CHANGES
IT was a blue Monday. In fact, it was the bluest Monday that Johnnie had
ever spent in the flat. The urge of unrest was upon him. He had been out
once, and far into the great world. And, oh, _how_ he yearned to go out
again! And just wander up Broadway to Fifth Avenue, the morning sun on
his back, and the wind in his hair, while he gave more strangers an
opportunity to do those pleasant and generous things which it seemed the
privilege of strangers to do. A second trip, and there was no telling
but that he might come back to the flat fairly bowed under a load of
things!
He took a peep at his books; but he could not settle down to read. And
he was able to get through with a hasty trip to Chickamauga by forcing
himself to be patient with Grandpa. Also, that morning was a bad one for
millionaires. He called up none of the four. If a millionaire had
chanced by and offered to adopt him, Johnnie would have said a flat No.
Cowboys! Rivals, these were, of the famous quartette. And the moment
Grandpa was asleep, Johnnie got on the telephone, called up one of the
larger stores, and ordered a complete cowboy outfit--from hat to spurs.
And having received his order with lightning rapidity, he put it on at
once, and began to stride to and fro, gesturing and talking bad grammar
in his best possible imitation of One-Eye. He ended this fascinating
game by trying to pinch his eye in the door.
Naturally the door led to the idea of taking a walk.
And the walk made him think of the dog. He had seen a handsome dog while
he was riding in the truck--a black dog with a brown spot over each eye.
At once he determined to have one like it. "Here! Boof! Boof!" he
called. And the dog came to him across the kitchen, wagging a bushy
tail, and was warmly greeted, and fed. A fine, shining dog collar was
then ordered and presented, after which Johnnie made a hasty toilet by
splashing his face with his well hand and drying it on the cup towel,
and the two started off.
There was no fire in the stove, and Johnnie told himself that there was
nothing to worry about in leaving Grandpa behind for a little while.
Without haste, this time, and without even a thought of Big Tom, Johnnie
sallied forth, the dog at his side.
He had no misgivings as to the treatment he would receive from the boys
of the neighborhood. The question of his social standing had been
settled. He even got ready to whistle a tune, so that if any boy's back
was turned, and there was danger of Johnnie's not being seen, he could
call attention to himself--he, the intimate friend of a real cowboy.
But every one saw him. That was because he took his time. On the other
hand, he saw no one; but paid the closest attention to signs, and
windows, to carts, and the contents of shops, and he halted to pet an
occasional horse, or to shy a bit of brick at a water plug. Thus he
traveled the four sides of his block. Whenever he met boys, they were
too impressed to be saucy. He sauntered past them, his hands in his big
pockets, his chin in the air.
"Well, y' see how it is," he observed to Boof as they turned homeward.
And he swaggered.
Back in his area, he found a small gathering--several children, a few
women, and one old man. He blushed out of sheer happiness, believing
them to be drawn up to see the Friend of a Cowboy pass in. And he
climbed the stairs, whistling as he went, and smiling to himself in the
dusk of the poorly lighted halls.
Entering the flat, he found One-Eye. At first he could not trust his
eyes, for his new dog had followed in, and was wagging a black tail, and
he could see the dog as plainly as he could see his friend. But noting
that Grandpa was playing with a red apple, he knew that the cowboy was
really there.
So that was why there had been a crowd in the area!
But he did not rush to One-Eye. For some reason or other his feet were
stone, and he felt shame--and guilt. He said a low-spoken Hello!
There was no warmth in One-Eye's greeting, either. "Knocked," informed
the Westerner. "Got no answer. Then I heard the ole gent kinda whinin',
and so I come in." While he talked, that single green eye was peering
out of the kitchen window. The tanned face wore a curious, stern look.
"Yes, sir," said Johnnie, swallowing. "He always is like that if I go
out t' walk a little." His heart was sorer than ever. He felt helpless,
and forlorn. A wall had risen between himself and his wonderful friend.
And he wished that One-Eye would burst out at him as Barber would have
done, and give him a piece of his mind--oh, anything but this manner so
polite yet so full of cool displeasure!
