MORE TREASURES
WHEN he had put half a dozen blocks behind him, he slackened his pace,
took a quick look into several doorways, chose one that promised
seclusion, dove into it, got his breath back, made sure that the
precious book was safe, and then indulged himself in a grin that was all
relief.
The grin narrowed as he remembered that Grandpa was alone in the flat.
"Oh, but Big Tom or Mrs. Kukor'll be home soon," he reflected; and
comforted his conscience further by vowing that, given good luck, he
would in no time be in a position to return for the purpose of enticing
away both Cis and the old soldier (men are men, and in the stress of the
moment he did not give a thought to that slim, little, dark-haired
girl). He could not help but feel hopeful regarding his plans. Had not
just such adventuring as this accomplished wonderful results for his new
friend, Aladdin, a boy as poor as himself?
He did not stay long in the doorway. He felt sure that the moment Barber
returned a search of the neighborhood would be made, during which people
would be questioned. Discretion urged that more blocks be put between
the flat and that small back which so dreaded the strap. So off he went
once more--at a lively trot.
Though during the last five years he had not once been so far away from
the area as this, he was not frightened. A city-bred boy, he felt as
much at ease, scuttling along, as a fish in its native waters, or a
rabbit in its own warren. He had taken a westward direction because he
knew that the other way East River lay close, shutting off flight. Now
he began to read the street signs. Cis had often talked of a great
thoroughfare which cut the city into two unequal parts--a one-time road,
she said it was, and so long that it ran through other cities. This was
the street Johnnie wanted--being the one he had heard most about. It was
a street called Broadway.
As he traveled, he passed other dirty, ragged, little boys. His head was
the yellowest of them all, his clothes were the poorest. But he was
scarcely noticed. The occasional patrolman did not more than glance at
him. And he was fully as indifferent. At his Aunt Sophie's, a
policeman--by name Mike Callaghan--had been a frequent visitor, when he
was wont to lay off not only his cap but his coat as well, and sit
around bareheaded in his shirt-sleeves, smoking. This glimpse of an
officer of the law, shorn, as it were, of his dignity, had made Johnnie
realize, even as a babe, that policemen are but mortals after all, as
ready to be pleased with a wedge of pie as any youngster, and given to
the wearing of ordinary striped percale shirts under their majestic
blue. So Johnnie was neither in awe of, nor feared, them.
What he did keep a fearsome eye out for was any man who might be an
African magician. That he would know such a man he felt sure, having a
fair idea from a picture in his book of the robe, headdress, sandals and
beard proper to magicians in general. But though he was alert enough as
he traveled, the only unusual-looking person he met up with was a man
with a peg leg and a tray of shoelaces.
That peg leg frightened him. For a moment he was inclined to take to his
heels, certain that this was the same wooden-legged man who gave Cis
fruit. Then the tray reassured him. Shoelaces were one thing; fruit was
another. And even if this one-legged man were full brother to the
one-legged man of the fruitstand (Johnnie took for granted a whole
one-legged family), he himself would be far away before any member of
that family could get in touch with Barber.
It was while he was boldly inspecting the shoe-lace man's peg leg that
he discovered he was in Broadway, this by reading the name of the street
on the front of a passing car. "Gee!" he exclaimed, taking a good look
up and down the thoroughfare.
Now he began really to enjoy himself. He pattered leisurely along,
stopping at this window and that, or leaned against a convenient water
plug to watch the traffic stream by.
He was resting, and gazing about him, when the wagon driver came up. The
driver was a colored youth in a khaki shirt and an overseas cap, and his
wagon was a horseless affair, huge and covered. The colored man, halting
his truck to let a cross current of vehicles pass, dazzled Johnnie with
a good-natured smile.
Johnnie grinned back. "You goin' up Broadway?" he asked, with a jerk of
his head toward the north.
"All the way up t' Haa'lem," answered the black man, cordially. "Climb
aboa'd!"
There was a loop of chain hanging down from the end-board of the truck.
Johnnie guided a foot through it stirrup-wise and reared himself into an
empty wagonbed. Then as the wheels began to turn, he faced round, knelt
comfortably, and let Broadway swiftly drop behind.
