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TOMMY TREGENNIS.
by
MARY E. PHILLIPS.
Illustrated by M. V. Wheelhouse.
New York
E·P·Dutton & Company
Publishers
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Facing page_
Still the ladies talked only to Mammy 20
When breakfast was over, Tommy led Dobbin proudly up and down
the alley 24
"My lamb," she murmured, "my own precious lamb" 50
It was very slow progress that the two made along the uneven
cobbles 94
Towards evening Mrs Tregennis grew restless and uneasy, and went
down to the front and looked out anxiously over the angry sea
122
At the Cobbler's window she stopped 152
On the day of Granny's funeral, Old John took care of Tommy 186
TOMMY TREGENNIS
CHAPTER I
There was Daddy, of course, and Mammy and home. Outside home was the
world, and the world was a stretch of golden sand. It was a very
perplexing world to a small boy, for it had a trick, when one least
expected it, of hiding under the sea. At such times the confines of
the world narrowed, and the world itself became a succession of rocky
ledges entirely made up of don't-go-there-Tommy places, and most of
the fun was spoiled.
There was always the danger, too, in the world of rocks that clothes
would not stand the extra strain they were called upon to bear. In
sliding down their sea-washed sides "Take care of your trousers, ma
handsome!" was forgotten until the bottom of the rock was reached and
the mischief done. Tommy's trousers were never very durable even in
the beginning of things, for they were made out of Mammy's worn-out
skirts and cast-off coats (all but the Sunday pair, that is) and so
little friction seemed to wear them into holes.
Just as often as the warning concerning his clothes was given him,
just so often did Tommy disregard it, but never were the consequences
so disastrous as on that July evening when he walked slowly up the
cobble-paved alley to his home; a boy who had lost his illusions; a
boy who regarded sliding down sloping rocks as a highly over-rated
form of enjoyment. With one fat hand he held together a yawning rent,
while with the other now and again he rubbed his eyes. Slowly he
trailed unwilling feet over the cobbles, and only half-heartedly did
he kick the little pile of dust left under the wall near the Church
door, neglected by the dustman on his morning round.
Mammy was standing in the doorway and saw him coming. "Surely this
cannot be Tommy Tregennis?" she said, in a puzzled, uncertain voice.
Tommy's heart stood still. Suppose she didn't know him; suppose she
wouldn't have him in the house; suppose he had to sit out on the
cobble-stones all night! There was no end to the awful supposings.
However "'Tis me, Mammy!" he explained, and tried to put matters on a
pleasant basis by butting her in the stomach as he ran head foremost.
But Mammy drew back, a hurt, surprised look in her eyes. "It _sounds_
like Tommy Tregennis's voice," she said uncertainly, "but surely
neither Tommy Tregennis nor his fäather ever comes home with they
trousers tore! I'm just waitin' for ma handsome, now," she
volunteered, "he's been out playin' in the----"
"I'm your handsome, Mammy," declared a choking, muffled voice. "I'm
your Tommy, I am, but I've tore me trousers on the Skiddery Rock."
It was dreadful to make such a confession, but necessity calls for
decided action; and the effect of the confession was good, for Mammy
admitted her graceless son and followed him into the kitchen.
"No, don't sit down," she exclaimed, "let me see just what you've been
up to, young man. I'll tell your fäather when he comes home, Tommy
Tregennis, you tearin' up the good trousers he goes to sea to get for
ee!"
Unprotesting, Tommy was led up to bed. "To-morrow," suggested Mammy,
"you'd best run fast all the way to school so as no one shan't see ee,
and start early before they other children goes out."
There was a moment's silence, then a wailing cry: "Oh, Mammy, Mammy,
can't ee mend they trousers to-night?" Conclusively Mammy proved the
impossibility of such rapid repair and it was a broken-hearted Tommy
who knelt in his little cot. "Bless Mammy, 'n Daddy, 'n make Tommy a
good boy. Please get me trousers mended, Amen." Then "Give I just
another chanst, Mammy, just one more chanst."
"But you've said that again and again, Tommy Tregennis, an' it's just
been untruth, untruth every time."
"Well, it'll be truth this time, Mammy, for sure it will; just one
more chanst." Then very pleadingly, "Put 'em in the rag-bag, Mammy."
Mrs. Tregennis looked horrified. "An' that I won't, my son. Do you
think I be _made_ of trousers that I can afford to use them for
house-cleanin' just because you've got 'em tore slidin' on Skiddery
Rock?" And Mammy kissed her son somewhat coldly and went down the
creaking wooden stairs.
