OF A TEXT, A LETTER, AND A SONG
Ravenslee opened his eyes to find his small chamber full of a glory of
sun which poured a flood of radiance across his narrow bed; it brought
out the apoplectic roses on the wall paper and lent a new lustre to the
dim and faded gold frame that contained a fly-blown card whereon was the
legend:
LOVE ONE ANOTHER
And with his gaze upon this time-honoured text, Ravenslee smiled, and
leaping out of bed proceeded to wash and shave and dress, pausing often
to glance glad-eyed from his open window upon the glory of the new day.
And indeed it was a morning of all-pervading beauty, one such that even
Mulligan's, its dingy bricks and mortar mellowed by the sun, seemed less
unlovely than its wont, and its many windows, catching a sunbeam here
and there, winked and twinkled waggishly.
So Ravenslee washed and shaved and dressed, glancing now and then from
this transfigured Mulligan's to the fly-blown text upon the wall, and
once he laughed, though not very loudly to be sure, and once he hummed
a song and so fell to soft whistling, all of which was very strange in
Geoffrey Ravenslee.
The sun, it is true, radiates life and joy; before his beneficence gloom
and depression flee away, and youth and health grow strong to achieve
the impossible; even age and sickness, bathed in his splendour, may
forget awhile their burdens and dream of other days. Truly sunshine is a
thrice blessed thing. And yet, as Ravenslee tied the neckerchief about
his brawny throat, was it by reason of the sun alone that his grey eyes
were so bright and joyous and that he whistled so soft and merrily?
Having brushed his hair and settled his vivid-hued neckerchief to his
liking, he turned, and stooping over his humble bed, slipped a hand
beneath the tumbled pillow and drew thence a letter; a somewhat crumpled
missive, this, that he had borne about with him all the preceding day
and read and reread at intervals even as he proceeded to do now, as,
standing in the radiant sunbeams, he unfolded a sheet of very ordinary
note paper and slowly scanned these lines written in a bold, flowing
hand:
Dear Mr. Geoffrey
I find I must be away from home all this week; will you please watch over
my dear boy for me? Then I shall work with a glad heart. Am I wrong in
asking this of you, I wonder? Anyway, I am
Your grateful
Hermione C.
P.S. I hear you are a peanut man. You!!
Truly the sun is a thrice-blessed thing--and yet--! Having read this
over with the greatest attention, taking preposterous heed to every dot
and comma, having carefully refolded it, slipped it into the envelope
and hidden it upon his person, he raised his eyes to the spotted text
upon the wall.
"You're right," quoth he, nodding, "an altogether wise precept and one I
have had by heart ever since she blessed my sight. I must introduce you
to her at the earliest--the very earliest opportunity."
Then he fell to whistling softly again, and opening the door, stepped
out into the bright little sitting room. Early though it was, Mrs.
Trapes was already astir in her kitchen, and since sunshine is
indubitably a worker of wonders, Mrs. Trapes was singing, rather harshly
to be sure, yet singing nevertheless, and this was her song:
"Said the young Obadiah to the old Obadiah,
Obadiah, Obadiah, I am dry.
Said the old Obadiah to the young Obadiah,
Obadiah, Obadiah, so am I.
Said the young--"
The song ended abruptly as, opening the door, she beheld her lodger.
"Lordy Lord, Mr. Geoffrey," she exclaimed a little reproachfully,
"whatever are you a-doin' of, up an' dressed an' not half-past five
yet?"
"Enjoying the morning, Mrs. Trapes, and yearning for my breakfast."
"Ah, that's just like a man; they're almighty good yearners till
they get what they yearns for--then they yearns for somethin'
else--immediate!"
"Well, but I suppose women yearn too, sometimes, don't they?"
"Not they; women can only hope an' sigh an' languish an' break their
hearts in silence, poor dears."
"What for?"
"Would a couple o' fresh eggs an' a lovely ham rasher soot ye?" enquired
Mrs. Trapes.
"They will suit."
"Then I'll go and fry' em!"
"And I'll come and look on, if I may," said he, and followed her into
her neat kitchen.
"And how," said Mrs. Trapes, as she prepared to make the coffee, "how's
the peanut trade, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"Flourishing, thanks."
"The idea of you a-sellin' peanuts!"
"Well, I've only been guilty of it four days so far, Mrs. Trapes."
"Anyway, you've disgusted Hermy!"
"Ah, so you told her, did you?"
"O' course I did!"
