Randy: A Story, I–II

Randy Palmer thought of a story his mother had told him of a glorious event in a far-off land nineteen hundred years ago; but it was only a thought; for he would hardly conceive the idea of experimenting upon his comrades by suggesting such a subject to them. "And snowballing, too!" he said, by way of completing Dick's statement, and at the sfme time he struck Dick on the back of the head and shoulders with a snowball as large as he could lift. Dick was so interested in his broom handle feat that he was taken entirely by surprise. "I'll fix you, Randy- Pandy!" he

shouted, gathering up fragments of the shattered snowball and throwing them at Randy's head. The good-natured combat was brought to a sudden close by the sound of approaching bells. In a moment more a sleigh filled with young men came in sight. The boys quickly formed a line across the road and began swinging their hats and shouting in order to check the speed of the sleigh and catch hold of it. They held their ground for a moment, when suddenly the team darted

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through a break in the line. The horses had run the blockade. The young men laughed tauntingly, and the boys shouted threats of vengeance, as one after another voluntarily gave up the race, or caught hold for an instant only to be hurled into the snow. Randy Palmer alone managed to cling to the sleigh; but in doing so, he drew upon himself a parting volley of snowballs from his

baffled comrades behind. In a few minutes his home came in sight. Here, as he expected, the horses were again urged to run, and he in his turn rolled over and over in the snow when he let go his hold on the sleigh. As Randy went through the gate a cloud passed over his features,which had appeared cheerful and happy while he was away from home. His mother watched him as he came up the path towards the door. His countenance gave her no assurance of success in the effort she had determined to make; but still undaunted in her purpose, she opened the door to meet him. "I am glad you are back so early. Randy," she said pleasantly. Her smile and kind words caused him almost to forget his false dignity and ask, "Why so?" but he kept the words back; and his only answer was a smile, half forced and half suppressed, and condescending on the whole. He walked past his mother and haughtily threw himself into a chair.

Mrs. Palmer was disappointed in not leading him out in conversation; but with apparent disregard for his behavior, she went up to him and held out a few silver coins. "Mr. Davis passed ' while you were away, she said, 'and left the pay for the work ' '

you did last week. Still Randy said nothing. As he put the money into his pocket, his mother continued, "Rachel has vour supper ready for you. We didn't think you'd be through so soon, and had supper a little early so Henry would have time to do all the chores. Now, you won't have anything to do after supper. Don't you think you'd better go over to the store and buy you a hat and a few little things to fix up with tonight?"

This was too direct for Randy to avoid answering. "I don't know of anything I want," he said indignantly, as he walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. "I'd like to know why mother has so much to say about what

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I'm to do with my money," he muttered to his sister when he sat down to eat; for, though no better natured, he did not hesitate to speak when Rachel was the only one to hear. "Randolph Palmer!" replied Rachel, "you are unreasonable! What did you say when mother asked you why you didn't go inside at the Thanksgiving dance, instead of helping to make up the crowd of rowdies that hung around the building and tried to draw attention by yelling and striking the windows and making other disturbances? You said it was because you didn't have any decent clothes; and you were angry because she mentioned it, and you said she ought to know you'd be glad enough to go inside if you had clothes fit to go in with. And now, when there's a chance for you to get some clothes, you're angry again because she wants you to get them. I don't see much common sense — let alone reason

in that!" Randy had not thought of this inconsistency, and he cringed somewhat at the force of the argument; and so instead of attempting to justify himself, he retorted sarcastically, ' 'I suppose she's told Henry how to spend his money!" Rachel's eyes flashed when she heard this; but she wisely kept quiet till her feelings relaxed. Her silence was really more effective as a rebuke than any words could have been. Randy knew it was cowardly of him to avoid the subject in tnis way. Yet he was not ready to face the exact proposition adv tnced, for the evi-

dent reason that he was unable to defend himself. Each moment, however, added to his discomfort, and it would not do for him to acknowledge defeat by saying nothing. His sister's silence was the strongest of arguments; but his own was humiliating. At last he decided to show that his spiteful remark about Henry applied to his larger grievance, and hence, indirectly, to the present difficulty.

"You think it's all right for someone else to tell me how to spend my money, and let Henry go on just as he pleases without a word from anyone. It's pretty tough all the same to see him go

off for every day'swork he finds, and then spend his money for a good time with the boys. I wouldn't care so much, if he'd bring some of it home and help you and mother, like he used to. But no; that don't go at all. And I must be hauled over if I stay out-

