[Illustration: Open the oven door, Jim.]
[Illustration: Open the oven door, Jim.]
The latest cook of the O'Callaghans obeyed, and out rolled a cloud of smoke. The pudding had boiled over and flooded the oven bottom. Poor Jim!
"What's in the oven, Jim? Perhaps you'll be tellin' us," said his mother gravely.
"My puddin'," answered little Jim, very red in the face.
At the word pudding the faces of Barney and Tommie and Larry, who had come in very hungry, lit up. But at the smell they clouded again. A pudding lost was worse than having no pudding to begin with. For to lose what is within reach of his spoon is hard indeed for any boy to bear.
"And what was it I told you to be cookin' for supper?" asked the widow when they had all sat down to steak and bread and butter, leaving the doors and windows wide open to let out the pudding smoke.
But little Jim did not reply and his downcast look was in such contrast to his erect hair, which no failure of puddings could down, that Pat and Mike burst out laughing. The remembrance of the raisins little Jim had so pompously asked for was upon them, too. And even Mrs. O'Callaghan smiled.
"Was it steak and potatoes I told you to be cookin'?" she persisted.
Little Jim nodded miserably.
"I'll not be hard on you, Jim," said his mother, "for I see you're ashamed of yourself, and you ought to be, too. But I'll say this to you; them that cooks puddin's when they're set to cook steak and potatoes is loike to make a smoke in the world, and do themsilves small credit. Let's have no more puddin's, Jim, till I give you the word."
That was all there was of it. But Jim had lost his appetite for pudding, and it was long before it returned to him.
There were three to sit by the kitchen stove now and talk of an evening from half-past nine till ten, and they were the widow and Pat and Mike.
"It's Andy that makes me astonished quite," observed Mrs. O'Callaghan. "Here it is the first of December and him three months at Gineral Brady's and gettin' fat on it. He niver got fat to home, and that's what bates me."
"Well, mother, he's got a nice big room by himself to sleep in. The Physiology's down on crowding, and five boys in one bedroom ain't good for a nervous boy like Andy."
"Nor it ain't good for the rest of you, nayther," responded Mrs. O'Callaghan, with conviction.
"What do you say, b'ys? Shall we ask the landlord to put us on another room in the spring? He'll raise the rint on us if he does."
The widow regarded her sons attentively, and they, feeling the proud responsibility of being consulted by their mother, answered as she would have them.
"Then that's settled," said she. "The more room, the more rint. Any landlord can see that—a lawyer, anyway. Do you think, b'ys, Andy'll be a lawyer when he comes from college?"
"Why, mother?" asked Pat.
"'Cause I don't want him to be. He ain't got it in him to be comin' down hard and sharp on folks, and so he won't be a good wan. He'll be at the law loike little Jim at puddin's. You niver was to coort, was you, b'ys?"
Pat and Mike confessed that they had never been at court.
"I knowed you hadn't. I jist asked you. Well, you see, b'ys, them lawyers gets the witnesses up and asks 'em all sorts of impudent questions, and jist as good as tells 'em they lies quite often. Andy couldn't niver do the loikes of that. 'Tain't in him. Do you know, b'ys, folks can't do what ain't in 'em, no matter if they do go to college. Now little Jim's the wan for a lawyer. He'd be the wan to make a man forget his own name, and all on account of impudent questions."
Pat and Mike looked surprised. They were both fond of little Jim, Mike particularly so.
"I see you wonders at me, but little Jim's a-worryin' me. I don't know what to be doin' with him. B'ys, would you belave it? I can't teach him a thing. Burn the steak he will if I lave him with it, and Moike knows the sort of a bed he makes. He's clane out of the notion of that West P'int and bein' a foightin' man, and the teacher's down on him at the school for niver larnin' his lessons. And the fear's with me night and day that he'll get to be wan of them agitators yet."
Pat and Mike looked at each other. Never before had their mother said a word to them about any of their brothers. And while they looked at each other the brave little woman kept her eyes fixed on the stove.
