And now let's take a big jump forward. Hold your breath while we gatherour muscles for the effort, for when we land, it is at a point four yearsfrom the day when Tom Gordon entered the employ of Josiah Warmore, theleading merchant in the town of Bellemore, on the Hudson.
There have been many changes in those years, but in some respects slightdifferences could be noted. It would be hard to tell from looking at Mr.Warmore that he was one day older than when he stopped at the home ofFarmer Pitcairn and hired Tom Gordon. His hair and whiskers were so whiteat that time that they could not grow any whiter. The face wears the samekindly expression, the shoulders are no more stooped than they were then,and his walk is as brisk and sprightly as ever. Few of his clerks are morealert of movement than he.
Much the same may be said of Farmer Pitcairn and his wife. Possibly thereis an additional wrinkle or two on their homely faces, but their heartsare as genial and as kindly as ever. They love Tom Gordon as if he weretheir own son, and he fully returns the affection they feel for him.
And how has it been with Tom during those four years?
Well, he has had his shadow and sunshine, like the rest of us, but therehas been far more of the latter than the former. How could it beotherwise, when I tell you that he has stood as firm as a rock upon theprinciples that were implanted in his heart and soul by his noble mother?He could never forget her teachings, which were added to by other wise andgood persons with whom he was thrown in contact later.
Now, Tom Gordon became what I call a healthy, sensible Christian youth. Hewas not the good boy we used to read about in the Sunday-school books, whomopes around, forever preaching a sermon whenever he opens his lips, andfinding a "lesson" in everything, even the leap of a grasshopper. Whenthose boys become so good that they can be no better, they generally liedown, call all their playmates around them, deliver a farewell sermon, andthen depart. The mistake of that sort of life is that it makes religionunattractive. It gives the idea that "the good die young," and that ajolly, genial, fun-loving boy, bubbling over sometimes with mischief,cannot be a Christian, when he is the very one that most pleases hisheavenly Father.
Tom had his fun, his enjoyment, and now and then his crosses. Such thingsare inevitable and must be looked for. A thorn appeared in his side fromthe first. A young clerk that had entered the store a few weeks ahead ofhim was a sly, mean, gnarly fellow, who showed a dislike to the new-comerand annoyed him in every way possible. He was larger and apparentlystronger than Tom, and seemed determined to provoke a quarrel with him.
Tom would have been glad to challenge him to a bout at fisticuffs, for hewas confident he could vanquish him in short order. He often yearned to doso. More than once the hot defiance was tugging at his lips; but thememory of poor Jim Travers's parting words, "Tom, try to be better: I tellyou, you won't be sorry when you come to die," restrained the angryutterance and the hasty blow.
Max Zeigler was one of those young men that are inherently mean. He wasborn that way, and his ugly disposition increased with his years. Youoccasionally meet such persons, whose nature it seems impossible to affectby any method of treatment. What was specially aggravating in Tom Gordon'splace was that Zeigler seemed to feel no dislike of any one in the storebesides himself. He slurred him the first day he met him, and kept it upunremittingly.
Tom's first course was to accept these slurs in silence. His face oftenflushed, when he saw the smiles on the countenances of the other clerks,excited by some cutting witticism of Zeigler at the expense of himself.His tormentor accepted the silence as proof of the timidity or rathercowardice of the new employee, and rattled off his insults faster thanever. While kindness as a rule will disarm a foe, there are some ingratesso constituted that it moves them the other way. When Tom replied gentlyto Zeigler, and asked him privately why he annoyed him without cause, thefellow sneered the more at him. He took pains to indulge in profanity andobscenity before Tom, and received the full reward he sought when he sawhow much his course grieved him.
Finally Tom struck the remedy. It was simple. He showed perfectindifference toward his persecutor. When Zeigler made a cutting remark, heacted as if he did not hear him. He continued his conversation withanother; and though his enemy repeated his words, they did not seem toenter the ears of Tom. Even when Zeigler put a question direct to him, itwas ignored.
It then became the turn of Zeigler to flush at the general smile that wentround. At last he had been rebuffed.
One afternoon, when there was little custom in the store, Tom entered oneof the rear rooms, where were Zeigler and two other clerks. The fellow'sheart rankled at the snubbing he had received, and he was plotting someway of "getting even" with the sanctimonious fellow, who would neverswear or indulge in a coarse word.
"This is just the place for a wrestling match," remarked Zeigler. "Gordon,I will go you."
There was no ignoring this challenge. Tom was a wonderfully fine wrestler,but none present knew it. He affected to be timid.
"You are bigger than I, and it would hardly be fair," replied Tom,surveying the bulky form of his challenger.
"O pshaw! you are as heavy as I; besides, I will let you down easy."
"Try him, Gordon," whispered one of the clerks.
"If you will promise not to throw me too hard," said Tom doubtfully, "Iwill take one turn with you."
"Of course I won't hurt you," grinned Zeigler, eager for the chance tohumiliate the fellow whom he despised.
All saw his purpose, and none more plainly than Tom himself.
The two doffed their coats and vests, and took their station in the middleof the room, with their arms interlocked. Tom pretended an awkwardnesswhich deceived the others, and convinced Zeigler, to use a commonexpression, he had a "cinch" in this little affair.
They struggled for a minute, and then, with the suddenness seemingly of aflash of lightning, Zeigler's heels shot toward the ceiling, and he camedown on his back with a crash that shook the windows.
"I thought you knew something about wrestling," remarked Tom, standingerect, and looking down on him with a smile, "but you don't know anythingat all."
The two spectators were convulsed with laughter. Zeigler's face was afiery crimson, and he scrambled to his feet in a fury.
