A YOUNG REFORMER
Close in the wake of Tommy's father, now returning, came Dorothy. A large
automobile stood before one of the rickety buildings, and Dorothy just
caught sight of a great fur coat and gray hair, as the owner of the car
came from the building. It was Mr. Akerson! His chauffeur opened the door
of the car, touched his cap, and the auto made its way slowly through the
street.
"There's the rent collector," she heard a small girl say, as she watched
the automobile out of sight. "Ain't he grand!"
Dorothy wondered, with a shudder, how any one could come among these
people and take their money from them, for housing them in such quarters!
Tommy's father turned off Rivington Street into a narrow lane, little
more than an alley, but it contained tall buildings nevertheless, with
the inevitable fire escape decorating the fronts. He paused in front of a
pawnbroker's shop, which was some feet below the level of the sidewalk.
Dorothy, too, paused, leaning on the iron fence. The man was smiling an
irresponsible, foolish smile as he descended the steps to the pawnshop.
Dorothy peered down into the badly-lighted shop, and saw Tommy's father
lay an ancient watch chain, the last remaining article of the glory of
his young manhood, on the counter.
The clerk behind the counter threw it back in disgust. Again Tommy's
father offered it, but the pawnbroker would not take it, for it was
evidently not worth space in his cases. The man stumbled up the steps,
and Dorothy met him face to face on the top one.
"I need a watch chain," she heard herself saying in desperation, "I'll
buy it, please."
"You're the woman as was collecting the rent; eh?" he said.
"Oh, no," said Dorothy, smiling brightly, "I came to see Tommy's mother,
and his father. I wanted to know Tommy's family."
"You wanted to help the boy, maybe?" he asked, his attention at last
arrested.
"Yes," replied Dorothy, eagerly, "I want to do something. I have money
with me now, and I'll buy the chain."
The man suddenly turned and went on ahead. He wasn't a really desperate
man, but Dorothy did not know just what state it could be called, he
simply seemed unable to think quite clearly, and after walking one block,
Dorothy decided he had forgotten her entirely.
"I want to buy the groceries," she said, stepping close to his elbow,
"but there will be so many, you'll have to help carry them home to your
wife and Tommy."
He stared at her sullenly. "Who told you to buy groceries?" he demanded.
"Your wife said there was nothing to eat in the house," she answered,
"and I would love to buy everything you need, just for this once."
"I was just goin' to get 'em, but there was no money. How's a man goin'
to help his family, when they takes his money right outer his pockets;
tell me that, will you?" he demanded of Dorothy. She shrank as the huge
form towered over her, but she answered steadily:
"The children are at home, hungry, waiting for something to eat--the
cakes you promised them, you know," she said with a brave smile.
"Well, come along; what are you standin' here for wastin' time when the
children are hungry?" he said finally.
Dorothy laughed quietly, and went along at his elbow. Such unreasonable
sort of humanity! At least, one thing was certain, he would not escape
from her now, since she was convinced that he had really been trying to
secure money enough to buy food; if she had to call on the rough-looking
element on the street to come to her aid she would help him.
In the grocer's Dorothy found great delight in ordering food for a
family, and they left the shop, loaded down with parcels. The grocer's
clock chimed out the hour of seven as they left the store.
"Aunt Winnie," thought Dorothy suddenly, "she'll be worried ill! I had
almost forgotten I had a family of my own to be anxious about. But
they'll have to wait," she decided, "they, at least, aren't hungry. They
are only worried, and I know I'm safe," she ended, philosophically.
The yellow dog was in the hall, so were all the evil odors, even some of
the babies still played about, evidently knowing no bedtime, until with
utter weariness their small limbs refused to move another step. And the
dog being there meant that Tommy had gone ahead and was safe at home.
The upper halls were noisy. The hours after supper were being turned into
the festive part of the day. At Tommy's door there were no loud sounds of
mirth, and, opening it quietly, Dorothy entered, the man behind. A dim
light burned in the room, the mother sat asleep in the old velvet chair,
the smaller children curled up in her lap, and she was holding the baby
in her arms. Several of the children were stretched crosswise on the
kitchen cot, and Dorothy decided the remainder of the family were in the
dark room just off the kitchen, and later she discovered that the surplus
room of the three-room home was rented out, to help pay the rent.
The children quickly scrambled from the cot and from the mother's lap,
with wild haste to unwrap the paper parcels. There was little use trying
judiciously to serve the eatables to such hungry children. It mattered
not to Tommy that jelly and condensed milk and butter and cheese were not
all supposed to be eaten on one slice of bread. Tommy never before saw
these things all at one time, and, as far as Tommy knew, he might never
again have the chance to put so many different things on one slice.
Oranges and bananas were unknown luxuries in that family, and the little
boys eyed them suspiciously, but brave Tommy sampling them first, they
picked up courage, and soon there were neither oranges nor bananas, only
messy little heaps of peeling.
Dorothy was busy instructing the mother how to prepare beef broth, and a
nourishing food for the baby, when the clock struck eight.
"Tommy," said Dorothy, as she busily stirred the baby's food, "do you
know where there is a telephone? I must send a message to Aunt Winnie."
"Sure," said the confident Tommy, "I know all about them things. I often
seen people 'telphoning,'" thus Tommy called it.
Soon it was agreed that Tommy and his father would go and inform
Dorothy's aunt of her whereabouts, over the wire.