"And what did she say?"
"Laughed at first."
"She has a beautiful laugh!" said Ravenslee musingly.
"An' then she got thoughtful--"
"She's loveliest when she's thoughtful, I think," said Ravenslee.
"An' then she got mad at you an' frowned--"
"She's very handsome when she frowns!" said Ravenslee.
"Oh, shucks!" said his landlady, slapping the ham rasher into the pan.
"And she was very angry, was she?"
"I should say so!" snorted Mrs. Trapes, "stamped her foot an' got red in
the face--"
"I love to see her flush!" said Ravenslee musingly again.
"Said she wondered at you, she did! Said you was a man without any pride
or ambition--an' that's what I say too--peanuts!"
"They're very wholesome!" he murmured.
"Sellin' peanuts ain't a man's job, no more than grinding a organ is."
"There's money in peanuts!"
"Money!" said Mrs. Trapes, wriggling her elbow joints. "How much did you
make yesterday--come?"
"Fifty cents."
"Fifty cents!" she almost screamed, "is that all?"
"No--pardon me! There were three pimply youths on Forty-second
Street--they brought it up to seventy-five."
"Only seventy-five cents? But you sold out your stock; Tony told me you
did."
"Oh, yes, trade was very brisk yesterday."
"And you sold everything for seventy-five cents?"
"Not exactly, Mrs. Trapes. You see, the majority of customers on my beat
are very--er--small, and their pecuniary capabilities necessarily
somewhat--shall we say restricted? Consequently, I have adopted
the--er--deferred payment system."
"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Trapes, staring, "d'ye mean ter say--"
"That my method of business is strictly--credit."
"Now look-a-here, Mr. Geoffrey, I'm talkin' serious an' don't want none
o' your jokes or jollying."
"Solemn as an owl, Mrs. Trapes!"
"Well, then, how d' you suppose you can keep a wife and children, maybe,
by selling peanuts that way or any way?"
"Oh, when I marry I shall probably turn my--attention to--er--other
things, Mrs. Trapes."
"What things?"
"Well--to my wife, in the first place."
"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey, you make me tired!"
"Alas, Mrs. Trapes, I frequently grow tired of myself."
Mrs. Trapes turned away to give her attention to the ham.
"Did ye see that b'y Arthur yesterday?" she enquired presently over her
shoulder.
"Yes."
"How's he like his noo job?"
"Well, I can't say that he seems--er--fired with a passion for it."
"Office work, ain't it?"
"I believe it is."
"Well, you mark my words, that b'y won't keep it a week."
"Oh, I don't know," said Ravenslee, "he seemed quite content."
"You took him to the theayter las' night, didn't you? Wastin' your good
money, eh?"
"Not very much, Mrs. Trapes," said her lodger humbly.
Mrs. Trapes sniffed. "Anyway, it's a good thing you had him safe out o'
the way, as it happens."
"Why?"
"Because that loafer M'Ginnis was hanging around for him all the
evenin'. Even had the dratted imperence to come in here an' ask me where
he was."
"And what did you tell him?"
"Tell him?" she repeated. "What did I not tell him!" Her voice was
gentle, but what words could convey all the quivering ferocity of her
elbows! "Mr. Geoffrey, I told Bud M'Ginnis just exactly what kind o' a
beast Bud M'Ginnis is. I told Bud M'Ginnis where Bud M'Ginnis come from
an' where Bud M'Ginnis would go to. I told Bud M'Ginnis the character of
his mother an' father, very plain an' p'inted."
"And what did he say?"
"He say! Mr. Geoffrey, I didn't give him a chance to utter a single
word, of course. An' when I'd said all there was to say, I picked up my
heaviest flatiron, as happened to be handy, an' ordered him out; and Mr.
Geoffrey, Bud M'Ginnis--went!"
"Under the circumstances," said Ravenslee, "I'm not surprised that he
did."
"Ah, but he'll come back again, Mr. Geoffrey; he'll find Arthur alone
next time, an' Arthur'll go along with him, and then--good night! The
b'y'll get drunk an' lose his job like he did last time."
"Why, then, he mustn't find Arthur alone."
"And who's t' stop him?"
"I."
"Mr. Geoffrey, you're big an' strong, but M'Ginnis is stronger--and
yet--" Mrs. Trapes ran a speculative eye over Ravenslee's lounging form.
"H'm!" said she musingly, "but even if you did happen to lick him, what
about th' gang?"
