.dt Doodles, by Emma C. Dowd-A Project Gutenberg eBook
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By Emma C. Dowd
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DOODLES. Illustrated in color.
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THE OWL AND THE BOBOLINK. Illustrated.
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POLLY OF LADY GAY COTTAGE. Illustrated in color.
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POLLY OF THE HOSPITAL STAFF. Illustrated in color.
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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston and New York
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DOODLES
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(Page 49)
HE WAS NEVER LONELY WHEN HE COULD SING
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[Illustration:
(Page 49)
HE WAS NEVER LONELY WHEN HE COULD SING]
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DOODLES
The Sunshine Boy
BY
EMMA C. DOWD
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY MARIA L. KIRK
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BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1915
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COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY EMMA C. DOWD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published April 1915
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TO
MY PHYSICIAN AND FRIEND
EDWARD THOMAS BRADSTREET, M.D.
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CONTENTS
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I. | The Bargain | #1:ch01#
II. | Caruso | #10:ch02#
III. | The Robbery on the Top Floor | #19:ch03#
IV. | Doodles turns Matchmaker | #36:ch04#
V. | Caruso and Doctor Sandy | #43:ch05#
VI. | Grandpa Moon comes to Town | #49:ch06#
VII. | A Friend from Greece | #64:ch07#
VIII. | The Strike | #71:ch08#
IX. | Thomas Fitzpatrick’s Whistle | #81:ch09#
X. | “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people” | #99:ch10#
XI. | The Passing of the Dancer | #116:ch11#
XII. | The Heart of the Flatiron | #129:ch12#
XIII. | “Jim’s Fiddle” | #133:ch13#
XIV. | The Letter | #140:ch14#
XV. | Hospital Days | #146:ch15#
XVI. | Caruso sings in Public | #159:ch16#
XVII. | A Thunderbolt | #177:ch17#
XVIII. | “The True-bluest Boy” | #189:ch18#
XIX. | Joseph Sitnitsky proves his Valor | #201:ch19#
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XX. | Doodles and Blue, Detectives | #212:ch20#
XXI. | Surprising News | #238:ch21#
XXII. | The Comforting of Eudora Fleming | #245:ch22#
XXIII. | “The Miracle Voice”| #267:ch23#
XXIV. | Doodles keeps on | #279:ch24#
XXV. | In Fair Harbor | #291:ch25#
XXVI. | “Dr. Polly” | #307:ch26#
XXVII. | “Auld Lang Syne” | #325:ch27#
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ILLUSTRATIONS
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He was never lonely when he could sing | #Frontispiece:frontis#
“I thought you would like it” | #16:i-016#
One Stormy Evening he began to play | #144:i-144#
“It would kill Doodles to give up Caruso” | #260:i-260#
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DOODLES
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CHAPTER I||THE BARGAIN
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Fragments of the auctioneer’s entreaties
floated through the open doorway of the bird
shop and, above the rattle and roar of the
street, clacked in Blue’s ears.
“Ladies and gentlemens ... beautiful
lark ... emperor of singers ... not swell
to look at, but.... Only twenty cents!—Twenty-two
am I offered? ... shame, ladies
and gentlemens!” And so on, in tones of
pleading and mild complaint.
Blue, meanwhile, studied the placarded
window, where all manner of feathered stock,
“slightly damaged, but every bird a bargain,”
was announced to be sold to the highest bidder.
“Lovely starling ... ladies and gentlemens,...
how much?” the persuasive voice
skipped on, but was rudely interrupted by
another.
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“Huntin’ fer bargains?” A boy of Blue’s
own size nudged him in the back. “Why don’t
yer go in ’n’ git one fer Doodles? ’T ’u’d
keep him f’m bein’ down ’n’ dumpy. My
aunt—”
“‘Down ’n’ dumpy’—Doodles!” Blue’s
rallying laugh drowned the “ladies and gentlemens”
drifting through the doorway. “Huh,”
he chuckled, “guess yer don’t know Doodles!”
“Ain’t he, now? S’posed all sick folks was.
My aunt she—”
“Doodles dumpy!” The boy’s shoulders
shook again. “Why, if there was nothin’ left
in the whole world but just barbers’ poles,
Doodles ’u’d sure make friends with the
stripes. And he’d have the best time ever—bet
you he would!” Blue’s hard little face
grew suddenly tender, as he thought of the
brother whose life was all pain and all joy.
The auction was over. The crowd poured
out into the noisy street. Here and there a
bird-cage told that a lame canary, a blind
bobolink, or some other “damaged” fluff of
feathers had changed owners.
One of the purchasers, a small, hatless girl,
clad in scowls and a lace-collared coat, halted
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when she saw Blue, and began recklessly to
swing her cage.
“Here, you Mame Sweeney!” the boy
cried, seizing the child’s arm; “don’t yer see
you’re scarin’ that bird ’most to death?”
“Le’ go!” she snapped. “’T ain’t yours!”
She wrenched herself free, and defiantly
thrashed the cage about her knees.
“Stop it!” The girl found her hand gripped
in a vise of muscles.
“Le’ me be!” she screamed. “Don’t care
if I do scare him! Horrid old thing!”
A little group of newsboys circled about
them, eager for a closer view of the cause of
the wrangle.
The ragged gray bird, panting on the floor
of his prison, did not invite favor. There was
a subdued chorus of grunts and ejaculations.
Then disapproval burst into bantering speech.
“Ain’t he a dood!”—“Mame, wha’ ’d
yer pay fer th’ beaut?”—“Whin ’ll he give a
concert?”—“Sure, if he sings like he looks,
he’ll bate th’ show!”
The girl frowned on the teasing lads.
“How could I see him in all that jam!” she
pouted. “The man said he was swell, and
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could sing like everything. Anyhow, I got
him for seventeen cents!”
“Swell!” Blue let go a whistle. Yet he
gazed pityingly at the poor, draggled thing in
the cage.
“You could n’t to know nothin’ ’bout him
the while he’s got fraids,” apologized Joseph
Sitnitsky. “He be a awful stylish kind.”
Joseph’s uncle was half-proprietor of the bird
shop.
As if encouraged by this friendly comment,
the bird tentatively cast an eye upward, and
then hopped to his perch. But if he had hoped
by this act to win kindlier words, the effort
failed. Scorn swept the circle. The Bargain
was disgracefully dirty, his left wing hung
limp at his side, his bill was nicked, and his
tail was reduced to three ragged feathers.
“Aw, he’s worser’n a muddy sparrer! Out
him, Marne, an’ done with it!”
“You could to have nice feelings over him,
und maybe sometime he sings,” mildly remonstrated
the loyal nephew of Abraham Sitnitsky.
But nobody heeded the plaintive voice, and
the girl, chagrined at the loss of her money
and exasperated by the jeers of the boys,
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seemed about to follow Pete’s dismal advice,
when Blue Stickney interposed.
“I’ll give yer a quarter for him!”
Staying her reckless hand, Mame stared.
“Honest?” she scowled.
The boy was already counting out the sum
from his meager handful of small coins, and in
a moment the gray bird had again changed
owners.
As Blue started up the steep stairs to the
top floor of The Flatiron, he wished it had
been possible to give his purchase a bath before
revealing it to the keen eyes of Doodles;
but then the little brother would have had
just so much less of happy ministration for his
pet. For, of course, the bird would belong to
Doodles. There had never been any other
thought of it in Blue’s mind.
Down the dim stairway floated a strain of
melody, and it told the boy agreeable news,—that
his mother had come home and was getting
dinner, that things had gone well at the
big shop where she worked, and that the little
brother was not suffering from the “bad spell”
which had threatened in the morning. Mrs.
Stickney rarely sang when Doodles was in unusual
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pain, and if she did it was not in so brisk
a voice.
The song grew clearer, the words came distinctly
now.
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“Je—ru—sa—lem, the gold—en,
With milk and hon—ey blest!
Be—neath thy contempla—tion
Sink heart and voice oppressed:
I know not, oh, I know not,
What holy joys are there,
What ra—dian—cy of glo—ry,
What light beyond compare.
“They stand, those halls of Zi—on,
All ju—bi—lant—”
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Blue opened the kitchen door, and as he
stepped from the dusky hallway to the sunlit
room, a sudden mellow trill struck into the
song.
This tuneful greeting quite caught away the
boy’s remembrance of the little speech of presentation
with which he had thought to amuse
his brother, and Doodles, his eyes big with
wonder and delight, stretched out both hands
towards the unkempt singer.
“O—h! is he ours?” he cried.
Blue nodded.
“To keep forever?”
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Another nod.
“Isn’t he a darling!” breathed the little
occupant of the pillowed chair, when the battered
cage was placed beside him. He threw
one arm around the small prison, and leaned
lovingly over it.
The bird cocked an eye upward, and ventured
another trill.
“He’s just beautiful!” piped Doodles in
ecstasy.
After that who could dare to make unflattering
remarks about the singer? Certainly
not Doodles’s mother, so with a happy light
on her face she continued her work of preparing
dinner.
In The Flatiron news flew fast. Even before
Mrs. Stickney’s potatoes had fried brown, up
the stairs puffed Granny O’Donnell on her
rheumatic old legs, bringing the deserted
home of her long-mourned-for Canary Dick,
who had flown away from Cherry Street six
years ago.
With a joyful whiff the Bargain took possession
of his roomier quarters, and, despite
his drooping wing, pranced about on the
perches.
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“See how happy he is!” laughed Doodles,
clapping his little thin hands. “He is saying
thank-you!”
Then, perhaps because his new master had
suggested the returning of thanks, the slim
gray bird, with a little captivating prelude,
broke into a torrent of melody such as Canary
Dick with his limited powers had never
dreamed of.
“Shure, an’ he must ’a’ coome sthraight
f’m hiven!” gasped Granny O’Donnell, as the
last note dropped into silence.
Blue stood, big-eyed, in the pantry doorway,
arrested in his hunt for a suitable bathtub
for the singer; the mother quite forgot her
scorching potatoes; and Doodles himself, with
both arms around the cage, crooned words of
endearment in the ears of the little songster.
Granny O’Donnell’s astonishing reports
of Blue’s twenty-five-cent purchase spread
through the big tenement house, until old
and young tripped or hobbled up to the top
floor to see the surprising handful of feathers
that could “sing loike a blissid a-angil.” A
long bath and a still longer toilet in the sun
brought the ragged Bargain to something like
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sleekness, and he began the promise of making
good his little master’s first praise. On rainy
days, when shut-in neighbors were apt to be
neighborly and numerous, the gray bird sometimes
sulked on the end of his perch and refused
to sing, possibly too strongly reminded
of his dismal surroundings in the bird shop.
But as soon as the sunshine returned he would
promptly forget the past and graciously display
his wonderful gift to all that came.
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CHAPTER II||CARUSO
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A weighty problem was puzzling the Stickney
family. What should be the gray bird’s
name? Doodles was growing nervous under
the reiterated question, “What yer goin’ to
call him?” Every visitor had a name to offer,
but the matter was not of easy disposal.
“I know Mis’ Homan thinks I ought to call
him Cherry,” observed the little owner plaintively;
“but how can I! He isn’t one. And
there’s Granny! Do you s’pose she’ll feel
awful bad if I don’t name him Dicky? If ’twasn’t
for Dicky Fyt—but ’tis! And his
mother callin’ and callin’ him all day long!
How’d anybody know which she meant?”
“Huh,” snorted Blue, “guess we shan’t
name him after that kid—not much!”
“And now Mis’ George,” Doodles resumed,
“I’m afraid she’s mad. She was in here with
the baby, this afternoon, and she tried to
make me promise to call him Evangeline,
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after her. I kep’ tellin’ her he wasn’t a girl;
but she didn’t seem to think that made any
difference. I s’pose it’s a pretty name; but
you wouldn’t want it, would you, for him?”
The tone was anxious.
“Gracious, no!” was the emphatic answer.
“Name him after that George squaller!”
Blue chuckled with the thought.
Doodles laughed a little in sympathy, and
surveyed his brother with admiration. Blue
was always so satisfying.
At breakfast, next morning, the important
question was again taken up.
“Dear me!” complained the mother, “I
hope that bird will get a name pretty soon; we
can’t seem to talk of anything else.”
Blue laughed confidently. “He’ll have one
before night, sure! I’m goin’ to think of somethin’
fine to-day.”
“Goin’—somethin’!” repeated Mrs. Stickney
with a patient sigh. “What would your
grandfather say to hear that! With him keeping
the district school for two years before he
was married, I tell you, we children had to
stand round! No cutting words short where
he was!”
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“Glad I wasn’t there!” grinned Blue.
“You’d have been a good deal better off
than you are now,” his mother asserted. “If
I didn’t have to work in the shop, I believe
I’d keep you home from school, and teach
you myself, till you could talk decently.”
“You ought to hear the other boys,”
laughed Blue.
“That’s what’s the trouble. Doodles is
catching it from you, and doesn’t speak
nearly as well as he used to. I wish you had
better companions.” She drew a long, regretful
breath. “Well, do try, both of you, to
remember your i-n-g’s.”
“Oh! what dif’ does it make?” returned
Blue easily.
“Child! dif’!—There’s the whistle!”
Correct speech was quite forgotten, as Mrs.
Stickney hurried off to the big silver shop,
leaving the boys to finish their breakfast in
leisure. They did not at once go back to the
question they had been discussing; but while
the elder brother was washing the dishes
Doodles started it again.
“What made you be so sure Birdie’d have
a name by night?” the small boy queried.
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“Oh, I do’ know!” Blue smiled, pausing to
pour a dipper of hot water over the soapy cups
and plates.
“Seems sometimes’s if he never would,”
Doodles put in with a wee sigh.
“Oh, I haven’t half tried yet!” resumed
the other. “Don’t you worry one mite, old
feller! Ther’ ’s lots o’ dandy names, if I could
only think of ’em, and I’m goin’—going to
do my honor best to-day, sure!”
Doodles laughed softly, to accompany his
brother’s louder chuckle, and rested in the
promise, for, as he had reason to know, Blue’s
“honor best” was apt to be very good, indeed;
and when he was left alone he and the
gray bird had a long confidential talk. It was
satisfactory, too, for although words were
only on one side Doodles would have told
you that the bird surely understood all that
was said to him. Didn’t he cock his little
head, and make soft, musical replies! And
when he was assured that he would soon
have a name of his very own, “just like other
folks,” didn’t he actually dash off a brand-new
song that left his hearer gasping with
delight!
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Yet it was not Blue that first arrived with
the name.
Some of the top-floor lodgers had to pass
the door of the Stickney kitchen on their way
up and down stairs. Among them was a recent
comer to whom Doodles had taken a
strong liking,—a young girl, small, red-cheeked,
and curly-haired, who had smiled a
prompt answer to his first friendly “Hello!”
The next day she had stepped inside, to give
him a flower from the little bunch she carried,
and then had lingered a moment to hear the
gray bird sing. The boy had quickly learned
her step, because of a slight lameness, and he
came to watch for her as soon as the noon
whistles blew, and was disappointed when she
went elsewhere for dinner. He felt that he had
a kind of fellowship with her on account of her
defect, and he longed really to know her. Today
he was listening for her halting footfall
even before she had had time to reach The
Flatiron. He had not learned where she
worked; but he conjectured that it must be
either at the knitting mill or the box factory.
His mother was full ten minutes in walking
down from the silver shop, and the girl usually
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reached home at least five minutes earlier. If
she shouldn’t come at all this noon! He
wanted to tell her that his pet was really going
to have a name, for hadn’t Blue said so!
There she was now! Nearer and nearer drew
the uneven steps. Doodles waited excitedly
for the first glimpse of her dark blue dress.
“Hello!” he called. “Please, will you—”
She was coming, even before the invitation
was given!
“What is it, little sweetheart?” Dimples
were playing about the ruddy lips.
“I wanted to tell you that my bird is going
to have a name—to-day!”
“Of course, he is! I’ve brought it!”
“You?”
“Yes, I found it right on the street.”
“Oh!—how?—what?” Doodles bent forward
in his eagerness.
“I saw it on the billboards down by the
theater; it’s the name of a great singer,—Caruso.”
The child brought his little hands together
with a soft breath of delight. “Isn’t that
beautiful!—Caruso! I’ve been wishin’ it
would sound like music—and it does!”
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“I thought you’d like it,” she nodded.
“It is lovely! Won’t Blue be glad! Oh,
Birdie dear, you’ve got a name! you’ve got a
name!” leaning over the cage, which stood
always within his reach. “Caruso—Caruso!
Do you like it, dear?”
The gray bird stopped pruning his feathers,
glanced archly at his little master, and with a
few joyous whistles broke into one of his captivating
songs.
“He is a wonderful singer,” praised the
girl. “I’ve been wishing I could go to hear
Caruso; I’ll have to come and hear this one
instead.”
“Yes, do come—any time!” urged Doodles.
“But why don’t you go and hear the
other, if you want to?”
The girl laughed. “It costs money, sweetheart.”
Her blue eyes grew wistful. “Everything
nice costs money.” She turned to go.
“I’m ever and ever so much obliged to you
for the name,” Doodles hastened to say. “I
don’t know yours,” he suggested.
She had come back, and was looking down
at him, a half-smile on her pretty lips.
“No, you don’t, do you!” she replied gayly.
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“I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE IT”
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[Illustration: “I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE IT”]
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“It is Dorothy”—a shadow passed over the
bright face—“Rose.”
“What a pretty name!” chirped Doodles.
“I’m so glad you told me.”
“You can call me Dolly, if you like; some
folks do. Grandpa always does—did,” she
corrected.
“Oh, I’d love to!” began the child; but the
girl was already in the hall, and she did not
look back.
At the instant Blue dashed up the stairs
with a clatter.
“I’ve got the dandiest name for you!” he
burst out.
“Oh!” cried Doodles.
“You never could guess!” grinned his
brother.
“Caruso!” piped the small boy with sudden
intuition.
“How’n the world—” Blue’s face fell in
amazement.
Doodles clapped his hands gleefully. “You
thought I couldn’t guess, and he’s got it
already!”
Blue laughed in sheer sympathy with his
brother’s joy.
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“But how?” he queried.
“Dolly brought it—she” (pointing towards
the girl’s door)—“Dolly Rose.”
Mrs. Stickney came just in time to hear the
story of the new name, and the dinner hour
was full of unusual chatter and mirth.
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CHAPTER III||THE ROBBERY ON THE TOP FLOOR
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After his mother had returned to the factory,
and his brother to school, Doodles found
himself somewhat weary from the small excitement,
and shortly he fell asleep.
The kitchen was very still. Stairway and
hall were empty; the occupants of the top
floor worked outside, and would not be home
until six o’clock. Only dull sounds came from
the stories below. Even Caruso drowsed on
his perch. Moments, hours, were ticked off by
the little brown clock on the shelf; yet Doodles
did not awake.
At last somebody crept stealthily up the
steep stairs. A girl in a lace-collared coat
peered round the comer of the doorway, and
as she saw the sleeping boy her beady eyes
gleamed with triumph. Noiselessly she
crossed the room, and reached out a hand to
snatch the bird cage; but her quick movement
roused the little prisoner, and he began to
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flutter wildly. For an instant the girl hesitated,
glancing at Doodles, and the lad came
to himself with a sharp cry.
Quickly realizing that his pet was in danger,
he grasped the cage as she seized it, clinging
to it manfully; but with brutal force she
wrested his frail fingers from their hold, and
put herself and her booty beyond his reach.
“I’ll learn ye!” she snarled. “It’s my bird—’t
ain’t yours! There’s yer old money!”
She flung a quarter on the table. It rolled
away, and off to the floor; but she did not stop
to pick it up. ‘Blue Stick’ knew I was only in
fun when I let him take it, and he’d oughter
brought it right back; everybody says so. Ye
kin tell him he needn’t sneak round tryin’ ter
git th’ bird again, fer he can’t have it!”
She was disappearing in the doorway before
the dazed boy burst into speech.
“Come back! come back!” he shrieked.
“It’s mine! Bring it back! oh, bring it back!”
But his only answer was a little flouting
laugh and the mad whir of wings against the
wires.
“Oh, Birdie! Birdie!” piteously called the
child, the familiar name coming to his lips in
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place of the new one, and as the fleeing footsteps
on the stairs were lost he dropped back
among his pillows with a great sob. “Dear
Birdie!” he moaned, “my precious Birdie!”
In that moment despair seized his soul. If
only he could have pursued to save his pet!
But, ah! his feet had forgotten how to walk,
and all at once realizing his utter helplessness
he put his hands to his face and shed the first
bitter tears of his joyous life.
Then, with a suddenness that caught away
his breath, came the pain,—the ugly pain
which for weeks had held itself so far off that
he had almost forgotten how cruel it could be,
and now he groaned with the torture of it.
So his brother found him, white and sobbing.
“What’s up, kiddie?” Blue knelt beside
him, and took the cold little hands in his own.
“Tell me, old feller! Is’t the big pain?”
The child nodded. For a moment he could
do no more. Anguish held the words back.
“Birdie’s—gone!” he finally sobbed out.
“Gone?” Blue stared around. “Where is
he?”
“She took him!—the girl!”
// 039.png
.pn +1
“The girl? That Dolly—”
“No, no!—a little—girl!—She left some
money—there!” He pointed feebly in the
direction of the coin.
A fierce light flamed in Blue’s puzzled face.
“Did she have on a big lace collar?”
“Yes.”
“Marne Sweeney!—confounded little
cuss!”
Doodles gazed at him with horrified eyes.
“Don’t care!—she is!—makin’ you feel
like this! Tell me about it, kiddie! Or no, I’ll
get some medicine first.”
Blue was accustomed to these sudden attacks,
and brought a glass of the remedy which
was always at hand. Bit by bit he gained the
story, and he was swift at a decision.
“I’ll go straight down there, and get the
bird!”
“She won’t let you have it!” wailed Doodles.
“She said so!”
“Just a bluff, old feller! S’pose I’m goin’ to
let Marne Sweeney down me? Not much!”
“If I’d only been—been like you!”
mourned the child. “And Caruso won’t know
why I didn’t jump up and run after him! I
// 040.png
.pn +1
guess his heart is ’most broke, thinkin’ I don’t
care.”
“No, ’t ain’t,” declared Blue. “Anyway
you can tell him all about it when he
comes—”
Doodles was gasping in another agonizing
spasm, and the elder boy sprang to his side
with words of courage and cheer.
Presently the pain passed, and the brave
little sufferer again smiled.
“That one was pretty hard,” he said
weakly, as his brother brought a second dose
of the soothing medicine.
“Guess this’ll squelch it. Don’t b’lieve it’ll
come again.” Blue set down the empty glass,
and looked at the clock. In ten minutes the
evening papers would be due; he ought to go
after the bird at once; but how could he leave
Doodles? He thought fast.
“Should you mind my going now, kiddie, if
Granny will come up and stay with you? I’ve
got to deliver my papers, you know, and I
want to make sure of Caruso first.”
“You’ll bring him home?”
“Sure!”
“All right! I don’t mind being alone—much.
// 041.png
.pn +1
I’d rather you’d go get Caruso. I feel
better. Granny needn’t come.”
“Guess I’ll ask her,” Blue insisted, and
bade his brother a cheery good-bye. Yet as he
ran down the stairs his face darkened and he
shut his lips tight. He was thinking of his
errand round the corner.
“Ye don’t say!” exclaimed the old Irishwoman,
when the boy told her briefly of the
robbery and Doodles’s consequent illness.
“Seem’s if I’d ’a’ heerd her—bold little sarpint!—go’n’
right by me dure with that a-angil
bur-rd! Iv coorse, I’ll sthay with th’
blissid child!”
Dear Granny O’Donnell! From Christmas
Day to Christmas Day she was at her neighbors’
disposal with her capable hands, her
quick brain, and her rheumatic old legs.
Whether it was mumps or pneumonia, an
ailing kitten or a new baby, a drunken husband
or a dying child,—whatever the need,
Granny was always ready. Even now, before
Blue was well out on the street she was limping
up the stairs to Doodles.
Just below The Flatiron stood Joseph
Sitnitsky.
// 042.png
.pn +1
“Hello!” hailed Blue. “You’re the man I
want.”
Joseph smiled good-naturedly.
“Say,” Blue went on, in a confidential tone,
“I’ve got some business on hand that can’t
wait, and it’s ’most time for the paper to be out.
Would yer mind runnin’ down to the Courant
office an’ gittin’ mine? I’ll give yer the money,”
drawing a small handful from his pocket.
“I will go,” agreed Joseph solemnly.
“Will I to bring them here?”
“Oh, no!” cried Blue. “Just leave ’em at
the office, and say I’ll call for ’em. I’ll be no
end obliged.”
“A’ right,” assented the other, and trotted
away.
You could always trust Joseph, and Blue
at once centered his thoughts on the disagreeable
duty at hand. What if they should see
him coming and shouldn’t let him in? What
if Mame’s big brother were at home! What if—but,
pshaw! there was no need of what-if-ing
in this way. It was going to be an easy
job; all he had to do was to walk in quietly,
grab the bird, and run. Once he had the cage
in his hands there’d be nothing to fear,—no
// 043.png
.pn +1
Sweeney could beat him in a race. And if
there should be any real opposition, wasn’t he
in good fighting order? Didn’t he whip a fellow
of fifteen this very morning for teasing a
little clubfooted boy! Recollecting that pleasant
affair made him feel equal to any possible
contest with Sweeneys big or little.
Up in the hallway of the new brick block he
looked around questioningly. Then he risked
the first bell at his right. A small girl opened
the door.
“Does Mame Sweeney live here?” he
asked in a soft tone.
The child pointed directly across the hall,
and, thanking her, Blue walked over and
pushed the button indicated.
Mame herself answered the summons; but
with her first glimpse of the caller she attempted
to shut the door. Blue, however, was
ready, and throwing himself against it pushed
into the room.
The girl, glowering, darted to the opposite
side of the apartment.
“That’s yer manners, is it?” she jeered.
“Yer needn’t think ye’re goin’ ter git that
bird ag’in!”
// 044.png
.pn +1
“No, indade!” broke in Mrs. Sweeney. “If
ye hain’t th’ cheek! Kapin’ Mame’s bur-rd all
this time, an’ thin comin’ afther it! Out with
ye! We don’t want ye round!”
The boy threw back his head defiantly, and
pulled a quarter from his pocket.
“That’s your money,” he cried, laying it on
the table; “but the bird’s mine! I bought it
fair’ n’ square! Mame was mighty glad to git
it off her hands then, an’ now just because
you’ve heard that it sings yer want it
back—”
“Want it?” sneered Mrs. Sweeney. “Yis,
we want it an’ we’ve got it, an’ whin ye see
it ag’in, jist pass me th’ wurrud! Now l’ave,
will ye!”
“I can have you arrested!” dared Blue,
growing furious. “I will, too, if yer don’t
bring out that bird! You stole it! I’ll have
you arrested sure as—”
“Arristid, is it? That’s a good wan! Arristid!”
She laughed shrilly.
The boy’s face darkened with passion. If
she had been a man he would have sprung like
a tiger—but a woman! He clinched his fists
fiercely and held himself straight.
// 045.png
.pn +1
“Well, arre ye go’n’, ye little—”
“No, not without my bird!” blazed the
boy.
A sinister light flashed in the woman’s eyes.
“Mame dear,” she bade in oily tones, “fitch
th’ bur-rd! fitch th’ bur’rd!”
The girl stared at her mother an instant,
and then started towards a closed door.
Blue turned, and his gaze followed her
eagerly.
In a moment it was over. The boy never
knew just how it was done. But he had been
caught in the back, and, his arms close pinioned,
had been lifted and hurled into the hallway.
As he sprang to his feet the lock clicked
in the door, and there was coarse laughter.
Realizing the trick, he set his teeth in helpless
fury.
“I’ll make you pay for this!” he shouted.
Then he shot down the stairs to the street.
On the sidewalk, passing the entrance,
marched a big policeman. Blue’s face lighted
in glad recognition.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick!” he called, “oh, Mr.
Fitzpatrick!”
The tall man turned, and smiled cordially.
// 046.png
.pn +1
“Hello, Blue! What’s up?” For the boy’s
face showed unusual excitement.
The story was jerkily told, but Thomas
Fitzpatrick, with the aid of an occasional
quiet question, soon had possession of the
principal facts.
“Will yer go right up an’ arrest ’em?” The
voice was eager.
They were walking slowly in the direction
of the City Hall, and the officer glanced up at
the clock in the tower.
“Can’t leave my beat now,” he answered.
“I shall be off duty in half an hour; then we’ll
attend to the case.”
“An’ you’ll arrest ’em, won’t yer?” Blue
insisted.
A little smile flickered on Thomas Fitzpatrick’s
broad face. “Don’t think ’t will be
necessary,” he said in confident tone. “We’ll
git the bird.”
“But they won’t let yer have it!” the boy
hastened to assure him.
“You wait an’ see!” laughed the officer.
“You wait an’ see! How’s the kid comin’
on?”
“This has done him all up. I found him in
// 047.png
.pn +1
one of his dreadful turns when I came home
from school. He thinks that bird is it, for
sure!”
The big man grew grave. “A shame!” he
muttered, with a slow shake of his head.
“Poor little kid! But we’ll have him smilin’
again before long. You tell him Tom Fitzpatrick
will git his bird for him, an’ not to
worry another mite. I’ll meet you here in
half an hour, and we’ll fix ’em!”
Blue bounded away to the top floor of The
Flatiron, and found Doodles deep in Granny’s
story of her girlhood days in one of old Ireland’s
famous castles. Nothing short of
Caruso himself could have brought the small
boy so much joy as the message of his adored
Thomas Fitzpatrick; for ever since the afternoon
of The Flatiron fire, when Doodles was
alone on the fourth floor and the gallant
young Irishman—then a fireman—had
bounded up the burning stairs through the
thick smoke and had carried the helpless
child down to fresh air and safety, the name
of Fitzpatrick had been an honored one in the
Stickney family.
Blue’s paper route was raced over. Although
// 048.png
.pn +1
he was late in starting, the last house
was reached on time. He was in front of the
Tobin Block a whole minute ahead of Fitzpatrick.
The two mounted the stairs in silence. Mrs.
Sweeney herself answered the ring. The door
was opened a mere crack, and her head appeared
beyond it.
“What ye want?” she asked in a surly
voice.
The officer touched his cap. “I wish to see
Mrs. Sweeney.”
“That’s me name. What ye want?”
“Perhaps we can talk better inside,” he
suggested; but the crack was not widened,
and with a little tolerant smile he went on. “I
have come to get a bird that belongs to this
young gentleman’s brother,” with a sidelong
nod towards Blue. “I—”
“It’s our bur-rd!” she snapped. “’Tain’t
theirs! He t’ased Mame out iv it be pertindin’
’t warn’t no good, an’ so she—a little gur-rl—lit
him take it. Look ut th’ cheek iv him,
whin it’s not his ut all, kapin’ it an’ kapin’ it,
till Mame had ter go an’ fitch it home!”
“Madam,” said the officer quietly, “there’s
// 049.png
.pn +1
no use putt’n’ up a bluff. I understand the
case from beginnin’ to end. Blue Stickney
bought the bird of your girl, it was a right up
and down sale, and she has no claim on it. If
you’ll hand it over at once, you’ll save yourself
trouble.”
“I guess not much!” she bristled,—“our
own bur-rd! He’s lied to ye!”
“Mrs. Sweeney,”—a heavy hand was laid
on the door,—“I’ve no time to waste in talk.
I will thank you to bring me that bird, or I
shall be obliged to take unpleasant measures.”
The woman hesitated, muttering. “I guess
I may’s well lit ye have it,” she at last wavered
aloud, “though it’s ours, sure! Homely
ol’ thing!” she went on scornfully. “Mame
was a fool fer buyin’ it!” She still stood there,
behind the crack, sullen, unwilling to yield.
Thomas Fitzpatrick was patient, but his
supper hour was going. “I suppose you know
the penalty for resisting an officer of the law,”
he finally insinuated.
She darted away, and the man swung the
door wide, stepping to the sill. His big form
nearly filled the open space, and Blue shifted
about for a view of the apartment beyond.
// 050.png
.pn +1
When the cage was actually in the boy’s
hand his heart bounded with joy. His faith
in Tom Fitzpatrick had been all but overbalanced
by Mrs. Sweeney’s determination to
keep the bird, and he had doubted ever seeing
Caruso again.
Her duty performed, the woman grew bold.
“Ye kin take it,” she patronized, “if ’t will
pacify ye; but Sweeney’ll prob’ly bring suit.
He ain’t wan ter stan’ no humbuggin’,
Sweeney ain’t!”
“You can, of course, do as you choose,”
replied the officer; “but I should advise you
to drop the matter. You see, the law’s all on
our side; there ain’t enough your side o’ the
fence for you to git a big toe on, let alone a
whole foot. Good-day, ma’am!”
Down on the sidewalk Fitzpatrick cast a
look into the cage. Caruso, huddled up on his
lowest perch, was a forlorn bunch of feathers.
“What kind of bird is it?”
“Do’ know what he is; nobody seems to
know.”
“Looks some like a mockin’-bird.”
“That’s what Dolly Rose said,” agreed
Blue.
// 051.png
.pn +1
“What ails his wing?—broke?”
“I do’ know. It’s always been bad; but it
hangs down worse ’n ever.” The boy scowled
anxiously at it, thinking of Doodles.
“You ought to have it fixed,” counseled the
big man, “and I know who can do it for you—that’s
Sandy Gillespie. If ther’ ’s anything
’bout birds ’at he don’t know, ’t ain’t worth
knowin’. Why, he’s got a house full of em—all
kinds! He had more ’n fifty, one time. He
could tell you, quick as wink, what this one is.
I’d take it up there, if I was you. He lives
’way out on the Temple Hill Road. Know
where the old Hayward place is?”
Blue nodded.
“Well, he lives just a little piece beyond
there, a big, old-fashioned house, with a
piazza on the side.”
“How much’ll he charge?” ventured the
boy.
“Oh, that’ll be all right! You just tell him
Tom Fitzpatrick sent you. I declare, wish
I could go with you! Sandy Gillespie is a
mighty nice man—good’s they make ’em.”
They had reached The Flatiron, and Blue
expressed his thanks in no uncertain way. “I
// 052.png
.pn +1
was awful afraid she wasn’t goin’ ter let yer
have it,” he confessed.
The officer laughed. “I wasn’t, a bit,” he
said. “I took a little more time than I might
have with some folks; but I didn’t want a
row. It’s better to get along quietly when
you can. Now you take that bird up to Sandy
to-morrow! And tell the kid I’m coming in
to call on him some day. Good-night.”
At sight of Caruso Doodles held out both
arms, with a little cry. His brother set the
cage on his knees, and the bird sprang up to
the top perch to cuddle against his master’s
soft cheek.
Doodles and Caruso went to sleep that
night side by side. “I want him right where
I can put my hand on the cage when I wake
up,” said the boy. “Then I shall know his
coming back wasn’t a dream.”
// 053.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV||DOODLES TURNS MATCHMAKER
.sp 2
It rained; but no merry, independent little
drops tinkled upon the panes. Mother Nature
appeared to be housecleaning, and torrents
of water were dashed against the windows.
Doodles watched the work outside while Caruso
plumed his feathers. When the long toilet
was completed, the bird and the boy were
ready for a chat,—happy, crooning talk on
the one side, soft, tuneful notes on the other.
Footfalls were on the stairs. Somebody was
coming up, with light, running steps.
“Sounds like Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles told
Caruso.
Presently a young man appeared, his trim
suit of dark cheviot corresponding with the
bright, smiling face which he turned towards
the Stickney kitchen.
“Hello, Doodles!” The blithe voice was
enough to make one forget such things as
cloudy skies and autumn housecleaning.
// 054.png
.pn +1
“Hello!” the boy responded joyfully.
“Take the rocking-chair, Mr. Gaylord,—do!”
“I had a little time before dinner, and
thought I’d run up and hear your bird. You
know, he’s never sung to me yet.”
“Maybe he won’t now,” returned Doodles
anxiously. “He doesn’t like rainy days, and
then he got so scared yesterday.”
A query brought out an account of the
afternoon’s excitement, for the boy was still
brimful of it. The visitor was a sympathetic
listener, and the story as told by Doodles was
worth hearing.
“So you’ve found a name for him!” remarked
the young man presently, after they
had used up all the praiseful adjectives for
Thomas Fitzpatrick.
“Yes, Dolly Rose did it!” cried Doodles
gleefully. “That is she thought of it first;
then Blue came in with it, too—wasn’t that
funny? Do you know Dolly Rose?”
“I think not—who is she?”
“Why, she lives right next door to you,”
exclaimed Doodles. “She’s just as pretty!
She’s got red cheeks and lovely blue eyes—exactly
like the sky, and the cunningest little
// 055.png
.pn +1
curls in her hair. Haven’t you ever seen
her?”
“Yes, I guess I have—from the description;
but I didn’t know her name.”
“You’d like her, she’s so sweet. She
brought me some flowers one day, and a peach
another time. And she has the dearest little
dimples when she smiles—I always want to
kiss them! Don’t you like dimples?”
“I guess so,” laughed Mr. Gaylord. “They
always remind me—”
But his thought was interrupted, for Caruso,
with a few bewitching quirks and trills,
burst into one of his enchanting songs.
“Bravo!” cried the visitor, as the music
ceased. The bird had stopped as suddenly as
he had begun, and was now lunching on a bit
of cracker. “He is a worthy namesake of the
great tenor.”
Doodles, bending over the cage, whispered
his thanks to the little singer, while the young
man surveyed them with tender eyes.
“I am going to hear the other Caruso next
Wednesday night,” he said presently. “And
that makes me think—I ought to be picking
out my seat; they went on sale this morning.”
// 056.png
.pn +1
The boy’s eyes shone. “To hear him sing!
Won’t that be splendid! Dolly Rose wants to
go awfully—oh! I wonder—” he broke off,
gazing at the other in hesitation, yet with the
brightness of the new thought in his face.
“Have you plenty of money?” he ventured.
“It depends on how much you call plenty,”
the young man smiled. “I sha’n’t be a millionaire
this year. But what is it you wish?
fruit? or candy? or some toy? Say on!—I’ll
risk it!”
Doodles stared an instant. Then his delicate
face lighted. “Oh, no, nothing for me! I’ve
got all I want!”
The visitor looked at him, the hint of a smile
on the boyish lips. “You are fortunate,” he
said.
The child did not notice. “I was only thinking,”
he went on, “how nice it would be, unless
it cost too much, if you—she wants to
hear him so bad—if you could take Dolly
Rose to the concert with you!”
Mr. Gaylord laughed out, and Doodles
chuckled in sympathy.
“Will you?” he urged.
The young man shook his head. “I am
// 057.png
.pn +1
afraid Miss Dolly wouldn’t care to go with a
fellow she doesn’t know well enough to bow
to.”
“Oh, yes, she would! I know she would! I
can introduce you to her—she’ll be here now
in a little while! Oh, won’t it be lovely!” The
words tumbled over each other, as Doodles
brought his hands together in ecstasy.
Mr. Gaylord, a deeper tinge of red on his
sun-browned face, leaned back in Mrs. Stickney’s
old rocker, while his shoulders shook silently
and his gray eyes twinkled.
Doodles beamed on him. “Aren’t you glad
I thought of it? And won’t she be pleased?”
“I’m not certain—” the other began, but
was stopped by a “Sh!”
“She’s coming!” whispered Doodles.
The two waited, the boy eager, the man
amused.
“Oh, Dolly! Please come in! I want to
speak to you! Hello!” Doodles was joyfully
excited.
Inside the doorway she halted, spying the
stranger.
“You needn’t be afraid of him!” the boy
cried, stretching out his hand to her.
// 058.png
.pn +1
She stepped forward, and held it close, in
both her own.
“It’s Mr. Gaylord,” Doodles hastened to
explain. “He’s chauffeur for Mrs. Graham,
that rich lady that lives over on Douglas
Street. I’ve been tellin’ him about you. This
is Miss Dolly Rose, Mr. Gaylord.”
The young man offered his rocker, which
the girl gently declined, insisting that she
had not time to sit down.
“Just a minute!” pleaded Doodles. “I want
to tell you something right away—you’ll be
so glad!—Mr. Gaylord is going to hear the
real Caruso next week, and he’s going to
take you! Isn’t that beautiful?”
Sparks of fun twinkled in the man’s eyes;
but they vanished when he glanced at the
face opposite. It was flashing with indignation.
No dimples played about the clear-cut
lips. He anticipated her words.
“Doodles is taking things a little for
granted,” he said with gentle deference. “I
should certainly consider it a privilege and
an honor to be allowed to escort you to the
opera house Wednesday evening; but let me
say frankly that such a thought could scarcely
// 059.png
.pn +1
have occurred to me except for our young
friend’s suggestion, inasmuch as I hardly
knew you by sight and had never heard your
name.”