He could not see all the new and engrossing sights that offered
themselves in the wake of the truck and to both sides. His ears were
packed with strange noises. Yet entertained as he was, from time to time
he took note of the cross streets--Eighth, then Tenth, next, busy
Fourteenth.
From time to time the colored man took note of him. "You-all thay yit?"
he would sing out over a shoulder; or, "Have Ah done los' you, kid?"
Upon being reassured, he would return to his problem of nosing a way
along with other vehicles, large and small, and Johnnie would once more
be left to his fascinating survey.
At Twentieth, he very nearly fell out on that shining head, this at
catching sight of a mounted patrolman. No figure in his beloved book
seemed more splendid to him than this one, so noble and martial and
proud. Here was a guardian of the peace who was obviously no common
mortal. Then and there, as the mounted dropped gradually into the
background, Johnnie determined that should he ever be rich enough, or if
hard work and study could accomplish it, he would be a mounted
policeman.
At Twenty-third Street, Broadway suddenly took a sharp turn--toward the
right. Also, it got wider, and noticeably cleaner. More: suddenly
confronted with the gigantic, three-cornered building standing there, a
structure with something of the height and beauty of his own dream
edifices, he realized that he was now entering the true New York. This
was more like it! Here was space and wealth and grandeur. Oh, how
different was this famous street from either of those which gave to the
building in the area!
Then he discovered that he was not traveling a street at all! He was
skimming along an avenue. And it was none other than Fifth Avenue, for
the signs at corners plainly said so. Fifth Avenue! The wonderful,
stylish boulevard which Cis mentioned almost reverently. And he was in
it!
The next moment he was truly in it. For at sight of a window which the
truck was passing, and without even stopping to call to the driver,
Johnnie dropped himself over the end-board to the smooth concrete. The
window was no larger than many a one he had glimpsed during the long
drive northward. What drew him toward it, as if it were a powerful
magnet, was the fact that _it was full of books_.
"My!" he whispered as he gained the sidewalk in front of the window.
There were books standing on end in curving rows. There were others in
great piles. A few lay flat. It had never occurred to him, shut up so
long in a flat without any book save the telephone directory, that there
could be so many books in the whole of New York. And all were so new!
and had such fresh, untorn covers!
He had stood before the window quite some time, his eyes going from book
to book thoughtfully, while one hand tugged at his hair, and the other,
thrust into his shirt front, caressed his own dear volume, when he
became conscious of the near presence of two people, a man and a woman.
The woman was the nearer of the two. On glancing up at her, he found her
looking down. That embarrassed him, and he stopped pulling at his hair.
She smiled. "Do you like books, little boy?" she asked.
He nodded. "More'n _anything_!" he declared fervently.
A pause; then, "Would you like to have a book?" she asked next.
At that, pride and covetousness struggled for first place in him. Pride
won. He straddled both feet a bit wider and thrust a thumb into his
belt. "I've got a book," he answered.
So far as he was concerned, he thought his remark commonplace,
ordinary--certainly not at all amusing. But there was never any telling
how this thing or that would strike a grown-up. The man's mouth popped
open and he exploded a loud laugh, followed by a second and louder.
"Sh! sh!" admonished the woman, glancing at Johnnie.
"It's old, but it's always good," protested the man, half
apologetically.
Along with his boasting, Johnnie had drawn Aladdin forward to the
opening in his shirt. Evidently the man had caught a glimpse of that
torn cover. Now the boy hastily poked the book to a place under one arm.
"It _is_ old," he conceded. "But that don't hurt it--_I_ don't mind."
"Of course, you don't!" chimed in the woman, heartily. "A book's a book
as long as it holds together. Besides some books are more valuable as
they get older."
"Sure!" agreed Johnnie.
She left them and went inside. And Johnnie found himself being stared at
by the man.
The man was a millionaire. Johnnie noted this with a start. He had a way
of recognizing millionaires. When he lived with his Aunt Sophie, his
Uncle Albert was the chauffeur of one. On the two occasions when that
wealthy gentleman showed himself at his red-brick garage in Fifty-fifth
Street, he wore a plush hat, dark blue in color, and an overcoat with a
fur collar. This short, stout stranger before the window wore the same.