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side with the boys; but not a word is said to him if he has to be carried home and put to bed. I guess you think that's a good way to spend money. But then, all I ask is to have the same right that he has. If he's goin' to be at home, I don't see why I can't take that job Davis offered me. The pay for last week's work won't go far in getting anything for me. Let me go off for a year, so I can do something." Rachel was about to remind Randy, with considerable emphasis, that he was only fifteen, while his brother was seven years older; but fearing the effect of this, she calmed herself and sat down at the table opposite him, deciding on another line of argument. "Let me tell you something. Randy," she began, in a tone so kind, and yet so full of meaning, that he could not even appear inattentive. "I know that you'll not say this where it would be out of place; but the fact is, Henry's drinking has caused mother ten times more trouble and sorrow than anything you have said or done. And you know Henry's trouble didn't begin at home — it

began right where you are so anxious to go to work. Now that's why mother doesn't want you to go away. She wants you to start to school after New Year's, and to go on with your studies for this winter anyhow. But I won't say any more, though I could tell you lots of things. Go get your clothes, and we'll have a good time together at the dance. You don't know how bad it looks to be hanging around on the outside." This was almost too much for Randy; yet it would be too humiliating now for him to make any admission. Doubtless he was anxious to attend the party; but he would rather deny himself this pleasure, and then later, upon his own accord,go to the store and buy a few clothes, when no one expected him to do so. In this way he would not be yielding to the suggestions of others. "Oh, well, there's no hurry, Ray," he said, rising from the table. "I don't think I'll go to the dance at all tonight, inside or out." Rachel knew she was gaining ground. A little more kindness, and Randy's ruffled temper would be smoothed for one evening at least. "Don't go just now, Randy," continued Rachel in the same kind tone. ' 'Henr5r's doing your chores as his part of the bargain

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when you promised to help clean the schoolhouse. Sit down and let's talk a little while."

For the first time since he entered the house, Randy's features had lost all trace of unpleasantness. "Oh, yes, you'll make me give up yet, " he said, with a hearty, mischievous laugh, which dispersed the gloom so dark a few moments before. That laugh reached the ears of Mrs. Palmer in the adjoining room, and caused tears of joy to flow, and drive away those of sorrow that had been trickling down her cheeks. But before she or Rachel was able to determine whether Randy had entirely escxped from the effects of his imaginary wrongs, a shrill whistle at the gate called him from the house. In the stream of light from the front window, the mother and sister could barely distinguish the form of Dick Rogers on horseback. They saw Randy spring at a single bound to his place behind the saddle, and in another instant vanish from their sight. Yet they stood gazing blankly in the direction the boys had gone. Each was busy with her thoughts: had the cloud been entirely lifted, or merely wafted aside for a moment to let in a bright gleam of sunshine? But they had not pondered long when a light flickered from three windows of the schoolhouse and told all who could see it that Randy and Dick had fulfilled the last requirement of their part in preparing for the evening's celebration. At the same moment footsteps were heard on the kitchen floor, and a voice calbd out, ''Who's ready for the dance?"

II.

No one who was acquainted with the kind disposition of Henry Palmer, and who fully sensed the seriousness of his intemperate habits, could look upon his expressive face without feeling sympathy for him. In his face were indications of a strong desire to do right, but along with these indications were no marks of that will power necessary to resist temptations that assailed his weak points. No one knew his trouble half so well as he himself. Like Randy, he managed to avoid conversations upon his weaknesses, even with his mother and sister; but unlike his younger brother, he did not allow a spirit of haughtiness to overcome his sense of consideration, and so succeeded by kindness rather than stubborn-

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ness to change the subject whenever Rachel or Mrs. Palmer tried to talk with him regarding his habit of drinking. Still, it is hardly true to say that Henry was devoid of willpower. It would be better to explain his disposition as one who held in reserve a volume of force which he himself had not sounded. In other words, when he would say, "Oh, mother, never mind; I'm sure it will turn out well, even if I can't do right just now," one would feel to question the correctness of the word "can't," and to say that if Henry would only try, he could bring his reserve power into use and succeed in overcoming this trouble.

As he grew into manhood, Henry realized more and more the danger with which he was trifling. He was a man strong, — shrewd, and hopeful; yet the fruits of his manly powers were not seen either in his own achievements or in the improvement of his mother's home. While industry had added t) the comforts surrounding most of those who had been his companions from childhood, his own condition was no better than when his arm was too weak to share the burdens weighing upon his mother. Nearly all the primitive log cabins in Westside had been either torn down or converted into granaries and stables, and houses more commodious and beautiful had taken their places; but the little three- room house, built as the Palmer home twenty years before, had not been abandoned as a dwelling. True, one reasun for this was that Henry's father had died shortly after coming to Westside, and the

courageous mother, after selling more than half the farm to meet the indebtedness against the family, had been unable to do more than keep want from diminishing the remainder of the property. There was no longer any reason, however, why their surroundings should not improve. Hsnry knew this. He knew that his own powers now should be as great as his father's were twenty years before; he knew that time had removed many of the obstacles his father had had to meet while struggling to establish himself on the frontier; he knew that the only dishonor upon his father's name was the absence in himself of wisely directed activity. It

had been several ye^rs since Henry had fully awakened to these things. At the time of his first awakening he not only listened reverently to the pleadings of his mother, but assured her of his own determination to leave off the demoralizing habit. Then fol-

