OR several days Billy was so busy that he had to resist all of Tom Murphy’s attempts to make him stop to talk.
Then one noon, as he was going through the gate, Tom said:
“Why don’t you bring your dinner out here, William? Then we can have that talk about iron.”
Much as he wanted to be with Uncle John, Billy really was anxious to hear what Thomas Murphy had to say about iron. So he answered:
“I think, Mr. Murphy, that that would be a good plan.”
When Billy came back, Thomas Murphy, eager of his opportunity, was putting the cover on his own pail.
Then, sitting up straight in his chair, and swelling with oratorical pride, he began:
“William, I told you that iron is a large subject. The more a man thinks about it, the larger it gets.
“Here,” he said, waving his left hand, “is our mill. What do we make? We make lathes, corn canners, and—and—all sorts of things. What do we make them of? Iron.
“What carries them all over the country? Iron engines. What do those engines run on, William? Iron rails. What carries ’em across the ocean? Iron ships.
“What makes our flour? Iron grinding machines.
“What heats our houses? Iron stoves. What——”
Pausing a moment for breath, he thrust his thumbs under his suspenders. Happening to hit the buckles, he began again:
“What holds our clothes together? Iron buckles, iron buttons,” he said with emphasis.
Pausing again, he looked up.
“What,” he said, pointing dramatically at the telephone wire, “carries our messages from land to land, from shore to shore? Iron.”
He paused again. Seeing that he had Billy’s attention, Tom looked at him a moment in silence.
“William,” he said so suddenly that Billy fairly jumped, “those very shoes that you are a-standin’ in are held together by iron nails!”
Then, leaning forward, with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he concluded:
“William, as far as I can see, if it wasn’t for iron, we should all be just nothin’, nobody.”
Billy, drawing a long breath, said:
“You’ve certainly done a lot of thinking, Mr. Murphy.”
“I thank you, William,” said Thomas Murphy, “for a-seem’ and a-sayin’ that I’ve been a-thinkin’.”
Tom had set Billy to thinking, too. By night there were several things that Billy wanted to know.
It was so hot that Aunt Mary surprised them by setting the table out in the hall. There wasn’t room for them to sit at the table, so she handed them the things out on the steps.
“That was a good idea, Mary,” said Uncle John, when they were through. “I’m glad that you worked that out.”
Billy, looking up into her face, said:
“It was real nice, Aunt Mary.”
Aunt Mary smiled. Billy, watching her, thought that her smile had moved just a little further out on her face. So he said again:
“It was real nice, Aunt Mary.”
Was he wrong, or did her smile move still a little further out?
“Uncle John,” said Billy, “are ships made of iron?”
“Why, Billy, you’re not going to sail away from us, are you?” said Uncle John, almost unconsciously putting his hand on Billy’s. “Ships are made of steel.”
“Mr. Prescott,” said Billy, “explained to me about steel, and about forges.”
“When this country was first settled,” said Uncle John, “men had little forges to make iron, just as their wives had spinning wheels to make wool for clothes.
“When they began to make nails—they couldn’t build houses without nails—there was a forge in almost every chimney corner. Children, as well as grown people, used to make nails and tacks in the long winter evenings. People then took nails to the store to pay for things, as in the country they now take eggs.
“That old forge iron was never very pure. It did the work that they had to do, but the world needed better iron, and more of it. It took a good while to find out a better way. The men that finally succeeded worked hard and long. You ought to begin to read up about those men.
“Of course it closed out a good many blacksmiths, but it helped the world along. Guess they found, in the end, that it helped them along, too.”
Then Billy told Uncle John what Thomas Murphy had said about being “nothing and nobody.” Aunt Mary came out to know what they were laughing about, so he told her the story.
“Mind you, Billy,” said Uncle John, “I’m only laughing at the way he put it. Murphy is right. He seems to be unusually clear on the usefulness of iron.”
Only a day or two later Billy had occasion to remember what Tom Murphy had said about the nails in his shoes.
In spite of all his efforts to grow broad, Billy was growing taller and slimmer every day. His legs were getting so long and his trousers so short, that Billy was beginning to wish that he could have some new clothes. But that wasn’t his greatest worry.
There generally is one worry on top. This time it was shoes. They were growing short, but, worse than that, the sole of the right one was beginning to look as if it were coming off at the toe.
He and Aunt Mary looked at it every morning, for she hadn’t quite money enough for a new pair. Uncle John still made Billy put his money in the bank—“Against a rainy day,” Uncle John said.
Billy had tried, as hard as he could, to favor his right shoe. Of course he couldn’t walk quite even: it made him hop a little. But he had only two days more to wait, and he thought that he could manage it.
