Kitabı oku: «Divided Skates», sayfa 2
CHAPTER II.
CONFLICTING IDEAS
Towsley was now fully awake; and, what was better, he seemed to have lost his shyness during his nap.
“Um’m. Home. That’s where folks live that has ’em. This is yours, I s’pose. Well, I’m much obliged to you, ma’am, and I’ll be getting on, I guess. Must be dark out-doors, else you wouldn’t have the lamps lit, and I must have slept a good while. It was terrible warm and nice, and I couldn’t help it. I hope I haven’t done no harm, ma’am, and good-night.”
This was Miss Lucy’s opportunity; her last chance, as she realized. The waif had not at all comprehended her meaning when she spoke of “home,” and so she had not committed herself. Many thoughts surged through her troubled mind. She remembered that she was the last of an old, aristocratic family, which had always believed in its womenkind being domestic and not at all strong-minded. She had been inclined to think that other women, who instituted “homes,” or engaged in any sort of public charity, rather stepped beyond the limits of good breeding, and had felt herself superior to them.
Then there were the neighbors. It was an old-fashioned, handsome “square” on which her house stood, and everybody owned his or her home. It was the pride of these people that there was never a house to let. And, indeed, it was a charming locality. Each residence stood upon a double lot, which gave a pretty, open-air sort of appearance to the place; and since there were so few families which could live upon the block, yet remained there so long, each became thoroughly acquainted with the habits and circumstances of the others.
This was sometimes unfortunate. Miss Lucy felt it so now. She went through the long drawing-room and peered between her own lace curtains into the park which filled the centre of the square, and was another of its aristocratic features. She noticed that the trees were loaded with the snow which was accumulating rapidly; and, as a car rattled by, its roof was heaped with a light drift, and the motorman was slapping his breast with his free arm to keep himself warm.
“Those horrid cars!” thought the little lady. “With all our efforts to prevent, we couldn’t keep them off the Avenue. They are so distinctly plebeian – yet convenient. I suppose it would upset the whole neighborhood worse than they did if I should do it. They might even come and remonstrate; and I should die of shame if I did anything to make myself objectionable to the neighbors. My grandfather’s was the first house built here. It was his taste selected and perfected that square, and his firmness which kept it so exclusive till the land about was all sold and its future assured. What would he say if I should do it! Yet, why shouldn’t I? I’m lonesome much of the time, and now that Sir Christopher is gone there’s nobody left. I – I – ”
Just then a great gust of wind caught up an armful of snow, so to speak, and tossed it against the shining window where Miss Lucy stood. That decided her; and it was like the little lady to be extremely cautious and timid up to a certain point, then to rush energetically toward the opposite extreme. She turned from the spot with a jerk and hurried into the inner room.
Not a moment too soon. Towsley had taken his ragged cap in his hand, fastened his torn jacket by its one button, and was shuffling carefully along the hall toward the front door. Miss Armacost espied him just in time.
“Wait, child. I’ve something to say to you. Come back into the light and warmth. It’s cold and dark outside.”
“Yes’m. So I s’pose,” he answered, obeying her rather reluctantly.
“Don’t you want to stay? Isn’t it pretty here?”
“Oh, yes’m. It’s mighty pretty. But, you see, if I don’t get down to the office early, the other kids’ll get my place. If I lose it once I mayn’t never get it again.”
“The office? Your place? What do you mean?”
“Down to th’ Express. There’s some steam holes in the sidewalk, you know, and they’re as warm as summer. We newsboys lie around ’em, waiting for our papers, and sleep there till they’re ready. Each of us has his own spot, and mine’s an inside one, close to the wall of the building. You ain’t so likely to get trod on if you’re inside, and the whole crew’s after my ‘bed.’ If I shouldn’t get there to look out for it, and another fellow got it, it’d be all day for Towsley. So I’ll be going, ma’am, and much obliged for the stuff.”
Poor Miss Lucy’s face had grown very white. She had never heard anything so pitiful as this, yet the lad explained his circumstances in a cheery, matter-of-fact way that showed he found nothing depressing in them.
“Do you mean to stand there and tell me that that story is true?”
“What about it? I ain’t meaning anything, only telling why I’ve got to hurry. Could you, please, ma’am, say the time of night?”
“It’s a little after nine.”
“That all? Then I can take it easy. Too late for the night papers, and the mornings ain’t out till four o’clock, about.”
