CHAPTER XII. BENNIE THE CONSOLER
In a corner of Frau Nirlanger's bedroom, sheltered from draughts andglaring light, is a little wooden bed, painted blue and ornamented withstout red roses that are faded by time and much abuse. Every evening ateight o'clock three anxious-browed women hold low-spoken conclave aboutthe quaint old bed, while its occupant sleeps and smiles as he sleeps,and clasps to his breast a chewed-looking woolly dog. For a new joy hascome to the sad little Frau Nirlanger, and I, quite by accident, was thecause of bringing it to her. The queer little blue bed, with its fadedroses, was brought down from the attic by Frau Knapf, for she is one ofthe three foster mothers of the small occupant of the bed. The occupantof the bed is named Bennie, and a corporation formed for the purposeof bringing him up in the way he should go is composed of: DawnO'Hara Orme, President and Distracted Guardian; Mrs. Konrad Nirlanger,Cuddler-in-chief and Authority on the Subject of Bennie's Bed-time; Mr.Blackie Griffith, Good Angel, General Cut-up and Monitor off'n Bennie'sNeckties and Toys; Dr. Ernst von Gerhard, Chief Medical Adviser, andSweller of the Exchequer, with the Privilege of Selecting All Candies.Members of the corporation meet with great frequency evenings andSundays, much to the detriment of a certain Book-in-the-making withwhich Dawn O'Hara Orme was wont to struggle o' evenings.
Bennie had been one of those little tragedies that find their way intojuvenile court. Bennie's story was common enough, but Bennie himself hadbeen different. Ten minutes after his first appearance in the court roomeveryone, from the big, bald judge to the newest probation officer, hadfallen in love with him. Somehow, you wanted to smooth the hair fromhis forehead, tip his pale little face upward, and very gently kiss hissmooth, white brow. Which alone was enough to distinguish Bennie, forJuvenile court children, as a rule, are distinctly not kissable.
Bennie's mother was accused of being unfit to care for her boy, andBennie was temporarily installed in the Detention Home. There thesuperintendent and his plump and kindly wife had fallen head over heelsin love with him, and had dressed him in a smart little Norfolk suitand a frivolous plaid silk tie. There were delays in the case, andpostponement after postponement, so that Bennie appeared in the courtroom every Tuesday for four weeks. The reporters, and the probationofficers and policemen became very chummy with Bennie, and showered himwith bright new pennies and certain wonderful candies. SuperintendentArnett of the Detention Home was as proud of the boy as though he werehis own. And when Bennie would look shyly and questioningly intohis face for permission to accept the proffered offerings, the bigsuperintendent would chuckle delightedly. Bennie had a strangely mobileface for such a baby, and the whitest, smoothest brow I have ever seen.
The comedy and tears and misery and laughter of the big, white-walledcourt room were too much for Bennie. He would gaze about with puzzledblue eyes; then, giving up the situation as something too vast for hiscomprehension, he would fall to drawing curly-cues on a bit of paperwith a great yellow pencil presented him by one of the newspaper men.
Every Tuesday the rows of benches were packed with a motley crowd ofPoles, Russians, Slavs, Italians, Greeks, Lithuanians--a crowd madeup of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, neighbors,friends, and enemies of the boys and girls whose fate was in the handsof the big man seated in the revolving chair up in front. But Bennie'smother was not of this crowd; this pitiful, ludicrous crowd filling thegreat room with the stifling, rancid odor of the poor. Nor was Bennie.He sat, clear-eyed and unsmiling, in the depths of a great chair on thecourt side of the railing and gravely received the attentions of thelawyers, and reporters and court room attaches who had grown fond of thegrave little figure.
Then, on the fifth Tuesday, Bennie's mother appeared. How she had cometo be that child's mother God only knows--or perhaps He had had nothingto do with it. She was terribly sober and frightened. Her facewas swollen and bruised, and beneath one eye there was a puffygreen-and-blue swelling. Her sordid story was common enough as theprobation officer told it. The woman had been living in one wretchedroom with the boy. Her husband had deserted her. There was no food, andlittle furniture. The queer feature of it, said the probation officer,was that the woman managed to keep the boy fairly neat and clean,regardless of her own condition, and he generally had food of some sort,although the mother sometimes went without food for days. Through thesqualor and misery and degradation of her own life Bennie had somehowbeen kept unsullied, a thing apart.
