The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1909-11-18
IOMMY WAS 4 NAN.
A True Story q Self Control Hsistsd
by . Chicago MssehGnt.

py SH'SY~ WDsSUuByS
The following really true ipci.
dent is told about a little fellow
sfi1l in the knickerboeker stage, who
works for 9 large Chicago paper
house. One day he was called to
the telephone and after listening
a minute turned pale and hung up
the receiver quietly and hurried to
the managers Office. The manager,
however, had gone out to lunch, SO
The boy left a note reading, "I hav
to 20 hoam. Tommy Barrett" The
manager found the note when he
returned, but soon became busy
with important matters and forgot
all about the boy.
Three days later, Monday morn
ing, Tommy Barrel came back to
work. TIE the other boys queries
Of "Ben sick, TOMMY he main
tanned a rigid silence. He worked
as hard as usual, and finally the
heys ceased to question him regard
ING his absence. Neither did they
insist again after his second re.
fusal to accompany them at noon
for the usual Eve cent lunch OF cof-
fee and bismarcks, having come to
the conclusion, as they expressed it,
that "Tommy had a Crouch"
One day the manager was called
at noon to inspect a certain grade
of paper in the storeroom on the
top floor. As he and his foreman
wendell their way through the huge
rolls of paper they heard the sound
of low sobs. Silently they peered
down the long aisles Of paper rolls,
and finally in the corner ct one
narrow one they saw the pathetic
figure of a little boy. The aisle be-
ing too tubelike for the portly form
Of the manager, he babe the bog
come out.
1t was Tommy Barrett, his face
flaming with embarrassment, his
cheeks tear stained and dirty from
contact with the grimy little hands.
"Why, Tommy, what is tight
with one Of the boys?" questioned
the manager.
"No, sir" faltered Tommy, now
striving m~anfully to raise his voice
above the threatening sobs.
"Then what was it?" The man
ager laid his hand on the boys
head reassuringly. Tommy bit HE
lip for composure, then, dry eyed,
answered firmly, "My mudder died
last week"
The manager turned away as The
chain of memory waited him back
to his own similar loss years ago,
when it took the united efforts Of a
host Of relatives and the entire
community of a sympathizing small
country town to comfort him with
chocolate drops, '1ittle pies" and
miniature express wagons. And
here, he thought, was this little
chap working in silence and con.
trolling the misery of his heart until
he could steal away at noontime
and sob it all out alone among the
paper rolls.
"Have you come up here before
to cry?" the manager inquired
when he felt sure of his own voice.
eyes, sir" Tommy answered tim.
idly, adding apprehensively, 'but
don't fire me, sir won't do il
again."
Sire you!' the manager ejacu'
lated. "Well, I guess not. A boy
not as high as a yardstick, ant
with a mans self control" Tom
my looked up thankfully at this as
surance.
"Now run and wash your face
the manager continued kindly
you're going to lunch with me al
2 o'clock"
An hour later Tommy, with foe,
glossy from recent battle will
pumice stone soap, was partakint
of a substantial lunch with his err
ployer, who waxed cheerful, conf
Dental, even chummy, to put thu
boy at his ease. As they finished
the dessert he nominated and elect
ed Tommy ''boss" Of the twenty
four boys at the envelope table, bu'
not the slightest reference wa
made to the boys bereavement, TO,
the manager understood the fine
ness of Tommy's feelings and re
IL Hy-- T-sl-