CHAPTER X
IN MURPHY'S ALLEY
With the opulent purr that seems to be peculiar to luxuriouslimousines, Mrs. Carew's car rolled down Commonwealth Avenue and outupon Arlington Street to Charles. Inside sat a shining-eyed littlegirl and a white-faced, tense woman. Outside, to give directions tothe plainly disapproving chauffeur, sat Jerry Murphy, inordinatelyproud and insufferably important.
When the limousine came to a stop before a shabby doorway in a narrow,dirty alley, the boy leaped to the ground, and, with a ridiculousimitation of the liveried pomposities he had so often watched, threwopen the door of the car and stood waiting for the ladies to alight.
Pollyanna sprang out at once, her eyes widening with amazement anddistress as she looked about her. Behind her came Mrs. Carew, visiblyshuddering as her gaze swept the filth, the sordidness, and the raggedchildren that swarmed shrieking and chattering out of the dismaltenements, and surrounded the car in a second.
Jerry waved his arms angrily.
"Here, you, beat it!" he yelled to the motley throng. "This ain't nofree movies! CAN that racket and get a move on ye. Lively, now! Wegotta get by. Jamie's got comp'ny."
Mrs. Carew shuddered again, and laid a trembling hand on Jerry'sshoulder.
"Not--HERE!" she recoiled.
But the boy did not hear. With shoves and pushes from sturdy fists andelbows, he was making a path for his charges; and before Mrs. Carewknew quite how it was done, she found herself with the boy andPollyanna at the foot of a rickety flight of stairs in a dim,evil-smelling hallway.
Once more she put out a shaking hand.
"Wait," she commanded huskily. "Remember! Don't either of you say aword about--about his being possibly the boy I'm looking for. I mustsee for myself first, and--question him."
"Of course!" agreed Pollyanna.
"Sure! I'm on," nodded the boy. "I gotta go right off anyhow, so Iwon't bother ye none. Now toddle easy up these 'ere stairs. There'salways holes, and most generally there's a kid or two asleepsomewheres. An' the elevator ain't runnin' ter-day," he gibedcheerfully. "We gotta go ter the top, too!"
Mrs. Carew found the "holes"--broken boards that creaked and bentfearsomely under her shrinking feet; and she found one "kid"--atwo-year-old baby playing with an empty tin can on a string which hewas banging up and down the second flight of stairs. On all sidesdoors were opened, now boldly, now stealthily, but always disclosingwomen with tousled heads or peering children with dirty faces.Somewhere a baby was wailing piteously. Somewhere else a man wascursing. Everywhere was the smell of bad whiskey, stale cabbage, andunwashed humanity.
At the top of the third and last stairway the boy came to a pausebefore a closed door.
"I'm just a-thinkin' what Sir James'll say when he's wise ter theprize package I'm bringin' him," he whispered in a throaty voice. "Iknow what mumsey'll do--she'll turn on the weeps in no time ter seeJamie so tickled." The next moment he threw wide the door with a gay:"Here we be--an' we come in a buzz-wagon! Ain't that goin' some, SirJames?"
It was a tiny room, cold and cheerless and pitifully bare, butscrupulously neat. There were here no tousled heads, no peeringchildren, no odors of whiskey, cabbage, and unclean humanity. Therewere two beds, three broken chairs, a dry-goods-box table, and a stovewith a faint glow of light that told of a fire not nearly brisk enoughto heat even that tiny room. On one of the beds lay a lad with flushedcheeks and fever-bright eyes. Near him sat a thin, white-faced woman,bent and twisted with rheumatism.
Mrs. Carew stepped into the room and, as if to steady herself, pauseda minute with her back to the wall. Pollyanna hurried forward with alow cry just as Jerry, with an apologetic "I gotta go now; good-by!"dashed through the door.
"Oh, Jamie, I'm so glad I've found you," cried Pollyanna. "You don'tknow how I've looked and looked for you every day. But I'm so sorryyou're sick!"
Jamie smiled radiantly and held out a thin white hand.
"I ain't sorry--I'm GLAD," he emphasized meaningly; "'cause it'sbrought you to see me. Besides, I'm better now, anyway. Mumsey, thisis the little girl, you know, that told me the glad game--and mumsey'splaying it, too," he triumphed, turning back to Pollyanna. "First shecried 'cause her back hurts too bad to let her work; then when I wastook worse she was GLAD she couldn't work, 'cause she could be here totake care of me, you know."
At that moment Mrs. Carew hurried forward, her eyes half-fearfully,half-longingly on the face of the lame boy in the bed.
"It's Mrs. Carew. I've brought her to see you, Jamie," introducedPollyanna, in a tremulous voice.
The little twisted woman by the bed had struggled to her feet by thistime, and was nervously offering her chair. Mrs. Carew accepted itwithout so much as a glance. Her eyes were still on the boy in thebed.
"Your name is--Jamie?" she asked, with visible difficulty.
"Yes, ma'am." The boy's bright eyes looked straight into hers.
"What is your other name?"
