Watch Yourself Go By

A >> Al. G. Field >> Watch Yourself Go By

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If there was a foolish virgin among the damsels--and there were some
foolish ones in those days, though not so many as now--Palmer would
begin a flirtation, kept up until he departed. This was only one of the
many mean traits of the man that lessened Alfred's respect for him.

Palmer could not understand Alfred. Always full of fun and mischief,
always ready to laugh, yet at times the boy was positively rude to the
man nor would he permit any familiarity from Palmer.

One day in setting up the frame of the panorama, several members of the
church in which it was to be exhibited, entered the auditorium
unnoticed. Palmer, while driving a nail, miscalculated, the hammer came
down on one of his fingers. Flinging the hammer on the floor with all
the force he could command, he poured forth a torrent of profanity.
Gideon, by signs, gave Palmer to understand that others were near. With
a change as quick as a flash, Palmer grabbed Alfred by the coat collar,
nearly lifting the boy off his feet. With a voice that sounded as if it
were choking with indignation, he began: "You young scamp, I never heard
you swear like this before, and I never want to hear you again. How dare
you use such language in this house?" The onslaught was so sudden and
unexpected that Alfred was taken off his feet. He had been in high good
humor, laughing heartily at Palmer's mishap. Palmer led the intruders
out in the auditorium ere the boy gathered his scattered senses.

Jake exclaimed: "Huh! Balmur knocks his fingers und makes oudt Alfred
does der tammen." Shaking his head, he continued: "Balmur beats der
bugs."

Alfred was savage with anger. He started after Palmer but Gideon
restrained him, standing in his pathway, holding him back, appealing to
Jake to assist him in controlling the boy. Gideon persuaded Alfred to
drop the matter for the time. Jake desired that the boy call Palmer to
account. He answered Gideon's appeals in a sort of careless,
I-don't-care way: "Vell, it's yust like Alfredt feels, if he vants to
yump Balmur, I tink he kann handle him, I von't interfere. It iss none
uf my biziness, yett."

[Illustration: Palmer Grabbed Alfred by the Collar]

It was late in the afternoon when Palmer again appeared in the church.
He entered, as was his custom, all hurry and bustle. "Hello, Alfred! I
thought you'd have the panorama all set. Waiting for the boss, hey?"

"Yes, I'm waiting for the boss and I want to tell the boss the next time
he tries to make a scapegoat out of me before a lot of church people
he'll hear something he won't like. I'm no clod-hopper to have you make
me appear a rowdy. You daddy your own cussing."

Palmer seemed greatly surprised at this and, as usual, in an argument
with his people, became greatly excited. He endeavored to win with a
bluff. "Here, my young man, you're always playing your jokes on Jake and
all the others; I was only having a little fun with you, I didn't intend
to hurt your feeling."

"Feelings! Feelings! What about my good name? What'll those men think of
me? I'm ashamed to face them again while I'm here."

"Oh, you're too soft to travel; you ought to be at home with your gilt
edge ideas."

"Well, I can go home," hotly retorted Alfred.

"I've got a written agreement with your father and I'll hold you to it,"
threatened Palmer.

"You'll hold me to nothing. You've got no writings that'll permit your
making me out a rowdy."

"Now see here, Mr. Minstrel," and Palmer assumed mock politeness, "I've
heard enough of your slack; dry up or I'll make you."

Alfred jumped to the middle of the platform and dared Palmer to lay his
hand on him. Palmer got so excited he could not talk. Gideon, as usual,
in his quiet, argumentative way, endeavored to smooth the matter over:
"Come on, let's get ready for tonight. We're going to have the best
business since we opened."

"I've quit," announced Alfred, "I'm going home."

Jake's smile fled; his under jaw hung down, giving his face an
expression Alfred had never previously seen it wear. Gideon turned even
more yellowish looking. Bedford Tom ejected a mouthful of tobacco juice
as he blurted out: "I pity Pilgrim's Progress."

Gideon continued his plea: "Well, if this company isn't demoralized I
don't know what I'm talking about. Now see here, boys, listen to me;
we're together, let's reason like honest people should: To have you,"
and he looked at Alfred, "quit thus abruptly would cause innocent ones
to suffer. See what an embarrassment it would be to Mrs. Palmer. Why, it
would kill her. She has sacrificed everything she holds dear in the
world; she has two children." (Gideon had won his point, it was not
necessary for him to say more). "She has not seen those children in two
years; she hopes to have them with her soon. See what a disappointment
it would be to her and the children. Alfred, as at present arranged, we
could not spare you. I will get Palmer and we will fix this matter up
satisfactorily to you."

