Book: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, Nov 1877 Nov 1878




The only drawback to Dab's happiness that day was that his
acquaintances hardly seemed to know him. He had had almost the same
trouble with himself when he looked in the glass that morning.

Ordinarily, his wrists were several inches through his coat sleeves,
and his ankles made a perpetual show of his stockings. His neck, too,
seemed usually to be holding his head as far as possible from his coat
collar, and his buttons had no favor to ask of his button-holes.

Now, even as the tailor had promised, he had received his "first
fit." He seemed to himself, to tell the truth, to be covered up in a
prodigal waste of nice cloth. Would he ever, ever grow too big for
such a suit of clothes as that? It was a very painful thought, and he
did his best to put it away from him.

Still, it was a little hard to have a young lady, whom he had known
before she began to walk, remark to him: "Excuse me, sir, but can you
tell me if Mr. Dabney Kinzer is here?"

"No, Jenny Walters," sharply responded Dab, "he isn't here."

"Why, Dabney!" exclaimed the pretty Jenny, "is that you? I declare,
you've scared me out of a year's growth."

"I wish you'd scare me, then," said Dab. "Then my clothes would stay
fitted."

Everything had been so well arranged beforehand, thanks to Mrs.
Kinzer, that the wedding had no chance at all except to go off well.
Ham Morris was rejoiced to find how entirely he was relieved of every
responsibility.

"Don't worry about your house, Hamilton," the widow said to him the
night before. "We'll go over there as soon as you and Miranda get
away, and it'll be all ready for you by the time you get back."

"All right," said Ham. "I'll be glad to have you take the old place in
hand. I've only tried to live in a corner of it. You don't know how
much room there is. I don't, I must say."

Dabney had longed to ask her if she meant to have it moved over to the
Kinzer side of the north fence, but he had doubts as to the propriety
of it, and just then the boy came in from the tailor's with his bundle
of new clothes.




CHAPTER II.


Hamilton Morris was a very promising young man, of some thirty
summers. He had been an "orphan" for a dozen years, and the wonder was
that he should so long have lived alone in the big square-built house
his father left him. At all events, Miranda Kinzer was just the wife
for him.

Miranda's mother had seen that at a glance, the moment her mind
was settled about the house. As to that and his great, spreading,
half-cultivated farm, all either of them needed was ready money and
management.

These were blessings Ham was now made reasonably sure of, on his
return from his wedding trip, and he was likely to appreciate them.

As for Dabney Kinzer, he was in no respect overcome by the novelty and
excitement of the wedding. All the rest of the day he devoted himself
to such duties as were assigned him, with a new and grand idea
steadily taking shape in his mind. He felt as if his brains, too, were
growing. Some of his mother's older and more intimate friends remained
with her all day, probably to comfort her for the loss of Miranda,
and two or three of them, Dab knew, would stay to tea, so that his
services would be in demand to see them safely home.

All day long, moreover, Samantha and Keziah and Pamela seemed to find
themselves wonderfully busy, one way and another, so that they paid
even less attention than usual to any of the ins and outs of their
brother.

Dabney was therefore able, with little difficulty, to take for himself
whatever of odd time he might require for putting his new idea into
execution.

Mrs. Kinzer herself noticed the rare good sense with which her son
hurried through with his dinner and slipped away, leaving her in
undisturbed possession of the table and her lady guests, and neither
she nor either of the girls had a thought of following him.

If they had done so, they might have seen him draw a good-sized bundle
out from under the lilac-thicket in the back yard, and hurry down
through the garden.

A few minutes more and Dabney appeared on the fence of the old
cross-road leading down to the shore. There he sat, eying one
passer-by after another, till he suddenly sprang from his perch,
exclaiming: "That's just the chap. Why, they'll fit him, and that's
more'n they ever did for me."

Dab would probably have had to search along the coast for miles
before he could have found a human being better suited to his present
charitable purposes than the boy who now came so lazily down the road.

There was no doubt about his color, or that he was all over of about
the same shade of black. His old tow trousers and calico shirt
revealed the shining fact in too many places to leave room for a
question, and shoes he had none.

"Dick," said Dabney, "was you ever married?"

"Married!" exclaimed Dick, with a peal of very musical laughter. "Is I
married? No! Is you?"

"No," replied Dabney, "but I was mighty near it, this morning."

"Dat so?" asked Dick, with another show of his white teeth. "Done ye
good, den. Nebber seen ye look so nice afore."

