Part 6 — THE SIGN BOARD

Everybody liked Tom Hall, and everybody was sorry for him. It was sad to see such a fine young man a victim of drunkenness, and Tom had fallen into the mocker’s power unwittingly, it seems. A new saloon had been opened close to the foundry at which he worked, and he, along with others, was in the habit of going in for a glass of beer.

When the cold weather set in, he took something stronger, until he began to imagine that spirits agreed with him. Tom went on, and the liking for strong drink increased, until at all hours he might be seen staggering out of the “Rainbow,” dizzy and stupefied with the intoxicating cup.

Tom’s was a very sad case. He belonged to a respectable family, and he had been religiously trained, and until he was drawn into the snare, he was an affectionate son and brother. Friends counseled, and ministers preached, and every means was tried to reclaim him, but all effort seemed lost,—Tom was bound hard and fast with the invisible chains of the “mocker.” His family mourned him as lost, and many a silent tear his sister dropped on his tattered garments as she sat darning and patching them.

“Ah, these rents will not darn again,” said Jennie, as she turned over Tom’s ragged raiment. In Tom’s better days, he had pride, and it was a sad change when he didn’t care who saw him “out at the elbows.”

But somehow Jennie could not find it in her heart to abandon the brother she still loved, and so Tom’s tattered garments were taken up again, and made the most of.

“Kindness may win him back,” said Jennie, and when he came home at the worst, he was met in peace,—if in sorrow.

Just when the trees were beginning to bud with the promise of spring, Tom came home looking quite thoughtful. He was sober after a long run.

In the last rays of the setting sun, his sister was trying to cover some old darns.

Tom stood beside her, and silently watched the patient fingers for some time.

“That’s tiresome work, Jennie.”

“That’s tiresome work, Jennie,” he said. His sister held up her seam before him.

“Why, that is a bunch of rags,” said Tom.

“Yes, Tom; and a bunch of rags would be the best sign board that a saloon keeper could hang over his door,” said Jennie, sadly.

Tom made no reply. He looked at the rags in silence.

Next morning Tom went back to his work and continued steady for two or three weeks.

He looked toward the “Rainbow,” but didn’t go in.

“Hello! what’s up with Tom Hall?” wondered Sinclair, as he filled up a glass of Tom’s favorite whisky for another customer at the counter.

Sinclair was not the only one who was astonished at the change.

Every day Tom went to his work; every night he came home sober, and after a time he appeared at church on the Sabbath. Then people began to believe that Tom was in earnest, and really meant to reform.

“Has Tom Hall really become a teetotaler?” queried Sinclair, when a whole month had passed without a visit to the “Rainbow.”

Well, it seemed so, for nothing stronger than water had passed his lips since that night on which his sister had shown him the bunch of rags. “I’ll have a talk with Tom and learn how he got off the scent, though,” Sinclair resolved.

An opportunity came sooner than he expected. In the beginning of summer a terrific thunderstorm passed over Airlie, and among the general devastation, Sinclair’s sign board was shivered to atoms.

Tom happened to be passing the “Rainbow” next morning, and stopped to glance up at the old mark.

“Fine work here, the storm’s done for us,” remarked Mr. Sinclair, who was standing in his door, “and I’ll have to get a new sign board.”

“Is it so bad as that?” asked Tom.

“Yes, the ‘Rainbow’ is in shivers.”

“Then you’ll want a new sign board,” suggested Tom.

“Of course; isn’t that what I’m telling you?”

“Is it to be the ‘Rainbow’ again?” asked Tom.

“I suppose so,” answered Mr. Sinclair, “unless you can give a new idea, Tom.”

“I think I can,” returned Tom; “but I must go home first.”

“Don’t forget, though,” said Mr. Sinclair.

“But you’re a stranger now-a-days, by the by, Tom.”

“I won’t be long,” answered Tom, as he hurried toward home.

A better sign board than “The Rainbow” Mr. Sinclair did not expect to get; he was only joking with Tom Hall, and he raised his eyebrows when Tom made his appearance, with a bundle under his arm, and requested him to look at the new sign board.

“I didn’t think you would catch me up; but step in, Tom, and let me see your idea.”

Tom gravely undid his bundle, and held up a bunch of rags before the saloon keeper’s astonished eyes.

“What do you mean, Tom?” asked Mr. Sinclair, feeling confident that Tom had lost his senses.

“You want a new sign board, don’t you?” asked Tom.

“Well, what has a bunch of rags got to do with that?” said Mr. Sinclair.

“Ask yourself, sir, if a bunch of rags is not the best sign board that can hang across your door,” said Tom, and his lips quivered.

“Was it that bunch of rags that made you a teetotaler, Tom?” said Mr. Sinclair, more confused than he liked to confess.

“It was one of the means, sir,” answered Tom, “and, perhaps some poor wretch, seeing in this bunch of rags the future outcome of drink, will bless you for the sign board.”

Tom walked away to his work, and Mr. Sinclair went back to his counter, but all day the bunch of rags troubled him.

It was a busy day, but every new comer seemed more deplorably wretched and worse off than the last served. He was thankful when night came.

The last customer was a woman literally covered with rags. A little infant sat on her arm. It was crying with cold and hunger.

“Go home and put clothes on your child,” said Mr. Sinclair, flinging back the money the woman had laid down.

“I have nothing but rags,” said the woman.

“Tom is right,” said Mr. Sinclair; “the end of drink is misery and rags, and the man who has a taste for that sort of thing may put his name on the new sign board.”