MR. JOHNSON, ADVANCE AGENT

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 13, 1 April 1909, Page 483

MR. JOHNSON, ADVANCE AGENT

' It's getting lonesome, isn't it, Mr. Johnson ?' No response save a slight snore. ' Are you asleep, Mr. Johnson ?' This time there came a sort of snuffle, followed by three soft thumps, ami Mr. Johnson issued forth from the- gloom; not a very ., imposing Vnersonage, just a small ' yaller ' dog with lqy-ing wistful eyes, and .a wise little face. - " "- - ! ' "'~-\ > , „/ The child in, .the window- -raised*' .his head from his crutch, where it had been resting, / and smiled brightly as the little fellow trotted up to him.- ■ . ' >x "f ' I'm afraid I spoiled your nap,' he' said tupologetically, ' but it is so foggy out 'that I can't even see_jthe~ .lights in the grocery shop, andlJL, thojight you- wouldnH mind talking to me until dad^comesf.'" '■ * ' '\~ T ' \ "' There "was a quaint cburtfesy and' comradeship"; in the child's manner that would have been amusing ha,d it not been for the pathetic story of a lonely dependence on the friendship of this one ugly little dog. 'Dad is late to-night,' sighed the boy, peering out into the gathering darkness". "" ' They must have -had a long rehearsal. The concert is to-morrow, you know, and dad is going to sing that beautiful song I love. It is the first time he has sung for the people' here, and he says if means great things for him if they are pleased; 'But' they couldn't help being pleased, could they," Mr. Johnson? J wish I could sing like dad, for I love to sing better than anything else in the world.' Mr. Johnson wagged his tail appreciatingly. ' Dad didn't ieel well this morning,' said Gabriel^ after a pause. 'He had a cold, and,; was afraid he couldn't sing as well.' Here a step on the stair, brought a glad ligEit to thf» child's .face. The .next- moment, strong, arms lielH him close. ":•. •' ' .- S 'Oh, dad! I'm so glad you've cornel' ■ Hi* roi.ee, fullof gladness, filled the .room. , •' - •"•■",,' ' Has it been sucfi a long day, old chap?' - ?\\-- ' Not so very,' sjniled the child, bravely. 'Yo.iV see, 1 had Mr. Johnson to talk to, and he Js. a" great comfort.' Gabriel's thin little hand stole softly .up and stroked his father's cheek. _ - , , 'How hot your face is, dad! -Does your head ache?' ' A little.' s. . -- - . - ' And you are hoarse,' too, dad/ Is the, cold worse?' ' I hope not,' answered- his .father cheerily. 'lam a little tired, I guess. _„ A good nighVs sleep will fix me all right. Now for the- lamp and /then supper-.. . You can't think what I have brought youl -'sSee here.' ' Guava jelly? 3yilly ? ! You^fe, ; the best old dad a feller ever had!' crieff the. child 'delightedly. His father did not- add 'that' ii had been boiight at the expense of his own lunch. But the deprivation mattered little as long as Gabriel had the delicacies so needful to his fitful appetite. The man t was ill. He knew it now.. All day long the truth, like a menacing spectre, had" dogged his footsteps, ignore it as lie would. The tightening pain in his chest and the ever-increasing hoarseness meant but one thing — he would not be able to sing at the concert the following night, and the recognition he had hoped to, gain thereby would be lostrto him. "At the rehearsal that after-, noon his voice had broken dowiC utterly. The director had been politely sympathetic, but Newton had read only too clearly in his concerned face^ ay collaboration .of his own fears. It was not until Gabriel had gone to bed, however, that he dropped his mask of chceriness and squarely faced the truth. r. • »■ • ' , -. Could it be that- the success within his grasp at last was to be wrested from him — the success that had meant so much? He recalled the vista of hope it had opened to him — a future off comfort and, pleasure for > Qa.T)riel,_-and ultimately perhaps k/littie home for him amid the sunshine and flowers of ' the country. In bitter contrast to , this rose the hopeless reality of the present, with its grinding poverty and want, the overwhelming struggle of the past against misfortune and death, the memory, of his "angel wife, taken from him in her. youth and beauty, his own long illness that followed,, their subsequent removal to a strange city, and' the failure to get a start until now, when the opportunity had' come only "to mock kirn in the end. .£. • . - • - It should not be!" All the defiance m the man's nature rose up in bitter reyblt against it. He would' conquer this fatal hoarseness in time. He would ask God to help him — yes, he would pray'ftjo Gabriel's God and hers, for their sake to come to jiim- now in his hour of need. It wag

