THE GIRL AT THE CRESCENT
AN even greater ogre to the Cole boys than Silvanus Madmallet was their
father, John Cole, traveling salesman for a wholesale hardware firm.
Their mother, who had been Blanche Florence before her marriage, came
of an old and respected family that had come over with Lord Calvert
when Maryland was settled. She had married Cole against the family’s
wish, and had been paying dearly ever since.
For John Cole was a self-centered brute, a hard master, a spendthrift.
The boys did not know--though the mother did--that Cole fancied fast
horses and fast women. He was a heavy drinker, but never a sot, for he
carried his liquor well. In fact, but for the gloomy, suppressed rage
in which it kept him almost constantly, few would have known that he
was a steady drinking man.
While he tolerated his son Lester as a necessary nuisance, it seemed
at times that he all but hated his older boy. He could not understand
Joshua, with his constant, fearless, gray-blue eyes, and the boy’s
gravity jarred upon him. And, as in the case of Madmallet, the fact
that he could not break the lad’s spirit with the brutal punishment
that he inflicted piqued his pride and made him merciless.
He labored under the delusion that Joshua was a “bad boy.” Silvanus
Madmallet had told him so, for one thing. Joshua did not progress in
the studies prescribed for him, and persisted in reading books which
no child should be allowed to read. John Cole did not understand these
books himself; they aroused no interest in his unimaginative mind.
They were heretic, and while John Cole himself was anything but a firm
believer in the Word of God, it was proper that his sons should be. He
had taken from Joshua Steele’s _Chemistry_, Darwin’s _Origin of Man_
and his _Descent of Man_, and Huxley’s _Man’s Place In Nature_. He
himself had tried to read these books to find out, if possible, what it
was all about. And it had proved not possible for him to find out what
it was all about. When questioned closely, after Joshua’s head had been
submerged in a bathtub full of water until he fell gasping on the floor
when released, the boy confessed that he understood but little of what
he was reading, but that it interested him nevertheless.
Thrusting his sons’ heads under water until they were all but drowned
was John Cole’s own diabolical invention as a form of punishment,
and though Lester escaped the terrible ordeal except for what were
considered serious offenses, it was meted out to Joshua upon the
slightest provocation. For Joshua was “bad,” and it was suspected that
what sinfulness was Lester’s was the result of the influence exerted
over him by his older brother. The boys’ mother was helpless to prevent
these outrages, for he was unshaken by her tears; and threatening to
leave her husband only brought forth the lofty invitation: “Go any time
you feel like it, Blanche.” And she knew that John Cole meant it. He
cared nothing for her. He had squandered her fortune, and continued
to live with her, perhaps, only in the vague hope that some wealthy
relative of hers might die and leave her more money, which would be
easy loot for him again. Despite his constant drinking and his shady
affairs with women, Cole was well thought of by his employers. For he
was a different man when dealing with them and when calling upon the
trade, and, above all, he was a marvelous “money-getter.” But the
mother and her boys thanked heaven more than once that his business
activities necessarily kept him away from home the greater portion of
the time.
No small wonder, then, that Joshua and Lester, as they lazed in the
vacant lot and awaited the coming of Slinky Dawson with the note to
their parents, planned to stop that note midway in its journey. Slinky
Dawson’s route home carried him directly past the Cole house, and the
boys had every reason to believe that he would bear the note that day
at noon. Their father was away selling goods, but that fact offered no
consolation. Joshua had been expelled and Lester suspended for a week,
and there was no possibility of their keeping the dread news from their
father when he returned.
Lester continued his whining as the hours dragged on, but Joshua lay on
his back on the moist earth, to the vast delight of the Cold-and-Croup
Demon, and looked up at the blue spring sky. Joshua was forever looking
up at the sky when not engaged in disturbing the daily routine of slugs
or tumblebugs or spiders.
“Josh, what _are_ we gonta do?” came the oft-repeated wail from Lester.
“Goin’ West,” said Joshua, linking his fingers behind his head and
continuing his gazing into the heavens.
“Aw, ye’re jest talkin’!” accused the younger brother. “How c’n ye go
West? Where’s yer money to go with? Ye’re always sayin’ ye’re goin’
West, but I notice ye’ve never done it.”
“A fella could go on the tramp,” said Joshua. “Folks’ll give a fella
somethin’ to eat when they see he’s hungry an’ honest. I’ve talked to
tramps--kids no older’n me. They have a swell time, Les. Then maybe I
c’n get some money down at the ole skatin’ rink. You leave it to me.”
“What’ll we do when we get West, Josh?”
“Well--now--they’s lots o’ things a fella c’n do,” answered Joshua.
“There’s kids no older’n us that are cowboys. I’ve read lots an’ lots
o’ stories about ’em.”
Which proved that young Joshua, though consecrated to science, had not
altogether put away boyish things.
“We’ll go down to the rink to-night and see what’s doin’,” he
continued. “I c’n pick up a dime or a quarter, maybe, and we c’n get
somethin’ to eat before we start. Then when we get away from the city,
eatin’ll be easy.”
“Josh, you know you won’t go. You been talkin’ about it for years and
years.”
“I will too go!” protested Joshua. “You just watch and see, boy! I’m
goin’ this time. No more drownin’ for me--I got enough o’ that ole
duckin’ business, myself.”
To tell the truth, though Joshua now told himself that he would take
this long-threatened step, he was worried in his heart of hearts. But,
boylike, he bolstered up his courage and dreamed of the adventure,
while all the time something at the back of his mind laughed at him
and told him that he was talking folly. One thing certain, though, he
would not go home and face his father, that father knowing that he had
been expelled from school. He felt that he could not stand one more
submersion in that terrible water, with his pulse throbbing at his
temples and the horrible pangs of strangulation clutching at his throat
and contracting his heart, and everything growing black. No, no more of
that! He might not go West, but he never would return home with that
awaiting him.
