Harry Harding’s Year of Promise

By

ALFRED RAYMOND

Copyright, 1917, by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

[v]

CHAPTER I PLANNING THEIR YEAR OF PROMISE

Under a huge horse-chestnut tree, at the foot of a pretty bit of green, sloping lawn, a curly-haired boy lay stretched at ease, his blue eyes glued to the last page of an open book before him. Harry Harding emitted a deep sigh of satisfaction as he read:

“When the last golden sunset rays touched with tender glory the Kingdom of New Hope, once the Kingdom of Despair, the formerly unhappy king, now happy in the knowledge of well-doing, hurried to the lonely spot in the forest where the tall pines whispered and sung. He hoped to meet again the queer little man who had promised him the secret of happiness. He waited there until the darkness fell, but no one came. Tired at last of the still blackness and the sighing of the pines, he called out in a[2] loud voice, ‘Little man, where are you? The Year of Promise is ended. I have done your bidding faithfully. The Kingdom of Despair is now the Kingdom of New Hope. My happy subjects adore me and I have found peace. Show yourself once more, little friend, that I may thank you.’

“Still no one came and he found no wonderful casket. Only the evening breeze sang on through the sentinel pines. But, as the king listened, he was sure he heard it murmur: ‘Continue to do well. Every year comes to you as a Year of Promise. It lies within yourself to make it a Year of Fulfillment. This is the true secret of——’”

Whack! A carefully-aimed apple struck the open book with a force that sent it flying from the absorbed reader’s grasp. From behind a neighboring tree a freckled face peeped out. It was lighted by two dancing, black eyes and crowned with a mop of brilliant red hair.

“No use hiding. I’ll get you!” Leaping to his feet Harry made a dash for the tree that sheltered the mischievous marksman.

Emitting a war whoop of pure joy the red-haired boy left his refuge and tore across the lawn and around the corner of the little bungalow, his victim in hot pursuit. After circling the house several times, his quarry still in the lead, Harry brought strategy to the chase. Turning about, he ran in an opposite direction[3] just in time to nab the offender as he rushed around a corner at reckless speed.

“I’ve caught you!” Harry proceeded to administer a mild punishment, which merely served to bring shouts of wild glee from the unrepentant apple thrower. “Now go and pick up my book,” he commanded. With a final shake he released his wildly wriggling catch.

“Go and pick it up yourself,” invited the red-haired boy with a grin. Nevertheless, he strolled over to where the maltreated book helplessly sprawled. Raising it he presented it to Harry with a chuckle. “Here’s your old book, but don’t think you’re going to read it. You’ve been too busy with it all afternoon.”

“All right, I won’t. I’ve finished it, anyway.” Tucking it under his arm, Harry dropped down beneath the tree and beckoned to his companion. “Sit here, Teddy, and let’s talk.”

Teddy Burke responded to the invitation with a bounce and a flop that pitched Harry on his side in the short green grass. The will to gambol about like a very frisky young lamb was strong within Teddy on this beautiful July day, and the process of settling himself for a talk was accomplished with difficulty.

“What have you been reading about that kept you so quiet?” was his curious question, as he finally came to rest at Harry’s left.

“It’s a dandy book.” Harry fingered the dark green cover with evident affection. “I[4] bought it for only ten cents at an aisle sale, just before we came out here for our vacation. It’s all short stories. I like the last one best, though. It’s called ‘The Secret of Happiness,’ and it’s about a king——”

“Huh, I guess it’s a lot of old fairy tales,” sniffed Teddy. “Catch me reading ’em. I like stories about fellows that went on voyages round the world and discovered islands and things that nobody else’d ever heard of.”

To those who have read “Harry Harding, Messenger 45,” Teddy Burke and Harry Harding are already familiar acquaintances. In that volume was recorded the manner in which they met, their ready entrance into mutual friendship and how, together, they began their business life as messengers in Martin Brothers’ department store. Many incidents, serious and laughable, fell to their lot as members of the great store family. While Teddy, in spite of numerous mischievous pranks, flourished in his new surroundings, Harry’s early days of work were brimmed with bitter misfortune. But he met trial and discouragement with a staunch heart, and amply proved himself worthy of the reward his persevering stand for the right brought him.

