FUN ENDS IN TRAGEDY.
Fat and lazy, Nigger John did not succeed in overtaking Tommy, and at
length gave up the chase, vowing vengeance upon him when he got him in
his power.
The boys met at the corner of the street and divided the candy.
"Now, what's the next move?" said Charley. "Do you want to creep into
your deal box?"
"I don't care," replied Tommy, with a shiver.
"You needn't be afraid. The old man's got no stiff up in the shop just
now."
"It's horrid, though, to go among coffins, and your father does keep
the dead bodies there sometimes."
"Of course he does. I've seen half a dozen at a time waiting to be
boxed up, but they can't hurt you. They're harmless enough; it's
nothing when you're used to it."
"Anyway," said Tommy, "it's better than going home to be licked."
"I'll bet yer," replied Charley.
While sucking their candy and talking they were approached by another
boy.
"Hello, Charley!" exclaimed the newcomer; "was that you snowballing
Nigger John?"
"I never give myself away, Swanny Marsh," replied Charley.
"He's awful mad. I wanted to sell him two pigeons for candy and he
wouldn't deal."
"I'll trade with you."
"What'll you give?"
"My jackknife, a handful of candies and a dozen marbles."
"Can't do it," replied Swanny Marsh; "they're worth more."
"You can keep them," said Charley.
"I'll tell you what I'd like to do with them," continued the owner of
the pigeons.
"What's that?"
"There's a lecture on to-night in Julian Hall. I went there and got a
seat up in the gallery. Just under me there was a man with a bald head,
and I dropped a marble down right on top of him. Jimanetti! you should
have heard him howl and seen him jump!"
"Did they tumble you?"
"Like my bad luck, they did. A mean cuss saw me do it, and I was
bounced. Now, I'll let you have the pigeons, if you'll throw them up
through the door of the hall."
"What's the fun of that?"
"They'll fly all around and put the gas out, and we'll holler 'Fire!'
like fury. It'll be all a lark to see the folks run for the door,"
replied Marsh.
"Good boy, Swanny!" said Charley.
"Will you do it?"
"Tommy will, won't you, Tommy?" exclaimed Charley.
"I don't mind," answered Tommy, in his usual good-natured way.
"That settles it," said Swanny Marsh. "Here are the birds."
He produced a paper bag, in which were two full-grown pigeons.
"Come on to Julian Hall. Open the door a little way and let the birds
fly," exclaimed Charley Barker. "It'll be such fun."
Tommy thought so, too, but he did not stop to consider the matter
thoroughly in all its bearings.
This is the trouble with most boys. They do not stop to think, and,
acting as creatures of impulse, they often do mischievous things, which
produce disastrous results, without meaning any real harm.
Reaching the hall, which contained about three hundred people, who were
listening to an instructive lecture, Tommy opened the door a little
way.
He attracted no notice.
Then he opened the paper bag, and the birds flew out among the audience.
Rushing hither and thither, the pigeons, by the motion of their wings,
soon extinguished the lights. The hall was wrapped in darkness.
Meanwhile Charley Barker and Swanny Marsh cried "Fire! fire!" with all
their might, and Tommy joined in the din.
Not knowing how or why the lights had been put out, the audience became
panic-stricken.
They made a rush for the doorway, which speedily became blocked.
Now a terrible scene ensued, which the boys were far from intending, or
even anticipating.
The doorway became jammed with a fighting, struggling mass of humanity,
yelling, shrieking and pushing to escape.
Delicate women and children were trampled under foot, and the darkness
made the scene more dreadful.
There was only one door to the hall, which was all the worse for the
people.
The three boys left off crying "Fire! fire!" when they saw the people
coming out.
They grew frightened at the terrible uproar, and with blanched faces
stood on the outskirts of a quickly increasing crowd.
The police came up and rendered effectual assistance.
In a quarter of an hour the hall was cleared, and beyond bruises and
cuts, none of the grown people were seriously injured.
Some women were carried out fainting and bleeding; but one sight caused
a thrill of horror to run through the assembling crowd.
The police had picked up a little boy--dead!
He was a tiny little fellow, about seven years old, and as they placed
the lifeless body on a shutter, many a strong man felt inclined to shed
tears.
This was the only one killed.
"He's a goner," whispered Charley to his companions. "Who'd have
thought that?"
"It's rough," replied Swanny Marsh. "Wonder who's young one he is."
"Don't know."
"Oh!" said Tommy, "I'm so sorry we did it."
"So'm I, now," answered Marsh.
The shutter, with the youthful corpse upon it, was taken up by four
stout men.
"Where are they going to take it?" asked Charley of a man in the crowd.
"Up to Barker's, the undertaker's," was the reply.
"Whose boy is it?"
"They say it's Marsh's; him as lives up the avenue. Little Tony Marsh,
I heard them call him, and they won't take him home, 'cos the mother's
sick, and the shock might kill her."
These were cruel words for Swanny to hear, but he did hear them, and
they sank into his heart like lead.
"Oh, God!" he murmured, "I have killed my little brother."
Then his lips became whiter than his cheeks, and he would have fallen
to the ground had not Charley Barker caught him.
"Say, Tommy," exclaimed Charley, "this is awful!"
"What'll I do?" asked Tommy.
"Say nothing to anybody. Watch your chance to get into the shop, and
hide away in a coffin, as I told you."
"But how about poor Swanny Marsh?"
"I'll take him home. Don't bother yourself about him."
"All right."
"Don't forget; you're not to squeal. I must post Swanny when he comes
to. If you don't look out we shall all get sent up."
Tommy nodded his head, as if he quite comprehended the warning.
He walked sadly away, and Charley, in time, with some difficulty, got
Swanny home.
The state of affairs at home can be easily imagined--a hysterical
mother, a father frenzied with grief, one little bed empty, its
occupant gone forever, and the house of mourning, desolation and
despair.
But crushed with grief as he was, and overwhelmingly shocked, Swanny
Marsh did not say anything.
He kept the horrid secret locked up in his breast.