XI. THEO'S NEW BUSINESS
Theodore went slowly down the stairs, but stopped on the outside stepsand stood there with his hands in his pockets looking listlessly upand down the street. There was another big tenement house opposite,and on its steps sat a girl of ten or eleven with a baby in herlap. The baby kept up a low wailing cry, but the girl paid noattention to it. She sat with her head leaning against the house, andseemed to notice nothing about her.
Theodore glanced at her indifferently. His thoughts were stilldwelling on his great disappointment--the sorrowful ending of thehopes and longings of so many weeks. It seemed to him that he had nownothing to which to look forward; nothing that was worth working for.Then suddenly there flashed into his mind the words he had heard thebishop speak to a man who came to him one day in great sorrow.
"My life is spoiled," the man had said. "All my hopes and plans aredestroyed. What shall I do?"
And the bishop had answered, "My son, you must forget yourself, andyour broken hopes and plans, and think of others. Do something forsomebody else--and keep on doing."
"That's what he would say to me, I s'pose," thought the boy. "I wonderwhat I can do. There's Tommy O'Brien, I 'spect he'd be glad 'nough tosee most anybody."
He turned and went slowly and reluctantly back up the stairs. Hedidn't want to see Tommy O'Brien. He didn't want to see anybody justthen, but still he went on to Tommy's door. As he approached it, heheard loud, angry voices mingled with the crying of a baby. Heknocked, but the noise within continued, and after a moment's pause hepushed open the door and went in.
The three women who lived in the room were all standing with red,angry faces, each trying to outscold the others. Three or four littlechildren, with frightened eyes, were huddled together in one corner,while a baby cried unheeded on the floor, its mother being too muchoccupied with the quarrel to pay any attention to her child. Thewomen glanced indifferently at Theodore as he entered, and kept onwith their loud talk. Theo crossed over to Tommy's cot. The sick boyhad pulled his pillow over his head and was pressing it close to hisears to shut out the racket.
"Le'me 'lone!" he exclaimed, as Theodore tried to lift the pillow. Hisface was drawn with pain and there were dark hollows beneath his heavyeyes. Such a weary, suffering face it was that a great flood of pitysurged over Theodore's heart at sight of it. Then Tommy opened hiseyes and as he saw who had pulled aside his pillow a faint smile creptaround his pale lips.
"Oh!" he cried. "It's you. I thought 'twas some o' them a-pullin' offmy piller. Can't you make 'em stop, Tode? They've been a-fightin' offan' on all day." He glanced at the noisy women as he spoke.
"What's the row about?" asked Theo.
"'Cause Mis' Carey said Mis' Green's baby was cross-eyed. Mis' Greengot so mad at that that she's been scoldin' 'bout it ever since an'leavin' the baby to yell there by itself on the floor--poor littlebeggar! Seem's if my head'll split open with all the noise," sighedTommy, wearily, then he brightened up as he inquired, "What d' youcome for, Tode?"
"Just to talk to you a little," replied Theo. "S'pose you get awfultired layin' here all the time, don't ye, Tommy?"
The unexpected sympathy in the voice and look touched the lonely heartof the little cripple. His eyes filled with tears, and he reached upone skinny little hand and laid it on the rough, strong one of hisvisitor as he answered,
"Oh, you don't know--you don't know anything about it, Tode. I don'tb'lieve dyin' can be half so bad's livin' this way. She wishes I'ddie. She's said so lots o' times," he nodded toward his aunt, who wasone of the women in the room, "an' I wish so too, 'f I've got to bethis way always."
"Ain't ye never had no doctor, Tommy?" asked Theo, with a quick catchin his breath as he realised dimly what it would be to have such alife to look forward to.
"No--she says she ain't got no money for doctors," replied the boy,soberly.
"I'll"--began Theodore, then wisely concluding to raise no hopes thatmight not be realised, he changed his sentence to, "I'll find out ifthere's a doctor that will come for nothin'. I believe there isone. Can ye read, Tommy?"
