"Yes, sir," said Buck, lifting his chin a little. "I used to be ashamed of it, but--"
"You needn"t be," said the officer. "It"s not what a boy _was_, but what he _is_, that counts nowadays. Goodnight! I wish we had more Britishers like you."
Then the door closed and the tramp of the policemen and their prisoners died slowly away in the night.
The Broken String
Archie Anderson was lying on the lounge that was just hidden from the front room by a bend of the folding doors. He was utterly tired out, with that unreasonable weariness that comes from what most of his boy chums called "doing nothing." He had been standing still, practising for two hours steadily, and his throbbing head and weakening knees finally conquered his energy. He flung himself down among the pillows, his violin and bow on a nearby chair. Then a voice jarred on every nerve of his sensitive body; it was a lady"s voice in the next room, and she was saying to his mother:
"And how is poor Archie to-day?"
"Poor Archie!" How he hated to be called "poor" Archie!
His mother"s voice softened as she replied: "Oh, he"s _pretty_ well to-day; his head aches and he seems to be weak, but he has been practising all the morning."
"He must be a great care and anxiety to you," said the caller.
Archie shuddered at the words.
"Only a sweet care," said his mother. "I am always hoping he will outgrow his delicate health."
Archie groaned. How horribly like a girl it was to be "delicate."
"I think," went on the caller, raspingly, "that a frail boy _is_ a care.
One depends so on one"s sons to be a strength to one in old age; to help in their father"s business, and things like that--unless, of course, one has _money_."
The harsh voice ceased, and Archie felt in his soul that the speaker was glancing meaningly about the bare little parlor of his father"s house.
He could have hugged his mother as he heard her say: "Oh, well, Trig and Dudley will help their father; and none of us grudge Archie his inability to help, or his music lessons either."
"I should think his violin and his books and lessons would be a great expense to you," proceeded the caller.
"Nothing is an expense that fills his life and helps him to forget he is shut away from the other boys and their jolly sports, just because he is not strong enough to partic.i.p.ate in them," replied his mother, with a slight chill in her voice at her visitor"s impertinence.
Presently the caller left, and Mrs. Anderson, slipping through the folding doors, saw Archie outstretched on the pillows. She bent over him with great concern; her eyes read every expression of his face, every att.i.tude of his languid body.
"Archie, you didn"t hear?" she asked, pleadingly.
"I"m afraid I did, motherette," he said, springing up with unusual spirit.
He stood before her, a head taller than herself, his thin form frail as a flower, his long, slim fingers twitching, his wonderful, wistful eyes and sensitive mouth revealing all the artist nature of a man of thirty, instead of a boy of fourteen. He was on the point of flaring out with indignation against the visitor, but his lack of physical strength seemed to crowd upon him just at that moment. He sank upon the lounge again, and with his face against Mrs. Anderson"s arm, said: "Thank you, motherette, for fighting for me. Perhaps even with all this miserable ill-health of mine I can fight for you some day."
"Of course you will, dear," she replied cheerily. "Don"t you mind what they say; you know "Hock" always stands by you, and he"s as good as your mother to fight for you."
"Dear old "Hock!" Decent old "Hock!"" he said admiringly. "He"s the best boy in the world, but he is not _you_, motherette."
"There he is now!" said Mrs. Anderson, as a piercing whistle a.s.sailed the window, followed by a round, red face, a skinning sunburnt nose, and an a.s.sertive voice, saying, "I"ll just come in this way, Arch." And a leg was flung over the window sill. "It"s easier than goin" "round by the door."
"Hock" prided himself on being a "sport," and he certainly looked one: thick-knit legs, st.u.r.dy ankles, a short, chunky neck, hands with a grip like a vise, a big, good-natured dimpling mouth, eyes that were narrow and twinkling, muscles as hard as nails, and thirteen years old, but imagining himself eighteen. He had been christened "Albert Edward," but fortune smiled upon him, making him the champion junior hockey player of the county, so the royal name was discarded with glee, and henceforth he was known far and wide as "Hock" McHenry.
The friendship between Hock and Archie was the wonder of the town. Some people said, "Hock is so coa.r.s.e and loud and slangy, I don"t see how Archie Anderson can have anything to do with him." Others said: "Archie is so frail and sensitive, and so wrapped up in his music, how _can_ Hock find anything in him that is jolly, and boyish, and congenial?"
But Hock"s people and Archie"s people knew that one supplied what the other lacked. For so often this conversation between the two boys would be overheard. Archie"s plaintive voice would say: "Oh, Hock, it is so good to have you around; you make me forget that I can"t play hockey and football with the rest of the kids! You play it for me as well as for yourself. I"m such a dub; laid up sick half the time."
And Hock would frequently be heard to remark: "Say, Arch, do you know if it weren"t for you I"d grow into a regular tough. You kind of keep me straight, and--oh, well, straight and all that!"
And so the odd friendship went on, Hock attending his school daily--the acknowledged leader of all the sports and mischief that existed; Archie getting to school about two days out of every five, yet managing through his hours of illness to mount week by week, month by month, up, up, up in his music.
"I won"t always be an expense at home, and have dad keep me as if I were a girl," Archie would tell himself on his good strong days when he felt he had accomplished something with his violin. "I can feel the music growing right in my fingers. I feel I"ll play to thousands yet--thousands of people and thousands of dollars." Then perhaps a fit of coughing would come on, and the boy would grow discouraged again, but only until Hock appeared on his daily round, and plumping his st.u.r.dy person into a chair would tell all the news, and finish with, "Say, Arch, fiddle for a fellow, won"t you?"
