"Well, she will be," muttered Nathan vindictively. "Und the new teacher
will lick you the while you fights. It's fierce how you make me biles
on my bones. Think shame."
When the ruffled Monitor of the Window Boxes had been soothed by the
peaceful Guardian of the Gold-Fish, the cabinet held council. Nathan
suggested that it might be possible to bribe the interloper. They would
give him their combined wealth and urge him to turn his eyes upon Miss
Blake, whose room was across the hall. She was very big and would do
excellently well for him, whereas she was entirely too long and too
wide for them.
Morris maintained that Teacher might be held by gratitude. A list
should be made out, and, each in turn, a child a day, should give her
a present.
Patrick listened to these ideas in deep and restive disgust. He urged
instant and copious bloodshed. His big brother's gang could "let
daylight into the dude" with enjoyment and despatch. They would watch
him ceaselessly and they would track him down.
The watching was an easy matter, for Teacher, in common with the
majority of rulers, lived much in the public eye. The stranger was
often detected prowling in her vicinity. He even began to bring her
to school in the mornings, and on these occasions there were always
violets in her coat. He used to appear at luncheon time and vanish
with her. He used to come in the afternoon and have tea in Room 18
with two other teachers and with Teacher. The antagonism of the Monitor
of Gold Fish became so marked that Miss Bailey was forced to
remonstrate.
"Morris, dear," she began one afternoon, when they were alone together,
"you were very rude to Doctor Ingraham yesterday. I can't allow you
to stay here with me if you're going to behave so badly. You sulked
horribly and you slammed the door against his foot. Of course it was
an accident, but how would you feel, Morris, if you had hurt him?"
"Glad," said the Monitor of the Gold-Fish savagely. "Glad."
"Morris! What do you mean by saying such a thing? I'm ashamed of you.
Why should you want to hurt a friend of mine?"
"Don't you be friends mit him!" cried Morris, deserting his fish and
throwing himself upon his teacher. "Don't you do it, Teacher Missis
Bailey. He ain't no friends for a lady." And then, in answer to
Teacher's stare of blank surprise, he went on:
"My mamma she seen him by your side und she says--I got to tell you
in whispering how she says."
Teacher bent her head and Morris whispered in an awe-struck voice:
"My mamma says she like that: 'He could to be a Krisht,'" and then
drew back to study Teacher's consternation. But she seemed quite calm.
Perhaps she had already faced the devastating fact, for she said:
"Yes, I know he's a Christian. I'm not afraid of them. Are you?"
"Teacher, no ma'an, Missis Bailey, I ain't got no scare over Krishts,
on'y they ain't no friends for ladies. My papa says like that on my
auntie, und my auntie she's married now mit a stylish floorwalker.
We'm got a Krisht in our house for boarder, so I know. But _you_
couldn't to know 'bout Krishts."
"Yes, I do. They're very nice people."
"No ma'an," said Morris gently. And then still more courteously: "It's
a lie. You couldn't to know about Krishts."
"But I do know all about them, Morris dear. I'm a Christian."
Again Morris remembered his manners. Again he replied in his courtly
phrase:
"It's a lie." As he said it, with a bewitching rising inflection, it
was almost a caress. "It's a lie. Teacher fools. You couldn't to be
no Krisht. You ain't got no looks off of Krishts."
Teacher was mildly surprised. She was as Irish as Patrick Brennan and,
in her own way, she looked it. Truly her eyes were brown, but the face
and the faith of her fathers were still strongly hers. Morris,
meanwhile, examined his sovereign with admiring eyes. He could well
understand the heart of that Krisht, for Teacher was very beautiful
and of splendid array. Her jumper was red, with golden buttons, and
her collar was white, and her hair was soft, with combs. And she had
a light face and a little bit of nose and teeth. Her apron was from
silk with red ribbons and red flowers, and she had like man's-shoes and
a watch. This vision of feminine perfection was bestowing time and
smiles on him. She was actually appealing to his judgment.
"Not look like a Christian?" she was saying. "Well, then, Morris, what
do I look like?"
And Morris, ever going straight to the point, replied: "You looks like
a stylish Sheeny," and waited for this intoxicating praise to bring
blushes to the light face he loved. It brought the blushes, but they
were even redder and hotter than he had expected. There was also a
gasp on which he had not counted and a queer flash in the brown eyes.