There was no sleep for the culprit; the evening light coming in at the
window mocked his misery. The sea was going down now, and in the
distance he could hear the laughter of the children who still played
on the widening sands; the very children who, to-morrow, would laugh
at him, Tommy Tregennis, because his trousers was tore.
He decided that he would leave for school before breakfast as Mammy
had advised, and run very fast all the way. But even so, Tommy was
five now, and when you are five years old you no longer sit on the
window-seat in Miss Lavinia's school-room. When you are five your legs
are supposed to be so long that you can be given an ordinary chair at
the long, narrow table.
Of course it was very grand to be promoted from the window-seat; it
meant one was definitely growing up. In spite of the promotion Tommy
often had regrets, for the outside world, as viewed from the window,
was most attractive. The window opened on to Miss Lavinia's
back-garden, and there were always sparrows, and often cats; bees in
the summer, too, and the gay colours of the flowers. The window-seat
was very low (that was why it was your place when you were only four)
and it would have been so easy to sit down there backwards. But a
chair was quite another matter. That meant standing on a spindle
first, then stretching upwards before you turned round and sat; and
detection would seem inevitable.
There was the new game, too; the game in which you all lay flat on the
ground in a ring and blew at the bonfire in the middle, having first
of all piled it up with leaves and sticks (pretending leaves and
sticks, of course). And you sang all the time. Then you crawled nearer
and nearer to the centre until Miss Lavinia said: "Take care, Tommy;
suppose you should burn!" and you wriggled hurriedly back to your
place in the ring.
But for such games trousers must be entire. Tommy broke down utterly
and sobbed beneath the bed clothes.
Mammy must still be standing in the doorway for now and again he heard
a heavy tread up the alley. "Evenin'," a hearty voice would say, and
"G'd evenin'," Mammy would reply.
Then there came a much lighter step, and through the open window Tommy
heard another voice which caused him to still his sobs and sit up in
bed, his hands tightly clasped and his little chest heaving under the
flannelette nightshirt.
"Good-evenin', Miss Lavinia." This was exactly what Tommy had feared.
"I've just had to put my Tommy to bed. He's tore his trousers on the
rocks, and I cannot mend they to-night. He must come early to school
to-morrow and bide still all day, so that the children won't laugh at
him. Yes, thank you, Miss; if he may go back to the window-seat
that'll be fine, and Billy Triggs can have his chair, then they
children won't see."
When these arrangements had been made Miss Lavinia said "Good-night"
and her footsteps died away round the corner.
The evening light grew dimmer and dimmer. Grotesque shadows lengthened
in the room and Tommy was still wide awake. At last he could bear it
no longer.
"Mammy, Mammy!" he cried; but there was no response.
A second call, however, brought her to the foot of the stairs, for he
distinctly heard her toe hit the stair-rod at the bottom that held the
linoleum in place. So he knew that she was really listening and called
once more. "Mammy, Mammy, don't let anyone have me!"
"But who should want _you_, Tommy Tregennis?"
"I don't know, Mammy," he shouted back in his lusty, young voice. "I
don't know, but I thought if you was in the kitchen some one might
come up the stairs and get I."
"But who should want to take you away, Tommy Tregennis? Who should
want a little boy as tears his trousers when his Daddy's away at sea?"
There it was again! Even a fly, unpardonably late in going to bed, was
buzzing on the window-pane, "Tommy's tore his trousers; Tommy's tore
his trousers!" Finally the moon looked in at the window laughing at
his grief, and Tommy fell into a troubled sleep.
Many hours later he was wakened by the striking of a match and a flare
of light. Mammy was putting the kettle on the spirit-lamp at her
bedside, and by this Tommy knew that Daddy was home again. Rubbing his
eyes he sat up and looked anxiously at the foot of his cot. He saw
that the torn trousers were no longer there. He gave a deep sigh of
relief; it was true then; he had feared that it was perhaps only a
dream. But they were not there, so now he knew that the odd little
red-haired man who danced in the moonlight had really taken away those
dreadful trousers to make them into tiny coats for the ten little boys
and girls whom he invariably left at home on his nights out.
Sleepily Tommy watched his mother's movements. When she had poured
water into the tea-pot he crept into the big bed, and as soon as Daddy
came the feast began. Some potato and gravy from the cold pasty oozed
out of Tommy's share and fell upon his nightshirt. It was too good to
be left, so Tommy licked vigorously making very sure that none was
wasted. Quickly the midnight meal ended.
"Now, ma handsome," said Mammy (she must have forgotten about the
trousers), "skip back to bed like a fly in a jaboon."
So Tommy skipped. Daddy blew out the candle, and soon their regular
breathing testified that all three slept.