Читать книгу The Chance of a Lifetime (Musaicum Romance Classics) - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 5

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Alan looked anxiously out of the car window as he swung to his feet in the aisle, with a vague hope that perhaps he might catch a glimpse of the tall form of Judge Whiteley looming up among the people on the platform. But all he saw was Bob Lincoln with his arms full of bundles, watching the people coming out of the car, an eager look on his face, a light in his eyes that somehow brought a strange new thrill to Alan’s heart as he realized that this young man, who had been his enemy, was looking for him.

He felt inexplicably glad when he saw the smile that broke over Bob’s face at the sight of him. The other boy rushed forward and greeted him eagerly. “I thought perhaps you’d be on this train,” he said, falling alongside and fitting his stride to Alan’s. “The boy you left in the store told me you’d gone to town, so I took a chance and met the train. Just thought I’d like to report progress and show you this wire that came from the prof this morning. Didn’t expect another word from him, so it sort of took me off my feet. You certainly must have given some line about me. I hadn’t any reason to expect any such send-off from you. I feel like two cents to think how I sized you up. I always thought you’d like to wipe the earth with me, but you’ve certainly made me feel ashamed. Why, man, your recommend must have been a crackerjack! Just gaze on that!” And he handed Alan a telegram.

Glad you are going! I remember you favorably. Don’t worry about the qualifications. Anyone Macfarland recommends is worth getting. Shall reserve you as my personal assistant. Meet you at twelve thirty at the ship.

Hodge.

Something glad broke loose in Alan’s heart that lifted his spirits. It was good to have this other fellow going—good to have put him into it.

“That’s great!” he said cheerily. “But I didn’t do a thing, really only suggested your name.”

“H’m!” said Bob significantly. “Shows how much your suggestion is worth. Look here, man. It’s you going on this expedition, not me. See? All the time I’m gone, I’m thinking that, see? I’m you, not myself. I’ve got to be what you would be if you had gone.”

Afterward, Bob’s words came back to Alan; once, months later, when he had a question as to which course of two he, as a Christian, should follow, then suddenly he remembered Bob and his way cleared. Why, that was exactly the way it was with a Christian. It wasn’t he, Alan MacFarland, that was deciding whether to do this or that, it was Jesus Christ. He was not living, Christ was living in him. Strange he had never thought of that before. And it took Bob Lincoln, a fellow who wasn’t a Christian at all, to show him where he actually stood in this world—if he really meant what he had professed.

Bob declined to go home with Alan to supper, saying he must go see his brother-in-law and it was the only time he could find him at home, but he promised to come back and spend the night and be there as early as he could make it after nine o’clock. He had to pack. He showed Alan the sweater he had bought, and tore paper from his new shoes, exhibiting them with pleasure.

“And I’ve saved on several things,” he said. “There’s ten dollars more than I really need that I’m returning to you now.”

“Try and do it!” said Alan, eluding Bob and striding off toward the hardware store with a merry wave of his hand.

“Get even with you yet!” yelled Bob merrily and went off toward his brother-in-law’s house.

A sort of sick premonition went over Alan as he approached the store. He wondered if there had been any developments.

“Any phone calls?” he asked the clerk, who had been restively watching the clock, anxious to get out and play baseball with the Twilight League, and wanting his supper besides.

“Yep!” the lad said. “Couple! Real estate man in the city, Spur and Holden, said they’d had an offer from a man on yer lots. He’d give you a thousand less than yer price, and they advised ya ta accept. Said it was the best you’d get this time of year. And then a fella, name’s Rawlins, called up and said he had a proposition ta make, but ya had to come ta terms before eleven o’clock tamarra, ur it was all off.”

“Thanks,” said Alan wearily without a change of expression; both messages had been like broadsides. “Just stop in at the restaurant and ask ‘em to send me a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich, won’t you? I haven’t time to go home just now.”

Then Alan climbed into his father’s desk chair and attacked the mail that had arrived. All but two of the letters were bills, and most of them asked for immediate payment. Why did everybody seem to be in need of money at once? The two that were not bills occupied him the rest of the evening, telephoning and telegraphing, trying to reach men who seemed to have hidden themselves beyond recall.

