Before Max could go more than a few steps Sydney pulled him about. “What?
Going without saying good-by to her? Even I have more manners than that.”
“But she won’t let me go if I tell her. I--you must----”
“No matter. You come with me.” Sydney turned, and calling to the man
who had withdrawn behind the leafy screen, “He’ll see you later,” drew
Max, resisting, along with him. It was not unpleasant to Sydney to feel
his superior strength; to know this one advantage over the boy who
unconsciously proved himself superior in so many ways.
They went in and told Mrs. Schmitz.
“You be not afraid. Stay by me. If he comes we are three--”
“No, no! It is you I care for. He may set fire--”
“Shoo out of this! You do what I tell you. I have here no leetle boys not
minding me. In there iss books; go to ’em. After dinner we’ll talk.”
She intended no slang as they knew; and a rich odor came from the Sunday
dinner already on the way. Memories of cold and hunger and dreary
wanderings decided Max. “Thank you,” he said, and went into the sitting
room. “To-night I shall not sleep but watch.”
“And I with you,” Sydney endorsed earnestly, throwing a glance that was
fonder than he knew in the direction of her who was in both their minds.
In the quiet afternoon Mrs. Schmitz tried to banish Max’s fear of the
skulking prowler. “I will tell the police of him.”
“No, no! Please don’t. He will make them take me too.”
“Yes, that also may come true. We will let the policeman be.”
“Yet you still have the money in the house.”
“Also I am not afraid.”
“But I am for you.”
“Forget me. Yourself, not him, you must consider.”
“Myself?” Max was mystified.
“Yes. Suppose you steal from me fifty--even five dollars, or one. It iss
only money. I do not cry. I do not starve, have shame. But you?”
“I go to jail,” he said after her significant pause, his eyes downcast.
“You do worse. You steal from yourself. You steal not money but much
more, your innocence. With fifty or five dollars you have yourself a new
name bought--thief! No money buys that word back. It makes one long,
bloody cut into your soul. Before it gets well you have a very long
time in the hospital of work--if you have the good luck to find that
hospital. Before you have paid back to yourself that fifty dollars worth
of self-respecting, you have great shame and sorrow mit yourself.”
Max did not speak, and she busied herself in making orderly the
book-littered table.
“When you steal to eat I call you not a thief; hungry creatures are
crazy. Ant I judge not anybody. Yet I think so long as you are afraid of
thiefs you have still some robbing in your heart. What you think?”
Max fidgeted in his chair, rose, walked to the window, and looked out
into the sunshine for a second, then he turned back to her, looking
fearlessly in her eyes. “Last night I was a thief! But today--now--I am
not. The wound is there, in my soul certainly; and I’ll carry the scar
always, I know that. But there’ll never be another.”
She caught his hand in both her own and her smile was good to see. “Goot!
I belief you. Have no more fear. By me you stay, get well, go to school
mebbe. _Nicht wahr?_”
“If I stayed at home I would have graduated from the high school in four
months. I’d like to go again. But first I must earn some money.”
“You need no money mit me. Before you are strong to work you can study.”
“You are so good to me. Yet I need some money right away. I--”
“Iss it much? I can lend you some.”
“No, no! I must not borrow it; I must earn it. Is there no light work in
your nursery I could do at once?”
She smiled. “All people look for light work. That iss--skilled work. Mine
leetle plants, like tender child, must be very gently touched, ant mit
love. If you like I’ll teach you.”
“Thank you. But if you have the trouble of teaching me it will be some
time before I shall be worth wages. I’ll think about it.” He turned away
still perplexed, knowing she saw it.
But whatever she thought, she encouraged him cordially. “We’ll talk no
more of this ever, till you yourself ask me. Now you have one thing to
do, make friends mit health. Then I think iss time to make money.”
He thanked her again and was silent for a time, appearing to read; but
when he and Sydney were alone Max divulged his immediate need for money.
“I’ve got to pay something I owe--just got to.”
Sydney hesitated, trying to see with the other boy’s eyes. “I know how
you feel. All the time I was rustling papers--on my uppers most of the
time--I had to keep thinking of my father’s rule of life, ‘No Bremmer
ever takes something for nothing.’”
“I should say that was a mighty good rule.”
“Yes, but a mighty hard one sometimes. If it hadn’t been for that I guess
I’d have gone bad more’n I did. Anyway I’ve slept hungry many a night
because of it.”
“Well, I’ve taken something for nothing; and that’s what I want to wipe
out of my life.”
“Gee! I bet Pop Streeter can do the trick for you. Good old Pop.”
Max asked about Mr. Streeter, and Sydney explained. “He’s to the good on
every count; and I have a hunch he can do something for you. Ever play in
public?”
“No; only for my--for friends.”
“Well, there’s a new moving-picture-show house going up near the Fifth
Avenue High. I know the man that’s building it; he owns another show down
the street, the best shows in town he has,--even the teachers approve
them, so you can see they’re O. K. Well, the way you pet those fiddle
strings I bet you can play for him.”
