"Where is my Brother James"
On the following morning after he had breakfasted, he carefully copied
all suitable advertisements inserted in the daily papers and set out to
find employment, resolved to accept the very first job offered him,
having profited by his Minneapolis experience when he and Jim refused
many offers of employment which for the moment did not look good to
them, but for which on the following day they actually begged.
Filled with hope to quickly land a good job, he called at the different
addresses, and, although he walked for hours up and down the streets and
avenues, everywhere he inquired the place had been secured by some other
person who had called earlier in the day. When afternoon approached,
wearied by the resultless job-hunt and discouraged by his continued
misfortune, he sank upon a bench in a city park to take a rest.
While listlessly watching the passersby a touch of homesickness almost
got the mastery of him. He was just at the point of deciding if it would
not be best for him while yet he had the funds to do so, to purchase a
ticket back to Rugby and ask his mother's forgiveness. He even arose
from the bench to put this idea into execution, but he only made a few
steps when he faltered and returned to his seat, the courage to face his
mother without his brother James failed him. To find James now became
his one desire, but think of whatever scheme he might, it seemed that to
have patience and wait to meet him in Chicago was the only method he
could discover.
Just then, whistling a lively tune and with a toothpick saucily sticking
out of one corner of his mouth, a small Western Union Messenger boy,
dressed in all the brass buttoned glory of his snappy uniform, passed
the tormented Joe, and somehow the latter's dejected countenance did not
please the telegram carrier, and he greeted him with a withering,
sneering look that caused Joe to double his fist within his pockets,
aching to have it out with the fresh fellow. But before he could muster
sufficient anger to start trouble, the messenger boy, no doubt fearing a
sound thrashing, quickened his steps and hastened beyond the danger
zone. Joe watched him until he passed around a street corner and
wondered what caused him to be so overbearing, and just then the uniform
of the messenger reminded him of the advice the brakeman gave him on the
train, that should he be unable to find a job to tackle his
superintendent for employment. He consulted his notebook into which he
had entered the address, and taking a street car, a few minutes later he
climbed the stairway of a large railroad office building and quickly
found himself in the ante-room of the railroad ruler's office.
When his turn came he entered the superintendent's office, whom he found
to be a very kindly spoken gentleman, and brought matters to a quick
head by blandly asking him for employment. The superintendent smiled to
see a youngster like Joe daring to ask him, the master of thousands of
employees, for a job, but Joe quickly convinced him that he was able to
do a man's work and told how his late father had been a railroad
employee at the time of his demise. The superintendent became interested
in the open-faced lad, who most insistently pleaded to be given a chance
to prove his desire to make good.
In those days, the railroad companies were not so strict in the hiring
of their employees as they are at present, and when the superintendent
asked Joe what sort of job he thought he could fill, the latter,
remembering the natty uniform of the passenger train's crew, promptly
replied that a brakeman's job aboard a passenger train would just suit
him, which answer caused the superintendent to break out into a hearty
laugh, after he had told Joe that he was several sizes too small to fill
that position. But Joe was entirely too much in earnest to be turned
away this easily, and drawing himself to his full height, he pleaded
that, as he had no home and neither touched tobacco nor strong drink,
he should at least be given a trial, and then finished his appeal by
telling the superintendent that a young, live and accommodating trainman
was preferred by the patrons of every railroad to a cranky one.
This last statement pleased the superintendent so well that he told Joe
to report a week after date in a regulation uniform and that he should
have a chance to prove his side of the argument. Joe thanked the
superintendent for his kindness and after he closed the office door he
jumped down the stairway three steps at a time, so happy was he. In fact
he realized that he had not only found a job that would decently support
him, but one that strictly conformed with his somewhat restless
disposition, as it permitted him to travel to his heart's content aboard
the flying trains, giving him at the same time a chance to earn an
honest living and see a bit of the world.
He gave a tailor a "hurry" order for a trainman's uniform, and when he
reported on the appointed day at the superintendent's office, he was put
in charge of a conductor who quickly became his fatherly friend, because
Joe did everything required of him in a most satisfactory manner. Each
pay day he placed a large percentage of his salary in a savings bank,
and as his wages were from time to time increased, he soon became the
owner of a comfortable bank account.
He always kept a sharp lookout for his brother Jim, but five years
rolled around in which time he found no trace of his missing brother.