"You'd look nicer'n I do, if you were only dressed up," said Dab.
"Just you put on these."

"Golly!" exclaimed the black boy. But he seized the bundle Dab threw
him, and he had it open in a twinkling. "Anyt'ing in de pockets?" he
asked.

"Guess not," said Dab; "but there's lots of room."

"Say dar was!" exclaimed Dick. "But wont dese t'ings be warm!"

It was quite likely, for the day was not a cool one, and Dick never
seemed to think of pulling off what he had on before getting into his
unexpected present. Coat, vest, and trousers, they were all pulled on
with more quickness than Dab had ever seen the young African display
before.

"I's much obleeged to ye, Mr. Kinzer," said Dick, very proudly, as he
strutted across the road. "On'y I dasn't go back fru de village."

"What'll you do, then?" asked Dab.

"S'pose I'd better go a-fishin'," said Dick. "Will de fish bite?"

"Oh, the clothes wont make any odds to them," said Dabney. "I must go
back to the house."

And so he did, while Dick, on whom the cast-off garments of his white
friend were really a pretty good fit, marched on down the road,
feeling grander than he ever had before in all his life.

"That'll be a good thing to tell Ham Morris when he and Miranda come
home again," muttered Dab, as he re-entered the house.

Late that evening, when Dabney returned from his final duties as
escort to his mother's guests, she rewarded him with more than he
could remember ever receiving of motherly commendation.

"I've been really quite proud of you, Dabney," she said to him, as
she laid her plump hand on the collar of his new coat and kissed him.
"You've behaved like a perfect gentleman."

"Only, mother," exclaimed Keziah, "he spent too much of his time with
that sharp-tongued little Jenny Walters."

"Never mind, Kezi," said Dab. "She didn't know who I was till I told
her. I'm going to wear a label with my name on it, when I go over to
the village, to-morrow."

"And then you'll put on your other suit in the morning," said Mrs.
Kinzer, "You must keep this for Sundays and great occasions."

When the morning came, Dabney Kinzer was a more than usually early
riser, for he felt that he had waked up to a very important day.

"Dabney," exclaimed his mother, when he came in to breakfast, "did I
not tell you to put on your other suit?"

"So I have, mother," replied Dab; "this is my other suit."

"That!" exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer.

"So it is!" cried Keziah.

"So it isn't," added Samantha. "Mother, that's not what he had on
yesterday."

"He's been trading again," mildly suggested Pamela.

"Dabney," said Mrs. Kinzer, "what does this mean?"

"Mean!" replied Dabney, "Why, these are the clothes you told me to
buy. The lot I wore yesterday were a present from Ham Morris. He's a
splendid fellow. I'm glad he got the best of the girls."

That was a bad thing for Dabney to say, just then, for it was resented
vigorously by the remaining three. As soon as quiet was restored,
however, Mrs, Kinzer remarked:

"I think Hamilton should have consulted me about it; but it's too late
now. Anyhow, you may go and put on your other clothes."

"My wedding suit?" asked Dab.

"No, indeed! I mean your old ones; those you took off night before
last."

"Dunno where they are," slowly responded Dab.

"Don't know where they are?" repeated a chorus of four voices.

"No," said Dab. "Bill Lee's black boy had 'em on all yesterday
afternoon, and I reckon he's gone a-fishing again to-day. They fit him
a good sight better'n they ever did me."

If Dabney had expected a storm to come from his mother's end of the
table, he was pleasantly mistaken, and his sisters had it all to
themselves for a moment. Then, with an admiring glance at her son, the
thoughtful matron remarked:

"Just like his father, for all the world. It's no use, girls. Dabney's
a growing boy in more ways than one. Dabney, I shall want you to go
over to the Morris house with me after breakfast. Then you may hitch
up the ponies, and we'll do some errands around the village."

[Illustration: DAB GIVES DICK HIS OLD CLOTHES.]

Dab Kinzer's sisters looked at one another in blank astonishment,
and Samantha would have left the table if she had only finished her
breakfast.

Pamela, as being nearest to Dab in age and sympathy, gave a very
admiring look at her brother's second "good fit," and said nothing.

Even Keziah finally admitted, in her own mind, that such a change in
Dabney's appearance might have its advantages. But Samantha inwardly
declared war.

The young hero himself was hardly used to that second suit as yet, and
felt anything but easy in it.

"I wonder," he said to himself, "what Jenny Walters would think of me
now? Wonder if she'd know me?"

