THE MAJOR SUPERINTENDS THE ANGEL'S EDUCATION.
"It's a nice, cool morning," said the ever sanguine Miss Bonkowski to
Joey, one day late in September, "so, if you will give me your solemn
promise--" and Miss Norma paused impressively, emphasizing her words
with nods of her blonde head, "not to go to any speakings, nor yet to
the dock to fish, nor to any fires, or to a procession, even if it's
right around the corner," and Miss Norma drew breath as she finished the
enumerating of his various exploits, "why, Angel here can play with you
until Mary Carew comes down to get her."
The Major--his cap a little more battered, his belt somewhat the worse
from constant wear, but clean as to face and hands, having just emerged
from the morning inspection of the Armory janitor, better known to the
neighborhood as Old G. A. R.--treated Miss Bonkowski to a salute and a
confidential wink, and edged up to the smiling Angel's side. "Yer jus'
leave her wid me," he responded reassuringly, "an' I ain't goin' to do
nothin' as ain't square."
And Miss Norma, whose faith in human nature, phoenix-like, ever sprang
up anew from the blighted hopes of former trust, accordingly turned her
darling over to Joey and hurried off. "For she's obliged to have some
one to play with and to get some fresh air somehow," the chorus-lady
argued for her own re-assuring, though it remains a mystery as to how
she could deceive herself into considering the garbage-scented
atmosphere of the neighborhood as fresh, "and Joey's by far the best of
the lot around here."
Meanwhile, the small subject of all this solicitude, in clean frock and
smiling good-humor, responded at once to Joey's proposal, and the two
sat down on the curbstone. In the constant companionship of their two
months' acquaintance, the little Major's growing interest in the Angel
had assumed almost fatherly proportions. Hitherto this zeal had taken
itself out in various expeditions for her entertainment similar to the
one ending in Mr. Tomlin's rescue. To-day it was produced in the shape
of a somewhat damaged peach purchased with a stray penny. But the Angel,
in her generous fashion, insisting on a division of the dainty, Joey at
first stoutly declining, weakened and took half, seeing to it, however,
that his was the damaged side.
"When yer was up there," he observed unctiously as he devoured his
portion--and he nodded his round little head toward that foggy and smoky
expanse about them, popularly believed by the population about the
Tenement to be the abode of angels--"when yer was up there, yer had
these kinder things every day, didn't yer?"
If her small ladyship's word could be taken for it, in that other life
still remembered by her, she had everything, even to hoky-poky ad
libitum, to her heart's content, though her testimony framed itself into
somewhat more halting and uncertain English.
"What did yer do up there, anyhow?" queried Joey curiously.
"Danced," the Angel declared, daintily devoting herself to her portion
of the peach, "her danced and--her danced."
This earthly vocation seemed to fail to appeal to Joey's imagination.
"Nothin' else?" he demanded anxiously. "Didn't yer never do nothin'
else?"
But the Angel had fallen to poking the green contents of the gutter with
a stick, and seemed to find the present more fascinating to contemplate
than the past.
"Didn't yer never go nowhere?" persisted Joey.
"Her went to school," the Angel admitted, or so it sounded to Joey.
"What 'ud yer do at school?" he inquired.
"Danced," was the Angel's unmistakable announcement.
Joey looked disgusted, but soon recovered and fell to revolving a new
idea in his fertile young brain.
"I know where there is a school," he remarked. "I've never went, but I
hung on ter the window-sill an' looked in, an' if yer went ter school
up there, yer oughter be goin' down here, see!" And forthwith Joey
arose.
Amiable as her small ladyship usually was, on this occasion, seeing
determination written on Joey's small countenance, she rebelled. "Angel
yants to stay here," the young lady declared, continuing to poke at the
contents of the gutter.
"I don't wanter make her cry," argued Joey wisely, then cast about in
his mind for an inducement. "They have parties to that school, they do,"
finally he observed, "fer I seen 'em settin' 'round tables an' eatin'
one day."
