CHAPTER XXIII
ROSES THAT TATTLED
"CIS BAR-R-BER-R-R! Cis Bar-r-r-ber-r-r! Cis Bar-r-r-ber-r!"
It was the shrill voice of the Italian janitress, calling up from thearea, and the summons was peremptory and impatient.
The day was Sunday, so that Cis, as well as Big Tom, was at home. At themoment the longshoreman was humped over the sink, rinsing his bluishjowls after a shave. Cis was beside him, standing at the kitchen window.The day before she had been told by a girl friend that one side of everyperson's face is always better-looking than the other side; and now shewas holding up in front of her the broken bit of mirror while, as sheturned her head delicately, now this way, now that, she tried to decidebetween the merits of the two views.
"Cis _Bar_--rber!" sounded the call again, this time with an added noteof annoyance.
Cis transferred her attention to her nose. Recently a certain somebodyhad told her one or two things about that nose. She was consideringthis, aided by the glass. "My! That janitress is getting bossier andbossier!" she remarked somewhat languidly.
Johnnie, bent over his violets, paused with a flower half done. Hemarveled at her lack of curiosity, envying her for it. How grandlygrown-up she was! As for him, he was fairly on pins and needles to knowwhat it was the janitress wanted. "St! st!" he hissed cautiously(Barber's head being just then buried in the roller towel). He triedhard to catch her eye.
"Cis _BAR-BER_!"--it was a shriek.
"I've told that woman, over and over, that my name _isn't_ Barber," wenton Cis, touching her hair with deft fingers.
Barber took his head out of the towel. "Go and see what she wants," hecommanded irritably. "She'll wake the old man."
"She wants me to be running up and down three flights of stairs,"returned Cis, calmly. (It was astonishing the attitude she took thesedays with Big Tom, the tone of equality she used.) "She thinks I'm stillone of the youngsters in this building, and that she can order me aroundlike she used to do. But I'm going to remind Madam Spaghetti that I'mseventeen to-day." She gave a toss of her head as she went out.
Seventeen! Sure enough! Johnnie pondered her good fortune. It would bequite a little more than six years before he would be seventeen. Howremote that fortunate day seemed! And how the time would drag! Oh, ifthere were only some scheme for making it go faster!
"Let your hair alone!" scolded Big Tom, who was raking his own at thewindow, his legs spraddled wide in order to lower himself and thus bringhis head on a level with Cis's mirror.
A scout is obedient. Down came Johnnie's hand. Also, a scout is cheerfulwhen obeying; so up went the corners of his mouth. And there was onemore point to cover: courtesy. "Yes, sir," he answered politely. Heproceeded with his petals of violet cotton and his little length ofstem. For what had Mr. Perkins said so often about all these matters ofconduct?
"Get the habit of doing them, old fellow. If being a scout meansanything, it means living up to the laws, sticking close to the spiritof the whole scout idea, and following out what the Handbook teaches.Put the question of Big Tom out of your mind. Whether he likes what youdo or not; and whether or not you please him when you live by the laws,those aren't the main considerations. No! It's yourself you must thinkof! your character! Remember that you're not trying to make over TomBarber. Body and soul, you're making over Johnnie Smith!"
And these days Johnnie Smith was getting on by leaps and bounds with hispreparation, his training to be a scout. Fortunately that meetingbetween Mr. Perkins and Big Tom had made no difference whatever in hisprogram. The morning after it took place, the scoutmaster had made hisappearance as usual at eleven o'clock. "I can't let Mr. Barber drive meaway," he explained. "Why, that would be deserting you, old fellow, andyou're counting on me, aren't you? No, we'll go right ahead."
"But if he finds out!" Johnnie ventured, happy, yet somewhatapprehensive.
"He'll order me out again probably," returned Mr. Perkins, calmly. "Ofcourse, if he could understand what I'm trying to do for you, I'm surehe'd look at the whole matter in a friendlier way." (Mr. Perkins nevercame closer than this to a criticism of the longshoreman.) "Well, hecan't understand, because, you see, the poor chap never had the rightthing done for him.--Yes, we'll go right ahead."
However, as Johnnie continued to feel nervous on the score of what hisfoster father might do to this good friend if the latter was againdiscovered at the flat, the scoutmaster, for Johnnie's sake, and to makethe boy's mind more easy, agreed to change the time of his call to alittle after one o'clock of each afternoon, it being decided that thishour was the safest.
