Fred stared at the sheriff in blank amazement at the terrible charge now brought against him.
"I am charged with setting fire to John Rexford's store?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"And you say Mr. Rexford makes the charge?" demanded Fred, in great excitement.
"Yes, he makes the charge," replied the officer, in a manner that was extremely irritating to our young hero.
"I don't know what it means," answered Fred.
"You know the store was burned, I suppose?" said the sheriff sarcastically.
"I do, sir; but what has that to do with me?"
"The question is one that must be answered by the court. My duty is to see that you appear there for trial."
"When will the trial be?" asked Fred, pale and depressed.
"At two o'clock this afternoon you must appear before Justice Plummer."
"Can I remain at work till then?"
"No; you must go with me."
"Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?" asked Fred, shrinking with natural repugnance from such a place.
"It is, unless you can furnish surety for your appearance at the trial."
"If I promise to be there, isn't that enough?"
"I should not be doing my official duty to let you off on your promise," answered the sheriff.
"I would rather stay with you until two o'clock than go to the lockup."
"My time is worth too much to waste. I have a great deal of official business to attend to," said the officer; and after a pause, he added, "But if you were to give me five dollars, cash down, I think I could fix it for you."
"I haven't so much money with me, but I promise to pay it to you."
"I should prefer the cash."
Fred went to Mr. Farrington, accompanied by the sheriff, to try and borrow money enough to make up the five dollars, and to ask advice. His kind employer took him to one side and spoke low, so that the officer could not hear him. After getting the facts of the arrest, and asking a few questions, which were answered satisfactorily, Mr. Farrington turned to the sheriff and said:
"I am surprised, Mr. Coombs, that you shouldtry to scare this boy into paying you five dollars, with the threat of taking him to the lockup. I had a better opinion of you than this," he added emphatically.
Officer Coombs hung his head and colored. He lost the official bearing with which he had so impressed our young friend.
"I am responsible for his appearance at the trial," he at last answered, in defense of his position.
"Very well; that is no reason why you should take advantage of an innocent boy who knows nothing of the law. I will go surety for him, and will be present at the trial. If you want me to give a bond for his appearance I will do so."
"It would be right to have the bond, but I will not ask it from you. I have faith in you, you see," said the sheriff, trying to win back his good opinion by a bit of flattery.
Mr. Farrington shrugged his shoulders. Turning to Fred, he told him to go to his work, and promised that at the appointed time he would accompany him to the trial.
Of course Fred had to tell his parents at noon what had happened. They were alarmed at first at so grave a charge, but became calm, as they felt sure they could prove Fred was at home on the night of the fire.
"I think the tide will turn now, Fred," saidhis father. "You have had more than your share of ill luck, but I am proud of you, that you stand up under fire like a man."
"I hope it has turned, father, and I am glad of your approval. This charge, though, seems to be one of malice."
"It does seem so; but we can tell at the trial whether it is or not."
Justice Plummer was a middle aged man, with a kind, intellectual face. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully. When our hero entered he greeted him in a kindly way.
"I am sorry to see you here, Fred," he began, "and I hope no evidence of guilt will be found against you. Though I feel a friendly interest in you, it is my duty, as you know, to decide the case impartially."
"I know it is, judge," replied Fred, "and I think the evidence will prove my innocence."
John Rexford now came in with his lawyer, Mr. Clarence Ham, a young man noted for his eloquence.
Mr. Rexford was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had strong grounds for believing his store was burned by an incendiary, and that he had reasons for suspecting Fred Worthington to be the guilty party, though he admitted that he had little or no real proof to sustain this belief.
He gave his evidence upon the facts that led him to think the store was maliciously burned. Sheriff Coombs added his testimony upon this point. These facts, having been already given, need not be repeated.
"This testimony gives no absolute proof that the store was burned by an incendiary," said the judge.
"But I submit that the circumstances—the facts, if you please—lead to that conclusion," put in attorney Ham.
