CHAPTER XVII. A SHADE OF MYSTERY
Frank found little difficulty in persuading his mother to accept young Morton’s proposition. From her son’s description she felt little doubt that he would be a pleasant addition to the family circle, while his fund of information would make him instructive as well as agreeable.
There was another consideration besides which determined her to take him. Five dollars a week would go a great way in housekeeping, or, rather, as their income from other sources would probably be sufficient for this, she could lay aside the entire amount toward paying the mortgage held by Squire Haynes. This plan occurred simultaneously to Frank and his mother.
“I should certainly feel myself to blame if I neglected so good an opportunity of helping your father,” said Mrs. Frost.
“Suppose we don’t tell him, mother,” suggested Frank; “but when he gets home surprise him with the amount of our savings.”
“No,” said Mrs. Frost, after a moment’s thought, “your father will be all the better for all the good news we can send him. It will make his life more tolerable.”
Frank harnessed his horse to a light wagon and drove down to the tavern.
Henry Morton was sitting on the piazza, as the day was unusually-warm, with a book in his hand.
“Well,” he said, looking up with a smile, “I hope you have come for me.”
“That is my errand, Mr. Morton,” answered Frank. “If your trunk is already packed, we will take it along with us.”
“It is quite ready. If you will come up and help me downstairs with it, I will settle with the landlord and leave at once.”
This was speedily arranged, and the young man soon occupied a seat beside Frank.
Arrived at the farmhouse, Frank introduced the new boarder to his mother.
“I hope we shall be able to make you comfortable,” said Mrs. Frost, in a hospitable tone.
“I entertain no doubt of it,” he said politely. “I am easy to suit, and I foresee that Frank and I will become intimate friends.”
“He was very urgent to have you come. I am not quite sure whether it would have been safe for me to refuse.”
“I hope he will be as urgent to have me stay. That will be a still higher compliment.”
“Here is the room you are to occupy, Mr. Morton,” said Mrs. Frost, opening a door at the head of the front stairs.
It was a large square room, occupying the front eastern corner of the house. The furniture was neat and comfortable, though not pretentious.
“I like this,” said the young man, surveying his new quarters with an air of satisfaction. “The sun will find me out in the morning.”
“Yes, it will remain with you through the forenoon. I think you will find the room warm and comfortable. But whenever you get tired of it you will be welcome downstairs.”
“That is an invitation of which I shall be only too glad to avail myself. Now, Frank, if you will be kind enough to help me upstairs with my trunk.”
The trunk was carried up between them, and placed in a closet.
“I will send for a variety of articles from the city to make my room look social and cheerful,” said Mr. Morton. “I have some books and engravings in Boston, which I think will contribute to make it so.”
A day or two later, two large boxes arrived, one containing pictures, the other books. Of the latter there were perhaps a hundred and fifty, choice and well selected.
Frank looked at them with avidity.
“You shall be welcome to use them as freely as you like,” said the owner—an offer which Frank gratefully accepted.
The engravings were tastefully framed in black walnut. One represented one of Raphael’s Madonnas. Another was a fine photograph, representing a palace in Venice. Several others portrayed foreign scenes. Among them was a street scene in Rome. An entire family were sitting in different postures on the portico of a fine building, the man with his swarthy features half-concealed under a slouch hat, the woman holding a child in her lap, while another, a boy with large black eyes, leaned his head upon her knees.
“That represents a Roman family at home,” explained Henry Morton.
“At home!”
“Yes, it is the only home they have. They sleep wherever night finds them, sheltering themselves from the weather as well as they can.”
“But how do they get through the winter? should think they would freeze.”
“Nature has bestowed upon Italy a mild climate, so that, although they may find the exposure at this season disagreeable, they are in no danger of freezing.”
There was another engraving which Frank looked at curiously. It represented a wagon laden with casks of wine, and drawn by an ox and a donkey yoked together. Underneath was a descriptive phrase, “Caro di vino.”
