Kitabı oku: «Tattered Tom», sayfa 2

CHAPTER IV
THE SIEGE

“Open the door,” screamed granny, beside herself with rage, “or I’ll kill you.”

“You can’t get at me,” said Tom, triumphantly.

The old woman grasped the knob of the door and shook it vigorously. But the lock resisted her efforts. Tom’s spirit was up, and she rather enjoyed it.

“Shake away, granny,” she called through the key-hole.

“If I could only get at you!” muttered granny.

“I won’t let you in till you promise not to touch me.”

“I’ll skin you alive.”

“Then you can’t come in.”

The old woman began alternately to pound and kick upon the door. Tom sat down coolly upon a chair, her dark eyes flashing exultingly. She knew her power, and meant to keep it. She had not reflected how it was to end. She supposed that in the end she would get a “lickin’,” as she had often done before. But in the mean while she would have the pleasure of defying and keeping the old woman at bay for an indefinite time. So she sat in placid enjoyment in her stronghold until she heard something that suggested a speedy raising of the siege.

“I’m goin’ for a hatchet,” said granny, through the key-hole.

“If you break the door, you’ll have to pay for it.”

“Never you mind!” said the old woman. “I know what I’m about.”

She heard the retreating steps of granny, and, knowing only too well her terrible temper, made up her mind that she was in earnest. If so, the door must soon succumb. A hatchet would soon accomplish what neither kicks nor pounding had been able to effect.

“What shall I do?” thought Tom.

She was afraid of something more than a lickin’ now. In her rage at having been so long baffled, the old woman might attack her with the hatchet. She knew very well that on previous occasions she had flung at her head anything she could lay hold of. Tom, brave and stout-hearted as she was, shrunk from this new danger, and set herself to devise a way of escape. She looked out of the window; but she was on the fourth floor, and it was a long distance to the court below. If it had been on the second floor she would have swung off.

There was another thing she could do. Granny had gone down below to borrow a hatchet. She might unlock the door, and run out upon the landing; but there was no place for hiding herself, and no way of getting downstairs without running the risk of rushing into granny’s clutches. In her perplexity her eyes fell upon a long coil of rope in one corner. It was a desperate expedient, but she resolved to swing out of the window, high as it was. She managed to fasten one end securely, and let the other drop from the window. As it hung, it fell short of reaching the ground by at least ten feet. But Tom was strong and active, and never hesitated a moment on this account. She was incited to extra speed, for she already heard the old woman ascending the stairs, probably provided with a hatchet.

Tom got on the window-sill, and, grasping the rope, let herself down rapidly hand over hand, till she reached the end of the rope. Then she dropped. It was rather hard to her feet, and she fell over. But she quickly recovered herself.

Tim, the recipient of her dinner, was in the court, and surveyed her descent with eyes and mouth wide open.

“Where’d you come from, Tom?” he asked.

“Can’t you see?” said Tom.

“Why didn’t you come downstairs?”

“’Cause granny’s there waitin’ to lick me. I must be goin’ before she finds out where I am. Don’t you tell of me, Tim.”

“No, I won’t,” said Tim; and he was sure to keep his promise.

Tom sped through the arched passage to the street, and did not rest till she had got a mile away from the home which had so few attractions for her.

Beyond the chance of immediate danger, the young Arab conjured up the vision of granny’s disappointment when she should break open the door, and find her gone; and she sat down on the curbstone and laughed heartily.

“What are you laughing at?” asked a boy, looking curiously at the strange figure before him.

“Oh, it’s too rich!” said Tom, pausing a little, and then breaking out anew.

“What’s too rich?”

“I’ve run away from granny. She wanted to lick me, and now she can’t.”

“You’ve been cutting up, I suppose.”

“No, it’s granny that’s been cuttin’ up. She’s at it all the time.”

“But you’ll catch it when you do go home, you know.”

“Maybe I won’t go home.”

It was not a street-boy that addressed her; but a boy with a comfortable home, who had a place in a store near by. He did not know, practically, what sort of a thing it was to wander about the streets, friendless and homeless; but it struck him vaguely that it must be decidedly uncomfortable. There was something in this strange creature—half boy in appearance—that excited his interest and curiosity, and he continued the conversation.

“What sort of a woman is your granny, as you call her?” he asked.

“She’s an awful old woman,” was the answer.

“I shouldn’t think you would like to speak so of your grandmother.”

“I don’t believe she is my grandmother. I only call her so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tom.”

“Tom!” repeated the boy, in surprise. “Aint you a girl?”

