tor of an ide I tto THE STORY OF AN EAST-SIDE FAMILY THE STORY OF AN EAST- SIDE FAMILY By LILLIAN W. BETTS Author of " The Leaven in a Great City " NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1903 Copyright, 1903, by DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY First edition published April, IQOJ HILL AND LEONARD NEW YORK CITY, U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A BOY AND His MOTHER 1 II. THE NEW HOME 29 III. A TRAGEDY 58 IV. COMING INTO MANHOOD 90 V. A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE .... 123 VI. LANDED PROPRIETORS 139 VII. THE HOME AND ITS MISTRESS .... 167 VIII. THEIR SOCIAL LIFE 186 IX. THE LOWERING OF THE CLOUD .... 204 X. THE FOUNDING AND PROGRESS OF THE FAMILY 221 XL THE DAYS BETWEEN 248 XII. LIGHT AND DARKNESS 252 XIII. THE MAKING OF A CITIZEN 271 XIV. UNTO THE SECOND GENERATION .... 294 XV. AMBITIONS 319 XVI. THE DAY OF BECKONING . 331 2134370 THE STORY OF AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY CHAPTEE I. A BOY AND HIS MOTHER. THE people living in the houses on the further side of the street were scarcely conscious that they did not own that open block; in fact, most of them treated the property as though it were their front-door yard. Lum- ber was piled at one end while blocks of marble were scattered over the other. Years ago the yards were busy places of business, now little was done there. The gates open for the entrance and exit of the big trucks and carts that were rarely used, were equally open to the people. There was a time when these houses separated from the East Eiver by this open narrow block were occupied by their proud owners, who had watched their building with that delightful sense of ownership possible only when the home building represents years of pur- poseful aim and self-sacrifice, a pleasure debarred the millionaire. Each house bore some touch of individual- ity, for in each was the evidence of the owner's taste and skill used to increase the convenience or beauty of his home when his day's work was done. THE STORY OF But that was many years ago, when the Brooklyn Navy Yard was the hive of industry ; a period when iron in ship construction was merely to hold the great wooden bodies and wooden coats in place. The ferry at the foot of Jackson Street then plied its way, crowded night and morning, with the happy, contented men whose trade craft was at once their pride and protection. But the old ferry stopped running years ago. A new skill was needed in ship construction, and the owners of the little houses were scattered. Many of them had adopted other trades, some had gone into shop-keeping, some had sold their houses and bought little places in the country ; some living elsewhere derived an income from the little houses now dropping to pieces, which they had not the money to repair. Five and even six families were living in space designed for one. The houses had grown shabby and were but a degree better than the swarms of people who now called the shelter they gave home. It was an August evening when the people, even on this street so close to the river, had panted for breath all day. The pavements were hot to the feet. Some of the men living in the little houses were sitting on the great blocks of marble and stone in the yard opposite, holding babies, watching children who were playing languidly about, the more energetic of them climbing the lumber piles. The women sat on the low wooden stoops with more babies and children under their half- watchful care. Sharp commands given by voices irritated and irri- tating, voices that broke into angry tones indicated clearly that if there were only a little more energy the AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY policeman might have to leave his comfortable seat. on the top of the corner groceryman's coal box. In the back room of the attic of the middle house of the row, where no possible stray breeze from the river could enter the one window, a woman lay on a bed close under the corner walls. The floor was bare, the boards rough; now and then one moved as it was trod on and squeaked as it moved; each time this happened the woman on the bed stirred restlessly. A boy of eleven years sat over by the window watch- ing the sick woman anxiously. He envied the slatternly young woman by the bed who leaned over now and then to wipe the mouth and forehead of his mother. He knew that his mother was dying, though no one had told him. The slatternly woman was his sister, and the tall, bronzed man at the foot of the bed, holding the pretty baby, which with every loving device he was try- ing to keep quiet, was her husband. Jack hated him, and rebelled with all his boy's indignation at this man daring to stand so near his mother; he hated his big sister for fixing the pillows for his mother ; Jack wanted to do this himself, but no one, not even his mother, noticed him ; he was only a boy, a boy of whom the tall man with the bronze throat disapproved, and the slat- ternly woman rarely noticed now that she was married, except when she wanted him to take care of the baby. When she shared the attic with Jack and his mother, he was always in her way. He remembered well that be- fore she married she coaxed and quarrelled with his mother to get new hats and "duds" as he called them; getting them when the money was needed for food, and THE STORY OF the rent was uncertain. He was glad when she moved around the corner, and wished it had been further away. After the crying baby came, his sister, at all incon- venient times, insisted on his pushing the baby car- riage, and "minding the kid," to him the least inter- esting of objects. The boys made fun of him, and it at last ended in his refusing even his mother's coaxing. This made a family fight in which his mother protected him from his brother-in-law's rage. There was one good thing, the fight made Tom and Mattie stay away ; Jack and his mother lived in peace they never quarrelled. He had fixed his mother's pillows and fanned her and wiped her forehead, yes, and combed her hair ever since she had been sick, until she sent him after Tom and Mattie. After they came he was crowded out, sent on the street with the kid. He wanted his mother to