CHAPTER V
NEW FRIENDS
IT WAS an awful moment.
During that moment there was dead silence. Johnnie's heart stoppedbeating, his ears sang, his throat knotted as if paralyzed, and the skinon the back of his head crinkled; while in all those uneven thickets ofhis tawny, tea-stained hair, small, dreadful winds stirred, and heseemed to lift--horribly--away from the floor.
Also, a sickish, sinking feeling at the lower end of his breastbone madehim certain that he was about to break in two; and a sudden wobbling ofthe knees threatened to bring him down upon them.
Barber closed the hall door at his back--gently, so as not to waken hisfather. His eyes were still roving the kitchen appraisingly. It wasplain that the full sink and the littered table were having their effectupon him; for he had begun that chewing on nothing which betokened arising temper.
Johnnie saw, but he was too stunned and scared to think of any way outof his difficulty. He might have caught up the big cooking spoon andrapped on that lead pipe--five times in rapid succession, as if he weretrying to clear the spoon of the cereal clinging to its bowl. The fiveraps was a signal that he had not used for a long time. It belonged tothat dreadful era to which Cis and he referred as "before the saloonsshut up." Preceding the miracle that had brought the closing of these,Barber, returning home from his day's work, had needed no excuse forusing the strap or his boot upon either of the children. And once he hadstruck helpless old Grandpa--a happening remembered by Cis and Johnniewith awesome horror, so that they spoke of it as they spoke of the GreatWar, or of a murder in the next block.
It had not been possible in those days for Big Tom to overlook thetemptation of drink. To arrive at his own door from any direction he hadto pass saloons. At both of the nearest street crossings northward,three of the four corners had been occupied by drinking places. Therewere two at each of the street crossings to the south. In those nowdistant times, the signal, and Mrs. Kukor's prompt answering of it, hadoften saved Cis and Johnnie from drunken beatings.
But now the boy sent no signal. Those big-girl's hands were shaking inspite of all effort to control. His upturned face was a ghastly sallow.The gray eyes were set.
Barber's survey of the room finished, he stepped across the saggingtelephone line, placed the cargo hook and his lunch pail on the untidytable, and squared round upon Johnnie.
"Now, say!"
"Yes?" It was a whisper.
"What y' done in here since I left two hours ago?"
Johnnie drew a quick breath. He was not given to falsehood, but he didat times depend upon evasion--at such times as this. And notunnaturally. For he was in the absolute power of a bully five times hisown size--a bully who was none the less cruel because he argued that hewas disciplining the boy properly, bringing him up "right." Disciplineor not, Big Tom did not know the meaning of mercy; and to Johnnie theblow of one of those great gorillalike fists was like some cataclysm ofnature.
"What y' done?" persisted Barber, but speaking low, so as not todisturb the sleeper in the wheel chair. He leaned down toward Johnnie,and thrust out that lower lip.
The boy's own lips began to move, stiffly. But he spoke as if he wereout of breath. "Grandpa f-f-fretted," he stammered. "He--he wanted to berun up and down--with his hat on. And--and so I filled them-m-mush-kettle t' soak it, and then we--we----"
His lips went on moving; but his words became inaudible. A smile wastwisting Barber's mouth, and carrying that crooked, cavernous nosesidewise. Johnnie understood the smile. The fringe about his thin armsand legs began to tremble. He raised both hands toward the longshoreman,the palms outward, in a gesture that was like a silent prayer.
With a muttered curse, Barber straightened, turned on his heel, strodeto the door of his bedroom, threw it wide, noted the unmade beds, andcame about, pushing at the sleeve of his right arm. "Come here," hebade, and the quiet of his tone was more terrible to the boy than if hehad shouted.
Johnnie did not obey. He could not. His legs would not move. His feetwere rooted. "Oh, Mister Barber," he pleaded. "Oh, don't lick me! Iwon't never do it again! Oh, don't! Oh, don't! Oh, don't!"
"Come here." The great arm was bared now. The voice was lower thanbefore. In one bulging, bloodshot eye that cast showed and went, thenshowed again. "Do what I say--come here."
"Oh! oh! oh!" Again Johnnie was gasping.
