Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp

“The stranger’s eye followed the direction of Mr. Tubbs’. He smiled.

“‘I frankly confess,’ he said, ‘that I shall not be able to pay immediately, but, if I live, I will pay you within six months.’

“‘How am I to feel sure of that?’ asked the tailor, hesitating.

“‘I pledge my word,’ was the reply. ‘You see, Mr. Tubbs, I have been sick for some time past, and that, of course, has used up my money. Now, thank Providence, I am well again, and ready to go to work. But I need clothes, as you see, before I have the ability to pay for them.’

“‘What’s your name?’ asked Thomas.

“‘Oswald Rudenheimer,’ was the reply.

“‘A foreigner?’

“‘As you may suppose. Now, Mr. Tubbs, what do you say? Do you think you can trust me?’

“Thomas examined the face of his visitor. He looked honest, and the little tailor had a good deal of confidence in the excellence of human nature.

“‘I may be foolish,’ he said at last, ‘but I’ll do it.’

“‘A thousand thanks!’ said the stranger. ‘You sha’n’t repent of it.’

“The cloth was selected, and Thomas set to work. In three days the suit was finished, and Thomas sat in his shop waiting for his customer. At last he came, but what a change! He was splendidly dressed. The little tailor hardly recognized him.

“‘Mr. Tubbs,’ said he, ‘you’re an honest man and a good fellow. You trusted me when I appeared penniless, but I deceived you. I am really one of the genii, of whom, perhaps, you have read, and lineally descended from those who guarded Solomon’s seal. Instead of making you wait for your pay, I will recompense you on the spot, either in money or–’

“‘Or what? asked the astonished tailor.

“‘Or I will grant the first wish that may be formed in your mind. Now choose.’

“Thomas did not take long to choose. His charge would amount to but a few dollars, while he might wish for a million. He signified his decision.

“‘Perhaps you have chosen wisely,’ said his visitor. ‘But mind that you are careful about your wish. You may wish for something you don’t want.’

“‘No fear of that,’ said the tailor cheerfully.

“‘At any rate, I will come this way six months hence, and should you then wish to be released from the consequences of your wish, and to receive instead the money stipulated as the price of the suit, I will give you the chance.’

“Of course, Thomas did not object, though he considered it rather a foolish proposition.

“His visitor disappeared, and the tailor was left alone. He laid aside his work. How could a man be expected to work who had only to wish, and he could come into possession of more than he could earn in a hundred or even a thousand years?

“‘I might as well enjoy myself a little,’ thought Mr. Tubbs. ‘Let me see. I think there is a show in the village to-day. I’ll go to it.’

“He accordingly slipped on his hat and went out, somewhat to the surprise of his wife, who concluded that her husband must be going out on business.

“Thomas Tubbs wended his way to the marketplace. He pressed in among the people, a crowd of whom had already assembled to witness the show. I cannot tell you what the show was. I am only concerned in telling you what Thomas Tubbs saw and did; and, to tell the plain truth, he didn’t see anything at all. He was wedged in among people a foot or two taller than himself. Now, it is not pleasant to hear all about you laughing heartily and not even catch a glimpse of what amuses them so much. Thomas Tubbs was human, and as curious as most people. Just as a six-footer squeezed in front of him he could not help framing, in his vexation, this wish:

“‘Oh, dear! I wish I were ten feet high!’

“Luckless Thomas Tubbs! Never had he framed a more unfortunate wish. On the instant he shot up from an altitude of four feet six to ten feet. Fortunately his clothes expanded proportionally. So, instead of being below the medium height, he was raised more than four feet above it.

“Of course, his immediate neighbors became aware of the gigantic presence, though they did not at all recognize its identity with the little tailor, Thomas Tubbs.

“At once there was a shout of terror. The crowd scattered in all directions, forgetting the spectacle at which, the moment before, they had been laughing heartily, and the little tailor, no longer little, was left alone in the market-place.

“‘Good heavens!’ he exclaimed in bewilderment, stretching out his brawny arm, nearly five feet in length, and staring at it in ludicrous astonishment, ‘who’d have thought that I should ever be so tall?’

“To tell the truth, the little man—I mean Mr. Tubbs—at first rather enjoyed his new magnitude. He had experienced mortification so long on account of his diminutive stature, that he felt a little exhilarated at the idea of being able to look down on those to whom he had hitherto felt compelled to look up. It was rather awkward to have people afraid of him. As he turned to leave the square, for the exhibitor of the show had run off in the general panic, he could see people looking at him from third-story windows, and pointing at him with outstretched fingers and mouths agape.

