ONE-EYE
HE left the Avenue, turning east. Now all plans concerning Broadway were
given up; also, he felt no anxiety about getting lost. For he went at
random.
Yet he was businesslike, and walked rapidly. No window, however
beautiful, lured him to pause. He did not waste a single minute. And
soon he was gazing up at a really imposing and colossal structure which,
big as it looked (for it seemed to occupy a whole block), was plainly
not in use. At one corner the building mounted to a peak. On going all
the way around it, he discovered smaller peaks at each of the other
corners. There were any number of entrances, too; and, of course, fire
escapes.
It suited him finely. On one side of this old palace--for he was sure it
could be nothing short of a palace--was a flight of steps which led up
to a small door. This entrance was an inconspicuous one, which could not
be said of the several porticoed entrances. Beside the steps, in the
angle made by the meeting of the wall with them, was conveniently set a
small, pine box. Johnnie had hunted a vacant building with the intention
of entering it. But now he decided to read first, and steal into the
palace later, under cover of the dark. Down he sat upon the box, out of
the way of a breeze that was wafting a trifle too freshly through the
street.
One by one he took out the three books he had just bought, this in
order to give them a closer scrutiny than the store had afforded him;
and to start with he met that "glorious company, the flower of men," who
made up the Table Round, and who, if the colored pictures of them were
to be believed, made his mounted policeman of an hour before seem a
sorry figure. And their names were as splendid as their
photographs--Launcelot, and Gawain, Gareth and Tristram and Galahad.
Remembering that he was called Johnnie, he felt quite sick.
When, after poring over the half-dozen illustrations, he was forced to
the conclusion that nothing could surpass the knights of King Arthur, he
opened _The Last of the Mohicans_ and found himself captured, heart and
soul, by the even more enticing Uncas and his fellows, superb bronze
creatures, painted and feathered, and waving tomahawks that far outshone
any blunt lance.
He had to change his mind again. For bringing himself to tuck away his
Indians and fetch forth _Treasure Island_, he was rewarded by the sight
of a piratical crew who easily surpassed even the redmen. The fiercest
of these pirates, a gentleman by the name of Long John Silver, was
without question the pick of the lot. To begin with, Mr. Silver
undoubtedly belonged to the New York family of peg legs, which, of
course, brought him nearer than his brother pirates. However, what
especially recommended him was a pistol-filled belt.
"Gee! I'm glad I got mine!" Johnnie declared, since the chief-pirate's
belt was strikingly like the one binding in Big Tom's cast-off clothes;
and he willingly forgot what the strap of leather had done to him in the
past in realizing its wonderful possibilities for the future.
Finally he was ready to begin reading. He was loyal to his friend
Aladdin then, whom he had left, on the fatal stroke of twelve, in rather
dire straits. The Oriental wonder book on his knees, he resumed the
enthralling story, his lips and fingers moving, and--in the excitement
of it all--his misty eyebrows twisting like two caterpillars.
Pedestrians hurried past him, motor vehicles and surface-cars sped
by--for Fourth Avenue lay in front; but what he saw was Aladdin in
chains; Aladdin before the executioner; Aladdin pardoned, yet aghast
over the loss of his palace and the beloved Buddir al Buddoor, and ready
to take his own life.
The afternoon went swiftly. Evening came. But the nearest street lamp
was lighted in advance of the dark. Engrossed by the awful drama
transpiring in Africa, where Aladdin and his Princess were plotting to
rid themselves of the magician, Johnnie did not know when lamplight took
the place of daylight.
_The Princess, who began to be tired with this impertinent declaration
of the African magician, interrupted him and said, "Let us drink first,
and then say what you will afterwards;" at the same time she set the cup
to her lips, while the African magician, who was eager to get his wine
off first, drank up the very last drop. In finishing it, he had reclined
his head back to show his eagerness, and remained some time in that
state. The Princess kept the cup at her lips, till she saw his eyes turn
in his head----_
"Hurrah!" cried Johnnie, relieved at this fortunate end of the crisis,
for his very hair was damp with anxiety. "His eyes've turned in his
head!"
"Wal, by the Great Horn Spoon!"
This strange exclamation, drawled in a nasal tone, came from the steps
at his back. He started up, jerking sidewise to get out of reach of the
hands that belonged to the voice, and clutching his book to him. But as
he faced the speaker, who was peering down at him from the top of the
steps, wonder took the place of apprehension.