"To be sure, they give rise to a strong suspicion that it was, but unless we get further testimony to this end, the court cannot hold the prisoner for trial."
Mr. Rexford now gave his evidence, showing why he suspected Fred of being the guilty party.
This being simply a hearing before a justice, Mr. Farrington was allowed to serve Fred in place of a lawyer.
"You say," said Mr. Farrington, addressing the witness, "you thought at the time you discharged Fred Worthington from your employ that some sort of revenge would follow. Will you kindly state why you thought so?"
"His manner indicated it."
"In what way, please?"
"He was very saucy and impudent."
"In what manner was he impudent?"
"He threatened me."
"Simply because you informed him you wouldn't need his services longer?"
"Well, yes, that is about it," answered the witness hesitatingly.
"The court would like to know the exact facts," said Judge Plummer.
"I shall endeavor to give them," answered the witness.
"Then please state in what way he threatened you," said Mr. Farrington.
"It was in his manner. I had to conciliate him to save trouble. I was absolutely afraid of him."
"In what way did you conciliate him?"
"By modifying my statement."
"What was your statement?"
"It was something about his taking money from my drawer."
"You charged him, then, with stealing?"
"Not exactly."
"This was the point, however, that you modified?"
"Yes."
"Did that satisfy him?"
"Well, yes, it seemed to," admitted the witness reluctantly.
"Then, Mr. Rexford, your testimony shows that Fred Worthington did not complain at beingdischarged, but at a statement which you had no right to make. I judge he simply acted as any proud spirited boy would have done."
John Rexford grew fidgety.
"Was there any other cause for his being impudent?"
"No."
"No question of settlement, I suppose?"
"Nothing worth speaking of," answered the witness, growing very nervous.
"As it may have some bearing upon this case, you will please state what it was."
Mr. Farrington had a whispered consultation with Fred at this juncture, which made the merchant very ill at ease, and caused him to testify more fully upon the point than he otherwise would have done.
"I at first thought I would keep the amount due him to make up my loss; but his manner was so hostile that I feared he would injure me in some way, so I gave him the money."
"Did he threaten you with personal violence?"
"No."
"He made no threat at all, then?"
"As I said, after thinking the matter over, I thought it would be policy to pay him," answered the witness, trying to evade the point.
"But you have not answered the question. Did he, or did he not, make any sort of a threatwhich caused you to change your mind?" demanded Mr. Farrington.
"Well, yes, in a certain sense."
"In what sense?"
"He threatened to make false statements about my business."
"Would these statements have injured you?"
"They might have, for a time."
"You are sure the statements he threatened to make were false, with no foundation of truth," asked Mr. Farrington.
The witness hesitated. He saw Fred looking him square in the eye, and he shrank from answering, for he realized that the truth would probably be brought out by his former clerk.
"Yes, sir, I am sure they were false," he finally answered, while inwardly anathematizing himself at being caught in such a trap. He felt that Fred was getting the better of the case, and that, too, by his own testimony.
"In your testimony, Mr. Rexford, you said Fred Worthington impressed you at the time of his discharge with the idea that he would do you some subsequent harm. Was that impression founded upon his attitude of self defense?" asked Judge Plummer, in his slow, thoughtful way.
"No, sir, not that."
"Will you state, then, what caused you to form such an opinion?"
"Of course I could not tell his thoughts, but the deep study he seemed to be in convinced me that he was revolving in his mind some plot to be revenged on me for discharging him."
"This cannot be considered evidence," replied the judge. "His thoughts might have run upon an entirely different subject."
The testimony so far had very little weight, and really told against the merchant more than it did against our young friend.
The track in the sawdust, however, which was measured, and which was found to be the same size as Fred's shoe and of the same general shape, was very good evidence, and being testified to by both Mr. Rexford and the sheriff, went far toward bringing our hero under suspicion of having committed the crime.