However, One-Eye had a second apple, which he presented to Johnnie, and
this helped to clear the air. And the latter, hoping to win back
One-Eye's good opinion, wiped off a table knife, halved the apple, and
scraped it, giving the juicy scrapings to the toothless old soldier.
At once One-Eye became less absent-minded. "Wal, how's the arm?" he
asked. "The boys tole me t' shore find out."
"Oh, it hurts a little," declared Johnnie, "but I don't mind. Say, how's
the cross horse?" One half of the apple scraped, Johnnie ate the red
shell of it. "And have y' been to the rest'rant again? And I s'pose all
them white-dressed men and ladies, they can eat all they want to of
ev'ry kind of de-_licious_ things!"
One-Eye 'lowed they could. That lone orb of his was roving about the
flat as if he was looking for some one. And presently, clearing his
throat, "The young lady, she don't seem t' be at home," he observed,
with studied carelessness.
"Not till six," reminded Johnnie. "She works."
It was then that One-Eye drew from a pocket under those furry trousers a
third, and a mammoth, apple. "Wal, when she comes," he suggested, "y'
might jes' give her this."
"Oh, gee!" cried Johnnie. It was the largest apple he had ever seen.
"She'll like it. And she thinks you're grand!"
This proved to be such a master stroke of diplomacy as Johnnie had not
imagined. One-Eye glowed under the compliment, and went various shades
of red, and blew smoke from his cigar furiously. Now the last trace of
hardness went from the weathered countenance, the drooping mustache
lifted to show toothy gaps, and even the marble of that eye softened.
"Now, say!" exclaimed the cowboy. "Y' ain't stringin' me, are y'? She
said that? Wal, this world is a shore funny place! Right funny! Jes'
recent I paid a lady here in town six-bits t' read the trails in my
hands. And she tole me, 'Y're going t' meet a high-toned gal.' And
now----!"
He said no more after that, only smoked, and stared at Johnnie's sky
patch, and twiddled a spurred boot. The cigar finished, he rose and
shook hands solemnly, first with Grandpa, who giggled like a delighted
child; then with a somewhat subdued Johnnie.
"My!" breathed the latter as the clump, clump of the spurred boots died
away on the stairs. He felt more regret and sorrow over being found
lacking by One-Eye than ever he had felt over a similar discovery made
by Big Tom. He realized that he would do more to win just the smile of
the one than he would to miss the punishment of the other. And there was
a sting in his little interior, as if some one had thrust a needle into
him, and left a sore spot; or as if he had swallowed a crust or a
codfish bone, and it had lodged somewhere.
He gave over thinking about wearing a cattleman's outfit, and began once
more to turn his thoughts inward upon the flat. He sought out _Aladdin_
from the precious pile of books and opened it at the page he had been
reading when One-Eye's voice had fallen for the first time upon his
ears. And at once he was again living with the Chinese boy that story of
stories.
The day sped. Whenever Grandpa interrupted him, Johnnie would go to look
at Cis's apple. He would take it up, and turn it, and smell it. He
looked at it affectionately, remembering who had bought it, had had it
in his hands, and carried it. It brought that dear one close.
"Good One-Eye!" murmured Johnnie, and first making certain that even
Grandpa was not watching, he laid the apple against one of his pale
cheeks. Somehow it comforted him. He pictured Cis's surprise and joy
when, having been told to shut her eyes and put out her hands, she would
see the crimson-skinned gift.
About this he received a cruel shock. For when Cis came slipping in,
with an anxious look around, as if she feared Johnnie might not be
there, and had gone through the--to her--annoying preliminary of shut
eyes and outstretched palms, there was plain disappointment on her face
as she saw what Johnnie had to give her. And when he told her whose gift
it was, far from changing her attitude, and showing the pride he
expected, what she did was to burst into peals of laughter!
It was like a slap in the face. He stared at her, not able to comprehend
how she could belittle a present from such a source. And all at once he
felt himself more in sympathy with Big Tom than he did with her, for Big
Tom at least held One-Eye in high honor, and considered his visit to the
flat a compliment.
Now she added insult to injury. "What a funny thing to give a girl!" she
cried. Then daintily taking a whiff of the fruit, "But then it'll scent
up my box fine." She went to tuck it among her belongings.
