Christmas gold, p.388
Christmas Gold, page 388
"I'll get it," he said. Three minutes later it lay in Jimmy's hand; but Jimmy held it out at once.
"I would rather you read it, sir, please. Then tell me."
"But, Jimmy, I—very well." With a decisive gesture John Pendleton picked up a paper-cutter, opened the envelope, and pulled out the contents. There was a package of several papers tied together, and one folded sheet alone, apparently a letter. This John Pendleton opened and read first. And as he read, Jimmy, tense and breathless, watched his face. He saw, therefore, the look of amazement, joy, and something else he could not name, that leaped into John Pendleton's countenance.
"Uncle John, what is it? What is it?" he demanded.
"Read it—for yourself," answered the man, thrusting the letter into
Jimmy's outstretched hand. And Jimmy read this:
"The enclosed papers are the legal proof that my boy Jimmy is really James Kent, son of John Kent, who married Doris Wetherby, daughter of William Wetherby of Boston. There is also a letter in which I explain to my boy why I have kept him from his mother's family all these years. If this packet is opened by him at thirty years of age, he will read this letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared to lose his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to keep him to himself. If it is opened by strangers, because of his death, I request that his mother's people in Boston be notified at once, and the inclosed package of papers be given, intact, into their hands.
"JOHN KENT."
Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to meet John Pendleton's eyes.
"Am I—the lost—Jamie?" he faltered.
"That letter says you have documents there to prove it," nodded the other.
"Mrs. Carew's nephew?"
"Of course."
"But, why—what—I can't realize it!" There was a moment's pause before into Jimmy's face flashed a new joy. "Then, surely now I know who I am! I can tell—Mrs. Chilton SOMETHING of my people."
"I should say you could," retorted John Pendleton, dryly. "The Boston Wetherbys can trace straight back to the crusades, and I don't know but to the year one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father—he came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, though he was rather eccentric, and not pleasing to the family, as you know, of course."
"Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have lived with me all those years—always dreading pursuit. I can understand—lots of things, now, that used to puzzle me. A woman called me 'Jamie,' once. Jove! how angry he was! I know now why he hurried me away that night without even waiting for supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was taken sick. He couldn't use his hands or his feet, and very soon he couldn't talk straight. Something ailed his speech. I remember when he died he was trying to tell me something about this packet. I believe now he was telling me to open it, and go to my mother's people; but I thought then he was just telling me to keep it safe. So that's what I promised him. But it didn't comfort him any. It only seemed to worry him more. You see, I didn't understand. Poor dad!"
"Suppose we take a look at these papers," suggested John Pendleton.
"Besides, there's a letter from your father to you, I understand.
Don't you want to read it?"
"Yes, of course. And then—" the young fellow laughed shamefacedly and glanced at the clock—"I was wondering just how soon I could go back—to Pollyanna."
A thoughtful frown came to John Pendleton's face. He glanced at Jimmy, hesitated, then spoke.
"I know you want to see Pollyanna, lad, and I don't blame you; but it strikes me that, under the circumstances, you should go first to—Mrs. Carew, and take these." He tapped the papers before him.
Jimmy drew his brows together and pondered.
"All right, sir, I will." he agreed resignedly.
"And if you don't mind, I'd like to go with you," further suggested
John Pendleton, a little diffidently.
"I—I have a little matter of my own that I'd like to see—your aunt about. Suppose we go down today on the three o'clock?"
"Good! We will, sir. Gorry! And so I'm Jamie! I can't grasp it yet!" exclaimed the young man, springing to his feet, and restlessly moving about the room. "I wonder, now," he stopped, and colored boyishly, "do you think—Aunt Ruth—will mind—very much?"
John Pendleton shook his head. A hint of the old somberness came into his eyes.
"Hardly, my boy. But—I'm thinking of myself. How about it? When you're her boy, where am I coming in?"
"You! Do you think ANYTHING could put you one side?" scoffed Jimmy, fervently. "You needn't worry about that. And SHE won't mind. She has Jamie, you know, and—" He stopped short, a dawning dismay in his eyes. "By George! Uncle John, I forgot—Jamie. This is going to be tough on—Jamie!"
