In Elbow Lane
"Pea--nuts! Cent-a-b-a-a-g!"
This cry shrilled, almost yelled from the sidewalk upon which she was
descending from her carriage so startled Miss Bonnicastle that she
tripped and fell. In falling, she landed plump in a basket of the nuts
and scattered them broadcast.
"Look out there! What you doin'?" indignantly demanded Glory, while a
crowd of street urchins gathered to enjoy a feast.
"Help me up, little girl; never mind the nuts," begged the lady,
extending her gloved hand.
"You don't mind 'em, 'course. They ain't yours!" retorted the dismayed
child, yet seizing the hand with such vigor that she split the glove and
brought its owner to an upright position with more precision than grace.
Then, paying no further heed to the stranger, she began a boy-to-boy
assault upon the purloiners of her wares; and this, in turn, started
such an uproar of shrieks and gibes and laughter that poor Miss Laura's
nerves gave way entirely. Clutching Glory's shoulder, she commanded,
"Stop it, little girl, stop it, right away! You deafen me."
The effect was instant. In astonished silence, the lads ceased
struggling and stared at this unknown lady who had dared lay hands on
the little "Queen of Elbow Lane." Wild and rough though they were, they
rarely interfered with the child, and there was more amazement than
anger in Glory's own gaze as it swept Miss Bonnicastle from head to
foot. The keen scrutiny made the lady a trifle uncomfortable and,
realizing that she had done an unusual thing, she hastened to apologize,
saying, "Beg pardon, little girl, I should not have done that, only the
noise was so frightful and----"
"Ho, that?" interrupted the peanut vender, with fine scorn. "Guess you
ain't used to Elbow boys. That was nothin'. They was only funnin', they
was. If they'd been fightin' reg'lar--my, s'pose you'd a fell down
again, s'pose."
Wasting no further time upon the stranger, Glory picked up the basket
and examined it, her expression becoming very downcast; and, seeing
this, the boy who had been fiercest in the scramble stepped closer and
asked, "Is it clean smashed, Glory?"
"Clean," she answered, sadly.
"How much'll he dock yer?" asked another lad, taking the damaged article
into his own hands. "Pshaw, hadn't no handle, nohow. Half the bottom was
tore an' patched with a rag. One side's all lopped over, too. Say, if he
docks yer a cent, he's a mean old Dago!"
"Well, ain't he a Dago, Billy Buttons? An' I put in that patch myself. I
sewed it a hour, with strings out the garbage boxes, a hull hour. Hi,
there! you leave them goobers be!" cried the girl, swooping down upon
the few youngsters who had returned to pilfer the scattered nuts and, at
once, the two larger boys came to her aid.
"We'll help yer, Glory. An' me an' Nick'll give ye a nickel a-piece, fer
new bags, won't we, Nick?" comforted Billy. But, receiving no reply from
his partner in the news trade, he looked up to learn the reason. Nick
was busily picking up nuts and replacing them in such bags as remained
unbroken but he wasn't eager to part with his money. Nickels were not
plentiful after one's food was paid for, and though lodgings cost
nothing, being any odd corner of floor or pavement adjoining the
press-rooms whence he obtained his papers, there were other things he
craved. It would have been easy to promise but there was a code in Elbow
Lane which enforced the keeping of promises. If one broke one's word
one's head was, also, promptly broken. There was danger of this even now
and there, because Billy's foot came swiftly up to encourage his mate's
generosity.
However, the kick was dexterously intercepted by Glory; Master Buttons
was thrown upon his back, and Nick escaped both hurt and promise. With a
burst of laughter all three fell to work gathering up the nuts and the
small peddler's face was as gay as ever, as she cried:
"Say, boys, 'tain't nigh so bad. Ain't more'n half of 'em busted. I
guess the grocer-man'll trust me to that many--he's real good-natured
to-day. His jumper's tore, too, so maybe he'll let me work it out."
Then, perceiving a peculiar action on the part of the too helpful Billy,
she sternly demanded, "What you doin' there, puttin' in them shells
that's been all chewed?"
"Huh! That's all right. I jams 'em down in the bottom. They don't show
an' fills up faster'n th' others. Gotter make yer losin's good, hain't
yer?"
"Yes, Billy Buttons, I have, but I ain't goin' to make 'em cheatin'
anybody. What'd grandpa think or say to that? Now you can just empty out
every single goober shell you've put in an' fill up square. I'll save
them shells by theirselves, so's to have 'em ready next time you
yourself want to buy off me."
The beautiful justice of this promise so impressed the newsboy that he
turned a somersault, whereby more peanuts were crushed and he earned a
fresh reproof.
Miss Bonnicastle had remained an amused observer of the whole scene,
though the actors in it had apparently forgotten her presence. To remind
them of this, she inquired, "Children, will you please tell me how much
your peanuts were worth?"
