A Good Name
by
TWO boys, named Jacob Peters and Ralph Gilpin were passing along Chestnut Street one evening about ten years ago, when one of them, stopped, and said,–
“Come, Ralph, let us have some oysters. I’ve got a quarter.” They were in front of an oyster-cellar.
“No,” replied Ralph, firmly. “I’m not going down there.”
“I didn’t mean that we should get anything to drink,” replied the other.
“No matter: they sell liquor, and I don’t wish to be seen in such a place.”
“That’s silly,” said Jacob Peters, speaking with some warmth. “It can’t hurt you to be seen there. They sell oysters, and all we should go there for would be to buy oysters. Come along. Don’t be foolish!” And Jacob grasped the arm of Ralph, and tried to draw him towards the refectory. But Ralph stood immovable.
“What harm can it do?” asked Jacob.
“It might do at great deal of harm.”
“In what way?”
“By hurting my good name.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I might be seen going in or coming out by some one who know me, and who might take it for granted that my visit, was for liquor.”
“Well, suppose he did? He would be wrong in his inference; and what need you care? A clear conscience, I have heard my uncle say, is better than any man’s opinion, good or bad.”
“I prefer the clear conscience and the good opinion together, if I can secure both at the same time,” said Ralph.
“O, you’re too afraid of other people’s opinions,” replied Jacob, in a sneering manner. “As for me, I’ll try to do right and be right, and not bother myself about what people may think. Come, are you going to join me in a plate of oysters?”
“No.”
“Very well. Good by. I’m sorry you’re afraid to do right for fear somebody may think you’re going to do wrong,” and Jacob Peters descended to the oyster-cellar, while Ralph Gilpin passed on his way homeward. As Jacob entered the saloon he met a man who looked at him narrowly, and as Jacob thought, with surprise. He had seen this man before, but did not know his name.
A few weeks afterwards, the two boys, who were neighbor, sat together planning a row-boat excursion on the Schuylkill.
“We’ll have Harry Elder, and Dick Jones, and Tom Forsyth,” said Jacob.
“No, not Tom Forsyth,” objected Ralph.
“Why not? He’s a splendid rower.”
“I don’t wish to be seen in his company,” said Ralph. “He doesn’t bear a good character.”
“O, well; that’s nothing to us.”
“I think it is a great deal to us. We are judged by the company we keep.”
“Let people judge; who cares?” replied Jacob; “not I.”
“Well, I do, then,” answered Ralph.
“I hate to see a boy so ‘fraid of a shadow as you are.”
“A tainted name is no shadow; but a real evil to be afraid of.”
“I don’t see how our taking Tom Forsyth along is going to taint your name, or mine either.”
“He’s a bad boy,” Ralph firmly objected. “He uses profane language. You and I have both seen him foolish from drink. And we know that he was sent home from a good place, under circumstances that threw suspicion on his honesty. This being so, I am not going to be seen in his company. I think too much of my good name.”
“But, Ralph,” urged Jacob, in a persuasive manner, “he’s such a splendid rower. Don’t be foolish about it; nobody’ll see us. And we shall have such a grand time. I’ll make him promise not to use a wicked word all day.”
“It’s no use to talk, Jacob. I’m not going in company with Tom Forsyth if I never go boating.”
“You’re a fool!” exclaimed Jacob, losing his temper.
Ralph’s face burned with anger, but he kept back the sharp words that sprung to his lips, and after a few moments said, with forced composure,–
“There’s no use in you’re getting mad about it, Jacob. If you prefer Tom to me, very well. I haven’t set my heart on going.”