The guileless infant rose to the bait at once, and dropped her stick and
slipped her confiding hand in Joey's. "Angel likes to have parties," she
declared, and thus lured on, she forthwith followed Joey down the
street.
* * * * *
"Some one to see me," repeated pretty Miss Stannard, of the Darcy
College Settlement's Free Kindergarten, and laying down her blocks she
went to the door.
On the steps outside the entrance stood a small, chubby-cheeked boy
smiling up out of knowing brown eyes from beneath a soldier's cap many
sizes too large for him, while behind him stood a slender, graceful
child with wonderful shining hair, and eyes equally as smiling.
The small boy treated the tall, pretty young lady to a most confiding
nod and a wink. "I've brought her ter school," he remarked.
"Oh, have you?" returned the young lady laughing, "then I'd better
invite you in, I suppose," and she led the way toward the entry-room
where hung some dozens of shabby hats and bonnets. "And what is your
name?" she inquired.
"Her name is Angel, it is," responded the little fellow briskly, with
emphasis on the pronoun, as if to let the young lady understand at once
that her interest need extend no further than to the prospective pupil.
"Didn't a know I are Angel?" queried the smiling cherub with her
accustomed egotistical surprise.
"And what is your other name?" questioned Miss Stannard smiling.
"She ain't got no more," returned the escort succinctly.
"And what is yours?"
"Mine--oh, I'm just the Major, I am," with off-hand loftiness.
"Indeed? And where do you live, Major?"
"Fourth Reg'ment Arm'ry," responded the Major glibly.
"And the little girl,--Angel--you said--"
The Major looked somewhat surprised, "They come from Heaven,--Angels do,
yer know," he remarked, staring a little at the tall young lady's want
of such knowledge.
"Yes," responded the pretty lady gently, "but where is she living now?"
"Round by me," said the small boy briefly, showing some restlessness.
"With her father and mother?"
The Major, staring again, shook his head, and poor Miss Stannard,
despairing, of learning anything definite from this source, asked if he
would take her there after Kindergarten, and began to untie the little
girl's cap.
Evidently gratified at this attention to his charge, the Major said that
he would, and followed the two into the large, sunny room adjoining.
"The children are just going on the circle," said the pretty young lady,
"won't you take my other hand and go too."
The Major drew back hastily. "She's come ter school," he declared
indicating the Angel, "there ain't no school in it fer me. I'm a sojer,
I am."
"Then have a chair, sir, and watch us," said the young lady, with amused
eyes, as she brought out a little red chair with polite hospitality.
The young gentleman graciously accepting it, the Angel was forthwith
borne away to join the circle of children about the ring, and to Miss
Stannard's surprise, with no more ado, joined in the game like one
familiar with it all, waving her small hands, singing gaily and, when
her turn arrived, flitting gaily about the circle until the sash strings
of her little faded dress sailed straight out behind her.
And the game at an end, without waiting for direction or guidance, the
newcomer marched with the other children about the big room and took
her place with them at one of the tables spread with entrancing green
and yellow papers. And here, absorbed in directing the work at her own
table, and her two assistant teachers equally absorbed at theirs, Miss
Stannard was presently aroused by a nudge from 'Tildy Peggins, the
freckle-faced young person employed in a capacity of janitress and
nursery maid.
"Look a-yonder to that young willain, Miss Ruth," urged 'Tildy, whose
sentiments regarding the infant populace refused, despite all the
efforts of her employers, to be tempered by Kindergarten views.
Miss Stannard looked up hastily, and so did the twenty pairs of eyes
about her table.
From the depths of one pocket the Major had produced a cigarette, and
from the mixed contents of another he had extracted a match, and as the
twenty pairs of eyes fell on him, a fascinating curl of blue smoke was
just issuing from his lips.
'Tildy Peggins folded her arms on her flat chest and gave vent to a
groan. Already, with her gloomy views on Kindergarten regeneration
versus innate depravity, she foresaw the contamination of every
half-subjugated small masculine in the room.
