--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Elsie Chamberlain collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 19 number: 9 published: 1916-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Elsie Chamberlain, "Restraining Hands," *Improvement Era* 19, no. 9 (July 1916): 795–804.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1909unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1909unse start_page: 795 end_page: 804 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1916-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1909unse publication_year: 1916 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1916, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Restraining Hands RESTRAINING HANDS ELSIE CHAMBERLAIN CARFLOhV W0 —"^ Tom Clayton sat with his books by the small window of his eight by ten third story room. As he glanced out he saw Rockie Newland, Free Porter and Ned Rogers with their tennis rackets, turning in at the house. He remembered his promise to play off the tie with which the four had left the court the day before, so he flung his books on his desk and slipped into his coat. He wasn't half ready for the exam, in chemistry that was coming the next day, and he felt like he ought to stay and study, but it was some- thing for a poor fellow like him to have friends like Rockie and Ned and Free, and he didn't want them to think he was nothing but a grind. They had been mighty nice to him ever since he turned the inter-class track meet into a sophomore victory the year before and since he had become a member of the 'Varsity Track Team he had found himself more popular than ever. The fellows had tried repeatedly to induce him to leave the cheap boarding house where he tended furnace to pay for his lodgings, and join their fraternity. They knew he was poor and was mak- ing his way through college and they had intimated that his part of the expense would not matter. They were sons of millionaires and could make it up without missing it. But Tom had soon convinced them that it did matter to him. He appreciated their intentions, but he couldn't "sponge" and keep his self-respect. So he had stayed on at the second class rooming house, but had gratefully accepted their friendship, being proud to be seen with the real swells of the college, even though he could not imitate their extravagant habits and easy manners. "Ready, Tom?" called Rockie as Tom came clown the stairs. Just then the postman stepped to the door. "Register for Mr. Clayton," he said. "I'll be there in a minute," Tom told them as he quickly signed the receipt and* took the bulky envelope. He loked at it curiously. He was expecting a letter from home, but this was not from father. He studied the post mark. It was from New York City. From whom could it be? He slipped back up to *The Improvement Era prize story for April. : . — 7% IMPROVEMENT ERA his room, still turning the letter over and over in his hands. When he was alone he tore the envelope open with a quick move- ment and pulled out the contents. Then he stood staring at what he held in his hands. There were a couple of folded papers and a handful of greenbacks He turned ! them over incredulously. His eye caught the figures in the corner of the one on top. It was one hundred dol- lars. He felt dizzy. What could it mean? Was he dreaming? With an effort he collected his surprised senses and sat down to his desk. His fingers shook as he unfolded one of the pa- pers. "My dear Nephew," it began. Wonderingly Tom turned to the end of the letter. It was signed, "George Clayton." Yes, he remembered vaguely that he had heard of an Uncle George, his father's older brother. He recalled the almost forgotten story of their "He felt dizzy. What estrangement when his father had could it mean?" joined the Church and gone to Utah years ago. That is about all he had ever heard of this uncle. Curiously he turned again to the beginning of the letter and read "Bellevue Hospital, New York City, March 20, 19— "My Dear Nephew: Doubtless you will be surprised to receive this letter. Perhaps you have never heard of me. I am the brother of your father, Thomas Clayton, who went to Utah in 1868. We had a quarrel at that time which foolishly left us as strangers. "A fortnight ago I went to Madison Square Garden to see the Spring Inter-Collegiate Track Meet. I was naturally interested when I saw your name scheduled on the score card to represent Cornell in the mile run. I enquired about you of some of the Cornell officials and found that you were from Utah. Your strong resemblance to your father had already made me sure you were his son. "It was with a good deal of family pride that I saw you nose ahead of Yale and Harvard and Princeton, and with that last plucky sprint take the tape. I intended to hunt you out after the