stopping. The room with its greenish light, its soiled lace curtains,
the water pitcher always cracked, the bed always lumpy, the sheets
always damp, was home to Freddy. Florette made it warm and cozy even
when there was no heat in the radiator. She had all sorts of clever
home-making tricks. She toasted marshmallows over the gas jet; she
spread a shawl on the trunk; or she surprised Freddy by pinning
pictures out of the funny page on the wall. She could make the nicest
tea on a little alcohol stove she carried in her trunk. There was
always a little feast after the theatre on the table that invariably
wabbled. Freddy would pretend that the foot of the iron bed was a
trapeze. How they laughed. On freezing nights in Maine or Minnesota,
Florette would let Freddy warm his feet against hers, or she would get
up and spread her coat that looked just like fur over the bed.
When they struck a new town at the beginning of each week Freddy and
Florette would go bumming and see all the sights, whether it was
Niagara Falls or just the new Methodist Church in Cedar Rapids. Freddy
would have been sorry for little boys who had to stay in one home all
the time--that is, if he had known anything at all about them. But the
life of the strolling player was all that he had ever known, and he
found it delightful, except for the dreaded intervals of "bookin' the
ac'."
The dream of every vaudevillian is to be booked for fifty-two unbroken
weeks in the year, but few attain such popularity. Florette's seasons
were sometimes long, sometimes short; but there always came the
tedious worrying intervals when managers and agents must be besought
for work. Perhaps she would find that people were tired of her old
tricks, and she would have to rehearse new ones, or interpolate new
songs and gags. Then the new act would be tried out at some obscure
vaudeville house, and if it didn't go the rehearsals and trampings to
agents must begin all over again. Freddy shared the anxieties and
hardships of these times. But the only hardship he really minded was
the loss of Florette, for of course the pretty Miss Le Fay, who was
only nineteen on the agents' books, could not appear on Broadway with
a great big boy like Freddy.
However, the bad times always ended, and Florette and Freddy would set
out gayly once more for Oshkosh or Atlanta, Dallas or Des Moines.
Meals expanded, Florette bought a rhinestone-covered comb, and the two
adventurers indulged in an orgy of chocolate drops. With the optimism
of the actor, they forgot all about the dismal past weeks, and saw the
new tour as never ending.
Freddy felt himself once more a real and important human being with a
place in the sun, not just a child to be shushed by a dingy landlady
while his mother was out looking for a job. He knew that he was as
necessary a part of Florette's act as her make-up box. He believed
himself to be as necessary a part of her life as the heart in her
breast, for Florette lavished all her beauty, all her sweetness on
him. No Johns for Florette, pretty and blonde though she was. To the
contempt of her contemporaries Florette refused every chance for a
free meal. Freddy was her sweetheart, her man. She had showered so
many pretty love words on him, she had assured him so often that he
was all in the world she wanted, that Freddy was stunned one day to
hear that he was to have a papa.
"I don' wan' one," said Freddy flatly. "I ain't never had one, an' I
ain't got no use for one."
Florette looked cross--an unusual thing.
"Aw, now, Freddy, don't be a grouch," she said.
"I don' wan' one," repeated Freddy.
"You ought to be glad to get a papa!" cried Florette.
"Why?"
"Makes you respectable."
"What's that?"
"Who'd believe I was a widow--in this profession?"
Freddy still looked blank.
"Well," said Florette, "you're goin' to get a nice papa, so there
now!"
Then the cruel truth dawned on Freddy. It was Florette who wanted a
papa. He had not been enough for her. In some way Florette had found
him lacking.
Tactfully, Freddy dropped the subject of papas, wooed Florette, and
tried to atone for his shortcomings. He redoubled his compliments,
trotted out all the love words he knew, coaxed Florette with
everything she liked best in him. He even offered to have his nails
filed. At night, in bed, he kissed Florette's bare back between the
shoulder blades, and snuggled close to her, hugging her desperately
with his little thin arms.
"Flo," he quavered, "you--you ain't lonesome no more, are you?"