“Yes; I expect so.”

“It’s hard to tell from your clothes, you know;” and he scanned Tom’s queer figure attentively.

Tom was sitting on a low step with her knees nearly on a level with her chin, and her hands clasped around them. She had on her cap of the morning, and her jacket, which, by the way, had been given to granny when on a begging expedition, and appropriated to Tom’s use, without special reference to her sex. Tom didn’t care much. It made little difference to her whether she was in the fashion or not; and if the street boys chaffed her, she was abundantly able to give them back as good as they sent.

“What’s the matter with my clothes?” said Tom.

“You’ve got on a boy’s cap and jacket.”

“I like it well enough. As long as it keeps a feller warm I don’t mind.”

“Do you call yourself a feller?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re a queer feller.”

“Don’t you call me names, ’cause I won’t stand it;” and Tom raised a pair of sharp, black eyes.

“I won’t call you names, at least not any bad ones. Have you had any dinner?”

“Yes,” said Tom, smacking her lips, as she recalled her delicious repast, “I had a square meal.”

“What do you call a square meal?”

“Roast beef, cup o’ coffee, and pie.”

The boy was rather surprised, for such a dinner seemed beyond Tom’s probable resources.

“Your granny don’t treat you so badly, after all. That’s just the kind of dinner I had.”

“Granny didn’t give it to me. I bought it. That’s what she wants to lick me for. All she give me was a piece of hard bread.”

“Where did you get the money? Was it hers?”

“That’s what she says. But if a feller works all the mornin’ for some money, hasn’t she got a right to keep some of it?”

“I should think so.”

“So should I,” said Tom, decidedly.

“Have you got any money?”

“No, I spent it all for dinner.”

“Then here’s some.”

The boy drew from his vest-pocket twenty-five cents, and offered it to Tom.

The young Arab felt no delicacy in accepting the pecuniary aid thus tendered.

“Thank you,” said she. “You can call me names if you want to.”

“What should I want to call you names for?” asked the boy, puzzled.

“There was a gent called me names this mornin’, and give me twenty cents for doin’ it.”

“What did he call you?”

“I dunno; but it must have been something awful bad, it was so long.”

“You’re a strange girl, Tom.”

“Am I? Well, I reckon I am. What’s your name?”

“John Goodwin.”

“John Goodwin?” repeated Tom, by way of fixing it in her memory.

“Yes; haven’t you got any other name than Tom?”

“I dunno. I think granny called me Jane once. But it’s a good while ago. Everybody calls me Tom, now.”

“Well, Tom, I must be getting back to the store. Good-by. I hope you’ll get along.”

“All right!” said Tom. “I’m goin’ into business with that money you give me.”

CHAPTER V
TOM GAINS A VICTORY

Granny mounted the stairs two at a time; so eager was she to force a surrender on the part of the rebellious Tom. She was a little out of breath when she reached the fourth landing, and paused an instant to recover it. Tom was at that moment half-way down the rope; but this she did not suspect.

Recovering her breath, she strode to the door. Before making an assault with the hatchet, she decided to summon Tom to a surrender.

“Tom!” she called out.

Of course there was no answer.

“Why don’t you answer?” demanded granny, provoked.

She listened for a reply, but Tom remained obstinately silent, as she interpreted it.

“If you don’t speak, it’ll be the wuss for ye,” growled granny.

Again no answer.

“I’ll find a way to make you speak. Come and open the door, or I’ll break it down. I’ve got a hatchet.”

But the old woman had the conversation all to herself.

Quite beside herself now with anger, she no longer hesitated; but with all her force dealt a blow which buried the hatchet deep in the door.

“Jest wait till I get in!” she muttered. “Will ye open it now?”

But there was no response.

While she was still battering at the door one of the neighbors came up from below.

“What are you doin’, Mrs. Walsh?” for such was granny’s name.

“I’m tryin’ to get in.”

“Why don’t you open the door?”

“Tom’s locked it. She won’t let me in,” said granny, finishing the sentence with a string of profane words which had best be omitted.

“You’ll have a good bill to pay to the landlord, Mrs. Walsh.”

“I don’t care,” said granny. “I’m goin’ to get at that trollop, and beat her within an inch of her life.”

Another vigorous blow broke the lock, and the door flew open.

Granny rushed in, after the manner of a devouring lion ready to pounce upon her prey. But she stopped short in dismay. Tom was not visible!

Thinking she might be in the closet, the old woman flung open the door: but again she was balked.

“What has ’come of the child?” she exclaimed, in bewilderment.