The girl unbent a bit, as the comicality of
the situation pushed itself forward.
“Even then,” he went on, “I was not bold
enough to expect that Doodles’s wish would
come true, but now that we have been properly
introduced I will say that I should honestly be
very glad if you would go with me. It would
add a great deal to the pleasure of my evening.”
Evidently the girl’s inclination and judgment
were in struggle, and the latter was getting
the other in hand.
“I thank you, Mr. Gaylord,” she answered,
a little hesitantly, “indeed, I do; but, really,
I don’t think I can go—”
“Oh! why not?” broke in Doodles. “You
said you wanted to!”
The girl trembled on the verge of a smile,
and suddenly was in a merry laugh.
“You will go, won’t you?” coaxed the boy,
delighted at the pleasant turn things had taken.
“Perhaps,” she yielded—and then darted
away.
// 060.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V||CARUSO AND DOCTOR SANDY
.sp 2
The next day being Saturday it was thought
best, after a family council, for Blue to take
Caruso to the Scotchman of whom Thomas
Fitzpatrick had told him.
“You won’t be gone so very long, will you?”
asked Doodles anxiously.
“A good part of the afternoon, I’m afraid,”
his brother answered. “Do you mind staying
alone?”
“Oh, no! only I was thinking I shall miss
Caruso.”
Blue heard this with a little dismay, for he
thought it not unlikely that he should be
obliged to leave the bird for treatment. He
wondered whether he ought to prepare Doodles
for such a possibility, or wait and let things
come as they would. Finally he ventured:—
“Maybe the bird doctor will want to keep
him a day or two.”
A shadow fell on the fair little face.
// 061.png
.pn +1
“Well,” replied the boy slowly, “I can get
along if he has to stay. You tell the man to not
think about me at all, but just to do what’s
best for Caruso—oh, won’t it be nice if he
can fix Caruso’s wing all right!” The sorrow
of the possible separation was forgotten in the
joy of the moment.
It was a long, hard tramp up the Temple
Hill Road; but Blue Stickney, with abounding
strength in every muscle of his lithe little
body, was scarcely conscious of fatigue when
he spied the rambling, dilapidated structure
known as the Hayward place, and presently
he was on the porch of the white house beyond.
A stocky little man opened the door, whom
the boy rightly conjectured to be the owner
himself. His face was framed in an abundance
of wavy reddish-gray hair, and his keen blue
eyes looked kindly at his visitor over a pair of
silver-bowed spectacles.
Blue briefly told his errand, bringing a smile
to the face of the little man when he mentioned
the name of Fitzpatrick.
“I dinna ken a better mon,” he observed,
with a strong Scotch accent. “I am glad to
welcome ony freend o’ his.”
// 062.png
.pn +1
As they entered the big, sunny room on the
left of the wide hall, the boy looked about in
plain astonishment, for on every side, high and
low, were birds—birds in cages, and birds
free to fly wherever they would.
“My, what a lot!” he exclaimed under his
breath.
Mr. Gillespie gave him a pleased nod over
Caruso’s cage, from which he was carefully
removing the newspaper covering.
The bird, contrary to his usual custom with
strangers, did not appear to be at all afraid of
the Scotchman, but, turning his bright eyes
this way and that, surveyed with evident curiosity
his attractive surroundings.
The first to give him a musical salutation
was a cardinal in the bay window, which began
a series of soft, sweet whistles. These notes
seemed to rouse the rest of the family, for
shortly a concert was in full swing.
The singing strangely excited Caruso. He
pranced from end to end of his perches, occasionally
standing motionless as if to listen, and
then darting off again in a wild dance. At last
he could keep silent no longer, and a flood of
music poured from his bursting throat which
// 063.png
.pn +1
all but drowned the other voices. Indeed, in a
moment he had the stage quite to himself, and
was singing as he had never sung even for his
beloved little master.
Blue actually held his breath, as if fearing
to miss a note of the marvelous performance;
and the old Scotchman, accustomed as he was
to all manner of feathered songsters, gazed at
the disabled gray bird in surprise and admiration.
It was as if the robin, the oriole, the
cardinal, the song sparrow, the bluebird, and
a host of others, were in that little swelling
throat. And this was interspersed with the
mewing of cats, the grunting of pigs, the cackling
of hens, the call of the Katy-dids, and the
myriad sounds of country life. The singer
finally ended with the first notes of “Annie
Laurie,” breaking off suddenly in the middle
of a measure to stand with drooping head, as
if trying to recollect the rest.
Without hesitation Sandy Gillespie caught
up the air where Caruso dropped it, and
whistled it through, the bird still motionless
upon his perch.
That was enough. Memory gave back to
the singer what he had almost lost, and with
// 064.png
.pn +1
a little prelude of his own he slipped into the
old song, stopping only with the last note.
“Weel dune, birdie! weel dune!” praised
the Scotchman in a soft voice, while Caruso
pirouetted about like a pleased child.
The man smiled, and going to a tiny wall
cupboard fetched something which he placed
in the bird’s cage.
Caruso watched him narrowly, and the instant
he was well away swooped the dainty
before Blue could discern what it was.
The boy caught a twinkling glance thrown
him from over the spectacles, and he answered
it with inquiring eyes.
“Meal worms,” said the Scotchman. “Naething
they like better. What d’ye feed him?”
“Oh, ’most anything!” was the indefinite
answer.
Mr. Gillespie shook his head. “Na, na,
that winna do!” He picked up a small box on
the table, and, emptying the bird’s food cup,
replaced its contents with a little from the
package.
That it was satisfactory to Caruso was apparent
from the zest with which he ate it.
“Best thing for mockin’ birdies,” asserted
// 065.png
.pn +1
the Scotchman, handing Blue the box. “Ye
buy it at th’ shop.”
The boy read the price in dismay, “Fifty
Cents.” They could never afford such costly
food.
“Th’ wee wing wi’ sune be a’ right, I’m
thinkin’,” Mr. Gillespie was saying. “Ye
maun leave th’ birdie wi’ me, an’ when we’re
gude freends I can find oot th’ tribble.”
So Blue, feeling that his errand was accomplished,
bade the little man good-bye, promising
to come up again by the middle of the
next week.
// 066.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI||GRANDPA MOON COMES TO TOWN
.sp 2
.pm verse-start
“On—ly an armour-bear—er, proud—ly I stand,
Wait—ing to fol—low at the King’s command;
Marching if ‘onward’ shall the or—der be,
Standing by my Cap—tain, serv—ing faith—ful—ly.
“Hear ye the battle cry! ‘Forward,’ the call!
See! see the faltering ones! back—ward they fall.
Sure—ly the Captain may de—pend on me,
Though but an armour-bear—er I may be.
Sure—ly the Captain may de—pend on me,
Though but an ar—mour-bear—er I may be.”
.pm verse-end
The pure, sweet voice of Doodles carried
the song on and on without touch of weariness.
He was never lonely when he could sing, and
now that Caruso was not there he often sung
the hours away. The Flatiron was familiar
with the singing of Doodles. All up and down
the long halls busy mothers and tired toilers
would open their doors to the heartening music.
They did not stop to ask whether the voice
was remarkable or not; it was pleasant to hear,
and there was never over-much pleasure in The
Flatiron. A few realized that while they were
// 067.png
.pn +1
listening they forgot the hard life that bound
them, and forgetfulness even for a time was
worth while.
Bravely rang the last verse.
.pm verse-start
“On—ly an armour-bear—er, yet may I share
Glo—ry im—mor—tal, and a bright crown wear:
If, in the bat—tle, to my trust I’m true,
Mine shall be the hon—ors in the Grand Re—view.
“Hear ye the battle cry!—”
.pm verse-end
The boy stopped suddenly, for an old man
was in the doorway. He had removed his hat,
and stood panting from his climb of the three
flights.
“I’m—sorry—to—inter-rupt—your—beau-tiful—”
“Oh, that isn’t any matter!” Doodles
broke in. “Come right and sit down! Take
the rocking-chair; it’s easiest.”
“Thank you,” bowed the stranger. “I’m
not—used—to stairs.”
“These are pretty steep,” attested Doodles.
“They make mother dreadfully out of breath;
but Blue runs up as fast, and doesn’t mind
’em at all.”
Before the old man could talk comfortably
// 068.png
.pn +1
he let go the query that was impatient on his
lips. “Do you know if there’s a girl lives in
this building called Moon?” The fine face
was pathetic in its eagerness.
“I don’t remember anybody by that name,”
answered the boy slowly, thinking hard.
Flatiron lodgers were so numerous and so
fleeting.
All brightness faded from the wrinkled
face, leaving it more weary than before.
“It’s my granddaughter,” the trembling
voice explained. “She—went away—she
had to, and I don’t blame her a mite!—and
she couldn’t tell me where—I do wish she
had! A man from our town said he saw her—or
thought it was—coming in here one
day; but it couldn’t ’a’ been her!” He sighed.
“If Horace had just stopped his team, and
spoke to her and found out! But you can’t
much blame him—she give him the mitten
once, and he’s never gotten over it. It’s no
wonder the fellows are after her; she’s as
pretty as her mother before her. Ye see,
she’s my son’s child. Her mother died when
she was a little thing, and her father married
again. Sarah’s been a good mother to her,
// 069.png
.pn +1
only for trying to make a match between her
and Zenas; but it’s natural she should think
her boy is the whole earth. And he must needs
make love to my girl! As for that matter,
there ain’t a fellow in town that wouldn’t
run his legs off to get one of her smiles. But
Zenas Camp! He’s the conceitedest, dudishest
numskull I ever set eyes on. Poor child!
she couldn’t stand his love-making. So she
had to go. She left me a little note, telling
me why she couldn’t stay. I wish she’d told
me where she was going, but she said she was
afraid I’d have to let it out if I knew, and if
I didn’t know I couldn’t tell. Now Zenas
has up and married the richest old maid in
town; so he’s out o’ the way. She could come
home well’s not, and I don’t know where to
look for her.” He bent his head on his
hands.
“I’m sorry,” sympathized Doodles, “I’m
awfully sorry! I guess you’ll find her; I feel’s
if you would.”
“I’ve got to!” The old frame straightened.
“To think of her—innocent little thing!—being
in a big city like this, all alone, makes
me wild! I must find her! I guess I’m ’bout
// 070.png
.pn +1
rested enough to go on. I wish you’d sing
me just one piece before I go.”
“I wonder what you’d like best,” Doodles
mused.
“That you were singing when I come in is ’s
good as any—something about an armour-bearer,
wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, ‘Only an Armour-Bearer.’ I like
that, I s’pose because I’m an only, too.”
“An ‘only’?” The wrinkled forehead had
a puzzled scowl.
“Why, yes, sir; I’m only a little boy that
can’t walk. I couldn’t even be an armour-bearer,
if they had them now—mother says
she guesses they don’t. But if they did, I
couldn’t march or anything. I like to play I
can, though. It’s fine to feel I’m marching
with the rest! I can’t really do much, you
know, except talk and sing. But mother says
some folks can’t even do that, and it isn’t
so much what you do as how you do it. I
didn’t know that till mother told me. It is
queer how much mothers know, isn’t it? My
mother knows ’most everything! She’s a great
comfort.”
“A mother is the best thing in the whole
// 071.png
.pn +1
world, little one.” The faded blue eyes grew
a bit misty.
“I think so,” agreed Doodles. “And grandfathers
are nice, too. Grandfather Blue was
a splendid man, mother says. Blue was
named for him, but he don’t like it much.
The boys call him ‘Blue Stick’ and ‘Sticky Blue’
and ‘Sticky Doleful’, and sometimes he gets
mad. Mother tells him he ought to be proud
of such a name, and proud of Stickney, too,
even if the boys do turn it into ‘sticky.’”
“Ye can’t hurt a good name that way,”
observed the old man. “A name that’s got
generations of good folks back of it is the kind
that puts ye on your mettle to keep it up to
the mark.”
“Why, you talk just like mother!” cried
Doodles, his brown eyes shining. “My father
was a lovely man, but I didn’t know him.
He died when I was a baby. I was named
for father and Uncle Jim, Julius James. It’s
too bad about Uncle Jim! He was mother’s
only brother, and he ran away because grandfather
wouldn’t let him keep his violin. You
see, he had been saving up money for ever so
long to buy a violin with, and then when he
// 072.png
.pn +1
got it grandfather made him carry it back to
the store—he said it was all nonsense for him
to spend his time fiddling. But Uncle Jim was
possessed about music—mother says I take
after him. I guess grandfather was sorry
enough afterwards, for Uncle Jim never came
back. Mother hasn’t any idea where he is.”
On the listener’s face the lines deepened.
The little story had awakened sad possibilities.
“Suppose, dearie, you sing a bit now,” he
suggested. “I must be getting on.”
“Oh, I forgot!” exclaimed Doodles in compunction.
“Only an Armour-Bearer” was succeeded
by “Jerusalem, the Golden,” which proved to
be one of the visitor’s favorites.
“Mother likes that,” confided Doodles, as
he rested from his singing; “it reminds her so
of Uncle Jim. Once, when he was a little boy,
there was company to stay over night, a
minister and his wife named Hall. Before
they went to bed they sung some hymns;
Grandmother Blue played on the melodeon,
and the rest stood around back of her. When
they came to that line, ‘They stand, those
// 073.png
.pn +1
halls of Zion,’ Jim nudged mother, and pointed
to Mr. and Mrs. Hall, and she giggled right
out! Nobody noticed it much, they were
singing so loud; but she was dreadfully mortified.”
Mr. Moon laughed with Doodles, then, after
thanking him for his singing, he arose to his
unsteady feet.
“If I don’t find her to-day, I think I’ll have
to stay over till to-morrow,” he said quaveringly;
“seems’s if I couldn’t go back without
my little Dolly!”
“Dolly?” repeated Doodles, his eyes round
with wonder. “Dolly, did you say?”
“Why, yes, of course, Dolly!” The voice
was sharp with pain and something akin to
impatience.
“You never said her name was Dolly!”
breathed the boy reproachfully, trying to follow
out the sudden possible clue. “But she’s
Dolly Rose!” he added, with a little shake
of his head.
“Child! child! what are you talking about?”
“Dolly—my Dolly Rose! But she ain’t
a Moon! She said her name was Rose—Dorothy
Rose.”
// 074.png
.pn +1
“Boy! tell me what you’re driving at!
Who’s Dorothy Rose?” The man dropped
heavily into the chair he had just quitted.
“Why, she’s a girl,” Doodles explained.
“That’s her room,” pointing to the opposite
side of the hall. “But she ain’t there now,”
he added hastily, for the old man was rising,
his face set towards the door indicated.
“Oh!” exclaimed Doodles softly, “she said
her grandpa called her Dolly! She did! But
her name’s Rose,” he insisted sadly.
“Oh, ’t ain’t likely it’s my Dolly!” was
the dreary conclusion. Then a light stole
into the clouded eyes. “Her name ain’t
Rosetta, is it?”
“No, just Rose,” the boy replied slowly.
“And—” he hesitated, reluctant to let go
his forlorn hope, “she ain’t lame, is she?”
“Oh, she is!” piped Doodles excitedly.
“Only a little—not enough to hurt her a bit!”
even in that significant moment loyal to his
friend.
The withered face flushed and whitened.
The faded eyes grew bright. “And has she
got curly hair?”
“Yes, lovely! And red cheeks!”
// 075.png
.pn +1
“Red as roses! And her eyes are blue—blue
as—”
“The sky in the morning, when it’s cold!”
Doodles helped out.
“Ye’ve got it exactly! And she’s a slim
little thing?”
“My, yes, I guess she is!”
They were two excited children, each eager
for one more word of evidence that should
make the proof sure.
“She has the dearest dimples!” Doodles
cried.
The old man nodded smilingly. “Seem’s
if it must be Dolly,” he quavered. “Ther’
wouldn’t be two. Her name’s Dorothy Rosetta,
an’ she prob’ly just called it Rose, so
Zenas couldn’t find her—that’s what! My
little Dolly! And to think how near I came to
missing her after all!” His voice tottered
along the brink of tears, then something glistened
on his coat, and Doodles politely looked
out of the window.
“It’s a beautiful day,” he remarked presently,
not turning his head. “Dolly will be
sure to come home this noon; she always does
when it’s pleasant.” As there was no response,
// 076.png
.pn +1
he went on. “She found Caruso his name.
Caruso’s my bird—my mocking bird, you
know. Dolly named him after the real Caruso.
And, oh, she went to hear him, with Mr. Gaylord!”
A pleased chuckle made Doodles turn round.
“So she’s caught a city beau already!”
Grandpa Moon was saying. “She’d never be
long without one, she’s that pretty.”
“I guess he’s a beau,” Doodles responded,
“he’s lovely anyway. They went to a moving
picture show, too. Oh, they looked so nice
together! You ought to see ’em! He brought
her some beautiful flowers, and she gave me
some.”
“Just like her! She’s a generous little
thing. Tell me more about her.”
“There isn’t much. She works in the knitting
mill. She likes Caruso—my Caruso. I
wish he was here to sing for you; but he’s at
the bird doctor’s having his wing mended. It
hung down dreadfully, and the bird doctor is
going to fix it so it’ll be as good as new. Blue
went up there last week to see how he’s getting
along, and he’s ’most well. He sings ‘Annie
Laurie’—just think! Seem’s if I couldn’t
// 077.png
.pn +1
wait to hear him sing that!” Doodles gave a
vivid account of the bird’s sudden recollection
of the tune, drifting into the story of the robbery
and Thomas Fitzpatrick’s part in the
exciting little affair. The first noon whistle
brought him to a halt.
“That’s five minutes of twelve,” he announced.
“Our clock is too slow. Dolly’ll be
here pretty soon now—in about ten minutes,
I guess.”
Talk flagged after that, although Doodles
tried to keep up a show of it. It is doubtful
whether the old man heard much of what was
said; his thin fingers drummed restlessly on
the arms of the rocker, and at every sound he
glanced towards the doorway.
“We shall hear her coming up,” Doodles
told him; “I always do. ’Tisn’t quite time—most
though. Mother doesn’t—” he
stopped, listening, then nodded gleefully.
“Hear her? She’s on the first flight.”
The old man shook his head; his ears were
not keen enough to catch that soft footfall.
Quickly, however, his face brightened.
“Won’t she be astonished!” the boy whispered.
// 078.png
.pn +1
The girl smiled a gay answer to Doodles’s
greeting, and was starting over the threshold
when she spied the foot and trousers-leg of a
man, and retreated.
“No, no! don’t go!” cried Doodles. “Please
come in just a minute, Dolly dear!”
As she advanced, the occupant of the rocking-chair
turned toward her. She flashed one
glance at that wrinkled face, and darted forward
with a glad, “Grandpa! grandpa!”
To Doodles’s surprise he found his cheeks
wet with tears, and the others were wiping
their eyes. Why people should cry when they
were happy he could not understand.
For a time words flew merrily from lip to
lip. “To think that Cynthi’ Beadles should
marry Zenas Camp!” laughed Dolly. Then
she sobered, with a “Poor Cynthi’!”
“You’ll go home with me, this afternoon?”
Grandpa Moon queried in a taken-for-granted
tone.
The answer came promptly enough, “Of
course I’ll go!” Yet she looked wistfully
across at Doodles, and thought of somebody
else with a tiny anxious scowl and a faint
flush.
// 079.png
.pn +1
Shortly the two went off, arm in arm, Dolly
eager to show her “cosy little den,” and to
make grandpa a cup of tea. They did not return
to say good-bye until after Mrs. Stickney
and Blue had come and gone. Then the stay
was too brief for the satisfaction of Doodles;
but the train must be met, and there were
several calls to be made first. So with promises
to write, the parting was over.
Just before six o’clock, Mr. Gaylord dropped
in, as he often did when he had a moment’s
leisure. Doodles’s news left him grave.
“She wanted me to tell you she was sorry
she couldn’t see you again,” the boy ended.
The young man’s response was to ask,
“Where is her home?”
Doodles stared at him unseeingly. He was
searching his memory. At last he dragged out
his forlorn answer, “I don’t know!”
The other smiled grimly.
“She never told! I’m sure she didn’t!”
The boy’s brown eyes brimmed over. “Now I
can’t send her a letter!”
“Never mind, little man! She will write to
you, and then you’ll know.” Still as he went
across the hall to his room—grown suddenly
// 080.png
.pn +1
so lonesome—he wondered if the omission
could have been intentional. His next thought
was to upbraid himself for the doubt.
Yet days multiplied, weeks slipped away,
and no word came from Dolly Moon.
// 081.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII||A FRIEND FROM GREECE
.sp 2
Even the doorknob of Dolly Moon’s room
looked melancholy. So Doodles felt, and he
turned a little in his chair, that it might not
face him. Then, more lonely, he looked back,
and, while he was looking, a man and a boy
came up the stairs. Although less than an hour
ago he had wished that somebody else would
lodge there, when the two passed the kitchen
and steered straight toward Dolly’s old room,
resentment rose in his loyal heart.
“It’s hers!” he muttered. “They haven’t
any right to go in!”
But go in they did, each with a “queer-shaped,
green bundle,” he told Blue as soon
as he came.
“And the boy is ’bout as big as me,” he
went on. “Do you s’pose we shall ever get
acquainted?”
“Sure,” returned his brother. “Why not?
You must hello to him.”
// 082.png
.pn +1
Blue’s word was to be obeyed, and the first
time that the strange boy passed the doorway
alone Doodles let go his friendly greeting.
The lad turned quickly, showed two rows
of exceedingly white teeth in a pleased smile,
and responded with a soft, “’llo!”
“Will you come in and see me?” invited
Doodles politely.
The boy halted and again flashed his bright
smile. “I come—t’anks!” He stepped over
the threshold, and stood hesitant, his mobile
face tender with sympathy at sight of the
helplessness of the occupant of the pillowed
chair.
Before Doodles could speak, Caruso began
his musical welcome, and the stranger did not
move or shift his gaze from the singer until
the little song was ended. Then he turned to
Doodles, aglow with appreciation. His slim
little hands made quick gestures as he came
near. “Nice! nice!” he smiled, hunting
through his small stock of English for a better
word. “He sing—nice!”
“I think he does,” Doodles responded happily.
“I wish he’d sing ‘Annie Laurie.’—Caruso!”
// 083.png
.pn +1
The bird answered promptly, and at once
Doodles began softly the old song, carrying it
through to the end of the verse. Then Caruso
with a few trills, struck into the same air.
Doodles watched the visitor’s face, as the
bird sang; nobody had ever listened to Caruso’s
singing with that look. It was wonder, admiration,
and joy, it was more than that—Doodles
could not tell what it was. But he felt
that the new boy appreciated his bird’s singing,
and he was glad.
When the stranger turned, his eyes had a
far-away look in them, as if he were still hearing
music. Then came that brilliant smile.
“I—love heem!” pointing to Caruso. “I—no
talk good. I—learn Eengleesh—I go
school one, two, t’ree,” counting on his fingers—he
shook his head sadly, and sighed.
The word would not come. “One, two,
t’ree,” he repeated, and halted again.
“Three years?” prompted Doodles.
The boy shook his head.
“Months?”
He smiled. “Yes, t’anks, t’ree months I
go school here—America. I go school—Athens.”
// 084.png
.pn +1
“Oh! did you live in Athens?” Doodles
was interested.
“Yes,” the boy nodded. Then a thought
filled his eyes with light. “I play!” He darted
off, across the hall, returning with a violin,
which he began to finger in a way that roused
Doodles’s admiration.
He lifted it to his shoulder, and drew his
bow across the strings, holding the instrument
caressingly, as if it were a living thing.
Doodles sat entranced through the playing.
Never had he heard such music.
The player slipped into the tune of “Annie
Laurie,” with a peremptory, “You sing!”
And Doodles began, half shyly, but soon he
was the chief performer, the violin playing a
soft accompaniment.
On the second verse Caruso joined them
with his mellow whistle, the effect being startlingly
sweet and delightful.
“Where you learn?” asked the young violinist
in the first pause.
“I?” repeated Doodles in surprise.
The other gave a smiling nod.
“Why, I guess I never learned. I’ve always
sung.”
// 085.png
.pn +1
The boy looked the admiration he could not
speak. “You sing—nice!” he said.
“You play beautifully!” declared Doodles.
The dark little face brightened. “Yes,
that! You sing beau-tee-fully! I no get word—you
sing beau-tee-fully!”
“Do you think so?” Doodles grew pink
with pleasure. “I never heard anybody play
the violin so well as you,” he went on. “I
wish you’d play more.”
“I play—you sing.” The Greek boy
waited expectantly.
After a moment’s thought Doodles began
one of his favorite hymns, “The Ninety and
Nine,” the other listening, his violin on his
shoulder. He quickly caught the air, and was
soon playing a charming accompaniment.
There was another who was not content to
be silent. The boys had not counted on the
mocking bird, but suddenly he started one of
his amusing medleys. Discords increased, and
at last, with a chuckle, the violinist dropped
his instrument, Doodles doubled over in a
laugh, and Caruso was left as star performer.
The new friends talked, the stranger telling,
in his meager English, of his home in Athens,
// 086.png
.pn +1
of the gentle mother whom he could barely
remember, and of how she had named him
Christarchus Apostus because she wished him
to be an apostle of Christ; of the father who
thought him better fitted for a musician than
a preacher; of their dream of America, and,
when money grew scarce and scarcer, of their
resolve to seek their fortune across the wide
sea. He told of their hopeful departure from
the land of flowers and fruit and sunny skies,
of the terrifying ocean voyage; and, lastly, of
their engagement in the orchestra, where they
played the violin every night.
After this recital came more music, Caruso
being too busy at his food cup for interruption.
The concert was still proceeding when
the young visitor’s father appeared at the
head of the stairs, and “My Old Kentucky
Home” came to a sudden end.
“We had a lovely time,” Doodles told his
mother, and at once launched into the history
of his short acquaintance with “the new boy.”
He had not finished when Mr. Gaylord arrived
with delightful news—he had seen
Dolly Moon, had actually been at her home in
Pebbleton, and she had sent to Doodles a
// 087.png
.pn +1
quart of cream, a basket of apples, and a jar
of clover honey. She had been waiting for a
letter, having overlooked the truth—that
her Flatiron friends did not know where she
lived, and she was very much ashamed of her
forgetfulness and of her neglect to write to
them. The young man had discovered her by
accident. He had been taking his employer,
Mrs. Graham, to an adjoining town, and in
passing through Pebbleton he had spied the
girl at a window. Feeling sure that he could
not be mistaken, he had obtained permission,
after leaving Mrs. Graham at her friend’s, to
run back to Pebbleton. The result had justified
his hopes, and he was in an unwonted
elation of spirits that the Stickney family did
not fail to observe.
Doodles ended his supper with honey and
cream, and he thought he had never tasted
anything half so nice.
“It has been a most wonderful day,” he
confided to Caruso when he said good-night.
// 088.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII||THE STRIKE
.sp 2
Blue joined his mother in the little dark
bedroom, whither she had stealthily beckoned
him.
She closed the door, and pulled him to a
farther corner, beyond the keen ears of
Doodles.
“You mustn’t spend a penny for anything
you can get along without!” she whispered.
“I’m sorry you bought that orange.”
“Why?” queried the boy, surprised.
“Doodles said the other day he’d like one.”
“You asked him.”
“Yes,” admitted Blue. “But it’s good for
him—he don’t eat much anyway.”
“I know,” sighed the mother, and stopped.
“What’s up?” demanded the boy.
“’Sh!”
“He can’t hear! He’s talkin’ to the bird.”
“Well,” she softened her voice, “I haven’t
said anything—and they’ve kept it pretty
// 089.png
.pn +1
whist; but we’re ordered out on strike to-morrow
noon, unless the company come to
our terms—and they won’t!”
“Whew!”
“I’m awfully sorry. I hoped they’d patch
things up.” She put her hand to her eyes.
“It’s a shame!” cried Blue.
“’Sh! I don’t want him to know any more
than is necessary.”
“He isn’t goin’ to hear! What’s the muss
anyhow?”
“Oh! it’s about those hands that they discharged,
and then they’ve asked for more
wages.”
“I’ll try to git some extry jobs,” decided
the boy.
“Please don’t say git,” corrected his
mother, “and remember that extra is spelled
with an a.”
“Oh, I for—get!” laughed Blue.
“You’re a good boy anyway,” the mother
replied with a catch in her voice. “What
should I do without you!” She clasped him
there in the dark, while he made an impulsive
resolve to be more worthy of her love and
praise. Nevertheless he laughed.
// 090.png
.pn +1
“You haven’t got to do without me!” he
told her, and ran back into the kitchen.
The next day Mrs. Stickney walked out of
the big silver shop with the other workers, inwardly
rebelling at the command that forced
her to give up the daily wages so needful for
the comfort of herself and her family. Only a
little money was in the emergency purse. Six
dollars a week left not much to spare, and
women hands in the silver shop were not allowed
to earn more than a dollar a day. If by
dint of nerve and skill a toiler in skirts was
able to add a few cents to the customary one
hundred her work was so arranged that she
must keep to her task more closely to compass
even her regular pay. Yet Mrs. Stickney
never complained; six dollars paid the rent,
bought plain food, a slender amount of fuel,
and enough clothing for actual need. But
now? The mother had pondered the question
through all the working hours, she had carried
it to bed with her night after night, and it was
no nearer the answer than when it had first
dismayed her. She must get something to do—anything!
But with hundreds of unemployed
women ready to pounce upon every
// 091.png
.pn +1
little odd job would there be any chance for
her? On her way home she called at the settlement,
not far from The Flatiron, hoping that
one of the girls, whom she slightly knew, could
direct her to somebody in need of a seamstress.
But the friendly answer was disappointing.
“I am sorry I can’t give you any encouragement,
Mrs. Stickney. We have more applications
than we know what to do with. I will
put your name on the waiting list, and there
may be something later.”
So she went home to Doodles burdened
with forebodings, though resolved that he
should not suspect her worry. He was delighted
at thought of having her with him all
day long, and she fostered his pleasure by filling
that first afternoon with song and stories
and gay talk.
Just before six o’clock, Granny O’Donnell,
shrewd as kind, toiled up the stairs with a
little loaf of hot gingerbread—gingerbread
such as only Granny knew how to make.
Then Blue came in, late and jubilant. He
had earned an extra quarter by delivering
some parcels for a paper customer, and more
errands were promised.
// 092.png
.pn +1
Thus the supper hour went blithely, and
afterwards the dishes in the pan rattled merrily
to the tune of “Edinburgh Town.”
The prepared food which Mr. Gillespie had
generously sent home with the mocking bird
was now nearly gone. Blue looked sadly into
the little box every time he filled Caruso’s cup.
How could they spare half a dollar for more!
Yet the Scotchman had said that the bird’s
health depended on it. Happily, carrots were
cheap, and patiently the boy grated them,
mixing as much with the other food as he
dared, often going beyond the prescribed
proportion. He also went hunting through
obscure corners of The Flatiron for dead flies
and live spiders, making a fortunate find,
one rainy Saturday, in a vacant room in the
second story. Scores of lifeless flies dotted
the floor and window sills, and Blue brushed
them up with delighted hands. Treated with
boiling water, they would make dainty tidbits
for the gray bird. In these ways the dreaded
day of famine was postponed.
Meanwhile Christarchus Apostus Geanskakes
came to be the daily comrade of
Doodles. As the strike continued, and Mrs.
// 093.png
.pn +1
Stickney obtained employment in a restaurant
kitchen, which kept her from home all of
the daylight hours, this was especially satisfactory.
“I tell you how play,” the Greek boy had
proposed on an early visit, and Doodles was
blissfully ready to learn. So the daily lessons
went on, the pupil making rare progress, and
happy beyond anything he had ever known.
Music was his joy, and to be able to cause
such wonderful harmonies with—according
to Blue—“just some horse hairs and those
four fiddle strings” was an unending marvel
and delight. If only he could have a violin of
his own—a little one! Christarchus said you
could get them cheap. But when he had suggested
it to his mother she became so strangely
grave that he did not speak of it again. Perhaps
she was thinking of Uncle Jim. Christarchus
urged his own instrument upon him
whenever he was not practicing himself, and
it was far better than any he could hope to
buy. So side by side with the increasing anxiety
of his mother and brother his happiness
grew. And then, one sunny forenoon, when
Doodles supposed him to be at school, Christarchus
// 094.png
.pn +1
walked slowly in. His face foreboded
ill.
“I go,” he said drearily. “My fader he go
New York—get more pay—I haf go.” His
big black eyes, usually brimming with sparkles
of glee, were shadowy and mournful, as if, at
any instant, they might melt into tears.
Doodles was dumb with anguish. He
stared mistily. His bliss, which a moment before
had seemed so secure, had vanished like
a bubble. He clinched his little fists, and sat
waiting.
“I go,” Christarchus repeated dully, gazing
at Doodles with a yearning that would have
broken one’s heart, if anybody had been there
to see. But they were alone, and when the
Greek boy became sure of the fact he crossed
over and took his comrade’s cold little hand
in his.
“I—love—ever!” came brokenly from
his quivering lips.
Doodles roused at last, and clung to him,
still silent and tearless.
The voice of the father was in the hall, and
the boy ran to answer. Later he returned
with his small suit case.
// 095.png
.pn +1
Doodles, his grieving brown eyes full of unspeakable
things, let go a few words that tried
to be brave, whereupon Christarchus caught
up his violin and began a sad, sweet melody,
ending with a glorious strain of triumph—the
good-bye that he could not put into an
unfamiliar tongue. It stayed with Doodles, to
comfort him, long after the player was gone.
To cap this sorrow came a new trouble.
The restaurant man disappeared, leaving
little behind him but debts and an unsavory
reputation. The bulk of Mrs. Stickney’s well-earned
wages would never be paid, and the
mother was too disheartened even to sing.
Caruso shared the family gloom, and moped
on his perch. Some days he would eat scarcely
anything.
“I’m afraid he misses the violin,” Doodles
confided to his brother; but the boy wondered,
secretly, if he had put too much carrot in his
food, and went on a hunt for spiders, which
the Scotchman had said were good for the
appetite.
It was at this point of time that Blue
brought home a beautiful red sweet apple,
given him by Joseph Sitnitsky for the “little
// 096.png
.pn +1
brother with the not-taking sickness, who
couldn’t to never walk.”
Doodles clasped the gift smilingly. “What
did make him send it?” he questioned. “How
did he know there was any me? I never saw
him.”
“Oh! he’s heard me mention you,” answered
Blue discreetly.
“He must be a very nice boy,” Doodles
decided. “I should like to know him. You
tell him I thank him ever, ever so much. I
think I will eat it right away, wouldn’t you?”
Blue agreed that it was a good time.
“A quarter for mother, and a quarter for
you, and I guess one for Granny O’Donnell—oh,
and one for Caruso! He likes sweet apple!
Perhaps it will make him sing.”
Blue laughed. “Where’s your quarter
coming from?” he asked.
“Oh, did I forget me?” smiled Doodles innocently.
“Well, you can give me one, too.”
“There aren’t but four quarters in an
apple, old feller—mother, Caruso, Granny,
and I would take ’em all.” His eyes twinkled.
“That’s so! I forgot about the quarters!
Well, Caruso won’t mind if he doesn’t have a
// 097.png
.pn +1
whole one, he’s so little; one will do for both of
us.”
Blue’s lips puckered as he cut the fruit in
range of the watchful brown eyes; but he saw
to it that the owner of the apple received his
full share.
To the delight of Doodles, the bird ate with
unusual zest what Blue scraped for him, and
then danced about, eyeing that outside the
cage.
“Oh, he wants some more!” cried his little
master, thereupon feeding him from his own
piece. And Caruso thanked him with a song—the
first in many days.
// 098.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX||THOMAS FITZPATRICK’S WHISTLE
.sp 2
The gravity of the strike situation increased.
There was small prospect of immediate
yielding on either side. A few turbulent
strikers blustered and threatened, secret mass
meetings were held, and whispers of ugly
times ahead ran through The Flatiron. Mrs.
Stickney did not place much faith in these
rumors, yet they added to her restlessness,
and she redoubled her efforts to find work.
Blue walked the streets out of school hours,
searching for a job; but with the throngs of
unemployed, many bent on the same business,
he stood only a chance with hundreds. His
extra earnings grew lighter, and the home
purse correspondingly thin. The bird’s food
box was empty, and insects, dead or alive,
were scarce. The mother dealt out rations
with a sparing hand, and nobody asked for
more. Finally came a day, the day that had
been feared, when purse and pantry fell to the
// 099.png
.pn +1
rank of Caruso’s box, and the breakfast table
showed only a bowl of baked bean soup.
The boys waited at their plates, Mrs.
Stickney pottering about the stove.
“Better hurry!” urged Blue. “It’ll get
cold.”
“You eat it all; I don’t want any breakfast.”
“Not much!” declared the boy. “We’re
going to wait till you come.”
“Course we are,” Doodles agreed.
“Oh, dear,” she fretted, half chuckling,
“what children you are!” She sat down and
ate what Blue ladled out for her—she did
not know whether it was much or little, her
mind was too distracted and her eyes too
misty. But the boy knew, and felt that he
could better go hungry than his mother.
Mrs. Stickney went out early on her forlorn
errand, her heart full of prayer for work. If
nothing could be obtained to-day, she must
try to get a little more credit at the market—enough
to bridge over this crisis. After that—well,
perhaps the strike would end! And,
sighing, she trudged on.
Blue decided daringly to stay away from
// 100.png
.pn +1
school, and hunt for work. He had not suggested
such a thing to his mother, well knowing
her sanction would be hard to win. He
reasoned, however, that this was an extreme
case, and that he must earn some money
before night. Five hours of extra time would
give him a greater chance, and he resolved to
take it.
“Are you very hungry, kiddie?” he queried
as he took up his cap.
“Oh, no!” smiled Doodles. “I had a good
breakfast; didn’t you?”
“Capital!” lied Blue. “But I’m goin’ to
get yer something better to-day—see if I
don’t!”
“What you going to get?” coaxed Doodles.
“I d’n’ know yet—depends on how much I
earn.” He went off whistling, for the sake of
the little brother who must not guess that the
pantry was empty.
Along the warehouses, beyond the school
district, Blue kept his truant way; but nobody
was in need of an errand boy in that quarter,
and after nine o’clock he turned back towards
the market section. Here he met a man who
was looking for somebody to hold his horse.
// 101.png
.pn +1
“He’s a leetle bit afraid o’ them autos,”
the countryman explained, and the boy well
earned his five cents in the full quarter of an
hour that he spent in quieting the nervous
animal.
Blue went home at the usual time. Nothing
beyond the five cents had been obtainable, and
after a good deal of thought he had finally
exchanged it for half a dozen buns, arguing
that buns would taste better than bread without
butter.
“Oh, I’m so glad you bought buns!”
beamed Doodles. “I just love buns with currants
in them!”
The meager dinner waited until one o’clock;
then, as the mother had not come, the boys
ate their share, feeding currants to Caruso
and laughing to see him snap them up so
joyously.
“Mother must have found work, don’t you
think?” Doodles asked a bit anxiously.
“Sure, old feller! Don’t you be worryin’
’bout that! She’ll come all right pretty soon.”
Blue loitered on a side street until the
clanging of the school bell had ceased; then he
boldly faced the throngs on the principal
// 102.png
.pn +1
thoroughfare. He applied at a dozen or more
offices for something to do, meeting only curt
refusals. Finally a man more observing than
the rest asked abruptly:—
“See here, why ain’t you in school? You’re
not fourteen yet?”
“No, sir,” admitted the boy, with a guilty
flush. “I stayed out to try to get a job.”
“Huh!” the man snorted. “Bet yer belong
to the strikers! Don’t yer now?”
“Yes, sir; but my mother had to—”
“Oh! it’s yer mother, is it? So much the
worse! Well, you c’n tell her from me that if
she’s such a fool as to give up a good job she
needn’t send her kids round here expectin’
me to support ’em! Now scoot, or I’ll have
the truant officer after yer!”
The boy’s eyes burned angrily, and he was
off even before he received his orders; but his
ears were sharp, and he missed not a word. A
sneering laugh followed him, and pressed the
injustice still closer against his heart.
Thoughts of his mother’s brave fight for
work, and of helpless little Doodles, uncomplaining
in his loneliness and privations, sent
hot tears to his eyes, and he darted blindly
// 103.png
.pn +1
round the first corner, as if the very street
that held his enemy were not to be trusted.
On and on he ran, unmindful of his way,
until he became suddenly conscious of something
unusual in the air, and, looking ahead,
he saw a crowd of people moving slowly
towards him. That it was an excited crowd
was evident from the tumult of voices,
mingled with shouts and yells, now plain
above the noise of the street.