"Echo, Mrs. Trapes, promptly answers, 'what'?"
"Well, Mr. Geoffrey, I can tell ye there's been more 'n one poor feller
killed around here to my knowing--yes, sir!"
"But the police?"
"Perlice!" snorted Mrs. Trapes. "M'Ginnis an' his father have a big pull
with Tammany, an' Tammany is the perlice. Anyways, Mr. Geoffrey, don't
you go having no trouble with Bud M'Ginnis; leave him to some one as is
as much a brute-beast as he is."
"But then--what of Spike?"
"Oh, drat him! If Arthur ain't got the horse sense to know who's his
worst enemy, he ain't worth a clean man riskin' his life over--for it
would be your life you'd risk, Mr. Geoffrey--mark my words!"
"Mrs. Trapes, your anxiety on my account flatters me, also I'm glad to
know you think me a clean man. But all men must take risks--some for
money, some for honour, and some for the pure love of it. Personally, I
rather like a little risk--just a suspicion, if it's for something worth
while."
"Mr. Geoffrey, what are you gettin' at?"
"Well, I would remind you that Spike has--a sister!"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Trapes, and her lined face took on a sudden anxious
expression.
"Therefore, I've been contemplating--er--tackling Mr. M'Ginnis--at a
proper and auspicious time, of course."
"An' what o' the gang?"
"Oh, drat the gang, Mrs. Trapes."
"But you don't mean as you'd fight M'Ginnis?"
"Well--er--the thought has occurred to me, Mrs. Trapes, though I'm quite
undecided on the matter, and--er--I believe my breakfast is burning!"
"My land!" ejaculated Mrs. Trapes, turning to snatch the pan from the
stove, "I'm afraid the fire's ketched it a bit, Mr. Geoffrey--"
"No matter."
"An' now there's the coffee b'ilin' over!"
"Let me help you," said Ravenslee, rising.
"Anyway, your breakfast's ready, so come an' eat it while it's good an'
hot."
"On condition that you eat with me."
"What, eat wi' you, Mr. Geoffrey--in my best parlour--an' me in me
workin' clo'es?"
"Ah, to be sure--not to be thought of, Mrs. Trapes; then we'll breakfast
here in the kitchen."
"Would ye mind?"
"Should love it."
So down they sat together, and Ravenslee vowed the ham was all ham
should be and the eggs beyond praise. And when his hunger was somewhat
appeased, Mrs. Trapes leaned her bony elbows on the table and questioned
him.
"You ain't ever spoke to Hermy, have you, Mr. Geoffrey?"
"Very often, lately."
"I mean--you ain't opened your 'eart to her--matrimonially, have you?"
"No!"
"Why, then, I'll tell you what--there's been times when I've been afraid
that for the sake o' that b'y she'd sacrifice herself to Bud M'Ginnis."
"No, she would never do that, Mrs. Trapes."
"Oh, but she would."
"But, you see, she couldn't!"
"And why not?"
"Oh, well, because--er--I should kill him first."
"Land sakes, Mr. Geoffrey!" and Mrs. Trapes actually blenched before the
glare in his eyes that was so strangely at odds with his soft, lazy
tones.
"And that ends it!" he nodded. "Mrs. Trapes, I've made up my mind!"
"What about?"
"Mr. M'Ginnis. I'll begin to-day."
"Begin what?"
"To prepare myself to bestow on him the thrashing of his life!" So
saying, Ravenslee stretched lazily and finally got up. "Good morning,
Mrs. Trapes!" said he.
"But where are ye going?" she demanded.
"To my peanuts," he answered gravely. "'Man is born to labour,' you,
know."
"But it's early yet."
"But I have much to do--and she laughed at me for being a peanut man,
did she, Mrs. Trapes--she frowned and flushed and stamped her pretty
foot at me, did she?"
"She did so, Mr. Geoffrey!"
"I'm glad!" he answered. "Yes, I'm very glad she frowned and stamped
her foot at me. By the way, I like that text in my bedroom."
"Text?" said Mrs. Trapes, staring.
"'Love one another,'" he nodded. "It is a very--very beautiful
sentiment--sometimes. Anyway, I'm glad she frowned and stamped at me,
Mrs. Trapes; you can tell her I said so if you happen to think of it
when she comes home." And Ravenslee smiled, and turning away, was gone.
"Well," said Mrs. Trapes, staring at the closed door, "of all the--well,
well!" Then she sighed, shook her head, and fell to washing up the
breakfast things.