the first time he had prayed in years, but the passionate entreaty that came from the man's soul needed no guidance. Morning found him much worse, and when the doctor came he looked very grave*: With frightened eyes Gabrieltouched the good man's arm. 'He will not die ?' he asked pitifully . , The doctor smiled reassuringly. But he had taken the case none too soon. Presently a thought came to Gabriel. Some one must let the director know of his father's illness, and there -\vas no one to do it but Mr. Johnson and himself. When the I sweet-faced nurse arrived to take charge of the sick room, Gabriel slipped quietly from his post by the bed, and a few minutes later was making his way up the busy street through the jostling crowd, his crutch clinking bravely I against the pavement, Mr. Johnson close "at his heels. He I was quite sure he would know the concert hall, for his father I had once pointed it out to him, but the way to it proved I most confusing. I " It was a raw, unseasonable day in October, and GabrielI found it hard work battling against the wind. His arm, I too, ached painfully from the continuous friction of his „ I crutch, and twice he lost his hat. But with undaunted I courage he struggled bravely on, while Mr. Johnson trotted I steadily on ahead. At last, by a happy chance, they turned I into the very street they we're seeking, and the next minute . I Gabriel was timidly pushing open the heavy baize door of I the concert hall. There was no one to be seen hi the I spacious lobby, so he sank wearily down upon a settee to ■■wait, his aching body relaxing gratefully against the Bleather cushions. Presently a gentleman came slowly down Ithe stairs. He did not notice Gabriel, but entered a door■way at some distance from them. The child sighed with ■disappointment. He had so hoped he would come their BAvay. As it was, he patiently resigned himself to wait a Blittle longer. I Not so the indefatigable Mr. Johnson. In his opinion lit was plainly time for action. He had eyed the gentleIman with a speculative air until he disappeared; then with levident purpose he started down the hall after him and Bvanished into the same doorway through which he had ■passed. Gabriel was alarmed. What could he be up to? ■He would go and see. H At the door he paused in astonishment, for right in Hbho middle of the floor, bolt upright on his hind legs, sat ■Mr. Johnson ; his front paws appealingly folded, his wistful Hayes raised with a world of entreaty in their patient Hlepths to a kindly-faced man who sat before a large desk. ■The gentleman was smiling broadly. His first intimation of Hlie little fellow's presence had been when, chancing to Balance up from his work, he discovered him sitting there, . Hill the bursting, overflowing love of his loyal heart shining In his eyes, appealing straight to the broad, passionate of the man. H His little friend needed help — help beyond his ken — Hind so, in pathetic acknowledgment of his own limitations, lie had come to this stranger for aid. Catching sight of Gabriel in the doorway, he ran joy- - toward him. H 'Is this your dog, my little man ?' inquired the gentleluan pleasantly. ' This is Mr. Johnson, sir,' said Gabriel gently, with correction. The gentleman repressed a smile. The child was most to refer to his little chum always in this way, maintaining that he was a dog only in appearance. had named him for the friendly old man who had given to him, and had invested him with all his endearing ' I think he is trying io ask you, sir, where we can Mr. Ludwig,' explained Gabriel politely. 'He is the who is to give the concert to-night.' So interested had the man been in Mr. Johnson that had not at once noticed the child's crutch. Now, as glance fell upon it, a shadow almost of pain saddened face. He had once had a crippled child of his own. 'Come in and sit down, boy,' he said kindly; 'I am Ludwig. What can I do for you?' The child's face brightened. 'lam so glad you are,' he said naively. 'lam so very We have come to tell you, sir, that dad is sick cannot sing at your concert to-night. He is so sorxy — and disappointed, because it meant great things for to have this chance.' ' Are you Mr. Newton's son ?' asked Mr. Ludwig ' Yes, sir; my name is Gabriel.'.. ' I am sorry to hear of your father's illness. I was of it last night. Did it mean so much to him to at this concert? Tell me about it—that is^ if you like to,' he added, in quick recognition of the child's nature.

