FATHER PAT
AN energetic, hot, and dust-laden wind caught at Johnnie as he came out
upon the street, whipping strands of his yellow hair into his eyes and
about his ears, blowing the fringe at his knees and elbows, billowing
the big shirt till his ribs were fanned, and setting to wave gayly all
those pink rosebuds and their green leaves.
The wind did more: warm as it was, it calmed his thoughts and steadied
his brain, so that he was able to see the whole matter of the birthday
bouquet clearly, and reach a new and better decision in regard to the
flowers. Now he understood perfectly that in spite of whatever might
happen to him when he got home, he could not sell Mr. Perkins's gift. No
boy who intended to be a scout could do such a things--then return, even
with the large sum of one whole dollar, and expect Cis to speak to him
again. And how could he ever bear to admit such a sale to Mr. Perkins?
or to One-Eye?
"I'd rather fall down and die!" he vowed. "'Cause it'd show 'em all that
I ain't gittin' made over a bit!"
But if he did not dispose of the flowers to some one, as the
longshoreman had ordered, what then? Should he turn around and go
straight back to the flat--now? He halted for a moment, thinking. To go
back would, of course, mean a beating, perhaps with the buckle end of
the strap! (A thought that made him shiver as he stood there, on a hot
pave, in the summer sun.) Oh, was there not some way by which he could
keep the bouquet and yet not suffer punishment? Suppose he gave the
roses away? to the first old lady he met? and then reported to Big
Tom--with tears!--that a gang of boys had snatched the flowers out of
his hands? But that would be telling a lie, and a lie would be as bad,
almost, as taking money for Cis's blossoms. No, he would not lie, though
not so long ago, before he met the scoutmaster, and read the Handbook,
he would not have hesitated; indeed, he would have rejoiced in cheating
Barber, and complimented himself on thinking up such a clever story.
Suppose, however, that he were to sell the flowers for a dollar, keep
the money, and not return to the flat at all? For a moment this plan
seemed such a good one that he started off briskly, his look searching
the faces of passersby. Another moment, and he came short again. How
could he cut himself off from Mr. Perkins? For if he did, his hope of
being a scout, when he was twelve years old, would be gone. Also, there
was that wedding; he had set his heart on attending it, and walking the
red carpet between lines of envious onlookers. No, this was no time to
be leaving the flat.
Then, a splendid idea! And he made up his mind instantly that he would
carry it out, so on he started, though more slowly than before. His new
plan was this: He would walk, and walk, and walk, enjoying the buds all
the while, their delicate fragrance, the silken touch of their petals
against his chin. As he walked, he would not look at any one--just at
the scenery; so that when he returned home he could truthfully say that
he had seen no one even so much as look at the roses. No matter what any
stranger might say to him, he would not stop, and then he could declare
that nobody had stopped him. Also, should a lady or gentleman hail him,
asking to buy, he would not answer, and so he would be able to say that
he had not refused to sell.
He would stay out till it was late--till it was dark, and the three at
home were grown anxious. Then when he felt sure that Grandpa was abed,
back he would go, taking the roses to Cis. He would enter the flat
"staggerin', like I can hardly stand up." And mourn over his ill-luck as
a salesman. And if he had to take a whipping, "Well, I'll yell as hard's
I can" (everybody's window was open these soft June nights) "even if I
scare Grandpa a little, and I'll make Big Tom quit quick. And anyhow I'd
feel awful for a long time if I done what _he_ wants me to, but a
lickin', why, it don't last."
He felt a return of pride and self-respect. On he rambled, looking at
the scenery, and particularly at the higher portions of it, this so as
to avoid the eyes of passing people. Luckily for his peace of mind, he
did not know that cut flowers need water, or that they would wilt, and
be less fresh and beautiful than they were now. So, considering the
circumstances, his thoughts were cheerful, for while the coming evening
might bring him trouble and tears, the future not so immediate promised
praise and love and a clear conscience. "By mornin'--by this time
t'-morrow, the hurt'll be over," he reflected, and then without regrets
he could go in and look at Mr. Roosevelt, could face Aladdin, too, and
Galahad, Jim Hawkins, Mr. Lincoln, Daniel Boone and all his other
friends. (He had not read and studied that chapter on Chivalry without
results!)
