The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, May 28, 1905, Page 11

THE - SAN : FRANCISCO . SUNDAY SONS OF A STOKY Or Courcy. p of figure e present: ed a tyT and inde- ring ss, present in 14 I rough unbal- d a freig 1d. As the man swung 4 Quickly g of heel gazed in- youth of his own age—about twenty—a ja silk cap on his head, dressed in a of black *basket work” worsted ges and e out- sixteen the road balf way down stands an old farm- there at 1:20 a. m. he folks have a base- Farmer-like, they of the windows up. nging January night I pass in of ‘decks’ and the red that I—a Scotch cap over my ears—out there un- the slither of cold stars or amid akes, feel a pang or envy, your ace is here banging corn stalks or act- dertaker to split potatoes. he do other fellows are I s a whole lot to a fellow,” that lot of is expected to t a t only can ou in chunks, a tha lamp dies u worse ou put i under s tells you if it r lignt will go out wn the in boy s snug and fortable, depend and you know r» car to car and brake but if y a secor should be the hand- in only between ided = crippie roughest track t for you, or if for think that the dead feliow might be ike yours ride moment you woy the yours, ead too many fast runs to ask that all—the wild you curled “I know you woul zest of winter nigh and against the boiler-head or back in the caboose, wondering if ‘Old Ed ing to take them throygh or hang ng evenings, with the smell -of g wood mingling with the banked i summer nights— the air heavy with new mown, bay;. fall nights—running from the first frost's taste, sharp like week-old clder—later the bare woods and the hustling round No- vember snow pellets—it's all right. It's I's the one thing at which the lonely cuts; life. od fellows stick and the skulks kinder out.” ow—" here the boyish voice faltered awkwardly, “I was raised on a rocky in my State and know only too well ready money means when you T've a hun- farm what want to make a new move. ed on me. Pack up. I know a man or two in Buffalo and Chicago who'll see us d through. Go with me on a whack-up. Is it a deal?” Slowly Jim raised his head. Extending bis hand he grasped the other’s firml “Yes, I'll go, if father is willing.” “Father!” thopght Frank, oking at the goodly proportions of the young giant standing before him, but for some reason he wisely held his peace. “Come on, it's supper time,” said John, “apd I'll take it up with him.” Passing to the top of a little hill they s home. To the Northern looked on Gr: used t the bleak hills of a moun- seemed a paradise. The eyes, tain wvalley, It “Johm * * * the flame of the red ross * ° * They passed under the great fan-topped entrance into the long, cool hall, simply furnished. There were broad, open stairs, with spidered banisters. let's slick ‘up,” said Johm, tching Howe’s arm, he led him through the hall into the yard behind the house, where, under the boughs a great stood a long, . wooden trough. Howe thought that never had a @ip felt so gpod. The soft, cool water, rough towel, and the cool ripple of moun- tain-dhilled, leaf-filtered breeze ‘were the reverse of g y at and dust. After complefing the grateful task John “Come, as, curling {74 ow let's go in‘and eat something,” Returning ' to the house they entered ning-room. = A.slendeér, dark-hairéd from the head. of the table. mother,” and “my friend” clasped hands. Again a new set of memory cells were stored. Howe never forgot a cer- taln sweet face. brown, frank eves and firm, cool fingers. Then, after the “good "". ':U/I 17l is in your boy's heart. Will you let him zo?” ick house, its white, high' pil- lared front and deep tiny-paned windows glancing in the sunslight; the thickly massed trees with their varied leaves under the magical light of the overtop- ping Blue Ridge seeming blue rather than green, and the very strangeness of the clear-cut shadows combined to make a picture fated to rest in Howe's brain cells forever. Gray, do you live there?”’ he asked. es,” “Why? answered Gr: in surprise. “Well, 1 thought you were some poor ss of a farmer boy “Sorry to .say you about hit it,” was the laconic answer. ‘Yes,” he continued moodily, “that is about the rating of the Gray clan .at present. . Before the row we had with you people the old place supported 200 slaves, and I am the first of the line who ‘would have been found counting corn hills.” “We will be late to supper,” said’ John, after a short pause. Down the gentle curving road, up through a drive under the murmuring boughs to the house steps. At their top stood a man—tall, eagle-featured, bearded like a patriarch. The kindly eyes rested upon Howe, and, after the easy intro- duction, he extended his hand with the simple remark, “You are welcome, Come in, boys.” old ham,” fried chicken and melting hot biscuits had fulfilled their predestined task, the men repaired to the gracious cool of the long quiet porch. ““Well, John,” £aid Mr. Gray, as he set- tlcd with a sigh into a waiting chair, *“it rests with you to gather the smoke offer- in: . John quickly disappeared to return a moment later with a long cigar box and a handful of long-stemmed red pipes. Mr. Gray set the box on the wide. ledge of the chalr and selecting his pipe said to Howe: *My lad, you see before vou the best we can, offer, and I .assure you it's not a bad collection. The pipes are the genuine Powhattan, from back of Rich- mond, the stems are our.own home- grown fig, and the tobacco is best Flu- vanna leaf, shredded before my fireplace by my own hands. In my estimation, at least, it is far ahead of Dutch clay and Cuban leaves. The long shadows grew into purple, then all pervading black. The shrill twang of the katydid rasped from the gloomy trees, the perfume of dew-in- crusted roses freighted the rippling breeze. Through Howe's mind ran many thoughts. The lazy, kindly life—the feel of nature’s pulse in her sweetest mood, appealed strongly to the lad, whose only. experience had, from early boyhood, been to see the great mother as a thing of hid- den' stumps, clattering sawmills or. tum- bling logs. Then as the whippoorwill sounded from the cloaking trail, the mountain’s robe, Mrs. Gray Jjoined the group.’ “The talk nged from war and poli- tics fnto ci nels where great names formed the banks of swift flowing glow- ing words and deeds. The moon had come up when from a silvery aisle of fleeting - shadows emerged a couples who were warmly greeted. Howe carries yet a misty recolleetion [of ' a ‘gentleman~— gray-Haired and _slight—and: of a dim, graceful girl of hainting, bird-like voice to whom he awkwardly'responded. They were Dr.'Deane and his daughter, Madge, The conv on became general. Howe listened in astonishmenf. What. manner of farmers were thesé to Whom the shin- ing names of music,.art OF literature were well-known and belovéd “frichids? Then as the moon shone higher - and: ‘more - ht Mr. Gray held up his hand’ w t starting,” -he said. Instantly every voice! was - hushefi— bri {hen up along the silvery moonbeams, seemingly vibrating on their own _chords, came a flood of liquid music, broken, sweet one moment With the high ideals of youth, then to quiver, sad under the slow thoughts of age, deep with still faces and vanished hands. “What on earth—if it is_of earth—is that?” asked Howe of John, who sat quietly beside him. & “Why, it's the mocking birds singing in the hedge—they always. sing at full moon—don’t you know that “Well, 1 rather guess not,” came the awed answer as the Northern lad's head settled deeper into the shadows. John rose and crossing to ‘the edge’ of the porch, gave a lingering look out into the night; then Wwith the moonlight full upon his face, broke the slence. = “Father, I want to. have.a talk with you, I had intended to bring it-up in the morning, but T don’t Hke t go to bed with it unsettied. You know how poor CALL. BY M-B-DE COURCY fore him, “fair as flax then, flying back from your angry brow, as, with your tattered regimental colors in one hand, you shook the closed fist of the other m the faces of the exultant, cheering Yan- kees. The flame of the red rose ran strong in your veins that July day, and I know that the thought of life, death, or even the hereafter, could not have chilled its ruby flame. The rose is in your boy’s heart, its perfume in his brain and the old, old command of Egypt confronts you as it dld Pharaoh. Will you let him go?" The father raised his head. All the lit- tle group were on their feet. Looking at John he zald quietly, “When do you wish to start?” “In the morning, sir,” response. “Very well.” The Deanes made ready fo go home. John, excusing himself to Howe, accom- panied them. -A silent party they made. Out of the mooniight something had come disturbing