CHAPTER XL
"THE TRUE WAY"
JOHNNIE went through his regular duties in the flat, but he went throughthem in a daze. Whenever his work was done, he sat down. Then, his bodyquiet, his brain registered sounds--a far-off voice, the slam of a door,the creak of the stairs, whistles, bells. But his thoughts fixedthemselves upon nothing. Aimlessly they moved from one idea to another,yet got nowhere, like chips on currentless water. If he remembered aboutFather Pat, that memory was dull--so dull that he could not recall theFather's face; and he did not even dream about him at night. He enduredno suffering. As for his tears, they seemed to have dried up.
The truth was that, within the last week, he had had a great deal toomuch to bear, and was all but prostrated from shock. When that conditionbettered, and he began to feel again, he was nervous and jumpy. In thenight, the drip of a faucet, or the snap of a board, would set his heartto bounding sickeningly. And, even by day, every little while his bodywould shake inside that new uniform.
No Father Pat left in the world! The realization came next, and with ita suffocating sense of loss. His friend was gone, never to return, justas Johnnie's father and mother were gone, just as Aunt Sophie was gone.From the cupboard shelf he took down that bowl of rose leaves, andpondered over them. "Roses die," he told himself, "and people die."There was an end to everything.
"A dove," Cis had told him once, "if its feathers 're all pulled out, orit's got a lead shot in its breast, just the same it doesn't make asound. It stands the pain." And that was how it was with Johnnie. He waswounded--sorely; but with quiet resignation he bore his anguish.
He began to do things outside his daily round of tasks. This followed asecond reading of the letter, a reading which soothed and strengthenedhim, made him resolute, and awakened his habit of work. His first extraproceeding was the burning of the old, big clothes, by which he addedtheir ashes to ashes far dearer; his second was the presenting ofEdwarda to the little fire escape girl with the dark hair.
The new doll concealed in a pillowcase (he could not bear to crumple andtear for his purpose that precious marriage newspaper), he made his wayto the door of the little girl's home. "This is yours," he told her,stripping off the case and holding out the gift. She heard him, butlooked only at Edwarda. "_Gratzia!_" she gasped, seizing the doll inboth hands. He lifted the scout hat, faced about, and marched home.
He found that he did not want to read anything but the letter--that hecould not concentrate on story or star book. But he did not sit and tugat his hair. Action--he fairly craved it. And continued thoseout-of-the-ordinary jobs. The cupboard shelves had not been cleaned thislong time. He scrubbed them, and turned Cis's fancifully scissoredshelf-papers. He washed the chairs, including the wheeled one.
Each day, he worked till dark, then went to the roof. There, as hewalked about, taking the air, he invariably thought about Cis. But thatthought did not make him unhappy. She did not seem farther away than theFifth Avenue bookstore, or Madison Square Garden. And he amused himselfby trying to pick out the very roof under which she was, among all theroofs that stretched away and away toward the west and the north.
Soon he was down in the flat again, because he was physically tired, andready for sleep. However, long before dawn he was awake once more, andwatching the small, dark, ticking thing which was the clock he hadformerly hated. Now of a morning it did not tick fast enough to suithim! When the light crept in, up he got, brushed his teeth and hisuniform, took his bath and his exercises, dressed, and had a few minutesof outdoors across the window sill, where he re-read his letter, andremembered to be glad that he was living in the Land of Aladdin.
After that he ate an extra large helping of prunes, and put potatoesinto the oven to bake. Then came good turns--Grandpa, Big Tom, thesparrows, and, yes, even Letitia, whose clothes he washed and ironed andmended. On the heels of the good turns, work again. "Lads don't get onby having things soft," and he would not live one soft day.
Thus, by degrees, he put together his shattered world.
One afternoon, as he sat stringing beads, he heard a familiar rap.Before he could reach the hall door, it opened, and there stood Mr.Perkins, looking happy, yet grave. He entered on tiptoe. He spoke low,as if not to disturb Big Tom.
"How are you, Johnnie?" holding out an eager hand.
"I'm all right."
"Narcissa sends her love."
How modest Mr. Perkins was!--he, the strongest man, almost, in the wholeworld! And how he lighted, and filled, the room! New life and hope andinterest surged into Johnnie at the mere sight of him.
Mr. Perkins spoke of Father Pat. "We came the moment we heard," heexplained. "The account of his death was in the papers." He had anewspaper with him, and spread it out upon the table. "The Father gavehis life for his country," he added proudly, "so they gave him amilitary funeral. It's told about right here. Would you like--that is,could you bear to read about it?"
Johnnie could not; instead, he opened the drawer of the table andslipped the paper out of sight along with that other one--and the tooth.
