OF CANDIES AND CONFIDENCES
"Oh!" said Mrs. Trapes, "so you've come? Good land, Mr. Geoffrey,
there's parcels an' packages been a-coming for you constant ever since
you went out! Whatever have you been a-buying of?" And opening the door
of his small bedroom, she indicated divers packages with a saucepan lid
she happened to be holding.
"Well," said her lodger, seating himself upon the bed, "if I remember
rightly, there are shirts, and socks, and pajamas, and a few other
oddments of the sort. And here, when I can get it out of my pocket, is a
box of candies. I don't know if you are fond of such things, but most of
the sex feminine are, I believe. Pray take them as a mark of
my--er--humble respect!"
"Candy!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, turning the gaily bedecked box over and
over, and glaring at it fierce-eyed. "Fer me?"
"If you will deign acceptance."
"Candy!" she repeated, elbows a-twitch. "Fer me? Land sakes, Mr.
Geoffrey, I--I--" Here, very abruptly, she turned about and vanished
into the kitchen.
Mr. Ravenslee, lounging upon his white bed, was taking languid stock of
his purchases when Mrs. Trapes suddenly reappeared, clutching a toasting
fork.
"Mr. Geoffrey," she said, glaring still, "them candies must ha' cost you
a sight o' money?"
"True, certain monies were expended, Mrs. Trapes."
"They must ha' cost you well nigh a dollar-fifty, I reckon?"
"They did!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee, smiling.
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, and vanished again.
Mr. Ravenslee was sighing over a hideously striped shirt when Mrs.
Trapes was back again, flourishing a very large tablespoon.
"Mr. Geoffrey," said she, "it's nigh forty years since any one bought me
a box o' chocolates! An' now they look so cute all done up in them gold
an' silver wrappings as I don't wanter eat 'em--seems a sin, it do.
But--Mr. Geoffrey I--I'd like to--thank ye--" and lo, she was gone
again!
Mr. Ravenslee had just pitched the striped shirt out of the window when
behold, Mrs. Trapes was back yet once more, this time grasping a much
battered but more bepolished dish cover.
"Mr. Geoffrey," said she, "I ain't good at thankin' folks, no, I ain't
much on gratitood--never having had much to gratify over--but them
candies is goin' to be consoomed slow an' reverent and in a proper
sperrit o' gratitood. And now if you're ready to eat your supper, your
supper's a-waitin' to be ate!"
So saying, she led the way into the parlour, where upon a snowy cloth,
in a dish tastefully garnished with fried tomatoes, the English mutton
chop reposed, making the very most of itself; the which Mr. Ravenslee
forthwith proceeded to attack with surprising appetite and gusto.
"Is it tender?" enquired Mrs. Trapes anxiously. "Heaven pity that
butcher if it ain't! Is it tasty, kind of?"
"It's delicious," nodded her lodger. "Really, Hell's Kitchen seems to
suit me; I eat and sleep like a new man!"
"So you ain't lived here long, Mr. Geoffrey?" queried Mrs. Trapes,
eagle-eyed.
"Not long enough to--er--sigh for pastures new. Don't go, Mrs. Trapes,
I love to hear folks talk; sit down and tell me tales of dead kings
and--er--I mean, converse of our neighbours, will you?"
"I will so, an' thank ye kindly, Mr. Geoffrey, if you don't mind me
sucking a occasional candy?"
"Pray do, Mrs. Trapes," he said heartily; whereupon, having fetched her
chocolates, Mrs. Trapes ensconced herself in the easy chair and opening
the box, viewed its contents with glistening eyes.
"You're an Englishman, ain't you?" she enquired after a while, munching
luxuriously.
