FIVE DOLLARS.
Dear old Mrs. Yorke had improved rapidly under the care of the
specialist who was treating her case; but she was ill at ease in her
city quarters, partly because she was unaccustomed to her surroundings,
partly because she was never certain, when the captain was away from
her, that he was not doing some unheard-of thing which might bring him
into a serious predicament. And now here was this trouble between Jim,
of whom she and the captain were so proud and so fond, and her
grandson, and the disgrace of the latter; so that just now her bed was
not one of roses, and she longed for the quiet and peace of her simple
seaside home.
"If Adam would but go home, and take the boy with him," she sighed to
Mammy one day, "I could be easy in my mind, for I know that Jabez and
Matilda Jane and Mary would look after him well, and he would be out of
harm's way; but now I wouldn't be a bit surprised if some day he turned
up in the police-court, just for doin' something he thought was no
harm, but that is against city rules. His ways and city folks' ways
ain't alike. An' there's the boy, an' what he's done; all the school
learnin' in the world ain't goin' to pay for such a shame. No, you
needn't say it was on'y a boyish trick; you on'y say that to make me
more easy like; an' with thanks all the same to Governor Rutherford,
I'd a sight rather he'd left Theodore down to the Point, an' out of the
way of such temptations as he gets here. An' when they once begin that
way as boys, you never know where they'll end. No, no; I wish Adam and
the boy were home."
Poor Mrs. Yorke! She had, indeed, too much reason to dread the after
results of "once beginning that way;" for Theodore seemed likely to
follow in the footsteps of his good-for-nothing father.
Uncle Rutherford, of course, heard of the peanut episode, and expressed
a fitting censure on Theodore's conduct, both to our family and to the
boy himself; but we said among ourselves, that he not only appeared to
endorse, but to enjoy, Jim's swift, passionate punishment of Theodore,
and he escaped with a very slight reproof, if, indeed, the few words he
said to him concerning the matter could be called reproof; and Milly
felt no fear that he had lost ground with uncle Rutherford.
Fortunately the captain, knowing little or nothing of the streets, was
given, when by himself, to haunting our neighborhood and the park
opposite; so that he came much under the notice and patronage of the
friendly policeman, whose daily beat was in that quarter, and who kept
him on many an occasion from going astray, or making a spectacle of
himself.
The captain had sought out Rob Stevens, insisted that he should tell
him just how many times he had seen Theodore steal peanuts from Matty,
and, so far as he could judge, to what amount each time; then counting
up what he supposed them to be worth, which he put at an enormously
high valuation--the honest old man!--that he might be sure to err on
the right side, he forced Theodore to go with him to the stand, and pay
Matty for the stolen fruit. He endeavored, too, to make him apologize
to Jim, both for the theft of his property, and also for his
contemptible meanness in keeping silent on the occasion of Jim's attack
on the playground. But here he was powerless: Theodore absolutely and
doggedly refused to do it; and his grandfather was obliged to content
himself with relieving his own feelings, and further expressing his
sentiments on the boy's conduct, by giving him a severe flogging.
Spring was upon us now; an early, mild, and beautiful spring. Day after
day of sunny delicious weather succeeded one another; the children came
home from their walks or drives in the Central Park, in ecstasies over
the robins, blue-birds, and squirrels they had seen. In the woods at
Oaklands,--whither father went once or twice a week to have an eye upon
his improvements and preparations for the summer,--spring-beauties,
hepaticas, and anemones, and even a few early violets, were showing
their lovely faces; and all young things--ah, and the older ones
too--were rejoicing that the "winter was past and gone."
With the advent of the mild weather, Matty's stand had been removed out
of doors and beneath the shelter of Johnny Petersen's shop; and this
situation proved more profitable than it had been within, as many a
charitable passer-by, seeing the pitiful figure and pinched face of the
poor child, would stop to purchase. During the hours of the day when
the sun was warm and bright, her surroundings were not much less
attractive than they had been within; for the glass sashes of the
little flower-store were generally wide open behind her, while Johnny
frequently brought forth some of his plants for an airing upon the
sidewalk.
