."
When Ike had finished his narration, which was listened to with much interest, Mr. Marshall remarked, that runaway apprentices generally had a pretty hard time of it.
"Indeed, they have, sir," said Ike. "I was happy at home, in comparison with what I have been since I went away."
"And I hope you will be happier still when you go back," said Anne.
"I hope I shall, Miss Anne," replied the boy. "If I am not, I suppose it will be all my own fault."
"I think you will be happy, Ike," she said. "For I am sure, that Mr. and Mrs. Hardamer will be very kind to you, if you will only try to please them."
"Yes, they will, Ike, I can assure you," added Mrs. Anderson.
"How glad I shall be to get home once more!" said the boy, warming with the idea.
When the steamboat drew up at Potomac Creek, Mr. Marshall handed Ike a ticket for his passage back to Washington, and also slipped a bank note into his hand, with an injunction not to forget his old friend in Georgetown. The tears stood in the eyes of the boy, as he shook hands with Anne and Genevieve. But the parting was hurried and brief, and he was soon left alone, to linger for hours in the cabin of the steamboat, before he was again on his way back. On his arrival in Washington, he went over to Georgetown to see Mrs. Armor.
"Why, bless my heart, Ike! What has brought you back so soon?" exclaimed the old woman in surprise, as he entered her humble abode.
"I am going home," was Ike's brief answer.
"Perhaps it's the best thing you can do," said Mrs. Armor, her face brightening up. "I have often thought so; but I couldn't find the heart to urge it upon you. But what has made you change your mind?"
Ike related the interview which had taken place on board of the steamboat, and ended by saying —
"Here is the note which Mr. Marshall gave me. You see it is for fifty dollars. Get it changed, and let me have as much as will carry me to Baltimore. The rest, you will keep as partpay for what you have done for me."
The old woman was poor, and the expense Ike had been to her — she had felt a good deal; still she did not want to take the boy's money, much as she stood in need of it.
"I don't think I can take it, Ike," she said. "You need clothes very badly, and had better get yourself some."
"I won't have a dollar more than will carry me to Baltimore!" replied Ike, emphatically. "So you will have to keep it."
The old woman did not reply. "A good deed is never lost," were the words which came into her thoughts; and she looked upon Ike with a new feeling of regard, and with something of regret at the separation soon to take place.
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