“Must be goin’ to have a meeting—or had
one,” he told himself. “The union hall is
down there on Blake Avenue.”
“Hello, Rob!” he called to a boy racing by
on the opposite side. “What’s up?”
“Oh, somethin’ fierce! Better not go any
nearer!” the lad warned. “Dad he said, ‘Git
out o’ this on the double-quick, ’less yer want
yer head smashed!’ I tell yer, ther’ ’s goin’ to
be an awful row! Hope dad won’t git killed—my!”
“Aw, nobody’s goin’ to get killed! What
you talking about!” Blue’s face showed scorn.
“Bet yer ther’ will, now! You hain’t been
there, an’ I have!”
“I’m goin’!” He started.
// 104.png
.pn +1
“Oh, don’t! Wait! wait a minute!” cried
the other, aghast at such recklessness.
Blue halted. “What yer want?”
“Why, I tell yer, ther’ ’s goin’ to be a big
fight!”
“A fight! Not much! There’s Tom Fitzpatrick
down there—ain’t it? Looks like
him. Guess ther’ won’t be many shiners where
he is!”
“Huh! what can one cop do alone! Ther’
ain’t another anywheres, an’, I tell yer, he’s
got his hands full!”
“He can bring ’em easy enough with his
whistle. He told me how—”
“Aw! he dassent blow it in face o’ that
mob! Why, they’d knock him down quicker!
Bet they’ll kill him anyway!—Oh, don’t
yer!”
But Blue was flying towards the tumult,
and Rob, with one glance at the on-coming
rabble, fled in the opposite direction.
Tom Fitzpatrick in danger! The thought
gave speed to Blue’s feet. As he drew nearer,
he could hear the rich voice, rising above the
rest, but calm and steady, not a bit as if its
owner were afraid of those angry men.
// 105.png
.pn +1
“Don’t you know you mustn’t carry
that?” he was saying. And thrusting at a red
flag, he grabbed and furled it.
With a mad outcry and yells of “Down
with him! Down with him!” the crowd surged
towards the officer.
At that moment, right in front of the fearless
Fitzpatrick, almost under his hands,
popped up a small boy.
“Can I help you?”
It was little more than a breath, but
Tom caught it, and glanced down with the
hint of a smile as he recognized Blue Stickney.
“Sure! Blow my whistle!” was the quick
answer, in a tone to match the query. With a
deft motion, the little instrument was in the
boy’s hand.
Thomas Fitzpatrick’s whistle! Blue could
scarcely comprehend the truth. For the joy of
this moment he would have braved greater
dangers than the present. Only a few days
ago—or so it seemed—the kindly officer
had explained the uses of his whistle, telling
over his various signals. Blue remembered
them every one. Three sharp toots, then a
// 106.png
.pn +1
long, long blast—that was for help, and,
freeing himself from the jam, the bit of wood
and metal was at his lips.
Above the uproar Fitzpatrick heard the call
with inward relief. He had not felt sure that
Blue would recollect; but he could scarcely
have done better himself.
As for the boy, he repeated it fearlessly,
exultingly, once, twice, three times, in swift
succession; yet nobody interfered. A small
boy with a whistle was not an unusual combination,
and the mob had too much else on
hand to be interested in boys.
It was not a brutal crowd, but it was excited,
defiant, and reckless. If Thomas Fitzpatrick
had not known just how to manage it,
and if four brass-buttoned men had not come
racing to his aid,—there is no telling what
might have occurred. But before the body of
the throng realized what was happening the
leaders of the disturbance were being marched
off to the police station.
Blue returned the whistle, and received
most hearty thanks, given in his hero’s best
style. Then he cut across an alley and an open
lot, in a crow line for The Flatiron; he must
// 107.png
.pn +1
unload his big news at home before looking
further for work.
He found his mother already there. She
was eating a slice of butterless bread, and she
looked so weary and discouraged Blue quickly
inferred that her day had been unsuccessful
and that she had begged further credit at the
market. Still even this could not rob his eyes
of their happy brightness, and hope leaped in
her own. But she dropped back into dejection
when she learned the cause, growing only
mildly interested in the story of the whistle.
Doodles, however, overflowed with enthusiasm
and questions.
“Wasn’t it just lovely you happened to be
there?” he cried, his eyes a-sparkle. “Oh, I
wish I could have heard you blow it! Please
do tell it over once more!”
So the brother recounted the exciting incident,
almost forgetting his mother’s sad face
in reliving the part that had thrilled him with
such delight.
“How much will your papers come to this
week?” Mrs. Stickney sandwiched irrelevantly
between sentences.
“Oh! I don’t know,” began Blue. “Yes, I
// 108.png
.pn +1
guess about ninety cents. You see, the Newtons
have moved ’way over west, and Mis’
Dempster owes me for two weeks. I do’ know
whether she’s goin’ to skip or not.”
“Have the Sizars paid yet?”
“Not a cent!”
“Do you ask them for it?”
“Oh, I ring the bell every week—and between
times, too! But they’re gen’ally out, or
if they ain’t they won’t come to the door if
they see it’s me—”
“I, Blue—not me!”
“Well, I,—and if they do come they say
they haven’t got it that day, and so it goes.”
“It’s too bad,” the mother sighed. “I suppose
you keep leaving the paper.”
“Of course. If I didn’t they’d get it of
some other feller, and it’s my only chance.”
“I’d go an’ sit on the steps and wait till the
man came,” put in Doodles. “Maybe he’d pay
it. If he didn’t, I’d stay there all day long,
an’ if they said to go away I’d tell ’em I was
going to sit there till they paid me. And I’d
stay an’ stay an’ stay. By ’n’ by the neighbors
would begin to ask what I was there for, and,
of course, I’d have to tell ’em, an’ then the
// 109.png
.pn +1
folks would be so ’shamed they’d give me the
money right off!” He ended with a chuckle.
Mrs. Stickney’s face relaxed into a smile,
and Blue ran downstairs laughing.
On the boy’s return from his paper delivery
he found excitement in the kitchen. His
mother was crying, Granny O’Donnell was
endeavoring to comfort her, and Doodles met
his brother’s questioning eyes with a frightened
face.
“Now, honey,” Granny was crooning,
“ther’ ain’t annything to throuble about—it’ll
all coome right!”
“What’s up?” demanded Blue, striding
across the room.
“Sure, th’ p’lice ar-re afther ye,” began
Granny, but broke off abruptly, as Mrs.
Stickney sprang to her feet, and squaring her
boy’s shoulders with her hands gazed steadily
into the clear eyes.
“You haven’t—haven’t—” she faltered,
and then hid her face against his rough coat,
and ended her query with a sob.
“Of course, I haven’t!” he ventured recklessly.
“Though I don’t know what in the
world you’re driving at!”
// 110.png
.pn +1
The mother wiped her eyes, and swallowed
hard.
“A policeman—was trying to find you.
He didn’t come up here, for Granny told him
you weren’t home. He said you were wanted
at the police station ‘right away’! He didn’t
know what the trouble was, or he wouldn’t
tell. You gave back the whistle, didn’t you?”
“Sure! Why, mother, don’t you worry! I
haven’t done anything except what Tom Fitzpatrick
told me to! It may be the Sweeneys
are makin’ a fuss about the bird,” he mused;
“but if they are Tom’ll back me up all right.
Now do stop cryin’!”
“You must go right off!”
“Well, I’m goin’! But I wish you wouldn’t
act as if I’d stole a bank or shot the President!
I tell you, there ain’t anything to cry
for—you’re nervous! Poor little mother!”
He kissed her, a most unusual attention for
him, and then dashed away and downstairs.
But Mrs. Stickney darted after, calling him
back.
He came with reluctance.
“What do you want? You mustn’t hinder
me,” he objected.
// 111.png
.pn +1
“Tell the truth, Blue!” She picked a thread
from his sleeve, and straightened his necktie
with motherly care. “Whatever they ask you,
tell them the whole truth!”
“Why, of course!” with laughing impatience.
“Is that all?”
“Yes. And if they blame you for blowing
the whistle—or anything, be sure and refer
to Mr. Fitzpatrick. I ought to go with you,
but I—”
“Aw, it ain’t necessary! I’m all right.
Don’t you worry about me!”
Underneath his assumed bravery the boy
had no relish for his errand, and he was somewhat
dismayed to find that his friend was not
visible at the police station. Still he went
where he was bidden, with no show of fear,
but holding his head high, as became the
blower of Thomas Fitzpatrick’s whistle. For
even the events of the last hour had by no
means extinguished the glory of his afternoon
exploit.
The chief was a burly man, with small,
shrewd gray eyes set in a hard-lined face.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Blue Stickney, sir.”
// 112.png
.pn +1
“You are the boy, I believe, that summoned
aid to Officer Fitzpatrick this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Who is your father?”
“My father died six years ago. He was
Julius Stickney.”
The chief nodded gravely.
“You have a mother?”
“Oh, yes, sir!”
“What does she do? Does she work anywhere?”
“She did work at the Big Shop, till she had
to go out on strike.”
“She was foolish to do it.” The sharp eyes
looked straight into those of the boy.
Blue’s met them almost reproachfully.
“She had to, sir! She’d ’a’ been glad enough
to keep on! She’s looked everywhere for work.
She was in McCann’s restaurant till he skipped—he
cheated her out o’ ’most three weeks’
wages!”
“He’s a scamp! She isn’t the only one
that got left.”
“I know that all right!” The boy wagged
his head emphatically.
// 113.png
.pn +1
“So you’ve had a hard time to get along,
have you?” The voice held a tender note; but,
on inspection, Blue found the eyes to be as
sharp as before.
“Pretty hard, sir.” There was no response,
and the boy, remembering his mother’s last
injunction, went on, with a rueful little laugh,
“Breakfast ran short this morning, and I
stayed out o’ school to see if I couldn’t find
a job. Mother’s been lookin’ all day.”
“Find anything?”
Blue told briefly of his morning’s nickel, as
well as of his mother’s ill success and her increasing
indebtedness at the market.
“Well, we are under great obligations for
the service you rendered the city this afternoon,
and there’s a little something for your
supper,” thrusting a bank bill into his hand.
“You can tell your mother that it looks now
as if the backbone of the strike was broken.
We’ve got the leaders of the trouble
locked up, and I guess the silver folks and
their other hands will come to terms in a
hurry. Tell her, too, that we congratulate
her on having a son that’s got a head on his
shoulders.”
// 114.png
.pn +1
Blue, red-faced and embarrassed, with
stammering thanks, slipped quickly from the
presence of the brusque chief, and dashed
towards home.
His mother met him at the top of the stairs.
“All right!” he shouted. “Just see that!”
He flourished his reward, his eyes rounding
from his sudden discovery. “My, if ’t ain’t
a five!”
Granny, who had lingered to give consolation
in case it should be needed, came hobbling
forward.
“Bluey, me b’y, I knew ye’d niver do annything
that wud grave yer mother’s heart, an’
it’s proud I am o’ ye!” Granny’s hard old
hand caught Blue’s little wiry one in a grip
more emphatic than her words.
Mrs. Stickney listened to her boy’s story
with growing joy, until when he repeated the
chief’s message she dropped into a chair and
hid her face in her hands.
“What in the world’s the matter?” gasped
Blue.
“Why, she’s so happy!” piped Doodles,
tears trickling down his flushed cheeks.
“And you too!” rallied his brother. “Well,
// 115.png
.pn +1
if you folks ain’t the queerest! Don’t catch
me cryin’ on this!” He swung the bill in uncontrolled
glee, stopping abruptly to ask his
mother what he should buy for supper.
He came home with parcels that set Doodles
excitedly guessing what they could be, and
when a grapefruit—his especial delight—was
uncovered, the small boy broke into a hurrah
that checked on her lips the mother’s remonstrance
at Blue’s extravagant purchase. But
with the marketman’s receipt in her hand,
and the chief’s two messages in her heart,
thankfulness outweighed all else.
Granny remained for a cup of tea, and the
meal was as merry as four happy people and
a blithe mocking bird could make it.
// 116.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
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CHAPTER X||“COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE”
.sp 2
The chief of police was right. In less than
a week Mrs. Stickney was back at her bench
in the Big Shop, and things were going on as
before the strike.
Dolly Moon’s note came while Doodles was
alone. Granny O’Donnell fetched it upstairs.
It was not often that there were any letters
for the Stickneys, but on occasion Granny
was always ready.
.pm letter-start
“Sweetheart dear,” ran the lines, “I have
time for only a word before the mail closes;
but I want to tell you that my cousin, Rev.
Harrison Savage, is to preach at the Church
of the Good Shepherd next Sunday morning.
That is so near you—only five blocks away—I
am wondering if your mother and Blue
wouldn’t like to go and hear him. He is
lovely! People call him an unusually talented
young man. I know they’d like him. I wish
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you could go too! If there were wings in this
workaday world of ours, I’d fly straight down
to The Flatiron Sunday morning, and I’d
bring a little pair of wings for you—then
we’d flap along to church! Wouldn’t we have
a good time! I’m coming to see you some
day, wings or no wings! Love—a thousand
bushels!
.rj
Your own Dolly.”
.pm letter-end
It wouldn’t do to tell how many times
Doodles read the note before Blue came home
at noon. Nobody, who hadn’t been a lonely—a
very lonely—boy, and who missed his
violin playing and his musical comrade as only
a real music lover could miss them, would
possibly believe the truth. But, then, it was
Doodles’s first letter, and the first letter is entitled
to a great many more readings than
the thousandth one.
Mrs. Stickney shook her head sadly when
Blue asked the question that Dolly Moon suggested.
She had no dress or coat suitable
for appearance in the fashionable church on
Bliss Avenue—so she declared, and with
such emphasis that neither Blue nor Doodles
dared to urge the matter.
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Blue’s church-going was limited to attendance
at Sunday-school—an attendance more
or less regular according to his clothes, and
he now decided that he didn’t care much
about hearing somebody preach that he
never saw, even though he was cousin to
Dolly Moon.
During the afternoon, however, Mr. Gaylord
dropped in, and his proposal set hearts fluttering
and tongues flying. He, too, had received
word from Dolly about her cousin, and
as his employer, Mrs. Graham, had expressed
her desire to spend the coming Sabbath at
home he had obtained permission to use her
car long enough to take the Stickney family
to and from church.
The mother still kept to her first determination,
and even the inducement of an automobile
ride could not coax it away. But Blue
was jubilant, and Doodles too joyful to do
much more than to beam silently on everybody,
with an occasional little burst of delight.
To ride in Mrs. Graham’s elegant car! To
see the grand Bliss Avenue Church, the pride
of the city! To listen to a sermon from Dolly
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Moon’s own cousin! And—perhaps best of
all—to hear the much-talked-of “Good
Shepherd” choir, the fame of whose wonderful
singing extended hundreds of miles away! It
was unbelievable! These thoughts—and a
myriad others—danced in Doodles’s brain,
while Giles Gaylord and Blue chatted of Dolly
Moon and gayly arranged such important
matters as hours and minutes.
Doodles’s mother looked grave, thinking of
the child’s best suit. Made from one of his
brother’s, it was shabby from washings and
darns; still words would not freshen it, and
they were wisely withheld. So the happy plans
went on, untouched by anything so commonplace
as clothes.
For the rest of the week there were no more
lonely hours for Doodles. Every detail of the
coming event was pictured over and over by
the imaginative boy. His mother and Blue
were called upon for frequent and repeated
descriptions of churches and church services,
for his knowledge of these things was limited
to what he could gain from stories and illustrations.
“Oh, you’ll see it all Sunday!” Blue told
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him at last, his patience showing marks of
breaking down.
“It is nice to know just how it will look,”
Doodles replied innocently. “Seems as if I
couldn’t wait a whole day longer!” He
paused before venturing his next thought.
“Do you—” he began, and then changed
to the negative, “you don’t s’pose they’d have
any flowers—it’s ’most winter, you know—you
don’t s’pose they would—?” Face and
voice were anxious.
The elder boy’s acquaintance with church
customs was not intimate, and it was early
December! There were greenhouses, of course,
like June gardens; but—Blue was doubtful,
more than doubtful. Yet he strengthened
his brother’s hope in no uncertain words.
There’d be enough else to make up, he argued
in self-defense, and to-day it was important
that anticipation should be full.
The small boy awoke early. On yesterday’s
sunset horizon a bank of cloud had suggested
rain, and that was Doodles’s first thought;
he hardly dared to look at the tiny patch of
sky visible through the kitchen window from
where he lay. But when he tremblingly peered
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out from the little dark bedroom his heart
gave a leap—the patch was blue! Smiling
contentedly, he snuggled down on his pillow.
What a beautiful day it was going to be! The
next time he opened his eyes, his mother was
waiting at the bedside, and the smell of breakfast
came pleasantly from the kitchen.
Dressing took longer than usual, because
of the unfamiliar garments, and the spirit of
excitement that pervaded everything—even
the stockings, which wouldn’t pull up straight.
But that and breakfast were over, at last, and
Doodles resting among his cushions. He was
wondering what the choir would sing, and
wishing their choice would fall on “Only an
Armour-Bearer” or “Jerusalem, the Golden,”—to
which tune his mother was now putting
away her dishes,—when somebody knocked
on the door.
A uniformed messenger handed Mrs. Stickney
a bit of folded paper.
She opened and read the note, staring at
the words with a dismayed face.
“No,—no answer,” she replied to the
boy’s query, but without turning her head.
She still stood there, looking down on the
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paper with unseeing eyes, while the messenger’s
retreating footsteps came faintly from
below.
“What is it?” Blue emerged from the bedroom,
clad in trousers and a bath towel.
“You can’t go!” exclaimed Mrs. Stickney
in disheartened tones.
“Why not?”
“Mr. Gaylord says—oh, read it yourself!”
The boy grabbed the sheet, and the mother
crossed over to where Doodles sat, big-eyed
and sorrowful.
“You poor darling!” She took the little face
between her palms, and stooped to kiss him.
“Never mind!” he smiled bravely, but the
smile broke, and he hid his face in her dress.
.pm letter-start
“Dear People,” Blue read aloud, “Mrs.
Graham has just taken it into her head that
she must start for Windsor at ten o’clock—I
feel like turning turtle, car and all! If I were
not too big a boy, I’d do the next thing,—have
a good—or bad—cry. I’ll take you
to ride some day, if I have to hire a car for it!
.rj 2
“Tragically yours,
“Giles Gaylord.”
.pm letter-end
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“It’s a confounded shame!” He flung the
note on the floor.
“Blue Stickney!”
“I don’t care—it is! That woman can
go to ride every day of her life, and there’s
Doodles—! It’s confounded mean, and I’d
like to say it right to her face!” He swung
himself back into the little bedroom, and the
others could hear him stamping off his wrath.
When he came out, a few minute later, he
was smilingly mysterious.
“Don’t you go to getting tired, old man!”
he warned his brother. “We’ll make that
church yet, if I can work things right!” He
took up his hat.
“Oh, Blue, don’t raise his hopes again! You
know you can’t—”
“I don’t know any such thing! We’re
goin’, I tell you! Just see if we don’t!”
“You mustn’t do anything rash!” The
mother looked troubled.
“Aw, you wait! I ain’t a fool!” He ran off
laughing.
With the ringing of the church bells Doodles’s
hopes began to fade. His trust in Blue
did not lessen; but even the best plans do not
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work, and he feared that his brother’s scheme,
like Mr. Gaylord’s, was going to fail.
“Maybe I’d get too tired if I went,” he
observed philosophically.
“Perhaps,” his mother assented. “I’ve
been a little afraid of it all along.”
Doodles sat up, and bent forward, listening.
The sound of hurrying feet was on the stairs.
More than one pair were coming up.
The door swung open, and in dashed Blue,
followed by a boy somewhat taller than himself.
“Mother, this is Joseph Sitnitsky. He’s
goin’ to help me carry Doodles to church.”
Mrs. Stickney shook hands with the somewhat
bashful Joseph, expressing a gracious
welcome. Then Blue hastened him over to
the window.
“Oh! you are the one who sent me that
apple, aren’t you?” smiled Doodles, extending
a cordial little hand. “It was a lovely
apple! We all had some of it—even Caruso!”
A soft whistle sent Joseph’s eyes to the
mocking bird, and his face brightened with
surprise and pleasure.
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“That him?” he exclaimed.
“Same old feller!” laughed Blue. “Wouldn’t—”
The tolling bells recalled his thoughts to the
urgent business on hand.
“Gracious! but we must hurry!” he cried.
“Where’s yer cap, kiddie?”
Mrs. Stickney brought it, with the coat
which Blue had outgrown.
“I don’t see how you’re going to manage,”—the
mother was tucking a handkerchief
about the small boy’s neck,—“I’m afraid
he’s too heavy for either of you.” She
glanced from one to the other.
“Oh, I could to carry him in mine arms!”
declared Joseph valiantly.
“But we’re going to make a lady-chair, and
take him that way,” put in Blue.
And so they did, the mother watching, a bit
anxious, from the top of the stairs, and Granny
O’Donnell, in her door, cheering the little
procession.
The walk from The Flatiron to The Church
of the Good Shepherd was accomplished without
serious mishap. Once Doodles slipped,
and, righting him, Blue lost his hat; but a
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stranger returned it to his head, and the trio
went on again.
“I could to carry him mineself,” observed
Joseph.
“Guess you’d better not,” Blue advised.
“I tried it last summer,—took him down to
the Settlement for a concert,—I didn’t dare
risk it again. It was an awful tug! Mother
carried him out a little way, one night, just
to get the air; but she had to ask Mr. Schloss
to take him upstairs—she was all in!”
“I could to carry him,” Joseph reiterated,
“sooner you gets tired.”
But Blue would not confess to fatigue, and
at last the church was gained.
No one was in sight. The hush and emptiness
outside were forbidding.
“It’s begun!” announced Blue.
“Won’t they let us in?” Doodles whispered
tremulously.
“Sure!” was the brave assertion—out of
a dismayed heart.
They halted hesitantly, when up popped—seemingly
from nowhere—an automaton,
dressed in Sabbath dignity and an unsmiling
face.
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The doors swung silently open, and they
were inside. Doodles lifted his eyes, and his
fingers almost forgot their clasp. It was so
different from his pictures! The rich, subdued
light; the great auditorium, with its
beautifully wrought pillars, peopled from
altar to entrance; the sweet, thrilling undertone
of the organ; the reverent stillness of the
waiting throng;—it stirred his soul to awe.
Directly they were seated, in the second
pew from the door, and Doodles was free
to gaze about him. The vast strangeness of
the place bewildered his little home-kept heart,
and he reached out his hand for his brother’s.
“Tired?” whispered Blue.
“Not much,” his lips smiled, yet Blue’s
arm was a grateful support, and he leaned
back in content.
Roses and music were born for each other,
and it was only fitting that with the first note
from the choir the eyes of Doodles should
catch the glory of the altar—a bank of ferns
and red roses. Thus came the twofold feast,
and the rapture of it would never wholly pass
away.
“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people,”—it
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was breathed in soft soprano; “Comfort ye,
comfort ye my people,” repeated in sweet
contralto; “Comfort ye, comfort ye my
people”; one after another caught up the
words, until they broke from the full choir,
a commanding strain.
The tenor chanted, “I heard the voice of the
Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who
will go for us?” It came again, distinct, sweet,
thrilling,... “Whom shall I send, and who
will go for us?” And yet once more, that
appealing call.
Silence fell. Even the organ was still. Out
of the hush rose an eager voice, “Here am I;
send me.” Another, “Here am I; send me.”
And another, “Here am I; send me.”
Again the tenor, with the clear charge,
“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people....
Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm
the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a
fearful heart, be strong, fear not... Comfort
ye, comfort ye my people.”
“How beautiful upon the mountains are the
feet of him that bringeth good tidings, ...”
Flutelike it rose, as if a skylark heralded the
glad news.
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It lingered through the interlude.
Presently from the choir burst the triumphant
words:—
“Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth;
and break forth into singing, O mountains; for
the Lord ... shall comfort ... his people.”
With a little sigh Doodles saw the organist
step down from his seat. It was over! The
preacher was at the desk. He had a pleasant,
boyish face; but he did not look at all like
Dolly Moon.
Doodles’s thoughts would run away from
the prayer to Dolly Moon. Too bad she
couldn’t be there! How well he remembered
the first time she had smiled to him—dear
Dolly!
By and by came more music,—beautiful
but brief. Doodles wondered how it would feel
to be singing with that grand organ.
“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people.”
The small boy came to himself with a start.
He must not miss a word of that sermon! Nor
did he turn again from the speaker until the
end.
Once, so still was he, Blue thought him
asleep, and bent over, only to see the earnest
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brown eyes wide open though expressing forgetfulness
of time and place.
Joseph looked across, and smiled.
Blue smiled back, and gave his brother a
moment’s wonder. Then he returned to the
amusement of looking about.
There was a good deal to see; the men and
women in the choir, who whispered to one another;
the sexton, who opened windows and
shut them; a little boy who would walk out
into the aisle; the diamonds in women’s ears,
which flashed rainbow colors fascinating and
beautiful; and a wee girl who knelt against
the back of the seat and made faces to everybody.
Blue had had it in his mind to slip out of
church ahead of the crowd; but there seemed
no convenient moment for a start, and the
postlude found the trio still in the pew.
“We could to go up and see the flowers,”
suggested Joseph in a whisper.
“Oh, do!” beamed Doodles.
So they waited and waited, for the aisles
were full of people who walked lingeringly
while they chatted with their neighbors.
It was no easy trick to get Doodles into
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his hand-chair, but it was at last accomplished,
and the little procession made its slow way up
the now almost deserted aisle. It was worth
the pains to see the small boy’s delight when
he was halted before the waving ferns set with
long-stemmed brilliant roses. He had never
seen so many together, and he drew breath
after breath of their fragrance while his eyes
feasted on the novel and beautiful sight.
“Seen enough, old feller?” Blue queried
finally.
“Ye—es, I guess so,” was the equivocal
answer. He bent nearer the roses for a last
whiff of their spicy perfume.
“Here, you kids! let them flowers be!”
The janitor had come up the side aisle,
unnoticed by the boys.
“Who’s touchin’ ’em?” cried Blue. “We
ain’t!”
“Well, you’d better not!” He cast a suspicious
eye over the superb array, but discovered
no disorder. “Move on!” he growled.
“You’ve hung round here long enough.”
“Come! let’s go!” shivered Doodles under
his breath.
“You’d better count ’em!” Blue flung back
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scornfully to the man who was still hovering
over the blossoms with anxiety.
“He could to be polite,” was Joseph’s mild
comment when they had passed out of hearing.
It was a rude finale to the inspiring service.
Doodles fought away the tears.
“Just one minute!” he pleaded, as they
reached the entrance.
The organist was still playing, and, with
quick glances to make sure that no church
officer was in sight, Blue and Joseph paused
for a last strain of the delicious music.
“That’s enough,” announced Doodles,
adding, a bit wearily, “now we’ll go.”
The home march was taken almost in silence.
Doodles was very tired.
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CHAPTER XI||THE PASSING OF THE DANCER
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“Blue,” Doodles began tentatively, “you
know that poor sick lady that Granny O’Donnell
was telling us about last night.”
“M-hm.”
“I’ve thought of her ever since, and I guess
she is one of God’s people that needs comforting.
Don’t you think so?”
“What?” scowled Blue in surprise.
Doodles repeated innocently, adding, “It
must be pretty dreadful to lie there all day
long without anybody to talk to.”
Blue nodded, wondering what scheme
Doodles was amusing himself with now.
“I’m glad you think just as I do,” the small
boy went on, “because, of course, you’ll have
to do most of it for me.”
Blue straightened in his chair, and began to
listen with more interest.
“At first I didn’t see any way I could comfort
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her, and then I thought of Caruso. It was
his singing that made me think—oh, he sung
just beautifully!”
“And the door wasn’t open, was it?” put
in Blue. “Too bad! I shut it, the hall was so
cold.”
“Door?” Doodles looked puzzled.
“Why, the hall door! You wanted the sick
woman to hear Caruso, didn’t you?”
“Oh!” Doodles brightened understandingly.
“I didn’t think about the door. Maybe she
could hear if it was open.”
“S’posed that was what you were drivin’
at.”
“No! I meant for you to take him down to
her room. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
The query wore an anxious tone.
Blue’s grimace would not have encouraged
a stranger, but Doodles laughed contentedly.
He knew his brother.
“Caruso don’t sing much now,” the elder
boy argued evasively. “Mr. Gillespie said
they didn’t in the winter.”
“I know,” admitted Doodles. “But I guess
he would, if I wanted him to. You whistle to
him, and see if he won’t.”
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Blue good-humoredly struck up a tune, and
to his surprise and disappointment the bird
started into song.
“There!” Doodles clapped his hands gleefully.
“Wha’ ’d yer stop him for?” laughed Blue,
for Caruso was suddenly silent.
“Never mind, he’ll do it again!”
He did—to the uneasiness of Blue.
“Do you want to take him now?” asked
Doodles trustingly. “And tell her, please,
that I’d have come myself if I could.”
“I don’t b’lieve she’d care anything about
hearin’ him,” began Blue, feeling after an
excuse.
“Seem’s if anybody would, ’specially if they
were sick,” replied Caruso’s master plaintively.
“I don’t see how I can comfort folks any other
way.”
Blue looked curiously at his brother.
“You seem to be fierce to comfort somebody
all of a sudden,” he laughed.
“Of course, I am! Aren’t you?”
“I d’n’ know—why?”
The clear eyes of Doodles met his brother’s
squarely. “You remember what the minister
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said last Sunday?” A touch of surprise was
in the query.
Blue’s cheeks turned a deeper red. “Guess
I wasn’t payin’ much ’tention,” he admitted
honestly.
“Comfort ye, comfort ye my people,”
Doodles repeated in a soft voice.
“Oh, I know that! The choir sung it.”
“Yes, that’s what the Lord told his messengers
to do, and the minister said we all
ought to be God’s messengers and carry comfort
to people. So I want to comfort that sick
lady. You see, I can’t do much comforting,
but I thought I could send Caruso, if you’d
take him. Of course, it won’t be as if I really
went myself; but do you think God will mind?
He knows—”
“I guess it’s you doin’ it, all right,” Blue
hastened to assure him. He picked up the
cage. “Come along, old feller, you an’ I’ll go
comfortin’!”
Doodles delightedly waved them out of
sight, and then leaned back with a smile.
Shortly Blue reappeared, but alone.
“Oh! what did she say? Wouldn’t he
sing?”
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“I didn’t try him. She wants you. She
says she’s heard you singin’ hymns up here,
and nothin’ would do but I must come right
up after you. Want to go? I’ll take you pickaback.”
“You can’t—so far!”
“Yes, I can! I never thought of it before.
Come on!”
It was the way Doodles often rode to bed,
and he was soon on the stairs—regretting
in a whisper that he had not stopped to brush
his hair.
“Your hair’s all right, kiddie,” Blue declared;
but the small boy continued silent
misgivings realizing that smooth locks were
not always looked upon by his brother as
essential.
It was a dusky little room which they entered,
in chilling contrast to the sunny kitchen
they had just left. Caruso sat ruffled on his
perch, the picture of gloom.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!” cried the
sick woman. “I’ve wished and wished I could
hear that again—‘Jerusalem, the Golden,’
you know.”
She lay quite still through the singing, now
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gazing at Doodles, now closing her eyes as if
weary.
“Thanks,” she said at the end. “It carries
me back! Jim liked it so much!” She turned
suddenly to Blue, who was sitting on a small
trunk, Doodles having been put into the only
chair. “Do you know what a beautiful voice
your brother has?”
“Has he?” smiled Blue. “I like to hear
him sing.”
“Oh, but it’s a wonderful voice! Never
taken lessons, has he?”
“No,” Blue told her.
“He ought to. But there’s time enough,
time enough. Sing something else!”
So Doodles sang again, one hymn after
another, in response to her repeated demands.
“I wish Jim could ’a’ heard that,” she
sighed, as the last notes of “The Ninety and
Nine” dropped into silence. “Poor Jim—all
alone!” With half-shut eyes she rambled
on reminiscently. “Why didn’t I go when he
wrote he was first violin in the orchestra! If
I only had! But I never dreamed—I never
dreamed anything would happen! I wanted
to stay and earn a little more, just a little
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more—for the baby’s stone. She’ll have it
now—she and Jim together. Carbury said
there was enough—glad I got it! Carbury’ll
see it’s done right—he said he would—always
does as he says. Wish I could be there
too! I do want to lie side o’ Jim and the baby!
Never mind! I shall see them! ’T won’t be
long! Seem’s if I couldn’t wait! I’ll tell him
how sorry I am I didn’t go—he was always
good to me! If I’d only been there! I
wish—” A fit of coughing interrupted her
broken talk, and when it was over she lay exhausted
on her rumpled pillow.
Blue fidgeted about on the trunk, and
looked undecidedly over at Doodles; but the
little brother sat motionless, gazing at the
sick woman with sad, anxious eyes.
She was a girlish slip of a creature, with
a face that might have been beautiful but
for its lines of suffering. Presently she
roused.
“Oh, it’s you!” she smiled. “I thought it
was Somerby—I hate Somerby! Please sing
some more—I guess you sung me to sleep.
I feel quite rested.”
Only a moment Doodles paused; then he
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began the old, old hymn, “Jesus, Lover of My
Soul.”
The woman lay with close-shut eyes, and
once the singer halted, thinking she might be
drowsing; but she looked up quickly, with a
“Go on! Don’t stop!” and he sang it through
to the end.
“Lamb of God” and “Pass Me Not” left
her still begging for more, and Doodles kept
on until he knew by her breathing that she
was really asleep.
Shortly, however, she awoke, and surprised
him by asking abruptly, “Should you like a
fiddle?”
“Oh, wouldn’t I!” exclaimed Doodles.
“Christarchus let me use his as long as he
stayed; but he’s gone, and I can’t play any
more,” he ended plaintively.
“You shall have Jim’s!” she cried passionately.
“Now I know why I didn’t burn it up!”
The brown eyes of Doodles grew big with
horror. “Burn it up?” he breathed.
“Yes,” she replied wearily, “I didn’t want
anybody to have it—I was afraid Somerby’d
get hold of it. Don’t you ever let Somerby
have it!” she burst out fiercely. “No matter
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what he says, don’t you let him have it! Promise
me that, promise me that!”
“No, I won’t let anybody have it—ever!”
Doodles said earnestly.
She seemed satisfied, and went on. “It’s
a comfort to think that’s settled. It’s worried
me about Jim’s fiddle. I’m glad you’re going
to have it—you’ll love it! I wanted to give
you something for singing to me so beautifully.
It is good of you to come. There’s nothing
else in the trunk of any value, but you
can have all there is. It is a nice fiddle—I
don’t know how much it cost, but a lot of
money—my, how Jim idolized it!”
“I had an Uncle Jim once,” said Doodles;
but she did not heed.
“You’d better take the trunk right upstairs
now,” she went on hurriedly. “Nobody’ll
need it—there’s money enough
under my pillow. I’ve saved plenty—oh, if
I could only have kept on a little longer, I’d
have had enough to take me home—I did
want to lie side o’ Jim and the baby!”
The cough seized her again, and the paroxysm
was so violent that Blue took fright and
ran up to see if his mother had come home.
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But the kitchen was empty, and Granny, too,
was nowhere to be found.
When he returned, the woman was talking—a
strange medley of words which the boys
could not piece together to make anything
understandable.
Suddenly she burst into a gay little song,
for a moment her voice rising full and strong,
and then dropping into weak huskiness. Spent
with the effort, she lay quiet for a little, but
was soon singing again, sacred strains and ragtime
ditties running in and out of one another
in startling confusion.
The words grew indistinct, the notes halting;
they gave place to low mutterings, and
finally all was still. Blue watched the gentle
rise and fall of the coverlet, and at last tiptoed
over to his brother.
The woman opened her eyes, and, gazing
earnestly at Doodles, uttered with apparent
effort the one word, “Sing!”
So promptly did he respond, Blue breathed
an ejaculation as he whirled himself back to
the edge of the trunk.
.pm verse-start
“A—bide with me! Fast falls the ev—en—tide,
The darkness deepens—Lord, with me a—bide!
// 143.png
.pn +1
When oth—er help—ers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, a—bide with me!”
.pm verse-end
Softly, distinctly fell the words, while over
the face of the sick woman stole a look of
peace.
Blue found himself following the hymn
with unwonted interest. Never had he
heard Doodles sing like that. “It’s better ’n
church!” he whispered under his breath.
.pm verse-start
“Hold Thou thy cross be—fore my clos—ing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morn—ing breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee!
In life, in death, O Lord, a—bide with me!”
.pm verse-end
The room was silent. The little singer
leaned back in weariness. Blue, with a glance
toward Doodles, bent nearer the cot. The
woman lay as if sleeping, though not a flicker
stirred the covers. Blue’s face took on a look
of awe, and noiselessly he stepped to his
brother’s side.
“We’d better go upstairs now, you’re getting
tired.”
“She may want me to sing again,” he objected.
“No, she won’t. She’s fast asleep.”
Doodles looked across at her.
// 144.png
.pn +1
“Well,” he yielded, putting his arms around
his brother’s neck.
Mrs. Stickney had not returned, the sun
was low, and the kitchen was growing shadowy;
but the warmth felt grateful after the
chill of the room downstairs.
“I’ll get somebody to help me bring up that
trunk,” Blue decided, “and then for my
papers—it’s almost time.”
“Don’t forget Caruso!”
“I declare! I had!” He dashed away, returning
at once with the bird.
“Is she still asleep?” queried Doodles.
“Sure!” Blue nodded, and darted off again.
With the trunk actually in the kitchen,
Doodles felt the violin to be less mythical.
How wonderful it would be to have one of his
very own! He was glad Blue did not urge the
boy to stay, he was in haste to have the trunk
opened. But the lock appeared to be an intricate
kind, which Blue could not work, and he
finally had to run off for his papers, leaving
the trunk still closed.
Doodles was not slow to acquaint his
mother with the happenings of the afternoon.
“That dancer!” she exclaimed, before he
// 145.png
.pn +1
had scarcely begun his story. “Have you and
Blue been down in that dancer’s room? What
possessed you? I should never have let you
go if I had been home.”
“I guess I comforted her,” replied Doodles
in excuse. “She seemed to like my singing.”
“Well, I’d rather you wouldn’t go down
again,” said Mrs. Stickney. “Nobody knows
who or what she is, except that she sings and
dances in some cheap theater. What was it
about her fiddle?”
Doodles told, and his mother listened; but
before he had finished, Granny O’Donnell
called her away.
She was gone a long time. Blue was with
her when she came back, and both were
strangely grave. After tea Mrs. Stickney tried
to unlock the trunk, but did not succeed, and
Doodles went to bed without seeing his violin.
// 146.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII||THE HEART OF THE FLATIRON
.sp 2
It was Mrs. Jimmy George that found the
road to the heart of The Flatiron.
“Gracious me! what if ’t was my Jim—and
my baby!” she wailed, twisting her little
hard-worked hands over Blue’s story of the
dancer and her passionately-expressed longing
to lie “side o’ Jim and the baby.” “Why,”
mourned she, her blue eyes tearful, “I’d ’a’
carried her some o’ my strawb’ry jell, if I’d
only known! Gracious me, ther’ ’s sights o’
things we’d do, but we don’t have no chance!
I’m awful sorry! You say she’d saved up to
pay her fun’ral expenses? Wouldn’t ther’
be ’nough to take her out home?”
Blue shook a prompt negative. “Mother
says ther’ ain’t, and Giles Gaylord says ther’
ain’t. Wish ther’ was!”
Mrs. Jimmy George picked up her whimpering
Evangeline, while her forehead puckered
into two little hard lines above her nose.
“Say,” she burst out excitedly, “it’s a roarin’
// 147.png
.pn +1
shame to let that poor thing be buried in th’
town lot, ’way off f’m her own folks! Gracious,
what if ’t was me! Say, you just tell Gaylord
not to make no ’rangements till I see him!”
Blue stared. Had Mis’ George suddenly
gone crazy? “Maybe he’s started,” he said
slowly. “He was goin’—”
“Well, run tell him! Quick!” she urged,
skipping across the hall and disappearing behind
a neighbor’s door.
Mrs. Jimmy George was neither a beauty
nor a scholar; but—as her still worshipful
husband often averred—she was “game clear
through.”
During the next hour the peevish Evangeline
was pacified only on the fly, and for the
first time in her short life she began to realize
that her mother was not always hers to command.
At the end of that hour Mrs. George astonished
Mr. Gaylord by putting into his
hand a teacupful of small coin gathered from
those residents of The Flatiron whom she had
been able to reach.