meet and — take you home with me, but in the crush afterwards well perhaps you read of the automobile accident. I was in the smashup and have been here at the hospital ever since. "At first they thought it was all up with me, then later gave me some hope. But yesterday unlooked for complications set in, and now they tell me I'll have to have an operation and there is nothing sure about a recovery. Tt doesn't really matter much, I'm getting old and — never had much to live for that is, no family, you see. I've been RESTRAINING HANDS 797 thinking how different it would seem if I had a boy like you. Your face has stayed with me, and I've been thinking a good deal about you the last few days. I had hoped to become your friend — and maybe see your father again some day. It looks as if that may not be. "I have a little wad I've made here in New York. I learned from the Cornell men I talked with that you are working your way through school. I like your pluck. That's like your father. "In the morning I take my chance. If I pull through I'll let you — know and we'll see each other soon. If I don't well, it doesn't really — matter much to me and I'm leaving my little 'pile' to help you through college. Good bye. "Sincerely your uncle, "George Clayton." Tom read the letter through again before he could fully realize what it meant. Then he looked at the money on the desk. Slowly he counted it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten — one-hundred-dollar bills and there was a certifi- cate for nine hundred dollars more. He could scarcely believe his eyes. It was more money than he had seen or ever hoped to see in his life. It was almost as much as Rockie and Free boasted of spending each year. Why, he was almost in the same class with the fellows of the Chi Psi now. He could join the Frat! That was his first thought. He felt his head go up and his chest expand with added self-importance. He counted the money once more, then unfolded the other document. It was simply a state- ment from his uncle's lawyer, stating that George Clayton had died subsequent to an operation and that upon his request the enclosed money and letter were being forwarded and that the certificate could be redeemed at any time at the First National Bank of New York City. "Hello, therer Tom. You must have found something mighty interesting in that registered letter. Don't you know you're holding back that game? Come down and justify your- self," called Rockie from the lower hall. Tom sprang to his feet, gathering up the bills and letters, and ran down to them. "Does this justify me?" he exclaimed excitedly, exhibiting his wealth. "Of course it may not look much to you guys who have never had to learn the value of a dollar, but to a pauper like me his —Jove, as rich as Croesus." Hurriedly he explained I feel newly acquired wealth. The fellows gathered around him with genuine congratulations and in a moment carried him off toward the tennis courts. "Say, boys, we'll have to have a bang-up spree tonight in honor of old Tom's luck," drawled Rockie. "Sure thing," assented the others. "There's a corker of a show on at the Star," remembered Ned. "Lutra Warner, you know, in the 'Little Devil.' Then " 798 IMPROVEMENT ERA we'll go to the Dutch afterwards. You've never been to the Dutch, have you, Clayton?" "No," Tom admitted, ashamed that he was so unsophisti- cated. "We'll initiate you tonight, then," laughed Free. "And afterwards we might take a spin over to Cortland," added Rockie. "It's time old Tom cut his eye teeth. You haven't tasted real college life. All you've had is the grind. I'll take that in diluted doses, for mine. "No danger of Rockie taking anything like work in concen- trated doses," jibed Ned. "What about yourself? I've never come as near bursting out as you did last semester. You managed to miss every blamed 'prelim.,' but I'll bet you didn't miss one show. Wine, women and song: those are the three planks in Ned's platform." "Mighty fine planks," agreed Rogers, blowing a ring of smoke from his cigar. "Here Tom, have a smoke. I just got a box of fresh cigars," Ned offered. Tom had been offered cigars many times before but had always refused, as he had the other treats the fellows had tried to impose upon him. Now he hesitated. Most of the fellows smoked. He had grown to like the smell of a good cigar, and it looked classy. "I don't smoke, you know," he began uncertainly, "but — "But you will now, of course," Ned finished for him. "I wouldn't smoke either if I had to use any this or that. But there's nothing like a good old cigar. Try one." Tom took one from the case and lighted it. Strangely enough as he did so his mind flew back to a little room in the old church at home where he used to go to Sunday school, and he saw an awkward, eager-faced lad of adolescent age sitting