The merchant's lawyer grew eloquent over this point, but his spread eagle style failed to impress the quiet, thoughtful judge to any great extent.
The testimony for the prosecution now being all in, Fred was put upon the stand, and testified that he was at home the night of the fire, had been at home all the evening, and was in bed when the cry of fire was sounded.
"How long had you been in bed?" asked attorney Ham.
"About two hours, I think," answered Fred.
"Are you sure about that?"
"I can't say it was exactly two hours, but Iknow it was not far from nine o'clock when I retired, and it was about eleven when the alarm of fire awoke me."
"Were you asleep when the alarm was started?"
"I was."
"I have no more questions at present to ask the witness," said the lawyer to the judge.
"I have one I would like to ask the witness," said Mr. Farrington, and then addressing Fred, he said:
"John Rexford testified that you threatened to make false statements about his business if he kept the money due you. Is this true?"
"I object to this question," said attorney Ham, who had learned the merchant's great desire to avoid further testimony upon this point. "It has no bearing upon this case."
"It does have a bearing upon the case, and I have a special reason for wanting an answer to my question," replied Mr. Farrington.
"The witness may answer," said the judge.
"Your honor," put in Ham, "I protest against bringing in the private business of my client, which has no relation to this case."
"This case is entirely one of circumstantial evidence," replied the judge, "and it is important that we get at the facts regarding the boy's character. The witness will answer the question."
"No, sir, it is not true."
"Did you make no threat whatever?"
"When he said he would keep my money, I told him it was a mean trick, but not much meaner than I had seen him play upon his customers."
"What reply did he make?"
"He asked me if I meant to insinuate that he cheated his customers."
"And you replied?"
"I said I did."
"What followed?"
"He threatened to have me arrested."
"And what did you say to that?"
"I replied that I would like to have him do so, for I could then tell some things about his methods that would make a stir in the village."
"This, then, is the threat you made?"
"Yes, if you call it a threat," answered Fred.
"Mr. Rexford's testimony does not agree with yours upon this point," said the judge. "Was there no statement about any special subject which Mr. Rexford considered false?"
"There was a reference to one or two matters," replied our young hero evasively.
The merchant now looked pale and wretched. His crooked business methods were about to be made known, and such a disclosure, coming right upon the loss of his store, was crushing to him.
"You will please state one of them," said the judge.
"I would prefer not to," said Fred.
"Why do you hesitate?" asked his honor.
"Because I do not wish to reveal matters about my employer's business that should be considered confidential."
"It is honorable in you to be so considerate of your former employer, and especially as he is now trying to establish a case against you. As you are only a boy, I consider it but right that I should advise you to show, if you can, that you did not threaten to make a false statement regarding his business. Such proof would aid your case and show well for your character."
Fred hesitated, thinking what he ought to do. Mr. Rexford took advantage of the pause, and asked if he would be allowed to speak a word upon this point before it was carried further. As no objection was raised by the defense, he said:
"I must acknowledge an error in my testimony regarding Fred's threat of a false statement. I was so wrought up over the matter that I hardly understood the exact language, but now I have heard his testimony it all comes back to me. His statement is essentially true."
This was an unexpected turn for matters to take. It was, however, less surprising to Fred than to the judge, and to those drawn by curiosityto the trial. The reason for Mr. Rexford's retraction was very evident, and caused many a significant glance, and here and there an exchange of opinions upon the matter in an undertone.
Though humiliating, it was nevertheless a fortunate move for the merchant, and he was lucky to get out of his own trap so well.
Fred was looked upon at first by the villagers present as being without doubt guilty, but now they began to have some admiration for him; and as the tide turned in his favor it set against the merchant, till at length our young friend was the more popular of the two.
Fred's father and mother both corroborated his testimony upon the point of his being at home all the evening on the night of the fire, and stated that he retired to bed at about nine o'clock.