him- self. He wiped his eyes with the crown of his cap and almost sobbed. He wanted his mother. How he would like to throw both of them down the stairs ! Not the kid, the kid couldn't help being there, they brought it. Yesterday the kid just hung on to his finger when its mother tried to take it. " 'Twasn't a bad kid ; " he smiled as he remembered how the baby cried for him last week when his sister took it away to go home to get Tom's supper. There was a movement on the bed, and the boy leaned forward. Oh ! if his mother would only speak to him ! "Jack." He stood up. Why wouldn't those two go away ? His mother wanted to speak to him. AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY "Jack." His sister motioned to him, and Jack came slowly toward the bed. "Jack, be a good boy. Mattie says she'll give you a home. Go to school. Yer wouldn't for me, but per- haps yer will for Tom." "I'll make him," answered Tom, tall and powerful, determined to give peace to the woman who, through all his own boyhood, had been kind to him. An anxious expression came in her eyes. Tom called her soft-hearted, and disapproved of her methods in bringing up his small brother-in-law, "the worst kid in the ward," he had often assured her. Jack's mother looked pleadingly at Tom and said in a whisper, "Don't be cross to him, Tommie. He has a good heart. Be good to him and he'll love yer." She was quiet for a time, and then by great effort she placed her hands on Jack's head, sliding them to his cheeks; she knew how he hated being kissed, and hesitated a mo- ment, then softly, with a long look of love, she whispered, "Kiss mother." The boy threw himself on the side of the bed, sob- bing as though his heart would break. He kissed her over and over again, forgetting everybody but his mother. He seemed at the moment to feel all the loneli- ness of the bitter years that were coming to him, when no kiss would carry to him a message of love. The woman on the bed looked pleadingly at the man at the foot. "Tom, remember him. Yer were bad yerself . I saved yer from many a lickin' and twice from the cops. He's a little chap yet, younger than when I took you. He loves the baby, and will help Mattie. He's 6 THE STORY OF always been good to his mother/' She was still, except for the gentle movement of her hands on the brown head beside her on the bed. Jack remembered that hand, and often in the lonely nights of the years that followed he felt that soft, gentle touch. At last his mother's hand was still. Mattie cried out. Tom stepped to the bed and leaned over. Jack raised his head. His mother's eyes had closed. Tom was cry- ing. Jack knew. A hand seemed to grasp him by the throat; he could not breathe. He stood up, for he seemed to be in the way, though he did not understand what was said to him. Dazed and trembling, he went back to the box under the window and sat down. Tom put the baby on the bed and took Mattie in his arms, a strange thing to do. Jack had never seen it in his life before, but it must be very nice to have some one hold you when you felt as if you could not hold your- self. Tom kissed Mattie and put her in the big chair in which his mother had sat so many hours. No one noticed Jack or seemed to think of him. He leaned back against the wall, with tears dropping now and then, a great ache in his throat. After a time Tom went out and came back with some of the women who lived in the house; they stood by the bed, some with their aprons to their eyes; they whispered together. The one for whom Jack had a feel- ing of affection, she was so good-natured and generous with pennies when he went for "a pint," came over to him and whispered; AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY "Go down and sit with the old man a bit. Do yer know, I think he's makin' yer a kite." Jack got up wondering why he did not care more for the kite ; he went toward the door ; he heard the woman say, "God help him." He walked with his eyes fastened on his mother. Tom was standing in the middle of the floor and Jack bumped into him; he ducked, expecting a blow, but Tom put his hand on his shoulder, saying softly, "Poor little kid." Jack looked in his face ; what he saw there was so unexpected that he called out, "I want me mother !" Tom looked at the boy, his own eyes full of tears, but the woman he liked took him in her arms, crooning, "Acushla, acushla, may the Virgin comfort yer," her tears raining down on his face. She led him out of the room, down stairs. "Pat, shure, ye'll make him a kite as yer used ter fer Jimmy." The man with gray hair sitting by the window started ; when had any one said Jimmy's name to him? Not even Jimmy's mother these many years. Jimmy was their son, their only child. Just such a night years and years ago when you could hardly get your breath, Jimmy went swimming. He called out to his father as he left the stoop with the boys, "Come along and see me dive, dad; yer don't believe I can." To-night he had been thinking of that evening long ago. Perhaps it was the coming of that great mystery, Death, into the house that brought it back. He watched Jimmy and his companions out of sight; his own boy coming back beckoned him to follow. A little while after he saw some of the boys, but Jimmy was not 8 THE STORY OF with them. He never knew who told him, but he remembered going to the raft and beating the waters of the river until he was brought back to Margaret lying white and still on the bed in the other room. She never was the same again. For months he could not rouse himself from the awful stillness in which he listened for Jimmy's step. The father found himself sullen, angry, rebellious, when he, evening after evening, saw the other boys playing, then working and now coming back with their own babies to the fathers still living on the block. Nor was this awful loneliness his only burden. He re- membered his return from work years ago to find Mar- garet sleeping on the lounge, her face swollen and pur- ple. He was frightened. He leaned over her, when the terrible truth came to him which all in the neighborhood had known for months. He cried as he never had be- fore. Her beautiful brown hair lay damp and thick on her forehead ; her hands hung down, brown