Not a word of gratitude! And she was crossness itself when, her dress
changed, she sallied forth to set to work on the wash. That this task
had something to do with her lack of sweet temper never occurred to
Johnnie, whose opinion of girls had received another setback. As he
watched her drag forward the tub and fall to rubbing, he half-way made
up his mind to wait his chance, take the apple out of that old box, and
eat it! He sat at the window, counting the stars as they came into his
rectangle of faded blue, and was glad that he now had a dog. A girl
around the house was so unsatisfactory!
Next day, with Cis's wash swinging overhead in a long, white line, he
finished _Aladdin_ and took up _Robinson Crusoe_. And with the new book
there opened to him still another life. Swiftly the palaces of Cathay
melted away. And Johnnie, in company with several fighting men, was
pacing the deck of a storm-tossed ship, with a savage-infested shore to
lee. Gun in hand, he peered across the waves to a spit of sand upon
which black devils danced.
By nightfall, what with fast reading, and by skipping many a paragraph
which was pure description, the oilcloth table was a lonely island
inhabited by no human being, the morris chair was the good ship
stranded, with all on board lost except Crusoe and Johnnie, who, while
the seas dashed over them, roaring, breathlessly salvaged for their
future use (Johnnie's hurt arm was out of its sling all this time) the
mixed contents of the kitchen cupboard.
Big Tom interrupted this saving of provender. And Crusoe's friend was
curtly ordered to wash some potatoes for supper, and lay the plates, and
not leave everything for Cis to do. The order was accompanied by that
warning flash of white in Barber's left eye. It brought to an end
Johnnie's period of convalescence.
That night he did more pondering as he lay on his mattress beside the
cookstove, his eyes looking far away to the three stars framed by the
window sash, and the dog asleep at his side. He had always done much
thinking, being compelled to it by loneliness. Now he took stock of
himself, and came to the conclusion that he was not like other boys.
Being the only blond-haired boy in the area building had something to do
with it. Having to do housework had more. Then he had none of the
possessions which the other boys of his own age treasured--bats, and
balls, "scooters," roller skates, yes, even water pistols.
Being different from other boys, he could not, he decided, do as they
did. They had freedom: he was shut in. Once he had thought that this
shut-in condition was due to the strange views of Big Tom. But now, all
at once, he realized that One-Eye agreed with the longshoreman. So did
the Chinese tailor, Mustapha!
He made up his mind that hereafter he would stay close to home.
He spent nearly the whole of the next day most contentedly with Robinson
Crusoe. It was ironing day, but when he had finished the small pieces,
Mrs. Kukor took the rest upstairs. Then Johnnie, dressed from head to
toe in peltry, moored at his elbow that lonely isle. And for him the
wrecked ship gave up the last of its stores, cannibals danced, beacons
were lighted, stockades built, and there swept in upon that East Side
kitchen a breeze that was off the Southern Seas.
Shortly after the evening meal a night or two later, One-Eye knocked,
finding Johnnie up to his elbows in the dishpan, while Barber smoked and
Cis dried the supper plates. The cowboy seemed much embarrassed just at
first, and avoided Cis's smiling look as she thanked him for the apple.
Her little speech over, however, he soon warmed into quite a jovial
mood.
"Jes' had t' see sonny, here, t'night," he declared. "Y' know it's so
seldom a feller meets up with a kid that's worth botherin' about. Now
this one strikes me as a first-class boy"--praise that instantly and
completely wiped out that hurt somewhere in Johnnie's interior.
One-Eye had not come empty-handed. He had cigars for Big Tom, a paper
bag of pears for every one, and a carefully wrapped box tied with
glistening string which turned out to be candy. As a chorus of delight
greeted all these gifts, he became by turns the leathery saffron which,
for him, was paleness, and the dark reddish-purple that made onlookers
always believe that he was holding his breath. "Aw, shucks!" he cried to
the thanks. "It ain't nuthin'. Don't mention it. It's all right. _Eat!_"
Then happened the almost unbelievable: Big Tom, who never made visitors
welcome, and never wasted kerosene, actually lifted down the lamp and
lighted it, and would not hear of One-Eye's taking an early departure.
