HUMPHREY TRAIL
“Minuit!”
A little girl peered through the gloom of a dark alley, toward the rue
Saint Antoine. Her thin, eager face looked anxious and her black eyes
darted here and there in search of him who until very recently had been
her best friend in all the world, Minuit, an alley cat!
“It’s time to go to bed, ma mie. Come to Vivi,” she called again and
suddenly from out of the greyness of the deserted alley, a gaunt, long
shape appeared. It was Minuit and when he saw Vivi he ran up to her with
a welcoming meow. She stooped and gathered him into her arms, hugging
him close to her.
“I’ve been alone all day, for the fat, funny man told me I’d best stay
inside to-day. He will be coming soon with my supper.” While she was
speaking she was making her way back to an open door through which a
faint light was gleaming. She was so used to being alone with Minuit
that she found it natural to talk to him as though he were a person.
A jangle of rough voices came down the alley from the shoemaker’s shop
on the corner of the rue Saint Antoine. Vivi was not at all frightened
of the voices or their owners, for she knew them. They had been friends
of her father and he would have been with them, talking far into the
night, had he not been killed the summer before by some pieces of lumber
from the big pavilion falling on him. The pavilion had been erected
after the storming of the Tuileries and he had been one of hundreds who
had offered to help put it up. He was a licorice water seller by
profession and all that he had left Vivi of worldly goods was his tin
tray and the cups dangling from it. She hoped to make some sous in the
spring selling the cooling drink in the streets. Now that the cold
weather had come, no one was thirsty enough to drink licorice water, and
if it had not been for the fat, foreign stranger, who had taken the room
above her and who never failed to bring her something to eat when he
came in at night, she would have had to go down the alley to beg a bit
of bread from the shoemaker.
She went through the open door, climbed a short flight of rickety
stairs, and opened a door at the right of the first landing. The room
she entered was small and bare. There was a cot in one corner covered
with a piece of sacking, a deal table close to a tiny, rude fireplace,
and a chair. Some pieces of a broken box lay on the floor near the
fireplace. Vivi went over to the cot and put Minuit down on it. Then she
went over to the cupboard and threw open its rickety door. There was
nothing at all to eat in the cupboard and Vivi made a face at it. She
had never heard of Mother Hubbard, but she must have felt very much like
her as she saw the bare boards and heard Minuit’s entreating meow.
“Never mind, Minuit, the fat man will bring us something to eat. Let us
go to sleep under the sacking until he comes.” She picked Minuit up in
her arms as she spoke and going to the cot, curled up on it under the
sacking. Before she knew it, she and her purring friend were fast
asleep.
Vivi was awakened by a loud scrambling of rats. She could hear them
fighting and chasing each other through the wall as she sat up on the
cot and rubbed her eyes. She jumped up and, drawing the cot close to the
dusty window with its small jagged corner of broken glass, leaned
forward so that she could see down the alley as far as the rue Saint
Antoine at the end of it. She did not have to wait very long before she
saw a short, stout figure in a long cloak and wide hat coming toward her
through the dusk.
It was the figure of Humphrey Trail, or “the fat, funny man,” as Vivi
spoke of him to Minuit. He gave a little knock on the door and came in,
bringing a rush of cold wind with him. He had a bundle in his arms and
going over to the table he put it down, yawned, and looked at Vivi. She
came slowly toward him, trying not to look too eagerly at the table. Her
rough black hair flapped about her face as she pulled up a chair for
him. When he had sat down in it, she jumped up on the table beside him.
“I told Minuit you would bring something,” she said, smiling at him. He
smiled back at her, opening the bundle which was done up in brown paper.
“Food we shall have, tha and I and tha friend th’ cat,” said Humphrey,
tearing off the paper and bringing forth its contents, a loaf of bread
and a hunk of cheese. He felt in his pocket and drawing out his big
jackknife, cut a generous slice of the bread and a good supply of
cheese. He put the cheese astride the bread and handed it to his little
friend with a bow.
Vivi nodded her gratitude. She was too busy taking big bites out of the
bread and cheese to thank Humphrey in words. He was well pleased at her
enjoyment of the simple meal and took his own share with a relish.
Minuit was not forgotten either and ate his portion greedily. Humphrey
spoke to him apologetically.
