THE SURPRISE
"GIT on t' the size of it! . . . . Oh, my Aunt Sally! . . . . Lookee
what the cat brung in! . . . . Boys, ketch me whilst I faint! . . . . Am
I seein' it, or ain't I--w'ich? . . . . Say! they's more down cellar in
a teacup!"
Johnnie understood that it was all about himself, and even guessed that
he looked a little queer to these men who appeared so strange to him.
They were gathered around in a boisterous circle, exclaiming and
laughing. He revolved slowly, examining each. Some were stocky and some
spindling. Two or three were almost boyish; the others, as old as
One-Eye. But in the matter of dress, one was exactly like every other
one--at least so far as could be judged by a small boy in a moment so
charged with excitement.
He felt no resentment at their banter, sensing that it was kindly. He
liked them. He liked the great, mysterious basement. He felt precisely
like another Aladdin. No magical smoke had gone up, and no stone had
been lifted. Yet here he was in a new and entrancing world!
He would have liked to stay right there at the foot of the stairs for a
long time, in order to give adequate study to every one of the shaggy
men. But One-Eye suddenly grasped him by the hand again and led him
away--down a long, curving alley that took them past a score of horses.
Each horse was in a stall of its own, and under each was straw as
yellow as Johnnie's own hair. Electric bulbs lit the whole place
grandly, disclosing saddles and straps and other horse gear, hung at
intervals along the alley.
In one of his swift visions, he now saw himself as a member of this
fascinating crew, wearing, like them, long, hairy breeches, a wide hat,
spurs, and a neckerchief, and setting gaily forth in a cavalcade to be
admired by a marveling city!
Far along, where the alley swerved sharply, One-Eye halted him. Here was
a vacant stall, except that it was half-filled with straw. A coat hung
in it, and in the iron feed box in one corner nested a pair of boots.
Plainly this was a camping place, and Johnnie thrilled as they turned
into it, and he stood almost waist deep in clean bedding.
"Have a chair," insisted One-Eye, with a gentle shoulder pat.
Johnnie sat. Even as he went down he felt that he really was coming to
understand this new friend better. Of course there was no chair. It was
just the other's way of saying things--an odd, funny way. His back
braced against a stall side, he grinned across at One-Eye, now squatted
opposite him, and smoking, this in splendid disregard of a sign which
read plainly: _No Smoking_.
Johnnie did not speak. His experience with Big Tom had taught him at
least one valuable lesson: to be sparing with his tongue. So he waited
the pleasure of his companion, sunk in a trough of the straw, ringed
round with books, his thumbs in his palms and his fingers shut tight
upon the thumbs through sheer emotion, which also showed in two red
spots on his cheeks.
"Reckon y' don't want t' go out no more t'night," observed One-Eye,
after a moment.
"No." Johnnie held his breath, hoping for an invitation.
It came. "Thought y' wouldn't. So camp right here, and to-morra we'll
powwow."
"All right." Johnnie's voice shook with relief and delight; with pride,
too, at being thus honored. He rolled up the coat for a pillow when
One-Eye rose and threw it down to him; and being offered a horse
blanket, pulled it up to his brows and lay back obediently, to the peril
of the orange, which was under him, and so to his own discomfort.
"So long, sonny." The single green eye gleamed down at him almost
affectionately from under the wide brim.
"Thank y'," returned Johnnie.
For a long time he lay without moving, this for fear One-Eye might come
back. When he took his books out of his shirt, he did not read, though
the stall was brightly lighted, only watched a pair of nervous brown
ears that kept showing above the stall-side in front of him. Something
was troubling him very much. It seemed to be something in his forehead;
but it was in his throat most of all; though that spot at the end of his
breastbone felt none too well.
