Threads

Threads

By O. S. Johnson

I became acquainted with Jimmy, it matters not how, one summer while I was experimenting in a boiler shop. He was wrinkled and white-haired. a slow little fellow, Almost he seemed to have become a part of the machine he attended to. It was one of those bolt threaders. I suppose Jimmy got the job because of faithful service. Sometimes I have even wondered if the company did not install that particular machine in order that Jimmy might have work. He had been with them for thirty years before I knew him, and certainly in that time he must have done great service. Everyone felt kindly toward him, and if there seemed to be anything wrong with him, there were always some who were ready to help. One afternoon, in particular, I recall, when the clanging machinery had softened its tones enough to be heard if one used all one's vocal powers, he was seated idly at his ma- chine awaiting the arrival of some bolts to be threaded, when two men, not as old as he, noticed him. They walked over to his machine, accosted him several times, and, failing to receive a response, passed on. Fearing that something was not right, I threaded my way through a mass of scrap iron, half finished boilers, and such, and touched him on the shoulder. He turned such a woeful gaze upon me that I at first feared for his reason. "What's wrong, Jimmy boy? You seem to have about gone as far as your joys reach." "It's twenty years since I first started to try to get away, and it looks as if it would be twenty more before I get away, and by that time it won't be to the place where I wanted to go." I had never heard so much longing put into common place words before, and I wondered where he had wanted to go. After- wards I knew, of course. He was not the kind to wear his life away in a steel workshop for a few dollars. But then I did not know Jimmy as he had been, only as he was. After work that night, I followed Jimmy out to the street car. In his hand he carried a small bundle wrapped in a news- paper. It'never occurred to me that he had eaten no lunch, but it did occur to his two helpers. They had been his helpers for

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five years, however, and were better able to judge of what he carried home in a newspaper. "Jimmy don't eat his lunch any more. He carries it back home with him. He used not to have enough, so he said." "Perhaps it's the noise. But then he never used to notice the noise at all. It must be that something has happened that he don't like to think about." After listening to those views, I, of course, formed some of my own. But Jimmy must be made to eat his lunch. Already I could see that he was getting thinner than when I first saw him. Vaguely I wondered if he were afraid that he would have to starve a little now in order that he might get away later. But feeling that he was not that kind, I put those thoughts away. Or, rather, I tried to put Jimmy out of mind entirely. He was nothing to me, except an old man with white hair, and a little wrinkled face. And yet, the next morning when I reached my machine, there was Jimmy, wrinkled and thin and old as he had always been. I watched him that day, and knew at night that he had eaten nothing for lunch. And the following morning I greeted him as usual and lingered near his machine until the whistle blew. "Why don't you eat your lunch, Jimmy boy? I noticed yes- terday that you got a little shaky before quitting time, and the lunch you brought with you in the morning, was yet unopened at night." He looked startled for a moment, and then almost smiled. Still it was not near enough to make sure whether or not it was intended for a smile or just an interested look. "Why, I didn't suppose any one was noticing. It really is only an idea of mine." "But what sort of ideas do you find that urge you not to eat? Don't you know that people live in order to satisfy long- ings to eat, drink and be merry? Ask anyone they will tell you it's so." "But it is only their ideas of being satisfied. No one ever is supposed to become satisfied, but everyone ought to think that he is going to be, some time, and when one has enough to eat and drink, it only follows that he must be merry. People really only get satisfaction when they eat, and satisfaction makes them happy. "Now if I were to feel that I wouldn't have to get up at seven o'clock every morning, go to a shop that makes one stuff his ears with cotton in order that they might be of service to him after he leaves; and, above all, if I could only feel that I could do something useful, I could then hope some day to be

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satisfied. As it is, well, I feel that the quicker it's over with, the quicker I'll be able to get away." The whistle blew, and despondently he turned to work. Be- side him was a great pile of short steel rods of all sizes that were to be threaded. What a monotony he had. I had never thought of it before, but he was almost threaded himself. Threads, threads, threads; millions of them he had made, and yet he wanted to do something useful. Did he know that those threads were some of the most useful things that were made? It was likely he did, for he knew his business thoroughly. And yet he wanted to be useful. Again at night I noted the unopened lunch, and made it a point to sit beside him on the car. Significantly I tapped the package at his side. He looked up and smiled wanly. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I started to untie the string but I couldn't do it. It means too much to me. That lunch costs twenty-five cents, and that much saved every day for a month means seven dollars and fifty cents, and for a year it means almost a hundred dollars. With a hundred dollars I could almost break away." "I'll loan you that much and more, if that's all you need." "It wouldn't do at all. I would only feel that I ought to stay until I had paid it back, and then there's Nina." He noted my quick glance of interrogation, and hastened to explain that Nina was his only daughter. "But, my dear man, if you have the lunch put up, it is wasted if not eaten. Of what possible use can it be to you after it has become hard and dry? Surely you don't mean to say that you have only that little bit of dried up stuff for your supper." "No, but you don't know Nina. She is a lovely girl, but so shiftless that she never notices, and I have carried that little lunch for three whole weeks already. I suppose it will do for a few more." I had my opinion of a daughter that was so careless of her father's comfort that she did not even so much as know whether or not he had any luncheon. And then I wondered what she was doing all this time. I knew his salary was very small, barely enough to pay rent and buy a little to eat and wear, but she must do something. "Isn't Nina working?" "What ! Oh yes, yes. That is, she is trying to work. She's a writer, and, of course, she feels that she needs a lot of time in order to think." "I'll warrant that she has the writer's cramp most of the time, too, and you have to relieve it." "She never complains of anything but lack of money."