Barber burst out at him like some fierce storm. "Don't y' try t' fool_me_!" he cried. He came on. When he was within reach, that great,naked, iron arm shot out, seized the boy at his middle, swept him upfrom the floor with a violence that sent the tea leaves flying from theyellow hair, held him for a second in mid-air, the small body slouchedin the big clothes as in the bottom of a sack, then shook him till hefairly rattled, like a pea in a pod.
In a terror that was uncontrollable, Johnnie began to thrash about andscream. And as Barber half dropped, half flung him to the floor, oldGrandpa roused, and came round in his chair, tap-tapping with the cane."Captain!" he shrilled. "The right's falling back! They're giving usgrape and canister!--Oh, our boys! Our poor boys!" Frightened by anytrouble, his mind always reverted to old scenes of battle, when hisbroken sentences were like a halting, squeaky record in some talkingmachine that is out of order and running down.
As Grandpa rolled near to Johnnie, the latter caught at a wheel, seekinghelp, in his extremity, of the helpless, and thrust his hands throughthe spokes to lock them. So that as Barber once more bent and dragged athim, the chair and the old man followed about the kitchen.
"Let go!" commanded the longshoreman. He tried to shake Johnnie free ofthe wheel.
But Johnnie held on, and his cries redoubled. The kitchen was in atumult now, for old Grandpa was also weeping--not only in fear forJohnnie, but in terror lest he himself be overturned. And Big Tom wasalternately cursing and ordering.
The trouble was heard elsewhere. To right and left there was movement,and the sound of windows being raised. Voices called out questioningly.Some one pounded on a wall in protest. And overhead Mrs. Kukor left herchair and went rocking across her floor.
Muttering a savage exclamation, Big Tom let go of the boy and flunghimself into the morris chair, not wanting to go so far with hispunishment as to invite the complaints of his neighbors and theinterference of the police. "Git up out of that!" he commanded, givingJohnnie a rough nudge with a foot; then to quiet his father, "Now, Pa!That'll do. Sh! sh! It's all right. The battle's over, and the Yanks'vebeat."
But Johnnie was still prone, with the wheel in his embrace, and the oldveteran was sobbing, his wrinkled face glistening with tears, when Mrs.Kukor opened the door and came doll-walking in.
She was a short little lady, with a compact, inflexible figure that was,so to speak, square, with rounded-off corners--square, and solid, andheavy. She had eyes that were as black and round and bright as asparrow's, a full, red mouth, and graying hair, abundant and crinkly,which stood out around her countenance as if charged with electricity.It escaped the hairpins. Even a knitted brown cap of some weight did notadequately confine it. Every hair seemed vividly alive.
Her olive face was a trifle pale now. Her birdlike eyes darted from oneto another of the trio, quickly taking in the situation. Too concernedto make any apology for her unannounced entrance, she teetered hastilyto Big Tom's side.
"Oy! oy!" she breathed anxiously. "Vot iss?"
"Tommie home," faltered old Grandpa. "Tommie home. And the colorsergeant's dead!" He reached his arms out to her like a frightened childwho welcomes company.
Like her eyes, Mrs. Kukor's lips never rested, going even when shelistened, for she had the habit of silently repeating whatever was said.Thus, with lips and eyes busy, head alternately wagging and noddingeloquently, and both hands waving, she was constantly in motion. Now,"The color sergeant's dead!" her mouth framed, and she gave a swiftglance around almost as if she expected to see a fallen flag bearer.
"It's this lazy little rascal again," declared Barber, working his jawsin baffled wrath.
/> "So-o-o-o!" She stooped and laid a gentle hand on Johnnie's shoulder."Come," she said. "Better Chonnie, he goes in a liddle by Cis's room.No?" And as the boy, still trembling, got to his knees beside the chair,she helped him to rise, and half led, half carried him past the stove.
Barber began his defense. "I go out o' here of a mornin'," hecomplained, "to do a hard day's work, so's I can pay rent and thegrocer. I leave that kid t' do a few little things 'round the place. Andthe minute my back's turned, what does he do? Nothin'! I come back, andlook!"
Mrs. Kukor, having seen Johnnie out of the room, turned about. Then,smoothing her checked apron with her plump hands, she glanced at Barberwith a deprecating smile. "I haf look," she answered. "Und I know.But--he wass yust a poy, und you know poys."
