Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 January 1879 — WHAT BECAME OF “SAM.” [ARTICLE]

WHAT BECAME OF “SAM.”

It was generally supposed that Sam was what is called “deficient.” As to his own family, they were sure of it; at all events, they treated him as if he were so. Not that they were unkind to him; on the contrary they were all very fond of “poor old Sam,” but it seemed to be taken for granted that whatever he said was not worth notic ing, and almost everything he did was to be made fun of more or less. He was, in fact, the family butt, though shafts were, as a rule, tipped with good nature so as not to hurt his feelings. Hardly ever did he attempt to say or do anything in serious earnest, since almost everytliiug he did or said was treated as a sort of joke. There was one exception to this. Mothers always know best how to deal with the weak in the flock, and Sam’s mother never laughed at him, and never despaired of him. “What is to become of Sam?” his father would say;‘‘he’ll never earn his own living,” and his mother would quietly answer: “Wait a bit, my dear, there is more in him, perhaps, than we think, but it wants to be drawn out, and I doubt if we are acting wisely in laughing at him as we do.” She said “we,” poor soul, but that was only her discreet way of putting it. Now, Sam had a sister, Mary, of whom he was especially fond. Perhaps it was because she was the sister nearest to him in age, but it was more likely because she placed a little more confidence in him than the others did; it Wasn t much, but it was more than he got from any of the rest. He would do anything for Mary, and when a certain Mr. St. Leger in the neighborhood took a fancy to her it was amusing to see how Sam resented the engagement. This Mr. St. Leger had lately come into the neighborhood—no one knew where from; but he had plenty of money and very agreeable manners, and was a general favorite with the Frere family. Sam, however, never liked him from the first, and when at length he became Mary Frere’s accepted suitor, Sam’s aversion to him became intense. The day was fixed fur the wedding, and the Sunday had arrived when, in deference to Mary’s particular wish, though very much against Mr. St. Leger’s inclination, the bans were to be published in church. The Freres were in their place—a great square pew in front of the pulpit. The names were read out in due course. Mary was recovering from the electric shock of hearing them; the villagers were interchanging glances, some even cautiously rising a little to peep into the square pew, when a voice was heard all over the church, saying, in a most emphatic way, “ I forbid the banns.” Surprise was on every face, but it quickly gave way to the ludicrous as Sam was seen standing up in the middle of the pew, looking the clergyman steadily in the face, as much as to say, “ There now; get over that if you can 1" ” The clergyman was so amused that he had to rush on with the service to prevent any unseemly display, while Sam’s kindred in the square pew were in every attitude of painfully-restrained amusement. And there he stood, unabashed and defiant, until his father plucked him by the arm and made him sit down. But none of them for one moment thought it was anything more than a very unaccountable freak of “ poor old Sam’s.”

No sooner was the service over than he was assailed on all sides for an explanation. Two only were serious about it—his father and Mary. “ What is the meaning of this, sir? ” said his father, sternly; “ what could have possessed you to make yourself so ridiculous? ” “ He has got a wife already,” said Sam, doggedly. “ Who has? ” was the general exclamation. “ St. Lager.” “ Who told vouso?” “ Tom Tyler! ” Tom Tyler was the village letter-car-rier. There was a shout of laughter at this piece of information. “ When did Tom Tyler tell you this?” “ Yesterday. He brought me a letter for Mrs. St. Leger.” Another about of laughter greeted this; but Mary looked very grave, while the father said that, of course, the letter was for St. Leger’s mother, of whom he had more than once spoken. So Sam was sharply rebuked for listening to Tom Tyler’s idle tales, and told to hold Ins tongue. “You’ll have St. Leger try his horsewhip across your shoulders if yon don’t mind,” cried his eldest brother, and they all laughed again; but Sam was very unlike himself, and did not join in the laugh, but maintained a grave composure they had never noticed in him before. Nor was it a laughing matter somewhere else. The news of that morning s interruption flew apace, with various additions and amendments. Thus unproved upon, it reached the ears of Mr. St. Leger, who lived but a few miles off, and it created a profound sensation, so much so that, instead of spending the "afternoon with the Freres, as expected, he took himself off and was never seen by them again. It was discovered that Tom Tyler’s version had been correct after good riddance for Mary Frere; but a heart trifled with and wronged can never quite recover itself. For a time Sam was almost reverently treated at home. They felt the force ■ of his simple explanation why he Jiad chosen such a singular way of -uttering his suspicions, that it was "because they would only have laughed at him if he had told them,” and were a little ashamed of themselves. But the old habit revived after a while, as old habits, hoth family and personal, so easily Go, and barn's brains were held as cheap