Alan also called his mother and found that his father was still under opiates, and the doctor felt that he would not be able to tell for several days yet just how severe the injuries were. He said he was still holding his own, however. Alan thought his mother’s voice sounded tired and anxious. She wanted to know how business was going and he tried to reassure her, but his voice almost broke.

It was growing dark in the store. The boy shoved the thick restaurant cup and saucer aside and flung his head down on his arms across the desk.

How hot and tired he was. How utterly he was failing in trying to take his father’s place in the store. And, out a few blocks away, his substitute for the desert was joyously preparing for the time of his life. Only another day and he would be away into a great world filled with wonderful experiences.

And only another day and the enemy would be upon himself and his father’s business, and the judge was still away. The judge was his only hope now. He knew not where else to turn. Tomorrow morning he would have that awful Rawlins to deal with, and what would be his proposition? If he only knew! If he only had someone to consult with! There would be some humiliating terms offered, of course. Oh, if he could take that infamous little Rawlins out behind the store and thrash him and set matters right! Perhaps he would, if things got pretty bad, anyway. Perhaps he would not be able to control his anger and would get into a fight, and then there would be a lawsuit in addition to all the other trouble. Or even something worse! Then what would Dad say?

He groaned softly as he thought of all the possibilities. Then suddenly the clock struck nine, and he realized that Bob had promised to meet him at the house. He must go back and look cheerful, and hear Bob talk eagerly of his plans.

Life was hard! Here was he bearing burdens he was not fit for, and missing the chance of a lifetime.

Alan reached for his hat, but as he did so, the telephone rang out sharply in the empty store. With a wild hope that this might be Judge Whiteley, Alan reached for the receiver.

But it was only Sherrill Washburn calling, in her capacity of president of the young people’s group in the church.

“Is that you, Alan?” The tired boy thought her voice sounded like cool, sweet petals, blowing in the breeze. “Your mother said I’d find you at the store. I’ve been thinking, Alan. You know that fund we have for Bibles? Why shouldn’t we give one to Robert Lincoln to take with him? Or do you think he would be offended? He’s never been to any of our meetings, nor been with our crowd very much. But I thought—somehow—we hadn’t ever tried very much. I thought—maybe—you could give it to him somehow. I wouldn’t like him to feel—we were—well—trying to missionarize him or anything! Do you think it would do, or not?”

“Sure!” said Alan heartily, albeit with the least twinge of jealousy, which he knew at once was beneath him. Now, if he had been the one who was going to the desert, Sherrill would be getting this Bible for him, and how wonderful it would be—whispered the tempter—to have a Bible like that to take out in the desert and read, and feel they were all praying—

“Sure!” said Alan again, recognizing the natural man cropping up and trying to grind it beneath his heel. “Make it a good one. I believe it will please him. I sure do. Can we get it in time? He leaves early in the morning, you know.”

“Yes,” said Sherrill eagerly, “we got two the last time, you remember, as premiums for those who passed the examinations in the Bible course, and Cameron went away before the contest ended and we had it left over.”

“Sure, I remember. Say! Those were Scofield Bibles, too, weren’t they? Boy! I’m glad about that, for I don’t think he knows the first thing about what the Bible means, and a Scofield Bible will be so helpful about understanding the dispensations and covenants and things like that. That was a great idea, Sherry.”

“Then you’ll give it to him?”

“Sure thing, Sherry. But not as a gift, you know. I’ll say it was a gift from the crowd. I’ll make him understand. A reminder of us all at home or something like that. I’ll give him that list of the Bible study we are all taking together. Haven’t you got an extra copy?”

“Oh, yes! That’s fine. Tell him to join our group in reading and then we can send him the examination slips every month. Tell him we want to count him as one of our group.”

“Sure!” said Alan. “That’s a great idea, Sherry! A sort of a binder to home. How about getting word around to the crowd and having them down to the train station in the morning? Just give him a little send-off. Do you think they would do it?”