“To go to such a ‘bed,’ on such a night, after a supper of ice-cream and cake! I’ve always skipped such articles in the newspapers, for they’re so unpleasant, and I’ve never half believed them. But you mean it, do you?”
“That I must go? I don’t know what you want me to say. I guess I’ve slept my wits away, as Molly says.”
“Towsley, ring that bell. My! what a name!”
But the lady was pleased to see that he had remembered how to summon Mary, and as soon as that young woman appeared she was directed to get a supper ready in the breakfast-room.
“At once. Put on any cold meat there happens to be, and warm up the soup was left from dinner. I couldn’t touch it, you know, I was feeling so sad. Get plenty of bread and butter, and milk – and, yes, a piece of mince pie. Mrs. Livingston, across the square, never gives her children pie. She believes in oatmeal as a staple diet, but their grandmother indulges them when they visit her. For once, I fancy, it won’t hurt, and in the future I’ll – Oh! what a lot I shall have to learn; and how delightfully exciting it all is! Mary, don’t stare at me like that. It’s impertinent. I know you don’t mean it so, and you think I’m a little flighty. Well, I am. Very flighty, indeed! But – fancy old Madame Satterlee’s face!”
“Ma’am?” asked the puzzled servant, really afraid that grief for Sir Christopher had upset her mistress’ mind.
“I said: Get a supper ready in the breakfast-room. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. For one or two?”
“For two. For this young gentleman and myself.”
“The land’s sake!” ejaculated the waitress, as she obeyed, though more astonished than ever. “Young gentleman, says she!”
Towsley began to understand that he was to have supper. He would not have troubled about such a small matter, of his own accord, remembering the cream and cake; but since it was mentioned he did feel a sort of emptiness inside, and his hazel eyes grew eager again. Miss Lucy’s own eyes were looking at the fire in the grate, and she was not, therefore, offended a second time by the child’s greediness. She was seeing pictures in the coals, and all of them were of Towsley – though such a different Towsley from the real one. Presently a doubt arose in her mind. Supposing that there should be some obstacle to her carrying out the plans which the pictures in the fire suggested? She turned suddenly and rather sharply upon the lad:
“Have you any people?”
“Ma’am?”
“Child, never say that. ‘Ma’am’ is vulgar and belongs to servants. Gentlefolks use the person’s name instead. You should have said, ‘Miss Armacost?’ or ‘Miss Lucy?’”
“Miss Lucy?”
“That’s right. You are quick-witted. That’s in your favor. I asked about your people; who they are and where they live.”
“I don’t know as I’ve got any. There’s Molly – she’s about the nicest one I know. Of course, there’s Mother Molloy, up alley, where I stay sometimes, with the other kids. That’s when I have the cash to pay up. Mother don’t take in nobody for nothing, Mother don’t. Can’t blame her, neither. It’s business. And once when I fell and got scared of the hospital she was real good to me. She made me tea and done up my head and treated me real square. When I got well I gave her something. Course I wanted to buy her a shirt waist, but they hadn’t any big enough, so I bought her a ring with a red stone. The ring was too small, but she could put it away for a keepsake. She’s dreadful fat, Mother Molloy is. She gets real good stuff to eat, ’cause the kids she keeps regular are on the best streets; and the ‘coons’ that live in the big houses save a lot for them. One of the boys works your kitchen, I believe. And – there’s Mary.”
Miss Armacost rose and led the way to the basement. She was very much perplexed. Not that she wavered in her decision to take in this homeless boy and provide for his welfare, but because he did not at all fit in with her previous ideas of what such a child should be. He was neither humble nor bold, and now that he had forgotten his shyness was keen and business-like. He neither complained of his poverty nor was ashamed of it; and his manner as he walked toward the table and drew out a chair for Miss Armacost was as gallant as possible.
“That’s the checker!” he said to himself. “That’s the way I’ve seen the gentlemen do in the hotel dining-rooms when I’ve been peeking through, or the waiters, I mean. The gentlemen would have done it, if the waiters hadn’t been there, and it goes. Some day, when I own the papers I sell now, I’ll know just how to act. Ma’am – I mean, Miss Armacost? Did you speak?”
“I – Yes, I did. I thought that as you had had a nap since – since you had made your toilet, it would be as well to make yourself fresh before meat. There’s a bowl and water in that closet; and towels.”
“Well, I declare!” thought the watchful Mary. “If that don’t beat all! ’Stead of ordering the little chap to wash himself, or even me to do it for him, she’s treating him same’s if he was a Livingston or Satterlee, himself. And – he’s doing it! My land! he’s doing it.”