"The first step to bein' an agitator," she resumed as if half to herself, "is niver to be doin' what you're set to do good. Then, of course, them you work for don't loike it, and small blame to 'em. And the nixt thing is to get turned off and somebody aswilldo it good put in your place. And then the nixt step is to go around tellin' iverybody you meets, whether you knows 'em or not, how you're down on your luck. And how it's a bad world with no chance in it for poor folks, when iverybody knows most of the rich folks begun poor, and if there's no chance for poor folks, how comes them that's rich now to be rich when they started poor? And then the nixt step is to make them that's content out of humor, rilin' 'em up with wishin' for what they've got no business with, seein' they hain't earned it. And that's all there is to it, for sure when you've got that far you're wan of them agitators."
The boys listened respectfully, and their mother went on: "Little Jim's got started that way. He's that far along that he don't do nothin' good he's set at only when it's a happen so. You can't depind on him. I've got to head him off from bein' an agitator, for he's your father's b'y, and I can't meet Tim in the nixt world if I let Jim get ahead of me. B'ys, will you help me? I've always been thinkin' I couldn't have your help; I must do it alone. But, b'ys, I can't do it alone." The little woman's countenance was anxious as she gazed into the sober faces of Pat and Mike.
Nothing but boys themselves, though with the reliability of men, they promised to help.
"I knowed you would," said the widow gratefully. "And now good night to you. It's gettin' late. But you've eased my moind wonderful. Just the spakin' out has done me good. Maybe he'll come through all roight yet."
The next morning Mrs. O'Callaghan rose with a face bright as ever, but Pat and Mike were still sober.
"Cheer up!" was her greeting as they came into the kitchen where she was already bustling about the stove. "Cheer up, and stand ready till I give you the word. I'm goin' to have wan more big try at Jim. You took such a load off me with your listenin' to me and promisin' to help that it's heartened me wonderful."
The two elder sons smiled. To be permitted to hearten their mother was to them a great privilege, and suddenly little Jim did not appear the hopeless case he had seemed when they went to bed the night before. They cheered up, and the three were pleasantly chatting when sleepy-eyed little Jim came out of the bedroom.
"Hurry, now, and get washed, and then set your table," said his mother kindly.
But little Jim was sulky.
"I'm tired of gettin' up early mornin's just to be doin' girl's work," he said.
Mrs. O'Callaghan nodded significantly at Pat and Mike. "What was that story, Moike, you was tellin' me about the smartest fellow in the Gineral's mess, before he got to be a gineral, you know, bein' so handy at all sorts of woman's work? Didn't you tell me the Gineral said there couldn't no woman come up to him?"
"I did, mother."
"I call that pretty foine. Beatin' the women at their own work. There was only wan man in the mess that could do it, you said?"
"Yes, mother," smiled Mike.
"I thought so. 'Tain't often you foind a rale handy man loike that. And he was the best foighter they had, too?"
"Yes, mother."
"I thought I remimbered all about it. Jim, here, can foight, but do woman's work he can't. That is, and do it good. He mostly gets the tablecloth crooked. No, he's no hand at the girl's work."
"I'll show you," thought little Jim. On a sudden the tablecloth was straight, and everything began to take its proper place on the table.
"Mother," ventured Pat, though he had not yet received the word, "the table's set pretty good this morning."
"So it is, Pat, so it is," responded the widow glancing it over.
"Maybe Jim can do girl's work after all."
"Maybe he can, Pat, but he'll have to prove it before he'll foind them that'll belave it. That's the way in this world. 'Tis not enough to be sayin' you can do this and that. You've got to prove it. And how will you prove it? By doin' it, of course."
Little Jim heard, though he did not seem to be listening, being intent on making things uncomfortable for Barney and Tommie as far as he could in a quiet way.
It was a passion with little Jim to prove things—not by his mother's method, but by his own. So far his disputes had been with boys of his own size and larger, and if they doubted what he said he was in the habit of proving his assertions with his fists. The result was that other boys either dodged him or agreed with him with suspicious readiness. His mother had given him a fair trial at the housework. He would prove to her that it was not because he could not, but because he would not, that he succeeded no better. He washed the dishes with care and put them shining on their shelves, and, a little later, poked his head out of the bedroom door into the kitchen.