"But you'll want to wear this in mourning for him," went on thescoutmaster. Now out of a pocket he took a wide, black, gauzy band. "Onyour left sleeve, Johnnie." And he pinned the band in place.
It was Johnnie's turn to be proud. "It'll show 'em all that he belongedt' me," he said.
"He did! He did!"
The letter came next. Mr. Perkins took it to the window to read it."I'll get you a blank book," he announced when he came back, "and we'llpaste the letter into it carefully, so that you can keep it always. Andthat book will be your best, Johnnie. Say, but that's a letter totreasure!"
"And there was somethin' else wonderful happened," the boy declared. Andtold about Edith Cavell. "She was jus' like she was alive! All in white.And white hair. Only I couldn't see where she'd been hit by thebullets."
"No, dear old fellow," returned Mr. Perkins. "That wasn't Edith Cavell.That was the trained nurse, or maybe a Sister of Mercy--anyhow, some onewho was waiting on the Father."
"Oh!" To recall that which had moved and grieved and shocked madeJohnnie's face so white that those fading marks showed plainly upon it.And there was a look of pain and strain in the gray eyes.
"I'm afraid you've been alone too much," said the scoutmaster anxiously.
"Maybe. Still, y' remember, Robinson Crusoe, he was, too, for a longtime, but it all turned out fine for him."
"Things are turning out better for you right now," asserted Mr. Perkins."To begin with, Narcissa and I have worked out a plan that will make itpossible for you to leave here to-morrow."
"Leave?" But Johnnie did not yet comprehend what the other meant.
"Yes, for good and all," added the scoutmaster. "Go away--just asNarcissa has gone--to stay."
Johnnie wavered to his feet dizzily. "Me--go," he repeated. "Away--to_stay_." Then as the full meaning of it swept over him, "Oh, MisterPerkins! Oh! _Oh!_" That old, dear dream of his--to put behind him theugly, empty, sunless flat: the tiring, hateful, girl's work: the fear,the mortification, the abuse, the wounded pride, and, yes, Big Tom: togo, and stay away, never, never coming back--that dream had suddenlycome true!
Leaning on the table, weak from the very excitement and joy of it,slowly he looked around the kitchen. "My!" he breathed. "My!"
"The Carnegie money is ready for you now," Mr. Perkins went on. "I wentto Pittsburgh to see about it."
"It is? Father Pat, he says in the letter that I'm rich. But he didn'tcount in that Carnegie money at all."
"You can go to a good school," continued the scoutmaster; "and have thebooks and clothes that you need. Before school starts, there's thecountry--you ought to go into it for a few weeks, then to the seashore.Of course, when vacation is over, Narcissa and I want you to live withus. There's a room all ready for you.--Johnnie, you're holding yourbreath! Don't! It isn't good for you."
Half-laughing, half-crying, Johnnie bent his head to the table. "Oh,gee!" he gasped. "School! And new books! And the country
! And the beach!And then with both of you! _And my own room!_"
"And a bed--not the floor."
Johnnie was seeing it all. But particularly was the vision of his newhome clear to him. "I'll take my father's medal with me, too," hedeclared; "and Mister Roosevelt's pitcher. Oh, it's goin' t' be fine!Fine! And I'll be ready, Mister Perkins! I'll be ready earl----"
_Tap! tap! tap! tap!_
He straightened; and stood as rigid as a little statue; and once more heheld his breath. While the flushed and happy look on his facefaded--faded as did his vision of peace and happiness and luxury. Hestared wide-eyed at Mr. Perkins, questioning him dumbly, pathetically.Then every atom of strength began to leave him. It went out of hisankles, under those smart and soldierly leggings; and out of his knees.Slowly, and with a wobble, he sank into his chair.
Old Grandpa!
Now another picture: the dark, little, dismal flat, locked from theoutside, deserted within; on the kitchen table, where Big Tom'sbreakfast dishes are strewn about, is the milk bottle and a cup; thebeds are unmade, the sink piled high, and circling the unswept floorwheels Grandpa, whimpering, calling softly and pleadingly, "Johnnie!Little Johnnie! Grandpa wants Johnnie!" And tears are dimming the pale,old eyes, and trickling down into the thin, white beard.
"Oh!" breathed the boy. Old Grandpa forsaken! He, so dear, so helpless!Old Grandpa, who depended upon his Johnnie! And--what of that "kind oflove that all sound young hearts give to the crippled and thehelpless?"
He began to whisper, hastily, huskily: "That time I run away and metOne-Eye, I felt pretty bad when I was layin' awake in the horsestall--so bad I hurt, all inside me. And in the night I 'most criedabout Grandpa, and how he was missin' me."
"I see."