"Morris," said Teacher, "Morris, did you ever see a Sheeny with a nose
like mine?"
Morris raised his head from the red jumper, climbed off the from-silk
apron and solemnly contemplated the little bit of nose. The truth broke
over him in sickening waves. The star of his life had set; his doll
was stuffed with sawdust; his idol had feet of clay; his light-faced
lady was a Christian. And yet she was his teacher and greatly to be
loved, so he bore the knowledge, for her dear sake, as bravely as he
could. He returned to the from-silk apron, wound a short arm round the
white collar, and sobbed:
"Teacher, yiss ma'an, you'm got a Krisht nose. But don't you care, no
one couldn't never to know like you ain't a for sure Sheeny the while
you got such terrible Sheeny eyes. Oh, but they couldn't never to think
you're a Krisht. Und say, don't you have a frightened. I wouldn't never
to tell nobody. Never. I makes a swear over it. I kiss up to God. I
hopes I drops down if I tells."
At the end of a month the high heels and the festive raiment appeared
again, and the staff knew that the time for action had really come.
They must bring the Krisht to terms before he should see Teacher in
her present and irresistible array. He was always first at the trysting
place, and there they would have speech with him. They arranged to
escape from Room 18 before three o'clock. The Commander-in-Chief feigned
a nose-bleed, the Prime Minister developed an inward agony, and the
Chancellor of the Exchequer, after some moments of indecision, boldly
plucked out a tottering tooth and followed--bloody but triumphant--in
their wake. They found the enemy just as they had expected, and Morris,
being again elected spokesman, stepped forward and took him by his
dastard hand. The adversary yielded, thinking that Teacher had been
forced to greater caution. The Commander-in-Chief and the Chancellor
followed close behind, they having consented, in view of the enormous
issues involved, to act as scouts. Around the corner they went into
a dark and narrow alley, and, when they had reached a secluded spot
between the high wall of the school and the blank windows of a recently
burned tenement house, Morris began:
"Teacher don't wants to go on the party mit you the while she ain't
got no more that kind feeling over you."
"What?" cried the astonished Doctor Ingraham.
"She don't wants to be married mit you."
"Did Miss Bailey send you with any message to me?"
The question was so fierce that the truth was forced from the unwilling
lips of the spokesman.
"No ma'an--no sir," they faltered. "On'y that's the feeling what she
had. Und so you go away now 'out seeing Teacher, me und the other
fellows we gives you FIVE cents."
The cabinet drew near to hear the answer to this suggestion. It puzzled
them, for--
"Now, look here, boy," said Doctor Ingraham, "you'd better go home and
get to bed. You aren't well."
Morris conferred with his colleagues and returned with:
"We gives you SEVEN cents so you go home now 'out seeing Teacher. A
nickel und two pennies so you go _now_. Und say, Miss Blake could
to go by your side. She has kind feelings over you."
"Nonsense," said the man. "When will your teacher be down?"
"She ain't coming at all. She has no more feelings. So you goes now
we gives you a dime and a penny. ELEVEN cents. We ain't got it; on'y
we _could_ to get. Teacher gives me all times pennies."
Just as the stranger was wondering how much of truth these extraordinary
children knew, Teacher, calm-eyed and unruffled, appeared upon the
scene. She said, as she generally did:
"Doctor Ingraham! Who would have thought to find you here!" And then,
"Are you talking to my little people? They are the cleverest little
things, and such friends of mine. Morris here and I are the greatest
of cronies."
Teacher's manner, as she began her greeting, was serene and bright,
but a gloomy, even a morose, glance from Doctor Ingraham's cold blue
eye quite changed her. His voice too, considered as the voice of love,
sounded sulkily as he said:
"So it seems. He has given me an answer which you refused me."
"How generous of Morris and how thoughtful! He's always trying to save
me trouble. And the question, now, to which the answer belonged. May
one know that?"
"You know it well enough," with a glance up and down the deserted
alley, for even Patrick had realized that discretion is the better
part of statesmanship.
"Oh _that_" said Teacher. "And Morris's answer?"
"No."
"They really are the cleverest children."
"Little brutes! I can't think why you come down here every day. The
brats aren't in the least grateful."
"But they are. They think me perfection."
"That is the contagion of mental states."
"And they're not fond of you."
"That's it again, I suppose." And, as Teacher made no sign of having
heard, he went on: "Tea, do you know, is a dreadful bore."