“Thank you for so much confidence in my ability.” There was a faint hint
of patronage in his tone.
“No confidence in you,” Sydney returned a little sharply. “My judgment’s
worth nothing; but Mrs. Schmitz knows good music, and when she praises a
musical guy he has to have the stuff in him; I’ve lived here long enough
to learn that.”
“How soon will the house be finished?”
“The opening is advertised for a week from next Friday. Mr. Fox wants
a special program of music. You come with me to see Mr. Streeter
to-morrow--I’ll make the appointment right now.” He hurried to the
telephone without waiting to learn Max’s wishes in the matter, but Mr.
Streeter was not in.
Max showed relief. He had not Sydney’s initiative, born from the life of
the street, where advantage must be seized the instant it appears; though
Max could think and act quick under great stress.
Sydney, undiscouraged by several failures, reached Mr. Streeter late at
night and made an engagement for Max for the next evening.
Max, advised by Mrs. Schmitz, took the violin. What occurred during that
interview Max never divulged. Max resented a little Mr. Streeter’s keen
questions, though later he realized that they meant only justice to Mrs.
Schmitz, whose kind heart sometimes overruled her judgment.
Max knew his reticence in regard to his family prejudiced Mr. Streeter
against him, but held to his course; and in spite of this was able to
leave a fairly favorable impression. This was increased during an evening
at Mrs. Schmitz’s home, when the two musicians won him with their art;
and Max’s bearing then counted still more in his favor.
Each passing day left visible improvement in his health. His cough
decreased, his cheeks filled, his color was better, and his step was no
longer languid or nervously rapid. Every apparent symptom of tuberculosis
that might have frightened the ignorant was vanishing, and on its heels
came a courage to meet life that Max had almost lost.
When they read of the apprehension and conviction for a term of years of
a thief that Max recognized as the “pal” that had sworn vengeance, the
lines of unboyish care left his face, and he began to whistle at his work.
Sydney did not know how deep an impression his simple motto, “Never take
something for nothing,” had made upon Max, who had thought the opposite,
“Take all you can get and give as little as possible,” was the law of
business from day laborers to railroad wreckers.
He did not know that business is built upon an idea, confidence; that
the commercial life of the nation would have failed, and surely would
fail, were not the majority of men honest, and willing to let the “other
fellow” also make something.
Mrs. Schmitz read what was passing in his mind and encouraged his
attempts at helpfulness. At first he did not see that his efforts were
awkward; her kindness disguised that. By the time he was skilled enough
to realize his failures he was no longer sensitive about them. When in
his experiments in cookery he salted the soup from the sugar jar, he
laughed with the others and ate his own plateful to the last bit.
Mr. Streeter’s good words and Max’s own skill easily won him a place on
the program for the opening night of the theater. And he did so well that
the manager signed a contract for two weeks, which resulted in more money
than he had seen for many months. Some of it he tried to pay to Mrs.
Schmitz, but she refused it.
“Just a little, won’t you? Make me feel less a beggar?” he coaxed.
“First you pay what--what you say you must--” She hesitated.
“There’s more than enough--to do--what I must before I can go to school,
or even work for you.”
Mrs. Schmitz showed no curiosity concerning this thing that was shadowing
him, but instead gave him trust and encouragement which he felt in all
she said or did. When he was able to set at his task he knew he would
never have had the courage but for her.
This took courage for it was nothing less than an attempt to pay for
stolen food. It was a rather quixotic scheme perhaps; but the thought was
born of his serious talk with Mrs. Schmitz. He believed he could never
wipe out the stain of the name of thief, till he had made restitution.
He knew well the places where ice boxes on open porches had tempted
him; there were three. He planned to go boldly to the front door and
ask for the gentleman of the house. Already he had learned the names of
the householders; learned the dinner hour at each place. He would go
immediately after that, before anyone would be leaving or arriving.
He had two reasons for selecting this hour, the man would be at leisure,
and it would be dark. Max would not be plainly seen. He hoped that
the hall lights would be dim also. It would be so much harder to go in
daylight and thus brand himself in the eyes of those who otherwise would
never know he robbed them. But sending money in a letter seemed cowardly.
Now that his conscience was roused it compelled him to the extreme course.
At the two first places all went as he had planned. At the summons of the
maid the man came to the door, showed surprise at the strange request,
refused at first to accept pay, but finally did so, compelled by Max’s
perseverance.
The third night it was different. A stripling, evidently the spoiled son
of the household, insisted on knowing the business that demanded his
father’s attention.
“It’s private.”
“Nothing private from me. Come in and spit it out. I’ll do just as well
as the pater; he’s resting now.”
“Then I’ll come another night,” Max said, and was turning away, when a
heavy voice called to them.
“What’s wanted there; don’t keep that door open. Ask him in.”
“All right, dad. You hear?” the supercilious youth said to Max. “You’ll
have to come in.”
And Max, not knowing what else to do, entered the spacious hall, hat in
hand, hoping if he kept still the man would appear.