Probably he would have succeeded, if it hadn’t happened that Mr. Prescott needed some change. He told Billy to “sprint” to the bank for three rolls of dimes and two rolls of nickels.
Billy made good time on his way to the bank, handed in his five-dollar bill, took his five rolls of money, and started back.
He made good time on his way back until he reached the bridge, about three minutes’ walk from the mill gate. Then he hit a board that had been put on as a patch, and off came that right sole, so that it went flop—flop—flop.
He had to hold his feet very high in order to walk at all; but he flopped along, until he stubbed his left toe and fell down flat.
The fall was so hard that it threw one roll of dimes out of his pocket. Just as he had stretched out till he almost had the roll, it began to turn over and over, and went off the edge of the bridge into the river. Billy saw it go.
Pulling himself up quickly, he put both hands into his pockets to hold the rest of the money in, and hurried on as fast as he could.
As he flopped through the gate, he half heard Tom Murphy say:
“Those nails kinder went back on you, didn’t they, William?”
When Mr. Prescott took the money, Billy held up his foot so that Mr. Prescott could see his shoe, then he told him about the money.
Mr. Prescott seemed to take in the situation, and he seemed not to mind much about the money, for he said:
“We shall have to charge that up to profit and loss.”
Billy found a piece of string to tie his sole on, and, that very night, as soon as he got home, Aunt Mary gave him a pair of new, rubber-soled shoes.
That was Thursday. The next Monday—Mr. Prescott paid the men on Monday—when Mr. Prescott gave Billy his little brown envelope, Billy said:
“If you please, sir, I shall feel better if you will take out the dollar that I lost.”
Then something happened. It seems as though Satan must have got into Mr. Prescott’s mind, and must have had, for a moment, his own wicked way. That seems to be the only way to explain how a man like Mr. Prescott could say such a thing as he did to a boy like Billy.
Mr. Prescott thought that Billy said, “I shall feel better” because his conscience was troubling him. He looked down at Billy’s new shoes.
“New shoes,” he said rather gruffly.
It didn’t sound a bit like Mr. Prescott.
Billy wanted to tell him how long Aunt Mary had been saving up money to buy those shoes, but he had been practicing so hard on keeping his lips shut that he didn’t say anything.
“Take your envelope,” said Mr. Prescott.
After Billy had started for the door, Mr. Prescott added:
“I rather think that the firm can stand a pair of shoes.”
Billy’s back was toward him. Perhaps, if he had been looking right at Billy, he wouldn’t have said it; but say it he did.
Billy didn’t, just then, take it in. He said, “Good-bye, Mr. Prescott,” as he always did when he went home.
Miss King’s keys kept going—clickety-clickety-click.
There was another side to it. When a good man like Mr. Prescott grows interested in a boy, and, about the time when he feels pretty sure that the boy is all right, something happens, especially about money, the man feels terribly. Then any man is likely to say hard things.
Billy had never even heard about such a thing as “conscience money,” but Mr. Prescott had had an experience with a man whose conscience didn’t work at the right time.
Billy felt uncomfortable when he went out the door; but he was fully half-way home before he realized that Mr. Prescott thought that he had told a lie about the roll of dimes; thought that he had—— Billy couldn’t finish that sentence.
He hardly spoke to Uncle John all the way home. Then, though Aunt Mary had a special treat—the little cakes covered with white frosting, the kind that Billy liked best—he could hardly eat one.
He felt worse and worse. Of course Uncle John knew that something was wrong, but he knew that a boy can’t always talk about his heartaches. Then, if it were business, he didn’t want to tempt him to tell. So Uncle John didn’t ask any questions.
They sat on the steps a long time—so much longer than usual that Aunt Mary called:
“William Wallace, it’s time to come in.”
When she said that, Uncle John said he was so thirsty that he should have to go in to get some water.
Billy heard Uncle John call Aunt Mary into the kitchen to find him a glass. Then he came out again, and sat down close by Billy.
They sat there till long after the clock struck nine. Then Billy said:
“Uncle John, if anybody thought something b-b—something about you, and it wasn’t so, what would you do?”
“I would,” answered Uncle John, slowly, “keep right on working, and leave that to God.”
Then he put his arm around Billy’s shoulders, drew him up close, and said again, slowly, “I would leave that to God.”
After they had sat a minute longer, they both went into the house.
Billy wished that night, even more than usual, that he and Uncle John might say their prayers together, the way he and his father used to do. But he did the best he could alone.
He said his prayers very slowly and very carefully. Then he said them all over again, and climbed into bed.
After the house was dark, Billy heard Uncle John come to his door. Billy didn’t speak, but he heard Uncle John say something. Perhaps, though he said it very softly, Uncle John hoped that he would hear him when he said softly:
“Eh, Billy, little lad!”
