A Sunny Little Lass

“We both of us can’t eat till he comes, can we, Bo’sn dear? Well, smart doggie, put on your sharpest smeller an’ help to track him whichever way he went. You smell an’ I’ll look, an’ ’twixt us we’ll hunt him quick’s-a-wink. Goin’ to find grandpa, Bo’sn Beck! Come along an’ find grandpa!”

Up sprang the terrier, all his dejection gone, and leaped and barked as joyfully as if he fully understood what she had said. Then, waiting just long enough to lock the tiny door and hide the key in its accustomed place, so that if the captain came home before she did he could let himself in, she started down the Lane, running at highest speed with Bo’sn keeping pace. So running, she passed the basement window where Meg-Laundress was rubbing away at her tub full of clothes and tossed that good woman a merry kiss.

“Guess the old cap’n’s back, ’less Glory never ’d look that gay,” thought Meg, and promptly reported her thought to Posy Jane who was just setting out for her day’s business. She was already over-late and was glad to accept Meg’s statement as fact and thus save the time it would have taken to visit the littlest house and learn there how matters really stood. It thus happened that neither of Glory’s best friends knew the truth of the case nor that the child had set off on a hopeless quest, without food or money or anything save her own strong love and will to help her.

“But we’re goin’ to find grandpa, Bo’sn, an’ we don’t mind a thing else. Don’t take so very long to get to that old ‘Harbor,’ an’ maybe he might have a bite o’ somethin’ saved up ’at he could give us, though we don’t neither of us want to eat ’fore we get him back, do we, doggie?” cried the child as they sped along and trying not to notice that empty feeling in her stomach.

But they had gone no further than the end of the Lane before they collided with Nick, the parson, just entering it. He had finished his morning’s sale of papers and was feeling hungry for his own breakfast and, as Take-a-Stitch ran against him, demanded rather angrily, “What you mean, Goober Glory, knockin’ a feller down that way?”

“O Nick! Have you seen grandpa?”

“Seen the cap’n? How should I? Ain’t this his time o’ workin’ on his frames?”

Glory swiftly told her trouble and Nick’s face clouded in sympathy. Finally he suggested, “They was a old blind feller got run over on Broadway yest’day. Likely ’twas him an’ that’s why. ’Twas in the paper all right, ’cause I heard a man say how’t somethin’ must be done to stop such accidentses. Didn’t hear no name but, ’course, ’twas the cap’n. Posy Jane always thought he’d get killed, runnin’ round loose, like he did, without nobody but a dog takin’ care.”

Glory had clutched Nick’s shoulder and was now shaking him with what little strength seemed left to her after hearing his dreadful words. As soon as she could recover from that queer feeling in her throat, and was able to speak, she indignantly denied the possibility of this terrible thing being true.

“’Tis no such thing, Nick Dodd, an’ you know it! Wasn’t I there, right alongside, when’t happened? Wasn’t I a-listenin’ to them very chimes a-ringin’ what he listens to every time he gets a chanst? Don’t you s’pose I’d know my own grandpa when I saw him? Huh!”

“Did– you see him, Glory Beck? How’d come them amberlance fellers let a kid like you get nigh enough to see a thing? Hey?”

Glory gasped as the remembrance came that she had not really seen the injured man but that the slight glimpse of his clothing and his white hair had been, indeed, very like her grandfather’s. Still, this awful thing could not, should not be true! Better far that dreaded place, Snug Harbor, where, at least, he would be alive and well cared for.

“Oh, I got nigh. I got nigh enough to get knocked down my own self, an’ be picked up by one them ‘finest’ p’licemens, what marches on Broadway. He shook me fit to beat an’ set me on the sidewalk an’ scolded me hard, but I didn’t care, ’cause I was so glad to keep alive an’ not be tooken off to a hospital, like that old man was. Huh! You needn’t go thinkin’ nor sayin’ that was Grandpa Simon Beck, ’cause I know better. I shan’t have it that ’twas, so there.”

Glory’s argument but half-convinced herself and only strengthened Nick’s opinion. However, his own mind was troubled. He felt very guilty for having guided Miss Bonnicastle to the littlest house, and the quarter-dollar earned by that treacherous deed seemed to burn through his pocket into his very flesh. Besides that coin, he had others in store, having had a successful morning, and the feeling of his affluence added to another feeling slowly awakening within him. This struggling emotion may have been generosity and it may have been remorse. Whatever it was, it prompted him to say, “Look-a-here, Glory, I’ll help ye. I’ve got to go get somethin’ t’eat, first off. Then, listen, you hain’t got no money, have ye?”