to their quiet lives. ‘‘Madge,” said Jobn to his companion, “sehat do vou think of 12" _ “Exactiy as father does,” she answered quickly. “I.bave been afraid you would do as-so many of cur friends are doing— settle it poverty and complaint to a stag- nant, slothful life. I know that some- where outside these quiet hills the great wheels go around and men strive and do instead of merely existing, their heads under the musty halo of the past. their soleless shoes in the undisturbed dust.” The two men looked at each other, smiling quietly, as the speaker paused out of breath. “All sad icomocigsts, too, I fear,” sald Mr. Deane. “John, write to Madge fre- quently, we shall be very glad to hear from you. Remember, I have stood up for you, and that we all trust you. God bless you and ‘keep your heart as it Is now. Come, Madge.” John, left alone, stood looking after «the pair fading aWay into the moonlight, -anid then he realized Row dear the good white head-was lo him—how deep the gentle voice, always speaking of the 800d; the true and the beéautiful, had sunk into his heart he khew not then— n r g T8¢ but ‘to-day, at the summit ‘of a_vifle, slight little;man with shrunzen shoulders’ o . ocqril life, memory gives just due to and pale, quiet fage. Walking o¥r BE. , yinereq nand, a Kindly, volce. But stood’ before Mr. Gray. s .7 | 'deep as Was his' veneration for the father, *“John,” he sald/ in @ queer, DrOK®N jonn want home with his heart filled with voice; “John, my: opinion has not BEER ine . yngering clasp of the daughter's asked, but it seems my duty to speak. - pana thus fuifiiling the measure of his Let me tell you something. I.am a €00: gegtiny, -as have done all boys in-the ages stitutional coward. Yes, it's 50,” answer- and. will do until time ends. | 4 ing and indignant protest on his host’s ¢ Returning to" the ‘house, 'the family side. “Yew'the continued a Hitle.bIt- 5 by agy tor' the miERt: JAt the foot of the stairs the mother's hand clasped John's lovingly. “Another glove to keep that hand clean,” thatight John quaintly, as with Howe he entered the great double-bedded guestroom.” we are ‘and how I have worked and you also know what the resuits have been. To-day- I looked over that miserabl cornpatch of ours and realized the man- ner .of farmer I am. I put it in when the ground was so wet that the crop won't double the seed and it's been so in everything I have tried. It's too evi- dent that I am not cut out for it. Now, Mr. Howe here has given me some new ideas, out in the world where he belonss a man can find his niche—it's a wide man’s life with a hope of return. He ‘tells me that the business he follows is in its infancy vet, but is doubling every vear. I can maxse $0 or $60 a month as a beginner, with show of quick advance- ment. Twenty-five of these and the use of one of the old overseer's houses will give you a man who knows his business in place of one who does not.” “What's the work?’ asked his father. “Railjay brakeman, sir,’ -answered John. I have loved the rush and roar ‘of it-all my life, though until to-day I've given littlé thought ‘to it; Dut When fel- Jows ‘like) Howe here go at it and like 1t, I know, I would, too.” “But, Jehn,” said’ his “iyou surely can’t be in earnest. You know” it's not ‘the’ life ‘for you. Why, before the war I used to rent niggers at $20 a month for this service and some of the same Tascals are vet thefe—you must be crazy to think I could sanction any sueh idea.” “Mr. Gray,” said Howe, “I think vou don’t quite understand. In my country the roads are stocking up with the pick of ‘the farms and country towns. The business is a coming trade and even a profession. I for my part can'see no difference between the man who lovally con:lucn transportation on'land and.the fellow who drives a vessel. I know the kind of stuff good men are made of and if John goes with me, both you and himself will be surprised to find where 1t Wil lead him." ; “I"can’t glve my consent to it and that “ends \it,” answered Mr. Gray heatedly. “Thit my son wants to take a mnigger's job [T ‘refuse to believe.”: . - 2 The minister arose ffqm. his: chair—a came the quick father firmly, 3 i CE--PTER IL Early in the morning John woke—Howe !was sleeping peacefully—and arising he went to the window. Morning was break- ing. Out of the gray dawn came thae sounds’ of “awakening drowsy