For to his astonished and enraptured gaze was vouchsafed a most
interesting man--a man far and beyond and above anybody he had ever
before beheld in the flesh. This person was tall and slender, and wore a
blue shirt, a plaid vest hanging open but kept together with a leather
watchchain, a wide, high, gray hat, and--most wonderful of all--a pair
of breeches which, all down the front, were as hairy as any dog!
It was the breeches that gave the stranger his startling and admirable
appearance--the breeches and his face. For directly under the hat, which
was worn askew, was one round, greenish eye, set at the upper end of a
nose that was like a triangle of leather. The eye held the geographical
center of the whole countenance, this because its owner kept his head
tipped, precisely as if he had a stiff neck. Under the leathery nose,
which seemed to have been cut from the same welt as the watchchain, was
a drooping, palish mustache, hiding a mouth that had lost too many
teeth. As for the other eye, it was brushed aside under the band of the
hat.
"Gee!" breathed Johnnie. Wearing fur trousers instead of a fur collar,
here, without doubt, was a new kind of millionaire!
The latter took a cigar out of an upper vest pocket and worried one end
of it with a tooth. "It's half-pas' seven, sonny," he said.
Johnnie backed another step. Half-past seven gave him a swift vision of
the flat--Grandpa asleep, Barber pacing the splintery floor in a rage,
Cis weeping at the window, Mrs. Kukor waddling about, talking with
tongue and hands. He had no mind to be made a part of that picture. He
resolved to answer no questions, while with a dexterous movement he
slipped Aladdin into his shirt and got ready to run.
The other now sat down, scratched a match nonchalantly on a step, and
let the light shine into that single green eye as he set an end of the
cigar afire; after which he proceeded to blow smoke through his nose in
a masterly fashion, following up that feat with a series of perfect
smoke rings.
Still on his guard, Johnnie studied the smoker. The big gray hat came to
a peak--like the highest corner of the empty palace. Below the hairy
trousers the lower parts of a pair of black boots shone so brightly that
they carried reflections even at that late hour. The boots were tapered
off by spurs.
What was there about this man that made him seem somehow familiar?
Johnnie puzzled over it. And decided at last, correctly enough, as it
turned out, that the explanation lay in those shaggy trousers.
He was not afraid to make an inquiry. "Mister," he began politely,
"where did y' buy your pants?"
The effect of this question was startling. The man pushed back his hat,
threw up his head, rescued the burning cigar, then emitted an almost
catlike yowl. For some minutes several people had been watching him from
a respectful distance. Now, hearing the yowl, these onlookers drew near.
He rose then, instantly sober, set the hat forward, descended the steps,
and held out a friendly left hand to Johnnie.
"Come on, sonny," he coaxed. "Ain't it eatin' time? Let's go and
pur-_chase_ some grub."
Johnnie, for all that he had been practically a recluse these past
several years, had, nevertheless, the metropolite's inborn indifference
to the passerby. He had scarcely noticed the steadily increasing group
before the steps. Now he ignored them all. He was hungry. That
invitation to partake of food was welcome.
He advanced and held out a hand. The one-eyed man grasped it, descended
the last step or two, pushed his way through the crowd without looking
to right or left, and led Johnnie down the street at such a pace that
the bare feet were put to the trot--which was not too fast, seeing that
supper lay somewhere ahead.
Johnnie felt proud and flattered. He made up his mind to be seen talking
to his tall companion as they fared along. "Guess you're not a
longshoreman," he said, to begin the conversation.
"Me?" drawled the other; then, mysteriously, "Wal, sonny, I'll tell y':
if I am, I ain't never yet found it out!"
Then silence for half a block. Johnnie studied his next remark. The
direct way was the most natural to him. He tried another query.
"And--and what do y' do?" he asked.
"Do?"--this stranger seemed to have Grandpa's habit of repeating the
last word. "Oh, I val-lay a hoss."
Johnnie was no wiser than before, but he felt it good manners to appear
enlightened. "You--you do that back there?" he ventured next.
"Yeppie. In the Garden."
Now Johnnie was hopelessly lost. Val-lay meant nothing, hoss even less;
as for a garden, he vaguely understood what that was: a place where
beans grew, and potatoes; yes, and wizen-faced prunes. But though he had
circled about the neighborhood considerably since leaving the bookstore,
he had caught no glimpse of any garden--except that one belonging to
Aladdin. Ah, that was it! This strange man's garden was down a flight of
steps!
