Munroe Kirk
Derrick Sterling: A Story of the Mines
CHAPTER XX
GOOD-BY TO THE COLLIERY
What Derrick whispered to Paul Evert as he bent over him was: "You needn't ever go down in the mine again, Polly. I want you to go to Philadelphia with me to learn to be an artist. The money's ready, and it's all fixed that I'm to go; and if you only say the word it will be fixed for you to go too. I'm only waiting for you to get strong to tell you the whole story. Don't say a word about it yet, though, for it's a secret."
A hope like this was a wonderful medicine to the delicate lad, and when, an hour later, his father came in, he was astonished at the change for the better that had come over him.
"Why, Paul lad, an hour since I was thinking I'd saved thee for naught but to die, after all," said the miner. "Now I find thee bright and smiling, and chipper as a tomtit. Whatever's happened?"
"Derrick's been to see me, father."
"Ay; I might ha' know'd it. No other could cheer thee like him. He's a noble lad, and a true friend o' thine, Paul. I doubt if another would ha' gone back i' t' face o' t' skirling waters on chance o' saving thee."
"I'm sure not, father."
While Paul was thus talking of Derrick, Derrick was talking of Paul.
He had gone home full of a newly formed plan. In fact plans had formed themselves so rapidly in his mind since Mr. Halford's visit that they were already trying to crowd each other from his memory. The one now uppermost was in regard to Paul.
Going to his own room, he took out from a small drawer, where he kept his choicest treasures, the sketch of the underground picnic party that Paul had drawn down in the mine, and given him while they were imprisoned together in the darkness. It was soiled and a little torn, but every spot of grime upon it was a memento of that terrible experience; and though the picture was of recent origin, associations were already clustered so thickly about it that to Derrick it was a priceless treasure.
Showing it to his mother, he asked what she thought of it.
"I think it is capital!" she exclaimed.
Then Derrick told her the story of the sketch, of Paul's longing to be an artist, and his dread of going into the mine again. He ended by saying, "Now, mother, when I go to Philadelphia to prepare for college, can't Polly go with me and study to be an artist? He won't be very expensive, and I'm sure we're going to have money enough for all."
"Of course he can, Derrick. I would much rather you had a companion than to go alone, and I know you two will enjoy much together, and be of great help to each other. As for the money, dear, I would rather remain poor all my life than not have you willing to share whatever you have with those who need it. The longer you live, Derrick, the more fully you will realize that the greatest pleasure to be gained from money is by spending it for the happiness of others."
So it was settled that Derrick and Paul should go to Philadelphia together, and Paul made such haste to get strong, so as to hear the whole story, that it had to be told to him that very evening.
By the next morning, when Mr. Halford called upon the Sterlings to receive their answer to his offer, they had already in imagination spent so much of the money they expected to receive from him that it would have been impossible for them to say anything but "Yes," even if they had wanted to.
Mr. Halford was greatly pleased with the plans made for Derrick and Paul, and promised to look out for them in Philadelphia, secure a pleasant boarding-place for them, and see that they got into the best schools in the city. He said they ought to start as soon as possible, for the autumn terms were about to begin. Before he left he handed Mrs. Sterling a check for a larger amount of money than she had ever in her life possessed. He said she might find it convenient for immediate use while the necessary steps for the transfer of the little Crawford County farm to the great oil company were being taken.
In two weeks after Mr. Halford's departure everything was in readiness for that of the boys, and the time had arrived for them to start for the great city.
Harry Mule, whose leg had been so well mended that it could be taken out of splints, was to be left in charge of Bill Tooley. Bill was to be allowed to hire him out to the mine boss as soon as he was able to work, and that gentleman had promised them both a job at hauling waste cars over the dump. Thus neither of them would be obliged to go down into the mine again.
Bill Tooley was now able to walk without his crutch; but his leg would always be stiff, and he would never be free from a limp in his gait. As Harry Mule had the same peculiarity in his, they became known in the colliery as the two "Stiffies." Under this title they acquired considerable fame for their fondness for each other, and for the wisdom of one of them.
The first of October was a glorious autumn day, and even the ragged colliery village looked pretty, after a fashion, in the golden haze through which the rising sun shone down upon it.
As Derrick, and Paul, accompanied by Mrs. Sterling, Helen, the mine boss, and burly Tom Evert, walked down to the little railway-station, the miners of the day shift were gathering about the mouth of the slope, and preparing to descend into the recently pumped-out workings. From them came many a rough but honest farewell shout to the boys who had endeared themselves to all the village.
"Tak' care o' thysels, lads!" "We'll not forget ye, an' ye'll bear us in mind!" "Whene'er thee's tired o' city, coom back, an' ye'll find a welcome!" "Mind t' fire-damp i' t' city, lads, an' use naught but safeties!" "Good-by!"
As long as they were within hearing the boys, shouted back such answers as, "We'll try to!" "Thank you, Ike! We won't forget you; never fear!" "Good-by all!"
Then the train came along. A few loving words were hastily spoken, and they were off. The hard, grimy, perilous life of the breaker and the mine was left behind, and a new one of study, ambitious dreams, and successes was opening broadly before them.
At first the boys were inclined to feel very homesick, and their conversation was only of the dear ones whom they had just left. Gradually the feeling wore off, as their attention was attracted by the grand scenery through which they were travelling.
Paul revelled in the gorgeous coloring of the autumnal foliage which covered mountain, hill, and valley with splendid mantles of crimson and gold. As the train, following the picturesque windings of the Lehigh, crept along some mountain-side hundreds of feet above the low-lying bottom lands, his delight at the vast expanse of exquisite scenery unfolded before them knew no bounds.
