A THUNDERBOLT
IT was hot in The Flatiron. The July sun rose early and blazed over the
tin roof, until by nine o’clock the rooms underneath began to feel like
ovens. Doodles had never drooped as he drooped this summer. Yet he sang
and made melody on his violin whenever he was able, and forgot the
tenement and the hard things of life.
Across the sea of roofs, from the kitchen window, was a small opening
through which one with clear eyes might discern a bit of velvety green
and a fleck of brilliant color.
“See!” piped Doodles joyously. “Seems’s if ther’ was more red than ther’
was yesterday. It’s lovely!” he breathed. “It looks like—heaven!”
“Heaven!” sniffed Blue. “I should think ’t ’u’d look more like h—the
other place!”
“Blue Stickney!” His mother’s voice was horrified.
“Well, I should!” the boy insisted defiantly. “Him sitt’n’ here day in
’n’ day out, roastin’, and never goin’ any nearer the park ’n’ that!
It’s he’—awful!—that’s what it is—I don’t care if I do say it!”
The door slammed its appreciation of Blue’s honesty, and Mrs. Stickney
gazed across at Doodles with a sigh.
Plainly the small boy had paid no attention to his brother’s words. The
heavenly morsel of landscape was absorbing all his thoughts.
But after dinner, when the city flags hung limp on their staffs, and the
sun flamed fiercely round the corner of the kitchen window, even the bit
of beauty in the distant park looked glaringly hot. Doodles dropped back
on his pillows, and shut his eyes.
“Whew, if this isn’t a roaster!” fumed Blue, jerking off his blouse.
“That thing don’t go on again till it’s cooler!”
“You’ll have to wear it when you deliver your papers,” said Doodles
mildly, opening his eyes.
“I won’t,” declared Blue savagely. “I’m not goin’ to swelter for
fashion! Mother’s got the best of it this afternoon in the shop. They’ll
git a breeze there if ther’ is any. Don’t you want to lie down and take
a nap?”
“Is it cooler in the bedroom?” queried Doodles. “If ’tis, I’ll go.”
Blue skipped away to investigate.
“Seems’s if ’twas—some,” he reported.
But Doodles, breathing the stuffy air of the little room, wished he was
back at his window.
“Now p’raps you can go to sleep,” Blue told him.
“Maybe,” he replied patiently.
Blue sat down in the rocker, and fanned himself furiously with a
newspaper. Then, tossing it to the floor, he went over to the window.
The sun was like a furnace. “Goodness!” he ejaculated, and roved into
the hall. Reminders of various dinners stole up the stairs. Still it
seemed a little less stifling, and he dropped to the upper step. He sat
there, allowing his thoughts wide range till they came back to Doodles.
He jumped up, and tiptoed into the bedroom.
His brother spoke weakly. “P’raps I’d better go out to the window—I
can’t breathe good in here.”
“Shouldn’t think you could!” Blue lifted him gently. “’Tisn’t so bad in
the hall,” he said. “Let’s try that—I’ve been sitting there.”
Putting Doodles on the floor, he ran back for some cushions and arranged
them as a sort of couch, on which he made the small boy as comfortable
as he could.
“Wish you’d tell me about the picnic,” said Doodles wearily. “Will it be
out in that beautiful country where Mr. Gaylord took me?”
“I guess it’s in another direction—Highland Grove. I don’t just know.
But they say it’s fine—the fellers that have been.”
“Seems’s if I couldn’t wait! Is it Wednesday?”
“Yes, only a week from to─morrow.”
“You’re sure you can get the tickets?” The voice was anxious.
“Sure, kiddie! Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout that!”
“No, but once in a while I think, what if I couldn’t! When’ll you get
them?”
“I do’ know—next week prob’ly.”
“And you think there’ll be ice cream?” The question quivered with
eagerness.
“’Course! ’Twouldn’t be a picnic without! Oh, the Salvation Army folks
do things up fine!”
“How does ice cream taste? Please tell me again.”
“Oh, it’s cold—cold as Blixen! ’N’ it tastes like—let me see—I guess
like candy ’n’ cake all in one. It’s harder ’n’ ’most anything, an’ it
squ’shes all up and melts to nothin’ right in your mouth.”
“Does it taste like Granny’s ginger─bread?”
Blue’s head shook decidedly.
“No—why, you remember that big round cake Mis’ Jimmy George gave you—all
soft inside?”
“Yes.”
“It’s more like that—only better—”
“Better? I don’t see how it could be!”
“Oh, you just wait! Ice cream’s a million times better ’n that! It’s so
cold ’n’ sweet, it feels jolly good goin’ down—wish I had some right
here this minute—um─m─m!”
“It must be beautiful!” sighed Doodles.
“Shame you’ve never had any!”
“It’s nice I’ll have some next week,” Doodles smiled. But it was a tired
little smile. Next week seemed very far away.
“Wh─ew!” Blue blew out the word in a long breath. “It’s hotter ’n
Hannah! I don’t b’lieve I was ever so hot in my life! Hope it’ll cool
off before five.”
“Do you s’pose it’s any better by the window?” sighed Doodles.
“Worse!” scowled Blue. “The sun’s scorching, an’ ther’ isn’t a speck of
breeze. Feel bad, old feller?”
Doodles’s white little face seemed to grow whiter all at once.
“I can’t—breathe good,” was the faltering answer.
