CHAPTER XXIII PATHOS AND POVERTY
Dorothy roused the next morning with a sense of great relief after thestrenuous hours of the previous day. At last they were beginning toaccomplish something in the way of straightening out Aunt Winnie'scomplicated money matters. It was a decided rest to turn her thoughts tothe poor boy who had spent a little time in their kitchenette--the boywho just ate what was offered him, and grinned good-naturedly at thefamily.
He had evidently considered them all a part of the day's routine, andaccepted the food, and the warmth, and kindness with a hardenedindifference that made Dorothy curious. He had grudgingly given Dorothyhis street and house number. He was so flint-like, and skeptical aboutrich people helping poor people, his young life had had such variedexperience with the settlement workers, that he plainly did not wish tosee more of his hostess.
It was an easy matter for Dorothy to just smile and declare she was"going out." Tavia was curled up in numerous pillows, surrounded bymagazines and boxes of candy, and the boys were going skating. City icedid not "keep" as did the ice in the country, and the only way to enjoyit while it lasted, as Ned explained, was to spend every moment skatingmadly.
Dorothy read the address, Rivington Street, and wondered as she startedforth what this, her first real glimpse into the life of New York City'spoor, would reveal. She was a bit tremulous, and anxious to reach theplace.
"Where is this number, little boy?" she inquired, of a street urchin.
"Over there," responded a voice buried in the depths of a turned-upcollar. "I know you," it said impudently. One glance into the large,heavily-lashed eyes made Dorothy smiled. Here was the very same thin boyupon whom she was going to call.
"Is your mother at home?" she asked.
"Sure," he replied, "so's father." Then he laughed impishly.
"And have you brothers and sisters, too?" said Dorothy.
"Sure." He looked Dorothy over carefully, decided she could keep asecret, and coming close to her he whispered: "We got the mostest bigfamily in de street; nobody's got as many childrens as we got!" Then hestood back proudly.
"I want to see them all," coaxed Dorothy. She hesitated about enteringthe tenement to which the thin boy led her. It was tall and dirty and aseries of odors, unknown to Dorothy's well-brought-up nose, rushed tomeet them as the hall door was pushed open. The fire escapes covering thefront of the house were used for back yards--ash heaps and garbage,bedding and washes, all hung suspended, threatening to topple over on theheads of the passersby, and the long, dark hall they entered was alsolittered with garbage cans, and an accumulation of dirty rags and papersand children.
Such frowsy-headed, unkempt, ragged little babies! Dorothy's heart wentout to them all--she wanted to take each one and wash the little face,and smooth the suspicious, sullen brows. The advent of a well-dressedvisitor into the main hall meant the opening of many doors and awonderfully frank assortment of remarks as to whom the visitor might be.Little Tommy, the thin boy, glad of the opportunity to "show off" grandlyled Dorothy up the stairs, making the most of the trip.
"The other day when I was skatin' with you in Central Park," flippantlyfell from Tommy's lips, loud enough for the words to enter bombasticallythrough the open doors, "I come home and said to the family, I sez,--"but what Tommy had said to the family never was known, because theremainder of Tommy's family having heard in advance of Tommy's coming,rushed pell-mell to meet them, and with various smudgy fingers stuck intoall sizes of mouths, they stared, some through the railings, some overthe railing, more from the top step--the "mostest biggest family"exhibited no tendency to hang back.
"Come in out of that, you little ones," said a soft, motherly voice, thatsounded clear and sweet in the midst of the tumult of the tenement house,and Dorothy looked quickly in the direction from whence it came andbeheld Tommy's mother. She was small and dark, and in garments of fashionwould have been dainty. She seemed little older than Tommy, who was nine,and life in the poorest section of the city, trying to bring up a largefamily in three rooms, had left no tragic marks on her smooth brow, andwhen she smiled, she dimpled. Dorothy smiled back instantly, therevelation of this mother was so unexpectedly different from anythingDorothy had imagined.
"They _will_ run out in the hall," the mother explained, apologetically,"and they're only half-dressed, and it's so cold that they'll all be downwith sore throats, if they don't mind me. Now come inside, every one ofyou!" But not one of the children moved an inch until Dorothy reached thetop landing, then they all backed into the room, which at a glanceDorothy was unable at first to name. There was a cot in one corner, astove, a large table, and sink in another, and one grand easy chair neara window. Regular chairs there were none, but boxes aplenty, and openingfrom this kitchen-bedroom-living-room was an uncarpeted, evil-lookingroom, and in the doorway a giant of a man stood, looking in bleary-eyedbewilderment at Dorothy.