"Of course, but cold tea is worse. And the cakes are so shattered
towards the end. Come."
"I've changed my mind. I'm not going. I'm tired of this sort of thing.
Answer me now."
"But the children," faltered Teacher. "I should miss them so."
At this sign of weakening Doctor Ingraham favoured the queer old street
with a tableau to which it long had been a stranger. And the cabinet,
creeping back to reconnoitre, immediately guessed the worst. Said
Morris:
"She's lovin' mit him und he's loving mit her. They've got loving
looks. I had once a auntie--"
This was too much for the torn spirit of the Leader of the Line. He
laid violent hands--and feet--upon the Monitor of Gold Fish. The Monitor
of Window Boxes promptly followed suit. Morris's prolonged yell of
agonized surprise brought Teacher flying to the rescue. And Teacher
brought Doctor Ingraham. While the latter held and restrained Patrick
and Nathan, Miss Bailey lavished endearments and caresses on her
favourite. The captor grew as restless as his captives under this
aggravation, and at last allowed his charges to escape.
"Look here!" he remonstrated; "I can't stand this sort of thing, you
know. It's cruel."
But Teacher's ears were all for Morris's tale of sorrow.
"I don't know what is mit Patrick," he was saying. "He hits me a hack
somethin' fierce sooner I says about mine auntie. Und Nathan, too, is
bad boys. He says you lies."
"I?" said Teacher; "I?"
"Yiss ma'an, that's how he says. On'y _I_ know you don't lies. I _know_
we should be monitors like you says."
"When, dearie?"
"On your weddinge. You know you says me, und Patrick, und Nathan,
should be monitors on your weddinge when you marries mit him." And
Morris stretched a pointing finger at the foe. After one radiant glance
at Teacher's face, Doctor Ingraham possessed himself of the scrubby
hand and shook it warmly.
"And so you shall, old chap," he cried, "so you shall. You may be best
man if you so desire. Anything you like."
"New clothes?" asked Morris.
"From stem to stern."
"Ice-cream?"
"Gallons."
"Paper napkins mit birds?"
"Bushels."
"Can I mine little sister bring?"
"A dozen little sisters if you have them."
"Can I go in a carriage, down and up? It's stylish."
"You shall have a parade of carriages--one for each sister."
"Morris," commanded Miss Bailey, "go home."
When she turned to confront Doctor Ingraham the "light face" was
brightly pink and the "terrible Sheeny eyes" held a mixture of
embarrassment and anger.
"Of course I can't explain this," she said. "I must simply ask you to
believe that he is making a dreadful mistake. You were quite right
when you said they were ungrateful little brutes. They are. You were
quite right, too, about teas being a bore. They are. So you will pardon
me if I go to see little Leah Yonowsky. The twins are reported ill
again. Good afternoon."
It was a very rueful and disgusted enemy that the cabinet discerned
in the offing.
"Good Lord!" cried the Commander-in-Chief. "Here he comes again, and
Miss Bailey ain't with him."
"Morris," said the enemy, "you've done for me, my boy."
"Won't she go by your side on the party?" asked the Prime Minister.
"She will not," admitted the hostile power. "So you may as well trot
out Miss Blake and begin to collect my eleven cents. For, though you
may not have discovered it--and there be those who doubt it--a ten-cent
cigar's a smoke."
MORRIS AND THE HONOURABLE TIM
On the first day of school, after the Christmas holidays, Teacher found
herself surrounded by a howling mob of little savages in which she had
much difficulty in recognizing her cherished First-Reader Class. Isidore
Belchatosky's face was so wreathed in smiles and foreign matter as to
be beyond identification; Nathan Spiderwitz had placed all his trust
in a solitary suspender and two unstable buttons; Eva Kidansky had
entirely freed herself from restraining hooks and eyes; Isidore
Applebaum had discarded shoe-laces; and Abie Ashnewsky had bartered
his only necktie for a yard of "shoe-string" licorice.
Miss Bailey was greatly disheartened by this reversion to the original
type. She delivered daily lectures on nail-brushes, hair-ribbons, shoe
polish, pins, buttons, elastic, and other means to grace. Her talks
on soap and water became almost personal in tone, and her insistence
on a close union between such garments as were meant to be united, led
to a lively traffic in twisted and disreputable safety-pins. And yet
the First-Reader Class, in all other branches of learning so receptive
and responsive, made but halting and uncertain progress towards
thatstate of virtue which is next to godliness.