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lowed a month of strict compliance with the resolution. What seemed so easy, however, while he was in the presence of his mother and sister was quite another undertaking when he fell in with reckless associates, and he soon yielded again to the powerful temptation. Once more he revived his mother's hopes by expressions of penitence and renewed determination; but only to give way agai? in a shorter time than before. Still he promised and — failed. Finally he was convinced that the task was too great for him; and his delicate conscience would allow him to give no more assurances, which seemed to be followed only by deeper humiliation. He merely expressed the melancholy hope that some time in some way he would be stronger; but at last, though he continued to entertain the hope, the mentioning of it sounded so idle in his ears that he ceased to offer even this weak consolation to his sorrowing mother. Her grief caused him intense pain. He frequently asked himself how long this recklessness w^uld continue — recklessness in which he sacrificed not only the welfare of the family, but even the happiness of his mother. Why didn't he break away? — He could not tell. Often, indeed, he was on the point of taking her in his arms and saying in stronger terms than ever before, that he would stop; but the recollections of his former assurances would keep him silent. He would then turn gloomily away, always censuring himself severely, sometimes trying to say, "i can,'' but never finding in himself strength sufficient to declare, "I will!" Such, then, was Henry Palmer — anxious to do right, awake to his fault, too conscientious to deceive, unhappy in his weakness, and fearful of his power to improve. When Mrs. Paluier and Rachel reentered the kitchen, after the lights appeared in the schoolhouse, his quick eye saw the cloud over their features. He knew enough about Randy's mood just then to guess the cause of their trouble; but self-condemnation prevented him from offering any encouragement. He only assumed a bearing of cheerfulness as he rolled up his sleeves before the wash-basin. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Girls are always slow. I'll

bet we'll hear George Davis's bells a- jingling before long, and I'll have to ask the company to wait a few minutes for Ray." And he plunged his face into a double handful of water to hide the

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absence of a smile, which was prevented by the humiliating thought of his having no sleigh of his own. The na.Tie of Davis added no pleasure to Rachel's anticipation of the evening's party; yet she suppressed her fear, assuring herself that her own presence would be a safeguard against evil coming to Henry through associating with the young man in whose company her brother had been drawn into the clutches of intemperance. She only added to his good-natured taunt, "I think you've known for some time there's at least one girl ycu don't have to wait for, Henry Palmer; and to-night you'll find, as usual, no occasion to ask any one 'to wait a few minutes fcr Ray!'" "Well, maybe not," continued Henry, "If you got your ironing done and didn't lose my collar-buttons or hide my necktie." "Your laundry work is done," the sister replied, "and your collar buttons are in their places. I got everything ready because

I didn't want to Vait a few minutes' for you." Her eyes sparkled in gay triumph as she proceeded to take care of the milk and wash the pails. Henry understood her remark as a hint to "hurry up," and hastened to the "boys' ' room. There he found that not only were his collar-buttons in '

place, but his clothes were carefully brushed, a button or two that had been missing were neatly replaced, and a number of other little matters were attended to. As his quick eye noticed these things he thought of how little he was doing to merit such marks of attention. He sat in a chair and looked around him. The furniture he had bought with his summer's earnings six years before, when he thought of his wages only as a means of adding comfort to his mother's home. Everything else in the room told of his own negligence, and of how careful his mother and sister were that he should suffer as little inconvenience as possible as a result of that negligence; for the carpet, the bedclothes, the window curtains, the table cover, the chair cushion, were all provided by other hands; and although plain and worn and patched, were clean and neatly arranged for his comfort. For the thousandth time he askpd himself how long he should be a burden to his mother and sister — a mother who strove to make the little farm yield as much of the family's support as possible, and a sister who contributed

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the scanty salary of a village school-teacher towards their maintenance. In this mood Henry rose and proceeded slowly to dress. His clothes were on the bed, all arranged in the order in which he would need them. By some accident he moved his hat, which had been placed where he would not be likely to touch it until the very last. In doing this he uncovered a handkerchief of pure, white silk. He trembled with emotion as he picked it up and spread it before his eyes. In one corner he read, "An early Santa Claus R. to H.," embroidered in neat letters. Tears trickled down his cheeks and fell on the delicate fabric. He sat down in his chair, buried his face in his hands, and wept for joy and shame. A vent, was now opened to his so long closed, by his spirit of melancholy, turbulent feelings. His past mistakes seemed more foolish than ever. Why could he not correct them? After all, was he not strong enough? he believed that he was. His hopes revived. The clouds which had long been so dark and gloomy, seemed to have poured themselves away in his tears, and left before his eyes a bright view of the future. Indeed, this was worth an effort — an effort a hundred times stronger than any he had made. Could he now muster force equal to the struggle? But he was roused from his musing by the jingling of belli,

and a call from George Davis at the gate. (to be continued.) Pocatello, Idaho.

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