As his custom increased with the warm weather, and people came for
potted plants and so forth for their gardens and windows, Johnny
occasionally found it necessary to be away for a few hours buying new
stock at the larger greenhouses and markets; and when Mrs. Petersen did
not find it convenient to take his place in the shop, he depended upon
Tony to keep watch, and make small sales for him. The lame boy was
bright and apt; and Johnny had drilled him well as to prices and so
forth, and found him a tolerably satisfactory substitute during his own
times of absence.
One would have thought that Theodore Yorke would have avoided the
neighborhood of the peanut-stand after his exposure and disgrace; but
it was not so. His grandfather had cut short the small amount of
pocket-money which he had occasionally given him, and he was now left
penniless, and so no more visited the place as a customer; but he
seemed to take a delight in hanging around it, and annoying Matty and
Tony, who were now on their guard, and watched him unceasingly. Tony
and he frequently exchanged sundry compliments not suited to ears
polite; and Johnny, if he saw him, would come out and drive him away.
The shop was absolutely forbidden ground to him; within it he was not
suffered to set a foot.
One bright afternoon when Johnny Petersen happened to be away, and Tony
was in charge, Theodore came sauntering up to the stand, to the great
dissatisfaction of the children. Matty was in her usual seat behind her
table; Tony seated on the low door-step of the store, his crutches
lying on the ground beside him and within reach of his hand.
Theodore came up, glanced into the store, and, seeing that the master
was absent, addressed himself to the amiable amusement of teasing and
worrying those who were too helpless to defend themselves.
"Me an' Matty's lookin' out for ye, an' ye needn't come roun' to be
stealin' no more peanuts," said Tony at length, "an' I'll call the M.
P. if you comes too close to the stand. We ain't goin' to stan' no
foolin', we ain't; an' Jim told us you don't have a cent of money now,
so you ain't come to buy with one hand an' help yourself with t'other.
It'd be helpin' yourself with both; so clear out!"
"I ain't comin' near your old peanuts," said Theodore; "an' they ain't
yours, anyway."
This style of converse continued for some minutes, growing more and
more personal each instant; till at last Theodore said to Matty, who,
according to her usual custom, had remained perfectly silent,--
"If I had such a cushion on my back as yours, I wouldn't make it bigger
piling such a heap of hair on it. You look like a barber's-shop show
figger. I wonder you don't sell yourself for a show figger. You'd look
so pretty an' smart."
Matty only gave him one of her most vicious looks, and clinched her
small claw-like hands as though they longed to be at him; but Tony
answered for her.
"They don't get no such hair to the barbers' shops without payin' lots
for it," he shouted; "an' she ain't no need to make a figger of
herself. She can sell it for a heap of money,--five dollars, if she
chooses,--Mr. Petersen says so, an' Jim says so, too. But she ain't
a-goin' to have it cut off; she likes it too much, an' the ladies likes
it, Jim's ladies do, an' they telled her to leave it hang down, an' one
on 'em give her a blue dress to make it look purtier on it; an' she's
give her lots of things more. An' they've give me lots of things, too;
the ole un she give me a whole suit for Easter, an' me an' Matty looked
as good as any of 'em. An' Jim says--now you keep off," as Theodore
drew nearer, "you keep off, or I'll call the M.P. He ain't so fur."
"Oh, you will, will you?" said Theodore; "you've got to catch him
first, and me, too, old Hippity-hop," and with a kick he sent both
crutches far beyond the reach of the lame boy, then, with a derisive
laugh, ran off. And there Tony sat, helpless and unable to pursue, till
a compassionate passer-by brought him the crutches; for Matty could not
stoop for them. Had the old captain seen this cowardly, contemptible
deed, he would probably have thought that all the waters of all the
oceans could not "wash the meanness" from the soul of his grandson.
For the rest of that day and for the next, and for two or three
succeeding ones, Theodore's thoughts dwelt much upon this last
interview with the two cripples; but do not let it be thought, with any
disquieting reproaches from his conscience, or any feeling of remorse.
To him, all that had passed was a mere nothing, not worth a second
thought, save for the one idea which had made a deep impression on him.