"Mother," he said, "you think I can't make a bed good, don't you?"
The widow smiled. "I think youdon'tmake it good," was her answer.
Jim's face darkened with resolution. "She thinks I can't," he said to himself. "I will, I guess."
With vim he set to work, and the bed was made in a trice. Little Jim stood off as far as he could and sharply eyed his work. "'Tain't done good," he snapped. And he tore it to pieces again. It took longer to make it the next time, for he was more careful, but still it didn't look right. He tore the clothes off it again, this time with a sigh. "Beds is awful," he said. "It's lots easier to lick a boy than to make a bed." And then he went at it again. The third time it was a trifle more presentable, and the school bell was ringing.
"I've got to go, and I hain't proved it to her," he said. "But I'll work till I do, see if I don't. And then when I have proved it to her I won't make no more beds."
Jim was no favorite at school, where he had fallen a whole room behind the class he had started with. His teacher usually wore a long-suffering air when she dealt with him.
"She looks like she thought I didn't know nothin' and never would," he said to himself that morning when he had taken his seat after a decided failure of a recitation. "I'll show her." And he set to work. His mind was all unused to study, and—that day he didn't show her.
"Who'd 'a' thought it was so hard to prove things?" he said at night. "There's another day a-comin', though."
Now some people are thankful for showing. To little Jim, showing was degrading. Suddenly his mother perceived this, and felt a relief she had not known before.
"Whativer else Jim's got or not got," she said, "he's got a backbone of his own, so he has. Let him work things out for himsilf. Will I be showin' him how to make a bed? I won't that. I've been praisin' him too much, intoirely. I see it now. Praise kapes Pat and Moike and Andy doin' their best to get more of it. But it makes little Jim aisy in his moind and scornful loike, so his nose is in the air all the toime and nothin' done. A very little praise will do Jim. And still less of fault-findin'," she added.
"B'ys," she announced that evening "Jim's took a turn. We'll stand off and watch him a bit. If he'll do roight for his own makin', sure and that'll be better than for us to be havin' a hand in it. Give him his head and plinty of chances to prove things, and when he has proved 'em, own up to it."
The two brightened. "I couldn't believe little Jim was so bad, mother," said Mike.
"Bad, is it? Sure and he ain't bad yet. And now's the toime to kape him from it. 'Tis little you can be doin' with a spoiled anything. Would you belave it? He made his bed three toimes this mornin' and done his best at it, and me a-seein' him through the crack of the door where it was open a bit. But I can't say nothin' to him nor show him how, for showin's not for the loike of him. And them that takes iverything hard that way comes out sometimes at the top of the hape. Provin' things is a lawyer's business. If Jim iver gets to be a lawyer, he'll be a good wan."
Mike, when he went to bed that night, looked down at the small red head of the future lawyer, snuggled down into the pillow, with the bedclothes close to his ears. "I'll not believe that Jim will ever come to harm," he said.
"There's another day comin'," little Jim had said when he lay down in acknowledged defeat on the night that followed his first day of real trying. The other day came, and after it another and another, and still others till the first of March was at hand. In the three months, which was the sum of those "other days," Jim had made good progress. For many weeks he had been perfect in the art of bed-making, but instead of giving up the practice of that accomplishment, as he had declared he would do so soon as he could prove to his mother that he could make a bed, he had become so cranky and particular that nobody else could make a bed to suit him. And as for studying—he was three classes ahead of where the first of December had found him. He could still whip any boy rash enough to encounter him, but his days and even his evenings, in great part, were given to preparing a triumph over his mates in his lessons, and a surprise for his teacher.
The widow used to lean back in her husband's chair of an evening and watch him as he sat at the table, his elbows on the pine and his hands clutching his short hair, while the tiny, unshaded lamp stared in his face, and he dug away with a pertinacity that meant and insured success.
"And what book is that you've got?" she would ask when he occasionally lifted his eyes. He would tell her and, in a moment, be lost to all surroundings. For little Jim was getting considerable enjoyment out of his hard work.
"Pat nor Moike niver studied loike that," thought Mrs. O'Callaghan. "Nor did even Andy. Andy, he always jist loved his book and took his larnin' in aisy loike. But look at that little Jim work!" As for little Jim, he did not seem to observe that he was enjoying his mother's favorable regard.
