Watch Yourself Go By Part 32

In early life he had it very strongly impressed upon his mind that some men were perfect, others hopelessly vile. Experience and observation forced Alfred to the conclusion that none were so good but that some thought them bad, and none so vile but that some thought them good.

We generally judge others as to their att.i.tude towards us, agreeable or otherwise. Our estimate of another depends greatly upon the manner in which that person affects our interests. It is difficult to think well or speak well of those by whom we are crossed or thwarted. But we are ever ready to find excuses for the vices of those who are useful and agreeable to us. Therefore, he is a mighty poor mortal who is not something on his own account.

Alfred had graduated in that dear old school of experience, wherein education costs more but lasts longer than that acquired in colleges, that it is with the follies of the mind as with the weeds of a field--those destroyed and consumed upon the place of their growth, enrich and improve that place more than if none had ever grown there.

The boy had been so continually advised against evil a.s.sociates that he began taking a mental inventory of every stranger at first meeting.

Harrison was his estimate of the bad; Mr. Steele of the good.

Alfred had arrived at that stage where he not only stood aside and watched himself go by, but he was also watching the other fellow go by.

He was out of newspaper business, out of the tannery, had abandoned the practice of medicine. Charley's father, who was very strict with his boys, advised the parent to "give Alfred more tether, not to stake him down too close. Give him a little more rope, there's something in that boy." All of which was communicated to Alfred by Cousin Charley, and Uncle Bill was thus greatly elevated in Alfred's estimation.

Alfred's father was little short of a genius in a mechanical way; he had a peculiar temperament, mild and easily influenced. He was a creditable artist; many meritorious paintings from his brush in both oil and water adorn the walls of the residences of his friends. He was greatly interested in mechanical pursuits, particularly if of an artistic character.

When Uncle Joe prepared to build a house, "Pap" made the plans; when Sells Brothers built a tableau car or an animal van of an elaborate character, "daddy" made the drawings; when Aunt Betsy desired patterns to make a quilt to take the premium at the fair, "pap" made the drawings or figures.

He became acquainted with an artist from Philadelphia and was completely taken with the man's talents. The artist informed him in confidence that he had expended the greater portion of his man life on a work of art that would astonish the world, the father became even more interested in him.

The father was the only person who had ever been permitted to look upon the wonderful creation of his genius; yard after yard of art was unwound for the admiration of the father. When he returned from his second visit to the art gallery of the Philadelphia artist, he interested the family greatly by his description of the wonderful scenes the painter had wrought on the canvas.

The sufferings and privations endured by the man while creating his work seemed to make as profound an impression upon the father as the painting itself.

The father predicted that the talented painter would come into his own; the painting would be exhibited all over the world, admiring throngs would rush to see it to praise its incomparable beauties.

The father made weekly visits to the home of the great painter, he desired frequent conferences with the father as he required his advice, at least, he so stated.

After one of his frequent visits to the art studio the parent inadvertently let fall the remark that the great painting was about ready for exhibition but that the artist did not have money to complete it. He also hinted that if Alfred were a boy of proper ambitions he might become attached to the exhibition of the picture, but no, "Alfred's ambition did not rise above saw-dust and burnt-cork."

These few words aroused Alfred's curiosity. By adroit questioning he ascertained that the great work of art was a panorama ill.u.s.trative of "The Pilgrim's Progress," to be exhibited in churches, schools and such places, at twenty-five cents for adults; children, half price.

The mother wondered that the artist did not exhibit his wonderful painting in the art centers, Philadelphia, Boston, New York City, instead of Butler, Pittsburg, Perryopolis and Muttontown. The father explained that after the professor got the rollers to working smoothly and the lecture down pat, he intended visiting Philadelphia, Boston and New York.

Alfred began to realize that the picture was some sort of a show and he marvelled that his father favored it. Lin said:

"So fur es I kin kalkerlate it es some sort of meetin' house show, nuthin' but picturs. Hit may be good, but durned ef I ever got much satisfaction out uf a cirkus lookin' at the picturs. But I s'pose peepul will want to look at the feller thet made hit. They say thet he nurly starved to death to git hit done. Ye know, they'll run to see him. Mor en they will his pictur--I reckon he has long curley hair an black eyes, they all has, them sufferin' fellers that due wunderful things."

Lin glancing mischievously at the mother in a tone she pretended to be only for the mother's hearing but really delivered for Alfred's annoyance. "Well, I hope he k.u.ms to Red Stun' Skule-house. It's whur all the big shows gits thur start; they allus git a crowd, the skule direkturs sees to thet an' ef they don't make muny, Sammy Steele'll hulp 'em out."

How did she know about Sammy Steele and his loan? It was long afterwards that Alfred learned that Joe Thornton had confidentially imparted to Bill Wyatt, the tavern keeper, the part that he and Steele had played in Alfred's show life Wyatt, in turn, confidentially imparted the story, with a few additions, to Uncle Bill. The uncle confided the story to the family and Cousin Charley gave it to the town--but what's the use.

Professor Palmer, the artist, was to visit the family the following Sunday. When there appeared a smallish, Yankee looking individual, wrinkled face, a tuft of beard on his chin, similar to that bestowed upon the comic cartoons of the face of Uncle Sam, a beaked nose, very dirty hands and iron grey hair, spa.r.s.ely sprinkled over his acorn-shaped head, Alfred thought a farmer or stock breeder had called on his father.

When introduced by the father as "My son, Alfred, Professor Palmer,"

Alfred was taken off his feet and his idea of art dropped away down. The only attraction of the professor was his eloquence, his ability to talk entertainingly. This he did continuously with a p.r.o.nunciation so correct and studied that it sounded pedantic. The professor kept up his talk, as affected at times as the hand-cuff king's stage announcements or those of the middleman in a minstrel show.

