--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Oakes, Louis W. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 20 number: 2 published: 1916-12 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Louis W. Oakes, "The Making of a Man," *Improvement Era* 20, no. 2 (December 1916): 131–140.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2002unse 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: improvementera2002unse start_page: 131 end_page: 140 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1916-12) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2002unse 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. --- # The Making of a Man The Making of a Man By Louis W Oakes . "Sit down there, Don. I'd like to speak to you for a few minutes," said James Middleton to his eighteen-year-old son, one morning, as the boy entered his office. "All right, sir," answered the boy indolently, as he dropped into one of the large armchairs, to wait while his father finished dictating a letter in the next room. Slouched lazily down in his chair, his legs stretched across the table in front of him, he sat gazing through the window into smoky space. The listless attitude brought into strong relief the marks of dissipation upon his face and stooping form. His eyes were deep-set between puffy walls of fat; and his face had become so deeply marked by that "don't care" expression, that, even in repose, it was highly insolent. Too much money and too little work had rapidly drowned the splendid heritage of birth and blood that had come to him through the broad shouldered, keen-featured, man of intellect in the next room. "Now Don," said the man, his quiet face stern with determination, "I want to ask you once more: Are you going to quit the kind of life you are leading, and be a man, or not?" "Oh, I don't know," answered Don in a somewhat dogged manner. "I don't see why it should make any difference to you, Gov'nor." From Mr. Middleton's manner, it was very evident that his temper was playing havoc with his self-control, as his teeth clicked together, and he said, "Look here, young man, don't you ever address me in that manner again. I guess you will find out what difference it makes to me. You've spent five hundred dollars of my money in the last week. And what have you to show for it? Nothing but the notoriety of having been arrested and fined in the city court, like any common scoundrel, after being so drunk that it was necessary for the police to bring you home. Confound you! you are a disgrace to my name. How do you think your mother feels over this? It's killing her; that's what it is. And now, I ask you, once for all, are you going to quit it?" The boy arose as his father stopped speaking, contemptuously shrugged his shoulders, and shuffled insolently out of the office, slamming the door behind him. — 132 IMPROVEMENT ERA The merchant stood for a moment as if petrified; then, clenching his fists, he said between his set teeth: "By heavens, I'll put him where he'll have a chance to treat people that way at his own expense!" II The following day Mr. Middleton talked the matter over with an old friend. "Do you think that will be a good plan, John? I'm sure I don't know what else to do with him; but this kind of thing cannot go on any longer, even if I have to send him to an industrial school." "Yes, I think that is the best thing you can do for him, Jim. But send him without a cent of money, and make him work or starve. It will help him. He'll not get any liquor at Walton's camp; and he will not be able to get away from there, if you let the men understand. And, I daresay, the treatment he will receive among the men will be rough enough. Walton is considered a bit eccentric, by some; but I'd rather bet on his making a man out of the boy, than anyone I know of. "If you say so," he continued, "I'll drop a card to Ralph and have him send one of his men down after the boy, right away." "Well, I guess you had better do it, John. I have spent my last dollar on him, except to put him where he will have a chance to earn his own living. And if you will kindly do that for me, I will make it right with you, and pay all expenses." One evening, a week later, Don went for a "lark" with a — new-found friend and, as usual, got as drunk as possible. But that night the policeman was not called upon to take him home: for his companion, securing the help of some of the others, carried him aboard a train bound for Greenwood, a small saw-mill village, some two hundred miles from the Middleton's home town. Ill On the morning of the second day after his experience with the new "friend," Don awoke from the effects of the liquor plus a drug, administered to him by that worthy —to find himself on a hard bunk, in a small cabin. He was somewhat bewildered at first, and gazed about wonderingly; for this was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The room was built of unhewn logs. There was one small window, and a door which stood slightly ajar. Ashelf, fastened