They were questioned by lawyer Ham as to whether Fred could have left the house and returned, unknown to them, between the hours of nine and eleven o'clock, when the fire was probably set.
Their testimony upon this point evidently satisfied Judge Plummer that Fred was innocent of the charge John Rexford had brought against him, for after carefully going over the testimony on both sides, he said:
"I find nothing in the evidence that wouldtend to place suspicion upon Fred Worthington, who is charged with maliciously burning John Rexford's store. The testimony for the prosecution has no real weight, while that for the defense is strong, indisputable evidence, that removes all doubt as to the boy's whereabouts during the two hours when the fire must have been set, if it was set at all. I therefore discharge the accused, as no evidence has been offered that would justify me in holding him;" and then turning to our hero with a friendly smile, he added: "Fred, you can go. It is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you."
"I thank you sincerely," said Fred, with an expression of true gratitude.
"Before you go, Fred, I wish to congratulate you upon the way you have acquitted yourself during this trial," said Judge Plummer, taking him by the hand. "Placed under fire as you have been, but few boys would have displayed the manhood you have shown."
Our young friend was profoundly moved at these kind, reassuring words, coming as they did from one who had the power to hold him for a grave crime.
Fred's parents were very happy at the outcome of the trial, and at Judge Plummer's complimentary remarks to their son, their only child.But scarcely less gratified than they was Mr. Farrington. He not only felt pride in triumphing over the somewhat wordy lawyer Ham, but genuine satisfaction and pleasure that Fred should be cleared of all suspicion in this case.
John Rexford was defeated, dissatisfied, miserable. He had injured himself and helped his discharged clerk, who he still thought had something to do with the destruction of his store. He now quickly withdrew from the place of the trial before any one could approach him to intensify his misery by questions upon the various points of evidence.
Matthew De Vere and Tim Short had compromised matters with Jacob Simmons so that all immediate danger was passed. They were comparatively easy on this point, as a little more time had been granted them in which to pay the balance promised him; yet they did not feel entirely secure.
Fred's arrest on the charge of burning the store meant more to each of them than a mere gratification at seeing him humbled and perhaps punished. If they had been sure he would be convicted of the crime, doubtless they would have been happy indeed. The case meant so much to them that they attended the trial; and their discomfiture at the result—at seeing Fred vindicated and honorably discharged—was more than will be imagined.
They left the place of trial together, and had a long private discussion, which seemed not entirely satisfactory.
"Meet me in the pines tomorrow noon, Tim," said De Vere as he left him, wearing a worried look—almost one of fear.
Aside from these troubles, Matthew was far from happy. He had tried to learn the cause of Nellie's manner toward him the last time he saw her at school. He could not understand what had brought about the change in her.
He had not seen her for nearly a week, for she was at home sick. She took a severe cold on the night of the fire by exposure to the damp, chilly air, and had not been able to come out since. Matthew called at the doctor's to offer her his sympathy, but she would not see him. He learned from his sister, who had called every day that Nellie was up and around the house, and from this fact he argued that she shunned him.
Fred really expected no reply to his letter to Nellie, and yet he hoped almost against hope, as it seemed to him, that she might acknowledge its receipt in some way. If only a word, and that one of criticism, he felt that it would be much more welcome than nothing.
Little did he realize how near he came to receiving the coveted letter, for it was actually written, and was one that would have given him great pleasure.
Nellie wrote the letter in the evening before the fire, and intended mailing it the next morning; but when morning came she found herself too ill to leave the house.
Two days passed; then came the report ofFred's arrest. The news made her cheeks burn. She condemned herself for having written the letter, and while the shock was fresh upon her she destroyed it. And as it lay in the waste basket, torn into little pieces, she looked at it and felt almost sorry she had been so hasty; even wished, though she hardly dared acknowledge it to herself, that he had the letter, guilty or not.
She took his note from her pocket and read it again; then buried her face in her hands in deep thought.