“An’ you just wait till th’ men folks come
home to dinner,” she exulted; “if they don’t
// 148.png
.pn +1
fork over enough to carry that poor little
thing out to her Jim, I ain’t no guesser!”
Giles Gaylord waited, and again the cracked
teacup surprised him. How many sacrifices
those half dollars and quarters and dimes
and nickels and pennies stood for nobody
knew, for they kept their secrets well. Some
were guessed about. There was little Tillie
Shook, the dressmaker apprentice, who had
been planning to buy some “real” lace to
trim the neck of her best frock; she finally
purchased “imitation Val.” which was, she
said, just as good for her. Then, John Braunersreuther,
who supported his wife and seven
children by driving a pair of fat horses for the
brewery, gave up his cherished Sunday newspaper
for two whole months—and the paper
boy wondered why. Leona Montgomery and
Frederica Schine suddenly stopped patronizing
the “movies,” and their fellow-workers
in the box shop rallied them about it without
discovering the reason. Mrs. Jimmy George
herself never bought the blue messaline
girdle she had been scrimping and saving for,
not even when it was marked down, in the
department store window, to sixty-nine cents,
// 149.png
.pn +1
and The Flatiron respected her reticence on
the subject. But there was no longer any
doubt that the little dancer was going home
to lie “side o’ Jim and the baby.”
On a cold December afternoon Granny
O’Donnell opened her hospitable door, and
The Flatiron streamed in, to honor the loyal
woman whom in life many of the tenants had
never seen. They came by two’s, by three’s,
by whole families; they filled the room, they
overflowed into the hallway, they even
dropped down upon the stairs, and everywhere
was gentleness, courtesy, and reverence.
The Curate of St. Mark’s read the service
for the dead, and Doodles sang “Rock
of Ages.” Leona Montgomery, in her clear
soprano voice, started “Crossing the Bar”;
but sobs soon choked the song, and a girl from
the theater went on with it to the end.
“It was a lovely fun’ral anyway!” declared
Mrs. Homan, wiping her eyes, as the crowd
trooped up The Flatiron stairs, after having
followed the dancer to the very door of the
baggage car. “’Twas a fun’ral that would
satisfy any earthly mortal, livin’ or dead!”
And no one disagreed with her.
// 150.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII||“JIM’S FIDDLE”
.sp 2
After the dancer had started on her long
journey to “Jim and the baby,” Giles Gaylord
dropped into the Stickney kitchen.
“Lucky the theater folks knew her home
address, or we’d have been in a fix. Kitty
Blue—how strange that she should have the
same—”
“What!” interrupted Mrs. Stickney, “her
name Blue?”
“Yes. Didn’t I tell you?”
She shook her head absently. “Blue!—Jim
Blue!” she murmured. Then she darted
across to the trunk in the corner. “This has
got to come open!” she exclaimed decidedly,
stooping once again to try the key. “Blue,
bring me the oil bottle, will you? I’ll put on a
little more.”
Footsteps in the hall were followed by a
knock. Mr. Gaylord opened the door. As
// 151.png
.pn +1
Mrs. Stickney was inquired for, he passed out
at once.
“I am Mr. Somerby, Edgar Somerby of the
People’s Theater,” was the suave introduction,
and Blue’s mother found herself facing
a well-dressed, smooth-mannered stranger,
whose glittering eyes ranged the room even
while he was speaking.
“I have called to thank you for your kindness
to our late comrade,” he began effusively.
“We all appreciate it more than I can express.
Unfortunately I was out of town while Mrs.
Blue was ill, and so did not know when she—er—passed
away. I just heard of it, not an
hour ago, coming in on the train.” He had
taken the chair offered him, and was leaning
back comfortably. “This is a very sad affair.
We all feel Mrs. Blue’s death deeply. I was
shocked at the news. We were great chums,
Kit and I. In fact,” he lowered his voice confidentially,
“I fully expected to marry her
some day—it has broken me all up! She was
a wonderful dancer! Ever see her pirouette?
No? Too bad! She was bound to be famous
if she’d ’a’ lived. She’d been at it since she
was eight years old. Her mother was a ballerina
// 152.png
.pn +1
of some little reputation, I believe. Too
bad Kit had to die! Her toe-dancing was
simply marvelous! And to think I shall see it
no more!” He sat for a moment regarding the
diamond on his finger. Then, with a sigh, he
asked languidly, “Did she leave any effects effects—er—anything
in the way of musical instruments,
do you know?”
“I have seen none,” was the quiet answer.
The man scowled. “She told me not long
ago,” he resumed, “about a fiddle she had—I
think it belonged to her husband. She said
it wasn’t—er—valuable at all, but in case—er—anything
happened to her, she wanted
me to have it, simply as a memento. So you
don’t know what became of it when her room
was cleaned out?” His sharp little eyes
seemed endeavoring to pierce those which
faced him placidly.
Doodles held his breath in terror. Must his
treasure be wrested from him before he had
even looked upon it?
“I never spoke to the woman in my life,”
was the easy answer, “and I did not go into
her room until after she died. If there was
any fiddle there, I didn’t see it.”
// 153.png
.pn +1
“Did you look about much?” he questioned.
“Oh, yes! We wanted to learn her name,
and thought, there might be letters.”
“And you found nothing?” eagerly.
“Only a few little articles of no value. The
money for her burial expenses here was in a
purse under her pillow.”
“So they told me—and how you made up
enough to send her home. It was extremely
kind of you. But I’m sorry about that fiddle,”
he mused. “I had set my heart on having it—for
Kit’s sake. Of course, you’ve heard
nothing of her giving it to anybody?” he suddenly
probed.
Doodles went white. What would his
mother—? But she was already speaking—in
that soft, even voice of hers.
“If she was so anxious for you to have
it,” she smiled, “she would not have been
likely to give it to anybody else, would she?”
She met his eyes fearlessly.
“Well, no,—er—she wouldn’t,” he admitted,
with a queer laugh. “But in her dying
condition she might have been forced into
almost anything, you see.”
// 154.png
.pn +1
“We are all of us poor people,” said Mrs.
Stickney quietly; “but I don’t know of any
one in this house mean enough to compel a
dying woman to give up anything against her
will. Besides, if the instrument was good for
nothing, what should a stranger want of it?”
Mr. Somerby shrugged his shoulders.
“They might imagine it was valuable. Some
folks are so fierce to get the earth they’ll grab
any—er—old thing that floats their way.
Then you think there is no use in my questioning
the other residents?” He awaited her
answer with sharp, half-shut eyes.
“It would hardly seem so; but, of course,
you can do as you please.”
“Guess it would be a—er—waste of
time, though I hate to give it up. It is possible
Kit disposed of it. I’ve heard she was
hard-pushed sometimes—too bad! I’d have
helped her in a minute if she’d ’a’ let me; but
she was a—er—proud little minx—always
so—er—independent. I should like
one little memento of Kit,” he mused. “I
can’t realize I shall never see her toe it again.”
He rose, and with a lingering hand-shake
repeated his thanks to Mrs. Stickney and
// 155.png
.pn +1
The Flatiron, after which he said his good-byes.
When the feet of Mr. Somerby were actually
upon the stairs, the three looked at one
another. Blue threw up his arm and whirled
a silent cheer. Doodles grinned delightedly.
“It is well that lock bothered,” said their
mother, dropping beside the trunk again.
“I’m sorry he came. I hated to quibble in
that way, but I couldn’t see what else to do.
We must honor the woman’s wishes, at all
events. I wouldn’t let him have it now anyway,”
she ended under her breath.
“Why, Doodles promised straight that he
wouldn’t give it to him or anybody else—say,”
Blue suddenly burst out, “I bet he lied
about the fiddle, don’t you?”
“Looks a little like it,” she answered, still
working at the lock, “but we can’t tell.”
“We sha’n’t dare let anybody know about
it, shall we?” queried Blue.
“They’ll have to if I play on it!” Doodles’s
voice held dismay.
“We won’t decide what to do till we get it,”
Mrs. Stickney smiled. “It doesn’t look as if
that would be very soon. I never saw such a
// 156.png
.pn +1
stubborn thing as—ah!” At last the key
turned, the lock clicked!
She threw back the cover, disclosing a wavy
mass of pink.
“My!” cried Blue, “guess that’s her
dancin’ dress.” He held up the fluffy short-skirted
frock.
“Is it there?” Doodles bent forward
excitedly.
His mother was lifting out more dresses,
blue and yellow and white. Then came a
long, green-covered something which sent the
color into Doodles’s face and then drove it
away.
“Lock the door!” ordered Mrs. Stickney in
an undertone. Which Blue did.
She laid the instrument across the small
knees, and the boy’s breath came fast and
fluttering as he lifted it from its case. A look
of awe stole into his eyes—his violin! his
own! He clasped it to his heart, and bent his
head reverently.
“Why don’t you—” began Blue, and then
stopped. Doodles was giving thanks.
// 157.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV||THE LETTER
.sp 2
The boys were still examining the violin
when they were arrested by a little broken
wail. They turned to see their mother crying
over an open letter.
With a bound Blue was at her side. “What
is it? What is the matter?” he demanded.
“He was—your Uncle Jim!” She put her
handkerchief to her eyes, and began to sob.
“Uncle Jim?—her husband?” Blue’s
astonished voice sounded strangely unnatural.
The mother assented. “I knew his handwriting—the
minute I saw the envelope. I
was afraid of it when Mr. Gaylord told me the
name—oh, if I’d only known! Now it’s too
late!” She dropped her head to the cruel edge
of the trunk, and wept aloud. “It serves me
right! I held myself above her—just because
she danced in a theater! O God, forgive me!
I’ve got my pay for being so high and mighty!
There I could have found out all about my
// 158.png
.pn +1
dear brother if I’d treated her like a Christian!
And I left her to die alone—my own
sister-in-law!”
Mrs. Stickney’s remorse was pitiful to see.
Blue did not know what to say, but stood
there, silent and uneasy.
“Don’t cry, mother dear!” pleaded Doodles.
“You didn’t know, and I guess I comforted
her—so that’s just the same.”
“No, no, it isn’t, you blessed child! I’m a
wicked woman; but I’m glad as can be that
you went to see her, and sung to her. That’s
my only consolation. And I shouldn’t have
let you go if I’d had my way! Oh, what did
make me so heathenish!”
Later, when the violence of her grief had
subsided, she read to the boys what was doubtless
their uncle’s last letter to his wife.
.rj
D——, M——, Dec. 2, 19—.
Kitty dearest,—
Throw up your hat, and give three cheers
for Teuffel! Then think of me—first violin
in the orchestra! Teuffel has at last waked up
to the merits of the humble. I won’t tell you
what he is going to pay me—good news has
// 159.png
.pn +1
been known to work havoc, and I must dole
it out to you in small spoonfuls, for fear—!
But there’s the cutest little cottage waiting
for my word—waiting for us—right on
Prescott Street, too! What do you think of
that? Yes, I can afford it! You needn’t
worry! Don’t stop to finish up your engagement!
They’ll let you off—they’ve got to!
It seems as if I couldn’t wait to have you in
my arms again! I know you will want to
work till you have enough for the baby’s
stone; but just let me attend to that! I’ll save
every spare cent till we have it. At last I’ve
come to the place where you can stop work
and rely on me. Only Heaven and I know how
I have looked forward to this day—it has
been long in coming! But I won’t think about
the past. Now you can rest! How I have
rebelled at being obliged to let you go on the
stage again! We’ll hope that is all over.
Don’t wait for anything, but take the first
train west!
I met Nora and Louis this morning. They
had heard of my good luck, and were full of
congratulations, and, of course, wild to see
you. It is almost time for rehearsal, and I
// 160.png
.pn +1
must say good-bye. Come just as soon as you
can pack up, Kitty darling! Send a card
ahead if there’s time—anyway I’ll meet the
next train.
Good-bye—wish you were right here
where I shouldn’t have to say it! How could
I ever have let you go! Your own
.rj
Jim.
Mrs. Stickney sighed as she folded the sheet.
“It sounds just like Jim,” she declared. “He
hadn’t changed a mite. If I could only
have seen him once more—or even heard
about him! I shall never get over it!”
Later, after a little talk, it was decided to
say nothing concerning the trunk or its contents.
The family shrank from the wonderment
of their neighbors and the inevitable
questions that would follow the disclosure. So
The Flatiron never knew what a tidbit of
gossip had been missed.
For a while Doodles could not be coaxed to
try his precious fiddle. He felt that the man
with the ferret eyes had ears to match, and
who knew how near he might be lurking? But
as the days passed, and he was seen no more,
// 161.png
.pn +1
the small boy gained courage, until finally his
desire conquered his fear, and, one stormy
evening, he began to play.
Mrs. Stickney, not having heard the assurance
of the giver, and her opinion being unconsciously
colored by Mr. Somerby’s comments,
was not prepared for the exceeding
richness of the tones that Doodles brought
from the instrument.
Blue at once voiced his thought. “That
man was a big liar!”
“Look out!” reproved his mother.
“You know he was!” he insisted. “He
wanted to get hold of that fiddle, so’s to sell
it—I bet he did!”
Doodles paid no attention to the talk. He
was in another world—the world of music
and rapture.
“He ought to take lessons,” Blue told himself
over and over, and even tried to save up
his spare nickels for a possible teacher. Once
he appealed to his mother, but she shook her
head with such sad finality that he ventured
no more.
.if h
.il fn=i-144.jpg w=448px id=i-144
.ca
ONE STORMY EVENING HE BEGAN TO PLAY
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: ONE STORMY EVENING HE BEGAN TO PLAY]
.sp 2
.if-
If Doodles ever longed for knowledge beyond
his own rare gifts and the little that
// 162.png
.pn +1
// 163.png
.pn +1
// 164.png
.pn +1
Christarchus had taught him, the wish never
left his heart; and Blue declared that he
played “better and better every day.”
The Flatiron took the violin as thoughtlessly
as it took many other things, and few
comments were made concerning the acquisition
of the instrument. That the playing was
enjoyed by all within hearing was manifest by
open doors up and down the corridors, as well
as from the homely bits of approval that came
by diverse ways to the Stickney kitchen.
These short, dark days were Caruso’s silent
season. Thus the violin became Doodles’s
work, play, comrade, and comforter, during
the long hours while his mother and Blue
were away.
// 165.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV||HOSPITAL DAYS
.sp 2
It was on a cold April morning that Mrs.
Stickney awoke feeling very ill. The exertion
of dressing increased her distress, and after
rousing Blue she lay down again.
He kindled the fire, filled the teakettle, and
dressed Doodles.
“I don’t see why I should be sick,” she
worried. “I was well enough last night when
I went to bed. I cannot go to the shop if this
pain doesn’t let up.”
“You’ll feel better when you’ve had some
breakfast,” Blue told her cheerfully; but her
reply was a sudden wince, and only with a
mighty effort did she keep from groaning
aloud.
The boy had so often assisted about the
meals that he worked without awkwardness or
delay, and presently he had a slice of toast
delicately browned and the tea simmering
fragrantly. Yet Mrs. Stickney could not eat;
// 166.png
.pn +1
she leaned back in her rocker, white with
suffering.
Remedy after remedy was of no avail, and
finally Blue ran down to ask Granny O’Donnell
what should be done.
Granny limped upstairs at once, and soon
coaxed the sick woman to sip a steaming herb
drink, one of her favorite cure-alls.
“It seems as if I did feel a little easier,” was
the verdict at school time; so Blue went
whistling down the street in the belief that
his mother would speedily recover.
At noon, however, he opened the kitchen
door on a sorrowful group, Granny, Mrs.
Jimmy George, and Doodles. Granny was
anxiously endeavoring to be calm, but the
other two were weeping openly. Evangeline,
in her mother’s arms, unnoticed in the strain
of the moment, was blissfully engaged in the
forbidden delight of pulling down her mother’s
hair.
Blue turned to Granny, a woeful question
in his eyes.
“I’m awful sorry for yer!” began Mrs.
Jimmy—“Goodness gracious, Evangeline
George, what are you doin’!” She gathered
// 167.png
.pn +1
together her falling tresses, administering a
tiny slap to the pouting culprit. “If that kid
ain’t a terror! I’m wonderin’ all day long
what she’ll be up to next!”
“She’s in th’ bidroom,” nodded Granny to
Blue, across the now wailing Evangeline.
“Don’t ye go to worryin’, me dear! ’T ain’t
goin’ to be mooch, likely!”
He waited for no more, but darted to the
half-shut door, pushed it wide, and went
in.
His mother held out her hand. “My poor
boy!” she said tremulously.
“What is it?” he managed to ask.
“I’ve got to go to the hospital and have an
operation! I sent for the doctor—I grew so
much worse—Granny said I must—so she
asked Donovan to telephone. He said right
away I’d got to go—oh, it seems’s if I
couldn’t! What will you do—you and
Doodles?”
“When you goin’?”
“At half-past one.”
“Not to-day?” with alarmed emphasis.
“Yes. The doctor said it was my only
chance.” Her voice broke and then steadied
// 168.png
.pn +1
again. “I am not afraid; but you—” she
halted for composure.
“Don’t mind me!” Blue spoke out bravely.
“Doodles and I will be all right. You won’t
have to be gone long.”
“He says a week or ten days even if all goes
well.” She fingered her shawl fringe nervously.
“Sit down here a minute,” pulling
gently at his sleeve.
He dropped to the edge of the bed, while
she went on hesitantly.
“I wanted to say, if I—if anything should
happen, you’ll take care of Doodles and keep
him with you—as long as you live?”
“Of course, I will, mother! But there
isn’t goin’ to anything happen!”
“You can never tell! The doctor admitted
there is danger. And—if I shouldn’t come
back, I want you always to do right and grow
up to be just as good a man as you know how
to be. Go to Sunday school, and to church,
too, when you can! I wish now I’d have gone
myself, and not thought of clothes or being
tired—well, if God gives me another chance
I’ll try to do better.” She sighed. “I guess I
haven’t set you a very good example—”
// 169.png
.pn +1
“You have too!” Blue burst out. “You’re
all right!”
The mother put his hand to her lips, and
held it there.
“You’re a good boy now,” she resumed,
“and I want you to keep so. Don’t ever drink
or swear! Read your Bible every day, and
never forget your prayers night and morning!”
“Don’t you worry!” Blue said huskily.
“I’ll do all you want me to.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best, but if I’m
not here to help,” she shook her head slowly,
“I don’t see how you’re going to get along.
The town may want to send you both to the
asylum, and I’m afraid Doodles wouldn’t be
happy there—oh, I ought not to worry! God
will take care of you, but I can’t help feeling
anxious. At any rate, keep Doodles with you!
You will, won’t you?”
“I’d like to see anybody try to get him
away from me!” scouted Blue. “He’d wish
he was out o’ the tussle before he was many
minutes older!”
The mother smiled faintly. “All right!”
she agreed. “I’m glad you feel that way.
// 170.png
.pn +1
I’ve always tried to make it as easy for
Doodles as I could, and I know you do.”
They sat in silence for a long moment.
Then she resumed, “There’s four dollars in
my purse; that’ll last you a while. The rent
is paid for nearly a month more, and all you’ll
want is food. Don’t spend for anything unnecessary,
but buy what you need to keep well
and strong.”
“I guess I shall do it all up straight,” Blue
reassured her. “Say, how you going to get
over to the hospital? It’s a good way, and
you ain’t able to walk—”
“The doctor said he’d send somebody
with a car—another doctor, I believe. He
thought it would be easier than the ambulance.
He told me to be very careful going
downstairs, and to keep still till I went.”
“Ye’d betther be takin’ a bite befure long—it’s
all riddy,” broke in Granny’s gentle
voice.
Mrs. Stickney could eat nothing, but Blue
went as bidden, and tried to keep up a brave
show, for the sake of Doodles.
The afternoon was dreary. Blue would not
go to school, but stayed with his brother
// 171.png
.pn +1
except for the short time that he raced over
his paper route. It had been arranged for him
to go to the hospital at six o’clock, to learn
how his mother had borne her operation and,
possibly, to see her for a moment. But an
entirely unprecedented accident delayed him.
At half-past five the clock stopped, and it was
not discovered until long after six. Then Blue
caught up his cap, and started on a hard run.
It was a hot and breathless boy that at last
halted on the hospital steps and pushed the
bell button.
“It is too late,” the attendant answered.
“You cannot be admitted to-night.”
“But I want to know how my mother is,—Mrs.
Stickney,” faltered Blue.
At the moment a girl was crossing the hall,
and turned towards the other with the quick
query, “How is she?”
“On the verge of collapse!” was the low
reply. “Dr. Grace says she’ll never come
out of it; she can’t last till morning!”
A gust of wind swept through the long hall,
swinging the door together. It shut with
a snap, and Blue, stunned by what he had
heard, walked slowly down to the big gate.
// 172.png
.pn +1
How could he go home to Doodles with such
news! The nurse must have meant his mother,
yet would they have been so cruel as to refuse
him admittance and then coolly let him know
that she would die before morning? It was
too horrible! He walked on and on and on,
his mind in a tumult. When, finally, he took
notice of his surroundings, he could not tell
where he was. A policeman set him right, and
with a sick heart he turned towards home.
Home! The name mocked him! It would
never be home if his mother did not come
back. One faint ray of light pierced the blackness
of his soul,—the woman might, possibly,
have referred to somebody else! If he could
only know! But there was no way of finding
out before morning, and a night of such suspense
might kill Doodles. His feet lagged as
they neared the home corner. He felt that he
could not face his brother with the uncertain
story. What should he do? He turned, and
began to walk back the way he had come.
Suddenly there came to his mind the name of
Dr. Hudson, the physician his mother had
called—he would know! Of course, he
would! His office was in the bank block, not
// 173.png
.pn +1
three squares away! He struck into a run, and
did not stop until he stood at the entrance of
the building. He searched for the number of
the office, and was carried up in the elevator.
The door was locked. A card bore the information,
“Gone to dinner. Back at 8.00.”
Blue read it disconsolately. Should he wait?
“If I knew where he lived,” he muttered,
“I’d go to his house.” His next thought was
to find out, and in a moment he was consulting
a directory in one of the shops below. Presently
he was on his long way to 1062 Garden
Street; but when he reached the place he was
again disappointed.
The Polish maid who answered his ring
told him, with hesitation and many gestures,
“Doctor not home—dinner—he go!”
“What shall I do?” involuntarily passed the
boy’s lips.
“What is it, Mary?” A lady was coming
downstairs.
“I wanted to see the doctor, and find out
how my mother is!” Blue cried eagerly.
“Dr. Hudson will be back in a short time,
I think. Will you come in and wait?”
The sympathetic voice and manner were
// 174.png
.pn +1
winning, and Blue was soon seated in the
physician’s office, answering the lady’s questions
and telling his story.
“We need not wait for Doctor,” Mrs. Hudson
decided. “I think we can find out now.”
She crossed to the telephone, and Blue sat
tense, his heart quickening, as she called the
hospital number and gave her inquiry. What
would be the answer?
A happy “She’s all right!” was flung in his
direction; then the telephoning continued.
Before the boy had recovered his poise, the
doctor’s wife was at his side.
“What you overheard must have referred
to some one else. They say that your mother’s
operation was a success, and that she has come
out of the anæsthetic better than they expected.
I am so glad for you! Now you will have good
news for the little brother at home!”
She had thoughtfully arranged for him to
be admitted to the hospital ward early the
next morning, and he left the house with the
touch of her motherly hand still upon his
shoulder and the sound of her cheering voice
still in his ears.
Mrs. Stickney did not return home in a
// 175.png
.pn +1
week, as the boys had hoped, and Doodles
longed for his mother with a craving that
Blue, who visited her regularly, every day,
could scarcely comprehend.
“She’ll be here in a week or so, old feller—don’t
you worry!” the elder brother would
laugh, and then drop it from his mind.
But Giles Gaylord understood. His mother’s
life had gone out in a hospital, and his heart
yearned for the lonely little lad. Accordingly
he laid plans, and on a sunny afternoon he
astonished Doodles by running in briskly and
asking if he would like a ride.
“Now?” cried the boy, his face alight with
dawning joy.
“Right now!” was the gay answer. “Car’s
at the door!”
Doodles did not guess of their destination
until they stopped at the great white building,
and only then when he saw the words over
the door, “St. Luke’s Hospital.”
Barriers had a pleasant way of falling before
Giles Gaylord’s smile; so now, although it
was not a visiting hour, he walked in at the
big door, with Doodles in his arms, up the
broad stairway, and down the ward straight
// 176.png
.pn +1
to the window where Mrs. Stickney sat reading.
“Mother!” It was scarcely more than a
murmur, but to the young man all the terror
and joy and longing of the last ten days were
blended in the one word.
The call had to be short; but it was full of
happiness, and presently Doodles was in the
car again, gliding out into the greening country
where blossoms of gold starred the fields
and roadsides.
They did not talk much. The radiant little
face beside him was enough for the driver,
who had always a spare hand to tuck in the
robe whenever it fell away from the slight
form. Once or twice he called the boy’s attention
to some rare bit of landscape; but for the
most part the way was silent.
At a tiny house on a green knoll the car
stopped.
“Where are we going now?” queried Doodles.
But Mr. Gaylord only laughed mysteriously
as he lifted him out.
In a moment the little lad was seated in a
quaint, old-fashioned room with a sanded
floor and queer little tables and straight-backed
// 177.png
.pn +1
chairs. The tables were laid with dainty white
china and shining old silver, and right in the
middle of each was a glass boat filled with
dandelions. A young girl in white cap and
apron brought in a pitcher of milk and some
odd-shaped biscuits, with a dish of cookies
and buns. Then he suddenly remembered
that he was very hungry. Did anything ever
taste so good! Weariness flew away on wings
of magic. Tongues grew merry, and soft
laughter became so infectious that the pretty
serving-maid smiled happily to herself just
beyond the door. It was a wonderful little
feast. And the ride back to town—well,
there was never such a ride, Doodles thought.
They found Blue at home and hunting,
with a vague fear, for his missing brother.
“I wish you could see how many thank-you’s
I feel,” Doodles said, as Mr. Gaylord
set him carefully among his cushions; “but
you couldn’t hold them all—they’d spill
over. I think you must be one of God’s comforters.”
// 178.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI||CARUSO SINGS IN PUBLIC
.sp 2
Caruso was in fullest song now that spring
was in town, and he did all that he could to
cheer his best friends. His task was hard, and,
whether he perceived its difficulties or not, he
sang from dawn to dark, and did not even
stop at night whenever the moon gave him
light to sing by. Yet, much as they loved the
songster and his music, the Stickney family
could not be won over to forgetfulness of the
real trouble that shadowed them.
The mother gained but slowly, the third
week at home found her still unable to work,
and the question that constantly confronted
her was, “What will become of us?”
Granny O’Donnell, whose income was
ample for her slender needs, had been an actual
fairy godmother to the boys during those
lonely hospital days, and now she was continually
cooking more food than she could
eat, and bringing the surplus up to the Stickney
// 179.png
.pn +1
kitchen. Frequently, too, small bills
would be discovered hiding under a plate of
doughnuts, a pan of rice, or a pot of beans.
Mrs. Stickney felt that this must not be allowed
too long, and if she could not work—what
then? The worry was kept from Doodles
as much as possible, yet his mother saw with
a heartache that he was graver than usual,
and, in consequence, she sang when it would
have been easier to cry, hoping night after
night that the next morning would see the return
of her old strength.
After a little she did gain sufficiently to
permit her to resume her place in the shop;
but she found it impossible to work at her
former speed, and her weekly envelope sometimes
held less than half her usual pay.
“Say, mother!” Blue burst in with, on a
May afternoon, “Miss Holcomb wants to
know if Doodles and Caruso can come up
to the settlement to-night. They’re going to
have a concert, and they want Doodles to
play and Caruso to sing—yes, and Doodles
to sing, too!”
“Why, I—don’t know,” Mrs. Stickney
began, glancing uncertainly towards the
// 180.png
.pn +1
cushioned chair. But the boy’s face decided it,
radiant as it was with the sudden prospect.
“I guess it won’t hurt him,” she finished.
They started at seven o’clock, Blue and
Joseph Sitnitsky with Doodles between them,
and Mrs. Stickney carrying Caruso and the
violin. Fears that strange surroundings and
the somewhat noisy crowd might frighten the
little gray singer into silence were presently
forgotten, for as soon as the lights went low
and the cage was placed in the bright rays of
the full moon the slim bird began his wonderful
song.
The audience, having been warned against
demonstrations, was almost mouselike in
quietness, and the singer went on and on as
carelessly merry as if he were caroling in the
home kitchen. A few of his hearers knew what
to expect from him, but to the majority his
marvelous singing was as novel as it was entertaining.
When, at last, he broke off suddenly
to scold at a tiny girl who had strayed
from her mother and too near his cage, the
assembly burst into such applause as was unusual
even at the concerts of the Cherry Street
Settlement.
// 181.png
.pn +1
After that Doodles sang “Old Folks at
Home,” and was encored so heartily and so
long that he gave “Edinboro Town,” one of
his mother’s favorites when she was in a gay
mood. Further along on the programme he
played several simple melodies on his violin,
and as he slipped into “Annie Laurie” he
glanced towards Caruso, whose cage had been
set back into the shadow. Quite as if awaiting
a signal, the bird struck into tune, and
away they soared together, the mocker and
the violin, to the uncontrolled delight of the
audience.
After the entertainment Caruso held an
impromptu reception, for everybody wanted a
closer view of the slim gray bird with the astonishing
powers of song. Many questions were
asked for Doodles to answer, and the small
boy reached home too excited to do anything
but talk. It was long after midnight before
he could sleep.
“I ought to have known better than to let
him go,” regretted the mother; but Blue
argued, “It won’t hurt him! Will it, old feller?”
And Doodles, his eyes shining out of
his weariness, declared in favor of his brother.
// 182.png
.pn +1
But in the early morning he awoke in unusual
pain, and it was only after his mother
had dosed him again and again with a soothing
remedy that he fell into slumber. Yet he insisted
on being dressed in time to eat breakfast
with the others, especially that he might
better enjoy the corn cake which Granny had
brought up to them.
“This will fix you out all right,” Blue told
him, his mouth full of the dainty.
Doodles nodded, with a brave, wan little
smile. “It was nice for Granny to give it to
us,” he said.
“Granny’s the girl for me!” declared Blue,
swimming his own and Doodles’s piece in
the maple syrup which had accompanied the
cake.
“She’s the best friend we have,” his mother
agreed. “Don’t pour on so much, Blue! We
must be careful—”
Blue understood the unfinished sentence.
Yet he said, “Doodles and I like ‘much,’ don’t
we, kiddie?” Then he set the pitcher aside,
and ate his second helping without replenishment
of the sweet.
Doodles dozed away an hour or two of
// 183.png
.pn +1
the long forenoon, and was beginning to feel
quite rested when a knock announced a
caller.
To his cheery “Come in!” the door opened
upon a woman,—a stocky, youngish woman,
with pale blue eyes, heavy cheeks, and a double
chin. She swept across to the cushioned
chair.
“How d’ye do! I thought I’d find you at
home,” with strong emphasis. “I was at the
concert last night,” she went on, seating herself
somewhat laboriously in the offered chair;
“perhaps you remember me.”
Doodles gave a smiling assent. He could
hardly have forgotten that plumed hat with
its gorgeous pins, the shimmering green satin
gown, and,—when she had drawn off one of
her long white gloves,—those stubby red
fingers, sparkling to the knuckles with diamonds.
She abruptly introduced her errand.
“I have come to talk about your bird. I
took a fancy to him last night, and I want to
know what you’ll sell him for.”
“Oh!” It was a frightened, pitiful little cry,
and, all in an instant, Doodles’s face matched
// 184.png
.pn +1
it. “I—don’t want to sell him—I wouldn’t
sell him for anything!”
The woman laughed, a cold, hateful laugh
that flashed fear through the boy’s heart.
“I guess you will,”—she winked coaxingly,—“when
you know what I’ll pay for him. I’ll
give you twenty dollars! Just think, tw-en-ty
bright silver dollars!”
She smiled quite as if the matter were settled,
but there was no response on the scared
white face opposite. Doodles looked straight
past her to the cluster of faded red roses on the
wall paper back of her chair.
“Tw-en-ty beautiful bright silver dollars!”
she reiterated in a wheedling tone.
“I don’t want to sell him!” Doodles insisted
firmly, his eyes still on the roses.
“Well, now,” she resumed, “I know you’re
a sensible little boy, and you listen while I
tell you how it looks to me. I understand that
your mother is in rather straitened circumstances,
being just out of the hospital, and
not very well, and all. So, you see, twenty
dollars would help her wonderfully. Of course,
you love her dearly, better than anything else
in the whole world, don’t you?”
// 185.png
.pn +1
Doodles bowed his head miserably.
“I knew you did. And if you could give her
a lift with twenty dollars—now, when she
needs it most, how beautiful it would be! You
know you are not able to work as your brother
does; but you can do this, and then your dear
mother will stop worrying and grow strong
and well again. I am sure you are not a selfish
boy, to want to keep all the good things to
yourself.”
She paused, noting with almost a start the
effect of her cruel words.
The drawn little face had grown whiter and
stiller with every fling, until she feared he
was going to faint. But as he sat rigidly in
his chair she went on.
“You’ll let me have the bird, won’t you?”
she coaxed. “And those twenty silver dollars
will make your mother so happy! I can imagine
how she will kiss you and call you her darling,
blessed little boy!”
Suddenly Doodles fixed his big brown eyes
on the woman’s own, and involuntarily she
recoiled. Their misery and reproach stabbed
her soul. She dropped her glove, and stooped
to pick it up, fumbling with its buttons. When
// 186.png
.pn +1
she looked again, Doodles had turned away,
and her composure came back.
“You want those bright silver dollars, I
know, so I’ll count them over for you.”
She opened her bag, and tore apart a
paper roll. Out poured the coins in a shining
heap.
“See!” she cried. “Aren’t they pretty?
And they’re all yours!” She began counting,—“One,
two, three, four, five,”—they
dropped one by one into the boy’s passive
hand.
“I don’t want them!” he choked, and threw
them passionately back into her lap. Then,
with an overpowering sob, he turned from her
and hid his face in his pillows.
“Why, now, you mustn’t do that!” she
exclaimed. “I thought you wanted to help
your mother and keep her well, so she wouldn’t
have to go back to the hospital—”
He looked up in terror.
“Will she have to go again, if—”
“Why, of course,” she broke in glibly, “if
she worries and don’t get strong, her trouble
may come on—”
“P’raps I’ll—let you have him to-morrow,”
// 187.png
.pn +1
he said hurriedly. “Blue will know
what is best.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say anything to your
brother about it!” she hastily advised. “He
might say you’d better keep the bird, without
realizing how much good the money would do
your mother; because he would wish to please
you on account of your—your lameness, you
know. Oh, if you really want to help your
mother, as I’m sure you do, you’ll let it come
as a surprise to her and Blue—that will be
the very best way.”
She glanced at the clock. It was almost
noon. She had no wish to meet that shrewd-eyed
brother of Doodles, in fact she was
frantically anxious to avoid him, and she
quickly pulled on her glove.
“You’d better let me take the bird along,”
she smiled, “and then you can give the money
to your mother when she comes home to dinner.
Won’t that be nice?” She arose, and
poured the coins on the table.
“No! Oh, no!” cried Doodles wretchedly.
“I can’t—now! I want to think! You wait—wait
till to-morrow! Then—maybe—”
he began to sob again.
// 188.png
.pn +1
The town clocks started to strike. Blue
might be in at any minute!
“Well, well!” she said soothingly, “stop
crying, and I’ll come again to-morrow. I
must be going now. Remember not to say
anything about this, if you really wish to help
your mother! I know you’ll want those
twenty dollars to give her to-morrow! My,
how happy they’ll make her! Good-bye,
darling!” She threw him a kiss from the doorway,
which he did not see. His eyes were too
full of tears.
At dinner he was unusually quiet, and he
ate but little.
“You’d better begin on that tonic again,”
his mother decided, and after the meal she
fetched a bottle from the cupboard and prepared
him a dose. Poor Doodles! What tonic
could reach this new and startling trouble!
But he swallowed it meekly, and did not
know whether it were bitter or sweet.
Next morning he was pale and haggard, and
confessed, on being questioned, that he had
lain awake a long time in the night.
Mrs. Stickney shook her head gravely, and
reproached herself again for having allowed
// 189.png
.pn +1
him to go to the settlement concert. “I ought
to have known better!” she said over and over.
After she had gone to the shop, and while
Blue was washing the breakfast dishes,
Caruso began to sing. The accompanying
rattle of the knives and plates seemed to spur
him on, for he put in all his usual notes and
many others, and sang “Annie Laurie” twice
through without stopping.
“Don’t he go it, this morning!” exclaimed
Blue, as the bird stopped suddenly, and
hopped down to his water cup, to refresh his
throat.
There was no response from Doodles, and
the elder boy turned to see his brother with
head towards the window.
“That was a dandy performance, wasn’t
it, kiddie?” Blue persisted.
No answer.
“What’s the matter, old man? Feel
worse?”
A soft, suspicious-sounding “No” sent
Blue over to the window, hands dripping.
With a little protesting gesture Doodles
turned to the doubtful comfort of his pillows,
and began to sob.
// 190.png
.pn +1
“Why, kiddie!” Blue drew him into his
arms. “Is the pain so bad?”
The fair head shook decidedly.
“What in the world is it then?”
The sobbing increased.
“If you won’t tell me, how can I do anything
for you?” Blue gave a soft laugh.
“Shall I get some medicine?”
“N—no.”
Caruso started to sing again, and Doodles
pressed his head close against his brother, as if
striving to shut out the sounds.
“Does his singing hurt you?” Blue asked in
some surprise.
“N—no—yes—o—h!”
“Here, then, shut up, you!” commanded
Blue, flinging a hand in the direction of the
cage.
There was instant silence.
“Oh, don’t stop him! Let him sing! Dear,
dear birdie!”
“Why, I thought the noise made you feel
bad!”
“No,—oh, no!”
“Well, what does ail you?” cried Blue,
almost with impatience. Then he patted the
// 191.png
.pn +1
small shoulder tenderly. “Can’t you tell
brother?”
Doodles still shook his head, but he reached
for Blue’s hand, and stroked it.
“Whew! ’most school time! I must finish
those dishes in a jiffy!”
Left to himself, Doodles lay limply against
the cushions, now and then giving way to a
long, heavy sigh.
“Wish you’d tell me before I go,” urged
Blue, halting beside the little brother’s chair,
cap in hand. “I’ve only a minute—speak
quick!” he prodded playfully.
“Oh, don’t go! don’t! don’t!” pleaded
Doodles with sudden passion, holding to
Blue’s coat with gripping fingers.
The boy tossed his cap on the table.
“’Course I’ll stay, if you want me to; but if
I do, you’ve got to tell me what ails you! And
you might’s well soon as late.”
“I—can’t!”
“Yes, you can! Why not?”
“She said—”
“Who said?”
“The woman—she—”
“What woman?”
// 192.png
.pn +1
“I do’ know—oh, she said I mustn’t tell
you!”
“Well, you must! Where was she?”
“Here.”
“When?”
“Yesterday forenoon.”
“What’d she come for?”
“She wants—Caruso!”
“Does she! Well, she can’t have him! You
do’ know who ’twas?”
“No. She was at the concert.”
“Oh! Then ’twasn’t Mis’ Sweeney!”
“Why, you saw her! That fat one with
diamonds all over her fingers.”
“Aw!” Blue’s expression told the rest. “So
she come sneakin’ round to try to get that
bird!”
“She said ’t would help mother.”
“Help mother?” Blue was mystified.
“The money,” Doodles explained. “She’ll
give twenty dollars for him!”
“Twenty dollars!” scorned Blue. “Not
much! Why, Sandy Gillespie said he was
worth two hundred!”
Doodles sat up straight, his eyes big with
wonder.
// 193.png
.pn +1
“Two hundred! You never told that
before!”
Blue laughed. “Didn’t mean to now. I
thought it was safer not to.”
“Two hundred dollars!” repeated Doodles
under his breath. He looked across at the
mocking bird with incredulous eyes.
“Wha’ ’d you say to her?” Blue queried.
Doodles repeated as much of the talk as he
could recollect.
“And she’s comin’ again this morning?”
“I s’pose so—oh, don’t leave me alone,
don’t!”
“’Course I won’t, kiddie! Wha’ d’ ye think
I’m made of? I’ll like the fun o’ tendin’ to
her! I ain’t afraid!”
Doodles drew a sigh of relief. Then his eyes
grew anxious.
“You don’t think we ought to sell him—to
help mother?”
“Naw! We’re gett’n’ along all right.”
Doodles settled back against his cushions
and Blue’s assertion. How comforting it was
to have a brother equal to emergencies!
Ten o’clock came before the be-plumed
caller appeared. According to agreement,
// 194.png
.pn +1
Blue was not in sight until she was seated.