"No, but my mother was born in England."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes. "So was I--born in the Old Kent
Road, Mr. Geoffrey. I came over to N' York thirty long years ago as cook
general to Hermy Chesterton's ma. When she went and married again, I
left her an' got married myself to Trapes--a foreman, Mr. Geoffrey, with
a noble 'eart as 'ad wooed me long!" Here Mrs. Trapes opened the candy
box again and, after long and careful deliberation, selected a chocolate
with gentle, toil-worn fingers, and putting it in her mouth, sighed her
approbation. "They sure are good!" she murmured. "But talkin' o' Hermy
Chesterton's ma," she went on after a blissful interval, "I been
wondering where you came to meet that b'y Arthur?"
"Ah, Mrs. Trapes," sighed Ravenslee, leaning back in his chair and
shaking a rueful head, "you touch on gloomy matters. As the story books
say, 'thereby hangs a tale'--the dismal tale of a miserable wretch whose
appetite was bad, whose sleep was worse, and whose temper was worst of
all--oh, a very wretched wretch indeed!"
"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, stopping abruptly in the act of
masticating a large chocolate walnut, "so bad as that, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"Worse!" he nodded gloomily. "It is indeed a gloomy tale, a tale dark
and dismal that I love not the telling of, for, Mrs. Trapes, that more
than hopeless wretch stands, or rather sits, before you!"
"Save us!" ejaculated Mrs. Trapes, "meanin' yourself?"
"My unworthy self!"
"Lord!" she whispered, "what you been a-doin' of?"
"Wasting a promising life, Mrs. Trapes!"
"You mean," she questioned in a harsh whisper, "you mean as
you've--killed some one--accidental?"
"Oh, no, the life was mine own, Mrs. Trapes."
"Land sakes, Mr. Geoffrey, you give me quite a turn! Y' see, sometimes
folks gets theirselves killed around here--an' it's always
accidental--sure!" and Mrs. Trapes nodded meaningly and went on chewing.
"But say," she demanded, suddenly sharp of eye, "where does Arthur come
in?"
"Arthur comes in right here, Mrs. Trapes! In fact, Arthur broke into
my--er--life just when things were at their darkest generally. Arthur
found me very depressed and gloomy. Arthur taught me that life might yet
have its uses. Arthur lifted me out of the Slough of Despond. Arthur
brought me--to you! And behold! life is good and perchance shall be even
better if--ah yes, if! So you see, my dear Mrs. Trapes, Arthur has done
much for me, consequently I have much to thank Arthur for. Indeed, I
look upon Arthur--"
"Shucks!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, "that'll be about enough about
Arthur--Arthur, indeed! You oughter know his sister!" Now at this her
lodger started and glanced at her so suddenly, and with eyes so
unexpectedly keen that once again she suspended mastication.
"Now, in the name of all that's wonderful, Mrs. Trapes, why mention
her?"
"Why, because she's worth knowin'! Because she's the best, the bravest,
the sweetest thing that ever went in petticoats. She's beautiful inside
and out--mind, I've nursed her in these arms years ago an' I know
she's--oh, well, you ought to meet Hermy!"
"Mrs. Trapes, I have!"
"Eh? You have? My lan'!" Mrs. Trapes bolted a caramel in her
astonishment and thereafter stared at Ravenslee with watering eyes. "An'
you to set there an' never tell me!" quoth she, "an' Hermy never told
me--well, well! When did ye meet her? Whereabouts? How?"
"About half an hour ago! Coming up the stairs! I carried her grip!"
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, staring, "well, well!" and she continued
to munch candy and to stare and say "well!" at intervals until arrested
by a new thought. "That b'y!" she exclaimed. "Was Arthur with her?"
"No," answered Ravenslee, wrinkling his brows, "I lost him on my way
home."
Mrs. Trapes sighed and shook her head.
"The sun sure rises and sets for her in that b'y--an' him only her
stepbrother at that!"
"Her stepbrother?"
"Yes!" nodded Mrs. Trapes emphatically. "Hermy's ma were a lady, same as
Hermy is; so were her pa, I mean a gentleman, of course. But Hermy's
father died, an' then her ma, poor soul, goes an' marries a good-lookin'
loafer way beneath her, a man as weren't fit to black her shoes, let
alone take 'em off! And Arthur's his father's child. Oh, a good enough
b'y as b'ys go, but wild, now and then, and rough, like his dad."
