Randy: A Story VIII–IX

RANDY. BY ELVIN J. NORTON. SUPERINTENDENT Y. M. M. I. A.. POCATELLO STAKE. VIII. Early in the afternoon the telephone manager at Pine Fort put in a call for Maple Creek. '*I can't remember all that," said the girl at the division ex- change. "Here's Maple Creek—talk with them yourself." There was a rattle of connections, and then "Hello!" came in another voice. "Are there any people in your neighborhood by the name of Rogers?" asked the Pine Fort manager. "Yes, I believe there's a family of Rogerses up the creek," was the answer. * 'We want Dick Rogers for M. Burke at Pine Fort, " said the manager slowly. "Dick—Rogers—for—M—Burke," came back over the wire." "That's right, " said the manager. "Now have him brought just as soon as possible This is very important business." "All right," was the answer, and the receivers clicked in the hooks. Mack Burke, who had heard one side of the conversation, walked out to pace back and forth in anxious waiting for an hour;- and the clerk in the little Maple Creek store, where the telephone was placed, turned to the crowd of loafers round him, among whom he had no trouble in finding one ready to profit on the spoil of misfortune by receiving a big fee for the little task of bringing Dick Rogers to the telephone. "Dick Rogers?" said 'the one '(intrusted with the message. "He means Sam Rogers, don't he?"

354 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "No," answered someone; ''that's all right. It's Sam's brother's boy, Dick from Westside. He's been here a month feedin' sheep for Sam." Thus enlightened, the messenger set off, and without any unnecessary loss of time, found Dick at the home of Sam Rogers. A telephone call for a boy of sixteen, from a place seventy- five miles away in the opposite direction from his home, had a mystery which neither Dick nor his relatives could understand. They lost no time, however, in preparing to answer the call. Dick ran to the house for his coat, while his Uncle Sam put the saddle on Nibs. "Well, I guess I'm ready," called out Dick as he sprang into the saddle. "l can't imagine whac it means," returned his uncle. "But I'll soon know what it is," said Dick, riding out of the yard. "Good-by, Uncle Sam. " It was nearly three o'clock when the clerk in the Maple Creek store rang up the exchange and gave notice that Dick Rogers was waiting. "Here they are, ready for you," said the clerk to Dick a mo- ment later. Dick, trembling all over, took the receiver and shouted *' Hello!" "Hello!" answered Mack Burke, with nearly the same awk- wardness. "Be you Dick Rogers?" "Yes—I'm Dick Rogers." "Have you got a brother named Randy?" "Named what?" "Do you know a boy named Randy?" asked Mack, more dis- tinctly. "I guess I do," was the eager answer. "What about him?" "He's here, an' he's awful sick," said Mack; "an' we want some of ye to come Oxi the train tonight. I'll meet the train here. I don't know what time the train comes down the valley, but I guess ye ain't got much time, for it's kind o' late now." "All right. I think I can make it," answered Dick, and without waiting for Mack's next words, or to offer any explana- tion to the listening idlers round him, he laid the receiver down