“Tha shall have tha dish o’ milk one day when milk is easier got,
beastie,” he said. Minuit, who had not tasted milk since the days of his
infancy, did not seem to be at all put out because of the present lack
of the beverage. He jumped up on to the table beside Vivi and began to
lick his paws. Humphrey Trail balanced himself uncomfortably on the
rickety chair as he ate his supper. He had had only a bowl of hot soup
in a small café on the rue Royale at noon, and he was as hungry as his
two companions. As he ate he thought deeply and hardly heeded Vivi when
she went over to the cot. His French was so limited that they could only
hold brief conversations.
Minuit gave Humphrey’s arm a soft bump with his head to remind him that
he was holding an uneaten bit of cheese in his hand. Humphrey gave him
the cheese, accompanied by a pat on the head. Then he relapsed into
thoughtfulness again. He sat a long time at the deal table with his
plump, round face propped up on his two hands. He was thinking of Lisle
Saint Frère and of the great house where he lived and of all that had
passed since he had snatched the boy from the spinner’s cart, when he
had called out, “God save King Louis!” What awful things had happened in
Paris since that night of the tenth of August when the gallant
Marseillais had stormed the Tuileries and awakened Paris to action! Ah,
that had been a great day for the people! They were worth-while men,
those Marseillais who had cheered their long march across France with
their own songs, who had come in their simplicity and valor to avenge
their wrongs, to start a new era of liberty for the people, but who had
not known, alas! that innocent people would so cruelly suffer, that
Paris would go mad.
He had made his decision to remain in Paris on that August night, as he
paced up and down his room at the Croix d’Or. He would stay on, even if
his staying might mean his death. His heart bled for the people of
France who had been starved and taxed and unjustly treated for centuries
and he had rejoiced when he heard the new song of liberty shouted in the
streets:
“Allons enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive!”
Humphrey would have answered, if any one had asked him, that he had
remained in France to “see the fun,” but this was not so. There was
Vivi, who depended on him for her daily bread, and there was some one
else who might need his help also. He knew in his own mind that it was
greatly because of this some one else that he had decided to stay. The
some one else was Lisle.
Humphrey roused himself and got up, wrapped the bread and cheese
carefully in brown paper, and, going over to the cupboard, put them on a
shelf. It made him happy to supply food for little Vivi. He had come
across her in a strange way. He had witnessed the accident at the
pavilion which had caused the death of her father. The poor man had been
selling his licorice water when the timbers from the pavilion fell on
him. While some one went to get a cart in which to take him to a
hospital, Humphrey held the man in his arms and spoke to him in his poor
French. Afterward he had visited him at the hospital, and just before
the man died, promised to look after his little girl. Humphrey had
picked up the man’s tray and tin cups and given them to Vivi. He moved
into the attic room above hers, so as to be able to look after her. His
good action proved a safeguard to himself, for all foreigners at inns
were being questioned and put under suspicion, and his days at the Croix
d’Or would have been numbered had he remained.
Humphrey had sat down again at the table and he remained there for a
long time, deep in thought. Suddenly he was startled by sounds of wild
laughter and shouting from the rue Saint Antoine, as groups of citizens
danced by. They were shouting a new and terrible song:
“Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!”
Humphrey stood up, wrapped his snuff-colored cloak about him, and
picking up his wide hat, went out, closing the door softly behind him.
He made his way through the alley to the noisy rue Saint Antoine and
went on swiftly through the dark, wintry streets. Everywhere were
hurrying masses of people. Snatches of the “Ça Ira,” the favorite song
of the crowds, could be heard on all sides and wild, dark faces under
scarlet caps peered out of the gloom. He turned in at a brightly lighted
shop on the rue Royale. It was the bakery shop where he had bought for
Vivi the first cake that she had ever eaten. Now he wanted to buy her
another.
On the first days of his visit to the great city, Humphrey had come to
this bakery several times, in order to indulge in his love for sweets.
It had once been very fashionable. Less than a year before, it had been
filled with smart lackeys, who carried charming boxes of maroons or
candied grapes to their ladies’ sedan chairs. Now no such finery was
seen. Instead the shop was patronized by honest farmer people from the
country and rich merchants of the city who were heart and soul in
sympathy with the revolution, never dreaming that their turn to suffer
was coming soon.
The baker woman still sold her neat rows of cherry tarts. On the wooden
gallery above, talkative groups drank their eau citron and enjoyed the
good cakes. Humphrey eyed the pile of puffy brioche set out on a tray
next to a gleaming pile of fruit confits, and he wondered what to buy
for Vivi. He felt guilty in buying anything but bread, but he could not
resist the pleasure he would be giving Vivi, who had never had any
sweets in all her life. Humphrey admired Vivi because she had been so
brave when her father died, and because she could smile when she was
hungry!
