The Major

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Major


Meantime Mr. Gwynne's attention was diverted from his delinquent debtors
by an enterprise which to an unusual degree awakened his sympathy and
kindled his imagination. The Reverend Heber Harding, ever since his
unfortunate encounter with the travelling evangelist, was haunted with
the uneasy feeling that he and his church were not completely fulfilling
their functions in the community and justifying their existence. The
impression had been the more painfully deepened in him by the sudden
eruption of a spirit of recklessness and a certain tendency to general
lawlessness in some of the young men of the village. As a result of a
conference with the leading men of his congregation, he had decided to
organise a young men's club. The business of setting this club in active
operation was handed over to Mr. Gwynne, than whom no one in the village
was better fitted for the work. The project appealed to Mr.
Gwynne's imagination. A room was secured in the disused Orange Hall.
Subscriptions were received to make purchase of apparatus and equipment
necessary for games of various sorts. With vivid remembrance of his
college days, Mr. Gwynne saw to it that as part of the equipment a place
should be found for a number of sets of boxing gloves.

There were those who were not too sure of the uplifting influence of
the boxing gloves. But after Mr. Gwynne had given an exhibition of the
superior advantages of science over brute force in a bout with Mack
Morrison before a crowded hall, whatever doubt might exist as to the
ethical value of the boxing gloves, there was no doubt at all as to
their value as an attractive force in the building up of the membership
of the Young Men's Club. The boxing class became immensely popular, and
being conducted under Mr. Gwynne's most rigid supervision, it gradually
came to exert a most salutary influence upon its members. They learned,
for one thing, to take hard knocks without losing their tempers.

In the boxing class thus established, none showed a greater eagerness
to learn than did Larry. Every moment of his father's spare time he
utilised to add to his knowledge of the various feints and guards and
cuts and punches and hooks that appeared necessary to a scientific
acquaintance with the manly art. He developed an amazing capacity to
accept punishment. Indeed, he appeared almost to welcome rough handling,
especially from the young men and boys bigger than himself. Light
in weight and not very muscular, he was wiry and quick in eye and in
action, and under his father's teaching he learned how to "make his
heels save his head." He was always ready for a go with any one who
might offer, and when all others had wearied of the sport Larry would
put in an extra half hour with the punching bag. With one boy only he
refused to spar. No persuasion, no taunts, no challenge could entice him
to put on the gloves with Mop Cheatley. He could never look steadily at
Mop for any length of time without seeing again on his face the sneering
grin and hearing again the terrible words spoken two years ago in the
cedar woods behind the mill pond: "You're a coward and your mother's a
coward before you." He refused to spar with Mop for he knew that
once face to face with him he could not spar, he must fight. But
circumstances made the contest inevitable. In the working out of a
tournament, it chanced that Mop was drawn to face Larry, and although
the disparity both in age and weight seemed to handicap the smaller boy
to an excessive degree, Larry's friends who were arranging the schedule,
among them Mack Morrison with big Ben Hopper and Joe Gagneau as chorus,
and who knew something of Larry's skill with his hands and speed on his
feet, were not unwilling to allow the draw to stand.

The days preceding the tournament were days of misery for Larry. The
decision in the contest would of course be on points and he knew that he
could outpoint without much difficulty his antagonist who was clumsy and
slow. For the decision Larry cared nothing at all. At the most he had
little to lose for it would be but small disgrace to be beaten by a boy
so much bigger. The cause of his distress was something quite other
than this. He knew that from the first moment of the bout he would be
fighting. That this undoubtedly would make Mop fight back, and he was
haunted by the fear that in the stress of battle he might play the
coward. Would he be able to stand up to Mop when the fight began to
go against him? And suppose he should run away, should show himself a
coward? How could he ever live after that, how look any of the boys in
the face? Worst of all, how could he face his father, whose approval in
this boxing game since he had revealed himself as a "fighting man" the
boy coveted more than anything else. But his father was not present when
the boy stepped into the ring. Impelled by the dread of showing himself
a coward and running away, Larry flung to the winds his father's
favourite maxim, "Let your heels save your head," a maxim which ought
if ever to be observed in such a bout as this in which he was so
out-classed in weight.