“What o’ that? I’ve got eyes, an’ I’ve got Bo’sn. I’m goin’ to the ferry an’ I’m goin’ tell the ferry man just how ’tis. That I must–I must be let go over to that Staten Island on that boat, whether or no. Me an’ a dog won’t take up much room, an’, if he won’t let me, I’ll wait round till I get some sort o’ job an’ earn the money to pay. You needn’t think, Nick Parson, that a teeny thing like a few centses will keep me from grandpa. I’d go to Toni an’ ask him only–only–I don’t know a thing what come o’ that fifty-five cents the lady paid for the goobers, an’ so I s’pose he’d be mad an’ wouldn’t trust me. Besides, grandpa always said to ‘Pay as you go,’ an’ now I seem–I seem–to want to do what he told more’n ever. O Nick Dodd! What if–what if–he shouldn’t never–never come–no–more!”

Poor Glory’s courage gave way at last and, without ado, she flung herself upon Nick as she had done upon Bo’sn and clung to him as chokingly.

“Now, this is a purty fix, now ain’t it?” thought the victim of her embrace, casting a wary eye up and down the Lane, lest any mate should see and gibe at him, and call him a “softy.” Besides, for Glory to become sentimental–if this was sentiment–was as novel as for him to be generous. So, to relieve the situation, the newsboy put these two new things together and wrenched himself free, saying, “Quit it, Glory Beck! I got to breathe same’s another, ain’t I? You look a-here. See that cash? Well, I’ll tell ye, I’ll go fetch my grub – Had any yerself, Glory Beck?”

The question was spoken like an accusation and Glory resented it, answering quickly, “I don’t know as that’s anythin’ to you, Nick Parson!”

“’Course. But I’ll fetch enough fer two an’ I’ll tell ye, I’ll go to that ‘Snug Harbor’ my own self, a payin’ my own way, I will. I can afford it an’ you can’t. If so be the cap’n ’s there, I’ll fetch him out lickety-cut. If he ain’t, why then, ’twas him was killed. See?”

“No, I don’t see. Maybe they wouldn’t let a boy in, anyhow.”

“Pooh! They’re sure to. Ain’t I on the papers? Don’t newsboys go anywhere they want, same’s other press folks? Hey?”

Glory admitted that they did. She had often seen them jumping on and off of street cars at the risk of their lives and without hindrance from the officials. Also, the lad’s offer to share his breakfast with her was too tempting to be declined. As he hurried away toward his poor home, she sat down on the threshold of the warehouse before which they had talked to wait, calling after him, “Don’t forget a bite for Bo’sn, Nick!”

“All right!” he returned, and disappeared within his own cellar doorway.

Already Glory’s heart was happier. She would not allow herself to think it possible that her grandfather was hurt, and Nick’s willingness to help was a comfort. Maybe he would even take her with him, though she doubted it. However, she put the question to him as he reappeared with some old scraps in a torn newspaper, but while they were enjoying these as best they could and sharing the food with Bo’sn, Nick unfolded a better plan.

“Ye see, Take-a-Stitch, it’s this way–no use wastin’ eight cents on a old ferry when four’ll do. You look all over Broadway again. Then, if he ain’t anywheres ’round there, go straight to them other crony captains o’ hisn an’ see. Bein’s he can’t tell difference ’twixt night an’ day, how’d he know when to come back to the Lane, anyway?”

“He always come ’fore,” answered Glory, sorrowfully.

It was a new thing for Nick to take the lead in anything which concerned the little girl, who was the recognized leader of all the Lane children, and it made him both proud and more generous. Yielding to a wild impulse that now seized him, with a gesture of patronage, he drew from his pocket Miss Bonnicastle’s quarter and dropped it in Glory’s lap.

She stared at it, then almost gasped the question, “What–what’s it for, Nick Dodd?”

“Fer–you!” cried the boy. He might have added that it was “conscience money,” and that the unpleasant burning in his pocket had entirely ceased the instant he had rid himself of the ill-gotten coin, because at the time he had guided Miss Laura to the littlest house he had not tarried to learn how fruitless her visit was; else he might have felt less like a traitor. As it was, he tossed his head and answered loftily, “Don’t do fer girls to go trav’lin’ round ’ithout cash. You ain’t workin’ to-day an’–an’ ye may need it. Newspaper men–well, we can scrape along ’most anyhow. Hello, here’s Buttons!”

A cheery whistle announced the arrival of the third member of this intimate trio, and presently Billy came in sight around the Elbow, his freckled face as gay as the morning despite the facts that he still carried some unsold papers under his arm and that he had just emerged from a street fight, rather the worse for that event.

Glory’s fastidiousness was shocked, and, forgetting her own trouble in disgust at his carelessness, she exclaimed, “You bad Billy Buttons! There you’ve gone lost two more your buttons what I sewed with my strongest thread this very last day ever was! An’ your jacket – What you been doin’ with yourself, Billy Buttons?”