as ever, except by Mary, who was drawn to him more than ever, and by his mother, who never ceased to ponder in her Heart, as only mothers do, the meaning of that display of firm intelligence and almost fierce affection. “11l tell you what it means,” said her brother to Mrs. Frere one day when she was talking to him about it—he was a lawyer in London, old John Quicksett, of Gray’s Inn, who could see a thing as shrewdly as most people—“it means this, that Sam has got a heart and a head, but his head is more out of the way than usual, and can only be got at through his heart, like an old-fashioned bedroom that can only be reached by going through another. Look here, sister, I like amazingly that story of the banns—it’s grand. Not that there was anything clever in what he did, just the reverse; it might have been a moststupid mistake; but this is what takes my fancy so, the firmness of purpose, a far higher quality of mind than mere cleverness, that could make the poor fellow face everything he did for the sake of the sister he loved. There must be something in one who could run the gantlet like that, when his heart was once fairly unlocked, and I think I have the key.” “I always thought so,” cried Mrs. Frere, greatly delighted. “Well, let me try. I’ll run away with Sam, and make a lawyer of him. What do you say ? ” The grinning was epidemic round the table after it was known that Sam was to be a lawyer. His brothers and sisters could hardly look at first without smiling; it did seem so droll, so absolutely contrary to every notion tlioy entprtained of him. Had he sat before them in full naval costume as Admiral of the Channel fleet, it would hardly have struck them as being more unlooked for and preposterous. Uncle John’s presence saved Sam from collective bantering, though the old lawyer was too wise to make any fuss about the matter; but when Sam was elone with his brothers and sisters he hsd a hard time of it, though all was, as usual, in perfect good humor.

At first Sam had, of course, to go through the usual drudgery of a lawyer’s office, in which, if it be possible for every one to shine, he certainly did not. His blunders were awful, and provoked the wrath or ridicule, as the case might be, of his fellow-clerks, who were all well seasoned and somewhat ancient men. But his uncle never found fault with him. The most he said when some frantic bungle was brought to his notice was, “Sam, do this over again; you know you can do it a great deal better than that.” And, sure enough, it was done better the second time. In short, his uncle began with, and, in spite of every discouragement, persevered in, the plan of trusting him. And by degrees he found the more he trusted him the better he did,, and the more he treated him as if there were something in him the more he got out of him. Had Sam nothing in him to begin with the plan could not have answered; but this was just what his uncle believed, namely, that there was something in him, but it had been systematically laughed down and sat upon from superficial considerations, and that it could be brought out by a total ch ange of external influence and treatment. And now his powers began to show themselves and to expand, just as a shrub that had been stunted and blackened from want ™ room and uncongenial f oil begins to throw out vigorous shoots when transplanted to ground that suits it and where it has space to grow. “Sam,” said Mr. Quicksett, one day, “we shall all of us be away the whole afternoon, and must leave you in charge of the office. If that fellow Choker should come, mind, you’re not to let him see anything.”

As the fates would have it, Choker did come. Perhaps Mr. Quicksett knew he was coming. Possibly Mr. Choker, who was a sharp and not very scrupulous professional opponent of his, bad made himself aware of the unprotected state of the office in Gray’s Inn, and he brought with him a man that looked every inch a prize-fighter. “ Is Mr. Quicksett in—no? Well it’s of no consequence. I merely called to see aa a matter of form one or two documents in Smith vs. Jones.” “Then I must trouble you to call again when Mr. Quicksett is in.” “ Quite right, young man,” said Choker, approvingly; “ that’s the right thing to say in ordinary cases; but you see this is not an ordinary case. We’ve got an order of the court to inspect these documents.” “Where is it?” said Sam, bluntly. “ You’ve got it with you, haven’t you ? ” said Choker, carelessly turning to his companion. The young athlete fumbled in his pockets, and declared, with great apparent vexation, that he must have forgotten to bring it. “ I don’t believe you’ve got it to bring,” said Sam. “ We’ll have 1.0 nonsense, sir,” said Choker, in a passion; “at your peril refuse to show us what we want to see,” and the two men advanced on Sam in a threatening way. But, little as he was, he never budged an inch. “ I tell you what it is,” he said, with all the coolness imaginable, “if you don’t leave the office this minute, I’ll send for a constable.” There was no need to attempt that difficult operation. They were only trying it on, and, with an affectation of injured innocence, Mr. Choker and his satellite withdrew. On another occasion, after Sam had been some months in the office, his uncle came out of his room one day and hade him go down at once to Judges’ chambers and look after some case that was to come on there. “Itis a thing that requires you to have your wits about you to do that, for you come face to with a shrewd Judge, who cannot tolerate a fool.” The old clerks in Mr. Quicksett’s office appeared paralyzed with astonishment at such an order; and one of them ventured, when partially recovered, to suggest a mistake on Mr. Quicksett’s part. “ It’s rather a difficult case, sir, if you remember,” he urged.

“ All right, Mustay,” was the cheery reply ; “ I know what I am about. The best way to learn to swim is to be pitched neck and heels into deep water.” The suspense was great among the ancients while Sam was away : but he came back in due time, and reported that the case had come on before the Judge, and that his Lordship had made an order in their client’s favor. “ Did he ask you any questions?” inquired Mustay. “Oh, yes! and I answered them,” said Sam; but he did not mention, for he did not know it, nor will it be mentioned in the memoir of the learned Judge when it comes out, that, accustomed as he was to ready answers, it had actually crossed his mind for a moment that the funny little lawyer’s clerk would make a capital witness—he was so ready, and said neither more nor less than was wanted. Whether a good witness would always make a good lawyer we need not decide; but it is certain that, in course pf time, Sam made a very good one indeed. He was one of those not uncommon cases where supposed “ deficiency” is superficial only, and where a far more grave deficiency is to be found in those who, by constantly laughing at it, run the risk of making it a life-long imbecility. Sam’s relatives never laughed at him again after the first visit he paid them, though they often laughed with him, for hia drojlery inexhaustible.

He never married, but his sister Mary kept house for him, and was perhaps a great deal happier than she ‘would have been anywhere else.— Cassette Magazine.