_Floe_
Jimmie was very happy as he gave Bill and Mrs. Cook "Good-night."
"Don't yer worry erbout nothin'," he said to Mrs. Cook. "Yer
got Jesus ter help yer, an' he'll take care of yer all. I'll
see yer in der mornin'. So long."
He started for Dave's barn, where he "roomed." His nerves were
all unstrung, he was much too excited to go to bed. He sat down
upon the curb in front of the barn and went over the whole
evening in his mind. The best he knew how, he prayed and thanked
God for answering his prayer. As he sat with his head in his
hands, he heard a piercing scream which came from the direction
of the Dolly resort. There was nothing unusual about a scream
in Bucktown any time of the day or night; but Jimmie jumped
to his feet and started on a run to the direction from which
it came.
"Dat sounded like Floe's voice," he said to himself. "I hope
she ain't hurted."
Floe had been very kind to Jimmie, many times giving him something
to eat, and she had given him the pair of shoes he was wearing
when Morton first saw him. She always put herself out to speak
to him, and when he was "stuck" with his evening papers she
would persuade the other inmates of the house to help him out
by buying them.
Let it be understood now that Jimmie's ideals of morality were
based entirely upon the Bucktown standard. Floe was the best
dressed woman in Bucktown; she lived in the best house in Bucktown;
she was the handsomest woman in Bucktown; and these facts, to
Jimmie's child mind, put Floe and the Dolly resort far in the
lead of anything in Bucktown. He knew nothing of their business,
and the question of their being wrong had never entered his
head. Had any one asked Jimmie a question about the character
of this black-eyed woman, his answer would have been, "She's
an angel, sure."
The little girls in the neighborhood would say, "When I git
big I'm goin' ter have clothes like them girls, an' go ridin'
in hacks with white horses. Gee, won't I shine!" The highest
ideals of womanhood to these little girls were the women of
the Dolly resort. Is it any wonder that Jimmie was interested
when he heard Floe scream? When he reached the house he saw
her lying at the foot of the stairs; he rushed to her side as
others were trying to get her upon her feet. They put her upon
a couch and sent for a doctor.
"Did yer fall downstairs?" asked Jimmie.
"Oh, Jimmie, what are you doing in this awful place?" she said.
"This is worse than hell itself; do go out, child; I can't stand
to see your pure face in a place like this."
"If it ain't er good place fer me, it ain't fer you, Floe. Yer
better 'n I am, er ever could be. Are yer hurted much?"
Just then Doctor Snyder came in, and after a brief examination
said he found a broken arm and three broken ribs. Floe would
not tell how she happened to fall; but several who saw it said
that a girl by the name of Maud, in a fit of jealousy, had pushed
her downstairs.
"Hello, kid! What are you doing here?" said Doctor Snyder to
Jimmie. "You should be in bed at this time of night. How's Bill
Cook getting on?"
"Bill's better," said Jimmie, "an' Mrs. Cook got converted at
der Mission ter-night, and she's happy all over. When I left
there she was prayin' at Bill's bed and he was cryin'. I'll
bet he gits saved next."
"You better go home and go to bed, Jimmie; you're excited
to-night. You'll feel better in the morning," said the doctor,
with a knowing wink at the people standing around. "We must
get this girl to her room now."
"Can I come ter see yer to-morrow, Floe?" asked Jimmie.
"If the doctor will let you come; but I don't like to have you
come into this awful house."
"I'll be here jus' the same; I'm goin' ter ast Jesus ter help
yer," he whispered to her, and slipped quietly out into the
street and started for the barn. When he reached there, Dave
sat in his old office chair smoking and trying to look unconcerned;
but it was plain to Jimmie that he had something on his mind
besides his hat.
"Where have you been so late?" he said to Jimmie. "Sit down
and tell me about it."
"Mrs. Cook got saved ter-night and Bill's comin' next, I'll
bet," said Jimmie in one breath. "Yer see, we's prayin' fer
him at der Mission, an' he's got ter come. Say, Dave, Floe jus'
got hurted, an' I went ter see her when I heard her holler,
an' she said she didn't like ter see me in such a bad house.
Is that nice house bad, an' what's Floe doin' dere if it is?"