"Me? Lonesome? Whatcher talkin' about, kid?" sleepily murmured
Florette.
"You ain't never lonesome when you got me around, are you, Flo?"
"Sure I ain't. Go to sleep, honey."
"But, Florette----"
Florette was dozing.
"Oh, Florette! Florette!"
"Florette, if you ain't lonesome----"
"Sh-h-h, now, sh-h-h! Le's go to sleep."
"But, Florette, you don' wan'--you don' wan'--a pop----"
"Sh-h-h! Sh-h-h! I'm so tired, honey."
Florette slept. Freddy lay awake, but he lay still so as not to
disturb her. His arms ached, but he dared not let her go. Finally he
slept, and dreamed of a world in which there was no Florette. He
shuddered and kicked his mother. She gave him a little impatient
shove. He woke. Day was dawning. It was Florette's wedding day. Freddy
did not know it until Florette put on her best coral-velvet hat with
the jet things dangling over her ears.
"You ain' gonna wear that hat," said Freddy severely. "It's rainin'."
"Yeah, I'm gonna wear this hat," said Florette, pulling her blonde
earbobs into greater prominence. "An' you put on your best suit an'
new necktie. We're goin' to a weddin'."
Her tone was gay, arch, her eyes were happy.
"Who--whose?" Freddy faltered.
"Mine!" chirped Florette. "I'm goin' to get you that papa I promised
you."
Freddy turned away.
"Sulkin'!" chided Florette. "Naughty, jealous boy!"
The new papa did not appear so formidable as Freddy had expected. In
fact, he turned out to be only Howard, Florette's acrobatic partner.
Freddy philosophically reflected that if one must have a new papa, far
better so to call Howard, who necessarily encroached on Florette's
time, than a stranger who might take up some of her leisure hours.
But Freddy received a distinct shock when the new papa joined them
after the evening performance and accompanied them up to their room.
Freddy had always regarded Florette's room as his, too. He felt that
the new papa was an intruder in their home. Alas! It soon became all
too apparent that it was Freddy who was _de trop_, or, as he would
have expressed it, a Mister Buttinski.
They were having a little supper of pickles and cheese and liver
sausage and jam. Florette and the papa drank out of a bottle by turns
and laughed a great deal. Florette seemed to think the papa very
clever and funny. She laughed at everything he said. She looked at him
with shining eyes. She squeezed his hand under the table. Freddy tried
in vain to attract her attention. Finally he gave up and sat staring
at the oblivious couple with a stupid expression.
"That kid's half asleep," said the new papa.
Florette looked at Freddy and was annoyed by his vacant eyes.
"Go to bed right away," she commanded.
Freddy looked at her in amazement.
"Ain't you goin', too, Florette?" he asked.
"No, you go on--go to sleep."
"Git into that nice li'l cot an' go by-by," said the new papa
genially.
Freddy had not seen the cot before. It had been moved in during his
absence at the theatre, and stood white, narrow, and lonely, partly
concealed by a screen.
"I--I always slep' with Florette," faltered Freddy.
This seemed to amuse the new papa. But Florette flushed and looked
annoyed.
"Now, Freddy, are you goin' to be a grouch?" she wailed.
Freddy was kissed good-night, and went to sleep in the cot. He found
it cold and unfriendly. But habit, the much maligned, is kind as well
as cruel; if it can accustom us to evil, so can it soften pain. Freddy
was beginning to assume proprietary airs toward the cot, which
appeared in every town, and even to express views as to the relative
values of cots in Springfield, Akron, or Joliet--when one night he
woke to hear Florette sobbing.
Freddy lay awake listening. He had sobbed, too, when he was first
banished to the cot. Was Florette missing him as he had missed her?
Ah, if she at last had seen that papas were not half so nice as
Freddy's, he would not be hard on her. His heart swelled with
forgiveness and love. He stole on tiptoe to Florette's bedside.
"Flo," he whispered.