Whatever it was, it had a great deal to do with Cis (the mere thought of
her made his eyes smart) and with Grandpa. Freedom and new friends he
had; more books, too, than he could read in a year--or so it seemed to
him as he measured the pile under the orange. Then why, having the best
bed he had known since the one with the blue knobs at Aunt Sophie's, why
could he not go to sleep? or, if he was not sleepy, why did he not want
to read? or summon to him Aladdin, or David with Goliath, or Mr.
Rockefeller?
He pulled hard at his hair.
The truth was, he was learning something about himself. He was finding
out that to get away from danger was only part of his problem: the other
part was to get away from his own thoughts, his feelings--in short, his
conscience. For try as he might, as he lay there, he could not keep the
wheel chair out of his sight!
It stood before him in the yellow bedding, and the little old man seated
in it kept holding out trembling hands. The thin, bearded face was
distorted pathetically, and tears streamed from the faded eyes. If
Johnnie turned his head away from the chair, he met other eyes--eyes
young and blue and gentle. Poor Cis, so shy always, and silent; so
loving and good!
Down into One-Eye's coat went Johnnie's small nose, and so hard that to
this unfreckled feature was instantly transferred the pain in his
forehead and throat and breast; and his hurt was for a moment changed
into the physical, which was easier to bear. Yes, they were left behind
alone, those two who were so dear to him.
Even with the horse blanket over both ears he could hear the wheel chair
going from the stove to the window, from the window to the hall door,
while the old soldier whimpered and called. He could hear Cis call,
too--his name. But it was Grandpa who hurt him the most. Cis was quite
grown-up, and had girl friends, and her work, and the freedom to go to
and from it. But Grandpa!--his old heart was wrapped up in his Johnnie.
So childish that he was virtually a little boy, he had for Johnnie the
respect and affection that a little boy gives to a bigger one.
Next, bright, shining, birdlike eyes were smiling at him--Mrs. Kukor!
The horse blanket shook. At either side of Johnnie's nose a damp spot
came on One-Eye's coat.
But fortunately the trembling and the tears were seen by no human eyes,
only by a brown pair that belonged to those brown ears. And presently,
when the nearest lights went out, leaving Johnnie's retreat in gloom,
the pictures that smote him changed to those of a sleeping dream, and he
wandered on and on through a vast white garden that grew hats and
coats--in a double row.
When he wakened, the lights were on again. As he rose he made up his
mind to win One-Eye's consent to his remaining in this big palace--which
had turned out to be a horse palace. "'Cause I dassn't go back!" he
decided. The enormity of what he had done in leaving the flat and
staying away a whole night, he now realized. A creepy feeling traveled
up and down his spine at the thought of it, and he shook to his
calloused heels.
Then with a grin, he remembered that no one knew where he belonged.
Furthermore, as One-Eye did not believe that Johnnie Smith was his real
name, he had only to hint that he was somebody else, which would throw
his new friend completely off the track.
He leaned against the stall and pulled at his hair, considering that
problem of staying on. To his way of thinking, there was only one good
scheme by which to win the approbation of anybody, and that scheme was
work. So when he had tugged at his hair till the last straw was out of
it, he pattered off down the runway, determined to find some task that
needed to be done.
The great place appeared strangely deserted as to men. So he came across
no one whom he could help. As for the occupants of the giant circle of
stalls, he did not know what service he could offer them. He felt fairly
sure that horses' faces were not washed of a morning. And they had all
been fed. But why not comb their hair? Searching up and down for a
possible comb, he spied a bucket. Then he knew what he could do.
The job was not without its drawbacks. For one thing, the horses were
afraid of him. They wrenched at their hitching-chains when he came close
to their heels, or blew noisily, or bunched themselves into the forward
ends of their stalls, turning on him startled, white-rimmed eyes. He
offered the dripping bucket only to the more quiet ones.