The cowboy's importance was making him welcome; also, his gifts. For
greed was the keynote of Barber's character. The latter haw-hawed at
everything One-Eye said. And Johnnie gazed in amazement at the unusual
spectacle of Big Tom's face wrinkled by laughter.
He talked about himself. He had been moving barrels all day; doing
prodigious things. Furman had all but fallen dead when he surveyed what
that one pair of hands had accomplished. "And he bet me I couldn't take
up two barrels at a time," he boasted. Then pushing out his cheeks, "But
say! It was duck-soup!"
"Barrels of duck-soup?" One-Eye wanted to know. And the kitchen
resounded with such unwonted laughter that a window or two went up
outside, to right or left, some neighbor thinking a row was under way.
Hearing the noise, Barber stalked to his own window, flung it high,
leaned out, and glared about. The other windows went down then, and Big
Tom slammed his own shut, begrudging any family in the building the
sound of One-Eye's voice. "That Gamboni!" he growled. "Can't mind his
business t' save his life! But you bet he didn't open his mouth when he
seen me lookin'! No, sir! They all shut up their sass when they spy
yours truly! Ha-ha-a-a-a! I could break 'em in two!"
Johnnie felt a chill travel down his spine. He compared One-Eye to his
foster father again. Oh, what would have happened if these two had not
met on friendly terms? had on his account come to blows? How would it
have fared with the cowboy in the grasp of those hands which were
steel-constructed?
"Y' look consider'ble strong," admitted One-Eye, rolling the green
marble the length of Barber appraisingly. "But I ain't such a slouch
myself. Can throw my steer yet, slick as that!" Which was going far for
One-Eye in the boasting line.
He came to the flat often after that--and never again found Johnnie
away, though occasionally Big Tom was. He always brought cigars for the
longshoreman, and fruit or candy, or both, for the others. He never had
a great deal to say, but being something more than a common man, he
would dry dishes if there were dishes to dry, or help split kindling for
the morning fire; and once he scrubbed the sink.
If he said little, nevertheless he inspired others to talk. For some
reason he was anxious to get from Johnnie the story of the boy's past
life, which was not so complete as One-Eye would have liked, since
Johnnie had forgotten the surname of his Aunt Sophie. He remembered her
as a tall woman with big teeth and too much chin who wore plaid-gingham
wrappers and pinched his nose when she applied a handkerchief to him.
He remembered Aunt Sophie's living rooms above the rich man's
garage--rooms warm, clean, and brightly lighted, with pictures, and
crisp curtains, and a thick, rose-patterned rug in the parlor. In her
kitchen was a great cookstove called "The Black Diamond," which seemed
like some live thing, for it had four claw-shaped feet, and seven
isinglass eyes ranged in a blazing row upon a flat face. Under the eyes
were toothlike bars forming a grate. These seemed always to be grinning
hotly. Often when the stove was fed with the ebony lumps that Aunt
Sophie said it loved, its burning breath was delicious. Then Johnnie's
aunt, half doubled above it, drew out of it rich, brown roasts, and pies
that oozed nectar; or ladled up fragrant soups and golden doughnuts.
Johnnie described how grandly he had lived at Aunt Sophie's. He had
slept in soft, white night clothes. Always, when he waked, Aunt Sophie
had pulled him out of these and dropped him into a big tub of warm
water, then rubbed him pink with a large, shaggy towel. Sometimes Uncle
Albert took him for a run in one of the millionaire's huge, glistening
cars.
His last memory of the garage had to do with the clanging ambulance
that took Aunt Sophie to the hospital. Johnnie never saw her again, for
she died there; and it was after her death that Tom Barber clambered up
the straight, steep flight of stairs that led from the street door. When
he went down it, Johnnie was with him, clinging to one of Big Tom's
thumbs.
"Then I reckon Mister Barber's a relative," said One-Eye.
"Only by marriage," declared Cis. She was certain of that.
"But why'd he bother takin' a kid that is no relation?" persisted the
Westerner.
Cis smiled wisely. "Work," she answered laconically.
