_Jimmie's New Pa_
Jasper, the reporter on the Press, knew a good story when he
had found one. A quiet visit to the Moore domicile the next
afternoon, a brief call at Bill Cook's, and a few liberal potations
at Fagin's, were responsible for the write-up which appeared
in the evening Press. The pathetic story of sickness, death
and privation appealed in a powerful manner to the community.
Many well-meaning people flooded the place with provisions and
a miscellaneous assortment of wearing apparel, running from
silk dresses and opera cloaks to cotton jumpers and soleless
patent leathers. As is the case generally, this kind of charity
did much more harm than good. For a week they had provision
enough to feed every man, woman and child in Bucktown. Mrs.
Moore thought it would always be so. She gave up her work and
said "she would do nothin' fer nobody."
Five days after the funeral Jimmie rushed into Morton's office
at the Mission and said, "Say, I got er new Pa at my house."
"A new what?" asked Morton in surprise.
"A new Pa," said Jimmie. "Me Ma says that Charlie Hathnit would
be me Pa from now on; he's been livin' with us fer two days
now."
Morton was dumfounded. He sat looking at Jimmie a moment; then
he said, "Jimmie, this is all wrong. God cannot bless your home
with that man there." Morton, reaching out, drew Jimmie to his
side and continued, "You promised your father you would run
the house and help your mother to care for the family."
The diminutive figure of Jimmie suddenly straightened and seemed
to increase an inch in height as he answered, looking Morton
straight in the eyes, "So I did, and I meant it, too."
Then said Morton, "You must not allow that loafer there at all."
A moment later Jimmie was at the door. "Where are you going?"
inquired Morton.
"I'm going home ter clean house," said Jimmie, as he dashed
down Brady Street. As he entered the house a few minutes later
he was not the little Jimmie of an hour before. Almost unconsciously
there had been born within him a stern resolve to right wrong;
an invisible line had been passed; dependent childhood seemed
to fade away and in its place came manhood; he stood there another
recruit to the great army of child heroes, the great army of
those who are forced to face the stern realities of life. As
he looked up into his mother's face the little tempest which
had gathered within him for a moment was calmed; he caught her
hand in both of his, pressing it against his cheek, an old habit
of his when he had sought to comfort his mother or to express
some emotion when lips would fail.
"What the h--l ails the kid?" snarled Hathnit.
Jimmie, realizing that there was stern business at hand, and
ashamed of his momentary emotion, replied:
"Jus' dis: I got somethin' ter ast yer; what are yer doin' in
our house anyhow?"
"Hush, Jimmie," interposed Mrs. Moore. "Yer mind yer business."
"That's jus' what I'm doin', Ma. I seen Morton, an' he says
it's all wrong fer yer ter keep this piker here, and yer know
I promised Pa der night Jesus took him up dare----"
A curse followed from Hathnit which was so awful that it would
have shaken anything but Jimmie's determination. "Go an' tell
dis Bible-banging Morton to keep his d---- advice to himself.
I'm a peaceable man, but if I mix with this Mission galoot he'll
cut out givin' his advice to you kids. As fer you, you better
duck till you git this nonsense out of yer head." Hathnit strolled
to the door and opened it, and Jimmie was compelled for the
time being to leave the house.
"It's no more than I expected," said Mrs. Cook to Jimmie as
he related the events of the morning. "When I heard Hathnit
was a-livin' ter yer house, I jus' told Bill that no good would
come from it. Poor Jimmie, you jus' wait till I git these here
clothes out of this here bluing water; I'll go over wid yer
to see what can be did."
Soon the last towel was through the wringer, and Mrs. Cook,
hastily drying her hands on her apron, accompanied Jimmie to
his home. The conference that ensued was not productive of any
good. Hathnit was a man devoid of all manly principles, lazy
to the limit, ill-bred, ill-kept, illiterate, but still possessing
one noticeable characteristic--a keenness which cannot be
overlooked in men of his ilk.
Mrs. Cook came to the point at once. "Mis Moore," she said,
"yer boy Jim tells me you've took Hathnit here for yer man."
