CHAPTER V.

STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF.

Next morning, bright and early, Brydell was up and dressed. He had no one to say farewell to except Grubb, but he wanted to see his humble friend and avail himself of Grubb’s excellent common sense about his future plans. For the marine had seen a good deal of the world and knew something of it from a working-man’s point of view. Grubb happened to be off duty that day, and early in the morning presented himself in Brydell’s room. Brydell told him the glorious news, and Grubb, taking off his cap and waving it three times, said in a half-whisper: “Hooray! hooray! hooray!”

“And now,” said Brydell, “I’ve got to go to work. I have about twenty-five dollars left after paying my hotel bill, and I can’t go very far on that. Besides, I’d rather stay near Annapolis. I can keep in touch with it better in some ways. I have my books, you know, and although I have only acquired a smattering from them, yet they are familiar enough to me to study by myself. And I’ve got an idea about employment.”

“What is it, sir?” asked Grubb.

“Well, you see, I’ve been great on outdoor life—riding and walking and swimming; and I believe I could stand an outdoor life better than I could being shut up in a dingy office. I hear that the farmers about here find great difficulty in getting hands, even at high wages and particularly at this season of the year. If I could get work on a farm, I could get my living too, which I couldn’t get in a city.”

“Lord, bless the boy!” cried Grubb in great disgust. “The leftenant’s son, a-talkin’ about bein’ a hired man! Did ever anybody hear the likes o’ that for a gentleman?”

“I know I am a gentleman, Grubb, and that’s why it is I’m not afraid of work,” answered Brydell, who could not help laughing at Grubb’s look.

After Brydell had talked with him half an hour, though, the marine’s ideas changed. Brydell, who had been thinking hard on the subject all night, reminded him of how many young fellows walked the streets of towns, asking for employment, while in the country employment was waiting for twice as many men as could be found. “And besides,” said Brydell with a slight blush, “in the city I might be all the time running up against people I know, and if they were civil to me I’d probably lose the time with them I would have in the evenings for study, and if they didn’t notice me it would make me feel pretty bad; while in the country I wouldn’t be likely to meet a soul I ever knew. It always seemed to me, too, as if a country life was healthier for a young fellow.”

“It is a sight healthier in every way,” remarked Grubb with energy.

“And then I can get work right away in the country, and who knows when I could get it in town?”

“Mr. Brydell,” said Grubb, “the admiral allers said, when you were a little shaver, as you’d turn right side up, and I do believe he know’d what he was talking about.”

“The admiral’s the best friend I have in the world except you,” cried Brydell; “I believe if you were an admiral, you’d do just as much for me as Admiral Beaumont.”

“Right you are, Mr. Brydell. I ain’t nothin’ but a poor marine, without any book learnin’, but whenever I sees that motto of the corps, ‘_Semper fidelis_’ which means ‘Ever faithful,’ I think to myself, Grubb, my man, that means you ain’t never goin’ back on another feller; and, come to think of it, it do seem ridicklous that the leftenant’s son should be a-workin’ like a hired hand. But I’ve noticed, sir, as how you’ll put two horses to haulin’ bricks. If one o’ ’em is a scrub, and t’ other one has a strain o’ good blood in him, you’ll find the scrub all petered out by the time his work is done. But the horse with the good blood’ll haul all day, and be as frisky as a kitten when you take him out; for blood do tell, Mr. Brydell.”

Grubb said this with a sigh, and Brydell thought the poor fellow had his own son in mind.

Brydell did not care to say good-by to the few people he knew at Annapolis, so he started out on a round, leaving his cards marked “P.P.C.” at each acquaintance’s house and not waiting to see if they were at home. He could not help laughing as he did this. He imagined he saw himself at work in the fields in his shirt sleeves, and thought it would be a good while before he needed any more visiting cards.

A natural tinge of boyish adventure made him feel as if he would like to start out on foot to seek his fortune, so next morning, having packed up his belongings and left them in Grubb’s care, Brydell set out with his stick and a small bundle and twenty-five dollars in his pocket.