“You don’t see such teams in this country,” said Mr. Morton, smiling. “In Italy they are common enough. In the background you notice a priest with a shovel-hat, sitting sideways on a donkey. Such a sight is much more common there than that of a man on horseback. Indeed, this stubborn animal is found very useful in ascending and descending mountains, being much surer-footed than the horse. I have ridden down steep descents along the verge of a precipice where it would have been madness to venture on horseback, but I felt the strongest confidence in the donkey I bestrode.”
Frank noticed a few Latin books in the collection. “Do you read Latin, Mr. Morton?” he inquired.
“Yes, with tolerable ease. If I can be of any assistance to you in carrying on your Latin studies, it will afford me pleasure to do so.”
“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Morton. I tried to go on with it by myself, but every now and then I came to a difficult sentence which I could not make out.”
“I think we can overcome the difficulties between us. At any rate, we will try. Have no hesitation in applying to me.”
Before closing this chapter, I think it necessary to narrate a little incident which served to heighten the interest with which Frank regarded his new friend, though it involved the latter in a shadow of mystery.
Mrs. Frost did not keep what in New England is denominated “help.” Being in good health, she performed the greater part of her household tasks unassisted. When washing and house-cleaning days came, however, she obtained outside assistance. For this purpose she engaged Chloe to come twice a week, on Monday and Saturday, not only because in this way she could help the woman to earn a living, but also because she found her a valuable and efficient assistant.
Henry Morton became a member of the little household at the farm on Thursday, and two days later Chloe came as usual to “clean house.”
The young man was standing in the front yard as Chloe, with a white turban on her head, for she had not yet laid aside her Southern mode of dress, came from the street by a little path which led to the back door. Her attention was naturally drawn to the young man. No sooner did she obtain a full view of him, than she stopped short and exclaimed with every appearance of surprise, “Why, Mass’ Richard, who’d’a’ thought to see you here. You look just like you used to do, dat’s a fac’. It does my old eyes good to see you.”
Henry Morton turned suddenly.
“What, Chloe!” he exclaimed in equal surprise. “What brings you up here? I thought you were miles away, in Virginia.”
“So I was, Mass’ Richard. But Lor’ bless you, when de Linkum sogers come, I couldn’t stay no longer. I took and runned away.”
“And here you are, then.”
“Yes, Mass’ Richard, here I is, for sure.”
“How do you like the North, Chloe?”
“Don’t like it as well as de Souf. It’s too cold,” and Chloe shivered.
“But you would rather be here than there?”
“Yes, Mass’ Richard. Here I own myself. Don’t have no oberseer to crack his whip at me now. I’se a free woman now, and so’s my little Pomp.”
The young man smiled at the innocent mistake.
“Pomp is your little boy, I suppose, Chloe.”
“Yes, Mass’ Richard.”
“Is he a good boy?”
“He’s as sassy as de debble,” said Chloe emphatically. “I don’t know what’s goin’ to ‘come of dat boy. He’s most worried my life out.”
“Oh, he’ll grow better as he grows older. Don’t trouble yourself about him. But, Chloe, there’s one favor I am going to ask of you.”
“Yes, Mass’ Richard.”
“Don’t call me by my real name. For some reasons, which I can’t at present explain, I prefer to be known as Henry Morton, for some months to come. Do you think you can remember to call me by that name?”
“Yes, Mass’—Henry,” said Chloe, looking perplexed.
Henry Morton turned round to meet the surprised looks of Frank and his mother.
“My friends,” he said, “I hope you will not feel distrustful of me, when I freely acknowledge to you that imperative reasons compel me for a time to appear under a name not my own. Chloe and I are old acquaintances, but I must request her to keep secret for a time her past knowledge concerning me. I think,” he added with a smile, “that she would have nothing to say that would damage me. Some time you shall know all. Are you satisfied?”
“Quite so,” said Mrs. Frost. “I have no doubt you have good and sufficient reason.”