"H'm!" said judge Wheeling, and looked at Bennie. Bennie was standingbeside his mother. He was very quiet, and his eyes were smiling up intothose of the battered creature who was fighting for him. "I guess we'llhave to take you out of this," the judge decided, abruptly. "That boy istoo good to go to waste."
The sodden, dazed woman before him did not immediately get the fullmeaning of his words. She still stood there, swaying a bit, and staringunintelligently at the judge. Then, quite suddenly, she realized it.She took a quick step forward. Her hand went up to her breast, to herthroat, to her lips, with an odd, stifled gesture.
"You ain't going to take him away! From me! No, you wouldn't dothat, would you? Not for--not for always! You wouldn't do that--youwouldn't--"
Judge Wheeling waved her away. But the woman dropped to her knees.
"Judge, give me a chance! I'll stop drinking. Only don't take him awayfrom me! Don't, judge, don't! He's all I've got in the world. Give me achance. Three months! Six months! A year!"
"Get up!" ordered judge Wheeling, gruffly, "and stop that! It won't doyou a bit of good."
And then a wonderful thing happened. The woman rose to her feet. Anew and strange dignity had come into her battered face. The linesof suffering and vice were erased as by magic, and she seemed to growtaller, younger, almost beautiful. When she spoke again it was slowlyand distinctly, her words quite free from the blur of the barroom andstreet vernacular.
"I tell you you must give me a chance. You cannot take a child from amother in this way. I tell you, if you will only help me I can crawlback up the road that I've traveled. I was not always like this. Therewas another life, before--before--Oh, since then there have been yearsof blackness, and hunger, and cold and--worse! But I never dragged theboy into it. Look at him!"
Our eyes traveled from the woman's transfigured face to that of the boy.We could trace a wonderful likeness where before we had seen none. Butthe woman went on in her steady, even tone.
"I can't talk as I should, because my brain isn't clear. It's the drink.When you drink, you forget. But you must help me. I can't do it alone.I can remember how to live straight, just as I can remember how to talkstraight. Let me show you that I'm not all bad. Give me a chance.Take the boy and then give him back to me when you are satisfied. I'lltry--God only knows how I'll try. Only don't take him away forever,Judge! Don't do that!"
Judge Wheeling ran an uncomfortable finger around his collar's edge.
"Any friends living here?"
"No! No!"
"Sure about that?"
"Quite sure."
"Now see here; I'm going to give you your chance. I shall take this boyaway from you for a year. In that time you will stop drinking and becomea decent, self-supporting woman. You will be given in charge of one ofthese probation officers. She will find work for you, and a good home,and she'll stand by you, and you must report to her. If she is satisfiedwith you at the end of the year, the boy goes back to you."
"She will be satisfied," the woman said, simply. She stooped and takingBennie's face between her hands kissed him once. Then she stepped asideand stood quite still, looking after the little figure that passed outof the court room with his hand in that of a big, kindly police officer.She looked until the big door had opened and closed upon them.
Then--well, it was just another newspaper story. It made a good one.That evening I told Frau Nirlanger about it, and she wept, softly, andmurmured: "Ach, das arme baby! Like my little Oscar he is, without amother." I told Ernst about him too, and Blackie, because I could notget his grave little face out of my mi
nd. I wondered if those who hadcharge of him now would take the time to bathe the little body, andbrush the soft hair until it shone, and tie the gay plaid silk tie aslovingly as "Daddy" Arnett of the Detention Home had done.
Then it was that I, quite unwittingly, stepped into Bennie's life.
There was an anniversary, or a change in the board of directors, or anew coat of paint or something of the kind in one of the orphan homes,and the story fell to me. I found the orphan home to be typical of itskind--a big, dreary, prison-like structure. The woman at the door didnot in the least care to let me in. She was a fish-mouthed woman witha hard eye, and as I told my errand her mouth grew fishier and theeye harder. Finally she led me down a long, dark, airless stretch ofcorridor and departed in search of the matron, leaving me seated inthe unfriendly reception room, with its straight-backed chairs placedstonily against the walls, beneath rows of red and blue and yellowreligious pictures.
Just as I was wondering why it seemed impossible to be holy and cheerfulat the same time, there came a pad-padding down the corridor. The nextmoment the matron stood in the doorway. She was a mountainous, red-facedwoman, with warts on her nose.