And while Archie played, Hock would sit quietly looking out of the window, vowing to himself he would give up slang, and go to Sunday-school regularly, and not shoot c.r.a.ps any more behind the barn with boys his father had expressed a wish not to have around the place.
In after years Hock knew what made him have these good impulses while he listened to Archie"s playing. He knew that a great and beautiful art--the art of music--was inborn in his chum; that the wild, melancholy voice of the violin was bringing out the best in them both.
It was summer time. The little Canadian city where they lived, which stretched its length along the borders of the great lake, became a very popular resort for holiday makers, and many Southerners flocked to the two large hotels, seeking the cooler air of the North. Ball and tennis matches and regattas made the little city very gay, and the season was swinging at its height when one night Hock"s burly voice heralded his legs through the window of the Anderson parlor. Evidently he was greatly excited, for he shouted at the top of his lungs that the east end factory was on fire, with a dozen operators cut off from the stairs and elevators, and that his father, who was foreman, was begging on all sides for volunteers to rescue the people from the top story. In the twinkling of an eye Hock was off again with crowds of running men and boys; the fire engines went clanging past with the rattle and roar of galloping horses and shouting men. Never had Archie Anderson felt his frailty as he felt it at this moment. The very news made him almost faint, but he started to run with the crowd until his shortening breath and incessant coughing compelled him to return home, where he flung himself down on the doorstep, burying his throbbing forehead in his hands and saying: "Oh! I"m no good! I can never hope to be a man! I"m not even a boy! I seem to myself like a baby!"
Late at night his father and brothers returned, all begrimed with soot and ashes. They had worked valiantly with the firemen and rescuers, saving life after life. But with all their courage and pluck they could not save big Tom Morris, who perished in the flames just because he insisted upon others and weaker ones being saved first.
For days the town was plunged in gloom. Everyone liked Tom Morris, and everyone"s heart ached for his little widow and her three small children, left penniless. Then the only pleasant thing in connection with the disaster occurred. The kindly visitors at the summer hotels began getting up a huge benefit concert, the proceeds of which were to be presented to Mrs. Tom and her babies. Hock heard of it first--nothing ever escaped his lynx-like ears. Astride the window-sill he communicated his gossip to Archie something in this fashion:
"Say, Arch, they"re going to have the best performance. Miss Van Alstine from New York is going to sing, and some long-haired fellow at one of the hotels is going to play the piano--they say he"s great; and, oh!
say, Arch, did you ever hear of a great fiddler named Ventnor?"
"Only the world-renowned Ventnor," said Archie. "Why do you ask, Hock?"
"Well, he"s the one! "Greatest on earth," they say. Gets thousands of dollars every night he fiddles. He"s staying at the Lake View Hotel, and--"
"Ventnor _here_!" fairly screamed Archie. "The _great_ Ventnor! Oh, Hock, is he going to play?"
"Yes, he is!" said Hock, smacking his lips together with glee that something had at last taken Archie out of himself and made him forget his frailty, if only for a moment, "Yes, siree," continued Hock. "He"s going to play three times. Heard him say so myself when they asked him on the beach this morning. He speaks the tanglest-legged English you ever heard. He said, "Me, I holiday; me, I not blay when I holiday."
Then a batch of ladies tried to explain things to him, and when his Russian-Italian-French brain got around things, he up with his hands and ran them through his long grey hair and wagged his head, and said, "Me, I understand! Me, I don"t blay money when I holiday, but me, I blay for unfortunate beeples. I blay dree times." Oh, it was funny, Arch!"
"Funny!" said Archie. "Funny! Hock, I"ll knock you down if you call Ventnor "funny." Why, it"s the most beautiful thing in the world for him to do. Oh, Hock! and to think that at last I will hear him!"
"I never heard tell of him before," observed Hock, with evident pride in his ignorance.
"There"s no greater violinist in the world, Hock," replied Archie with enthusiasm. His cheeks were scarlet, his eyes sparkling, his thin hands trembling with excitement.
"Well, I"m not keen on hearing anyone fiddle any better than you do,"
Hock answered soberly. "Whenever you fiddle you just give me the jim-jams, with the creeps going up and down my back; and what"s worse, I always have to blow my nose when you get through."
"What a good chap you are, Hock! You make me believe in myself. Perhaps I really will amount to something some day," replied Archie, warmly.
"Betcherlife!" said the st.u.r.dy one. "Well, so-long! I"m glad you"ll hear the big violin player, Arch, if you really have been wanting to."
Wanting to! Archie Anderson had longed to hear Ventnor ever since he first drew a bow across the strings. He could hardly wait until the night of the great concert. Owing to the extreme heat of the summer he had been taking his lessons late in the evening, but on this eventful night his teacher, himself anxious to go, told Archie to come at seven o"clock; he could then give him a full hour, and the lesson would be over in plenty of time for them both to attend the concert at half-past eight. The lesson was trying and the excitement was beginning to tell on the boy, so, without returning home, he went straight to the hall, his violin case tucked under his arm. Purposely he had engaged a seat in the very first row; he wanted to watch the great master"s marvellous fingers, as well as drink in the music they made. Even at eight o"clock the hall was so packed that he could hardly get through the aisles.
The excellence of the programme, as well as the charitable object, had drawn out the entire town, and Archie took his seat fearful that the overpowering summer heat and crowded hall would be his undoing. He did not even hear the opening piano solo by the "long-haired fellow," as Hock had called him, nor did he rhapsodize over handsome Miss Van Alstine, whose wonderful gown and thrilling voice captured the audience.