ON THE BROAD BOSOM OF THE "HAPPY IN SPITE"
Thus for one year Jinnie went forth in the morning to gather her
shortwood, and to sell it in the afternoon.
Peg always gave her a biscuit to eat during her forenoon's work, and
Jinnie, going from house to house later, was often presented with a
"hunk of pie," as she afterwards told Lafe. If a housewife gave her an
apple, she would take it home to the cobbler and his wife.
Late one afternoon, at the close of a bitter day, Jinnie had finished
her work and was resting on the door sill of an empty house on an
uptown corner.
She drew forth her money in girlish pride. Twenty-seven cents was what
she'd earned,--two cents more than any day since she began working.
This money meant much to Jinnie. She hadn't yet received a kiss from
Mrs. Grandoken, but was expecting it daily. Perhaps when two cents
more were dropped into her hand, Peggy might, just for the moment,
forget herself and unwittingly express some little affection for her.
With this joyous anticipation the girl recounted her money, retained
sufficient change for the dinner meat, and slipped the rest into her
jacket pocket. She rose and had started in the direction of the market
when a clamor near the bridge made her pause. A crowd of men and boys
were running directly toward her. Above their wild shouts could be
heard the orders of a policeman, and now and then the frightened cry
of a small child.
At first Jinnie noticed only the people. Then her eyes lowered and she
saw, racing toward her, a small, black, woolly dog. The animal, making
a wild dash for his life, had in his anguish lost his mental balance,
for he took no heed as to where he ran nor what he struck. A louder
cry of derision rose up from many throats as the small beast scuttled
between the legs of a farmer's horse, which gave him a moment's
respite from his tormentors.
An instant later they were clamoring again for his unhappy little
life. Suddenly he ran headlong into a tree, striking his shaggy head
with terrific force. Then he curled up in a limp little heap, just as
Jinnie reached him.
Before Maudlin Bates, the leader of the crowd, arrived, the girl had
picked up the insensible dog and thrust him under her jacket.
"He's dead, I guess," she said, looking up into the boy's face, "I'll
take him to the cobbler's shop and bury him.... He isn't any good when
he's dead."
Maudlin Bates grinned from ear to ear, put his hands behind his back,
and allowed his eyes to rove over the girl's straight young figure.
"Billy Maybee was tryin' to tie a tin can to his tail," he explained,
stuttering, "and the cur snapped at him. We was goin' to hit his head
against the wall."
"He's dead now," assured Jinnie once more. "It isn't any use to smash
dead dogs."
This reasoning being unanswerable, Maudlin turned grumblingly away.
Jinnie's heart beat loudly with living hope. Perhaps the little dog
wasn't dead. Oh, how she hoped he'd live! She stopped half way home,
and pushed aside her jacket and peeped down at him. He was still quite
limp, and the girl hurried on. She did not even wait to buy the meat
nor the bread Peg had asked her to bring in.
As she hurried across the tracks, she saw Grandoken sitting in the
window.
He saluted her with one hand, but as she was using both of hers to
hold the dog, she only smiled in return, with a bright nod of her
head.
Once in the shop, she looked about cautiously.
"I've got something, Lafe," she whispered, "something you'll like."
When she displayed the hurt dog, Lafe put out his hand.
"Is the little critter dead?" he asked solemnly.
"Oh, I hope not!" replied Jinnie, and excitedly explained the
episode.
"Lafe took the foundling in his hands, turning the limp body over and
over.
"Jinnie, go ask Peg to bring some hot water in a pan," he said. "We'll
give the little feller a chanct to live."
Peg came in with a basin of water, stared at the wide-eyed girl and
her smiling husband, then down upon the dog.
"Well, for Lord's sake, where'd you get that little beast?" she
demanded. "'Tain't livin', is it? Might as well throw it in the
garbage pail."
Nevertheless, she put down the basin as she spoke, and took the puppy
from her husband. At variance with her statement that the dog might as
well be thrown out, she laid him in the hot water, rubbing the bruised
body from the top of its head to the small stubby tail. During this
process Lafe had unfastened Jinnie's shortwood strap, and the girl,
free, dropped upon the floor beside Peg.
Suddenly the submerged body of the pup began to move.
"He's alive, Peg!" cried Jinnie. "Look at his legs a kicking!... Oh,
Lafe, he's trying to get out of the water!"
Peg turned sharply.
