Ted and the Telephone by Sara Ware Bassett (best short books to read txt) 📕

"You bet I would—I mean yes, sir."

The old gentleman chuckled at the fervor of the reply.

"Well, well," said he, "time must decide all that. First lay a good foundation. You cannot build anything worth building without something to build upon. You get your cellar dug and we will then see what we will put on top of it."

With this parting remark he and his son moved away.

When the project was laid before Laurie, his delight knew no bounds. To have Ted come and live at Pine Lea for the winter, what a lark! Think of having some one to read and study with every day! Nothing could be jollier! And Mr. Hazen was every whit as pleased.

"It is the very thing!" he exclaimed to Laurie's father. "Ted will not be the least trouble. He is a fine student and it will be a satisfaction to work with him. Besides, unless I greatly miss my guess, he will cheer Laurie on to much larger accomplishments. Ted's influence has never been anything but good."

And what said Laurie's mother?

"It is splendid, Clarence, splendid! We can refurnish that extra room that adjoins Laurie's suite and let Mr. Hazen and the boys have that entire wing of the house. Nothing could be simpler. I shall be glad to have Ted here. Not only is he a fine boy but he has proved himself a good friend to us all. If we can do anything for him, we certainly should do it. The lad has had none too easy a time in this world."

Yes, all went well with the plan so far as the Fernalds were concerned; but the Turners—ah, there was the stumbling block!

"It's no doubt a fine thing you're offering to do for my son," Ted's father replied to Mr. Clarence Fernald, "and I assure you I am not unmindful of your kindness; but you see he is our only boy and when he isn't here whistling round the house we miss him. 'Tain't as if we had him at home during his vacation. If he goes up to your place to work summers and stays there winters as well, we shall scarcely see him at all. All we have had of him this last year was an occasional teatime visit. Folks don't like having their children go out from the family roof so young."

"But, Father," put in Nancy, "think what such a chance as this will mean to Ted. You yourself have said over and over again that there was nothing like having an education."

"I know it," mused the man. "There's nothing can equal knowing something. I never did and look where I've landed. I'll never go ahead none. But I want it to be different with my boy. He's going to have some stock in trade in the way of training for life. It will be a kind of capital nothing can sweep away. As I figure it, it will be a sure investment—that is, if the boy has any stuff in him."

"An education is a pretty solid investment," agreed the elder Mr. Fernald, "and you are wise to recognize its value, Mr. Turner. To plunge into life without such a weapon is like entering battle without a sword. I know, for I have tried it."

"Have you indeed, sir?"

Grandfather Fernald nodded.

"I was brought up on a Vermont farm when I was a boy."

"You don't say so! Well, well!"

"Yes, I never had much schooling," went on the old man. "Of course I picked up a lot of practical knowledge, as a boy will; and in some ways it has not been so bad. But it was a pretty mixed-up lot of stuff and I have been all my life sorting it out and putting it in order. I sometimes wonder when I think things over that I got ahead at all; it was more happen than anything else, I guess."

"The Vermonters have good heads on their shoulders," Mr. Turner remarked.

"Oh, you can't beat the Green Mountain State," laughed the senior Mr. Fernald, unbending into cordiality in the face of a common interest. "Still, when it came to bringing up my boy I felt as you do. I wasn't satisfied to have him get nothing more than I had. So I sent him to college and gave him all the education I never got myself. It has stood him in good stead, too, and I've lived to be proud of what he's done with it."

"And well you may be, sir," Mr. Turner observed.

Mr. Clarence Fernald flushed in the face of these plaudits and cut the conversation short by saying:

"It is that kind of an education that we want to give your boy, Mr. Turner. We like the youngster and believe he has promise of something fine. We should like to prepare him for college or some technical school and send him through it. He has quite a pronounced bent for science and given the proper opportunities he might develop into something beyond the ordinary rank and file."

"Do you think so, sir?" asked Mr. Turner, glowing with pleasure. "Well, I don't know but that he has a sort of knack with wire, nails, and queer machinery. He has tinkered with such things since he was a little lad. Of late he has been fussing round with electricity and scaring us all to death here at home. His sisters were always expecting he'd meet his end or blow up the house with some claptraption he'd put together."

Nancy blushed; then added, with a shy glance toward the Fernalds:

"They say down at the school that Ted is quite handy with telephones and such things."

"Mr. Hazen, my son's tutor, thinks your brother has a knowledge of electricity far beyond his years," replied Mr. Clarence Fernald. "That is why it seems a pity his talents in that direction should not be cultivated. Who knows but he may be an embryo genius? You never can tell what may be inside a child."