The sick boy shook his head. "How could I?" he answered. "Ain't nobodyter show me nothin'."
"Wonder 'f I couldn't," said Theo, thoughtfully. "I c'n tell ye theletters anyhow, an' that'll be better'n nothin'."
A bit of torn newspaper lay on the floor beside the bed. He picked itup and pointed out A, O and S, to Tommy. By the time the littlecripple had thoroughly mastered those three letters so that he couldpick them out every time, the women had given up their quarrel.Mrs. Green had taken up her baby and was feeding it, and the otherwomen, with sullen faces, had resumed their neglected duties.
"Oh dear! Must you go?" Tommy exclaimed as Theo got off the cot onwhich he had been sitting. "But you was real good to come,anyhow. When'll ye come again an' tell me some more letters?"
"I'll show ye one ev'ry day if I can get time. Then in three weeksyou'll know all the big ones an' some o' the little ones that are justlike the big ones. Now don't ye forget them three."
"You bet I won't. I shall say 'em a hundred times 'fore to-morrow,"rejoined the little fellow, and his eyes followed his new friendeagerly until the door closed behind him.
As for Theodore himself, half the weight seemed to have been liftedfrom his own heart as he went down the stairs again.
"I'll run outside a minute 'fore I go to supper," he said tohimself. "The air was awful thick in that room. Reckon that's onething makes Tommy feel so bad."
He walked briskly around two or three squares, and as he came back tothe house he noticed that the girl and the baby still sat where he hadseen them an hour before. The baby's cry had ceased, but it beganagain as Theo was passing the two. He stopped and looked at them. Thegirl's eyes rested on his face with a dull, indifferent glance.
"What makes it cry? Is it sick?" the boy asked, nodding toward thebaby.
The girl shook her head.
"What ails it then?"
"Starvin'."
The girl uttered the word in a lifeless tone as if it were a matter ofno interest to her.
"Where's yer mother?" pursued the boy.
"Dead."
"An' yer father?"
"Drunk."
"Ain't there nobody to look out for ye?"
Again the girl shook her head.
"Ain't ye had anything to eat to-day?"
"No."
"What d'ye have yesterday?"
"Some crusts I found in the street. Do go off an' le'me 'lone. We'remost dead, an' I'm glad of it," moaned the girl, drearily.
"You gi' me that baby an' come along. I'll get ye somethin' to eat,"cried Theo, and as the girl looked up at him half doubtfully and halfjoyfully, he seized the bundle of shawl and baby and hurried with itup to Nan's room, the girl dragging herself slowly along behind him.
Nan cast a doubtful and half dismayed glance at the two strangers asTheodore ushered them in, but the boy exclaimed,
"They're half starved, Nan. We _must_ give 'em somethin' to eat,"and when she saw the baby's little pinched face she hesitated nolonger, but quickly warmed some milk and fed it to the little onewhile the girl devoured the bread and milk and meat set before herwith a ravenous haste that confirmed what she had said.
Then, refreshed by the food, she told her pitiful story, the old storyof a father who spent his earnings in the saloon, leaving hismotherless children to live or die as might be. Nan's heart ached asshe listened, and Theodore's face was very grave. When the girl hadgone away with the baby in her arms, Theo said, earnestly,
"Nan, I've got to earn more money."
"How can you?" Nan asked. "You work so hard now, Theo."
"I must work harder, Nan. I can't stand it to see folks starvin' an'not help 'em. I'll pay you for what these two had you know."
Nan looked at him reproachfully. "Don't you think I want to help too?"she returned. "Do you think I've forgotten that meal you gave LittleBrother an' me?"
"That was nothin'. Anyhow you've
done lots more for me than ever I didfor you," the boy answered, earnestly, "but, Nan, how _can_ richfolks keep their money for themselves when there are people--babies,Nan--starvin' right here in this city?"
