Tim and Tip — Background and Themes

“Strayed.――A boy from the home of the subscriber; and any one returning him will be suitably rewarded. Said boy is about eleven years old, has short, light hair, a turned-up nose, and face very much tanned. When last seen he had on a suit of blue clothes considerably faded and worn, and had with him a yellow dog, with a long body, short legs, and a short tail. The boy answers to the name of Tim, and the dog to that of Tip. Any information regarding the runaway will be liberally paid for. Address Captain Rufus Babbige, in care of this office.”

“There, Tim,” said the man who had been reading the advertisement aloud from the columns of a country newspaper to a very small boy, with large, dark eyes, and an exceedingly dirty face, who was listening intently, “you see that Rufe Babbige don’t intend to let you get away as easy as you thought, for he’s willing to pay something for any news of you, though I’ll be bound he won’t part with very much money.”

“But he always said he wished I’d have sense enough to die,” replied the boy, trying to choke down the sob of terror which would rise in his throat at the idea of being thus advertised for as though he were a thief; “an’ it don’t seem to me that there’s been a day but what he or Aunt Betsey have given me a whippin’ since my mother died. Look here!”

As he spoke the boy pushed the ragged coat sleeves up from his thin arms, showing long discolorations which had evidently been made by a whip-lash.

“It’s all over me just like that, an’ I don’t see what he wants Tip an’ me back for, ’cause he’s always said he wished he was rid of us.”

“It’s a shame to treat a boy that always behaved himself as well as you did like that,” said the proprietor of the country store into which the runaway had entered to purchase a couple of crackers, “an’ I don’t see what the folks up in Selman were thinking of to let him abuse you so. I don’t approve of boys running away, but in your case I think the only fault is that you didn’t run sooner.”

“But now that he’s put it in the paper he’ll be sure to catch me, for I’m only six miles from Selman;” and the big tears began to roll down the boy’s cheeks, marking their course by the clean lines they left on the dirty face.

“Anybody that knows him wouldn’t any more think of sending you back to him than they would of cutting your hand off,” said the man, as he shook his fist savagely in the direction Captain Babbige was supposed to be.

“But what does he want us for, when he’s always wanted to get rid of us?” persisted the boy, stooping down to caress a very queer-looking dog, whose body seemed to have been stretched out, and whose legs looked as if they had been worn down by much running.

“I reckon I can tell you why he wants you, Tim, and when you get older it’ll do you some good to know it. He’s your uncle, an’ your legal guardian, an’ I’ve been told by them that knows that he’s got quite a sum of money belonging to you, which would all be his if you should die. Some day when you are of age you come back here and claim it; but don’t you let him get hold of you again now.”

“Indeed I won’t,” replied the boy, trembling at the thought of the fate which would be his if he should be so unlucky as to fall into the captain’s clutches again.

“Run away from here so far that he can’t find you, and when you get a place where you can go to work be as good a boy as I’ve always known you to be, and you’ll come out of this trouble by being a good, honest man. Here’s a couple of dollars for you, and I only wish it was in my power to take you home with me and keep you. But Rufe Babbige would soon break that up, and the best thing you can do is to trudge off as fast as possible.”

The boy tried to thank the kind-hearted shopkeeper, but the tears were coming so fast, and the big sob in his throat had got so far up toward his mouth, that he could not utter a word.

Just then a customer entered the store, and he hurried away at once, closely followed by the odd-looking dog, who displayed, in his way, quite as much affection for the boy as the boy did for him.

Down through the one street of the little village, out on to the country road, the two walked as if they were already foot-sore and weary; and when at last they came to where the road wound along through the woods Tim sat down on a rock to rest, while Tip huddled up close beside him.

“It’s kinder too bad to be called such names in the papers, ain’t it, Tip?” said the boy, speaking for the first time since they had left the store, “an’ I think he ought to be ’shamed of hisself to talk so about you. It ain’t your fault if your legs is short an’ your tail gone; you’re worth more’n all the dogs in this world, an’ you’re all that I’ve got to love me, an’ we’ll never go back to let Captain Babbige beat us any more, will we, Tip?”

Just then the dog, which had been chewing some blades of grass, got one in his nose, a mishap which caused him to sneeze and shake his head vigorously; while Tim, who firmly believed that Tip understood all that was said to him, looked upon this as a token that the dog agreed to what he had said, and he continued, earnestly:

“I know just as well as you do, Tip, that it wasn’t right for us to run away, but how could we help it? They kept tellin’ us we was in the way an’ they wished we’d die, and everybody that was kind to us told us we’d better do just what we have done. Now we’re off in the big, wide world all by ourselves, Tip, an’ whether the cap’en catches us or not, you’ll love me just as much as you always have, won’t you, for you’re all I’ve got that cares for me?”

The dog was still busy trying to settle the question about the grass in his nose, and after that was decided in his favor he looked up at his young master and barked several times, as if expressing his opinion about something, which the boy interpreted as advice.