RANDY. 356 and hurried out of the room. A few minutes later he was giving? Nibs his own time on the road to Westside. Dick was extremely disappointed, though not surprised, when he found that Henry Palmer was net at home. He dreaded to break the news to the mother and oister; and, knowing that Henry was the one to go to Randy, and must therefore be found before the train passed, he reasoned that no time would be lost by find- ing the brother first. But when, after failing in his inquiry at the store, Dick saw the locomotive smoke a mile up the valley, he regretted seriously not having told Rachel and her mother all about it. When, however, he saw Rachel making her way towards the station, he thrilled with hope agai'i, and gently stroked the faithful Nibs in commendation of the good speed he was making. Reining his pony up at the side of Rachel, he lost no time in an- swering her question why he wanted Henry. His heart sank again when he saw Rachel stagger under the weight of his sad message, but the next moment he saw that she was herself again, and in compliance with her direction, he dashed ahead to signal the train. Then the engine answered his signal. Dick stepped aside with more relief. He saw Rachel enter the saloon, and felt a deep sympathy for her in the anguish he knew she was in. But he thought of that only a moment, for matters of even greater con- sequence weighed upon his mind. He feared that his ride would yet prove in vain. The locomotive passed majestically by him, the freight cars followed, the two passenger coaches drew up slowly, and all was still. He looked anxiously towards the saloon, but did not see Henry. ''Come on here, young man!" called out the conductor on the nearest car steps, "The man that is goin' is in the saloon," shouted Dick eagerly. "In the saloon!" returned the conductor, with an oath, and giving a lantern signal for the train to start, "What do you mean by stopping the train in this way?" "But his brother is sick, and he must go," persisted the boy. "All aboard!" shouted the conductor impatiently. Acting on the first impulse, Dick started to run towards the saloon, but the rattling of the starting cars told him it was too late. With one more despairing glance at the saloon, he ran back

356 IMPROVEMENT ERA and sprang to the steps of one of the moving coaches. He turned again and saw Rachel running towards the train, and Henry com- ing after her. Notwithstanding the twilight, he thought he saw the pain in her face. He waved his hand to her, but was sure she did not see him, for at the same moment she reeled and fell against her brother. Dick's next experience was in facing the conductor without money to pay for his fare; not because he was poor, but because the stirring events of the afternoon had not left him time to think of money. Bat he had little trouble in this respect—except to remain on the platform till the conductor should find him, he gave the matter very little thought. His purpose was to go to Randy, and he was determined to go. The conductor forgot his haughti- ness of a few moments before, took an interest in the boy's story, and decided he was not dealing with a tramp. He not only carried Dick to the junction on the main line, but lent him money to buy his ticket on to Pine Fort. The overland train was considerably late. Dick walked the platform for nearly an hour. He thought of trying to send a mes- sage back to Westside. But what could he tell Randy's relatives? He knew as yet no more than they. It would surely be better to wait till he reached Pine Fort, when he could send a more definite message. He was still wondering what to do when the train came and decided the matter for him. In another hour the overland train' came to a stop at Pine Fort. Mack, who had hoped to meet the father or the mother of the sick boy, was disappointed to find, among the three or four who stepped from the train, no man nor woman that seemed to be looking for him. A common feeling of anxiety, however, soon drew him and Dick together, and they were not long in learning that each was the one whom the other sought. Both tried to cut their introduction short, for both were anxious to reach their sick friend. Dick's only question brought out the answer, that the doctor, returning to Pine Fort in the evening, had reported Randy apparently better; and Mask was satisfied for the time being when he learned that the word had reached Randy's relatives, and that Dick had come in answer to his message. But Dick had an imme- diate duty to perform. He explained briefly that he was not

RANDY. 357 Randy's brother; that the latter liad missed the train, and that a message must be sent back to the sick boy's family. Mack saw the wisdom of this, and they hastened to the telephone office. When they called for Westside, however, the exchange told them that the Westside store, in which the telephone was placed, had evi. dently closed, for no one could be roused by the bell. Mack then suggested the telegraph; but Dick knew there was no telegraph office at Westside. Dick censured himself for not sending word back from the junction, and asking someone to answer his call when he reached Pine Fort. But the best he could do now was to leave a message to be sent at the first opportunity, saying that Randy was reported better, and that someone would meet the train the next evening. During the hour's ride to the Burke home, Dick and Mack talked of nothing but Randy. Each knew what the other was eager to learn. Dick's intimate knowledge of his playmate's character en- abled him to bee Randy in all the actions and all the peculiar moods described by Mack. The man's sympathy, on the other hand, drank in the sadness which Dick's story contained. The struggles of the widowed mother, the courageous work of the brave sister, the despondency of the weak brother—all called forth compassion from the honest Mack. True, he saw in Randy's course much that he could not approve. Bat the truth, now laid bare by the boy's most intimate friend, caused him to love Randy more than ever. At eleven o'clock they reached Mack's home. The good mother and father, though of course sorry that none of Randy's own family had come, gave Dick a warm welcome, and were greatly relieved to know that with them was the boy who had one of the first places in Randy's affections. Mrs. Burke led Dick to the sick boy's bedside and told in a few words of Randy's condition. The boy had lain, she said, in a stupor since early in the afternoon, and it was hard to say at that time how the sickness would probably turn. She said he had shown no signs of consciousness since taking the medicine last brought by the doctor, but before that time he had awakened and spoken to them occasionally. With these explanations, she quietly with- drew to join her husband and Mack, and listen to the latter's story —a story she was anxious to hear.