He worked his way down the long line that stood nearest the spigot, now
staggering and splashing as he lugged a full pail, now scampering back
happily with an empty one. And he was beside a stairway, and on the
point of taking in a drink to the horse stalled closest to the entrance,
when he heard several voices, the creak of doors, and footsteps. So he
paused, the bucket swinging from both hands, until half a dozen pairs of
shaggy legs appeared just above him. Then as the big hats were bobbing
into view, so that he knew his labors could be seen and appreciated, he
faced round with the pail and entered the stall.
The next moment there sounded a dull bang, followed by the loud ring of
tin, a breathless cry, and the swish of flying water--as Johnnie came
hurtling headlong out of the stall, the bucket preceding him, a shod
hoof in his immediate wake, and the contents of the pail showering in
all directions. There was a second bang also dull, as he landed against
the bottom step of the stairs at the very feet of the horrified men.
A chorus of cries went up. But Johnnie's voice was not a part of it.
Hurt, winded, and thoroughly scared, he lay in a little ragged heap, a
book thrusting up the big shirt here and there, so that he looked to
have broken not a few bones.
"That flea-bit mare!" charged One-Eye, dropping Johnnie's breakfast and
picking up the boy.
"Pore kid! . . . . And he was workin'! . . . . Is he hurt bad? . . . .
That ongrateful bronc'! . . . . Totin' the blamed thing water,
too!"--thus they sympathized with him as he swayed against One-Eye, who
was steadying him on his feet.
Breath and tears came at the same moment--the latter in spite of him.
But he wept in anger, in disappointment and chagrin and resentment,
rather than in pain. The books having now fallen into place in the pouch
of the shirt, it was evident there were no fractures.
"Shore of it," pronounced One-Eye. "I've felt him all over."
Furthermore, a book had undoubtedly received the full force of the
implanted hoof; and save for a darkening patch on Johnnie's left arm, he
was as good as ever, though slightly damp as to both spirits and
clothing. For it was his feelings that were the more injured. His
proffer of a drink had been repaid by an ignominious kick that had
landed upon him under the very eyes of those whom he most wanted to
impress.
"Now what'd Mister Vanderbilt say if he knowed!" mourned One-Eye; "or
Mister Astor! They'd be plumb sore on me!--My! my! my!"
These remarks shifted Johnnie's inner vision to other scenes, and having
already guessed that he was not broken in two, he considered One-Eye's
plaint with something of a twinkle in his eyes, and fell once more to
dragging at his hair.
Willing hands now refilled the battered bucket and washed his tear-wet
face. After which One-Eye recovered the breakfast--an egg sandwich and a
banana--and proceeded to lay down the law.
"With that hurt arm o' your'n, sonny," he began, "it's back to home,
sweet home. And if that feller, Tom, licks y', w'y, I'll jes' nat'ally
lick him."
"You couldn't lick him," informed Johnnie, turning his sandwich about in
search for a location thin enough to admit of a first bite. "He's the
strongest longshoreman in N'York. He can carry five sacks of flour on
his back, and one under both arms."
Disdainfully One-Eye lifted his lone brow, and he passed over the
remark. "The point is," he continued, "that if y' ever figger t' go
back, now's the time."
Johnnie saw the argument. And to his own surprise he found himself
willing to go. "Prob'ly Big Tom'll only pull my ear," he said
philosophically. "And he won't do that much, even, if--if _you_'ll go
along."
"Will I!" cried One-Eye. "Wal, it'd take a twenty-mule team t' holt me
back!"
"Honest?" For this fellow was a wag, and there was no telling what he
really meant to do.
"If I don't, I'll eat my shaps!" promised One-Eye.
"Then I guess you better tie up my arm," went on Johnnie, which bit of
inspired diplomacy sent the whole sympathizing group into whoops of
laughter.
"Ain't he the ticket?" demanded one man.
One-Eye 'lowed that he was.
The tying was done. First the purplish spot was swathed in white; and as
the injury was below the raveling edge of the sleeve, the bandage was in
plain sight, and carried conviction with it. Next a sling was made out
of a blue-patterned handkerchief of One-Eye's. Proudly Johnnie
contemplated the dressing. Here was not only insurance against a
whipping, but that which lent him a peculiar and desirable distinction.
