Blessing of a Good Deed
"I SHOULD like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr.
William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, in
irrepressible pleasure.
Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an
"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was
secured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not to
feel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark,
sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance,
with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, have
excited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was a
slender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr.
Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his
office and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, now
in greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an early
friend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy's
introduction into the broker's office.
"Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud his
satisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Two
thousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. I
wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears of
such an advance in these securities?"
From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not
increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there
was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome
a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a
scrutiny--something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have
blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood,
in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two
thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly
no happier.
An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr.
Everett and said--
"Have you heard about Cassen?"
"No; what of him?"
"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in
his pockets more than justly belongs to him."
"What!"
"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left
New York in the steamer yesterday."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very
considerably excited.
"He owes you, does he?" said the friend.
"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday."
"A clear swindle."
"Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!".
Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a very
amiable expression.
"Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has let
you off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?"
"Yes."
"I know two at least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by his
absence."
But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individual
left who had communicated this unpleasant piece of news, the broker
walked the floor of his office with compressed lips, a lowering
brow, and most unhappy feelings. The two thousand dollars gain in no
way balanced in his mind the three hundred lost. The pleasure
created by the one had not penetrated deep enough to escape
obliteration by the other.
Of all this, the boy with the dark eyes had taken quick cognizance.
And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been
removed from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while the
latter walked with uneasy steps the floor of his office.
As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew calmer. The first
excitement produced by the loss, passed away; but it left a sense of
depression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings.
Intent as had been the lad's observation of his employer during all
this time, it is a little remarkable that Mr. Everett had not once
been conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily upon
him. In fact he had been, as was usually the case too much absorbed
in things concerning himself to notice what was peculiar to another,
unless the peculiarity were one readily used to his own advantage.
"John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, and
encountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr.
Legrand."
John sprang to do his bidding; received the note and was off with
unusual fleetness. But the door which closed upon his form did not
shut out the expression of his sober face and humid glance from the
vision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to
the eyes of the musing boy at the very moment he was called upon to
render a service; and, quicker than usual though his motions were,
he had failed to conceal them.
A new train of thought now entered the broker's mind. This child of
his old friend had been taken into his office from a kind of
charitable feeling--though of very low vitality. He paid him a
couple of dollars a week, and thought little more, about him or his
widowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own at
stake, to have his mind turned aside for a trifling matter like
this. But now, as the image of that sad face--for it was unusually
sad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked suddenly toward the
boy--lingered in his mind, growing every moment more distinct, and
more touchingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanity
were excited. He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hours
they had spent together in years long since passed, ere generous
feelings had hardened into ice, or given place to all-pervading
selfishness. He remembered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had
married, and how proudly that friend presented her to their little
world as his bride. The lad had her large, dark, spiritual
eyes--only the light of joy had faded therefrom, giving place to a
strange sadness.
All this was now present to the mind of Mr. Everett, and though he
tried once or twice during the boy's absence to obliterate these
recollections, he was unable to do so.
"How is your mother, John?" kindly asked the broker, when the lad
returned from his errand.
The question was so unexpected, that it confused him.
"She's well--thank you, sir. No--not very well, either--thank you,
sir."
And the boy's face flushed, and his eyes suffused.
"Not very well, you say?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in a
tone of interest. "Not sick, I hope?"
"No, sir; not very sick. But"----
"But what, John," said Mr., Everett, encouragingly.
"She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the colour
deepened on his face.
"Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John?"
The tears which John had been vainly striving to repress now gushed
over his face, and, with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turned
away and struggled for a time with his overmastering feelings. Mr.
Everett was no little moved by so unexpected an exhibition. He
waited with a new-born consideration for the boy, not unmingled with
respect, until a measure of calmness was restored.
"John," he then said, "if your mother is in trouble, it may be in my
power to relieve her."
"O sir!" exclaimed the lad eagerly, coming up to Mr. Everett, and,
in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his small hand upon that
of his employer, "if you will, you can."
Hard indeed would have been the heart that could have withstood the
appealing, eyes lifted by John Levering to the face of Mr. Everett.
But Mr. Everett had not a hard heart. Love of self and the world had
encrusted it with indifference toward others, but the crust was now
broken through.
"Speak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell me of your
mother. What is her trouble?"
"We are very poor, sir." Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice.
"And mother isn't well. She does all she can; and my wages help a
little. But there are three of us children; and I am the oldest.
None of the rest can earn any thing. Mother couldn't help getting
behind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't the money to pay it
with. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live came
for some money, and when mother told him that she had none, he got,
oh, so angry! and frightened us all. He said, if the rent wasn't
paid by to-morrow, he'd turn us all into the street. Poor mother!
She went to bed sick."
"How much does your mother owe the man?" asked Mr. Everett.
"Oh, it's a great deal, sir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to pay
it; and I don't know what we'll do."
"How much?"
"Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad.
"Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his hand into his pocket.
"Here are twenty dollars. Run home to your mother, and give them to
her with my compliments."
The boy grasped the money eagerly, and, as he did so, in an
irrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from which he
received it. He did not speak, for strong emotion choked all
utterance; but Mr. Everett saw his heart in his large, wet eyes, and
it was overflowing with thankfulness.
"Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passing
through the door. "Perhaps I had better write a note to your
mother."
"I wish you would, sir," answered the boy, as he came slowly back.
A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offered
present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that
now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's future
friend.
For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with
his eyes upon the floor. His thoughts were clear, and his feelings
tranquil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollars
by a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession to
his worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure he
derived from the bestowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of the
three hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet,
even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon his
heart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy,
and all was sunny again.
Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, a
cheerful-minded man. Why? Not because he was richer by nearly two
thousand dollars. That circumstance would have possessed no power to
lift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of three
hundred dollars had produced. Why? He had bestowed of his abundance,
and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this
pervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight.
Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a double
blessing. Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than in
eager accumulation or selfish withholding.
-THE END-
T S Arthur's short story: Blessing of a Good Deed
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