“Well, I s’pose you’re right, Tip――we had ought to go along, for if we don’t we sha’n’t even find a barn to sleep in, as we did last night.”

As he spoke Tim arose wearily from his hard seat, his legs stiff from long walking, and trudged along, while Tip followed as closely at his heels as it was possible for him to get.

It was nearly sunset, and as he walked on it seemed as if he was getting farther into the woods, instead of coming out at some place where he could find shelter for the night.

“Looks kinder lonesome, don’t it, Tip?” and Tim choked back a sob as he spoke. “I don’t want to sleep out here in the woods if I can help it; but it wouldn’t be half so bad if one of us was alone, would it?”

In this fashion, keeping up a sort of a conversation――if it could be called such where one did all the talking and the other wagged his short stump of a tail――the two journeyed on until it was almost too dark to distinguish objects a short distance ahead.

Only once since the store-keeper had given him the two dollars had Tim thought of what he had said regarding Captain Babbige’s having money of his, and then he put it out of his mind as an impossibility, for surely, he thought, he would not have scolded so about what he and his dog ate if Tim had had any property of his own.

“I guess we shall have to sleep in the woods, Tip,” said Tim, disconsolately, as the trees appeared to be less thick together, but yet no signs of a house; “but it won’t be much worse than what Aunt Betsey calls a bed good enough for boys like me.”

Just at that instant Tim was frightened out of nearly all his senses, and Tip started on a barking match that threatened to shake his poor apology of a tail from his thin body, by hearing a shrill voice cry out:

“Look here, feller, where are you goin’ this time of night?”

Tim stopped as quickly as if he had stepped into a pool of glue which had suddenly hardened, holding him prisoner, and peered anxiously ahead, trying to discover where the voice came from.

“Didn’t know there was anybody ’round here, did yer?” continued the voice, while the body still remained hidden from view.

Again Tim tried to discover the speaker, and, failing in the attempt, he asked, in a sort of frightened desperation, “Who are you, anyhow?”

“Call off yer dog, an’ I’ll show yer.”

These words made Tim feel very much braver, for they showed that the speaker as well as himself was frightened, and he lost no time in reducing Tip to a state of subjection by clasping him firmly around the neck.

“Now come out; he wouldn’t hurt a fly, an’ it’s only his way to bark when he’s kinder scared.”

Thus urged, the party afraid of the dog came out of his place of hiding, which was none other than the branches of a tree, by simply dropping to the ground――a proceeding which gave another shock to the nerves of both Tim and Tip.

But there was nothing about him very alarming, and when Tim had a full view of him, he was inclined to be angry with himself for having allowed so short a boy to frighten him. He was no taller than Tim and, as near as could be seen in the dim light, about as broad as he was long――a perfect ball of jelly, with a face, two legs, and two arms carved on it.

It was impossible to gain a good view of his face, but that did not trouble Tim, who was only anxious to learn who this boy was, and whether he might be sufficiently acquainted with Captain Babbige to send him news of the runaway.

The new-comer did not appear to be in any hurry to begin the conversation, but stood, with his hands in his pockets, eying Tim as though he was some strange animal who might be expected to cut up queer antics at any moment.

“Hullo!” said Tim, after he thought the fat boy had looked at him quite as long as was necessary.

“Hullo!” was the reply.

“Where did you come from?”

“Outer that tree there,” replied the boy, bravely, as he pointed to the place where he had been hiding.

“Yes, I saw you come out of there; but that ain’t where you live, is it?”

“Where do you live?” And Tim was beginning to think that it required a great deal of labor to extract a small amount of knowledge from this fat party.

“Oh, I live over the hill, about half a mile down the road. Got anything good to eat?”

The question seemed so unnecessary and out of place, considering all the circumstances, that Tim took no notice of it, but asked, “What’s your name?”

“I dunno, but I guess it’s Simpson.”

“Well, you’re funny if you ain’t sure what your name is,” said Tim, thoughtfully, forgetting his own troubles in his curiosity about this queer specimen. “What makes you think your name’s Simpson?”

“’Cause that’s my father’s name.”

By this time Tim had released his hold of Tip’s neck, and the dog walked around Sam on a sort of smelling tour, very much to the boy’s discomfort.

“Don’t be afraid,” said Tim, “he won’t bite you. He’s the best and quietest dog in the world if you only let him alone.”

“I’ll let him alone,” replied Sam, still in doubt as to Tip’s good intentions. “I’ll let him alone, an’ I wish he’d let me alone.”

“He’s only kinder gettin’ acquainted, that’s all. Say, do you s’pose your father would let me sleep in his barn to-night?”

“I dunno. What do you want to for?”

“’Cause I ain’t got any other place.”

If Sam hadn’t been so fat he would probably have started in surprise; but as it was he expressed his astonishment by a kind of grunt, and, going nearer to Tim, he asked, “Where do you live?”

“Nowhere. Me an’ Tip are tryin’ to find some place where we can earn our own livin’,” replied Tim, in doubt as to whether he ought to tell this boy his whole story or not.

“Ain’t you got any father or mother?”