and hard hard from work, work that kept his home clean and tidy; even now her dress was neat, and a white collar, the mark of distinction in that neighborhood, was about her neck. As he sat beside her that night having barred the door lest any one should see her, he lived over the three years since Jimmy had turned the corner waving his hand. He saw his own selfishness. He had never realized her hours of loneliness, when it was not only the boy who had gone out of her life, but all the busy hours when she worked for the boy. How proud she was when she fin- ished the first pair of "pants" for the boy, made out of his father's old ones! He saw her shining eyes as he AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 9 recalled that evening. As he stood beside that lounge he knew that for the life failure of his boy's mother he must bear the blame. The world about him would con- demn her, but he knew he had added the burden of his own sorrow and loneliness to hers, never, even by a word, helping to lighten it. Now, after all these years, when he had learned to come home uncertain how he would find her she had appealed to him to help a boy, forgetting how he hated all boys. Perhaps it would have kept her if he had let her have the neighbor's children in; she had until his curtness to her and them had driven them away. As Margaret stood with her arm about the boy sob- bing against her, the face that had lost its beauty even for him was for a moment beautiful in its womanly pity and motherliness. "Come here, Jack," he heard himself saying, surprised himself at the tone. Margaret led the boy over to him. Pat got up and Jack found himself in his big wooden rocker. Mr. Donohue was rustling papers in the closet while his wife was fussing near the stove. The boy looked out dumbly at the river. He saw only the white face on the pillows upstairs. He was alone. No one in all the world cared for him. What would he do? Where would he go? His head dropped on his arms crossed on the sill. After a little while Mrs. Donohue put her arm about him, saying softly, "Come, me boy, come, I've got some supper for yer ; I got pancakes." Her husband started. That was what Margaret always made for Jimmy after she punished him. Pat watched her furtively. Her face was lighted up with interest, and she stepped back 10 THE STORY OF and forth as she had not in years. She disappeared in the bedroom returning with her hair smooth, wearing a clean collar and apron. "Come, dear, come," she coaxed going over to Jack; "come now, I'll cook while you'll eat, and see which of us'll get tired first. I'll bet you will, don't you, Pat? Pat knows I love to cook pancakes." The years disappeared, and the father and mother gazed as of old into each other's faces, but with another boy between them, having eyes and hair like his mother's. Mrs. Donohue turned and went into the pantry, busied among the dishes, she crossed the room and whis- pered to her husband, putting something in his hand. Pat smiled up at her. Margaret caught her breath and turned to the stove. How it came back. The boy in the rocker by the window with tear-stained face,' the frame of a kite which was to win back the smiles, and the cakes to prove that the mother had punished because she must; she couldn't have her boy like some of the others. With a deft twist she turned the cakes and wiped her eyes, smiling at her husband. Had a miracle been wrought in this home of quiet estrangement? Pat was dazed, crushed his hat on his head and went down stairs; he returned carrying a brown paper. "There now! Look at that, me boy! Brown sugar for yer cakes ! Shure you'll come, acushla." The clean apron was passed quickly over her face. Pat was turned squarely in his chair to the window. Mrs. Donohue went over to Jack, and putting her arms around him, she said, "Cry, me boy, cry; it may save yer from worse. Know AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 11 this, ye'll not go on the street while me and Pat have a home. Mattie and her husband is young, and don't know how to take a boy that had only his mother. Me and Pat will stand by yer. Ye're a good boy to them as knows how to take yer. Come, dear, and ate something. Be then yer can see yer mother, and ye won't feel so lonely. Jack, dear/' she was speaking slowly, "ye didn't know it," she stopped. Slowly again she began, "Do you know that we had a boy me and Pat, just yer age. Shure the neighbors haggled and hetcheled him just as they do you, bekase ye're smarter than their own byes. It's that that made me take to yer." The corner of her apron was passed over her face again. Pat still stared out of the window, his brawny hands grasping the arms of the chair. Jack was leaning against the broad motherly bosom sobbing. Boy as he was, it was not the sense of loneliness and loss alone that racked him, but a sudden remembering of the hours he should have been with his mother when he was not; of things done that should not have been done, and those undone that should have been done. Who has not lived through those hours echoing over and over the bitter cry ; " How far and safe, God, Dost Thou keep Thy saints, When once gone from us I We may call against The lighted windows of Thy fair June-heaven, Where all the souls are happy and not one, Not even my father, looks from work or play To ask : ' Who is it that cries after us Below there in the dusk ?' " Jack did not voice his crying. The mother without a boy, and the boy without a 12 THE STORY OP mother, clasped each other in the desperation of a love that had lost so many opportunities. "Hush, there, Jack," she was whispering, for the figure in the chair by the window had moved, and the Margaret of this moment was the sensitive Margaret of long ago, who knew the language of every motion of the strong, loyal, patient, silent man about whom sorrow had built a wall to which she had never found the gate. The face above Jack's had dropped lower, and the cheeks more flushed; the bosom on which Jack leaned heaved so that Jack raised his head and looked in Mar- garet's face. His arm went suddenly round the woman's neck ; she sank to her knees against him sobbing. "Maggie, dear." She raised her head. It was Pat who