"Do you grow cabbages in your garden?" he asked, "or--or diamonds?"
"How's that?" demanded the other; then as if he had recovered from a
momentary surprise, "Oh, a little of both."
"Both!"
"But--but this ain't what you'd call a good year for diamonds. Nope. Too
many cutworms."
Johnnie wanted to ask if all gardeners wore hairy trousers. Then
thought of a subject even more interesting. "Mister,"--he put a note of
genuine sympathy into his voice--"how'd you come t' lose your eye?"
"My eye?"--Grandpa's habit again. "Wal, this is how"-- He frowned with
the eye he had left, and pursed his lips till his mustache stood out
fearsomely.
"Yes?" encouraged Johnnie, whose mind was picturing all sorts of
exciting events in which the tall man, as the hero, fought and was
injured, yet conquered his enemies.
"Sonny," the other went on sadly, "I jes' natu'lly got my eye pinched in
the door."
Pinched in the door! Johnnie stared. _Pinched in the door?_ How could
that happen? What might a man be doing that such an accident should come
to pass? He put his free hand to one of his own eyes, fingering it
inquiringly.
Before he could come to any conclusion, the one-eyed man had halted
before the blazing, glassed-in front of a restaurant that fairly dazzled
the sight. It was, as Johnnie saw, such a place as only millionaires
could afford to frequent. In the very front of it, behind that plate
window, stood men in white, wearing spotless caps, who were cooking
things in plain view of the street. And inside--for the one-eyed man now
boldly opened a door and entered, drawing Johnnie after him--were more
men in white, and women similarly garbed. The high walls of the great
room were white too, like the hall of a sultan's palace. And seated at
long tables were splendidly attired men and women, enjoying their supper
as calmly as if all this magnificence were nothing to them--nothing,
though the tables were of marble!
However, every man and woman in the wonderful place showed marked
excitement on the appearance of Johnnie and his escort. They stopped
eating. And how they stared! They bent to all sides, whispering. For a
moment, Johnnie felt sure that, ragged as he was, the palace did not
want him, and that he was about to be ordered out. He hung back, wishing
with all his heart that he had done his hanging back earlier, outside
the door, for instance.
Then, relief; for he recognized that all the interest was kindly. One of
the ladies in white--a beautiful, stately person--showed them grandly to
chairs at either side of a table; a second lady brought them each a
glass of ice water, and condescended to listen to their wants in the
supper line. About them people smiled cordially.
The one-eyed man was now bareheaded. And Johnnie, just as he was leaning
back, prepared to enjoy himself to the full, suddenly noted, and with a
pang, that his host, shorn of his headgear, was far less attractive in
appearance than when covered; did not seem the strange, rakish,
picturesque, almost wild figure of a moment before, but civilized,
slick, and mild.
For one thing, that shut eye was in full view, which subtracted from the
brigandish look of his countenance; for another, the shaggy trousers
were--naturally--in total eclipse. Then he had mouse-colored hair which
matched his mustache, whereas it should have been black--or bright red.
To make matters worse, the hair had recently been wet-combed. It was
also fine and thin, especially over the top of the head, from where it
had been brought straight down upon the forehead in a long, smooth,
shining bang which (and this not a quarter-inch too soon) turned to
sweep left. Contrasting with the oily appearance of the bang were some
hairs at the very crown of the head. These--a few--leaned this way and
that, making a wild tuft.
Johnnie wished with his whole heart that the stranger would again put on
his hat.
Another feature thrust itself upon Johnnie's notice. Out from the front
of his host's throat, to the ruination of such scant good looks as he
had, protruded an Adam's apple that was as large and tanned and
tough-looking as his nose. On that brown prominence a number of long
pale hairs had their roots. These traveled now high, now low, as the
one-eyed man drank deep of the ice water. And Johnnie felt that he
understood the sad quiet of this queer, tall person. In his case the
stork had been indeed cruel.
The hat was swinging from a near-by hook--one of a double line of hooks
down the long room. Under the hat was a sign. Johnnie read it; then
centered his stare on the hat. At any moment he expected to witness
something extraordinary. That was because across the placard, in neat,
black letters, were the words: _Watch your Hat and Coat_.