Not a doubt of it. But, after he had finished his breakfast and gone
out, his mother remarked:

"It's really all right, girls. I almost fear I've been neglecting
Dabney. He isn't a little boy any more."

"He isn't a man yet," exclaimed Samantha, "and he talks slang
dreadfully."

"But then he does grow so!" remarked Keziah.

"Mother," said Pamela, "couldn't you get Dab to give Dick the slang,
along with the old clothes?"

"We'll see about it," replied Mrs. Kinzer.

It was very plain that Dabney's mother had begun to take in a new idea
about her son. It was not the least bit in the world unpleasant to
find out that he was "growing in more ways than one," and it was quite
likely that she had indeed kept him too long in roundabouts.




CHAPTER III.


Dick Lee had been more than half right about the village being a
dangerous place for him with such an unusual amount of clothing over
his ordinary uniform.

The very dogs, every one of whom was an old acquaintance, barked at
him on his way home that night; and, proud as were his ebony father
and mother, they yielded to his earnest entreaties, first, that he
might wear his present all the next day, and, second, that he might
betake himself to the "bay," early in the morning, and so keep out of
sight "till he got used to it."

The fault with Dab Kinzer's old suit, after all, had lain mainly in
its size rather than its materials, for Mrs. Kinzer was too good a
manager to be really stingy.

Dick succeeded in reaching the boat-landing without falling in with
any one who seemed disposed to laugh at him; but there, right on the
wharf, was a white boy of about his own age, and he felt a good deal
like backing out.

"Nebber seen him afore, either," said Dick to himself. "Den I guess I
aint afeard ob him."

The stranger was a somewhat short and thick-set but bright and
active-looking boy, with a pair of very keen, greenish-gray eyes. But,
after all, the first word he spoke to poor Dick was:

"Hullo, clothes! where are you going with all that boy?"

"I knowed it! I knowed it!" groaned Dick. But he answered, as sharply
as he knew how: "I's goin' a-fishin'. Any ob youah business?"

"Where'd you learn to fish?" the stranger asked. "Down South? Didn't
know they had any there."

"Nebbah was down Souf," was the surly reply.

"Father run away, did he?"

"He nebber was down dar, nudder."

"Nor his father?"

"'T aint no business o' your'n," said Dick; "but we's allers lived
right heah on dis bay."

"Guess not," replied the white boy, knowingly.

But Dick was right, for his people had been slaves among the very
earliest Dutch settlers, and had never "lived South" at all. He was
now busily getting one of the boats ready to push off; but his white
tormentor went at him again with--

"Well, then, if you've lived here so long, you must know everybody."

"Reckon I do."

"Are there any nice fellows around here? Any like me?"

"De nicest young genelman 'round dis bay," replied Dick, "is Mr. Dab
Kinzer. But he aint like you. Not nuff to hurt 'im."

"Dab Kinzer!" exclaimed the stranger. "Where did he get his name?"

"In de bay, I spect," said Dick, as he shoved his boat off. "Caught
'im wid a hook."

"Anyhow," said the strange boy to himself, "that's probably the sort
of fellow my father would wish me to associate with. Only it's likely
he's very ignorant."

And he walked away toward the village with the air of a man who had
forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out.

At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his
benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences.

Meantime, Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled
away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was
thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister. He had seen it
before, every day since he could remember; but it seemed to have a
fresh and almost mournful interest for him just now.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence. "Putting up
ladders? Oh yes, I see! That's old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter.
Well, Ham's house needs a new coat as badly as I did. Sure it'll fit,
too. Only it aint used to it any more'n I am."

"Dabney!"

It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly
that morning.

"Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate."

"Ham's having his house painted," he remarked, as he joined his
mother.

"Is he?" she said. "We'll go and see about it."

As they drew nearer, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters
as well as painters were plying their trade in and about the old
homestead. There were window-sashes piled here and blinds there, a new
door or so ready for use, with bundles of shingles, and other signs of
approaching "renovation."

"Going to fix it all over," remarked Dab.

"Yes," replied his mother; "it'll be as good as new. It was well
built, and will bear mending."

When they entered the house, it became more and more evident that the
"shabby" days of the Morris mansion were numbered. There were men at
work in almost every room.

Ham's wedding trip would surely give plenty of time, at that rate, and
his house would be "all ready for him" on his return.

There was nothing wonderful to Dabney in the fact that his mother went
about inspecting work and giving directions. He had never seen her do
anything else, and he had the greatest confidence in her knowledge and
ability.

