Johnny hesitated. He did not like Jim’s tone. It was quite true that Jim was the stronger of the two, but Johnny thought it showed bad taste to mention it in that defiant sort of manner. And he did not see any particular fun in teaching Jim, especially on summer evenings. But it would be a great thing to have such good help with his garden as he knew Jim would give, so he swallowed his pride, and said, as graciously as he could,—
“All right. You come up after tea this evening, and we’ll begin. We have tea at six, and I’ll hurry through mine, and then, when it’s too dark to work any more, we can come into the playroom and have the lesson.”
You will remember that it was this Jim Brady who had given Johnny his first, and—there is reason to believe—his last cigar, and so led him, though quite unintentionally, into his first act of deceit to his mother. And the remembrance of this act was a very sorrowful one, for although Johnny, as you know, had both confessed and repented, and had been freely forgiven, the shameful act remained, never to be undone. Do you ever think of that, when you are tempted to do some mean, wicked thing?
Mrs. Leslie had called on Jim, at his bootblacking stand, soon after this occurrence, and had a long talk with him, and the next time the boys met, Jim had said, severely,—
“If _I_ had an Angel for a mother, Johnny Leslie, I’d be shot before I’d behave anyhow but on the square to her, and now I’ll put you on your honor—if you find you’re learning anything she wouldn’t like, from me, you’ve only to let me know, and I’ll cut you dead!”
This was a rather mixed statement, but Johnny understood it, and felt himself blushing. It seemed to him that Jim had somehow got things backward, but his recent downfall had humbled him, in more ways than one, so instead of replying, as he was greatly tempted to, that if anybody did any cutting, he would be the person to do it, he merely said, rather shortly,—
“Very well, I guess I know a little more about my mother than you do, so you attend to your mother-minding, and I’ll attend to mine!”
“Glad to hear it,” said Jim, easily, “but _my_ mother’s what the dictionary-talkers call a traydition; I never saw her, so I’d find it a little impossible to mind her, don’t you see? But I’ll tell you one thing—if your mother ever cares enough about me to give me a little extra minding to do for her, I’ll see what I’m equal to in that line, perhaps!”