After Many Days by W. M. F. Round

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Sep 11, 1884

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 10, No. 35.

After Many Days.

By W. M. F. Round

HE was a German boy—you would have known that in a minute. You had only to look at his round, ruddy face, his big, frank, blue eyes, his yellow hair, to know that he belonged to the Teutonic type, and you'd say that he was a good specimen. If you had any doubt as to his nationality you'd have it removed in an instant if he spoke, for when he spoke German he spoke the intensest kind of German, and when he spoke English he broke the language into fragments, and mixed it up with bits of German idiom and accent.

His name was Johann, and they called him Hans for short. He had always been called Hans, so that it might better be said his name was Hans, and they called him Johann for long.

Hans came over here with his mother, a widow, who had heard great stories about America; how a woman need only work half time to get a good living, and that even a boy might earn what would be a man's income in Germany. She came, and was disappointed. She was all alone, except that she had Hans, and she and the lad had at first a very hard time to get along at all. They had nobody to help them to employment, and they found that if wages were a little higher than they were in Germany, it cost a great deal more to live. Indeed, more than once, after they had spent the little hoard they brought with them, they heard the wolf of hunger growling at their door; and though they managed somehow to keep him outside, they often felt that they would have been better off in the Fatherland.

But they were brave-hearted, and trusted in God, so that in a few months both were at work. Hans' mother making men's caps at forty cents a dozen, and Hans working in a grocery store, where, if the man was hard and cruel, a grasping, griping Hollander, he at least paid Hans promptly his two dollars a week, which rather more than paid for the two rooms that he and his mother occupied.

There is no doubt about it; Hans worked for a hard master. He was one of those fretful men that go nagging everybody from morning till night. Nothing that Hans did could suit him; and one day when Hans accidentally broke a cracked egg, you'd have thought, to have heard the talk about it, that it was the last and only egg in the world.

And now, having introduced Hans, I'll go on with the story. It was a day of blinding, driving, fine rain, with a high wind, that made umbrellas impossible. Hans came in from a long errand, pretty wet, and very cold, for it was January; and he hoped to have a few minutes to warm and dry himself. But he was hardly inside the shop door when Mr. Dumbkopf—that was the grocer's name—said to him:—

"Hans, you are a strong boy; here are fifteen pounds of coffee, you must carry it to Mrs. Bildad's boarding-house. It is only a little way off—about half a mile. No matter for the rain; you ain't sugar nor salt, and you won't melt. You do to much loafing round the store. Come, don't stand there like a post, there's the coffee; don't you get it wet."

Hans wondered how he could help getting the coffee wet, but he knew he would have to carry it, wet or dry. It was done up in a paper bag, and was a pretty large and pretty heavy bundle. He tried to stretch his jacket around it, but that didn't do much good. So he took the bag by its strong, twisted-up manilla paper neck, and started off, tugging it along, and feeling after the first hundred yards as if it would pull his arms out of their sockets.

Fifteen pounds at the end of your arm weighs about fifty pounds after carrying it five minutes; but Hans was a brave boy, and though his job was a hard one, he hummed, "Die Wacht am Rhein" to keep his courage up, and struggled on through the rain.

The paper was now getting damp. Now manilla paper is strong as long as it is dry, but wet takes all the strength out of it. Hans didn't remember that, and was just singing out,

"The German youth devoted stand,"

When the paper bag parted in twain, and the twisted-up neck was in his hand, and the body of the bag, with the coffee in it, was standing upright on the wet sidewalk.

Hans looked at it in hopeless amazement. Now the bottom of the bag was wet, and if he tried to pick it up, out would go the coffee, which he felt would be equivalent to his going out of Herr Dumbkopf's shop for good and all. He might go to a neighboring grocer's and get a bag, but it wouldn't do to leave fifteen pounds of ground coffee in the middle of the sidewalk. It surely wouldn't be there when he came back. Hans was fifteen years old, but he had a good mind to cry. Tears came into his eyes, but he dashed them away, saying to himself:—

"Don't be a baby, Hans! You can't help it."

But what should he do? He did not know what way to turn, so he simply stood and looked at the bag at his feet. He was just making up his mind to leave the coffee, go back to Dumbkopf's, tell him all, let him take the coffee out of his wages, and then leave him, when he heard a voice say:—

"You are in trouble, my boy."

"Yes I was in trouble; I have de coffee spilt, and I could not get him up again, he was so vet."

"That's bad, but I guess I can help you out of the difficulty. You stand here by the coffee, and I'll go to the grocer's and get you a flour-bag."

So saying, the speaker walked away. He was a man rather under the middle age, with a frank, open face, and brown eyes with the kindest expression in them.

Presently he came back, bringing a large paper flour-bag with him, and in a twinkling they had the coffee in a dry parcel, and Hans felt as if a ton weight had been lifted off his heart.

"Tank you, tank you a thousand time!" exclaimed the boy. "If dere vas something I could do for you."

"There's nothing, my boy," said the stranger, "except when you see anybody in trouble remember to give them a helping hand out of it."

"I vill do dat always," said Hans fervently. So the two parted in the rain. Each went his way thinking about the other, and wondering if they would ever meet again.

CHAPTER II.