"I suppose the rich folks don't know about them," replied the girl,thoughtfully, as she set the table for supper.
"I've got to talk it over with Mr. Scott," Theo said, as he drew hischair up to the table.
"You talk everything over with Mr. Scott now, don't you, Theo?"
"'Most everything. He's fine as silk, Mr. Scott is. He rings trueevery time, but he ain't"--
He left his sentence unfinished, but Nan knew of whom he was thinking.
The next afternoon Theodore walked slowly through the businessstreets, with eyes and ears alert, for some opening of which he mighttake advantage to increase his income. Past block after block hewandered till he was tired and discouraged. Finally he sat down onsome high stone steps to rest a bit, and while he sat there a colouredboy came out of the building. He had a tin box and some rags in hishands, and he began in an idle fashion to clean the brass railing tothe steps. Theodore fell into conversation with him, carelessly andindifferently at first, but after a little with a sudden, keeninterest as the boy began to grumble about his work.
"I ain't a-goin' ter clean these yer ol' railin's many more times," hesaid. "It's too much work. I c'n git a place easy where the' ain't nobrasses to clean, an' I'm a-goin' ter, too. All the office boys hatester clean brasses."
"What do ye clean 'em with?" Theodore inquired.
The boy held out the tin box. "This stuff an' soft rags. Say--you wantter try it?"
He grinned as he spoke, but to his surprise his offer wasaccepted. "Gi' me your rags," cried Theo, and he proceeded to rub andpolish energetically, until one side of the railings glittered likegold.
"Yer a gay ol' cleaner!" exclaimed the black boy, as he lolled inblissful idleness on the top step. "Now go ahead with the other rail."
But Theodore threw down the rags.
"Not much," he answered. "I've done half your work an' you can do theother half."
"Oh, come now, finish up the job," remonstrated the other. "'Tain'tfair not to, for you've made that one shine so. I'll have ter put anextry polish on the other to match it."
But Theodore only laughed and walked off saying to himself,
"Rather think this'll work first-rate."
He went straight to a store, and asked for "the stuff for shining upbrass," and bought a box of it. Then he wondered where he could getsome clean rags.
"Per'aps Mrs. Hunt'll have some," he thought, "an' anyhow I want tosee Jim."
So home he hastened as fast as his feet would carry him.
Good Mrs. Hunt was still a little cool to Theodore, though she couldsee for herself how steady and industrious he was now, and how much hehad improved in every way; but she had never gotten over her firstimpression of him, founded not only on his appearance and manners whenshe first knew him, but also on Dick's evil reports in regard tohim. Now that Dick himself had gone so far wrong, his mother wentabout with a heartache all the time, and found it hard sometimes torejoice as she knew she ought to do in the vast change for the betterin this other boy.
"Is Jim here?" Theodore asked when Mrs. Hunt opened the door inresponse to his knock.
"Yes--what's wanted, Tode?" Jimmy answered for himself before hismother could reply.
"Can you stay out o' school to-morrow?" Theo questioned.
"No, he can't, an' you needn't be temptin' him," broke in the mother,quickly.
"Oh, come now, ma, wait till ye hear what he wants," remonstratedJimmy, in whose eyes Theo was just about right.
"I wanted him to run my stand to-morrow," said Theodore. "I've gotsomethin' else to 'tend to. There's plenty o' fellers that would liketo run it for me, but ye see I can't trust 'em an' I _can_ trustJim every time."
Jimmy drew himself up proudly. "Oh, ma, do let me stay out an' do it,"he cried, eagerly.
"It's Friday, an' we don't have much to do Fridays anyhow, in ourschool."
"We-ell, I s'pose then you might stay out just this once," Mrs. Huntsaid, slowly, being fully alive to the advantages to Jimmy of such afriendly feeling on Theo's part. She recognized Theodore's businessability, and would have been only too glad to see her own boy developsomething of the same kind. She was haunted with a dread that he mightbecome idle and vicious as Dick had done.