Alfred was just a boy, not unlike any other boy. He did not desire to
quit; and he knew he was indispensable to the successful production of
the panorama. He also felt that he had won thus far. He did not yield,
outwardly at least, but agreed that he would await Gideon's interview
with Palmer. He had no preconceived ideas as to what to do or say
further, but, like all who are disgruntled, he could not bring himself
to say that he would.

While Gideon was seeking Palmer, Jake endeavored to console Alfred: "Ef
you do go out of der paneramy it vill be too tam bad; I will not acdt
out annudder time. I toldt Balmur delas' time. I'm no handt at paneramy
buziness und it's no more fur Jake to do it."

Bedford Tom put another blotch on the white pine floor as he patted Jake
on the back: "You're all yerself agin, ole man, your sensibilness is
kerrect; don't try to act in a panerammer or enythin' else. Ef ye hed
seen yerself with thet tume-stun, er whatever it wus, on yer back, an'
wallerin' in thet painted pond, ye'd never went back to Bedford. Ye
certainly made a muss of hit."

"Vell, I toldt heem I vus ashamed mit myself, end he sedt: 'Oh, hell yu
kann standt und look myzerbul, kan't yu?'"

Bedford Tom laughed in the honest Dutchman's face as he assured him he
looked "myzerbul enuff but his actin' was more myzerbul then his
looks."

"Vhy don'dt yu try it ef yu tink it ees so tam easy?" was Jake's answer.

Gideon walked in, beckoned to Alfred: "Come down to Palmer's room, he
wants to talk this whole thing over."

Alfred did not care to meet Mrs. Palmer. "Tell Palmer to come up here,"
was the message Gideon carried back. Alfred was feeling just a little
ashamed of the part he had played in the dispute; he felt that he had
gone a bit further than he should. But his instinctive dislike to Palmer
had grown day by day. The man's face, that index to character, had
repulsed him when they first met. There are lines in the face chiseled
by a sculptor who never makes a wrong stroke. The face is a truthful
record of our vices and virtues. It is a map of life that outlines
character so clearly that there is no getting away from the story it
tells. The face is a signboard showing which way the man or woman is
traveling, which of life's crossroads they are on. The face cannot
betray the years one has traveled until the mind gives its consent. The
mind is the master. If the mind holds youthful, innocent thoughts, the
face will retain a youthful appearance. And the more permanent are the
marks made by petulancy, hatred and selfishness thereon. The best letter
of recommendation ever written is an open fearless face.

Palmer put in an appearance, his face showing plainly that he was not at
ease. His manner was as flambuoyant as ever: "Where is this mainstay of
the only panorama on earth? Come here, boy, I want to talk to you like a
father:

"I was a boy not long ago, unthinking, idle, wild and young,
I laughed, and danced and talked and sung."

The antics Palmer cut while delivering this couplet were truly amusing.
Palmer was an actor. Placing his hand on Alfred's shoulder, gazing into
his face, he continued:

"Just at the age twixt boy and youth,
When thought is speech and speech is truth."

Then quoting Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress: "I have given him my
faith and sworn my allegiance to him. How then can I go back from this
and not be hanged as a traitor?" Palmer pointed his long, bony finger at
Alfred and awaited a reply. It came:

"I was indeed engaged in your dominions but your services were hard and
your wages such as a man could not live on. For the wages of sin is
death."

Palmer, a little discomforted, led the boy to one side, saying: "Now see
here, young fellow, I'm as old as your father; I don't look it, but I
am. Now you want to quit, eh? You wouldn't be at home four days before
you would wish yourself back here. You are not rich, your father is not
rich. You have to make a living. I'll give you an opportunity to make
money. You are learning this business, you have good ideas. You remain
with me, I'll make a man of you; I'll put you in a way to make more
money than you've ever seen."

Alfred intimated that he could not see himself making a great deal of
money at twenty dollars a month.

"Why, don't you count your board, as anything?"

"Well, I'm not satisfied. I'm worth more than twenty dollars a month to
you," stubbornly contended Alfred.

"But you and your father are both bound up to me in a written agreement.
Do you want to break it? Would that be right?"

"Well, you broke your written contract with the members of Rock Hill
Church. You said Gideon made the contract without consulting you.
Grandpap made this contract without consulting me."