Mr. Paul Brown, jobber in groceries, was in a bad way financially. The new year coming on, bills to pay, notes to meet, wages to pay, and three of his most trusted customers just failed. It looked pretty dark. Mr. Brown had struggled long and faithfully to build up a good business; he was now getting along in years; was threescore years old at his last birthday; he was honored and respected by all who had dealings with him; he had gone on in his success with the love and fear of God in his heart, and now he must go under. His heaviest creditor was a man who never "accommodated" anybody. He could not hope for any extension of time from that quarter, and even if he had obtained such a favor, it was only putting off the catastrophe, as he saw no hope of averting it entirely.

Never in his life had Paul Brown been so nearly discouraged. He had been a man always ready to help others, and now in the time of his extremity he could think of no one who would help him. He had prayed over the matter, and though he knew that in some way his prayers would be answered, he could see no signs of an immediate rescue. He had come to the office with a determination to make an assignment and go into bankruptcy. It seemed a sad ending to an honest and faithful business life.

It rained—a cold, fine, wintry rain—and Mr. Brown's mind was in harmony with the weather. The world seemed chilly to him. He sat by his desk and gazed into the office grate, where the fire was burning low, and thought—

"I'm like that fire. I've burned up all my best years and there is nothing but ashes—nothing but ashes."

He was so wrapped in thought that he did not notice that some one had entered the office until he heard a voice saying:—

"Mr. Brown, you seem to be in trouble."

He looked up and saw one of his customers, a German grocer, John Gottlieb, one who had been faithfulness itself in paying his bills.

"Yes, I am in trouble," said Mr. Brown. "How did you hear of it, Mr. Gottlieb?"

"Oh, every one is shpeaking of it, and every one is sorry. I t'ought, Mr. Brown, I might help you mit it."

Mr. Brown looked up in amazement. He had no special acquaintance with John Gottlieb; they certainly could not be reckoned friends, as the world counts friendship. Mr. Brown looked into the honest round face of the German grocer, and said smilingly:—

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Gottlieb; I owe a good deal of money, and I haven't much to pay with; I've had a good deal against me in the way of failures lately."

"Yes, I know it. How much money do you need, Mr. Brown? I haf a leedle in the bank; I might lend it to you."

"But you might want better security than I can give, or more interest than I could undertake to pay."

"I would take your note, Mr. Brown, at de usual rate. How much do you want?"

"Oh, it is a good large sum. I do not think anything less than $20,000 would help me much."

"So—oh!" exclaimed Mr. Gottlieb, "dat is a lot of money; but I vas prosperous, an' I haf known you all along, and I haf heard only good tings about you, and if twenty t'ousand dollars is all dat you want, and if you gif me your word dat de amount vill let you go on, I could let you haf it, say for one year, oder funf, dat is, or five. I schpeak German sometimes, when I forget. You vas a better business man dan I, Mr. Brown; I tink you make more money mit my twenty t'ousand dollars dan I can. You shall make me your note, I shall give you de money."

Tears began to come into Mr. Brown's eyes. He was a manly man, but he couldn't keep them back. Surely the Lord had come to his rescue. Here was a man, almost a stranger, raised up to help him. It was strange, but the ways of the Lord are past finding out. He grasped the sturdy German's hand, and tried

to thank him, but the words choked him; his heart was indeed in his mouth.

After a little while Paul Brown regained his composure, the details of the loan were arranged, and that very day his creditors knew that Mr. Brown had tidied over his difficulties, and would go on as usual. There were plenty of congratulations, and many of them came from men who had coldly turned their backs the day before.

"And now," said Mr. Brown to Gottlieb, "tell me how you came to help me? You only knew me by reputation."

"But I knew you vas in trouble, und I know you by reputation; and ven I vas a boy I promised never to see anybody troubled without tryin' to get dem out of it. You see somebody helpin' me out of trouble was vat gave me a start in life. It was a stranger, ven I vas a boy, about fifteen years old, and I vas working for old Dumbkopf, and it vas a day just like this, and I vent out wid fifteen pounds of grinded coffee, and de bag broke, and de—"

"Was you that boy?"

"Yes, I vas dat boy."

"And I am that very man," exclaimed Mr. Brown.

"You vas! you vas! Oh, dat vas a great time for me; you vas my best friend. If I had not met you, and you had not helped me, I should have left Dumbkopf's; and if I had left dere, den I shouldn't have gone on wid him; and if I had not gone on wid him, den I should not haf learned de bizness, den he would not have taken me into de bizness, und if he had not taken me into de bizness, den I should not hef bought it out when de old man died. Und now I have de bizness ten years, and I make much money; and I always remember dat day, ven it rained just like to-day, and I vas in trouble, and you came along like an angel out of de vedder, und got me out of trouble, und I premise mit my whole heart dat when I see anybody in trouble dat I would help dem out, und I always keep my word. Und so ven I heard you vas in trouble, I said, Hans Gottlieb, dere is a man in trouble; he is a good man and an honest man, und why don't you keep your promise? Und you vas dat man; you hef made my fortune; I vas prosperous efry day since dat morning when it rained just like dis morning, und I vas in trouble like everything."

Well, that's all of it except the moral, and that you'll find in the book of Ecclesiastes, in the eleventh chapter and first verse, and the words of the moral are as true to-day as they were when they were first written.

There is a little more—but it would hardly belong to the story, after all. If you want to know it, you'll have to inquire of Gottlieb & Brown, the great wholesale grocers; it's only the history of their prosperous partnership.

W. M. F. Round, in the Lever.