After dinner the professor expressed a desire to take a walk with Alfred. They walked far, the professor talked long, and became annoyingly confidential. He said: "Your father has told me a great deal about you and I must admit that you are a mighty smart young man. You don't belong in this one-horse town, you should get out in the world where there are opportunities waiting for all such as you. You could live in this town a thousand years and you'd be just what you are now.

You have had some experience in the show line but in a line that is beneath you; your place in the show business is higher up. I want your advice," he continued insinuatingly. "Now, I offered John (he referred to Alfred's father), the best thing of his life. He has worked hard all of his days; he is deserving of something better. I have offered him a half interest in my show. ("Holy Mother of Moses!" thought Alfred). I have borrowed a little money from him but I need nine hundred dollars more to put me out right. Now Jack is considering the matter. I wish you, who know more about the show business than both of us put together, (Alfred knew he was being flattered), would talk to him, use your influence with him."

Notwithstanding Alfred's life's ambition to become a showman, the idea as presented by the professor filled him with disgust. His father going into the show business! He had pictured show life in his illusions as one long, summer day's dream, but now it seemed the meanest of careers.

The idea of his father a.s.sociating himself with such a calling was repugnant in the extreme. Alfred could scarcely restrain his thoughts from taking expression in wrathful words.

The man continued, not noticing Alfred's changed expression: "You could sing and dance in this entertainment, do just what you pleased, it would make it all the better. I'll deliver the lecture and your daddy, (he was becoming insultingly familiar), could sit at the door and rake in the money. Hasn't the old man talked to you about it? I've been talking to him for six months."

"Talking to my father about going into the show business and he did not knock you down. If he didn't he is a hypocrite." This is only what Alfred thought; his reply was: "No, sir." He did not realize whether "No, sir" was the answer to the professor's question or the announcement of the decision he had come to in his mind as to the show business in so far as his father was concerned.

The professor rattled on: "Now, you get your old man away from the women folks and talk it over with him. It's the best thing ever offered him; he'll get his nine hundred dollars back before a month is out. I'm going to do business with churches and preachers wherever I can. I preached four years in Missouri and had to give it up on account of my health; I got stomach trouble from eating rich food. I know just how to work this thing, and if you and your daddy go in with me we will not only make money but have a h.e.l.l of a good time."

They had arrived at the door of Alfred's home. The professor, as they pa.s.sed in, admonished Alfred to "Think it over and let me hear from you."

The professor was soon in the midst of a description of a scene he intended introducing in his church entertainment wherein he used living figures. Alfred did not follow his conversation; he was trying to think, but could not think connectedly. He could not talk to the professor, he answered him by nods or shakes of his head. The more reticent Alfred became the more voluble the professor grew.

At leave-taking time, the professor admonished Alfred: "Do not forget what I told you." Alfred promised that he would not and he was sincere; he could not have forgotten had he tried.

The professor gone, Alfred hurried to his room. Was it possible that his father had even partially entertained an idea of joining the man Palmer in a show scheme, the father, who had berated, abused and condemned all and everything pertaining to shows, now favorably considering engaging in the show business himself.

Alfred endeavored to find excuses for his father--"He was generous, sympathetic, he was listening to the professor only to encourage him."

Alfred had never been subjected to the influence of a promoter; this was a leaf of life yet unturned by him.

Alfred felt certain that his father had entered into some sort of an arrangement with the professor. He felt certain the panorama man was endeavoring to induce his father to invest money in the panorama and he finally resolved that it should not be.

The more he thought the matter over, the more distasteful show life appeared to him.

Then the illusion came back to him. He had dreamed by night and prayed by day; he had lived for years with the wish, the hope that he might, after a few years of show life, earn enough to gratify his life's desires, to possess a farm, to own fine horses, to plant fields, to reap harvests, to live near nature.

He figured over several sheets of white paper. He would be compelled to labor forty years in the tannery to acquire sufficient money to buy a farm and nearly one hundred years in the newspaper office.

Jimmy Reynolds, the clown with Thayer & Noyse Circus, received one hundred dollars a week, board and lodging, so Alfred had been informed.

Alfred felt in the innermost depths of his soul that he was a much better clown than Jimmy. He would secure the position now held by Reynolds--one hundred dollars each week for thirty weeks, three thousand dollars a year; ten years, thirty thousand dollars. Ten years a clown, then a farm. Show business was improper for the father but the means to attain the end for the son, as he reasoned.

When Lin found the figures and writing on the many sheets of scribbling paper in his room, she pondered long and confusedly over them.

"What in the world hes thet consarned boy got intu his punkin' agin?

Thirty years a clown, ninety-nine years in a nusepaper, furty years in the tan-yard, and a farmer all the rest uf my life." Then she laughed.

"He must think he'll be as ole as Methusulus got." She carried the paper to the mother.

They confronted Alfred with the sheets on which were scribbled the hieroglyphics. Alfred laughingly said it was a new way to tell fortunes.

Alfred decided to talk to the father the first opportunity that offered.

Father and son were seated in the front room. "Father"--Alfred rarely addressed the parent as "father;" "Pap" was the every-day appellation but the present matter was of greater importance--"Father, I would like to talk to you privately and want you to answer me truthfully."

The father had his feet on a stool reclining in the big, easy chair. At the words "answer me truthfully," the father's feet fell to the floor, his cigar dropped until it lay on his chinbeard; the man looked at the boy to convince himself he had heard aright.

"Why, what the h--ll tarnation do you mean?"

Alfred was frightened, his voice trembled and sounded unlike his own, but he was determined.

"Father, I want to talk to you, come upstairs to my room."