spoke. "Maggie, dear, shure we'll have 'im back in Jack. It's lonesome you've been, and I didn't know it. God forgive me. It's me own fault givin' way to the silent devil in me. Git up, Maggie, and cook the cakes for the bye, 'twill hearten ye." "Oh Pat ! Pat ! I didn't mane to. It was so still and me wid nothin' to do. I won't, Pat! I won't again." Jack straightened. He knew, and now was his chance. He did not speak, but the man and boy looked in each other's eyes and the bond was signed in unwritten char- acters between them. "Come, Maggie, the pan is burning and the boy is starving, shure you'll not be lonely wid dis bye to tramp in on yer." Mrs. Donohue stood up, her eyes full of love, and her AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 13 mouth still beautiful, tremulous, she hurried to the stove and began again to cook the cakes. This time she buttered each one hot and then spread the sugar thick, laying one over the other. She passed to the table, set- ting another plate. "Come, now, both of yez; I can cook faster than ye both can eat." Pat turned his chair to the table, and the two, man and boy, feeling the bond between them, smiled at each other, and the woman, with shining eyes by the stove. "It's many a day since I made a kite, but I ain't forgot, I'll bet yer. It's a good arm ye have, Jack, to fly a kite. It's a bit thrying till yer know the thricks. Did yer ever fly a kite?" "Not a big wan, just penny wans." "Yer kin do it, I'll bet." The ice was broken, and the hours when father and mother watched their boy flying a kite, performing won- derful feats of daring in jumping from lumber pile to lumber pile in the yard opposite, returned to be lived over again. Jack bravely tried to eat, but when he remembered that in the weeks past the quiet mother upstairs had been often hungry, the food choked him. Mr. Donohue saw the fight with tears, the effort to pay his wife for her kindness. "There, now, Maggie ; ye did bate us. Not a bite more kin we ate." Surprised, she turned from the stove. At a glance she read her husband's thought as he looked at Jack. 14 THE STORY OF Her lips were closed tightly for a moment, then she spoke cheerfully: " 'Tis well ye are, for the batter is gone most/' she pushed the pan back and began clearing the table, talk- ing fast as she moved about. Pat followed her every movement, and she trembled as she realized it. Jack vras looking out of the window. If only he dared, he'd cut and run for his own room. How could he get out? He had never sat in anybody's house so long in his life. How he wanted to go to his own home, or out in the street. Not then, he thought, for the boys would know. No, he must stay, for all those women were in his own house. He knew how they crowded in and sat about when death came in other homes. Yes, they would do the same in his. A great lump rose in his throat and the tears dropped on his jacket. If only they would go away and leave him with his mother. He wasn't afraid. He'd tell, yes, he would tell her how sorry he was for not hurrying upstairs with the pitcher of water last night when she wanted a drink. Jack put his hand to his throat, it ached. If only she would hear him he'd tell her how sorry he was that he did not take home that bundle of work she had carried in the rain. He shuddered as he remembered that she had not sat up all day since that day a week ago. He meant to remember to come home in time to do it, but Billy Gilligan had let him ride on his truck, and then he let him hold the reins, and then Billy got so full he couldn't sit up, and Jack dare not leave him. When he did get home his mother had gone out in the rain. There was one comfort, he gave her the quarter Billy Gilligan AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 15 gave him the next day, he hadn't kept a cent. He might have earned more money if only he'd tried harder. Again his throat hurt him. How tired he was! He wanted to lie down beside his mother. There was a knock, and all three started. "Come in." In response, Tom opened the door. "Excuse me, Mrs. Donohue, for laving Jack on yer hands so long. I couldn't lave Mattie wid the baby, she's that broke up. Shure she cried herself to slape, and me mither's got the baby. Come, Jack, come home wid me now." "Shure, Tom, ye needn't worry. We were countin' on yer lettin' him stay wid us. We've always had the little room beyant." It was Maggie in her most winsome mood who was talking. "Shure we've got more room for the big feller there than you and Mamie have, and it's glad we'd be to kape him." "No, Mrs. Donohue, thank ye kindly. His mother spoke to me before she died askin' me to look out for him, and I promised. Come along, Jack," and Tom stepped toward him. "Perhaps, Tom, ye'd lave him wid us to-night, or maybe till after the funeral. He's used to this house, and it won't be so hard on him. Lave him wid us, Tom." "No, Mrs. Donohue, Mamie wants him to look after the baby; shure she won't be able to, what wid sittin* up and all. Come, Jack. I told me mother you'd come back wid me to take care of the baby so she could get 16 THE STORY OF ready for the wake. Ye're comin', you and Mr. Dono- hue?" "No, Tom ; I'll take care of the baby here if ye'll lave Jack wid Pat, at laist till the funeral be over." Tom saw the advantage of this arrangement for Mattie, and accepted Mrs. Donohue's hospitality. When the door closed she turned triumphantly to Pat. "'Twas coaxin' ways ye always had wid yer," was Pat's smiling comment. Pat had kept Jack with him, while his wife had gone back and forth with the fretting baby to its mother. In spite of his loneliness Jack was conscious of a sense of comfort. It was very pleasant to go to sleep in a clean bed, with a pillow instead of a coat under his head. It did seem strange to take off your clothes and take a wash at night in spite of the swim with Pat in the early morning off the dock. It was nice to have your clothes clean in the morning. To have a breakfast hot and good ; to eat off a clean plate on a white-covered table ; to find the house always in order, and Mrs. Dono- hue so clean and cheerful. When Jack thought of Mrs. Donohue he was greatly puzzled. She had not asked him to go for a pint once since he