The Little Gold Miners of the Sierras and Other Stories Part 16

P. C. C., that gentleman asked him rather quizzically how he liked "court business." Hal replied that he did not know surely, but guessed he might come to prefer it to office work and cataloguing.

"Well," said Mr. Bryce, "I am rather sorry to hear that, for I had thought of raising your wages. However, I am doubtful about employing essayists as office-boys. It might work badly."

"Has it, sir?" he asked; then in an embarra.s.sed manner, "I am not certain what you mean."

The lawyer made no reply, and Hal turned away crestfallen.

"O come back here, boy," called out Mr. Bryce then. "And by the way, can you tell me who is Nisus Sum?"

Harry wriggled with conflicting sensations until he could scarcely stand. At last he burst out: "What is that to you?"

"O not much!" replied Mr. Bryce, with an amused look, "only I hold an essay to return to him."

Hal grew so white that his employer pitied him, and forebore.

"You did not know I was chairman of the committee on the Old South Prizes, did you?" he added in a different tone.

"No, sir, I did not;" exclaimed Hal, flus.h.i.+ng to his very temples.

"And I did not know that you were 'Nisus Sum' until ten minutes ago."

"Well, this may be fun to you, sir, but it isn't to me," said Hal, almost with a sob.

"Look here, my boy, listen. You knew Mr. Akers died; well, he was one of the judges, and I was asked to take his place, and I consented, because I saw that I had an office-boy who would attend to his work."

Hal put his hand out vaguely towards the table as if to lean on it for support. Mr. Bryce's tone involuntarily softened as he continued: "I have been comparing the estimates sent in by the other judges, and I see that we agree that the first prize for 'Colonial Policy' is taken by 'Nisus Sum.'"

"'Nisus Sum,'" said the boy dreamily, "first prize." Then suddenly, as if beside himself, he twirled Mr. Bryce's chair round and round with the poor man in it until the lawyer had to exert his strength to stop him.

"That'll do," exclaimed he. "Don't get frantic, but it was really very risky for you to try to do my work and yours too. There was danger of doing neither satisfactorily."

"Did I neglect anything, sir? you know I didn't. I began to read up for the essay before father was taken sick, and then when that came, I was bound I would do something at last."

"Well, well, you succeeded, didn't you? Go home now and tell them; only, remember this," and Mr. Bryce grew stern, "don't think because you have succeeded now that you always are to win. Stick to your daily work. Be a good clerk first, that you may be a good historian later."

"Trust me," said Hal gravely, who felt the awe of success stealing over him. He felt queer, yet happy and humble; and bowing low, he left the room. It took but a few moments for him to rush home; and if his father had not gained in strength he certainly would have suffered, for Hal bounded into the room, upsetting the chairs and a table and spinning his mother round in circles somewhat as he had treated Mr. Bryce, he exclaimed:

"I have won! I have won! first prize! Now you can be sick, father, as long as you please."

Then followed explanation and a quiet talk which made Harry always look back upon that evening as the happiest one of his boyhood.

It only remains to add that he was as good as his word; he was an able clerk first, and an historian only as a middle-aged man.

IN THE SECOND DORMITORY.

Ramon Valdez was an acquisition. He was a Cuban. Father had picked him up at Havana, where he was looking out for somebody who could teach him English instead of the queer jabber that he learned, second-hand, from a wizened little French adventurer, who had set up as a teacher of languages, and had nearly forgotten even his own. I did get sold in the most ridiculous way over father's telegram that announced his coming!

But that's all over--they have about forgotten it.

He was real fun after we got acquainted; he didn't seem to know anything about base-ball, and couldn't catch a fly worth a cent! guess it is too hot in Havana to play ball. He couldn't fish either, but it wasn't the season for that, so we didn't care. But he could ride! He mounted the colt one day, bareback, and went around the lot five times before he fell off, and not one of us boys could stay on a rod. We respected him some after that.

But he was queer! The first thing mother did was to buy him a lung protector, as he wasn't acclimated yet, she said. Jack, the six-year-old, got hold of it and put it on outside of his frock, and then came galloping around with it on in that way. Well, Ramon came down to breakfast the next morning with that protector on just as Jack had fixed it! Then he wanted some "john-bread." Where he got it, I don't know, but what he meant was "johnny-cake."

I heard him reciting some poetry to Mollie one night--that was father's way in teaching languages, to make us commit poetry and recite to each other--and this was what he made of it!

Zoze zevening bells, Zoze zevening bells!

How may-nay tales zheir moozic tells Of yuz an' home an' zat sweet time W'en first I heard zheir queezing chime.

"Their what, Ramon?" cried Mollie.

"Zheir queezing chime," he repeated innocently, staring at her.

"Soothing, Ramon, soothing!" He laughed away too, like a good fellow, and didn't get mad in the least. I suppose our Spanish was as funny to him. He never laughed at us, though; I presume he was too polite.

But he just got into the ways of us boys about as quickly as any new boy that ever came to the Highland School, and before he had been there two weeks he was in a sc.r.a.pe!

It's dreadfully dull to be the teacher's son. You have to do just _so_, you know, "to set a good example," and it isn't any fun. Father never asked me to tell what was going on, no matter what was up; but he put me "upon honor" not to go in myself, so of course I had to keep out. But the fellows understood, and used to tell me all about it afterward, and as somehow they always came to grief, I felt a little more contented than I might have done.

One night we _could_ not get to sleep.

The long moonbeams came down athwart the dormitory through the great windows, and lay in broad parallelograms, bisected and quartered, upon the floor. We got our geometry lesson out of the figures, and reeled off a whole section of theorems, without the least effect. That ought, by rights, to be enough to set a whole houseful of boys journeying into the Land of Nod, but it didn't us.

Father heard us jabbering and came up to see what the matter was, but our sudden interest in the science of planes and prisms so amused him that he laughed all the way down-stairs; for Charlie Brown crept to the door and heard him.

At last Frank Hapgood--"Happy-go-lucky"--sat up in desperation, flung his pillow on the floor, got out of bed deliberately and sat down on it.

Nine other pillows, nine other white-robed figures solemnly followed suit. Said Harry Eveleth, "Fellows, I've tried to do my duty and go to sleep, and I can't. We _must_ do something!"

A silence, broken by a sigh from Ramon. "Ah! on nights like zis I have gone to ze--ze zoogar houses to sleep some time, in Habana!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD HORSE WAS SLEEPY ... BUT THEY WERE READY AT LAST.]

Frank "Happy" gave a start, looked at the circle intently, then gave a little nod, and winked.

Eight others of the owl committee gave a simultaneous start in answer, as though they had been unconsciously fooling around a galvanic battery.

The gentleman from Havana alone was quiet; he did not yet understand, but the others did, and he was ready to follow. Texan herders say that a drove of ten thousand cattle will sometimes at night leap to their feet like a flash, without apparent cause or warning. There will be a roar of thundering hoofs, a distant rumble, and that herd will have vanished like smoke from the camp-fire, "on the stampede!" Our boys had "stampeded."

Ten or fifteen minutes later a certain wakeful teacher was pleasantly made aware of the fact that a cataract of boys, each with one of the nice white blankets belonging to _Mrs._ Teacher, tied across his shoulders, was streaming down the lightning-rod by his window; and stepping lightly thither, he caught a disconnected word or two about "old Brown's sugar-house."

"How shall we get her out?"

"Tie up her feet in straw!"

"But the carriage will make such a racket!"

"Well"--after a moment's thought--"we can take the cart; that's been newly greased."