358 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Dick leaned over the bed, pale and trembling. For twelve months he had longed to see Randy, but had not imagined such a meeting as this. He knew little of the sick room. He was alarmed by the flushed face, the short breath, the parched lips, and the strange mutterings. He passed his hand over the hot fore- head, and felt a thrill at the strange contact with the boy he loved so much. His mind filled with a flood of thoughts. He recalled his own and Randy's past life. He remembered many joys and disappointments, many acts of merit and mischief. He thought of what must be the apprehension and suspense in the Palmer home at this moment. And in some way—he knew not how—he connected all this with the sick friend before him. Sor- row had had so little place in his own life, that he felt dazed with the reality—he wondered if it was a reality. Then he thought of what might be the outcome;—a grief-stricken mother and sister and brother, —a vacancy, a lost part, an inexplicable something in his own life. But he could not reason it out. The tears ran down his cheeks and dropped on Randy's burning face, and he knelt down by the bedside, hid his face in his arms, and wept as only a boy can weep. Unobserved by Dick, Mrs. Burke watched him and shed tears of sympathy herself. When he was calm again, she returned to resume her faithful watch over Randy. Then Mack and Mr. Burke came in, and all four sat near the bed. Forgetting deep or rest for themselves, they talked until long after midnight. In a sup- pressed undertone, Dick portrayed before his new acquaintances many interesting pictures in Randy's' life and home surroundings. Usually the pauses in his remarks, were filled in by Mack with some incident in his own experience with Randy that emphasized traits of character which Dick's words were intended to show. Then Dick told how Randy's mother had struggled against great diflicul- ties to make her children comfortable and happy; how Rachel had bravely assumed the burden of nearly supporting the family; and how Henry was fighting against an evil habit that was gaining more and more power over him. Their hearts went out in com- passion for these people, who, they knew, were in deep sorrow this night; and they had a greater interest in the boy before them, whom they knew better and loved better than ever before.

RANDY. 359 During all this conversation, Mrs. Burke had risen frequently to wait upon Randy. He required constant attention, and it was agreed that Mack and Dick should watch him during the remainder of the night. Mrs. Burke applied a spoonful of water to his dry lips. He did not take the water so eagerly as he had done before, and Dick's quick eye detected something like uneasiness in Mrs. Burke's expression. "His fever is not so high as it was," she said, turning to the others. "His eyes are open!" whispered Dick. Turning to Randy, they saw him looking vacantly at the ceil- ing. Then his eyes moved round the room, fixing their gaze for a moment unconsciously on some of the most conspicuous objects. Dick stepped a little closer to the bed. Randy looked at him; but did not seem to distinguish between him and the others, or even between him and the furniture about him. In a,few moments the eyes of the two comrades met again. This time something like consciousness began to show itself in Randy's expression— a kind of wonder, as if the boy was trying to solve a puzzle. Dick longed to hear him speak, and stood trembling under the influence of varied emotions. At last he leaned over t"he half-conscious face and asked, "Do you know me. Randy?" That name—which had not fallen upon the ears ot its owner for a year—now spoken by a familiar voice, acted like a powerful stimulant. His expression of wonder passed into surprise, and then his face lighted with a smile. A moment more he looked into Dick's face as though waiting for ideas to form in his mind. Then he asked, in a tone stronger than he had spoken in for three days, — "Is it Dick?" "Yes," answered Dick, tears of joy filling his eyes. "Am I home, Dick?" asked Randy, with a show of bewilder- ment. "No, Randy; but I've come to take you home," Dick said; and he knelt down so as to be closer to Randy. "That's good," answered the sick boy, putting his hand out from the cover, and closing his eyes as if to collect his thoughts. Dick clasped the hand—no longer hot with fever—in both his own.