"I don't know."
"He is not your son?" For the first time Mrs. Carew turned to thetwisted little woman who was still standing by the bed.
"No, madam."
"And you don't know his name?"
"No, madam. I never knew it."
With a despairing gesture Mrs. Carew turned back to the boy.
"But think, think--don't you remember ANYTHING of your namebut--Jamie?"
The boy shook his head. Into his eyes was coming a puzzled wonder.
"No, nothing."
"Haven't you anything that belonged to your father, with possibly hisname in it?"
"There wasn't anythin' worth savin' but them books," interposed Mrs.Murphy. "Them's his. Maybe you'd like to look at 'em," she suggested,pointing to a row of worn volumes on a shelf across the room. Then, inplainly uncontrollable curiosity, she asked: "Was you thinkin' youknew him, ma'am?"
"I don't know," murmured Mrs. Carew, in a half-stifled voice, as sherose to her feet and crossed the room to the shelf of books.
There were not many--perhaps ten or a dozen. There was a volume ofShakespeare's plays, an "Ivanhoe," a much-thumbed "Lady of the Lake,"a book of miscellaneous poems, a coverless "Tennyson," a dilapidated"Little Lord Fauntleroy," and two or three books of ancient andmedieval history. But, though Mrs. Carew looked carefully throughevery one, she found nowhere any written word. With a despairing sighshe turned back to the boy and to the woman, both of whom now werewatching her with startled, questioning eyes.
"I wish you'd tell me--both of you--all you know about yourselves,"she said brokenly, dropping herself once more into the chair by thebed.
And they told her. It was much the same story that Jamie had toldPollyanna in the Public Garden. There was little that was new, nothingthat was significant, in spite of the probing questions that Mrs.Carew asked. At its conclusion Jamie turned eager eyes on Mrs. Carew'sface.
"Do you think you knew--my father?" he begged.
Mrs. Carew closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her head.
"I don't--know," she answered. "But I think--not."
Pollyanna gave a quick cry of keen disappointment, but as quickly shesuppressed it in obedience to Mrs. Carew's warning glance. With newhorror, however, she surveyed the tiny room.
Jamie, turning his wondering eyes from Mrs. Carew's face, suddenlyawoke to his duties as host.
"Wasn't you good to come!" he said to Pollyanna, gratefully. "How'sSir Lancelot? Do you ever go to feed him now?" Then, as Pollyanna didnot answer at once, he hurried on, his eyes going from her face to thesomewhat battered pink in a broken-necked bottle in the window. "Didyou see my posy? Jerry found it. Somebody dropped it and he picked itup. Ain't it pretty? And it SMELLS a little."
But Pollyanna did not seem even to have heard him. She was stillgazing, wide-eyed about the room, clasping and unclasping her handsnervously.
"But I don't see how you can ever play the game here at all, Jamie,"she faltered. "I didn't suppose there could be anywhere such aperfectly awful place to live," she shuddered.
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"Ho!" scoffed Jamie, valiantly. "You'd oughter see the Pikes'down-stairs. Theirs is a whole lot worse'n this. You don't know what alot of nice things there is about this room. Why, we get the sun inthat winder there for 'most two hours every day, when it shines. Andif you get real near it you can see a whole lot of sky from it. If wecould only KEEP the room!--but you see we've got to leave, we'reafraid. And that's what's worrin' us."
"Leave!"
"Yes. We got behind on the rent--mumsey bein' sick so, and not earnin'anythin'." In spite of a courageously cheerful smile, Jamie's voiceshook. "Mis' Dolan down-stairs--the woman what keeps my wheel chairfor me, you know--is helpin' us out this week. But of course she can'tdo it always, and then we'll have to go--if Jerry don't strike itrich, or somethin'."
"Oh, but can't we--" began Pollyanna.
She stopped short. Mrs. Carew had risen to her feet abruptly with ahurried:
"Come, Pollyanna, we must go." Then to the woman she turned wearily."You won't have to leave. I'll send you money and food at once, andI'll mention your case to one of the charity organizations in which Iam interested, and they will--"
In surprise she ceased speaking. The bent little figure of the womanopposite had drawn itself almost erect. Mrs. Murphy's cheeks wereflushed. Her eyes showed a smouldering fire.
"Thank you, no, Mrs. Carew," she said tremulously, but proudly. "We'repoor--God knows; but we ain't charity folks."
"Nonsense!" cried Mrs. Carew, sharply. "You're letting the womandown-stairs help you. This boy said so."
"I know; but that ain't charity," persisted the woman, stilltremulously. "Mrs. Dolan is my FRIEND. She knows I'D do HER a goodturn just as quick--I have done 'em for her in times past. Help fromFRIENDS ain't charity. They CARE; and that--that makes a difference.We wa'n't always as we are now, you see; and that makes it hurt allthe more--all this. Thank you; but we couldn't take--your money."
Mrs. Carew frowned angrily. It had been a most disappointing,heart-breaking, exhausting hour for her. Never a patient woman, shewas exasperated now, besides being utterly tired out.
