Three People Part 21

"Oh, you haven't got to that yet; it is away over in the arithmetic."

"But, I tell you, I've _got_ to get at it right away--it's necessary. I don't want it in the arithmetic; I want to do it."

Which was and always _would_ be the marked difference between this boy's and girl's education. She learned a thing because it was in the book; he learned a thing in order to use it.

"What do you want of tenths, anyhow? Why can't you wait until you get there?"

"'Cause things that they ought to be helping to do can't wait till I've got there. I need to use one of them right away. Come, tell me about them."

"Well," said Winny, "where's your slate? Here are six-tenths, made so--6/10."

Tode looked with eager yet bewildered eyes. What had that figure six on top of that figure ten, to do with Mr. Birge's earnest appeal to all who called themselves by the name of Christian to make one-tenth of their money holy to the Lord?

"What's one-tenth then?" he said at last, hoping that this was something which would look less puzzling.

"Why, _this_ is one tenth." And Winny made a very graceful one, and a neat ten, and drew a prim bewildering little line between them.

"That is the way to write it. Ten-tenths make a whole, and one-tenth is written just as I've shown you."

"But, Winny," said Tode, in desperation, "never mind writing it. I don't care _how_ they write it; tell me how they _do_ it."

"How to _do_ it! I don't know what you mean. Ten-tenths make a whole, I tell you, and one-tenth is just one-tenth of it, and that's all there is about it."

"The whole of what, Winny?"

"The whole of anything. It takes ten-tenths to make a whole one."

Poor puzzled Tode! What strange language was this that Winny talked?

Suppose he hadn't a whole one after all, since it took ten-tenths to make it, and he couldn't even find out what _one_ of them was. Suppose he should never have a whole one in his life, ought he not then to give anything to help on all those grand doings which Mr. Birge told about?

"I don't understand a bit about it," he said at last, in a despairing tone.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't," Winny answered, touches of triumph and complaisance sounding in her voice. "You musn't expect to understand such hard things until you get to them."

And now the dear old mother, who had never studied fractions out of a book in her life, came suddenly to the rescue.

"Have you been reading about the tenths in your Bible, deary?" she asked, with winning sympathy.

"No, I didn't know they were there till to-night, but I've been hearing about them, how the folks always used to give one-tenth, and Mr. Birge made it out that we ought to now, but I don't know what it is."

The old lady dived down into her work-basket and produced a little blue bag full of b.u.t.tons, of all shapes and sizes.

"Let's you and me see if we can't study it out," she said, encouragingly. "You just count out ten of the nicest looking of them white b.u.t.tons, and lay them along in a row."

Tode swiftly and silently did as directed, and waited for light to dawn on this dark subject. The old lady bent with thoughtful face over the table, and looked fixedly at the innocent b.u.t.tons before she commenced.

"Now suppose," she said, impressively, "that every single one of them b.u.t.tons was a five dollar bill."

"My!" said Tode, chuckling, in spite of himself, at the magnitude of the conception, but growing deeply interested as his teacher proceeded.

"And suppose the money was _all_ yours. Well, now, it's in ten piles, _ain't_ it? Well, suppose you take one of them piles away, and make up your mind to give it all to the Lord. Now, deary, I've studied over this a good deal to see what I ought to give, and it's my opinion that if you did that you'd be giving your tenth. Now, Winny, haven't we got at it--ain't that so?"

"Of course," said Winny, leaving her book and coming around to attend to the b.u.t.tons. "Isn't that exactly what I said? One, two, three, four. You have got ten-tenths here to make the whole, and one of them is one-tenth."

"Humph!" said Tode, "You might have said it, but it didn't sound like it one mite, and don't yet. I don't see as there's any ten-_tenths_ there at all; there's ten _b.u.t.tons_, leastways five dollar bills."

"That's because you are not far enough advanced to understand," answered Winny, going loftily back to her seat.

"But see here," said Tode. "Suppose I had a lot of money, say--well, a hundred dollars, all in ones and twos, you know--_then_ how could I manage?"

"Make ten piles of it, deary, don't you see? Put just as much in one pile as another, and then you'd have it."