That hair of Matty's, that mass of beautiful, shining hair, which even
his boyish, unpractised eye could see was something uncommon,--worth
five dollars; it was impossible! And yet could it be? If "Jim's ladies"
thought it so beautiful, it might be that it was worth a good deal of
money. What fools, then, were Matty and Tony, the one for keeping it
upon her head, the other for not persuading her to part with it, and
taking a share of the money for himself! In all his life Theodore had
never had so much money; and his mean, selfish soul at once set itself
to devise means by which one--he did not yet, even to his own thoughts,
say himself--could gain possession of the girl's hair.
He had heard of girls being robbed, in the street, of their hair; but
that would never do here with Matty, no, not even though he had an
accomplice to help him. And he knew of no one to whom he could even
suggest such a thing; for he had no acquaintances in the city save the
boys in his school; and to no one of them could he or would he dare to
propose it, although he knew that there were among them some who were
none too scrupulous to do a shabby thing if they thought they could
gain any advantage by it.
All this time I had vainly, as I thought, tried to gain any influence
over Matty. She took my gifts, it is true, and wore or otherwise made
use of them; but she never showed the slightest token of pleasure in
them, or uttered one word of acknowledgment, and she was still entirely
unresponsive to any other advances on my part. It was Tony, bright,
jolly little Tony, who thanked me with real Irish effusion, always
greeted me with the broadest of smiles, and testified his gratitude and
appreciation of my efforts for Matty's welfare by various small
offerings, till I really wished I had chosen him to befriend instead of
that hopeless subject, his sister. It became quite a little family
joke, as almost every evening when he and Matty came to deliver the
day's earnings to Jim--for it was not considered safe for them to carry
the money to their own home--he brought also some small token for
"Jim's second young lady," whereby I was understood; now a couple of
daisies, a rose, or two or three violets, or a few sprigs of
mignonnette, begged from Dutch Johnny; now a bird's nest, manufactured
by himself out of twine and a few twigs; and once a huge turnip which
he had seen fall from a market-cart as it passed on its way down the
avenue, and picking it up, after vainly trying to make the carter hear,
had laid it aside as a suitable gift for me; and another time he
brought for my acceptance a hideous, miserable, half-starved kitten,
which, as I was known by the servants to have a horror of cats, was
declined for me both by Jim and Thomas, greatly to Tony's mortification
and disappointment.
At the Easter festival, when he and Matty had "looked as good as
anybody," to his mind, each child in the Sunday school had been
presented with a small pot of pansies; and Tony, instead of taking his
home, had come from the church to our house, and, asking for me by his
usual title of "Jim's second young lady," had shyly presented his
Easter token.
Yes, I would fain have made an exchange, and taken Tony as my charge;
but pride, and the recollection of Milly's fear that I would not
persevere with Matty, forbade.
I had thought over all manner of plans for removing both children from
the influence of their wretched home and drunken parents; but most of
these were pronounced by the more experienced to be visionary and not
feasible. So they still continued to return to them at night, although,
"weather fair or weather foul, weather wet or weather dry," they never
failed to be present at their post as early as possible in the morning.
Miss Craven and I had taken from Jim the charge of providing the
cripples' dinner; and for a trifling sum Mrs. Petersen, who had no
children of her own, gave them that meal and their supper in her room,
so that in many respects they were far better off than they had been.
But still there seemed no loop-hole where I could insert a wedge for
Matty's moral regeneration; she appeared to remain hard, impenetrable,
and suspicious.
The story of the "ducking" had, of course, been graphically rehearsed
by those of the schoolboys who had witnessed it, to those who had not;
and there were but few, if any, who did not enjoy the recital of
Theodore's punishment and disgrace. And from that time Captain Yorke
had become a marked figure with the boys. Before this, he had not been
known to many of them; but now he was pointed out by the few who had
been present at the scene at the fountain, as the Spartan grandfather
who had not hesitated to deal out punishment to his own flesh and
blood, when it seemed to him that justice demanded it. He was often to
be seen now in the park, the centre of an admiring and appreciative
group, to whom he related thrilling adventures which were his own
experience as a sailor and a surfman, holding his audience spell-bound,
not only by their interest in the subject, but also by his quaint and
simple manner of telling.