“‘Really,’ thought Thomas Tubbs, ‘I never expected to be such an object of interest. I think I’ll go home.’

“His house was a mile off, but so large were his strides that five minutes carried him to it.

“Now Mrs. Tubbs was busy putting the dinner on the table, and wondering why her husband did not make his appearance. She was fully determined to give him a scolding in case his delay was so great as to cause the dinner to cool. All at once she heard a bustle at the door. Looking into the entry, she saw a huge man endeavoring to make his entrance into the house. As the portal was only seven feet in height, it was not accomplished without a great deal of twisting and squirming.

“Mrs. Tubbs turned pale.

“‘What are you trying to do, you monster?’ she faltered.

“‘I have come home to dinner, Mary,’ was the meek reply.

“‘Come home to dinner!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tubbs, aghast. ‘Who in the name of wonder are you, you overgrown brute?’

“‘Who am I? asked the giant, smiling feebly, for he began to feel a little queer at this reception from the wife with whom he had lived for fifteen years. ‘Ha! ha! don’t you know your own husband—your Tommy?’

“‘My husband!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tubbs, astonished at the fellow’s impudence. ‘You, don’t mean to say that you are my husband?’

“‘Of course I am,’ said Thomas.

“‘Then,’ said Mrs. Tubbs, ‘I would have you know that my husband is a respectable little man, not half your size.’

“‘Oh, dear!’ thought Thomas. ‘Well, here’s a kettle of fish; my own wife won’t own me!’

“‘So I was,’ he said aloud. ‘I was only four feet six; but I’ve—I’ve grown.’

“‘Grown!’ Mrs. Tubbs laughed hysterically. ‘That’s a likely story, when it’s only an hour since my husband went into the street as short as ever. I only wish he’d come in, I do, to expose your imposition.’

“‘But I have grown, Mary,’ said Tubbs piteously. ‘I was out in the crowd, and I couldn’t see what was going on, and so I wished I was ten feet high; and, before I knew it, I was as tall as I am now.’

“‘No doubt,’ said Mrs. Tubbs incredulously, ‘As to that, all I’ve got to say is, that you’d better wish yourself back again, as I sha’n’t own you as my husband till you do!’

“‘Really,’ thought Mr. Tubbs, ‘this is dreadful! What can I do!’

“Just then one of his children ran into the room.

“‘Johnny, come to me,’ said his father imploringly. ‘Come to your father.’

“‘My father!’ said Johnny, shying out of the room. ‘You ain’t my father. My father isn’t as tall as a tree.’

“‘You see how absurd your claim is,’ said Mrs. Tubbs. ‘You’ll oblige me by leaving the house directly.’

“‘Leave the house—my house!’ said Tubbs.

“‘If you don’t, I’ll call in the neighbors,’ said the courageous woman.

“‘I don’t believe they’d dare to come,’ said Tubbs, smiling queerly at the recollection of what a sensation his appearance had made.

“‘Won’t you go?’

“‘At least you’ll let me have some dinner. I am ‘most famished.’

“‘Dinner!” said Mrs. Tubbs, hesitating. ‘I don’t think there’s enough in the house. However, you can sit down to the table.’

“Tubbs attempted to sit down on a chair, but his weight was so great that it was crushed beneath him. Finally, he was compelled to sit on the floor, and even then his stature was such that his head rose to the height of six feet.

“What an enormous appetite he had, too! The viands on the table seemed nothing. He at first supplied his plate with the usual quantity; but as the extent of his appetite became revealed to him, he was forced to make away with everything on the table. Even then he was hungry.

“‘Well, I declare,’ thought Mrs. Tubbs, in amazement, ‘it does take an immense quantity to keep him alive!’

“Tubbs rose from the table, and, in doing so, hit his head a smart whack against the ceiling. Before leaving the house he turned to make a last appeal to his wife, who, he could not help seeing, was anxious to have him go.

“‘Won’t you own me, Mary?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t my fault that I am so big.’

“‘Own you!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘I wouldn’t own you for a mint of money. You’d eat me out of house and home in less than a week.’

“‘I don’t know but I should,’ said Mr. Tubbs mournfully. ‘I don’t see what gives me such an appetite. I’m hungry now.’

“‘Hungry, after you’ve eaten enough for six!’ exclaimed his wife, aghast. ‘Well, I never!’

“‘Then you won’t let me stay, Mary?’

“‘No, no.’

