p. 636 | Good-bye, Tobacco by L. D. Santee

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 22, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 40.

Good-bye, Tobacco.

By L. D. Santee

A TRUE STORY, BY L. D. SANTEE.

THE afternoon sun was casting long, slanting shadows, and deepening the gloom in the forests, when the 4:30 passenger train stopped at the little station of B—, up in the hills of Vermont.

Two girls, Clara and May, aged fourteen and eleven, were watching eagerly the few passengers who were alighting.

"There's Willie, there's Willie!" cried the youngest, as a bright boy of seventeen sprang lightly to the platform. In another moment he was clasping their hands and kissing their pleased faces. He had been for some months a clerk in one of the large mercantile houses in the city of Manchester, and this was his first home-coming.

Now, to explain why he left home. Mr. Gray had lived all his life, as had his father before him, on the seventy acres of poor land that constituted the old homestead. Here he was married, and here Willie, his oldest, first saw the light.

In an evil hour he was compelled to mortgage the old farm for $200, and afterward had found it very difficult to make it out of the soil, in addition to the expense of living. The soil, never the best, had been worn by fifty years tilling, until it yielded a meager support to the farmer.

As long as the interest was paid promptly, Mr. Philipps was pleased to extend the mortgage, and this was all that Mr. Gray had been able to do.

At last affliction came, in the death of Mr. Gray; and his wife was left, with her three children, to support her family and pay off the mortgage on the sterile old farm. Aunt Clara Russell, a milliner in the town a mile distant, and an old friend of the family, hired her board of the Widow Gray, as she was now called, and walked back and forth morning and evening, ostensibly because she liked exercise, really to help her friends in their poverty. They had tried farming the preceding year, and Mrs. Gray confessed with tears that the mortgage could never be paid in that way.

She looked over the old place with its endearing associations,—father's and mother's graves up there in the east side of the orchard; the little church whose spire gleamed so white over the hill and where she was married; then her glance rested on the old barn, where, in their nests of mud under the eaves, the swallows reared their young, and, with their twitterings, enlivened the long bright days of summer; here was the old well with its mossy curb and its old-time sweep,—every object was hallowed by sweet memories, and her heart was heavy indeed as she thought of leaving her home and going into the cold world to struggle for bread.

She had many conferences with Aunt Clara; but, though her heart was warm and tender, she too was poor, and a warm sympathy was all she could offer. However, she succeeded in interesting a friend in Willie, who procured him a place in the city with wages sufficient to make it an object. He had gone in March, and now, in October, made his first visit home. What wonder that the sisters rejoiced, and clasped their brother's hands so lovingly!

He was but little changed. True, he was taller, and his face thinner; but the same eyes and the same yellow, curling hair made the other changes of time unnoticed.

May, especially, had much to tell, of the chickens she had raised, of her cunning little kittens, of the pot-pie mamma was making for supper, and the hundred and one things that, to her, were interesting.

Clara was more quiet. When she found opportunity, she asked anxiously, "Have you saved anything to pay on the mortgage?"

A cloud came over her brother's smiling face, and he answered rather impatiently, "Clara, you don't know anything about city life. I haven't got ten dollars." Then, seeing the pain in his sister's face, he added more hopefully, "I stand a good chance of promotion, and that means increase of pay. If Philipps will only wait on us for a couple of years, we shall be independent."

Clara made no reply, but the trouble in her face deepened. She well knew her brother's sanguine disposition, and thought that it might cause them to lose their home.

It is not necessary to describe the meeting between mother and son. Mrs. Gray resolved to make Willie's week of freedom as happy as possible. True, she was troubled when he told her that he had saved nothing; but she was not a practical woman, and as he told her of his prospects of receiving an increase of salary, she was satisfied in regard to the future.

Ah, what a week that was,—visiting old friends, and at night to be tucked into that little white bedroom under the eaves, and to listen to the rustle of the old elm in front, whose leaves made a music like the sea! And, best of all, mother would come in in the evening, and such good talks as they would have, often lasting late into the night.

One thing troubled Mrs. Gray: Willie had taken to smoking. But upon his representing to her that it was necessary for him to be popular with the boys in the store if he desired promotion, she accepted it with a sigh, as rather a necessary evil.

Aunt Clara was very kind, and Willie felt very regretful when the morning dawned of his last day at home. Aunt Clara didn't go to the shop that morning, but busied herself in her own room. She felt a deep interest in the son of her old friend, and she resolved that before he should go away she would make an earnest effort to free him from the filthy habit that was enslaving him. After breakfast she sent a tiny note to the sitting-room, requesting the pleasure of Mr. Gray's company for a little while in her room.