Dabney noticed, too, before they left the place, that all the
customary farm-work was going ahead with even more regularity and
energy than if the owner himself had been present.

"Ham's farm'll look like ours, one of these days, at this rate," he
said to his mother.

"I mean it shall," she replied, somewhat sharply. "Now go and get out
the ponies, and we'll do the rest of our errands."

If they had only known it, at that very moment Ham and his blooming
bride were setting out for a drive at the fashionable watering-place
where they had made the first stop in their wedding tour.

"Ham?" said Miranda, "it seems to me as if we were a thousand miles
from home."

"We shall be further before we get nearer," said Ham.

"But I wonder what they are doing there,--mother and the girls and
dear little Dabney?"

"Little Dabney!" exclaimed Ham. "Why, Miranda, do you think Dab is a
baby yet?"

"No, not a baby. But------"

"Well, he's a boy, that's a fact; but he'll be as tall as I am in
three years."

"Will he ever be fat?"

"Not till after he gets his full length," said Ham. "We must have him
at our house a good deal, and feed him up. I've taken a liking to
Dab."

"Feed him up!" said Miranda, with some indignation. "Do you think we
starve him?"

"No; but how many meals a day does he get?"

"Three, of course, like the rest of us; and he never misses one of
them."

"I suppose not," said Ham, "I never miss a meal myself, if I can help
it. But don't you think three meals a day is rather short allowance
for a boy like Dab?"

Miranda thought a moment, but then she answered, positively: "No, I
don't. Not if he does as well at each one of them as Dab is sure to."

"Well," said Ham, "that was in his old clothes, that were too tight
for him. Now he's got a good loose fit, with plenty of room, you don't
know how much more he may need. No, Miranda, I'm going to have an eye
on Dabney."

"You're a dear, good fellow, anyway," said Miranda, "and I hope
mother'll have the house all ready for us when we get back."

"She will," replied Ham. "I shall hardly be easy till I see what she
has done with it."




CHAPTER IV.


"That's him!"

Dab was standing by the ponies, in front of a store in the village.
His mother was making some purchases in the store, and Dab was
thinking how the Morris house would look when it was finished, and it
was at him the old farmer was pointing in answer to a question which
had just been asked.

The questioner was the sharp-eyed boy who had bothered poor Dick Lee
that morning.

At that moment, however, a young lady--quite young--came tripping
along the sidewalk, and was stopped by Dab Kinzer with:

"There, Jenny Walters, I forgot my label!"

"Why, Dabney, is that you? How you startled me! Forgot your label?"

"Yes," said Dab; "I'm in another new suit to-day, and I want to have a
label with my name on it. You'd have known me, then."

"But I know you now," exclaimed Jenny. "Why, I saw you yesterday."

"Yes, and I told you it was me. Can you read, Jenny?"

"Why, what a question!"

"Because, if you can't, it wont do me any good to wear a label."

"Dabney Kinzer," exclaimed Jenny. "There's another thing you ought to
get?"

"What's that?"

"Some good manners," said the little lady, snappishly. "Think, of your
stopping me in the street to tell me I can't read."

"Then you mustn't forget me so quick," said Dab. "If you meet my old
clothes anywhere you must call 'em Dick Lee. They've had a change of
name."

"So, he's in them, is he? I don't doubt they look better than they
ever did before."

And Jenny walked proudly away, leaving her old playmate feeling as
if he had had a little the worst of it. That was often the way with
people who stopped to talk with Jenny Walters, and she was not as much
of a favorite as she otherwise might have been.

Hardly had she disappeared before Dab was confronted by the strange
boy.

"Is your name Dabney Kinzer?" said he.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Well, I'm Mr. Ford Foster, of New York."

"Come over here to buy goods?" suggested Dab. "Or to get something to
eat?"

Ford Foster was apparently of about Dab's age, but a full head less in
height, so that there was more point in the question than there seemed
to be, but he treated it as not worthy of notice, and asked: "Do you
know of a house to let anywhere about here?"

"House to let?" suddenly exclaimed the voice of Mrs. Kinzer, behind
him, much to Dab's surprise. "Are you asking about a house? Whom for?"

If Ford Foster had been ready to "chaff" Dick Lee, or even Dab Kinzer,
he knew enough to speak respectfully to the portly and business-like
lady now before him.

[Illustration: "IS YOUR NAME DABNEY KINZER?"]

