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Page 82
I said I did not see that. That I could not teach him to speak the
Taghalian dialects so well, that he could read them with facility before
Saturday. But I could do a good deal better. Did he remember writing a
note to old Jack Percival for me five years ago? No, he remembered no
such thing; he knew Jack Percival, but never wrote a note to him in his
life. Did he remember giving me fifty dollars, because I had taken a
delicate boy, whom I was going to send to sea, and I was not quite
satisfied with the government outfit? No, he did not remember that,
which was not strange, for that was a thing he was doing every day,
"Well, I don't care how much you remember, but the boy about whom you
wrote to Jack Percival, for whose mother's ease of mind you provided
the half-hundred, is back again,--strong, straight, and well; what is
more to the point, he had the whole charge of Perry's commissariat on
shore at Yokohama, was honorably discharged out there, reads Japanese
better than you read English; and if it will help you at all, he shall
be here at your house at breakfast." For as I spoke we stopped at
Coram's door. "Ingham," said Coram, "if you were not a parson, I should
say you were romancing." "My child," said I, "I sometimes write a
parable for the Atlantic; but the words of my lips are verity, as all
those of the Sandemanians. Go to bed; do not even dream of the Taghalian
dialects; be sure that the Japanese interpreter will breakfast with you,
and the next time you are in a scrape send for the nearest minister.
George, tell your brother Ezra that Mr. Coram wishes him to breakfast
here to-morrow morning at eight o'clock; don't forget the number,
Pemberton Square, you know." "Yes, sir," said George; and Thomas Coram
laughed, said "Merry Christmas," and we parted.
It was time we were all in bed, especially these boys. But glad enough
am I as I write these words that the meeting of Coram set us back that
dropped-stitch in our night's journey. There was one more delay. We were
sweeping by the Old State House, the boys singing again, "Carol, carol,
Christians," as we dashed along the still streets, when I caught sight
of Adams Todd, and he recognized me. He had heard us singing when we
were at the Advertiser office. Todd is an old fellow-apprentice of
mine,--and he is now, or rather was that night, chief pressman in the
Argus office. I like the Argus people,--it was there that I was South
American Editor, now many years ago,--and they befriend me to this hour.
Todd hailed me, and once more I stopped. "What sent you out from your
warm steam-boiler?" "Steam-boiler, indeed," said Todd. "Two rivets
loose,--steam-room full of steam,--police frightened,--neighborhood in a
row,--and we had to put out the fire. She would have run a week without
hurting a fly,--only a little puff in the street sometimes. But there we
are, Ingham. We shall lose the early mail as it stands. Seventy-eight
tokens to be worked now." They always talked largely of their edition at
the Argus. Saw it with many eyes, perhaps; but this time, I am sure,
Todd spoke true. I caught his idea at once. In younger and more muscular
times, Todd and I had worked the Adams press by that fly-wheel for full
five minutes at a time, as a test of strength; and in my mind's eye, I
saw that he was printing his paper at this moment with relays of
grinding stevedores. He said it was so. "But think of it to-night," said
he. "It is Christmas eve, and not an Irishman to be hired, though one
paid him ingots. Not a man can stand the grind ten minutes." I knew that
very well from old experience, and I thanked him inwardly for not
saying "the demnition grind," with Mantihni. "We cannot run the press
half the time," said he; "and the men we have are giving out now. We
shall lose all our carrier delivery." "Todd," said I, "is this a night
to be talking of ingots, or hiring, or losing, or gaining? When will you
learn that Love rules the court, the camp, and the Argus office." And I
wrote on the back of a letter to Campbell: "Come to the Argus office,
No. 2 Dassett's Alley, with seven men not afraid to work"; and I gave it
to John and Sam, bade Howland take the boys to Campbell's house,--walked
down with Todd to his office,--challenged him to take five minutes at
the wheel, in memory of old times,--made the tired relays laugh as they
saw us take hold; and then,--when I had cooled off, and put on my
Cardigan,--met Campbell, with his seven sons of Anak, tumbling down the
stairs, wondering what round of mercy the parson had found for them this
time. I started home, knowing I should now have my Argus with my coffee.
III.
And so I walked home. Better so, perhaps, after all, than in the lively
sleigh, with the tinkling bells.
"It was a calm and silent night!--
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was queen of land and sea!
No sound was heard of clashing wars,--
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!"
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