“I will endeavor to justify your confidence,” said Henry Morton, an expression of pleasure lighting up his face.
CHAPTER XVIII. THANKSGIVING AT THE FARM
The chill November days drew to a close. The shrill winds whistled through the branches of the trees, and stirred the leaves which lay in brown heaps upon the ground. But at the end of the month came Thanksgiving—the farmer’s Harvest Home. The fruits of the field were in abundance but in many a home there were vacant chairs, never more, alas! to be filled. But he who dies in a noble cause leaves sweet and fragrant memories behind, which shall ever after make it pleasant to think of him.
Thanksgiving morning dawned foggy and cold. Yet there is something in the name that warms the heart and makes the dullest day seem bright. The sunshine of the heart more than compensates for the absence of sunshine without.
Frank had not been idle.
The night before he helped Jacob kill a turkey and a pair of chickens, and seated on a box in the barn they had picked them clean in preparation for the morrow.
Within the house, too, might be heard the notes of busy preparation. Alice, sitting in a low chair, was busily engaged in chopping meat for mince pies. Maggie sat near her paring pumpkins, for a genuine New England Thanksgiving cannot be properly celebrated without pumpkin pies. Even little Charlie found work to do in slicing apples.
By evening a long row of pies might be seen upon the kitchen dresser. Brown and flaky they looked, fit for the table of a prince. So the children thought as they surveyed the attractive array, and felt that Thanksgiving, come as often as it might, could never be unwelcome.
Through the forenoon of Thanksgiving day the preparations continued. Frank and Mr. Morton went to the village church, where an appropriate service was held by Reverend Mr. Apthorp. There were but few of the village matrons present. They were mostly detained at home by housewifely cares, which on that day could not well be delegated to other hands.
“Mr. Morton,” said Frank, as they walked leisurely home, “did you notice how Squire Haynes stared at you this morning?”
Mr. Morton looked interested. “Did he?” he asked. “I did not notice.”
“Yes, he turned halfround, and looked at you with a puzzled expression, as if he thought he had seen you somewhere before, but could not recall who you were.”
“Perhaps I reminded him of some one he has known in past years,” said the young man quietly. “We sometimes find strange resemblances in utter strangers.”
“I think he must have felt quite interested,” pursued Frank, “for he stopped me after church, and inquired who you were.”
“Indeed!” said Henry Morton quietly. “And what did you tell him?”
“I told him your name, and mentioned that you were boarding with us.”
“What then? Did he make any further inquiries?”
“He asked where you came from.”
“He seemed quite curious about me. I ought to feel flattered. And what did you reply?”
“I told him I did not know—that I only knew that part of your life had been passed in Europe. I heard him say under his breath, ‘It is singular.’”
“Frank,” said Mr. Morton, after a moment’s thought, “I wish to have Squire Haynes learn as little of me as possible. If, therefore, he should ask you how I am employed, you say that I have come here for the benefit of my health. This is one of my motives, though not the principal one.”
“I will remember,” said Frank. “I don’t think he will say much to me, however. He has a grudge against father, and his son does not like me. I am sorry that father is compelled to have some business relations with the squire.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, he holds a mortgage on our farm for eight hundred dollars. It was originally more, but it has been reduced to this. He will have the right to foreclose on the first of July.”
“Shall you have the money ready for him at that time?”
“No; we may have half enough, perhaps. I am sometimes troubled when I think of it. Father feels confident, however, that the squire will not be hard upon us, but will renew the mortgage.”
Henry Morton looked very thoughtful, but said nothing.
They had now reached the farmhouse.
Dinner was already on the table. In the center, on a large dish, was the turkey, done to a turn. It was flanked by the chickens on a smaller dish. These were supported by various vegetables, such as the season supplied. A dish of cranberry sauce stood at one end of the table, and at the opposite end a dish of apple sauce.