“No,” was the sad reply. “They’re both dead, an’ me an’ Tip have to look out for ourselves. We did live with Captain Babbige, but we couldn’t stand it any longer, an’ so we started out on our own hook.”

“Where do you get things to eat?”

“We’ve got some money to buy ’em with.”

“How much have you got?”

“I had two cents when I left Selman, an’ Mr. Sullivan, that keeps a store down to the mills, gave me two dollars.”

“I’ll tell you what let’s do,” said Sam, eagerly, as his eyes sparkled with delight. “Jest the other side of my house there’s a store, an’ we can go down there an’ get two big sticks of candy, an’ have an awful good time.”

Tim reflected a moment. He knew that he ought to keep his money; but Sam’s idea seemed such a good one that the thought of the pleasure which would come with the eating of the candy was too much for his notions of economy; therefore he compromised by saying, “I will, if you’ll let me sleep in your barn.”

Sam quickly agreed to that――in order to get the candy he would probably have promised to give the entire farm away――and the three――Sam, Tim and Tip――started off, the best of friends.

But before they had gone very far Sam stopped in the middle of the road, saying, mournfully, “My! but I forgot all about the cow!”

“Father sent me down here to find old Whiteface, an’ I forgot all about her when I saw you.”

“Well, why don’t you find her now? Me an’ Tip will help you.”

“But it’ll take so long, an’ before we get back the store will be shut up,” objected Sam, who stood undecided in the road, as if he had half a mind to leave old Whiteface to her fate while he made sure of the candy.

“Never mind if the store is shut up,” said Tim, earnestly. “We can get the candy just as well in the morning, an’ perhaps we’ll find her so quick that there’ll be plenty of time.”

“Will you buy the candy in the mornin’ if you don’t to-night?”

“Yes, I will, honest.”

Tim went through the ceremony of crossing his throat to make his promise more solemn, and search was made for the cow.

Up to this time it was plain that Sam did not feel any great amount of love for or confidence in Tip; but when, after a few moments’ search, his loud bark told that he had discovered the missing cow, his future was assured, so far as Sam Simpson was concerned.

“Now, that’s somethin’ like,” he said, after they had started homeward. “When you’ve got such a dog as that, all a feller’s got to do is to set down an’ send him after ’em. It’s the awfullest hateful thing in the world to go off huntin’ cows when you don’t want to.”

Tim had many and serious doubts as to whether Tip could be depended on to go for the cows alone; but he did not think it best to put those doubts in words, lest he should deprive his pet of his new-found friend.

It was only a ten minutes’ walk to Sam’s home, and when the cow had been led to her stall Tim proposed that Sam should ask permission for him to sleep in the barn.

“There’s time enough for that when we come back,” was Sam’s reply, the thought of the candy he was to have in case they reached the store before it was closed for the night driving all else from his mind. “Come on; we’ll catch Mr. Coburn if we hurry.”

Now, Tim would much rather have had the question settled as to his sleeping quarters before starting out for pleasure; but Sam was so eager for the promised feast that he felt obliged to do as he said, more especially since it was through his influence that he hoped to receive the favor.

Naturally Sam Simpson was not a quick-motioned boy; but no one could have complained of the speed with which he went toward Mr. Coburn’s store that night, and Tim found it hard work to keep pace with him.

The store was open, but the proprietor was just making preparations for closing. The candy, placed in two rather dirty glass jars, was in its accustomed place, and beamed down upon them in all its sticky sweetness, delighting Sam simply by the view to such an extent that he could hardly keep his two feet upon the floor.

With a gravity befitting the occasion and the amount of wealth he was about to squander, Tim asked to be allowed to see the goods he proposed to buy, in order to make sure they were of the proper length.

Old Mr. Coburn rubbed his glasses carefully, wiped his face as a sort of preface to his task, and set about making this last sale of the day with the air of a man who knows he is called upon to deal with very exacting customers.

It was fully five minutes before Tim could settle the weighty question of whether it was better to buy a stick of peppermint and one of lemon, and thus by dividing them get two distinct treats, or to take both of one kind, and thus prevent any dispute as to whether he had made a just and equal division.

While this struggle was going on in the purchaser’s mind Sam fidgeted around, standing first on one foot and then on the other, watching every movement Tim made, while Tip searched over every portion of the store, very much to Mr. Coburn’s annoyance.

The decision was finally made, but not before Mr. Coburn hinted that he could not afford to burn a quart of oil in order that his customers might see how to spend two cents, and, with a peppermint stick in one hand and a lemon stick in the other, Tim left the store, followed by Sam and preceded by Tip.

To make a fair division of the sweet feast was quite as great a task as the purchase had been, and it was begun in the gravest manner.

The two sticks were carefully measured, and by the aid of Sam’s half-bladed jack-knife, broken at the proper place. A large rock by the side of the road served as a seat, and there the two boys munched away as slowly as possible, in order that the feast might be prolonged to the utmost.

Tip sat close by, watching every mouthful in a hungry way, but refusing the portion Tim offered him.