"All right, then," Theodore responded, promptly. "You be ready to godown with me at seven o'clock, Jim, an' I'll see you started all rightbefore I leave you. Oh, Mrs. Hunt, there's one more thing I want. Haveyou any clean old rags?"
"For what?"
"Any kind o' soft white cotton stuff or old flannel will do," repliedthe boy, purposely leaving her question unanswered. "I'll pay you for'em, of course, if you let me have 'em."
"Well, I guess I ain't so stingy as all that comes to," exclaimedMrs. Hunt, sharply. "D'ye want 'em now?"
"I'll come for 'em after supper," answered the boy, thinking that itwas best to make sure of them, lest he be delayed for want of them inthe morning.
When later that evening, he knocked at her door, Mrs. Hunt had thepieces ready for him, and the next morning, Jimmy was waiting in thehall when Theo came from Nan's room with his big basket, and the twoboys went down the street carrying the basket between them. As soon asits contents had been arranged as attractively as possible on theclean white marbled oilcloth with which the stand was covered, and thecoffee made and ready to serve, Theo handed Jimmy two dollars indimes, nickels and pennies, to make change, and set off with the boxof paste in his pocket, and the roll of rags under his arm.
Jimmy watched him out of sight, and then with a proud sense ofresponsibility awaited the appearance of his customers.
Theodore walked rapidly on till he reached the business streets wheremost of the handsome stores and offices were. Then he slackened hispace and went on slowly, glancing keenly at each building until hecame to one that had half a dozen brass signs on the front.
"Here's a good place to make a try," he said to himself, and goinginto the first office on the ground floor he asked as politely as heknew how,
"Can I shine up your brass signs for you?"
There were several young men in the outer office. One of them answeredcarelessly, "Yes indeed, shine 'em up, boy, and see 't you make a goodjob of it."
"I will that, sir," responded Theodore, blithely, and set to work witha will.
There had been much wet weather and the signs were badlydiscoloured. It took hard, steady rubbing for nearly an hour to getthem into good shining order, but Theodore worked away vigourouslyuntil they gleamed and glittered in the morning sunlight. Then he wentagain into the office.
"I've finished 'em, sir," he said to the young man to whom he hadspoken before, "an' I think I've made a good job of it. Will you stepout an' see what you think?"
"Not at all necessary. If you're satisfied, I am," replied the man,bending over his desk and writing rapidly.
Theodore waited in silence. The young man wrote on. Finally he glancedup and remarked in a tone of surprise,
"Oh, you here yet? Thought you'd finished your job."
"I have done my part. I'm waitin' for you to do yours," replied theboy.
"Mine? What's my part, I'd like to know?" demanded the young man,sharply.
"To pay me for my work." replied Theo, promptly, but with a shadowfalling on his face.
"Pay you? Well, if this isn't cheeky! I didn't agree to pay youanything."
"But you knew that I expected to be paid for my work," persisted theboy, the angry colour rising in his cheeks.
"You expected--pshaw! Young man, you've had a lesson that is wellworth the time and labour you've expended," remarked the clerk in atone of great dignity. "Hereafter you will know better than to takeanything for granted in business transactions. Good-morning," and heturned his back on the boy and began to write again.
Theodore glanced around the room to see if there was an
y one on hisside, but two of the other clerks were grinning at his discomfiture,and the others pretended not to know anything about the affair. He sawnow that he had been foolish to undertake the work as he had done, buthe realised that it would not help his case to make a fuss aboutit. All the same he was unwilling to submit without a protest.
"Next time I'll take care to make my bargain with a gentleman," hesaid, quietly.
He saw a singular change in the expression of the clerk's face atthese words, and as he turned sharply about to leave the office healmost ran into a tall, grey-haired man who had just entered.