Johnnie had wanted to say something about the ring, and theengagement--something to the effect that he was happy over the news,only Mr. Perkins was taking his (Johnnie's) job away from him, since hehad planned, when he grew up,--yes, and even before--to take care of Cishimself. But for some reason he did not find it easy to broach thesubject; and since the scoutmaster did not begin it (he looked ruddierand browner than ever before, Johnnie thought), the upshot of it wasthat the engagement did not get discussed at all.
Instead, the Handbook took up the whole of the hour. A mysterious signalon the sink pipe brought all of the books down to them, descending inthe basket as if out of the sky. Mrs. Kukor had to be thanked then, fromthe window, after which Mr. Perkins and Johnnie settled down to achapter treating of the prevention of accidents, first-aid, andlifesaving. And that afternoon, when the scoutmaster was gone, Letitiawas several times rescued from drowning, and carried on a stretcher; andthat evening Cis, on coming in from work, found Grandpa's old, whitehead bandaged scientifically in the dish-towel, this greatly to theveteran's delight, for he believed he had just been wounded at theBattle of Shiloh.
The chapter for the next day after proved even more exciting. It was allabout games--the Treasure Hunt, and Let 'er Buck, Capture the Flag, anddozens more, but each as strange to Johnnie as another, since he hadnever played one of them. Mr. Perkins added his explanations to those inthe Handbook, and showed Johnnie and Grandpa how cock-fighting was done,gave a demonstration of skunk tag, and proved that the soft, splinteryboards of the kitchen floor were finely adapted to mumbly peg.
That night on the roof, Johnnie hailed to him a score of scouts, alongwith Jim Hawkins and David, Aladdin, and several of the younger Knightsof King Arthur. Then went forward a great game of duck on a rock,followed by a relay race and dodge-ball. The roof had come to mean moreand more to Johnnie of late, but now he felt especially glad that he hadit to go to. During the past few weeks he had frequented it under everysort of summer-night sky. It was his weather station, his observatory,his gymnasium, his park, his highway, his hilltop, his Crusoe's Island.In the thinks he conjured up there, it was also his railroad station,for he traveled far and wide from it on trains that went puffing awayfrom that little house built at the top of the stairs; and it was hiswharf, to which tall-masted ships came with the swift quiet of so manypigeons. But now the roof was for him still another place--besides ahealth resort: it was his playground for all those scout games.
But he and Mr. Perkins had not stopped at that chapter on Games. Fromcover to cover Johnnie absorbed the Handbook, reading even the Appendixand the Index! He read the advertisements, too, and came to own a kodak,a junior rifle, a watch, a scout axe, and various other desirablethings. But the merit badge he did not own. He meant to earn that, tohave it really--not just as a think; for which reason he never lagged inthe matter of his meal getting.
Big Tom profited through this determination of Johnnie's. Night afternight he had biscuits and gravy. He had apple sauce where formerlyJohnnie would have let the longshoreman eat his green apples uncooked.Barber profited, too, in the amount of work Johnnie did every day,promptly and thoroughly, and in those good turns which served to makeold Grandpa happier.
Now as Johnnie waited for Cis to return from the area, he pondered onthe difference between Big Tom and Mr. Perkins. The latter had oftenpointed out to Johnnie that it did not cost anything to be either politeor cheerfu
l, and the boy liked being both. Why was Big Tom neither?"Mister Barber, what does 'Birds of a feather flock t'-gether' mean?" heinquired.
Barber had on a white collar and his best coat. His shoes were laced,too. This was the Sunday-morning longshoreman that was the pleasantestto look at. "Where d' y' git hold of such stuff?" was his retort. (YetBarber smiled as he put on his hat. The boy was coming to time in greatshape these days, behaving himself, doing his work, learning to answer aman right. A blind person could see the improvement. Who could saytruthfully that he was not raising the boy first-class?)
As the hall door shut behind Barber, Johnnie could scarcely keep himselfdown in his chair. He wanted to look out of the window to try if hecould not see Cis. But he stayed where he was, and twisted away busily.Barber might be at his old tricks; might open the door at any moment.But also, just so many violets must be made of a Sunday, and just thatmany would be made. A scout is trustworthy.
