An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 9.
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"Is it all settled, Harry?"
"The old man couldn't but give his consent, though it came reluctantly. And then he gave me some advice."
"Good advice, no doubt. What was it like?"
"That's more than I can tell."
"Went into one ear and out of the other, eh?"
"Not even that. It didn't find its way into either ear. I wanted his daughter, and not his advice."
"So far so good. But the next question is, how soon will he consent to let you marry her?"
"Next year!" in a tone of bitter irony.
"Never, you had better say."
"It will be never, if not within a year, that is certain."
"That confounded trial will be here in less than two months."
"And in less than two months all my hopes will be scattered before the wind, if I cannot manage to secure Bell's hand within that period."
"Is there any possible hope of doing so?"
"I'm afraid not. But I must try. While there's life, there is hope, Tom, as the doctors say. So far I have managed to throw dust in the old people's eyes, and get their consent to marry Bell. I must now do my best to accomplish another end, fully as important as the first."
"How will you go about it?"
"I have been racking my brains over that for the past week, in anticipation of the acceptance of my suit, and can thus far, think of but one way."
"What is that?"
"To get my old man in favor of an immediate marriage, and then set him to work on Martin."
"Do you think you can bring him over to your side?
"I can only try."
"But are you expectant?"
"I am. He knows I've been a pretty wild boy in my time, and is now tickled to death at the idea of my reformation. If I can only manage to get the notion into his head, that there is still some danger of my getting back into the gall of bitterness and the bonds of iniquity, until the protecting arms of a wife are thrown around me--he is safe on my side of the question."
"But how will you manage that? It would hardly do for you to say such a thing."
"Of course not. But I have a like-minded friend who has often served me before, and I am going to make a requisition on him for this especial business."
"Indeed! And who might that friend be?"
"He might be one Thomas Handy, alias, Tom Handy--a chap of notable parts--and, moreover is the said Tom Handy!"
"Exactly."
"And of course Tom Handy is still as ready to serve his friend as ever?"
"My hand for that. But how am I to manage this for you?"
"You must fall in with the old man."
"He doesn't like me very tenderly, you must remember."
"I am fully aware of that fact. But I have been wearing down his prejudice for the past week with might and main."
"You have?"
"O, yes. Whenever I could manage to get something to say about Thomas Handy, I lugged your honorable self in, head and shoulders."
"He didn't like my company, I presume?"
"It did disturb him at first. But I surprised him with the pleasing information that there had occurred in you a most beneficial change of late."
"O, dear! ha! ha! ha! Hush, Harry, or you'll kill me!"
"Mainly brought about, I informed him, by my influence and example. That you had been a wild boy in your time, there was no denying. But having sowed your wild oats, you were now setting seriously and earnestly about the business of life."
"He didn't believe you?"
"He did--every word! It would have done your heart good to see how pleased he was. 'You see, Harry,' he said, 'how much depends on every individual. We do not stand alone. Every act whether good or evil, carries its beneficial qr injurious effect into society, and there reproduces itself, often in innumerable forms. Let this truth, my dear son, sink deep into your heart. And for the sake of others, if not for your own, let every act bear with it a healthful influence.' Now what do you think of that?"
"He'd make a first-rate preacher, wouldn't he?"
"So I thought."
"And he is prepossessed in my favor!"
"O, decidedly. Now I want you to fall in with him as soon as possible, for no time is to be lost, and do the right thing by me. I heed not tell you in what way. That, of course, you understand."
"Perfectly."
"When do you think you can see him?"
"I don't know. I must fall in with him by accident, of course. Let me consider. At what time does he go to the store after dinner?"
"About four o'clock."
"Takes wine pretty freely at the table?"
"Yes."
"And is always in a good humor afterwards?"
"Generally so."
"I'll meet him, then, by accident on some corner between your house and the store, and walk down the street with him. As we go along, I will do my prettiest to interest him; so that when we pause at the store door, he'll say, 'Come! won't you walk in, Thomas?' Of course I will go in. How do you like that style of doing the thing?"
"Admirably!"
"But is he alone much in his counting-room?"
"Yes, especially in the afternoon. There is a cosy little office just back of the main counting room, in which is a large arm-chair, that has generally some attractions for him after a hearty dinner. He will, in all probability, invite you in there. If he does, you will have a fair chance at him."
And I'll do my prettiest." I will trust you for that, Tom. You are true blue, when you undertake to perform a friendly act."
About four o'clock on the next day, Thomas Handy met old Mr. Ware, "by accident," a short distance from his store. Earlier in the day, Henry had artfully introduced his friend in conversation, and by the relation of some imagined circumstances, and the repetition of some imagined fine sentiments attributed to him, very much interested his father in the young man. He was, in consequence, prepared to give him a pleasant word and a bland smile, which Handy appropriated very coolly and very naturally. Then, as he was going the same way, a pleasant conversation sprung up, which was just at a point of interest when they arrived at Mr. Ware's store, that made him feel inclined to invite the young man to walk in. Of course, Thomas Handy made no excuse. In a few moments after, he was snugly seated in the cosy little office of which Henry had told him, with Mr. Ware as snugly fixed in his great armchair.