The sobbing ceased. Florette held her breath and pretended to be
asleep. Freddy wriggled his little thin body under the covers and
threw his arms around Florette. With a gulp, she turned and threw her
arms around him. They clasped each other tight and clung without
speaking. They lay on the edge of the bed, holding their breath in
order not to wake the papa who snored loudly. Freddy's cheeks and hair
were wet, a cold tear trickled down his neck, his body ached from the
hard edge of the bed; but he was happy, as only a child or a lover can
be, and Freddy was both.
In the morning the papa was cross. He did not seem to care for his own
breakfast, but concentrated his attention on Freddy's. Freddy had
always been accustomed to a nice breakfast of tea and toast and jam,
but Howard insisted on ordering oatmeal for him.
"Naw, Freddy can't stand oatmeal," Florette objected.
"It's good for him," said Howard, staring severely at his son across
the white-topped restaurant table.
"I don' see no use forcin' a person to eat what they can't stomach,"
said Florette.
"Yeah, tha's the way you've always spoiled that kid. Look a' them pale
cheeks! Li'l ole pale face!" Howard taunted, stretching a teasing hand
toward Freddy. "Mamma's boy! Reg'lar sissy, he is!"
He gave Freddy a poke in the ribs. Freddy shrank back, made himself as
small as possible in his chair, looked mutely at Florette.
"Aw, cut it out, Howard," she begged. "Quit raggin' the kid, can't
you?"
"Mamma's blessed sugar lump!" jeered Howard, with an ugly gleam in his
eye. "Ought to wear a bib with pink ribbons, so he ought. Gimme a
nursin' bottle for the baby, waiter!"
The impertinence of this person amazed Freddy. He could only look at
his tormentor speechlessly. Freddy and Florette had been such great
chums that she had never used the maternal prerogative of rudeness. He
had never had any home life, so he was unaware of the coolness with
which members of a family can insult one another. Howard's tones,
never low, were unusually loud this morning, and people turned around
to laugh at the blushing child. The greasy waiter grinned and set the
oatmeal which Howard had ordered before Freddy.
"Now, then, young man," commanded Howard sternly, "you eat that, and
you eat it quick!"
Freddy obeyed literally, swallowing as fast as he could, with painful
gasps and gulps, fighting to keep the tears back. Florette reached
under the table and silently squeezed his knee. He flashed her a smile
and swallowed a huge slimy mouthful.
"You ain't eatin' nothin' yourse'f, Howard," said Florette acidly.
"W'y don' you have some oatmeal?"
"Tha's right!" shouted Howard. "Side with the kid against me! Tha's
all the thanks I get for tryin' to make a man out o' the li'l sissy.
Oughta known better'n to marry a woman with a spoiled brat."
"Sh-h-h!" whispered Florette. "Don't tell the whole resterunt about
your fam'ly troubles."
"Say," hissed Howard, bending down toward her and thrusting out his
jaw, "lay off o' me, will yer?"
"Lay off yourse'f!" retorted Florette under her breath. "If you wanna
fight le's go back to the hotel where it's private."
"I don' min' tellin' the world I bin stung!" roared Howard.
Florette flushed up to the slightly darker roots of her too-blonde
hair.
"You?" she gasped furiously. "After all I've put up with!"
"Say, you ain't got any kick comin'! I treated you white, marryin'
you, an' no questions asked."
"What-ta you mean?" breathed Florette, growing deathly pale.
Freddy, alarmed, half rose from his chair.
"Sit down there you!" roared Howard. "What-ta I mean, Miss Innocence?"
he said, mimicking Florette's tone. "Oh, no, of course you ain't no
idea of what I mean!"
"Come on, Freddy," Florette broke in quickly. "It's a katzenjammer. He
ain't got over last night yet."
She seized Freddy's hand and walked rapidly toward the door. Howard
lurched after her, followed by the interested stares of the
spectators. On the street he caught up with her and the quarrel
recommenced.
The act went badly that afternoon. It must be hard to frolic in midair
with a heavy heart. Under cover of the gay music there were angry
muttered words and reproaches.
"Yoo-hoo! Yoo-hoo!" Florette would trill happily to the audience as
she poised on one toe. "What-ta you tryin' to do--shake me off'n the
bar?" she would mutter under her breath to her partner.