"I didn't know the world was so beautiful," he said to Derrick, with a sigh of deep content, as the vivid pictures of the grand panorama flashed rapidly by.
Derrick shared this enthusiasm, though to a less extent. He was more interested in the various forms of mining operations which were to be seen on all sides. His continued exclamations of, "Oh, Paul! look at that new breaker," or, "Isn't that a capital idea for a slope?" at last attracted the attention of a middle-aged gentleman who, with a lady, occupied the seat immediately behind them.
Finally he leaned forward, and, speaking to Derrick, said, "Excuse me; but as you seem to be familiar with mining operations, perhaps you will kindly tell me what the great black buildings, of which we now see so many, are used for?"
"Why," answered Derrick, somewhat surprised that anybody should be ignorant regarding what to him were among the commonest objects of life, "those are breakers." Then seeing that the other was still puzzled, he explained, simply and clearly, the uses of breakers, and in a few minutes found himself engaged in earnest conversation with the stranger upon mining in general, and coal mining in particular.
At last the gentleman said, "You seem to be as well informed on the subject as a miner."
"I am, or rather I have been employed in a mine until very recently," answered Derrick.
"Indeed! It must be a most interesting occupation, but I should think a very dangerous one. I have a son who visited one of these coal-mines at the time of a disaster that threatened a number of lives, and his accounts of what he saw and experienced at the time are very thrilling. It was, I believe, at a place called Raven Brook."
It was now Derrick's turn to be interested, and he said, "Why, that's where we have just come from! Raven Brook is the station at which we took the train."
"If I had known that we were to stop there," said the gentleman, "I believe my wife and I would have got off and waited over one train, for we have been very curious to see the place. We have been on a trip to the West," he added, by way of explanation, "and our son's accounts of his experience came to us by letter. Besides, we read much of that disaster in the papers."
"It was awful," said Derrick, simply.
"Then you were in the village at the time? Perhaps you know a brave young fellow named Derrick Sterling?"
A quick flush spread over the boy's face as he answered, "That is my name."
"What!" exclaimed the gentleman; "are you the young man who went back into the mine and risked his life to save a friend?"
"I expect I am," answered Derrick, with burning cheeks; "and this is the friend I went to find."
"Well, of all wonderful things!" cried the stranger. "To think that we should meet you of all persons. Wife, this is Derrick Sterling, the brave lad that Allan wrote to us about, and whose name has been so much in the papers lately."
"You don't mean to say," exclaimed Derrick, "that you are Allan McClain's father?"
"I am," answered the gentleman; "and this is his mother. We are both very proud to make the acquaintance of the Derrick Sterling of whom our boy writes that he is proud to call him friend."
Paul received an almost equal share of attention with Derrick; and during the rest of the journey their new-found friends did everything in their power to make the time pass quickly and pleasantly to them.
Both Mr. and Mrs. McClain gave the boys an urgent invitation to make their house their home, at least until they selected a boarding-place, and were greatly disappointed to learn that this was already provided for them.
Nothing could exceed Allan McClain's amazement when, upon meeting his parents at the railway-station in Philadelphia, he found them in company, and apparently upon terms of intimate acquaintance, with two of his friends from the Raven Brook Colliery. He was delighted to learn that Derrick and Paul had come to the city to live, and promised to call the next day and arrange all sorts of plans with them.
Mr. Halford, who was also at the station, was almost equally surprised to see them with the McClains, who, he afterwards told Derrick, were among the best families in the city. His carriage was at the station, and in a few minutes more the two boys, who but a short time before had been only poor colliery lads, were ushered into a handsome house, where Mrs. Halford and Miss Nellie were waiting to give them a cordial welcome.
Two days later they were established in pleasant rooms of their own, had begun their studies, and, above all, found themselves surrounded by a circle of warm friendships.
Very nearly five years after the date of this chapter, just before sunset of a pleasant summer's day, a barge party of gay young people rowed out over the placid Schuylkill from the boat-house belonging to the University of Pennsylvania. In the stern of the barge, acting as coxswain, sat a young man of delicate frame and refined features. His pale, thoughtful face showed him to be a close student, and the crutch at his side betrayed the fact that he was a cripple.
On each side of the coxswain sat a young lady, both of whom were exchanging good-natured chaff with the merry-faced, stalwart fellow who pulled the stroke oar.
"I don't believe rowing is such hard work after all," said one of them, "though you college men do make such a fuss about your training and your practice spins. I'm sure it looks easy enough."
"You are quite right, Miss Nellie," answered the stroke; "it is awfully easy compared with some things—cramming for a final in mathematics, for instance."
"Oh, Derrick!" exclaimed the other young lady, "you can't call that hard work. I'm sure it doesn't seem as though you had spent your time anywhere but on the river for the past two months. If you can do that, and at the same time graduate number one in your class, with special mention in mathematics, the 'cramming,' as you call it, can't be so very difficult."
"All things are not what they seem," chanted Derrick. "It may be, sister Helen, that there are some things in heaven and earth not dreamt of in your philosophy, after all!"
"Oho!" laughed Nellie Halford. "Pinafore and Shakespeare! What a combination of wit and wisdom! It's quite worthy of a U. P. Senior."
"He's not even a U. P. Senior now," said the coxswain, from the stern of the barge. "He has gone back in the alphabet, and is only an A. B."
"An idea for your next cartoon, old man," cried Derrick. "The downfall of the Seniors, and their return to the rudimentary elements of knowledge. By-the-way, Polly," he added, more soberly, "do you remember that to-day is the anniversary of your entering upon the career of breaker-boy five years ago?"
"It is a day I never forget, Dare," answered Paul Evert, gravely, as he gazed into the handsome sun-tanned face in front of him, with a look in which affection and pride were equally blended.