"And what book is it you loike the best?" she asked one evening when Jim was about to go to bed.
"The history book," was the answer.
"And why?"
"'Cause there's always a lot about the big foightin' men in it."
[Illustration: 'Look at that little Jim work!']
"Ah!" said the widow. "Andy, he loiked the history book best, too. But I didn't know before 'twas for the foightin'."
"'Tain't," briefly replied little Jim. And seeing his mother's questioning look he went on: "The history book's got a lot in it, too, about the way the people lived, and the kings and queens, and them that wrote poems and things. 'Tis for that Andy loikes the history book. He'll be writin' himself one of these days, I'm thinkin'. His teacher says he writes the best essays in the school already."
And having thus artlessly betrayed Andy's ambition, little Jim went to bed.
"Ah!" thought the widow, getting out her darning, for only one could use the lamp at a time, and if Jim was of a mind to study she was of no mind to hinder him. "And is that what Andy'd be at? I wonder now if that's a good business? I don't know none of them that has it, and I can't tell." She drew one of Jim's stockings over her hand and eyed ruminatingly the prodigious hole in the heel. "That b'y do be gettin' through his stockin's wonderful," she said dismissing Andy from her thoughts. "Well, if he niver does no worse than that I'll not be complainin', but sure and he can make more darnin' than Pat and Moike and Andy put together."
Why are the winds of March so high? This spring they blew a gale. As they roared around corners and through tree tops and rushed down the streets with fury they made pedestrians unsteady. But they did not disturb little Jim, who buttoned up his coat tight, drew down his hat and squared his shoulders as he went out to meet their buffets. There was that in little Jim that rejoiced in such weather.
One day those frantic winds reached down the big schoolhouse chimney and drew up a spark of fire from the furnace in the basement. They lodged it where it would do the most harm, and, in a short time, the janitor was running with a white face to the principal's office. As quietly as possible each teacher was called out into the hall and warned. And, in a few moments more, the pupils in every room were standing in marching order waiting for the word to file out. Something was wrong each room knew from the face of its teacher. And then came the clang of the fire bell, and the waiting ranks were terrified.
Little Jim's teacher on the second floor was an extremely nervous young woman. In a voice that trembled with fright and excitement she had managed to give her orders. She had stationed most of the boys in a line running north and south and farthest from the door. Nearest the door were the girls and some of the smaller boys. And now they must wait for the signal that should announce the turn of their room to march out. As it happened, little Jim stood at the head of the line of boys, with the girls not far from him. The fire bell was ringing and all the whistles in the town screaming. Below them they could hear the little ones hurried out; above them and on the stairs the third-floor pupils marching; and then in little Jim's room there was panic. The girls huddled closer together and began to cry. The boys behind little Jim began to crowd and push. The nearest boy was against him when little Jim half turned and threw him back to place by a vigorous jerk of his elbow.
"Boys! Boys!" screamed the teacher. "Standstill!"
But they did not heed. Again they struggled forward, while the teacher covered her face with her hands in horror at the thought of what would happen on the crowded stairways if her boys rushed out.
And then little Jim turned his back on the door and the girls near him and made ready his fists. "The first boy that comes I'll knock down!" he cried. And the line shrank back.
"We'll be burned! We'll be burned up!" shrieked a boy, one of the farthest away.
"You won't be burned nayther," called back little Jim. "But you'll wish you was to-morrow if wan of you gets past me. Just you jump them desks and get past me and I'll lick you till you'll wish you was burnt up!"
Little Jim's aspect was so fierce, and the boys knew so well that he would do just as he said, that not one moved from his place. One minute little Jim held that line of boys. Then the door opened and out filed the girls. When the last one had disappeared little Jim stepped aside. "Go out now," he said with fine contempt, "you that are so afraid you'll get burned yourselves that you'd tramp the girls down."