"I see!" nodded her hearer, thoughtfully.
"Now me, though married ten long year, never 'ad no children, so ever
since Hermy's mother died, I've tried to watch over her and help her
as much as I could. She's had a mighty hard struggle, one thing and
another, Mr. Geoffrey, an' now I've known her an' loved her so long it
kind o' seems as if she belonged to me--almost!"
"She looks very good and--brave!" said Mr. Ravenslee.
"Good!" cried Mrs. Trapes, and snorted. "I tell you she's jest a angel
o' light, Mr. Geoffrey. If you'd seen her, like I have, goin' from one
poor little sick child to another, kissing their little hot faces,
tellin' 'em stories, payin' for doctor's stuff out of her bit o'
savings, mendin' their clo'es--an' prayin' over 'em when they
died--why--I guess you'd think she was a angel too! One sure thing,"
said Mrs. Trapes rising, "there ain't a breathin' man in all this whole
round earth as is fit to go down on 'is knees an' kiss 'er little
foot--not a one! No, sir!"
"No, I don't think there is!" said Mr. Ravenslee slowly.
"As for that Bud M'Ginnis," cried Mrs. Trapes, seizing on the coffee-pot
much as if it had been that gentleman's throat, "I'd--I'd like to--bat
him one as would quiet him for keeps--I would so!" and she jerked the
coffee-pot fiercely, much to the detriment of her snowy tablecloth.
"There! now see what I done, but I do get all worked up over that
loafer!"
"Pray why?"
"Why?" snorted Mrs. Trapes indignantly. "Hasn't he made eyes at her ever
since they was kids together? Hasn't he worried and worried at her, an'
because she won't look at him if she can help it, don't he try to get
back at her through that b'y--"
"How does he?"
"How? By puttin' him up to fightin' an' all sorts o' devilment, by
teachin' him to be tough, by gettin' him drunk--"
"Oh, does he?"
"Why, bless ye, Bud M'Ginnis can do anything with him!"
"How so?"
"Because Arthur jest worships M'Ginnis for his strength and toughness!"
"I see!"
"Yes, Arthur thinks there's nobody in the world could lick Bud
M'Ginnis."
"Hum! May I smoke, Mrs. Trapes?"
"Sure ye may!" she nodded, and began to collect the supper things. "I
tell you what," she exclaimed suddenly, flourishing the fork she had
just taken up, "if somebody would only come along an' thrash M'Ginnis,
thrash him good, it would be a sight better for every one around
here--it would so! M'Ginnis is always makin' trouble for some one or
other, an' there ain't a man big enough or got heart enough to stand up
to him--not even Spider Connolly. Wish I was a man, that's all--just for
an hour! Ah!" Here Mrs. Trapes snorted fiercer than usual, and the jut
of her elbows was deadly.
"And he gets Arthur drunk, does he!" said Ravenslee, puffing dreamily at
his pipe.
"Yes!" sighed Mrs. Trapes as she loaded a tray with the supper things.
"Hermy's seen him drunk twice, to my knowing, an' I thought it would
break her 'eart, poor dear! Y' see, Mr. Geoffrey, his father died o' the
drink, an' she's frightened for fear Arthur should go the same road. Oh,
Hermy's life ain't all ice-cream sodas an' lollipops, not much it ain't,
poor, brave, beautiful thing!"
Saying which, Mrs. Trapes, sighing again, took up her tray; Mr.
Ravenslee, having opened the door for her, closed it again, lighted his
pipe, and sinking into the easy-chair, fell into frowning thought.
The windows were open, and from the crowded court below rose the shrill
babel of many children's voices, elfin shrieks and cries accompanied by
the jingle of a barrel-organ, very wiry and very much out of tune; but
Ravenslee, deep-plunged in thought, heard nought of it nor heeded the
fact that the pipe, tight-clenched between his strong, white teeth, was
out. For Geoffrey Ravenslee had set himself a problem.