The winning of a prize of twenty dollars in gold afforded him the coveted opportunity to take his mother into the country for a brief vacation. In this project he was joined by Mrs.[5] Burke and her son Teddy, and the last Saturday of the delightful two weeks freedom from toil found the four happy idlers spending their final vacation hours together at the cozy bungalow where their combined finances had enabled them to pass this brief, pleasant season together.

“You’re not the only one that likes adventure stories,” smiled Harry in answer to Teddy’s derisive fling at fairy tales. “I like them, too. But the stories in this book are not about old witches and enchanted castles and such things. They’re allegories.”

“What’s allegories?” Teddy eyed Harry as though he wondered whether they might not be some rare species of animal of which the Zoo could not boast.

“An allegory is—let me see—well, it’s a story that seems like a fairy tale but isn’t.”

“Must be even worse, then,” discouraged Teddy.

“No; it’s better,” contradicted Harry. “It tells you a story, but it teaches you a lesson at the same time. Now this one I was just reading——”

“I don’t want to hear anything that sounds like a lesson.” Teddy made a grimace of disgust. “I hate to think about going to that old night school.”

“That’s what you said about day school, but you liked it just the same. You’re a humbug, Teddy Burke.”

[6]

“I ain’t.” Teddy resorted to inelegant defense. “Let’s not talk about school. Go on and tell me your old story.”

Harry regarded Teddy out of affectionate blue eyes. “You’re a fraud, then,” he teased.

“I wouldn’t let any other fellow call me that, but you don’t count. Now go ahead with your yarn.”

“Thank you.” Harry bowed ironically. “Well, this allegory is about a king who ruled over the Kingdom of Despair. It was called so because everything in it went wrong. And that was his fault because he was so hateful and harsh with his subjects. After a while these poor people got up a plot to take the kingdom away from him, and he found it out. He didn’t know what to do so he went out into a big pine forest all by himself to think things over. While he was there he met a queer little man who gave him a terrible scolding and made him see how mean he was. He felt very bad and said if he only had another chance he’d do better. So the little man said that if he meant what he said, he’d give him a year to keep his promise. If he failed, then he’d lose his kingdom and his life, too. But if at the end of the year the people still wanted him for king he was to come back to the pine woods and there he would find a wonderful casket in which was the secret of happiness.

“So the king went back to his kingdom and set[7] all the poor prisoners free that he had hidden away in underground dungeons. Then he called all the people of the kingdom together and told them that he was going to do better by them. He told them of the wonderful casket and promised if they would let him be king for another year he would divide the secret of happiness with them when he got it. So they said they would help him and promised not to take his kingdom from him.”

“And did he behave himself?” was Teddy’s matter-of-fact question. Fairy tale or allegory, he was interested in the doings of the repentant king.

“You can better believe he did. He was good as gold for a whole year and instead of going on hating him, his subjects grew to love him.”

“Did the little man give him the casket when the year was up?”

“Listen and I’ll read it to you. I had just finished it when you shied that apple at me.”

Harry opened the book to the last page and again read the concluding paragraphs.

“So that’s an allegory,” mused Teddy. “Hm! It’s not so slow. I kind of like that idea about the Year of Promise. Say, Harry, it’s something like us, isn’t it? When we go back to Martin Brothers’ next Monday it would be kind of fun to pretend it was our Year of Promise. Now, wouldn’t it?”

“I was thinking that when I first read it.”[8] Harry looked pleased to find that Teddy had made the same application of the allegory. “It will be our Year of Promise, Ted, and it’s up to us to make it our Year of Fulfillment.”

“I guess it is.” Teddy considered the idea gravely, his impish face becoming solemn. “I’m going to try to behave—if I can. No more throwing baseballs over balconies for me. That’s about the worst thing I did last year, except punching Howard Randall and wearing a stewpan for a hat and pestering the Gobbler—I mean Miss Newton.” Teddy launched into a further enumeration of his iniquities.

“Just think of all the good things you did,” reminded Harry. “What about helping Miss Newton when she lost her purse and——”

“Oh, can it!” The red that sprang to Teddy’s cheeks threatened to rival that of his hair. “It’s funny I didn’t get fired. I’m going to be pretty careful what I do this year, though.”

A faint smile curved Harry’s lips at this earnest declaration. Knowing Teddy as he did, he doubted his chum’s ability to steer prudently clear of scrapes. Mischief and the red-haired boy were one.

