PITCHER POLLOCK

BY

CHRISTY MATHEWSON

AUTHOR OF

FIRST BASE FAULKNER, CATCHER CRAIG, Etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY

CHARLES M. RELYEA

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1914, by DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

PITCHER POLLOCK

[2]

[3]

CHAPTER I TOM HUNTS A JOB

“Want to hire a boy?”

Mr. Cummings looked around and across the showcase at the youth who stood there.

“Want to what?” he asked.

“Hire a boy. I’m looking for a job.”

“Oh.” Mr. Cummings turned back to his task of rearranging a number of carpenter’s squares in a green box and made no other reply for a moment. The boy waited silently, watching interestedly. Finally, fixing the cover on the box and laying it on a shelf, “Ever worked in a hardware shop?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t suppose you had. What use would you be to me then, eh?” Mr. Cummings peered sharply at him.

“I could sweep and run errands and—and wash windows and the like of that,” replied the applicant imperturbably. “I’ll tell you how it is, sir. I live out to Derry, and——”

[4]

“What’s your name?”

“Tom Pollock, sir.”

“I didn’t know there were any Pollocks in Derry.”

“There ain’t, sir, except me. I live with my uncle, Mr. Bowles.”

“Israel Bowles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hm. So you’re Israel’s nephew, eh? Didn’t know he had any kin. Well, all right. Then what?”

“I’m going to high school next week,” went on the boy. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully and sometimes correcting himself as he talked. “I got to live in town because, you see, I couldn’t get back and forth every day.”

“Aren’t the trains running out to Derry any more?”

“Yes, sir, but—but it would cost too much, you see. So I thought maybe if I could get some work here in Amesville——”

“How in tarnation do you expect to work and go to school too?”

“I don’t have to go to school until half-past eight and I’d be all through by three, and I[5] thought if I could find some work to do in the morning before school and then in the afternoon——”

“I see. Well, I guess you wouldn’t be worth much money to anyone, working that way, son.”

“No, sir, that’s what I thought. I wasn’t expecting to get much, either.”

“Weren’t, eh? How much?”

“Well, about——” He hesitated, viewing the merchant anxiously. “Of course I don’t know much about what folks pay, but Uncle Israel said——”

“Hold on a bit,” interrupted Mr. Cummings suspiciously. “Did that old—did Israel Bowles tell you to come to me?”

“No, sir. I just started up at the other end of town and worked along. I’ve been at it most all morning.”

“Hm. Didn’t find anything, eh?”

“Not yet,” answered Tom cheerfully. “I got—I’ve got the other side of the street yet, though. An’—and I ain’t—haven’t been on the side streets at all. I guess I’ll find something.”

“Hope you do,” said the merchant. “But I[6] guess you wouldn’t be much use to me. How much did you say you wanted?”

“Two—two and a half a week,” said the boy. He gulped as he said it and looked questioningly at the merchant. “I thought,” he continued as Mr. Cummings’s countenance told him nothing, “that if I could get enough to pay my lodging I’d make out, sir.”

“Got to eat, though, haven’t you?”

“I—I got a little saved up, sir. I worked for a man over to—over in Fairfield most of the summer.”

“What for? Isn’t your uncle hiring help any more? Hasn’t given up farming, has he?”

“No, sir, but—well, I made more working for Mr. Billings.”

“I’ll bet you did!” Mr. Cummings chuckled. “I know that uncle of yours, son, from A to Izzard, and there isn’t a meaner old skinflint in Muskingum County! He owes me nearly sixty-five dollars, and he’s been owing it for nearly six years, and I guess he’ll keep on owing it unless I sue him for it. Bought a pump of me and then claimed it didn’t work right and wouldn’t ever send it back or pay for it, the old rascal! Yes,[7] I guess sure enough you did better working somewheres else, son!”

Tom had nothing to say to this. Perhaps, as a dutiful nephew, he should have stood up for Uncle Israel, but the hardware dealer’s estimate of Mr. Bowles was a very general one and Tom had long since become accustomed to hearing just such remarks passed. Finally, as the merchant seemed to have finished talking, Tom said:

“I’m sorry. Well, I guess I’ll be going on. Unless—unless you think maybe——”

“Wait a minute.” Mr. Cummings had opened the slide at the back of the showcase and was absent-mindedly rearranging some boxes of pocket-knives and scissors. At last, shutting the slide again briskly: “Look here, son, maybe you and I can make a dicker yet. Two and a half isn’t a whole lot of money, even if times are pretty bad. I might give you that much and not go broke, eh? How long do you suppose you could work here at the store ordinarily?”