It was a lovely day, cool for the season, and as Brydell stepped out at a lively pace, the world did not by any means look black to him. When he looked back six months it seemed to him six years. In that time he had had one of those plunges into real life which turns a boy into a man in an inconceivably short time. He had had a pretty complete experience of what life meant, and he had set himself to work out his own salvation in earnest.

He thought he would walk about twelve miles before stopping, wishing to be at least that far from Annapolis. But the beauty of the day, the greenness and freshness of the country, led him on and on until it was nearly fifteen miles.

Then the weather suddenly changed. The sky became overcast, the wind sprung up, and the first thing Brydell knew he was caught in a drenching rain. He had a rain coat with him and he put it on, meanwhile keeping his bundle well protected. He was still following the main road and he determined to stop and ask for shelter at the first house he saw. And how that spring shower changed his views of life!

He realized he was wet and hungry, that he was alone, and far from all his friends, and all at once he began to feel very young. He pushed on rapidly, and in a little while saw across the rolling country a large and comfortable farmhouse. He made straight for it and in a little while he knocked at the open door.

A little girl in a white dimity sunbonnet came to the door. She was about ten years old and remarkably pretty. She did not show the least bit of shyness and asked Brydell in hospitably. Before he had time to answer, her father and mother appeared—handsome country people, looking, as they were, thoroughly prosperous.

Brydell, whose manners were naturally graceful and polished, introduced himself and asked the privilege of remaining until the shower was over, and with a secret determination to ask for work later on. The farmer’s address was not nearly so elegant as the young fellow’s who cherished the ambition of becoming his hired man. He said:—

“My name’s Laurison. Come in and sit down. If you’ve got any dry clothes in that bundle, my wife’ll show you a room where you can change ’em.”

Brydell looked at Mrs. Laurison and his heart went out to her instantly. She was not like the officers’ wives he had known, educated and traveled women; but she had a quiet dignity and a self-possession that was equally good in its way. And she had the softest, kindest eyes in the world, and her voice was so gentle when she invited Brydell upstairs to change his clothes that he almost loved her from the start. In a little while Brydell appeared with dry shoes and stockings and another pair of trowsers.

The farmer, being compelled to stay indoors, was not indisposed to talk with the young stranger, and Brydell had quite a gift of making himself agreeable. They sat talking in a large, airy, old-fashioned hall, with a dry rubbed floor; and the little girl Minna was so pleased with her new acquaintance that she came and perched herself on the arm of his chair and gazed fearlessly into his eyes with the grave scrutiny of an innocent girl.

Brydell knew much about country life, and talked so knowingly about cows and pigs and horses that even Mr. Laurison grew fluent, and Brydell imagined it would be easy enough to get work there, and he quickly determined to ask for it.

“Do you have any trouble getting farm labor?” he asked.

“Heaps of trouble,” answered Mr. Laurison with emphasis. “The negroes all go off about this time of the year for berry-picking, just when harvest is coming on and the corn needs weeding the worst you ever saw. I’ve got two men I can count on that stay with me the year round, but I ought to have four on a farm of this size.”

Here was Brydell’s chance.

“I’m looking for work,” he said diffidently—“Farm work, I mean.”

“You!” shouted Mr. Laurison. “Why, you never did any work in your life. Look at them hands!”

“Pretty brown, I think they are,” answered Brydell complacently, examining his own hands.

“Yes,” said Mr. Laurison; “but they’re brown with the playin’ of tennis and football and such. Any fool can see by your hands you ain’t done any work.”

“But I want to do some work.”

“For what?”

“For money, for a living.”

“Ain’t you got any friends or family?”

“I have a father. He’s in the navy and away off in the Pacific. I haven’t any friend that can help me.”

“And has your father thrown you off?”

“Oh, no; but I want to earn my living, and it’s easier to get work in the country than in town, and besides I know more about the country.”

Mr. Laurison’s manner underwent an instant change. He paused a little while and then said:—

“I ain’t got any work for you;” and after another pause: “I think it’s clearin’ up.”

Brydell rose at once. He felt that in a moment the attitude of his host was one of suspicion; but Mrs. Laurison’s kind gaze never changed in the least, and little Minna came closer to him and caught his hand.

“Are you going away?” she asked.

“I must,” said Brydell gently, but feeling as if he would choke. Mr. Laurison got up very promptly.