life. The panic chilf flecing before the ight brushed his cheeks. Leaning from the window, the “long. long thoughts” ran through his ¢ brain. He looked away to where In their quiet corner slept a generation of Grays. As he raised his Head with a prayer on his' lips, “Dear God, help me to run square,” it seemed the quiet ones under- stood. ¥ L He felt a Band upon his shoulder. . “Do you suppose you can do it?" Howe asked in a hushed voice. “I reckon so. I can see nothing else to 2 Go. I have beem a plowman long enough to know what that ‘looking back’ means.” After a sorrowful breakfast Howe left the family to their farewells. The train passed at an early hour and soon the three appeared. John with an old satchel seemingly well fiiled. The father was to cross to go to the station with them. Mrs. Gray gave Howe her hand. saying, “I 100k to you to remember you have a new brother.” There was a moist veil over the bright eyes as he answered, “I will hot forget.” Truly the Yankee boy kept the promisg. At the little station Howe committed the unheard of emormity of buying a first-class ticket to Washingtom; recon- ciling his conscience by saying: “Can’t -take him out in a sidedoor sleeper, but wait until we leave this outfit.” The train with its little Grant engine and shackling coacheg awaited them. A lingering handshake, the engine whoofs an asthmatic cough, then with many a strain and jerk of the unblocked link and pin couplings they were under way. With the biue of the receding hills-John Gray's old life falls back forever. The ways of the train seemed very strange to Howe. 'The cordial greetings exchanged by the passengers, the quick intérest evince® by conductor or brake- man in the wants and wishes of all, the home-like air' of Being guests of the company and entitled to the best the of- ficlals in charge, as hosts, could offer was very strange té the boy familiar with the domineering arrogance of the passenger conductors of his section— lordly ‘individuals who accepted fares with am air of personal Injury, answer- ing trembling queries of their victims with a smarl or a surly silence. “Sure- 1y,” thought he, “It's a gracious land.” Perched on the arm of the seat the eonghcu!; was soon in possession of John's projects. “Well,” he said reflectively, stroking ‘his white beard. “I think you are doing terly, “it went with my weak frame and thin bloed, but, John, T have always felt and understood the painter behind the canvas of the high and good. When a child, Horatlus, standing blood-stained and flerce-eved alone before the crowding host, oF the little laughing band of Ther- mopylae were my. ideals. Then in the graver days of early manhood the lesson of the tross was less a sublime self-sacri- fice and more a grand type of herolc en- durance and high human courage. John, the well-worn pages in your family his- tory are those in which blooms in never- fading beauty the red rose of courage, courage on sloping decks, on grimly lost flelds, with broken blades, or ‘the rust of walls agahst dying shoulders. And, John, T have loved you all my life, but never as on that day when our high tide rolled sullenly back at Gettysburg and I, a poor non-combatant from a secure dis- tance, saw you, this gray hair,” laying his hand. tenderly on the head bowed be- @ % g right. It seems you are obliged to home, but it's he best you can do. I have run into the B. and P. train shed the last ten years, and lately I keen younsg fellows who are entering the business.” “How long did brake™ Howe. ard boys lke friends and lea: abe have noticed the bright, you asked “Brake!” came the astonished answer, while his very whiskers seemed to ‘writhe in indignant protest. “Brake; why boy. I never twisted a brake wheel threw a link in my life, and never threw but one switch— and then I put two cars on the ground,” be added ruefully. “T was agent at Har- dinsville. One day the general manager came turkey hunting and I asked h: for a train to run and got it. Have been here since. Brake, Indeed!” he muttered, as head he rolled down the aisle, Howe said nothing, but a little queer smile lurked in the corners of his mouth as he turned to enjoy John's rapt sur~ vey of the ebbing landseape. A swift_descen® from the upper high- lands, inen, with the hot fragrance of biistering pine forests lingering heavy around them, they came to quaint