"Cent a bag!" promptly returned Glory, selecting the best looking packet
and holding it toward this possible customer.
"All of them, I mean. I wish to pay you for all of them," explained the
lady, opening her purse.
Too surprised to speak for herself, Nick answered for the vender, "They
was fifty bags, that's fifty cents, an' five fer commish. If it'd been a
hunderd, 'twould ha' been a dime. Glory, she's the best seller Toni
Salvatore's got, an' he often chucks her in a bag fer herself, besides.
Fifty-five'd be fair, eh, Take-a-Stitch?"
Glancing at Glory's sunny face, Miss Laura did not wonder at the child's
success. Almost anybody would buy from her for the sake of bringing
forth one of those flashing smiles, but the girl had now found her own
voice and indignantly cried:
"Oh, parson, if you ain't the cheat, I never! Chargin' money for goobers
what's smashed! Think you'll get a lot for yourself, don't you? Well,
you won't an' you needn't look to, so there."
Thus having rebuked her too zealous champion Glory explained to Miss
Bonnicastle that "they couldn't be more'n twenty-five good bags left.
They belongs to Antonio Salvatore, the peanut man. I was goin' to buy
needles an' thread with part, needin' needles most, but no matter.
Better luck next time. Do you really want a bag, lady?"
Again the tiny packet was extended persuasively, the small peddler being
most anxious to make a sale although her honesty forbade her accepting
payment for goods unsold.
But Miss Laura scarcely saw the paper bag, for she was looking with so
much interest upon the child's own face. Such a gay, helpful, hopeful
small face it was! Beneath a tangle of yellow curls, the brown eyes
looked forth so trustfully, and the wide mouth parted in almost
continual laughter over white and well-kept teeth. Then the white
carnation pinned to the faded, but clean, blue frock, gave a touch of
daintiness. Altogether, this seemed a charming little person to be found
in such a locality, where, commonly, the people were poor and ill-fed,
and looked sad rather than glad. The lady's surprise was expressed in
her question, "Little girl, where do you live? How came you in this
neighborhood?"
"Why--I belong here, 'course. Me an' grandpa live in the littlest house
in Ne' York. Me an' him we live together, all by our two selves, an' we
have the nicest times there is. But--but, did you want a bag?" she
finished, pleadingly. Time was passing and she was too busy to waste
more. She wondered, too, why anybody so rich as to ride in a carriage
should tarry thus long in Elbow Lane, though, sometimes, people did get
astray and turn into the Lane on their way to cross the big bridge.
"Yes, little Glory, as I heard them call you, I meant just what I said.
I wish to buy all your stock as well as pay for a new basket. Will you
please invite your friends to share the feast with you? I'm sorry I
caused you so much trouble and here, the little boy suggested fifty-five
cents, suppose we make it a dollar? Will that be wholly satisfactory?"
The face of Take-a-Stitch was again a study in its perplexity. The
temptation to take the proffered money was great, but a sense of
justice was even greater. After a pause, she said with complete
decision, "It must be this way; you give me the fifty cents for Toni
Salvatore--that'll be hisn. You take the goobers an' give 'em to who you
want. I won't take no pay for the basket, 'cause I can mend it again;
nor for myself, 'cause I hain't earned it. I hain't hollered scarce any
to sell such a lot. That's fair. Will I put 'em in your carriage, lady?"
"No, no! Oh, dear! No, indeed. Call your mates and divide among them as
you choose. Then--I wonder why my man doesn't come back. The coachman
can't leave the horses, and the footman seems to have lost himself
looking for a number it should be easy to find."
The children had gathered about Glory who was now beaming with delight
at the chance to bestow a treat upon her mates as well as enjoy one
herself. Indeed, her hunger made her begin to crack the goobers with her
strong white teeth and to swallow the kernels, skins and all. But again
Miss Bonnicastle touched her shoulder, though this time most gently,
asking:
"If this is Elbow Lane, and you live in or near it, can you show me the
way to the house of Captain Simon Beck, an old blind man?"
Glory gasped and dropped her basket. All the rosy color forsook her face
and fear usurped its gaiety. For a time, she stared at the handsome old
lady in terror, then demanded, brokenly, "Be--you--from--'Snug Harbor'?"
It was now the stranger's turn to stare. Wondering why the child had
asked such a question and seemed so startled, she answered, "In a way,
both yes and no. I am interested in 'Snug Harbor,' and have come to find
an old, blind sea captain whom my brother employed, in order to take
him, myself, to that comfortable home. Why do you ask?"
Then Glory fled, but she turned once to shake a warning fist toward Nick
and Billy, who instantly understood her silent message and glared
defiantly upon the lady who had just given them an unexpected feast.