CHAPTER XII
THOMAS MURPHY, TIMEKEEPER
HERE’S a garden,” said Mr. Prescott, the next morning.
“Is there a garden?” interrupted Billy, eagerly.
“There’s a garden,” Mr. Prescott went on, in his steady, even tone, “down behind this house, and I have decided to give a garden party. Are there any ladies that you would like to invite?”
“All the ladies that I have in the world,” said Billy, soberly, “are Aunt Mary and Miss King.”
“Then invite them,” said Mr. Prescott. “I think that, now you’re well——”
Billy waved his arm, and thrust out his foot.
“Now you are well,” continued Mr. Prescott, “it will be a good plan for you to have some company.”
“When’s that party going to be?” asked Billy, very eagerly.
“I thought,” answered Mr. Prescott, “that perhaps we could manage it for to-morrow.
“Do you think it will be best to have the ladies alone, or shall we invite some men?”
“All the men I have,” said Billy, “are Uncle John and the young doctor and Mr. Thomas Murphy.”
“How would it do,” said Mr. Prescott, “to have just your Aunt Mary and Miss King? Your Uncle John can come at any time. Perhaps you would enjoy Tom more if he were to come alone.”
“I think,” said Billy, reflectively, “that would be a good plan.”
Then Billy told Mr. Prescott what Tom had said about being “nothing and nobody.”
“That’s good!” said Mr. Prescott, laughing. Then he added gravely, “Tom’s a faithful man.”
There was a garden. If Billy had ever dreamed about a garden, that would have been the garden of his dreams. Billy had never seen a garden like that.
It didn’t show at all from the front of the house; neither could it be seen from Billy’s windows; but there was a long garden with a round summer house at the end.
Because it was a city garden it had a high board fence on three sides. The fence was gray. Against it at the end, just behind the summer house, were rows of hollyhocks—pink, white, yellow, and rose—standing tall and straight, like sentinels on duty guard.
There were beds of asters, each color by itself, and great heaps of hydrangeas, almost tumbling over the lawn.
There were queer little trees. When Billy said that they looked like the trees on Japanese lanterns, Mr. Prescott said that they were real Japanese trees.
Billy didn’t see the whole of that garden until after he had been in it a great many times. After he did see it all, it became the garden of his dreams.
The next afternoon Mr. Prescott sent the auto for Aunt Mary and Miss King, and they both came.
Billy had never seen Aunt Mary look so well. She had on a lavender and white striped muslin, with white lace and some tiny black velvet buttons on it. Uncle John liked to have her wear lavender.
Miss King had on a pretty white dress, a different kind from what she wore in the office. Her hat was white, trimmed with blue, and her white silk gloves went up to her elbows.
Billy took them out through the drawing-room balcony, and down the steps into the garden.
They didn’t talk very much while they walked around, but a great deal of politeness went on in the garden that afternoon.
Aunt Mary smiled and kept calling him “Billy.” He counted till he got up to ten times, then he was so busy showing them the flowers that he forgot to count.
When they went into the summer house where the waitress had set a little table, they all sat down on the same side. That brought Billy between Aunt Mary and Miss King.
He helped them to ice-cream and cakes. There really wasn’t much helping to do, for the ice-cream was made like strawberries, leaves and all, only each one was about three times as large as strawberries grow.
They sat there a long time, keeping on being polite; but not a bit of the politeness was wasted, for they were all very happy when they were through.
Then Mr. Prescott came in the auto. After Aunt Mary and Miss King had gone, Mr. Prescott said that he should like a strawberry, so Billy had a chance to be polite to Mr. Prescott, too.
Altogether, Billy had a delightful party.
Mr. Prescott brought word that Thomas Murphy would come the next day, because that would be Saturday, and the mill would be closed in the afternoon.
Thomas Murphy came, clean shaven, and dressed in his best.
“Well, William,” he said, shaking Billy’s hand hard, “how are you, William?”
“Don’t you think, Mr. Murphy,” said Billy, “that I look pretty well?”
“Better than I ever expected to see you, William, after that day.”
“Mr. Prescott,” said Billy, “thinks we’d better not talk very much about that.”
“No, William,” said Thomas Murphy, “we won’t talk about the martyr side of it. But there’s something we will talk about. That’s why I’ve come. There are things, William, that you ought to know.”
Seeing how warm Thomas Murphy was growing, Billy suggested that they had better go out into the garden.
“That’s a good idea, William,” said he, limping after Billy.
After he was settled in a comfortable garden chair, Thomas Murphy hung a handkerchief with a figured purple border over his knee, clasped his hands across his chest, and began again.
“William,” he said solemnly, “while you were a-lyin’ onconscious in that hospital, I was a-thinkin’ about what you had asked me about bein’ a friend to the super.
“Every time I read that bulletin that was posted every day on that door, ‘onconscious still,’ I thought some more.
“The day that said ‘dangerous,’ I finished thinkin’.
“‘Thomas Murphy, timekeeper,’ said I sharp, ‘it’s time that you did something more than mark time; it’s time you found out whether you’re a-markin’ friends or foes.’
“When the men came in the next morning, they just filed past that bulletin. Then says I, ‘Thomas Murphy, act. The time to act has come.’
“Somethin’ in me said, ‘Suppose you should be a martyr like William.’