360 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Again Randy opened his eyes. "Did Nibs come home?" he asked. "Yes, Randy; —but we'll talk about this some other time, " answered Dick, seeing the anxious expression on Mrs. Burke's face; "everything is all right. You must get some rest now." And he started to rise. Randy took hold of Dick's hand. "Don't go," he said, "I ain't tired." His words, like his breath, were quick and short. Again he closed his eyes, and there was silence. Mrs. Burke passed her hand over his forehead: the fever was gone; his brow was moist. His eyes opened again, and his features showed more consciousness than before. "Yes, I remember," he said, "this is Mack's home. Mack is the one that give me a job when I come f'm Westside. " He paused for breath. ' 'Will you take your medicine now and cover up ?" asked Mrs. Burke, trying to divert his thoughts. "I want to talk with Dick jest a minute first," he said, look- ing again at the boy whose hand he held so firmly. "You know, the night I left ye, Dick? I turned Nibs loose and come on the train. The train was late. —Mack will tell ye the rest. " It now required considerable effort for him to speak; but he went on t)rokenly, "Ye know the paper Ray give me that night, Dick?— I ?tore it up, ye know.—I felt sorry when you looked at me like you •did. —I found a piece-^and them baves—. They're in my coat. — It don't read now like it did—." His voice was weaker, and he Btopped from exhaustion. He seemed trying to unload the burden of his mind in one moment. Dick, seeing the effoi t it cost Randy to recall the scenes of that sad night, was cut to the heart, and could not keep back the tears. Mack and his parents were bend- ing over the bed. But Randy did not see them—his eyes were closed. Once more he spoke, but only in a whisper, — "I was mean to you all, Dick. —Take me back home!" Randy turned his head so as to breathe more freely. Mrs. Burke fanned him gently with her handkerchief. Mack and his father stood with bowed heads in reverent, breathless attention. Dick still knelt by the bedside, yielding his right hand to the cold grasp of his friend, and covering his own eyes with his left. Randy tried again to speak, but failed to make a sound. Then,

RANDY. 361 with all his remaining strength centered in one final struggle, he whisperd feebly, "Henry—Ray—mother!"—and all was silent. IX. Henry Palmer was suddenly restored to full reasoning power when he found hims3lf supporting his unconscious sister in front of Miles's saloon. He lost no time in having her taken home. In a few words he told his frightened mother the little that he saw and heard from the time when Rachel spoke to him in the saloon. There was something in his tone and countenance which begged the mother not to reprove him; and she was careful not to allude to his conduct. Under the heavy weight of sorrow caused by this sad news, they both worked diligently in applying restoratives to Rachel. As there was no doctor at Westside, they were forced to rely upon their own skill and that of their kind neighbors. In spite of their incessant efforts, it was several hours before Rachel began to revive. At last her eyes openei; and, although she had only a fraction of the strength she had possessed a few hours be- fore, her consciousness was the source of much comfort to her mother and Henry. Meantime steps had been taken to learn more about Randy. Henry and Mrs. Palmer expected Dick to return and tell what he knew. After waiting an hour for him, they decided that he must have gone on the train. Then a willing messenger was sent to Dick's home for information; but he came back with the report that Dick's parents did not know their boy was in the town, and had sent a man to Maple Creek to inquire about him. The merchant, who had the telephone in his store, was asked about the matter; but no word had come to him. Although very few would think of such a thing as a message from Raridy being sent to Maple Creek, Henry thought of it, and tried to inquire of the neighboring vil- lage, only to find that the Maple Creek store was closed for the night. Had he inquired of the exchange office, he might have found trace of the message, but he knew too little of the tele- phone system to think of that, and if the merchant thought of it. he did not mention it. At last they decided that all they co'ili do was to send a messenger again to the Rogers home to wait for the man who had gone to Maple Creek.