Miss Stannard, with a shake of her head at 'Tildy, coughed slightly.
Instantly the eyes of the school left the Major and fixed themselves
expectantly on her pretty face.
"I thought you wanted to be a soldier, Major," she observed, addressing
the small gentleman.
"I is goin' to be," returned that unabashed gentleman, calmly sticking a
thumb in his belt, and in so doing pushing his jacket aside, so as to
further expose the military trappings about his round little person,
"I's a-goin' to be a sojer in the Fourth Regiment."
"No, indeed," said Miss Ruth, "the members of the Fourth Regiment are
gentlemen, and a gentleman would never have smoked in here without
asking if he might."
The Major looked somewhat moved out of his usual imperturbability. The
curl of offending smoke ceased.
"I know a soldier," Miss Ruth went on calmly, "and what is more, he is a
member of the Fourth Regiment, but he never would have done such a
thing as you are doing."
The cigarette trembled in the Major's irresolute fingers.
"And even if you had asked first," the steady voice went on, "I would
have said no, for such a thing as smoking is never allowed in this
room."
The Major's irresolute brown eyes met Miss Stannard's resolute brown
ones. Then the cigarette went out the open window behind him and the
work at the tables went on.
Presently Miss Ruth looked up again. "Won't you come," she said
pleasantly, touching a pile of the gay papers. "Are you not tired?"
The Major shook his head decidedly. "No, he would not," and finding a
chip among the apparently inexhaustible stores of his pockets, he next
produced a knife boasting an inch of blade and went to whittling upon
'Tildy's immaculate floor.
Miss Ruth saw it all, and presently saw the chip fall to the floor and
the round head begin to nod. Then, with 'Tildy Peggins' gloomy and
disapproving eye upon her at this act of overture, she crossed the room.
"Major," said Miss Ruth, just a little plaintively, perhaps, "do you
suppose you could do something for me?"
The Major was wide awake on the instant.
"These papers," explained Miss Ruth, while 'Tildy from her work of
washing windows, shook her disapproving head, "put all like this in a
pile on the table here, and all like this over here, and this
color,--here," and before Miss Stannard had gotten over to her table
again, the Major was deep in the seductive fascinations of Kindergarten.
It was when the three teachers, with 'Tildy's help, had at last
distributed the sixty hats, hoods, and caps, and started the loitering
groups on their homeward ways, that pretty Miss Stannard, putting on her
own hat, addressed her new pupils. "Now, Major, I am ready," she said,
and the three accordingly turned their steps toward the neighborhood of
the Tenement.
Miss Ruth's small escort had quite an idea of the proper thing to do,
and pointed out the landmarks as the three went along, the Angel's
friendly hand slipped confidingly into that of her new friend.
"I did hear as so many died in this yere house of the fevers this
summer," Joey remarked cheerfully, pointing to a wretched-looking
tenement building they were passing; "they'll give yer a room there now
fer nothin' to git a good name fer the house agin."
Miss Ruth shivered as they passed.
The Major next nodded toward a dingy saloon. "Here's where I take a
schooner an' a free lunch sometimes," he remarked confidentially.
The tall young lady's brown eyes danced as she glanced down at the small
person of the Major. "And how old are you, Major?" she inquired.
"Ha'f pas' seven, the Cap'n an' Old G. A. R., they say."
"The Captain? Old G. A. R.?"
"Uh, huh! The Cap'n's a good 'un, he is. He gim' me these yere togs, he
did, an' he told Old G. A. R. I might sleep to th' Arm'ry, see?"
Miss Ruth saw, and was just about to pursue the subject of Old G. A. R.,
when the Angel dropped her hand and with a gleeful cry ran ahead, and
Miss Stannard looked up to behold two females bearing down upon them.
Miss Bonkowski and Mrs. O'Malligan in fact, nor did they pause in their
haste, until the Angel was safe in Norma's embrace and the Major
anything but safe, in the clutches of the irate Irish lady.
