PLANE AND PLANK; OB, THE MISHAPS OF A MECHANIC. BY OLIVER OPTIC. CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHIL TAKES HIS FATHER TO HIS MY father! I had found him; but the KILBURES possibly have overtaken me. He was the first white man I had ever seen really intoxicated. I was mortified and disheartened as I looked at his pale, thin face, and regarded his trembling limbs. What should I do? I could not tell him that I was his son. I could not throw myself into his arms and weep tears of joy, as I had imagined the impressive scene, in case I should ever find either of my parents. I wanted to weep; I wanted to give myself up to a transport of grief, if not despair, as I realized the terrible truth that the degraded being before me was my father. finding of him in such a miserable, degraded, besotted being as he who was before me seemed to be the greatest mishap, the most overwhelming misfortune, that could Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by LEE & SHEPARD, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court "Philip, I've told you more than I ever of the District of Massachusetts. (497) uttered before. You looked into my face, and seemed so interested that I was tempted to tell more than I intended," said he, wiping away with his coat sleeve the tears that stained his sunken cheeks. "No matter: we will be jolly now. I can get another drink in a cheap grog-shop for the half dime I have in my pocket." To my surprise he laughed as easily as he had wept, and shook off, with astonishing facility, the burden which had weighed him down. He rose from his chair, and tottered towards the door. I followed him out into the street. "Where are you going now?" I asked. "Going to get a cheap drink," he replied, with a kind of chuckie. "I shall be all right then; and we'll go and look for Lynch." "Don't drink any more to-night, Mr. Farringford," I pleaded, taking his arm. "I must!" said he, vehemently. "I might as well tell you not to eat after you had been without food for a week, as you tell me not to drink. I must have whiskey, or die." "Then die!" I added, using his own words. "Die?" "That's what you said to me." "You shall sleep with me to-night.” I knew that Mrs. Greenough would not wish such a lodger as he, but I was determined to do what I could for him; and, if she would not permit him to sleep with me, I would go out with my miserable parent. I wanted to see him when he was sober. He had told me that his wife had deserted him, and I wished to learn more about her. I could not allude to a theme so sacred while he was in his present condition. Hopeless as the task seemed to be, I intended to use all the powers which God had given me in reforming him. I led him in the direction of my boarding. house, and he seemed to be as willing to go one way as another. After he had delivered himself of the emotions which crowded upon him at the bar-room, he spoke lightly of his misfortunes, and chuckled whenever he al "I might do that, Philip," he replied, stopping suddenly in the street, as if the idea im-luded to any circumstance which was particupressed him favorably. "Of course I did not mean that, sir," I interposed. - "But it would be better to die than live as I live. I have only one cheap drink left one glass of camphene whiskey, which seems to burn my very soul. In a word, it is better to die than to live, for such as I am." "No; there is hope for you," I pleaded, leading him along through the street. "Hope? No more than for a man who is already dead, Philip. I shall take my cheap drink, and then I shall be penniless again. It may be twenty-four hours, perhaps forty-eight, before I can raise another dollar, or another drink. Then I shall suffer with horrors I cannot describe, till I can get more whiskey." "Where do you live?" "Nowhere." "Where do you board?" "I don't board," he replied, with his usual chuckle. "Where do you sleep?" "Wherever I happen to drop. In the police station; on board a steamboat; in a shed; anywhere or nowhere." "But where were you going to-night?" I asked, shocked at this revelation of misery, so horrible and strange to me. larly degrading in his condition. "Where do you obtain your meals, Mr. Farringford?" I asked, as much to keep his attention occupied as to gratify my own curiosity. "I don't obtain many," he replied, lightly. "But you must eat.” "Not when I can drink. I don't average more than one meal a day. I can't afford to waste my money, when I have any, in eating." “Do you live on one meal a day?” "I don't get that always." "Where do you get that one?” 66 Anywhere I can. They have meals on board the steamers lying at the levee and waiting to start. They never turn me off when I sit down to the table. If I'm very drunk, they give me my meal at a side-table; but that don't happen often, for I don't want to eat when I can get plenty to drink." How insufferably miserable and degrading was the life he led! And he was my father! "How long have you led such a life?" I inquired, with a shudder. "Not long, Philip. Do you know, my lad, that I'm telling you all this to save you from whiskey? I'm not drunk now. I know what I'm about; and I would go ten miles to-night to save any fellow-creature, even if it was a nigger, from being as bad as I am. I would, Philip; upon my honor and conscience I would." "That proves that you have a kind heart," I replied; and even as he revelled in his shame and misery, I was glad often to observe these touches of fine feeling, for they assured me that, in his better days, he had been a noble and generous man. “My heart is right, my boy. Like all drunkards - Yes, Philip, I'm a drunkard. I know it; and I call things by their right names. Like all drunkards, I've been growing worse and worse; but it's only a few months since I went into the street, and had no home, no place to lay my head at night." I led him to Mrs. Greenough's house. He said nothing more about the "cheap drink," for I had kept his mind busy on the way. I had a night key, and I admitted him to the entry, where I asked him to wait until I spoke with my landlady. In as few words as possible I