The barrel-organ ceased its jangle, the children's voices were gradually
hushed, as, one by one, they were called in by hoarse-voiced mothers and
led away to bed; and the gloomy court grew ever gloomier as evening
deepened into night. But still Mr. Ravenslee lounged in the easy-chair,
so motionless that he might have been asleep except for the grim set of
his jaw and the bright, wide-open eyes of him.
At last, and suddenly, he sat erect, for he had heard a voice whose soft
murmur he recognised even through the closed door.
"I don't know, Hermy dear," came in Mrs. Trapes' harsh tones, "I'm
afraid he's gone to bed--anyway, I'll see!" Ensued a knocking of bony
knuckles and, opening the door, Ravenslee beheld Mrs. Trapes. Behind her
stood Hermione, and in her eyes he saw again that look of wistful,
anxious fear he had wondered over at the first.
"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey," said Mrs. Trapes, "it's eleven o'clock, an' that b'y
ain't in yet. Here's Hermy been out hunting the streets for him and
ain't found him. Consequently she's worriting herself sick over
him--drat 'im!"
"Out on the streets!" repeated Ravenslee. "Alone?"
"Yes," answered Hermione, "I had to--try and find him."
"But alone! And at this hour! Miss Hermione, that was surely
very--er--unwise of you."
"Yes, you see I didn't know where to look," she sighed. "I've been to
the saloon but he wasn't there--"
"The saloon? Good Lord!" exclaimed Ravenslee, his placidity quite
forgotten, his face set and stern. "That is no place for you--or any
girl--"
"I must go to find Arthur," she said softly.
"No, not there--even for that."
"Why not?"
"Think of the--the risks you run! No girl should take such chances."
"Oh, you mean--that!" said Hermione, meeting his eyes with her frank
glance. "But no one would try to insult me hereabouts; this isn't
Broadway or Fifth Avenue, Mr. Geoffrey!" and she smiled a very sad,
weary little smile. "But I came to ask if you happened to know where
Arthur is or--whom he was with?"
"Wasn't wid that Bud M'Ginnis, was he?" questioned Mrs. Trapes sharply.
"No, he wasn't with M'Ginnis," answered Mr. Ravenslee, in frowning
perplexity, "but that's about all I can tell you."
"Thank you," sighed the girl, "I must go and try again. I know I shall
find him--soon." But, though she tried to speak in a tone of cheerful
confidence, her shapely head drooped rather hopelessly.
"You mean you are going out on to the--to look for him again?"
"Why, of course," she answered, "I must find Arthur!"
"Don't, Hermy, don't--so pale an' tired as you are, don't go again!"
pleaded Mrs. Trapes, her usual sharpness transfigured into a deep and
yearning tenderness; even her voice seemed to lose something of its
harshness. "Don't worry, my sweet, the b'y'll find his way home right
enough, like he did last time."
"Like--last time!" cried Hermione, and shivering, she leaned against the
wall as if she were faint. "Ah, no, no!" she whispered, "not--like last
time!" and bowing her head she hid her face in her hands.
Close, close about that quivering form came two motherly arms, and Mrs.
Trapes fell to passionate invective and tender soothing, thus:
"There, there, my love--my pretty, don't remember that last time! Oh,
drat my fool's tongue for remindin' you, drat it, my dear, my honey! Ah,
don't go breakin' your angel's 'eart along of Arthur, my precious--and
drat him too! That b'y'll come back all right, he will--he will, I know
he will. Oh, if I was only behind 'im with a toasting fork! There,
there, Hermy dear, don't fret, Arthur'll come home all right. My honey,
you're all tuckered out, an' here it's gettin' on to midnight, an' you
to go to Englewood by the early car! Go to bed, dear, an' I'll sit up
for Arthur. Only don't cry, Hermy--"
"Oh, I'm not crying, dear," said Hermione, lifting her head. "See, I
haven't shed a tear! But I must find Arthur. I couldn't rest or sleep;
I should lie listening for his step. So you see, dear, I must go out and
find him!"