with wide eyes and open mouth listening to an idolized Sunday school teacher. "How many of you boys can promise me never to poison your bodies with tobacco ?" And Tom saw the hand of the awk- ward lad shoot up and a look of boyish resolve light his face. The memory held him, and the cigar smouldered in his hand, half way to his lips. "How does it go?" asked Rockie, all unconscious of the mental conflict going on beside him. "Fine !" Tom replied, and he inwardly called himself a fool as he shook himself from the past and slipped the cigar into his mouth. "You'll come to the Frat now, of course," said Free as if the subject permitted of no discussion. "The suite between mine and Rockie's is empty. Old Smiler got "busted out" last term you know. You might just as well have been in it months ago if you weren't so duced independent. It's the right kind of sports RESTRAINING HANDS 799 we're after and it doesn't matter so much about the dough as you seemed to think." "We're mighty glad for you, though," put in Rockie, "that your uncle came through with the dough. It must be hell to have to scrimp and grind like some of the poor dogs do." "It is," agreed Tom, blowing clouds of smoke into the air almost as carelessly as Rockie. He had pushed the disconcerting picture of the moment before into the background. "Say, old sport, I want you to come home with me during the spring vacation," said Free. "Old New York's not so slow a place to sport around in for a week. There's a bunch of good shows coming, and I know lots of swell girls." Tom's spirits were rising to the occasion. How different it would be to go to New York as Free's guest with his pockets full of money, to the way he had gone a month ago with the team with small provision for side expenses. They had reached the tennis court and were soon busy with the game. Tom and Free played Rockie with Ned, and were badly beaten in each of the three sets they played. "Tom's off color today," growled Free good-naturedly. "His luck's gone to his head. Wait till he recovers and we'll show you a different looking score." They left the court and started from the campus. "Come on over to the house with us now," invited Rockie. "It's nearly dinner time. You can get your traps tomorrow." Tom had started to turn off toward the cheap cafeteria where he usually took his meals. "All right, I guess I will," replied Tom, feeling like he was about to enter a new world. How unreal and impossible it all seemed, as he followed his friends up the broad steps to the imposing entrance of the mag- nificent Chi Psi. The big fraternity house stood with its wide balconies, great glistening windows, and innumerable gables on a picturseque cliff jutting out over Cascadilla gorge. Green lawns and well kept shrubs surrounded it, while the crystal waters of Cascadilla tumbled in sparkling falls below. As in a dream Tom entered the broad hall. Spacious read- ing rooms and dens opened invitingly. His feet fell noiselessly upon rich velvet rugs. Beautiful paintings hung on the walls, and heavy curtains draped the windows. He caught a climpse of the long dining room with its cut glass and shining silverware. Savory odors reached him as he was led past the dining room up the wide stairs. And this was to be his home now !He could always live in a place like this !It seemed like a paradise com- pared with the dingy quarters he had left. Ned had been right. It was hell to be poor. "Here you are. How do vou like it?" Rockie had led the 800 IMPROVEMENT ERA way down a wide corridor of the second floor and flung open a door on the left. "My rooms are next there, and Ned's the door we just passed. Free 'hangs up' across the hall down in the other corner. I think you know most of the fellows. There's Burns and Sherwood, and the Durrants and Peters and Blakesly and a few others. They'll all be glad you've come." Tom went in. He still felt dazed. To think that these rooms were to take the place of his eight by ten. He felt like he was Alladin and had just rubbed his wonderful lamp. "Which will you have, Tom, champagne or sherry?" They were finishing dinner. Rockie held two glasses toward him. "I— I—" "Well, say, try both, then you'll know." The two glasses were placed beside his plate. Tom lifted one in his hand. He had never tasted wine before. Thoughts of the forgotten past again struggled in his memory. He was in Mutual back in the familiar church at home. A returned missionary, now the Junior class leader, was giving an eloquent address on the curse of drink. The talk had stirred Tom's young soul. He sat spell- bound thinking that he would give anything in the world to be able to talk like that; to do the good that Brother Daniels was doing. He remembered how he thrilled at the young man's ap- pealing words : "Boys, remember that your being is God's great- est gift. Are you going to keep it pure, your body and your soul, 'The waiter approached with loaded trays. 