informed her of the discovery I had made, and distinctly added that my father was intoxicated. to supper. He had not, and he did not wish for any; but the good lady insisted that he should have a cup of tea. In spite of his answer he ate heartily of the food set before him, and seemed to be refreshed by it. For an hour he talked about indifferent subjects, and then I took him to my room. Mrs. Greenough gave me some clean clothes for him, which had belonged to her husband, declaring that she was glad to have them put to so good use. He intimated, as he glanced at the neat bed, that he should like to wash himself. I carried up a pail of warm water, and leaving him to make his ablutions, I went down to the kitchen again. "I hope you will excuse me for bringing him here, Mrs. Greenough," said I, feeling that I had been imposing upon her good nature. "You did just exactly right, Phil. You had no other place to take him to; and you didn't want to leave the poor creature in the street. I will do everything I can for him.” "I am very much obliged to you, and as soon as Mr. Gracewood comes I will have "Will you allow me to take care of him in something done for him." my room, Mrs. Greenough?" I asked. "Yes, indeed!" she replied, with unexpected readiness. Bring him into the kitchen, and I will do everything I can for him." “Thank you, Mrs. Greenough. You are very kind. I had no right to expect this of you." "I know how to pity such poor people, Phil," said she, shaking her head sadly; and I afterwards learned that her late husband had been a drunkard for a number of years, and had been saved by the great Washingtonian movement. "My father does not yet suspect that I am his son. Will you be so kind as not to mention the fact to him?" I continued. "Just as you wish, Phil," she answered, as I hastened down stairs. Mrs. Greenough held the lamp in the entry while I conducted my tottering companion up the stairs. I introduced him in due form to her. "Madam, I am your very obedient servant," said he. "I am happy to make your acquaintmore happy than you can be to make ance mine." "I'm very glad to see you; come in," she added, placing her rocking-chair before the fire for him. He seated himself, and glanced around the room. Mrs. Greenough asked if he had been "Are you sure he is your father?" "I have no doubt of it, Mrs. Greenough. What he said assured me of the fact; but he thinks I am dead.” "Where is your mother? Was she lost?" "No; he says she was driven away from him by his bad conduct. I don't know where she is." My landlady was willing to take care of the sufferer for a few days, if he could be induced to stay at the house; and we talked about the matter till I thought he had gone to bed, when I went to my room. By this time the effects of the liquor he had drank were hardly perceptible; but his nerves were terribly shaken. Mrs. Greenough had given me a dose of valerian, which she said would do him good. He drank it without an objection, and soon went to sleep. I was tired enough to follow his example, after I had put the room in order. When I awoke in the morning my father had dressed himself, and was pacing the room in the gloom of the early morning. He was entirely sober now, and his frame shook as though he had been struck with palsy. I was alarmed at his condition. He told me he must have whiskey, or he should shake himself to pieces. 1 "Don't take any more, sir," I pleaded. "Nothing but whiskey will quiet my nerves," said he, in trembling tones. "You shall have some strong tea or coffee; or perhaps Mrs. Greenough can give you some- ford promised faithfully to remain in the thing better." "I don't want to drink, Philip; no, I don't," he replied, in piteous tones; "but you cannot understand the misery of my present condition. It is worse than death." house; but when I came back he had left. I was not absent more than fifteen minutes." "I am very sorry for it; but it can't be helped," I replied, sadly. "I am to blame, Phil. I ought to have But you will be better soon if you let locked the door, and taken the key with me." liquor alone." "Don't blame yourself at all. Mrs. Gree "I can't let it alone. Every instant is an nough," I interposed. "You have been very hour of agony. Have you any money?" kind to him and to me, and I am greatly obliged to you." "Only five cents." "I have five cents. I will get a cheap drink." "No, don't!" I pleaded. "Wait here a little while. I will make a fire, and see what can be done for you." 66 Perhaps you will be able to find him again." "I will try this evening. I'm sorry I have not more time to take care of him." "If you will get him back again I will do the best I can, and when I go out I will lock the door." I went down stairs, and, by the time I had made the fire, Mrs. Greenough appeared. I told her how much my poor father was suffering. She seemed to understand the case exactly; and, as soon as the tea-kettle boiled, she made some strong wormwood tea, which I gave to our patient. I had some hope when he declared that it had helped him. He ate a very light breakfast, and appeared to have no appetite. My good landlady spoke words of hope to him, and said she had taken care of one who was precisely in his condition. If he would only be patient, and trust her, she would cure him. He promised to stay in the │I house during the forenoon; and I went to my work, hoping, but hardly expecting, to find him there when I came home to dinner. CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH PHIL LISTENS TO A DISCUSSION, MY Y work on the building was no lighter than it had been the day before; but I had done so much hard labor in the field and forest that it did not wear upon me. I observed everything that was done by the skilled workmen, and endeavored to profit by what I saw. I felt that I was learning something every hour, and I was pleased to know that Mr. Clinch was entirely satisfied with me. At moon I hastened home, anxious to know the condition of my father. "How is your patient, Mrs. Greenough?" I asked, as I entered the kitchen where she was cooking the dinner. "Perhaps it is no use to try to do anything