"You'll go all the way up with me?" he asked One-Eye. (Now was the time
to make sure of the future.) "Y' see it's Sunday. He'll be home."
"Up and in," vowed the latter. "Come along!"
There were hearty good-bys to be said, and Johnnie had his well arm
thoroughly shaken before One-Eye helped him climb the stairs. He would
gladly have prolonged his leave-taking. For one thing, he had not half
inspected that mammoth basement--not to mention the huge, dim place
overhead. And the horse that had kicked him merited a second look. But
"Let's go whilst the goin's good," counseled One-Eye. So Johnnie fell in
beside him, holding well to the front that interesting bandage.
"Y' live far?" One-Eye wanted to know. This was when they were out by
that lamp post which had lighted Johnnie's reading.
"Clear 'way down to the other end of Broadway almost," boasted Johnnie.
"'N' then you go over towards the Manhattan Bridge."
"That so! Clear way down!--And how'd y' git up this far?" That green eye
was as keen as a blade.
"Rode up--in a' automobile." Johnnie did not like to spoil the picture
by explaining that the automobile was a truck, and that he had found it
strewn with chicken-feathers.
"All right," returned One-Eye. "Then we'll ride _down_." Inserting a
knuckle into his mouth between two widely separated teeth that were like
lone sentinels, he blew a high, piercing summons. At the same time, he
swung his arm at a passing taxicab, stopping it almost electrically. And
the thing was done.
As the taxicab rolled to the curb, Johnnie turned his back upon it for a
last look at the palace. How huge it was! "And I'll bet the Afercan
magician couldn't even move it," he decided. He promised himself that
one day he would come back to it, and climb to its several towers.
"A-a-a-a-all aboard!" One-Eye lit a large, magnificently banded cigar.
He handed a second, fully as thick and splendid, to the staring, but
respectful, individual who was to drive them--a young, dark man, very
dirty, and in his shirt-sleeves (he was seated upon his coat), who
seemed so impressed by the elder of his passengers as to be beyond
speech. "Over t' Broadway, and down," instructed One-Eye. "We'll tell y'
when t' whoa."
Calmly Johnnie climbed into the taxicab, and carelessly he took his
seat. Then the car plunged westward before a reeking cloud of its own
smoke. Under way, he elevated that small nose of his and drank deep of
the--to him--good smell of gasoline. Had not his Aunt Sophie often
pronounced it clean and healthy?
However, despite this upward tilting, he did not appear to be at all
proud of the fact that he was riding; and One-Eye fell to watching him,
that green eye round with wonder. For here was this little ragamuffin
seated high and dry in a first class taxi, and speeding through the city
in style, yet with the supreme indifference of a young millionaire!
"City younguns shore take the bak'ry!" One-Eye observed admiringly,
aiming the remark at his driver, who sat somewhat screwed about on his
seat in such a way that he could, from block to block, as some other car
slowed his machine, regale his astonished eyes with those fur-fronted
breeches.
"Oh, this banana'll be enough," politely returned Johnnie, having caught
the word bakery but missed the real meaning of the statement. Calmly as
ever, he divested the fruit of its skin and cast the long peelings upon
the floor of the cab. In his time he had sat for hours at a stretch in
the regal limousines of Uncle Albert's rich man; and he regarded a
taxicab without awe.
One-Eye chuckled.
Presently Johnnie was dragging at his mop as he ate. Which was proof
that he was meditating. Indeed he was thinking so hard that he failed to
note the large amount of attention which he and his companion were
attracting. So far he had not mentioned Grandpa to this friendly
stranger--this for fear of harming his own case, of hastening his return
home. Now the omission somehow appeared to be almost a denial of the
truth. Nor had he spoken of Cis. All this called for correction before
the flat was reached.