to the wall, served as a table: a three-legged stool, and the bunk upon which he had slept, completed the furniture. These were all made of rough timber, and plainly spoke of life near to Na- THE MAKING OF A MAN 133 ture, but far from wealth's luxuries. At the farther end of the cabin was a capacious fireplace, and by the side of it a pile of kindlings. Finally giving way to his curiosity, Don stepped to the window and essayed to look out; but the only thing visible through the murky glass was the dark, forbidding face of a mighty forest. "Hey, Middleton it's about time for you to get out of here, isn't it? Better get around to the cook's office; I think your 'chuck's' ready." Don whirled about to see from whence this cheery greeting hailed, and looked squarely into a strangely familiar pair of laughing blue eyes. He regarded the young woodsman thoughtfully for a moment, then with an exclamation of glad surprise, said, as he grasped the other's hand heartily: "Larry O'Neil, by the Jinx! What in the are you doing out here? I'll be , if I'd ever thought to see you in this kind of place." A look of displeasure flashed across the other's face, as Don's vulgar speech fell upon his ear, and his manner was not quite so cordial as he answered: "Well, we'll talk about that later. For the present, you had better come up to the cook house and get some breakfast. The men have all gone to work but me: and I must go as soon as I show you to the dining room." Larry was an old-time chum of Don's, whom he had not seen for four years; the O'Neils having been forced to move away from the city on account of financial adversities. As youngsters, the two boys had been constantly together; but after his chum left, Don got into bad company, and had followed the "broad way that leads to destruction." As they climbed up the trail, on this cloudy October morning, the light autumn breeze brought the aroma of cooking food to their nostrils; and Don suddenly became aware of a sort of vacant feeling in the region of his stomach, which, he afterwards learned, was hunger. "Ching," said Larry, as they entered the messroom, "give Middleton some breakfast, and put him to work, as Ralph told you." "Allee-lightee," answered the cook, and Larry departed, leaving Don and the Chinaman together. The boy said very little while he ate. For the first time in his life, something had set him to thinking. He had tried to learn something as to how he had come there, but Larry would tell him nothing; and subsequent efforts were rewarded in the same way by other members of the crew. Even Ching was silent on this subject. 134 IMPROVEMENT ERA As soon as the young man had finished his breakfast, the cook showed him a pile of wood, which was to be sawed and stacked up against the shanty for winter use, and told him to get busy. It was rather a new sensation for Don to have anyone order him about, and he merely snorted contemptuously, as he turned and started toward the cabin in which he had slept. Hardly had his sullen mood carried him a dozen steps, however, when he was whirled about with such vehemence as almost to take his breath away, and found himself gazing into the beady, black eyes of the native of Peking. "Me guessee you to go to wolk, allee-lightee!" For a moment Don was too astonished to do anything but stare at the cook; then he suddenly regained his senses and, his anger flaring up, he dealt the Chinaman an "undercut" on the point of the chin with his clenched fist. Although not heavy, the blow was a surprise to Ching; and not having a chance to dodge, he was sent sprawling among the pine needles. "I guess you'd better keep your hands off me," said Don vengefuHy. Hardly had the words escaped his lips, when his throat was seized by a thin, clawlike hand; and soon he was lying upon his back with the Chinaman's knees upon his chest. The next five minutes of Don's life was a period of the most horrible muscular torture that Jiu Jitsu can devise. It seemed to him as if the muscles of his body were being torn into shreds. He was utterly helpless in the hands of the wiry Ching, and his cries for help brought no aid. At last the frenzied Chinaman ceased torturing his victim. Stepping back, he gave the boy a kick in the ribs and told him to get up. Don obeyed, and Ching roughly pushed him along to where the saw reclined against the improvised saw-horse, and pointing to it, hissed: "Allee-lightee, go wolkee." Not far away, at the edge of a small clump of young pines, Ralph Walton turned away with a grim smile, as he saw Don making clumsy efforts to use the saw, under the supervision of the Chinese cook. IV As a result of the oriental method of punishment, Don was unable to leave his bed for three days following his encounter with Ching. And during that time, he was continually trying to devise some means of avenging his supposed wrongs. Nothing sufficiently cruel came to his mind, however; but on the fourth morning, he arose with a murderous determination in his heart to get even. As he and Larry were going