The newcomer seated himself between his friends, though in so doing he crowded Nick from the door-sill to the sidewalk, and composedly helped himself to what was left of their scanty breakfast. Better than nothing he found it and answered, as he ate, Glory’s repeated inquiry, “What doin’? Why, scrappin’, ’course. Say, parson, you hear me? They’s a new feller come on our beat an’ you chuck him, soon’s ye see him. I jest punched him to beat, but owe him ’nother, ’long o’ this tear. Sew it, Take-a-Stitch?”

“Can’t, Billy. I’ve got to hunt grandpa. Oh, Billy, Billy, he hain’t never come home!”

The newsboy paused in the munching of a crust and whistled, but this time in dismay rather than good cheer. Then he demanded, “What ye givin’ us?”

The others explained, both talking at once, though Master Buttons soon silenced his partner in trade that he might better hear the girl’s own story. When she had finished, and now with a fresh burst of tears, he whistled again; then ordered:

“Quit snivelin’, Glory Beck! A man ain’t dead till he dies, is he? More’n likely ’twas the old cap’n got hurt but that ain’t nothin’. Why, them hospitals is all chuck full o’ smash-up folks, an’ it’s jest meat fer them doctor-fellers to mend ’em again. He ain’t dead, an’ don’t you believe it; but dead or alive we’ll find him ’fore dark.

“Fer onct,” continued Billy, “the parson’s showed some sense. He might’s well do the ‘Harbor,’ ’cause that’s only one place an’ he can’t blunder much–seems if. You take the streets, same’s he said; and I–if you’ll put a needle an’ thread through me, bime-by, after he’s found, I’ll go find him an’ call it square. I’ll begin to the lowest down end the city hospitals they is an’ I’ll interview ’em, one by one, clean up to the Bronx. If Cap’n Beck is in any one, I’ll fetch him out, judge, an’ don’t you forget it.”

This division of the search pleased Glory and, springing up, the trio separated at once, nor did they meet again till nightfall. Alas! when reassembled then in the littlest house none had good news to tell.

“They ain’t been no new old cap’ns tooken in to that ‘Harbor’ this hull week. Th’ sailor what keeps the gate said so an’ was real decent. Said he’d heard o’ Cap’n Beck, he had, an’ if he’d a-come he’d a-knowed. Told me better call ag’in, might get there yet, an’ I’ll go,” reported Nick, putting a cheerful tone into his words for pity of Glory’s downcast face.

“Didn’t do a quarter th’ hospitals they is, but he ain’t in none them I have,” said Billy. “But I’ll tell ye. They’s a man on our force reports all the accidentses an’ I’ll see him to-night, when I go for my papers, an’ get him to hunt, too. He’s worth while an’ me an’ him’s sort o’ pardners. I give him p’ints an’ he ’lows I’ll be a reporter myself, when I’m bigger. An’ say, I sold a pape’ to a man couldn’t stop fer change an’ I’ve got three cream-puffs in this bag. That’s fer our suppers, an’ me an’ Nick’s goin’ to stay right here all night an’ take care of ye, Take-a-Stitch, an’ leave the door open, so cap’n can come straight in if he happens ’long ’fore mornin’.”

“An’ I’ve been to every single place he ever sung at, every single. An’ to all the captains, an’–an’–every, everywhere! An’ he ain’t! But I will find him. I will!” cried Glory, resolutely. “An’ you’re dear, dear darlin’ boys to help me so, an’ I love you, I love you!”

“All right, but needn’t bother to hug me!” protested Buttons.

“Ner me!” cried Nick, retreating as far from the grateful child as the limited space would permit. “An’ now choose corners. This is mine.”

Down he dropped in the inner point of the triangular floor and almost before his head had made itself a pillow of his arm he was sound asleep. Billy flung himself beside his mate and, also, slept; and though Glory intended to keep her eyes wide open “till grandpa comes,” she placed herself near them and rested her own tired head on Billy’s shoulder, and, presently, followed their example.

Half an hour later, the Lane policeman sauntered by, glanced into the dim interior, and saw the group of indistinct forms huddled together in dreamless slumber on their bed of bare boards. Then he softly closed the door upon them, murmuring in pity, “Poor little chummies! Life’s goin’ to be as hard for ’em as the floor they lie on. But the Lane’d seem darker ’n ’tis if they wasn’t in it.”

CHAPTER VII

A Guardian Angel

City newsboys are early astir, and the shadows had but begun to lift themselves from Elbow Lane when Billy punched Nick in the ribs to rouse him and, with finger on lip, pointed to Glory still asleep.

The very poor pity the poor, and with a chivalric kindness which would have done credit to better reared lads, these two waifs of the streets stole softly from the littlest house without waking its small mistress.

When they were out upon the sidewalk, Billy shook his head and whispered, as if even there he might disturb her, “Poor little kid! He ain’t never comin’ back, sure! An’ me an’ you ’s got the job o’ lookin’ after her, same ’s he’d a liked. He was good to me, the cap’n was. An’ I’m thinkin’ Meg-Laundress’s ’ll be the best place to stow her. Hey?”