The last to leave the room were the teacher and little Jim. Her grasp on his arm trembled, but it did not let go, even when they had reached the campus which was full of people. Every business man had locked his doors and had run with his clerks to the fire. For this was no ordinary fire. The children of the town were in danger. At a distance Jim could see Pat with Larry in his arms and Barney and Tommie close beside him, and here and there, moving anxiously through the crowd, he saw General Brady and Mike and Andy. But the teacher's grasp on his arm did not relax. The fire was under control now and no damage had been done that could not be repaired. And the teacher was talking. And everybody near was listening, and more were crowding around and straining their ears to hear. Those nearest were passing the story on, a sentence at a time, after the manner of interpreters, and suddenly there was a shout, "Three cheers for little Jim O'Callaghan!"
[Illustration 'Three cheers for little Jim O'Callaghan.']
[Illustration 'Three cheers for little Jim O'Callaghan.']
And then Mike came tearing up and gave him a hug and a pat on the back. And up came Andy with a look in his eyes that made little Jim forgive him on the spot for being first in that housework team in which he himself had been placed second by his mother. And the General had him by the hand with a "Well done, Jim!" At which Jim appeared a trifle bewildered. His fighting propensities had been frowned on so long.
At her wash place the widow had heard nothing, the wind having carried all sounds of commotion the other way, and there were no children in the family to come unexpectedly home bringing the news. It was when she stepped into her own kitchen, earlier than usual, and found Barney and Tommie there with Larry, who had accompanied them that day as visitor, that she first heard of the fire. And the important thing to Barney and Tommie was that their vacation had come sooner than they had hoped. Later came Jim, stepping high from the General's praise. But his mother thought nothing of that. Jim's ways were apt to be airy.
But when Pat and Mike came to supper the story was told. The widow listened with an expression of pride. And when the story and the supper were finished she took little Jim by the hand and led him along the tortuous path through the furniture to the family seat of honor. "Sit there in the father's chair," she commanded. "I niver thought to be puttin' wan of my b'ys there for foightin', but foightin's the thing sometimes."
This was on Tuesday. The next day the leading paper of the town came out, and it contained a full account of little Jim's coolness and bravery.
"They'll be spoilin' little Jim, so they will," said the widow as she read with glistening eyes. Then she rose to put the paper carefully away among the few family treasures, and set about making little Jim a wonderful pudding. If he were to be spoiled she might as well have a hand in it. "Though maybe he won't be nayther," she said. "Him that had that much sinse had ought to have enough to stand praisin'."
That evening home came Andy to find his mother absorbed in the fascinating occupation of hearing from little Jim's own lips what each individual person had said to him during the day.
"Well," little Jim was saying just as Andy came in, "I should think they'd said 'most enough. I didn't do anything but keep them lubberly boys from trampin' the girls down, and it was easy enough done, too."
At which speech the widow perceived that, as yet, little Jim was not particularly spoiled by all his praise. "'Twas the history book that done it," thought the mother thankfully. "Sure and he knows he's done foine, but he ain't been braggin' on himself much since he took to that, I've noticed. There's books of all sorts, so there is, some for wan thing and some for another, but it's the history book that cures the consate."
"We're very busy up at our house," observed Andy. And the widow could scarcely bring herself to heed him.
"Yes," went on Andy. "We've been baking cake to-day, and there's more to do to-morrow. The General and Mrs. Brady are going to give little Jim a party Friday evening. General Brady is wonderfully pleased with Jim."
Then indeed he had his mother's attention. "A party, is it?" she said with gratified pride. "'Tis the Gineral and Mrs. Brady that knows how to take a body's full cup and jist run it over. I couldn't have wished nothin' no better than that. And nobody couldn't nayther. I'll be up to-morrow mysilf to help and the nixt day, too. Don't tell me there's nothin' I can't be doin'. Jim can run things to home, can't you, Jim?"
Little Jim thought he could.
"I'll have Pat and Moike see to gettin' him a new suit to-morrow. It's late to be gettin' him a new suit and him a-growin'; but if he can't wear it nixt fall Barney can, and it's proud he'll be to do it, I'm thinkin'. 'Tisn't often the nixt youngest b'y has a chance to wear a new suit got for his brother because he done good and hadn't nothin' fit to wear to a party, nayther. But Wennott's the town. A party for my Jim, and at Gineral Brady's, too! Would anybody have belaved it when we come with nothin' to the shanty? 'Tis the proudest thing that iver come to us, but no pride could there be about it if little Jim hadn't desarved it."