Then he sauntered in from the bedroom.
That the woman was greatly disconcerted
by his sudden entrance was plain, and Blue
inwardly chuckled.
“I supposed you were in school,” she began
indiscreetly.
“No, I thought I’d stay out and see you,”
grinned Blue.
“Ah? Then your brother has spoken of me?”
“Oh, yes! He and I are great chums.”
“That’s very nice—just as all brothers
should be,” she purred sweetly. “And then, of
course, you agree with him about selling me
the mocking bird,” she added tentatively,
with a fluttering smile.
“Sure!” beamed Blue.
“Oh, I’m so glad! I do like to see boys
ready to help their mother, and those twenty
silver dollars will do her no end of good.”
“Ye—es,” drawled the boy, “I s’pose she
or anybody’d like twenty dollars well enough;
but I guess they’d like two hundred better,
wouldn’t they?” His eyes sparkled.
“Two—hundred?” she repeated, frowning.
“What do you mean?”
// 195.png
.pn +1
“I mean,” and Blue’s eyes met her own
squarely, “that we shan’t sell Caruso for less
than two hundred dollars.”
The woman gathered herself together.
“Absurd!” she cried. “You’ll never get it,
never!”
“All right!” smiled Blue. “We’re satisfied.”
“But—but haven’t you any regard for
your mother?” she exclaimed, still clinging to
her original tactics. “Think what that twenty
dollars would buy! And she slaving herself
for you! It’s an extravagance for you to keep
such a bird!”
“That’s our business!” returned the boy
quietly.
“Well,” she flung out with rising anger, “I
hope you’re saucy enough! I might have
expected it from anybody that lived in The
Flatiron!” She rose hurriedly. “You’ll see
the day that you’ll regret this!”
A retort was upon Blue’s lips, but the face
of his brother, white and troubled, held it
back, and the woman swept from the room in
silence.
// 196.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII||A THUNDERBOLT
.sp 2
It was hot in The Flatiron. The July sun
rose early and blazed over the tin roof, until
by nine o’clock the rooms underneath began
to feel like ovens. Doodles had never drooped
as he drooped this summer. Yet he sang and
made melody on his violin whenever he was
able, and forgot the tenement and the hard
things of life.
Across the sea of roofs, from the kitchen
window, was a small opening through which
one with clear eyes might discern a bit of
velvety green and a fleck of brilliant color.
“See!” piped Doodles joyously. “Seems’s
if ther’ was more red than ther’ was yesterday.
It’s lovely!” he breathed. “It looks
like—heaven!”
“Heaven!” sniffed Blue. “I should think ’t
’u’d look more like h—the other place!”
“Blue Stickney!” His mother’s voice was
horrified.
// 197.png
.pn +1
“Well, I should!” the boy insisted defiantly.
“Him sitt’n’ here day in ’n’ day out,
roastin’, and never goin’ any nearer the park
’n’ that! It’s he’—awful!—that’s what it is—I
don’t care if I do say it!”
The door slammed its appreciation of Blue’s
honesty, and Mrs. Stickney gazed across at
Doodles with a sigh.
Plainly the small boy had paid no attention
to his brother’s words. The heavenly morsel
of landscape was absorbing all his thoughts.
But after dinner, when the city flags hung
limp on their staffs, and the sun flamed fiercely
round the corner of the kitchen window, even
the bit of beauty in the distant park looked
glaringly hot. Doodles dropped back on his
pillows, and shut his eyes.
“Whew, if this isn’t a roaster!” fumed
Blue, jerking off his blouse. “That thing
don’t go on again till it’s cooler!”
“You’ll have to wear it when you deliver
your papers,” said Doodles mildly, opening
his eyes.
“I won’t,” declared Blue savagely. “I’m
not goin’ to swelter for fashion! Mother’s
got the best of it this afternoon in the shop.
// 198.png
.pn +1
They’ll git a breeze there if ther’ is any. Don’t
you want to lie down and take a nap?”
“Is it cooler in the bedroom?” queried
Doodles. “If ’tis, I’ll go.”
Blue skipped away to investigate.
“Seems’s if ’twas—some,” he reported.
But Doodles, breathing the stuffy air of the
little room, wished he was back at his window.
“Now p’raps you can go to sleep,” Blue
told him.
“Maybe,” he replied patiently.
Blue sat down in the rocker, and fanned
himself furiously with a newspaper. Then,
tossing it to the floor, he went over to the
window. The sun was like a furnace. “Goodness!”
he ejaculated, and roved into the hall.
Reminders of various dinners stole up the
stairs. Still it seemed a little less stifling, and
he dropped to the upper step. He sat there,
allowing his thoughts wide range till they came
back to Doodles. He jumped up, and tiptoed
into the bedroom.
His brother spoke weakly. “P’raps I’d
better go out to the window—I can’t breathe
good in here.”
“Shouldn’t think you could!” Blue lifted
// 199.png
.pn +1
him gently. “’Tisn’t so bad in the hall,” he
said. “Let’s try that—I’ve been sitting
there.”
Putting Doodles on the floor, he ran back
for some cushions and arranged them as a
sort of couch, on which he made the small boy
as comfortable as he could.
“Wish you’d tell me about the picnic,”
said Doodles wearily. “Will it be out in that
beautiful country where Mr. Gaylord took
me?”
“I guess it’s in another direction—Highland
Grove. I don’t just know. But they
say it’s fine—the fellers that have been.”
“Seems’s if I couldn’t wait! Is it Wednesday?”
“Yes, only a week from to-morrow.”
“You’re sure you can get the tickets?”
The voice was anxious.
“Sure, kiddie! Don’t you be worryin’ ’bout
that!”
“No, but once in a while I think, what if
I couldn’t! When’ll you get them?”
“I do’ know—next week prob’ly.”
“And you think there’ll be ice cream?”
The question quivered with eagerness.
// 200.png
.pn +1
“’Course! ’Twouldn’t be a picnic without!
Oh, the Salvation Army folks do things
up fine!”
“How does ice cream taste? Please tell
me again.”
“Oh, it’s cold—cold as Blixen! ’N’ it tastes
like—let me see—I guess like candy ’n’
cake all in one. It’s harder ’n’ ’most anything,
an’ it squ’shes all up and melts to nothin’
right in your mouth.”
“Does it taste like Granny’s ginger-bread?”
Blue’s head shook decidedly.
“No—why, you remember that big round
cake Mis’ Jimmy George gave you—all soft
inside?”
“Yes.”
“It’s more like that—only better—”
“Better? I don’t see how it could be!”
“Oh, you just wait! Ice cream’s a million
times better ’n that! It’s so cold ’n’ sweet, it
feels jolly good goin’ down—wish I had some
right here this minute—um-m-m!”
“It must be beautiful!” sighed Doodles.
“Shame you’ve never had any!”
“It’s nice I’ll have some next week,”
// 201.png
.pn +1
Doodles smiled. But it was a tired little smile.
Next week seemed very far away.
“Wh-ew!” Blue blew out the word in a
long breath. “It’s hotter ’n Hannah! I don’t
b’lieve I was ever so hot in my life! Hope
it’ll cool off before five.”
“Do you s’pose it’s any better by the window?”
sighed Doodles.
“Worse!” scowled Blue. “The sun’s scorching,
an’ ther’ isn’t a speck of breeze. Feel
bad, old feller?”
Doodles’s white little face seemed to grow
whiter all at once.
“I can’t—breathe good,” was the faltering
answer.
“It’s the heat—that’s all, kiddie. Cheer
up! It’ll be night before long, and then, maybe,
we’ll have a breeze.”
“Do you mind—getting me a drink?”
came weakly.
“Sure I will!” Blue ran to the hall sink
with a glass, and fetched it back brimming.
Doodles took a few swallows, and Blue
finished it.
“Ugh!” ejaculated the elder boy, “that’s
worse’n the weather!”
// 202.png
.pn +1
Setting the glass in a safe corner, he dropped
beside his brother, but as he glanced down,
terror clutched him. He had never seen
Doodles look like that. He took one of the
small hands in his own. It was damp and
cold! He dashed into the kitchen for a fan.
None was in sight, and he came back with a
newspaper, which he began to wave frantically
over Doodles.
“No—please don’t!” begged the child.
“It tires me!”
Blue’s hand dropped. “Thought ’twould
make you cooler,” he said in dismay.
“B’ys!”
It was Granny’s voice, and Blue turned to
see the quaint little figure at the foot of the
stairs.
“Coom down, th’ both o’ ye! It’s shure
too br’ilin’ f’r ye up undher th’ roof.”
“It is!” Blue ejaculated. “We’ll be down
in a jiffy—and thank you!”
He grasped Doodles with, “Put your arms
round my neck, kiddie!”
There was a weak movement as if to obey;
then the little figure was a limp burden.
Overwhelmed with dread, Blue staggered
// 203.png
.pn +1
into Granny’s room with his unconscious
load.
“He’s dead! he’s dead!” he choked.
Scores of emergencies had made Granny
mistress of many, and in a moment Blue had
the inexpressible joy of seeing Doodles open
his eyes with a fluttering little smile.
“Th’ h’at made ye a bit faint, darlin’,”
Granny explained. “Ye’ll be betther down
here. Lie sthill an’ go to shlape, if ye like.”
He shut his eyes, but soon opened them
again.
“It’s beginning to be cooler,” he said cheerfully.
Granny turned from the window where she
had been scanning the sky.
“We’ll be gitt’n’ a shower befure long,”
she exulted. “Seems like I never did see such
a hot day!” She wiped her face with the under
side of her apron.
“My, how black it is in the north!” cried
Blue.
He leaned his arms on the window-sill, and
looked at the gathering clouds. They had already
hidden the sun, and hung, dark and
jagged, over the city. The air was gloomy. In
// 204.png
.pn +1
the street below people hurried along, every
now and then glancing upward at the threatening
sky. Little whiffs of wind whirled the
dust in the roadway, and thunder growled in
the distance.
“Bet some folks’ll git wet!” prophesied
the boy, as he turned back to the room. He
was surprised at the dim light. He could
scarcely see Doodles, over on the couch.
Doodles was timid in a thunder storm, and
Blue crossed the floor to his side.
“Prob’ly the heft of it’ll go round, as usual,”
he said; “but ’t will be cooler. We shall like
that, old feller, shan’t we?”
Doodles smiled weakly. “Let’s talk about
the picnic,” he proposed, putting his hand
in his brother’s.
But a mighty gust of wind and a sudden
dash of big drops sent Blue upstairs to shut
the windows, while Granny bustled about,
closing blinds and putting things out of the
possible way of rain. Before he returned, the
street was a river, and crash after crash was
sounding overhead.
Granny, to whom fear was unknown,
watched the storm from the window, and Blue
// 205.png
.pn +1
would have liked to join her; but the little
clinging hand of Doodles was enough to hold
him to the couch.
“I’m glad this didn’t come on the picnic
day,” piped the small boy above the continuous
roar.
“Lucky—” began Blue, but never finished.
A blinding blaze and a simultaneous crash,
as if the house were being split in two, brought
him to his feet.
Granny, too, started up.
“That was pretty near!” breathed Blue in
a voice of awe.
“I hope it didn’t hur-rt anny wan,” responded
Granny sympathetically.
Doodles lay very still, gripping his brother’s
hand.
“Scared, old feller?” queried Blue, dropping
back into his chair.
“A—little,” confessed Doodles. “It’s
farther off now, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes! prob’ly that was the worst.”
The storm passed as quickly as it had come,
and presently Blue ran upstairs to make ready
for his trip down street. They heard him returning
// 206.png
.pn +1
almost at once, clattering down with
such speed that Granny hurried to meet him.
“It struck our kitchen!” he burst out. “The
stove’s all over the room!”
“Ye don’t mane it! Th’ blissid saints be
praised ’t th’ both o’ ye wasn’t there!” And
Granny hobbled upstairs to see the lightning’s
work.
Plainly the bolt had entered by way of the
chimney, and, after demolishing the stove,
and scattering and overturning various articles,
had departed through the floor at the
southwest corner of the room. Nothing but
the stove appeared to be injured. That was
unmendable.
“I must go and tell Doodles!” cried Blue,
and he dashed downstairs to find his brother
in a panic of suspense, having heard just
enough to cause him to imagine things worse
than they really were.
“Caruso?” was his first questioning word,
as he caught sight of Blue.
“Oh, he’s all right! Eatin’ as cool as anything!”
“An’ my violin?”
“Not a scratch on it!” Blue reassured him,
// 207.png
.pn +1
and hastened to picture the disorder of the
kitchen.
“I’m never going to be afraid again!” decided
Doodles, when the story was told. “God
didn’t let the lightning hurt us or Caruso or
the violin, and now I know He won’t ever.
Isn’t it nice!”
Blue laughed softly. “Guess you won’t
think it’s so nice not to have a stove when
you want your breakfast!”
“Oh, Granny’ll let us use hers!” was the
contented reply.
// 208.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII||“THE TRUE-BLUEST BOY”
.sp 2
Rumors of the thunderbolt in The Flatiron
met Mrs. Stickney on her way home, and
her thankfulness for the safety of her boys
routed all worry over the loss of the stove. But
after a day or two the need of a fire began to
press heavily. Granny’s little stove was at
her constant disposal, but the stairs between
made its use inconvenient. To buy one now,
with wages low and work scarcely more than
two thirds of the time, was not to be thought
of. The new problem promised to be a
mighty one.
“Did Mr. Gillespie tell you that mocking
birds like Caruso actually sell for two hundred
dollars?” the mother inquired of Blue, after
the small boy was asleep.
“That’s what he said.”
“It doesn’t seem possible, and I didn’t
know but Doodles had made a mistake. Two
hundred dollars is a great deal of money to
// 209.png
.pn +1
keep in a bird,” she went on. “We can’t
afford it—we mustn’t! Think what that
would buy! Of course, it would grieve Doodles
to sell him, but—”
“He ain’t going to be sold!” interrupted
Blue stoutly, closing his book and giving it a
savage little push across the table.
“I know, dear! It will be hard. But I’m
sure Doodles will be reasonable about it. We
need the money now more than we need a
bird.”
“He shan’t be sold!” cried the boy defiantly.
“Why, it would kill Doodles! He loves him
as well as—you do me!”
“No, no, dear! You—”
“He does! You didn’t see him when that
woman came—I did! I know! I’ll—I’ll sell
myself first! Caruso shan’t go, anyway!” He
jumped up, fidgeted about for a while, and
then disappeared in the darkness of the unlighted
bedroom.
The mother sighed heavily. They were
running behind, and had been for several
weeks. Work might not pick up before October—how
were they to live? She sat thinking,
thinking, until the clock struck twelve.
// 210.png
.pn +1
The possible selling of Caruso was almost
lost sight of in the excitement of the coming
picnic. There were trousers and blouses and
neckties for Mrs. Stickney to wash and iron.
Since papers must be delivered on time, Blue
must find a boy that was not going to the picnic.
This was a long task, for nearly every
one of Blue’s acquaintance had given his name
to the Salvation Army Sergeant, and the few
not on the list had early been engaged as substitutes.
But a free lad was finally discovered,
and Blue, who had been tormented by spasms
of fear lest he might have to remain to serve
his customers himself, ran home on nimble
feet to tell the good news. He carried joy, also,
in the shape of two magic slips of pink cardboard,—passports
to the wonderful automobile
rides, eight hours in the enchanting
country, and a dinner of dainties topped with
ice cream.
Doodles had enough to think of that afternoon,
for the little pink card seemed to suggest
all kinds of rosy delights. He was so
wrapped in his own happy anticipations that
at tea time he did not notice the shadow
which had fallen on his brother.
// 211.png
.pn +1
Blue’s bliss, with a careless twirl of his hand,
had suddenly changed to dismay and sorrow.
Standing on the curb, he had been idly fingering
his new ticket, when it had slipped from his
loose grasp. A strong north wind was blowing,
and swept down the street as the bit of
cardboard left his hand. Away it flew, with
Blue in pursuit; but an inquisitive terrier,
spying the curious slip of pink, had started
too. The terrier grabbed it first, speeding off
with it in his mouth, and although Blue
chased the dog out of sight and himself out
of breath, he was finally forced to turn back
without another glimpse of his precious ticket.
What should be done? Blue said nothing
to anybody, but he decided the matter before
going to bed. One thing, Doodles must not
know. He would directly insist on his brother’s
using the remaining ticket. Blue well
knew that. So he planned to have Joseph
Sitnitsky care for Doodles, and he himself
would walk to the grove.
There was no use in asking to have his loss
made good. Had not Sergeant Connor expressly
warned the children not to lose their
tickets, saying that they could not be replaced!
// 212.png
.pn +1
No, it was walk or stay at home. Blue had no
idea of the distance to Highland Grove; but
he felt equal to any number of miles. So without
taking Joseph wholly into his confidence
he arranged for him to sit beside Doodles in
the car, leaving him to conjecture as he might
concerning the reason. Joseph never asked
questions.
With all his planning, however, Blue did not
feel sure of the success of the scheme until he
had seen his brother safe and happy in the
automobile, waving a merry good-bye to him.
He had been afraid there might be inquiries
that he could not easily answer; but Doodles,
on this morning of unusual happenings, had
taken everything without remark, and when
Blue had observed, in as careless a tone as he
could command, that he was not going to ride
in the car with him, had apparently given the
matter no further thought.
It was easy to hide himself in the big crowd,
and he pressed on ahead, albeit with a little
sigh for the pleasure he had missed. He did
not hasten; he fell into his usual pace, and
kept it. Those sixty automobiles, he argued,
would not get started in a hurry, and he should
// 213.png
.pn +1
be well towards the end of his tramp before
they came up. Billy Frick had told him it
was not very far.
Business blocks grew scattering and were
interspersed with dwellings. Shops were
smaller and less frequent. Bungalows appeared,
with tiny gardens attached. The city
was falling behind. Along the way were groups
of women and children, waiting to see the picnickers
pass. Blue heard them talking about it
as he went by. Presently he caught the sound
of shouts.
“They’re coming!” cried a girl.
He turned in dismay. A big car, gay with
flags, was whizzing round the broad curve he
had just passed, and a long line followed.
Quickly he screened himself with a fat woman,
to avoid the possible eyes of Doodles. Then he
peeped out—there was Joseph! He dodged
behind the broad back, and so missed the sight
of his brother. In a moment they were gone.
As the merry train vanished, as the last
flag fluttered its farewell through the cloud
of dust, he felt all at once abandoned and forlorn.
He started to run, but soon realized that
he could never overtake those swift cars, and
// 214.png
.pn +1
he dropped back into his former pace. After
all, there was nothing to worry about; he had
simply to follow.
A little further on occasional green fields
gave courage to the tired boy, and after a
while he reached the open country, finally
coming to a fork in the road. He halted in
perplexity, wishing that he had not contented
himself with such indefinite directions. Billy
had said, “You go right straight along, ’ithout
turnin’ a single once,” and Blue had
rested in that. Not a person was in sight, and
the only house was a considerable distance
back. At last, he decided on the way that
seemed nearest in line with the one he had
come, and so trudged on.
The sun was almost overhead. Could he
have been walking for three hours? The day
was sultry, and Blue looked down with dismay
at the blouse on which his mother had
expended so much care—it was limp with perspiration!
“Well, I can’t help it!” he muttered.
“Guess the other fellers’ll sweat, too!”
If only he knew how far ahead those
“other fellers” were! The sound of wheels
// 215.png
.pn +1
came from behind, and soon a milkman’s
team drew near. Blue voiced the one question
in his mind.
“The Salvation Army’s picnic? Oh, you’re
off the track! They’re over in Highland
Grove. Let’s see—reckon your best way is
to cut ’cross lots. Jump in, and I’ll set you
down a piece farther on.”
The boy was grateful for the little rest. His
feet ached with the long miles he had come,
and it was a relief to feel that he was going
forward without their help. But the ride was
brief as pleasant, and shortly he was on the
meadow side of a wire fence, with the instruction
to “go right across there, and you’ll find
’em.”
Blue,—making a path through the tall
Timothy, grasshoppers flocking ahead, bees
and butterflies winging past, birds calling
from an adjoining wood,—had suddenly
entered a new world. A swift little brook
crossed his way, and, as he sprang over, a
green slope under a big oak urged him to a seat.
Forgetful for the moment of his destination
and the brother awaiting him, he threw himself
on the grass with a tired sigh. The buzzing
// 216.png
.pn +1
of the bees on the hot, drowsy air was like
a lullaby. He closed his eyes. Then, with a
rush, came remembrance—he jumped to
his feet, and started on.
It would have been easy to stray from the
right direction, and some good angel must
have guided his reckless steps, for only with
the crossing of a few fields he came upon a
straggling party of girls, and his long journey
was nearly at an end.
When he reached the grove he was distressed
at sight of Doodles sobbing in Joseph’s
arms. The tears stopped flowing the
instant Blue appeared, although an explanation
had to be given before the small boy
would be satisfied.
It was not quite finished when the children
were bidden to file up to the distributors and
exchange their blue buttons for luncheon.
Then Blue suddenly realized the dreadful fact
that he was buttonless. It was at once
Doodles’s turn to play the heroic part, and
promptly he acted. But he did not count on
his brother’s resistance, and it was not easy
to pin a button on the blouse of a boy who
fought it off with all the strength he dared
// 217.png
.pn +1
use. The little excitement finally brought
Captain Bligh himself to the spot, and as the
whole story was poured into the ears of the
kindly Captain it did not lose any of its interest
through Doodles’s eager telling.
Presently the two boys were sitting placidly
side by side, too much engaged in the joys of
chicken sandwiches, cakes, ice cream, and
lemonade to utter more than an occasional
expletive of rapture.
The last dish was finally empty, and Doodles
looked up with a seraphic smile.
“When I’m a man,” he said, “I’m going
to save my money and give ice cream every
day to all the folks that can’t have any!”
“Like it?” queried Blue, with a mischievous
lift of his eyebrows.
“It’s the best thing to eat in the whole
world! Why,” he went on solemnly, “I
wouldn’t have missed mine for—fifty cents!”
The afternoon’s delights were many and
marvelous. Doodles had a sail in the enchanting
swan boat, and then, to his utter astonishment,
Sergeant Connor put him into a
wonderful wheel chair, and he was rolled
away through the grove to a place that was
// 218.png
.pn +1
all red and gold with wild flowers. He came
back with his lap full of the beautiful blossoms,
and his eyes brimming with happiness.
At four o’clock the procession started for
home, and, as the crowning joy of the day,
Blue and Doodles rode in the leading car
beside Captain Bligh himself. The Captain
led Doodles into a spirited talk, and Blue
gazed at his brother in pride and admiration
as he conversed so easily and well with the
officer of whom he stood a bit in awe. Suddenly,
to his discomfiture, the topic was himself!
“Your brother has a very unusual name,”
the Captain remarked, “and I am glad to
know he is true-Blue.”
“Oh,” cried Doodles earnestly, “he’s the
true-bluest boy you ever saw!”
The “true-bluest boy” tried to nudge his
small brother into silence; but Doodles was
afloat on his favorite stream of talk, and he
only laughed innocently—and went on.
The Captain laughed, too, quite as if he
were enjoying Doodles and Doodles’s brother.
But the chat presently became less personal,
and Blue was unconsciously drawn into it,
// 219.png
.pn +1
discovering that the Captain, after all, was
not a man to be feared.
The route, although far longer than that
of the morning, came at last to its end; but
Captain Bligh gave the boys a new subject to
wonder and talk about when he told them that
he should come to see them very soon.
// 220.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
CHAPTER XIX||JOSEPH SITNITSKY PROVES HIS VALOR
.sp 2
“Do you think God would have any objections
to my asking Him to send us a stove?”
Blue was living with “Little Lord Fauntleroy,”
and at the moment was so eager to know
whether the young Lord lost his estate and
his title that he absently queried, “H—m?”
It was only after the question had been
patiently repeated that he came out of the
story long enough to say, rather doubtfully,
“N—no, I guess not.”
“Because we need one so bad,” Doodles
went on, “and seeing it was his lightning that
spoiled the old one, you know—of course,
it was all right,” he hurried to add. “Maybe,”
he continued thoughtfully, “He did it so He
could have the chance to give us a new stove—if
we asked for it. You know, He says He
will give us anything that’s best for us, and
I think that must be best for us, don’t you?”
Blue nodded smilingly, but returned at once
// 221.png
.pn +1
to his book, and Doodles, with a wee breath of
disappointment, gave up the one-sided talk.
He craved a stronger assurance from his brother
that a stove was a proper subject for
prayer; but he could wait until the story was
finished, and meanwhile he would venture to
pray.
It happened that Doodles was alone when
Captain Bligh fulfilled his promise, and he
had much to tell his mother and Blue of what
the genial Captain had said. But one thing
he kept to himself. He was anxious to have
the gift from Heaven come as a surprise to
his mother. Thinking that the Captain was
a suitable person to pass judgment on such a
matter, he had referred to him his weighty
question, and had received so prompt and
hearty an approval of praying for what he
wanted that no longer was he troubled with
doubts.
“Jesus says, ‘Whatsoever ye ask, that will
I do.’ Take the Lord at his word, my boy,
and you will never go far wrong.”
That had been the Captain’s answer, and
it comforted Doodles and strengthened his
faith in such measure that his face was radiant
// 222.png
.pn +1
and his soul went singing all the rest of the
day.
“Mother needn’t worry any more,” he told
himself. “God will surely send a stove before
autumn.” And the prayer was constantly in
his heart.
For a while Mrs. Stickney’s fears for Doodles
lessened. The cooler weather after the big
storm had revived his strength and the day in
the country had seemed to add fresh power
to his frail body. But as the heat increased
again, he began to droop as before, and the
mother wondered with a sickening dread how
he was to endure the debilitating weeks of
August that were close at hand. Must he stay
in these oven-like rooms to die? Why should
he be denied a breath of the great outdoors?
She resolved to carry him downstairs that
very evening and give him a taste of the open
air, defiantly pushing aside her remembrance
of the doctor’s warning, “You must be careful,
very careful about lifting.” Then came
the surprise.
About eleven o’clock in the forenoon a man
slowly climbed the steep stairs, thumping
something ahead of him. Doodles heard him
// 223.png
.pn +1
plodding up, up, up, long before he reached
the top flight. On he mounted, step by step.
The listener grew eager. Was it the stove?
Yet one man could not bring up a stove, unless
it were a very little one. Perhaps it was not
for them; it might be for the Frenchman that
lodged in the front room on the other side, he
had an express package the other day. For
an instant Doodles began to lose interest.
Then his eyes brightened again—the man
was almost up! He grew breathless—a reddish
yellow something popped into sight! It
had wheels! It couldn’t be—but it was! It
was a wheel chair! The man had stopped,
puffing and smiling.
“Stickney?” he queried, “Master Julius
Stickney,” reading from a card tied to one of
the arms.
“Oh,” cried Doodles, “that’s me!”
The driver grinned, and rolled the chair
inside.
“Want to try it?” he asked.
The next minute Doodles was in, almost too
overpowered by delight to say his thanks;
but he recollected just as the man was going.
// 224.png
.pn +1
Who could have sent it? He caught up the
card and turned it over.
“With the gladdest wishes of the Salvation
Army.”
“Captain Bligh! dear Captain Bligh!” he
murmured, and gazed lovingly at the gift.
That it was not brand-new, Doodles never
guessed, and he would not have cared if he had
known. It was his wheel chair! In those first
moments of ecstasy the boy longed for his
mother and Blue to help him bear his bliss.
The wheels were tempting. He rolled himself
back and forth, he ventured across the
room, he went around the table both ways!
How easy it was! Presently he was in the dim
bedroom, exploring every corner as if he had
never seen it before. He was brought to a
sudden stand between the bed and the bureau,
but finally managed to back out of the narrow
place without harm. After that he was more
careful; it would never do for Blue to catch
him in such a predicament.
As soon as the brother’s footstep was
heard, Doodles wheeled himself in front of
the doorway, and sat motionless, pale with
excitement.
// 225.png
.pn +1
“Where’d yer get it?” Blue had stopped on
the upper step, and stood staring.
“Guess!” laughed the other.
“Captain Bligh.”
“Oh, you’re a splendid guesser!” admired
Doodles, and promptly plunged into an account
of the last hour.
Nobody knew what a burden was lifted
from the mother’s heart by the kindness of
the Captain and his associates; but the boys
realized that she was uncommonly gay, and
their own merriment increased. At the dinner
table not a thought was given to the brief
bill of fare, and the potatoes disappeared in
unheard-of numbers. Doodles had a wheel
chair! Doodles was going outdoors!
With the aid of the ready Joseph the chair
was carried safely to the sidewalk and the
small boy seated comfortably among his
cushions. Then what a ride! Over to the park
which Doodles had seen but from his window;
around and around among its gorgeous beds
of multicolored flowers; beside the pretty
lake with its sparkling fountain and the darting
gold fish; down to the bathing-pools where
jolly youngsters were splashing about in the
// 226.png
.pn +1
cool water; and finally through long avenues
of arching elms, with tricksy little sunbeams
playing tag all along the grassy plats that
lined the sidewalks. Doodles was in a world
of delight from the moment of starting until
he turned the home corner. Then, for one
short moment, sorrow seized him; but he
suddenly remembered that to-morrow and
to-morrow and to-morrow—through endless
to-morrows—he could explore again the
wonderland of outdoors, which was so brimming
with beauty.
That night Doodles slept well, and at
breakfast he looked brighter than usual, notwithstanding
the fulfilled promise of increasing
sultriness. By noon the heat had grown
fierce, and Blue looked anxiously at his brother.
“I wonder,” he began, and then rushed off
to find Joseph.
The result was that when the boys started
down street they left Doodles waving his hand
to them from the sidewalk in the shadow of
The Flatiron.
“It is ever so much cooler here than it is
upstairs,” he had chuckled delightedly, “and
there’ll be so many folks to see!”
// 227.png
.pn +1
“We could to carry him down any time,”
remarked Joseph, as they passed beyond sight
of the happy little face.
For a few hours each day Blue was helping
at the public library, and this afternoon he was
asked to remain longer than usual, to assist
one of the girls in arranging some new volumes.
It need have detained him only a half-hour
or so; but his mind was divided between books
and Doodles, and he worked with frantic
haste; in consequence he made mistakes and
had to run back and forth to rectify matters.
“You are very careless to-day,” observed
the young woman. “I thought I could rely on
you.”
With flushed face and uneven breath the
boy went on with his task. He worked slowly
this time, realizing that hurry would doubtless
bring only more blunders. At last he was
released; but it was half-past four! He sped
from the building like a frightened hare.
Doodles must be very tired, sitting there on
the sidewalk all these hours. What would he
think? He was probably worrying his little
heart out. Blue bounded recklessly along,
nearly overturning a small girl who was in
// 228.png
.pn +1
his way. With a hurried word of apology he
dashed on.
His first glimpse of the spot where he had
last seen his brother showed him that it was
vacant. The sidewalk was swarming with
boys and girls—a glance told him that they
were not of the immediate neighborhood.
Had anything—oh! had anything happened?
There was the wheel chair,—but Doodles
was not in it! Who—? It was Sim Sweeney!
And Doodles, big-eyed with terror, was sitting
on the lowest step of the market!
Blue’s feet barely touched the ground.
Some of the children saw him coming, and fled.
Sim Sweeney, trying to wheel through the
screaming troop that blocked his way, knew
naught of the flying figure with the blazing
eyes until he was suddenly shoved from his
seat by one frantic thrust. But before Blue
could obtain possession of the chair Sim’s
cronies were upon him, and the fiercest fight
followed that The Flatiron had ever seen.
Blue struck out boldly, here, there, on every
side; but five against one makes too ill balanced
a combat, and the victim’s part became
still more hazardous by Mame Sweeney’s
// 229.png
.pn +1
joining the assault. Blue would not knowingly
hit a girl, and when Sim’s sister added
her fiery little fists to those of the others, the
boy was in a desperate strait.
“A—a—h!” It was a long-drawn battle
cry, right in the ears of the attacking party.
But the few that heard gave it small notice.
In any event its source would have brought
it only derision. Joseph Sitnitsky had never
been known to lift an arm against anybody,
and not a boy among them but would have
scorned the question of being worsted by him
in a fight—not a boy except Blue, and he
was too much engaged in returning blows
with interest even to know that Joseph was
near.
For weeks afterward it was marveled over,—how
“that little tiger of a Jew,” employing
all the arts of hand-to-hand conflict, which
had been so rigidly taught him, felled those
five bullies to the ground and chased Sim’s
sister and Sim himself as far as the corner,
before stopping to see if his friend were injured
or to comfort Doodles.
Blue declared that he was able to help
carry his brother upstairs, where Granny
// 230.png
.pn +1
O’Donnell promptly mingled sympathy and
lamentations with soap and water and healing
salve. By the time Mrs. Stickney arrived,
things were plodding along about as usual.
Even Doodles, in admiration of his brother’s
pluck and Joseph’s prowess, forgot his fright
and was eager to talk of what ever afterwards
was referred to as The Flatiron fight.
// 231.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
CHAPTER XX||DOODLES AND BLUE, DETECTIVES
.sp 2
“What a sweet, sweet singer!”
Doodles turned quickly from Caruso, to see
a child on the threshold. He had not heard
a footfall.
She was an odd little creature, straight and
slender, with a mop of jet-black curls, skin
dusky as a gypsy’s, and eyes like the bluest
sky. Her coarse dress of red cotton stuff
reached nearly to her ankles, and a curious
beaded bodice of dark green scalloped with
gold added a foreign, fantastic touch to her
appearance.
“How soon will he sing again?” The question
was anxiously put, with a swift backward
glance.
Doodles started “Annie Laurie,” and at
once the bird took up the tune, the listener
in the doorway clasping her tiny hands in
delight.
“Here, you kid you! what yer doin’ out
// 232.png
.pn +1
there? Didn’t I tell yer to keep where yer
b’long!”
A woman, in dingy yellow and black, strode
across the hall, and with a jerk of her bony
arm the little one was snatched away. Dolly
Moon’s door slammed, and Doodles suddenly
felt lonesome.
“She might have let her stay and hear Caruso,”
he lamented. “Don’t see what hurt
she was doing.”
As soon as his brother came home he told
him about it.
“That’s the crowd I heard coming in last
night,” Blue decided. “Guess you’d gone to
sleep. ’T was ten or eleven. I knew ’t must
be some new ones. They had a lot of traps,
by the clatter. Bet they’ve got Gaylord’s
room, too. The door was ajar when I went
for some water this morning, and two men
were in there.”
“I wish Mr. Gaylord was here now,” sighed
Doodles.
“Oh, don’t you worry!” returned his
brother. “He’ll be back again. You always
have to go with the folks that hire you, and
he had to. Mrs. Graham’ll get tired o’ spinnin’
// 233.png
.pn +1
round in an auto soon as it’s cold—by
September prob’ly. That’ll be here before
you can say,—
.pm verse-start
“Whimwham, rock or wiggle!
Whimwham, whoa!
Whimwham, mock or giggle!
Whimwham, go!”
.pm verse-end
“Oh!” cried Doodles gleefully.
.pm verse-start
“Whimwham, rock a wiggle!
Whimwham, whoa!
Whimwham, mock a wiggle—no, giggle!
Whimwham, go!”
.pm verse-end
“There, I did! And it hasn’t come! I’m
afraid Mr. Gaylord won’t too.” His voice
dropped into sadness.
“You didn’t say it right,” laughed Blue.
“Why not?”
“Nobody does till they catch on.”
“Say it again, please!”
The bit of nonsense was repeated with a
dash that made Doodles gasp in admiration.
But his second trial showed no improvement.
“I don’t care!” he cried disgustedly. “It
wouldn’t bring Mr. Gaylord any quicker if
I said it right a million times! He’s a lovely
man—I wish he was here this minute! And
now they’ve got his room!”
// 234.png
.pn +1
“Huh! this crowd won’t stay long,” declared
Blue. “They ain’t the kind. Oh, say!
I forgot! Joe’s comin’ round at ten o’clock,
and we’re going up on Seip’s Hill.”
“I, too?”
“Well, what do you take me for? Prob’ly
we shall leave you here in the rocking chair,
and Joe’ll wheel me all the way!”
Doodles chuckled.
“Where’s your brush?” called Blue from
the bedroom. “S’pose you’d have a fit if your
hair wasn’t fixed up! If mine was curly like
yours, catch me fussin’ to brush it every other
minute!—There’s Joseph now!” as a foot
was heard upon the stairs. And he ran to welcome
him.
On the following day Dolly Moon’s door
was again ajar. It had long had a habit of
unlatching with the least puff of air. Coming
up from the street Blue spied it, and he turned
that way. The picturesque little stranger was
in range of the slit of light.
“Hello, kiddie!”
It was a cheerful, friendly greeting; but the
only answer was the prompt banging of the
door. The boy retreated, surprised and angry.
// 235.png
.pn +1
“They needn’t put on airs!” he muttered
indignantly. “They aren’t any better than
other folks. Granny O’Donnell wouldn’t do
that, nor anybody else in this house.”
Little was seen by the Stickneys of their
new neighbors. Occasionally the woman or
one of the men appeared in the corridor; but
the child was not in sight. Late one afternoon,
however, Blue discovered the door
again unlatched. Cautiously he stole across
the passage. In a farther corner of the room
was a bed, and above the coverlet the boy
discerned the little one’s face.
“That’s why I haven’t seen her,” he
thought. “Measles, prob’ly—they’re all
round.”
The rustling sounds back of the door were
broken by a moan. Then, in a man’s voice,
was observed:—
“Bet she’s goin’ to die!”
“Just our luck!” responded another beyond
Blue’s vision.
“All the same—”
The speaker approached the door, but
when a slam announced its shutting the
nimble listener was out of sight.
// 236.png
.pn +1
It was barely half an hour afterwards when
a man stepped out of the room and beckoned
Blue into the corridor.
“Say,” he began in a hushed voice, “my
kid’s sick. Can you go for the doctor? I’ll
pay you,” he added, as the boy hesitated.
“How much?”
“A quarter.”
“What doctor you want?” came with an
indifference that Blue did not feel. Quarters
were not picked up every day right in The
Flatiron.
“Dr. Alford, up on Boniface Street,” returned
the man with a wary glint in his narrow
eyes.
“Boniface Street! Why, that’s a mile, sure!
There’s a doctor round the corner—”
“It’s Dr. Alford or none!” interrupted the
man defiantly.
“It’s awful hot to tramp ’way over there,”
argued Blue, seeing in the sparkling scarf pin
a possible increase of fee, although only the
day before he had walked double the distance
simply to save Granny O’Donnell’s rheumatic
legs and to hear her hearty, “God bless ye, me
b’y!” But he remembered his recent rebuff.
// 237.png
.pn +1
“Well, call it half a dollar, then. Will you
go, or not?”
“Oh, I s’pose I’ll have to, seeing you’re
a neighbor!” returned the lad, his heart skipping
merrily at prospect of the big silver
piece.
The physician delighted Blue by bringing
him back in his car; but he shut his patron’s
door with such precision that it stayed latched,
and the boy scowled disappointedly.
Then, the doctor’s voice coming to his ears,
he bent to the keyhole.
“Please fetch me a glass of water—”
Not an instant to spare! When the door
opened, Blue was safe in the dust closet opposite.
It was a handy retreat, and—to admit
the truth—this was not the very first time
it had had an occupant.
Presently, when all was again quiet, the
boy emerged, sprinkled with the sweepings of
the top floor of The Flatiron. He was gleeful
at finding the door ajar.
The doctor was holding a glass to the lips
of his little patient, who—it looked to the
peeper—clutched it so frantically with her
teeth that it was removed only with force.
// 238.png
.pn +1
“We didn’t dare give her a drop,” remarked
the woman, standing by.
“It is what she needs. Another glass,
please.”
“Oh, no! not so much!” she objected.
“Do as the doc’ says!” commanded one
of the men.
Blue, absorbed in the talk, had delayed too
long—the dust closet was out of the question.
So the woman met him sauntering towards
his own door, as if he, too, had been on an
errand to the public faucet.
When the eavesdropper returned, the physician
was saying:—
“She would not have lived more than four
hours. She was dying for lack of water. When
she wakes give her more if she wants it, and,
unless she sleeps quietly, keep up the medicine
through the night. I will see her again
in the morning. It is a plain case of measles,
and I shall report it to the health officials.”
Blue’s admiration of the man who could
keep one from dying by simply administering
water was sufficient to hold him on the
sidewalk an hour and a half awaiting the doctor’s
second visit. He spied the runabout
// 239.png
.pn +1
when it was still far up the street, and he was
at the curb when the car stopped.
“How is your little friend?” the physician
asked.
“She isn’t my friend,” the boy answered.