But he was as friendly as possible, for he continued the conversation.
"Nice looking lot of books," he observed. "Don't you think so?"
Johnnie nodded again. "What kind of a place would y' call this?" he
inquired.
"A store," informed the other. Now he stared harder than ever, so that
Johnnie grew uneasy under the scrutiny, and began to consider rounding
the nearest corner to get away. "Never seen a bookstore before, eh?"
Johnnie shook his head. "Don't have 'em where I live," he explained.
"No? And where do you live?"
Johnnie felt more uneasy than ever. He determined to be vague. "Me? Oh,
just over that way," he answered, with a swing of the arm that took in a
full quarter of the horizon--including all territory from Beekman Place
to the Aquarium.
The woman rejoined them. In one hand she carried a book. It was a blue
book, not quite so large as the story of Aladdin, but in every way
handsomer. She held it out to Johnnie. "Here's another book for you,"
she said. "You'll love it. All boys do. It's called _Robinson Crusoe_."
Afterwards he liked to remember that he had said "Thank you" when she
placed the book in his hands. He was too overcome to look up at her,
however, or smile, or exclaim over the gift. He stood there, thrilled
and gaping, and holding his breath, while the ends of his red fingers
went white with holding the new book so tight, and his pale face turned
red with emotions of several kinds, all of them pleasant. At last, when
he raised his eyes from the book to her face, that face was gone. The
millionaire was gone, too.
Johnnie opened the book. It did not open easily, being so new. But how
good it smelled! And, oh, what a lot of it there was, even though it was
smaller than the other! For the letters were tiny, and set close
together on every page. Twenty to thirty pages Johnnie turned at a time,
and found that there were six hundred in all. Also, there was one
picture--of a man wearing a curious, peaked cap, funny shoes that tied,
and knee trousers that seemed to be made of skins.
It was while he was turning the pages for a second time that he chanced
upon the dollar bill. It was between two pages toward the back of the
book, and he thought for a moment that it was not there, really, but
that he was just thinking so. But it was there, and looked as crisply
new as the book. He ran to the corner and stared in every direction,
searching for the millionaire and the woman.
Then he felt sure that she had not known the money was in the book.
Instead, it belonged to the store, and had somehow got tucked between
the leaves by mistake. A revolving door gave to the bookshop. He entered
one section of it and half circled his way in.
Never in his boldest imaginings had he thought of such a place as he saw
now. It was lofty and long, with glistening counters of glass to one
side. But elsewhere there were just books! books! books!--great
partitions of them, walls solidly faced with them, the floor piled with
them man-high. He forgot why he had come in, forgot his big clothes, his
bare feet, his girl's hair, the new blue book, and the dollar.
"Yes? Well? What d' you want?"
It was a man speaking, and rather sharply. He was a red-headed man, and
he wore spectacles. He came to stand in front of Johnnie, as if to keep
the latter from going farther into the shop.
Johnnie held up the new book. "A lady bought me this," he explained;
"and when I opened it I found all this money." Now he held out the
dollar.
There were many people in the store. Some of them had on their hats,
others were bareheaded, as if they belonged there. A number quietly
gathered about Johnnie and the red-haired man, looking and listening.
Johnnie gave each a swift examination. They were all so well-dressed, so
different from the tenants in the area building.
"The lady slipped the dollar into the book for you," declared the
red-headed man. "Wasn't that mighty nice of her?"
Johnnie silently agreed. A dozen pairs of eyes were watching him, and so
many strange people were embarrassing. He began slowly to back toward
the revolving door.
"What're you going to buy with your dollar, little boy?" asked a man in
the group--a tall man whose smile disclosed a large, gold tooth.
The question halted Johnnie. Such a wonderful idea occurred to him. The
dollar was his own, to do with as he liked. And what he wanted most----
"I'm goin' to buy some more books with it," he answered. And turned
aside to one of the great piles.
There was more laughter at that, and a burst of low conversation.