Hereupon, with swift, dexterous fingers, Hermione straightened the very
neat hat which the embrace of Mrs. Trapes had rendered somewhat askew,
and, turning to the door, came face to face with Mr. Ravenslee, and in
his hand she beheld his battered hat, but she did not notice how
fiercely his powerful fingers gripped it.
"Miss Hermione," said he, in his soft, indolent voice, and regarding
her beneath languidly drooping lids, "pray accept the hospitality of
my--er--apartment. You will find the easy-chair is very easy, and while
you sit here with Mrs. Trapes, I'll find your brother and bring him here
to you."
"Thank you," she answered a little shortly because of his lazy tone or
his sleepy eyes, or his general languid air, or all of them together.
"Thank you, but I'm going myself; I must go, I--I couldn't wait--"
"Oh, but really you must, you know!"
"Must?" she repeated, looking her surprise.
"Ab-solutely must!" he answered softly, nodding so sleepily that she
almost expected him to yawn. "You really can't go out again to-night,
you know," he added. Hermione's blue eyes flashed, her delicate brows
knit themselves, and Mr. Ravenslee saw that she was taller than he had
thought.
"You mean you will--try to stop me?" she demanded.
"No, I mean that I--will stop you!"
"But you'd never dare--"
"I would dare even your anger in so good a cause. Ah, please don't be
angry with me, Miss Hermione, because--" and here his sleepy voice grew
positively slumberous, "you shall not go out into the streets again
to-night!"
"Ah, an' that's right too, Mr. Geoffrey!" cried Mrs. Trapes. "Hermy
needs some one strong enough to master her now an' then, she is that
wilful, she is so!"
But now all at once, as he watched, Hermione's eyes filled with great,
slow-gathering tears, her firm-set lips grew soft and quivered
pitifully, and she sank down in the easy-chair, her golden head bowed
upon the green and yellow tablecloth. The battered hat tumbled to the
floor, and striding forward, he had bent and caught one of her listless
hands all in a moment, and thereafter, though it struggled feebly once,
he held it closely prisoned in his own.
"Oh, don't!" he pleaded, his words coming quick and eager, "don't do
that! Do you think I can't see that you're all overwrought? How can I
let you go tramping out there in the streets again? You couldn't go--you
mustn't go! Stay here with good Mrs. Trapes, I beg of you, and I swear
I'll bring Arthur to you! Only you must promise me to wait here and be
patient, however long I am--you must promise, Hermione!"
She lifted her heavy head and looked at him through her tears. And
surely, surely in the face that bent above her was none of indolence or
languor. These lips were firm now and close-set, these lazy eyes were
wide and bright, and in them that which brought the warm colour to her
cheeks; but reverence was there also, wherefore she met his look, and
her fingers were not withdrawn from his until she had answered: "I
promise!"
"That's my wise dearie!" nodded Mrs. Trapes. "And good luck to ye, Mr.
Geoffrey, an' when you find that b'y, say as I wish--ah, how I wish I
was back of him with a toasting fork, that's all!"
Mr. Ravenslee caught up the shabby hat, opened the door, and going out,
closed it softly behind him.
"Hermy," said Mrs. Trapes, clasping the girl's slender waist in her long
arm and leading her into the brightest of bright little kitchens, "I
like that young feller--who he is I don't know, what he does I don't
know, but what he is I do know, an' that's--a man, my dear! An' he
called you--Hermione! Sounds kind o' pretty the way he says it, don't
you think?" But Hermione didn't answer.
Meanwhile Mr. Ravenslee, descending the monotonous stairs, paused
suddenly to smile and to clap hand to thigh.
"A toasting fork!" said he, "a toasting fork is an instrument
possessing three or more sharp points! Ha! Mrs. Trapes is a woman of
singularly apposite ideas." And he smiled a little grimly as he went on
down the stairs.