She was interrupted by Grace Bernard, who ran in to spend a little time with her.
"Oh, isn't it good news?" she exclaimed, in her animated, girlish way.
"Isn't what good news?" asked Nellie curiously.
"Why, the result of the trial. Haven't you heard of it?"
"Has he been acquitted?" asked Nellie eagerly.
"Yes."
"No, I had not heard of the result," she replied, blushing as she realized the interest she had shown. "I only learned of the trial a few minutes ago."
"I am so glad he was proved innocent. I think it was shameful to bring such a charge against him," returned Grace.
"He has been unfortunate," replied Nellie, refraining from an expression of her own feelings.
"Yes, he has; but I do not believe any of the charges against him. Father said that Mr. Rexford was confused and embarrassed at the trial. It all came out about Fred's discharge and the missing money."
"Was it favorable to Fred?"
"Yes. Mr. Rexford had to retract his own testimony, and acknowledge that Fred was right."
"Did they learn anything about the missing money?"
"No; but father said there was no proof that Fred took it, and no good reason for thinking so. You know I told you when the report first started that I did not believe it."
"Yes, I know you did," replied Nellie, dropping her eyes, and thinking of the reference to the fact in Fred's letter to her.
"Dave told me a few days ago," continued Grace, "that Fred thought nearly all of his friends had turned against him, and that he felt terribly hurt about it. I know I have not turned against him, and I shall write and tell him so; then he will know he has one friend at least."
"He already knows it," said Nellie, in a slightly bitter tone.
"Why, how can that be, and what leads you to think so?" asked Grace, with surprise.
"I mean—probably he knows it. Dave might have told him," replied Nellie, with evident embarrassment at the fact she had unintentionally disclosed, and her inability to explain how she came by this information without making reference to Fred's letter to her.
Grace looked puzzled, and after a pause said:
"Yes, possibly he knows it, but I wish to be sure of it; and as I have no opportunity of seeing him now he is at work in the factory, I will write the letter and mail it to him. It can do no harm."
When Nellie had been left alone she could not resist referring once more to that part of Fred's letter that spoke of Grace's friendship. This, and the fact that she was intending to write him a friendly, encouraging letter, troubled Nellie. She was very glad that he had been found innocent, and that he had merited the praise of the judge, and yet she felt depressed that another should feel so happy over it. If only she had learned the news from some other source, or if Grace had shown some indifference, she would have been delighted.
Why this should trouble her she hardly knew, but that it did she was certain. She wondered if Grace would say anything about her in the lettershe would write to Fred. "I am afraid she will," Nellie said to herself. "I wish I had shown more sympathy for him, and I wanted to so much. But why should she be so happy over his triumph? The idea of her writing to him to tell him of her friendship!"
These thoughts annoyed Nellie, and she felt—yes, we may as well confess it—a little jealous of her friend Grace.
The next morning, as Fred was busy at his work, Carl came in from the post office, whither he had gone for the mail for several of the employees, and handed him two letters. On looking at them Fred was surprised to find both postmarked "Mapleton."
He tore one of them open nervously, hoping it might be the long looked for and much coveted answer to his own letter to Nellie Dutton. He looked at the signature—"Grace Bernard."
"What can this mean?" The thought shot through his mind, and then he proceeded to find out in a very sensible way, by reading the letter.
It was simply a friendly letter, that showed a refreshing sympathy for his misfortunes, and expressed a belief that he would in time triumph over all opposition.
The writer assured him of her belief in his innocence, and congratulated him upon his perfect vindication at the trial. She spoke of Nellie's sickness, and added that it would not be long before he would be more highly appreciated by his friends than ever.
This brief letter touched Fred deeply and brought tears of joy to his eyes. He felt so happy that he hesitated before opening the other letter, fearing it might cast a cloud over the sunshine this little note had brought him.
"And Nellie has been sick," he said to himself thoughtfully. "Perhaps this letter may be from her. I will open it and see."