up to breakfast, Don stumbled, and his stiffened muscles caused him to fall headlong. The pain " THE MAKING OF A MAN 135 almost brought tears to his eyes, and he got up cursing the Chinaman in a manner most disgusting to Larry. Near the door of the kitchen, they were met by Ralph. "Was that you swearing, down the trail there, Middleton?" asked the foreman. "Yes, sir, it was," snapped Don. "Well," said Ralph quietly, "I warn you, once for all, young man, we don't tolerate that kind of thing around here; and the next time you indulge in it, you can look out for the consequences." "Oh, I guess I'll suit myself about what I say. It's none of your business, and you'd better keep your — "Shut up, you fool!' said Larry under his breath, as he grasped Don by the arm. "Keep your hands off me, you.I can stand up without any of your help," retorted the culprit, as he jerked away and started back down the trail in a high temper. "Here, come back here," called Walton, in a tone bordering upon anger. "You go to ," answered Don. "Get hold of him, men," said Ralph, turning to some of the loggers who had gathered about, "get hold of him, and bring him up to the 'dipper'." "Allee-lightee!' yelled the cook, as he shot past the others and raced after the runaway. "Ching catchee and fetchee!" The other members of the crew were too amazed to do anything but gape with astonishment at this unusual outbreak from the Chinaman, and he was left to his own resources. Hardly had he been gone two seconds, when Don, with a yell of pain, turned a somersault and struck upon his head and shoulders. When the others reached the spot, they found the boy lying in an unconscious heap, and Ching, with a face almost white, trying in every manner available to rouse him. "Oh-a, oh, me tlip, me tlip! No meanee to hultee!" wailed the frightened Chinaman, as the men came up. "Get out of the way, and go back to the kitchen, where you belong," said Ralph, pushing Ching aside. "Bring my medicine case and some water down to the cabin, Dave," he continued, addressing a large lumberman; then, picking up the boy, as if he had been a feather, the foreman carried him into the bunkhouse. A few days were sufficient, under the skilful care of Walton, to put Don on his feet again; and he was soon going about his daily tasks, somewhat wiser, but with a more deadly attitude than ever, toward Ching. 136 IMPROVEMENT ERA His opportunity of "petting even" was slow in putting in an appearance, although it did come, one freezing day in January. All of the men were enjoying a steaming hot dinner; but Don, who was reveling in one of his sullen moods, had not yet come in. Ralph was telling about how "Dock," the big chopper, had fallen through the ice into a small lake, the day before; and all present were intently listening to his droll account. Ching was standing behind the foreman's chair, with his back 'toward the stove. Just as the anecdote was drawing near to its climax, the door softly opened and Don stepped cautiously in. Taking the situation in at a glance, he lifted a heavy kettle of simmering hot beans from the stove, and striding quicklv forward, gave the vessel a deft turn which placed it bottom side up, over the Chinaman's head. Poor Ching made a gurgling attempt to yell, and tried to back out of the kettle. In this he was partly successful; but as the vessel dropped off his head, the bail remained around his neck, causing him to fall headlong against the table. This piece of kitchen furniture, which was rather narrow and not well braced against side "swipes," immediately toppled over, scattering dishes and foodstuffs promiscuously about. One part of the load, which happened to be a cup of seething hot Coffee, chanced to come in contact with the hand and arm of a fiery son of Ireland. "Howly Patrick!" he yelled, and throwing himself backward to escape, drove his head through a pane of the window behind him. His massive shock of red hair went readily through the window; but his efforts to draw it back were futile, for the edge of the overturned table brazenly held his toes pinned to the floor, thus binding him "hand and foot." In this precarious position he was almost as uncomfortable as Ching, who was bouncing about in much the same manner as a French razorback does when it gets its head fast in a slop pail. At length, upon being released from his encumbrance by one of the men, the cook shot through the open doorway, made a short sprint to the river, and dove head foremost into its cooling waters, in which great bodies of mush-ice were rapidly forming. For a few moments all was confusion. Then, as they recovered their self-control, part of the men went to the rescue of the cook, while others proceeded to extricate their Irish friend, who came out with: "Sarved him right, the bloody haythen." Up until the time of Ching's flight, Don had stood back and viewed his work with a triumphant smile; but as he stepped out of the door to watch the Chinaman take his plunge, he was — THE MAKING OF A MAN 137 grasped on each