“With slow and sad strides Thomas Tubbs left the house. The world seemed dark enough to the poor fellow. Not only was he disowned by his wife and children, but he could not tell how he should ever earn enough to keep him alive, with the frightful appetite which he now possessed. ‘I don’t know,’ he thought, ‘but the best way is to drown myself at once.’ So he walked to the river, but found it was not deep enough to drown him.

“As he emerged from the river uncomfortably wet, he saw a man timidly approaching him. It proved to be the manager of the show.

“‘Hello!’ said he hesitatingly.

“‘Hello!’ returned Tubbs disconsolately.

“‘Would you like to enter into a business engagement with me?’

“‘Of what sort?’ asked Tubbs, brightening up.

“‘To be exhibited,’ was the reply. ‘You’re the largest man living in the world. We could make a pretty penny together.’

“Tubbs was glad enough to accept this proposition, which came to him like a plank to a drowning man. Accordingly an agreement was made that, after deducting expenses, he should share profits with the manager.

“It proved to be a great success. From all quarters people flocked to see the great prodigy, the wonder of the world, as he was described in huge posters. Scientific men wrote learned papers in which they strove to explain his extraordinary height, and, as might be expected, no two assigned the same cause.

“At the end of six months Tubbs had five thousand dollars as his share of the profits. But after all he was far from happy. He missed the society of his wife and children, and shed many tears over his separation from them.

“At the end of six months his singular customer again made his appearance.

“‘It seems to me you’ve altered some since I last saw you,’ he said, with a smile.

“‘Yes,’ said Tubbs dolefully.

“‘You don’t like the change, I judge?’

“‘No,’ said Tubbs. ‘It separates me from my wife and children, and that makes me unhappy.’

“‘Would you like to be changed back again!’

“‘Gladly,’ was the reply.

“Presto! the wonderful giant was changed back into the little tailor. No sooner was this effected than he returned post-haste to Webbington. His wife received him with open arms.

“‘Oh, Thomas,’ she exclaimed, ‘how could you leave us so? On the day of your disappearance a huge brute of a man came here and pretended to be you, but I soon sent him away.’

“Thomas wisely said nothing, but displayed his five thousand dollars. There was great joy in the little dwelling. Thomas Tubbs at once took a larger shop, and grew every year in wealth and public esteem. The only way in which he did not grow was in stature; but his six months’ experience as a giant had cured him of any wish of that sort. The last I heard of him was his election to the legislature.”

“That’s a bully story,” said Charlie, using a word which he had heard from older boys. “I wish I was a great tall giant.”

“What would you do if you were, Charlie?”

“I’d go and fight the rebels,” said Charlie manfully.

CHAPTER XX. POMP’S EDUCATION COMMENCES

In the season of leisure from farm work which followed, Frank found considerable time for study. The kind sympathy and ready assistance given by Mr. Morton made his task a very agreeable one, and his progress for a time was as rapid as if he had remained at school.

He also assumed the office of teacher, having undertaken to give a little elementary instruction to Pomp. Here his task was beset with difficulties. Pomp was naturally bright, but incorrigibly idle. His activity was all misdirected and led him into a wide variety of mischief. He had been sent to school, but his mischievous propensities had so infected the boys sitting near him that the teacher had been compelled to request his removal.

Three times in the week, during the afternoon, Pomp came over to the farm for instruction. On the first of these occasions we will look in upon him and his teacher.

Pomp is sitting on a cricket by the kitchen fire. He has a primer open before him at the alphabet. His round eyes are fixed upon the page as long as Frank is looking at him, but he requires constant watching. His teacher sits near-by, with a Latin dictionary resting upon a light stand before him, and a copy of Virgil’s Aeneid in his hand.

“Well, Pomp, do you think you know your lesson?” he asks.

“Dunno, Mass’ Frank; I reckon so.”

“You may bring your book to me, and I will try you.”

Pomp rose from his stool and sidled up to Frank with no great alacrity.

“What’s that letter, Pomp?” asked the young teacher, pointing out the initial letter of the alphabet.

Pomp answered correctly.

“And what is the next?”

Pomp shifted from one foot to the other, and stared vacantly out of the window, but said nothing.

“Don’t you know?”

“‘Pears like I don’t ‘member him, Mass’ Frank.”

Here Frank had recourse to a system of mnemonics frequently resorted to by teachers in their extremity.

“What’s the name of the little insect that stings people sometimes, Pomp?”

“Wasp, Mass’ Frank,” was the confident reply.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean the bee.”

“Yes, Mass’ Frank.”

“Well, this is B.”