Towsley retired to the pantry and drew some water in the bowl. Such lavatories were familiar enough to him, among the railway stations and hotel corridors which he frequented to sell his papers, but he had never seen one more richly appointed than this. He was rather short for the stationary bowl, but he succeeded in wetting the tips of his very dirty fingers and drawing them down over his face. This operation left streaks of a lighter color upon the dusty cheeks and several dingy marks upon the damask towel which he applied to dry them. With the silver-backed brush which lay beside the bowl he made a frantic dab at his tangled hair, shook himself deeper into his over-large jacket, and presented himself before his hostess.
Concealing a smile at his peculiar appearance she motioned him to his place, with the remark:
“It is so long past the regular dinner hour that I hardly know which of these dishes you would like first. But suppose we take the soup. Shall we begin with that? Eh? No? Don’t you care for soup?”
“I like pie better.”
Mary smiled, and both mistress and guest observed it. She was promptly dismissed with the statement that Miss Armacost would herself attend upon the table, and the request to go to the third floor and make a warm bath ready there.
Towsley was grateful for her departure, but suspicious of its object. Like most others of his class he hated water, save in summer when he could go swimming. However, he was not a boy who went half-way to meet trouble. The bath was a future possibility and the pie a delightfully present one.
“Which sort? Mince or apple?”
Two possibilities, in fact!
“Mince, please. I had that once at a dinner the rich folks gave us. I tell you it was prime!”
Miss Lucy smiled again. The little lad with his honest, outspoken ways interested her greatly. She remembered that when she was a child herself she had used to wish her dinners might always begin with the dessert. But they never had. She resolved that Towsley should escape this disappointment of her own early days, and drawing the pie toward her divided it into quarters. It was a large pie and might easily have been served in eighths without any skimpiness; but she gave him a quarter. Then she offered him the cheese, which he declined by a negative wave of his grimy hand; his mouth being at the instant too much occupied for speech.
Before Miss Armacost had carved a slice of beef, as a second course for the young gentleman, his pie plate was empty.
“Would you like another piece, Towsley?”
“I’d like it, if you can spare it.”
“Oh! certainly. I am glad you enjoy it. Chloe does make rather nice pastry, I think.”
“Should say she did! Is that the black one, ’at stuck her head in the door curtain and sniffed?”
“She is the black one. Yes. I did not observe the sniffing.”
The lad did not explain. He was biting the last mouthful from the second quarter of the pie, which he had held in his hand as he ate it. This was the custom at the sidewalk table where he generally dined, and where forks were things unknown.
Miss Armacost gazed at the boy in astonishment. He had now consumed a half pie, yet seemed as eager as ever. She resolved that he should have the whole of it, if he so desired, but that she would instil a bit of instruction along with the mince-meat. She placed the third quarter upon a fresh plate and ostentatiously laid a fork beside it.
Towsley accepted this third portion and being in less haste attempted to use the fork, as Miss Lucy’s action had suggested. He succeeded fairly well, considering his inexperience, and his hostess was delighted by his aptness. As soon as the third piece had disappeared she gave him the fourth, and all that remained.
“There!” she thought; “by the time that is gone he will have learned the fork lesson completely!”
But the fourth quarter went slowly. Towsley eyed it lingeringly, even lovingly, yet the passes toward his crumby lips were few and far between. The lady grew somewhat disturbed, for, from his previous exhibition of it, she had supposed there could be no limit to the child’s appetite.
“Is there anything wrong with it, Towsley? Doesn’t it taste as nicely as the rest?”
“Well, ma’am – Miss Armacost, not quite. I think it’s getting – getting a little – little bitter.”
The hostess checked another smile and proffered the beef which she had carved. This was declined. So was everything else she suggested, and they rose from the table.
Miss Lucy rang the bell that summoned Jefferson, who was not only coachman but a man-of-all-work in the quiet establishment. When this gray-headed “boy” appeared, the newsboy was put into his charge with the order:
“Take him to the third floor bath. He is to sleep in the front hall bedroom. After you have attended him to bed, come to me. I will have something else for you to do.”
Jefferson was good-natured and devoted to Miss Armacost; but he liked things to go along in an orderly way. Commonly, he would have been through with all his tasks for the day, and he looked with something like disgust at this dirty street arab who was thus turning the household “all tipsy-topsy.” But he dared not show his feelings to his mistress, and with a gruff “Come along, then,” he guided Towsley toward the top of the house.
