TOM DROPS HER TATTERS.
“Now, what is your name, little girl?” asked Mrs. Merton, surveying Tom
doubtfully, half sorry that she had undertaken the care of her.
“Tom.”
“That’s a boy’s name.”
“Everybody calls me Tom,—sometimes Tattered Tom.”
“There’s some reason about the first name,” thought Mrs. Merton, as her
glance rested on the ragged skirt and well-ventilated jacket of her
brother’s protegée.
“As you are a girl, it is not proper that you should have a boy’s name.
What is your real name?”
“I think it’s Jenny. Granny used to call me so long ago, but I like Tom
best.”
“Then I shall call you Jenny. Now, Jenny, the first thing to do, is to
wash yourself clean. Follow me.”
Mrs. Merton went up the front stairs, and Tom followed, using her eyes
to good advantage as she advanced.
The landlady led the way into a bath-room. She set the water to running,
and bade Tom undress.
“Am I to get into the tub?” asked Tom.
“Yes, certainly. While you are undressing, I will try and find some
clothes that will fit you.”
Though she did not at first fancy the idea of bathing, Tom grew to like
it, and submitted with a good grace. Mrs. Merton took care that it
should be thorough. After it, she dressed Tom in some clothes, still
very good, which had been laid aside by her daughter Mary. Then she
combed Tom’s tangled locks, and was astonished by the improvement it
made in the appearance of the little waif.
I have already said that Tom had elements of beauty, but it took sharp
eyes to detect them under the rags and dirt which had so effectually
disguised her. She had very brilliant dark eyes, and a clear olive
complexion, with cheeks that had a tinge of red instead of the pallor
usually to be found in those children who have the misfortune to be
reared in a tenement house. In her new clothes she looked positively
handsome, as Mrs. Merton thought, though she did not see fit to say so
to Tom herself.
When her toilet was concluded she turned Tom to the glass, and said,
“There, Jenny, do you know who that is?”
Tom stared in open-eyed wonder at the image which she saw. She could
hardly believe the testimony of her eyes.
“Is that me?” she asked.
“I believe so,” said Mrs. Merton, smiling.
“It don’t look like me a bit,” continued Tom.
“It doesn’t look like ‘Tattered Tom,’ certainly. Don’t you like it
better?”
“I dunno,” said Tom, doubtfully. “It looks too much like a girl.”
“But you are a girl, you know.”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“Why?”
“Boys have more fun; besides, they are stronger, and can fight better.”
“But you don’t want to fight?” said Mrs. Merton, scandalized.
“I licked a boy yesterday,” said Tom, proudly.
“Why did you do that?”
“He sassed me, and I licked him. He was bigger’n I was, too!”
“I can’t allow you to fight in future, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton. “It
isn’t at all proper for girls, or indeed for boys, to fight; but it is
worse for girls.”
“Why is it?” asked Tom.
“Because girls should be gentle and lady-like.”
“If you was a girl, and a boy should slap you in the face, what would
you do?” asked Tom, fixing her bright eyes upon her mentor.
“I should forgive him, and hope he would become a better boy.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Tom. “I’d give him Hail Columby.”
“You’ve got some very wrong ideas, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton. “I fear
that your grandmother has not brought you up properly.”
“She did not bring me up at all. I brought myself up. As for granny, she
didn’t care as long as I brought her money to buy whiskey.”
Mrs. Merton shook her head. It was very evident to her that Tom had been
under very bad influences.
“I hope you will see the error of your ways after a while, Jenny. My
brother takes an interest in you, and for his sake I hope you will try
to improve.”
“If he wants me to, I will,” said Tom, decidedly.
Arab as she was, she had been impressed by the kindness of Captain
Barnes, and felt that she should like to please him. Still, there was a
fascination in the wild independence of her street life which was likely
for some time to interfere with her enjoyment of the usages of a more
civilized state. There was little prospect of her taming down into an
average girl all at once. The change must come slowly.
“My brother will be very much pleased if he finds that you have improved
when he returns from his voyage.”
“When is he goin’ to sea?”
“In two or three days.”
“I asked him to take me with him,” said Tom; “but he wouldn’t.”
“You would only be in the way on a ship, Jenny.”
“No, I shouldn’t. I could be a cabin-boy.”
“But you are not a boy.”
“I could climb the masts as well as a boy. If there was only a pole
here, I’d show you.”
“What a child you are!”
“Did you ever read about the female pirate captain?” asked Tom.
“No.”
“Jim Morgan told me all about it. He’d read it in some book. It was a
bully story.”
“Such stories are not fit to read.”
“I’d like to be a pirate captain,” said Tom, thoughtfully.
“You mustn’t talk so, Jenny,” said Mrs. Merton, shocked.
“But I would, though, and carry two pistols and a dagger in my belt, and
then if anybody sassed me I’d give ’em all they wanted.”
“My brother wouldn’t like to hear you talk so, Jenny. I’m sure I don’t
know what has got into you to say such dreadful things.”
“Then I won’t,” said Tom. “I wonder what granny would say if she saw me
in these fixin’s. She wouldn’t know me.”
“When my brother comes, you shall go down and open the door for him, and
see if he knows you.”
“That will be bully.”
“Now I must be thinking what I can find for you to do. You will be
willing to help me?”
“Yes,” said Tom, promptly.
“Do you know how to make beds?”
“I can learn,” said Tom.
“Didn’t your grandmother ever teach you?” asked Mrs. Merton, who, though
for a long time a resident of New York, had a very imperfect knowledge
of how the poorest classes lived.
“Granny never made her bed,” said Tom. “She just gave it a shake, and
tumbled into it.”
“Bless me, how shiftless she must be!” ejaculated Mrs. Merton, in
surprise.
“Oh, granny don’t mind!” said Tom, carelessly.
“Did you ever sweep?”
“Lots of times. That’s the way I got money to carry to granny.”
“Were you paid for sweeping, then?” asked Mrs. Merton.
“Yes, people that came along would give me money. If they wouldn’t I’d
muddy their boots.”
“What do you mean, child? Where did you sweep?”
“Corner of Broadway and Chambers’ Streets.”
“Oh, you swept the crossing, then.”
“In course I did. If you’ll give me a broom, I’ll go out and sweep front
of your house; but I guess there aint so many people come along here as
in Broadway.”
“I don’t want you to do that,” said Mrs. Merton, hastily. “I want you to
sweep the rooms in the house. Sarah, the chambermaid, will show you how,
and also teach you to make beds.”
“All right,” said Tom. “Bring her on, and I’ll help her.”
“We will defer that till to-morrow. Now you may come down to the kitchen
with me, and I’ll see if I can find anything for you to do there.”
Tom felt ready for any enterprise, and started to follow Mrs. Merton
downstairs, but rather startled the good lady by making a rapid descent
astride the banisters.
“Don’t you do that again, Jenny,” she said reprovingly.
“Why not?” asked Tom. “It’s jolly fun.”