enthusiastically, the sound was loudly echoed from behind him.
Both whirled round, and there was Mr. Shaw, standing in the
doorway, applauding with all his might.
Tom looked much abashed, and said not a word; Polly ran to Mr.
Shaw, and danced before him, saying, eagerly, “Was n’t it
splendid? Did n’t he do well? May n’t he have his velocipede
now?”
“Capital, Tom; you ‘ll be an orator yet. Learn another piece like
that, and I ‘ll come and hear you speak it. Are you ready for your
velocipede, hey?”
Polly was right; and Tom owned that “the governor” was kind, did
like him and had n’t entirely forgotten his promise. The boy turned
red with pleasure, and picked at the buttons on his jacket, while
listening to this unexpected praise; but when he spoke, he looked
straight up in his father’s face, while his own shone with pleasure,
as he answered, in one breath, “Thankee, sir. I ‘ll do it, sir. Guess I
am, sir!”
“Very good; then look out for your new horse tomorrow, sir.” And
Mr. Shaw stroked the fuzzy red head with a kind hand, feeling a
fatherly pleasure in the conviction that there was something in his
boy after all.
Tom got his velocipede next day, named it Black Auster, in
memory of the horse in “The Battle of Lake Regillus,” and came to
grief as soon as he began to ride his new steed.
“Come out and see me go it,” whispered Tom to Polly, after three
days’ practice in the street, for he had already learned to ride in the
rink.
Polly and Maud willingly went, and watched his struggles, with
deep interest, till he got an upset, which nearly put an end to his
velocipeding forever.
“Hi, there! Auster’s coming!” shouted Tom, as came rattling down
the long, steep street outside the park.
They stepped aside, and he whizzed by, arms and legs going like
mad, with the general appearance of a runaway engine. It would
have been a triumphant descent, if a big dog had not bounced
suddenly through one of the openings, and sent the whole concern
helter-skelter into the gutter. Polly laughed as she ran to view the
ruin. for Tom lay flat on his back with the velocipede atop him,
while the big dog barked wildly, and his master scolded him for
his awkwardness. But when she saw Tom’s face, Polly was
frightened, for the color had all gone out of it, his eyes looked
strange and dizzy, and drops of blood began to trickle from a great
cut on his forehead. The man saw it, too, and had him up in a
minute; but he could n’t stand, and stared about him in a dazed sort
of way, as he sat on the curbstone, while Polly held her
handkerchief to his forehead, and pathetically begged to know if
he was killed.
“Don’t scare mother, I ‘m all right. Got upset, did n’t I?” he asked,
presently, eyeing the prostrate velocipede with more anxiety about
its damages than his own.
“I knew you ‘d hurt yourself with that horrid thing just let it be, and
come home, for your head bleeds dreadfully, and everybody is
looking at us,” whispered Polly, trying to tie the little handkerchief
over the ugly cut.
“Come on, then. Jove! how queer my head feels! Give us a boost,
please. Stop howling, Maud, and come home. You bring the
machine, and I ‘ll pay you, Pat.” As he spoke, Tom slowly picked
himself and steadying himself by Polly’s shoulder, issued
commands, and the procession fell into line. First, the big dog,
barking at intervals; then the good-natured Irishman, trundling
“that divil of a whirligig,” as he disrespectfully called the idolized
velocipede; then the wounded hero, supported by the helpful Polly;
and Maud brought up the rear in tears, bearing Tom’s cap.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Shaw was out driving with grandma, and
Fanny was making calls; so that there was no one but Polly to
stand by Tom, for the parlor-maid turned faint at the sight of
blood, and the chamber-maid lost her wits in the flurry. It was a
bad cut, and must be sewed up at once, the doctor said, as soon as