Every one stared at the strange little figure in the big, ragged clothes
with a sumptuous bouquet of pink rosebuds held so high against his
breast, under his folded arms, that only his tousled hair and his gray
eyes showed. Some were curious, and swung round as he went by to look
after him. Others smiled, for the contrast between the boy and his
armful of blossoms was comical. A few looked severe, as if they
suspicioned that he had not come by the bouquet honestly. Now and then a
boy called to him, or ran alongside. At a corner, two girls caught at
one of the buds, missed it, then scampered out of reach, squealing. His
chin up, his eyes up, he ignored them all.
On and on he sauntered--west, then north. Perhaps he might go as far as
that store where New York bought all of its books. Being Sunday, of
course, the store would be closed. But it would be fine to have a look
in at the windows. From the book shop he would swing east again, for a
glimpse of the horse palace. It might just happen that One-Eye would be
back! Oh, if only----!
"Hey there!"
Somehow he knew that the call was at him. And though it was a man who
was hailing him, he pretended that he did not hear. But a whistle
blew--a police whistle. Instantly he brought up. According to one of
those twelve laws in the Handbook, a scout is obedient to "all other
duly constituted authorities," and Mr. Perkins had explained that
"constituted authorities" is simply a big word way, and a nice way, of
saying "cops." Johnnie turned about; and there was the large figure in
official blue, from whose gray mustache a whistle was at that moment
descending.
The policeman was standing in front of a grocery store. Shoulder to
shoulder with him was another man who was even larger--taller, and
wider, and thicker through. About this man's dress there was something
strange. He had on no tie. Instead, laid neatly below the narrow line of
his white collar was a smooth triangle of black.
Johnnie marched straight up to the two. "Yes, sir?" he said to the
patrolman. (He would have saluted if he had had a free hand.)
The patrolman stared, open-mouthed. Naturally enough he had jumped to
the conclusion, as some others had, that this boy in cast-off clothes
had not come by a valuable bouquet through purchase. He had expected
that Johnnie, when challenged, would promptly take to his heels. And
here----!
The gentleman who had on no tie was also staring in amaze. Externally
this boy with the roses was a guttersnipe. But--who in all his life ever
before saw a guttersnipe with eyes so lacking in cunning and roguery?
eyes, clear, honest, fearless, manly? "And that bright," the gentleman
declared, but as if he were talking only to himself, "that ye could fair
light a candle at 'em!"
Johnnie guessed that the candle-lighting eyes were his own. His ears
moved perceptibly backward and his cheeks lifted in a grin. He was
himself looking into a pair that were jolly and keen and kind--and
Irish. A soft straw hat shaded them; and short, flaming-red hair, which
filled in at either side of the head between hat and ear, served to
accentuate the green that tinged their mild gray. Below the eyes was a
nose unmistakably pugged. Lower still, a long upper lip gave to a mouth
(generous in size) that, smiling, showed itself to be full of dental
bridges made entirely of gold.
"Massy gold!" Johnnie reflected admiringly, "like the dishes Aladdin's
got." And he made up his mind, then and there, that when he was
grown-up, and could afford it, he would have gold bridges.
"And where d' ye think ye're goin' wid th' roses?" inquired the giant in
the blue uniform, managing a smile for this rarity among city urchins.
"No 'xact where," replied Johnnie.
"Well, then, little lad, dear," said the other man, "is it lost ye are?
or are all those sassy roses just coaxin' ye out into the sun?"
Now here was a thought that appealed! Johnnie's eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't
y' both like t' have a smell of 'em?" he asked, and lifted the bouquet
temptingly. "I was sent out to sell 'em."
Now witness a stern guardian of the peace, who but a moment ago had in
his mind the thought of "landin' a bit of a thief," leaning forward to
take a breath of the flowers. "Grand," he agreed. The larger man took
off his hat before he bent to inhale. "Dain-tee!" he cried, with an
enthusiastic shake of his red head; then to a half-dozen small loiterers
who were straining to hear, "There! there! Run along now, children dear!
