PAGE 8
Jim Braddock’s Pledge
by
The image of Mr. Jones, standing before him, with a smiling invitation to come and take a glass, backed by his own instantly aroused inclinations, had been too strong an inducement. He felt, too, that it would have been rudeness to decline the proffered hospitality.
“That’s not bad to take, Mr. Jones,” he said, smacking his lips, after turning off a stiff glass.
“No, it is not, Jim. That’s as fine an article of whiskey as I’ve ever seen,” Mr. Jones replied, a little flattered at Braddock’s approval of his liquor. “You’re a good judge of such matters.”
“I ought to be.” And as Jim said this, he turned out another glass.
“That’s right–help yourself,” was Mr. Jones’ encouraging remark, as he saw this.
“I never was backward at that, you know, Mr. Jones.” After eating a cracker and a piece of cheese, and taking a third drink, Braddock went back and resumed his work, feeling quite happy.
After dinner Mr. Jones handed him the bottle again, and did the same when he knocked off in the evening. Of course, he was very far from being sober when he started for home. As he came into town, his way was past Harry Arnold’s, whose shop he entered, and was received with a round of applause by his old associates, who saw at a glance that Jim was “a little disguised.” Their jokes were all received in good part, and parried by treating all around.
When her husband left in the morning, Mrs. Braddock’s heart was lightened with a new hope, although a fear was blended with that hope, causing them both to tremble in alternate preponderance in her bosom. Still, hope would gain the ascendency, and affected her spirits with a degree of cheerfulness unfelt for many months. As the day began to decline towards evening, after putting everything about the house in order, she took her three children, washed them clean, and dressed them up as neatly as their worn and faded clothes would permit. This was in order to make home present the most agreeable appearance possible to her husband when he returned. Then she killed a chicken and dressed it, ready to broil for his supper–made up a nice short-cake, and set the table with a clean, white table-cloth. About sundown, she commenced baking the cake, and cooking the chicken, and at dusk had them all ready to put on the table the moment he came in.
Your father is late,” she remarked to one of the children, after sitting in a musing attitude for about five minutes, after everything was done that she could do towards getting supper ready. As she said this, she got up and went to the door and looked long and intently down the street in the direction that she expected him, calling each distant, dim figure, obscured by the deepening twilight, his, until a nearer approach dispelled the illusion. Each disappointment like this, caused her feelings to grow sadder and sadder, until at length, as evening subsided into night, with its veil of thick darkness, she turned into the house with a heavy oppressive sigh, and rejoined the children who were impatient for their supper.
“Wait a little while,” was her reply to their importunities. “Father will soon be here now.”
She was still anxious that their father should see their improved appearance.
“O no”–urged one. “We want our supper now.”
“O yes. Give us our supper now. I’m so sleepy and hungry,” whined another.
And to give force to these, the youngest began to fret and cry. Mrs. Braddock could delay no longer, and so she set them up to the table and gave them as much as they could eat. Then she undressed each in turn, and in a little while, they were fast asleep.
When all was quiet, and the mother sat down to wait for her husband’s return, a feeling of deep despondency came over her mind. It had been dark for an hour, and yet he had not come home. She could imagine no reason for this, other than the one that had kept him out so often before–drinking and company. Thus she continued to sit, hour after hour, the supper untasted. Usually, her evenings were spent in some kind of work–in mending her children’s clothes, or knitting them stockings. But now she had no heart to do anything. The state of gloomy uncertainty that she was in, broke down her spirits, for the time being.