PRIDE AND PENALTY
HIS toe stopped working across the crack in the floor. His left hand
forsook his tousled hair and fell to his side. His eyes narrowed, and
his chin came up. Then his lips began to move, noiselessly. "I'll pay
him up for that!" he promised. "I'll make him wish he didn't shove me!
This time, I'll think a' _awful_ bad think about him! I'll think the
worst think I _can_! I'll--I'll----"
He paused to decide. He had many "thinks" for the punishing of Big Tom,
each of them ending in the desertion of that gentleman, who was always
left helplessly groveling and pleading while Johnnie made a joyous,
triumphant departure. Which of all those revenges would he select this
morning? Would he go, after handing the longshoreman over to the
harshest patrolman in New York? or would it be a doctor who would remain
behind in the flat with the tyrant, assuring Johnnie, as the latter
sauntered out of the kitchen for the very last time, that no skill on
earth could entirely mend the hurts which he had so bravely inflicted
upon his groaning foster father? or would he set sail grandly from the
Battery for some port at least a million miles away, his last view of
the metropolis including in its foreground, along with a brass band and
many dignitaries of the city, the kneeling shape of a wretched
dock-worker who had repented of his meanness too late?
Suddenly Johnnie caught his breath, his eyes dilated, his fingers began
to play against his palms. He had decided. And in that same instant, a
change came over him--complete, satisfactory, astonishing.
Now, instead of the ragged, little boy upon whom Big Tom had glowered
down--a meek boy, subdued, even crestfallen, whose eyes were lowered,
and whose lashes blinked fearsomely, he was quite a good deal taller,
boldly erect, proud in his poise, light on his neatly shod feet,
confident and easy in his manner, with a charming smile to right and
left as ringing cheers went up for him while he awaited the lessening of
the pleasant tribute, his composure really quite splendid, his hands
stuffed into the pocket of his absolutely new, light-gray suit, which
had knee pants.
A change had also taken place in the Barber kitchen. Now the walls were
freshly papered in a regal green-and-gold pattern which, at the floor
line, met a thick, red carpet. Red velvet curtains hung at either side
of the window. Splendid, fat chairs were set carelessly here and there;
and a marble-topped table behind Johnnie was piled with a variety of
delectable dishes, including several pies oozing juice.
And the crowd that pressed up to the hall door! It was worthy of his
pride, for it was a notable gathering. In it was no tenant of the
building, no neighbor from other, near-by flats, and not a single member
of that certain rough gang which haunted the area, the dark halls
leading into it, and all the blocks round about.
Indeed, no! Even in his "thinks" Johnnie was most careful regarding the
selection of his companions, his social trend being ever upward. And he
was never small about any crowd of his, but always had everybody he
could remember who was anybody--a riot of famous people. On this
occasion he was reaching into truly exclusive circles. Naturally, then,
this was a well-dressed assemblage, strikingly equipped with silk hats
(there were no ladies present) and gold-headed canes; and every
gentleman in the gathering wore patent-leather shoes, and a vest that
did not match his coat. All were smart and shaven and wealthy. In their
lead, uniformed in khaki, and wearing the friendliest look possible to a
young man who is cheering, was His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.
Like all the others in that wildly enthusiastic gathering, the young
heir apparent was turned toward Johnnie as toward a hero. And small
wonder. For there, between the distinguished crowd and the boy, lying
prone upon the red carpet, in his oldest clothes, and unshaven, was none
other than Big Tom Barber, felled by the single, overwhelming blow that
Johnnie had just given him, his nose bleeding (not too much, however)
and the breath clean knocked out of him.
Now the shouting died away, and Johnnie addressed the admiring throng.
But his lips moved without even a whisper. "I made up my mind a long
time ago," he began, "to give Tom Barber a good thrashin'. So this
morning, I done it."
Despite his ungrammatical conclusion, the speech called forth the
resounding hurrahs of the Prince and his gentlemen, and once more
Johnnie had to wait, striving to appear properly modest, and twirling a
gold watch chain all of heavy links. But he could not keep his nostrils
from swelling, or his eyes from flashing. And his chest heaved.
It was now that he made Cis one of his audience, dressing her in a
becoming pink gown (her favorite color). Old Grandpa was standing beside
her, no longer feeble and chair bound, but handsomely overcoated and
hatted, and looking as formidable as any policeman. These two, naturally
enough, had only proud glances for the young champion of the hour.
But Johnnie's task of subduing Barber was not finished. The brave boy
could see that the big longshoreman was making as if to rise. Johnnie
could still feel the touch of Big Tom's perspiring hand on his forehead,
and the pinch of those cruel fingers on his shoulder. Taking a forward
step, he gave Barber's shoulder a wrenching jerk, then thrust the
longshoreman backward by a spanking blow of the open palm full upon that
big, ugly, bristling face.
Again Barber fell prostrate. He was purple with mortification, and
leered up at Johnnie murderously.
