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The Iron Will
by
Not long after this, Logan came stumbling up the stairs, and opening the door of his room, staggered in and threw himself heavily upon the bed. Fanny looked at him a few moments, and then crouching down, and covering her face with her hands, wept long and bitterly. She felt crushed and powerless. Cast off by her father, wronged by her husband, destitute and about to be thrust from the poor home into which she had shrunk: faint and weary, it seemed as if hope were gone forever. While she suffered thus, Logan lay in a drunken sleep. Arousing herself at last, she removed his boots and coat, drew a pillow under his head, and threw a coverlet over him. She then sat down and wept again. The tea bell rung, but she did not go to the table. Half an hour afterwards, the landlady came to the door and kindly inquired if she would not have some food sent up to her room.
“Only a little bread and milk for Henry,” was replied.
“Let me send you a cup of tea,” urged the woman.
“No, thank you. I don’t wish any thing to night.”
The woman went away, feeling troubled. From her heart she pitied the suffering young creature, and it had cost her a painful struggle to do what she had done. But the pressing nature of her own circumstances required her to be rigidly just. Notwithstanding Mrs. Logan had declined having any thing, she sent her a cup of tea and something to eat. But they remained untasted.
On the next morning Logan was sober, and his wife informed him of the notice which their landlady had given. He was angry, and used harsh language towards the woman. Fanny defended her, and had the harsh language transferred to her own head.
The young man appeared as usual at the breakfast table, but Fanny had no appetite for food, and did not go down. After breakfast, Logan went to the shop, intending to go to work; but found his place supplied by another journeyman, and himself thrown out of employment, with but a single dollar in his pocket, a months boarding due, and his family in need of almost every comfort. From the shop he went to a tavern, took a glass of liquor, and sat down to look over the newspapers, and think what he should do. There he met an idle journeyman, who, like himself, had lost his situation. A fellow feeling made them communicative and confidential.
“If I was only a single man,” said Logan, “I wouldn’t care, I could easily shift for myself.”
“Wife and children! Yes, there’s the rub,” returned the companion. “A journeyman mechanic is a fool to get married.”
“Then you and I are both fools,” said Logan.
“No doubt of it. I came to that conclusion, in regard to myself, long and long ago. Sick wife, hungry children, and four or five backs to cover; no wonder a poor man’s nose is ever on the grindstone. For my part, I am sick of it. When I was a single man, I could go where I pleased, and do what I pleased; and I always had money in my pocket. Now I am tied down to one place, and grumbled at eternally; and if you were to shake me from here to the Navy Yard, you wouldn’t get a sixpence out of me. The fact is, I’m sick of it.”
“So am I. But what is to be done? I don’t believe I can get work in town.”
“I know you can’t. But there is plenty of work and good wages to be had in Charleston or New Orleans.”
Logan did not reply; but looked intently into his companion’s face.
“I’m sure my wife would be a great deal better off if I were to clear out and leave her. She has plenty of friends, and they’ll not see her want.”
Logan still looked at his fellow journeyman.