Early in January came the report that "Gum Shoe Tim" was on the war-path
and might be expected at any time. Miss Bailey heard the tidings in
calm ignorance until Miss Blake, who ruled over the adjoining kingdom,
interpreted the warning. A license to teach in the public schools of
New York is good for only one year. Its renewal depends upon the reports
of the Principal in charge of the school and of the Associate
Superintendent in whose district the school chances to be. After three
such renewals the license becomes permanent, but Miss Bailey was, as
a teacher, barely four months old. The Associate Superintendent for
her vicinity was the Honourable Timothy O'Shea, known and dreaded as
"Gum Shoe Tim," owing to his engaging way of creeping softly up back
stairs and appearing, all unheralded and unwelcome, upon the threshold
of his intended victim.
This, Miss Blake explained, was in defiance of all the rules of
etiquette governing such visits of inspection. The proper procedure
had been that of Mr. O'Shea's predecessor, who had always given timely
notice of his coming and a hint as to the subjects in which he intended
to examine the children. Some days later he would amble from room to
room, accompanied by the amiable Principal, and followed by the
gratitude of smiling and unruffled teachers.
This kind old gentleman was now retired and had been succeeded by Mr.
O'Shea, who, in addition to his unexpectedness, was adorned by an
abominable temper, an overbearing manner, and a sense of cruel humour.
He had almost finished his examinations at the nearest school where,
during a brisk campaign of eight days, he had caused five dismissals,
nine cases of nervous exhaustion, and an epidemic of hysteria.
Day by day nerves grew more tense, tempers more unsure, sleep and
appetite more fugitive. Experienced teachers went stolidly on with the
ordinary routine while beginners devoted time and energy to the more
spectacular portions of the curriculum. But no one knew the Honourable
Timothy's pet subjects and so no one could specialize to any great
extent.
Miss Bailey was one of the beginners, and Room 18 was made to shine
as the sun. Morris Mogilewsky, Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl, wrought
busily until his charges glowed redly against the water plants in their
shining bowl. Creepers crept, plants grew, and ferns waved under the
care of Nathan Spiderwitz, Monitor of the Window Boxes. There was such
a martial swing and strut in Patrick Brennan's leadership of the line
that it informed even the timid heart of Isidore Wishnewsky with a
war-like glow and his feet with a spasmodic but well-meant tramp. Sadie
Gonorowsky and Eva, her cousin, sat closely side by side, no longer
"mad on theirselves," but "mit kind feelings." The work of the preceding
term was laid in neat and docketed piles upon the low book-case. The
children were enjoined to keep clean and entire. And Teacher, a nervous
and unsmiling Teacher, waited dully.
A week passed thus, and then the good-hearted and experienced Miss
Blake hurried ponderously across the hall to put Teacher on her guard.
"I've just had a note from one of the grammar teachers," she panted.
"'Gum Shoe Tim' is up in Miss Greene's room. He'll take this floor
next. Now, see here, child, don't look so frightened. The Principle
is with Tim. Of course you're nervous, but try not to show it. And
you'll be all right, his lay is discipline and reading. Well, good
luck to you!"
Miss Bailey took heart of grace. The children read surprisingly well,
were absolutely good, and the enemy under convoy of the friendly
Principal would be much less terrifying than the enemy at large and
alone. It was, therefore, with a manner almost serene that she turned
to greet the kindly concerned Principal and the dreaded "Gum Shoe Tim."
The latter she found less ominous of aspect than she had been led to
fear, and the Principal's charming little speech of introduction made
her flush with quick pleasure. And the anxious eyes of Sadie Gonorowsky,
noting the flush, grew calm as Sadie whispered to Eva, her close cousin:
"Say, Teacher has a glad. She's red on the face. It could to be her
papa."
"No. It's comp'ny," answered Eva sagely. "It ain't her papa. It's
comp'ny the whiles Teacher takes him by the hand."
The children were not in the least disconcerted by the presence of the
large man. They always enjoyed visitors and they liked the heavy gold
chain which festooned the wide white waistcoat of this guest; and,
as they watched him, the Associate Superintendent began to superintend.
He looked at the children all in their clean and smiling rows: he
looked at the flowers and the gold fish; at the pictures and the plaster
casts: he looked at the work of the last term and he looked at Teacher.
