An Old-Fashioned Girl (36 page)

“Do run! I’m perfectly fainting to know what the matter is,” said Fan.

“You’d better go,” began Polly, wishing to obey, yet feeling a little shy.

“He don’t want me; besides, I couldn’t say a word for myself if that letter was from Sydney,” cried Fanny, hustling her friend
towards the door, in a great flutter.

Polly went without another word, but she wore a curiously anxious look, and stopped on the threshold of the den, as if a little
afraid of its occupant. Tom was sitting in his favorite attitude, astride of a chair, with his arms folded and his chin on
the top rail; not an elegant posture, but the only one in which, he said, he could think well.

“Did you want me, Tom?”

“Yes. Come in, please, and don’t look scared; I only want to show you a present I’ve had, and ask your advice about accepting
it.”

“Why, Tom, you look as if you had been knocked down!” exclaimed Polly, forgetting all about herself, as she saw his face when
he rose and turned to meet her.

“I have; regularly floored; but I’m up again, and steadier than ever. Just you read that, and tell me what you think of it.”

Tom snatched a letter off the table, put it into her hands, and began to walk up and down the little room, like a veritable
bear in its cage. As Polly read that short note, all the color went out of her face, and her eyes began to kindle. When she
came to the end, she stood a minute, as if too indignant to speak, then gave the paper a nervous sort of crumple and dropped
it on the floor, saying, all in one breath —

“I think she is a mercenary, heartless, ungrateful girl! That’s what I think.”

“Oh, the — deuce! I didn’t mean to show that one; it’s the other.” And Tom took up a second paper, looking half angry, half
ashamed at his own mistake. “I don’t care, though; everyone will know tomorrow; and perhaps you’ll be good enough to keep
the girls from bothering me with questions and gabble,” he added, as if, on second thoughts, he
was
relieved to have the communication made to Polly first.

“I don’t wonder you looked upset. If the other letter is as bad, I’d better have a chair before I read it,” said Polly, feeling
that she began to tremble with excitement.

“It’s a million times better, but it knocked me worse than the other; kindness always does.” Tom stopped short there, and
stood a minute turning the letter about in his hand as if it contained a sweet which neutralized the bitter in that smaller
note, and touched him very much. Then he drew up an armchair, and beckoning Polly to take it, said in a sober, steady tone,
that surprised her greatly —

“Whenever I was in a quandary, I used to go and consult grandma, and she always had something sensible or comfortable to say
to me. She’s gone now, but somehow, Polly, you seem to take her place. Would you mind sitting in her chair, and letting me
tell you two or three things, as Will does?”

Mind it? Polly felt that Tom had paid her the highest and most beautiful compliment he could have devised. She had often longed
to do it, for, being brought up in the most affectionate and frank relations with her brothers, she had early learned what
it takes most women some time to discover, that sex does not make nearly as much difference in hearts and souls as we fancy.
Joy and sorrow, love and fear, life and death bring so many of the same needs to all, that the wonder is we do not understand
each other better, but wait till times of tribulation teach us that human nature is very much the same in men and women. Thanks
to this knowledge, Polly understood Tom in a way that surprised and won him. She knew that he wanted womanly sympathy, and
that she could give it to him, because she was not afraid to stretch her hand across the barrier which our artificial education
puts between boys and girls, and to say to him in all good faith, “If I can help you, let me.”

Ten minutes sooner Polly could have done this almost as easily to Tom as to Will, but in that ten minutes something had happened
which made this difficult. Reading that Trix had given Tom back his freedom changed many things to Polly, and caused her to
shrink from his confidence, because she felt as if it would be harder now to keep self out of sight; for, spite of maiden
modesty, love and hope would wake and sing at the good news. Slowly she sat down, and hesitatingly she said, with her eyes
on the ground, and a very humble voice —

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t fill grandma’s place, or give you any wise, good advice. I wish I could!”

“You’ll do it better than anyone else. Talk troubles mother, father has enough to think of without any of my worries. Fan
is a good soul, but she isn’t practical, and we always get into a snarl if we try to work together, so who have I but my other
sister, Polly? The pleasure that letter will give you may make up for my boring you.”