lived with her. He would not go. Pat and he understood that, but she had not asked him. It was only three days, but it seemed weeks to the boy. At last it was the day of the funeral. The attic room was crowded. Tom and Mattie had taken possession. It seemed far less like home than Mrs. Donohue's. Where was his mother's bed? And her machine? AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 17 He could not see them. The hair trunk with brass nails that his mother said her father had brought from Ireland, that was gone. Then Jack realized that he had lost not only a mother but a home. Jack had not thought of such a possibility. He knew now that he had been planning to pay the rent to keep the room as his mother had kept it. He looked about searchingly. The bed was gone, the stove, the looking-glass his mother had just finished paying for on the installment plan. And the clock, his mother had bought that, too, on the installment plan, and he had helped her pay for it. Now it was gone. In the height of his silent wrath and in- dignation a wail rent the air. Jack jumped. Mrs. Donohue took his hand. Again a shriek that tore through his ears was followed by other cries and out- spoken words. "Poor thing, it's her mother." Jack looked, a small woman in a black dress with a long black veil covering her face was leaning over the coffin, which for the first time he dared to look at. Was that Mattie? Again a shriek broke on the air, and Tom leaned over the woman in the black dress, putting his arm around her. She cried and shrieked and threw herself on the coffin, the women crowding about her, some crying loudly, some trying to comfort her. Jack could not move. The tumult and confusion grew worse. He was so confused he could not think. He tried to ask Mrs. Donohue to go down stairs with him, anywhere out of this awful din. But no one noticed him. The centre of interest was about the shrieking, moaning woman. There was a movement, and the group parted 18 THE STORY OF to let a man who moved in a business-like way enter the room. Suddenly Mrs. Donohue came hurrying in, "The bye ! Shure the bye must see his mother." He felt as if he were frozen. Mrs. Donohue took his hand, but he would not move. He looked in her face pleadingly. He could not, he would not look at his mother with all those people about. "Come, dear." Jack clung to the chair. "Come, now," it was Tom who spoke; "come, now, none of yer ugliness. We can't wait here till dark/' Tom reached out as if to take Jack by the shoulder, but a detaining hand was laid on his arm, and a low firm voice said : "Let the bye alone. He'll not forget his mother." It was Mr. Donohue in his Sunday clothes. Mrs. Donohue looked in amazement at him, and then with a timid touch, she said: "God bless yer, Pat; I was scared he'd grab the bye; his heart is broke now." Tom glared at the boy, "He never had a heart in him," was his comment as he turned away, "he refuses to look at his dead mother." Mr. Donohue laid his big hand on Jack's shoulder, Tom did not speak again. The company was divided, and a bare stretch of floor was between the partisans. Mattie and her husband were surrounded by friends ; Jack had two. The coffin was lifted, but Mr. Donohue was not given the honor of helping to carry it down stairs. He had espoused the cause of the boy who had not cried at his mother's funeral. The neighbors expected a higher AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 19 sense and appreciation of the fitness of things, and the eitquette of the occasion from Mrs. Donohue, whose neighborly interest, experience, and decision had set- tled many disputed points on like occasions. Tom beck- oned to his own mother to follow Mattie and himself. Mrs. Donohue was shocked, and moved forward as if to protest against the discourtesy to Jack, who, as every- body knew, ought to ride with his own sister. "No, Maggie, we'll keep the bye with us. I got a carriage meself the mornin'." Mrs. Donohue's head rose, she stood straight and proud beside the boy and her husband. "Come, Jack; you've got yer friends, and yer ain't beholden even to yer own." But Pat was not going to have a scene. He looked at Maggie, and the proud head lowered as she followed his glance to the boy, white and still, in the chair. "When they're gone down the stairs, Jack, me bye, we'll go." When the last carriage was filled the boy came down the stairs out into the sunlight. "God help him." It was a woman in the crowd who spoke; "his best friend is gone; she always stood by him." Jack looked into the faces of the crowd, even the blue- coated policeman drew his hand across his eyes as the boy came out of the door. It was the memory of his own experience when he, too, stood alone to fight his way, that brought the tears so near the kindly blue eyes. "He's not a bad one. I'll keep him out of mischief. 20 THE STORY OF Tom is mighty handy with his fists. I'll hint to him that he'd better go light on the boy." Jack looked at Mr. Donohue. The old man's eyes were filled with tears now slowly dropping. For the first time Jack cried, the tears shutting out the crowd. He felt himself lifted into a carriage and heard the door close. About him were two strong motherly arms and his head rested on a heaving bosom, a crooning voice saying softly, "There, acushla, cry; 'twill do you good," while tears fell on his cheek. "Ye're not alone, me bye ; me and Maggie is f er yer. Don't yer be afeared. We got a room fer yer, and you can stay wid us." "Oh Pat!" Maggie's tears fell faster as she rocked back and forth, holding Jack fast in her arms. The carriage moved slowly on, crossing the ferry. Once across the river the pace was quickened, until the tolling of the bell told that the cemetery was near. The car- riage stopped. Jack left the carriage and found him- self in a dark, forbidding room filled with bare wooden benches, several coffins rested on a platform before the altar ; there was one vacant place. Groups of people sat here and there waiting. A sob broke the stillness now and then. Jack at last realized that those about him were his neighbors; that Mattie and Tom sat on the bench up near the front. There was a rustle and movement outside the door, and another coffin