"Yes, I'd thought of that. Still, he's legally adopted, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes; it isn't that. It's the fact that he isn't the real Jamie himself—and he with his two poor useless legs! Why, Uncle John, it'll just about kill him. I've heard him talk. I know. Besides, Pollyanna and Mrs. Carew both have told me how he feels, how SURE he is, and how happy he is. Great Scott! I can't take away from him this—But what CAN I do?" "I don't know, my boy. I don't see as there's anything you can do, but what you are doing."
There was a long silence. Jimmy had resumed his nervous pacing up and down the room. Suddenly he wheeled, his face alight.
"There IS a way, and I'll do it. I KNOW Mrs. Carew will agree. WE
WON'T TELL! We won't tell anybody but Mrs. Carew herself, and—and
Pollyanna and her aunt. I'll HAVE to tell them," he added defensively.
"You certainly will, my boy. As for the rest—" John Pendleton paused doubtfully.
"It's nobody's business."
"But, remember, you are making quite a sacrifice—in several ways. I want you to weigh it well."
"Weigh it? I have weighed it, and there's nothing in it—with Jamie on the other side of the scales, sir. I just couldn't do it. That's all."
"I don't blame you, and I think you're right," declared John Pendleton heartily. "Furthermore, I believe Mrs. Carew will agree with you, particularly as she'll KNOW now that the real Jamie is found at last."
"You know she's always said she'd seen me somewhere," chuckled Jimmy.
"Now how soon does that train go? I'm ready."
"Well, I'm not," laughed John Pendleton. "Luckily for me it doesn't go for some hours yet, anyhow," he finished, as he got to his feet and left the room.
Chapter XXXII.
A New Aladdin
Table of Contents
Whatever were John Pendleton's preparations for departure—and they were both varied and hurried—they were done in the open, with two exceptions. The exceptions were two letters, one addressed to Pollyanna, and one to Mrs. Polly Chilton. These letters, together with careful and minute instructions, were given into the hands of Susan, his housekeeper, to be delivered after they should be gone. But of all this Jimmy knew nothing.
The travelers were nearing Boston when John Pendleton said to Jimmy:
"My boy, I've got one favor to ask—or rather, two. The first is that we say nothing to Mrs. Carew until to-morrow afternoon; the other is that you allow me to go first and be your—er—ambassador, you yourself not appearing on the scene until perhaps, say—four o'clock. Are you willing?"
"Indeed I am," replied Jimmy, promptly; "not only willing, but delighted. I'd been wondering how I was going to break the ice, and I'm glad to have somebody else do it."
"Good! Then I'll try to get—YOUR AUNT on the telephone to-morrow morning and make my appointment."
True to his promise, Jimmy did not appear at the Carew mansion until four o'clock the next afternoon. Even then he felt suddenly so embarrassed that he walked twice by the house before he summoned sufficient courage to go up the steps and ring the bell. Once in Mrs. Carew's presence, however, he was soon his natural self, so quickly did she set him at his ease, and so tactfully did she handle the situation. To be sure, at the very first, there were a few tears, and a few incoherent exclamations. Even John Pendleton had to reach a hasty hand for his handkerchief. But before very long a semblance of normal tranquillity was restored, and only the tender glow in Mrs. Carew's eyes, and the ecstatic happiness in Jimmy's and John Pendleton's was left to mark the occasion as something out of the ordinary.
"And I think it's so fine of you—about Jamie!" exclaimed Mrs. Carew, after a little. "Indeed, Jimmy—(I shall still call you Jimmy, for obvious reasons; besides, I like it better, for you)—indeed I think you're just right, if you're willing to do it. And I'm making some sacrifice myself, too," she went on tearfully, "for I should be so proud to introduce you to the world as my nephew."
"And, indeed, Aunt Ruth, I—" At a half-stifled exclamation from John Pendleton, Jimmy stopped short. He saw then that Jamie and Sadie Dean stood just inside the door. Jamie's face was very white.