Pomp looked at it attentively, and, after a pause, inquired, “Where’s him wings, Mass’ Frank?”

Frank bit his lips to keep from laughing. “I don’t mean that this is a bee that makes honey,” he explained, “only it has the same name. Now do you think you can remember how it is called?” “Bumblebee!” repeated Pomp triumphantly.

Pomp’s error was corrected, and the lesson proceeded.

“What is the next letter?” asked Frank, indicating it with the point of his knife-blade.

“X,” answered the pupil readily.

“No, Pomp,” was the dismayed reply. “It is very different from X.”

“Dat’s him name at school,” said Pomp positively.

“No, Pomp, you are mistaken. That is X, away down there.”

“Perhaps him change his name,” suggested Pomp.

“No. The letters never change their names. I don’t think you know your lesson, Pomp. just listen to me while I tell you the names of some of the letters, and try to remember them.”

When this was done, Pomp was directed to sit down on the cricket, and study his lesson for twenty Minutes, at the end of which he might again recite.

Pomp sat down, and for five minutes seemed absorbed in his book. Then, unfortunately, the cat walked into the room, and soon attracted the attention of the young student. He sidled from his seat so silently that Frank did not hear him. He was soon made sensible that Pomp was engaged in some mischief by hearing a prolonged wail of anguish from the cat.

Looking up, he found that his promising pupil had tied her by the leg to a chair, and under these circumstances was amusing himself by pinching her tail.

“What are you doing there, Pomp?” he asked quickly.

Pomp scuttled back to his seat, and appeared to be deeply intent upon his primer.

“Ain’t doin’ noffin’, Mass’ Frank,” he answered innocently.

“Then how came the cat tied to that chair?”

“‘Spec’ she must have tied herself.”

“Come, Pomp, you know better than that. You know cats can’t tie themselves. Get up immediately and unfasten her.”

Pomp rose with alacrity, and undertook to release puss from the thraldom of which she had become very impatient. Perhaps she would have been quite as well off if she had been left to herself. The process of liberation did not appear to be very agreeable, judging from the angry mews which proceeded from her. Finally, in her indignation against Pomp for some aggressive act, she scratched him sharply.

“You wicked old debble!” exclaimed Pomp wrathfully.

He kicked at the cat; but she was lucky enough to escape, and ran out of the room as fast as her four legs could carry her.

“Big ugly debble!” muttered Pomp, watching the blood ooze from his finger.

“What’s the matter, Pomp?”

“Old cat scratch me.”

“And what did you do to her, Pomp? I am afraid you deserved your scratch.”

“Didn’t do noffin’, Mass’ Frank,” said Pomp virtuously.

“I don’t think you always tell the truth, Pomp.”

“Can’t help it, Mass’ Frank. ‘Spec’ I’ve got a little debble inside of me.”

“What do you mean, Pomp! What put that idea in your head?”

“Dat’s what mammy says. Dat’s what she al’ays tells me.”

“Then,” said Frank, “I think it will be best to whip it out of you. Where’s my stick?”

“Oh, no, Mass’ Frank,” said Pomp, in alarm; “I’ll be good, for sure.”

“Then sit down and get your lesson.”

Again Pomp assumed his cricket. Before he had time to devise any new mischief, Mrs. Frost came to the head of the stairs and called Frank.

Frank laid aside his books, and presented himself at the foot of the stairs.

“I should like your help a few minutes. Can you leave your studies?”

“Certainly, mother.”

Before going up, he cautioned Pomp to study quietly, and not get into any mischief while he was gone. Pomp promised very readily.

Frank had hardly got upstairs before his pupil rose from the cricket, and began to look attentively about him. His first proceeding was to, hide his primer carefully in Mrs. Frost’s work-basket, which lay on the table. Then, looking curiously about him, his attention was drawn to the old-fashioned clock that stood in the corner.

Now, Pomp’s curiosity had been strongly excited by this clock. It was not quite clear to him how the striking part was effected. Here seemed to be a favorable opportunity for instituting an investigation. Pomp drew his cricket to, the clock, and, opening it, tried to reach up to the face. But he was not yet high enough. He tried a chair, and still required a greater elevation. Espying Frank’s Latin dictionary, he pressed that into service.

By and by Frank and his mother heard the clock striking an unusual number of times.

“What is the matter with the clock?” inquired Mrs. Frost.

“I don’t know,” said Frank unsuspiciously.

“It has struck ten times, and it is only four o’ clock.”

“I wonder if Pomp can have got at it,” said Frank, with a sudden thought.