Finally he was attacked by a severe case of homesickness; somehow he
felt a strange loneliness come over him, and the picture of his mother
could not be effaced from his mind, and fearing as much as ever to
return home without his twin brother, he finally wrote a long letter,
pleading for her forgiveness and inquiring if anything had been heard
from James since they left home together. He wrote his own address in
the upper corner of the envelope and dropped the letter into a mail box.
But from the moment the letter left his hands, his anxiety while
waiting for an answer became such a burden that he was unable to attend
to his duties, and had to ask for a lay-off. As hours were added to
hours and days to days without an answer arriving, the strain of the
suspense finally became so fearful that mute desperation was written in
every line of his face, and to end the misery he was busily packing his
suitcase ready to leave for Rugby, letter or no letter, the following
morning and there upon his knees plead with his mother to forgive his
boyish prank, when someone knocked on the door and when he opened it he
found it was his landlady who handed him a letter, and he recognized it
as being the same one he had addressed to his mother at Rugby, but there
was this time written across its face: "Moved to Canada. Present address
unknown."
Joe stared at the letter for some moments as if dazed, then he locked
the door, and when on the following afternoon his landlady knocked to
inquire if anything was wanted he opened it. His bed was still
unruffled, showing that he had not occupied it during the night, and
when she saw the same letter she had brought to him, its writing blurred
and tear-stained, lying open upon the dresser, and noted the red and
swollen eyes and woe-begone expression of Joe's face, her motherly heart
quickly surmised the pitiful drama that had been enacted behind the
closed door of the room. She stepped close to the broken-hearted man,
who was sitting upon a chair, mutely holding his head between his hands,
and while she lightly stroked his hair she pleaded with him to go to the
street, as she thought that mingling with the crowds would prove the
best heart-balm for him.
Joe took his kind landlady's advice, and while walking about the streets
he felt that the pangs of remorse for the prank which had deprived him
of his good mother were less severe, and when he began to feel more like
his former self he retraced his steps to his lodging house.
When he reached South Clark Street, his progress was blocked by a jam
of vehicle traffic. The ever increasing crowd of delayed people forced
Joe into the vestibule of one of the many slum saloons abounding in that
locality, and here he watched the mounted police hard at work trying to
again open the thoroughfare. While he thus passed the time until he
could cross the street, he was accosted by a typical Chicago rum-soaked
bum. "Say, friend," the semi-maudlin wretch pleaded while he edged most
uncomfortably close to Joe, "would you mind assisting a hungry fellow
who has not eaten a square meal in a week?" More for the sake of getting
rid of his unpleasant company, than from a desire to accord charity, Joe
went into his trouser pockets for a small coin to hand to the beggar,
but while fumbling for the money he caused his trainman's cap to fall to
the pavement. He reached down and picked it up, and when he straightened
himself he pulled out a dime and handed it to the beggar, who, instead
of accepting the proffered donation, disdainfully pushed aside the hand
holding the alms and stepping closer he almost insultingly leered into
Joe's face. "Say, McDonald," he hissed, "when did you make your
getaway?" Before the astonished Joe could utter a single word the tramp
pointed at Joe's trainman's cap and added: "I see you are working now
for the Chicago & North-Western Railroad," and when still no sign of
recognition came from Joe's mouth he in a most threatening manner
finished: "Do they know your record over there?"
Joe, although he trembled with ill-suppressed rage at this street
beggar's impudence to openly insult him in such barefaced manner, held
his peace for the moment, as he tried in vain to fathom how and where
the mendicant had learned to call him by his correct name. To wring this
information from the sodden wretch was his first purpose. "Say, fellow,"
Joe almost pleasantly asked the beggar, "who told you that my name is
McDonald?" "Did you think I did not recognize you?" replied the bum in a
most insolent tone while at the same time he pointed his hand at Joe's
birthmark. "When you bent forward to pick up your cap I remembered you
the moment I put my eyes on that streak of white hair," and then, sure
that he had before him a victim whom he could blackmail with perfect
impunity, he inquired, "Have you been back to Rugby since I saw you the
last time, and say, McDonald, how are the chances for your helping a
poor friend to the price of a meal and a bunking place for the night?"