He reached to touch the one-eyed man. "Say, Mister!" he whispered, "Y'
see what it says? Well, what'll happen if we watch?"
"Huh!" ejaculated the other, slewing that one green eye round to glance
upward. "That's jes' it! If y' watch, _nuthin'll_ happen!"
It was a good thing to know at the moment. For the second lady was back,
bringing supper with her--a smoking dish of mingled meat and vegetables,
another of pork and beans, a cup of coffee, a glass of milk, an orange,
and bread and butter.
Butter! Johnnie could scarcely believe his eyes. He almost thought this
was one of Buckle's meals, and that the butter would melt, figuratively
speaking, before his longing look. But it stayed, a bright pat, as
yellow as his own hair, on a doll's dish of a plate. And as Johnnie had
not tasted butter for a very long time, he proceeded now, after the
manner of the male, to clear that cunning little dish by eating the
choicest thing first.
As for the one-eyed man, his knife, held in his left hand, was going up
and down between the dish of beans and his mouth with mechanical
regularity. At the bean dish, he covered the long blade with a ruddy
heap. Then balancing it all nicely, he swung it ceiling-ward, met it
half-way by a quick duck of the mouse-covered head, and swept it clean
with a dextrous, all-enveloping movement.
Johnnie was hungry too. The butter gone, along with its complement of
bread, he attacked his share of the meat and vegetables, using, however
(which was to Cis's credit), a fork. The dish was delicious. He forgot
even the placard.
So far the one-eyed man had proven to be anything but a talkative
person. Under the circumstances this was just as well. Johnnie could not
have shared just then in a conservation. Twice during the meal he
reached down and let out the strap a hole or two. And for the first time
in his life he was grateful for the roominess of Barber's old clothes.
Half an hour, and Johnnie was, as he himself expressed it, "stuffed like
a sausage." The orange, he dropped into his shirt-band to find a place
with the books, there being no space for it internally.
"Full up, eh?" demanded the one-eyed man, mopping at his mustache so
hard with a paper napkin that Johnnie expected to see the hairy growth
come away from its moorings under the leathery nose.
"It was a feast!" pronounced Johnnie, borrowing from the language of his
friend Aladdin. A moment later he gasped as he saw his host carelessly
ring a fifty-cent piece upon the gorgeous marble of the table top. Then
the meal had cost so much as that! As he trotted doorward in the wake of
the spurred heels, his boy's conscience faintly smote him. He almost
felt that he had eaten too much.
"My goodness!" he murmured, his glance missing the variegated mosaic of
the floor.
But still another moment, and the one-eyed man had halted at a desk
which stood close to the front door, and was throwing down a one-dollar
bill, together with some silver.
Johnnie knew something was wrong. His host was forgetful, absent-minded.
He realized that he must interfere. "You jus' paid the lady!" he warned
in a hasty whisper.
The other nodded sadly as he settled the big hat. "Yeppie," he returned.
"But y' see, sonny, it's this-away: if you got jes' one eye, w'y, they
make y' pay twicet!"
Another gasp. It was so grossly unfair!
However it had all proved to him beyond a doubt that here was a man of
unlimited wealth. On several occasions Uncle Albert's millionaire had
treated Johnnie to candy and apples. But now the riches of that person
seemed pitifully trivial.
They fared forth and away in the same order as they had come.
But not so silently. Food, it seemed, was what could rouse the one-eyed
man to continued speech. He began to ask questions, all of them to the
point, most of them embarrassing.
"Say, what in the name o' Sam Hill y' got cached inside that
shirt?"--this was the first one.
"Books," returned Johnnie, promptly, "and the orange."
"Y' kinda cotton t' books, eh?" the other next observed.
"Not cotton," replied Johnnie, politely. "They're made of paper."
"Y' don't tell me?--And what y' want me t' call y'?"
"My--my--my," began Johnnie, trying to think and speak at the same time,
with small success in either direction. Then feeling himself pressed
for time, and helpless, he fell back upon the best course, which was the
simple truth. "My name's Johnnie Smith," he added.
The truth was too simple to be believed, "Aw, git out!" laughed the
one-eyed man, with a comical lift of the mustache. "And I s'pose y' live
with the Vanderbilt fambly, eh?"
Johnnie's eyes sparkled. There was in the question a certain
something--an ignoring of bare facts--which made him believe that this
man and he were kindred souls.