"AUNT RUTH!" he exclaimed, looking from one to the other with startled eyes. "AUNT RUTH! You don't mean—"
All the blood receded from Mrs. Carew's face, and from Jimmy's, too.
John Pendleton, however, advanced jauntily.
"Yes, Jamie; why not? I was going to tell you soon, anyway, so I'll tell you now." (Jimmy gasped and stepped hastily forward, but John Pendleton silenced him with a look.) "Just a little while ago Mrs. Carew made me the happiest of men by saying yes to a certain question I asked. Now, as Jimmy calls me 'Uncle John,' why shouldn't he begin right away to call Mrs. Carew 'Aunt Ruth'?"
"Oh! Oh-h!" exclaimed Jamie, in plain delight, while Jimmy, under John Pendleton's steady gaze just managed to save the situation by not blurting out HIS surprise and pleasure. Naturally, too, just then, blushing Mrs. Carew became the center of every one's interest, and the danger point was passed. Only Jimmy heard John Pendleton say low in his ear, a bit later:
"So you see, you young rascal, I'm not going to lose you, after all.
We shall BOTH have you now."
Exclamations and congratulations were still at their height, when
Jamie, a new light in his eyes, turned without warning to Sadie Dean.
"Sadie, I'm going to tell them now," he declared triumphantly. Then, with the bright color in Sadie's face telling the tender story even before Jamie's eager lips could frame the words, more congratulations and exclamations were in order, and everybody was laughing and shaking hands with everybody else.
Jimmy, however, very soon began to eye them all aggrievedly, longingly.
"This is all very well for YOU," he complained then. "You each have each other. But where do I come in? I can just tell you, though, that if only a certain young lady I know were here, I should have something to tell YOU, perhaps."
"Just a minute, Jimmy," interposed John Pendleton. "Let's play I was Aladdin, and let me rub the lamp. Mrs. Carew, have I your permission to ring for Mary?"
"Why, y-yes, certainly," murmured that lady, in a puzzled surprise that found its duplicate on the faces of the others.
A few moments later Mary stood in the doorway.
"Did I hear Miss Pollyanna come in a short time ago?" asked John
Pendleton.
"Yes, sir. She is here."
"Won't you ask her to come down, please."
"Pollyanna here!" exclaimed an amazed chorus, as Mary disappeared.
Jimmy turned very white, then very red.
"Yes. I sent a note to her yesterday by my housekeeper. I took the liberty of asking her down for a few days to see you, Mrs. Carew. I thought the little girl needed a rest and a holiday; and my housekeeper has instructions to remain and care for Mrs. Chilton. I also wrote a note to Mrs. Chilton herself," he added, turning suddenly to Jimmy, with unmistakable meaning in his eyes. "And I thought after she read what I said, that she'd let Pollyanna come. It seems she did, for—here she is."
And there she was in the doorway, blushing, starry-eyed, yet withal just a bit shy and questioning.
"Pollyanna, dearest!" It was Jimmy who sprang forward to meet her, and who, without one minute's hesitation, took her in his arms and kissed her.
"Oh, Jimmy, before all these people!" breathed Pollyanna in embarrassed protest.
"Pooh! I should have kissed you then, Pollyanna, if you'd been straight in the middle of—of Washington Street itself," vowed Jimmy. "For that matter, look at—'all these people' and see for yourself if you need to worry about them."
And Pollyanna looked; and she saw:
Over by one window, backs carefully turned, Jamie and Sadie Dean; over by another window, backs also carefully turned, Mrs. Carew and John Pendleton.
Pollyanna smiled—so adorably that Jimmy kissed her again.
"Oh, Jimmy, isn't it all beautiful and wonderful?" she murmured softly. "And Aunt Polly—she knows everything now; and it's all right. I think it would have been all right, anyway. She was beginning to feel so bad—for me. Now she's so glad. And I am, too. Why, Jimmy, I'm glad, GLAD, GLAD for—everything, now!"
Jimmy caught his breath with a joy that hurt.
"God grant, little girl, that always it may be so—with you," he choked unsteadily, his arms holding her close.
"I'm sure it will," sighed Pollyanna, with shining eyes of confidence.