Johnnie paid no attention to it, but appealed to the red-headed man.
"What's the best book y' got?" he inquired, with quite the air of a
seasoned shopper.
Again there was laughter. But it seemed to be not only kind but
complimentary--as if once more he had said something clever or amusing.
However, Johnnie kept his attention on the red-headed man.
"Well, I'm afraid no two people would ever agree as to which is our best
book," said the latter. "But if you'll tell me what you like, I'll do my
best to find something that'll suit you."
Johnnie, glancing about, reflected that, without question, Cis's speller
had come from this very room! The arithmetic, too!
"Got any spellers to-day?" he inquired casually--just to show them all
that he knew a thing or two about books.
"In several languages," returned the man, quite calmly.
"I like Aladdin better," announced Johnnie. Then trying not to sound too
proud, "I got it here with me right now." Whereupon he reached into the
baggy shirt and drew forth Mrs. Kukor's gift.
"Bless his heart!" cried a woman. "He _does_ love them!"
To Johnnie this seemed a foolish remark. Love them? Who did not? "If
you got another as good as this one," he went on, "I'd like t' buy it."
The red-headed man took _Aladdin_. Then he shook his head. The group was
moving away now, and he and Johnnie were to themselves. "I'm afraid this
book would be hard to equal," he said earnestly. "They aren't writing
any more just like it--which is a pity. But you stay here and I'll see
what I can find." He gave _Aladdin_ back, and hurried off.
There was a chair behind Johnnie. He sat down, his two precious books
and the dollar on his knees. Then once more he looked up and around,
marveling.
He was aware that several of those who had been in the group were now
talking together at a little distance. They seemed a trifle excited. The
red-headed man joined them for a moment, listened to what they had to
say, and took some money from each of them (Johnnie concluded that all
were bookbuyers like himself) before hurrying on between two high walls
of books. In anticipation of more literary possessions, Johnnie now
slipped his two volumes inside the shirt, one to the right, one to the
left, so that they would not meet and mar each other.
When the red-headed man came back, he brought three books, all new and
handsome. "I think you'll like these," he declared. "See--this one's
called _The Legends of King Arthur and his Knights_, and this one is
_The Last of the Mohicans_, and here's _Treasure Island_."
"Much obliged," said Johnnie, heartily. His eyes shone as he gathered
the books to him. His one thought now was to get away and read, read,
read. Quickly he proffered the dollar bill.
"Oh, you keep the money," said the red-headed man "You'll need it for
something else. Take the books--compliments of the house!"
"No!" Johnnie was aghast. He was used to paying for what he got--his
food, his bed, his rent. "Oh, gee! I want to pay, Mister. I want 'em to
be all mine.--But is there any change comin' back t' me?"
Once more he heard laughter--from behind the pile of books nearest him;
then that woman's voice again: "Oh, the darling! The darling!" Even as
she spoke, she moved into sight.
Johnnie had heard ladies speak about him in just that way before. He
knew that if they came near to him it was to lay hands on his yellow
mop. He wanted none of that sort of thing here, in this glorious house
full of books, before all these men.
"Your books came out just a dollar even," replied the red-headed man.
"Thank y', Mister!" Johnnie, his new purchases clasped tight, sidled
quickly toward the street.
"Sha'n't I wrap 'em up for you?" called the other.
Johnnie was already revolving in his quarter-section of the remarkable
door. He shook his head. Going sidewise, he could see that quite a few
of those inside were still watching him. He flashed at them one of his
radiant smiles. Then the door disgorged him upon a step, the great
Avenue received him, and he trotted off, dropping his books into his
shirt, one by one, as he went, precisely as Aladdin had stuffed his
clothes with amethysts, sapphires and rubies.
Before he reached the next block he was fairly belted with books; he was
armored with them, and looked as if he were wearing a life preserver
under his folds and pleats.
The sun was still high, the air warm enough for him--if not for a
fur-collared millionaire. And Johnnie did not feel too hungry. His one
wish was to absorb those five books. He began to keep an eye out for a
vacant building.
"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "Think of me runnin' into the place where
all the books come from!"