At the word "Time" Larry leaped for his opponent and almost before Mop
was aware that the battle had begun he was being blinded, staggered and
beaten all around the ring, and only a lucky blow, flung wildly into
space and landing heavily upon Larry's face, saved him from complete
defeat in the first round. That single heavy blow was sufficient to give
temporary pause to Larry's impetuosity, but as soon as he got back his
wind he once more ran in, feinting, ducking, plunging, but ever pressing
hard upon his antagonist, who, having recovered from his first surprise,
began to plant heavy blows upon Larry's ribs, until at the end of the
round the boy was glad enough to sink back into his corner gasping for
breath.

Ben Hopper, who was acting as Larry's second, was filled with surprise
and indignation at his principal's fighting tactics. "You blame fool,"
he said to Larry as he ministered to his all too apparent necessities.
"What do you think you're doing? Do you think he's a sausage machine
and you a bloody porker? Keep away from him. You know he's too heavy for
you. If he were not so clumsy he would have had you out before this. One
good punch from him would do it. Why don't you do your foot work?"

"Corec," said Joe. "Larree, you fight all the same Mack Morrison's ram.
Head down, jump in--head down, jump in. Why you run so queek on dat Mop
feller? Why you not make him run after you?"

"He's right, Larry," said Ben. "Use your feet; make him come after you.
You will sure get his wind."

But Larry stood recovering his breath, glowering meanwhile at his enemy
across the ring. He neither heeded nor heard the entreaties of his
friends. In his ears one phrase only rang with insistent reiteration.
"He's a coward, an' his mother's a coward before him." Only one
obsession possessed him, he must keep hard at his enemy.

"Time!" The second round was on. Like a tiger upon his prey, Larry was
upon his foe, driving fast and furious blows upon his head and face. But
this time Mop was ready for him, and bearing in, head down, he took on
his left guard the driving blows with no apparent injury, and sent back
some half a dozen heavy swings that broke down Larry's guard, drove him
across the ring and finally brought him gasping to his knees.

"Stay where you are," yelled Ben. "Take your count, Larry, and keep away
from him. Do you hear me? Keep away, always away."

At the ninth count Larry sprang to his feet, easily eluded Mop's
swinging blow, and slipping lightly around the ring, escaped further
attack until he had picked up his wind.

"That's the game," yelled Ben. "Keep it up, old boy, keep it up."

"C'est bon stuff, Larree," yelled Joe, dancing wildly in Ben's corner.
"C'est bon stuff, Larree, for sure."

But once more master of his wind, Larry renewed his battering assault
upon Mop's head, inflicting some damage indeed, but receiving heavy
punishment in return. The close of the round found him exhausted and
bleeding. In spite of the adjurations and entreaties of his friends,
Larry pursued the same tactics in the third round, which ended even more
disastrously than the second. His condition was serious enough to bring
Mack Morrison to his side.

"What's up with you, Larry?" said Mack. "Where's your science gone? Why
don't you play the game as you know it?"

"Mack, Mack," panted Larry. "It ain't a game. I'm--I'm fighting, and,
Mack, I'm not afraid of him."

Mack whistled. "Who said you are afraid of him, youngster?"

"He did, Mack, he called me a coward--you remember, Ben, up in the cedar
bush that day we played hookey--you remember, Ben?" Ben nodded. "He
called me a coward and"--grinding the words between his teeth--"he
called my mother a coward. But I am not afraid of him, Mack--he can't
make me afraid; he can't make me run away." What with his rage and his
secret fear, the boy had quite lost control of himself.

"So that's it," said Mack, reading both rage and fear in his eyes.
"Listen to me, Larry," he continued in a voice low and stern. "You quit
this monkey work right now or, by the jumping Jehoshaphat, I will lick
the tar out of you myself when this is over. You're not afraid of him;
I know that--we all know that. But you don't want to kill him, eh? No.
What you want is to make him look like a fool. Well, then, fight, if you
want to fight, but remember your rules. Play with him, make him follow
you round until you get his wind; there's your chance. Then get him hard
and get away."

But the boy spoke no word in reply. He was staring gloomily,
desperately, before him into space.

Mack seized him, and shaking him impatiently, said, "Larry boy, listen
to me. Don't you care for anybody but yourself? Don't you care for me at
all?"

At that Larry appeared to wake up as from a sleep.

"What did you say, Mack?" he answered. "Of course I care, you know that,
Mack."