"Right yer be," replied Hathnit. "Yer needn't guess again."
"But yer ain't married yet," said Mrs. Cook.
"Well, yer see it's dis way," proceeded Hathnit. "She said she
wanted me and I said I wanted her, so that's ernough. It used
ter be the style ter go before the Justice with your dollar
and a quarter paper and git tied, but that's a dead one now."
"Well, where's Mollie? She's yer wife, ain't she?" asked Mrs.
Cook.
"Naw, Tom Ellen's got her now; he took her while I was doing
a two-year contract fer the State."
"But it's wrong," burst out Jimmie. "Mr. Morton says so."
"To h--l with Morton!" said Hathnit. "Now look here, the high-tone
guys do that right along, only they spends their good money
fer lawyer's licenses and divorce cases. I found this mornin's
Herald at the depot, and it says there was six marriage licenses
and eight divorces granted in this town yisterday. Fer every
five marriages in dis whole State last year there was one divorce.
Der people gits married ter-day with the understanding that
if they don't like each other they can get a divorce. If that's
all marriage amounts to--and it is--I think a man's a blooming
sucker ter blow his good money to der lawyers. In dis town a
dozen lawyers lives on divorce money alone. Society, so-called,
says it's right, and when they gits up deir dancin' parties
they have ter git an expert to keep from invitin' hubbie number
one, two and three at the same time. If the bloods kin have
two or three wives by payin' some cheap lawyer their good dough,
I can have two or three an' save my money fer weddin' celebrations.
The women all over the country went wild about Smoot and Polly
Gamy."
"Yer means Pollie Gainey, that lived over Fagin's last year,
don't yer?" asked Mrs. Cook.
"Naw, I means jus' what I said; Polly Gamy means yer can have
all kinds of wives," said Hathnit. "Now, ter my way of thinkin',
Smoot has as much right ter his wives as these women has ter
their husbands. If he would send his money ter some cheap lawyer
he'd be O.K. ter their way of thinkin'. Smoot takes care of
his kids, anyhow, but these society guys sends theirs ter the
Children's Home fer the city ter care fer. There's sixty-six
kids there now, and fifty-two of them are from divorced families.
Dis Morton that yer crackin' up ter me is kickin' about us livin'
tergether without marryin'. He says it's wrong; why don't he
say somethin' ter the church members? That big guy, where Bob
Evans is coachman, got a divorce from his Missus and gave her
the home ter live in. He built a new house on der next block
and took another woman, and she took another man. Bob says that
Ralph, the kid, calls one Papa and the other Daddie. They all
goes ter the same church Sunday mornin' and nothin's said. Why?
'Cause they pay der lawyer. If they're all right, I'm all right;
the church stands fer it, the law stands fer it, and society
stands fer it. That cheap Mission guy with his old Bible don't
cut much ice against that bunch.
"I know the Bible says it's wrong ter put away yer wife an'
take another, but no one believes that old book nowadays. Why,
I heard one of dem preachers from a dominie shop in Chicago
say, when he was preaching down at the Bull Pen, dat the Bible
wasn't der word of God at all, and he oughter know 'cause they
got der very latest th'ology out. They discover things over
there in Chicago. If the kid here don't like der way thin's
is doin' he kin duck. I'm runnin' dis house now. Tell Bill ter
come over ter der celebration, Mrs. Cook. So long." With this
he fished a cigar stub out of his pocket, bit off a portion
of it, expectorated freely into the stove hearth, and turning
his back to them walked into the front room.
Mrs. Moore was about to follow him, when Jimmie plucked at her
dress. When she turned around and their eyes met, the mother
love had vanished.
"Ma," he said, his voice faltering, "which one goes, me or that?"
pointing to the door where Hathnit had disappeared.
She turned and disengaged his hand, replying, "Ask him, Jimmie;
he's runnin' the place now."
Jimmie went out into the world with a heavy heart. He did not
mind the fact that he had no home so much as he did that his
mother was doing wrong. "I guess I can't keep der promise I
made Pa when he died; but I believe he knows that I'm doin'
der best I kin."