“Why, I could be around by half-past six, I think, sir, and work until about eight-twenty-five. The school ain’t—isn’t far. Then after school[8] I’d stay around as long as you wanted me. I—I’d like mighty well to work for you, sir.”

“Hm. Well, you look pretty strong and healthy. There’d be a lot of heavy work to do. Hardware’s hefty stuff to handle, son.” Tom nodded, undismayed. “I wasn’t exactly thinking of hiring anyone yet awhile. Usually along about November we have an extra helper, but fall is a dull time, mostly. What about Saturdays? Don’t have to go to school then, do you?”

“No, sir, I could be here all day Saturday. I forgot to tell you that. I’d like, though, to get the seven-forty-six train Saturday nights. I’m aiming to get home over Sundays. Of course, if there was a lot to do, I’d be perfectly willing to stay and help, sir.”

“We-ell——” Mr. Cummings frowned thoughtfully at a lurid powder advertisement that hung nearby. “Tell you what you do, son. Had your dinner yet?”

“No, sir.”

“You go and have your dinner and then come back. My partner will be in at one and I’ll see what he says. Then, if he don’t want you, you[9] haven’t wasted any time and you can try somewhere else.”

“Thank you. What time’ll I come back?”

“Say half-past one. That will give you most an hour for dinner. Guess if you’ve been walking around town all forenoon you’ll want most an hour, eh?” And Mr. Cummings smiled in a friendly, almost jovial way.

“Yes, sir,” returned Tom. His own smile was fainter. “I’ll be back then. Much obliged. An’—and I hope the other—I hope your partner will let me come.”

“We’ll see.” Mr. Cummings waved his hand. “I’ll let you know when you come back.” He watched the boy speculatively as the latter strode unhurriedly down the aisle and out of the door. Then, “Miss Miller,” he called, “look up Israel Bowles’s account and give me the figures.”

At the back of the store, behind the window of the cashier’s partitioned-in desk, a face came momentarily into sight and a brown head nodded.

Out on the sidewalk Tom Pollock paused and thrust his hands into his pockets. It was the noon hour and Main Street was quite a busy scene. Almost directly across the wide thoroughfare the[10] white enamelled signs of a lunch room gleamed appealingly. Tom looked speculatively at the next store on his route, which was a tiny shoe shop with one diminutive window filled with cheap footwear. It didn’t promise much, he thought. Then a hand went into a pocket and he pulled out a crumpled dollar bill and some silver. He frowned as he hastily calculated the sum of it, selected two ten-cent pieces, and returned the rest to the pocket. With the two coins in the palm of his hand he crossed the street to the lunch room and found a seat. The back of the room held counters with stools in front of them that folded out of the way when not in use, but near the entrance two lines of chairs stood against the walls. The right arm of each chair was widened into a sort of shelf large enough to hold a plate and a cup and saucer. Above the rows of chairs the neat white walls were

inscribed with lists of viands and their prices. Tom sank into his chair with a sigh, stretched out his tired feet, and studied the menu across the room. There was no hurry, for he had three-quarters of an hour before he would return to Cummings and Wright’s to learn the verdict. The chair Tom had taken had been the only empty one[11] at the moment, for the lunch room was popular and well patronised and the time was the busiest period of the day. At his right a rather small, neatly dressed gentleman with black whiskers and a nervous manner was simultaneously draining the last drop in his milk glass and glancing at a gold watch which he had pulled from his pocket in a fidgety way. Tom had decided to have a plate of beef stew, price ten cents, a piece of apple pie, price five cents, and a glass of milk, price the same, when the nervous gentleman arose hurriedly and in passing tripped against one of Tom’s extended feet.

“Excuse me,” said Tom. The man gave him an irritated glance, muttered something ungracious, and made for the door. Tom’s gaze turned idly toward the chair beside him which the man had just vacated and fell on a small leather coin-purse. Evidently the gentleman had failed to return it to his trousers pocket or it had fallen out afterward. Tom seized it and jumped up. Fortunately he found when he reached the door that the loser, in spite of his apparent hurry, had paused on the curb. Tom touched him on the arm.

[12]

“I guess this is yours, ain’t it?” he asked. “It was in your chair.”