“‘Suppose I be a martyr,’ said I. ‘Am I a-goin’ to have William a-lyin’ dangerous, and a man like me a-sittin’ still?’”
Billy moved in his chair, and Thomas Murphy paused for breath.
“That noon,” he continued, “I told Peter Martin to blow the whistle three times. The super a-bein’ at the hospital, I gave the order myself. What do three whistles mean, William?”
“All men come to the gate,” answered Billy promptly.
“They came,” said Thomas Murphy. “I got up on a box, so I could see the whole of ’em.
“‘Men,’ said I, ‘that boy, William, is lyin’ onconscious, dangerous. He’s a-lyin’ there because the super had an enemy.
“‘Where would you get the food you’re a-eatin’ and the shoes you’re a-wearin’, if there wasn’t a mill to work in? Where would that mill be if it wasn’t for the super’s money?
“‘Are there any more enemies in this mill?
“‘To-morrow mornin’,’ said I, an’ they knew I meant what I said, ‘there’ll be two marks agin your names; and one’ll tell whether you’re a friend or a foe. The time has come. You are dismissed.’”
“Was every man a friend?” asked Billy, leaning forward eagerly.
“William,” answered Thomas Murphy, leaning forward, and punctuating his words with his stiff forefinger, “every one of ’em, William. Every one, to a man.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Billy. “You were a true friend, Mr. Murphy.”
“William,” said Thomas Murphy, sitting erect in his chair, “that’s what the super said—his very words: ‘Thomas Murphy, you’re a true friend.’”
Then Billy gave Thomas Murphy some ice-cream and cakes, and some ginger ale.
The last thing that Thomas Murphy said as he went out the garden gate was:
“William, when are you a-comin’ back to the office? All the men want to see you, William.”
Billy didn’t answer. He climbed up the steps, and then up the stairs.
When he reached his room he went to the chair by the broad window where he could look at the mountains. He had been wondering himself when he was going back to the office. Every time that he had tried to ask Mr. Prescott, something had seemed to stop him. Why didn’t Mr. Prescott talk about it? When was he going home?
That night as Billy lay on the seat in the broad window, he told Mr. Prescott about Tom’s speech to the men.
Then Mr. Prescott said:
“I think that you and Tom Murphy did something for me, just then, that nobody else could have done. Things were going wrong, and I couldn’t stop them.”
Billy said quickly, “I didn’t do anything.”
“You were in the hospital,” said Mr. Prescott, “and the men knew why.”
They talked on till the room grew dark. Finally Billy said:
“Mr. Murphy asked me when I am going back to the office.”
For a minute Mr. Prescott didn’t say anything. Then he said slowly:
“Billy, while you’ve been with me, have you ever thought that you would like to stay here all the time?”
Billy waited a moment.
“No, Mr. Prescott,” he said slowly.
Mr. Prescott moved uneasily in his chair, but he didn’t say anything.
After a little while Billy said:
“This is too nice a place for a boy that works.”
“See here, Billy Bradford,” said Mr. Prescott, sharply, “we’ll have none of that! That sounds like William Wallace. He was telling you to let me down easy, was he?
“You may just as well understand, both of you,” he went on, firing his words at Billy in the dark, “you may as well understand, once for all, that you can’t tell, simply by looking at the house a man lives in, how hard that man works.
“Sometimes a man works so hard that he doesn’t know what sort of house he does live in.
“That doesn’t mean,” he said calming down a little, “that I don’t care about this house, for I do. It helps a man to live the right sort of life.”
Then he said, still more quietly:
“There’s another thing I want you to understand. It’s Billy himself that I want. I’m not talking to William Wallace. He is very well able to take care of himself. If I’m not talking to Billy, I’ll not talk. Which is it?” he demanded.
“It’s Billy,” said Billy, very humbly.
“Then give me a true answer, Billy Bradford,” he said gently. “It has been very pleasant to have you here, Billy,” he went on, almost persuadingly. “When you go I shall be all alone.”
Billy waited. He must, in honor, tell the truth.
Then his man-side came to help him, and he said slowly:
“Next to Uncle John, I like you better than anybody.”
He waited another moment before he finished:
“But my father gave me to my Uncle John.”
Mr. Prescott sat still so long that Billy began to wonder whether he was ever going to say anything more.
At last he said:
“You do belong to your Uncle John. He has the first right. But I have a right of my own. You’ve come into my life, and you’re not going out of it.”
Then Mr. Prescott sat silent so long that Billy wondered, again, whether he ever would say anything more.
Just as Billy had decided that that was the end, Mr. Prescott began slowly, in a sort of far-away tone, as though he hadn’t quite come back from a place where he had been off to think:
“I’m going to be your brother, Billy Bradford.”
Then he added, in a tone that men like Mr. Prescott use only when they mean things hard:
“Just as long as I live.”
Mr. Prescott didn’t know it, but he had touched a place in Billy’s heart that nobody had ever touched before. Nobody except Billy knew that he had such a place.
Billy waited a minute—a long minute, then he said slowly:
“I’ve wished and wished and wished that I had a big brother of my own.”
“Then,” said Mr. Prescott, “your wish has come true.”
He said that as though he was as glad as he could be that he had worked that thing out right.
Then, getting up and going over to the nearest electric chain, he said firmly, like the Mr. Prescott that Billy loved best:
“That big brother is right here. His name is Henry Marshall Prescott, and he’s here, right here.”