“Do you think you can carve the turkey, Mr. Morton?” asked Mrs. Frost.
“I will at least make the attempt.”
“I want the wish-bone, Mr. Morton,” said Maggie.
“No, I want it,” said Charlie.
“You shall both have one,” said the mother. “Luckily each of the chickens is provided with one.”
“I know what I am going to wish,” said Charlie, nodding his head with decision.
“Well, Charlie, what is it?” asked Frank.
“I shall wish that papa may come home safe.”
“And so will I,” said Maggie.
“I wish he might sit down with us to-day,” said Mrs. Frost, with a little sigh. “He has never before been absent from us on Thanksgiving day.”
“Was he well when you last heard from him?”
“Yes, but hourly expecting orders to march to join the army in Maryland. I am afraid he won’t get as good a Thanksgiving dinner as this.”
“Two years ago,” said Mr. Morton, “I ate my Thanksgiving dinner in Amsterdam.”
“Do they have Thanksgiving there, Mr. Morton?” inquired Alice.
“No, they know nothing of our good New England festival. I was obliged to order a special dinner for myself. I don’t think you would have recognized plum pudding under the name which they gave it.”
“What was it?” asked Frank curiously.
“Blom buden was the name given on the bill.”
“I can spell better than that,” said Charlie.
“We shall have to send you out among the Dutchmen as a schoolmaster plenipotentiary,” said Frank, laughing. “I hope the ‘blom buden’ was good in spite of the way it was spelt.”
“Yes, it was very good.”
“I don’t believe it beat mother’s,” said Charlie.
“At your present rate of progress, Charlie, you won’t leave room for any,” said Frank.
“I wish I had two stomachs,” said Charlie, looking regretfully at the inviting delicacies which tempted him with what the French call the embarrassment of riches.
“Well done, Charlie!” laughed his mother.
Dinner was at length over. Havoc and desolation reigned upon the once well-filled table.
In the evening, as they all sat together round the table, Maggie climbed on Mr. Morton’s knee and petitioned for a story.
“What shall it be about?” he asked.
“Oh, anything.”
“Let me think a moment,” said the young man.
He bent his eyes thoughtfully upon the wood-fire that crackled in the wide-open fireplace, and soon signified that he was ready to begin.
All the children gathered around him, and even Mrs. Frost, sitting quietly at her knitting, edged her chair a little nearer, that she, too, might listen to Mr. Morton’s story. As this was of some length, we shall devote to it a separate chapter.
CHAPTER XIX. THE WONDERFUL TRANSFORMATION
“My story,” commenced Mr. Morton, “is rather a remarkable one in some respects; and I cannot vouch for its being true. I shall call it ‘The Wonderful Transformation.’
“Thomas Tubbs was a prosperous little tailor, and for forty years had been a resident of the town of Webbington, where he had been born and brought up. I have called him little, and you will agree with me when I say that, even in high-heeled boots, which he always wore, he measured only four feet and a half in height.
“In spite, however, of his undersize, Thomas had succeeded in winning the hand of a woman fifteen inches taller than himself. If this extra height had been divided equally between them, possibly they might have attracted less observation. As it was, when they walked to church, the top of the little tailor’s beaver just about reached the shoulders of Mrs. Tubbs. Nevertheless, they managed to live very happily together, for the most part, though now and then, when Thomas was a little refractory, his better half would snatch him up bodily, and, carrying him to the cellar, lock him up there. Such little incidents only served to spice their domestic life, and were usually followed by a warm reconciliation.
“The happy pair had six children, all of whom took after their mother, and promised to be tall; the oldest boy, twelve years of age, being already taller than his father, or, rather, he would have been but for the tall hat and high-heeled boots.
“Mr. Tubbs was a tailor, as I have said. One day there came into his shop a man attired with extreme shabbiness. Thomas eyed him askance.
“‘Mr. Tubbs,’ said the stranger, ‘as you perceive, I am out at the elbows. I would like to get you to make me up a suit of clothes.’