“I think they would, Alan. I think that’s wonderful of you. May I tell them you asked it? They’ll—be a little surprised, you know— They’ve always considered you two were enemies.”

“I’d like them to know that we are not anymore,” said Alan gravely, setting his lips in a firm line that gave a very lovely look to his young face.

“All right, Alan,” said Sherrill with a lilt to her voice, “I’ll send the Bible right over to your house. Keith is going past there and he can leave it at the door without troubling anybody, can’t he? And I’ll begin calling up the bunch right away. Is it the eight-thirty train? All right. And we’ll have the farewell hymn ready, too. How’s that?”

“Okay. The very thing!” said Alan feeling a lump in his throat at the thought. Oh, why hadn’t he known Bob before? How wrong, how sinful it was to get angry at anyone—to judge anyone—to pick out any human soul and make powerless one’s influence toward him. Why had he never thought of that before?

Sherrill’s voice sang cheerfully over the wire, “That’s great of you, Alan! Simply great!”

“Nothing of the kind,” said the boy huskily, with a thrill of pleasure at her tone, nevertheless.

The musty old office looked almost glorified to his eyes as he hung up the receiver and looked about him. Well, at least if he could not go to the desert, he could have a part in preparing his substitution. Now, wasn’t that great of Sherrill to remember that Bible!

He reached for his hat again and then caught sight of the open safe. He must lock that up, of course, before he left. How careless he had almost been. It showed he was not fit to take charge of the business. He must buck up and get his mind in working order.

He stooped to swing the big safe door shut and then remembered something else. What was it his father had said about papers in the safe? He ought to have looked them over earlier in the evening. How careless of him to have gone to the city and left the safe unlocked. But then, Joe, who had stayed behind, was of course perfectly trustworthy. Dad always trusted Joe utterly. But it was careless nevertheless.

Papers? Yes, now he remembered. The deed to the lots in the city. Well, he should have taken those with him of course. If there had been a chance of selling, he would have needed them. Yes, and the Westbrook Securities. And the insurance papers. Of course! And what were these?

He drew out an envelope and opened one of the crisp, crackling documents, drawing his brows in a frown. The other papers lay beside him on the floor.

Suddenly, a noise behind him startled him, and he glanced up.

There was a window behind the desk that furnished light in the daytime, and its shade was stretched high, for Joe had been reading a novel late in the afternoon and wanted all the light he could get. Instinctively Alan looked toward the window where the sound had come. Was that a face he had seen, vanishing as he looked up, or were his nerves getting on edge? Nerves, of course. Who would want to look in at a back window of the hardware store at this time of night? It opened on a back alley. Nevertheless it was careless to work at the safe so near to an open window. He reached up and drew the shade down with a snap and then turned back to his papers, lying in a heap on the floor in a little pool of bright light from the drop lamp, their titles standing out clearly. Anyone looking in the window could easily have read them. But, of course, there had been no one looking in. Should he take those papers home with him now and get acquainted with them? Perhaps that would be a good idea. Or would they be safer here behind a time lock? Safer? Why, they were safe enough anywhere, weren’t they? What were they anyway? Of course he ought to know what was under his care. Or would it be time enough for that tomorrow? He was late now for his tryst with Bob. He must go at once.

When he had turned out the lights and locked the door, he glanced back uneasily, as an inexperienced nurse might look anxiously at the sleeping infant placed in her care, and wondered if he had done everything that was usually done at night in leaving the store.

Then his mind switched ahead to Bob and the Bible, and Sherrill. Great girl, Sherrill. She was not just an ordinary girl. Not just a girl! She was as good as a fellow in some ways. A real comrade.

Bob met him at the corner.

“I thought I’d wait for you here,” he said, “and not disturb the house for two incomings.”

“That was thoughtful of you, kid!” said Alan. “I say, old man, I’ve been thinking all day how tough it’s going to be to lose you now, just as I’ve found you.”

“Same here!” said Bob. “I’ve been kicking myself all over the place all day that I’ve been such a fool as not to know what a prince of a fellow you are.”

Arm in arm they walked up the street, cementing a friendship quickly ripened over the ashes of a dead hatred.

