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Ebook has 1332 lines and 48643 words, and 27 pages

TOM TAYLOR AT WEST POINT

WONDERFUL NEWS

Tom Taylor, a well set up, pleasant-faced lad of about sixteen, came marching up the path that led from the street to the front door of the cottage. Tom was whistling a cheerful air; no--one moment--the tune was cheerful enough, but Tom Taylor was whistling it in anything but a gay manner.

Something in the way that he trilled out the notes must have impressed his mother, for she looked up quickly, and out of the open window near which she was sewing.

There was an anxious note in her voice, and an extra trace of worry showed in her face, already lined with marks of care.

"Yes, I am home a bit early, Mother. I'm taking a sort of vacation you see. Came home to get you to go for a walk. It's too soon for supper. Come on, we'll walk over to the woods," and once again Tom tried to put some gaiety into the tune he was whistling.

Mrs. Taylor shook her head.

"That isn't the reason you came home so early, Tom," she said, gently. "I know something has happened. Tell me!"

"It isn't anything at all, Mother, really! Come on, we'll go for a little walk, and then, when we come back, I'll help you get supper. Come along."

Again Mrs. Taylor shook her head.

"I'd like to come with you, Tom, you know that," she said, "but I must finish this dress. Mrs. Leighton wants it to wear to-morrow, and if it isn't done I'll not get paid for it, and you know the interest is soon due. We must meet that."

"Yes, I know," and a frown passed over the lad's face. "I wonder who invented interest, anyhow. It always comes at such an inconvenient time. Well, here's something toward it, Mother," and he took from his pocket a few bills and some change in silver.

"Oh, Tom! To-night isn't pay night!" his mother exclaimed.

"It was--for me," he said, and this time he smiled, for he saw a look of alarm, and almost of fear, come over his mother's face, and he wanted to be as reassuring as possible.

"Then it's pretty good evidence, Mother, that I earned the money!" finished Tom with a laugh. "You don't often catch Mr. Blackford paying for something he hasn't had. I certainly earned this!"

Tom sighed in memory of the long hours of hard work he had given in exchange for that small amount of money.

"But why should he pay you ahead of time, Tom?"

"Because, Mother, there isn't going to be any more time for me at Mr. Blackford's store--that is not right away. I'm through--paid off, as it were."

"Oh, Tom! I hope you didn't have a quarrel with him!"

"Not in the least, Mother. It was a plain business proposition. He said he couldn't afford to hire me after school any more to do some of his errands, and help straighten out the stock. So he paid me what he owed me, and here I am.

"I quit an hour earlier, you see, though I didn't lose anything by it, and I thought maybe you'd come for a walk."

"I'd like to, Tom, but really I must finish this dress. Oh, I'm so sorry Mr. Blackford couldn't keep you."

"So am I, Mother, particularly as we need the money. But I think I can find something else to do. Business is picking up a little. I'm going to be on the lookout. Something is sure to turn up. And I do hope it will be something worth while, so I can, by some means or other, get enough ahead to go to West Point."

"You haven't forgotten your ambition I see, Tom," said his mother, as she vigorously plied her needle, taking advantage of the last hours of daylight.

"Forgotten it, Mother? Indeed I haven't! I never shall. I intend to go to West Point, and become an army officer."

Tom straightened himself up as he said this, as though he had heard the command:

"Attention!"

But the only sound that came to the ears of his mother and himself was the distant hum and roar of the little city, on the outskirts of which they lived.

Mrs. Taylor sighed. Tom was folding the bills into a neat little package, enclosing within the silver coins. It was a small sum, but it represented much to him and his widowed mother.

"I don't like to think of you being a soldier, Tom," said Mrs. Taylor, as she stopped to thread a needle.

"Well, I guess there isn't very much danger," Tom laughed. "There aren't, at present, any vacancies from this congressional district so I understand, and the appointments at large have all been filled. And even if there was a chance for me to get in, I couldn't do it I guess. It takes about a hundred dollars to start with, but, of course, after that Uncle Sam looks out for you. But I sure would like to go!"

Tom's eyes sparkled, and again he half unconsciously straightened up, as stiff as the proverbial ramrod.

"I wish you could have your wish, Tom," his mother said, softly; "but I can't bear to think of war. It is so cruel!"

"Oh, just because I want to go to West Point, and become an army officer, doesn't mean there'll be war, Mother. In fact, war is ceasing to be the custom. But the best way not to have a war, is to be in the finest possible shape to meet it if it does come."

"I can't bear to think of it, Tom. The shooting--the killing! Oh, it's terrible!"

"But the United States Army does a lot of things besides shooting and killing," Tom said. "Look at the officers and men--see what they've done in the Panama Canal zone. Why, in spite of the fact that they're trained in the arts of war, they have, of late, been using their special knowledge in the interests of peace. I certainly would give anything for the chance to go to West Point. But there! No use thinking about it!"

Tom seemed to blow the matter away as though it were some trifle, light as air, and he assumed a manner of indifference that he did not altogether feel.

"Come on, Mother," he begged, tossing the money into her lap through the open window. "Take a half-hour off. You'll be all the better for it. You haven't been eating well lately. A walk to the woods will give you an appetite."

"I'll take it over," said the lad. "I haven't many lessons to-night."

A little later mother and son were walking across the field that lay between their cottage and a little patch of wood in the cool and shady depths of which they were wont often to stroll.

Mrs. Taylor was the widow of Charles Taylor, who was once well-to-do. He had lost his fortune in unfortunate speculation, however, and the shock and disappointment of this, coupled with a not too strong constitution, caused his death when Tom was about twelve years old.

From the wreck of her husband's estate Mrs. Taylor received a small income, and she and Tom, moving from the well-appointed house in the best residential section of the small city of Chester, took up their abode in a small cottage, once owned by Mr. Taylor, but now mortgaged to a Mr. Aaron Doolittle, who had, in some unexplained manner, become possessed of much of Mr. Taylor's former property.

The crash resulting in the sweeping away of the money, and the death of her husband, had almost stunned the young widow. But she rallied, and bravely took up the battle of life.

Mrs. Taylor was an expert needlewoman, and some of her former friends kept her well supplied with work. She managed, with a small income from some investments her husband had made before the crash, to keep Tom at his studies, and, eventually, he went to the high school, where he was in attendance when our story opens.

It did not take Tom long to realize that he was every day becoming more and more of an expense to his widowed mother. His clothes never seemed to wear very well. There were certain books and other materials to buy, that he might keep up his school work. And his appetite was not a small one.

He saw the need of more money, and resolved to earn it himself after school hours. He secured a place in the grocery of Mr. Blackford, and by delivering orders, helping to keep the stock in order, and doing the hundred and one things that always can be done about a grocery, he managed to add a few dollars to the weekly income.

But now, owing, as Mr. Blackford had alleged, to a desire on his part to save money, he had told Tom his services would no longer be required.

"Though I'll wager he's found some one who will do it more cheaply than I did," declared Tom. "Well, he won't get any one to do it any better, that's sure. I'm going to see Wendell to-morrow, after school. He may need a boy in his store."

"Oh, Tom, they say he's mean and cruel. No one likes to work for him," objected Mrs. Taylor.

"Beggars can't be choosers," replied the lad, laughing. "I don't mind hard work. I'd have to work hard if I went to West Point."

His mother smiled. She did wish her fine-looking son could have his wish, but it seemed out of the question. In silence the two strolled on through the wood, to the far edge.

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