"Then," said Mack, "for God's sake, get a smile on your face. Smile,
confound you, smile."

The boy passed his gloved hand over his face, looked for a moment into
Mack's eyes, and the old smile came back to his lips.

"Now you're all right," cried Mack in triumph. "Remember your father's
rule, 'Keep your head with your heels.'" And Larry did remember! For
on the call of "Time" he slipped from Ben's knees and began to circle
lightly about Mop, smiling upon him and waiting his chance. His chance
soon came, for Mop, thinking that his enemy had had about enough and was
ready to quit, adopted aggressive tactics, and, feinting with his right,
swung heavily with his left at the smiling face. But the face proved
elusive, and upon Mop's undefended head a series of blows dealt with
savage fury took all the heart out of him. So he cried to the referee as
he ducked into his corner:

"He's fightin'. He's fightin'. I'm not fightin'."

"You'd better get busy then," called Ben derisively from his corner.
"Now, Larry, sail into him," and Larry sailed in with such vehemence
that Mop fairly turned tail and ran around the ring, Larry pursuing him
amid the delighted shouts of the spectators.

This ended the contest, the judges giving the decision to Mop, who,
though obviously beaten at the finish, had showed a distinct superiority
on points. As for Larry, the decision grieved him not at all. He carried
home a face slightly disfigured but triumphant, his sole comment to his
mother upon the contest being, "I was not afraid of him anyway, mother;
he could not make me run."

"I am not so sure of this boxing, Lawrence," she said, but the boy
caught the glint in her eyes and was well enough content.

In the late evening Ben, with Larry and Joe following him, took occasion
to look in upon Mop at the butcher shop.

"Say, Mop," said Ben pleasantly, "what do you think of Larry now? Would
you say he was a coward?"

"What do you mean?" asked Mop, suspecting trouble.

"Just what I say," said Ben, while Larry moved up within range, his face
white, his eyes gleaming.

"I ain't saying nothing about nobody," replied Mop sullenly, with the
tail of his eye upon Larry's white face and gleaming eyes.

"You say him one tam--in de cedar swamp," said Joe.

"Would you say Larry was a coward?" repeated Ben.

"No, I wouldn't say nothing of the sort," replied Mop promptly.

"Do you think he is a coward?" persisted Ben.

"No," said Mop, "I know he ain't no coward. He don't fight like no
coward."

This appeared to satisfy Ben, but Larry, moving slightly nearer, took up
the word for himself.

"And would you say my mother was a coward?" he asked in a tense voice,
his body gathered as if for a spring.

"Larry, I wouldn't say nothing about your mother," replied Mop
earnestly. "I think your mother's a bully good woman. She was awfully
good to my mother last winter, I know."

The spring went out of Larry's body. He backed away from Mop and the
boys.

"Who said your mother was a coward?" inquired Mop indignantly. "If
anybody says so, you bring him to me, and I'll punch his head good, I
will."

Larry looked foolishly at Ben, who looked foolishly back at him.

"Say, Mop," said Larry, a smile like a warm light passing over his face,
"come on up and see my new rabbits."



CHAPTER IV

SALVAGE


Another and greater enterprise was diverting Mr. Gwynne's attention from
the delinquencies of his debtors, namely: the entrance of the National
Machine Company into the remote and placid life of Mapleton and its
district. The manager of this company, having spent an afternoon with
Mr. Gwynne in his store and having been impressed by his charm and power
of persuasive talk, made him a proposition that he should act as agent
of the National Machine Company. The arrangement suggested was one that
appealed to Mr. Gwynne's highly optimistic temperament. He was not
to work for a mere salary, but was to purchase outright the various
productions of the National Machine Company and receive a commission
upon all his sales. The figures placed before Mr. Gwynne by the manager
of the company were sufficiently impressive, indeed so impressive that
Mr. Gwynne at once accepted the proposition, and the Mapleton branch of
the National Machine Company became an established fact.

There was no longer any question as to the education of his family. In
another year when his boy had passed his entrance examinations he would
be able to send him to the high school in the neighbouring town of
Easton, properly equipped and relieved of those handicaps with which
poverty can so easily wash all the colour out of young life. A brilliant
picture the father drew before the eyes of his wife of the educational
career of their boy, who had already given promise of exceptional
ability. But while she listened, charmed, delighted and filled with
proud anticipation, the mother with none the less painful care saved her
garden and poultry money, cut to bare necessity her household expenses,
skimped herself and her children in the matter of dress, and by every
device which she had learned in the bitter school of experience during
the ten years of her Canadian life, made such preparation for the
expenses of her boy's education as would render it unnecessary to call
upon the wealth realised from the National Machine Company's business.