As they swung into the street where Alan lived, a car drew up at the MarFarland house, and someone leaned out and signaled.

“That you, Mac?” called Keith Washburn. “Here’s a package Sherrill sent over. Evening, Bob.”

“Thanks awfully, Keith. Won’t you come in?” said Alan, taking the package.

“Wish I could, Mac, but I’m on my way over to West Grove. Just got a wire from a man I’ve been wanting to see for some time, and he’s taking the midnight train, so I’m hot foot to get there to ask him a few questions before he leaves. How about going with me, both of you? I’d be awfully glad of company.”

“Sorry, Keith, but Bob is leaving in the morning, and we’ve got some things to do before he goes.”

“Oh, yes, Sherrill told me about it. Great chance, Bob. Wouldn’t mind being in your boots. Dig up a few kings and buried cities for me, won’t you? Hope you have a wonderful time. We’ll think about you. Let us know how you’re coming on now and then. Well, sorry you can’t go with me. So long!”

Bob looked after the car wistfully. Somehow the hometown and the home folks had suddenly taken on a friendly look they had never shown before.

“I like him,” he said suddenly, as if he were thinking aloud.

“He certainly is a prince of a fellow,” said Alan, as he got out his latchkey.

The boys went quietly upstairs to Alan’s room and sat down to talk. As they turned on the light, they saw a big pitcher of milk and a plate of sandwiches and cake.

“Draw up and let’s have a bite,” said Alan. “My mother thinks I haven’t eaten supper evidently.”

“Is that the kind of thing mothers do?” Bob said wistfully. “Good night! And you wanted to go for dessert! Well, if I had a mother like that, I don’t know but I’d turn the job over to some other fellow, too.”

“Say,” said Alan thoughtfully, “you begin to make me think I haven’t been half appreciative of my lot.”

When they had cleared the plates and finished the milk, Alan reached for the package and untied it.

“This,” he said, as he opened the box, “is for you, Bob. It’s from the bunch. They want you to take it with you. Think you’ve got room to carry it?”

He felt just the least bit embarrassed now that he had begun. He was not quite sure how Bob would take the gift of a Bible. Perhaps after all, as Sherrill had suggested, he might resent it. He had the name of not caring much for religion or churches.

“For me?” said Bob with pleased surprise. “From the bunch? Say, what have you been saying to them? The bunch never cared a red cent for me.”

“That’s all you know about it, Bob,” said Alan. “And I haven’t said a word to them. It was all cooked up by the bunch. Sherrill Washburn is president, you know, this year, and she called me up awhile ago and asked if I thought you would mind their giving it to you.”

“Mind?” said Bob. “Indeed I do mind. I mind so much that I’ll carry it all the way in my hands if there isn’t any other place for it. What is it?”

“That’s it, Bob. I guess maybe they thought it wasn’t quite in your line. They didn’t know but you might like something else better. You see, it’s—a Bible!”

Alan stripped off the confining paper and handed over the beautifully bound Scofield Bible.

The other boy took it with a look of awe and reverence that astonished MacFarland. He held it in his hand a moment and felt of its covers, opened it and noted its suppleness, its gold edges, its fine paper, its clear print, and then looked down for an instant, almost as if he were going to cry.

“I’ve never had a Bible,” he said huskily at last, “but I’ll see to it hereafter that it’s in my line. I sure am grateful.”

“I think they’ve written something in the front,” said Alan to cover his own deep feeling. He reached over and turned the pages back to the flyleaf where it was inscribed.

To Robert Fulton Lincoln with the best wishes of his friends of the West Avenue Young People’s Group.

There followed a long string of autographs, most of them belonging to Robert Lincoln’s former schoolmates, and at the bottom in small script, 2 Timothy 2:15.

“Here, I’ve got to get my name in that space they left there,” said Alan, getting out his fountain pen. “You see, I happen to be vice president of that bunch and hence the space.”

Bob watched him write his name, and a strange half-embarrassed silence filled the room till it was written.