He did not. Instead he called again: “Bring your friend into the library,
Walter.”
There was nothing else but to obey. Through the doorway as they
approached Max saw a child start up from a low seat beside her father and
come toward the two boys, a beautiful little girl of six or seven.
“Come with me, kitten,” the young man said, a tenderness in his tone that
surprised Max. “Dad has business on hand, Dottie.”
She ran to him catching his hand in both of her own, and danced beside
him as he slowly crossed the room, which was small but richly furnished
and lined with well-filled book cases.
A fire crackled cheerily, and a large man, with slippered feet to the
blaze, lounged in a deep easy-chair.
He looked up interrogatively, waiting for Max to speak. The boy did not
know this for an insolent trick of “cute” business. Ensconced in his own
lair, this moment of inhospitable silence on the part of the magnate
was in itself an accusation, a test of strength, with a handicap on the
newcomer.
The boy felt keenly this slap on the face. A quick glance at the visibly
inquisitive youth, however, restored Max a trifle, for he felt quite his
equal. Yet he had to summon all his “spunk” to open his dry lips and
speak.
“I have a little business with you, Mr. Buckman; may I speak to you
alone?”
“Walter, go and tell your mother to be ready in ten minutes, or we’ll be
late. Now what is it, young man?” he questioned a little impatiently as
the others left the room.
Max told his story; told it under the pitiless glare of many lights; told
it haltingly, shamefacedly; and he was angry at himself for doing so
badly. Why could he not speak up clearly, fearlessly, as he had spoken
before?
The man looked him over silently. “So you’re a thief, are you?” he said
scornfully. “A fool to boot, I should say. Why in thunder did you blurt
it out? Why didn’t you keep quiet, and if you must pay conscience money,
send it through the mail?”
“Because I _was_ a thief! I thought then I’d rather steal than starve.
But a kind woman made me ashamed of that. It is not so much to pay
you, sir, what you never could have collected, as to regain my own
self-respect that I did not send the money, but came myself to pay it.”
The man looked at him keenly, plainly interested now, but was still
silent; and Max felt himself probed to his last thought. “That took a
good deal of courage,” the man said at length. “How much do you think you
owe me?”
“You must be the judge of that.” He told what food he took.
“How do I know that is all?”
Max flushed. This grilling burned his soul. “You could ask your cook. It
happened three weeks ago last Thursday night.”
The man smiled. “I guess you’re straight. What do you think the stuff is
worth?”
Max’s temper was up. Depressed at first, he was angry now, and answered
the man a trifle defiantly. “In business the man who pays does not set
the price, but the man who sells. In this case I am at your mercy. You
can have me apprehended on my own confession, and whatever I say now
will prejudice you against me. The food I took measured by the value of
the peace of mind I shall have when I know it is paid for, is worth more
money than I shall be able to earn in many years. Measured by its cost
to you I have no means of knowing its value because I only saw a little
of it.”
“How is that?”
“I snatched all I could carry, gave most of it to one hungrier than I,
and ran as fast and as far as I could.”
“Then you were really hungry? You did not rob for fun, or hoping to find
more valuable stuff?”
“Fun! I cannot conceive of anyone doing that.”
The man was considering. “Hungry! As a boy I don’t remember when I wasn’t
hungry. But I always had three square meals with ‘pieces’ besides. How
long had you gone without eating?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“Why didn’t you get work?”
“Have you any work I could do?” Max inquired eagerly.
Taken unawares the man fell into the trap. “No. Business is slack and I
am pushed to keep my men busy as it is. Even had to discharge some.”
“That’s your answer, sir. I have hunted work for two months.”
“Got any now?”
“Yes; and a prospect of its being permanent. The lady I told you of will
teach me the nursery business if I’m not too stupid to learn; but she
insists that I shall go to school at the same time.”
“Does she know--of what you are doing now?”
“No, sir. When I go home--” Suddenly something swelled in his throat and
for a second he could not go on. Home! It was a home; and Mrs. Schmitz,
more than a benefactress, gave him the affection and understanding
of a mother. “She knows I am--that I have stolen things,” he went on
haltingly; “but she trusts me; and I shall tell her that I have--have
made good--if you’ll let me. Won’t you please give me the chance, sir?”
“By George, I will! You’ve got the stuff for a real man in you. Suppose
we call it square at a dollar?”
“That’s not enough.”
“It is if you gave away most of the food. I won’t take pay for what the
other fellow ate.”
Max saw that it was best to yield though he was not easy as to the sum;
but he handed over the dollar and turned to go. The man rose and went to
the door with him, shaking hands cordially.
“You’ve done a plucky thing, young man; and before you are in the way of
having to steal again for lack of work, come to me at my office.”
He gave street and number as he walked down the hall to open the outer
door, and probably did not hear, as Max did, a faint footstep and a
rustling of the portieres as they passed along.
All the way home Max speculated on that furtive noise; but quite forgot
it in the joy of the sense of freedom that came when he met Sydney and
Mrs. Schmitz, and knew he had the right to look them fairly in the eyes.