362 IMPROVEMENT ERA. Then followed an anxious hour. Rachel, who was now con- scious again, could of course tell them nothing they did not know. While they waited, the telephone rang the Westside call, tut no one heard it, although the grieving family whom the call sought were anxious to hear some definite tidings. The mother broke down in frequent tears, while Rachel spoke consoling words of hope; and Henry walked the floor telling himself that he was large- ly to blame for it all. At last the man returned from Maple Creek, and the mes- senger sent to Dick's home brought back word that a message had come to Dick from Pine Fort. Henry hastened to rouse the merchant again and go to the telephone. Putting in a call for Pine Fort, he received the message left for him—that Randy was reported apparently better, and that the train would be met the next day. As might be expected, this news gave considerable relief; for now they knew where to look for the long lost boy, and could plan definitely for his comfort. And all three of them spent the most of that night thinking and planning. The events of the evening and their solicitude for Randy were not such as to let them sleep. Notwithstanding the fact that the train would not leave till even- ing, they were all astir early in the morning, and at breakfast time had every preparation made for Henry's departure. Several hours wore on monotonously. Shortly before noon a messenger brought a telephone call for Henry. Apprehensive of the worst during those hours of painful waiting, Mrs. Palmer and Rachel were greatly alarmed by the call. Henry tried to per- suade them and himself that the tidings were as likely to be good as bad; but even he was pale and trembling when he hurriedly left the house. On his way to the store he could not avoid seeing in his imagination a still greater calamity, chargeable to his own weakness, and still more necessity for him to become a real sup- port for a sorroiving mother and sister; so that when he reached the telephone he was to some extent prepared to receive the mes- sage which came—that Randy was dead. The sad announcement dazed him for a moment; but having learned the worst, he control- led himself and calmly asked for the details. Then he listened while Dick briefly told him the story. Henry heard and approved

RANDY. 263 the plans which Dick and Mack proposed—that everything neces- sary be procured at Pine Fort, and arrangements be made to bring the body home the next morning—the morning of Christmas day. Henry returned home and told the sad news. Words, spoken or written, cannot portray grief which follows in the wake of death. The news passed rapidly from mouth to mouth, and a dark gloom spread over the whole village. Many who, in ordinary trouble, are ready to judge and censure, are silenced to reverence by the awful presence of death; and so on this occasion all hearts were drawn by a cord of sympathy to the Palmer home. Men gathered in small groups and talked of the event and its mournful circumstances; mothers and sisters spoke in subdued tones and shed silent tears as they worked; boys moved aimlessly up and down the road, trying to realize that they could no longer hope for Randy to be with them. Henry did not go to Pine Fort. The one daily train left West- side in the evening and returned in the morning. Had he gone, he would have had only a few hours in the middle of the night at Pine Fort, during which time he could neither have rendered as- sistance in the care of the body, nor gone out to the Burke home to express his gra\itude for the kindness shown his sick brother. Dick had assured him that with the help of Mack everything would be carefully attended to. Henry's one hope and purpose now was to comfort his mother and sister; and after carefully weighing every consideration, he decided that he could do more good by staying at home, and in the early evening telephoned his decision to Dick. Although there were some reasons why Henry should have gone, Mrs. Palmer and Rachel were glad he remained;—for this was Christmas Eve. They found comfort in -having him with them, as hour after hour brought vivid recollections of a year ago. On Christmas Eve Randy had gone away;—on Christmas Eve his mor- tal form was waiting to come back. On Christmas Eve they had expected a happy day to follow;—on Christmas Eve they could see before them one of the saddest days they had known. Thoughts like these occupied their minds, and little was said during that long, sad night. Henry connected all with his thoughtless course, and heaped even too much blame on his own head; but when his