"Ha! ha! Y' got enough?" Johnnie inquired. He was all of a glow now, and
his face fairly shone. But he was not done with the tyrant. A sense of
long-outraged justice made him hand Barber the big, black, three-legged,
iron kettle that belonged on the back of the cookstove. There was some
cold oatmeal in the bottom of the kettle, and Johnnie also handed the
longshoreman a spoon--with a glance toward the Prince, who seemed awed
by Johnnie's complete mastery of the enemy. "Here!" the boy directed,
giving the pot a light kick with a new shoe (which was brown). "Go ahead
and eat. Eat ev'ry bite of it. _It's got kerosene in it!_"
Now Barber got to his knees imploringly. "Oh, don't make me eat it!" he
begged. "Oh, don't, Johnnie! Please!"
"Y' made _me_ eat it once," said Johnnie quietly. "And y' need a lesson,
Tom Barber, and I'm givin' y' one."
Barber choked down the bad-tasting food. But there was no taunting of
him. Johnnie kept a dignified silence--as did also the Prince and the
gentlemen. But when the last spoonful was swallowed, and Barber was
cowering beside the empty kettle, the boy felt called upon to go still
further, and make away finally with that strap which was the symbol of
all he hated--that held up and together the too-large clothes which had
so long mortified his pride; that stood for the physical pain dealt out
to him by Big Tom if he so much as slighted a bit of his girl's work.
The strap was around him now, even over that new suit. It circled him
like a snake. He took it off, his lips working in another splendid
speech. "And I don't wear it ever again," he declared, looking down at
Barber. "Do y' understand that?" He flicked a big arm with the leather,
though not hard enough to give pain.
"Yes," faltered the longshoreman, shrinking.
"Well, I'm glad y' understand it," returned Johnnie. "And now you just
watch me for _on-n-ne_ second! You won't never lay this strap across
_me_ again!"
He whipped out a long, sharp, silver-handled bread-knife. Then turning
to the table, he laid the strap upon the beautiful marble; and, in sight
of all, cut it away to the very buckle--inch by inch!
"Now!" he cried, as he scattered the pieces upon the carpet.
The punishment was complete; his triumph nothing less than perfect. And
it occurred to him now that there was particular gratification in having
present this morning His Royal Highness. "Mister Prince," he said, "I'm
awful tickled you was here!"
The Prince expressed himself as being equally pleased. "Mister Smith,"
he returned, "I don't know as I ever seen a boy that could hit like you!
Why, Mister Smith, it's _wonderful_! How do y' do it?" He shook
Johnnie's hand warmly.
"Well, I guess I'm like David, Mister Prince," Johnnie explained
modestly. "O' course you know David--and his friend, Mister
Goli'th?--Oh, y' _don't_? Y' mean y' ain't never met neither _one_? Oh,
gee! I'm surprised! But that's 'cause y' don't know Mrs. Kukor,
upstairs. They're both friends of hers. Well, I'll ask 'em down."
An upturned face and a beckoning arm accomplished the invitation,
whereupon there entered at once the champion Philistine and that youth
who was ruddy and of a fair countenance. And after a deal of
hand-shaking all around, Johnnie told the tale of that certain
celebrated fight--told it as one who had witnessed the whole affair. He
turned his face from side to side as he talked, gesticulating with easy
grace.
"And now I guess we're ready t' start, ain't we?" he observed as he
concluded. "David, would you and your friend like t' come along?--Only
Big Tom, he's got t' stay behind, 'cause----"
At the stove, the untidy heap of brown blanket in the wheel chair
stirred again. Out of the faded folds a small head, blanched and
bewhiskered, reared itself weakly. "Johnnie," quavered old Grandpa.
"Johnnie! Milk!"
The boy's lips ceased to frame words. His right arm fell to his side;
the left went up again to resume that tugging at his hair. He swayed
slightly, shifting his weight, and his big toe began once more to curl
and uncurl. Then, as fancy was displaced by reality, as dreaming gave
place to fact, Barber disappeared from the floor. The silk-hatted
gentlemen with the gold canes went, too--along with the gallant young
English Prince, that other Prince who was of Israel, and a tall person
with a sore, red bump on his forehead. The gold-and-green walls faded;
so did the carpet, the curtains, and that light-gray suit (which was
precisely like the one Johnnie had worn when he first came to the Barber
flat--except, of course, that it was larger). The marble-topped table
and the fat chairs folded themselves up out of sight. And all those
delicious fruit pies dissolved into thin air.
But one thing did not go: A sense of satisfaction. Having met his enemy
before the world, and conquered him; having spent his own anger and
loathing, and revenged the other's hated touch, his gray eyes held a
pleased, proud look. Once more in the soiled big shirt and trousers,
with the strap coiled about his middle, he could put Barber aside for
the day--not brood about him, harboring ill-will, nor sulk and fret.
Now he was ready for "thinks" of a different sort--adventures that were
wholly delightful.
A feeling of joy surged through him. Ahead lay fully nine unhampered
hours. He pivoted like a top. His arms tossed. Then, like a spring from
which a weight has been lifted, like a cork flying out of a charged
bottle, he did a high, leaping hop-skip straight into the air.
"Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" he sang out full-throatedly. "Rr-r-r-r!
ree-ee-ee!"--and explosively, "Brt! brt! brt! _bing!_"