By way of clearing up the whole matter, he began with an introduction of
Cis. "There's a girl lives where I do," he announced casually.
"Y' don't say! Sister? Cousin? She must 'a' missed y'."
"No relation at all. But she's awful nice--I like her. She's sixteen,
goin' on seventeen, and I'm goin' t' steal her away soon's ever I grow
up."
"I git y'.--Say, Mister, go slow with this gasoline bronc' of your'n! Y'
know I'd like t' see little old Cheyenne oncet more before I check
in,"--this to the chauffeur, as the taxicab shaved the flank of a street
car going at high speed, then caromed to rub axles with a brother
machine.
"You'll meet her," promised Johnnie, who did not think they were going
too fast, and who had completely forgotten it was Sunday, which meant
that Cis would be at home without fail; "'cause once before, when I
burnt my hand, she stayed away from work two whole days. Big Tom never
lets Grandpa be alone." (He thought that rather a neat way to bring in
the old man.)
With a sidewise tipping of the big hat, One-Eye directed a searching
look to the bare head at his elbow. "Other days, _you_ take care of said
ole man," he returned.
Johnnie nodded. "I like him."
The silence that followed was embarrassing. He knew One-Eye was watching
him. But not liking to glance up, he was unable to judge of his
companion's attitude. So he began again, changing the subject. "Cis is
awful pretty," he confided. "Once she was a May Queen in Central Park
for her class at school, only it wasn't in May, and she had all the ice
cream she could eat. Mrs. Kukor made her a white dress for that time,
and I made some art'ficial vi'lets for 'round her hair. Oh, she looked
fine! And she saw the Prince of Wales when he was in N'York and ever
since she's liked just him."
One-Eye took the cigar from his mouth. "It'd be a grand match for her,"
he conceded. His tone implied that the alliance with Royalty was by no
means a remote possibility.
"A-a-a-aw!" scoffed Johnnie, flashing up at One-Eye a wise smile. "All
the girls at Cis's fac'try seen him, too, and they all like him just the
same as she does. But the Prince, he's got t' marry a Princess."
One-Eye agreed. "Pretty tough," he observed sympathetically, and went
back to his cigar.
"So Cis'll have t' marry a movin'-picture actor," concluded Johnnie;
"--or a cowboy."
At that the cigar fairly popped from One-Eye's countenance. "A cowboy!"
he cried, the green eye dancing. "W'y, that'd be better'n a Prince!"
"It would?" Johnnie considered the idea.
"Certainly would--t' _my_ way of thinkin'." In their brief acquaintance
One-Eye had never before shown such interest, such animation.
"How d' you mean?"
"I mean," answered One-Eye, stoutly, "that cowboys is _noble_ fellers!"
Before Johnnie could argue the matter further, or ask any one of the
thousand questions that he would have liked to get explained regarding
cowboys, the driver interrupted to demand how much farther southward he
was expected to go; and as Chambers Street was even then just ahead, the
eastern turn was made at once, which set Johnnie off along a new line of
thought--his coming ordeal.
And this ordeal was not the meeting with Big Tom, which he dreaded
enough, but which he believed would not have to be endured for at least
some hours; it was the having to face, in company with this rich and
important acquaintance, that gang of boys who so delighted to taunt him.
Anxiously his gray eyes searched ahead of the taxicab, which was now
picking its way too swiftly through streets crowded with children. This
ability to invest the present with all the reality of the future, how
wonderful it could be!--but how terrible! For he was suffering greatly
in advance, and writhing on the leather-covered seat, and all but
pulling out his yellow hair.
"Arm ache y'?" One-Eye wanted to know.