“Huh! they wouldn’t let me say hello to her.
But,” lowering his voice confidentially, “I
should think they were all dead in there.
Haven’t heard a sound this morning.”
“They are sleeping late.” Dr. Alford was
mounting the stairs.
Blue followed. Curiosity made him bolder
than usual.
A knock brought no response. Another rap,
more authoritative than the first, and yet
another and another left the two still listening
for the sound that did not come. Finally
the doctor grasped the knob and slowly
opened the door. Blue had drawn back,
ready for flight; but he peeped around the
corner—the room was vacant! The small
adjoining apartment was also empty of life.
“Bet they couldn’t pay their rent!” ventured
the boy. “Lucky I got my fifty cents
last night. He gave me that for going after
you.”
// 240.png
.pn +1
“You are fortunate. It doesn’t look as if
I should get rich on the case, does it?”
“Didn’t they pay you?”
The physician shook his head.
The lad suddenly grew grave. His hand
closed over the silver piece in his pocket.
“You can have this.” He thrust his half-dollar
into the doctor’s palm.
“No, no! Keep your money—”
“But you earned it more’n I did!” protested
Blue. “You saved the kid’s life, and
you ought to have it.”
Dr. Alford said his thanks with an odd little
smile; but he dropped the coin back into the
boy’s pocket.
“Queer,” Blue told Doodles, “how that
crowd could get out, traps and all, and we not
hear ’em! They made noise enough comin’ up.
There was the Muldoons,” he mused, “their
duds bumped along all the way downstairs.
I should think Granny would have heard
’em—and maybe she did!” Off he dashed,
bursting into the room at the foot of the flight.
The old Irish woman was paring potatoes.
She looked up with a happy, “Good-mornin’
to ye!”
// 241.png
.pn +1
“Good-morning!” responded the boy. “Feel
first-rate?”
“Oh, as good as annybody cud, an’ not
shleep more’n two winks all th’ night!”
“What kept you awake, Granny?”
“Sure, me poor old achin’ legs!”
“I didn’t know but ’t was folks goin’ up
and down past your door,” replied Blue with
artful innocence.
“No, they wa’ n’t manny of ’em. Mary
Ottatoe, I heerd her come up ’long ’bout nine,
an’ McCabe was just afther. Th’ Frinchman
with th’ sthrange name—I do be always
f’rgitt’n ut—he sthayed up there all th’
avenin’. An’ th’ new folks acrost f’m ye on’y
go out now an’ thin f’r a bite or a drink.
’Long toward mornin’ I heerd ’em stheppin’
round soft somewheres—goin’ to th’ sink,
prob’ly. But they wa’ n’t noise enough all
night to kape a dog awake.”
The boy was puzzled. It was clear to him
that the crowd did not take their goods down
by way of the staircase unless Granny dozed
more than she realized. One thing was certain,—they
were gone! But how did they get
out?
// 242.png
.pn +1
“Blue, me dear,” Granny was saying, “if
ye be down to Mis’ Flaherty’s befure dinner,
will ye fetch me a loaf? Ye’ll find a nickel
in th’ cup on th’ shilf there. Ye’re a good
b’y, Blue—none knows ut betther ’n mesilf,
with ye always runnin’ here an’ there an’
savin’ me old legs!”
Mrs. Flaherty, proprietor of the little
corner bakery, tore a piece from an old
“Morning News” that lay on the counter, and
wrapped the bread in it.
On the end of the package the boy spied a
picture. He did not care for pictures, but
Doodles did. He was always carrying home
gay cards, hand-bills, and stray sheets from
illustrated papers that blew his way. So he
begged the wrapper from Granny, and carried
it upstairs to his brother. Then he
sauntered along the corridor to the recently
vacated apartment, and lingered searchingly
over the litter that was there, vaguely hoping
to find an answer to his puzzle. But the
bits of paper and the empty boxes, the broken
plates and fragments of cloth told no secrets,
and he finally closed the door softly and went
back to Doodles.
// 243.png
.pn +1
“Oh, come here quick!” cried his brother.
“I thought you’d gone away. Just look at
that!” He held out the newspaper which had
wrapped Granny’s bread, and pointed to a
picture.
“Yes, it’s pretty,” Blue responded indifferently.
“No, no!” protested Doodles, his eyes big
with excitement, “don’t you see?”
“Why, no, I don’t see anything very wonderful—nothing
but a kid’s picture.”
“Oh!” the voice dropped to an eager
breath, “it’s the little girl in there!—that
was!” He nodded towards Dolly Moon’s
door.
“Wh—what?” It was Blue’s turn, as with
astonishment he scanned the picture. “I
b’lieve it is!” he ejaculated softly. “But
how—”
“I knew her in a minute!” Doodles broke
in. “Only her hair is light there and she’s
dressed so different.”
“But what is it anyhow?” Blue turned to
the headlines—“Oh! kidnaped!—The crowd
stole her!” The words died in a startled
breath.
// 244.png
.pn +1
“Read it all!” prodded Doodles, as if his
brother were not as hungry as he for every
item of the article.
“‘Marshall Fleming’s youngest child ...
Daphne, six years old ... beautiful suburban
home ... playing on the grounds,’” muttered
Blue along the paragraphs, “‘... missed
her at three o’clock ... police ... detectives
... no clue ... mother nearly crazed
with grief.’”
“Isn’t it dreadful?” sorrowed Doodles.
“I could cry! Such a pretty little girl—and
her poor mother!”
“If we’d only known it before!” lamented
Blue. He flung off his cap with a gesture of
disgust. Yesterday rescue would have been
easy—but now!
Doodles picked up the paper and gazed
regretfully at the picture.
“Le’ ’s see it again!” Blue put out his
hand. “Maybe ’t isn’t she after all; but it
does look like her. Why, this paper’s three
weeks old! I should think the doctor’d ’a’
known her.”
“You didn’t,” smiled Doodles.
“I ain’t sure now,” laughed the other.
// 245.png
.pn +1
“I am,” Doodles declared. “Look at her
chin, with that cunning little dimple! And
her eyes—just exactly like ’em! That mite
of a curl over there, and the funny little
pucker in her forehead—I noticed ’em both
while she was listening to Caruso.”
“You’d see what nobody else would,”
laughed Blue. “Yes, I guess it’s her fast
enough.” He shook his head sadly. “Wish I
knew where they’ve gone. I don’t see how
they could lug all those chairs and things—”
“Say! you don’t s’pose they could get ’em
into the triangle, do you?” Doodles’s soft
voice lowered hesitantly.
“Naw!” scouted Blue. “Why, ther’
wouldn’t be room for half their duds, let
alone themselves. Besides, they couldn’t get
in—door’s always locked—and they couldn’t
stay in if they did!”
“I know,” Doodles agreed, “it’s little and
stuffy.”
“Stuffy! I guess it is now! When that old
tramp made such a row over it, ’t wasn’t
such awful hot weather, but he couldn’t
stand it only one night. He said it wasn’t
fit to put a dog in, if you wanted any more
// 246.png
.pn +1
of the dog. Ther’ ’s just one little mite of
a skylight—why, the kid couldn’t live there
a minute!—no, the crowd ain’t in that hole!”
“I s’pose not,” replied Doodles sadly. “I
only thought—”
Blue did not heed the unfinished sentence.
With all his arguments to the contrary, he was
wondering if it were possible for them to—but,
no, of course, it couldn’t be!
Beyond the sink the passageway narrowed,
and led to a closet where by means of a rough
ladder one might climb to the roof. At the
foot of these steps Blue presently stood, telling
himself that he was a fool for taking any
pains to prove such an absurd idea. Yet he
mounted the ladder, and gained a view of the
broad expanse of shabby tin that covered The
Flatiron, and the big, crumbling chimneys,—that
was all. The tiny skylight, which was
what he had come to inspect, was behind a
chimney, only a bit of the framework being
visible.
“Of course, it isn’t open,” he muttered;
“it never is! A week ago, when Winkle was
in there, it was shut tight as a drum. And he
locked that door all right, too,—I heard
// 247.png
.pn +1
him!” He started down the steps, and then
halted. “I’ll find out!” he decided, and
turned again.
At the top, he threw a foot from the opening;
but the rusty tin cracked warningly.
“Bother!” he ejaculated, and drew back.
The next building was somewhat lower
than The Flatiron, but beyond rose a new
block that overtopped its surroundings.
“If I were in one of those rooms,” he
mused, “I could tell quick enough.”
At the foot of the ladder he hesitated, ears
alert; then he tiptoed to the door at the end
of the passage, his bare feet noiseless as a
cat’s.
Not a breath from within!
“Of course they couldn’t be there,” he
argued disgustedly. Nevertheless he told
Doodles that he was going down on the street,
and when he reached the sidewalk he sauntered
towards the Empire Building. At the
entrance he accosted a boy with the New
York papers.
“Say, Tom, let me have a couple of those to
sell!”
“What for?”
// 248.png
.pn +1
“For fun.” Blue drew forth the proper
number of coins.
With the papers under his arm he went
boldly up the stairs. On the fifth floor several
doors stood invitingly open. He chose an
office where a man sat writing near a farther
window. As soon as he was well in the room,
however, he was arrested by a bluff “No!”
and he walked meekly away.
Three times his efforts were baffled; but the
fourth attempt found him not only making a
sale but put in possession of a fact that
whirled his brain—the small roof window in
the three-cornered room at the top of The
Flatiron was atilt!
“It couldn’t have been left open all this
time! It would have rained in. Besides, when
old Winkle was there lookin’ round, it was
shut—I know that! They must be—but
how could they, with the door locked?”
Fragments like these chased one another
through his perplexed mind. He and Doodles
consulted long and earnestly over the situation.
“This afternoon I’ll find out for sure!”
declared Blue.
// 249.png
.pn +1
“How?”
“I’ll watch in the dust closet!” he whispered.
“Some of the crowd’ll be comin’ to
the sink, and they’ll take the time when
they think everybody’s out.”
“Splendid!” beamed Doodles softly. “I’ll
keep just as still, and they’ll suppose I’ve
gone to ride.”
“Oh, I forgot your ride!” Blue looked dismayed.
“And you will roast in here with the
door shut!”
“No, I shan’t!” asserted Doodles pluckily.
“It’s the only way—and think of that poor
little girl’s mother!”
After much discussion it was agreed to say
nothing of the matter to any one while it was
in so uncertain a stage.
“Mother worries over everything nowadays,”
reasoned Blue, “and this would only
be an extra trouble. But if we should nab
’em—oh, wouldn’t she be glad!”
The dinner hour never seemed so long.
Two or three times the big secret almost burst
from its keeping. At last, however, Mrs.
Stickney was off, the top-floor lodgers that
came home at noon had disappeared down
// 250.png
.pn +1
the stairway, the one o’clock whistles had
shrieked their final summons, and Blue was
free to begin his eager lookout from the dust
closet.
At first time passed swiftly. If they should
come—oh, if only they would!—then he
could get that pretty kid away from those
horrid people. How glad her mother would
be to have her back again! But could the
little thing live, sick as she was, in that roasting
oven! All at once Blue doubted more than
ever that the crowd was there. Probably no
one was in the room after all, and he was
staying here just for nothing! Wouldn’t
folks laugh if they should hear of it! But,
then, how came that skylight open? Of
course, Winkle might have come in and
opened it, to air the place. The more he
thought of that, the more probable it seemed.
He could have gone by their door a dozen
times when they did not see him,—perhaps
the day before while he was taking Doodles
out to ride. But could those folks have got
down the stairs without Granny’s hearing
them? Oh, if they were coming to the sink,
he wished they’d hurry up! How hot it was!
// 251.png
.pn +1
The closet suddenly became suffocatingly
close. He opened the door wider and drew
a long, deep breath. He had half a mind to
give it up and go and give Doodles a spin.
It must be three or half-past!
The bell in a nearby tower struck the hour.
“Only two o’clock!” Blue complained
scowlingly.
The moments dragged. He didn’t believe
the crowd was there, he told himself. He
wouldn’t stay and be such a fool! Cautiously
opening the door, he put one foot beyond the
sill—a thought came to him of that little
girl’s mother. He hesitated, and a picture of
Doodles arose in his mind—Doodles waiting
patiently for news from the lookout.
With a determined toss of his head he stepped
softly back and began again his watch from
the narrow peephole.
“I’ll stick it out if I have to stay here all
night!” he vowed grimly.
It was very quiet on the top floor. Not a
sound reached the boy’s ears save the far-away
buzz of a sewing machine and the more
distant clatter of the street. He leaned against
the door frame, and closed his eyes. Presently
// 252.png
.pn +1
his head slipped past its support, and he
awoke with a start. He was about to move,
when he realized where he was and stood motionless—somebody
was at the sink! It was
the man who had sent him for the doctor!
With furtive glances down the hall, the
pitcher was filled. Then without a sound the
figure glided out of sight.
Blue waited long enough to be sure of a safe
passage, and then sped noiselessly back to
Doodles. An exultant gesture told of success,
and with a few quick words he was away.
First he must find Thomas Fitzpatrick;
that was his plan. He knew where he would
be likely to catch him at this hour, and down
to Tremont Street he ran. Soon the policeman
was spied far ahead. Blue’s feet made
short the intervening distance, and he grabbed
the officer’s sleeve just as he was turning
Gates House Corner.
Fitzpatrick smiled his, “Hello!”
“Say,” began the boy in an eager undertone,
“d’ you want a dandy job?”
“What’s up? Bird swiped again?”
“No! He’s all right. R’member the Fleming
kid ’t was stole two or three weeks ago?”
// 253.png
.pn +1
The officer nodded.
“I know where she is! In five minutes you
can get her an’ the whole crowd!”
“Oh, go ’long! I’m too old a boy to swallow
such flummery!” The policeman laughed
good-humoredly.
“Honest, I ain’t foolin’! But I can’t do it
alone, an’ I thought you’d like the job. You’d
better hurry though—they might skip!
Don’t b’lieve they will before dark, but they
might if they got scared.”
Fitzpatrick scanned Blue’s face, but found
no hint of a hoax.
“Where are they?”
The boy cast a quick glance behind. There
was nobody near.
“Flatiron! But you’d never guess whereabouts
to look for ’em!”
“Come in here!” The man led the way to a
telephone booth. “Now shoot out yer story!”
Blue did, the officer repeating it briefly to
his chief.
It was all managed so quickly that the little
party of four was soon under way, Fitzpatrick
and Blue ahead, and two big policemen following.
// 254.png
.pn +1
It was the most exciting hour of Blue’s life
when he guided the uniformed trio to the
little triangular room at the top of The Flatiron.
There were silent hand greetings to
Doodles as they passed the kitchen door, but
nobody ever guessed how the helpless little
lad longed to be one of the party.
Blue pointed to the door at the end of
the corridor, and each man grasped his revolver.
Fitzpatrick motioned the boy back,
and he allowed the others to go by; yet he
kept close behind, losing sight of danger in
his determination to see the affair to its
finish.
Without warning the door was burst open,
there were quick commands, mingled with
oaths and pistol shots, followed by a fierce
scuffle. Then the law-breakers were powerless
in the hands of their captors, and Fitzpatrick
turned to the little one on the floor, who in
her fright had cuddled close under her ragged
coverings.
“Hello, kiddie!” came a cheery voice from
behind the tall officer, and as the child was
tenderly lifted from her wretched bed she
gave a quivering smile to Blue in return for
// 255.png
.pn +1
his assurance that she was “going right home
to mother.”
“Bring her into our room,” said the boy;
“it’s much cooler there. Yes, we’ve had
measles, Doodles and I, both of us,” in answer
to the question.
“I want to hear the bird sing!” demanded
the child, as she spied Caruso, and in response
to her implied praise the mocker caroled a
welcome.
The officer threw him a glance and word of
approval. “He can do it, can’t he!”
“Huh!” laughed Blue, “that ain’t anything.
Make him sing, Doodles!”
As the lad began to whistle, the bird did
not seem to notice. He continued to eat and
drink, quite as if music had no interest for
him. Then, suddenly, without a preliminary
note, he burst into “Annie Laurie,” and sang
it to its end, delighting the small girl, and astonishing
Fitzpatrick.
“I wouldn’t have believed it of him! Sure,
I wouldn’t!” The man eyed the slim bird
incredulously.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” beamed Doodles.
“He is that!” agreed the officer.
// 256.png
.pn +1
Whereupon Blue was for showing his further
accomplishments; but the man smilingly
shook his head, and bade a hasty good-bye,
coupled with a promise to come again when he
had no kidnapers on hand.
As he went down, Granny O’Donnell came
up. Granny was never so happy as when
nursing a sick child, and by the time Dr.
Alford arrived she and little Daphne Fleming
were the best of friends.
Since they had not succeeded in hearing
direct from her parents, the doctor took his
patient to the hospital, and they were
scarcely away before the neighbors began to
flock in, rumors of the affair having flown to
all parts of The Flatiron.
Blue started to recount the exciting story,
but remembering his undelivered papers he
was obliged to leave it to the telling of Granny
and Doodles.
// 257.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
CHAPTER XXI||SURPRISING NEWS
.sp 2
Blue had not proceeded far on his way to
the Courant office before he discovered that
all at once he had become of unusual interest
to his companions.
“How’d you hear anything about it?” he
queried, as Billy Frick ran alongside, eagerly
begging for particulars of the arrest.
“Huh! where d’ ye s’pose I keep myself?
My, but ain’t you th’ lucky one!”
“Oh, it wasn’t such a great! Kind o’ fun
to see ’em caught. Doodles thought of the
triangle; I never should have.”
“Then’ll he git th’ money?”
“What money?”
“Aw, how innercent we be!”
“I don’t know what you’re drivin’ at,”
protested Blue.
Billy caught his arm.
“See here, Blue Stick’! just you look me
straight, an’ say that again!”
// 258.png
.pn +1
“Sure, I don’t!” Blue laughed.
Three boys came running across the street,
and Billy turned to them.
“Say, fellers! he’s pertendin’ he ain’t on to
that three thousand ’t Old Flemin’—”
“Ho! what a good one!”—“By ter-morrer
he’ll be so swell he won’t know us!”—“Say,
whin they goin’ ter pay ut?”
“I wish you’d say plain out what you mean,
an’ stop talkin’ blind!” Blue was becoming
irritated.
“Honest, don’t ye know ther’ ’s three thousand
dollars comin’ to ye—”
“No, I don’t!” snapped Blue. “And you
might as well stop right now tryin’ to stuff
me! I ain’t a kid!”
“Hear him!” shouted Billy, doubling over
with glee. “Come on in, an’ I’ll show yer
whether we’re stuffin’ or not!”
Blue was pulled towards a grocery, and in
a moment he and Billy were foremost of a
group facing the proprietor of the shop.
“Say, Mr. Grumley, how much’d they
offer for that Flemin’ kid?”
“Three thousand dollars. But you’re too
late, Bill! They’ve just found the child an’
// 259.png
.pn +1
the hull of ’em up in The Flatiron, an’ the
reward’s goin’ to a boy ’t lives there.”
“A—h! wha’ do ye say to that?” shrieked
Billy delightedly. Then, to the grocer, “He’s
the feller! An’ he would have it we was tryin’
to fool him! Do ye b’lieve it now?” with a
sharp slap on Blue’s back.
The boy nodded dazedly, and then fled, the
others close at his heels.
Three thousand dollars! It spun through
his brain, it thumped in his breast, it shouted
itself in his ears until he felt that everybody
must hear it,—“Three thousand dollars!
Three thousand dollars!” What would
Doodles say? And his mother? Pshaw, it
couldn’t be true! The money—if there really
were any—would go to the police. He was a
fool for harboring the hope of it—he, a penniless
nobody who only showed the way!
Yet, notwithstanding all this, with his last
paper delivered he was speeding back to The
Flatiron, excitedly longing to see how astonished
Doodles would be. But one glance at
his brother’s face told him that the news was
already there.
Doodles was sitting motionless, his big
// 260.png
.pn +1
eyes round and radiant, yet with a hint of awe
in them which reminded Blue of the time
when he first clasped his violin.
Granny O’Donnell and Mrs. Homan were
still discussing the affair, the younger woman
with eager gestures, Granny placid as usual.
“Wal,” exclaimed Mrs. Homan, as the boy
dashed in, “I s’pose yer’ll be such a big bug
now ’t yer won’t think of ’sociatin’ with th’
rest of us!” Her little shrill laugh rang
through the room.
Granny rose to her feet, and grasped Blue’s
hand before he had time to answer.
“It’s glad I be f’r ye, glad as if ye was me
own b’y!”
“Then it’s really true?” he queried.
“My, yes, true as sundown!” giggled Mrs.
Homan. “I don’t wonder yer can’t b’lieve it.
It’s just like things happen in books. ‘Land!’
I says, the minute I heard of it, ‘won’t that
be s’lendid for the Stickneys! To think of
havin’ a Rockefeller right here in The Flatiron!’”
Blue gave a bit of a chuckle, and went over
to Doodles.
“Feelin’ all right, old man?”
// 261.png
.pn +1
A smiling, comprehensive nod contented
him, and throwing a leg across the corner of
the table he sat and answered Mrs. Homan’s
questions, while he swept occasional glances
round the room, glances which included the
clock, and wished that the hour would hurry
his curious visitor home.
It did at last, and Granny also; but he and
Doodles had scarcely more than begun to
exchange wonderings about what was foremost
in their minds when Mrs. Homan ran up
the stairs with a little apple pie.
“I says when I was makin’ it, I did n’ know
what in th’ world I sh’d do with ’t, for Jud
ain’t on speakin’ terms ’ith apple pie, an’
they’s on’y me ’n pa to ’nihilate ’em. But
there was th’ crust, so I flung it together, ’n’
when I see ’t just now I says, ‘That’s who I
made it for—th’ Stickneys! They’s ’nough
f’r their supper, ’n’ ’t’ll jibe right in ’ith th’
fun. I’ll trot it straight up to ’em.’ No, land,
don’t oust it off th’ plate now! I got ’nough
dishes. Bye-bye again!”
“Isn’t that lovely of her!” smiled Doodles,
as his brother, with a guilty pang, set the pie
on the table.
// 262.png
.pn +1
“Guess she wouldn’t have brought it if
she’d known how I’d been achin’ to have her
get up and go,” was the soft-toned answer.
“Yes,” responded Doodles with an understanding
sigh, “she does generally stay a
good while. But I s’pose she means all right,
and if folks’ hearts are good it doesn’t make
so much difference about the rest of ’em, does
it?”
Blue started to make a laughing reply,
when the mother’s step was heard on the
stairs, and he ran to open the door for her.
“Well!” she began.
“Heard about it?” he grinned.
“It’s on the bulletin board, but I couldn’t
believe it!”
“We nabbed ’em all right!” Blue nodded
emphatically. “I do’ know anything ’bout
the reward ’cept what I hear.”
“The bulletin says it’s—” she hesitated to
speak the figures which yet seemed so unwarrantably
linked with her boy’s name.
“Three thousand dollars,” finished Blue
glibly. It had been in his ears too much that
afternoon for him to be shy in voicing it himself.
“They say ther’ ’s been lots about it in
// 263.png
.pn +1
the papers, but I never see the papers—that
is, read ’em. My, but I wish we could have
it!”
“Wish!—oh!” The mother’s voice quivered
as she dropped into the rocker and put
her hands to her face.
“For goodness’ sake, don’t cry! We
haven’t got it yet!” Blue walked off towards
the table, whistling softly. “Oh, say!” he
burst out, “Mrs. Homan brought you this.”
He held up the pie.
“How good everybody is!” Mrs. Stickney
wiped her eyes, and pulled off her gloves.
“Come and sit down, Blue, and tell me all
about it! What made you think they were in
the triangle?”
“I didn’t; ’twas Doodles. He wondered if
they could be there, and I scouted the idea—didn’t
I, old feller? Oh, if anything comes,
it’s for Doodles, sure!”
Of course, the small boy protested; but
Blue only laughed, while he proceeded with
his account of the afternoon’s excitement.
For a full half hour the apple pie waited.
Then Doodles suggested supper. Pies did not
occur every day on the Stickney table.
// 264.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
CHAPTER XXII||THE COMFORTING OF EUDORA FLEMING
.sp 2
“You can’t guess where I’ve been to-day.”
Tillie Shook began, unfolding the towel that
held her knitting, and arranging the pile of
wool in her lap.
“Oh, what a pretty pink!” cried Doodles,
wheeling himself nearer.
“I think so,” she smiled, carefully picking
up a dropped stitch. “It’s my mother’s
Christmas present. I knew if I didn’t start it
early ’twouldn’t be done. I thought you
wouldn’t mind my bringing it along this evening,”
she apologized. “I can talk better
when I’m knitting, except when I have to
count, and that ain’t often. Mother’s been
wanting a shawl for ever so long—it’s so cold
in the country. ’T don’t look much yet.”
She held up the narrow strip. “The stitch is
pretty,” showing the intricate pattern.
“But this ain’t my news,” she laughed;
“you didn’t guess where I’ve been! Sakes!
// 265.png
.pn +1
you never would, so I’ll have to tell.”—She
paused to emphasize her words.—“Out
to the Flemings’!”
“Not Daphne Fleming’s?” Blue caught at
the name excitedly.
“Yes! I knew you’d want to hear about it;
that’s why I came up so early. I couldn’t
hardly wait to eat my supper.
“You see, Miss Wallace—she’s head fitter—sometimes
she goes out to fit a special
customer, and Miss Fleming’s special. Now
she’s got nervous prostration, and couldn’t
come to be fitted. They say—that is, Louise
Petrie does—it’s a love affair. I don’t know
whether her father wouldn’t let her marry
him, or what; but, anyway, he’s abroad somewhere,
writing music and playing on the
piano, and all that, and she’s just gone to
pieces. Louise says she’s a musician, too, and
they used to play and sing together at lots
of parties and charity entertainments and
church affairs, and so they got awfully well
acquainted. Too bad! she’s a lovely girl. She
had to lie down between gowns—she couldn’t
have ’em all fitted right along. Oh, I
wish you could see ’em!—such beautiful
// 266.png
.pn +1
colors! I got a little snip of the blue silk one—why,
I thought I put it under this wool!
Oh, here ’t is! Ain’t that sweet? But you
can’t imagine how it looks on. That pale blue,
all embroidered in silver, is just the thing for
her—makes her seem a regular princess! She
is light, with almost golden hair, and such
darling blue eyes! They say Daphne was just
so before those rascals stained her skin. It
hasn’t come off yet. And they dyed her hair,
too. I don’t see how you ever knew her by
that picture. She wasn’t round much—bobbed
in once or twice. Her mother won’t
hardly let her go out of her sight since she’s
got her back. They all worship her!
“It’s so funny! I’d been planning to walk
over past there—some Sunday afternoon I
thought—ever since you found her; but I
never had. And to think I should go right
inside and see it all, and see them! I can’t
hardly believe it! The house is just lovely,
kind o’ like a palace, I guess. I said to myself
as I was going up those stairs, I didn’t see
how heaven could be any nicer—and I don’t!
But I s’pose it will—sakes! don’t you get to
wondering, sometimes, how it will look? Well,
// 267.png
.pn +1
I ain’t hankering to find out. It’s pretty good
here when you have work, and things come
along as they have to-day. Oh, I am so glad
Miss Wallace took me! She has to have somebody,
you know, to baste and such. Gen’ally
she takes Marie Étienne, but Marie’s sick—lucky
for me! That sounds nice, don’t it? Of
course, I do’ want anybody sick; but I do
love to go into pretty houses! I never did
much.”
Tillie Shook made good her statement that
she could talk while she was knitting, for her
tongue ran nimbly from the Flemings round
among other patrons of Miss Meagher’s; but
with rare delicacy of selection not once did it
touch a bit of scandal or a disagreeable item.
When the clock reached nine, she promptly
rolled up her work.
“No late hours for me,” she laughed, declining
Blue’s appeal to stay longer. “I do’
want to feel sleepy to-morrow morning when
it’s breakfast time, do you, little man?” She
laid her hand caressingly on Doodles’s head.
“Oh, I’m so glad you got all that money!”
she went on, with a comprehensive glance
towards the others. “I wanted to come right
// 268.png
.pn +1
up and tell you so; but, sakes! I’ve had to
work ’most every evening since, and this is
the first chance I’ve caught. I see you’ve got
a new stove, and that looks as if you were
going to stay on. I was so ’fraid you wouldn’t.
I don’t see much of you, but I know you’re up
here, and it’s a comfort.”
“We have decided not to move at present,”
Mrs. Stickney told her. “Winter in The
Flatiron is better than summer.”
“Yes, ’t is,” Miss Tillie agreed, “and I
think you are sensible not to hustle to spend
your money all at once. Why, one woman
said to me, ‘Mrs. Stickney won’t have to do
another stitch of work as long as she lives,
with that thirty hundred dollars of theirs!’ I
didn’t contradict her, but I kind o’ guessed
you knew better. I’ve noticed money melts
away pretty fast, if you don’t keep putting
something on top of the pile.”
In two days came Saturday, and Doodles
asked Blue how far it was out to the Flemings’.
“Oh! I do’ know, maybe a couple o’ miles.
Thinkin’ of making ’em a call?” Blue’s merry
eyes met the serious ones of Doodles.
// 269.png
.pn +1
The small boy shook his head with a gravity
that made the brother feel his little joke to be
ill-timed.
“I am very sorry for Miss Fleming,”
Doodles said, “and I’ve been wondering what
I could do to comfort her.”
“You?” broke out Blue, scenting difficulties
ahead.
“Yes, and I think the best way is to let
Caruso do it. If he’d sing for her as he did for
me this morning, while you were gone, I
am sure she would feel happier. And then it
would be very nice for you to go there and see
the beautiful house,” he went on artlessly.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Blue shivered inside. “Oh, I don’t believe
he’d sing!” he cried irrelevantly.
“I think he will, for I’ve told him all about
it, and I’m sure he understands.”
“Well, sometime, maybe,” yielded Blue.
“Won’t this afternoon be a good time?”
asked Doodles wistfully.
“Cracky!” ejaculated the elder boy in dismay.
Doodles laughed. “Didn’t you s’pose I
meant to-day?”
// 270.png
.pn +1
“No, I didn’t,” was the dry answer.
“But you’d like to go, wouldn’t you?”
persisted the other.
Blue groaned silently. “What you want
me to do?” he parried.
Doodles bent forward in his eagerness.
“Why, just take Caruso, and let him sing for
Miss Fleming—that’s all!”
All! Blue hunted desperately for a solid
objection.
“Why, kiddie,” he began in haste, “don’t
you worry about her! She’s rich, rich as
Cæsar—” he broke off abruptly at sight of
his brother’s hurt face. “You know,” he
started again gently, “she could have a
dozen birds to sing for her if she wanted
’em.”
“Yes, but she couldn’t have Caruso unless
I sent him!” chuckled the small boy. “And,
besides,” he went on gravely, “I want to do
something for God, to show Him I appreciate
the stove and the money He sent. I think He
would like me to comfort Miss Fleming, don’t
you?”
Poor Blue! he nestled uneasily in the old
rocker, and muttered, “I guess so.”
// 271.png
.pn +1
Then, suddenly, a fresh argument came in
sight. It looked plausible.
“I don’t see the sense of her bein’ sick
anyway, with all she’s got,—a dandy house
to live in, and new clothes, and an automobile,
and nothin’ to do, and—everything! I guess
if all that can’t cure her, you can’t!”
But Doodles smiled, undaunted.
“Caruso is better than anything she has!
She can’t help loving Caruso!”
“Well,—” Blue got up. If he must, the
sooner it was over with, the better. He disappeared
in the bedroom, to make ready for the
dreaded errand.
Doodles listened with a smile that soon lost
itself in anxious lines. Blue was making a
good deal of noise—a good deal even for him.
“Oh, wait a minute!” cried the small
brother, as Blue dashed out and caught up the
cage without a word.
He halted.
“You—want to go, don’t you?”
“Sure!” was the grinning answer. “As if I
didn’t always enjoy callin’ on young ladies!”
There were merry good-byes, yet after the
footsteps on the stairs were lost in other
// 272.png
.pn +1
sounds, Doodles wondered if Blue had really
disliked to go.
“I’d love it,” he whispered softly—“if I
only could!” He closed his eyes, but the tears
pressed through. “O God,” he murmured,
“do let me walk sometime—do!—do!
But if I can’t—ever,” he added tremulously,
“oh, help me to bear it so nobody will guess
how much I care!”
Caruso found it hard to keep on his perch,
Blue strode along at so swift a pace. Finally
the boy discovered how it was with the little
singer, and he slackened his steps.
A dozen times during that long walk he
told himself he was a fool for going. Once he
actually started back; but the remembrance
of his brother’s face, beautiful, eager, appealing,
rose before him and seemed to block his
way. Resolutely he turned again and went
forward. If they would not let him in, why,
he should then be able to meet Doodles with
clear eyes,—he would have done all that he
could.
He kept on with more heart. Why should
he be afraid? Probably “that Fleming girl”
had never in all her life heard so good a singer
// 273.png
.pn +1
as Caruso, and maybe, just maybe, the songs
would do her good, as Doodles hoped.
Near the house he hesitated. Should he go
to the front door, or to the side, or should he
go round to the back? He boldly decided on
the front. A maid answered his ring.
“I should like to see Miss Fleming,” he said
politely.
“She can see no one to-day.”
The door was beginning to close.
“Oh, well, then Miss Daphne!” cried Blue
in desperate haste.
“Miss Daphne is out.”
The great door came together promptly,
with a soft little thud.
So it was over—all need of worrying about
what he should say to the rich girl who looked
like a princess!—all Doodles’s bright anticipations!
At the moment Blue felt equal to an
interview with anybody—anybody but the
small boy waiting happily in the wheel chair—for
this! How could he bear to see the light
fade out of the fair little face!
“Huh,” he muttered, “she’d ’a’ let me in
fast enough if I’d been dressed up stylish! I
know ’em! They’re all alike!”
// 274.png
.pn +1
With a heavy sigh he went slowly down the
stone steps.
A soft south breeze ruffled the bird’s feathers,
and he let go a gay trill.
“Shut up!” snapped the boy. “Don’t give
’em a note! They ain’t worth it!”
He took the road towards home with long
strides.
Up the hill rolled an open motor car. A
woman and a little girl were on the back seat.
As they whirled by, Blue recognized Daphne
Fleming; but he made no sign.
“Oh, there is Blue Stickney!” exclaimed
the child in sudden excitement. “And he has
the sweet bird!” She rose to look back.
“Simon, Simon! stop! quick!”
But by the time the order had been obeyed
the boy was far behind.
“We will go back!” was the authoritative
decision, and accordingly, a moment after,
Blue was surprised to see the big car draw up
to the sidewalk just ahead.
He lifted his cap in response to Daphne’s
smile.
“How do you do?” asked the little one.
“And how is the beautiful Caruso? I wish
// 275.png
.pn +1
you would go home with me, and let him sing
for my mother and sister. Will you?”
“That’s what I came for,” Blue admitted.
“I thought—that is, Doodles thought—p’raps
she’d like to hear him; but the girl
said she couldn’t see anybody, and you
were out, and so—I didn’t stay,” he ended
lamely.
“Then you will come?” She opened the
door.
For an instant he hesitated.
“He can sit with Simon,” suggested the
attendant.
“There is plenty of room here,” asserted
Daphne, moving aside with a cordial smile.
The boy stepped lightly in, and Simon
reached back and shut the door.
Presently the ride was at an end, and Blue
was following his young hostess into the wide
hall, and passing the maid with head held
high. Then he was seated in a small, luxurious
room where parti-colored shadows played
over the floor. The flickering lights seemed
to inspire Caruso to a song, for he broke the
stillness with a few startling notes. The boy
hushed him at once, whereupon he retreated
// 276.png
.pn +1
to the farther end of his perch, mopish as a
reproved child.
Light feet came running along the hall, and
Daphne appeared.
“Will you come upstairs? Mother is not
at home, but Eudora would like to hear the
bird. Wasn’t he singing a minute ago?”
“Yes,” nodded Blue. “I shut him up as
quick as I could,” he added apologetically.
“Why did you?” was the surprised query.
The boy only gave a soft laugh.
The room into which Blue was ushered
the little dressmaker might well have called
“heavenly”; but he did not bestow upon it
a second glance. The “princess” sister held
his eyes—and his heart.
She was all and more, far more than Tillie
Shook had pictured her, and he found himself
wondering how “any feller could go off to Europe”
and leave so beautiful a girl languishing
for his love.
“Will he sing best in the sunshine?”
Daphne’s question brought Blue back to the
errand in hand.
“I do’ know. He don’t sing so much now
as he did.—Caruso!”
// 277.png
.pn +1
The boy whistled softly the opening strain
of “Annie Laurie,” but the bird continued to
preen a ruffled feather or two. The air ended,
yet Caruso was still silent.
“It takes my brother to set him going,”
Blue explained, somewhat nettled at the bird’s
indifference.
Livelier tunes were tried, and then, just as
the boy was beginning to wonder if, after all,
Caruso were going to disappoint than, he
burst into a torrent of song, ending, as often,
with the beloved “Annie Laurie.”
Blue was so interested in the way the
mocker was “showing off,” that he did not
at first notice the very evident excitement
of Miss Fleming. But as soon as the singing
ceased, she darted across to the cage with
a murmured word which the boy did not
catch. Then she turned to him, questioning
almost sharply:—
“Where did you get this bird?”
“I bought him of a girl who bid him off at
an auction.”
“The very one!” she cried in soft, joyful
tones. “I know! I know!” bending closer to
scrutinize the singer.
// 278.png
.pn +1
“What is it, Eudora?” Daphne ran over
to her sister.
The girl hesitated, while a pretty color
flushed her cheeks.
“I think,” she began, “it must be the mocker
that—that a friend of mine lost a year—no,
a year and a half ago.” She turned to
the boy whose heart had suddenly gone sick.
“How long have you had him?”
“About a year,” was the automatic answer.
She nodded musingly.
“I think there is no doubt of it,” she went
on. “Mr. Selden used to say that he should
know Jacky anywhere by the nick in his bill.
And he sang ‘Annie Laurie’ just as this bird
does. There! perhaps he will remember his
name—Jacky! Jacky!” she coaxed.
Caruso cocked his pretty head, and returned
a soft, sweet whistle.
“It is Jacky!” she exclaimed delightedly,
“and he has not forgotten!”
“Mr. Selden?” questioned Daphne. “The
one that used to sing and play when he came
to see—”
“Yes, yes!” her sister hurriedly answered,
// 279.png
.pn +1
adding something in a half whisper, the most
of which Blue did not hear.
The child at once left the room, though
with reluctance in her face.
The boy wondered why she had been sent
away.
Miss Fleming came and took a chair near.
Her face was very white, but red spots burned
on her cheeks. Her dark blue eyes shone
softly.
“My friend, Mr. Selden, is abroad,” she
said in a low voice; “but he ought to know
about Jacky at once. He will be glad—oh,
so glad!—that he is safe. He loves Jacky!”
“But it’s my brother’s bird,” Blue broke
out in blunt defiance. “It would kill Doodles
to give up Caruso!”
“Oh, I did not mean that! No, no! Mr.
Selden never would take him from your
brother. He is the best man in the world—and
the most sympathetic. But it would please
him greatly to know that his pet is in kind
hands.”
.if h
.il fn=i-260.jpg w=458px id=i-260
.ca
“IT WOULD KILL DOODLES TO GIVE UP CARUSO”
.ca-
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
[Illustration: “IT WOULD KILL DOODLES TO GIVE UP CARUSO”]
.sp 2
.if-
For a moment she was silent, while the red
in her cheeks stole up to her fluffy yellow hair.
“I wonder,” she resumed, “if you would
// 280.png
.pn +1
// 281.png
.pn +1
// 282.png
.pn +1
be willing to write and tell him about it. I will
give you his address and paper and stamps
and all, if you will be so good,” she added
eagerly.
“Why, I suppose I can,” answered Blue,
somewhat abashed by the unexpected request;
“but I don’t write very well—”
“That makes no difference whatever! He
will not care how the letter is written. He is
not critical.”
“It seems as if you would be the best one
to do it,” Blue boldly suggested.
“Oh, no!” with a deepening blush. “You
will write,” she nodded coaxingly.
The boy gave a rather backward assent.
He did not feel sure that Mr. Selden would
not want his bird again, and what could he
say to ward off such a catastrophe? Before
he had recovered from the realization that
he had actually agreed to write the letter, a
maid entered with a tray, and Daphne came
dancing after.
“I stayed to see Johanna fill the tarts,”
she chuckled. “They are red raspberry jam
ones! You will like them!” she told Blue, over
her shoulder.
// 283.png
.pn +1
That was a luncheon like none the boy had
ever seen: tiny buttered rolls; slips of cold
chicken; raspberry tarts; and coffee in beautiful
china cups, with whipped cream floating
on top.