364 IMPROVEMENT ERA. mother and sister thought of him, it was with feelings, not of censure, but of compassion and love and hope. At last Christmas Eve merged into Christmas morning. The late dawn found the village already awake. Little children with eager joy grasped their precious, well-filled stockings, and cau- tiously emptied them of their mysterious loads. Parents and older children joined the tots in their mirth and frolic. But still in nearly every home might be saen the effect of Randy's death. Many of the people, old and young, rode out to meet the morning train. Among these was Dick's father, whom the Palmers had asked to direct the funeral. He had a large sleigh in which to convey the coffin. By his side was Henry; but Mrs. Palmer and Rachel hid preferred to remain at home. Soon after the people had gathered at the station, the train came in—impatient, stately, unmindful of the burden it carried. Strong hands carefully drew from the baggage car a large box and placed it in Mr. Rogers' sleigh. In solemn procession the people moved away, their num- ber increased by two sad mourners, Dick Rogers and Mack Burke. For several hours the coffin remained in the Palmer home, surrounded by those heart-rending scenes which would not bear description, even if description were possible. During part of this time, at Mrs. Palmer's request, Mack and Dick told the sorrowing family the simple story of Randy's life during the past year. Dick's part of the story was an account of the boy's last moments of consciousness. More tears were shed when he told how Randy had cherished the fragment of a note and the dried holly leaves. No further proof was needed of his fond remembrance of home. With trembling hands Rachel opened the little soiled packet. She looked at the scrap of paper, and thought how strange it was that a brief note, written hurriedly and intended only for a moment's service, had become so precious. It had been treasured by Randy; but it was now many times dearer to her than it could have been to him. From an old family chest she took a handkerchief which had been intended for Randy a year ago. It was of pure white silk, delicately embroidered in a corner, "From Santa Claus—R. to R.'' Unfolding the handkerchief she poured into it the broken and pow- dered leaves and the dried berry, and with them placed the frag- ment of paper. Round these she carefully folded the handkerchief

RANDY. 365 again, securing it with the pin that Randy had used for the same purpose. Then she put the parcel away to be kept among her most sacred treasures. Mrs. Palmer found consolation in the fact that Randy had passed most of the year with the honest herder. She was espe- cially comforted to know that her boy had been under such tender care during the last days of his life. She clasped Mack's hand and thanked him from her soul for his kindness and the kindness of his father and mother. Nor did she forget to express her gratitude to Dick for the assistance he had given. It was a sad regret, she said, that no member of the family could talk with Randy before his death; but it was a joy to know that he had died holding the hand of his dearest friend. These hours spent alone with Dick and Mack were the source of great strength to Mrs. Palmer and Henry and Rachel. With feelings more reconciled, they faced the remaining sorrowful erents of the day. They were consoled by the kind words spoken at the funeral service, and with hope revived they rode behind the coffin to the grave yard. Here their hearts were torn again as the coffin was quietly lowered and covered in the earth; but when the last duties for the dead were performed, they partly calmed themselves, stepped from the sleigh, and walked up to the grave. The people gradually withdrew, until only Dick and Mack re- mained with the grief- stricken family. Mrs. Palmer, supported by Rachel and Henry, stood a few moments, absently gazing at the heap of brown soil. At first she thought how well Randy's early death had its similitude in this new-made heap surrounded by snow- covered graves. Then she thought of a time when she had stood beside another new-made grave only a few feet from Randy's. The man who had been laid in that other grave now had in the son at her side a counterpart in every respect but one. What a comfort it would be to her, she thought, if Henry could be like his father! The great sorrow of parting with her husband; the disappointment she had met in the course of her older son; the anxiety of the past year; the bitter pangs of the present grief;—how all these burdens would be mitigated if she could see in Henry the realization of the ideal she had formed in her mind before he yielded to intemper- ance. She believed he had the power to resist; she believed he