The widow's heart was full. "Ivery b'y? as he has come along, has made me proud," she went on. "First Pat and then Moike and then you, Andy, with your book, and now little Jim with his foightin'. And that's what beats me, that I should be proud of my b'y's foightin'. And I am that."
Friday evening seemed a long way off to little Jim when he lay down on his bed that night. He had never attended a party in his life. Andy had spoken of cake, and, by private questioning, little Jim had discovered that there would be ice cream. He tried to imagine what a party was like, but having no knowledge to go on, he found the effort wearisome and so dropped asleep.
Little Jim had never been farther than General Brady's kitchen. It was a kitchen of which he approved because it had no path in it. One might go through it in a great hurry without coming to grief on some chair back, or the footboard of the mother's bed, or the rocker of the father's chair. Neither was one in danger of bringing up suddenly on the corner of the table, or against the side of the stove. The younger O'Callaghans were free from numerous bruises only because they knew their way and proceeded with caution. There was no banging the door open suddenly at the shanty, because there was always some article of furniture behind the door to catch it and bang it back sharply into a boy's face. It was upon these differences in the two kitchens that little Jim reflected when, arrayed in the new suit, he slipped around the house and was ushered in by Andy.
"What's this!" cried the General, who had caught a glimpse of the swiftly scudding little figure as it rounded the corner. "What's this!" and he stood smiling at the door that opened from the back of the hall into the kitchen. "The hero of the hour coming in by the back door. This will never do, Jim. Come with me."
Bravely little Jim went forward. He stepped into the hall close behind the General, and suddenly glanced down. He could hardly believe his ears. Was he growing deaf? There walked the General ahead of him, and little Jim could not hear a footfall, neither could he hear his own tread.
But little Jim said nothing. They were now come to the hall tree, and the General himself helped his guest off with his overcoat and hung it beside his own. And as for little Jim, he could hang up his own cap when his host showed him where.
Then in through the parlor door they went and on through the folding doors into the sitting-room where Mrs. Brady stood among her plants. She had just cut two lovely roses from the same bush, and one she pinned on her husband's coat and the other on little Jim's jacket.
"Parties is queer," thought little Jim, "but they're nice."
For Mrs. Brady, in her quiet way, was contriving to let the boy understand that she thought exceedingly well of him. It began to grow dusk, but it was not yet so dark that little Jim failed to see Pat and Mike come in and run lightly up the stairs. And then there was a tramp of feet outside, the doorbell rang, and as the electric light flooded the house, Andy opened the front door and in trooped boys and girls.
Little Jim was amazed. Not one came into the parlor, but Andy sent them all upstairs.
"Is them boys and girls the party?" he asked quickly of Mrs. Brady.
"Yes, Jim," was the kind answer. "Your party."
Little Jim reflected. "I'd best not be lickin' any of the boys then this evenin'?" And he turned inquiring eyes on Mrs. Brady.
Mrs. Brady smiled. "No, Jim," she replied. "You must try to please them in every way that you can, and make them enjoy themselves."
"Let 'em do just as they're a moind to, and not raise a fuss about it?"
"Yes."
Little Jim straightened himself. "I never seen no parties before," he said, "but I guess I can run it."
And then downstairs came the guests and into the parlor to shake hands with General and Mrs. Brady and Jim. The gay company spread themselves through the parlor and sitting-room. They chattered, they laughed, they got up from their seats and sat down again, and all the time little Jim had a keen eye upon them. He had never before seen little girls dressed so, and he noticed that every boy had a flower on his jacket.
And then little Jim bestirred himself. He was here, there, and everywhere. Did a girl suggest a game, Jim so engineered that the whole company were soon engaged in it, and he himself was the gayest player of all. Not once did he suggest anything. But often he slipped up to Mrs. Brady or the General and did what he had never done before in his life—asked advice.
"Am I runnin' it right?" he would whisper in Mrs. Brady's ear; and murmur apologetically to the General, "I never seen no parties before."