"That's right! Leggo o' me an' lemme bus' my bean, damn you!" snarled
Howard. And to the audience he sang, "Oh, ain't it great to have a
little girlie you can trust for--life!"
They were still muttering angrily as they came off. The handclapping
had been faint.
"Aw, for God's sake, stop your jawin'!" half screamed Florette. "It
ain't no more my fault than it is yours. If they don' like us they
don' like us, tha's all."
She ran up the stairs, sobbing. Howard followed her. They shared a
dressing room now. It was small, and Freddy was in the way, although
he tried to squeeze himself into the corner by the dingy stationary
washstand. Howard shoved Freddy. Florette protested. The quarrelling
broke out afresh. Howard tipped over a bottle of liquid white.
Florette screamed at him, and he raised his fist. Freddy darted out of
his corner.
"Say, ya big stiff, cut out that rough stuff, see?" cried little
Freddy in the only language of chivalry that he knew.
Howard whirled upon him furiously, calling him a name that Freddy did
not understand, but Florette flung herself between them and caught the
blow.
* * * * *
"He certainly looks as if he had fallen asleep," Miss Nellie Blair
repeated. "Better run out and get him, Mary. He might tumble off the
wall."
As Mary went out a maid came in.
"A gen'l'mun to see you, Miss Blair," she announced.
"Is it a parent?" asked Miss Nellie.
The maid's eyebrows twitched, and she looked faintly grieved, as all
good servants do when they are forced to consider someone whom they
cannot acknowledge as their superior.
"No, ma'am, he doesn't look like a parent," she complained.
"He really is a very queer-lookin' sort of person, ma'am. I wouldn't
know exactly where to place him. Shall I say you are out, ma'am?"
"Yes," said Miss Eva. "No doubt he wants to sell an encyclopedia."
"No, let him come in," said Miss Nellie. "It might be a reporter about
Madame d'Avala," she added, turning to her sister. "Sometimes they
look queer."
"If it turns out to be an encyclopedia I shall leave you at once,"
said Miss Eva. "You are so kind-hearted that you will look through
twenty-four volumes, and miss your dinner----"
But the gentleman who came in carried no books, nor did he look like
one who had ever been associated with them. Carefully dressed in the
very worst of taste from his scarfpin to his boots, he had evidently
just been too carefully shaved, for there were scratches on his wide,
ludicrous face, and his smile was as rueful as a clown's.
"The Misses Blair, I presume?" he asked in what was unmistakably his
society manner, and he held out a card.
Miss Eva took it and read aloud, "Mr. Bert Brannigan, Brannigan and
Bowers, Black-Face Comedians."
"Ah?" murmured Miss Nellie, who was always polite even in the most
trying circumstances.
But Miss Eva could only stare at the rich brown suit, the lavender tie
and matching socks and handkerchief.
"Well?" said Miss Eva.
Mr. Brannigan cleared his throat and looked cautiously about the room.
His heavy, clownlike face was troubled.
"Where's the kid?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"What child?" Miss Eva snapped.
"You've come to see one of our pupils?" Miss Nellie faltered.
"Yeah. Hers."
"Hers?"
"W'y, Miss Le Fay's li'l boy."
"Oh, Freddy?"
"Sure! Does he--he don't--you ain't tole 'im yet, have you?"
"Told him what?"
"My God! don't you know?"
Bert Brannigan stared at the ladies, mopping his brow with the
lavender handkerchief.
"Please explain yourself, Mr. Brannigan," said Miss Eva.
"She's dead. I thought you knew."
"Miss Le Fay is dead?" gasped Miss Nellie.
"Why weren't we told?" asked Miss Eva.
"It was in the papers," said Bert. "But they didn't give Florette no
front-page headlines, an' maybe you don't read the theatrical news."
"No," said Miss Eva.
"Well, not bein' in the profession," Mr. Brannigan said as if he were
apologizing for her.
He sat down and continued to mop his brow mechanically. The two
sisters stared in dismay at the clown who had brought bad news.