“You needn’t smile.” Teddy had marked the amused flicker. “I’m going to be so good all the time that it’ll make you dizzy.”

“Then I sha’n’t be able to work.”

Teddy giggled as his quick fancy pictured Harry reeling helplessly about Department 85,[9] as the result of his own perpetual good behavior. “I guess you won’t get very dizzy,” he predicted.

“No; I don’t believe I shall. Still, it isn’t what we say we’re going to do that counts, Ted. It’s what we really do.” Harry’s bantering tone changed to one of deep conviction. “It’s just as the pine trees whispered to the king. We’re going back to the store on Monday to begin our Year of Promise, and if we do our level best with each day of it, then it can’t help but be a Year of Fulfillment, too.”

[10]

CHAPTER II WHAT CAME OUT OF A BIN

“No, Madam, you can’t settle your transfer here. You’ll have to go to that desk down there. Four aisles below.” Miss Welch’s indexing pencil pointed with a determination that invited the zealous clamorer for settlement to seek further. “Down there,” she repeated, as the woman fixed her placid gaze on a spot far up the aisle, then aimlessly wandered around a corner of the desk to implore fresh information from a nearby salesperson.

“Can you beat it?” muttered the disgusted exchange clerk. “Tell ’em to go down the aisle and they rubber up and don’t go neither way but sidle around the desk and hold up a sales. Just like that. If I was a—— Why, hel-lo, Kiddo!” Miss Welch’s monologue ended in a cry of pleasant surprise. “If it ain’t Harry Harding! Now where did you drop from? Look at the boy! Growed an inch in two weeks;[11] and see the tan. Some little vacation, I guess. How about it?”

“Oh, Miss Welch, I’m ever so glad to see you.” Harry shook the exchange clerk’s extended hand with joyful fervor. “I was afraid maybe you’d be away on your vacation, and I wanted to see you.”

“Listen to the kid. He wanted to see me. Well, I’m exhibiting at the same old stand. Maybe I didn’t miss you, too, Harry. I got your postcard. I knew you couldn’t slight your old friend Irish.”

“Of course I couldn’t. Whenever I thought about the store, I thought of you and that was every day. I had a splendid time, but I’m glad to be back, though. When are you going on your vacation?”

“Not until the last of August. Martin Brothers just can’t bear to give me up. If you hear a noise like a roof falling in around the last of next month you’ll know I’ve went off for a two weeks’ hunting the joy-bug, and the shebang has collapsed.” Pretty Miss Welch’s dimples were in evidence as she made this astonishing statement.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it would,” Harry responded with boyish gallantry. “I know books and jewelry’ll miss you.”

“So will Smarty Barty. He’s ordered black already. I hate to leave him, with the hate left out.”

[12]

Harry’s sensitive face clouded momentarily. The mention of his ancient enemy brought back the memory of long-unredressed wrongs.

“Is he pretty cross now?” was his sober question.

“Now?” Miss Welch’s eyebrows went up. “Take it from me, kid, he was born with crankitis and never got cured. He could take a bite out of one o’ them triple plate card trays over there and not hurt his teeth. But away with S. B. How’s the boy? You certainly look fine. I heard you speak your little piece up in Martin Hall. I was sorry I didn’t see you that night to praise you for the hit you made. Now tell me where you went and all about it.”

Harry responded with a brief but eager account of his vacation, to which the exchange girl kept up a running fire of encouraging comment.

“I’ll have to leave you,” he said at last. “There’s going to be a mid-summer sale, beginning to-morrow, and I’ve a lot of books to bring down from the stock-room.”

“Don’t forget Number 10,” was Miss Welch’s pertinent reminder, as he turned away. “Wedding presents, misfits and general junk exchanged while you wait.”

Smilingly Harry walked down the aisle in the direction of the elevator that would take him to the stock-room. How pleasant it was to see Miss Welch again, and to greet the members of his department. Yet on entering the store how[13] strange it had seemed not to go to the assembly room for roll call. He and Teddy now reported at the regular time-desk for the men. Instead of being obliged to report at half-past seven o’clock, their time limit was set at eight. Not until the first of October would they again go to school; then only twice a week and after the business of the day was over. This last they had learned from Mr. Marsh when they had reported at his desk that morning.