Ye're wanted at the telephone!"
"I'll be tellin' certain folks a few things relatin' t' the sellin' o'
this or that on the street," now observed the policeman, vaguely. "Eh,
Father Pat?"
"I'll be glad t' go along with ye," returned the other, "and if things
're as bad as they look t' be, then it's Patrick Mungovan that'll do a
bit o' rakin'!" He settled the straw hat.
"Just where d' y' live, young man?" asked the policeman.
Johnnie had guessed from the tone of the priest that a "rakin'" was
something not altogether pleasant; had concluded, too, that it would
fall to the lot of Big Tom. So he gave the address gladly, and as his
two new friends stepped forward, was himself ten feet away in a flash,
and--going in the wrong direction!
"Here, now! Here!" called the officer after him, at once stern and
suspicious. "Don't ye be leadin' _me_ no wild goose chase!" Johnnie
having halted, the other came up to him and seized him by one big
sleeve. "Ye tell me one thing, and ye start the opp'site! How's that?"
"I guess I don't know where I am," admitted Johnnie. "Y' see, I don't
git out much, and so I don't know my way good."
"Now, what could be honester, Clancy?" chided the bigger man. "Shure,
ye can see by the color o' his skin that he's a shut-in.--So, now,
square about, little flower peddler, but, oh, go easy! easy! That is, if
ye want me t' go along, or, shure, big as I am, and fat----"
"Ye're _not_ fat, Father!" denied Clancy. They were all under way now,
with Johnnie in the middle.
"Well, solid then," amended the other, breathing hard. "Shure, it's me
that cuts up a big piece of cloth when it comes t' clothes, which is
deceivin' enough, since I'm back from the war. For what's a man--and
never mind his size--if his lungs is gone? or goin'?"
Johnnie turned upward a troubled look. "Did y' git hurt in the war?" he
asked.
"Well, maybe ye wouldn't call it hurt, exactly," answered the Father.
"Shure, they didn't let out anny of the blood of me, but 'twould've been
better, I'm thinkin', if they had. No, lad dear, they sent me over a
whiff of the gas, the wind bein' right for the nasty business, and I had
the bad taste t' swallow it."
As they fared along, Johnnie kept up a steady chatter in a manner that
was obviously friendly and cheerful, this in order to make passersby
understand that his return was in the nature of another triumph, and
that he had not been arrested. As for his look and carriage, they were
those of a proud boy.
By the time his companions had learned how matters stood in the flat,
the three had reached the stairs and begun a slow climb. With the
caution of his kind, the policeman did not allow Johnnie to lead the
way. The latter came second in the procession, the priest toiling last,
with much puffing and many a grunt.
The progress of the three being so leisurely, there was time for the
inhabitants of the building to hear of the interesting pair that were
ascending with Johnnie Smith, and to assemble in groups at the landings,
while excited chatter wafted the dust which the visitors raised, and
the stairs creaked alarmingly.
When the Barber door was reached, the representative of the law
paused--as if waiting for the priest to come up. In reality, standing
sidewise, one ear close to a panel, he listened to what was going on
inside. As Johnnie, with the bouquet waving against his breast, came to
a halt at the official heels, he heard it all, too--a roar of threats
and curses, loud stamping to and fro across a squeaking floor, while
like a sad accompaniment to a harsh tune there sounded a low, frightened
weeping.
Johnnie peered up into the policeman's face. Dark as was the hall, he
could see that Mr. Clancy's visage was stern. Father Pat was beside them
now, steadying himself by a hand on the rickety banister, while he laid
the other upon his breast as if to ease his panting. His look was
horrified.
The youngest of that trio rejoiced that Big Tom was acting so badly just
at this time. It meant that the "rakin'" would surely happen; and after
Father Pat had done his part, Johnnie hoped that the policeman would
arrest the longshoreman, drag him away to prison, and perhaps even whack
him a time or two with his polished stick.
These possibilities were comforting.