old Alexandra. They crossed the Long bridge, .and with a raftle of ‘couplings brought up in Washington. “Now,” sald Howe as they walked up the platform, “that is the last-ef our swelling the list of net receipts of the railroad by contributions to the passenger department. I will soon introduce yod to the great art of riding on ‘your face. John ‘could only look his surprise, or h erec “Well, let’s have scmething to eat first,” he added. Passing out on the avenue, he came ta a sudden stop befors a slated bill board. John neticing his companion raise his cap and rub his forehead reflegtively followed his gaze, reading: “Buffalo, special, cheap to-day.’” ‘ome in here a minute,” sald Howe. Entering, Le walked up to the wan-faced bey standing Uehind the.counter. “Say, I am a rafroad man and want to send a_grip to Buffdlo. Could you ar- range to pat me next to the fellow who buys that ticket—we're going across the stzeet to get: somethihg to eat, and if you get a victim, stand. a book in window and I'l come over—cigars in | *Al tight,” responded the boy. “What are you up to?" asked Gray as they sat over their modest haim and egss. “Saving expenses for you, of rather the firm of Gray & Howe—but thers goes the book into the ndow.” Crossing, thed founa &' tall business- l'ke man folding a green coupon ticket. “Are you going to Buffalo?” asked Howe. “Yes, why?* “I am a railgpoad man flying lght on the underground, and want to send my turkey to Buffalo. Can you check it with your bagsage “Certainly, my boy,” answered the stranger kindly.. “T'll get the -check for you, or, if you wish, I'll keep it'and you can get te grip at my hotise, at No. Blank street. It will save you storage charges should the underground prove slow.” - “Thank you.” Handing over the check, Howe fol- lowed, while the mystified Gray passed out. “You don't quite savvy, John?" said Howe. “Well,” it would cost us a couple of dollars to have expressed that van; that mode gets it through free.” ‘““Why not check it as we did coming in? “For this reason, my son, that privi- lege is only accorded to -contributing passengers—we are not of that class.” Passing down Sixth street they crossed to the lower open end of the train shed. Two young fellows were seated on a truck. Listening. to their conversation John heard scraps of ‘“He's afrald to run —no nerve and a glass engine—hope they’ll put him on a dirt train, where he belongs. What can you expect of & man who carries his water in the stack? I heard him pulling out of Union last night: and I'll tell you the old forty-five mumts have rubber cylinder heads—you ought’ to have seen every one hunting shelter as the trailing water works swam omt— engine covered inch deep and his fireman a subject’ for a:lunatic asylum—lots ‘of” roads wouldn't stand for it, but I sup- pose he's got a pull.” Here Howe stepped up. “You're a pas-" senger brakeman,” he asked. Y answered the last speaker. “We are north end brakemen and want to go up your pike as far as Baltimokre. Can you fix us out? Here is my leave of absence and switch key. The other lad here is a boy from the South, but I'll stand for him.” “Well.” came the reluctant respouse, “I am afraid I can do nothing for you. [ flag for old man Abbott, and—he—well— 1 don’t believe he would carry his moth- er’s picture without proper transportation to cover it.. I've heard said he became, prematurely gray beeause he couldn’t col- lect fare from himself and crew. He's the one good clear ex n of the punch tever. Now, if I had a man like Bill here has, I might be able to talk.” The young man addressed as Bill arose stretching his long arms, saying, “You people stay here until I come back. iy “He brakes for a white man.” said his remaining friend admirtngly Soom Bill appeared, holding out & couple of old, dingy tickets. He said, “Stay right here, our train will back in ia a few min- utes. Get in the last seat in L. smoker, hand out your ticket when the old man: comes along, and don't look tco wise.,™ Gray looked at his cardboard. but was. unable to make out what it read. Howe: observing his mystification, laughingiy ge- marked, “The first: underground you evers saw—don't worry, they'll go hére O. K.; ‘better let me have it, though.” Then as the train passed the Eastern branch, Frank Howe, free brakeman, gave it up with the lordly air of a disturbed miilion- aire. .