It ran like this:
Mapleton.My Dear Friend:—Your letter, so unexpected, was a surprise to me, but I am very glad you sent it, otherwise we might not have understood each other as well as I now hope we may. It grieves me that you should feel so offended at my seeming lack of friendship. Perhaps the time may come when you will think differently. Had I received your letter two weeks ago, or had you then told me what you say you would have explained in confidence, you would probably have no cause now to complain of me.Your letter, in some respects, is a puzzle to me. It has almost made me suspicious of a certain party, but I must wait and see what time will tell, then perhaps we shall find it agreeable to talk over the matter and be as friendly as ever. You may feel sure I was very glad of your success at the trial, and I hope, oh so much, that you will triumph over all your misfortunes. I should have answered your letter more promptly, but I have been, and still am, kept at home by a bad cold which I took the night of the fire.With best wishes, sincerely your friend,Nellie Dutton.
Mapleton.
My Dear Friend:—Your letter, so unexpected, was a surprise to me, but I am very glad you sent it, otherwise we might not have understood each other as well as I now hope we may. It grieves me that you should feel so offended at my seeming lack of friendship. Perhaps the time may come when you will think differently. Had I received your letter two weeks ago, or had you then told me what you say you would have explained in confidence, you would probably have no cause now to complain of me.
Your letter, in some respects, is a puzzle to me. It has almost made me suspicious of a certain party, but I must wait and see what time will tell, then perhaps we shall find it agreeable to talk over the matter and be as friendly as ever. You may feel sure I was very glad of your success at the trial, and I hope, oh so much, that you will triumph over all your misfortunes. I should have answered your letter more promptly, but I have been, and still am, kept at home by a bad cold which I took the night of the fire.
With best wishes, sincerely your friend,
Nellie Dutton.
Instead of throwing a shadow over our young friend's horizon, this letter swept away, for a time, the few remaining clouds, and made thesunshine so bright and cheering that he was happy indeed. He had been cast down so long by bitter misfortunes, that these expressions of friendship, and especially those of Miss Nellie, seemed to liberate his fettered spirits, and make them bound high with joy.
His work seemed nothing to him. The flockers lost their dusty, dingy appearance. The heavy rolls of cloth were but playthings in his hands. There was no friction, no irritation. Everything moved with the grace and charm of a well modeled yacht with swelling sails upon a rippling sea.
"She wishes so much that I may triumph over all my misfortunes," he said to himself, "and I can see now she almost suspects De Vere. I know she means him. I have been a fool to misjudge her so—and she is at home sick, poor girl!"
Here a sudden impulse seized him, and in a few moments he was at John Fielding's hot house and ordered a dollar's worth of choice cut flowers. He handed the florist the money and directed him to send them to Nellie Dutton with his card.
The old florist was startled—could hardly believe his own senses. Such an order to be received from a boy was unprecedented—nothing of the kind had ever been known in the village,and that Fred Worthington, now a factory boy, should be the one to lead off in this very commendable fashion—a fashion that is only really practised in the larger towns—seemed too much to realize.
Fred saw this plainly in the queer little old man's face, and he blushed deeply as he thought what he had done.
Whether the florist hoped to encourage this sort of trade by liberal dealing I cannot say, but that he sent some very choice flowers, and a large quantity for the money, is certain. It would be difficult to imagine a more surprised or delighted person than Nellie Dutton was when she opened the box and took from it the sweet smelling flowers, and a neatly written card bearing the name—"Fred Worthington."
If she was a little jealous of her friend Grace on the previous day, she now had no occasion to feel so. Her letter had brought a response that she little expected—a response, however, that made her quite as happy as Fred.