He ran downstairs hastily.

Pomp heard him coming, and in his anxiety to escape detection, contrived to lose his balance and fall to the floor. As he fell, he struck the table, on which a pan of sour milk had been placed, and it was overturned, deluging poor Pomp with the unsavory fluid.

Pomp shrieked and kicked most energetically. His appearance, as he picked himself up, was ludicrous in the extreme. His sable face was plentifully besprinkled with clotted milk, giving him the appearance of a negro who is coming out white in spots. The floor was swimming in milk. Luckily the dictionary had fallen clear of it, and so escaped.

“Is this the way you study?” demanded Frank, as sternly as his sense of the ludicrous plight in which he found Pomp would permit.

For once Pomp’s ready wit deserted him. He had nothing to say.

“Go out and wash yourself.”

Pomp came back rather shamefaced, his face restored to its original color.

“Now, where is your book?”

Pomp looked about him, but, as he took good care not to look where he knew his book to be, of course he did not find it.

“I ‘clare, Mass’ Frank, it done lost,” he at length asserted.

“How can it be lost when you had it only a few minutes ago?”

“I dunno,” answered Pomp stolidly.

“Have you been out of the room?”

Pomp answered in the negative.

“Then it must be somewhere here.”

Frank went quietly to the corner of the room and took therefrom a stick.

“Now, Pomp,” he said, “I will give you just two minutes to find the book in. If you don’t find it, I shall have to give you a whipping.”

Pomp looked at his teacher to see if he was in earnest. Seeing that he was, he judged it best to find the book.

Looking into the work-box, he said innocently: “I ‘clare to gracious, Mass’ Frank, if it hasn’t slipped down yere. Dat’s mi’ty cur’s, dat is.”

“Pomp, sit down,” said Frank. “I am going to talk to you seriously. What makes you tell so many lies?”

“Dunno any better,” replied Pomp, grinning.

“Yes, you do, Pomp. Doesn’t your mother tell you not to lie?”

“Lor’, Mass’ Frank, she’s poor ignorant nigger. She don’t know nuffin’.”

“You mustn’t speak so of your mother. She brings you up as well as she knows how. She has to work hard for you, and you ought to love her.”

“So I do, ‘cept when she licks me.”

“If you behave properly she won’t whip you. You’ll grow up a ‘poor, ignorant nigger’ yourself, if you don’t study.”

“Shall I get white, Mass’ Frank, if I study?” asked Pomp, showing a double row of white teeth.

“You were white enough just now,” said Frank, smiling.

“Yah, yah!” returned Pomp, who appreciated the joke.

“Now, Pomp,” Frank continued seriously, “if you will learn your lesson in fifteen minutes I will give you a piece of gingerbread.”

“I’ll do it, Mass’ Frank,” said Pomp promptly.

Pomp was very fond of gingerbread, as Frank very well knew. In the time specified the lesson was got, and recited satisfactorily.

As Pomp’s education will not again be referred to, it may be said that when Frank had discovered how to manage him, he learned quite rapidly. Chloe, who was herself unable to read, began to look upon Pomp with a new feeling of respect when she found that he could read stories in words of one syllable, and the “lickings” of which he complained became less frequent. But his love of fun still remained, and occasionally got him into trouble, as we shall hereafter have occasion to see.

CHAPTER XXI. THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG

About the middle of December came the sad tragedy of Fredericksburg, in which thousands of our gallant soldiers yielded up their lives in a hard, unequal struggle, which brought forth nothing but mortification and disaster.

The first telegrams which appeared in the daily papers brought anxiety and bodings of ill to many households. The dwellers at the farm were not exempt. They had been apprised by a recent letter that Mr. Frost’s regiment now formed a part of the grand army which lay encamped on the eastern side of the Rappahannock. The probability was that he was engaged in the battle. Frank realized for the first time to what peril his father was exposed, and mingled with the natural feeling which such a thought was likely to produce was the reflection that, but for him, his father would have been in safety at home.

“Did I do right?” Frank asked himself anxiously, the old doubt recurring once more.

Then, above the selfish thought of peril to him and his, rose the consideration of the country’s need, and Frank said to himself, “I have done right—whatever happens. I feel sure of that.”

Yet his anxiety was by no means diminished, especially when, a day or two afterward, tidings of the disaster came to hand, only redeemed by the masterly retreat across the river, in which a great army, without the loss of a single gun, ambulance, or wagon, withdrew from the scene of a hopeless struggle, under the very eyes of the enemy, yet escaping discovery.