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"That's what I thought. Want of money is writer's cramp." He puzzled for a minute and then smiled more broadly than I had seen him smile since my arrival. I thought for a moment that he was going to laugh. But he did not. "That's about right, I think. She is sure in that condition most of the time. I think if it were not a writer's cramp there might be some hope. But I have found that cramp to be in- curable." "Can you not keep your money in a savings bank for a few months and let the cramp cure its own self?" "You don't know her. She asks for my check just like a little child asks for a drink of water. So innocently, and ex- pectantly that I can't keep it back. She always gives me a quarter each morning for my lunch. I have it put up at a cafe. That's another reason why she never knows whether or not I've eaten it." I almost wished I were one of the editors that Nina spent good money to buy stamps for, I would have offered her a little hint that would have put an end to such nonsense. I think that as long as I live, there will be a burning spot in my memory at the point that was out, the day after I had learned that Jimmy had a daughter. The man in the cage that traveled from one end of the shop to the other end, or stopped in between, according to where help was needed with the heavy stuff, was doing something he thought was attractive, when he slipped and fell, right into the middle of Jimmy's threading machine. Immediately blood was mixed with oil, and a hole showed too plainly in the man's head. Jimmy fainted. I put him where he would be out of the way, if he came to, within the next few minutes, and turned my attention to the cageman. He was dead. One of Jimmy's bolts that he had been guiding through the threader had proven too hard a pillow for his head, especially as it was sticking up endways, and there was an inch hole through the crown. No wonder Jimmy had fainted. It made all of them sick who looked closely. When I returned to Jimmy he was conscious, but so weak that he could not sit up. He shook as if in great fear. Even his voice was beyond his control and only quivered and creaked when he tried to talk. Calmly I bade him to be quiet, and made him a bed from a quantity of straw and coats. As I watched him for a few minutes while waiting for the ambulance, I noted closely his little wrinkled face. It needs no description as anyone can picture it for himself. But it was threaded with many care-threads, even as the belts were threaded after he had put them through his machine.

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It was a nervous break down, the doctors said, and when I knew that he would be no more at the shop for a while, I waited to see that he was cared for. No one had thought of his daughter, until he made me un- derstand that she should be told. And when she came, she brought such a smile of pleasure to his face that I knew that she was at least a good tonic, and such a girl could not be all bad. She barely nodded to me as she had passed in, but I noted that she was pretty, and had an air of knowing what she was about. And then when I saw the threaded face close to the one so smooth and fair, I left them. I called at the hospital next day, with the offer of the com- pany to meet all expenses, for the boys at the shop were loyal fellows, and had insisted that if the company would not give Jimmy all the comforts that he could stand, they would. I presented the case to the manager and he was quick to send me to see that Jimmy was well cared for until he was ready to re- turn to work. Nina must have suspected that it was me who helped a great deal, for she met me at the door of Jimmie's room, with a smile. "It's so very kind of you, but we don't need it. Daddy thinks it best to start right off being independent, and we have an excellent chance here. I am going to begin my training for work as a nurse, and while I shall draw no salary for some time, I will get my board and room, and Daddy is to have the care of the lawns and gardens as soon as he can get around. "They know he will do it, so they are letting him stay here free until he gets well and ready to start work. And Daddy, well I'll leave you to find out what he thinks of the plan," and she left the room. He smiled contentedly as I turned to him, and looked al- most happy. "Well, Jimmy boy, I hope you are going to get right up and come to. see us soon." "Yes, I'll be up, but I don't want to go back there any more, not even to see my "old friends. Tell them that I invite them all to come to see me as often as they have time. But for me to go back to that place!" He shuddered. "Well I just can't bring myself to go there. Men are always losing fingers, ears, eyes, noses or even lives, and I can't bear such sights. "I want to make things pleasant for people, and that's the chance I have now. The cramp is cured, and Nina thinks our future the brightest one in the world, and so do I." The threader is operated by one of Jimmie's old helpers now; and he, too, is getting threads. Threads, threads, threads; people must have threads, and even threads have a price. Granger, Utah, R. D. Box 120