"Well, the house is anything but good, Jimmie, and I wish Floe
lived somewhere else. If you can go to see her I wish you would
talk to her just like you did to Mrs. Cook. Tell her about,
well, tell her about yer Friend, you know."
"Who do yer mean? Morton?" asked Jimmie.
"No, I mean the Friend you say Morton works for."
"Oh, yer means Jesus," said Jimmie.
"Yes, that's who I mean; she has heard of Him before, and maybe
you can do her good. The poor girl has had lots of trouble and
has lost heart in life. Tell her that--that Je--er--that yer
Friend loves her and will fergive her all her past and--well,
you can tell it better than I can."
"I'll do it, yer bet," said Jimmie, "'cause Jesus loves every
one of us, don't he, Dave?"
"Most every one, but not all of us," said Dave.
Jimmie made a dive for his Testament and turned to John 3:16;
the page was so dirty and soiled from handling that it could
scarcely be seen.
"Der yer see that word marked wid red ink?" asked Jimmie.
"Yes, I see it."
"Well, what is she?"
"It's 'whosoever.'"
"Well, who does that mean?"
"I guess it means just what it says; but you see, with me it
is different. I was raised to do right; my father was a Methodist
minister, and he taught me to pray and read the Bible when I
was a child. I knew what was right, but with my eyes wide open
I went into the most awful sin, and God can never forgive one
who sins against the light."
"Say, read der whole verse," said Jimmie.
"I know it without reading it; I learned it at my mother's knee
before I could talk plain."
"Well, git busy and say it then."
"God so loved the world----"
"Loved der what?" asked Jimmie.
"The world," said Dave.
"Go on," as Dave hesitated.
"That He gave His only begotten Son----"
"Dat's Jesus, ain't it?"
"Yes, that is who it means."
"Go on," said Jimmie.
"God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever----"
"Who?" asked Jimmie.
"Whosoever," said Dave.
"Don't that mean you?" asked Jimmie.
"I'm afraid not," said Dave.
"Den dis is der way ter read it," said Jimmie, "'Dat whosoever,
'cept Dave Beach, kin have everlastin' life.' Not on your
fottygraff; it ain't writ dat way."
"Well, in another place it says that if you know to do right
and do it not it's sin," said Dave.
"And dat makes yer a sinner, don't it?" said Jimmie.
"Yes, it does, and a bad one, too," said Dave.
Jimmie put his thumb into his mouth to wet it and turned leaf
after leaf. At last he said, "Read dat."
Dave took the book and looked hard and long in silence.
"Read her," said Jimmie.
Dave read very slowly: "This is a faithful saying and worthy
of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to
save sinners."
"Save what?" asked Jimmie.
"Sinners," said Dave.
"Are yer a sinner, Dave?"
"Yes, I am a bad one."
"Worser dan dis guy? Read der rest of 'er."
"Of whom I am chief," David read.
"All right," said Jimmie, "if He kin save der chief of sinners,
can't He save Dave Beach?"
Before he could answer, Jewey, Oily Ike and Fred Hood came in.
"Send the kid home," said Jewey.
"He's at home now," said Dave; "he sleeps here. You can do all
the business you have with me in a minute er two. I'm tired
of this crooked business; and for my part, I'm going to cut
it out. Whatever your haul is to-night you can keep it or let
Ike there handle it; I'm done.
"No, don't get leery; I won't turn you. But I don't want no
more of it here."
"You'll be havin' Sunday school here every day if that kid hangs
around much longer," said Jewey.
"Well, he'll be here just as long as he wants to," said Dave.
"It's two o'clock, Jimmie; you had better turn in and I'll call
you at three-thirty. Good-night."
Jimmie lay down upon a horse blanket without taking off his
shoes or clothes and was soon fast asleep. His day had been
a long one and he was very tired, but happy.
After Dave's callers had gone, he stood looking down into Jimmie's
tired face. "Poor little Jimmie," he said, "if I knew your paper
route, I'd carry it myself rather than wake you up this morning.
There's no use talking, that kid don't get enough to eat. I
saw him give his little sister his supper money last night,
and I know he went to sleep hungry; I never saw his beat. He
preaches to every one in his sweet child way and he makes me
feel as though I was the biggest devil on earth. By thunder,
it breaks me all up." Dave was talking to himself, or thinking
out loud.