[Illustration: "Say, friend," pleaded the semi-maudlin beggar, "would
you mind assisting a hungry fellow who has not eaten a square meal in a
week?"]
Joe felt greatly relieved when he heard the fellow's more familiar talk,
as it seemed to prove that the beggar had been one of his late father's
section laborers, and he searched his pockets once more and pulled out a
silver dollar and pressed the coin into the man's outstretched palm, and
then, wondering why he did not even deign to thank him for this generous
gift he inquired if he had lately been back to Rugby, and if he ever
heard what had become of his mother, Mrs. McDonald. Instead of an answer
to his question the beggar straightened himself to his full height, "So
you have not been home?" the bum mocked in a most impudent manner, "a
little scared to show up amongst the folks at home with that soiled
record chalked behind their honest family name, eh?" As yet no reply
came from the trainman's trembling lips, still under the impression that
he was speaking to Joe's twin brother, the bum added, while a most
diabolical grin spread over his ugly visage, "Haven't peddled needle
cases lately, have you?" "I do not understand what you are referring
to," the now thoroughly mystified Joe interrupted the beggar, "I have
never peddled a needle case in all my life." "Trying to wiggle yourself
out of your past, eh?" the vagrant scornfully retorted, and thinking
that his victim was trying to slip out of his net, he continued, "guess
you think you can fool this old plinger and try to work the 'innocent'
game on your old jocker, eh?"
Joe again insisted that he did not understand what the fellow was trying
to say, and tiring of the unpleasant conversation he blandly asked the
beggar if he were not somewhat rum crazed. "Call me rum crazed," the
wretch shrieked in towering rage, feeling that his victim was getting
the better of the argument, that he intended should form a base upon
which he would later collect blackmail, and while he shook his dirty
fist in Joe's face, he added, "I, crazy? How dare you call me crazy? I,
Kansas Shorty, the plinger?" Then he stepped back a pace and while his
hideous, rum-bloated face was made all the more repulsive by his
malevolent eyes with which he glared at the shuddering Joe, who only
now, that the fiend had revealed his name-de-road recalled and
recognized in the person of the beggar, the tramp who had taken charge
of his brother James.
While the rogue was yet gloating over the apparent discomfort his words
had caused, Joe suddenly threw himself upon the vagabond, and while he
bore him to the pavement and while his hands throttled the viper's
throat, he shrieked into the beggar's ears. "I am Joseph McDonald, and
you die on this spot unless you tell me what you have done with my
brother James." They struggled desperately, one to free himself from the
strangle hold, while Joe wished to force a confession from the fellow
beneath him whose staring eyes were bulging out of his skull, and whose
face had commenced to turn a bluish-black.
Quickly the usual city crowd gathered about the fighting men and a
second later the slum saloon in front of which they were battling,
emptied its filthy scum into the street, all anxious to enjoy the
combat. Some of the plingers amongst this riff-raff must have recognized
their mate, and thinking that the trouble was merely a case of a street
beggar insulting a citizen, and noting that this one wore the hated
uniform of a railroad man--every tough's sworn enemy--they made common
cause and the next moment Joe saw a heavy beer bottle descending upon
his head, then all was darkness.
When he regained consciousness he was lying upon the floor of the slum
saloon, with his pockets turned inside out and his watch missing, and a
dull pain almost bursting his skull. He staggered to his feet, and while
he tried to steady himself against a table, the bartender took hold of
his coat and shoved him through the swinging doors into the street, and
advised him to make a quick getaway unless he wished to be arrested for
attempting to murder a "poor and harmless working man".
For a week his conductor did not see Joe, who was, during every moment
of this time, ceaselessly combing the slums, the dives, the police
courts and even the "jungles" upon the outskirts of the city in a vain
effort to get a glimpse of Kansas Shorty.
To some of the fellows whom he recognized as having been members of the
"mob" which prevented his choking Kansas Shorty into a confession, he
told the story of his missing brother and repeated the strange
conversation that had passed between them before he felled the scoundrel
to the pavement. These plingers, knitted together by the common
knowledge that of all human vultures they are the most despised, had
only shrugs for the unfortunate man, and when one of them, tiring of his
repeated pleadings, condescended to hand him a mite of consolation, all
the information he cared to impart was contained in the rejoinder that
"Kansas Shorty had jumped the city."
[Illustration: Unconscious in the gutter]