Among this audience one day, were the two boys who had been present at
the theatre on the night when the captain had made such an exhibition
of himself; and they recognized him at once. Of course, it was soon
spread about that he was the hero of that adventure; and the next
morning at school, Jim was asked if he had not known it. Acknowledging
this, it was then inquired _why_ he had not "got even with Theodore,"
by turning the laugh on him, and telling that it was his grandfather
who had made himself a laughingstock.
"'Cause I wasn't goin' back on the old captain," answered sturdy, loyal
Jim. "He's stood up for me, an' been a good friend; an' I ain't goin'
to point him out for to be laughed at, not if he is Theodore's
grandfather."
He expected to be laughed at in his turn, and stood with defiance and
"laugh if you choose" in his air.
But no one laughed or jeered: somehow his steadfastness struck a chord
in most of those boyish hearts; and Rob Stevens, clapping him on the
shoulder, exclaimed,--
"And 'tain't the first time he's held his tongue, either, is it,
Peanuts? We'll all vote for the feller that stan's by his friends an'
don't go back on 'em. Three cheers for President Jim Washington!"
And if a voice there was silent, save Theodore Yorke's, it was not
noticed in the number which responded.
School-life having by this time rubbed off some of his _freshness_, Jim
had learned that it would be to his own advantage to discard several
from the string of names which he had seen fit to adopt on his
entrance; and he now contented himself with signing his name James R.
L. Washington, which appeared upon all his books and any thing else to
which he could lay claim.
After the manner of those who have fixed their minds upon that to which
they have no right, the more the unprincipled Theodore thought of the
mint of money, as he called it, upon Matty's head, the more he wished
that he could find the means to possess himself of the material to be
so easily turned into that money; and he finally arranged a plan which
he thought both practicable and safe.
"Matildy Jane," whose theory it was that there were no articles of diet
in New York "fit for plain folks to eat," and who believed that her
father and mother would return home only to die victims to indigestion
brought on by high living, had sent, by the hands of a friend who came
to the city, a large basket of apple turnovers and ginger cookies, in
order that her parents might have "a taste of home cookin'."
Slyly possessing himself of two of these turnovers and sundry cookies,
Theodore thought to make his peace with Tony and Matty by bestowing
them upon them, as an equivalent for the stolen peanuts; and having
ascertained when Dutch Johnny was off on another purchasing expedition,
and Tony left in charge, he hurried home, and came back to the
florist's shop with these delectable viands.
No sooner did Tony see him than he warned him off, threatening to call
the police if Theodore came any nearer; but the latter hastened to
propitiate him by holding up the turnovers and saying,--
"Oh, I came to make up. Don't make a row."
Now, if there was any thing in which the soul of Tony delighted, it was
an apple pasty of any shape or dimensions; and the tempter had
unwittingly chosen his bait well.
Tony's threats and denunciations ceased, and he sat staring at the
proffered treat; while Theodore, seeing it was taking effect, drew a
few steps nearer.
"Don't you want 'em?" he said. "I've got one for you, and one for
Matty; and I've got some ginger-cakes, too."
Warned by past experience, Tony grasped his crutches, and, still
expecting some trick, sat dubious, with his eyes fixed as if fascinated
upon the coveted dainties, but still more than half inclined to call to
the policeman, whom he saw upon the upper corner.
"Oh, come now!" repeated Theodore; "make up. Don't you want 'em?
They're first-rate."
The temptation proved irresistible; and, rising to his feet, Tony went
toward his whilom antagonist in order to prevent him from coming too
near the stand, accepted one of the turnovers, looked at it on all
sides, smelled of it, and finally set his teeth deliberately but with
caution into it; then turned, and looked inquiringly at Matty.
"Pisen!" uttered that little sceptic, still unconvinced that treachery
did not lurk behind these demonstrations of friendship.
Ay, poison indeed! but not in the sense poor Matty meant. Nor would she
accept the other turnover or the ginger-cakes, or look at or speak to
Theodore; but sat gazing afar off as if into vacancy, her face
perfectly expressionless, although Tony, now completely won over, sat
eating his with the utmost gusto.
Meanwhile Theodore, having turned over the whole contents of his
pockets, talked in a friendly way, leading gradually up to the matter
in his mind; although he was afraid to linger long, lest Johnny should
return, or some one come by who would wonder at seeing amicable
relations established between himself and Tony.