Yet just so many violets were not to be made, thus proving how uncertainlife is. For here came Cis, switching her way in importantly. She waspanting. She was flushed. Cautiously she shut the door behind her. "I'vebeen up on Mrs. Kukor's stairs, waiting," she half whispered. Under onearm she was carrying a long, satiny-white box.
"_Another_ doll?" demanded Johnnie, astonished and disappointed. To himany long, white box could mean nothing else. However, he rose, unable tobe entirely indifferent even to a new doll.
"Doll!" cried Cis, scornfully. She dropped the box on the table.
Then Johnnie saw that it was not a doll; for out of one end of thebox--an end that was open--extended a handful of long, slender, greenstems. The gift was flowers, tied, not with common string, but with aflat, green tape which looked fully as expensive as ribbon, and nearlyas handsome. "Oh, gee!"--this as he seized the stems, not being able towait, he was so excited, and tried to draw the flowers from the box."Oh, Cis, d'y' s'pose these 're from One-Eye? D'y' think maybe One-Eyeis back?--Oh, hurry!"
"Wait!"--speaking gently, yet with something of a high-and-mighty air."Johnnie, you've got One-Eye on the brain." The cord untied, she slippedthe cover off the box. Next she swept aside a froth of crisptissue-paper which was still veiling the gift. Then together they lookeddown.
"O-o-o-o-h!" It was a chorus.
Roses! Pink roses! A very pile of them, snuggling in the cool, delicategreenery of ferns! Up from them lifted a fragrance that rivaled eventhat of orris root. Cis leaned to breathe. Next, Johnnie leaned, all butswelling to the bursting point that flat little chest of his to take inthe delicious perfume. Thus for a while, and without speaking, theydipped their heads, alternating, to the box.
Presently, Cis lifted the bouquet--almost with reverence. The cups ofthe flowers were narrow, looked into from directly above, as if eachflower had just opened. And, oh, how young each seemed! and howbeautiful! When, in all the years since the tenement had been built, hadit sheltered such loveliness! Bravely enough the dark, smudgy kitchen,with its scabby walls and its greasy, splintery floor, grew knots ofviolets. But here were flowers not made by hands: flowers which had comeup out of the earth!--yet with a perfectness which was surely not of theearth; certainly not, at any rate, of this particular corner of itsituated in the Lower East Side.
"My first roses!" Cis said. Her tone implied that they were not herlast.
"They're fine!" pronounced Johnnie, solemnly.
"_Fine?_ They're darling! They're precious! They look as if they'd justcome down from Heaven!" Out of the long, white box Cis now took a small,square envelope. She handed it to Johnnie. "Open it, please," she bade,and rather grandly, her air that of one who has been receiving boxes ofroses all her life. Then once more she buried that complimented noseamong her flowers.
The envelope was not sealed. That was because, Johnnie concluded, therewas no letter in it. What it contained was a narrow, stiff card. On thecard, written in ink, was "Many happy returns of the day!" This Johnnieread aloud. "But there's no name," he complained. "So how d'y' knowthese didn't come from One-Eye? I'll just bet they did! I'll----"
"Read the other side," advised Cis calmly. She fell to counting theroses.
Over went the card. "Oh, yes; you're right--Mister Algernon GodfreyPerkins, it says. Gee! but he must've spent a pile of money! And whatday's he talkin' about? How can a day return?"
"Your birthday can return--every year, the way Christmas does. To-day isseventeen times my birthday has returned; and there's just seventeenroses here. That's one for each year I've lived." She began to whisperinto the buds, touching in turn each pink chalice with her pink lips."This is the rose for the year I was one, and this is the rose for theyear I was two, and this is the rose----"
Johnnie proceeded, boylike, to acquire some intimate and practicalknowledge of her gift. He opened one flower a little, carefullyspreading its petals. "My! ain't they soft!" he marveled. "Gee! I'd liket' make some 'xac'ly like 'em out o' silk! And, ouch! What's _this_?"
"This" was a thorn, the first he had ever seen. Learning that the roseshad many thorns, he begged hard for one, whereupon Cis broke off for himthat particular needlelike growth which was the farthest down on anystem. He received it gratefully on a palm, carried it to the window, andthere split it open with a thumb-nail; and having been assured by Cisthat it was a safe enough thing to do, he finally put the divided thorninto his mouth and chewed it up. And found it good!