As he looked he swayed gently on his rubber heels and decided that he
was going to enjoy the coming quarter of an hour. Teacher pleased him
from the first. She was neither old nor ill-favoured, and she was most
evidently nervous. The combination appealed both to his love of power
and his peculiar sense of humour. Settling deliberately in the chair
of state, he began:
"Can the children sing, Miss Bailey?"
They could sing very prettily and they did.
"Very nice, indeed," said the voice of visiting authority. "Very nice.
Their music is exceptionally good. And are they drilled? Children,
will you march for me?"
Again they could and did. Patrick marshaled his line in time and triumph
up and down the aisles to the evident interest and approval of the
"comp'ny," and then Teacher led the class through some very energetic
Swedish movements. While arms and bodies were bending and straightening
at Teacher's command and example, the door opened and a breathless boy
rushed in. He bore an unfolded note and, as Teacher had no hand to
spare, the boy placed the paper on the desk under the softening eyes
of the Honourable Timothy, who glanced down idly and then pounced upon
the note and read its every word.
"For you, Miss Bailey," he said in the voice before which even the
school janitor had been known to quail. "Your friend was thoughtful,
though a little late." And poor palpitating Miss Bailey read.
"Watch out! 'Gum Shoe Tim' is in the building. The Principal caught
him on the back stairs and they're going round together. He's as cross
as a bear. Greene in dead faint in dressing-room. Says he's going to
fire her. Watch out for him, and send the news on. His lay is reading
and discipline."
Miss Bailey grew cold with sick and unreasoning fear. As she gazed
wide-eyed at the living confirmation of the statement that "Gum Shoe
Tim" was "as cross as a bear," the gentle-hearted Principal took the
paper from her nerveless grasp.
"It's all right," he assured her. "Mr. O'Shea understands that you had
no part in this. It's _all_ right. You are not responsible."
But Teacher had no ears for his soothing. She could only watch with
fascinated eyes as the Honourable Timothy reclaimed the note and wrote
across it's damning face: "Miss Greene may come to. She is not
fired.--T.O'S."
"Here, boy," he called; "take this to your teacher." The puzzled
messenger turned to obey, and the Associate Superintendent saw that
though his dignity had suffered his power had increased. To the list
of those whom he might, if so disposed, devour, he had now added the
name of the Principal, who was quick to understand that an unpleasant
investigation lay before him. If Miss Bailey could not be held
responsible for this system of inter-classroom communication, it was
clear that the Principal could.
Every trace of interest had left Mr. O'Shea's voice as he asked:
"Can they read?"
"Oh, yes, they read," responded Teacher, but her spirit was crushed
and the children reflected her depression. Still, they were marvellously
good and that blundering note had said, "Discipline is his lay." Well,
here he had it.
There was one spectator of this drama, who, understanding no word nor
incident therein, yet missed no shade of the many emotions which had
stirred the light face of his lady. Towards the front of the room sat
Morris Mogilewsky, with every nerve tuned to Teacher's, and with an
appreciation of the situation in which the other children had no share.
On the afternoon of one of those dreary days of waiting for the evil
which had now come, Teacher had endeavoured to explain the nature and
possible result of this ordeal to her favourite. It was clear to him
now that she was troubled, and he held the large and unaccustomed
presence of the comp'ny mit whiskers responsible. Countless generations
of ancestors had followed and fostered the instinct which now led
Morris to propitiate an angry power. Luckily, he was prepared with an
offering of a suitable nature. He had meant to enjoy it for yet a few
days, and then to give it to Teacher. She was such a sensible person
about presents. One might give her one's most cherished possession
with a brave and cordial heart, for on each Friday afternoon she
returned the gifts she had received during the week. And this with no
abatement of gratitude.
Morris rose stealthily, crept forward, and placed a bright blue
bromo-seltzer bottle in the fat hand which hung over the back of the
chair of state. The hand closed instinctively as, with dawning
curiosity, the Honourable Timothy studied the small figure at his side.
It began in a wealth of loosely curling hair which shaded a delicate
face, very pointed as to chin and monopolized by a pair of dark eyes,
sad and deep and beautiful. A faded blue "jumper" was buttoned tightly
across the narrow chest; frayed trousers were precariously attached
to the "jumper," and impossible shoes and stockings supplemented the
trousers. Glancing from boy to bottle, the "comp'ny mit whiskers"
asked:
"What's this for?"
"For you."
"What's in it?"
"A present."