CHAPTER XIV
THE HEAVEN THAT NEARLY HAPPENED
JANUARY came in furiously, peppering with sleet, bombarding with hail,storming with snow-laden winds. Day after day the sun refused to showhimself, and the kitchen was so dark that, whenever work had to be done,the lamp was lighted.
In such weather Johnnie was cut off from the outside world; was almostlike another Crusoe. Having no shoes and no overcoat, he would notventure out for a walk with his dog. Fuel was so costly that he couldnot even open the window to take his taste of the outdoors. His feetwere wrapped up in bits of blanket, and his thin arms were covered byfootless, old stockings of Cis's, which he drew on of a morning, keepingthem up by pinning them to the stubby sleeves of the big shirt.
Many a day Big Tom stayed at home, dozing away the time on his bed. Suchdays were trying ones for Johnnie. Seated at the kitchen table, hislarge hands blue with the cold, hour upon hour he twisted cotton petalson wire stems to make violets--virtually acres of them, which hefashioned in skillful imitation, though he had never seen a violet grow.Violet-making tired him, and often he had a stabbing pain between hisshoulder blades.
But when Barber was away, the gloomiest hours passed happily enough. Hewould finish his housework early, if none too well, scatter the oilclothwith petals and stems, as if this task were going forward, then pull thetable drawer part way out, lay his open book in it, and read. It was_The Last of the Mohicans_ which claimed all of his interest during thefirst month of that year. And what the weather was outside mattered nota jot to him. He was threading the woods of spring with Cora and Alice,Uncas and Heyward.
It was later on, during February, when _The Legends of King Arthur_ wereuppermost in Johnnie's mind, that the flat had a mysterious caller, thisa bald-headed, stocky man wearing a hard black hat, a gray woolly stormcoat, and overshoes. "You Johnnie Smith?" he asked when the door wasopened to his knock.
"Yes, sir."
The man came in, sat without waiting to be asked, and looked around himwith a severe eye. Johnnie was delighted at this unusual interruption.But Grandpa was scared, and got behind Johnnie. "Is that the General?"he wanted to know, whispering. "Is that the General?"
"Is your father home?" asked the strange man finally.
"My father's dead," replied Johnnie.
"Ah. Then Mr. Barber's your uncle, eh?"
"He ain't no relation," declared Johnnie, proudly.
The clock alarm announced the hour of five. Johnnie fed the fire and putthe supper over. Still the man stayed. Once he got up and walked about,stared into the blackness of Big Tom's bedroom, and held the lamp sothat he might have a look at Cis's closet. He grumbled to himself whenhe put the lamp down.
All this made Johnnie uneasy. He could think of only one reason for suchstrange and suspicious conduct. The books! Could _this_ by any chance beMr. J. J. Hunter?
When Barber came in, it was plain to Johnnie that the longshoreman knewinstantly why the man had come. At least he showed no surprise at seeinghim there. Also, he was indifferent--even amused. After nodding to thevisitor, and flashing at him that dangerous white spot, he sat andpushed at first one cheek and then the other with his tongue.
"My name's Maloney," began the man, using a severe tone. "I'm here aboutthis boy."
Johnnie started. The man's visit concerned himself! He felt sure nowthat it was about the book. He wondered if there would be a search.
Barber thrust out his lip. "You're a long time gittin' here," hereturned impudently. And laughed.
At that the man seemed less sure of himself. "Don't know how I've missedhim," he declared, as if troubled.
"Seein' he's been right here in this flat for five years," said theother, sneeringly.
Maloney rose, and Johnnie saw that he was angry. "You know the law!" heasserted. "This boy ought to be in school!"
School! Johnnie caught his breath. Mr. Maloney was here to help him! Hadnot Cis declared over and over that some day Big Tom would be arrestedfor keeping Johnnie home from public school? Mrs. Kukor had agreed. Andnow this was going to happen! And, oh, school would be Heaven!
"Sure," assented Big Tom, smoothly. "But who's goin' t' send him? 'CauseI don't have t' do _anything_ for him."
"You'll have to appear before a magistrate," declared the other. "ForI'm going to enter a complaint."
Barber began to swell. With a curse, he rose and faced Maloney. "Lookhere!" he said roughly. "This kid is nothin' t' me. I fetched him herewhen his aunt died. I didn't have t'. But if I hadn't, he'd 've starved,and slept in the streets, or been a cost t' the city. Well, he's been acost t' me--git that, Mister Maloney? T' _me_! A poor man! I've fed him,and give him a place t' sleep--instead of takin' in roomers, like therest of the guys do in this buildin'."