Next, he begged a bit of stem. At first, Cis demurred, arguing that tocut a stem might injure the rose at its top; but was won over whenJohnnie pointed out that all of the stems had been already cutonce--"and maybe it was good for 'em!" But then the question was, whichof the seventeen stems could best spare a bit of its length? This tookconsideration; also, measuring--with a string. At last the longest stemof all was found. Cis held it tenderly while Johnnie did the cutting.Snip! He got a quarter-inch of the growth. This, also, he split,examined, smelled, and ate. And discovered that it tasted even betterthan the thorn!
Meanwhile, Cis was parading, her bouquet clasped to her breast. He wentover and walked to and fro beside her, studying the flowers. "Those comeup out o' the dirt, didn't they?" he mused. "But they're pink and green.And dirt ain't, is it? So how can the _roses_ be like they are? 'R elsethe ground ought t' be pink on top--that's t' make the flowers--andgreen 'way down, so's t' grow the stems. And how does the roses know nott' git green up top and pink all up and down? And how----"
"Oh, do hush!" implored Cis. "Don't you see that I'm trying to think?Don't talk aloud, Johnnie, please!"
It was then they heard the stairs creak, and a heavy step in the hall.And thought of Big Tom for the first time--having been too enthralled bythe roses, until now, to remember anything else. "Oh, quick!" Johnniewas between Cis and the door of her room. He moved aside to let herpass. "Oh!"--but, being panic-stricken, she stepped in the samedirection, so that she stumbled against him. Finding himself againblocking her path, "Hurry!" he urged, and dodged the other way. She alsododged that way. Thus they did a kind of frightened side-to-side dancethere in the middle of the kitchen floor--as the door opened and Barberappeared, his coat on his arm.
Face to face, with the roses between them, Cis and Johnnie stayed wherethey were, as if stricken into helplessness by the sight of thelongshoreman, toward him turning their beseeching, anxious look. Eachreached blindly to touch the other, for strength and sympathy. And theroses, lifted to the level of their lips, swayed to their hardbreathing.
Barber lumbered closer. "What y' got there?" he demanded. He flung hiscoat from him, to light upon the table, where it covered those otherflowers which were of cotton.
"R--roses," faltered Cis, her voice scarcely audible.
Now the longshoreman came to loom over them. "Where 'd y' git 'em?" heasked next, staring at the bouquet almost wildly. ("He'll jerk it,"thought Johnnie.)
"You--you remember the--the Mr. Perkins?" Cis began, not taking her eyesfrom Big Tom's face.
Barber did not "jerk" the roses. Instead, he pointed one of those longarms toward
the window. "Walk over there," he commanded, "and pitch 'emout!" His arm stayed outstretched.
Cis tried to speak, made as if to plead, but could only swallow. As forJohnnie, he was petrified, mesmerized, and remained in her path,watching those eyes which were bulging so furiously, while that whiteflash in the left one darted into sight and disappeared, then came andwent again.
"_Out!_" repeated Barber.
Cis lowered her look to her roses, as if she were seeing them for thelast time. Even in the dusk of the kitchen their bright color wasreflected upon her face, which, but for the flowers, would have been aghastly white. A quick catching of the breath, like a sob. Then, herchin sunk among the blossoms, she half-circled Johnnie, and slowlystarted windowward.
"Git a move on!" Barber spoke low.
At that, she turned, holding the roses toward him. "Oh, Mr. Barber!" shebegged. "Don't make me! Don't! The first roses I've ever had! The first!Oh, don't hurt 'em!"
The wheel chair began to swing around. It was curious how quickly a noteof dissension could rouse the old soldier from sleep, though with anyamount of excitement of the happy kind he napped undisturbed. "Johnnie?Johnnie?" he called. The faded, weak eyes peered about.
Barber acted quickly. With a muttered curse, he lunged across the roomto Cis, snarled into her face as he reached her, and wrenched the rosesout of her hand. "I'll hurt 'em all right!" he promised savagely.
"Tommie! Tommie!"--it was a joyous cry. The bright flowers had caughtGrandpa's eye. "Oh! Oh, Tommie!" Now the chair started in Barber'sdirection. "Oh, Mother! Oh, go fetch Mother!" He let Letitia drop as heturned at the wheels.