side by a stalwart woodsman and marched away to a dark room in one of the larger cabins. VI During the five days of his imprisonment, Don had suffered many hours of torment, face to face with his own thoughts. Being left in the most extreme solitude, many questions arose to torture him. What had happened to the cook? Had he been drowned in the icy river? Or, even were he rescued from drowning, would the awful scalding cause him to lose his eyesight? For the first time in his life, Don was brought to know that he had a conscience; and with these questions had come fearful forebodings. The darkness seemed full of awful visions — — of poor Ching's lifeless body of him groping about the kitchen with halting step and sightless eyes. Then came the remembrance of how good-natured Ching had always been — barring that first encounter and how well the men all liked him. The only refuge the boy had from these tortures lay in thoughts of his mother. And even there he found little comfort, for he knew only too well that his actions had added many gray hairs to her dear head. 1 Turn whichever way he would, the deepest remorse pursued him; and he felt that it was driving him mad. The agony of this horrible awakening was almost beyond the endurance of his untrained constitution; and his constant moans for the sympathy of that dear one, to whom all sons turn in their sorrow, grew steadily more childish. For a hundred twenty hours Don had neither seen nor spoken to anyone. Nor had even the most slender shaft of light touched his eyes in that time. There was always food at hand, when he awoke from his troubled sleeps; but he knew not how it came. As he lay upon his hard bunk, his mind feebly struggled to free himself from the whirling maze into which it had fallen; but a horrible pain in his head rendered even partially connected thinking impossible. This, coupled with weakness due to a lack of the food which he had left untouched, made him almost totally helpless. — "Oh, if I could only die," he moaned, "I don't see why — do they keep me Oh-h!" — — "What is that? It's it's " Don pulled himself to his feet, and staggered toward the door, just as the heavy structure swung open, letting in a flood of light which caused him to scream with pain. Clapping his hands quickly over his eyes, he stood dizzily swaying back and forth for a moment, then fell face downward upon the rough floor. When he became conscious again, Don found himself upon his bed in the room which he had before shared with Larry and ; 138 IMPROVEMENT ERA beside the fireplace, stood Ralph Walton, thoughtfully gazing into the cheery blaze. The foreman had gone to the prison that morning to release the boy, and upon seeing the condition of his mind, had decided that the psychological time had arrived for the changing of the course of the lad's life. The conference between them was a long and earnest one; and of what was said there we have no record. Suffice it to say, that when Ralph Walton left the little cabin, there was a quiet, satisfied smile jipon his face which told more plainly than words, that his object had been accomplished. VII "By jingo," said Larry O'Neil, as Don and he sat by the fireside one cold winter's eve, talking over old times. "I didn't think there could be such a change in a fellow. Do you remember the day, three years ago, when you turned the bean kettle over Ching's head, and got locked up in the old cabin prison for it?" "Well, I should say," answered Don, "there certainly was something doing that day. I guess I was about the meanest cur that ever came over the pike, when I landed among you fellows." "But it has certainly been the making of you." Just then the door was opened and Ralph Walton walked in. Kicking the snow off his boots, he took the chair that Larry pushed toward him, and held his hands to the blaze for a moment, as he said: "Well, Don, I guess I'll have to take Larry and start for Greenwood tomorrow, to be gone about two weeks. So you will have to take charge of the work here. I guess you had better have the men move that upper rick of logs out on the ice, first. I expect the river will break up about the last of March; and we'll have to hurry, if we get ready for it. There are still a few hundred thousand feet on the other side to be moved, and it's apt to keep us going, if we get them all moved before the ice gets rotten. What do you say, will you do that for the Company?" "Why, blast it all, Ralph, I'd rather see you give the overseeing of the work to one of the older men; I'm not the right one, and I know they would feel better about it." "Ho! ho! Bosh!" laughed the foreman, "you don't need to worry about that. I've already spoken to them about it, and they expect to see you out as boss, in the morning. There is not much to do; just work the men to the best advantage, and keep things moving." "All right," answered Don, "I'll do the best I can." 