Chapter 13

The boys gathered around the stove before school, and talked. The boys—not all of them, by any means. Only that small, select number who were above, and led all the rest. Tip wandered outside of the circle, feeling very forlorn; he didn’t belong anywhere these days. Bob and his friends had very nearly deserted him; there was scarcely any of their fun in which he had time or desire to join, and the other cliques in school had never noticed him; so he stood outside, and wondered what he should do with himself.

Howard Minturn wheeled suddenly away from the boys, and called to him, “Tip, see here.”

And Tip went there.

“What do you want?” he asked crossly; for some way he felt out of sorts with that company of finely-dressed boys around the stove.

“Want you to come over tonight. It’s my birthday, you know, and some of the boys are coming to take tea, and spend the evening. Can you come?”

Tip’s wide-open eyes spoke his astonishment. “What do you want of me?” he asked at last, speaking boldly just what he thought.

“Why, I want you to come and help have a nice time,” returned Howard, with great kindness, but just a little condescension in his tone.

Tip heard it, and his bitterness showed itself a little. “It’s a new streak you’ve got, ain’t it?” he said, still speaking crossly. “You’ve had lots of birthdays, and this is the first one I’ve heard of.”

“Oh, well!” said Howard proudly, flushing as he spoke; “if you don’t want to come, why—”

Mr. Burrows’ hand was laid on Howard’s arm. “Don’t spoil a good, noble thing, my boy. It is all new to Edward; urge him.”

Mr. Burrows spoke low, so no one else could hear him, and turned away.

At recess Howard sought out Tip.

“I honestly hope you’ll come tonight, Tip, for you’re a good fellow to play games with, and the boys would all like to have you.”

Tip had quarrelled with his ill-humor, and it had vanished.

“I’ll come,” he said, in a cheery tone; “only I’ll look like a big rag-bag by the side of you fellows.”

“Never mind,” said Howard, turning to join the boys, “you come.”

Why had Howard Minturn invited him to the grand birthday party? This was the question that puzzled Tip. Had he known the reason, it would have been like this: Mr. Minturn had never quite lost sight of Tip since the circus. He wanted to help him—wanted to do it through his son; only he wanted the son to think that he did it himself. Knowing Howard pretty well, he said, when they were seated at breakfast that morning—

“I’ve just been reading about a real hero.”

Howard longed to be a hero; he looked up eagerly.

“Who was he, Father? What did he do?”

“He was a rich young man, and he had the courage to take for his friend a poor fellow who hadn’t two cents to his name. To pay him, the time came when he was proud to be noticed by the great man who was once so low.”

This thought was still in Howard’s mind when he walked with Ellis to school. So, when Ellis said, “There goes Tip Lewis; Father thinks we boys ought to notice him; he is trying real hard nowadays to behave himself, you know,” it was easy for Howard to mingle Tip in with his thoughts.

“Ellis,” he said, after a moment’s silence, “suppose I invite him to come to our house tonight? He’s a splendid good fellow to have a game; never gets mad, you know.”

“S’pose he’d come?” asked Ellis.

“Yes, of course; jump at the chance. I’ll do it. Our boys will think it odd, I suppose; but I guess I have courage enough to do as I please.”

And Howard drew himself up proudly, and thought of his father’s hero.

So this was why Tip was invited to the birthday gathering at the grand house on the hill.

Mrs. Lewis sewed, that afternoon, on his jacket, mending it up more neatly than ever before. She had said very little about this invitation, but she couldn’t help feeling proud and gratified over it. It was certainly a wonderful jump for Tip, from mingling with the worst and lowest boys in town, to find himself taking a long stride, and reaching the very top. So Mrs. Lewis sewed, and Kitty, as she sat watching the needle fly back and forth, spoke her thoughts:

“All of the boys down to Mr. Burrows’ school wear white collars on their jackets.”

“Well,” answered her mother snappishly, “what’s that to me? S’posing they wear white cats on their jackets, I could get him one just as easy as t’other.”

It was a sore subject with Mrs. Lewis. From her very heart she wished she could dress Tip in broadcloth today, just as fine as that which Howard Minturn himself wore, and a collar so white and shiny that it would fairly dazzle the eyes of the others to look upon it; but, since she was so powerless to do what she would, it made her cross.

The bedroom door was open, and Tip’s father heard. By and by, when his cough was quieter, he called, “Kitty!” and the little girl went in to him. “Is the jacket fixed, Kitty?”

“Yes.”

“Does it look nice?”

“Some.”

“Would you like to find a collar for Tip to wear?”

“Well enough,” said Kitty wonderingly.

“Well, now, I’ve got two or three that I don’t wear any more, and never shall, I guess” (this last spoken sadly); “s’pose you take one of ’em—they’re in that square box under the table—and see if you can’t sew it on the jacket, and make it look like what the other boys wear? Now, you try what you can do, just to see what Tip will say.”

Kitty went slowly over to the box. This was new work for her, but her father was very pale today, and those sadly-spoken words, “and never shall, I guess,” had quieted her; so she made no answer, but drew out one of the collars. It looked nice and white, and shone, too. Mrs. Lewis had done it up late one night, with tears in her eyes, because she could not hope that it would be worn again.

“What are you doing with that?” she asked sharply, as Kitty appeared from the bedroom.

“Father wants Tip to wear it,” answered Kitty.

“I’ll lend it to him,” spoke the sick man; “we want him to look as decent as we can today, you know.”

Mrs. Lewis said no more, but it seemed to her like giving up one more hope of her husband’s life.

Tip came down from the garret, with neatly-brushed hair, and dressed in his clean shirt, nicely mended jacket, and the shiny collar. It was wonderful what a difference that collar made; he didn’t look like the same boy.

“Kitty,” he said, his face all aglow with pleasure, “where did I get a collar?”

“It’s Father’s; he said wear it,” answered Kitty.

“And how did it get on my jacket?”

“Jumped on, likely.”

Kitty spoke in a short, half provoked tone; she was so unused to doing a kind thing, that she really felt half ashamed of it.

“Well,” said Tip, smiling all over his face, “if that’s so, it’s the best jump it ever took, and I thank it from the bottom of my heart.” Then he carried his bright, good-natured face out of the little house in the hollow, and went towards the great house on the hill.