PHIL'S NEW FRIEND
Old black Joe had not always been either a boot-black or fiddler. In his
youthful days he had been a house-servant, and had prided himself on his
many accomplishments--his dexterity at dinners, his grace at evening
parties, the ease and unconcern with which he could meet embarrassing
emergencies at either. But times had changed for him: his old employers
had died, a scolding wife had made his home unhappy, he had lost the
little money he had saved, and he was no longer the bright, cheerful
young fellow he had been. Age and rheumatism had made him crusty; but
beneath the outward manner, which sometimes was very cross, he had a
tender heart and a pitiful nature.
Of late years he had picked up enough for his support in the many little
ways incident to city life. He could whitewash, sweep chimneys, run on
errands--or rather walk on them, and that, too, very slowly. He
shovelled snow and carried coal, sawed wood and helped the servants at
whose homes he was employed.
His occupations took him about to many houses, but he always irritated
the people with whom he came in contact by invariably assuring them that
their masters and mistresses were not of the real stuff that ladies and
gentlemen of _his_ day were made of; that fine feathers did not make
fine birds; that people nowadays were all alike, and had no manners.
He made one exception only, in favor of a maiden lady whose parents he
had known, whose servants were kind to him, and whose retired and
dignified way of living quite suited his fastidiousness.
This was a Miss Schuyler; and nothing pleased Joe more than to have this
one person, whom he regarded with unqualified admiration, send for him
to bestow the monthly allowance she was in the habit of giving him. On
the day that he expected this summons he always gave an extra touch to
his toilet, exchanged his torn coat for a patched one, his slouch hat
for a very much worn beaver adorned with a band of rusty crape, and out
of the pocket of his coat, but never upon his hands, was to be seen an
old pair of yellow kid gloves.
In the course of Joe's wanderings he had chanced to, hear of the
invalid boy Phil, who liked to listen to his fiddle, and it did not take
long to strike up an acquaintance between them.
Often on a rainy day, or when work was dull, Joe would spend an hour or
two with Phil, relieving his loneliness, soothing his pain, and cheering
him with his music and his rambling talk about "old times" and the
people he had seen.
It was the latter part of May, and had been very warm; but Joe buttoned
up his best coat and donned his beaver, for his pay was due at Miss
Schuyler's. She lived in a large house, rather imposing and handsome,
and in the gayest part of the city; but she was by no means imposing or
gay in her own person. A little figure, simply dressed, a kind face
without beauty, a gentle manner, and a certain gracious kindliness and
familiarity had endeared her to Joe. On this day she was not, as usual,
sitting with her work in the library, where the sun poured in on the
bronzes and richly bound volumes, on the old engravings and the frescoed
ceiling--for Miss Schuyler liked light and warmth and color--but she was
away up in the top of the house, directing her maids in the packing of
blankets and woollens and furs, preparatory to leaving her house for the
summer. Joe had mounted stair after stair seeking her, and by the time
he reached her was quite out of breath; this, and the odor of camphor
and cedar-wood, made him sneeze and cough until Miss Schuyler said to
one of the maids in a whisper, "The poor old soul would have been black
in the face had he ever been white."
To Joe himself she said, very kindly, "My good old friend, you need not
have taken so much trouble to see me; I could have come down to you."
"Laws, Miss Rachel, I knew you was busy, and nuffin's ever a trouble to
do for you; I go to the tops of houses often--just come from one where
poor Phil's a-groanin' with pain. That chile'll die if somebody don't do
suthin' fur him soon."
"What child?" asked Miss Schuyler, whose tender point was her love of
children. "You haven't any grandchildren, Joe, have you?"
"No, Miss Rachel, de Lord nebber trusted me with any chil'en."
"Well, who is Phil?" said Miss Schuyler, absently; adding, to one of
her maids, "Take care of that afghan; wrap it in an old linen sheet; it
was knitted by a very dear friend, and I do not want it moth-eaten; I
had rather lose a camel's-hair shawl." Which evidence or regard seemed
very extravagant to the girl who was obeying instructions, but which Joe
thought he appreciated.
"Haven't I tole ye about Phil, Miss Rachel?"
"I don't know. I don't think you have. But come down to my room, Joe,
and then I can listen to your story."