'That's all anyone can do," said the older man as he arose, and buttoning his jacket, left them for the night. "Well," said Larry, as Ralph closed the door behind him, " THE MAKING OF A MAN 139 "didn't I tell you you'd be bossing the gang one of these days? What do you think about it now?" "Let's not say any more about it, Larry," answered Don in a slightly embarrassed tone. "All right, old man," replied his friend, "but I would like to tell Ching about it, and then be here tomorrow to see the dinner he would cook. Jerusalem! Wouldn't it be great? Why — — he'd serve a regular French banquet names and all in honor — of the new boss; and "Say, if you don't shut up, I'll throw a stick of wood at you." "Well, of course I'll stop, if you want me to," laughingly answered Larry. Then, as if to change the subject he went to a corner of the room where hung his heavy coat and, after fumb- ; ling for a moment in an inner pocket, turned with a smile. "Here is another letter from your best girl. When are you going down to see her?" As Don only smiled, Larry continued his banter. "Say, your best friend will sure want to go along, too. Since that day you put a hot bean poultice on his head, and extracted his pig tail, he's frozen on to you. And by George, with his new clothes and American manners, you wouldn't need to — be ashamed of him either even in your mother's parlor." The two friends then fell to discussing Don's return home. "I do not want to go," said Don earnestly, "until I can feel that I have made good; but I know that I ought to go soon." For a few moments both boys were silent, each wrapped illhis own thoughts; then, at the suggestion of Don, prepared to retire, and were soon lost in that deep, dreamless slumber which none but those who toil can know. VIII The train was speeding rapidly away from the sawmill districts. Don watched the mountains, among which he had spent the last five years of his life, slowly recede from view. And as he caught a last glimpse of them from the top of a pass, over which the train was climbing, his gaze rested tenderly upon a lofty peak of the Baldy range. At the foot of that majestic monument was located the logging camp, toward which Larry, who had conveyed him to the train, was even then gently urging his tired horses. As the train started down the long grade and the mountain disappeared from view, Don settled himself comfortably back into his seat for a lonesome reverie. Presently he took from his satchel a much worn packet of letters. — As he looked them over, one by one some of them, — perhaps, for the hundredth time a tender smile played for a moment over his features; only to be chased away by an ex- : 140 IMPROVEMENT ERA pression of sadness, as he came upon a passage which brought hack some incident in his former life. Finally he came to a letter much less worn than the rest, and his eyes filled with tears, as he read: "Aren't you ever coming home? I have waited so long, and am getting so anxious to see you. You know you promised to come at Christmas, and it is now the first of April. Do come home for a few days, Don. You do not know how much I want you. I have respected your wish; and your father — knows nothing about you, as yet avoids mentioning your name, I think because he pities me. But if you do not come this time, I shall tell him and send him after you." After giving an account of things at home, the letter ended "Do come home at once, my boy; you cannot know how much we need you." "Dear little mother," said Don tenderly, as he replaced the letters. "The boys all think I have had a sweetheart and I — surely have. I have disappointed you twice; but I shall not this time." For some time he sat as if in deep thought, then a satisfied smile crossed his face. "Oh, well, I guess I am not so far behind, after all. I have two thousand dollars tied up in the business; and have had five years' training with the best bunch of men in the world. Yes; it surely is good to feel independent, and to know the real value of money. Why, I used to squander more than that many dollars in a single year, when I was at home. Dear old daddy, I wonder if he knew what a great thing he was doing for me, when he sent me out there to shift for myself?" IX Mr. James Middleton sat at his desk rapidly going through his mail. He was in an unusual hurry today, for Mrs. Middleton was coming to take him shopping with her, and he did not wish to keep her waiting. Business had been so pressing of late, that he had been able to spend very little of his time at home; and he was always happy at the thought of spending a few golden, leisure hours with this sweetheart of his youth. "Not done yet, dear?" said a sweet-voiced little woman, bending over the merchant's shoulder. "Perhaps I had better wait in youf private office." As his wife paused a moment in the doorway, Mr. Middleton gave an exclamation of glad surprise. "Wait a moment, sweet heart, and let me look at you. I have not seen that expression on your face in the last eight years. What has happened, little mother?" "Oh, that is a secret. Perhaps I will tell you after while," replied his wife, with a mischievous smile.