The hours dragged on, and when the warm sun was high in the heavens the
entrance of the brick schoolhouse vomited a stream of yelling, shoving,
elbowing young humanity that at once disintegrated and spread in all
directions. Then it was that Joshua and Lester left their places and
hid behind a high-board fence close by. Here they watched friends and
acquaintances pass hurriedly till at length came Slinky Dawson, walking
with importance.
His importance soon forsook him, for presently upon him pounced two
young highwaymen demanding the cause of his importance. Joshua stood in
his path, fists on hips, and Lester threatened him on his right.
“What ye got, Dawson?” demanded Joshua.
Slinky Dawson’s freckled face grew paler than it was ordinarily, for
Slinky was an unhealthy, boot-licking, soft-spoken bigot, one of
those beings doomed for life to be the scorn of less gentle but more
red-blooded males.
“I haven’t anything, Joshua,” he replied, a look of fear and guilt in
his milk-blue eyes. Slinky Dawson never would have said, “I ain’t got
anything,” and he invariably called his schoolmates by their first
names. Which proved that he was no man.
“You’re a liar,” Joshua told him smoothly. “Dare ye to take it up!”
Slinky squirmed and his thin lips fluttered. Slinky never took up
anything.
“Aw, gi’me that note to our folks, kid,” said Joshua, stepping closer,
disgust written on his face. “Don’t monkey with me, boy, er I’ll bust
ye wide open! You know me. Gi’me Ole Madmallet’s letter before I smash
yeh!”
“I--I-- Honest, Joshua--”
Joshua drew back a threatening fist, then slowly brought it forward
until it was rubbing Slinky’s nose. “Gonta gi’me it, boy?”
“Ye-yes, sir!” And Slinky reached trembling fingers into his blouse and
produced an unsealed envelope. “Honest, Joshua, I couldn’t help it. Mr.
Madmallet--”
“Dry up!”
Joshua had snatched the envelope from Slinky’s hand, and as he read
aloud the superscription on the back his sarcastic tones were an
attempt to imitate Madmallet’s:
“‘Mrs. John H. Cole, Three fifty-five Grant Avenue. Kindness of Albert
Dawson.’
“Well, you ain’t gonta be so kind, after all, Mr. Albert Dawson,”
jeered the leader of the outlaws. “And now lissen to me, kid: If
you don’t go back this afternoon an’ tell Ole Sorehatchet that you
give this note to our mother, me’n’ Les’ll lay fer you an’ knock the
stuffin’ outa you. Don’t you ferget it, kid! Now go on home an’ keep
yer face closed.”
“But--”
“Gwan, I’m tellin’ ye!”
And Slinky Dawson, glad that the ordeal was over but with a sinking
heart for the consequences of his remissness, faded away.
Joshua read the contents of the envelope, a brief statement of what had
occurred, then tore the paper to shreds.
“Now, c’m’on, kid,” said he. “Le’s get down to the Crescent an’ see
what’s doin’.”
Most boys who possess such a studious turn of mind as did Joshua are
of the Slinky Dawson type. Slinky was inefficient in everything except
his studies. He could not play ball; any boy in school could outrun
him; any boy could whip him. Joshua, on the other hand, was one of the
foremost athletes in Hathaway’s Boyland. But, then, it was not dreamed
that Joshua was a student. Had he not failed repeatedly in arithmetic
and grammar? Then how could he be a studious boy? That he was the
best pitcher on the Third-room Nine was an established fact. That he
could run and jump and wrestle went undisputed. And that no one in the
city--man, woman, girl or boy--could equal him on roller-skates was
supposed to be the height of his accomplishments.
For more than a year he had visited the Crescent Skating Rink in the
heart of the city whenever opportunity offered. There during the past
winter he had come in contact with an operatic star, who, seeing his
grace and expertness, and herself being an enthusiastic novice at the
sport, had asked him to teach her. It seemed that roller-skating had
become a fad with a certain opera company that was playing in Hathaway,
and the boy’s marvelous performances had aroused the interest of all
of them, after the first lady of the troupe had smiled upon him. One
thing led to another, and, though the troupe had long since left the
city, Joshua’s services were still in demand by novices who wished to
learn to skate. Being only a boy, and in school a greater part of the
time at that, the owners of the rink had not offered him a position as
instructor. But they encouraged him and allowed him to take tips from
those who asked for his help.
To the Crescent Rink the boys now betook themselves, and the
ticket-taker passed them in free, for Lester had often accompanied
his brother. Lester sat in the spectators’ gallery brooding over his
trouble, while Joshua put on a pair of skates and glided out on the
floor, the envy of the awkward skaters already assembled. Before long
Joshua had a pupil, and after half an hour he had a tip of twenty-five
cents. Then his charge left the rink, and he sought new fields.
He glided gracefully about the floor, on the alert for some one who
wished to be taught, and as he made the second round his eyes alighted
upon a girl with reddish-golden hair, who, unaided by an escort, was
putting on her skates. Joshua executed a long curve and swept up beside
her.
“Le’me help you,” he offered, and bent on one knee before her.
He heard a girlish giggle of bashfulness and looked up into
reddish-brown eyes that matched the hair.
And then, for love strikes quick and sure to the heart of a red-blooded
boy, Joshua Cole knew that his eyes beheld the most glorious creature
in all the world, and something came up in his throat and nearly choked
him. It was as sudden and unexpected as a blow between the eyes.