As the elevator came to a jiggling stop, and the boy was about to step in, a tall figure loomed up beside him, brushed him out of the way as though he had been a troublesome fly, and crowded into the cage ahead of him. Only the flashing of his blue eyes betrayed Harry’s annoyance at the rudeness. The next second the car was speeding upward, but that second revealed to the boy the author of the discourtesy. It was Mr. Barton who had thrust him aside. If the crabbed aisle manager was aware of the lad’s presence in the car, he gave no sign of it. His scowling face was fixed on the operator’s back and when the car stopped at the fifth floor he fairly bolted out of it.

“Pipe that old crank?” The operator, a youth of perhaps twenty years, turned to Harry with a grin. “He’s a sick man, he is. Pretty near every mornin’ he hits my car about this time and beats it for the hospital. His ugliness has struck in an’ gives him a pain, I guess.”

[14]

“Do you know him?” Harry looked his surprise at learning Mr. Barton’s destination.

“Sure I know him. So do you. I run this car the day he took you up to Prescott’s office. That was some crime, but you got clear all right. I heard about it. A guy downstairs tipped me off.”

“It was a mistake all around.” Harry was too much of a man to take advantage of the opportunity to disparage the unjust aisle manager. “Why does he go to the hospital so much?” he inquired, with a view to leading the operator away from the unpleasant past.

“He’s got the dis-pep-shy. The pep’s struck to his stommick and makes it ache. I heard him tellin’ another floor-walker ’bout it one morning. He can’t get nothin’ to cure it. Too bad, ain’t it? I’d turn on the salt water, but cryin’ hurts my eyes,” he concluded with a derisive grimace.

“No wonder he’s so cross. I never knew he had dyspepsia.” In spite of his dislike for Mr. Barton, Harry could not help feeling a trifle sorry for the unfortunate victim of so painful a malady.

“I wouldn’t lay awake nights thinkin’ about it,” was the operator’s succinct advice as Harry stepped out of the cage at the tenth floor.

“I never lie awake nights thinking about anything,” he retorted sharply. The boy’s utter lack of sympathy jarred on him. He could not[15] help wondering, as he made his way to the section reserved for the book stock, whether, after all, Mr. Barton could really be blamed for his perpetual snarling. Long since he had forgiven the aisle manager for the injustice which had merely been the means of placing him under the guidance of Mr. Rexford. His ready sympathy awakened by what he had just heard, Harry was sure that if at any future time his path should cross Mr. Barton’s, he would be charitable enough to make allowances.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “What’s been happening here, I’d like to know.” His active mind swung from the subject of Mr. Barton’s woes to confront a most astonishing change in the stock designed for the sale, which he had arranged so neatly before starting on his vacation. In the bins where order had reigned supreme, the hapless volumes were jumbled together in reckless confusion. Uneven piles of books, that the lightest touch would scatter, rose from various points on the floor. Wherever his eye chanced to rest, Harry marked plentiful signs of dust. The hand of neglect lay heavy upon his treasures, and he emitted a low whistle of consternation as he investigated a nearby bin in which crazily commingled an expensive edition of the great poets and a quantity of low-priced books for boys.

His whistle at least was productive of instantaneous results. Hearing a sudden shuffling[16] sound behind him, he whirled. From a bin at the lower end of the stock-room a black, tousled head emerged. It was followed by a long, wiry body that gradually straightened itself. A pair of thin arms stretched themselves lazily. From under a thatch of black, rumpled hair two half-shut black eyes resentfully viewed the newcomer. The stretching process continued, and a wide mouth opened more widely in a yawn.

“Whada you want?” came the ill-natured challenge, issued between yawns.

“Who are you?” Harry returned in crisp, business-like tones.

“I’m the stock boy. Who you whistlin’ for? What’s missin’ downstairs? A fellow can’t more’n get up here until somebody’s after him.”

“The stock boy!” Harry’s tone registered incredulity. “How long have you been stock boy? Where is Fred Alden?”

“How do I know where he is? I’m no direct’ry. I’ve been here a week, but that’s none of your business. If you’re talkin’ about the kid that had this job before me, he’s left.”

“Why did he leave?” Harry’s eyes grew wide at this news.

“Ask the employment office. Now whada you want? I got a lot to do and I can’t stop to fool around with you.”

“You seemed to be very busy—sleeping when I came here.” Harry launched this barb merely by shrewd guess.

[17]