Giving a few more directions, Miss Rachel led the way to a lovely sunny
room, with flower-baskets in the windows, soft blue draperies, and
delicate appointments. Seating herself at a desk and pointing Joe to a
chair, upon which the old man carefully spread a silk handkerchief lest
his clothes should soil the blue cushions, she counted out the money due
him, and placed it in an envelope, saying as she did so, "Now tell me
about that child."
"It's a white chile, Miss Rachel."
"Well, I like white children, Joe, though I must confess the little
colored ones are much more interesting," said Miss Rachel, smiling.
"I thought you liked my people, Miss Rachel; but this poor Phil's a
gentleman's son, very much come down far's money goes. He is too young
to know much about it, but the girl who takes care of him was brought up
in his family, and she says they was well off once."
"But what about the boy?" asked Miss Schuyler, a little impatiently.
"He's a great sufferer, but he's a wonderful chile. He loves to have me
play for him, and then he tells me the thoughts that come to him from
the music. I's no great player, Miss Rachel," said Joe, modestly, "but
you'd think I was, to hear him talk. He sees fairies and he dreams
beautiful things, and his big brown eyes look as if he could a'most see
'way up into heaven. Oh, he's a strange chile; but he'll die if he stays
up in that garret room and nebber sees the green fields he's so hungry
for."
Miss Rachel's eyes were moist, but she took a card and pencil from her
desk. "Where does he live--in what street and what number?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Rachel--You jess go up the Avenue, and turn down the
fourth or fifth street, and up a block or two, and it's the fust house
with a high stoop and green shutters. I allers go in the alleyway, so I
forgit numbers."
Miss Schuyler bit her lip to keep from smiling, thought a moment,
scribbled a memorandum, rang the bell, and gave some more directions;
left the room, and came back with her bonnet on. "Can you show me the
way to Phil's house, Joe?"
"Course I can, Miss Rachel," replied the old man, delighted that his
words had aroused his listener's sympathies.
"It's not very far; he's all alone, 'cause Lisa has to be away all day.
And I shouldn't wonder"--here he dropped his voice to a whisper--"if
sometimes he was hungry; but he'd nebber say so."
This latter remark made Miss Schuyler bid Joe wait for her in the hall,
while she went to a closet, found a basket, in which she placed a snowy
napkin, some biscuit, some cold chicken, and a few delicious little
cakes. In her pocket she put a little flask of some strong cordial she
had found of service on her many errands of charity.
How proud Joe was to be her escort! but how meekly he walked behind the
lady whose footsteps he thought were those of a real gentlewoman, the
only one to whom he would accord this compliment, although he passed
many elegant dames in gay attire.
The little gray figure, with its neat, quiet simplicity, was his
embodiment of elegance, for somehow Joe had detected the delicate
perfume of a sweet nature and a loving heart--a heart full of Christian
charity and unselfishness.
They walked for some distance, and the day was so warm that Miss
Schuyler moderated her usual rapid pace to suit the old man's feebler
steps. Off the Avenue a long way, up another, down a side street, until,
amid a crowded, disagreeable neighborhood, Joe stopped.
"You had better lead me still, Joe. The boy might be frightened or
annoyed at seeing a stranger: I dare say he's nervous. Go up, and I will
wait outside the door while you ask him if I may come and see him. Wait,
there's a flower-stall a little way from here; I will get a bunch. Take
my basket, and I will be back in a few moments. I am glad I thought of
the flowers; children always like them."
She hastened off, while Joe leaned on his cane and muttered blessings
upon her; but some rude boys beginning to chaff him, he turned on them
with his usual crustiness, and quite forgot his beatitudes.
Miss Schuyler came back in a few minutes with a lovely bunch of bright
blossoms embosomed in geranium leaves.
"Now, then, Joe, this shall be my card; take it in, and tell Phil I am
coming."
"God bless you, Miss Rachel!" was all Joe could reply.
Miss Rachel had her own way of doing things. It was nothing new for her
to carry flowers and dainties to the sick poor. She had been much with
sick people, and she knew that those who have no luxuries and few
necessaries care for the things which do not really sustain life quite
as much as do those who can command both.