Mine was not a questioning childhood,and I was willing to accept the scheme of things as presented to me entire.In my tenderer years,when Ihad broken one of the commandments on my father's tablet (there were more than ten),and had,on his home-coming,been sent to bed,my mother would come softly upstairs after supper with a book in her hand;a book of selected Bible stories on which Dr.Pound had set the seal of his approval,with a glazed picture cover,representing Daniel in the lions'den and an angel standing beside him.On the somewhat specious plea that Holy Writ might have a chastening effect,she was permitted to minister to me in my shame.The amazing adventure of Shadrach,Meshach and Abednego particularly appealed to an imagination needing little stimulation.It never occurred to me to doubt that these gentlemen had triumphed over caloric laws.But out of my window,at the back of the second storey,I often saw a sudden,crimson glow in the sky to the southward,as though that part of the city had caught fire.There were the big steel-works,my mother told me,belonging to Mr.Durrett and Mr.
Hambleton,the father of Ralph Hambleton and the grandfather of Hambleton Durrett,my schoolmates at Miss Caroline's.I invariably connected the glow,not with Hambleton and Ralph,but with Shadrach,Meshach and Abednego!Later on,when my father took me to the steel-works,and Ibeheld with awe a huge pot filled with molten metal that ran out of it like water,I asked him--if I leaped into that stream,could God save me?
He was shocked.Miracles,he told me,didn't happen any more.
"When did they stop?"I demanded.
"About two thousand years ago,my son,"he replied gravely.
"Then,"said I,"no matter how much I believed in God,he wouldn't save me if I jumped into the big kettle for his sake?"For this I was properly rebuked and silenced.
My boyhood was filled with obsessing desires.If God,for example,had cast down,out of his abundant store,manna and quail in the desert,why couldn't he fling me a little pocket money?A paltry quarter of a dollar,let us say,which to me represented wealth.To avoid the reproach of the Pharisees,I went into the closet of my bed-chamber to pray,requesting that the quarter should be dropped on the north side of Lyme Street,between Stamford and Tryon;in short,as conveniently near home as possible.Then I issued forth,not feeling overconfident,but hoping.Tom Peters,leaning over the ornamental cast-iron fence which separated his front yard from the street,presently spied me scanning the sidewalk.
"What are you looking for,Hugh?"he demanded with interest.
"Oh,something I dropped,"I answered uneasily.
"What?"
Naturally,I refused to tell.It was a broiling,midsummer day;Julia and Russell,who had been warned to stay in the shade,but who were engaged in the experiment of throwing the yellow cat from the top of the lattice fence to see if she would alight on her feet,were presently attracted,and joined in the search.The mystery which I threw around it added to its interest,and I was not inconsiderably annoyed.Suppose one of them were to find the quarter which God had intended for me?Would that be justice?
"It's nothing,"I said,and pretended to abandon the quest--to be renewed later.But this ruse failed;they continued obstinately to search;and after a few minutes Tom,with a shout,picked out of a hot crevice between the bricks--a nickel!
"It's mine!"I cried fiercely.
"Did you lose it?"demanded Julia,the canny one,as Tom was about to give it up.
My lying was generally reserved for my elders.
"N-no,"I said hesitatingly,"but it's mine all the same.It was--sent to me.""Sent to you!"they exclaimed,in a chorus of protest and derision.And how,indeed,was I to make good my claim?The Peterses,when assembled,were a clan,led by Julia and in matters of controversy,moved as one.
How was I to tell them that in answer to my prayers for twenty-five cents,God had deemed five all that was good for me?
"Some--somebody dropped it there for me.""Who?"demanded the chorus."Say,that's a good one!"Tears suddenly blinded me.Overcome by chagrin,I turned and flew into the house and upstairs into my room,locking the door behind me.An interval ensued,during which I nursed my sense of wrong,and it pleased me to think that the money would bring a curse on the Peters family.At length there came a knock on the door,and a voice calling my name.
"Hugh!Hugh!"
It was Tom.
"Hughie,won't you let me in?I want to give you the nickel.""Keep it!"I shouted back."You found it."Another interval,and then more knocking.
"Open up,"he said coaxingly."I--I want to talk to you."I relented,and let him in.He pressed the coin into my hand.Irefused;he pleaded.
"You found it,"I said,"it's yours."
"But--but you were looking for it."
"That makes no difference,"I declared magnanimously.
Curiosity overcame him.
"Say,Hughie,if you didn't drop it,who on earth did?""Nobody on earth,"I replied cryptically....
Naturally,I declined to reveal the secret.Nor was this by any means the only secret I held over the Peters family,who never quite knew what to make of me.They were not troubled with imaginations.Julia was a little older than Tom and had a sharp tongue,but over him I exercised a distinct fascination,and I knew it.Literal himself,good-natured and warm-hearted,the gift I had of tingeing life with romance (to put the thing optimistically),of creating kingdoms out of back yards--at which Julia and Russell sniffed--held his allegiance firm.