An hour later Miss Lucy called Mary.
“Did he take his bath nicely? Was he troublesome to Jefferson? I thought I heard voices – rather loud ones.”
“Yes, ma’am, I guess you did. They had some words, them two. No, ma’am, he didn’t take his bath. He didn’t even touch to do it. Jefferson says the kid shut the door in his face, and the next he knew he heard the water running out the tub. ’Twasn’t a minute then, before he hopped right into the middle of that lovely clean bed with a kind of a yell. ‘I’m a gentleman for one night, I am!’ says he, ‘and when I’m a man I’ll be one all the time!’ But the dirty little scamp! Fooling old Jeff that way.”
“Well, he’ll do better after a little. He’s a very bright child. I can see that distinctly.”
“After a while, ma’am? Is he to stop – then?”
“Yes, Mary. He is to live here if he will. Do you know how early the stores are open in the morning?”
“Oh! along about eight o’clock, ma’am, I think.”
“Call me at seven, if you do not hear me stirring before. I suppose Jefferson could hardly have the horse ready so early?”
“He’d think it a great hardship, ma’am, and he’d be cross as two sticks all day after.”
“Yes, I suppose he would. I wish people were born without tempers.”
“’Twould be a fine thing,” assented the housemaid, recalling some occasions when Miss Lucy had been a little “sharp” herself.
“Well, you may go now. No; I shall need nothing more. I am going up into the storeroom to look over some trunks. In the morning I will take a car down-town and we’ll have a late breakfast afterward. Good-night.”
“Good-night, ma’am. But I’m thinking I wouldn’t count too much on the cars being early to-morrow, ma’am. It’s a regular blizzard snowing, and the tracks are getting blocked.”
“Humph! that’s always the way. After our admitting the railway on this avenue the company run their cars to suit themselves, not our convenience. Because I happen to need a car in the morning, they will, of course, not be running. Well, I must not be unjust. I suppose they lose more by stopping than I do by having them stop.”
Miss Armacost climbed to the storeroom at the back of the top of her house. In this room were rows of trunks and boxes, and two big wardrobes hung full of cast-off clothing. The garments had belonged to dead and gone Armacosts, of various ages, and after some hesitation the lady knelt before one leather-covered chest that bore the initials “L. A.” painted in red upon its cover.
“He was a dear little boy!” sighed Miss Lucy, as she turned a key and raised the lid. “My only brother’s only son. Well, brother was always a generous fellow, and he had less of family pride than most of us. I mean of the silly kind of pride. He wouldn’t do anything to disgrace his name, but he – well, he fancied the Armacosts were not the only people in the world! He used to say: ‘It doesn’t matter about birth, so long as a man is a “gentleman,”’ and ‘gentleman,’ in his mind, meant everything that was brave and strong and noble. I believe that, dearly as he loved his boy, he would be pleased to have these useless garments do somebody some good. I’ve often thought of giving away a lot of the things up here, yet could never quite make up my mind to do it. Now the Lord has sent me the need, and I must supply it.”
Thus thinking, Miss Lucy lifted several suits of small clothing, and finally selected a black velvet blouse and knickers, with a pair of red silk stockings, some dainty kid shoes, and a broad-brimmed hat decorated by a long, drooping feather.
Having made her choice, Miss Armacost closed and locked the trunk, turned off the light, and descended to her own room. There she carefully brushed and arranged the fantastic costume and made herself ready for bed.
But she found herself exceedingly restless, and before seeking her own couch she decided to visit her new charge and see if all was well with him; though she had lingered over her task till midnight.
“That pie might disagree with him; who knows? and as he is so strange to the house he might lie and suffer without disturbing anybody by calling for help.”
She need not have worried. It would have taken more than one pie to have injured the digestion of such a boy as Towsley. He lay in beatific slumber, his sunny hair gleaming in the rays from his visitor’s candle, his long lashes sweeping his dirty cheeks, and his lips parted in a happy smile.
Miss Lucy’s heart bounded with delight. “What a beauty he is, or will be when he’s clean! How I shall love him! I will give him our Lionel’s own name and bring him up to take Lionel’s own place. Surely, that was a happy accident which sent him tumbling against me on his one borrowed skate. Though nothing which the Lord permits is ever an accident,” she corrected herself.
Now the lady had a habit of talking to herself, and Towsley was a light sleeper. He presently opened his eyes and regarded her curiously. She seemed to him, at first, some fellow newsboy, strangely transformed. Then his ideas righted themselves, and he inquired, respectfully:
“Were you calling me, Miss Armacost?”