Palmer laughed long and loud: "Egad, that's good! This kid finds me
skinning a couple of old duffers and forthwith he sets about to skin me.
The harvest truly is plenteous but the laborers are few; ask and it
shall be given to you; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be
opened to you." Pointing at Alfred, he continued: "But remember, the
love of money is the root of all evil. Say, what are you going to do
with all this money?"

"Buy a farm, some day," answered Alfred.

"How great a matter a little fire kindleth," quoted Palmer as he
pleadingly asked: "Say, kid, how much are you going to hang me up for?"

"Well, if you give me fifty dollars a month, I'll stick to you."

"Holy mother of all that's evil; the devil and Tom Walker! Say, who do
you take after? Not your daddy. He's easy. Fifty dollars a month? Say, I
worked two years and had a wife and two children to take care of and I
never cleared forty dollars a month. I've been a lifetime working myself
up to what I am and you jump into the game, inexperienced, green as a
cucumber, and want to hog the persimmons at the start. 'Taint fair,
'taint right; I'm an honest man; I want to treat everybody right. You're
taking advantage of me. It's the principle of the thing I look at."

"Well, get another boy, you can find one any day. If I stay with this
panorama I will get fifty dollars a month."

"Yes, and if I permit you to hold me up this time, the next move you'll
want the panorama. Your Uncle William served his time like an honest
boy, he has made a fortune. He has the best farm in Fayette County; he
has money, he is the judge of the county court. He never got where he is
by breaking written agreements."

"Yes, but that was different, Uncle William was learning a trade. He got
all kinds of chances to make money on the outside of his work."

"Hold on right there--I'll give you any opportunity you want to make
money on the side. You can sell the "Life of John Bunyan," "The
Pilgrim's Progress," "Paradise Lost," the steel engraving of the twelve
apostles or anything we sell and I'll allow you a good, big
commission."

The sale of the above mentioned articles was that which first turned
Alfred against Palmer. The sneaking, wheedling methods he employed, the
subterfuges, the lies in disposing of books and pictures, were the
things which made the man most repulsive to Alfred. He therefore felt
insulted when Palmer offered him the opportunity to make money from this
source. Alfred plainly informed Palmer that he would not have anything
to do with the sale of the books or pictures.

"Huh! I suppose you feel above selling books that are in the libraries
of the best people in the world. You'd prefer, no doubt, to sell pills."

A little abashed, Alfred came back with: "Well, if I did sell pills, I
sold them on the square and at a less price than they were worth and
they were sold to folks that needed them and if they needed them and
wern't able to pay for them they got them free and we didn't lie about
what we did with the money. We didn't pretend to send it to the
heathen."

Palmer interrupted the boy: "Wait and see how you get along when you
strike your own gait, when you get your own show out. That's your idea;
that's why you are so unreasonable. I'm going to give you the money you
ask, not because it's right but because I want to do what's right. If
I'd let you go, you'd go back to Brownsville and it would not be a week
until you'd have some fool thing afloat that would bring all sorts of
trouble on your folks. I'm doing this for your people, not for you."

Alfred had won. He was not entirely free from the feeling that he had
not acted quite right but he stilled his conscience by arguing to
himself that Grandpap had no authority to enter into a contract for him;
besides hadn't his mother declared that no indenture was valid without
her signature, that no child of hers should ever be bound to anybody?
When she demanded to see the papers it was not convenient for those
interested to have them at hand. The mother had forcibly informed Palmer
that there must be no restraint upon Alfred should he become homesick
and that he must be permitted to return to his home at any time he
desired to do so. All of which Palmer had unreservedly agreed to.

BEDFORD, PA.

DEAR FATHER:

Your welcome letter came to hand today; glad you are all well
and hearty. I've had a big fuss with Palmer. I wanted to quit.
He coaxed me to stay and promised me fifty dollars a month. Is
that paper he holds on me binding? Could he hold my wages if he
wanted to. He told Gideon he was going to record the indenture
when we got to Leesburg and it would always stand in evidence
against me. He is not the kind of man Grandpap and Uncle Thomas
crack him up to be. If Palmer don't pay the fifty, I don't stay,
papers or no papers. He is gouging everybody and it is no sin to
gouge him. Say Pap, now don't get mad; how much did he set you
back? Tell me. If I get the fifty I think I can get yours. If
Cousin Charley has my hound he'll have to give it up when I get
home. If I get the fifty I'll buy me a new shotgun like Capt.
Abrams has.

My love to Muz and all the children and Lin.

