My Monks of Vagabondia 7
Fritz buttoned his coat tightly around him, straightened up his old
bent back and taking the reins he proudly drove away.
"He did not come in a carriage," said a boy.
"It is the Self Masters that helped him," said another.
"You forget about the Sun-dial," I said.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE BUNGALOW FROM THE MAIN BUILDING]
THE WAITER WHO DID NOT WAIT
"Whoever is not master of himself is master of nobody."--_Stahl._
The Waiter Who Did Not Wait.
Had the schedule been followed faithfully, it was the time for the
auto party to have finished their tea and toast and be awaiting the
chauffeur to come up with their machine, but there seemed to be a delay
somewhere. Investigation revealed a peculiar condition of affairs. The
visitors were moving about rather impatiently while the lunch, instead
of being served, was rapidly getting chilled on the side-board in an
adjoining room.
"Where is Delmonico Bill, the attentive waiter," we asked, not a little
surprised at his disappearance. He was nowhere to be found, although we
hunted high and low for him.
But to manage men successfully who admit their irresponsibility needs
an overseer who is not only patient in disappointment, but who can
offer the pat excuse impromptu, and cheerfully reassure friends that
everything is all right, when--unless viewed from the standpoint of a
year from to-day--it is all wrong.
On this special day there seemed to be no apparent explanation except
that the waiter did not wait. But everything is a success that ends
happily, and the delayed lunch made the visitors more than ever in
sympathy with the Work. Whoever loves us for our mistakes, shall become
more endeared to us as they know us better. The diners--who had not
dined--saw humor in our embarrassment, and assured us of their best
wishes as they drove merrily away, leaving us stupidly asking ourselves
why the waiter had left his guests unserved.
It was nearly an hour later when Delmonico Bill came down out of the
hay loft, brushing the dust and hay-seed from his clothes.
"Has she gone?" he enquired stupidly.
"Who?" we asked him in chorus.
"My Sunday school teacher," he explained.
We awaited his further explanation. It was the first time we had heard
that he ever had such a teacher.
"It isn't that I am in the least ashamed to serve as a waiter. Menial
work that must be done is not humiliating to me. But when I looked
in at the visitors as I was arranging their lunch on the tray--I
recognized in one of the ladies my old Sunday school teacher--and when
I thought to what an extent I had disregarded her instructions I hadn't
the courage to face her.... My, but it was hot up in that haymow!...
"The last time I saw this good lady was the evening in the church
vestry when the class members gave her a group picture of themselves.
We all went to the local photographers together. There were three rows
of us--the tall, taller and tallest--all raw-boned rascals trying to
assume the spiritual pose of Sir Galahad. I never cared much for the
photograph, but the frame--the gold frame--much befiligreed was mighty
impressive. I remember it because there was seventy-five cents of my
money in it. I worked hard for that money. It took me the best part
of three nights to get it from Cy Watson--playing penny-ante in his
father's carriage house. But I was happy to turn it to such good use."
"It was tainted money," said one of the boys.
"There wasn't any such thing as tainted money in those days. Money was
money and no one had any of it.
"I made the presentation speech that night in the vestry. It was
a masterpiece. The teacher and the women folks all cried. I have
forgotten the speech now; thirty years of knocking around the world
crowds out the memory of many things that happened when we were boys in
Sunday school. But for years, I could repeat that piece. I rehearsed
for that evening over two months--I could say it forwards or backwards,
I could start it in the middle and say it both ways--in fact when
I think of it, I rather believe that was the way I did say it that
evening, because the applause that followed my humble effort was too
tempestuous, yet the scholars all had their money in the gold frame,
and the teacher was to leave us next morning for the East, where she
was to marry some man of prominence. My mother said I spoke splendidly,
but I doubt if she really heard me. She was thinking how charming I
looked in the new trousers she had made for me. The truth was, she
had worked all the night before to get them ready. She had had some
difficulty to make the seams come down the side. As it was they were
not quite finished, but no one knew it but my mother and me.
"In the years that are to come," I said in my speech, "not only will
your kindly instructions in our Bible studies help us to meet and
overcome all temptation, but the inspiration which we have received
from your friendship and devotion to our spiritual welfare will
influence us throughout our lives."
For the moment Delmonico Bill was silent--whatever his thoughts may
have been, he did not share them with us. But presently, he observed
the tray with the tea and toast upon it, just as he had left it.
"It is too bad," he said, "maybe she would not have known me at all....
I am sorry ... but you can understand."
Then he began to clear away the lunch. "The tea is still warm," he said
smilingly, "I believe I will pour a cup for myself ... my nerves are
jumping, it may quiet them."
He filled the cup and raising it he said: "Here is to my Sunday school
teacher who believed in me in those days when I believed in myself. God
bless her."
[Illustration]
COMPOUNDING A FELONY
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will
not depart from it."--_Bible._
Compounding a Felony
There was a knock at the door, but no one thought of answering it until
it was repeated--more faintly, a second time--then one of the young men
opened it, saying to the newcomer, "It is never locked, my boy."
In stepped a lad some seventeen years of age, and inquired in a voice
hardly audible if he could stay all night.
The young men sent the new arrival to me for an answer to his request.
It was readily to be seen that the boy was in a state of great
excitement. He acted so strangely that, contrary to custom, I asked him
why he had come.
"The police are after me," he stammered, as he turned and looked
nervously at the door.
"What have you done?" I questioned the boy.
"I stole a bicycle and the owner just saw me walking along the street
and started to chase me, calling after me, 'Stop, thief!' A crowd
began to gather and I had all I could do to get away. I ran around a
building and joined the crowd in the search; then, after a little, I
dropped out of sight again and decided that I would go out to you for
advice."
"Where is the bicycle now?" I questioned.
"I sold it," he said.
"Where is the money you got for it?"
"I spent it." He began to cry.
"And now your conscience starts to trouble you."
"Yes, sir."
"My lad," I told him, "this is no hiding place for boys who steal, and
for whom the police are searching."
The boy did not reply; he turned aside and brushed away the tears with
his cap. Then he started slowly towards the door.
"So I can't stay?" he said finally.
"I am afraid not," I replied.
He went to the window and peered out into the night.
"They'll get me," he said, hopelessly, "and when they do it means a
long term in prison for me."
"Wait a moment," I said. "Have you been arrested before."
"Yes, another boy and myself took some fancy postal cards from a
stationery stand. They were funny pictures that we wanted for our
collection. We were sent to Jamesburg that time. Then since I came from
that institution I was arrested again for something else I did and I am
now out on probation. Next time the judge said he would give me a long sentence in the Rahway Reformatory."
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