“No, you darling. I was just looking at you.”
Abashed, Towsley dug his head into the pillow and drew the covers over his face.
“I’ve brought you a nice suit of clothes to put on in the morning. They will be rather too good for every-day wear, but on account of the storm we can’t do better for to-morrow. There will be another bath made ready for you, when you are called, and to please me I hope you’ll take it. Then dress yourself in these things and come quietly down-stairs. We always have prayers before breakfast, and I expect you to be present. One thing more. What is your last name?”
“I don’t know, ma’am – I mean, Miss Lucy. The kids call me Towhead. Towsley Towhead is all I know, though Mother Molloy, she thinks it may be Smith or Jones or something. Why, ma’am? I haven’t done any harm, have I?”
“No, child. No, none at all. I merely wish to have everything understood from the beginning. I am going to adopt you. You are to be my little boy hereafter. You are no longer Towsley Towhead. You are Lionel Armacost. You are to have no further connection with Mother Molloy or any other objectionable person. Your home is now at Number One-thousand-and-one, Washington Avenue, West. Good night. I would like to kiss you, but your face is too dirty. To-morrow, at breakfast, when you are in proper condition, I will do so. Good-night.”
Towsley listened in increasing astonishment and – terror. Whether owing to a diet of mince pie exclusively or to the unusual daintiness of his surroundings, he had not rested as well as he was accustomed to do upon the steam hole of the Express office cellar. He had never seen anybody that looked just like Miss Lucy, with her high-crowned night cap, her long trailing wrapper, her gleaming glasses, and her air of stern determination, which the flare of her candle flame seemed to accentuate. This grim expression, had he known it, was due mainly to the fact that her fastidious gaze had become riveted upon his very black finger-nails, as they clutched the white spread, and her resolution to alter their aspect as soon as daylight dawned. But he did not know this, of course, and he watched her go away – glide, he fancied – till she melted into the dimness of the hall beyond, and finally slipped, slipped, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, in her cloth shoes, down the stairs and out of hearing.
Then he sat up. The room was very warm and comfortable and it made him drowsy. Yet he could not now afford this drowsiness. While that queer little old lady was safely out of the way he must act, and act quickly.
As noiselessly as a cat the child stole out of bed, and fumbled around for his clothes – his own clothes; the familiar rags and tatters which, at Jefferson’s command, he had removed outside the bathroom door, and from which he had never before been separated since they came into his possession, the “cast-offs” of a bigger companion.
Of course he did not find them. Jefferson had taken the best of care that he should not, and they had already been consumed among the coals of the great furnace which heated the house.
When he became convinced that he could not recover his own attire, Towsley accepted that which Miss Lucy had provided. He drew on the underwear with a gratified sense of its comfort and daintiness, but with the idea that he was only “borrowing.”
“Adopted me, did she? I know what that means. Peter-the-Cripple he got adopted, that time he was run over by a lady’s carriage. She adopted him, and he went to a big house and he died. No, siree! there isn’t anybody going to catch me that way! least of all a little wizzly old lady like her! No, siree! Of course, I’ll have to wear these things till I get down-town and can borrow some more of a kid, and then I’ll send ’em back. Say, if I’m a swell like she said I was, and my name’s Lionel Armacost, if you please, what’s the matter with my pressing the button and getting a little light on a dark subject?”
Towsley’s bright eyes had observed where the electric button was, when Jefferson had lighted the hall bedroom earlier in the night, and he now manipulated it for his own benefit. A soft radiance promptly filled the pretty room and showed him where each article lay. In a wonderfully brief time the waif had arrayed himself from head to foot, and coolly surveyed himself in the long mirror that stood upon its rollers in one corner.
“Pshaw! Ain’t I a guy! But – but – it’s sort of tasty, too. I wonder what the fellows’ll say! Wait till they see that feather and feel that velvet! Cracky! then you’ll hear them howl! I wonder what time it is? I wonder if I’m too late to get my papers? If I’m not, what a haul I’ll make in these duds! Maybe enough to buy a suit for myself down at Cheap John’s store. Then I’d have these wrapped in brown paper and sent back to Miss Armacost with my compliments. The compliments of Mister Towsley Lionel Towhead Armacost, esquire! Hi! ain’t that a notion! But plague take these shoes! They aren’t half as comfortable as my own old holeys! But it all goes! And she really is a dear little old lady. I’d like to oblige her if I could, but – adopted! No, siree!”