"Stop a bit, my boy. I don't understand that remark of yours. Whatbargain are you going to make with a gentleman?"
The tone of authority, together with the disturbed face of one clerkand the quite evident amusement of the others, suddenly enlightenedTheodore. He knew instinctively that this man was master here and in afew quick sentences he told what had happened.
The gentleman listened in silence, but his keen, dark eyes took noteof the flushed face of one clerk and the amused smiles of hiscompanions.
"Is this boy's story true, Mr. Hammond?" he asked, sternly.
Mr. Hammond could not deny it "It was only a joke, sir," he said,uneasily.
"A joke, was it?" responded his employer. "I am not fond of suchjokes." Then he turned again to the boy and inquired, "How much is dueyou for cleaning the signs?"
"I don't know. I'm just starting in in this business, an' I'm not surewhat I ought to charge. Can you tell me, sir?"
The gentleman smiled down into the young face lifted so frankly tohis.
"Why, no," he answered, gravely, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "Ibelieve our janitor usually attends to the signs."
"Guess he don't attend to 'em very well, for they were awful dirty,"remarked the boy. "Took 'me 'most an hour to shine 'em up. Did younotice 'em, sir, as you came in?"
"No, I did not. I'll look at them now," and Theodore followed thegentleman out to the steps.
"Well, you have made a good job of it, certainly," the gentlemansaid. "The signs haven't shone like that since they were first putthere. Quite a contrast to the others on the building. Come backinto the office a moment."
He went back to Mr. Hammond's desk and again Theodore followed.
"Mr. Hammond," said the gentleman, quietly, "you are willing of courseto pay for your joke. The boy has done his work extremely well. Ithink he ought to have half a dollar for it."
With anything but a happy expression, Mr. Hammond drew from hispocket a half dollar and handed it to Theodore, who said, not to theclerk, but to the gentleman, "Thank you, sir," and left the office.
But he did not leave the building. He went to the owner of every brasssign in or on the building and asked to be allowed to make every othersign look as well as those of T.S. Harris, which he had just polished.
Now, T.S. Harris was the owner of the building and the occupants ofthe other offices considered that it would be wise to follow hisexample in this matter, so the result was that Theodore spent all themorning over the signs on that one building, and Mr. Harris having setthe price, he received twenty-five cents for each sign. He was justputting a finishing rub on the last one when the janitor discoveredwhat had been going on. He came at the boy in a great rage for hewanted no one to have anything to do with the care of the buildingexcept those whom he chose to hire.
"You take your traps an' clear out o' this now, an' don't you everdare to show your face here again," he shouted, angrily. "If I catchye here again I'll kick ye down the stairs!"
"P'raps Mr. Harris will have a word to say about that," repliedTheodore, coolly, for in one and another of the offices he had pickedup enough to convince him that the word of Mr. Harris was law in thatbuilding. Then he added, in a much more friendly tone,
"Now, look here, mister. You're too busy a man to be cleaningsigns--'course you are. You've got to hire somebody t' do it an' the'won't anybody do it better or fer less money 'n I will. I'm a-goin' tomake a reg'lar business of cleanin' brasses all 'round thisneighbourhood, an' if you'll stan' by me an' help me fix it all rightwith the other bosses 'bout here--I'll see 't you don't lose anythin'by it."
The janitor's fierce frown had slowly faded as the boy spoke. Nothingpleased him so much as to be considered a person of influence, and hadTheodore been ever so shrewd he could have adopted no other line ofargument that would so quickly and effectually have changed an enemyinto a friend as did this that he hit upon merely by chance. The manstepped down to the sidewalk and looked up at the signs with acritical air.
"Wai'," he answered, slowly, "I ain't a-goin' to deny that you've doneyour work well--yes a sight better'n any of the lazy rascals I've beenhiring, an' if you could be depended on now, I d'know but what Imight's well give the work to you as to anybody else. Of course, asyou say, 'tain't my place to do servant's work like brass cleanin'."