"W'at I don' know is how to tell the kid," said Bert. "He was nutty
about Florette; didn't give a darn for no one else. I bin on the bill
with them two lots of times, an' I seen how it was. The money ain't
goin' to be no comfort to that kid!"
"The money?"
"Florette's insurance--made out to him. Tha's w'y I come. She wan'ed
him to stay on here, see, till he was all educated. They's enough,
too. She was always insured heavy for the kid. They's some back money
comin' to you, too. She tole me. The reason w'y she didn't sen' it on
was because she was out of luck an' broke, see?"
"But why didn't Miss Le Fay write to us?" asked Miss Nellie. "If she
was in difficulties we----"
"Naw, Florette wasn' that kind; nev' put up any hard-luck story y'
un'erstan'. But she'd bin outa work, sick. An' w'en she come back it
looked like her ac' was a frost. I run up on her in K.C., an'----"
"What is K.C.?"
"Why, Kansas City! We was on the bill there two weeks ago. Me an'
Florette was ole friends, see? No foolishness, if you know what I
mean. I'm a married man myse'f--Bowers there on the card's my
wife--but me an' Florette met about five years ago, an' kep' on
runnin' on to one another on the bill, first one place an' then
another. So she was glad to see me again, an' me her. 'W'y, w'ere's
Freddy?' I says, first thing. An' then I never seen any person's face
look so sad. But she begun tellin' me right off w'at a fine place the
kid was at, an' how the theayter wasn't no place for a chile. An' she
says, 'Bert, I wan' him to stay w'ere he's happy an' safe,' she says.
'Even if I nev' see him again,' she says. Well, it give me the shivers
then. Psychic, I guess."
Bert paused, staring into space.
"And then?" Miss Nellie asked gently.
"Well, like I was tellin' you, Florette had been playin' in hard luck.
Now I don' know whether you ladies know anything about the vodvil
game. Some ac's is booked out through the circuit from N' Yawk; others
is booked up by some li'l fly-by-night agent, gettin' a date here an'
a date there, terrible jumps between stands, see?--and nev' knowin'
one week where you're goin' the nex', or whether at all. Well,
Florette was gettin' her bookin' that way. An' on that you gotta make
good with each house you play, get me? An' somethin' had went wrong
with the ac' since I seen it las'. It useter be A Number I, y'
un'erstan', but looked like Florette had lost int'rust or somethin'.
She didn't put no pep into it, if you know what I mean. An' vodvil's
gotta be all pep. Then, too, her an' that partner of hers jawin' all
the time somethin' fierce. I could hear him raggin' her that af'noon,
an' me standin' in the wings, an' they slipped up on some of their
tricks terrible, an' the audience laughed. But not with 'em, at 'em,
y' un'erstan'! Well, so the ac' was a fros', an' they was cancelled."
"Cancelled?"
"Fired, I guess you'd call it. They was to play again that night an'
then move on, see?"
"Oh, yes."
"An' they didn't have no bookin' ahead. Florette come an' talked to me
again, an' she says again she wanted Freddy to be happy, an' git a
better start'n she'd had an' all. 'An,' Bert,' she says, 'if anything
ev' happens to me, you go an' give 'um the money for Freddy,' she
says."
"Poor thing! Perhaps she had a premonition of her death," murmured
Miss Nellie.
Bert gave her a queer look.
"Yeah--yes, ma'am, p'raps so. I was watchin' her from the wings that
night," he went on. "The ac' was almos' over, an' I couldn't see
nothin' wrong. Howard had run off an' Florette was standin' up on the
trapeze kissin' her ban's like she always done at the finish. But all
of a sudden she sort of trem'led an' turned ha'f way roun' like she
couldn't make up her min' what to do, an' los' her balance, an' caught
holt of a rope--an' let go--an' fell."
Miss Nellie covered her face with her hands. Miss Eva turned away to
the window.
"She was dead w'en I got to her," said Bert.
"Be careful!" said Miss Eva sharply. "The child is coming in."