was placed on the platform. Another group of people came in, one a feeble-looking woman carrying a baby and followed by three children, one AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 21 clinging in a terrified silence to her dress. Her eyes were fastened on the last coffin. The altar boy hurried out, lighted two candles on the altar, disappeared and returned bearing a swinging censer and followed by a priest. There was the fragrant odor from the soft hanging smoke that floated over the heads of the people, the sound of the priest's voice sweet- ly chanting the service, and then a general movement as each group of mourners followed a coffin out into the sunshine. Again Jack was in a carriage and moving over the smooth roads. Far from the gate in a lonely corner Jack stood beside an open grave. Again his sister shrieked and cried, almost covering the sound of the falling clods. At last all was over and Jack was going back, to what? He did not know. He got out of the carriage at the door, the centre of interest to a group of children, some his special friends. His chum, Mike Brady, gave him an apple. He followed Mr. Donohue up stairs, Mrs. Donohue came in after a time bearing several brown paper bundles. "It's starved ye are this minute, and ye'll be eating in a jiffy. Beefsteak and onions. Pat, do ye mind how Jimmy loved them?" A nod and a smile was the re- sponse from the man in the rocker by the window, di- viding his attention between the river and the boy sitting leaning his arms on the window-sill at the other end of the table. Soon there was a sputtering and the sound of cooking. Over the black dress Mrs. Donohue had tied an apron; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Now and then Mr. Donohue followed the figure moving 22 THE STORY OF from stove to closet and closet to table, a smile forming about his mouth. "Come, now, draw up yer chairs. The pertaties is done, and the steak and onions are ready. Come, Jack, dear, come; it's starved ye are this minute." Jack turned to the table and met two pairs of eyes full of love, looking anxiously at him. He sat down at the place made for him. He did not understand the glance exchanged between his host and hostess. They were thinking of the last time a boy had sat where he was sitting. As his plate was filled there was a knock at the door, and Tom strode in angry and frowning. "Git up and come where yer belong," was his greet- ing. "Yer have no call to be spongin' on the neighbors. Git along, Mattie is waitin' fer yer." Jack stood up. "I'll never go wid yer. Yer took me mother's tings, what she and me worked fer, yer tief ." Mr. Donohue stood up and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hush, Jack, Mattie had a right to the things; they were hers, shure, as much as yours. Yer must be civil." Tom had sprung toward the boy before he finished speaking, but the towering form beside the boy changed his intention. "Dere not hers; me and me mother paid for them. We'd never had them if she'd been home, for she took every cent for her togs. Tom did swipe them, dey's gone, and no one else dare." Again Tom sprang forward, and again Mr. Donohue stood in front of the boy, this time commanding him to silence in a voice that forced each to keep quiet. AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 23 "Tom, lave the bye with me ; ye have all ye can do to take care of Mattie and the baby. Ye don't get on with Jack, and neither does Mattie. We have room for him ; there's no one in the room in there. Maggie likes the bye and he likes her. I never had any trouble with him, I never will. Leave him here." The men stood looking at each other, one pleadingly, the other defiantly. The boy stood with his hand clenched, waiting for what would be to him doom. "Tom, ye don't need him." It was Mrs. Donohue who spoke; "ye have a bye that'll be as big as him before ye know it. Ye'll have more most likely. I hope ye will, for it's terrible to have but one and him taken from ye." Maggie came close to her husband and leaned her head against him, sobbing. Her husband pressed her hand, and, with a trembling voice, continued Maggie's plea : "We have no one. Me pay is good, and me job sure. We can take care of the bye and you cannot, ye may be out to-morrow. Leave Jack with Maggie and me." "It's mighty generous ye are. It won't be long till he's workin' and his wages won't be nothin'." "Ye villain," screamed Maggie; "to say that to Pat. Hit him, Pat. What has he been all his life but a loafer, gettin' the best of them as doesn't know him ?" "Maggie, keep still ! Let the bye say who he'll stay with." Jack had listened. Now his eyes were flashing, but something in the quiet dignity of Mr. Donohue ap- pealed to the boy. He was outwardly quiet, and his voice low, as he answered : "I'll never go wid Tom, Mr. Donohue. I know Mat- 24 THE STORY OF tie will leave the kid wid me, and run the streets like she always does. I'll stay wid you, and work and pay for me grub. Me mother said I did more'n dat. I know I can get a job regular. I'll work like you, Mr. Donohue. I won't bum as Tom does, I'll work steady like you, Mr. Donohue. I won't be like Tom." There was a blow, and Jack was on the floor, his head in Mrs. Donohue's lap. There was a scuffle and the door was shut. When Jack sat up Mr. Donohue was standing over him rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Jack felt sick and dizzy, and wondered why. After a time there was another knock at the door and the big policeman came in. Jack grew white with fear, but the policeman's smile reassured him. Mr. Donohue stood up. "He struck the bye, Charlie, and laid him out, and I struck him." "I know, Pat, I know ; but ye'll have a lot of trouble, you and yer wife, if ye keep the boy now. Let him go with Tom; he won't stay; we all know Tom. It's Mat- tie that is putting him up to it; she wants the boy to mind the kid. I see through them both. The boy won't mind the kid; he's too little to get a job, and Tom'll kick him out. Let him come to yer then. But there'll be trouble fer you and fer him. Tom is setting on his gang. Let me take the boy to him now and stop the throuble." "I won't go wid Tom, I won't." Jack stood fearlessly before