“She got out of the window,” said the neighbor, who had caught sight of the rope dangling from the open casement.

Granny hastened to the window, and the truth flashed upon her. Her prey had escaped her!

It was a deep disappointment to the vindictive old woman, whose hand itched to exercise itself in punishing Tom.

“She’s a bold un,” said the neighbor, with some admiration of Tom’s pluck.

Granny answered with a strain of invective, which gave partial vent to the rage and disappointment she felt.

“If I could only get at her!” she muttered between her teeth; “I’d give her half-a-dozen lickin’s in one. She’d wish she hadn’t done it.”

Not a doubt entered granny’s mind that Tom would return. It never occurred to her that her young servant had become tired of her bondage, and had already made up her mind to break her chains. She knew Tom pretty well, but not wholly. She did not realize that the days of her rule were at an end; and that by her tyranny she had driven from her the girl whose earnings she had found so convenient.

If there had been much chance of meeting Tom outside, granny would have gone out into the streets and hunted for her. But to search for her among the numerous streets, lanes, and alleys in the lower part of the city would have been like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Then, even if she found her, she could not very well whip her in the street. Tom would probably come home at night as usual, bringing money, and she could defer the punishment till then.

Fatigued with her exercise and excitement, the old woman threw herself down on her rude pallet, first drawing the contents of a jug which stood in the closet, and was soon in a drunken sleep. Leaving her thus, we go back to Tom.

She had made up her mind not to go back to sweeping the streets; partly, indeed, because she no longer had her broom with her. Moreover, she thought that she would in that case be more likely to fall into the clutches of the enemy she so much dreaded. With the capital for which she was indebted to her new boy acquaintance she decided to lay in a supply of evening papers, and try to dispose of them. It was not a new trade to her; for there was scarcely one of the street trades in which the young Arab had not more or less experience.

She bought ten copies of the “Express,” and selected the corner of two streets for the disposal of her stock in trade.

“Here’s the ‘Express,’—latest news from the seat of war!” cried Tom; catching the cry from a boy engaged in the same business up on Broadway.

“What’s the news?” asked one of two young men who were passing.

“The news is that you’re drafted,” said Tom, promptly. “Buy the paper, and you’ll find out all about it.”

It was in the midst of the draft excitement in New York; and as it so happened that the young man had actually been drafted, his companion laughed.

“You must buy a paper for that, Jack,” he said.

“I believe I will,” said the first, laughing. “Here’s ten cents. Never mind about the change.”

“Thank you,” said Tom. “Come round to-morrow, and I’ll sell you another.”

“You’ll have me drafted again, I am afraid. Perhaps you will go as my substitute?”

“I would if I was old enough,” said Tom.

“You’re a girl,—aint you? Girls can’t fight.”

“Try me and see,” said Tom. “I can fight any boy of my size.”

The two young men passed on, laughing.

Tom soon had an opportunity to test her prowess. The corner where she had stationed herself was usually occupied by a boy somewhat larger than Tom, who considered that it belonged to him by right. He came up rather late, having a chance to carry a carpet-bag for a guest at French’s Hotel to the Hudson River station. Tom had disposed of half her papers when he came blustering up:—

“Clear out of here!” he said, imperiously.

“Who was you speakin’ to?” asked Tom, coolly.

“To you. Just clear out!”

“What for?” asked Tom.

“You’ve got my stand.”

“Have I?” said Tom, not offering to move.

“Yes, you have.”

“Then I’m goin’ to keep it. ’Ere’s the ‘Express,’—latest news from the seat of war.”

“Look here!” said the newsboy, menacingly, “if you don’t clear out, I’ll make you.”

“Will you?” said Tom, independently, taking his measure, and deciding that she could fight him. “I aint afraid of you!”

Her rival advanced, and gave her a push which nearly thrust her from the sidewalk into the street. But he was rather astonished the next moment at receiving a blow in the face from Tom’s fist.

“If you want to fight, come on!” said Tom, dropping her papers and squaring off.

He was not slow in accepting the defiance, being provoked by the unexpected blow, and aimed a blow at Tom’s nose. But Tom, who had some rudimental ideas of boxing, while her opponent knew nothing of it, fended off the blow, and succeeded in getting in another.

“Ho! ho!” laughed another boy, who had just come up; “you’re licked by a gal.”

Bob, for this was the newsboy’s name, felt all the disgrace of the situation. His face reddened, and he pitched in promiscuously, delivering blow after blow wildly. This gave a decided advantage to Tom, who inflicted considerably more damage than she received.