One-Eye understood. "And who was the rich gent?" he asked.
Johnnie could not remember the name. "But once," he told proudly, "he
left a' orange for me, and I used it like a ball till the skin busted."
"Y' know what street that was on, don't y'?" inquired the cowboy.
Yes, Johnnie knew that. The street was West Fifty-fifth.
"And what about your mother?" One-Eye wanted to know.
"Well, I had one--once," declared Johnnie. "I'm sure of that. And she's
dead." Also at one time he had possessed a father, who was dead, too.
"My father and my mother," he informed the cowboy, "died the same day."
That single eye opened wide at this news. "The same day?" One-Eye
demanded.
"Drownded," said Johnnie. Though how and where he could not tell, and
did not even know his father's name, which Cis felt sure was not Smith.
"I thought as much!" remarked their visitor, wisely. "And what about
_your_ Paw and Maw?" he inquired of Cis, who knew names and dates and
facts about her parents, but was completely in the dark as to the
whereabouts of any living kinspeople. She had lived in a flat in the
next block till her father died. When her mother married Tom Barber, she
had moved out of her birthplace and into the area building. And that was
all there was to tell, except that her own full name was Narcissa Amy
Way.
"Cute!" declared One-Eye, going a beet-red.
"Have _you_ got a mother?" asked Cis.
"Both dead," answered One-Eye, knowing that the two would understand
what he meant.
"Three orphans," returned Cis. The blue eyes misted, and the pointed,
pink chin quivered. And the others knew what _she_ meant.
Indeed, at the sight of her brimming eyes One-Eye felt so keenly that,
without warning, he put his head back in a most surprising fashion,
opened his mouth, shut that one eye, and broke into a strange plaint.
The others concluded that One-Eye was making a curious, hoarse noise
ceilingward for some reason. Presently, however, Cis made out that the
noise was a tune: a tune weird but soul-stirring. Music, as Cis could
see, was One-Eye's medium of expressing his emotions. And then and there
it became her firm conviction that he was bearing a great and secret
sorrow.
It was Johnnie who first learned the words of the tune. And when he
could repeat them to Cis, both realized how appropriate they had been
under the circumstances, for they ran:
"Oh, blame me not for weepin',
Oh, blame me not, I say!
For I have a' angel mother,
Ten thousand miles away!"
Having got to the end of a verse, One-Eye sat up, smiled feebly, darted
a bashful glance at Cis, and went on with his questions. "What was Uncle
Albert's name?" he wanted to know.
But as Johnnie could not remember Aunt Sophie's name, naturally enough
he could not remember his Uncle Albert's, both names being one and the
same. His Uncle was a figure that this small nephew had greatly
admired--straight, be-capped like a soldier, and soldierly, too, in his
smart, dark livery.
"They's somethin' mysterious about the hull proposition!" pronounced
One-Eye.
That night when One-Eye was about to leave, he asked Cis what he might
buy her for Christmas. Cis was shy about answering, and declared that he
need not buy her anything: he had bought her so much candy, and that was
enough--more than enough. But One-Eye pressed the question. "Aw, name
somethin'!" he pleaded. "Can't y' think of a pritty that y'd like
awful?"
Cis thought. And having taken some time to turn the suggestion over,
while One-Eye watched her, and Johnnie mentally made up a long list of
possible gifts, "I'd like very much," she faltered, "if I could have a
nice doll."
What was there about the request that seemed to stagger One-Eye? Looking
at him, Johnnie saw that big Adam's-apple move convulsively, while the
green eye swam, and the lantern jaw fell. "A--a doll?" the cowboy
repeated feebly.
Cis knew that somehow she had said the wrong thing, and hastened to ease
the situation. "Oh, just a teeny, weeny one," she compromised. "You see,
Mr. One-Eye, I've never had but one, and I thought before I got _too_
big--because I've seen small dolls that were so sweet!--and I--and
I----"
But there she stopped, blushing painfully. To cover her embarrassment,
she dashed into her closet room and brought out Letitia, ragged dress
and all, as if the sight of the poor beloved would speak for her more
eloquently than she could for herself.