It was an anxious fifteen minutes waiting for their return. The mother
let the steak broil to a crisp in her anxiety lest the father slip away
from Tommy's grasp, and Dorothy, listening for the returning footsteps,
had visions of again running after Tommy's father to bring him back to
the bosom of his family, and allowed the oatmeal to boil over. But all
was serene when the man returned safely with the information that: "some
old feller on the wire got excited, and a lot of people all talked at
once," and the only thing he was sure of was that they demanded the
address of his home, which he had given them, not being ashamed, as he
proudly bragged, for anyone to know where he lived.
"That was father!" said Dorothy. "What else did he say?"
"Nothin'," replied the man, "but the old feller was maddern a wet hen!"
"Poor father!" thought Dorothy, as she handed an apple to one of the
small boys. "No doubt I'm very foolish to have done this thing. Father
will never forgive me for running away and staying until this late hour.
I really didn't think about anything, though. It did seem so important to
bring home the things. I can't bear to think that to-morrow night and the
next night and the next, Tommy and his mother will be here, worrying and
cold and hungry."
She served each of the children a steaming dish of oatmeal, floating in
milk, and was surprised to find how hungry she was herself. She looked
critically at the messy table, the cracked bowls, and tin spoons, and
democratic as she knew herself to be, she couldn't--simply couldn't--eat
on that kitchen-bedroom-living-room table.
The creaking of the steps and a heavy footfall pausing before the door,
caused a moment's hush. A knock on the portal and Tommy flew to open it.
On the threshold stood Major Dale, very soldierly and dignified, and he
stared into the room through the dim light until he discovered Dorothy.
She ran to him and threw her arms about his neck before he could utter a
word.
"Dear daddy!" she murmured, so glad to see one of her own people, and she
realized in that instant a sense of comfort and ease to know she was well
cared for, and had a dear, old dignified father.
"I forgot," she said, repentantly, "I should have been home hours ago, I
know, but you must hear the whole story, before you scold me."
For Major Dale to ever scold Dorothy was among the impossible things, and
to have scolded her in this instance, the furthest thing from his mind.
The children stood about gazing at Major Dale in awed silence.
"There are so many, father," said Dorothy, "to have to live in these
close quarters. If they could just be transported to a farm, or some
place out in the open!"
"Perhaps they could be," answered Major Dale, "but first, I must take you
home. We'll discuss the future of Tommy and his family, after you are
safely back with Aunt Winnie."
"Couldn't James be placed somewhere in the country? I want to know now,
before I leave them, perhaps never to see them again," pleaded Dorothy to
her father. "Say that you know some place for James to work that will
take the family away from this awful city."
"We'll see, daughter," said the major kindly. "I guess there is some
place for him and the little ones."
"He's so willin' to work for us," explained the mother, "and we'd love to
be in the country. We both grew up in a country town, and I'll go back
to-morrow morning. It's nothin' but struggling here from one year's end
to the other, and we grow poorer each year."
"Many a hard day's work I've done on the farm," said the
six-feet-four-husband, "and I'm good for many more. I'll work at anything
that's steady, and that'll help me keep a roof over the family."
"I'm so glad to hear you say so!" cried Dorothy, in delight. "I'm sure we
will find some work in the country for you, and before many weeks you can
leave this place, and find happiness in a busy, country life."
On the trip uptown, Dorothy asked about the family at home, feeling very
much as though she had been away on a long trip and anxious to see them
all once again.
"We began to grow worried about an hour before the telephone message
came," her father said, "Aunt Winnie had callers, and the arrangements
were to have them all for dinner and we, of course, waited dinner for
Dorothy." He smiled at his daughter fondly. "When you did not appear, the
anxiety became intense, and the callers are still at the apartment
anxiously awaiting the return of the wanderer."
"Who are the callers," queried Dorothy; "do I know them?"
"No, just Aunt Winnie's friends, but they are waiting to meet you," said
Major Dale.
"Won't I be glad to get home!" exclaimed Dorothy, clinging to her
father's arm as they left the subway.
"Daughter," said Major Dale, sternly, "have you really forgotten?"
"Forgotten what, father?" asked Dorothy in surprise.
"Forgotten the dinner and dance that is to be given in your honor this
evening?" Major Dale could just suppress a smile as he tried to ask the
question with great severity.
"Oh, my dear!" cried Dorothy, "I forgot it completely!"
"Well," he said, "you'll be late for the dinner, but they are waiting for
you to start the dance."
"You see, father," exclaimed Dorothy, desperately, "I am not a girl for
society! To think I could have forgotten the most important event of our
whole holiday! But tell me now, daddy, don't you think big James and his
family would do nicely for old Mr. Hill's Summer home--they could care
for it in the Winter, and take charge of the farm in the Summer?"
"That is just what I thought, but said nothing, because I did not care to
raise false hopes in the breast of such a pathetic little woman as
Tommy's mother."
"Then, before I join the dancers, I can rest easily in my thoughts, that
you will take care of Tommy's future, daddy?" Dorothy asked.
"My daughter can join the party, and cease thinking of little Tommy and
the others, because I'll take entire charge of them just as soon as we
return to North Birchland."
"I knew it, dear," said Dorothy, as they entered the apartment, and she
hugged her father closely. "You'd rather be down on Rivington Street at
this moment, seeing the other side of the world, just as I would;
wouldn't you, father?"
But her father just pinched her pink cheeks and told her to run along and
be a giddy, charming debutante.