Divided Skates

“Chloe, what have you been giving Sir Christopher? against my orders, for nobody except myself and Mary is ever to feed him. What is it? Don’t be so slow. It is important I should know. I may be able to save his life if he is in danger. What? Eh?”

“Well, ma’am,” drawled the negress, in her leisurely way which nothing could alter, “I dunno as I’ve guv him anything to speak of. Nothing wuth mentioning, leastways. Just a little of that nice lobster salad was left from luncheon; and a cup of custard; being more ’an would go in the floating island. Then a mere taste of the ice-cream, out the freezer was meant for the kitchen, an’ he seemed to relish it right well. He licked a right smart of the custard, and as for the lobster, you know yourself, Miss Lucy, he’s always plumb crazy for shell-fish. Not like most dogs, Chrissy isn’t, won’t touch such victuals. He just dotes on anything comes out the salt water, and I – ”

Miss Armacost had drawn her slight figure to its utmost height and stood regarding her servant with eyes that fairly blazed her indignation.

“Lobster salad and boiled custard! Not to include the ice-cream, even. A deadly combination; and you may have the satisfaction, if you enjoy it, of knowing that your thoughtless indulgence of his appetite will probably cost him his life. You may go. Send Jefferson for the dog doctor over on Penn Street. And, Mary, you carry him up to my room. Lift him gently, poor fellow! I’m afraid we’ll lose him this time.”

There was unaffected grief in the little lady’s tone, but Chloe was heard to mutter, composedly, as she departed kitchenward:

“A good riddance, I say. Time he died if his living’s going to make fools of human beings.”

Miss Armacost led the way, Mary carried the moaning poodle, and Molly’s curiosity, getting the better of all other considerations, forced her to bring up the rear.

There followed a dreadful half-hour, in which the girl forgot that she should be at home, because of the hurry and excitement in Miss Lucy’s upper sitting-room. By the end of that time Sir Christopher had ceased to suffer the ills of age and indiscretion, and lay quite still upon the silken cushions of his basket where his mistress had placed him.

When she found he was really dead the lady went away by herself, with her grief that was so real to her, yet might have seemed so foolish to others. Molly stole softly out of the house to tell the unusual happenings of her play hour to the sympathetic ears in Side Street. The short winter day came to a close. Darkness filled the back parlor where the forgotten Towsley had remained to enjoy his treat; and where, at length, the heat and quietude overcame him, so that he slipped from the hard stool to the soft carpet and fell asleep.

It was nine o’clock in the evening when Miss Armacost re-entered the room and touched another electric button. Instantly the place was flooded with light, and then she discovered the child.

“My, my! what a start that gave me! That boy here yet! What in the world shall I do with him? The threatened snow-storm has come and seems like the beginning of a blizzard. He didn’t belong to that Molly, she said, but of course he can’t stay here. I – I – Oh, dear! Troubles never come singly. I can’t keep him all night. I simply cannot. Yet I wouldn’t turn even a dog – ”

When Miss Armacost’s thoughts reached this point she seemed to see Sir Christopher looking up into her face suggestively. He had been only a dog, to be sure, and this was only a street vagabond; yet the suggestion her mind had received really so staggered the mistress of the corner house on the Avenue that she suddenly sat down and clasped her hands in nervous trepidation.

“What – what – if I should – actually do it! What would the neighbors say!”

“Ma’am?” asked the waif, drowsily, sitting up and regarding his surroundings with surprise. “I – I – Where am I at?”

“At – home, my child,” answered Miss Lucy, with a gasp at her own daring.

CHAPTER II.

CONFLICTING IDEAS

Towsley was now fully awake; and, what was better, he seemed to have lost his shyness during his nap.

“Um’m. Home. That’s where folks live that has ’em. This is yours, I s’pose. Well, I’m much obliged to you, ma’am, and I’ll be getting on, I guess. Must be dark out-doors, else you wouldn’t have the lamps lit, and I must have slept a good while. It was terrible warm and nice, and I couldn’t help it. I hope I haven’t done no harm, ma’am, and good-night.”

This was Miss Lucy’s opportunity; her last chance, as she realized. The waif had not at all comprehended her meaning when she spoke of “home,” and so she had not committed herself. Many thoughts surged through her troubled mind. She remembered that she was the last of an old, aristocratic family, which had always believed in its womenkind being domestic and not at all strong-minded. She had been inclined to think that other women, who instituted “homes,” or engaged in any sort of public charity, rather stepped beyond the limits of good breeding, and had felt herself superior to them.

Then there were the neighbors. It was an old-fashioned, handsome “square” on which her house stood, and everybody owned his or her home. It was the pride of these people that there was never a house to let. And, indeed, it was a charming locality. Each residence stood upon a double lot, which gave a pretty, open-air sort of appearance to the place; and since there were so few families which could live upon the block, yet remained there so long, each became thoroughly acquainted with the habits and circumstances of the others.

This was sometimes unfortunate. Miss Lucy felt it so now. She went through the long drawing-room and peered between her own lace curtains into the park which filled the centre of the square, and was another of its aristocratic features. She noticed that the trees were loaded with the snow which was accumulating rapidly; and, as a car rattled by, its roof was heaped with a light drift, and the motorman was slapping his breast with his free arm to keep himself warm.

