TITUS AS A PHILANTHROPIST
The two boys rushed Brick and the dog out to the stable.
“This way,” said Titus, and he ran upstairs and opened the door of a
small room opposite Roblee’s.
“It used to be a harness room,” Titus explained, “but was fitted up once
for a bedroom when that old goose Higby took measles and we had to
isolate him. See, here is a bed, and table, and washstand. I’ll get Mrs.
Blodgett to bring out some bedding by and by.”
Brick looked about him with his tongue and eyes both going. “’Tis a boss
place, sah. Me an’ Bylow’s not slep’ in such a place, nevvah, no,
nevvah.”
“You see,” went on Titus, hurriedly, “as Miss Bethany is so bent on
keeping you round for a time, I’d like to get my grandfather to have
Roblee take you for a stable boy. He’s looking for one just now. He
won’t like your color, but we’ll try to get some of that off you.”
“You aint layin’ out fer to wash me, be you, young sah?” said Brick,
anxiously.
“Yes, you and the dog. You’re both too dirty to live.”
Brick made a bolt for the door, but Titus got there before him and
locked it.
“No use to kick,” he said, grimly. “You’re a likely-looking boy, and
you’re a fool to tramp it. I’m going to keep you here for a while and
try to make you halfway decent.”
Brick went down on his knees. “O, lordy massy, don’t wash me, young
sah.”
Titus calmly took him by his collar. “Dallas, you’ll help me.”
The English boy looked down at his handsome suit of clothes; however, he
assented quietly.
“All right,” said Titus, with a nod of understanding and
good-fellowship, “I thought you would. Go in the house and get some old
clothes of mine from my closet—not too old, mind—and a comb and brush
and some decent soap and towels—lots of ’em; and on your way here dash
across the back way to Charlie Brown’s and get him to bring over that
bathtub he uses for his Newfoundland dog. O, before you go,” he called,
as Dallas was leaving the room, “turn on the heat.”
Dallas went over to a radiator in the corner, then hurried away.
Titus continued to hold Brick, who did not cease for one single minute
to beg and pray for release.
“You shan’t go,” said Titus, inexorably, “you dirty little beast. I’ve
taken a fancy to you. You’ve got to stay here and be our stable boy, and
you sha’nt be our stable boy till you’re clean. I tell you, Roblee would
chuck you out in the snow. He’s cleaner than I am.”
“I don’t want to stay, sah,” pleaded Brick, earnestly. “Water just
pisons me. O, let me go back to River Street, me an’ Bylow,” and he
gazed helplessly at the dog, who had gone to the radiator and was lying
calmly beside it.
“It’s for your good,” said Titus, earnestly. “Don’t you want to earn
money and have a bank book?”
“Money, sah?” said Brick, eagerly.
“Yes, lots of it—nice clean, rustling greenbacks. But you’ve got to work
for it, my son. Hello! there they are!”
Dallas and Charlie, with a great laughing and thumping, were dragging
the bathtub upstairs.
When the door was opened Charlie stuck in his head. “Thought I’d come,
too—sounded as if there was going to be some fun.”
“No, you don’t,” said Titus to Brick, who on seeing the door open had
tried to make a dash for liberty. Then he addressed the other boys.
“Shut that door, quick. I don’t want this frog to jump. Now, look
sharp—Roblee will soon be home, and I want this over before he comes.”
“Where is he?” inquired Dallas.
“Had to take the horses to the blacksmith. I say, fellows, put that tub
here in the middle of the room. Now rush downstairs to the harness room
and get a couple of pails. Then fill them at the hot water faucet and
bring them up here.”
Brick, with rolling eyes, watched the boys scuttling to and fro.
“Don’t be such a fool,” said Titus, gently shaking him. “Anyone would
think we were going to hang you.”
“Bylow,” said Brick, faintly, “sic ’em, sic ’em, good dog.”
Bylow turned his head. Titus was still in his tramp suit, Charlie Brown
was considerably disheveled from working about his pigeon loft, and
Dallas had taken the precaution, when he went into the house hastily to
change his good suit of clothes for the one in which he had arrived at
the Judge’s. Therefore they were a trio of pretty disreputable-looking
boys, and Bylow, after a lazy look at them, glanced at his young master
as if to say, “What are you worrying about? You are among friends.” Then
he again lay down by the radiator and went to sleep. He knew that those
laughing, chattering boys meant no harm to the shuddering Brick, and he
took no thought for himself.
“Now,” called Titus, “are you ready?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded Charlie Brown.
“Then help me undress the criminal,” said Titus.
In five minutes Brick was seated in a tub of deliciously warm water, and
three pairs of kind young hands were lathering him with soap.
He gave one yell at first, then he sat still—and enjoyed it, if the
truth must be told.
“Is this a baf, young sah?” he squeaked, fearfully.
“Yes, it’s a ‘baf,’” said Titus; “what did you think it was?”
“I thought a baf was cold, sah. This be warm. O, law!” and he joyfully
paddled with his hands.
“Stop that,” said Titus, peremptorily; “you’re splashing us.”
The boys worked like heroes, and in a terrible haste lest Roblee should
return. Brick was rubbed and scrubbed, and at last Titus shouted, “Out
with him and in with the dog.”
“Young sah,” exclaimed Brick, “where’s my cloes?”
Shivering with excitement, he stood by the radiator, trying to rub
himself with the towels that Titus had thrown to him.
“Burnt up,” said Titus. “Master Dallas there took every rag down and
chucked them in the furnace.”
Brick gave a howl. “An’ me five dollah gold piece sewed in the tail of
me coat!”
“Five dollar fiddlestick!” said Titus, energetically. “Did you ever see
such a darky? He doesn’t even know how to dry himself. Give him a rub
down, Charlie, will you, while Dallas and I introduce the dog to the
tub?”