“It’s the heat—that’s all, kiddie. Cheer up! It’ll be night before long,
and then, maybe, we’ll have a breeze.”
“Do you mind—getting me a drink?” came weakly.
“Sure I will!” Blue ran to the hall sink with a glass, and fetched it
back brimming.
Doodles took a few swallows, and Blue finished it.
“Ugh!” ejaculated the elder boy, “that’s worse’n the weather!”
Setting the glass in a safe corner, he dropped beside his brother, but
as he glanced down, terror clutched him. He had never seen Doodles look
like that. He took one of the small hands in his own. It was damp and
cold! He dashed into the kitchen for a fan. None was in sight, and he
came back with a newspaper, which he began to wave frantically over
Doodles.
“No—please don’t!” begged the child. “It tires me!”
Blue’s hand dropped. “Thought ’twould make you cooler,” he said in
dismay.
“B’ys!”
It was Granny’s voice, and Blue turned to see the quaint little figure
at the foot of the stairs.
“Coom down, th’ both o’ ye! It’s shure too br’ilin’ f’r ye up undher th’
roof.”
“It is!” Blue ejaculated. “We’ll be down in a jiffy—and thank you!”
He grasped Doodles with, “Put your arms round my neck, kiddie!”
There was a weak movement as if to obey; then the little figure was a
limp burden.
Overwhelmed with dread, Blue staggered into Granny’s room with his
unconscious load.
“He’s dead! he’s dead!” he choked.
Scores of emergencies had made Granny mistress of many, and in a moment
Blue had the inexpressible joy of seeing Doodles open his eyes with a
fluttering little smile.
“Th’ h’at made ye a bit faint, darlin’,” Granny explained. “Ye’ll be
betther down here. Lie sthill an’ go to shlape, if ye like.”
He shut his eyes, but soon opened them again.
“It’s beginning to be cooler,” he said cheerfully.
Granny turned from the window where she had been scanning the sky.
“We’ll be gitt’n’ a shower befure long,” she exulted. “Seems like I
never did see such a hot day!” She wiped her face with the under side of
her apron.
“My, how black it is in the north!” cried Blue.
He leaned his arms on the window─sill, and looked at the gathering
clouds. They had already hidden the sun, and hung, dark and jagged, over
the city. The air was gloomy. In the street below people hurried along,
every now and then glancing upward at the threatening sky. Little whiffs
of wind whirled the dust in the roadway, and thunder growled in the
distance.
“Bet some folks’ll git wet!” prophesied the boy, as he turned back to
the room. He was surprised at the dim light. He could scarcely see
Doodles, over on the couch. Doodles was timid in a thunder storm, and
Blue crossed the floor to his side.
“Prob’ly the heft of it’ll go round, as usual,” he said; “but ’t will be
cooler. We shall like that, old feller, shan’t we?”
Doodles smiled weakly. “Let’s talk about the picnic,” he proposed,
putting his hand in his brother’s.
But a mighty gust of wind and a sudden dash of big drops sent Blue
upstairs to shut the windows, while Granny bustled about, closing blinds
and putting things out of the possible way of rain. Before he returned,
the street was a river, and crash after crash was sounding overhead.
Granny, to whom fear was unknown, watched the storm from the window, and
Blue would have liked to join her; but the little clinging hand of
Doodles was enough to hold him to the couch.
“I’m glad this didn’t come on the picnic day,” piped the small boy above
the continuous roar.
“Lucky—” began Blue, but never finished.
A blinding blaze and a simultaneous crash, as if the house were being
split in two, brought him to his feet.
Granny, too, started up.
“That was pretty near!” breathed Blue in a voice of awe.
“I hope it didn’t hur─rt anny wan,” responded Granny sympathetically.
Doodles lay very still, gripping his brother’s hand.
“Scared, old feller?” queried Blue, dropping back into his chair.
“A—little,” confessed Doodles. “It’s farther off now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes! prob’ly that was the worst.”
The storm passed as quickly as it had come, and presently Blue ran
upstairs to make ready for his trip down street. They heard him
returning almost at once, clattering down with such speed that Granny
hurried to meet him.
“It struck our kitchen!” he burst out. “The stove’s all over the room!”
“Ye don’t mane it! Th’ blissid saints be praised ’t th’ both o’ ye
wasn’t there!” And Granny hobbled upstairs to see the lightning’s work.
Plainly the bolt had entered by way of the chimney, and, after
demolishing the stove, and scattering and overturning various articles,
had departed through the floor at the southwest corner of the room.
Nothing but the stove appeared to be injured. That was unmendable.
“I must go and tell Doodles!” cried Blue, and he dashed downstairs to
find his brother in a panic of suspense, having heard just enough to
cause him to imagine things worse than they really were.
“Caruso?” was his first questioning word, as he caught sight of Blue.
“Oh, he’s all right! Eatin’ as cool as anything!”
“An’ my violin?”
“Not a scratch on it!” Blue reassured him, and hastened to picture the
disorder of the kitchen.
“I’m never going to be afraid again!” decided Doodles, when the story
was told. “God didn’t let the lightning hurt us or Caruso or the violin,
and now I know He won’t ever. Isn’t it nice!”
Blue laughed softly. “Guess you won’t think it’s so nice not to have a
stove when you want your breakfast!”
“Oh, Granny’ll let us use hers!” was the contented reply.
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