Kitabı oku: «My Monks of Vagabondia», sayfa 4

FRITZ AND HIS SUN DIAL

“The small task – well performed – opens the door to larger opportunity.”

Fritz and His Sun Dial

Years ago, I saw a near-sighted cook peeling onions – a most pathetic scene if one judges entirely from appearances. The incident impressed me deeply at the time, although it had long since passed from my mind, when good old Fritz came to me, with tears running down the dusty furrows of his be-wrinkled and weather-beaten face.

Some strange analogy revived the old memory. There is – say what one will – something tremendously ludicrous about honesty when clothed too deeply in rusticity. We smile at it while we give it our love and respect.

It can toy with our heart-strings, playing both grave and gay. We laugh at it so that we may not cry and become laughable ourselves.

In broken English, he tried to explain that which was self-evident and needed no explanation – his own distress and desperation. His simple earnestness – his frank, honest manner – won every one’s immediate sympathy. The boys began to plan to relieve his distress, even while they laughed with scant courtesy in the old man’s face.

His clothes were many sizes too large, which was not entirely offset by his cap that was several sizes too small. Through his broken shoes, ten toes spoke in most eloquent English – the need of protection and shelter.

“What could ever cause a man to get into such a condition?” asked a fellow, who, three weeks before, had arrived quite as dishevelled, but had already forgotten the fact, which is just as well.

“The cause?” asked the German.

“Yes.”

“Beer.”

“Beer! You are the first man I ever saw who got to such a finish on beer,” returned the questioner.

“I drink nothing else – never,” the old German affirmed.

“I am thinking Mr. Floyd will try to clean you up in a hurry – or not at all – if you tell him that beer put you down and out.”

“I hope so,” said the old man; “I feel pretty bad.”

“Some mighty arguments have been put out that it is the distilled liquors that do all the mischief; that light wine and malt liquors are no more harmful than tea. And here you are in our camp to disprove this contention. If you say you have been on a beer debauch, you may not be believed.”

“Maybe someone put a little apple-jack into my glass when I wasn’t looking,” replied the German, quickly, as he went into the boys’ kitchen to get a little coffee.

So it came about that Fritz became a Colony member, and his good nature made him a general favorite almost immediately. His strength returned to him rapidly.

The final cure was effected when, among the books that came in, one of the men found a German volume. He took it to Fritz with some misgiving, as it was a work on astronomy, and Fritz did not resemble a Heidelberg professor; but when our friend glanced at the book and saw the German text, and then, on closer scrutiny, observed that it was a work on astronomy, he became excitedly enthusiastic.

“Good! Very good! I am happy to get it.”

It was a week later, an hour or two after midnight, I saw Fritz in the moonlight, walking around outside the house.

I went out to question him, as his actions seemed strange to me.

“What is the trouble, Fritz?” I asked him.

“It is nothing.”

“But I would rather not have the men out so late,” I said.

“I cannot find it,” he replied.

“Find what, Fritz? What have you lost?”

“I cannot find the North Star,” he said, sadly.

“Don’t you know where to look for it?”

“Oh, yes; but it is always cloudy.”

At that moment the clouds began to move – not because Fritz wished it, but his patience had outstayed the clouds.

“There it is. That’s it,” he exclaimed, as he ran into the stable, leaving me standing alone star-gazing to no purpose. But Fritz rejoined me as abruptly as he had left me. He had brought out with him a square board with an iron rod running through it.

“What have you there?” I questioned him.

“It is my sun-dial; it is my own invention. I have never seen a sun-dial, but I am sure that mine will be as correct as any of them.”

Then he fastened the dial firmly on a stump, pointing the wire straight at the North Star.

“In the morning I can see if I am right. Good night, Mr. Floyd.”

“Good night, Fritz.”

For several weeks Fritz worked about the place timing his labor by his ingenious invention. Sometimes he would work after the shadows had passed the quitting hour.

“The dial tells us,” I said to him one day, “that it is time to stop work.”

“No,” he said, “sun-dials are never exact; sometimes they vary fifteen minutes, at least. For the Earth goes around the Sun not in a circle but in an ellipse. I will work a little longer.”

One Sunday I overheard Fritz talking excitedly out near the spot where the dial was stationed. I thought he had for the moment forgotten he was a Self Master – as all men are likely at times to forget. But when I went out to check the noise, I found that Fritz had ten or fifteen of the men standing in front of him and he was saying:

“It is easy to do – to measure the distance to the Sun, or the distance from one planet to another. There are a hundred methods, many of them as simple as it is to measure the length of a building.”

“You are a student of astronomy?” I asked.

“Yes, for many years, I have studied the German books on astronomy. It is my pleasure.”

From that day our respect for Fritz was established. There is an aristocracy of learning; we doff our hats to even the beggar who knows.

The visitors were all interested in Fritz’s queer looking sun-dial, made out of a square board and piece of telegraph wire. Automobiles halted by the roadside to look at it. The children insisted on setting their Ingersolls by its falling shadow. A well known physician stood examining the dial one day. He took out his watch to make comparison.

“Very clever,” he said, “very clever; now let me see Fritz.” And Fritz came out.

“He isn’t much to look at,” the Doctor whispered to me, as the old German approached us.

Just then the five o’clock whistle blew. The Doctor and I looked at the dial.

“The shadow,” I said, “falls on the figure five.”

“Quite true,” replied the Doctor.

“It must,” said Fritz, quietly; “it must, for the wire points to the North Star.”