"Been makin' good sales to-day?" he asked at length; but this put Tony
on his guard again at once.
"Now you let peanuts alone; they ain't none of your business," he said,
his mouth full of ginger-cake.
"I ain't goin' to touch your peanuts," said the older boy. "I just
asked. Jim's makin' an uncommon good thing out of this peanut-stand
with you and Matty to run it for him, an' I hear you're doin'
first-rate. But--don't I know something about Jim!"
"So do I, lots," answered Tony, as well as he could speak.
"You don't know what I know; and Jim wouldn't want you to," said the
bad boy. "It's his secret, and a monstrous one, too; but I know it, and
I'm goin' to tell it, too."
"I sha'n't listen to it," said Tony.
"Ho! I don't want you to. It's not you I mean to tell," said Theodore.
"It's the police."
"Jim ain't done nothin' for the perlice," said Tony furiously. "The
perlice likes him, an' wouldn't do nothin' to him."
"Ha! You wait and see," said Theodore; "they've got to when I tell 'em.
It's a secret on Jim an' one of his young ladies, Miss Amy there, that
gives Matty her clo's an' things. He'll feel awful to have himself an'
Miss Amy told on, and the police will go for 'em when they know it; but
nothin' ain't goin' to put me off talkin' without I was paid for it, as
much as five dollars, too."
"What they done?" asked Tony, curiosity and alarm for his friends
getting the better of his aversion to discuss the subject with
Theodore.
Theodore came nearer, and making Tony promise with the most solemn
asseverations that he would not repeat, and would not suffer Matty to
repeat, to any one, what he told him, said,--
"They had some poisoning done, round to Mr. Livingstone's, an' Jim and
Miss Amy was mixed up in it. They did the poisoning; but 'twas found
out in time, an' their folks hushed it up. But _I_ know it, an' I'm
goin' to set the police on them unless some one would make it worth my
while not to. Five dollars would buy me off; but there's no one I know
of, would give me five dollars, so I'm goin' to tell."
Street Arab though he was, with his wits sharpened into preternatural
acuteness in some respects, in others Tony was guileless and easily
imposed upon; and for a moment he stared at Theodore in dismay, but
presently doubt and suspicion again obtained the upper hand.
"I don't take no stock in that," he said; "it's a lie, I know. I'll ask
Jim himself."
"If you let on to him what I've told you, I'll tell the police for
certain, whether or no," said Theodore; "but if anybody was to say
they'd give me five dollars, an' you don't tell Jim, I'll never say a
word."
And he walked away, leaving his words to take what effect they might.
That they had already taken effect, he saw, as Matty, who had not
spoken a word all this time, drew the beautiful, shining tresses in
front of her, and passed her skinny little hands lovingly over them.
Tony stood staring stupidly after him for a moment, then burst out at
him with a torrent of abuse and threats which Theodore did not deign to
answer.
That evening about dusk, when Tony and Matty came to our house to
render up the day's account to Jim, after they had settled business,
Tony asked in a mysterious whisper, and half as if he feared to put the
question,--
"Jim, tell us; has you got a secret you don't want any one to know?"
By the light of the gas-jet, beneath which they stood, in the basement
hall, Tony saw the color rush in a flood to Jim's face, and an angry
light came into his eye, as he answered roughly,--
"'Tain't none of your business if I have; you let my secrets alone."
Tony was a little frightened, but he persisted,--
"But tell us; did you and yer young lady, her what's good to us, did
you once get mixed up wid pisenin' some folks, an' it was kept dark
so's the----"
"Now you shut up an' clear out quick, you little rascal!" shouted Jim
furiously. "If you come Paul Pryin' round here, a-tryin' to find out my
secrets, me an' you will fall out, an' you'll get no more help from
Miss Amy nor me. Clear!"
But Tony, alas! was answered; and the crestfallen little cripple
shuffled out from the presence of the offended head of the peanut firm
as fast as possible; Jim putting his head out of the door, and shouting
after them, still in the most irate tones,--
"Now you let me an' Miss Amy an' all my folks alone, or there'll be
trouble, sure!" then slammed the door after them.
In silence they went up the street, but not immediately home: they had
other business to attend to first.