So, with insight as unerring as that of his little friend, Gabriel raised his clear blue eyes •to Mr. Ludwig's face, and was soon pouring into his sympathetic ears' the simple story of their hopes and. struggles, a story with no note of self-pity in it for his own helpless boyhood, but only of his great longing to lighten in some way the burden. Just then a big, worried-looking young man hastily entered the studio. ' I'm in luck to find you, Ludwig ! My soprano's voice has gone hopelessly bad, and I've moved heaven and earth to get some one to take his place. I can't give that congregation any old thing. It won't go. They've been used to the best, and they won't have anything else.; I've worked like a dog to make it a success, and now the whole thing is ruined unless you can help me out. A fellow is' out of touch with things in the country, but I hoped that, being in town here, you could put me next to something good.' ."* f 'I wish I could,', answered Ludwig regretfully, 'bill - the f acb is boys' voices are not much in my line.' ' But you surely know of- some one — hello ! "Who have you got here?' — catching sight of Gabriel — ' a pupil? Can you sing, boy?' ' A little,' admitted Gabriel modestly. - 'You. can? ■ Let'sTiear you,' and rushing impetuously t£_the piano Durland picked up a handful of music that was lying about. . "' What can you sing, child?' On top of the pile lay the songs his father was to have sung that night.. ' I can sing that one,' he said, pointing to it. ? - 'That!' exclaimed Durland incredulously. ' 'That? Why, boy, that is one of the most difficult things there is.' ' But I know it quite well,' Gabriel persisted. ' I've learned nearly^all of dad's songs, though, of course, I can't sing them like dad can. No orie could do that.' 'Well, go ahead,- boy; let's hear you,' said Durland, still sceptical; and he softly ran over the few opening bars of the prelude. With head thrown back a,nd his -soul in his eyes,^ (x&briel sang—sang with a self-forgetful abandon" that gave " to his glorious voice a power and sweetness almost unearthly. It was a voice that' made strong men cry andlifted the most callous above the sordidness of earthly desire to the plane of heavenly inspiration. The child's whole being seemed~to pulse and glow Avith the ecstasy of it, and long after the beautiful melody had ended his expressive .^race radiated with the divine joy it had given him. ' Gracious, boy, who taught you -to sing ?' cried Durland -excitedly, when he could speak, while Mr. Ludwig surreptitiously wiped his eyes. ' Dad,' answered the child simply. ' I have never heard a more marvellous voice,' Dirrland said. ' The boy's fortune is made ! Do you know that "you have a wonderful gift, boy?' 'Have I?' Gabriel answered with glowing eyes. "I love to sing better than anything else- In the world.' ' And I want you to come and sing for me at my festival,' Durland continued, 'and every Sunday afterward in my church. Wouldn't you like .to, be my soloist? ■ I am the choir-master, you know, and will. pay you a good salary.' Gabriel seemed scarcely to he'ar-'the inducement offered. But one fact absorbed him. He "was to sing in a big church — the highest dream of his Obscure little life, and . the gentleman had said it was in the country, where the " birds lived and the flowers, and where one might lie .all" day in the soft green grass and watch the sky. 'What does his father sing ?' asked Dtirland- suddenly, in an aside to Ludwig. ' Tenor, and he has a superb J'oi.ce, though temporarily injured by ill-health. 3 ~ :" r ' Just the man I want, then,' cried Durland delightedly. ' I certainly am in kick if this man proves to be "what I want.' • - - ' Could dad and Mr. Johnson come, too ? ' The child asked anxkmsly. 'Because I -couldn't leave them,- you " see.' 'Mr. Johnson?' asked Durland, mystified. { My friend here,'- Gabriel explained. 'Of course they cart come, child. There is a cottage - right near the church where a. nice old lady lives. I live there myself, and there will be room for us all.' Then Mr. Ludwig, laying "his hands upon his Jiead, said : 'There is something I want you to do for me, Gabriel. I want you to sing at the concert — sing your father's song for the people, just as you have sung it now for us here. Will you do this for me and for dad ? ' • Gabriel's eyes were wide with amazement/ Sing in dad's place — he, Gabriel 1 ' Did you mean, sir, that you want me to ' ' Yes, boy, I want yoti very much, and you shall have