Again the man looked about him. "Roomers?" he repeated. "Why, there's noventilation here, and you get no sun. This flat is unfit to live in!"
"You tell that t' the landlord!" cried Big Tom, his chest heaving. "Hemakes me pay good rent for it, even if it _ain't_ fit t' live in!"
Maloney shook his head.
"Oh, yes, I know all about your city rules," went on the longshoreman."But the Dagoes in this tenement pack their flats full. I don't. Jus'the boy sleeps in this kitchen. And if it wasn't for me, where'd he beright now? Out in the snow?"
Maloney shrugged, sat down, and leaned back, thinking. And in the pauseJohnnie thought of several matters. For one thing, now he had a new wayof considering his being in the flat. Sure enough, if Barber had not fedand housed him where would he have been? With Uncle Albert? But UncleAlbert had never come down to see him; had not--as Big Tom had oftentaken the pains to point out--even written Johnnie a postcard. Now theboy suddenly found himself grateful to Barber.
Mr. Maloney's manner had lost much of its assurance. "But the boy mustbe taught something," he declared. "He's ignorant!"
Ignorant! Johnnie rose, scarcely able to keep back a protest.
Barber whirled round upon him. "Ignorant!" he cried. "Y' hear that,Johnnie? This gent thinks you don't know nothin'!--That's where you'reoff, Maloney!--Johnnie, suppose you read for him. Ha? Just show him howignorant y' are!"
Johnnie made an involuntary start toward the drawer of the table,remembered, and stopped. "What--what'll I read?" he asked.
The man looked around. "Exactly!" he exclaimed. "What'll he read? Whathave you got in this flat _for_ him to read? Where's your books? orpapers? or magazines? You haven't a scrap of printed matter, as far as Ican see."
"Give us that paper out of your overcoat," suggested Big Tom, ignoringwhat the other had said. "Let the kid read from it."
As Johnnie took the paper, he was almost as put out at the man as wasBarber. "I've read ever since I was a baby," he declared. "Aunt Sophie,she used to give me lessons." Then he read, easily, smoothly, pausing atcommas, stopping at periods, pronouncing even the biggest wordscorrectly.
"All right," interrupted Maloney, after a few paragraphs. "That'll do.You read first rate--first rate."
"And I know dec'mals," boasted Johnnie; "and fractions. And I can spellev'ry word that was in Cis's spellin' book." Yes, and he knew much morethat he dared not confess in the hearing of Barber. He longed todiscourse about his five books, and all the wonderful people in them,and to say something about the "thinks" he could do.
"There y' are!" exclaimed the longshoreman, triumphant. "There y' are!D' y' call that ignorant? for a ten-year-old boy?"
Maloney looked across at Johnnie and smiled. "He's a _mighty_ smartlad!" he admitted warmly.
"Knows twice as much as most boys of his age," went on Barber. (He hadcome to this conclusion, however, in the past five minutes.) "And all heknows is good. He behaves himself pretty fair, too, and I don't havemuch trouble with him t' speak of. So he's welcome t' stay on far's_he's_ concerned. But"--his voice hardened, his nose darted sidewisemenacingly--"if _you_ stick your finger in this pie, and drag me up infront of a Court, I'm goin' t' tell y' what'll come of it, and I meanjust what I say: I'll set the kid
outside that door,"--indicating theone leading to the hall, "and the city can board and bed him. Jus' put_that_ in your pipe and smoke it!"
Evidently Mr. Maloney did not smoke, for though Johnnie watched thevisitor closely, the latter drew out no pipe. "Wouldn't know where Icould send him," he confessed, but as if to himself rather than to BigTom; "not just now, anyhow. But"--suddenly brightening--"what aboutnight school?"
"Have him chasin' out o' _nights_?" cried Barber, scandalized. "Comin'in all hours off the _street_? I guess _not_! So if you and your Courtwant this kid t' go t' night school, out he gits from _here_. And that'smy last word." He sat down.
Mr. Maloney got up, a worried expression on his face. "I'll have to letthe matter stand as it is for a while," he admitted quietly. "This yearthe city's got more public charges than it knows what to do with--somany men out of work, and so much sickness these last months. And as yousay, the boy isn't ignorant."
When he went, he left the paper behind; and that evening Johnnie read itfrom the first page to the last, advertisements and all. Big Tom saw himporing over it, but said nothing (the boy's reading on the sly hadproved a good thing for the longshoreman). Johnnie, realizing that hewas seen, but that his foster father did not roar an objection, or jerkthe paper from his hands, or blow out the light, was grateful, and feltsuddenly less independent.
But what he did not realize was that, by reading as well as he had, hehad hurt his own chances of being sent to public school.