"An' it's yerself, ye limb, an' plaze to tell us whut ye mane by it?"
the loud-voiced Mrs. O'Malligan demanded, "a-runnin' off with the
childer agin, an' the whole Tiniment out huntin' an' her niver to be
found at all, at all?"
But the sweet-faced, tall young lady coming to his rescue, the two women
softened, and reaching the Tenement, insisted on Miss Stannard coming
in, and hearing the Angel's story.
And on the way up to Miss Bonkowski's apartment, she learned that the
Tenement, that morning, had been convulsed from cellar to garret, by the
great honor bestowed upon it. For who but the Prima Donna, the Great
Personage of Norma's professional world, had just driven away in her
carriage after a visit of an hour and the Angel never to be found at
all!
"An' ma'am," explained Mary Carew, her bony face swollen with crying,
when Miss Stannard had been installed in one of the two chairs of the
apartment, "an' ma'am, it was fer th' Angel she come. A offerin' Norma
an' me anything we'd name to give her up, such a fancy as she's taken to
her, an' wantin' her fer her own."
"And you, what did you say?" asked Miss Ruth, gently, watching Mary with
tender eyes as she held the beautiful, chattering little creature so
jealously in her arms, and thinking as she watched, of the life and
reputation commonly accorded the great singer.
"Say?" came from Miss Bonkowski quickly, her befrizzled blonde tresses
fairly a-tremble with her intensity, and sticking the hat-pin recklessly
in and out of the lace hat she had taken off, "what did we say, you ask,
and knowing, as you and every body must, the kind of life and future it
would mean for a child that takes to things like this 'n does! With all
her money and her soft, winning ways, it is better, far better, for the
child with her disposition, to starve along with Mary an' me, than grow
up to that, if it was nothing more to be afraid of than being left to
servants and hotel people and dragged around from place to place in such
a life as it is. Not that I mean, ma'am," and Miss Bonkowski spoke with
quick pride, "that being in the profession need to make any body what
they shouldn't be, for I know plenty of 'em of the best, and am one
myself, though only a Chorus, but what with what's said about this one,
even with her good heart and generous ways, she's not the one to have
our Angel, though she meant it for the best."
"An' she said," Mary Carew took it up, "as how Norma's gettin' old, and
'll be dropped afore long from the Chorus, an' she offered her, she did,
in this very room, a' here before me, to buy out a Costumer as is
leavin' the business, an' start Norma in for herself, along of her
knowin' how to run a business such as that."
"And oh girls," declared Miss Stannard as she told this part of the
story to her assistant teachers afterward, "it was the bravest thing
I've met among the poor people yet. Think of the courage of those two
women, with poverty grimmer than they have yet known, ahead of them in
all probability, yet determined to resist the temptation because they
are assured it is not well for the child. Picture making jean
pantaloons, year in, year out, at barely living wages, yet having the
courage to put the matter so resolutely aside. After that, I could not
bring myself to tell them they had done wrong in the beginning in not
notifying the authorities. Of course there is some mystery about it. I
cannot for a moment accept their explanation of it. The child, beyond
question, is well born and has been carefully trained. And she goes
about among all the strange, queer inmates of that Tenement house as
fearlessly as a little queen. But, oh, the one that is a chorus-singer!
If you could see her! So lean, so sallow, so airy and full of manner.
But I will never laugh at another elderly chorus-singer again in my
life, she is grand, she's heroic," and the pretty Kindergartner
threaded gay worsteds into needles with a vigor which lent emphasis to
her words.
"She's powerful stuck up, too," asserted the gloomy tones of 'Tildy
Peggins, and she shook her mournful head, as she moved about
straightening the disordered room for the next day, "there's a man lives
in our Tenement wanted to keep comp'ny with her, but, la, she tossed her
yellow head at his waffle cart, she did, an' she said if he'd had a
settled h'occupation she might a thought about it in time, but she
couldn't bring herself to consider a perambulating business, an' that
was all there was to it. La, maybe she is grand an' 'eroic, but she's
got a 'aughty 'eart, too, that woman has!"