Tode gave the subject a moment's earnest thought; then he gave a quick clear whistle.

"Yes, I see--all I've got to do is to keep my money in exactly ten piles; no matter how much I get never make another, but pile it on to them ten, serve each one alike, and then just understand that one of 'em ain't mine at all, but belongs to the Lord, and that's all."

"That's all," said the little old lady, with trembling eagerness. "And don't it look reasonable, like?"

"I should think it did," Tode answered, in a tone which said he had settled a very puzzling question for all time.

When he went to his room that evening he took out from the ma.s.s in his pocket a crumpled bit of paper, and looked at some writing on it. It read: "Genesis xxviii. 22." Mr. Birge had spoken of that verse, and Tode had marked it down. Now he carefully sought out the verse and carefully read it over several times; then he got down on his knees and prayed it aloud: "And of _all_ that thou shalt give me, I will surely give the tenth unto thee."

It was later in the season, quite midsummer, when the Rev. Mr. Birge, rus.h.i.+ng eagerly down town past Tode's place of business, suddenly came to a halt. The place was unique and inviting enough, graceful awning floating out over the box, covered with its white cloth, fresh fruits on tins of ice, fresh cakes covered with snowy napkins, dainty bouquets of flowers, gleaming here and there, iced lemonade waiting to be poured into sparkling gla.s.ses--everything faultlessly pure and clean; but it was none of these things that halted Mr. Birge, nor yet the "No Bottles"

which still spoke eloquently of the owner's principles, but the name--TODE MALL! The Rev. Mr. Birge had heard that singular combination of names but once in his life, and then under circ.u.mstances he had never forgotten. He stood irresolute a moment, then turned back and came under the little awning. Tode's face glowed with pleasure as he flung aside his grammar and came briskly forward to wait on his distinguished guest.

"I'll take a gla.s.s of lemonade, if you please," began Mr. Birge, preparing to feel his way cautiously into the heart of this bright eyed boy, and find if he was indeed the one whose mother had prayed for him but once in her life, and that on her dying bed.

"Yes, sir," answered Tode, promptly, giving the gla.s.ses little gleeful c.h.i.n.ks as he singled out the clearest.

"I see you keep a temperance establishment. I'm glad of that. I didn't expect to find a place in this quarter of the city where a temperance man could get any refreshment."

"Yes, sir, that's why I came down here to do business, 'cause there was nothing but rum all around here, and I thought it was time they had the other side of the story; and things _are_ improving some. The man that kept the saloon right next to me drank himself to death, and broke down, and the man that moved in is going to keep Yankee notions instead of whisky."

By a few skillfully put questions Mr. Birge satisfied himself that the brisk young person who talked about "doing business" and his small acquaintance of the Albany cellar were one and the same; and by this time, drink as slowly as he could, the lemonade was exhausted. So, bound to be a valuable customer, he tried again.

"What nice things do you keep hidden under that dainty napkin? Cakes, eh? Suppose I take one. Do they go well with lemonade?"

"First-rate, sir." And Tode's face was radiant with pleasure as he saw not only one but three of Winny's delicious cream cakes disappear.

Then Mr. Birge took out his pocket-book. It was no part of his intention just then and there to betray any previous knowledge of the boy's history; the little scene in that life drama which he had helped enact was too solemn and sacred, too fraught with what might be made into tender memories, to be given by a stranger into the hands of a rough and probably hardened boy; he could keep it to tell gently to this poor fellow in the quiet of some softly-lighted room, when he should have gained an influence over him for good, for he was a fisher of boys as well as men, this good man; and he told himself that the Lord had thrown this self-same boy into his path again, to give him a chance to do the work which a few hours' delay had robbed him of years ago; and Mr. Birge knew very well that opportunities to do the work which had been let slip, nine years before, came rarely to any man. And he was glad, and he was going to be very wary and wise, therefore he drew forth his pocket-book.

"Now what am I to pay you for this excellent lunch?"

"Nothing, sir." And Tode's cheeks fairly blazed with joy.

"Nothing!" answered the astonished customer.

"Yes, sir, _nothing_. I don't charge my minister anything for lunch.