"Yes, madam," he said, with a ceremonious bow. "I wish to report to my
father that I've found an acceptable house in this vicinity."

"You do!"

Mrs. Kinzer was reading the young gentleman through and through as she
spoke, but she followed her exclamation with a dozen questions, and
then wound up with:

"Go right home, then, and tell your father the only good house to let
in this neighborhood will be ready for him next week, and he'd better
see me at once. Get into the buggy, Dabney."

"A very remarkable woman!" muttered Ford Foster to himself as they
drove away. "I must make some more inquiries."

"Mother," said Dabney, "you wouldn't let 'em have Ham's house?"

"No, indeed; but I don't mean to have our own stand empty." And, with
that, a great deal of light began to break in on Dabney's mind.

"That's it, is it?" he said to himself, as he touched up the ponies.
"Well, there'll be room enough for all of us there, and no mistake.
But what'll Ham say?"

It was not till late the next day, however, that Ford Foster completed
his inquiries. He took the afternoon train for the city, satisfied
that, much as he knew before he came, he had actually learned a good
deal more which was valuable.

He was almost the only person in the car. Trains going toward the city
were apt to be thinly peopled at that time of day, but the empty cars
had to be taken along all the same, for the benefit of the crowds who
would be coming out, later in the afternoon and in the evening. The
railway company would have made more money with full loads both ways,
but it was well they did not have one on that precise train. Ford had
turned over the seat in front of him, and stretched himself out with
his feet on it. It was almost like lying down for a boy of his length,
but it was the very best position he could have taken if he had known
what was coming.

Known what was coming?

Yes, there was a pig coming.

That was all, but it was quite enough, considering what that pig was
about to do. He was going where he chose, just then, and he chose not
to turn out for the railway train.

"What a whistle!" Ford Foster had just exclaimed. "It sounds more like
the squeal of an iron pig than anything else. I----"

But at that instant there came a great jolt and a shock, and Ford
found himself suddenly tumbled, all in a heap, on the seat where his
feet had been. Then came bounce after bounce and the sound of breaking
glass, and then a crash.

"Off the track!" shouted Ford, as he sprang to his feet. "I wouldn't
have missed it for anything, but I do hope nobody's killed."

In the tremendous excitement of the moment he could hardly have told
how he got out of that car, but it did not seem ten seconds till
he was standing beside the conductor and engineer, looking at the
battered engine as it lay on its side in a deep ditch. The baggage
car, just behind it, was broken all to pieces, but the passenger cars
did not seem to have suffered very much, and nobody was badly hurt, as
the engineer and fireman had jumped off in time.

"This train'll never get in on time," said Ford to the conductor, a
little later. "How'll I get to the city?"

"Well," replied the railway man, who was not in the best of humors, "I
don't suppose the city could do without you overnight. The junction
with the main road is only two miles ahead, and if you're a good
walker you may catch a train there."

Some of the other passengers, none of whom were very much hurt, had
made the same discovery, and in a few minutes more there was a long,
straggling procession of uncomfortable people marching by the side
of the railway track, under the hot sun, The conductor was right,
however, and nearly all of them managed to make the two miles to the
junction in time.

Mr. Ford Foster was among the very first to arrive, and he was likely
to reach home in very fair season in spite of the pig.

As for his danger, he had hardly thought of that, and he would not
have missed so important an adventure for anything he could think of,
just then.

It was to a great, pompous, stylish, crowded, "up-town
boarding-house," that Ford's return was to take him. There was no
wonder at all that wise people should wish to get out of such a place
in such hot weather. Still, it was the sort of a home Ford Foster had
been best acquainted with all his life, and it was partly owing to
that that he had become so prematurely "knowing."

He knew too much, in fact, and was only too well aware of it. He had
filled his head with an unlimited stock of boarding-house information,
as well as with a firm persuasion that there was little more to be
had,--unless, indeed, it might be scraps of such outside, knowledge as
he had now been picking up over on Long Island.

In one of the great "parlor chambers" of the boarding-house, at about
eight o'clock that evening, a middle-aged gentleman and lady, with a
fair, sweet-faced girl of about nineteen, were sitting near an open
window, very much as if they were waiting for somebody.

Such a kindly, motherly lady! She was one of those whom no one can
help liking, after seeing her smile once, or hearing her speak.
Whatever may have been his faults or short-comings, Ford Foster could
not have put in words what he thought about his mother. And yet he
had no difficulty in expressing his respect for his father, or his
unbounded admiration for his pretty sister Annie.

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