As he stood there undecided, the shop door opened with a clang, and
turning his head, Humphrey saw a boy enter and stand near him at the
counter. After a moment, he realized that it was Lisle. He wore a shabby
black suit which had evidently belonged to a groom, his locks were tied
back with a bit of black tape, and the cap which he held in his hands
was a dismal, ragged one. He was evidently attempting a disguise, but it
was a poor one, and when Humphrey heard him ask the woman for the cakes,
his heart sank. Lisle’s attempt to change his voice was more futile than
his attempt to change his garb.
“I want a cake for a little girl, citizen, something simple but very
good,” Lisle said to the bakery woman.
“You want a cake, do you!” she waved her hand above a tray of cream
pastries, surrounded by green “cauliflowers” of almond flavor. Her black
eyes took in his appearance as she cried her wares. “Here are tartlets,
choufleur. Choose what you will!”
Humphrey felt an odd mixture of emotion as he stood there with his back
to Lisle. Lisle was a large part of his adventure, and his chief reason
for staying on in Paris. He had never forgotten the sight of the boy on
top of the spinner’s cart, waving his cap and shouting for the king. He
had been sent to be his friend. The little incident that occurred when
he had let Lisle go his way, after he had rescued him, had made him sure
of it. He had watched Lisle and seen him stop and start back, then pause
uncertainly and go on again. Something in the action touched Humphrey’s
big heart. The boy had needed his counsel, but his pride and
independence had forbidden his asking it. Since then Humphrey had gone
each night and stood for an hour in the shadow of the wall at the side
of the great house of the Saint Frères.
“What cakes will you choose? My time is not forever at your disposal,”
the bakery woman said impatiently.
Lisle regarded the cakes soberly.
“I want something simple for a little girl,” he repeated.
“I have just the thing, a plain sponge with white icing. You shall see.”
The woman moved away to reach the cakes at the back of a shelf just
behind her. Lisle turned round and, seeing Humphrey Trail, at once gave
him a smile of greeting. Humphrey made no sign of recognition. The woman
returned with the cakes saying:
“They are three sous apiece. How many?”
Lisle answered, “I wish to have three.” He put his hand in the pocket of
his rough over-jacket and, drawing forth some coins, counted out the
desired amount and handed it to the woman. When she had given him the
small package he went out. Without waiting to buy his cake, Humphrey
Trail followed him.
Humphrey was angry as he walked out of the bakery shop. They were a
little in awe of him at home in the farmlands when his easy-going temper
was aroused. He came up to Lisle and spoke to him without ceremony.
“Th’ art mad, lad, I tell thee, to buy cakes at a shop where spies eat
and there are eyes in every corner. Th’ art a poor fool at play actin’
with tha soft speech and ways. Get tha home and, for tha mother’s sake,
stay within tha house!”
They had walked slowly along the crowded rue Royale. Lisle turned and
looked at his companion and suddenly he smiled.
“I like you, Humphrey Trail,” he said.
Humphrey felt his temper cooling, and as they turned into a quieter
street he slackened his pace. Nothing could have happened more timely
than Humphrey’s losing his temper. Had there been any vestige of
suspicion as to Humphrey’s sincerity in Lisle’s mind, it vanished
forever with his honest scolding.
“I like tha well myself, lad, but see that tha ken sense with tha manly
ways,” Humphrey said in answer.
“It is the first time I have been there, Humphrey Trail. Our friend,
Rosanne de Soigné, is staying with my mother and me. I was buying cakes
for her.”
“Th’ little girl can do well without sweets these sad days if it will
save her life,” he answered. As he spoke a deep sense of responsibility
fell on him and then he felt a warm glow of thankfulness that the boy
trusted him and was confiding in him.
They had reached the Saint Frère house and Lisle turned and held out his
hand.
“I have been glad of your company, Humphrey Trail. I know you are
honest, and just now there is no one else in all Paris whom I can
trust.”
“Tha can trust me, lad, that tha can. Can tha remember the name of my
lodging? Listen well. It is in the Impasse Forné, just off the rue Saint
Antoine, the fourth turn to the right from the corner where the women
are making waste for the guns. Tha cannot fail to find it and any
message sent there will reach me. I shall not be far and I shall be
ready to serve tha well.”
Humphrey shook Lisle’s hand warmly there in the shadow of the great
house.
“In all Paris, you are my only friend, Humphrey Trail,” Lisle answered.