“I’ll show you a short cut to the main road,” he said.

The sun was now down and the purple twilight was upon them. The trees and grass were wet and a faint gray haze rose from the meadows at the back of the house. It had never dawned upon Brydell that he would be invited to take the road at such an hour, and he felt a strange sinking of the heart.

He thanked Mrs. Laurison for her kindness to him. She said no word to detain him, but Brydell felt she was sorry to see him go. He then turned to shake hands with little Minna. The child suddenly tiptoed and threw her arms around his neck, saying,—

“Won’t you come back to-morrow?”

“Some day, perhaps,” answered Brydell hurriedly, and feeling a sob rising in his throat at the childish words. The woman and the little girl had confidence in him. He said good-by to them both, thanked Mrs. Laurison again, and followed her husband out, and along a path bordered with alders, to the main road half a mile off.

Neither spoke a word. When they reached a stile, beyond which the white line of the sandy road glimmered faintly in the half-light, the farmer turned to him:—

“Young man,” he said, “if you’ve done anything wrong,—and I can’t help suspecting you have,—’tain’t too late for you to mend. You’re young yet, and you’ve got a whole lifetime to make up for it in.”

Brydell had realized that the farmer suspected him, but hearing it put into words was a shock that altogether unnerved him.

“Why do you suspect me?” he asked in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

“Because I can’t help suspecting an educated young feller with his father in the navy, who tramps about, asking for work on a farm.”

In all of his grief and anxiety and despair about his failing in his examinations, and when he thought the desire of his heart was thwarted, Brydell had never shed a tear. But when this new horror came upon him, he did what he had not done since he was a little boy—he broke into a passion of sobbing and crying. The farmer looked at him compassionately.

“You’re sorry for what you’ve done,” he said, “and that’s a good sign.”

“I’m not sorry, for I haven’t done anything,” burst out Brydell. “I am as honest as you are and as respectable. How do you think you’d feel if anybody accused you of being crooked? I’ve told you the truth. I got an appointment at the Naval Academy and I failed, and the congressman who gave it to me said he would hold it over for a year if I would work hard and promise to pass, and I wrote my father I meant to work for that and for my living, too, and I’m going to do it. That’s all.”

Mr. Laurison hesitated for a moment. He had the wisdom of guileless people, which is sometimes better than that of worldly people, and he saw that Brydell was telling the truth, and he said so.

“And you can come back to the house with me and spend the night, and we’ll talk about work to-morrow,” he said.

“No,” said Brydell stoutly, “I won’t spend the night in the house of a man that takes me for a crook.”

“I like your pluck, but you’re a fool all the same,” was Mr. Laurison’s answer, accompanied by a friendly shove, “so come along back with me.”

Brydell had meant to show great spirit, but he was not proof against kindness, and he turned and walked rather sullenly back to the house. Mrs. Laurison and Minna were still standing on the porch. The lamps were lighted in the hall and dining-room, and the house had a hospitable and inviting look. The two figures appeared out of the dusk.

“Wife,” said Mr. Laurison, “I’ve brought this young feller back. He’s all right. He just failed in his examination to get into the Naval Academy, and like a wrong-headed boy he wrote his father he’d work for his own living until he could get in the academy,—he’ll have another chance next year,—and then, like a man, he determined to live up to what he said. So we’ll just keep him to-night, and maybe we can find something for him to do to-morrow.”

Mrs. Laurison said only three words—“I am glad”—but Brydell knew they came straight from her tender heart. Little Minna began to jump about, singing, “I’m so glad! I’m so glad!”

“You’ll find I can work,” said Brydell with rather a wan smile. “I’ve worked in the hot sun a good many hours at cricket and football and tennis and polo, and I daresay I can drive a plow or weed corn or hoe potatoes just about as well.”

“It ain’t half such hard work,” replied the farmer with a smile.

The evening passed quickly. There was a wheezy piano in the parlor, and Brydell, who played a little and could sing some college songs, pleased his hosts very much with a performance that would not have been so highly appreciated elsewhere.

At nine o’clock he was shown to a comfortable room, not the best bedroom, as he found out, and turning in fell asleep in five minutes, well pleased with his first day’s battle with the world.