"Well, Thomas," remarked the old gentleman, after he had got fairly settled, looking at Handy with quite a complacent, benevolent expression on his countenance, "it must be as great a pleasure to your father, as it is to me, to know that you young men are beginning to see with different eyes, and to act from different views."
"Indeed, sir, it is," was the prompt, cool, heartless reply. "My father seems like another man. But you can, no doubt, enter into his feelings more fully than I can."
"Very truly said. None but a father can possibly realize, fully, a father's feelings under such circumstances. For my part, I can say, that the change which has become apparent in Harry, has taken a mountain from my heart."
"No doubt of it, sir! No doubt of it!" was Handy's fervent response. "For the change in Harry has been great indeed."
"Indeed it has."
"And I most earnestly trust that he will abide by it."
"Abide by it? He must abide by it, Thomas! I cannot think of his going back again. It would almost kill me. O, if he only knew the world of misery I have suffered in consequence of his past life--he would die rather than think of returning to his previous habits!"
There was a tremulousness and a pathos in the old man's voice, that even reached, in some degree, the ice-bound feelings of the young man with whom he was conversing. But the effect was neither deep nor permanent. The selfish end he had in view, quickly dispersed even these small touches of nature.
"The influence of bad habits, confirmed by long indulgence, are not thrown off in a day, Mr. Ware," he replied, in a serious tone. "Both Henry and myself will have to struggle manfully before we have fully conquered. And struggle we will. In this effort we need all the kind consideration and aid that we can receive from those upon whom we have any claims."
"And surely you have both, Thomas."
"We have, so far as our condition can be appreciated. But you, who have never felt the force of such bad habits as we have contracted, can no more fully sympathize with us, than we can fully sympathize with you. Do you understand me?"
"I do. But why do you speak thus?"
"I have been led, almost involuntarily, to say what I have, Mr. Ware, from--from--"
"From what, Thomas? Speak out plainly."
The young man hesitated for a few moments, as if deliberating some question in his mind, and then said, in a serious tone--
"I had no thought of saying what I am now almost compelled to say, seeing that I have excited, unintentionally, a concern in your mind. You must not, of course, intimate to Harry, even remotely, that I have said what I am now about saying."
"O, no, of course not, Thomas."
"You know, then, I presume, that he has been addressing Bell Martin?"
"Yes."
"I learned from him yesterday that her father had consented to the marriage."
"So I heard last evening."
"But he thinks it time enough for them to get married in a year from now."
"Well?"
"Do you know that the first effort Henry made to reform his course of life, was after his affections had become fixed upon Bell?"
"I do not know it, for a certainty."
"It is true. We are intimate friends, and I know it to be true. He loves her fondly and passionately--and is, of course, very much disappointed at the stand which her father has taken. A year is a long time to wait."
"It is a good while--but it will soon pass."
To him it will not. The hours, and days, and weeks, will drag wearily and heavily. To speak frankly and seriously, Mr. Ware, I fear for its effect upon him. You know his ardent temperament, and how little used he has been to self-denial."
"You speak seriously, Thomas."
"It is because I feel serious in this matter. I am much attached to Harry, and whatever deeply concerns him, concerns me."
"In what way do you fear that it will affect him injuriously?"
"Indeed, sir, I can hardly tell myself. But I have a vague fear that I cannot shake off--a dim, troubled idea that has haunted me ever since I saw his strong manifestation of disappointment. For relief of mind, he may fall back in some weak moment, upon old and exciting pleasures, and then his danger would be great, very great. I tremble to think of it."
"You certainly alarm me, Thomas."
"I do not wish, Mr. Ware, to disturb your mind, and would not do so, did I not feel so deep an interest in your son. An ounce of prevention, you know, is worth a pound of cure. It is in the hope that through your influence, all danger may be put far away, that I now speak to you as I do."
"Thank you kindly, Thomas. I feel the force of your generous interest. But if that is all, we need not disturb our minds. They might just as well be married now, as well as a year hence."
"So I think. There can be no reason for waiting."
"None at all. I will see Mr. Martin, and have that matter settled at once."
"You have indeed, sir, taken a load from my mind," said Handy, earnestly and sincerely. Then, after a brief pause for reflection, he added:
"Urge Mr. Martin to permit the marriage to take place at a very early period, I shall never feel that Henry is perfectly safe, until this new relation is formed. Then, all danger will be passed."
"It shall take place soon, I pledge myself for that," replied Mr. Ware. "I understand Bell's father as well as he understands himself, and I know how to manage him. Trust me, sir; they shall be married as early as they wish."
Thus much gained. Handy soon after arose, and bade Mr. Ware good day.
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