As he spoke, Tom laid the other paper in her lap, and went off to the window, as if to leave her free to enjoy it unseen;
but he could not help a glance now and then, and as Polly’s face brightened, his own fell.

“Oh, Tom, that’s a birthday present worth having, for it’s so beautifully given I don’t see how you can refuse it. Arthur
Sydney is a real nobleman!” cried Polly, looking up at last, with her face glowing, and her eyes full of delight.

“So he is! I don’t know another man living, except father, who would have done such a thing, or who I could bring myself to
take it from. Do you see, he’s not only paid the confounded debts, but has done it in my name, to spare me all he could?”

“I see, it’s like him; and I think he must be very happy to be able to do such a thing.”

“It
is
an immense weight off my shoulders, for some of those men couldn’t afford to wait till I’d begged, borrowed, or earned the
money. Sydney
can
wait, but he won’t long, if I know myself.”

“You won’t take it as a gift, then?”

“Would you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t think I will. I’m a pretty poor affair, Polly, but I’m not mean enough to do that, while I’ve got a conscience
and a pair of hands.”

A rough speech, but it pleased Polly better than the smoothest Tom had ever made in her hearing, for something in his face
and voice told her that the friendly act had roused a nobler sentiment than gratitude, making the cancelled obligations of
the boy, debts of honor to the man.

“What will you do, Tom?”

“I’ll tell you; may I sit here?” And Tom took the low footstool that always stood near grandma’s old chair. “I’ve had so many
plans in my head lately, that sometimes it seems as if it would split,” continued the poor fellow, rubbing his tired forehead,
as if to polish up his wits. “I’ve thought seriously of going to California, Australia, or some out-of-the-way place, where
men get rich in a hurry.”

“Oh, no!” cried Polly, putting out her hand as if to keep him, and then snatching it back again before he could turn round.

“It would be hard on mother and the girls, I suppose; besides, I don’t quite like it myself; looks as if I shirked and ran
away.”

“So it does,” said Polly, decidedly.

“Well, you see I don’t seem to find anything to do unless I turn clerk, and I don’t think that would suit. The fact is, I
couldn’t stand it here, where I’m known. It would be easier to scratch gravel on a railroad, with a gang of Paddies, than
to sell pins to my friends and neighbors. False pride, I dare say, but it’s the truth, and there’s no use in dodging.”

“Not a bit, and I quite agree with you.”

“That’s comfortable. Now I’m coming to the point where I specially want your advice, Polly. Yesterday I heard you telling
Fan about your brother Ned; how well he got on; how he liked his business, and wanted Will to come and take some place near
him. You thought I was reading, but I heard; and it struck me that perhaps I could get a chance out West somewhere. What do
you think?”

“If you really mean work, I
know
you could,” answered Polly, quickly, as all sorts of plans and projects went sweeping through her mind. “I wish you could
be with Ned; you’d get on together, I’m sure; and he’d be so glad to do anything he could. I’ll write and ask, straight away,
if you want me to.”

“Suppose you do; just for information, you know, then I shall have something to go upon. I want to have a feasible plan all
ready, before I speak to father. There’s nothing so convincing to businessmen as facts, you know.”

Polly could not help smiling at Tom’s new tone, it seemed so strange to hear him talking about anything but horses and tailors,
dancing and girls. She liked it, however, as much as she did the sober expression of his face, and the way he had lately of
swinging his arms about, as if he wanted to do something energetic with them.

“That will be wise. Do you think your father will like this plan?”

“Pretty sure he will. Yesterday, when I told him I must go at something right off, he said, ‘Anything honest, Tom, and don’t
forget that your father began the world as a shop-boy.’ You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, he told me the story once, and I always liked to hear it, because it was pleasant to see how well he had succeeded.”

“I never did like the story, a little bit ashamed, I’m afraid; but when we talked it over last night, it struck me in a new
light, and I understood why father took the failure so well, and seems so contented with this poorish place. It is only beginning
again, he says; and having worked his way up once, he feels as if he could again. I declare to you, Polly, that sort of confidence
in himself, and energy and courage in a man of his years, makes me love and respect the dear old gentleman as I never did
before.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that, Tom! I’ve sometimes thought you didn’t quite appreciate your father, any more than he knew
how much of a man you were.”