"And how do you like parties, Jim?" asked the General indulgently.
"I think there's nothin' to equal 'em," was the fervent answer. And then away went the young host.
At half-past nine Andy appeared at the hall door. Jim saw him and his heart sank. Was the party over? He feared so, since Mrs. Brady, followed by the General, went out of the room. But in a moment the General came back to the doorway. The guests seemed to understand, for a sudden hush fell on the talkative tongues. The General saw Jim's uncertain expression and beckoned to him.
"We are going out to supper," he said. "Go ask Annie Jamieson to walk out with you."
Jim obeyed promptly. All at once he remembered the cake and ice cream. His heart swelled with pride as he led the pretty little girl across the hall and into the dining-room. And there were Pat and Mike and Andy showing the guests to their places and prepared to wait upon them. And if they beamed upon little Jim, he beamed back with interest. He was supremely happy. How glad he was that Mike had taught him Mrs. Brady's way of laying the table, and how to eat properly! He thought of his mother and wished that she might see him. But she was at home caring for Barney and Tommie and Larry.
"Sure and I can't lave 'em by thimsilves in the evenin'. Something moight happen to 'em," said this faithful mother.
Such food Jim had not tasted before, but he ate sparingly. He was too happy to eat, for little Jim, although extremely fond of pudding, was no glutton. There he sat with his auburn hair on end, his blue eyes bright and shining, smiles and grave looks chasing themselves over his face till the General was prouder of him than ever.
"I'm not sure but he'stheO'Callaghan," he told his wife, when the children had gone back to the parlor for a final game before the party should break up. "But it is that mother of his and his older brothers who have brought him on."
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Pat and Mike and Andy washed the dishes and put things to rights with three hearts full of pride in little Jim.
"To think the mother was afraid he would turn out an agitator!" said Pat.
"This night settles that," responded Mike. "He's more likely to turn out a society man. He'll be a credit to us all."
At last the guests were gone. And then for the first time little Jim's eyes examined with keen scrutiny the pretty rooms, while the General and Mrs. Brady kept silence, content to observe him with affectionate interest. Finally the boy came back from things to people, and he came with a sigh.
"Have you enjoyed yourself?" asked the General, smiling.
"Yes, sir. I never had such a toime before in my loife. 'Tis parties as are the thing." He paused and then asked, "How will I be goin' at it to get me a house like this?"
And then the General looked astonished. He had not yet fully measured little Jim's ambition that stopped at nothing. Hitherto it had been that pernicious ambition that desires, and at the same time, lazily refuses to put forth the exertion necessary to attain, or it had been that other scarcely less reprehensible ambition that exerts itself simply to outshine others, and Mrs. O'Callaghan had had good cause to be anxious about Jim. Tonight it was the right sort of ambition, backed by a remarkably strong will and boundless energy. He looked up at the General with confidence and waited to be told just how he could get such a house for himself.
The General gazed down into the clear, unashamed depths of little Jim's blue eyes. The attitude of the O'Callaghan's toward him always touched him. His money had nothing to do with it, nor had his superior social position. It was he himself that the O'Callaghans respected, admired, loved and venerated, and this without in the least abating their own self-respect and independence. It was like being the head of a clan, the General told himself, and he liked it. So now he answered with his hand on little Jim's shoulder, "Work, my boy, and study, work and study."
"And is that all?" questioned Jim disappointedly. "Sure and that's like my mother tellin' me dustin' and dishwashin' was my two first steps."
"Well, they were your first steps, Jim, because they were the duties that lay nearest you. But it will take more than work and study, after all."
"I thought it would, sir. This is an awful nice house."
"Would you like to walk upstairs and look about?" asked the General.
"I would," was the eager answer.
So the General and Mrs. Brady and Jim went up.
"This is the sort of a room for my mother," declared little Jim, after he had carefully examined the large guest chamber. "Pat and Mike got her the summer kitchen, but I'll be gettin' her a whole house, so I will. Sleepin' in the kitchen will do for them that likes it. And now what's the rest of it besides work and study?"
"Have you ever seen any poor boys smoke cigars, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"And cigarettes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And pipes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And drink beer?"