“‘Ahem!’ coughed Thomas, and glanced upward at a notice affixed to the door, ‘Terms, Cash.’
“The stranger’s eye followed the direction of Mr. Tubbs’. He smiled.
“‘I frankly confess,’ he said, ‘that I shall not be able to pay immediately, but, if I live, I will pay you within six months.’
“‘How am I to feel sure of that?’ asked the tailor, hesitating.
“‘I pledge my word,’ was the reply. ‘You see, Mr. Tubbs, I have been sick for some time past, and that, of course, has used up my money. Now, thank Providence, I am well again, and ready to go to work. But I need clothes, as you see, before I have the ability to pay for them.’
“‘What’s your name?’ asked Thomas.
“‘Oswald Rudenheimer,’ was the reply.
“‘A foreigner?’
“‘As you may suppose. Now, Mr. Tubbs, what do you say? Do you think you can trust me?’
“Thomas examined the face of his visitor. He looked honest, and the little tailor had a good deal of confidence in the excellence of human nature.
“‘I may be foolish,’ he said at last, ‘but I’ll do it.’
“‘A thousand thanks!’ said the stranger. ‘You sha’n’t repent of it.’
“The cloth was selected, and Thomas set to work. In three days the suit was finished, and Thomas sat in his shop waiting for his customer. At last he came, but what a change! He was splendidly dressed. The little tailor hardly recognized him.
“‘Mr. Tubbs,’ said he, ‘you’re an honest man and a good fellow. You trusted me when I appeared penniless, but I deceived you. I am really one of the genii, of whom, perhaps, you have read, and lineally descended from those who guarded Solomon’s seal. Instead of making you wait for your pay, I will recompense you on the spot, either in money or–’
“‘Or what? asked the astonished tailor.
“‘Or I will grant the first wish that may be formed in your mind. Now choose.’
“Thomas did not take long to choose. His charge would amount to but a few dollars, while he might wish for a million. He signified his decision.
“‘Perhaps you have chosen wisely,’ said his visitor. ‘But mind that you are careful about your wish. You may wish for something you don’t want.’
“‘No fear of that,’ said the tailor cheerfully.
“‘At any rate, I will come this way six months hence, and should you then wish to be released from the consequences of your wish, and to receive instead the money stipulated as the price of the suit, I will give you the chance.’
“Of course, Thomas did not object, though he considered it rather a foolish proposition.
“His visitor disappeared, and the tailor was left alone. He laid aside his work. How could a man be expected to work who had only to wish, and he could come into possession of more than he could earn in a hundred or even a thousand years?
“‘I might as well enjoy myself a little,’ thought Mr. Tubbs. ‘Let me see. I think there is a show in the village to-day. I’ll go to it.’
“He accordingly slipped on his hat and went out, somewhat to the surprise of his wife, who concluded that her husband must be going out on business.
“Thomas Tubbs wended his way to the marketplace. He pressed in among the people, a crowd of whom had already assembled to witness the show. I cannot tell you what the show was. I am only concerned in telling you what Thomas Tubbs saw and did; and, to tell the plain truth, he didn’t see anything at all. He was wedged in among people a foot or two taller than himself. Now, it is not pleasant to hear all about you laughing heartily and not even catch a glimpse of what amuses them so much. Thomas Tubbs was human, and as curious as most people. Just as a six-footer squeezed in front of him he could not help framing, in his vexation, this wish:
“‘Oh, dear! I wish I were ten feet high!’
“Luckless Thomas Tubbs! Never had he framed a more unfortunate wish. On the instant he shot up from an altitude of four feet six to ten feet. Fortunately his clothes expanded proportionally. So, instead of being below the medium height, he was raised more than four feet above it.
“Of course, his immediate neighbors became aware of the gigantic presence, though they did not at all recognize its identity with the little tailor, Thomas Tubbs.