"Freddy wasn't asleep at all," said Mary, opening the door. "He was
just playing a game, but he won't tell me----Oh, I beg your pardon! I
didn't know any one was here."
Freddy had stopped round-eyed, open-mouthed with incredulous delight.
"Bert!" he gasped. "The son of a gun!"
"Freddy!" cried the Misses Blair.
But Bert held out his arms and Freddy ran into them.
"Gee, Bert, I'm glad to see ya!" rejoiced Freddy.
"Me, too, kid, glad to see you! How's the boy, huh? Gettin' educated,
huh? Swell school, ain't it?" babbled Bert, fighting for time.
"Aw, it's all right, I guess," Freddy replied listlessly, glancing at
the Misses Blair. Then turning again with eager interest to Bert, "But
say, Bert, what in the hell a----I mean what-ta you doin' here?"
"Why--ah--ah--jus' stoppin' by to say howdy, see, an'----"
"Playin'in N'Yawk?"
"No."
"Jus'come in?"
"Yeah."
Freddy drew his breath in quickly.
"Say, Bert, you--you ain't seen Florette anywheres?"
"Why, ye-yeah."
"Where is she, Bert?"
There was a deathly hush.
Then Miss Eva motioned to Miss Nellie and said, "If you will excuse
us, Mr. Brannigan, we have some arrangements to make about the concert
to-night. Madame d'Avala is to sing in the school auditorium, a
benefit performance," and she went out, followed by her sister and
niece.
"Where's Florette?" Freddy asked again, his voice trembling with
eagerness.
"I--seen her in K.C., sonny."
"How's the ac'?"
"Fine! Fine! Great!"
"No kiddin'?"
"No kiddin'."
"Florette--all right?"
"Why, what made you think any different?"
"Who hooks her up now, Bert?"
"She hires the dresser at the theatre."
"I could 'a' kep' on doin' it," said Freddy, with a sigh.
"Aw, now, kid, it's better for you here, gettin' educated an' all."
"I don't like it, Bert."
"You don't like it?"
"Naw."
"You don't like it! After all she done!"
"I hate this ole school. I wanna leave. You tell Florette."
"Aw, now, Freddy----"
"I'm lonesome. I don't like nobody here." His voice dropped. "An'--an'
they don't like me."
"Aw, now, Freddy----"
"Maybe Miss Mary does. But Miss Eva don't. Anyway, I ain't no use to
anybody here. What's the sense of stayin' where you ain't no use? An'
they're always callin' me down. I don't do nothin' right. I can't even
talk so's they'll like it. Florette liked the way I talked all right.
An' you get what I mean, don't you, Bert? But they don't know nothin'.
Why, they don't know nothin', Bert! Why, there's one boy ain't ever
been inside a theatre! What-ta you know about that, Bert? Gee, Bert,
I'm awful glad you come! I'd 'a' bust not havin' somebody to talk to."
Bert was silent. He still held Freddy in his arms. His heart reeled at
the thought of what he must tell the child. He cleared his throat,
opened his mouth to speak, but the words would not come.
Freddy chattered on, loosing the flood gates of his accumulated
loneliness. He told how Florette had bidden him "learn to be a li'l
gem'mum," and how he really tried; but how silly were the rules that
governed a gentlemanly existence; how the other li'l gem'mum laughed
at him, and talked of things he had never heard of, and never heard of
the things he talked of, until at last he had ceased trying to be one
of them.
"You tell Florette I gotta leave this place," he concluded firmly.
"Bert, now you tell Florette. Will you, Bert? Huh?"
"Freddy--I----Freddy, lissen now. I got somethin' to tell you."
"What?"
"I--I come on to tell you, Freddy. Tha's why I come out to tell you,
see?"
"Well, spit it out," Freddy laughed.
Bert groaned.
"Whassa matter, Bert? What's eatin' you?"
"I--I----Say, Freddy, lissen--lissen, now, Freddy. I----"
"Florette! She ain't sick? Bert, is Florette sick?"
"No! No, I----"
"You tell me, Bert! If it's bad news about Florette----"
His voice died out. His face grew white. Bert could not meet his eyes.