the policeman. "Jack, ye won't have to stay. Ye'll make it so hot for AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 25 them they'll put ye out, never fear. I know you and I know them. You come along with me. If yer don't, Pat will have throuble. Tom is ugly, and he's got a mark on his face he'll carry for many a day. He'll make Pat a lot of throuble, and he can wid that face ; shure yer don't want that." Jack pulled his hat down on his head, and without looking at either husband or wife, he gave his hand to the policeman. Not a word was spoken until the door was closed. "Oh Pat ! It was like having Jimmy back," Maggie was wringing her hands. Pat stood irresolute, and then opened his arms. For the first time in years Maggie felt her husband's arms about her. When she was quiet at last she raised her head and whispered : "It was because I was so lonesome widout him, Pat. I'll thry, God knows, I'll thry to stop. Don't be so quiet wid me, Pat ; it's very lonesome all day, not a soul to come in a-whistlin' and makin' work. Don't be so quiet wid me." "Poor Maggie. Shure, I ought to have known. Ye've broke me heart, Maggie. It's worse than losing the boy to see yer. Don't do it, it makes nothin' better." His wife was sobbing while his tears fell on her beauti- ful hair. In the meantime Jack was going with the policeman, who again and again drove back the idle, curious crowd. "Didn't he give it to Tom?" "Won't Tom baste him?" 26 THE STORY OF "Shure it's cute the Donohues thought themselves to keep the boy and get his wages." "God help him, left in the clutches of them two ; Tom will bate the life out of him for nothin' at all. He's the only thing he can lick and not get thumped for it. Mattie would scratch the eyes out of him if he touched her." "Holy Mother, protect him ! His mother was a good woman." These were the comments that fell on Jack's ears on his way to Tom's home. One thought only was in his mind. He would not stay; they'd be glad to put him out. He'd be back to Mr. Donohue as soon as Tom's face was well. He thrilled with joy at the thought of Tom's having to be seen with a broken face." The policeman knew Jack as a type, and though not a mind-reader, he read the thoughts of the boy beside him. As they entered the street door of the house where Tom lived, the policeman closed it. Turning to Jack, he said: "Now I want yer to know I'm just as much yer friend as Pat. I'll do what I can fer yer. I knew yer mother when she was no bigger than yerself . All her life she was a good woman as there is in the ward. Yer father was a bum, worse nor Tom. Don't you be like him. Yer mother went to his funeral wid the mark of his fist on her face, and his boot all over her, she could scarcely walk. I saw her, and was sorry enough I had not run him in that day before he had a chance at her. He broke his neck goin' down stairs after another drink, and it was a good thing for everybody. AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 27 "I'll not let Tom abuse yer. He knows that. I know something that'd put him behind the bars. It's a good thing to have a hold on such fellers, it keeps them in order better'n shutting them up. I'll have a talk with him after I take yer up." They entered the rooms in the rear building on the top floor. Tom was sitting in a chair to let Mattie put a couple of oysters on his eye below which was a long black bruise. Jack went in first. Tom did not see the police- man. "Yer'll pay fer this, now, mind yer," was his greet- ing. "Oh, no, Tom; you know it's best for you to treat him on the square. It might make people remember if you don't. You know where you'd be now if it weren't for his mother ; I ain't the only one who knows it either. It wouldn't be healthy for you in the ward, maybe, if the boy weren't treated square; the Children's Society might let Pat have him ; there's them as thinks it might be best for the boy, I ain't sayin' I don't meself ." Tom squirmed and Mattie looked troubled. "I've known worse boys, and so have the neighbors," he added significantly. There was a movement in the cradle, and a baby sat up. The moment the baby saw Jack it stretched out its arms, cooing gladly. Jack went over to it instinctively, and took it up. It leaned its head against Jack's cheek, gurgling its content. The policeman looked from the two at the cradle to Tom and Mattie. Both blushed. 28 THE STORY OF 'Ter'll be square, mind, for I ain't forgettin'." The policeman closed the door and went down the stairs. The crowd who awaited the policeman's reappearance were greatly disappointed as he came out whistling, pass- ing through the passageway they made without com- ment; they had expected more entertainment. They wandered away to new possibilities, for evening was com- ing down and probabilities were never lacking in that neighborhood. CHAPTER II. THE NEW HOME. THE days came and went, each day leaving Jack a little more indifferent to people's opinion of him. Tom had more than once regretted that he had not let the Donohues keep the boy. He found the added expense of the boy's food a serious matter. The boy kept the chance pennies he earned, not showing any of the in- dustry and shrewdness now that had aroused Tom's admiration more than once when the boy's mother was alive. Tom was not mollified by Jack's loving kindness to the baby, proved by the baby's devotion to Jack. This was not a sufficient return for a home in Tom's mind, and over and over again he wished he had not taken the boy in. Jack would, if he could, escape from the house early in the morning, drifting about the docks to street and back again without any more care or purpose than the dogs that followed him in a companionship born ap- parently from the common cause of lack of ownership. It was about ten o'clock one morning some months after his mother's death, that Jack was strolling aim- lessly along with the baby toward the dock, when Mrs. Donohue beckoned to him from her window. She had watched for him and done this whenever he was alone ever since he went to Mattie's to live. It had meant a 30 THE STORY OF generous slice of bread and butter with a garnish of sugar, usually brown sugar, or a cake, or a penny. It's true that to enter the room