The fight would have gone on longer if a gentleman had not come up, and spoken authoritatively: “What is all this fighting about? Are you not ashamed to fight with a girl?”

“No, I aint,” said Bob, sullenly. “She took my place, and wouldn’t give it up.”

“Is that true?” turning to Tom.

“I’ve got as much right to it as he,” said Tom. “I’ll give it to him if I am a gal.”

“Don’t you know it is wrong to fight?” asked the gentleman, this time addressing Tom.

“No, I don’t,” said Tom. “Wouldn’t you fight if a feller pitched into you?”

This was rather an embarrassing question, but the gentleman said, “It would be better to go away than to get into a fight.”

“He fit me.”

“It is bad enough for boys to fight, but it is worse for girls.”

“Don’t see it,” said Tom.

Had Tom been in a higher social position, it might have been suggested to her that to fight was not ladylike; but there was such an incongruity between Tom’s appearance and anything lady-like, that such an appeal would have been out of place. The fact is, Tom claimed no immunity or privilege on the score of sex, but regarded herself, to all intents and purposes, as a boy, and strongly wished that she were one.

The gentleman looked at her, rather puzzled, and walked away, satisfied with having stopped the fight.

Bob did not seem inclined to renew hostilities, but crossed the street, and took his stand there. Tom, by right of conquest, held her place until she had sold out her whole stock of papers.

CHAPTER VI
AN UNFASHIONABLE HOTEL

Tom found at the end of the afternoon that her capital had increased from twenty-five to fifty cents.

“Granny won’t get none of this,” she soliloquized, complacently. “It’s all mine.”

Sitting on a doorstep she counted over the money with an entirely different feeling from what she had experienced when it was to be transferred to granny. Now it was all her own, and, though but fifty cents, it made her feel rich.

“What shall I do with it?” thought Tom.

She had a square meal in the middle of the day; but several hours had passed since then, and she felt hungry again; Tom did not see any necessity for remaining hungry, with fifty cents in her possession. She made her way, therefore, to another eating-house, where the prices were the same with those at the one before mentioned, and partook of another square meal, leaving out the pie. This reduced her capital to thirty cents. She felt that she ought to save this, to start in business upon in the morning. As a street-sweeper she required no capital except her broom; but though Tom was not troubled with pride, she preferred to sell papers, or take up some other street vocation. Besides, she knew that as a street-sweeper on Broadway, she would be more likely to be discovered by the old woman whom she was now anxious to avoid.

After eating supper Tom went out into the streets, not knowing exactly how to spend her time. Usually, she had gone down into the court, or the street, and played with the children of her own and neighboring tenement houses. But now she did not care to venture back into the old locality.

So she strolled about the streets aimlessly, until she felt sleepy, and began to consider whereabouts to bestow herself for the night. She might have gone to the “Girls’ Lodging House,” if she had known of such an institution; but she had never heard of it. Chance brought her to a basement, on which was the sign,—

“LODGINGS—FIVE CENTS.”

This attracted Tom’s attention. If it had not been a cold night, she would have been willing to sleep out, which would have been cheaper; but it was a damp and chilly evening, and her dress was thin.

“Five cents won’t bust me!” thought Tom. “I’ll go in.”

She went down some steps, and opened a door into a room very low-studded, and very dirty.

A stout woman, in a dirty calico loose-gown, was sitting in a chair, with a fat, unhealthy-looking baby in her lap.

“What you want, little gal?” she asked.

“Where’s your lodgin’?” asked Tom.

“In back,” answered the woman, pointing to an inner room, partially revealed through a half-open door. It was dark, having no windows, and dirtier, if possible, than the front room. The floor was covered with straw, for beds and bedsteads were looked upon as unnecessary luxuries in this economical lodging-house.

“Is that the place?” asked Tom.

“Yes. Do you want to stop here to-night?”

Tom had not been accustomed to first-class hotels, still the accommodations at granny’s were rather better than this. However, the young Arab did not mind. She had no doubt she could sleep comfortably on the straw, and intimated her intention of stopping.

“Where’s your money?” asked the woman.

The invariable rule in this establishment was payment in advance, and, perhaps, considering the character of the customers, it was the safest rule that could be adopted.

Tom took out her money, and counted out five cents into the woman’s palm. She then put back the remainder in her pocket. If she had been less sleepy, she might have noticed the woman’s covetous glance, and been led to doubt the safety of her small fortune. But Tom was sleepy, and her main idea was to go to bed as soon as possible.

