CROOKED STICKS by Mrs. Ada D. Wellman

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Feb 24, 1898

CROOKED STICKS.

By Mrs. Ada D. Wellman

“Crooked sticks? Why, certainly, Mr. Owen, all you want of them. And for that matter, you don’t need to put up with crooked ones; take some of those straight young hickories.”

“‘Prefer the crooked ones’? Well, well! that’s unusual. I didn’t suppose there was any use in the world that a crooked stick was better for than a straight one. But, doubtless, I have some things to learn yet. ‘For a rustic chair’? Well, indeed, I never would have thought of that.”

“Wouldn’t you like an ax to cut the sticks with? Hey there, Sam! Sam Jones. I say. Bring that small ax for Mr. Owen.”

“Where is it?”

“‘Where is it?’ Well, you’re the one that ought to know, you disorderly creature.”

“You had it last, Mr. Brown.”

“Sam Jones, that’s enough of your smartness. If you’re working for Mr. Brown, you may look to Mr. Brown for your pay; but remember that my name is Bronson; now go and find that ax.”

“The impudent rascal! Every one about here knows him as Sam Jones; but he doesn’t happen to like the name, so he insists that it isn’t his real name, but that he is Sanford Jordon, and he wants to be called thus; and he tries to bring me to his terms by calling me Brown.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Owen, for getting in such a flurry; but that boy provokes me beyond all endurance. I declare, I believe he’s one of your crooked sticks! But I doubt if even you could find any use for the fellow—audacious, sullen, stubborn as a bulldog—”

“And as faithful to business, Mr. Bronson?”

“Well, now, for a fact, I must say that I’ve had worse boys to work—tho that isn’t saying much; but—”

“Well, you did find it at last, did you? See here, boy. When I was your age, I was taught to lift my hat to my elders. It might not be a bad plan for you to do the same.”

“I mostly do as I see my elders do, sir.”

The boy was around a corner of the house so quickly as to relieve his employer of any need to form denunciations befitting the provocation.

After a few moments of overwhelming, silent rage, Mr. Bronson again assayed to speak, demanding of his guest:—

“What would you do with such a boy? I’d discharge him on the spot, except for my bargain with him. Besides, I need help at this season, and it’s true that he’s no drone. But that mulish will of his!”

Mr. Owen refrained from replying directly; not because he was uncertain as to what course ought to be pursued toward the boy, but because he realized that the man, and not the boy, was the person difficult to influence. The most perplexing question was, What could Sanford Jordon do with his unjust, overexacting master?

At length Mr. Owen craftily suggested, as if sympathizing with his host: “Hold him to his word. He claims to follow the example of his seniors, but refuses to heed what they say. See if he will stand by his own terms.”

“Some sticks are so ill-shaped and ill-grained

that I have never yet found any use for them; but, on the other hand, some may even be made straight by right management, tho they can not be forcibly bent; and others fit best in some special place just as they are, with all their queer crotches.”

“By the way, since you have been so generous as to share your crooked sticks with me, perhaps I ought to lend a little help at seeing what can be done with this one you have on hand.”

The suggestion was accepted, and the two men entered upon its execution. Do you wonder how they progressed? That part of the story remains untold, that parents and employers may supply it practically.

MRS. ADA D. WELLMAN.