"Very well, just as you please," she said coldly. Then, with vagueirritation she added: "But why don't you go to your landlord andinsist that he make you even decently comfortable while you do stay?Surely you're entitled to something besides broken windows stuffedwith rags and papers! And those stairs that I came up are positivelydangerous."
Mrs. Murphy sighed in a discouraged way. Her twisted little figure hadfallen back into its old hopelessness.
"We have tried to have something done, but it's never amounted toanything. We never see anybody but the agent, of course; and he saysthe rents are too low for the owner to put out any more money onrepairs."
"Nonsense!" snapped Mrs. Carew, with all the sharpness of a nervous,distraught woman who has at last found an outlet for her exasperation."It's shameful! What's more, I think it's a clear case of violation ofthe law;--those stairs are, certainly. I shall make it my business tosee that he's brought to terms. What is the name of that agent, andwho is the owner of this delectable establishment?"
"I don't know the name of the owner, madam; but the agent is Mr.Dodge."
"Dodge!" Mrs. Carew turned sharply, an odd look on her face. "Youdon't mean--Henry Dodge?"
"Yes, madam. His name is Henry, I think."
A flood of color swept into Mrs. Carew's face, then receded, leavingit whiter than before.
"Very well, I--I'll attend to it," she murmured, in a half-stifledvoice, turning away. "Come, Pollyanna, we must go now."
Over at the bed Pollyanna was bidding Jamie a tearful good-by.
"But I'll come again. I'll come real soon," she promised brightly, asshe hurried through the door after Mrs. Carew.
Not until they had picked their precarious way down the three longflights of stairs and through the jabbering, gesticulating crowd ofmen, women, and children that surrounded the scowling Perkins and thelimousine, did Pollyanna speak again. But then she scarcely waited forthe irate chauffeur to slam the door upon them before she pleaded:
"Dear Mrs. Carew, please, please say that it was Jamie! Oh, it wouldbe so nice for him to be Jamie."
"But he isn't Jamie!"
"O dear! Are you sure?"
There was a moment's pause, then Mrs. Carew covered her face with herhands.
"No, I'm not sure--and that's the tragedy of it," she moaned. "I don'tthink he is; I'm almost positive he isn't. But, of course, there IS achance--and that's what's killing me."
"Then can't you just THINK he's Jamie," begged Pollyanna, "and play hewas? Then you could take him home, and--" But Mrs. Carew turnedfiercely.
"Take that boy into my home when he WASN'T Jamie? Never, Pollyanna! Icouldn't."
"But if you CAN'T help Jamie, I should think you'd be so glad therewas some one like him you COULD help," urged Pollyanna, tremulously."What if your Jamie was like this Jamie, all poor and sick, wouldn'tyou want some one to take him in and comfort him, and--""Don't--don't, Pollyanna," moaned Mrs. Carew, turning her head fromside to side, in a frenzy of grief. "When I think that maybe,somewhere, our Jamie is like that--" Only a choking sob finished thesentence.
"That's just what I mean--that's just what I mean!" triumphedPollyanna, excitedly. "Don't you see? If this IS your Jamie, of courseyou'll want him; and if it isn't, you couldn't be doing any harm tothe other Jamie by taking this one, and you'd do a whole lot of good,for you'd make this one so happy--so happy! And then, by and by, ifyou should find the real Jamie, you wouldn't have lost anything, butyou'd have made two little boys happy instead of one; and--" But againMrs. Carew interrupted her.
"Don't, Pollyanna, don't! I want to think--I want to think."
Tearfully Pollyanna sat back in her seat. By a very visible effort shekept still for one whole minute. Then, as if the words fairly bubbledforth of themselves, there came this:
"Oh, but what an awful, awful place that was! I just wish the man thatowned it had to live in it himself--and then see what he'd have to beglad for!"
Mrs. Carew sat suddenly erect. Her face showed a curious change.Almost as if in appeal she flung out her hand toward Pollyanna.
"Don't!" she cried. "Perhaps--she didn't know, Pollyanna. Perhaps shedidn't know. I'm sure she didn't know--she owned a place like that.But it will be fixed now--it will be fixed."
"SHE! Is it a woman that owns it, and do you know her? And do you knowthe agent, too?"
"Yes." Mrs. Carew bit her lips. "I know her, and I know the agent."
"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed Pollyanna. "Then it'll be all right now."
"Well, it certainly will be--better," avowed Mrs. Carew with emphasis,as the car stopped before her own door.
Mrs. Carew spoke as if she knew what she was talking about. Andperhaps, indeed, she did--better than she cared to tell Pollyanna.Certainly, before she slept that night, a letter left her handsaddressed to one Henry Dodge, summoning him to an immediate conferenceas to certain changes and repairs to be made at once in tenements sheowned. There were, moreover, several scathing sentences concerning"rag-stuffed windows," and "rickety stairways," that caused this sameHenry Dodge to scowl angrily, and to say a sharp word behind histeeth--though at the same time he paled with something very like fear.