The Doctor smiled, as he spoke: “A man intelligent enough to make that dial can, at least, care for my stable and horses… Fritz, would you like to work for me? I have some splendid horses and I pay well for their care.”

“I will go gladly,” said Fritz; “when do you want me?”

“To-morrow,”

“May I go, Mr. Floyd?”

“On one condition,” I said.

“What is it?”

“You must give the Colony your sun-dial.”

“It is nothing, but you may have it if you like.”

The next day Fritz was given a good suit of clothes, a collar and tie.

“I don’t know about the collar and tie,” said the old man; “I have not worn one for many months.”

Three or four of the boys helped him to button on the collar and arrange the ascot effectively. Then the Doctor came with his best span of pet horses.

“Jump in with me, Fritz,” he said.

The old German, smiling, climbed in and then turned, took his hat off to me and the boys.

“Thank you… Good luck,” he said.

“You take the reins and drive,” said the Doctor.

Fritz buttoned his coat tightly around him, straightened up his old bent back and taking the reins he proudly drove away.

“He did not come in a carriage,” said a boy.

“It is the Self Masters that helped him,” said another.

“You forget about the Sun-dial,” I said.

THE WAITER WHO DID NOT WAIT

“Whoever is not master of himself is master of nobody.”

– Stahl.

The Waiter Who Did Not Wait

Had the schedule been followed faithfully, it was the time for the auto party to have finished their tea and toast and be awaiting the chauffeur to come up with their machine, but there seemed to be a delay somewhere. Investigation revealed a peculiar condition of affairs. The visitors were moving about rather impatiently while the lunch, instead of being served, was rapidly getting chilled on the side-board in an adjoining room.

“Where is Delmonico Bill, the attentive waiter,” we asked, not a little surprised at his disappearance. He was nowhere to be found, although we hunted high and low for him.

But to manage men successfully who admit their irresponsibility needs an overseer who is not only patient in disappointment, but who can offer the pat excuse impromptu, and cheerfully reassure friends that everything is all right, when – unless viewed from the standpoint of a year from to-day – it is all wrong.

On this special day there seemed to be no apparent explanation except that the waiter did not wait. But everything is a success that ends happily, and the delayed lunch made the visitors more than ever in sympathy with the Work. Whoever loves us for our mistakes, shall become more endeared to us as they know us better. The diners – who had not dined – saw humor in our embarrassment, and assured us of their best wishes as they drove merrily away, leaving us stupidly asking ourselves why the waiter had left his guests unserved.

It was nearly an hour later when Delmonico Bill came down out of the hay loft, brushing the dust and hay-seed from his clothes.

“Has she gone?” he enquired stupidly.

“Who?” we asked him in chorus.

“My Sunday school teacher,” he explained.

We awaited his further explanation. It was the first time we had heard that he ever had such a teacher.

"It isn’t that I am in the least ashamed to serve as a waiter. Menial work that must be done is not humiliating to me. But when I looked in at the visitors as I was arranging their lunch on the tray – I recognized in one of the ladies my old Sunday school teacher – and when I thought to what an extent I had disregarded her instructions I hadn’t the courage to face her… My, but it was hot up in that haymow!..

“The last time I saw this good lady was the evening in the church vestry when the class members gave her a group picture of themselves. We all went to the local photographers together. There were three rows of us – the tall, taller and tallest – all raw-boned rascals trying to assume the spiritual pose of Sir Galahad. I never cared much for the photograph, but the frame – the gold frame – much befiligreed was mighty impressive. I remember it because there was seventy-five cents of my money in it. I worked hard for that money. It took me the best part of three nights to get it from Cy Watson – playing penny-ante in his father’s carriage house. But I was happy to turn it to such good use.”

“It was tainted money,” said one of the boys.

"There wasn’t any such thing as tainted money in those days. Money was money and no one had any of it.

"I made the presentation speech that night in the vestry. It was a masterpiece. The teacher and the women folks all cried. I have forgotten the speech now; thirty years of knocking around the world crowds out the memory of many things that happened when we were boys in Sunday school. But for years, I could repeat that piece. I rehearsed for that evening over two months – I could say it forwards or backwards, I could start it in the middle and say it both ways – in fact when I think of it, I rather believe that was the way I did say it that evening, because the applause that followed my humble effort was too tempestuous, yet the scholars all had their money in the gold frame, and the teacher was to leave us next morning for the East, where she was to marry some man of prominence. My mother said I spoke splendidly, but I doubt if she really heard me. She was thinking how charming I looked in the new trousers she had made for me. The truth was, she had worked all the night before to get them ready. She had had some difficulty to make the seams come down the side. As it was they were not quite finished, but no one knew it but my mother and me.

“In the years that are to come,” I said in my speech, “not only will your kindly instructions in our Bible studies help us to meet and overcome all temptation, but the inspiration which we have received from your friendship and devotion to our spiritual welfare will influence us throughout our lives.”

For the moment Delmonico Bill was silent – whatever his thoughts may have been, he did not share them with us. But presently, he observed the tray with the tea and toast upon it, just as he had left it.

“It is too bad,” he said, “maybe she would not have known me at all… I am sorry … but you can understand.”

Then he began to clear away the lunch. “The tea is still warm,” he said smilingly, “I believe I will pour a cup for myself … my nerves are jumping, it may quiet them.”

He filled the cup and raising it he said: “Here is to my Sunday school teacher who believed in me in those days when I believed in myself. God bless her.”