"Yes, sir."
"And whisky?"
"Yes, sir."
"And chew tobacco?"
"Yes, sir."
"Those are the boys who, when they are men, are going to be poor. Mark that, Jim. They are going to be poor."
"They won't have any house like this?"
"Not unless somebody who has worked hard gives it to them, or unless they cheat for it, Jim."
"Huh!" said Jim. "I'm down on cheatin'. I'll lick any boy that cheats me or tries to, and I don't want nobody to give me nothin'." And with that little Jim cooled down to pursue his former train of thought.
"And if I work and study and let them things alone I can have a house like this some day?"
"Yes, Jim, if some misfortune does not befall you, like a long sickness in the family, or an accident to you."
"I'm goin' to try for it," declared Jim with decision. "Them that would rather have cigars and such than a nice house like this can have 'em, and it's little sense they've got, too. I'll take the house."
The General laughed. "You will take it, Jim, I don't doubt," he said. "Come to me whenever you wish to ask any questions, and I will answer them if I can."
"I will, sir," replied little Jim. "And when you want me to I'll wash your dishes. I said once I wouldn't, but now I will."
"Thank you, Jim," responded the General.
Peppery, headstrong little Jim went home that night walking very erect. Pat and Mike were one on each side of him, but he hardly knew it, he was so busy looking forward to the time when he should have a house like the General's, when his mother would pin a flower on his coat, and he should give parties, and as many of them as he chose.
[Illustration: Pat and Mike were one on each side of him.]
[Illustration: Pat and Mike were one on each side of him.]
And of all these plans his mother heard with wonder and astonishment.
"Your party's made a man of you, Jim," said the widow at last. "I'd niver have thought of a party doin' it, nayther, though I was wantin' it done bad. Your father was the man as loiked noice things, and he'd have got 'em, too, if sickness hadn't come to him."
And now little Jim's reward had come. At last his mother had said he was like his father. He was as good as Pat and Mike and Andy, and his heart swelled.
"But, Jim, dear, you'd be gettin' your house quicker if we was all to help toward it."
"And then 'twouldn't be mine," objected Jim.
"No more it wouldn't," assented Mrs. O'Callaghan, "but 'twould be better than livin' in the shanty years and years. You don't want to kape livin' here till you have a foine house loike the Gineral's, do you, Jim?"
"No," reluctantly answered the little fellow, glancing about him.
"I knowed you didn't. For sure you're not the wan to let your ambition run away with your sinse. A neat little house, now, with only two b'ys to a bedroom and wan bedroom for me—what do you say to it, Jim?"
Then and there it was settled, and that night each boy had a different dream about the neat little house to be—Jim's, of course, being the most extravagant. That week the first five dollars toward it was deposited with the General.
"And I'll be keepin' a sharp lookout on Barney and Tommie," was Jim's unasked promise to his mother. "You've no idea what little chaps smoke them cigarettes. I can fix it. I'll just be lettin' the boys know that every wan of 'em that helps Barney and Tommie to wan of them things will get a lickin' from me."
"Is that the best way, do you think, Jim?"
"Sure and I know it is. I've seen them big boys givin' 'em to the little wans, particular to them as their folks don't want to use 'em. The General's down on them things, and Barney and Tommie shan't have 'em."
"Five dollars in the bank!" exclaimed the widow. She was surrounded by her eldest four sons, for it was seven o'clock in the morning. "Two years we've been in town, and them two years has put all four of you where I'm proud of you. All four of you has sat in the father's chair for good deeds done. What I'm thinkin' is, will Barney and Tommie and Larry sit there, too, when their turn comes?"
"They will that!" declared Jim with authority.
"Of course they will, mother," encouraged Pat.
"They are father's boys, too," said Andy.
"Andyourboys, mother. Where else would your boys sit?" asked Mike.
And then the widow smiled. "I belave you'll ivery wan of you come to good," she said. "There's small bad ahead of b'ys that has a bit of heartsome blarney for their mother, and love in their eyes to back their words. Some has farms and money. But if any one would be tellin' of my riches, sure all they've got to say is, 'The Widow O'Callaghan's b'ys.'"