"Good-afternoon," I said, sweetly. ("Ugh! What a brute!") I thought.Then I began to explain my errand once more. Criticism of the Home? Noindeed, I assured her. At last, convinced of my disinterestedness shereluctantly guided me about the big, gloomy building. There were endlessflights of shiny stairs, and endless stuffy, airless rooms, until wecame to a door which she flung open, disclosing the nursery. It seemedto me that there were a hundred babies--babies at every stage ofdevelopment, of all sizes, and ages and types. They glanced up at theopening of the door, and then a dreadful thing happened.
Every child that was able to walk or creep scuttled into the farthestcorners and remained quite, quite still with a wide-eyed expression offear and apprehension on every face.
For a moment my heart stood still. I turned to look at the woman by myside. Her thin lips were compressed into a straight, hard line. Shesaid a word to a nurse standing near, and began to walk about, eying thechildren sharply. She put out a hand to pat the head of one red-hairedmite in a soiled pinafore; but before her hand could descend I saw thechild dodge and the tiny hand flew up to the head, as though in defense.
"They are afraid of her!" my sick heart told me. "Those babies areafraid of her! What does she do to them? I can't stand this. I'm going."
I mumbled a hurried "Thank you," to the fat matron as I turned to leavethe big, bare room. At the head of the stairs there was a great, blackdoor. I stopped before it--God knows why!--and pointed toward it.
"What is in that room?" I asked. Since then I have wondered many timesat the unseen power that prompted me to put the question.
The stout matron bustled on, rattling her keys as she walked.
"That--oh, that's where we keep the incorrigibles."
"May I see them?" I asked, again prompted by that inner voice.
"There is only one." She grudgingly unlocked the door, using one of thegreat keys that swung from her waist. The heavy, black door swung open.I stepped into the bare room, lighted dimly by one small window. In thefarthest corner crouched something that stirred and glanced up at ourentrance. It peered at us with an ugly look of terror and defiance, andI stared back at it, in the dim light. During one dreadful, breathlesssecond I remained staring, while my heart stood still. Then--"Bennie!" Icried. And stumbled toward him. "Bennie--boy!"
The little unkempt figure, in its soiled knickerbocker suit, the sunnyhair all uncared for, the gay plaid tie draggled and limp, rushed intomy arms with a crazy, inarticulate cry.
Down on my knees on the bare floor I held him close--close! and his armswere about my neck as though they never should unclasp.
"Take me away! Take me away!" His wet cheek was pressed against my ownstreaming one. "I want my mother! I want Daddy Arnett! Take me away!"
I wiped his cheeks with my notebook or something, picked him up in myarms, and started for the door. I had quite forgotten the fat matron.
"What are you doing?" she asked, blocking the doorway with her hugebulk.
"I'm going to take him back with me. Please let me! I'll take care ofhim until the year is up. He shan't bother you any more."
"That is impossible," she said, coldly. "He has been sent here by thecourt, for a year, and he must stay here. Besides, he is a stubborn,uncontrollable child."
"Uncontrollable! He's nothing of the kind! Why don't you treat him as achild should be treated, instead of like a little animal? You don't knowhim! Why, he's the most lovable--! And he's only a baby! Can't you seethat? A baby!"
She only stared her dislike, her little pig eyes grown smaller and moreglittering.
"You great--big--thing!" I shrieked at her, like an infuriated child.With the tears streaming down my cheeks I unclasped Bennie's cold handsfrom about my neck. He clung to me, frantically, until I had to push himaway and run.
The woman swung the door shut, and locked it. But for all its thicknessI could hear Bennie's helpless fists pounding on its panels as Istumbled down the stairs, and Bennie's voice came faintly to my ears,muffled by the heavy door, as he shrieked to me to take him away to hismother, and to Daddy Arnett.
I blubbered all the way back in the car, until everyone stared, but Ididn't care. When I reached the office I made straight for Blackie'ssmoke-filled sanctum. When my tale was ended he let me cry all overhis desk, with my head buried in a heap of galley-proofs and my tearswatering his paste-pot. He sat calmly by, smoking. Finally he begangently to philosophize. "Now girl, he's prob'ly better off there than heever was at home with his mother soused all the time. Maybe he give thatwarty matron friend of yours all kinds of trouble, yellin' for his ma."
I raised my head from the desk. "Oh, you can talk! You didn't seehim. What do you care! But if you could have seen him, crouchedthere--alone--like a little animal! He was so sweet--andlovable--and--and--he hadn't been decently washed for weeks--and hisarms clung to me--I can feel his hands about my neck!--"
I buried my head in the papers again. Blackie went on smoking. There wasno sound in the little room except the purr-purring of Blackie's pipe.Then:
"I done a favor for Wheeling once," mused he.
