JACK AGAIN
The Christmas Angel gently waved his hand to and fro. Gradually, as Miss
Terry sat back in her chair, the library grew dark; or rather, things faded
into an indistinguishable blur. Then it seemed as if she were sitting at a
theatre gazing at a great stage. But at this theatre there was nothing
about her, nothing between her and the place where things were happening.
* * * * *
First she saw two little ragamuffins quarreling over something in the snow.
She recognized them. They were the two Jewish boys who had picked up the
Jack-in-the-box. An officer appeared, and they ran away, the bigger boy
having possession of the toy; the smaller one with fists in his eyes,
bawling with disappointment.
Miss Terry's lips curled with the cynical disgust which she had felt when
first witnessing this scene. But a sweet voice--and she knew it was the
Angel's--whispered in her ear, "Wait and see!"
She watched the two boys run through the streets until they came to a dark
corner. There the little fellow caught up with the other, and once more the
struggle began. It was a hard and bloody fight. But this time the victory
was with the smaller lad, who used his fists and feet like an enraged
animal, until the other howled for mercy and handed over the disputed toy.
"Whatcher want it fer, Sam?" he blubbered as he saw it go into the little
fellow's pocket.
"Mind yer own business! I just want it," answered Sam surlily.
"Betcher I know," taunted the bigger boy.
"Betcher yer don't."
"Do!"
"Don't!"
Another fight seemed imminent. But wisdom prevailed with Sammy. He would
not challenge fate a third time. "Come on, then, and see," he grunted.
And Ike followed. Off the two trudged, through the brilliantly lighted
streets, until they came to a part of the city where the ways were narrower
and dark.
"Huh! Knowed you was comin' here," commented Ike as they turned into a
grim, dirty alley.
Little Sam growled, "Didn't!" apparently as a matter of habit.
"Did!" reasserted Ike. "Just where I was comin' myself."
Sam turned to him with a grin.
"Was yer now? By--! Ain't that funny? I thought of it right off."
"Sure. Same here!"
They both burst into a guffaw and executed an impromptu double-shuffle of
delight. They were at the door of a tenement house with steep stairs
leading into darkness. Up three flights pounded the two pairs of heavy
boots, till they reached a half-open door, whence issued the clatter of a
sewing-machine and the voices of children. Sam stood on the threshold
grinning debonairly, with hands thrust into his pockets. Ike peered over
his shoulder, also grinning.
It was a meagre room into which they gazed, a room the chief furniture of
which seemed to be babies. Two little ones sprawled on the floor. A third
tiny tot lay in a broken-down carriage beside the door. A pale, ill-looking
woman was running the machine. On the cot bed was crumpled a fragile
little fellow of about five, and a small pair of crutches lay across the
foot of the bed.
When the two boys appeared in the doorway, the woman stopped her machine
and the children set up a howl of pleasure. "Sammy! Ikey!" cried the woman,
smiling a wan welcome, as the babies crept and toddled toward the
newcomers. "Where ye come from?"
"Been to see the shops and the lights in the swell houses," answered Sammy
with a grimace. "Gee! Ain't they wastin' candles to beat the cars!"
"Enough to last a family a whole year," muttered Ike with disgust.
The woman sighed. "Maybe they ain't wasted exactly," she said. "How I'd
like to see 'em! But I got to finish this job. I told the chil'ren they
mustn't expect anything this Christmas. But they are too little to know the
difference anyway; all but Joe. I wish I had something for Joe."
"I got something for Joe," said Sammy unexpectedly.
The face of the pale little cripple lighted.
"What is it?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, what is it? A real Christmas present
for me?"
"Naw! It ain't a Christmas present," said Sam.
"We don't care anything about Christmas," volunteered Ikey with a grin.
Sam looked at him with a frown of rebuke.
"It's just a _present_," he said. "And it didn't cost a cent. I didn't buy
it. I--we found it!"
"Found it in the street?" Joe's eyes shone.
"Yah!" the boys nodded.
"Oh, it _is_ a Christmas present!" cried Joe. "Santa Claus must have
dropped it there for me, because he knew we hadn't any chimney in this
house, and he sent you kind, kind boys to bring it to me."
The two urchins looked sideways at each other, but said nothing. Presently
Sam drew out the box from his pocket and tried to thrust it into Ike's
hand. "You give it to 'um," he said. "You're the biggest."
"Naw! You give it. You found it," protested Ike.
"Ah, g'wan!"
"Big fool!"
There was a tussle, and it almost seemed as if the past unpleasantness was
to be repeated from an opposite cause. But Joe's voice settled the dispute.
"Oh, Sammy, please!" he cried. "I can't wait another minute. Do please give
it to me now!"
At these words Sam stepped forward without further argument and laid the
box on the bed in front of the little cripple. The babies crowded about.
The mother left her machine and stood smiling faintly at the foot of the
bed.
Joe pressed the spring. _Ping!_ Out sprang the Jack-in-the-box, with the
same red nose, the same leer, the same roguish eyes which had surprised the
children of fifty years ago.
[Illustration: _PING!_ OUT SPRANG THE JACK-IN-THE-BOX]
Jack was always sure of his audience. My! How they screamed and begged Joe
to "do it again." And as for Joe, he lay back on his pillow and laughed and
laughed as though he would never stop. It was the first Jack any of them
had seen.
Tears stood in the mother's eyes. "Well," she said, "it's as good as a play
to see him. Joe hasn't laughed like that for months. You boys have done him
lots of good. I wouldn't wonder if it helped him get well! If you was
Christians I'd say you showed the real Christmas spirit. But Lord--perhaps
ye do, all the same! I dunno!"
Sam and Ike were so busy playing with the children that they did not hear.
* * * * *
Gradually the tenement house faded and became a blur before Miss Terry's
eyes. Once more she saw the mantel-shelf before her and the Christmas Angel
with outstretched arms waving to and fro. "You see!" he said. "You did not
guess all the pleasure that was shut up in that box with old Jack, did
you?"
Miss Terry shook her head.
"And you see how different it all was from what you thought. Now let us see
what became of the Canton-flannel dog."
"The Flanton Dog." Miss Terry amended the phrase under her breath. It
seemed so natural to use Tom's word.
"Yes, the Flanton Dog," the Angel smiled. "What do you think became of
him?"
"I saw what became of him," said Miss Terry. "Bob Cooper threw him under an
automobile, and he was crushed flatter than a pancake."
"Then you left the window," said the Angel. "In your human way you assumed
that this was the end. But wait and see."
Once more the room darkened and blurred, and Miss Terry looked out upon
past events as upon a busy, ever-shifting stage.