“Eh? Yes, of course it is. Must have dropped out of my pocket.” He seemed quite put out about it and scowled at the purse before he put it away. “Most annoying.” He shot a fleeting glance at the boy. “Much obliged to you; very kind.” Then he plunged off the sidewalk, dodged a dray, and narrowly escaped the fender of a trolley car. Tom smiled as he returned to the lunch room.

“Bet you,” he reflected, “he’s one of the sort that’s always in a hurry and never gets anywhere!”

His absence, as short as it had been, had lost him his seat, and he was obliged to penetrate to the rear of the room and perch himself on a stool in front of one of the long counters. There, however, he feasted royally on beef stew, bread and butter, pie and milk, and managed to consume a full half-hour doing it. To be sure, he was still hungry when he had finished the last crumb, for he had had nothing since breakfast at seven o’clock and it was now well after one, and he had been on the go all the morning. But he felt a heap better and a lot more hopeful, and as he left[13] the lunch room he was ready to believe his search for employment ended, that Mr. Cummings’s reply would be favourable. A contented stomach is a great incentive to cheerful thoughts.

[14]

CHAPTER II AND FINDS IT

The clock in a nearby steeple showed Tom that there still remained nearly ten minutes of waiting, and so he joined the northward-bound throng and idled along the street, pausing now and then to examine the contents of a store window. A jeweller’s display held him for several minutes. He wondered whether he would ever be rich enough to possess one of the handsome gold watches so temptingly displayed on black velvet.

“They ain’t—aren’t—any thicker’n a buckwheat cake,” marvelled Tom. “Don’t seem as if there was room inside them for the wheels and things!” Just then he caught sight of himself in a mirror, took off his straw hat, and smoothed down a rebellious lock of red-brown hair. Then he replaced his hat, studied the result in the mirror, and nodded approvingly. A lady at the other side of the window smiled at the pantomime, and then, catching Tom’s glance in the mirror, smiled at Tom. Tom flushed and hurried away.

[15]

“Guess she thought I was a fool,” he muttered. “Standing there and primping like a girl!”

The lady followed his flight with kindly amusement, realising sympathetically his embarrassment. And as she went on she wondered about him a little. The reddish-brown hair and the clear, honest blue eyes had been attractive, and, although the tanned and much-freckled face could not have been called handsome, yet there was something about it, perhaps the expression of boyish confidence and candour, that lingered in her memory. Neatly, if inexpensively dressed, his attire had told her that he was not an Amesville boy, while a lack of awkwardness, a general air of self-dependence, seemed to preclude the idea of his being from the country. The problem lasted her only for a short distance and then Tom and the ingenuous incident at the window passed from her mind. But she and Tom were destined to meet again, although neither suspected it.

It was exactly half-past one when Tom entered the hardware store once more. On the occasion of his first visit the store had been empty of customers, but now at least half a dozen persons were there, and Mr. Cummings was busy. Tom found[16] a position out of the way and waited. Besides Mr. Cummings, there were two others behind the counters—a tall youth who, as he passed with a customer in tow, looked curiously at the boy, and a small man with dark whiskers who, at his present distance, had a strong likeness to the gentleman who had left his purse in the lunch room. It was several minutes before Mr. Cummings was at leisure, but finally, dropping the change into the glove of a lady who had purchased a tack hammer and three papers of upholstery tacks, he beckoned Tom to the counter.

“Well,” he said, “I spoke to Mr. Wright about you, son, but he didn’t think we’d better hire anyone just yet. Maybe a month or so later, if you still want a job, we can take you on. Sorry I can’t do anything now.”

Tom’s face fell. He had been so certain since lunch that his troubles were over that the disappointment was deeper than it should have been.

“I’m sorry too, sir,” he said after a moment. “Well, I guess I’ll go on. I—I’m much obliged to you. You don’t happen to know of anyone who wants a boy, do you?”

“No, I don’t believe I do,” returned Mr. Cummings[17] kindly. He kept step with Tom for a way as the latter moved toward the door. “You might try Miller and Tappen’s, though. That’s the dry-goods store up the street. They take new help on pretty often, I guess.”

“I’ve been there,” said Tom. “They said——”

“Joe, where have those three-inch brass hooks got to?” asked an impatient voice from the front of the store. “Funny we can’t keep anything in place here!”

“Ought to be right in front of you,” replied Mr. Cummings in patient tones. “Second shelf, Horace. No, second, I said. There! Got ’em?”

“Yes,” replied the dark-whiskered man irritably. “I’ve got them at last!”