If she had, up to this time, held serious doubts as to his innocence, they were now dispelled. A little act will many times go far toward changing one's opinion, and there are few arguments more forcible with girls, and even ladies of mature age, than are choice flowers. This act of Fred, though seemingly absurd for a boy in hisposition, was a master stroke in his favor, for it not only won Nellie's friendship fully back, but it also created a very favorable impression upon her mother, who was scarcely less pleased with the flowers than Nellie herself.
When Fred had first entered the mill his attention was arrested by Jack Hickey—a witty, good natured Irishman. He was a quaint character, full of fun and humor. His employment was washing and scouring wool and shoddy—not a very genteel labor, for it was wet and dirty work, as well as tiresome. However, Jack received for such service $1.75 per day, and this made him happier than a $10,000 salary makes many a bank president.
Hickey was called by the boys the "Jolly Scourer"—not a bad appellation for him either. His tub and rinser were near the flockers. Fred could see and hear him while at his own work, and this furnished our young friend much amusement; for whenever Jack had pitched the wool about in the strong suds and was waiting for the action of steam upon it, he usually filled in the time by singing bits of original rhyme and by clog dancing.
His rhymes were as queer as himself, while his dancing was equally peculiar. He had been persistent in the practice of the latter art, no doubt;in fact, there was decided evidence of this, for in spite of the clumsy cowhides that he wore, his right foot showed much careful training. It was full of music and always on time. It could tap the floor with the ease and skill with which a practised drummer beats the resonant diaphragm. Moreover, it seemed to know all the steps of a professional dancer, while his left foot was a thorough clod, so far as this art went.
It always seemed to go just contrary to the other, and gave the appearance of attempting something more difficult than it was capable of performing. Indeed, this was almost the invariable result, as its accomplishments in this line were so exceedingly few; besides, it was always out of time, was clumsy and awkward, and was such a foot as is familiarly described among boys as "belonging to the church."
"It is very queer why there is such a difference in the action of that man's feet," remarked Fred to himself, with a suppressed titter; "but I think, after all, the clumsy one is the most natural, and does just about as I should expect a foot to do when incased in such an amount of leather and belonging to such a man as Jack. What I don't understand is, how the other one ever became so gamy."
Fred wondered if Jack was doing all that practice simply for his own pleasure, or if he wastrying to fit himself for an engagement with some minstrel troupe. If for the latter purpose, there was some object in it; but if simply for fun, Fred could not see where it came in when he considered the immense amount of effort it must have taken to wield with such dexterity those great boots, whose legs reached far above the dancer's knee, and the soles of which were nearly an inch in thickness and contained a generous supply of iron slugs.
When Fred first witnessed Jack's comical performances, they amused him hugely, and he thought he had never before seen anything half so funny; even the annual circus, with its train of animals, and dancers, and tumblers and clowns, could not equal it. The "Jolly Scourer" was extremely comical and clownish, evidently without trying to be so, while the circus clown'seffortat comical acts and sayings detracts from the amusing effect of the acts themselves.
Jack was thoroughly original, and his originality in music, which accompanied these performances, added much to them; for, contrary to the custom of many small boys when practising clog dancing, instead of whistling Jack furnished his music by singing, in a rich brogue, bits of improvised rhyme that he seemed to compose for the occasion. Many of them were very funny, and possessed the originality and witcharacteristic of his nationality, which added much to the whole performance.
Fred soon made the acquaintance of the "Jolly Scourer," and had many good laughs at his jokes, which often lightened the monotony of routine work. He moreover did our young hero many acts of kindness, and in a certain matter proved of great service to him.
Time passed by with Fred in his factory life not altogether unpleasantly, and as he saw no chance of getting into a store again very soon, he concluded that the best thing for him to do was to gain every point possible relative to woolen manufacture, and especially to the finishing department, in which he had commenced his mill career.
Consequently he bent his energies to this purpose. Whatever was to be learned by observation and by questioning he was fast finding out. When he first ventured out into the wet gig room, he saw there numerous machines, the working of which was a curiosity which he wished to have explained; and after carefully examining them he hastened back to the little humpback, where he felt confident he could get the desired information. Said he:
"Carl, what are those great tall machines in the second room beyond us, that have the large cylinders?"
