For John's Sake, and Other Stories.Perram, Annie Frances
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For John's Sake, and Other Stories.
Perram, Annie Frances
Short stories, English; Temperance -- Fiction
Notwithstanding her brightness and ready surrender of an evening's
pleasure, Ruth watched John go off with a keen feeling of
disappointment, and for some minutes there was silence in the room.
"She's worth a dozen Janes," said cook to herself, for she was not so
wholly engrossed with her own pursuits as to be quite unobservant of
Ruth's disappointment.
"I don't know how it is," thought Ruth, as the busy evening wore away;
"cook and I do get on well together; she's quite pleasant to-night, and
wasn't cross, though I took the wrong sauce in just now."
Ah, Ruth, if there were more sunny tempers and unclouded faces like
yours in the world, there would oftener come to clouded minds and gloomy
moods just such brightness as you have brought to your fellow-servant
to-night!
John's brother Dick was several years older than John. Some ten years
previously he had taken to a seafaring life, but soon tiring of it, he
had settled in Australia. We say settled, but Dick Greenwood was one of
those men who could never be truly said to settle to anything. He had
tried farming, but the work was too hard; then he had joined a party
going into the bush, their free and easy life having an attraction for
him. After that, he went into a city store, and just as he had mastered
the details of the business and might have succeeded in it, he was
charmed by the performances of a band of travelling actors, and not
being without natural ability in that direction, he had induced them to
accept his services, and now, with little money, and a great deal of
shady experience, he had worked his passage back to England, that he
might just see how things were looking in the old country.
"Well, Jack, my boy, how are you?" he said in a loud, hoarse voice, as
John entered the room, which was redolent of tobacco and brandy.
"All right, Dick; glad to see you, though I shouldn't have known you
again. My word, you're a little different to the thin lath of a fellow
you were when you left home."
"You may say so," cried Dick; "I was a poor milksop then, and no
mistake; but I've improved, and, you bet, I've learned a thing or two."
John was not quite so sure of the improvement. At least the stripling
who had left his father's home was fresh and pure looking, but the man
who had returned in his place was bloated and pimpled, and his once
frank eyes now wandered furtively about.
"John's grown a fine fellow, hasn't he, Dick?" asked the mother,
proudly.
"He ain't bad-looking, if that's what you mean, but he don't look up to
snuff. No offence, Jack. I'll teach you a few wrinkles. Have a pipe,
boy."
"Thanks," said John, replenishing his own.
"Take a glass," and Dick made a bumper of hot spirit and pushed it
towards his brother.
"I don't take spirit, Dick. A glass of ale now and then is enough for
me."
"Stuff and nonsense, Jack. Take it like a man. There's nothing like a
glass of brandy and water for putting life into a fellow."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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