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Authors: Louisa May Alcott
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might.
Tom looked much abashed, and said not a word; but Polly ran to Mr. Shaw, and danced before him, saying, eagerly, “Wasn’t it
splendid? Didn’t he do it well? Mayn’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 hadn’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, all 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 he 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 of 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 couldn’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, didn’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 up, and steadying himself by Polly’s shoulder, issued his 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 faithful
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 parlormaid turned faint at the sight of blood, and the chambermaid lost her wits in the flurry. It was a bad
cut, and must be sewed up at once, the doctor said, as soon as he came. “Somebody must hold his head,” he added, as he threaded
his queer little needle.
“I’ll
Tom looked much abashed, and said not a word; but Polly ran to Mr. Shaw, and danced before him, saying, eagerly, “Wasn’t it
splendid? Didn’t he do it well? Mayn’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 hadn’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, all 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 he 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 of 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 couldn’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, didn’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 up, and steadying himself by Polly’s shoulder, issued his 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 faithful
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 parlormaid turned faint at the sight of blood, and the chambermaid lost her wits in the flurry. It was a bad
cut, and must be sewed up at once, the doctor said, as soon as he came. “Somebody must hold his head,” he added, as he threaded
his queer little needle.
“I’ll
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