He was very much moved by Jimmie's life and words; he pulled
his old office chair beside Jimmie's pallet and began to weep.
Big, strong Dave had broken down and was once more a boy. He
was ashamed of his tears and tried to brace up and stop them;
but when he would look at Jimmie's little pinched face on the
old horse blanket, the tears would start afresh and creep through
his dirty fingers and fall to the floor in spite of all he could
do. Dave Beach was a strong, big fellow; he had drunk and fought
his way through the world and for many years had suppressed
his emotional nature. Tears to him were a sign of weakness and
he would rather have lost his barn and horses by fire than that
any one should see him cry. He jumped to his feet and started
to pace up and down the office. "D---- fool that I am! I'm
bawling worse than a yearling heifer. It's time to call Jimmie
and he must not see me this way." He went to the hydrant out
in the barn and washed and pulled himself together as best he
could, and then went back to call Jimmie.
"It's time to get up, Jimmie," he said as he kicked the bottom
of the boy's foot. Jimmie rose and rubbed his eyes, but was
so tired and sleepy he fell back again upon the blankets.
"Come, my boy, I want you to go to the lunch counter with me
and have a cup of coffee." He reached down and picked the boy
up bodily and held him in his great, strong arms a moment, but
had to drop him for safety; he would be weeping again if he
did not get busy at something else.
"Go out and wash your face, Jim, and you'll feel better."
The cold water did its work.
"Guess I's hard to wake up, wasn't I, Dave?" said Jimmie, as
he wiped his face on the lining of his cap--a trick of the
newsboys.
"You're all right, Jimmie; but you need more sleep. After you
get your papers carried, come back and go up into the haymow
and sleep all morning."
"I can't do 'er, Dave. I got ter see Bill and call on Floe and
take me first lesson from Mrs. Price and go ter Morton's house,
all dis mornin'."
"Well, come, we'll go over and get something to eat," said Dave.
"I don't feel very hungry," said Jimmie, "and I guess I won't
go over jus' now. I'll git somfin later."
Dave knew what the trouble was and took Jimmie by the hand and
started for the all-night lunch counter.
"You're going to eat with me this time, Jimmie; I have enough
money for both of us. No, you'll never pay me a cent of it back.
Just a little treat, you know."
Jimmie never wanted something for nothing, but he grew so hungry
as he thought of the good things at the counter that he could
not say No. Dave ordered their meal, and when it came upon the
table Jimmie's big gray eyes stuck out. "Is dis all fer us,
Dave? Der meat, an' eggs, an' taters, too, an' coffee 'sides!
Gee! it must of cost a quarter, didn't it, Dave?" As he grabbed
his knife and fork to start his meal, he looked up at Dave with
such love in his eyes that Dave lost his appetite for food and
wanted to finish the "bawl" he had started in the barn.
"Go on and eat, Jimmie. You'll be late for your papers," he
said.
"I mus' pray 'fore I eat, Dave," he said as he jammed his cap
into his coat pocket. "Now, Jesus, I'm glad yer give us all
this here good stuff ter eat. It's more'n we got comin'; but
yer always givin' us more'n we could ast er tink. Dave's a good
man fer payin' fer it, and he's feedin' you when he's feedin'
me, 'cause I'm your'n. Make Dave gooder and gooder fer Jesus'
sake. Amen."
Dave jumped to his feet and started for the door. "You eat,
Jimmie; I'll be back in a minute." He was overcome and the "bawl"
had got the best of him. He stood outside the door in the dark
and cried as if his heart would break.
"D---- fool that I am! I wish some one would come along and
call me names so I could lick him within an inch of his life.
I'd feel better anyhow."
After several unsuccessful attempts to control himself, he went
to the door and told Jimmie to eat both meals, as he had to
go.
"I'll pay you, Mose, when I come over." Before Jimmie could
answer he was gone.
He went to Fagin's, got several drinks, tried his best to pick
a fight with Mike, then went home and went to bed.
Jimmie ate all there was in sight, and with a full stomach became
very cheerful and talked to Mose, the colored waiter.
"Gee, I guess me belly t'ought me t'roat was cut. I bet if it
could talk it would ast me what I was doin' up dere."