"And, oh, Mister Perkins, that was before I knew anything about scouts.But, now, I am one, ain't I? And so I got t' _act_ like a scout. And ascout, would he go 'way and leave a' old soldier? I got t' think aboutthat." He began to walk. Presently, he halted at the door of the tinyroom, and looked in, then came tiptoeing back. "He's in there," heexplained. "He went in t' see if Cis wasn't home yet, and he fellasleep. He misses her a lot, and she wasn't here much when he was awake.But that jus' shows how he'd miss me."
Before the scoutmaster could reply, Johnnie went on again: "I'm thinkin'ahead, the same way I think my thinks. When y're ahead, why, y' can lookback, can't y'?--awful easy! Well, I'm lookin' back, and I can seeGrandpa alone here. And it's a' awful mean thing t' see, MisterPerkins--gee, it is! And I'd be seein' it straight right on for the restof my life!"
"But I wouldn't have old Grandpa left alone here," protested Mr.Perkins. "You see, there are institutions where they take the best careof old people--trained care, and suitable food, and the attention offirst-class doctors. In such places, many old gentlemen stay."
"But Grandpa, would he know any of the other old gentlemen?"
"He would soon."
Johnnie shook his head. "He'd feel pretty bad if he didn't have me."
"You could go to see him often."
"He'd cry after me!" urged Johnnie. "And go 'round and 'round incircles. Y' see, he's used t' me, and if I was t' let him go t' thatplace, he'd miss me so bad he'd die!"
Mr. Perkins looked grave. "Narcissa and I would be only too glad to havehim with us," he said, "but his son wouldn't let us."
"Big Tom wouldn't let Grandpa go away nowheres," asserted Johnnie. "I'msure o' that. Why, Grandpa's the only person Big Tom cares a snap about!And if Grandpa stays here, and Big Tom's sure t' keep him, why, o'course, he can't stay--alone." He paused; then, "No, he can't stayalone." Perhaps never again in all his life would he meet a temptationso strong as this one--as hard to resist. "My! what'll I do?" he asked."What'll I do?"
"You must decide for yourself," said Mr. Perkins. How he felt, Johnniecould not tell. The face of the scoutmaster was in the shadow, andchiefly he seemed taken up with the polishing of his _pince-nez_.
"Y' know, I thank y' awful much," Johnnie declared, "for plannin' out'bout me goin' and--and so on."
"You're as welcome as can be!"
Johnnie drew those yellow brows together. "I wonder what Mrs. Kukorwould think I ought t' do," he continued. "And--and what would MisterRoosevelt do if he was me? And that boss of all the Boy Scouts----"
"General Sir Baden-Powell."
"Yes, him. What would he think about it, I wonder? And then EdithCavell, what would _she_ say?"
Mr. Perkins went on with his polishing.
"Father Pat, he said somethin' once t' me about the way y' got t' act ify' ever want t' be happy later on, and have folks like y'. Oh, if onlythe Father was alive, and knew about it! But maybe he does know! but ifhe don't, anyhow God does, 'cause God knows ev'rything, whether y' wantHim to or not. My! I wouldn't like t' have God turn against me! I'd--I'dlike t' please God."
Still the scoutmaster was silent.
"You heard about my father, didn't y', Mister Perkins?" Johnnie askedpresently. "He wouldn't be saved if my mother couldn't be, and jus'stayed on the ice with her, and held her fast in his armstill--till----" How clearly he could see it all!--his father, his feetbraced upon the whirling cake, with that frailer body in his arms,drifting, drifting, swift and sure, toward destruction, but going to hisdeath with a wave of the hand. His father had laid down his life; buthis son would have to lay down only a small part of his.
"It didn't take my father long t' make up _his_ mind about somethin'hard," Johnnie said proudly.
"No."
"Well, then, bein' his boy, I'd like t' act as--as fine as I can."
He pressed his lips tight together. He still felt his lot a bitter onein the flat; he still yearned to get away. But during these last fewmonths a change had come over him--in his hopes, his aspirations, histhinks--a change fully as great as the change in his outward appearance.In a way, he had been made over, soul as well as body, that by takingin, by a sort of soaking process, certain ideas--of honor, duty,self-respect, unselfishness, courage, chivalry. And whereas once hiswhole thought had been to go, go, go, now he knew that those certainideas were much more important than going. Also, there were the Laws.One of these came into his mind now--the first one. It came in a line ofblack letters which seemed to be suspended in the air between him andMr. Perkins: _A scout is trustworthy_.
The moment he saw that line he understood what he would do. This new-oldtempting dream, he would give it up.
"Mister Perkins," he began again, "I can't go 'way and leave old Grandpahere alone. I'm goin' t' stay with him till he dies, jus' like my fatherstayed with my mother. Yes, I must keep with Grandpa. He's a cripple,and he's old, and--he's a baby." His jaw set resolutely.