"No, I don't live with 'em," he hastened to say. "But I talk to Mister
Vanderbilt ev'ry day on the tel'phone."
The stranger seemed neither doubtful nor amazed. Johnnie liked him
better and better. Taking a fresh hold of the other's horny hand, he
chattered on: "I talked to Mister Astor yesterday. He asked me t' go
ridin' with him, but I had t' take a trip t' Niagarry."
"Hope y' didn't hurt his feelin's none,"--the tone was grave: that one
green eye looked anxious.
Johnnie only shook his head. He did not care to go further with the
discussion of the Astor-Smith friendship.
However, the one-eyed man himself turned the conversation, "Goin' back
home t'night?" he wanted to know.
Johnnie raised startled eyes. "N-n-no," he returned. "I-i-if I was to,
I'd have to take a terrible lickin'."
"Mm." The one-eyed man seemed to understand; then, presently, "Your
paw?--or your maw?"
"No relation at _all_," protested Johnnie. "Just the man where I live."
"He feeds y' O. K.," put in the other. "I was noticin' back yonder in
the chuck-house how plump y' are."
Johnnie said nothing. There were things he could tell, if he wanted to,
which had to do with comparisons between Aunt Sophie's table and Big
Tom's. But these things would contradict the one-eyed man; and Johnnie
knew from experience that grown-ups do not like to be contradicted.
Just ahead was that great palace, lifting dark towers against the
glowing night sky. If the one-eyed man lived there, if the palace
actually contained a garden (and it seemed large enough to contain any
number of gardens), Johnnie wanted, if possible, to spend some time
under that vast roof. So it was wise not to say anything that might
bring him into disfavor; especially when what he wanted most now was
shelter and a reading light.
He grasped the other's hand firmly and flashed up what was intended for
a beguiling smile. "He don't ever feed me like _you_ do," he declared,
with dazzling diplomacy.
The compliment was grandly passed over. "But he shore dresses y'
tiptop!" was the next assertion.
At that, some inkling of the other's real meaning came to Johnnie. He
tried, but in vain, to catch that single eye. But even in the half light
it was busy taking in every detail of Big Tom's shirt and trousers.
"Y'--y' think so?" Johnnie ventured, ready to laugh.
"Think so!" cried the one-eyed man, spiritedly. "W'y, he must jes' about
go broke at it! Lookee! Twicet as much shirt as y' need, and at least
five times as much pants!"
Certainly there was no denying the statement. However, there was another
side to Barber's generosity that Johnnie longed to discuss. Yet once
more he decided to invite no argument. "It'll be worse if I had t' wear
girl's clothes," was what he returned, philosophically.
The street was dark just there. He was not able to mark the facial
expression which now accompanied a curious sound from the region of the
Adam's apple. But when the light at the palace corner was reached, a
quick glance showed a stern visage, with mouth set hard and that green
eye burning. And Johnnie's heart went out of him, for now he doubted
again.
They paused at the foot of those steps. "Do y' go t' school?" asked the
one-eyed man.
Johnnie shook his head. "He don't let me," he declared. But he was as
careful as ever to speak with no bitterness. Without question, in this
tall stranger Big Tom had an ally.
"He don't let y'," drawled the other. "Don't let y' go t' school.
Hm!--Say, y' know, I think I'd like that feller!"
He must get away! Suddenly throwing all the weight of himself and his
books into the effort, Johnnie tried to pull free of his companion,
using both hands.
The one-eyed man held on. His grasp was like steel--yes, even like Big
Tom's grasp. "Aw, sonny!" he cried, as if suddenly repentent. Then
seizing Johnnie under both arms, he swung him to the top of those steps.
That same moment wide doors opened before them, and a vast, dim place
was disclosed to the boy's astonished view. "Why--! What--! Oh--!" he
marveled.
The one-eyed man shut the doors by retreating and giving them a push
with his back. Then he thrust Johnnie toward a second flight of steps.
These led down to a basement only partly lighted, full of voices,
tramplings, and strange smells. Frightened, Johnnie made out the
upraised heads of horses--lines of them! He could see a group of men
too, each as big-hatted and shaggy-trousered as this one who still had
him about his middle.
A great cry went up from that group--"Yip! yip! yip! yip!
_yee-e-e-e-eow!_ One-Eye!"
"Oh, Mister," breathed Johnnie, "is it the circus?"