"Of course not," assented Theo, promptly.
"But then," the man went on, "if I should speak for ye t' the janitorsof the other buildings 'long here, 'n' get ye a big line o' custom,'course I sh'ld have a right t' expect a--er--a sort o' commission onthe profits, so to speak?"
"Oh!" replied Theodore, rather blankly. "What _is_ a commission,anyhow?"
The man explained.
"And how much of a commission would you expect?" questioned the boy.
The janitor made a mental calculation. Here on this one building, theboy had cleaned seven signs. That made a dollar and seventy-five centsthat he had earned in one morning. Of course he would not often get somuch out of one building, but the man saw that there were goodpossibilities in this line of work.
"S'pose we say ten per cent.--ten cents out of every dollar?" heventured, with a keen glance at the boy.
"You mean ten per cent, on all the work that I get through you?" Theoreplied.
"Oh no--on _all_ the work of this sort that you do. That's nomore'n fair since you'll owe your start to me."
"Not much! I owe my start to myself, an' I'll make no such bargain asthat," answered Theo, decidedly. "I'm willin' to give you ten percent. on all that I get through you, but not a cent more. You see I'mbound to put this thing through whether you help me or not," he added,quietly.
The janitor saw that he had been too grasping and hastened to modifyhis demands lest he lose his commissions altogether.
"Well, well," he said, soothingly, "we won't quarrel over a littledifference like that. Let it be as you say, ten per cent. on all thejobs I get for ye, an' there's the janitor of the Laramie Building onthe steps this minute. Come along with me an' I'll give ye a startover there--or, first--ain't there a little matter to attend to," headded, with an insinuating smile. "You'll settle your bills fast asthey come due, of course, an' you've got a snug little sum out of mybuilding here."
"Yes, but no thanks to you for that," replied Theo, but as the man'sface darkened again, he added, "but never mind, I'll give you thecommission on this work since it's in your building," and he handedeighteen cents to the janitor, who slipped it into his pocket with anabstracted air as if unconscious of what he was doing.
The result of the man's recommendation to his brother janitor was thatTheodore secured the promise of all the brass cleaning in the LaramieBuilding also, and that with one or two small jobs kept him busy untildark when he went home with a light heart and with the sum of threedollars and fourteen cents in his pocket. To be sure he had workedhard all day to earn it, but Theodore never had been lazy and he waswilling enough to work hard now.
He carried home some oranges as a special treat that night, for now hetook his supper regularly with Nan who was glad to make a return inthis fashion for the help he was continually giving her in carryingout her food supplies, as well as many other ways.
As they arose from the supper-table, Theodore said, "I'll go acrossan' see how Jimmy got on to-day, at the stand," but even as he spokethere came a low knock at the door and there stood Jimmy--no longerproud and happy as he had been in the mo
rning, but with red eyes and aface full of trouble.
"Why, Jimmy, what's the matter?" cried Nan and Theo, in one voice.
"Come in," added Nan, kindly pulling him in and gently pushing himtoward a chair.
Jimmy dropped into it with an appealing glance at Theo.
"I'm--I'm awful sorry, Tode," he began. "But I--I couldn't help it,truly I couldn't." He rubbed his sleeve hastily across his eyes as hespoke.
"But what is it, Jimmy? I'm sure you did the best you could whateveris wrong, but do tell us what it is," exclaimed Theodore, halflaughing and half impatient at the uncertainty.
"'Twas that mean ol' Carrots," began Jimmy, indignantly. "I wassellin' things off in fine style, Tode, an' Carrots, he came along an'he said he wanted three san'wiches in a paper. I put 'em up fer him,an' then he asked fer six doughnuts an' some gingerbread, an' a cup o'coffee--an' he wanted 'em all in a paper."
"Not the coffee, Jimmy," said Nan, laughingly, as the boy stopped totake breath.