"You're right there, sir," Mr. Turner assented cordially. Then after a moment of thought, he continued, "Likely an education such as you are figuring on would cost a mint of money."

The Fernalds, both father and son, smiled at the naïve comment.

"Well—yes," confessed Mr. Clarence slowly. "It would cost something."

"A whole lot?"

"If you wanted the best."

Mr. Turner scratched his head.

"I'm afraid I couldn't swing it," declared he, regret in his tone.

"But we are offering to do this for you," put in Grandfather Fernald.

"I know you are, sir; I know you are and I'm grateful," Ted's father answered. "But if I could manage it myself, I'd——"

"Come, Mr. Turner, I beg you won't say that," interrupted the elder Mr. Fernald. "Think what we owe to your son. Why, we never in all the world can repay what he has done for us. This is no favor. We are simply paying our debts. You like to pay your bills, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, sir!" was the hearty reply. "There's no happier moment than the one when I take my pay envelope and go to square up what I owe. True, I don't run up many bills; still, there is not always money enough on hand to make both ends meet without depending some on credit."

"How much do you get in the shipping room?"

"Eighty dollars a month, sir."

"And your daughters are working?"

"They are in the spinning mills."

Mr. Fernald glanced about over the little room. Although scrupulously neat, it was quite apparent that the apartment was far too crowded for comfort. The furnishings also bespoke frugality in the extreme. It was not necessary to be told that the Turners' life was a close arithmetical problem.

"Your family stand by us loyally," observed the financier.

"We have your mills to thank for our daily bread, sir," Mr. Turner answered.

"And your boy—if he does not go on with his studies shall you have him enter the factories?"

Mr. Turner squared his shoulders with a swift gesture of protest.

"No, sir—not if I can help it!" he burst out. Then as if he suddenly sensed his discourtesy, he added, "I beg your pardon, gentlemen. I wasn't thinking who I was talking to. It isn't that I do not like the mills. It's only that there is so little chance for the lad to get ahead there. I wouldn't want the boy to spend his life grubbing away as I have."

"And yet you are denying him the chance to better himself."

"I am kinder going round in a circle, ain't I?" returned Mr. Turner gently. "Like as not it is hard for you to understand how I feel. It's only that you hate to let somebody else do for your children. It seems like charity."

"Charity! Charity—when we owe the life of our boy, the lives of many of our workmen, the safety of our mills to your son?" ejaculated Mr. Clarence Fernald with unmistakable sincerity.

"When you pile it up that way it does sound like a pretty big debt, doesn't it?" mused Mr. Turner.

"Of course it's a big debt—it is a tremendous one. Now try, Mr. Turner, and see our point of view. We want to take our envelope in our hands and although we have not fortune enough in the world to wipe out all we owe, we wish to pay part of it, at least. No matter how much we may be able to do for Ted in the future, we shall never be paying in full all that he has done for us. Much of his service we must accept as an obligation and give in return for it nothing but gratitude and affection. But if you will grant us the privilege of doing this little, it will give us the greatest pleasure."

If any one had told the stately Mr. Lawrence Fernald weeks before that he would be in the home of one of his workmen, pleading for a favor, he would probably have shrugged his shoulders and laughed; and even Mr. Clarence Fernald, who was less of an aristocrat than his father, would doubtless have questioned a prediction of his being obliged actually to implore one of the men in his employ to accept a benefaction from him. Yet here they both were, almost upon their knees, theoretically, before this self-respecting artisan.

In the face of such entreaty who could have remained obdurate? Certainly not Mr. Turner who in spite of his pride was the kindest-hearted creature alive.

"Well, you shall have your way, gentlemen," he at length replied, "Ted shall stay on at Pine Lea, since you wish it, and you shall plan his education as you think best. I know little of such matters and feel sure the problem is better in your hands than mine. I know you will work for the boy's good. And I beg you won't think me ungrateful because I have hesitated to accept your offer. We all have our scruples and I have mine. But now that I have put them in the background, I shall take whole-heartedly what you give and be most thankful for it."

Thus did the Fernalds win their point. Nevertheless they came away from the Turner's humble home with a consciousness that instead of bestowing a favor, as they had expected to do, they had really received one. Perhaps they did not respect Ted's father the less because of his reluctance to take the splendid gift they had put within his reach. They themselves were proud men and they had a sympathy for the pride of others. There could be no question that the interview had furnished both of them with food for thought for as they drove home in their great touring car they did not speak immediately. By and by, however, Grandfather Fernald observed:

"Don't you think, Clarence, Turner's pay should be increased? Eighty dollars isn't much to keep a roof over one's head and feed a family of three persons."

"I have been thinking that, too," returned his son. "They tell me he is a very faithful workman and he has been here long enough to