"Guess so," faltered Johnnie. Then his face turned a sickly pale, and he
shouldered a bit closer to his escort. A feeling of suffocation meant
that his breath had stopped. And upon his untanned forehead oozed the
perspiration of dismay. Also, his cheeks mottled. For just before them
were two of those boys whom he feared!--as if they had sprung from a
seam in the sidewalk! They were staring at the taxicab. They were
looking at Johnnie (who stole a nervous look back). Now they were
following on!
Johnnie's jaw set; his teeth clenched. He steeled himself to bear public
insult.
Too many children had now brought the taxicab down to a crawling gait.
Slowly it rolled on through shouting, Sunday-garbed youngsters. And fast
grew the crowd which kept pace with it. But it was a silent crowd, as
Johnnie's ears told him, for his chin was on his breast and his eyes
were fixed upon the meter--in agony, as if he, and not One-Eye, would
have to pay a charge which had already mounted high in three figures.
_Why_ was that crowd silent? And what were those boys preparing to
do--two were now several--who held all things in scorn? who made even
the life of the patrolman on the beat a thing to be dreaded?
The uncertainty was crushing.
"Home in a jiffy," soothed One-Eye, who felt sure the ride had been too
much of a strain.
"Stop here," whispered Johnnie, catching sight, after a turn or two, of
one of those entrances which gave to the area.
The taxicab stopped. In a hush that actually hurt, One-Eye rose and
descended, flipping a five-dollar bill to the driver. "But don't you
go," he directed. "I'll want y' t' tote me back uptown."
Johnnie rose then--feebly. Once more he held that bandaged arm to the
front. His faltering eyes said that the injury was a plea--a plea for
courteous treatment before this distinguished stranger. Oh, he knew he
was a girlish-headed ragbag, but if they would only spare him this once!
One-Eye took his hand. "Step careful, sonny," he advised, almost
tenderly. Then to those pressing round, "Back up, won't y'? Give this
boy room? Don't y' see he's hurt?"
This was what so emboldened Johnnie that he decided, even as a bare foot
sought the running-board of the machine, to take one good look around.
He paused, therefore, lifted his head, and let his glance deliberately
sweep the crowd.
What he saw fairly took his breath; brought a flush to his sober little
face, and strengthened him, body and soul--but especially spine. For
before him was a staring, admiring, respectful, yes, and fascinated,
even awe-struck, assemblage. There were grown people in it. There were
more above, to both sides, leaning out of windows. And every mouth was
wide!
Was it One-Eye in his startling garb? or the professional touch to his
own appearance, in the shape of that dramatic, handkerchief-slung arm?
or was it both?
No matter. Instantly reacting to this solemn reception, Johnnie managed
a pale smile. "Much obliged!"--this he said gaily as his feet touched
the concrete. He was experiencing such pride as had been his before only
in his "thinks."
This was a moment never to be forgotten!
"Now maybe I better lead--ha?" What satisfaction there was in addressing
One-Eye thus familiarly in the teeth of the enemy!
"Break trail!" said One-Eye. Then, "Gangway!" he sang out to the crowd.
Next, with a swift circular fling of an arm, he scattered a handful of
small coins to right and left upon the street.
The crowd swayed, split, and scattered like the money. A path cleared.
One-Eye at his side, Johnnie stepped forward.
Now he would have liked to hang back, to loiter a bit, delaying their
disappearance, and enjoying the situation. But One-Eye, ignoring every
one, as if crowds bored him, was headed for the hall like a fox to its
hole, taking long, impressive, shaggy-legged strides.
Behind, the boys Johnnie had feared scrambled without shame for
One-Eye's small silver. While he, the "Old clothes," the "Girl's hair,"
the mocked and despised, was walking, as man with man, beside the
wonderful One-Eye before whom those same boys had not dared to utter a
single slur!
His satisfaction was complete!
"Home again!" he cried, feeling ready to do a hop-skip except that it
would take away from the effect they had made.
Oh, he could stand a whipping in the privacy of the flat if a whipping
was waiting for him at the top of those three flights--now that this
public part of the return had gone so magnificently!