'Hurray! A keg of beer for the four of us.' " : RESTRAINING HANDS 801 as was when the Father gave it to you, or are you going to it shattered by the curse of drink the curse of drink which let it be ; has brought more misery and want and crime into the world than any other thing?" With an impatient shrug Tom banished the memory. What nonsense at a time like this. With a forced laugh he lifted the glass to his lips and drained it. Then he emptied the other. "They're both pretty 'moreish'," he laughed, turning to his friends. "Have another," drawled Rockie, reaching to refill his glass. "This is your night, you know." The spirit of recklessness had taken possession of Tom. "I don't care if I do," he said, and he gulped down another glass. "Come on fellows, it's nearly show time. You know we're going to celebrate old Tom's luck," and Free led the way from the table. Soon they were marching down Buffalo street, recklessly singing "Hurray! A keg of beer for the four of us! Glorious! That there are no more of us!" When they entered the theatre Tom insisted on buying the tickets for the crowd. He handed over one of his hundred dollar billsand heard the ticket seller count out as much as he usually spent for a month's board. But, it gave him only a sense of pride. The show was a light musical comedy and some parts of it brought the blood rushing to Tom's cheeks, but he applauded as boisterously as any of them and told himself that he was having the time of his life. When the opera was over the boys went noisily across the street to the brightly lighted Dutch Kitchen. A number of groups of fellows were already around part of the tables, laugh- ing and joking in various stages of sobriety. A band was playing lively music from a balcony in the far end of the room. Tom noticed that the hands of the big clock pointed to twelve. He thought uncomfortably of his coming examination. It had always been his pride to make good grades. A waiter stepped up for their orders. "Order up boys," Tom said, picking up a menu card and looking over the unintelligible bill of fare. The others were glibly giving their orders for meats and cocktails. Tom followed their example. "Say, fellows," he said, as they sat wainting "I have a beast of an exam, in Chem. tomorrow. How do you suppose I'll make it?" 802 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Why, shift it," advised Rockie easily. "We all do. Then we tutor for a make-up when the finals get a little nearer." Tom was grateful for this solution to his problem. Of course, he knew a number of students— grinds— who did tutoring, making their college expenses by it. He had been hoping to be able to do some of himself the next year. it It was so much easier money than the janitorial work he had. It stillseemed impossible that he no longer needed to work. That he didn't even need to — study until he got ready. The waiter approached with loaded trays. "Hurray! A keg of beer for the four of us!" the fellows began to chant and Tom joined in. He felt light headed and giddy and irresponsible. Yes, this was glorious! He ate and drank and talked and sang and tried to think he had never been so happy in his life, and yet all the time something rankled in the background of his consciousness. It was two o'clock when they got unsteadily up from the table. Tom handed the waiter a hundred dollar bill and care- lessly took his change. He felt like a lord as he staggered to the door. "Old Tom's pretty well loaded," laughed Free, steadying him as they came out on the street. "Where next?" drawled Rockie. "Who says Cortland?" "What's there?" hiccoughed Tom. "Girls," laughed Free close to his ear. For a moment the fog seemed to clear from Tom's befuddled brain, and he was standing with his father back at the little home station there in Utah. It was the morning he left and they were waiting for the train. "My son," he seemed to hear his father's hesitating voice, fit never had been easy for father to talk about subjects he felt deeply.) "I hope you will always keep yourself clean for the woman who is to be the mother of your children." Tom reeled a little and Ned caught him. "We'd better save Cortland for tomorrow night. Tom's too blamed full," he said. "Guess you're right," drawled Rockie. "Let's turn in." As in a daze Tom was led back to the fraternity and heloed into bed. He rolled and tumbled for a few moments, then dropped off into a troubled sleep. Presently he seemed to be standing on the brink of a deep precipice. Below him rolled and tumbled a dark, angry flood. Strangely there was something about the roaring torrent that seemed to fascinate him. He drew nearer and nearer the danger- ous edge. Some uncontrollable power seemed to