"You'll get your rent when I get my pay," he said, with an ill-naturedleer. "So he's sending you around now? Afraid to come himself after thescare I gave him the last time? D'ye remember the scare I gave himNellie?" he turned to the little woman.
With a curious love and pride in this great, helpless giant, his wifestraightened his necktie, that hung limply about the neck of his blueflannel shirt, and patting his hand said, caressingly:
"Now stop your foolin', she's not from the rent-man, she's a friend ofour Tommy's,--the lady that went skatin' with Tommy in the Park; don'tyou know, James?"
James straightened himself against the panels of the door, and stareddown at Dorothy, but his first idea that she was after his week's pay wasevident in his manner.
"You wouldn't of got it if you did come for it," he declared, proudly,"'cause it ain't so far behind that you could make me pay it."
"It's only when he's gettin' over a sleepless night," explained Tommy'smother, pathetically, "that he worries so. When he's well," she whisperedto Dorothy, "he don't worry about nothin'; but when his money's all goneand he ain't well, the way he frets about me and the children issomethin' awful!" She looked at her husband with wonderful pride andpleasure in possessing so complicated a man.
Dorothy wondered, in a dazed way, what happened when the entire familywished to sit down at the same time. She could count just four suitableseating places, and there were nine members of the family. The smallestmember, a wan, blue-lipped baby in arms, had a look on its face of a wiseold man.
How and where to begin to help, Dorothy could not think. That the babywas almost starved for proper nourishment and should at once be takencare of, Dorothy realized. Yet such an air of cheerfulness pervaded thewhole family, it was hard to believe that any of them was starving. Thecheerful poor! Dorothy's heart beat high with hope.
The head of the family made his way to the door opening into the mainhall, and taking his hat from a hook, pulled it over his eyes and put hishand on the door knob. The little wife, forgetting all else--that Dorothywas looking on, that her baby was crying, and that something was boilingover on the stove--threw herself into the giant's arms.
"Don't go out, James!" she cried, pitifully, "don't go away in the cold.You won't, dearie; I know you won't! Take off your hat, there's a goodman. Don't go, there's no work now." As the man opened the door, "don'tyou know how we love you, James? Stay home to-night, dearie, and rest forto-morrow."
"I'm just goin' down to the steps," replied the man, releasing thewoman's arms from about his neck, "I'll be up in a jiffy. I didn't say Iwas goin' out. Who heard me say a word about goin' out?" he appealed tothe numerous children playing about.
"You don't have to," said Tommy, bravely trying to keep his lips fromquivering, "you put on a hat; didn't you? And you opened the door; didn'tyou?" and with such proof positive Tommy stood facing his father, but hislips would quiver in spite of biting them hard with his teeth.
"I'm just goin' down for a breath of air," he explained, as his wifeclung desperately to his arm, "just to get the sleep out
o' me eyes, andI'll run into the grocer's, and come back with--cakes!" he ended,triumphantly.
Dorothy felt awkward and intrusive. This was a family scene that hadgrown wearisome to the children, who took little interest in it, and themother of the brood at last fell away, and allowed the man to leave theroom. Then Dorothy saw the tragedy of the little woman's life! Glisteningtears fell thick and fast, and she hugged her baby tightly to her breast,murmuring softly in its little ears, oblivious to her surroundings.
"I'll buy you food," said Dorothy, the weary voice of the woman bringingtears to her eyes. "Tommy will come with me and we'll buy everything youneed."
Tommy rushed for his hat, and together they started down the stairs.Reaching the steps, Dorothy looked about for some sign of Tommy's father,but he must have been seated on another porch for the breath of air hewas after; the only thing on the front steps was Tommy's yellow dog.
"Did you see my father?" said the boy to the dog. The dog jumped aboutmadly, licking Tommy's face and hands and barking short, joyful doggiegreetings. "He's seen him, all right," said Tommy.
"Did he go to the grocer's?" he asked of the dog. In answer the dog'sears and tail drooped sadly, and he licked Tommy's hand with lessjoyfulness.
"No," said little Tommy, "he ain't gone to the grocer's, he's alwayslooking for work now, he says."
"I'll see if I can bring him back," volunteered Dorothy.
The evening crowd on Rivington Street was pouring out of the doorways,bitter cold did not seem to prevent social gatherings on the corners, andthe small shops were filled to overflowing with loungers. A missionmeeting was in progress on one of the corners, as Dorothy hurried on, anda sweet, girlish voice was exhorting the shivering crowd to repent andmend their ways.