FRANZY FRANCOISE'S GALLANTRY.
While this reunited family, warmed to cordiality by the contents of the
aforementioned bottle, exchanged confidences, the evening wore on.
Franz had related the story of his escape and his subsequent adventures,
and finished by telling them how, by the merest accident, he had espied
Mamma and Nance upon their return from the Warburton mansion; and how,
at the risk of being detained by a too-zealous "cop," he had followed
them, and so discovered their present abode.
In exchange for this interesting story, Papa had briefly sketched the
outline of the career run by himself and Mamma during the ten years of
their son's absence, up to the time of their retreat from the scene of
the Siebel tragedy.
"We were doing a good business," sighed Papa, dolefully, "a very good
business, in that house. But one night there were two or three there
with--goods, and while the old woman and I were attending to business,
the others got into a fuss--ah. We had no hand in it, the old woman and
me, but there was a man killed, and it wasn't safe to stay there,
Franzy."
"Umph!" muttered the hopeful son; "who did the killin'?"
Papa glanced uneasily at the old woman, and then replied:
"We don't know, Franzy. The fight began when we were out of the room,
and--we don't know."
"That's a pity; wasn't there any reward?"
"Yes, boy," said Mamma, eagerly; "a big reward. An' if we could tell who
did the thing, we would be rich."
"Somebody got arrested, of course?"
"N--no, Franzy; nobody's been arrested--not yet."
"Oh, they're a-lookin' fer somebody on suspicion? I say, old top, if
nobody knows who struck the blow, seems to me ye're runnin' a little
risk yerself. S'pose they should run yer to earth, eh?"
"We've been careful, Franzy."
"S'pose ye have--look here, old un, don't ye see yer chance?"
"How, Franzy?"
"How! If I was you, I'd clear my own skirts, and git that reward."
"How? how?"
"_I'd know who did the killin'._"
And he leaned forward, took the bottle from Mamma's reluctant hand, and
drained it to the last drop, while Papa and Mamma looked into each
other's eyes, some new thought sending a flush of excitement to the face
of each.
"Ah, Franzy," murmured Mamma, casting upon him a look of pride, such as
a tiger might bestow upon her cub, "ye'll be a blessin' to yer old
mother yet!"
Then she turns her head and listens, while Franz, casting a wistful look
at the now empty bottle, rises to his feet the movement betraying the
fact that he is physically intoxicated, although his head as yet seems
so clear.
Again footsteps approach, and Mamma hastens to the door, listens a
moment, opens it cautiously, and peers out.
"It's that gal," she mutters, setting the door wide open. "Come in, you
Nance! Where have you been, making yourself a nuisance?"
Then she falls back a pace, staring stupidly at the strangely-assorted
couple who stand in the doorway.
A girl, a woman, young or old you can hardly tell which; with a face
scarcely human, so bleared are the eyes, so sodden, besotted and maudlin
the entire countenance; clad in foul rags and smeared with dirt, she
reels as she advances, and clings to the supporting arm of a black-robed
Sister of Mercy, who towers above her tall and slender, and who looks
upon them all with sweet, brave eyes, and speaks with sorrowful dignity:
"My duty called me into your street, madam, and I found this poor
creature surrounded by boisterous children, and striving to free herself
from them. They tell me that this is her home; is she your daughter?"
A look of anger gleams in Mamma's eyes, but she suppresses her wrath and
answers:
"No; she's not our daughter, but she's a fine trouble to us, just the
same. Nance, let go the lady, and git out of the way."
With a whine of fear, the girl drops the arm of the Sister, and turns
away. But her new-found friend restrains her, and with a hand resting
upon her arm, again addresses Mamma:
"They tell me that this girl's mind has been destroyed by liquor, and
that still you permit her to drink. This cannot be overlooked. She is
not your child, you say; may I not take her to our hospital?"
These are charitable words, but they bring Papa Francoise suddenly to
his feet, and cause Mamma's true nature to assert itself.
Springing forward with a cry of rage, she seizes the arm of the girl,
Nance, drags her from the Sister's side, and pushes her toward the
nearest pallet with such violence that the reeling girl falls to the
floor, where she lies trembling with fear and whimpering piteously.
"This comes of letting you wander around, eh?" hisses Mamma, with a
fierce glance at the prostrate girl. Then turning to the Sister of
Mercy, she cries: "That gal is _my_ charge, and I'm able to take care of
her. Your hospital prayers wouldn't do her any good."
As she speaks, Papa moves stealthily forward and touches her elbow.
"Hold your tongue, you old fool," he whispers sharply.
Then to the Sister he says, with fawning obsequiousness:
"You see, lady, the poor girl is my wife's niece, and she was born with
a drunkard's appetite. We have to give her drink, but we couldn't hear
of sending the poor child to a hospital; oh, no!"
Since the entrance of the Sister and Nance, Franz has apparently been
engaged in steadying both his legs and his intellect. He now comes
forward with a lurch, and inquires with tipsy gravity:
"Wot's the row? Anythin' as I kin help out?"
"Only a little word about our Nance, my boy," replies Mamma, who has
mastered, outwardly, her fit of rage. "The charitable lady wants our
Nance."
"The lady is very kind," chimes in Papa; "but we can't spare Nance, poor
girl."
"Can't we?" queries Franz, aggressively, turning to look at the
prostrate girl. "Now, why can't we spare her? I kin spare her; who's
she, anyhow? Here you, Nance, git up."
"Now, Franzy,"--begins Mamma.
"S'h-h, my boy,"--whispers Papa, appealingly.
But he roughly repulses Mamma's extended hand.
"Let up, old woman," he says, coarsely; and then, pushing her aside, he
addresses the Sister:
"I say, what--er--ye want--er--her for, any'ow?"
The Sister turns away, and addresses herself once more to Mamma.
"I cannot understand why that girl may not have proper care," she says,
sternly. "If her intellect has been shattered by the use of liquor, this
is not the place for her," pointing her remark by a glance at Franz and
the empty bottle. "Body and soul will both be sacrificed here. I shall
not let this matter rest, and if I find that you have no legal
authority--"
But again fury overmasters prudence. Mamma springs toward her with a
yell of rage.
"Ah, you cat-o'-the-world," she cries, "go home with yer pious cant! The
gal's--"
The words die away in a gurgle; the hand of Franz, roughly pressed
against her mouth, has stopped her utterance.
"Oh, get out, old woman!" he exclaims, pushing her away and steadying
himself after the effort. "Ye're gittin' too familiar, ye air."
Then seeing that the Sister, convinced of her inability to reason with
the unreasonable, had turned to go, he cried out:
"Hold on, mum; if ye want that gal, ye kin have her. _I'm_ runnin'
this."
"I shall not forget that poor creature," says the Sister, still
addressing Mamma and ignoring Franz; "and if I find that she is not--"
She leaves the sentence unfinished, for Mamma darts toward her with
extended clutches, and is only restrained by Papa's stoutest efforts,
aided by the hand of Franz, which once more comes forcibly in contact
with the virago's mouth, just as it opens to pour forth fresh
imprecations.
To linger is worse than folly, and the Sister, casting a pitying glance
toward the girl, who is now slowly struggling up, turns away and goes
sadly out from the horrible place.