Your affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. I am not afraid of Palmer; I could break him in two. But I
don't like to break the law. Let me know about the paper he
holds, he would do anything, law or no law.

* * * * *

Since Alfred's experience with the law in the Eli affair it could not be
said that he had more respect for the law but undoubtedly he had more
fear for it as evidenced by his letter to the father.

Things went on much the same with the panorama. Palmer was more polite
and condescending toward Alfred in speech, but many little
inconveniences were put upon him that he had not experienced previous to
the unpleasantness.

Jake seemed to have fallen under the displeasure of Palmer and many were
the squabbles between them. At one place where the panorama exhibited
the church was too small. An old carriage factory was used instead. At
one end there was a large freight lift elevator. Palmer's inventive
genius prompted him to use the platform of the elevator for a stage. It
was about twenty by thirty feet in dimensions much larger than the
stages usually constructed for the panorama. When the elevator was in
place it formed a part of the floor of the room.

Palmer and Jake labored all day and into the night to elevate it about
two feet above the floor. When elevated thus it was pronounced by the
little company the best stage since the season began; just high enough
to show the effects to best advantage.

Jake said he hoped "dey vould strike more blaces mit dings like dis."
The building of a platform or a stage in the various churches had made
strenuous work for Jake.

All was set for the unveiling of the wonderful work of art. The old
factory was crowded. All went smoothly until the scene where "Faithful"
is adjudged guilty and condemned to the terrible punishment supposed to
be meted out to him. This scene is not visible to the audience but is
described by the lecturer, as "Faithful" is supposed to be burned to
ashes after being scourged and pricked with knives. Palmer had just
concluded the speech: "Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a
chariot and a couple of horses waiting for 'Faithful', who, as soon as
his adversaries had dispatched him, was taken up into it, and
straightway, was carried up through the clouds with sound of trumpet."
Palmer sounded the trumpet. Tom White, in a long, white flowing robe,
with gauze veils over his face, is pulled up by a block and tackle, the
rope concealed by the long, white robe. With appropriate music this
scene was one of the most beautiful in the exhibition.

The trumpet sounded signaling "Faithful's" ascension. How what followed
happened no one will ever know. Palmer blamed Jake. Jake never admitted
or denied that he was the cause. When there should have been an
ascension there was a descension.

The elevator slipped a cog, or something; there was a slow, regular
descent, not too hasty. Down went the whole panorama, descending in time
with the music; down went the City of Vanity with its fair, its thieves
and fakirs painted on canvas, while poor "Faithful" dangled in mid-air.
As the elevator sank out of sight, as the characters, painting and frame
disappeared below the floor, the audience applauded approvingly at
first, then the absurdity of the scene struck them and approving
applause changed to aggravating laughter.

Jake stood manfully by the rope he was holding; Palmer was wild; Alfred
and Bedford Tom were doing all they could to suppress their laughter.
Suddenly the thing stopped, struck the floor in the room below. Jake,
grabbing the windlass, soon had the panorama slowly ascending. As it
came into view the audience applauded lustily. Mrs. Palmer kept the
ascension music going until the stage was back in its proper place when
Palmer, who was always seeking an opportunity to make a speech, walked
out in front of the curtain and explained that the panorama weighed
several tons, the great weight had broken the lift.

At this juncture Jake appeared with two heavy pieces of scantling;
unmindful of Palmer, he began spiking the props under the edge of the
platform. The strokes of the hammer completely drowned Palmer's voice.
When Jake sent the last nail home he arose from his knees with a "Dere,
tam you, I ges you'll holdt now."

Palmer was in a greater rage than at any time since the tour began. His
wife, Gideon and several others endeavored to pacify him. Everybody but
Alfred came in for a share of the abuse; even his poor wife, who was
really deserving of all praise for saving the scene, was more than
censured.

Alfred could not control his laughter; he fled fearing Palmer would turn
on him.

Palmer swore so loudly that Gideon came from the front to quiet him. He
swore at Gideon; he did not care if the whole town heard him curse. He
had worn his life out to produce the Pilgrim's Progress, and now a darn
clod-hopper, a Reuben, a gilly, a jay, had undone the work of a lifetime
and made him (Palmer) ridiculous in the eyes of the world. What would
people say? What would church people say? They would not pay him for
such an exhibition. Would he (Jake) furnish the money to pay the
expenses after ruining the business of the panorama?