Willie felt pleased and honored, for it sounded manly to be called "Mr.," and he soon rapped at her door. After a pleasant chat of a few minutes, Aunt Clara put on a business air and said:— "Well, Mr. Gray, now let us talk business. How long have you been in the store?" "Just six months," answered Willie promptly. "And your wages?" "Thirty dollars per month," said he, taking a small memoranda from his pocket.

"Ah!" said Aunt Clara pleasantly, "that makes quite a large sum; six times thirty is one hundred and eighty; but of course you have expenses to deduct."

For answer, he opened his book and pointed to his list of expenses. One month's account ran as follows, and it was on an average with the rest:— Month's wages..................$30 00 Board..........................$12 00 Clothing purchased............. 5 00 Washing........................ 1 00 One supper..................... 4 00 Cigars......................... 4 00 Miscellaneous.................. 1 50—$27 50 Balance on hand,................$2 50

Aunt Clara studied the account for some time. Finally she handed it back, and asked, "When does the mortgage mature?" "Ten months from to-day," answered Willie gravely. "At this rate you will have about twenty-five dollars to pay it. Hardly enough, Willie?" He shook his head sadly. At last he said,— "We must get an extension of time." "And if Mr. Philipps refuses to grant this, you will lose your home." Willie nodded, while a startled expression overspread his features. He had not thought of the matter in this light.

"The mortgage is for two hundred dollars, I believe. Now you had better expect the worst and prepare for it. The interest has been paid in advance, so the amount at maturity will be only two hundred dollars. Your mother, if she is prospered, can raise fifty dollars, but that will be the utmost that she can do. That will leave one hundred and fifty for you to raise, or else the place belongs to Mr. Philipps. Now let us see if we can lessen your expenses. The dear old place is worth some self-denial, don't you think so?" "I do," responded Willie heartily.

Aunt Clara again took the book and read slowly:— "'Board, per month, $12.' That is necessary. 'Clothing, $5.00; perhaps you can save some here. Washing, $1.00; supper, $4.00.' Here is a big leak. And I see by your memoranda that when it is not 'supper' it is some other pleasure equally expensive. In ten months there would be a waste of forty dollars. 'Cigars, $4.00'—forty dollars more. Over one-half what you have to raise to save your home." "But, Aunt Clara," said the boy, rather confusedly, "one has to be on good terms with the rest of the clerks."

"My dear boy," said Aunt Clara very earnestly, "could you lose the dear old home that shelters your mother and sisters for the good will of young men that care very little about you? Can you not call to mind any for whom you have a warm regard only those who are smokers? True friendship does not need to be cemented with tobacco smoke. Do cigars make you purer or better, or fit you any better for the duties of your place?" "No; I must admit that it is no particular help."

"Then be sure," she continued, "their disuse will not stand in the way of your promotion. Besides," she added rather archly, "after you redeem the place, you can send home a box of cigars for Clara and May to smoke, and perhaps your mother would enjoy a cigar as she moves about the kitchen." Willie's face was scarlet, and he shook his head without speaking. "Willie," said Aunt Clara, again resuming

her earnest way of speaking, "either tobacco or the farm must go. Like all snares of the devil, the filthy habit you have taken up will grow stronger year by year. Soon to the desire to be popular will be added a craving for the stimulus that tobacco affords. I call it filthy, because it places you below your pure-lipped mother and sisters. You think with disgust of your sisters smoking. Is it any worse for Clara than for her brother? Is it any worse for your mother than for her son? Then think of this old house being lost, a sacrifice to tobacco!"

For some time the boy sat very still. The habit had taken a stronger hold upon him than he was before aware of. "But even if I should economize, we couldn't raise all," said he, helplessly. "If you save all you can," was the reply, "you will have over one hundred dollars by the time you need it. Then, if necessary, you can sell your cow and pay the rest."

The conflict was severe, but at last he said, looking up with a smile, "Good-bye, tobacco, now and forever."

Aunt Clara came over and kissed him, and taking a small watch from her bosom, said, "Let this be a token of my affection for you, and a reminder of your noble resolve." Willie's lip quivered, and he could not trust his voice to speak, as he turned and left the room.

The cow had to be sold; but the place was saved, and Willie has long since replaced the cow. But the grandest, happiest day of his life was when he took up the mortgage. He said to Aunt Clara, while the glad tears stood in his eyes, "Tobacco went, but we saved the farm."