for him," I added. "He is your father, Phil; and you must do and keep doing for him. Let us hope and pray that he may be saved." After dinner I went to my work again; and that afternoon we finished boarding the building. "Can you lay shingles, Phil?" asked Mr. Clinch. "I never did lay any, but I know I can after have seen how it is done." "Conant shall show you how," he added. I went upon the roof with my fellow-workman. As, in the short time I had worked with him, I had carefully observed all his instructions, and been obliging and respectful to him, Conant was very willing to show me how to work. But the operation of laying shingles is very simple, though it requires considerable care and skill in breaking joints, so that the water shall not work through. I saw how it was done, and, though I worked rather slowly at first, I was soon able to lay the shingles to the satisfaction of my instructor. As I got the "hang of the thing" I worked more rapidly, and before night I could lay as many as Conant. We lined the length of the roof, and while he began at one end, I began at the other. At first we came together pretty near my end, but I gradually increased the distance until we met in the middle, showing that I did as much work as my instructor. "Well, Phil, how did you get along shingling?" asked Mr. Clinch, when I went down "I am sorry to tell you, Phil, that he is the ladder at six o'clock. gone." "Gone!" "Yes; I had to go over to the provision store for something for dinner. Mr. Farring 66 'Pretty well, I think, sir," I replied. "I shall learn how in time." "If I can it is all because Conant showed me so well that I couldn't help doing it," said I, wishing to acknowledge my obligations to my kind instructor. I saw that he was pleased with the compliment; and I have always found that a pleasant word, even from a boy, helps things along amazingly in this world. It was better and fairer to attribute a portion of my success to Conant's careful and patient teaching than to claim all the credit of it myself. It was doing justice to him without injuring me, and was a cheap way to make a strong friend. "I'm glad to have a fellow like you to work with, Phil,” said Conant, as we walked up the strect together. "Clinch put that Morgan Blair into my charge to show him how to work; but he knew so much more than I did that I couldn't teach him anything. His head is made of wood." "One that ropes in customers to a gamblingsaloon," laughed the bar-tender. "Farringford used to make money enough to pay for his liquor at it; but lately he keeps so drunk that no one will go with him. What do you want of him?" "I wanted to see him." "I did not know him till yesterday. He knows a man who has some money that belongs to me," I replied. But I was thankful that a customer came to prevent him from asking me any more questions. I was shocked to hear that my father had been connected with a gambling-house. He evidently did not think that the business of a "runner was disreputable, when he as│sured me that no one could accuse him of a dishonest or a dishonorable deed. But he was only the wreck of a man, and it would 99 "I'm always very thankful to any one who have been strange indeed if his moral percepwill show me how to do anything." "I see you are, Phil, and it's a real pleasure to teach you anything." tion had not been impaired by his long course of dissipation. I hastened to the place which had been described to me by the bar-tender. "Thank you; I think we shall agree to- The establishment had a bar-room on the gether first rate." lower floor, with a private staircase to the "So do I; but I don't like these boys who apartments above, where games of chance know more than the law allows." were played. We parted at the corner of the next street, and I went home to supper. My father had not returned to the house, and I did not expect he would do so. I was sorry I had not inquired about my mother when he was with me; but I had no good opportunity, and was confident that I should see him again. After supper I left the house, and went to the Planters' Hotel, where I expected to find him; but it was only when he had a dollar or two that he went there. "Have you seen Mr. Farringford to-day?" I timidly asked one of the bar-tenders, who was disengaged. | I went into the bar-room, and saw welldressed gentlemen passing through the private door to the stairs. I looked about the place a short time. If my father was in the building he was up stairs, and I decided to attempt the passage. At the foot of the stairs a man stopped me, and told me that no boys were allowed in the rooms above. I was wil!ing to believe that, considering the character of the house, this was a very wholesome regulation; but I wished to find my father. I asked the sentinel if Mr. Farringford was up stairs. He did not know; if he was I couldn't see him. I inquired for Lynch then, but "He has been here two or three times to- could obtain no satisfaction. I insisted upon day," replied the man. "Do you know where he is now?" seeing one or both of these men with so much zeal that the inside sentinel ordered me to "I haven't the least idea. He hangs round leave the premises. I gently and respectfully Forstellar's, I think." "Where is that?" remonstrated, but the fellow took me by the arm, and walked me out into the street. As I "It is a gambling-house," he added, giving had no rights there, I did not resist. me the street and number. "What does Mr. Farringford do?" I asked, - rather startled at being directed to a gamblinghouse. "Do? Nothing," said the man, contemptously. "He used to be a runner for a gambling-house, and followed this business as long as he could keep sober enough to do it." "What is a runner?" I was rather indignant at this treatment, though I ought not to have expected decent conduct on the part of the officials of such an establishment. I decided not to abandon my purpose, though any satisfactory result was rather hopeless just then. I planted myself on the opposite side of the street, and watched the house, taking note of every one who went in or came out. I meant to stay there till |