The roses were half way out of the window; Barber drew them back, as ifhis father's delight in the bouquet had made him change his mind. But hedid not give them to Grandpa. Instead, he hid the flowers behind him."Git the old man some milk," he told Johnnie; and to Cis, "You put onyour hat and take these out, and don't you come back with less'n adollar."
"A--a dollar?" She began to weep. Though she did not yet understand whathe meant her to do.
"Yes, a dollar." Barber stayed beside the window, the roses still at hisback. "You heard me! Sell 'em."
She turned toward her room. "Sell my birthday present!" she sobbed. "Thefirst bouquet I've ever had! The first!" But instinctively her handswent up to smooth her hair.
That told Johnnie that she was getting ready to put on her hat and obeya wicked command. He fumbled with the milk bottle and a cup, spilling alittle of the drink. "All right, Grandpa," he soothed. But his tone wasnot indicative of his real feelings. Other words were boiling up in himthat he did not speak: "_I_ wouldn't sell 'em, y' betcher life! He couldgo out and sell 'em himself! And I'd tell him so, y' betcher life! Andhe could lick me if he wanted t'! He could pound me till I died! But Iwouldn't mind him!"
Something came driving up into his throat, his eyes, his pale, strainedface. It was the blood of hate. It choked and blinded him, sang in hisears, swelled his thin neck, reddened his unfreckled cheeks. Oh, thiswas more than he could bear, even if he was to be a scout some day! Thelaws, the good resolutions, the lessons taught by Mr. Perkins, they werenot helping him now when this fearful thing was being done. He began aterrible think--of Big Tom down on the floor, helpless, bleeding,begging for mercy, while Johnnie struck his cruel tormentor again andagain--trampled him--laughed--shouted----!
Cis came from the tiny blue room. Her head was lowered. The tears weremaking wet tracks between eyes and pitifully trembling mouth. She walkedas far as the table, which checked her, and she halted against itblindly.
"There you are," said Big Tom. He tossed the roses upon his coat. "Goon, now! Hurry! Don't wait round till the old man gits t' fussin';and"--as she gathered the roses up and made slowly toward thedoor--"don't do no howlin' on the street, or folks'll think y're crazy."
She halted and turned her tear-stained face toward him. "People _will_think I'm crazy!" she sobbed. "A girl like me selling flowers on thestreet of a Sunday morning!"
"Wait!" That had changed his mind. "Give 'em t' Johnnie."
Johnnie went to her. But for a moment he did not take the roses, onlylooked up, twisting his fingers, and working a big toe. His teeth wereset hard. His lips were drawn away from them in a grimace of pure agony.Scouts were brave. Did _he_ dare to be brave? Cis had not held outagainst the order, and he had blamed her in his heart for her weaknessas he vowed to himself that he would rebel. But now--! Could he turn andspeak out his defiance? Could he tell Barber that he would not sell theflowers?
The next thing, he had taken the bouquet into his hands. He did not meanto; and he did not look at Cis after he did it, because he could not.His head was bowed like hers now; his heart was bursting. But not solelyon account of the roses. He was thinking of himself. He was a littlecoward--there was no use denying it! Yes, he was as cowardly as a girl!Here he had been given his chance "to face danger in spite of fear," "tostand up for the right"--and he had failed! He understood clearly thatthis was not the time to be obedient, and that he could not offerobedience as an excuse. No boy should carry out an order to do what waswrong.
"Git along!" It was Big Tom again, fuming over the delay.
Hatless, barefooted, in his flopping, too-big clothes, and withseventeen rosebuds clasped to his old, soiled shirt, Johnnie went slowlyout, black shame in his soul.
"I--I couldn't say it!" he mourned. "I wanted t', but it jus' wouldn'tcome out! I s'pose it's 'cause I ain't a reg'lar scout yet." Going downthe stairs, he saw no one, though several of the curious (having learnedabout the big box that had gone up) saw him. But, strangely enough, theywatched him in silence, their speech stayed by the misery in his loweredface and bent shoulders. "After a while I'll be better, maybe," he toldhimself hopefully. "But now 'bout all I can do, seems like, is keep myteeth clean."