"If he ain't dead already," she grunted, "you'll kill him hollerin'
like that. Anyway, 'tain't no credit to hisself if he lives. He didn't
have nothin' to do with his bein' born, an' he won't have nothin' to
do with his goin' on livin'. Shut up, now!... There, massy me, he's
coming to."
Jinnie squatted upon her feet, while Lafe wheeled his chair a bit
nearer. For some moments the trio watched the small dog, struggling to
regain consciousness. Then Peggy took him from the water and wrapped
him carefully in her apron.
"Lordy, he's openin' his eyes," she grinned, "an' you, girl, you go in
there by the fire an' just hold him in your arms. Mebbe he'll come
round all right. You can't put him out in the street till he's
better."
For the larger part of an hour, Jinnie held the newcomer close to her
thumping heart, and when a spasm of pain attacked the shaggy head
resting on her arm, she wept in sympathetic agony. Could Peg be
persuaded to allow the dog to stay? She would promise to earn an extra
penny to buy food for this new friend. At this opportune moment Mrs.
Grandoken arrived from the market.
"How's he comin' on?" she asked, standing over them.
"Fine!" replied Jinnie. "And, Peg, he wants to stay."
"Did he tell y' that?" demanded Peg, grimly.
"Well, he didn't say just those words," said the girl, "but, Peggy, if
he could talk, he'd tell you how much he loved you----"
"Look a here, kid," broke in Mrs. Grandoken, "that dog ain't goin' to
stay around this house, an' you might as well understand it from the
beginnin'. I've enough to do with you an' Lafe an' those cats, without
fillin' my house with sick pups. So get that notion right out of your
noddle!... See?"
Jinnie bowed her head over the sick dog and made a respectful reply.
"I'll try to get the notion out," said she, "but, Peggy, oh, Peggy
dear, I love the poor little thing so _awful_ much that it'll be hard
for me to throw him away. Will you send him off when he's better, and
not ask me to do it?"
Jinnie cocked her pretty head inquiringly on one side, closed one eye,
and looked at Peg from the other.
Peggy sniffed a ruse. She came forward, spread her feet a bit, rolling
her hands nervously in her apron. She hated an everlasting show of
feelings, but sometimes it was difficult for her to crush the emotions
which had so often stirred in her breast since the girl came to live
with them.
"I might as well tell you one thing right now, Jinnie Grandoken," she
said. "You brought that pup into this house an' you'll take him out,
or he won't get took; see?"
There was a certain tone in Peg's voice the girl had heard before.
"Then he won't get kicked out 't all, Peg," she said, with a petulant,
youthful smile. "I just won't do it! Lafe can't, and if you
don't----"
Mrs. Grandoken made a deep noise in her throat.
"You're a sassy brat," said she, "that's what you are! An' if Lafe
don't just about beat the life out of you when I tell him about this,
I will, with my own hand, right before his eyes. That's what----"
Jinnie interrupted her eagerly. "Lafe won't beat me," she answered,
"but I'll let you make me black and blue, Peg, if I can keep the
puppy. Matty used to beat me fine, and she was a good bit stronger'n
you."
Peggy's eyes drew down at the corners, and her lip quivered.
"Keep him if you want to, imp of Satan, but some day----here, see if
the beast'll eat this bit of meat."
Jinnie placed the shivering dog on the floor, and Peg put a piece of
meat under his nose. In her excitement, Jinnie rushed away to Lafe.
Peg's mumble followed her even through the closed door.
"Cobbler, oh, dear good Lafe," cried the girl, "the dog's living! Peg
says I can keep 'im, and I'm goin' to fiddle for him to-night. Do you
think he'll forget all about his hurt if I do that, Lafe?"
At that moment, shamed that she had given in to the importunate
Jinnie, Mrs. Grandoken opened the shop door, shoving the half wet dog
inside.
"Here's your pup, kid," she growled, "an' y'd best keep him from under
my feet if you don't want him stepped on."
The cobbler smiled his slow, sweet smile.
"Peg's heart's bigger'n this house," he murmured. "Bring him here,
lassie."
The girl, dog in arms, stood at the cobbler's side.
"What're you goin' to name him?" asked Lafe, tenderly.
"I dunno, but he's awful happy, now he's going to stay with us."
"Call 'im 'Happy Pete'," said the cobbler, smiling, "an' we'll take
'im into our club; shall we, kid?"
So Happy Pete was gathered that day into the bosom of the "Happy in
Spite."