“Those horrid cars!” thought the little lady. “With all our efforts to prevent, we couldn’t keep them off the Avenue. They are so distinctly plebeian – yet convenient. I suppose it would upset the whole neighborhood worse than they did if I should do it. They might even come and remonstrate; and I should die of shame if I did anything to make myself objectionable to the neighbors. My grandfather’s was the first house built here. It was his taste selected and perfected that square, and his firmness which kept it so exclusive till the land about was all sold and its future assured. What would he say if I should do it! Yet, why shouldn’t I? I’m lonesome much of the time, and now that Sir Christopher is gone there’s nobody left. I – I – ”

Just then a great gust of wind caught up an armful of snow, so to speak, and tossed it against the shining window where Miss Lucy stood. That decided her; and it was like the little lady to be extremely cautious and timid up to a certain point, then to rush energetically toward the opposite extreme. She turned from the spot with a jerk and hurried into the inner room.

Not a moment too soon. Towsley had taken his ragged cap in his hand, fastened his torn jacket by its one button, and was shuffling carefully along the hall toward the front door. Miss Armacost espied him just in time.

“Wait, child. I’ve something to say to you. Come back into the light and warmth. It’s cold and dark outside.”

“Yes’m. So I s’pose,” he answered, obeying her rather reluctantly.

“Don’t you want to stay? Isn’t it pretty here?”

“Oh, yes’m. It’s mighty pretty. But, you see, if I don’t get down to the office early, the other kids’ll get my place. If I lose it once I mayn’t never get it again.”

“The office? Your place? What do you mean?”

“Down to th’ Express. There’s some steam holes in the sidewalk, you know, and they’re as warm as summer. We newsboys lie around ’em, waiting for our papers, and sleep there till they’re ready. Each of us has his own spot, and mine’s an inside one, close to the wall of the building. You ain’t so likely to get trod on if you’re inside, and the whole crew’s after my ‘bed.’ If I shouldn’t get there to look out for it, and another fellow got it, it’d be all day for Towsley. So I’ll be going, ma’am, and much obliged for the stuff.”

Poor Miss Lucy’s face had grown very white. She had never heard anything so pitiful as this, yet the lad explained his circumstances in a cheery, matter-of-fact way that showed he found nothing depressing in them.

“Do you mean to stand there and tell me that that story is true?”

“What about it? I ain’t meaning anything, only telling why I’ve got to hurry. Could you, please, ma’am, say the time of night?”

“It’s a little after nine.”

“That all? Then I can take it easy. Too late for the night papers, and the mornings ain’t out till four o’clock, about.”

“To go to such a ‘bed,’ on such a night, after a supper of ice-cream and cake! I’ve always skipped such articles in the newspapers, for they’re so unpleasant, and I’ve never half believed them. But you mean it, do you?”

“That I must go? I don’t know what you want me to say. I guess I’ve slept my wits away, as Molly says.”

“Towsley, ring that bell. My! what a name!”

But the lady was pleased to see that he had remembered how to summon Mary, and as soon as that young woman appeared she was directed to get a supper ready in the breakfast-room.

“At once. Put on any cold meat there happens to be, and warm up the soup was left from dinner. I couldn’t touch it, you know, I was feeling so sad. Get plenty of bread and butter, and milk – and, yes, a piece of mince pie. Mrs. Livingston, across the square, never gives her children pie. She believes in oatmeal as a staple diet, but their grandmother indulges them when they visit her. For once, I fancy, it won’t hurt, and in the future I’ll – Oh! what a lot I shall have to learn; and how delightfully exciting it all is! Mary, don’t stare at me like that. It’s impertinent. I know you don’t mean it so, and you think I’m a little flighty. Well, I am. Very flighty, indeed! But – fancy old Madame Satterlee’s face!”

“Ma’am?” asked the puzzled servant, really afraid that grief for Sir Christopher had upset her mistress’ mind.

“I said: Get a supper ready in the breakfast-room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. For one or two?”

“For two. For this young gentleman and myself.”

“The land’s sake!” ejaculated the waitress, as she obeyed, though more astonished than ever. “Young gentleman, says she!”

Towsley began to understand that he was to have supper. He would not have troubled about such a small matter, of his own accord, remembering the cream and cake; but since it was mentioned he did feel a sort of emptiness inside, and his hazel eyes grew eager again. Miss Lucy’s own eyes were looking at the fire in the grate, and she was not, therefore, offended a second time by the child’s greediness. She was seeing pictures in the coals, and all of them were of Towsley – though such a different Towsley from the real one. Presently a doubt arose in her mind. Supposing that there should be some obstacle to her carrying out the plans which the pictures in the fire suggested? She turned suddenly and rather sharply upon the lad:

“Have you any people?”

“Ma’am?”

“Child, never say that. ‘Ma’am’ is vulgar and belongs to servants. Gentlefolks use the person’s name instead. You should have said, ‘Miss Armacost?’ or ‘Miss Lucy?’”