where Mrs. Donohue was meant a severe washing of his face, neck and hands, and an equally severe brushing of his hair, at least once a day. Jack endured the penalty, not only for the more than compensatory return, but because it was such a pleasure to Mrs. Donohue. Yesterday he had seen two pieces of stuff on her rocker, and she asked him if he thought they would make pretty shirts, and there was a twinkle in her eyes when she asked him. She had not beckoned him in with the baby before, he had always been alone. Jack responded gaily to the summons. He mounted the stairs with the baby half over his shoulder. The door was open and he walked in expectantly. There was a difference this morning, things were not the same. "Jack, shure, I want yer to do an errand this mornin'." Jack's heart sank while his bony shoulders and back straightened. "I want a pint, acushla, and here's the pail and the money. I'll take care of the young one till yer come back." The boy gave the baby a hitch higher and looked at Mrs. Donohue. "He won't be good ; he's a bit 'f raid of people," he objected. "Shure it won't take a minute, and I bet he cries longer nor that with Mattie." Mrs. Donohue held out the pail and the money confidently, but Jack's hand did not move toward it. He knew what he was facing. No more tenderness, no more attention, no more treats dear to his boy stomach often empty. But there was his AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 31 compact, unspoken, but nevertheless binding, with Mr. Donohue. His mother had often told him that Mrs. Donohue was her own enemy, and he understood what made her an enemy to herself. He would not go for it ; some day she would be glad. The boy looked at her, his eyes beautiful in their eloquence, pleading, entreat- ing, full of affection. She understood. A flush of shame and anger overspread her face, blotting out the mother- liness that had lighted it whenever she and Jack met. She turned her back to the boy, putting down the pail and the money on the table. Neither spoke while the little boy with his burden turned to the door, knowing that he was shut out from all the care and hospitality of that home. The baby was troubled and peered into the face that for him was always smiling. Out into the street and to the end of the dock the boy went. "I won't/' he muttered; "I won't go after it for her. It just makes her queer, and I won't do it. Me mother told me to skip and run when I could and not get it for her. Pat don't want me ter, and I won't!" Then he wondered if Pat would ever know. The baby fretted, and the boy walked up and down the pier until it fell asleep, then he sat down at the end leaning against a barrel, looking out over the river whose waves carried his confidences to the ocean, it is such a companionable river, and so safe to keep the confidences of lonely boys. The one door that had opened to the boy he had closed. The sense of loneliness overcame him, and the tears fell fast on the baby's face. "I couldn't do it, mother never wanted me to, nor Pat. Pat most told me not to, and I told him I would- 32 THE STORY OF n't, but she won't like me no more/' It was so much worse not to have Mrs. Donohue's friendship. The sobs were audible to a man on the stringpiece behind the row of barrels watching and directing the loading of a lighter. The man listened and then investigated. He saw the boy and stopped, "The poor bye/' he said to him- self, "shure I'll tell Maggie and she'll fix a bit of dinner for him. I'll see Tom, too. Maggie'll be happier, and " he stopped short and turned away to direct the truckman driving down with a load of barrels, where to put them. The boy cowered a little lower down in his place lest he should be seen. "I ain't no kid." He brushed his hand across his eyes. "I wish I could work and I'd go away." The baby nestled closer in his arms, as if to remind the boy how much he needed him. "Mattie ain't no good to the kid. I'd lick her and make her stay home if I was Tom, agoin' off and doin' nothin'. There ain't nothin' in the house, and she'll be gone till night." He looked off across the river till his own head dropped on the baby's. As the twelve o'clock whistle blew, Mr. Donohue came round the pile of barrels to speak to the boy. He looked at them both a moment and then gently touched the boy on the shoulder. "Come along and get a bite of dinner, the whistles are blowing." Jack woke quickly and looked at Mr. Donohue so earnestly that the man was startled. "No, Mr. Donohue, not to-day, thank you." "Shure, why not?" demanded the man, amazed by this refusal. AN EAST -SIDE FAMILY 33 The boy was silent a long time, as if studying out an answer. "Not to-day/' was his response. He raised his big blue eyes to Mr. Donohue. Whatever they told him he ceased to urge Jack to go with him, but turned sadly toward the home into which a new life had come since the boy had turned to it, giving by his presence and acceptance to the lonely man and woman more, far more than he received. As Mr. Donohue came near his own door his footsteps lagged. Had the curse of their lives returned? His hand rested on the knob of the door several minutes be- fore he had the courage to turn it. He entered, Maggie had the dinner ready and on the table, but her face was flushed and her movements flurried. She was not the Maggie of the past months, nor the Maggie he hated. He sat down to the table and began talking. This was so unlike him that Maggie was sur- prised. "The bye is down on the dock with the baby ; I found them both asleep; I woke him and asked him to come and get a bite of dinner; he wouldn't come. Der yer know why, Maggie?" Maggie got up and fussed about the stove but did not comment. "It's strange, der yer mind ; for he looks hungry and so does the baby." Still Maggie did not respond. "I started a wagon fer him this morn; that baby is gettin' heavy, and I thought if he had a wooden wagon he could put the child in it." "Shure, where's the carriage they had?" asked his wife. 34 THE STORY OF "Sold, I do be thinkin' ; I saw Mattie wid a new para- sol yesterday/' Maggie frowned. "Yes, it's like her; she thought she had the bye, and he'd carry the young one. Shure it's a hard road he do be havin'."