Children of the Tenements
(Jacob A. Riis)
Table of Contents
Preface
The Rent Baby
A Story of Bleecker Street
The Kid Hangs Up His Stocking
The Slipper-Maker's Fast
Death Comes to Cat Alley
A Proposal on the Elevated
Little Will's Message
Lost Children
Paolo's Awakening
The Little Dollar's Christmas Journey
The Kid
When the Letter Came
The Cat Took the Kosher Meat
Nibsy's Christmas
In the Children's Hospital
Nigger Martha's Wake
What the Christmas Sun Saw in the Tenements
Midwinter in New York
A Chip From the Maelstrom
Sarah Joyce's Husbands
Merry Christmas in the Tenements
Abe's Game of Jacks
A Little Picture
A Dream of the Woods
'Twas 'Liza's Doings
Heroes Who Fight Fire
John Gavin, Misfit
A Heathen Baby
The Christening in Bottle Alley
In the Mulberry Street Court
Difficulties of a Deacon
Fire in the Barracks
War on the Goats
He Kept His Tryst
Rover's Last Fight
How Jim Went to the War
A Backwoods Hero
Jack's Sermon
Skippy of Scrabble Alley
Making a Way Out of the Slum
Preface
Table of Contents
I have been asked a great many times in the last dozen years if I would not write an "East-side novel," and I have sometimes had much difficulty in convincing the publishers that I meant it when I said I would not. Yet the reason is plain: I cannot. I wish I could. There are some facts one can bring home much more easily than otherwise by wrapping them in fiction. But I never could invent even a small part of a plot. The story has to come to me complete before I can tell it. The stories printed in this volume came to me in the course of my work as police reporter for nearly a quarter of a century, and were printed in my paper, the Evening Sun. Some of them I published in the Century Magazine, the Churchman, and other periodicals, and they were embodied in an earlier collection under the title, "Out of Mulberry Street." Occasionally, I have used the freedom of the writer by stringing facts together to suit my own fancy. But none of the stories are invented. Nine out of ten of them are just as they came to me fresh from the life of the people, faithfully to portray which should, after all, be the aim of all fiction, as it must be its sufficient reward.
J. A. R.
The Rent Baby
Table of Contents
Adam Grunschlag sat at his street stand in a deep brown study. He heeded not the gathering twilight, or the snow that fell in great white flakes, as yet with an appreciable space between, but with the promise of a coming storm in them. He took no notice of the bustle and stir all about that betokened the approaching holiday. The cries of the huckster hawking oranges from his cart, of the man with the crawling toy, and of the pedler of colored Christmas candles passed him by unheard. Women with big baskets jostled him, stopped and fingered his cabbages; he answered their inquiries mechanically. Adam's mind was not in the street, at his stand, but in the dark back basement where his wife Hansche was lying, there was no telling how sick. They could not afford a doctor. Of course, he might send to the hospital for one, but he would be sure to take her away, and then what would become of little Abe? Besides, if they had nothing else in the whole world, they had yet each other. When that was no longer the case—Adam would have lacked no answer to the vexed question if life were then worth living.
Troubles come not singly, but in squads, once the bag be untied. It was not the least sore point with Adam that he had untied it himself. They were doing well enough, he and his wife, in their home in Leinbach, Austria, keeping a little grocery store, and living humbly but comfortably, when word of the country beyond the sea where much money was made, and where every man was as good as the next, made them uneasy and discontented. In the end they gave up the grocery and their little home, Hansche not without some tears; but she dried them quickly at the thought of the good times that were waiting. With these ever before them they bore the hardships of the steerage, and in good season reached Hester Street and the longed-for haven, only to find—this. A rear basement, dark and damp and unwholesome, for which the landlord, along with the privilege of keeping a stand in the street, which was not his to give, made them pay twelve dollars a month. Truly, much money was made in America, but not by those who paid the rent. It was all they could do, working early and late, he with his push-cart and at his stand, she with the needle, slaving for the sweater, to get the rent together and keep a roof over the head of little Abe.
_preview.jpg)