Which proved to be the case. For One-Eye stared at Letitia till that
single eye fairly bored through her sawdust frame. Next he took her up
and turned her about, his lips shut tight. His mustache stood up, he
gulped, and his hand trembled.
Then suddenly he rose. "Got t' go," he announced.
He went. He forgot to shake hands. He pulled the big hat far down across
his forehead. He stubbed his toe on the doorsill.
Cis and Johnnie hung out of the window a long time after, talking low
together, so as not to be overheard by the Gambonis, for the early
December night was surprisingly warm, and the building had all its
windows up. They speculated upon One-Eye's conduct. Johnnie was
distressed--and on two scores: first, that One-Eye should have gone so
abruptly; second, that Cis, when given a chance to ask for something,
had not named a gift worth having, such as another book.
"But you've got more books now than you've had time to read!" she
protested. "And anyhow One-Eye is sure to give you a Christmas present."
She was not cast down, but smiled at the sky, and talked of the new
doll, which she intended to name--Edwarda.
"Should think you'd name her after One-Eye," went on Johnnie; "long's
he's givin' her to you."
"_How_ could I name her after him?" she retorted. "What would I call
her?--Two-Eyes? I'm not going to spoil her by giving her a crazy name."
Eager to have her dreams to herself, she forsook the window for her own
room, and shut the door.
The next morning, while Johnnie and Grandpa were returning from the
field of Gettysburg, here, ascending from the area came the shrill
voice of the Italian janitress: "Johnnie Smith! Johnnie Smith!"
That meant the postman. And the postman was an event, for he came not
oftener than once in three months, this to fetch a long, official
envelope that had to do with Grandpa's pension. But the pension was not
due again for several weeks. So what did the postman have to leave?
Bursting with curiosity, excitement and importance, Johnnie very nearly
broke his neck between his own door and the brick pave. And here was a
letter addressed to himself: Johnnie Smith, in Mr. Thos. Barber's flat.
Then the street and the number, the whole having been written on a
typewriter.
"Why--! Why--! Who can it be from?" Johnnie muttered, turning the letter
over and over, while heads popped out of windows, and sundry small fry
gathered about Johnnie and the postman.
"Maybe you'd find out if you opened it," suggested the latter, who was
curious himself.
Johnnie opened; and drew forth a single large page, white and neat, when
it was unfolded. Upon it was written a short, polite note which read:
"_Dear Johnnie, I'm going away for a few days. Cannot tell just when I
shall be back. Take care of yourself. Yours very respectfully,--_" Here
One-Eye had signed his name.
The signature was hard to make out. Not only because it was badly
written but because there was something the matter with Johnnie's eyes.
"One-Eye's goin' away," he told the postman, not ashamed of the tears he
wiped on the back of a hand. "Oh, my goodness!" He climbed the stairs
with his square little chin on his breast.
Cis made him feel worse when she came home. Because instead of being
equally cast down, she was full of criticism. "My! One-Eye never wrote
that!" she declared. "A stenographer fixed that all up for him. Sure as
you live."
This was too much. Johnnie jerked the letter out of her hand. He caught
up Letitia by one dwindling arm and cast her headforemost into Cis's
room. And there is no telling what else might not have happened if, at
that moment, the janitress had not begun to call again, though this time
it was Cis she wanted. And what she had for Cis was a heavy pasteboard
box that was nearly as long as the table. In the box, wearing a truly
gorgeous dress and hat and shoes, was--Edwarda.
"A Princess of a doll!" cried Cis, dancing with happiness.
Later on, when she had put Edwarda to bed for at least the tenth time,
she came to comfort Johnnie. "Never mind," she said, "he'll be back. And
while he's gone, you can play he's here." Then with a far-away look in
her blue eyes, "What would _I_ do if I didn't pretend _HE_ was here!"
Johnnie groaned. The idea of her bringing up the Prince in the face of
such grief as his! It made him sick. He pinned the letter inside his
shirt. He dragged out the mattress and flung himself down. He would not
let her light the lamp. He yearned for the dark, where he could hide his
tears.
Oh, everything was swept away! Everything!
And even the dog, crowding close against him comfortingly, could not
lessen his pain.