“Lay down anywhere,” said the landlady, dropping the five cents into her pocket.

Tom’s preparation for bed did not take long. No undressing was required, for it was the custom here to sleep with the day’s clothes on. Tom stowed herself away in a corner, and in five minutes was asleep.

It was but little after eight o’clock, and she was, at present, the only lodger.

No sooner did her deep, regular breathing indicate slumber, than the landlady began to indulge in various suspicious movements. She first put down her baby, and then taking a lantern,—the only light which could safely be carried into the lodging-room, on account of the straw upon the floor,—crept quietly into the inner room.

“She’s fast asleep,” she muttered.

She approached Tom with cautious step. She need not have been afraid to awaken her. Tom was a good sleeper, and not likely to wake up, unless roughly awakened, until morning.

Tom was lying on her side, with her face resting on one hand.

The woman stooped down, and began to look for the pocket in which she kept her money; but it was in that part of her dress upon which she was lying. This embarrassed the woman somewhat, but an idea occurred to her. She took up a straw, and, bending over, gently tickled Tom’s ear. Tom shook her head, as a cat would under similar circumstances, and on its being repeated turned over, muttering, “Don’t, granny!”

This was what her dishonest landlady wanted. She thrust her hand into Tom’s pocket, and drew out the poor girl’s entire worldly treasure. Tom, unconscious of the robbery, slept on; and the woman went back to the front room to wait for more lodgers. They began to come in about ten, and by twelve the room was full. It was a motley collection, and would have been a curious, though sad study, to any humane observer. They were most of them in the last stages of ill-fortune, yet among them was more than one who had once filled a respectable position in society. Here was a man of thirty-five, who ten years before had filled a good place, with a fair salary, in a city bank. But in an evil hour he helped himself to some of the funds of the bank. He lost his situation, and, though he escaped imprisonment, found his prospects blasted. So he had gone down hill, until at length he found himself reduced to such a lodging-house as this, fortunate if he could command the small sum needful to keep him from a night in the streets.

Next him was stretched a man who was deserving still more pity, since his misfortunes sprang rather from a want of judgment than from his own fault. He was a scholar, with a fair knowledge of Latin and Greek, and some ability as a writer. He was an Englishman who had come to the city in the hope of making his acquisitions available, but had met with very poor encouragement. He found that both among teachers and writers the demand exceeded the supply, at least for those of moderate qualifications; and, having no influential friends, had sought for employment almost in vain. His small stock of money dwindled, his suit became shabby, until he found himself, to his deep mortification and disgust, compelled to resort to such lodging-houses as this, where he was obliged to herd with the lowest and most abandoned class.

Next to him lay a mechanic, once in profitable employment. But drink had been his ruin; and now he was a vagabond, spending the little money he earned, at rum-shops, except what was absolutely necessary for food.

There is no need of cataloguing the remainder of Meg Morely’s lodgers. Her low rates generally secured her a room-full, and a dozen, sometimes more, were usually packed away on the floor. On the whole she found it a paying business, though her charges were low. Sixty cents a day was quite a respectable addition to her income, and she had occupied the same place for two years already. Tom’s experience will show that she had other, and not quite so lawful, ways of swelling her receipts, but she was cautious not to put them in practice, unless she considered it prudent, as in the present instance.

It was seven o’clock when Tom awoke. She looked around her in bewilderment, thinking at first she must be in granny’s room. But a glance at the prostrate forms around her brought back the events of the day before, and gave her a realizing sense of her present situation.

“I’ve had a good sleep,” said Tom to herself, stretching, by way of relief from her constrained position. “I guess it’s time to get up.”

She rubbed her eyes, and shook back her hair, and then rising, went into the front room. Her landlady was already up and getting breakfast.

“What time is it?” asked Tom.

“It’s just gone seven,” said Meg, looking sharply at Tom to see if she had discovered the loss of her money. “How did you sleep?”

“Tip-top.”

“Come ag’in.”

“All right!” said Tom. “Maybe I will.”

She climbed up the basement stairs to the street above, and began to think of what the day had in store for her. Her prospects were not brilliant certainly; but Tom on the whole felt in good spirits. She had thrown off the yoke of slavery. She was her own mistress now, and granny’s power was broken. Tom felt that she could get along somehow. She had confidence in herself, and was sure something would turn up for her.

“Now, what’ll I do first?” thought Tom.

With twenty-five cents in her pocket, and a good appetite, breakfast naturally suggested itself.

She dove her hand into her pocket, but the face of the little Arab almost instantly expressed deep dismay.

Her money was gone!