It was the gentleman of the coin-purse. Tom recognised him as he went past. The junior partner was displaying the three-inch hooks to a man in overalls and glanced up in his quick, nervous manner at the boy. Then he looked again, and:

“Who’s that?” he asked sharply of Mr. Cummings.

“The boy I spoke to you about. Wants a job.”

“Call him back!”

[18]

Tom was just at the doorway when Mr. Cummings’s summons fell on his ear. He turned and retraced his steps. Mr. Cummings beckoned him to the counter where he had joined his partner. It was Mr. Wright who spoke, eying Tom searchingly.

“Aren’t you the boy who found my purse in the restaurant?” he demanded, almost fiercely.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mm.” Mr. Wright poked a finger through the scattered hooks on the counter. “You wait a minute.”

Tom drew aside. A glance at Mr. Cummings’s face showed him that the senior partner was quite as much in the dark as he was as to Mr. Wright’s conduct. But a minute later the customer in overalls went off with his hooks, and Mr. Wright, after returning the rest of them to a box and, as Tom saw with amusement, tossing it carelessly back to the wrong shelf, came from behind the counter.

“Mr. Cummings says you want employment,” he said questioningly. “What can you do?”

“Anything, sir. I ain’t afraid of work.”

“Going to school, are you?”

“Yes, sir. I start Monday at high school.”

[19]

“Do you know how to use a broom?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Wright drew his fingers nervously through his black whiskers. “Do, eh? That’s more than anybody else does around here.” Evidently that was intended as a hit at the tall clerk who had drawn near. But the clerk only grinned. “Well——” Mr. Wright turned to his partner. “Take him on if you want to,” he said. “He’s honest, anyway. That’s something. You talk to him.”

He hurried away to the front of the store. Mr. Cummings, with a smile and a quizzical shrug of his shoulders, beckoned Tom to the railed-off office at the rear of the store. There he told Tom to sit down.

“What’s this about a purse?” he inquired.

Tom told of the incident. Mr. Cummings seemed unduly impressed by it. “Now that was funny, wasn’t it? A regular coincidence, eh? Blessed if it don’t look to me as if luck had fixed everything up for you, son. Well, now I’ll tell you what we’re willing to do and you can say whether you want to do it. Your uncle owes this firm sixty-four dollars and a half. We’ll call it[20] an even sixty. Now, we’ll take you on here to work at two and a half a week. Two of that goes to you and fifty cents of it comes to us until we’ve squared ourselves for that sixty dollars. That satisfactory to you?”

Tom considered a moment. Then, “Yes, sir, I think so,” he replied a little doubtfully.

“Well, if I were you, I’d talk to my uncle; tell him our offer and see if he wouldn’t be willing to make up the half-dollar to you. You’re paying his bill, you know.”

“Maybe he would.” But there was little conviction in Tom’s tone. “Anyway, if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, I guess. It would be all right if I could find a room for two dollars. I looked at one this morning, but the lady wanted two dollars and a half for it. Maybe I could find another, though.”

“I think you ought to,” said Mr. Cummings. “Try around Locust Street, near the depot. Well, there’s our offer, son, anyway. If you want to, you can have a talk with your uncle before you decide.”

“No, sir, thanks, I’ll—I’ll come, anyway.”

“All right. If you get on and learn the business,[21] after a while we’ll give you more money. Mind you, though, you’ll have to show up here at seven-thirty, open up the store, and sweep and dust. And we’ll expect you back after school to stay until we close at six. On Saturdays we stay open until nine. And just before Christmas we keep open every evening. Let’s see; you said you wanted to get off early Saturday evenings, didn’t you?”

“I thought I’d like to spend Sundays at home, sir.”

“That would be all right usually, I guess. Around Christmas time we might want you to stay late on Saturdays, but other times I guess you could get off by eight or whenever your train goes. When do you want to start?”

“I was thinking I’d start Monday afternoon, sir. I’m going home to-day and coming back Monday morning, in time for school. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, that’ll do. To-day’s Thursday, isn’t it? All right, son. We’ll look for you Monday afternoon. You do your work right and I guess you’ll find us easy to get along with.” Mr. Cummings hesitated. “I might as well tell you,[22] though, that—er—my partner is a little quick-tempered at times. It’s just his way. He’s terribly nervous. After you get used to him, you won’t mind it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all then, I guess. By the way, what did you tell me your name was?”

“Thomas Pollock, sir.”