“Thanks a lot,” he said, deeply affected, studying the names one by one. “Do you know—I never thought—I wouldn’t have expected—that is—well, you see, I’ve always thought nobody liked me. I’ve always felt awfully alone in this town. I guess that’s what made me act so rotten to you all. I thought you were a—I may as well confess it. I thought you were a lot of snobbish hypocrites.”

A strange, shamed look passed over Alan’s face, as if he had suddenly looked in the mirror and found his face dirty.

“Say, Bob,” he began, with a deep contrition, “I’m mighty sorry. I can’t ever forgive myself. But, old man, I’m beginning to think that perhaps your estimate of us was true. But Bob, we didn’t have an idea of it. Honest, we didn’t. Why, kid, we prayed for you the time you got hit by the automobile. We prayed in our Sunday night meeting for you.”

“I know you did,” said Bob with a thoughtful, faraway look, “and I hated it. One of the little kids told me, and I thought you did it to show off. But—say, Mac, I wish you’d pray for me again. I need it. It’s a mighty kind of stark living in this little old world all alone, even if I have got the chance of my lifetime.”

A great wave of love and joy thrilled up from Alan’s heart.

“I sure will,” he said, with a ring in his voice. “Let’s do it now. And I wish you’d pray for me. If ever a Christian felt mean and self-centered, and all kinds of rotten fool, I do. Come on.”

They knelt beside the big leather couch at the foot of the bed; Robert shyly, awkwardly, wondering just what he had brought upon himself by his impulsive words; but Alan in young eagerness, his arm flung across his companion’s shoulders.

“Oh, God,” he prayed, “I’ve been all kinds of a fool, but I thank You that You’ve shown me before it was too late. I thank You that You’ve given me this friend, and may we be friends always. And now won’t You just bless him, and show him what the Lord Jesus has done for him. We thank You together that the blood of Christ is sufficient to cover all our sins and mistakes, the sins and mistakes of both of us; and that even such carelessness as I have been guilty of, such lack of true witnessing for Christ, cannot keep either of us from wearing the robe of righteousness, because it is Christ’s righteousness that we may wear and not our own. Help Bob to make a surrender of himself to You before he goes, and when he goes may he take You with him, and feel that he is never alone. We ask it in the name of Jesus.”

There was silence in the room for a moment as they continued to kneel, and then Alan said softly, “You pray, too, kid, it’ll be good to remember. Kind of bind us together, you know, till you come back.”

Bob caught his breath softly, and then after a pause, he spoke huskily, hesitantly, “Oh God—I’m pretty much of a sinner, I guess. I—don’t think—I’d be much good—to You—but I need somebody—mighty bad! If You’ll take me—I’m Yours.”

He caught his breath again in a little gasp and added, “Thanks for sending Mac into my life—and for this great chance to go in his place.”

They talked a long time after the light was out and they were in bed, Alan explaining what it meant to be born again, what he had meant by “robe of righteousness,” showing his new friend how Christ had taken his sins entirely upon Himself and nailed them to the cross when He died, and that if he was willing to accept that freedom from the law that had been purchased on the cross, he had a right to stand clear and clean before God, not in his own righteousness, but in the righteousness of Christ.

Bob asked a lot of questions. The whole subject was utterly new to him. The clock struck two before the boys turned over and decided to get a little sleep. Alan had forgotten all about his own worries in the joy of leading another soul into the Light. Both boys were just drifting off into unconsciousness when they were vaguely aware of a car stopping before the door of the house. A moment later a pebble sharply struck the glass of the window, and a low whistle followed this signal.

They were alert and upright at once, and Alan sprang out of bed and went to the window.

“Who’s there?” Alan called softly, sharply from the window.

“That you, Mac?” whispered Keith Washburn softly. “Say Mac, did you leave a light on in the store?”

“Why, no!” said Alan. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Abso-tively!” said Alan. “I know because I stumbled over a box of tin things Joe had left in the way.”

“Well, there’s one on there now,” said Keith impressively. “Just saw it as I went by. And what’s more it’s moving around like a flashlight, in the back of the store.”

“Wait a second. I’ll be down!” said Alan, flying into his clothes.