Bylow was a considerably astonished dog. He was no water dog, and the
touch of water to his body was as distasteful to him as it had been at
first to Brick. Titus flung a question over his shoulder at Brick. “Is
he a biter?”
“Sah,” said Brick, earnestly, “he aint no bitah. I nevvah knowed him to
set his teeth in no one. He’s just a rippah, sah.”
“That’s good,” said Titus; “come on, boys. I’ll hold and you scrub.
Brick, get on that bed and cover yourself with those horse blankets.
We’ll attend to you presently.”
It took all three boys to manage the dog. His howls, his bounds, his
cries were prodigious, but he did not once attempt to bite. He was as
shrewd as most dogs, and he knew that the hand on his collar was that of
a master.
He, unlike Brick, did not enjoy one minute of the bath. He did not care
if the water was warm, and he struggled and kicked until the three boys
were breathless.
“My! he’s a bounder,” exclaimed Charlie. “What a back! How many breeds
are there in him, colored boy?”
“Don’t know, sah, but I’ve heard them say as knows that his fathah ought
to ’a’ bin a bulldog, an’ his grandmothah were a pointah.”
“Let him out,” ordered Titus, “let him out; my back’s ’most broken.”
“So is mine,” laughed Dallas, but he ran after the dog, which was
shaking violently, and began to rub him dry.
“Now for the fancy dress ball,” said Titus, and he began to pull at the
heap of clothes that Dallas had brought out. “Stand up, Brick—here, put
on that shirt.”
Brick, grinning like a Chessy cat, took up the pink and white cotton
shirt and ran his arms into it.
“Here,” said Titus, and he threw him various other garments. “Not that
way, owl—this way,” and he began to dress the boy himself. Then he
turned to Dallas. “I say, old fellow, run in the house to my room and
get that long mirror standing behind the door. I was trying a high kick
the other day and broke it. Grandfather says he’ll get me another.”
Dallas obligingly nodded, and his long legs speedily took him away from
the stable.
“H’m, no tie and no collar,” said Titus at last when Brick was fully
dressed.
“Here,” said Charlie, pulling off his, “don’t spare the finishing
touches.”
Titus was just fastening the red-silk tie when Dallas entered the room
bearing aloft the long glass.
“Set it down there,” said Titus, pointing to the wall. “Now, colored
boy, look.”
The transformed boy stepped up to the glass. He gave one glance, then he
turned to the three boys behind him, who were also reflected in the
mirror.
“Where’s Brick, gen’l’men?”
Titus shook his head solemnly. “Dead!”
The colored boy looked again. “I see foah young sahs in dere,
gen’l’men.”
His face was irresistible, and the three boys burst out laughing.
“That dead boy used to have cheeks like mud, gen’l’men,” Brick went on,
in his funny, flat voice. “This boy have pale cheeks. He mos’ white.”
“Brick,” said Titus, solemnly, “we’ve taken off ten layers of dirt.”
“Young sah,” continued Brick, with dancing eyeballs, “the young cullid
fellahs down at the hotel, they wears buttins.”
His cunning glance searched Titus’s face.
“Well, you shall have plenty of buttons to wear,” replied Titus,
agreeably. “We’ll stud you with them till you don’t know which is button
and which is boy.”
Brick gave a shrill whistle and leaped in the air. Then he began to
dance—to dance with such glee and so much comicality that the three boys
were presently exploding with laughter.
“Come on; this isn’t work,” exclaimed Titus, suddenly. “I see Betty
coming out with the first call to dinner. Let’s clear up this mess,
‘gen’l’men.’ Here, Brick, you help.”
The colored boy took hold with a will, and soon the room was as tidy as
when they had entered it.
“Put some life into that dog,” commanded Titus, pointing to Bylow.
Brick ran at him, caught him round the middle of his body, and danced
round the room with him till he had no breath left.
“Now cover him up with those blankets,” said Titus, “and come in and
have some dinner.”
“Me, sah,” exclaimed Brick; “me, sah?”
“Yes, you—Charlie, will you stay?”
“O, yes,” replied his friend, sarcastically, “I look so pretty.”
“Get off with you, then,” said Titus, playfully giving him a push, “and
come some other day. Much obliged for your help.”
Charlie ran whistling out the back door of the stable, and Dallas,
Titus, and Brick walked toward the house.
“Mind you,” said Titus to Brick, “not one word to the girls or Mrs.
Blodgett. Eat what is set before you and ask no questions.”
Titus began to yawn and stutter when they got to the house. His
excitement was over.
“B-b-blodgieblossom,” he said, seeking her in the little sitting room
off the storeroom, where she usually sat to be within easy reach of the
kitchen, “I’ve got a new black pigeon—I want some dinner for it.”
“All right, my boy,” said the woman, affectionately, and she waddled out
into the hall.
“H-h-here it is,” said Titus, emphatically, and he laid his hand on
Brick’s shoulder.
“Bless my heart, and soul, and body,” exclaimed Mrs. Blodgett, “if you
aint the greatest lad! Another colored boy, and the first one hardly
gone out of the house.”
“H-h-how would you have liked to keep that first one, Blodgieblossom?”
said Titus, mischievously.
“I wouldn’t have given him houseroom,” she said, energetically, “the
dirty creature! Now this fellow looks clean,” and she bestowed a kindly
glance on Brick. “I’ll have the girls lay him a little table in the wash
room.”
Brick was grinning, but not as alarmingly as before. He was embarrassed
now, and somewhat afraid of this fat woman.
Ten minutes later he was an ecstatic colored boy. White girls were
waiting on him, white girls were placing before him the most sumptuous
dinner he ever ate, and he surreptitiously sneaked pieces off his plate
and into his pockets for Bylow, the dog.