"That was a slip; you can't do it again!" he exclaimed, springing at Tomand hastily locking arms with him.
"All right; we'll see. Now do your best, for I mean to throw you just as Idid a minute ago. Are you ready?"
"Of course I am; go ahead."
Zeigler was not lacking in a certain skill. The lesson he had justreceived was not lost on him. He was cautious, tricky, and alert--more sothan Tom suspected, and he put forth the utmost cunning of which he wascapable.
They twisted, swayed back and forth, and once Tom came within a hair offalling, owing to a slight slip of one foot. But he was on his mettle,and, putting forth his whole might and ability, he flung his antagonist onhis back with a violence that almost drove the breath from his body.
"Fudge!" remarked Tom, turning away in disgust; "I'll give you a fewlessons if you wish to learn how to wrestle. Any way, you had better takelessons of some person before you bother _me_ again."
The other two clerks had dropped upon the nearest stools, and were holdingtheir sides with mirth.
"Zeigler," said one, when he recovered speech, "that's too big a contractfor you; you can't deliver the goods."
"You'll have to pay for those window-panes you shook out," added theother.
"I've got a set of boxing-gloves here," growled Zeigler, who tried toassume an indifference, as he brushed off his clothes and looked up withflaming face. "I'd like to try you with them."
"I'm agreeable," replied Tom, who had seen Zeigler bang the other clerksaround with the gloves as he pleased. "I learned something of the businesswhen I was a newsboy. I hope you are better at it than you are atwrestling."
While Tom was speaking he was drawing on a pair of gloves and fixing thestrings at the wrist. Zeigler was a little uneasy at th
e coolness of hisopponent, and his readiness in accepting his challenge. Then, too, when hetook his position, with his left foot advanced, his right glove in frontof his chest, his left arm extended, the pose was so like a professional,that Zeigler's misgivings increased. Still he felt great confidence inhis own skill, and there was no criticism to be made upon his positionwhen he faced the youth, for whose vanquishment he would have given halfhis year's salary.
"Now," said Tom, with his exasperating coolness, "I propose that _each dohis best_. I don't suppose you want any baby play. I don't. I invite youto hit me as often and as hard as you can. I'm going to do the same withyou. _Time_!"
They began dancing about a common center, sawing their arms back andforth, each looking sharply in the other's eye and on the alert for anopening.
Tom meant to make the other lead; for, before assuming the aggressive, hewished to know more about Zeigler. It might be he possessed greater skillthan Tom believed. He meant to learn something of his style.
They had circled round several times, when Zeigler thought he saw hischance, and feinting quickly, let fly with his left. Instead of parryingthe blow, Tom dodged it by throwing his head back. The opportunity was acapital one to counter on Zeigler, but Tom made no effort to do so. Itlooked as if he lacked the quickness and skill, and failed to see hischance.
Zeigler now began edging nearer. He had come within an inch of reachingthe face of Tom, when he failed to counter. A little closer, and he wassure he could "knock him out." At any rate, if he failed to do so, he hadnothing to fear from a foe who did not know enough to use an elementaladvantage.
A quick step forward at the instant of feinting with his right, andZeigler again let fly with his left straight from the shoulder. It was avicious blow, and, had it landed, would have done damage; but a flirt ofthe head allowed it to glide harmlessly over the shoulder. At the instantof doing so, Tom cross-countered with a quickness and force that could nothave been excelled. That is to say, as Zeigler's left glove was dartingpast Tom's left ear, and the momentum of the young man's body was throwinghim forward, Tom's right hand shot across the extended arm of the other,and landed with fearful force on the nose and mouth of his opponent.
It was a fierce drive; for its effect was intensified by the fact thatTom's glove met the head of the other as it was coming toward him. Itwould have been bad enough had it landed on a stationary object, but theobject was approaching from the opposite direction.
Tom and the two clerks were startled by the effect of the blow, forZeigler went down like a log, rolling over on his back, his handsflapping full length above his head, while he lay perfectly unconscious.
But when water was dashed in his face he revived. It was some time beforehe freed his mouth and nose of the crimson result of colliding with theglove; but, aided by the clerks, he donned his coat and vest, and assumedsomething like a presentable condition.
While this was going on, Tom Gordon sat in a chair a few feet away,looking on as though he felt little interest in the matter. He did nothelp shape the other up, for two reasons. His aid was not necessary, and,again, he knew it would not be acceptable to his discomfited antagonist.
"A rather neat blow, Zeigler," remarked Tom; "when you wish to even upmatters, I will be ready to accommodate you."
It sounded strange to the other clerks to hear the gentle Tom Gordon speakthus to the young man who had played the bully so long over him. Theyconcluded that the crushed worm had at last turned. The vanquished onemade no reply except to give the other a look of hatred, and leave theroom.
Now, there is not one person in a thousand who would not have beenconquered morally as well as physically by an experience like that of MaxZeigler. Such an utter overthrow would have made the bully the closefriend and champion of the other; but it was altogether different withZeigler. Before his swelled lip and bulging nose had resumed their normalappearance, he resumed his petty persecutions as before. Those who knew ofthe bout in the back room (and, indeed, every clerk quickly learned theparticulars) urged Tom to lay out his enemy so effectually that he wouldstay laid out.
Young Gordon, however, chose the better course. He affected the sameindifference as before, and frequently did not seem to hear the words ofhis enemy. The hardest duty Tom had to do was to keep back the scathingretorts of which he thought so often, and which would have silencedZeigler. Nothing, indeed, is more difficult for a high-spirited personthan to bridle his tongue under the lashings of another. _How_ few of usare equal to the task!
Chapter XXI.