Jake sat on a box, his eyes following Palmer as he walked from one side
of the platform to the other, busying himself all the while with some
part of the panorama, never looking toward Jake. Jake's smile was the
same, that is around the mouth; but looking more closely you could see
an expression in the deep-set blue eyes that betrayed feelings far
removed from those which cause smiles.

Palmer concluded his tirade by flinging a hammer on the floor and
declaring his belief that the mistakes were the result of a deliberate
attempt upon the part of the perpetrator to ruin him. "But I will not be
driven away from this work of my life by conspirators."

Jake had but a limited understanding of Palmer's language, yet
sufficient of what had been said sifted through his mind to convince him
that Palmer had made strong charges against him. Jake, in a tone of
voice that would have convinced anyone more reasonable than Palmer, of
his sorrow, inquired: "Vot I tid?"

"Vot I tid?" repeated Palmer, imitating Jake. "Vot I tid? Ha! Ha! What
didn't you do? From the night we opened it's been one round of breaks
and blunders upon your part."

Jake, in open-eyed surprise, repeated: "Breaks? Breaks? Breaks? Vot I
breaks?"

Palmer never ceased talking nor noticed Jake's questions. Pointing at
Jake, he said: "First you assumed the part of Christian, the most
important character to be impersonated. Every schoolboy or girl knows
the Christian makes a pilgrimage beginning at the City of Destruction,
from which he flees to the Celestial City. He carries a burden, of which
he is relieved at the proper time. He is supposed to encounter all sorts
of hardships and avoid pitfalls of danger, coming out triumphant at the
end of his journey. I ordered you to read the book. Alfred read it and
is familiar with every detail; you know nothing, positively nothing."

"Vot I tid?" again demanded Jake, a bit sternly.

"Vot you tid?" and Palmer pretended to tear his hair. "The first night,
the first scene, by holding the book you were supposed to be reading,
down by your knees, gaping at the audience like a baboon. You rolled
over on the floor in the Slough of Despond like a hog wallowing; you
throwed your burden in the Slough, then walked in the pond after it. The
pond you was supposed to be sinking into, drowning, you walked over it
as you would over a lawn or carpeted room, not sinking one inch in it.
You gathered up Christian's burden. Instead of replacing it on your back
you took it under your arm like a basket; instead of walking as you were
directed, towards the Wicket Gate, the Shining Light, you steered
straight into the bowels of Hell. Not being satisfied with going to Hell
yourself, you so arrange this lift, this platform that, at the very
climax of the most beautiful scene in the marvelous exhibition, you send
the whole panorama down to the lower story of the building, thus
conveying to the audience the idea that we are burlesquing Pilgrim's
Progress. Instead of steering for Heaven, steering for Hell! Bah! Every
last one in that audience will leave this building with the idea that
the entire panorama went to Hell."

Then in an injured, pleading tone, as if scared, Palmer continued: "If
this goes ahead of us it will surely ruin our business. I will sell my
interest in this show for one-half of what I'd taken yesterday." All
this was acting.

Poor Jake was completely confused, dumfounded. Most conscientious,
honest and sincere, without deceit, he scarcely knew what to say to
explain that he was unfortunate and all that had happened was
unavoidable.

He said: "Meester Balmur, I'm werry sorry dot I haf you so much troubles
made. I haf neffer toldt you dot I cud do vork as Alfredt und Tom. I
cannot speek me plain und I did yust so goot as I cud. I am sorry I
kan't exbress my, my, my feelings mit dis ting, but I hope you must
exkuse me."

Palmer interrupted: "Oh, well; it's gone beyond my patience to stand it
longer. You are an incumbrance, you are a barnacle. I'll sell you my
interest in this enterprise and you can go on and run it; this
partnership business don't suit me." Palmer ended it by saying: "I'll
see you in the morning."

The little party with the panorama were generally quartered with members
of the congregation of the church in which the panorama exhibited. In
making contracts with the various churches, Palmer, whenever possible,
made it a part of the agreement that his people and horses were to be
boarded. One family would take Palmer and his wife, another a couple of
the others. When Palmer paid their board they were quartered in the
meanest, cheapest taverns or boarding houses in the town. At times the
company would lodge in a house the owners of which were very poor people
who were sorely in need.

It seemed to Alfred the more needy a family appeared, the more insistent
Palmer was in forcing pictures, books, etc., upon them. It was a trick
of his to hang a picture in the best room, place books on the center
table. If they insisted that conditions would not permit enjoying the
luxury of the books or pictures, Palmer would become insulting and
complain of the quality or quantity of the food.

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