“Never was till today, you know,” said Tom, laughing, yet looking as if he felt the dignity of his one and twenty years. “Odd,
isn’t it, how people live together ever so long, and don’t seem to find one another out, till something comes to do it for
them. Perhaps this smashup was sent to introduce me to my own father.”

“There’s philosophy for you,” said Polly, smiling, even while she felt as if adversity was going to do more for Tom than years
of prosperity.

They both sat quiet for a minute, Polly in the big chair looking at him with a new respect in her eyes, Tom on the stool nearby
slowly tearing up a folded paper he had absently taken from the floor while he talked.

“Did this surprise you?” he asked, as a little white shower fluttered from his hands.

“No.”

“Well, it did me; for you know as soon as we came to grief I offered to release Trix from the engagement, and she wouldn’t
let me,” continued Tom, as if, having begun the subject, he wished to explain it thoroughly.

“That surprised me,” said Polly.

“So it did me, for Fan always insisted it was the money and not the man she cared for. Her first answer pleased me very much,
for I didn’t expect it, and nothing touches a fellow more than to have a woman stand by him through thick and thin.”

“She don’t seem to have done it.”

“Fan was right. Trix only waited to see how bad things really were, or rather her mother did. She’s as cool, hard, and worldly
minded an old soul as I ever saw, and Trix is bound to obey. She gets round it very neatly in her note, ‘won’t be a burden,’
‘will sacrifice her hopes,’ ‘and always remain my warm friend,’ but the truth is, Tom Shaw rich was worth making much of,
but Tom Shaw poor is in the way, and may go to the devil as fast as he likes.”

“Well, he isn’t going!” cried Polly, defiantly, for her wrath burned hotly against Trix, though she blessed her for setting
the bondman free.

“Came within an ace of it,” muttered Tom to himself; adding aloud, in a tone of calm resignation that assured Polly his heart
would not be broken though his engagement was —

“It never rains but it pours, ‘specially in hard times, but when a man is down, a rap or two more don’t matter much, I suppose.
It’s the first blow that hurts most.”

“Glad to see you take the last blow so well.” There was an ironical little twang to that speech, and Polly couldn’t help it.
Tom colored up and looked hurt for a minute, then seemed to right himself with a shrug, and said, in his outspoken way —

“To tell the honest truth, Polly, it wasn’t a very hard one. I’ve had a feeling for some time that Trix and I were not suited
to one another, and it might be wiser to stop short. But she didn’t or wouldn’t see it; and I wasn’t going to back out, and
leave her to wear any more willows, so here we are. I don’t bear malice, but hope she’ll do better, and not be disappointed
again, upon my word I do.”

“That’s very good of you, quite Sydneyesque and noble,” said Polly, feeling rather ill at ease, and wishing she could hide
herself behind a cap and spectacles, if she was to play Grandma to this confiding youth.

“It will be all plain sailing for Syd, I fancy,” observed Tom, getting up as if the little cricket suddenly ceased to be comfortable.

“I hope so,” murmured Polly, wondering what was coming next.

“He deserves the very best of everything, and I pray the Lord he may get it,” added Tom, poking the fire in a destructive
manner.

Polly made no answer, fearing to say too much, for she knew Fan had made no confidant of Tom, and she guarded her friend’s
secret as jealously as her own.

“You’ll write to Ned tomorrow, will you? I’ll take anything he’s got, for I want to be off,” said Tom, casting down the poker,
and turning round with a resolute air which was lost on Polly, who sat twirling the rose that had fallen into her lap.

“I’ll write tonight. Would you like me to tell the girls about Trix and Sydney?” she asked as she rose, feeling that the council
was over.

“I wish you would. I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done for me; I wish to heaven I did,” said Tom, holding out
his hand with a look that Polly thought a great deal too grateful for the little she had done.

As she gave him her hand, and looked up at him with those confiding eyes of hers, Tom’s gratitude seemed to fly to his head,
for, without the slightest warning, he stooped down and kissed her — a proceeding which startled Polly so that he recovered
himself at once, and retreated into his den with the incoherent apology —