In the matter of providing for the expense of his education Larry
himself began to take a not unimportant part. During the past two years
he had gained not only in size but in the vigour of his health, and in
almost every kind of work on the farm he could now take a man's place.
His mother would not permit him to give his time and strength to their
own farming operations for the sufficient reason that from these there
would be no return in ready money, and ready money was absolutely
essential to the success of her plans. The boy was quick, eager
and well-mannered, and in consequence had no difficulty in finding
employment with the neighbouring farmers. So much was this the case that
long before the closing of school in the early summer Larry was offered
work for the whole summer by their neighbour, Mr. Martin, at one dollar
a day. He could hardly believe his good fortune inasmuch as he had never
in all his life been paid at a rate exceeding half that amount.

"I shall have a lot of money, mother," he said, "for my high school now.
I wonder how much it will cost me for the term."

Thereupon his mother seized the opportunity to discuss the problem with
him which she knew they must face together.

"Let us see," said his mother.

Then each with pencil and paper they drew up to the table, but after the
most careful paring down of expenses and the most optimistic estimate of
their resources consistent with fact, they made the rather discouraging
discovery that they were still fifty dollars short.

"I can't do it, mother," said Larry, in bitter disappointment.

"We shall not give up yet," said his mother. "Indeed, I think with what
we can make out of the farm and garden and poultry, we ought to be able
to manage."

But a new and chilling thought had come to the lad. He pondered
silently, and as he pondered his face became heavily shadowed.

"Say, mother," he said suddenly, "we can't do it. How much are you going
to spend on your clothes?"

"All I need," said his mother brightly.

"But how much?"

"I don't know."

"How much did you spend last year?"

"Oh, never mind, Lawrence; that really does not matter."

But the boy insisted. "Did you spend thirty-one dollars?" His mother
laughed at him.

"Did you spend twenty?"

"No."

"Did you spend fifteen?"

"I do not know," said his mother, "and I am not going to talk about it.
My clothes and the girls' clothes will be all right for this year."

"Mother," said Larry, "I am not going to school this year. I am not
going to spend thirty-one dollars for clothes while you and the girls
spend nothing. I am going to work first, and then go to school. I am not
going to school this year." The boy rose from his chair and stood and
faced his mother with quivering lips, fighting to keep back the tears.

Mother reached out her hand and drew him toward her. "My darling boy,"
she said in a low voice, "I love to hear you, but listen to me. Are you
listening? You must be educated. Nothing must interfere with that.
No suffering is too great to be endured by all of us. The time for
education is youth; first because your mind works more quickly and
retains better what it acquires, and second because it is a better
investment, and you will sooner be able to pay us all back what we spend
now. So you will go to school this year, boy, if we can manage it, and
I think we can. Some day," she added, patting him on the shoulder, and
holding him off from her, "when you are rich you will give me a silk
dress."

"Won't I just," cried the boy passionately, "and the girls too, and
everything you want, and I will give you a good time yet, mother. You
deserve the best a woman ever had and I will give it to you."

The mother turned her face away from him and looked out of the window.
She saw not the fields of growing grain but a long vista of happy days
ever growing in beauty and in glory until she could see no more for the
tears that quietly fell. The boy dropped on his knees beside her.

"Oh, mother, mother," he said. "You have been wonderful to us all, and
you have had an awfully hard time. A fellow never knows, does he?"

"A hard time? A hard time?" said his mother, a great surprise in her
voice and in her face. "No, my boy, no hard time for me. A dear, dear,
lovely time with you all, every day, every day. Never do I want a better
time than I have had with you."

The event proved the wisdom of Mrs. Gwynne's determination to put little
faith in the optimistic confidence of her husband in regard to the
profits to be expected from the operations of the National Machine
Company. A year's business was sufficient to demonstrate that the
Mapleton branch of the National Machine Company was bankrupt. By
every law of life it ought to be bankrupt. With all his many excellent
qualities Mr. Gwynne possessed certain fatal defects as a business man.
With him the supreme consideration was simply the getting rid of the
machines purchased by him as rapidly and in such large numbers as
possible. He cheerfully ignored the laws that governed the elemental
item of profit. Hence the relentless Nemesis that sooner or later
overtakes those who, whether ignorantly or maliciously, break laws, fell
upon the National Machine Company and upon those who had the misfortune
to be associated with it.