what your father was to have had; so after all you will be able to help.' Gabriel tried to grasp the greatness of the- moment. He must be dreaming ! But it was all very real, and an hour later, all arrangements had been made, and he and - Mr. Johnson were being whirled rapidly away in Mr. Durland's cab, after the best dinner they had ever eaten; During the first part of the concert, Gabriel, and Mr. Johnson found a corner in one of the dressing-rooms where, unnoticed, they could await Gabriel's turn to sing. Just before the time came for his number, Mr. Ludwig claimed" the attention of tha audience for a moment, and in a few brief words explained -the change in the programme, at the same time begging their indulgence for the little cripple - who would try to take-his father's place. Mechanically Gabriel swung himself on his crutch across the wide' stage, until -he had reached the centre, where Mr. Ludwig had" told him -to stand. Then he turned :• and faced — what? A vast sea of strange, terrifying faces that seemed to his startled fancy to extend on and on as far as the eye could reach, while in front of him were long rows of dazzling lights that bewildered and confused him. He had not been prepared for them, and a sickening fear swept over him. He felt weak and faint; and what was that dull pounding in liis ears ? Far, far away sounded the music of the orchestra. It was playing his accompaniment, ' he knew, yet he could not sing. Try as he would nor sound would come from his parched throat. It was of no' use! The audience thought that the child was ill, and .amurmur of pity and apprehension ran through tlie house. *j If there were but one friendly, familiar face, Gabriel thought. He felt so utterly alone. Even Mr. Ludwig was nowhere to be seen. Just then there came the sound of. a slight scuffle in the wings, and the next instant Mr. Johnson trotted triumphantly across the stage and sat down by Gabriel's side. He had recognised the signs of trouble • and knew that his place was by his comrade. The diversion broke the tension. The people laughed delightedly at the unexpected reinforcement; while Gabriel;'.-'" looking down into the loving eyes raised so encouragingly to his, and feeling the warm little body rub protectingly against him, felt all the numbing leave his heart. He was not alone. Here was the friend who had never failed him yet, begging him with all his love in his eyes, for dad's sake and his, not to fail them now. He wotild not. He would sing as he lad never sung before; and his whole body glowed with a warm, responsive courage that overcame all consciousness of self and the great audience before him. When the orchestra again began its accompaniment Gabriel was ready, and when the wonderful voice burst forth in all its glorious, throbbing beauty, it seemed to the breathless people as if an angel indeed had come among them. Like an embodied spirit the child stood there. His very soul in ecstatic relief seemed to pour forth all the pent-up longing, all the passionate, hungry craving of the thwarted little life for the fulness and freedom and joy that could never be his. It wrung > the hearts of the men and women who listened, then swept them irresistibly, onward and upward to the sublime heights of self-renuncia-tion. When it was over, and the last note had died away, there followed for a moment a silence as tense and still as death, while Gabriel wondered vaguely why tlie people were crying. Then, with one accord the great audience rose to its feet, and the applause burst resistlessly in an overwhelming storm. The air fairly rang with , cheers, and showers of his beloved violets and great fragrant roses came until the child and his faithful little guardian stood literally upon a bed of flowers. Again and again did they make him sing, until Mr. Ludwig, seeing tho exhaustion in the child's face, would let him give them no more. Then Gabriel came before them again and smiled his thanks. Ho was not afraid now. Those people were his friends — his and Mr. Johnson's. Then Mr. Durland took him homo, whero later he was " pouring the whole wondorful story into dad's astonished ears. ' And you know, dad, it was really Mr. Johnson who did it all,' he ended, gratefully stroking the shaggy head resting near him, ' because he wont on ahead, you see, and sort of prepared the way for me.' His father with misty eyes noddod compreliendinp;ly. *-I think,' he said, smiling, 'that we shall have to call him in future your " advance agent." '