“At once there was a shout of terror. The crowd scattered in all directions, forgetting the spectacle at which, the moment before, they had been laughing heartily, and the little tailor, no longer little, was left alone in the market-place.
“‘Good heavens!’ he exclaimed in bewilderment, stretching out his brawny arm, nearly five feet in length, and staring at it in ludicrous astonishment, ‘who’d have thought that I should ever be so tall?’
“To tell the truth, the little man—I mean Mr. Tubbs—at first rather enjoyed his new magnitude. He had experienced mortification so long on account of his diminutive stature, that he felt a little exhilarated at the idea of being able to look down on those to whom he had hitherto felt compelled to look up. It was rather awkward to have people afraid of him. As he turned to leave the square, for the exhibitor of the show had run off in the general panic, he could see people looking at him from third-story windows, and pointing at him with outstretched fingers and mouths agape.
“‘Really,’ thought Thomas Tubbs, ‘I never expected to be such an object of interest. I think I’ll go home.’
“His house was a mile off, but so large were his strides that five minutes carried him to it.
“Now Mrs. Tubbs was busy putting the dinner on the table, and wondering why her husband did not make his appearance. She was fully determined to give him a scolding in case his delay was so great as to cause the dinner to cool. All at once she heard a bustle at the door. Looking into the entry, she saw a huge man endeavoring to make his entrance into the house. As the portal was only seven feet in height, it was not accomplished without a great deal of twisting and squirming.
“Mrs. Tubbs turned pale.
“‘What are you trying to do, you monster?’ she faltered.
“‘I have come home to dinner, Mary,’ was the meek reply.
“‘Come home to dinner!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tubbs, aghast. ‘Who in the name of wonder are you, you overgrown brute?’
“‘Who am I? asked the giant, smiling feebly, for he began to feel a little queer at this reception from the wife with whom he had lived for fifteen years. ‘Ha! ha! don’t you know your own husband—your Tommy?’
“‘My husband!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tubbs, astonished at the fellow’s impudence. ‘You, don’t mean to say that you are my husband?’
“‘Of course I am,’ said Thomas.
“‘Then,’ said Mrs. Tubbs, ‘I would have you know that my husband is a respectable little man, not half your size.’
“‘Oh, dear!’ thought Thomas. ‘Well, here’s a kettle of fish; my own wife won’t own me!’
“‘So I was,’ he said aloud. ‘I was only four feet six; but I’ve—I’ve grown.’
“‘Grown!’ Mrs. Tubbs laughed hysterically. ‘That’s a likely story, when it’s only an hour since my husband went into the street as short as ever. I only wish he’d come in, I do, to expose your imposition.’
“‘But I have grown, Mary,’ said Tubbs piteously. ‘I was out in the crowd, and I couldn’t see what was going on, and so I wished I was ten feet high; and, before I knew it, I was as tall as I am now.’
“‘No doubt,’ said Mrs. Tubbs incredulously, ‘As to that, all I’ve got to say is, that you’d better wish yourself back again, as I sha’n’t own you as my husband till you do!’
“‘Really,’ thought Mr. Tubbs, ‘this is dreadful! What can I do!’
“Just then one of his children ran into the room.
“‘Johnny, come to me,’ said his father imploringly. ‘Come to your father.’
“‘My father!’ said Johnny, shying out of the room. ‘You ain’t my father. My father isn’t as tall as a tree.’
“‘You see how absurd your claim is,’ said Mrs. Tubbs. ‘You’ll oblige me by leaving the house directly.’
“‘Leave the house—my house!’ said Tubbs.
“‘If you don’t, I’ll call in the neighbors,’ said the courageous woman.
“‘I don’t believe they’d dare to come,’ said Tubbs, smiling queerly at the recollection of what a sensation his appearance had made.
“‘Won’t you go?’
“‘At least you’ll let me have some dinner. I am ‘most famished.’