In the wreck of the business Mr. Gwynne's store, upon which the National
Machine Company had taken the precaution to secure a mortgage, was also
involved. The business went into the hands of a receiver and was bought
up at about fifty cents on the dollar by a man recently from western
Canada whose specialty was the handling of business wreckage. No
one after even a cursory glance at his face would suspect Mr. H. P.
Sleighter of deficiency in business qualities. The snap in the cold
grey eye, the firm lines in the long jaw, the thin lips pressed hard
together, all proclaimed the hard-headed, cold-hearted, iron-willed
man of business. Mr. Sleighter, moreover, had a remarkable instinct for
values, more especially for salvage values. It was this instinct that
led him to the purchase of the National Machine Company wreckage, which
included as well the Mapleton general store, with its assets in stock
and book debts.

Mr. Sleighter's methods with the easy-going debtors of the company in
Mapleton and the surrounding district were of such galvanic vigour
that even so practiced a procrastinator as Farmer Martin found himself
actually drawing money from his hoarded bank account to pay his store
debts--a thing unheard of in that community--and to meet overdue
payments upon the various implements which he had purchased from the
National Machine Company. It was not until after the money had been
drawn and actually paid that Mr. Martin came fully to realise the
extraordinary nature of his act.

"That there feller," he said, looking from the receipt in his hand
to the store door through which the form of Mr. Sleighter had just
vanished, "that there feller, he's too swift fer me. He ain't got any
innards to speak of; he'd steal the pants off a dog, he would."

The application of these same galvanically vigorous methods to Mr.
Gwynne's debtors produced surprising results. Mr. Sleighter made
the astounding discovery that Mr. Gwynne's business instead of being
bankrupt would produce not only one hundred cents on the dollar, but a
slight profit as well. This discovery annoyed Mr. Sleighter. He hated
to confess a mistake in business judgment, and he frankly confessed
he "hated to see good money roll past him." Hence with something of a
grudge he prepared to hand over to Mr. Gwynne some twelve hundred and
fifty dollars of salvage money.

"I suppose he will be selling out his farm," said Mr. Sleighter in
conversation with Mr. Martin. "What's land worth about here?"

"Oh, somewhere about a hundred."

"A hundred dollars an acre!" exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. "Don't try to put
anything over on me. Personally I admire your generous, kindly nature,
but as a financial adviser you don't shine. I guess I won't bother about
that farm anyway."

Mr. Sleighter's question awakened earnest thought in Mr. Martin, and the
next morning he approached Mr. Gwynne with a proposition to purchase his
farm with its attached buildings. Mr. Martin made it clear that he was
chiefly anxious to do a neighbourly turn.

"The house and the stable ain't worth much," he said, "but the farm
bein' handy to my property, I own up is worth more to me than to other
folks, perhaps. So bein' old neighbours, I am willin' to give four
thousand dollars, half cash down, for the hull business."

"Surely that is a low figure," said Mr. Gwynne.

"Low figure!" exclaimed Mr. Martin. "All right, I ain't pressin' it on
you; but if you could get any one in this neighbourhood to offer four
thousand dollars for your farm, I will give you five hundred extra.
But," he continued, "I ain't pressin' you. Don't much matter to me."

The offer came at a psychologically critical moment, when Mr. Gwynne was
desperately seeking escape from an intolerable environment.

"I shall consult Mrs. Gwynne," he said, "and let you know in a few
days."

"Don't know as I can wait that long," said Mr. Martin. "I made the offer
to oblige you, and besides I got a chance at the Monroe fifty."

"Call to-morrow night," said Mr. Gwynne, and carried the proposal home
to his wife.

The suggestion to break up her home to a woman of Mrs. Gwynne's type
is almost shattering. In the big world full of nameless terrors the
one spot offering shelter and safety for herself and her family was her
home. But after all, her husband was her great concern, and she could
see he was eager for the change. She made up her mind to the sacrifice
and decided that she would break up the home in Mapleton and with her
husband try again their fortune.