impel him to leap down, down to the terrible boiling depths below. He stood for a moment hesitating, then lie decided to take the leap. His feet slipped and he knew he was going down. Then when it was too ; RESTRAINING HANDS 803' late, untold horror seized him. He cried out. Instantly strong restraining hands reached out and drew him back. He looked about to see who his saviors had been. There they were, in a long line, looking at him with sorrowful, pleading eyes: his old Sunday school teacher, his Mutual class leader, his father, and many others. Again the memories which had disturbed him earlier in the evening stirred him, and he seemed to hear once more, "How many of you boys can promise me never to poison your bodies with tobacco?" and "Are you going to let your soul and body be shattered by the curse of drink!" and those halting words of his dear father, "I hope, my boy, that you will keep yourself clean for the woman who is to be the mother of your children." He gave a glad cry of joy to find himself safe in the circle of their sheltering love. The cry awoke him, and he lay staring in the darkness. Where was he? Why was he trembling so? Beads of per- spiration stood on his forehead. His head ached, and his lips were dry. Suddenly the moon came from behind a cloud and its light came in through the window and flooded the rich room. He sat up and looked about the unfamiliar place wonderingly. Then, like a flash, it all came back to him that registered letter : his uncle's money the fellows and the reckless night down town. ; It seemed like a terrible nightmare. He sprang from the bed and went to the window. It was open, and the soft spring air kissed his hot forehead. The solemn moon-filled silence seemed to wrap him in a sweet calm. He could think clearly now. He recalled his dream, and its meaning seemed O so beautiful and plain. That deep, dark cavern into which he was about to plunge his manhood was the temptation a life of luxury and dissipation was holding out to him. Those restraining hands which had so eagerly snatched him back at his first cry, were the influence^ of the gospel which had been unconsciously rooted into his being during his youth and early childhood. They were the influences of the gospel he had so carelessly neglected during the last three years, when he had needed their restraining power most. As the beautiful meaning came to him in all its strength and clearness, he felt a great wave of repentant gratitude sweep over him. How precious the gospel seemed He fell upon his knees and buried ! his face in his hands. "O God, I thank thee! I thank thee !" he whispered brokenly, while unchecked sobs shook his frame. he grew calm, and faced the situation squarely. After awhile It would take He knew he was standing at the cross-roads. courage to turn from the broad, enticing road which beckoned him, back into the straight and narrow way. He stood pondering would be hard to stand every detail of the test awaiting him. It their notion of what constituted a good out against the fellows in time. He could see now that it would be out of the question for S(M IMPROVEMENT ERA . him to remain at the Chi Psi at all. Perhaps it would not be necessary for him to go back to his old room, but he could get comfortable quarters elsewhere. He could also report to the head janitor to find another man to take his place so he could have all his time for his work. In so much he could benefit by the good fortune which had come to him, but he could not allow it to waste his life and opportunities. He thought of a splendid farm out home he could purchase for himself and younger brothers. In that way his uncle's money would not have been saved in vain. The clock in the library tower chimed four. In a half hour he was due at his janitorial post. He lifted his head from the window sill and prayed out into the silent night. Then he arose and dressed himself and slipped noiselessly down the broad stairs out into the coming dawn. He took in long, deep breaths of the fresh spring air. What peace and strength it gave him He felt ! that he was a man ! That in the future he could meet any crisis and he would not fall ! Those restraining hands had not been held out in vain! The Bar The saloon is sometimes called a BAR — that's true.' A BAR to heaven, a door to hell; Whoever named it, named it well. A BAR to manliness and wealth; A door to want and broken health. A BAR to honor, pride and fame; A door to grief and sin and shame. A BAR to home, a BAR to prayer; A door to darkness and despair. A BAR to honored, useful life; A door to brawling, senseless strife. A BAR to all that's true and brave; A door to every drunkard's grave. A BAR to joys that home imparts; A door to tears and aching hearts. A BAR to heaven, a door to hell; Whoever named it, named it well. — Selected.