"No, 'course not the coffee. He swallered that an' put in a extryspoonful o' sugar too, but he wanted all the rest o' the things in apaper bag, an' I did 'em up good for him, an' then he asked me to tiea string 'round 'em, an' I got down under the stand for a piece ofstring, an' when I found it, an' looked up--don't you think Tode--thatrascal was streakin' it down the street as fast's he could go, an' Icouldn't leave the stand to run after him, an' 'course the' wasn't anyp'lice 'round, an' so I had to let him go. I'm awful sorry, Theo, butI couldn't help it."
"'Course you couldn't, Jimmy. And is that all the trouble?"
"Yes, that's 'nough, ain't it?" answered Jimmy, mournfully. "He gotoff with more'n forty cents worth o' stuff--the old pig! I'll fix himyet!"
"Well, don't worry any more over it, Jimmy. Losin' th' forty centswon't break me, I guess," said Theo, kindly.
Jimmy brightened up a little, but the shadow again darkened his faceas he said, anxiously, "I s'pose you won't never trust me to run thestand again?"
"Trust you, Jimmy? Well, I guess I will. No danger of _your_trusting Carrots again, I'm sure."
"Not if I know myself," responded Jimmy, promptly, and Theo went on,
"I s'pose your mother wouldn't want you to stay out of school mornin'sfor a week or two?"
Jimmy looked at him with sparkling eyes.
"Do you mean"--he began, breathlessly, and then paused.
"I mean that I may want you to run the stand for me all next week, aswell as to-morrow," Theo answered.
"Oh--ee! That's most too good to b'lieve," cried the littlefellow. "Say! I think you're--you're prime, Tode. I must go an' tellma," and he dashed out of the door, his face fairly beaming withdelight.
"It's worth while to make anybody so happy, isn't it, Theo?" Nan said,then she added, thoughtfully, "Do you think the brass-cleaning willtake all your time, so you can't be at the stand any more?"
"Just at first it will. Maybe I shall fix it differently after awhile," he answered.
On his way to the business district the next morning, he stopped andbought a blank book and a pencil, and wherever he cleaned a sign or arailing that day, he tried to make a regular engagement to keep thebrasses in good condition. If he secured a promise of the work by themonth he made a reduction on his price, and every business man--orjanitor who regularly engaged him, was asked to write his own name inthe new blank book. Not on the first page of the book, however. Thatthe boy kept blank until about the time when Mr. Harris had come tohis office the day before. At that hour, Theodore was waiting near theoffice door, and there Mr. Harris found him as he came up the steps.
"Good-morning, sir," said Theo, pulling off his cap with a smilelighting up his plain face.
"Good-morning," returned the gentleman. "Have you found somethingelse to polish up here to-day?"
"No, sir, but I wanted to ask you if you would sign your name here inmy book," the boy replied.
Mr. Harris looked amused. "Come into my office," he said, "and tell mewhat it is that you want."
Theodore followed him across the outer office to the private roombeyond. The clerks cast curious glances after the two, and Hammondscowled as he bent over his desk.
"Now let me see your book," said Mr. Harris, as the door of the officeswung silently behind them.
Theo laid his rags and paste box on the carpet, and then put the blankbook on the desk as he said, earnestly,
"You see, sir, I'm trying to work up a reg'lar business, an' so I wantthe business men I work for to engage me by the month to take care oftheir brass work--an' I guess I did learn a lesson here yesterday, forto-day I've asked every gentleman who has engaged me to sign his namein this book--See?"
He turned over the leaves and showed three names on the second page.
"And you want my name there, too? But I haven't engaged you. I onlygave you a job yesterday."
"But your janitor has engaged me," answered Theodore, quickly.
"Well, then, isn't it the janitor's name that you want?"
"Oh, no, sir," cried the boy, earnestly. "Nobody knows the janitor,but I guess lots o' folks know you, an' your name would make otherssign--don't you see?"