“What may Caruso eat?” asked Daphne,
pausing for Blue’s answer before offering the
bird any of the dainties.
“Just a mite of roll,” he said.
“No, a tart!” she begged.
The lad shook his head smilingly.
“You might run and fetch a lettuce leaf,”
suggested her sister. “That will not hurt him.”
The child was off and back again in a trice,
and they all laughed to see the bird catch bit
after bit from her fingers. Even the tarts
had no further interest for Daphne until the
last piece of green was in Caruso’s bill.
When Blue reached home there was much
to tell, so much, indeed, that the writing of
the message to Mr. Selden was put off till
evening and Doodles was in bed. Mrs. Stickney
was the boy’s ready reference on spelling;
but the rest of the letter, except for a few
periods and commas, was his own, and it cost
him two hours of hard work. He copied and
// 284.png
.pn +1
recopied, until the supply of paper that Miss
Fleming had given him came to an end, and
he was obliged to use a sheet from his mother’s
meager stock, which, of course, did not match
his dainty envelope. So the question arose
whether it would not be better to wait until
Monday, when he could buy what was needed.
But Blue repeated what Miss Fleming had
said about the importance of Mr. Selden’s
hearing of the matter at once, and it was
finally decided that so small a thing as the
dissimilarity of paper and envelope would not
be regarded by a man who was “not critical,”
and, at last, the boy went to bed with the
consciousness that he had done his best.
Ten days later, when Morton Selden read
the superscription in the stiff, untrained hand,
there was puzzlement in his eyes; but the postmark
of his home town hastened his hand,
and he cut open the letter. He read it carefully,
stopping now and then to reread a
phrase before going on.
.pm letter-start
.ni
Dear Mr. Selden:—
.pi
I bought a mocking-bird a year ago for
twenty-five cents, because a girl who had bid
// 285.png
.pn +1
it off at an auction was scaring it to death and
didn’t want it. Now Miss Eudora Fleming
says it is your bird. I bought it for my
brother who can’t walk. He loves the bird
something fierce. It would sure kill Doodles
to have to let it go. Miss Fleming says you
will not take it away from him, because she
says you are the best man in the world. So
I hope you won’t. I took Caruso out to her
house this afternoon for Doodles, because he
thought Caruso would comfort her. He sings
fine. She has got nervous prostration, though
she does not look sick. She is the prettiest
girl I ever saw. I tried to have her write
to you, for she said Caruso was sure your
Jacky, and you ought to know right away.
But she wouldn’t, and I had to. I hope you
will excuse my bad writing. She could do it
a great deal better, but she said, oh, no, she
couldn’t, and made me promise I would. She
was glad as if it was her bird, and said you
loved Jacky and would be so glad to know he
was safe. I wish you could have seen her
when she was talking about it, she did look
something beautiful. Her eyes shone so it
most took my breath away. I guess she’s a
// 286.png
.pn +1
princess all right, just as Tillie Shook says
she looks like. She said she knew you
wouldn’t take it from Doodles, because you
are so sympathetic. Please let him keep
it.
Hoping you are well, I am
.ti +10
Yours very truly,
.ti +15
Blue Stickney.
.pm letter-end
In less than a fortnight Blue received the
following:—
.pm letter-start
.ni
My dear friend:—
.pi
Your letter brought me more pleasure than
had come to me since I left America. I congratulate
you on knowing how to interest a
correspondent.
As for Caruso—which name, by the way,
is a vast improvement on Jacky—I am
mighty glad that he has fallen into such kind
hands, and you can assure your brother, from
me, that he may keep the little fellow as long
as he wants him, provided he will let me come
to see him once in a while when I am at
home again.
This mail will carry a letter to Miss Fleming
// 287.png
.pn +1
also, still you may give her my thanks and my
regards when you see her.
With best wishes for you and Doodles and
Caruso,
.ti +10
Most cordially yours,
.ti +15
Morton K. Selden.
.pm letter-end
// 288.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
CHAPTER XXIII||“THE MIRACLE VOICE”
.sp 2
The vision in the doorway arrested the
word of welcome on Doodles’s lips. As soon
as he could command his tongue he smiled
a cordial “How do you do? Will you walk
in?”
And the vision in brown cloth and creamy
lace and fluffy feathers came straight across
the room and took one of his hands between
her soft gloves, saying, in the sweetest of
voices, “My dear Doodles! Do you know
me?”
“I think you must be Miss Fleming,” the
boy answered, “because—” he hesitated.
“Because Daphne and I look alike?” she
questioned.
Doodles shook his head. “Because you are
so beautiful,” he replied bravely.
The girl laughed her remonstrance, yet she
did not appear to be displeased, and Doodles
smiled shyly up at her.
// 289.png
.pn +1
“I have come to thank you for sending your
bird to me,” she began.
“Oh! did Caruso comfort you?” cried
Doodles.
Her delicate face grew pinker—and even
prettier, the boy thought.
“I enjoyed his singing very much,” she
said. “Indeed, his coming has led to such
pleasant things, life seems to have been made
all over for me.”
“I am just as glad, glad!” he rejoiced.
“Caruso is a dear comforter—why, he comforts
me all the time!”
The girl’s eyes suddenly grew soft and glistening,
and she gave no response.
Caruso, with his usual courtesy, flung a
little carol into the pause, and that brought
about the visitor’s asking Doodles to sing
for her.
The child’s selection chanced to be Nevin’s
“Little Boy Blue,” which Leona Montgomery
had taught him one rainy holiday. As
always, he threw his heart into the simple
words, and they became words of life. At the
end his listener surprised him by taking both
his hands in hers.
// 290.png
.pn +1
“Doodles dear, has anybody ever told you
that you have a wonderful voice?”
“Nobody but a lady who lived downstairs,”
he replied modestly. “I sang to her before she
died. She said I ought to take lessons.”
“You shall,” declared Miss Fleming. “And
my teacher in New York must certainly hear
you sing. I will try to manage it.”
After another song the visitor said good-bye,
leaving a message for Mrs. Stickney,
which when it was given her threw the little
woman into a panic.
“Coming to see me?” she exclaimed. “For
what? I shan’t know a thing to say to her!
I wish folks wouldn’t—such folks!”
But Eudora Fleming always kept her word,
and her next call was in the evening, when the
mother was apt to be at home.
At first Mrs. Stickney was not quite at ease
and inclined to be silent; but the girl’s errand
was of such an exciting nature that the embarrassed
tongue was soon set at liberty, and
talk was free.
For Doodles to be invited to go to New
York with Miss Fleming and her sister; to
think of his singing before the celebrated
// 291.png
.pn +1
Italian who had taught Miss Fleming herself;
to have it suggested that he even be examined
by the great surgeon whose fees sometimes
mounted into the thousands,—all this was
enough to bring quick self-forgetfulness to the
mother. It was late that night before the little
apartment at the top of The Flatiron was
dark and still.
Within four days Doodles started for the
big city of which he had heard so much and
which he longed to see. He was surprised and
delighted to find that the trip was to be made
in a limousine instead of by train, and when
the mother saw how all had been arranged for
his comfort she let him go without a fear. The
little lad’s long rides in his wheel chair had
so increased his strength that he had no misgivings
at thought of the many miles to be
traveled, especially when the cushions were
piled around him until he felt never a jolt, and
an extra seat was waiting, where he could lie
down for a nap if he became weary. But he
bore the journey even better than Miss Fleming
had expected, and that first night he slept
soundly in his little bed in the great hotel.
The next morning the ride around the city
// 292.png
.pn +1
was an unparalleled delight. It came to an early
end, for in the afternoon he was to sing for the
famous maestro with the strange-sounding
name, of whom he thought he should stand a
bit in awe, but whom Miss Fleming said he
need not fear at all. So before luncheon he
had a long nap, and awoke as fresh as if
he had never been tired.
When at last he was in the actual presence
of Signor Castelvetro, he found himself looking
into very gentle eyes and listening to a
soft, musical voice that bade him a pleasant
welcome.
To the surprise of Doodles he heard Miss
Fleming talking with the Signore in his native
tongue as fluently as if she were speaking
English; but soon she turned to him, asking
him to sing “Little Boy Blue” as he had sung
it for her the week before.
Without the least hesitation Doodles sang,
and the song sounded even better—so Miss
Fleming thought—than in the little kitchen
up in The Flatiron.
Signor Castelvetro gave him a quick word
of thanks, and with many gestures, went
on talking rapidly in mingled English and
// 293.png
.pn +1
Italian, not much of which the boy could
understand. Several times he caught the
phrase, “the miracle voice,” and he wondered
if it might refer to his own, and then felt himself
blushing at so foolish a conjecture.
Presently he was singing again,—“Robin
Adair,” “Nae Room for Twa,” “Lead,
Kindly Light,” and others. He sang and sang,
conscious only of the music and a sympathetic
audience, sometimes forgetting his audience
altogether.
The Signore’s praise was hearty and profuse,
but given as it was in a mixture of languages
Doodles knew little of what was said.
Still he was sure that the great man liked
his singing, and that made him glad indeed.
“My pupeels haf a musicale to-morrow
efening,” Signor Castelvetro was saying. “I
s’all be verra happee if you will sing for us.”
He waited, smiling down on Doodles.
The lad glanced questioningly at Miss
Fleming.
“You would like to sing?” she queried.
“You would not be afraid?”
“I always like to sing,” was his simple
answer. “No, I shall not be afraid. There is
// 294.png
.pn +1
nothing to be afraid of, is there?” He turned
trustful eyes to the Signore.
“No, no, you of the miracle voice haf
not’ing to fear!” The smile was tender as a
mother’s.
So it was true—what he had not dared to
believe! Could it be like one of the beautiful
Bible miracles—his voice? He was wondering
about it through all the arrangement of
details, and he bade the Signore good-bye
still in a whirl of thought.
“Didn’t he sing beautifully?” exclaimed
Daphne, as the little party settled itself in the
limousine. “I am so glad you are going to
sing at the musicale!” She gave Doodles a
loving little squeeze.
“Are you tired, dear?” inquired Miss Fleming
anxiously.
“Not a bit,” was the happy answer. “I
haven’t had anything to make me tired.”
“Except the singing.”
“Oh, it never tires me to sing!” smiled
Doodles.
So as the little face showed no sign of weariness
Miss Fleming gave Barrow the order,
“To the park,” instead of returning directly
// 295.png
.pn +1
to the hotel. There Doodles saw so many
novel and interesting things that for the time
he forgot the chief of his thoughts,—when
should he go to the great surgeon whose word
was to bring him joy or sorrow? But after
luncheon he said to himself, “It is coming
now—in an hour or two!” Yet Miss Fleming
went out by herself, and stayed away all the
afternoon, leaving Daphne and Doodles to the
care of Laure, her maid. They had a happy
time with some new books and photographs;
but through it all buzzed the questions,
“When will it be? What will the doctor
say?”
On the following morning, by appointment,
the party started early for the Signore’s,
where Doodles’s part of the evening’s programme
was to be rehearsed.
As they entered the room and the maestro
came forward to greet them, Doodles chanced
to look beyond the broad shoulders of the
Signore to a boy at a farther window. He was
fingering a violin. One glance at the dark face
was enough, and he gave a glad little cry.
The boy looked up, dropped his instrument,
and dashed across the floor, embracing
// 296.png
.pn +1
Doodles in the arms of the astonished Barrow,
and kissing him on lip and cheek.
Miss Fleming and Signor Castelvetro
stopped speaking to gaze, while Daphne so
far forgot herself as to push between the
two in her eagerness to see what was going
on.
It was the privilege of Doodles to introduce
Christarchus to his friends, and he was pleased
to see that the gentle Greek lad was received
with favor by Miss Fleming.
The Signore smiled delightedly upon everybody,
assuring them that this was “a verra
bleesful acceedent,” inasmuch as it promised
perfect sympathy between singer and accompanist.
The rehearsal went off merrily. When
“Annie Laurie” was mentioned, Christarchus
showed his white teeth in a brilliant smile.
“I t’ink we try eet once, and Caruso—!”
his slim hands ended the sentence in a way
that sent Doodles into a gleeful little laugh.
“Caruso?” queried the Signore with a
puzzled scowl.
“My mocking bird,” explained Doodles.
“He sings ‘Annie Laurie’ very nicely, but
// 297.png
.pn +1
that time he sang one of his queer medleys
and broke us all up.”
The boys laughed again at the amusing
remembrance before they could settle down to
the song; but the Signore smiled indulgently,
the intimate friendship of the lads seeming to
please him.
When they separated, Doodles was delighted
to hear Miss Fleming invite Christarchus
to lunch with them the next day, and
he said good-bye feeling that only one thing
more was needed to make his cup of happiness
very full indeed.
The musicale was an undoubted success,
and that part in which Doodles and Christarchus
were naturally most interested was
not the least applauded of the programme.
Doodles was given sufficient praise to turn
the head of a less modest performer; but he
received it all with his usual artless courtesy
and open pleasure, charming those who took
the pains to speak with him.
Signor Castelvetro assured him that he
could easily obtain a good choir position if he
would come to New York, adding as an inducement
that he should be glad to give him
// 298.png
.pn +1
lessons free of charge. But Miss Fleming, on
behalf of Doodles, while she thanked the
Signore for his kindness, smiled a firm refusal.
Although the day following was their last
in the city, the talked-of call upon the surgeon
was not mentioned. Doodles dared not ask,
and thus even the visit of Christarchus lost
some of its anticipated joy.
Late in the afternoon, when Daphne had
gone out with Laure for a little last shopping,
and Doodles and Miss Fleming were left
alone, he ventured a wistful question.
“Aren’t we going to see that doctor before
we go home?”
The girl laid down the book she was reading,
and came over to his chair.
“Dear boy,” she said, “I saw him on
Wednesday. Have you been thinking about
it all this time?”
Doodles bowed his answer—words would
not come.
“I ought to have told you,” she regretted,
“but I was afraid of spoiling the rest of your
visit. The doctor thought,” she went on
slowly, “it was not necessary to see you. He
said he was unusually busy, and that the
// 299.png
.pn +1
examination would only cause pain and be of
no use. He thinks—” her voice faltered.
“That I can’t ever walk,” Doodles concluded
softly.
The girl caught him in her arms with a sob.
“Oh, dear boy!” she cried, “I wish you
could!”
// 300.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
CHAPTER XXIV||DOODLES KEEPS ON
.sp 2
The first days of Doodles’s home-coming
were full of a mild excitement. Besides there
being so much to talk about when the little
family was alone, almost everybody in The
Flatiron was eager to give a personal welcome
to the small traveler, as well as to hear about
his visit to the great city. But after all the
tenants had come and gone, and the boy was
left to himself for the most of the long day, his
disappointment returned to haunt and torture
him. There were times when even his violin
had no power to drive away the bitter
thoughts.
Blue perceived that something was wrong.
His brother’s merry laugh had dropped to a
wan smile, and occasionally there was the
sound of a wee sigh. The matter came to a
climax, one day, when school was closed at an
unexpected hour, and Doodles was caught
crying.
// 301.png
.pn +1
At first the little lad refused to give any
reason for his tears; but Blue would not let
him off, and the direct cause of his sorrow was
finally disclosed.
“I don’t know—what to do!” he sobbed.
A gush of tears halted his speech, but he went
on quickly. “It doesn’t do any good! I
thought ’twas going to—in New York—and
now it hasn’t! But it seems so mean not
to keep on!”
“Keep on what?” Blue burst out.
“Why, asking God to let me walk!”
Doodles answered. “You know I’ve been
asking and asking for so long.”
“Yes,” Blue assented. “But if I were you
I wouldn’t bother any more—”
He was sorry it was out, for a look came
over his brother’s face that he had never seen
there before,—horror and anguish blended
in one.
“No, I guess I’d keep on!” Blue quickly
amended.
“Oh! would you?” It was like sunshine
bursting from a storm cloud. “I want to—oh,
how I want to! But I didn’t know. God
says if we ask for anything He will give it to
// 302.png
.pn +1
us, and why do you s’pose He doesn’t let me
walk?”
“I do’ know,” sighed Blue. His knowledge
did not extend to such deep problems.
“It seems awfully mean to give right up,”
Doodles went on, “but,” his voice dropped
mournfully, “I s’pose that doctor knows.
Still, God could cure me if all the doctors in
the world should say I couldn’t ever walk,
couldn’t He?”
“I guess so,” answered Blue gloomily.
“And I can’t see why He doesn’t when I
want to so much.”
Blue was silent. His thoughts just then
would scarcely have helped matters.
“What do you think?”
“I do’ know noth’n’ ’bout it. Why don’t
you ask mother?”
“I did begin one day; but she feels so bad
about what the New York doctor said—no,
I can’t ask her!”
“Try Miss Fleming, when she comes to give
you your lesson,” shirked Blue.
“Oh, I don’t think she knows! I’d rather
you’d tell me.”
“Tell you what?” parried the elder boy.
// 303.png
.pn +1
“If God wants me to keep on. Seems as if
I couldn’t stop! I’ve been stopping, and it’s
’most killed me!”
“Well, for pity’s sake, keep on then!” Blue
advised.
“Would you really? And you don’t think
it’ll be wicked?”
“Wicked! no!”
“And He must answer me sometime, if I
keep right on, and don’t give up a single bit,
mustn’t He? ’Cause the Bible says ‘anything,’
you know, and that must mean walking.
If it said ‘except to walk,’ of course I
couldn’t; but there isn’t a single ‘except’
anywhere, is there?”
“I never saw one,” admitted the other.
“So you do b’lieve He will let me sometime?”
insisted Doodles.
“Sure!” nodded Blue recklessly, and the
next minute called himself a fool, seeing the
joy leap in his brother’s face.
On his way downtown he went over the talk
bitterly.
“Now he’ll think he’s goin’ to walk!” he
muttered. “And he can’t,—ever, ever,
ever!” hammering out the words with passionate
// 304.png
.pn +1
force. “O God, why?” The old, old
question clamored in his heart.
On one end of the Courant Building advertisements
were posted. For a week, almost on
the very corner, had stood the picture of a
man, a tall, handsome man in gallant uniform
of blue and red and gold. Every day the boy
had seen it, but seen it indifferently; his eyes
had never gone further. Now, suddenly, they
took in the words that accompanied the figure.
They were in big, bold type.
.sp 2
.nf c
THE LAME WALK!
THE DEAF HEAR!
THE BLIND SEE!
.nf-
.sp 2
That was what Blue read, and involuntarily
stopped to read more.
The announcement stated that Doctor
Emmanuel de Vendôme, the celebrated
healer, recently a famous surgeon in the
French army, would be at Hotel Royal for a
few weeks, where he would give examinations
absolutely free to all.
“I wonder—” began Blue, and thereby
// 305.png
.pn +1
started a train of thought which raced
through his mind for the next busy hour.
How he succeeded in delivering his papers on
the proper doorsteps is surprising, considering
what air castles he builded during that time.
But he was free at last to rush home to
Doodles, whom in a few minutes he managed
to work up to an excitement far exceeding his
own.
It was decided, long before Mrs. Stickney
came, that Doodles should go for a free examination,
and although the mother could not
feel as sanguine of success as the boys did,
still she gave a ready permission, Blue arguing
that it was not going to cost “a lonesome
cent.”
The next day Blue hastened home from
the afternoon session, bringing Joseph with
him, and the trio started without delay. At
the hotel, however, they found a crowd ahead
of them, and they were forced to wait until
nearly six o’clock before being admitted to
the imposing presence of the uniformed physician.
To their surprise the examination was
slight, consisting only of a few questions and
// 306.png
.pn +1
a superficial fingering of the lad’s back. It
was over so quickly that the boys left the
room in rather a dazed whirl, realizing only
that the epauleted stranger had asserted
that Doodles could be helped and probably
cured, and that he was to have his first treatment
on the morrow at a charge of five dollars.
The mother looked grave over the doctor’s
fee; but she finally yielded to Blue’s urging,
and Doodles went to bed to dream of marching,
actually marching, in line with gayly-uniformed
soldiers. Thomas Fitzpatrick and
Joseph, and Christarchus were there, with
epaulets upon their shoulders,—and then,
just as he was screwing his head round to
see his own shoulders, came the order, “Forward!”
and he awoke.
The following afternoon, in the hour before
school-closing, just as the small boy was feeling
the slow progress of the moments before it
would be time for Blue, who should knock at
the door but Thomas Fitzpatrick! Presently
Doodles was talking of the hopes that were
thronging his heart.
“Wouldn’t it be beautiful if I could walk
// 307.png
.pn +1
again?” Doodles went on enthusiastically, his
fair face pink with excitement, and his brown
eyes luminous with hope.
The policeman’s lips parted—and came
together. Then he said quietly:—
“It would, sure!”
“I guess I shall,” Doodles smiled. “The
doctor thinks so. It is going to cost a good
deal, five dollars a time; but mother says she
doesn’t begrudge the money, if he can do me
a bit of good. Oh, I’ve wondered and wondered
what it would feel like to jump right up
and run across the room, as Blue does—and
to think I shall know!” His voice dropped
almost to a whisper, as if the thought were too
precious to speak.
The officer pulled out his watch with a hand
that trembled.
“I must be going, little man,” he said. “I
had an hour off duty, so I thought I’d just
drop in and say, ‘How d’ ye do?’ and,
‘Good-bye!’”
He held the small hand in a tight squeeze,
and then, for Thomas Fitzpatrick, he did a
most remarkable thing, he bent over and
kissed the uplifted face.
// 308.png
.pn +1
“Good-bye!” called Doodles, as the tall
man strode towards the door.
And from out the depths of a husky throat
came the answering, “Good-bye!”
Once more the policeman’s watch told him
that it still lacked fifteen minutes of school-closing.
The intervening time was spent in
street chats with acquaintances, and some of
them appeared to be absorbing; but promptly
on the appointed moment Fitzpatrick was in
front of the Franklin School, his keen eye on
the lookout for Blue.
In the center of a troupe of jostling, shouting
boys the officer spied him, and presently the
lad was caught on the run by a strong arm.
“Oh!” he laughed, “it’s you! I was goin’
to give it to whoever was grabbin’ me that
style!”
“Come over here! I’ve got something to
tell you.”
“Won’t it keep?” objected Blue. “I’ve
important business on hand and can’t stop—”
“Yes, you can! Come on!” He started
across the street, away from the crowd of
grinning boys.
“What is it? You see, I’m due at Hotel
// 309.png
.pn +1
Royal at quarter past four, and—Hold on
there, Joseph! I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
“You’ll have time for anything when I’m
through with ye,” said the officer grimly.
“What do you mean?” cried Blue, startled
by Fitzpatrick’s manner. “Is Doodles—?”
“He’s all right, poor little kid!” The officer
shook his head sadly. “I’ve just been up to see
him.”
“Oh! then he told you—”
“He did! And it broke me all up! Blue
Stickney, you’ve got to take my word for it,
without any explanation! Don’t ye waste a
cent on that doctor up at the hotel!”
“Wh—what?” Blue stammered.
“I mean what I say! Give him a wide
berth, and keep whist! Tom Fitzpatrick
knows what he’s talking about! I started to
tell the kid, but it was too much for me—I
couldn’t do it!”
“Why, I’m—was going to take him up
there this afternoon for the first treatment!”
“I know! It’s a shame! But it’s lucky you
haven’t thrown away any five dollars!”
“Are you sure he ain’t all right?” Blue
// 310.png
.pn +1
scowled. “Why he was in the French army,
and he wears epaulets!”
The policeman gave a short laugh.
“I’m not saying he isn’t all right, am I?
I’m telling you to let him alone, and not to
breathe a syllable outside—that’s all!”
“It’s too bad!” Blue’s forehead puckered
into deep lines and ridges.
“It is that!” agreed the officer, shaking his
head sorrowfully, thinking of Doodles.
The boy went home in a frenzy. What
should he tell his brother? How would he
take it?
“Blue Stickney! where have you been?
What makes you so late? Did you have to
stay after school? Where’s Joseph?” The
eager questions popped out in a breath.
“We ain’t goin’!” Blue threw his cap on the
floor, and himself into the rocker.
“Why not?”
“Tom Fitzpatrick told me not to—and
that’s all I know!” The words came with a
fierce snap.
“But he’s been here—he didn’t say
anything! Why—?”
“I tell you, I don’t know! He said to keep
// 311.png
.pn +1
away from that doctor, and not to blab. I
s’pose he’s a crook, and the police have got
on to it.”
He had been talking to the floor; now he
glanced up.
The little white face, all the eager joy gone
out of it; the big, startled eyes that looked
past his brother, into the long, helpless years
ahead;—it overpowered Blue’s self-command.
He put his hands to his face and broke
into sobs.
“Why, Blue, don’t! Don’t cry!” pleaded
Doodles. “See! I’m not crying! If that doctor
isn’t a nice man, God wouldn’t have let
him cure me anyway, so it is better to know it
before I began. Don’t cry, please don’t! I’m
not going to give up! I am going to keep on!”
// 312.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch25
CHAPTER XXV||IN FAIR HARBOR
.sp 2
The morning newspapers announced the
arrest of Emmanuel de Vendôme, alias Henry
Cochin, who was wanted by another state to
answer various charges, and the policeman’s
warning against the epauleted stranger was
at once made clear. The Stickneys’ thankfulness
lessened the sting of disappointment, and
their gratitude to Thomas Fitzpatrick grew
great.
Blue and his mother came home at noon to
find Doodles in overflowing good spirits.
“Guess what I’ve got!” he cried. “But
you couldn’t—ever! Some wedding cards!
Whose do you s’pose?”
“Dolly Moon’s!” shouted Blue.
“Oh, you’ve guessed right the first time!”
laughed Doodles. “But who to?—that’s
what!”
“I do’ know—how should I?”
// 313.png
.pn +1
“Is it Mr. Gaylord?” ventured Mrs.
Stickney.
“Aw! why didn’t I think o’ him!” cried
Blue, catching the truth from his brother’s
face.
The announcement was read and reread,
fingered and talked about.
“They ought to have invited us,” commented
Blue.
“I presume they didn’t have much of a
wedding,” returned the mother.
“Queer ’t they’re going to be ‘at home’ in
Fair Harbor,” went on Blue. “He must have
got something to do there—I wonder what.
That’s only twenty miles or so from here; I
think they might come up and see us.”
“Perhaps they will!” beamed Doodles.
“Isn’t it nice they directed it to me? You
don’t care, do you?” He cast an anxious look
towards the others.
“Not a bit,” Blue assured him, while Mrs.
Stickney hurried the dinner along to the accompaniment
of merry talk and many surmises
concerning the newly married pair.
On the succeeding noon Doodles was still
more excited.
// 314.png
.pn +1
“Well, who’s married this time?” laughed
Blue, as his brother waved a white envelope
for greeting.
“Nobody else,” chuckled the small boy;
“but just you read it!”
Blue pulled out the sheet, and read aloud:—
.pm letter-start
.ni
Sweetheart dear:—
.pi
Did you get the announcement yesterday—which
would never have been but for you?
We had the tiniest wedding that ever was,
with only grandpa and Aunt Sarah for guests,
and here we are at Giles’s Aunt Ruth’s! She
is a dear little woman who hasn’t been outdoors
on her feet for twenty-five years. We
shall stay only a few days, and then are going
to begin housekeeping in our little nest at
Fair Harbor. It is the cosiest place, all furnished
and ready for us, even to a hod of coal
and basket of kindlings by the stove! I can
hardly wait for you to see it. Just as soon as
we are settled we are coming up to carry you
home with us for over Sunday. Giles has engaged
with the Valentia Company, to sell
their cars, and will have one to use. So we
shall spin up to see you often. I think we
// 315.png
.pn +1
shall keep you, sweetheart, for a fortnight or
so, as you have neither silverware nor school
books to make demands upon you. So get
your suitcase packed. Don’t you dare say
no! We shall come soon, but I will write
ahead. Giles sends love to you all, as do I.
Grandpa wanted me to be sure and give you
his. He says he shall never forget the songs
you sang to him.
.ti +10
Always yours,
.ti +15
Dorothy Moon Gaylord.
.pm letter-end
“Isn’t that just jolly!” cried Blue, beginning
a double shuffle, which his mother
hushed. “Won’t we have a dandy time!”
“You’ll go, won’t you?” anxiously inquired
Doodles.
“I don’t see why not,” she smiled. “I’d be
glad to get away for a day or two.”
Thus it was decided, and Mrs. Stickney
washed and ironed and mended and purchased,
until at the end of two weeks, when
the anticipations came true, all was in readiness
for the unwonted trip.
For the first few minutes Doodles did not
feel quite acquainted with the young woman
// 316.png
.pn +1
in her smart new tailored suit, whom Mr.
Gaylord called Dorothy; but the stranger was
soon lost in his dear “Dolly Moon,” and the
party was stowed away in the roomy car and
off on the smooth road to Fair Harbor.
It had at first been planned to leave Caruso
with Granny O’Donnell; but as the time of
separation drew near, Doodles had felt so
troubled for fear some mishap might befall his
pet, that the bird was wrapped up and taken
along with them. Blue had to peep into the
cage now and then, to satisfy Doodles that
things were going well with his treasure; but
the report was always good, and the mocker
reached the end of his first automobile ride
happy and ready to give thanks in a little
carol.
The new “nest” was the second floor of
a pleasant house in the suburbs, and Mrs.
Stickney looked with almost envying eyes on
the beautiful surroundings, wishing it were
possible for her to give her children such a
healthful and well-located home. But longings
were soon pushed out of sight by the joyful
inspection of the bride’s little domain, and
the hearing about the courtship and its resulting
// 317.png
.pn +1
happiness, for all of which the two most
concerned felt that they owed a lasting debt
to Doodles.
On Saturday Lilith Brooks, a girl who lived
on the first floor, came upstairs to call on Blue
and Doodles. She at once fell in love with
Caruso, who volunteered to do his share of the
entertaining, and she delighted Doodles by
the praises she showered upon the songster.
Midway in the afternoon she appeared
again, bringing with her a schoolmate, whom
she introduced as Polly Dudley.
“May your bird sing for Polly?” Lilith
asked. “I do so want her to hear him!”
“If he will,” answered Doodles, throwing
shy glances towards the pretty stranger.
But the mocker was not in an obliging
mood, and had to be coaxed and coaxed before
he would even give a note.
Finally Blue began whistling “Annie Laurie,”
and after it had been many times repeated
the bird joined in, to the unbounded
delight of the girls. Once started, he kept on,
putting the young visitors into raptures with
his marvelous powers.
“Now you had better ask Doodles to
// 318.png
.pn +1
sing,” called Mrs. Gaylord from the dining-room.
“Oh, do!” the girls begged.
Without hesitation the boy commenced a
favorite hymn, and at least one of his audience
was so surprised and captivated by his
performance as to sit motionless until the
song was ended.
Then, while Lilith ran into exclamations of
praise, Polly caught one of Doodles’s hands,
saying in her soft voice:—
“Does it tire you very much?”
“Oh, no! it never tires me to sing,” he
smiled.
“Please sing something else, then! I
love it!”
So the sweet, magnetic voice rose again,—this
time in the haunting little “Nae Room
for Twa,” and afterwards Lilith pleaded for
“more” and still “more,” until Dorothy interposed
out of sheer pity for Doodles.
“What a lovely, lovely boy!” cried Polly,
when she had gone downstairs with her
friend.
“I think he’s awfully pretty,” Lilith
returned.
// 319.png
.pn +1
“Yes, but not only that,—he has such a
sweet way. And I never heard such singing! I
thought David Collins could sing better than
any other boy. But Doodles! Why, when he
sat there singing that Christmas carol, all I
could think of was an angel!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lilith rapturously, “with
those dear little curls all over his head, and
his big brown eyes, wouldn’t he make a
beautiful angel for a tableau?”
“He is angel enough without the tableau,”
Polly laughed. Then her face saddened.
“It is too bad he can’t walk! Hasn’t he
ever?”
“Oh, yes! Mrs. Gaylord says he did until
he was about four; then he had a terrible fall,
and he hasn’t taken a step since.”
“I wonder if father couldn’t cure him,”
mused Polly.
“You think your father can cure everybody,”
laughed Lilith.
“Well, he can—almost everybody!” maintained
Polly. “I wish they’d let father see
him.”
“I guess they’ve tried a lot of doctors.
Mrs. Gaylord told mamma that a famous
// 320.png
.pn +1
New York surgeon has just said he won’t
ever be any better—isn’t it awful?”
“I wish father could see him!” Polly insisted
longingly.
“Do you think your father knows more
than that big New York doctor?” asked
Lilith with a rallying laugh.
“Of course, he does! He has cured lots of
children that those great surgeons said
couldn’t ever be!”
“You can ask your father to come and see
him,” suggested Lilith.
“Oh, no, he never would!” Polly shook her
head decidedly. “Unless they asked him
to,” she amended. “Say,” she broke out
hurriedly, “isn’t that Mr. Gaylord?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to see him!” Polly rushed into
the hall as the car stopped and a gray-coated
man came up the steps.
“How nice to have two girlies to open
the door for me! But this is a new one,”
smiling to Polly. “Miss Lilith, please present
me!”
“Why, I s’posed Polly knew you, the way
she jumped up and out here!” Lilith laughed.
// 321.png
.pn +1
“This is Polly Dudley, Dr. Dudley’s daughter,
don’t you know?”
“I have heard of her. Indeed, I am glad to
have the privilege of meeting the lassie of
hospital fame. How do you do, Miss Polly of
the Hospital Staff?” He bowed low over
Polly’s hand.
The girls laughed, and then Polly began
abruptly:—
“Mr. Gaylord, I want to talk to you about
that lovely little lame boy—Doodles. I wish
they’d let father see him! I think he could
cure him!”
Giles Gaylord drew a deep breath, and
shook his head gravely.
“I’m afraid even your father couldn’t help
him,” he replied. “I know Dr. Dudley does
wonderful things, but this is an extreme
case.”
“He has just cured a little girl who hadn’t
walked for two or three years. Her father and
mother had tried everybody, even had taken
her abroad to some famous surgeons over
there—and father operated on her, and now
she is all right!”
“I am afraid his mother would never consent
// 322.png
.pn +1
to an operation on such uncertainties
as must be.”
“Well, you might ask father what he
thinks,” urged Polly. “I know he wouldn’t
charge anything for an examination.”
“I will suggest it, Miss Polly, and thank
you! Even his mother could hardly be gladder
than I to see Doodles walk. I’ll talk it over
with them.”
The talk bore such good fruits that an examination
was arranged for on the following Monday,
and Doodles spent Sunday in a state of
bliss. God was surely answering his prayers—He
was going to let him walk! Next morning
he bade his mother and Blue an early
good-bye, his face radiant with joy.
The hour appointed was three in the afternoon,
and Dorothy and Doodles were waiting
at a front window when Mr. Gaylord drove
up. On the way the boy wondered for the
hundredth time how Dr. Dudley would look,
if he would wear epaulets, like the doctor at
Hotel Royal, and whether he would hurt him
very, very much, or simply pass his hand up
and down his back, as the other doctor did.
“They are building a new hospital, or rather
// 323.png
.pn +1
Mrs. Gresham is,” Dorothy told him; “it is
to be exclusively for children. In the meantime
Dr. Dudley is receiving patients in the
house where he lives, but he cannot accommodate
many. I am glad you could get in so
soon. You will like the Doctor; everybody
does.”
Doodles wondered if he were as nice as
Polly. And then, before he had time to ask,
they whirled through a gateway and up to a
door.
To the surprise of the little lad Dr. Dudley
was a young man, and instead of a gay uniform
he wore a short white coat—without
epaulets. But Doodles liked him, just as
Dorothy had said—his voice, his manner,
his smile. In fact, as soon as the Doctor took
his hand his faith rose to the joy point. He
could not be thankful enough that he had
“kept on.”
The examination was very different from
the one at Hotel Royal. Several times the
physician’s gentle fingers caused sharp pain;
but the lad shut his teeth hard, and did not
flinch.
“Have you never had any treatment?”
// 324.png
.pn +1
Dr. Dudley asked,—“massage, rubbing, or
the like?”
“Only what mother does,” Doodles answered.
“She always rubs me every night,
and in the morning when she has time.”
“I thought so,” he nodded. “Your legs
are in better condition than legs generally are
when they have not been used for so long.”
“She has done it ever since I can remember,”
volunteered Doodles.
“Good!” was the hearty response.
Presently the Doctor took up a curious
three-part instrument, and putting an end in
each ear laid the other on the boy’s bare chest,—now
here, now there, until Doodles wondered
if he were going all over in that way.
But no, it was only within a certain space.
“Absolutely sound!” Dr. Dudley turned to
Mrs. Gaylord with a radiant smile.
“Isn’t that fine!” she returned with a smile
equally bright.
Doodles wondered why they were so delighted,
but he did not like to ask.
In a few moments he was waiting on the
couch in the reception room, while Dr. Dudley
and the Gaylords conversed with one
// 325.png
.pn +1
another in the adjoining office. A draught
had drawn the door almost together, and only
fragments of the talk could be heard; but the
boy patched them together to make a startling
whole.
“Good fighting chance ... always danger
... soon as possible ... Wednesday morning
... walking in a month or two.”
By this time the eager listener was so excited
that he failed to hear anything further,
and his eyes were unusually brilliant when the
Doctor said good-bye.
Dorothy Gaylord put her arm around
Doodles, and drew him close, as they spun
along the smooth pavement.
“Did you hear what Dr. Dudley said?”
“A little,” he answered.
“Oh, sweetheart, he thinks you have such
a good chance! He advises an operation right
away.”
The word sent instant terror to the brave
little heart. This had not been included in his
wonderful bill of items.
“I am sure your mother will consent,”
Dorothy went on, “everything looks so
favorable. Giles is going up to Foxford for her
// 326.png
.pn +1
and Blue as soon as he has taken us home, and
they will stay all night. Your mother can
see the Doctor this evening, and arrange
things with him. Dearest! won’t it be beautiful
if you can walk?” She squeezed the little
form ever so lightly.
“Beautiful!” was the soft echo—out of
a trembling heart. Operation! What were
they planning to do to him? He had heard of
operations—oh, yes, he had heard of little
else while his mother was sick! Everybody in
The Flatiron talked about them then. Why,
Mrs. Corrigan said—it was too horrible to
think of! The boy tried to put it away, but
it would come back!
Mr. Gaylord had slight trouble in persuading
Mrs. Stickney to permit Doodles to go
to the hospital. Had she not recently passed
through a successful operation herself? The
probable chance of his being able to walk was
worth a little risk. When she saw Dr. Dudley
she was ready to agree to his wishes without
an objection. The voice of Doodles was not
asked for, and the little lad kept silent.
Blue, with his keen perception, guessed
something of his brother’s fears.
// 327.png
.pn +1
“Don’t you be worryin’ about the operation,
old feller! They’ll give you something
so you won’t feel it a bit!”
Give him something! The words were a
knife! Doodles scarcely heard the rest of what
Blue was saying.
“Just think how jolly it’ll be when you and
I play football together!”
The “football” did catch his ear. It made
him smile. Yes, he would try to think about
football, as Blue bade him. What if they
should cut him in pieces! They would put
him together again! If only Mrs. Corrigan
hadn’t said—never mind, others had borne
it and he could!
The parting between Doodles and his
mother threatened to be tearful on both sides;
but it was arrested by Blue’s shout that the
car was there, and in a moment the small boy
was at the window waving his good-byes.
// 328.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch26
CHAPTER XXVI||“DR. POLLY”
.sp 2
At ten o’clock Doodles was taken to the
hospital and carried directly to his little white
room. Everything was novel and pretty to
the boy’s eyes, but prettiest of all was the
white-capped, smiling nurse who received
him. He was undressed at once and put into
a soft bed, where he had two little pillows at
his head. He watched the nurse as she hung
some of his clothes in the white wardrobe
and folded others and laid them away in the
little white bureau. How strange it seemed to
go to bed right in the middle of the day while
the sun was shining!
Presently the nurse brought writing materials,
and began to ask him questions,—where
he lived, where he was born, his age,
his mother’s maiden name, her native town,
and many others. Finally she inquired:—
“What doctor sent you here?”
“No doctor. Polly Dudley told Mr. Gaylord
// 329.png
.pn +1
that she thought her father could make
me walk, and so he wanted mother to let me
go to see him, and that’s how it came about.”
“Then I shall have to put it down ‘Dr.
Polly,’ shan’t I?”
Doodles chuckled.
“It isn’t the first time she has sent us a
patient,” the young woman went on. “Polly
is her father’s right-hand man.”
“I think she is lovely,” returned Doodles.
“She is,” was the emphatic assent.
At the moment another nurse brought a
small tray and a cup of broth. She swung the
top of a table directly over the bed, and set
the tray upon it, to the delight of the little
patient who had never seen a table of that
sort.
