Blessing of a Good Deed

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　

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"I should like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr.William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, inirrepressible pleasure.Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars wassecured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not tofeel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark,sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance,with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, haveexcited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was aslender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr.Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in hisoffice and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, nowin greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an earlyfriend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy'sintroduction into the broker's office."Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud hissatisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Twothousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. Iwonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears ofsuch an advance in these securities?"From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did notincrease our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, therewas something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsomea sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close ascrutiny--something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to haveblazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood,in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by twothousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainlyno happier.An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr.Everett and said--"Have you heard about Cassen?""No; what of him?""He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars inhis pockets more than justly belongs to him.""What!""Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who leftNew York in the steamer yesterday.""The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was veryconsiderably excited."He owes you, does he?" said the friend."I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday.""A clear swindle.""Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!".Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a veryamiable expression."Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has letyou off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?""Yes.""I know two at least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by hisabsence."But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individualleft who had communicated this unpleasant piece of news, the brokerwalked the floor of his office with compressed lips, a loweringbrow, and most unhappy feelings. The two thousand dollars gain in noway balanced in his mind the three hundred lost. The pleasurecreated by the one had not penetrated deep enough to escapeobliteration by the other.Of all this, the boy with the dark eyes had taken quick cognizance.And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance beenremoved from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while thelatter walked with uneasy steps the floor of his office.As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew calmer. The firstexcitement produced by the loss, passed away; but it left a sense ofdepression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings.Intent as had been the lad's observation of his employer during allthis time, it is a little remarkable that Mr. Everett had not oncebeen conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily uponhim. In fact he had been, as was usually the case too much absorbedin things concerning himself to notice what was peculiar to another,unless the peculiarity were one readily used to his own advantage."John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, andencountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr.Legrand."John sprang to do his bidding; received the note and was off withunusual fleetness. But the door which closed upon his form did notshut out the expression of his sober face and humid glance from thevision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung tothe eyes of the musing boy at the very moment he was called upon torender a service; and, quicker than usual though his motions were,he had failed to conceal them.A new train of thought now entered the broker's mind. This child ofhis old friend had been taken into his office from a kind ofcharitable feeling--though of very low vitality. He paid him acouple of dollars a week, and thought little more, about him or hiswidowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own atstake, to have his mind turned aside for a trifling matter likethis. But now, as the image of that sad face--for it was unusuallysad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked suddenly toward theboy--lingered in his mind, growing every moment more distinct, andmore touchingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanitywere excited. He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hoursthey had spent together in years long since passed, ere generousfeelings had hardened into ice, or given place to all-pervadingselfishness. He remembered, too, the beautiful girl his friend hadmarried, and how proudly that friend presented her to their littleworld as his bride. The lad had her large, dark, spiritualeyes--only the light of joy had faded therefrom, giving place to astrange sadness.All this was now present to the mind of Mr. Everett, and though hetried once or twice during the boy's absence to obliterate theserecollections, he was unable to do so."How is your mother, John?" kindly asked the broker, when the ladreturned from his errand.The question was so unexpected, that it confused him."She's well--thank you, sir. No--not very well, either--thank you,sir."And the boy's face flushed, and his eyes suffused."Not very well, you say?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in atone of interest. "Not sick, I hope?""No, sir; not very sick. But"----"But what, John," said Mr., Everett, encouragingly."She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the colourdeepened on his face."Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John?"The tears which John had been vainly striving to repress now gushedover his face, and, with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turnedaway and struggled for a time with his overmastering feelings. Mr.Everett was no little moved by so unexpected an exhibition. Hewaited with a new-born consideration for the boy, not unmingled withrespect, until a measure of calmness was restored."John," he then said, "if your mother is in trouble, it may be in mypower to relieve her.""O sir!" exclaimed the lad eagerly, coming up to Mr. Everett, and,in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his small hand upon thatof his employer, "if you will, you can."Hard indeed would have been the heart that could have withstood theappealing, eyes lifted by John Levering to the face of Mr. Everett.But Mr. Everett had not a hard heart. Love of self and the world hadencrusted it with indifference toward others, but the crust was nowbroken through."Speak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell me of yourmother. What is her trouble?""We are very poor, sir." Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice."And mother isn't well. She does all she can; and my wages help alittle. But there are three of us children; and I am the oldest.None of the rest can earn any thing. Mother couldn't help gettingbehind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't the money to pay itwith. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live camefor some money, and when mother told him that she had none, he got,oh, so angry! and frightened us all. He said, if the rent wasn'tpaid by to-morrow, he'd turn us all into the street. Poor mother!She went to bed sick.""How much does your mother owe the man?" asked Mr. Everett."Oh, it's a great deal, sir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to payit; and I don't know what we'll do.""How much?""Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad."Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his hand into his pocket."Here are twenty dollars. Run home to your mother, and give them toher with my compliments."The boy grasped the money eagerly, and, as he did so, in anirrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from which hereceived it. He did not speak, for strong emotion choked allutterance; but Mr. Everett saw his heart in his large, wet eyes, andit was overflowing with thankfulness."Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passingthrough the door. "Perhaps I had better write a note to yourmother.""I wish you would, sir," answered the boy, as he came slowly back.A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offeredpresent aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections thatnow were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's futurefriend.For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, withhis eyes upon the floor. His thoughts were clear, and his feelingstranquil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollarsby a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession tohis worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure hederived from the bestowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of thethree hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet,even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon hisheart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy,and all was sunny again.Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, acheerful-minded man. Why? Not because he was richer by nearly twothousand dollars. That circumstance would have possessed no power tolift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of threehundred dollars had produced. Why? He had bestowed of his abundance,and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of thispervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight.Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a doubleblessing. Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than ineager accumulation or selfish withholding.

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