And then--having decided--what a marvelous feeling instantly possessedhim! What peace he felt! What happiness! What triumph! He seemed eventaller than usual! And lighter on his feet! And, oh, the strength in hisbackbone! in those lead-pipe legs! (Though he did not know it, that lookwhich was all light was on his face, while his mouth was turned up atboth ends like the ends of the Boy Scout scroll.)
"I'm not terrible bad off here no more," he went on. "I got this suit,and my books, and One-Eye's quart o' milk. Also, Mrs. Kukor, she'll beback 'fore long, and you'll bring Cis home t' see me, won't y'?"
"I will."
"Things'll be all right. Evenin's, I'm goin' t' night school, likeMister Maloney said. And all the time, while I'm learnin', and watchin'out for Grandpa, why, I'll be growin' up--nobody can stop me doin'_that_."
_Tap! tap! tap! tap!_--the wheel chair was backing into sight at thedoor of the tiny room.
Johnnie began to whisper: "Don't speak 'bout Cis, will y'? It'd make himcry."
Grandpa heard the whispering. He looked round over a shoulder, his paleeyes searching the half-dark kitchen. "Johnnie, what's the matter?" heasked, as if fearful. "What's the matter?"
Johnnie went to him, walking with something of a swagger. "Nothin's thematter!" he declared stoutly. "What y' talkin' 'bout? Ev'rything's fine!Jus' _fine_!"
The fri
ghtened look went out of the peering, old eyes. Grandpa brokeinto his thin, cackling laugh. "Everything's fine!" he cried. He shook aproud head. "Everything's fine!"
Johnnie pulled the chair over the sill, this with something of aflourish. Then, facing it about, "Here's Mister Perkins come t' see y',"he announced, and sent the chair rolling gayly to the middle of theroom, while Grandpa shouted as gleefully as a child, and swayed himselfagainst the strand of rope that held him in place.
"Niaggery! Niaggery!" he begged.
"Sh! sh! Mister Barber's asleep!"
"Sh! sh!" echoed the old man. "Tommie's asleep! Tommie's asleep!Tommie's asleep! That's what I always say to mother. Tommie's asleep!"
Johnnie came to the wheel chair. Then, for the first time in all theyears he had spent in the flat, the tender love he felt for Grandpafairly pulled his young arms about those stooped old shoulders; and hedropped his yellow head till it touched the white one. Tears were in hiseyes, but somehow he was not ashamed of them.
Grandpa, mildly startled by the unprecedented hug, and the feel of thattousled head against his, stared for a moment like a surprised infant.Then out went his arms, hunting Johnnie; and the simple old man, and theboy who loved him past a great temptation, clung together for a longmoment.
If there are occasions, as Father Pat and Mr. Perkins had once agreedthere were, when it was proper for a good scout to cry, Johnnie nowunderstood that there are occasions when good scoutmasters may also giveway to their feelings. For without a doubt, Mr. Perkins, grown man andfighter though he was (and a husband to boot!), was weeping--andgrinning with all his might as he wept! It was a proud grin. It set allhis teeth to flashing, and lifted his red-brown cheeks so high that his_pince-nez_ was dislodged, and went swinging down to tinkle merrilyagainst a button of his coat; and his brimming eyes were proud as hefixed them upon Johnnie.
"Great old scout!" he said.
When Grandpa had had a glass of milk, and been trundled gently to andfro a few times, Johnnie stowed him away near the window. "He ain't muchtrouble, is he?" he asked, carefully tucking the feeble old hands underthe cover. He nodded at the sleeping veteran, sunk far down into hisblanket, his white head, with its few straggling hairs, tipped sidewiseagainst the tangled, brown head of Letitia.
"No," answered Mr. Perkins. "And you're going to be glad, Johnnie, whenthe day comes that Grandpa closes his eyes for the last time, that youdecided to do your duty. And you'll never have anything selfish or sador mean to try to forget." He held out his hand and gave Johnnie'sfingers a good grip.
With Mr. Perkins gone home to Cis, Johnnie stayed beside the wheelchair. Those yellow-gray eyes were still burning with earnestness, andthe bright head, haloed by its hair, was held high. Dusk had deepenedinto dark. As he looked into the shadows by the hall door, he seemed tosee a face--his father's. A moment, and he saw the whole figure, as ifit had entered from the hall. It was supporting that other, and moreslender, figure.
"I'm your son," he told them. "I'm twelve, and I know what y' both wantt' see me do. It's stick t' my job. It'll be awful hard sometimes, andI'll hate it. But I'm goin' t' try t' be jus' as brave as you was."
It seemed to him that his father smiled then--a pleased, proud smile.
At that, Johnnie straightened, his heels came together, and he broughthis left arm rigidly to his side. Then he lifted his right to hisforehead--in the scout salute.
THE END