I glanced up, quickly. "Oh, Blackie, do you think--"
"No, I don't. But then again, you can't never tell. That was four orfive years ago, and the mem'ry of past favors grows dim fast. Still, ifyou're through waterin' the top of my desk, why I'd like t' set down anddo a little real brisk talkin' over the phone. You're excused."
Quite humbly I crept away, with hope in my heart.
To this day I do not know what secret string the resourceful Blackiepulled. But the next afternoon I found a hastily scrawled note tuckedinto the roll of my typewriter. It sent me scuttling across the hall tothe sporting editor's smoke-filled room. And there on a chair beside thedesk, surrounded by scrap-books, lead pencils, paste-pot and odds andends of newspaper office paraphernalia, sat Bennie. His hair was partedvery smoothly on one side, and under his dimpled chin bristled a verynew and extremely lively green-and-red plaid silk tie.
The next instant I had swept aside papers, brushes, pencils, books, andBennie was gathered close in my arms. Blackie, with a strange glow inhis deep-set black eyes regarded us with an assumed disgust.
"Wimmin is all alike. Ain't it th' truth? I used t' think you wasdifferent. But shucks! It ain't so. Got t' turn on the weeps the minuteyou're tickled or mad. Why say, I ain't goin' t' have you comin' in herean' dampenin' up the whole place every little while! It's unhealthy forme, sittin' here in the wet."
"Oh, shut up, Blackie," I said, happily. "How in the world did you doit?"
"Never you mind. The question is, what you goin' t' do with him, nowyou've got him? Goin' t' have a French bunny for him, or fetch him upby hand? Wheeling appointed a probation skirt to look after the crowd ofus, and we got t' toe the mark."
"Glory be!" I ejaculated. "I don't know what I shall do with hi
m. Ishall have to bring him down with me every morning, and perhaps you canmake a sporting editor out of him."
"Nix. Not with that forehead. He's a high-brow. We'll make him dramaticcritic. In the meantime, I'll be little fairy godmother, an' if you'llget on your bonnet I'll stake you and the young 'un to strawberryshortcake an' chocolate ice cream."
So it happened that a wondering Frau Knapf and a sympathetic FrauNirlanger were called in for consultation an hour later. Bennie wasensconced in my room, very wide-eyed and wondering, but quite content.With the entrance of Frau Nirlanger the consultation was somewhatdisturbed. She made a quick rush at him and gathered him in her hungryarms.
"Du baby du!" she cried. "Du Kleiner! And she was down on her knees,and somehow her figure had melted into delicious mother-curves, withBennie's head just fitting into that most gracious one between hershoulder and breast. She cooed to him in a babble of French and Germanand English, calling him her lee-tel Oscar. Bennie seemed miraculouslyto understand. Perhaps he was becoming accustomed to having strangeladies snatch him to their breasts.
"So," said Frau Nirlanger, looking up at us. "Is he not sweet? He shallbe my lee-tel boy, nicht? For one small year he shall be my own boy.Ach, I am but lonely all the long day here in this strange land. Youwill let me care for him, nicht? And Konrad, he will be very angry, butthat shall make no bit of difference. Eh, Oscar?"
And so the thing was settled, and an hour later three anxious-browedwomen were debating the weighty question of eggs or bread-and-milk forBennie's supper. Frau Nirlanger was for soft-boiled eggs as being nonetoo heavy after orphan asylum fare; I was for bread-and-milk, that beingthe prescribed supper dish for all the orphans and waifs that I had everread about, from "The Wide, Wide World" to "Helen's Babies," and backagain. Frau Knapf was for both eggs and bread-and-milk with a dashof meat and potatoes thrown in for good measure, and a slice or so ofKuchen on the side. We compromised on one egg, one glass of milk, anda slice of lavishly buttered bread, and jelly. It was a clean, sweet,sleepy-eyed Bennie that we tucked between the sheets. We three womenstood looking down at him as he lay there in the quaint old blue-paintedbed that had once held the plump little Knapfs.
"You think anyway he had enough supper? mused the anxious-browed FrauKnapf.
"To school he will have to go, yes?" murmured Frau Nirlanger,regretfully.
I tucked in the covers at one side of the bed, not that they neededtucking, but because it was such a comfortable, satisfying thing to do.
"Just at this minute," I said, as I tucked, "I'd rather be a newspaperreporter than anything else in the world. As a profession 'tis sobroadenin', an' at the same time, so chancey."