The broth was hot and good, and Doodles
sat, propped up with pillows, and sipped and
sipped until it was every drop gone. Then, as
he was alone, he fell to admiring the cup. It
was of delicate white china, with a handle on
each side, and a wreath of pansies around it.
He wondered if the pansies made the broth
taste better.
From the cup his eyes roved round the
// 330.png
.pn +1
room. How dainty it was! And light! So different
from the dim bedroom at home! The
one large window at the end was hung with
three curtains,—a very dark shade, a light
shade, and drapery of white muslin looped
at either side. Through the clear glass he
could see a wide sweep of blue sky, and a few
trees in their autumn dress. How beautiful
it was! He was still gazing, when he heard a
soft “Hullo!” He turned quickly, to see
Polly Dudley in the doorway.
“How do you do?” she smiled. “I am so
glad you have come! I should have been dreadfully
disappointed if you hadn’t!”
“You would?” returned Doodles in surprised
tone.
“Of course,” laughed Polly. “Because I
want you to walk and run as I can.”
“Oh, if I only could!” Doodles replied.
“But,” a bit wistfully, “your father isn’t
sure.”
“Almost, I guess,” nodded Polly. “If he
hadn’t been he wouldn’t have urged you to
come. My, I know what it is not to walk!”
Doodles looked at her in amazement.
“You?” he cried.
// 331.png
.pn +1
“Yes. I was hurt, and couldn’t walk for
ever so long. I know!” Her curls waved emphatically.
“Did you have an operation?”
“Oh, yes! That isn’t anything to mind,—you
don’t know it!”
“No,” Doodles smiled—and shivered under
the bedclothes.
They talked of many things,—Caruso,
Lilith Brooks, Polly’s school, and the new
hospital which was building.
Polly stayed until the nurse came, the one
with dark hair and eyes, whom they called
Miss Eden. Doodles liked her very much, her
smile was so quick and so cheering.
After a while she brought him another cup
of broth. It looked the same, she laughed, but
tasted different. Doodles found it just as good
as the first. He wondered why they did not
give him something to eat with it, yet he
asked no questions.
One nurse or another came often, but some
of the time the small patient was alone. Once
he went to sleep, and awoke to see Polly at
his side, a big yellow chrysanthemum in her
hand.
// 332.png
.pn +1
“How beautiful!” he smiled.
“I hoped you would like it. It is almost as
good as the sun,” she laughed. “That will be
gone before long, but this will stay.” She
put it into his hand.
“Is it for me?” he asked in surprise.
“Certainly. A girl gave it to me at school,
and I said, ‘Now I have something to carry
to Doodles!’”
“I don’t see why you should think of me,”
he said musingly.
“Because lie-abed folks need to be thought
of more than run-about folks, and besides—I
like you!” She laughed, and skipped away.
At the tea hour came a cup of bouillon—that
was all. Suddenly Doodles understood.
He remembered hearing a woman tell Granny,
while his mother was at the hospital, that
when she had her operation they gave her
nothing to eat for a whole day beforehand,—nothing
but beef tea and mutton broth. Yes,
that was it! It made the morrow seem nearer.
Then he began again to think of what the
other woman, Mrs. Corrigan, had said, the
dreadful thing that had haunted him ever
since. He could not finish his supper.
// 333.png
.pn +1
The room grew dusky. Even the golden
chrysanthemum could not brighten the blackness.
He thought of the kitchen at home and
wished he were there. Of course, he wanted to
walk; but, oh, if Mrs. Corrigan hadn’t said
it! He closed his eyes, and repeated his evening
prayer, trying to trust everything to the
One who he now felt sure was answering
his petitions; but—he could see the woman,
just as she had stood against the dim hallway,
hands on her hips; he could see the horror in
her face, the uprolled eyes, as she told about
it! He turned his face to the pillow, yet he
could not shut her out.
Presently a new nurse appeared, and put
a little thermometer under his tongue and
timed his pulse by her watch. When she went
away she told him to go to sleep.
He endeavored to do as she bade him; but
sleep would not come,—only the picture
of that woman, her hands upon her hips. Her
words beat through his brain! They would not
stop! He was still wide awake when the nurse
came softly in. She opened the window a little
wider and put up a screen to shield him from
the wind, for the night was chilly. She laid her
// 334.png
.pn +1
cool hand on his forehead, and asked if he felt
lonely.
“Oh, no!” he answered.
She bent over and kissed him, and then
went out.
The speaking-tube in the hall was beyond
his sight. Otherwise he would have seen Mrs.
Fairfax go there and push the bell button,
and if he had been near enough he would have
heard her say:—
“Is Polly there? May she come up for a
little while, please?”
When Polly reached the head of the stairs
the nurse was waiting for her.
“Doodles seems troubled about something.
His pulse is away up, and he looks as if he
would never go to sleep. Find out what it is,
if you can, and tell him there is nothing for
him to be afraid of. Perhaps he is homesick;
but you will do better than I. He is not acquainted
with me.”
Doodles smiled a welcome when Polly
turned on the light.
“The flower couldn’t keep away the dark,
could it?” she laughed.
The boy returned a plaintive little no.
// 335.png
.pn +1
“Did they give you a good supper?”
“Yes, it looked nice. I wasn’t hungry.”
“You ought to have been. I was!”
Doodles smiled. Polly was so bright, as if
no gloom could ever touch her. Even Mrs.
Corrigan would not be able to frighten her.
He wished he were as brave. If only she hadn’t
said that—that awful thing! Could it be
true? Doodles shut his teeth hard—through
Polly’s chatter the words rang and rang!
“They won’t let you have anything to eat
to-morrow,” Polly was saying, “or to drink
either; but you won’t care. I didn’t a bit.
You don’t worry about to-morrow, do you?
You mustn’t, because there isn’t anything
to dread, not a single thing! Dr. Keith will
examine your heart, just as father did. But
you didn’t mind that, did you? And he may
take your blood-pressure—that isn’t anything!
It makes your arm feel funny for a
minute—that’s all!”
“Who is Dr. Keith?”
“Perhaps you haven’t seen him. He’s
ever so nice. He is the one that gives the
anæsthetic.”
“Oh!” said Doodles weakly. “Is that the—the
// 336.png
.pn +1
ether?” It was out—the terrible
word! He had meant not to speak it.
“I don’t think they’ll give you ether—”
“Not give me ether!” Doodles’s voice was
an amazed whisper.
“I don’t think so—or not much. Anyway
you won’t know it! Dr. Keith will give
you gas first.”
“Gas?” repeated Doodles with a puzzled
pucker of his forehead.
“Yes, laughing gas,—a new kind, I guess.
It isn’t bad to take. It makes your head feel
whirly inside, that’s all. I don’t know how
ether feels, but they say it is—stuffy—stuffycating.”
Polly still stumbled over an occasional
long word.
“Oh, yes, that’s what Mrs. Corrigan said!”
“Who?”
“A woman I heard telling about it. She
said she’d never, never take it again, she’d
rather die in purgatory seventeen times!”
Polly giggled. “That’s a good many! I
guess she didn’t go to an up-to-date hospital.
Father makes everything so easy for people.
Has that worried you—what she said?”
“A little,” Doodles nodded.
// 337.png
.pn +1
“Well, you needn’t worry any more, for
you won’t mind the gas. You can breathe just
as easy as you can now.”
“I’m so glad!” murmured Doodles. A
mountain weight slid away from him.
“I must go, or you won’t have any chance
to sleep,” Polly laughed.
“Thank you for coming! Thank you so
much!” He caught her hand and squeezed
it.
“Good-night!” she said gayly, and threw
him a kiss as she turned off the light.
“Poor little fellow!” crooned Mrs. Fairfax,
when Polly told what she had learned. “That’s
why he left his supper. I’ll get him something
now; he will sleep better for it.”
When she brought the steaming cup,
Doodles sipped it eagerly, every drop, and in
five minutes he was fast asleep.
It was morning when he awoke, and the
first thing he saw was a tall glass vase of magnificent
pink roses. Where did they come from?
“Those are your breakfast,” Mrs. Fairfax
smiled, appearing with a bowl of water and
some towels.
“Did Polly give them to me?”
// 338.png
.pn +1
“No, a lady brought them late last evening.”
She handed him a card.
“Oh, Miss Fleming! That’s exactly like
her! How sweet they are!”
“She said she had just heard that you were
here, and so came down last night that you
might have them early this morning.”
Nothing could have taken Doodles’s mind
so completely from the ordeal ahead as the
beautiful flowers and the thought of Miss
Fleming’s coming to Fair Harbor, at that
hour, expressly to give him pleasure.
Polly ran in to bring a bright good-morning,
and was given a bunch of the long-stemmed
beauties.
“Are there any other children here?”
Doodles asked, just as she was going.
“Yes, nine; three girls and six boys. One
of the girls has her operation at ten.”
“This morning?”
“Yes.”
“Oh! please will you carry her some of my
roses?”
Polly hesitated. “You won’t have many
left, if you keep giving them away,” she demurred.
“She can have some of mine.”
// 339.png
.pn +1
“No, no! Take these! I’ll have enough.”
So three more buds were chosen from the
vase, and Doodles happily watched them go.
The lad’s idea of the operating room had
been gained from Mrs. Corrigan’s description,—“A
horrud place down in th’ basemint—ugh!
ut sure gives me th’ crapes
ivery time I think iv ut!” So he was totally
unprepared for the large, beautiful room on
the same floor, finished all in white, with sunshine
streaming in at the windows; and its
glass-topped tables, their jars and bowls of
shimmering crystal filled with liquids of bewitching
colors—oh, it was so different from
what he had imagined! And he discovered,
too, that the dreaded table itself was more
like a high couch, where he had a little pillow
for his head and was made very comfortable
indeed. The smiling man in spotless white,
who gave him a cordial greeting—Doodles
was sure it must be Dr. Keith, who Polly had
said was “nice.”
Things went along much as Polly had told
him, and presently a little frilled white cap
was put over his hair, and every tiny ringlet
tucked in. Meantime he was surprised and
// 340.png
.pn +1
amused at the appearance of others in the
room. The head nurse, Miss Price,—he was
certain it must be she,—was all in white
from top to toe, only her dark, happy eyes
being left uncovered. The younger nurse was
in white, too; but her face was not hidden,
and she smiled out at him from the curious
white “sunbonnet” on her head. He wondered
why they dressed in such a queer fashion—it
was like the masquerade parties that
Leona had told him about.
While he was wondering, a damp cloth was
laid over his eyes,—“To keep them from
smarting,” the pleasant voice of the Doctor
said.
“Now I am going to give you some laughing
gas,” Dr. Keith went on, “so you won’t
know anything about it. Breathe easily—that
is all!”
He did as he was bidden, and found it to
be just as Polly had declared; whatever it was
over his nose and mouth was not uncomfortable,
and he could breathe as well as ever.
Something began to whirl in his head.
“Feel a little bit sleepy?” asked the Doctor.
“Not sleepy, only whirly,” was the answer.
// 341.png
.pn +1
The whirl went a little higher, almost to
the edge of his hair—then there was a rustle
at his side. “They can’t put me to sleep, after
all!” Doodles thought, and opened his eyes.
He saw an electric light fixture—it looked
like the one in his little white room! Somebody
said—it sounded like Miss Eden:—
“Do you know me?”
He looked. It was Miss Eden! He was in
his own little white bed!
Could—could IT be over? He voiced his
thought at once.
“Certainly it is,” she smiled.
He drew a long, happy breath. “It doesn’t
seem a minute!” he said.
“More than an hour,” was the reply.
She pulled down the dark shade, and he
had a short nap. When he awoke he felt so
glad, glad, glad! He wondered if he were going
to walk. Then he slept again.
The next time he opened his eyes Dr. Dudley
was there. He took his hand, and told
him that everything looked very favorable.
Doodles knew that meant that the Doctor
thought he would walk. His responsive smile
was joyful.
// 342.png
.pn +1
On Thursday Polly came in for a minute.
“It wasn’t bad, was it?” she laughed.
“Not a bit,” he answered merrily. “There
wasn’t a thing to dread, not a single thing!
It was beautiful.”
In the afternoon his mother and Dorothy
came to see him. His mother’s eyes were full
of tears when she kissed him. He did not see
why, for he was getting well fast. He did not
feel like crying, he wanted to laugh.
At the end of the week Miss Fleming surprised
him with a flying call and a box of red
roses and ferns. He did not keep many of the
flowers for himself; he persuaded Polly to
carry them to the other patients. And then
he picked out the very prettiest buds that
were left in his vase and coaxed her to take
them downstairs.
Those were happy days for Doodles. Everybody
was so kind. Polly spent many an hour
at his side, talking, telling stories, or singing.
His mother and Blue came once a week, and
the Gaylords and the Flemings frequently.
And at the bedtime hour, if Polly were not
there, Miss Eden would tell him wonderful
fairy tales, often repeating his favorite one,
// 343.png
.pn +1
of which he never tired,—about “King Ingewall’s
daughter” who ferried the river on the
backs of her “little grey geese,” and who
finally came to the end of her troubles, as
every good princess should.
One tiny fear, however, would sometimes
creep in to spoil his joy,—what if, after all,
he should never walk! Thus far he had been
lifted from bed to chair, and back again,
much as before the operation, and he wondered
when he was to try his feet.
One morning he was terrified to see Dr.
Dudley with a pair of crutches. Were these
to be the end of his hopes?
“Only for a while, little man,” explained
the Doctor, answering the pitiful question in
the boy’s eyes. “They will try your strength,
and at the same time keep you from strain.
Suppose we see how they go!”
To the surprise of Doodles, he found that he
could use the crutches very well, and he went
across the room and back, breathlessly joyful.
“May I go down the hall?” he cried.
“Certainly. I want you to walk about.”
And with a word of caution to the nurse, he
waved the lad a gay good-bye.
// 344.png
.pn +1
That day held only pleasure for Doodles.
Polly ran in several times. Dorothy was
there in the afternoon, and before she
went came Miss Fleming with Daphne and
Blue.
“Hurrah, old feller! I knew you’d go it!”
exclaimed Blue, swinging his cap in a cheer
that threatened to be louder than his brother
thought proper, and which his alarmed face
brought to a sudden hush.
The merry party shortly went away, leaving
only Daphne’s chrysanthemums and Dorothy’s
nut cakes and Blue’s card to tell of the
visit. The card pictured a pussy with a spring
tail that kept wagging whenever the card was
touched. The nurses all laughed when they
saw it, and Doodles had it beside him while he
ate a nut cake, the pink chrysanthemums
helping to make it a gala feast.
The lad grew strong and stronger. Several
times he stood upon his feet unaided. Still
nothing was said about his walking, and there
were hours when he grew sick with fear, lest
he should never leave his crutches. Even this
was better than anything he had ever known;
but it seemed only the mockery of walking.
// 345.png
.pn +1
Polly was the first to notice that his blithesomeness
was fading.
Dr. Dudley came, one noon, as he sat by
the window.
“Want to try it to-day?” he asked smilingly.
At first Doodles did not understand. Then
he whitened.
“You mean?” he faltered.
“Yes, now is a good time!”
The boy arose, trembling.
“Don’t be afraid! You can do it!”
Still Doodles hesitated. What if he should
fail! His heart—the Doctor’s heart would
break with disappointment! He looked beyond
Dr. Dudley, to where Miss Eden stood
smiling him courage. His eyes passed along
to the doorway—Polly was peeping round
the corner! He put a foot forward—wavered—then
the other!
“He’s walking! he’s walking!” piped Polly.
While Doodles reached the Doctor’s arms,
and breathed ecstatically:—
“God has answered!”
// 346.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch27
CHAPTER XXVII||“AULD LANG SYNE”
.sp 2
On the Saturday before New Year’s Day
Doodles went home. Giles Gaylord and his
wife came for him, and he wore his Christmas
presents from Miss Fleming, a long fur coat
and a cap to match. The nurses pressed about
him with happy words, Dr. Dudley walked
beside him to the door, while Miss Eden and
Polly went as far as the car and then scampered
back to linger at the window for a last
good-bye.
The air was keen, but Doodles, snug beneath
the robes, was warm as need be.
Giles drove fast. In a little while they passed
the postoffice in Carleton, then the granite
church at Berryville, and not long afterwards
the outskirts of Foxford came in sight.
Doodles grew eager as familiar objects were
whizzed by. When the car turned into Cherry
Street he sat motionless, looking ahead where
The Flatiron showed in the distance.
// 347.png
.pn +1
“I wonder if Granny will be at the window—yes,
there she is! And Mrs. Jimmy
George!” Doodles waved his hand high and
joyously. Granny was waving both of hers!
The car had slowed, but it was going past!
Oh, they would turn round—that was it!
But no! They were leaving The Flatiron
behind! He looked inquiringly at Dorothy.
“We are going for a little longer drive,” she
smiled.
That was queer. Doodles felt a bit disappointed.
It was nice to ride farther, but he
was in a hurry to see his mother and Blue.
Never mind, he would be back before long.
But on and on they went.
“This is the road to the Flemings’, isn’t
it?” Doodles asked at length.
Dorothy assented. She put her arm around
him. “Are you tired?”
“Not a mite,” he told her.
And at that minute they neared the house
on the knoll, and turned in at the great stone
gateway. Were they going for a call, Doodles
asked himself. No, they whizzed directly by
the door. Truly this was a most mysterious
ride!
// 348.png
.pn +1
On a branch driveway was a little bungalow.
Doodles had once noticed how pretty it was.
Straight towards the tiny house sped the
car. Why, there was Blue out in front! And
his mother, with a shawl over her head!
She ran down from the veranda. As the car
stopped she was ready to take Doodles in her
arms.
“I can’t go up and down steps very well
yet,” he said.
There was no need. Eager hands were
about him.
“How do you like it?” cried Blue.
“What?”
“Our new home,” Blue answered, and
laughed to see his brother’s widening eyes.
“We’ve moved out here!” he announced.
“And not going back to The Flatiron?”
queried Doodles.
“Never!” was the prompt reply.
“Isn’t that beautiful!” exclaimed the lad.
“To think of your walking along just like
anybody!” marveled Mrs. Stickney. “I can’t
believe it yet!” she continued to Dorothy, as
they hurried inside.
Doodles had to tell how he wondered and
// 349.png
.pn +1
wondered when they did not stop at The Flatiron,
and whom he saw at the windows, before
his brother would be satisfied.
After the Gaylords were gone Blue must
show the newcomer all over the little bungalow,
the happy mother following them and
putting an arm around each boy every time
they stopped to admire a new piece of furniture
or the view from a window.
“The house was intended for the gardener,”
Blue explained; “but he went back to Scotland
before it was done, and so it was empty,
and Mrs. Fleming and mother fixed it up
together that we’d come here to live. I’m
going in to school every day on the trolley,
and next spring you are to go!”
“O—h!” breathed Doodles delightedly.
“And I shall take my dinner, and be gone
all day! S’pose you’ll be lonesome?”
“Now, Blue!” interposed his mother.
“You just wait!” giggled Blue. “Shall
you, Doodles?”
“Why, I shall miss you and mother, of
course; but I shan’t mind being alone—I
can walk, you know! Will mother carry her
dinner, too?”
// 350.png
.pn +1
This was what Blue had been waiting for.
“No!” he chuckled. “She isn’t going on the
trolley either!”
“Don’t tease him, Blue! Tell him all about
it!” laughed Mrs. Stickney. “I must go down
and see to my muffins.”
“What is it?” begged Doodles. “I can’t
wait a minute longer!”
“Mother has given up working in the
shop!”
“Oh, how lovely!”
“She’s going to do mending for Mrs. Fleming,
and make some dresses for Daphne, and
sew for the rest of ’em,—I do’ know what,—and
help out any time. And they don’t
charge us a cent more here than we paid at
The Flatiron, and the steam is brought right
down in pipes from their house! The wires
come from there, too! Did you see we’ve got
electricity?”
No, Doodles had not noticed, and he must
be shown how each fixture worked.
“Isn’t it nice that you found Daphne?”
reflected the small boy happily.
“Nicer that you made me carry Caruso
out to Miss Fleming,” Blue put in, wagging
// 351.png
.pn +1
his head slowly. “My, didn’t I hate
to go!”
“I almost thought you didn’t like it,”
smiled Doodles.
Blue laughed. “Glad I went! What if I
hadn’t!”
“I suppose God could have made some
other way,” Doodles pondered. “But it is
great as it is! And I’m glad you told me to
keep on!”
Blue smiled reminiscently. “Things have
come out mighty good! Say, let’s go downstairs
where we can sit easier! I want to tell
you about Miss Fleming.”
“What about her?”
“Oh, you wait! My, but you can go down
all right, can’t you!” admired Blue, to his
brother’s delight.
“There! now we can talk!” The boy settled
himself in a big rocker, after seeing Doodles
comfortable in its mate opposite.
“Tell me quick!” begged the little lad, eager
for every scrap of home news.
“Well, you know Mr. Selden that Caruso
belonged to? Mrs. Fleming told mother all
about him and Eudora—”
// 352.png
.pn +1
“Oh! was that the one Miss Shook
said?”
“I guess so. Now you keep still and let me
talk!
“You see, it was this way, she and Mr.
Selden were dead in love with each other,
and wouldn’t either of ’em show it a mite.
Miss Fleming thought he didn’t care anything
about her when he went off without saying
a word; and all the while he didn’t dare let
on how he felt, because she is so rich and he
is poor and has got his way to make. So that’s
what was the matter with her—Mrs. Fleming
said she just went all to pieces. Then when
I carried the bird, and wrote him what I did,
it made him think perhaps she did like him.
And he wrote to her, and she wrote to him,
and they kept on writing, and they both
found out how it was, and he proposed, and
now they’re engaged and going to be married!”
“O—h!” beamed Doodles.
“I do’ know when, but he’s comin’ home
next spring. Miss Fleming don’t care a rap if
he is poor, and any of ’em don’t; they say he’ll
make piles o’ money pretty soon, because he
// 353.png
.pn +1
plays so beautifully. And they are all so glad
she’s got well, and it’s come out so fine, it
seems as if they couldn’t do enough for us ’specially
for you.”
“What have I done?”
Blue laughed. “You sent me out there with
Caruso—that’s what!”
“You carried him and wrote the letter
anyhow!” declared Doodles. “But, say,
when is he coming home? I do want to see
him! Was he real sick, the reason you took
him over to Mr. Gillespie’s?”
“No, only mopish. When I telephoned to
him, he said he guessed he missed you, and
I’d better bring him there where he’d have
all his birds for company till you got back.
He said to wrap him up and fetch him right
along. I put some newspapers round the
cage, and made some little holes for breathing
places, as he told me, and he’s been there ever
since. He’s comin’ in Monday anyway, and
he’s goin’ to bring him then.”
“Supper’s ready!” called Mrs. Stickney.
“This doesn’t look much like the old Flatiron
kitchen, does it?” exulted Blue.
// 354.png
.pn +1
Doodles shook his head smilingly, his mouth
full of egg salad.
“Bet this came from the Flemings’, didn’t
it?” queried Blue.
“I knew it,” he went on, after his mother’s
assent. “They’re always sending down something
or other. You ought to have seen the
basket that came the day we moved! About
everything in it! I tell you, they’re the folks
for me!”
“Me too!” chimed in Doodles. “But I
think there couldn’t have been anything
in that basket better than these muffins,” he
added, with a loving glance across to his
mother.
“Nobody can rout her on cooking,” declared
Blue.
“What children!” beamed the happy
mother, as she went to fetch a fresh supply
of the cakes.
The back door-bell rang, and the boys
heard a hearty thank-you.
The door shut, and Blue ran out to the
kitchen.
“Ice cream and oranges!” he shouted.
“My, what will they bring next!”
// 355.png
.pn +1
The Fleming sisters came for a brief visit
in the evening; but they were soon away,
and lights were out early in the bungalow.
Sunday morning it was snowing fast.
There was a private telephone connected
with the house on the knoll, and after breakfast
Mrs. Fleming rang to ask if anything
were needed. Later Daphne chatted with
Blue. Otherwise there was no word from outside
all day; but it was a happy household,
there was enough to talk about and to be
glad over to keep anybody from being lonesome.
The next sunrise promised a rare New
Year’s Day,—white underfoot, blue overhead,
and just cold enough for the season. An
air of mystery pervaded the little house on the
side drive. Doodles had felt it vaguely the day
before, and it suddenly grew into something
more defined when Blue awoke him with a
“Happy New Year, old feller! Got to start
early this morning!”
“To-day is a holiday,” observed the younger
lad a little later.
“Bet you it is!” shouted Blue, wagging
// 356.png
.pn +1
his head in the way Doodles knew—it always
meant a secret that ached to be let
out!
What could it be! He asked no questions,
but kept his eyes wide open. What fun to feel
a lovely secret ahead! There were messengers
from the big house all the forenoon, but Doodles
could only guess at their errands. Nothing
wonderful happened. Daphne brought
down a book for him, a beautiful book of
verses and pictures, and one for Blue about
some gallant knights. But Blue did not stop
long to look at books. He cleaned all the
paths about the house, and then surprised his
brother by saying that he was going into
town.
“For what?” cried Doodles, curiosity suddenly
thwarting his determination to appear
blind to all mysterious doings. But he gained
nothing.
“Oh, a little business, kiddie!” Blue answered
in what was meant to be a careless
tone, but which went wide of its aim and only
mystified Doodles to a high degree.
When he returned home, his mother had an
immediate errand in the kitchen, where he at
// 357.png
.pn +1
once joined her, leaving the small boy to speculate
on the possible import of the trip.
Afterwards Blue had several telephone
messages, which he answered only by pleased
phrases, which meant nothing to the listener.
It was a tantalizing, bewitching forenoon,
full of the wildest anticipations and the joyfulest
hopes.
Soon after dinner Mrs. Stickney suggested
that Doodles go upstairs and have a nap; so,
although he was not a bit sleepy, he went
without a word, guessing that they wished
him out of the way. He had made up his
mind that the Flemings were going to have a
party in the evening, to which they were invited;
yet why so much mystery about it?
He was no sooner established on his little bed
than he heard doors opening and shutting
downstairs, and the sound of men’s feet and
men’s voices. He was sure, too, that Eudora
Fleming was there. All this pushed away his
conjecture about the party. He gave up trying
to guess.
After a while there was less bustle below,
and Doodles shut his eyes. It was quite dusky
when he opened them. Blue was there.
// 358.png
.pn +1
“Hello, kiddie!”
“Hello!” laughed Doodles. “I went to
sleep after all. I thought I shouldn’t.”
“Good thing! You’ll feel livelier this
evening.”
So it was going to be this evening! Then he
should know in a little while! He longed to go
downstairs and see what was or had been
going on; but Blue sat as if he expected to
stay. So Doodles settled himself comfortably
for a chat.
“What do you s’pose Daphne told me this
morning?”
“Give it up! What?”
“She says she’s going to marry you when
she is twenty!”
“Crackety!” exploded Blue.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Doodles’s tone
was anxious.
“Mind what?”
“Why, that! You’d just as lief marry her,
wouldn’t you?”
Blue’s face was bright with fun. “Maybe I
would, and maybe I wouldn’t. It’s too soon
to decide.”
“Well, she wants to, because you found her
// 359.png
.pn +1
and took her away from those dreadful folks.
She thinks you are the nicest boy that ever
was!”
“Perhaps she won’t when she’s twenty.”
“Yes, she will! She’s true-blue, just like
you!”
Blue began to whistle. Then his eyes
twinkled, and the whistling was cut short.
“Doodles, I think you’d be a better
match for Daphne,—you are nearer her
age.”
“Oh, no!” cried Doodles. “I’d rather
marry Polly—Polly Dudley!”
“Cracketywhack! You’ve got ahead o’
me! Picked out a wife already!” Blue
laughed himself almost out of his chair.
Doodles laughed a little in sympathy, yet
he said:—
“I don’t see anything very funny about
that! If I like Polly and Polly likes me,
why can’t we marry each other when we get
old?”
“How do you know she likes you?”
“She said she did.”
Blue went off in another spasm. “Did you
ask her?” he gurgled.
// 360.png
.pn +1
“No, she just said so!”
“She’s a good deal older’n you,” Blue
objected.
“What difference does that make?”
“I do’ know, but the boys are older than
the girls—’most always.”
“I don’t care anything about age,” returned
Doodles comfortably, “and I don’t
think Polly will.”
“Come to supper, boys!”
They sprang to their feet. Polly and
Daphne were instantly forgotten! Doodles
was eager to see downstairs.
He stopped when he reached the foot of the
flight—vines and flowers seemed everywhere!
“How do you like it, old man?” Blue could
not wait.
“Beautiful! It’s just like fairyland—or
heaven!” he said softly.
“I knew you would!”
“Who did it?”
“The Flemings! Trimmed up for New
Year’s! That’s why we tucked you off upstairs,”
laughed Blue.
“I thought so!” chuckled Doodles. So this
// 361.png
.pn +1
was it! What a lovely New Year’s surprise!
Blue had to show Doodles all through the
rooms, and point out the most elaborate decorations,
before he would let him sit down to
supper. Then both boys were too excited
and full of talk to eat. It was a plain meal,
just bread and milk and apple sauce; but
Doodles ate happily without question, and
he and Blue were soon off again to see the
flowers.
“Now we’d better go and fix up a little,”
Blue suggested presently. “Somebody might
come for a New Year’s call, you know.”
So up the stairs they climbed, and returned
in their Sunday suits. Maybe the Flemings
were to be there, Doodles thought.
“Say,” broke out Blue, “did I tell you that
Eudora wants you to sing in the choir at St.
Bartholomew’s?”
The small boy widened his eyes with a surprised
“No.”
“Well, that’s the programme! Just as soon
as you get a little stronger, she says. The
soprano boy that sings solos is going out of
town, and you can have his place.”
// 362.png
.pn +1
“Oh, I’d love it!” The brown eyes grew
luminous. “To sing for God! To give his
messages to the people! I am so glad!”
Blue gazed admiringly at his brother. “I
didn’t know as you’d dare—I believe you
wouldn’t be afraid to sing at the Church of
the Good Shepherd itself!”
“Of course not! Why should I?”
Blue laughed. “I do’ know! I should!—There’s
an auto! Come on!”
Blue dashed to the front door, Doodles
following closely. Who could be coming in a
car except—
Blue had the door wide open. The lights
shone out brilliantly. Dorothy was on the
steps, but who—? why, Grandpa Moon was
with her! Behind them was Tillie Shook, and
then Giles Gaylord and—it was! it was
Granny O’Donnell!
Doodles let go Grandpa Moon’s hand to be
clasped in Granny’s arms.
“Me blissid b’y! I niver thought me old
eyes wud see ye on th’ dear little two feets o’
yees, as sthrong as annybody! Thanks be to
th’ good God!”
Through the talk sounded a motor horn.
// 363.png
.pn +1
Another car was coming up the driveway. It
stopped. Blue opened the door. Doodles
looked beyond Granny—there were the
Jimmy Georges, and others whom he well
knew!
“To think o’ your walkin’!” wondered Mrs.
Homan. “Let’s see you do it! Land! I never
’d ’a’ b’lieved it! When I heard—”
New arrivals cut short the sentence, and
Thomas Fitzpatrick and Joseph Sitnitsky
came up to shake hands with Doodles.
Right in the midst of the chatter the small
boy spied somebody in the hall, somebody
carrying a covered cage, and Sandy Gillespie
and Caruso were receiving a glad welcome
when Blue reached them.
“Th’ wee birdie is a’ right noo,” the old
Scotchman smiled in answer to Doodles’s
question. “An’ he’ll sing for ye sune, he’ll
be sae fu’ o’ joy to see his bonnie laddie
again.”
The boy’s fear that Caruso would not know
him quickly faded, for with a delighted whirr
the mocker flew to his top perch, eager for the
accustomed caress from his master’s cheek.
It was a pretty thing to see, and the others
// 364.png
.pn +1
crowded round, everybody talking to everybody
else, while Doodles and his pet, regarding
none but each other, exchanged their soft
greetings.
The lad had but just returned from placing
the bird in a quiet corner, when the Fleming
car, which had been to the station and
had stopped at The Flatiron to complete
its load, deposited its passengers at the entrance.
“Why—y—ee! Christarchus!” piped the
astonished Doodles; and after that he would
scarcely have been surprised if the President
had appeared at the door to wish him a
Happy New Year.
It was a very informal party, but merriment
and joy were there in full measure, and
Doodles had to walk across the room a great
many times to satisfy some of the still incredulous
guests.
“It’s the wonderfullest thing I ever heard
of!” declared Mrs. Jimmy George. “I s’posed—Evangeline,
don’t you go into that dinin’-room!
Yes, you may peek!—Don’t it look
just beautiful!”
Doodles turned. He had been so engaged
// 365.png
.pn +1
with his friends that he had had no time for
anything beside. It was “just beautiful,” as
Mrs. George had said,—the table loaded
with dainties, the green garlands, the brilliant
blossoms, the dazzling lights overhead!
Surely the house on the knoll had given of its
best for the little bungalow feast.
“I wonder who thought of all this first,”
said Doodles.
Blue was passing, and heard.
“Ask her!” he laughed, waving an arm
towards the blushing Mrs. Jimmy.
“Pshaw, I didn’t do nothin’!” denied that
lady. “I happened to think’t would be nice
if we could, and I asked ’em to come, as soon’s
I found out ’t would be agreeable to your
mother—that’s all I did! I was for havin’
us bring the refreshments; but Miss Flemin’
she said no, she’d ’tend to that, an’ she did—my,
I sh’d think she did!
“You see,”—lowering her voice,—“the
truth is, a lady (I won’t mention no names)
but she said to me, one day, ‘I s’pose now the
Stickneys have got so much money and live in
such a swell house, they won’t have no use for
their old friends.’ And I just up an’ out with,
// 366.png
.pn +1
‘They will too! They ain’t no such folks as to
turn their backs on tried-an’-true neighbors!’
That was what started me t’ thinkin’ o’ this,
and I told Jimmy ’t I’d put it through if only
to prove things to her. So here we be, an’ I
guess she’s satisfied all right! I invited every
blessed one, and they’d all been mighty glad
to come, but some couldn’t.”
After luncheon, when everybody was in
full content, Giles Gaylord called for silence.
“My dear friends,” he began, “this honor
ought to be upon the shoulders of the one to
whom we are indebted for the pleasure of the
evening; but as she wouldn’t take it, and I
didn’t succeed in sneaking out of it, here I
am! I think I should have run away during
luncheon, as has sometimes been done in the
face of a dreaded speech; but one can’t leave
his friends in the lurch, and we are certainly
warm friends—warmer, perhaps, because we
are Flatiron friends. If I am not mistaken, all
of us, with two exceptions, have, at one time
or another, dwelt beneath its hospitable roof.
So now, in behalf of The Flatiron, I present
to Master Doodles this new home for Caruso.”
// 367.png
.pn +1
He lifted the cloth which had hidden from
sight a large, handsome mocking-bird cage.
Everybody turned to Doodles, who stood
transfixed with astonishment and delight.
“Speech! speech!” was the call.
The boy looked at his brother with pleading
eyes. “You!” he whispered.
Blue smilingly shook his head.
“I am so surprised and happy,” Doodles
began, “I don’t know what to say! But I
thank you ever and ever so much, and I know
Caruso will. It is just like you to do it! You
have always done such nice things for us.
You can’t imagine what a comfort you have
been to me! I guess there are lots of people
that need comforting, or God wouldn’t have
told us to do it. I’ve never done much. Blue
and Caruso have had to do mine for me. But
now I can walk, and Caruso has got such a
beautiful home he’ll sing more than ever, and
we shall comfort all the folks we can just as
long as we live.”
This was followed by such applause that
Doodles wanted to hide his head; but he only
blushed and smiled to everybody.
“Darlin’!” whispered Mrs. Homan, wiping
// 368.png
.pn +1
her eyes.—“He’s a blissid little angil!”
breathed Granny O’Donnell.
Mr. Gillespie brought the bird, and deftly
put him into his new cage.
With a quick, comprehensive glance,
Caruso flirted his wings in joy, and let go a
little carol.
At its close, softly, very softly, the old
Scotchman began to whistle “Auld Lang
Syne.”
The bird stood motionless, with cocked
head, and then joined in the air, which almost
at once he was carrying on by himself.
The room was breathless to its close, when
such a storm of praise broke forth as would
have frightened a shy singer. But not
Caruso! He calmly descended to his new food
cup and pounced upon the tidbit which was
always his reward after a successful performance.
Truly Sandy Gillespie had been a faithful
teacher in the short time that the mocker had
been with him! It was his New Year’s present
to Doodles.
As soon as the clapping ceased, somebody—Blue
thought afterwards it was Leona
// 369.png
.pn +1
Montgomery—started the song again, and a
score of voices caught it up with a burst of
melody.
.pm verse-start
“Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.”
.pm verse-end
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END
.nf-
.sp 4
// 370.png
.pn +1
// 371.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
U . S . A
.nf-
.sp 4
// 372.png.pm
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 2
THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS
.rj
By Mary Roberts Rinehart
A story of two young lovers—students in far-away
Vienna—and their struggle with poverty and temptation.
Incidentally, a graphic picture of life in the
war-worn city of the Hapsburgs.
.nf c
From Letters to the Author:
.nf-
“Fresh and clean and sweet—a story which makes
one feel the better for having read it and wish that he
could know all of your dear characters.”—California.
“Little that has been written in the last decade has
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better.”—New York.
“It stands far above any recent fiction I have read.”—Massachusetts.
“Quite the best thing you have ever written.”—Connecticut.
$1.25 net.
// 373.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
THE HEART’S COUNTRY
.rj
By Mary Heaton Vorse
“In telling the love story of Ellen Payne, Mrs. Vorse has
written a delicious romance, with a heroine as spontaneous
and as charming as our well-beloved Rebecca of Sunnybrook
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“Ellen is a fascinating creation with her irrepressible originality
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“The whole story is so human, so sympathetic, so full of
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“Much that is best in New England rural tradition lives
again in these delicious pages.”—Vogue.
Illustrated in color by Alice Barber Stephens
12mo, $1.35 net.
// 374.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
THE POET
.rj
By Meredith Nicholson
A clever, kindly portrait of a famous living poet,
interwoven with a charming love story.
“Not since Henry Harland told us the story of the
gentle Cardinal and his snuffbox, have we had anything
as idyllic as Meredith Nicholson’s ‘The Poet.’”—New
York Evening Sun.
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and common sense, reminds one, as he reaches instinctively
for a parallel, of the rarely delicate and beautiful
ones told by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.”—Washington
Star.
“A rare performance in American literature. Everybody
knows who the Poet is, but if they want to
know him as a kind of Good Samaritan in a different
way than they know him in his verses, they should
read this charming idyll.”—Boston Transcript.
Illustrated in color. $1.30 net.
// 375.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
The Story of Waitstill Baxter
.rj
By Kate Douglas Wiggin
“It cannot fail to prove a delight of delights to ‘Rebecca
of Sunnybrook Farm’ enthusiasts.”—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
“All admirers of Jane Austen will enjoy Waitstill Baxter...
The solution the reader must find out for himself.
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of outlook all combine to form a harmonious picture.”—The
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“Always generously giving of her best, and delightful
as that best always is, Mrs. Wiggin has provided us with
something even better in ‘Waitstill Baxter.’”—Montreal
Star.
“In the strength of its sympathy, in the vivid reality of
the lives it portrays, this story will be accepted as the very
best of all the popular books that Mrs. Wiggin has written
for an admiring constituency.”—Wilmington Every
Evening.
Illustrated in color. Square crown 8vo.
$1.30 net.
// 376.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
OTHERWISE PHYLLIS
.rj
By Meredith Nicholson
“The most delightful novel-heroine you’ve met in
a long time. You like it all, but you love Phyllis.”—Chicago
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“A true-blue, genuine American girl of the 20th
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“Phyllis is a healthy, hearty, vivacious young woman
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the best example between book covers of the
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is one of friendliness.”—Boston Advertiser.
With frontispiece by Gibson. Square crown 8vo.
$1.35 net.
.sp 4
OVERLAND RED
.rj
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A book that should be sufficient to any
author’s pride.”—New York World.
Illustrated in color. Crown 8vo, $1.35 net.
.sp 2
.pb
.sp 2
.nf c
HOUGHTON
MIFFLIN
COMPANY
.nf-
.if h
.il fn=publogo.jpg w=125px align=c
.if-
.if t
.sp 2
.nf c
[Illustration: Logo]
.nf-
.sp 2
.if-
.nf c
BOSTON
AND
NEW YORK
.nf-
.pb
\_ // this gets the sp 4 recognized.
.sp 2
.dv class=tnbox // TN box start
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-
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\_