Mr. Harris laughed. "I see that you seem to have a shrewd businesshead. You'll make a man one of these days if you keep on. And you wantmy name on this first page?" he added, dipping his pen into theinkstand.
"Yes, because you was my first friend in this business," repliedTheodore.
Mr. Harris glanced at him with that amused twinkle in his eye, but hesigned his name on the first page.
Then he said, "I wish you success in your undertaking, and here's atrifle for a send-off." He held out a silver dollar as he spoke, butTheodore did not take it.
"Thank ye, sir," he said, gratefully; "you've been real good to me,but I can't take any money now, 'cept what I earn. I c'n earn all Ineed."
"So?" replied Mr. Harris, "you're independent. Well, I like that, butI'll keep this dollar for you, and if you ever get in a tight placeyou can come to me for it."
"Thank you, Mr. Harris," said the boy again. "I won't forget, but Ihope I won't need it," and then he picked up his belongings and leftthe office. As he passed Mr. Hammond's desk, he said, "Good-morning,sir," but the clerk pretended not to hear.
All through the next week and for weeks after, Theodore spent his timefrom nine to five o'clock, cleaning brasses and making contracts forthe regular care of them, until he had secured as much work as hecould attend to himself.
Meantime, Jimmy Hunt had taken entire charge of the stand and wasdoing well with it. Theo gave him four-fifths of the profits and hewas perfectly satisfied, and so was his mother, who found his earningsa welcome addition to the slim family income, and it was so near theend of the school term that she concluded it did not matter if Jimmydid stay out the few remaining weeks.
But busy as Theodore was, he still found time to carry out what Nancooked for the people in the two houses, as well as to drop in on oneand another of his many neighbours every evening--for by this time thenight school had closed for the season. His Saturday evenings werestill spent at the flower stand, and now that blossoms were moreplentiful, he received more and better ones in payment for his work,and his Sunday morning visits to the different rooms were lookedforward to all the week by many of those to whom he went, and hardlyless so by himself, for the boy was learning by glad experience thewonderful joy that comes from giving happiness to others. When he sawhow the flowers he carried to stuffy, dirty, crowded rooms, were keptand cherished and cared for even until they were withered and dead--hewas sure that his little flower mission was a real blessing.
Before the hot weather came, Tommy O'Brien was carried away out of thenoisy, crowded room to the Hospital for Incurables. Theo had broughtone of the dispensary doctors to see the boy, and through the doctor'sefforts and those of Mr. Scott, Tommy had been received into thehospital. He had never been so comfortable in his brief life as he wasthere, but at first he was lonely, and so Theodore went once or twicea week to see him, an
d he never failed to save out some flowers tocarry to Tommy on Sunday.
But, however full Theodore's time might be, and however busy hishands, he never forgot the search for Jack Finney. His eyes werealways watching for a blue-eyed, sandy-haired boy of sixteen, and hemade inquiries for him everywhere. Three times he heard of a boynamed Finney, and sought him out only to be disappointed, for thefirst Jack Finney he found was a little chap of ten or eleven, and thenext was a boy of sixteen, but with hair and eyes as black as aJew's--and besides, it turned out that his name wasn't Finney at all,but Findlay; and the third time, the boy he found was living at homewith his parents, so Theo knew that no one of the three was the boy ofwhom he was in search and although he did not in the least give up thematter, he came to the conclusion at last that his Jack Finney musthave left the city.
Mr. Scott interested himself in the search because of his greatinterest in Theodore, and he went to the reform school and the prison,but the name he sought was on neither record.
Although Theodore said nothing to any one about it, he was also on thelookout for another boy, and that boy was Carrots. Ever since Carrotshad stolen the food from the stand, Theo had wanted to find him. Morethan once he had caught a glimpse in the streets of the lank figureand the frowzy red head, but Carrots had no desire to meet Theo and hetook good care to keep out of his way.