“‘Dinner!” said Mrs. Tubbs, hesitating. ‘I don’t think there’s enough in the house. However, you can sit down to the table.’
“Tubbs attempted to sit down on a chair, but his weight was so great that it was crushed beneath him. Finally, he was compelled to sit on the floor, and even then his stature was such that his head rose to the height of six feet.
“What an enormous appetite he had, too! The viands on the table seemed nothing. He at first supplied his plate with the usual quantity; but as the extent of his appetite became revealed to him, he was forced to make away with everything on the table. Even then he was hungry.
“‘Well, I declare,’ thought Mrs. Tubbs, in amazement, ‘it does take an immense quantity to keep him alive!’
“Tubbs rose from the table, and, in doing so, hit his head a smart whack against the ceiling. Before leaving the house he turned to make a last appeal to his wife, who, he could not help seeing, was anxious to have him go.
“‘Won’t you own me, Mary?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t my fault that I am so big.’
“‘Own you!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘I wouldn’t own you for a mint of money. You’d eat me out of house and home in less than a week.’
“‘I don’t know but I should,’ said Mr. Tubbs mournfully. ‘I don’t see what gives me such an appetite. I’m hungry now.’
“‘Hungry, after you’ve eaten enough for six!’ exclaimed his wife, aghast. ‘Well, I never!’
“‘Then you won’t let me stay, Mary?’
“‘No, no.’
“With slow and sad strides Thomas Tubbs left the house. The world seemed dark enough to the poor fellow. Not only was he disowned by his wife and children, but he could not tell how he should ever earn enough to keep him alive, with the frightful appetite which he now possessed. ‘I don’t know,’ he thought, ‘but the best way is to drown myself at once.’ So he walked to the river, but found it was not deep enough to drown him.
“As he emerged from the river uncomfortably wet, he saw a man timidly approaching him. It proved to be the manager of the show.
“‘Hello!’ said he hesitatingly.
“‘Hello!’ returned Tubbs disconsolately.
“‘Would you like to enter into a business engagement with me?’
“‘Of what sort?’ asked Tubbs, brightening up.
“‘To be exhibited,’ was the reply. ‘You’re the largest man living in the world. We could make a pretty penny together.’
“Tubbs was glad enough to accept this proposition, which came to him like a plank to a drowning man. Accordingly an agreement was made that, after deducting expenses, he should share profits with the manager.
“It proved to be a great success. From all quarters people flocked to see the great prodigy, the wonder of the world, as he was described in huge posters. Scientific men wrote learned papers in which they strove to explain his extraordinary height, and, as might be expected, no two assigned the same cause.
“At the end of six months Tubbs had five thousand dollars as his share of the profits. But after all he was far from happy. He missed the society of his wife and children, and shed many tears over his separation from them.
“At the end of six months his singular customer again made his appearance.
“‘It seems to me you’ve altered some since I last saw you,’ he said, with a smile.
“‘Yes,’ said Tubbs dolefully.
“‘You don’t like the change, I judge?’
“‘No,’ said Tubbs. ‘It separates me from my wife and children, and that makes me unhappy.’
“‘Would you like to be changed back again!’
“‘Gladly,’ was the reply.
“Presto! the wonderful giant was changed back into the little tailor. No sooner was this effected than he returned post-haste to Webbington. His wife received him with open arms.
“‘Oh, Thomas,’ she exclaimed, ‘how could you leave us so? On the day of your disappearance a huge brute of a man came here and pretended to be you, but I soon sent him away.’
“Thomas wisely said nothing, but displayed his five thousand dollars. There was great joy in the little dwelling. Thomas Tubbs at once took a larger shop, and grew every year in wealth and public esteem. The only way in which he did not grow was in stature; but his six months’ experience as a giant had cured him of any wish of that sort. The last I heard of him was his election to the legislature.”
“That’s a bully story,” said Charlie, using a word which he had heard from older boys. “I wish I was a great tall giant.”
“What would you do if you were, Charlie?”