"They are gigs—wet gigs."
"And what are they for?"
"They are to raise a nap on the cloth."
"How do they do that?"
"Well, that cylinder is covered with handles. You know what handles are, I s'pose?"
"I know something about some kind of handles, but I guess not of this kind."
"They are long iron frames about seven feet long, half an inch thick, and just wide enough to take in two teasels, one on top of the other so as to make two rows of them the whole length of the handle."
"And this iron frame filled with teasels is called a 'handle'?"
"Yes."
"But what are teasels?"
"They are the burrs of a plant something like a thistle. They are about the size of a small egg, only not quite so large around, and they do not taper so much, though one end is a little larger than the other. They have sharp points, sort of like hooks, which all turn down toward the stem, so you can run your hand over them one way and the points won't hurt; but if you pull your hand back they dig right to the flesh."
"Oh, I know now, I saw a lot of them up stairs the other day and wondered for what they wereused here. Seems to me they are queer things to use on cloth. Wouldn't something like a card with iron tacks be better, and last longer?"
"No, I guess not. Probably anything like that would tear the cloth, and I believe all of the mills use teasels. You see they would use what is best."
"Yes, I suppose so," added Fred thoughtfully; "but tell me about the gig and how they use this little prickly thing."
"Well, as I said, these frames filled with teasels are called handles, and as the gig cylinders are covered all over with handles, it makes kind of a solid bed of teasels. The cylinder whirls one way, and the cloth, which is drawn close against it, goes the other."
"I should think the sharp points would dig into the cloth, and tear it the same as wire points would."
"You see the gig is going so fast they don't get hold much, and then they are not strong enough to tear it at once, but will wear it out rather fast if too much pressure is put upon it. Those gigs out there don't hurt it much, though, for they use old handles and the teasels are broken down a good deal."
"Where are they used first, if they are old?"
"Up stairs on the dry gigs."
"What! Is it gigged up there, too?"
"Oh, yes; on two different gigs. Haven't you seen the great square iron framed machines with two cylinders and two men tending them?"
"No, I think not. I don't believe I have been into that room yet."
"Well, the cloth is gigged there on the big machines the first thing after it leaves the fulling mills and washers."
"How long do they run it up there?"
"They run it quite a while in all the different processes it goes through. After it is gigged the first time then it is cropped."
"Cropped, you say?" exclaimed Fred, laughing. "Well, you have me again, for I am sure I don't know what that means."
"Why, it means sheared—cutting off the nap which the teasels dig up—only they don't call it 'sheared' the first two times."
"How many times is it sheared, I wonder!"
"'Bout four or five times, I think; twice on the cropper, and twice or three times on the finishing shears. As I said before, it is run on the big gig first and then is cropped. After this process is completed, it runs on another dry gig of the same shape as the wet ones, and is cropped again. Then it is placed on to the wet gigs where you saw it."
"I should think it would be all worn out if it is run so long against those sharp teasels,besides having the nap sheared off several times. How long do they keep it on the gigs?"
"It does get spoiled sometimes; I have seen plenty of pieces with the face of the cloth all gigged through. It tears the filling all out and leaves the warp. The cloth runs on each gig till a good nap is worked up."
"That would be a good many hours in all, I suppose, but I don't see the use of gigging it so much as to spoil the cloth. It won't wear very well, will it?"
"Yes, but they gig it so as to get an extra fine finish, and make it smooth and handsome. And then there are what they call the steam gigs. It is run on them, and besides this it is gigged several times on the back, both on dry and wet gigs."
"What! Is there still another kind of gig?" asked Fred, beginning to get incredulous.
"No, they are just the same as the ones you saw, only they run the cloth through them after it is steamed, so the boys call them the 'steam gigs.'"