"I know boys have t' work," came back Barber, righteously. "If theydon't, they grow up into no-account men. When his Aunt Sophie died, Ipromised her I'd raise him right. The work here don't amount tonothin',--anyhow not if you compare it with what I done when _I_ was aboy. Why, on my father's farm, up-state, I was out of my bed beforesunup, winter and summer, doin' chores, milkin', waterin' the stock,hoein', and so on. What's a few dishes to _that_? What's a bed or two?and a little sweepin'? And look! He ain't even washed the old man yet!And I like to see my father clean and neat. That's what makes me sored-hot, Mrs. Kukor--the way he neglects my father."
"Chonnie wass shut up so much," argued Mrs. Kukor.
That cast whitened Big Tom's eye anxiously. He did not want Johnnie tohear any talk about going out. He hastened to reply, and his tone wasmore righteous than ever. "No kid out of this flat is goin' to run thestreets," he declared, "and learn all kinds of bad, and bring it home tothat nice, little stepdaughter o' mine! No, Mrs. Kukor, her mother'dhaunt me if I didn't bring her up nice, and you can bet I'll do that.That kid, long's he stays under my roof, is goin' t' be fit t' stay. Andhe wouldn't be if he gadded the streets with the gangs in this part oftown." While this excuse for keeping Johnnie indoors was anything butthe correct one, Big Tom was able to make his voice fervent.
"But Chonnie wass tired mit always seeink the kitchen," persisted thelittle Jewish lady. "He did-ent go out now for a lo-ong times. I gotsurprises he ain't crazy!"
"That's just what he _is_!" cried Big Tom, triumphantly. "He's crazy! Ofall the foolishness in the world, he can think it up! And the things hedoes!--but nothin' that'll ever git him anywheres, or do him any good!And lazy? Anything t' kill time--t' git out of honest work! Now whatd'y' suppose he was doin' with this clothes line down? and talkin' outloud to himself?"
"Niaggery! Niaggery!" piped old Grandpa, smiling through his tears, andswaying against the rope that crossed his chest. "Niaggery! Niaggery!Chug! chug! chug!"
Mrs. Kukor spread out both hands in a comprehensive gesture. "See?" sheasked. "Oh, I haf listen. The chair goes roundt and roundt, und muchwater wass runnink in the sink. It wass for Grandpa, und--it takestime."
Barber's dark face relaxed a little. It could not truthfully be said ofhim that he was a bad son; and any excuse that offered his father as itsreason invariably softened him. He pulled himself to his feet and pickedup the lunch pail and the cargo hook. "Well--all right," he conceded."But I said t' myself, 'I'll bet that kid ain't workin'.' So havin' a'hour, I come home t' see. And how'd he git on yesterday, makin' vi'letsfor y'?"
"Ach!"--this, an exclamation of impatience, was aimed at herself. "Iwass forgettink!" Under her apron hung a long, slender, black bag. Outof it she took a twenty-five-cent piece and offered the coin to Barber."For yesttady," she added.
"Thank y'." He took the quarter. "Glad the kid done his work."
"Oh, sure he do!" protested Mrs. Kukor. "Pos-i-tiv-vle!" (Mrs. Kukorcould also be guilty of self-deception.)
Now, Barber raised his voice a little: "Johnnie, let's see how quick youcan straighten this place up."
At that, Mrs. Kukor waved both hands in eloquent signals, urging Big Tomto go; tapped her chest, winked, and made little clicking noises withher tongue--all to denote the fact that she would see everythingstraightened up to perfection, but that for old Grandpa's sake furtherconversation with Johnnie might be a mistake, since weeping all aroundwould surely break out again. So Barber, muttering something aboutleaving her a clear coast, scuffed his way out.
As the hall door closed, Johnnie buried his small nose in Cis's pillow.He was wounded in pride rather than in body. He hated to be found on thefloor at the toe of Big Tom's boot. He had listened to the conversationwhile lying face downward on Cis's bed but with his head raised like aturtle's. However, it seemed best, somehow, not to be found in thatposition by Mrs. Kukor. He must not take his ill-treatment lightly, norrecover from his hurts too quick. He decided to be prone and prostrated.When the little Jewish lady came swaying in to him, therefore, he wasstretched flat, his yellow head motionless.
The sight smote Mrs. Kukor. In all the five years he had lived at theBarber flat, she had continually watched over him, plying him withmedicine, pulling his baby teeth, mending his ragged clothes, teachinghim to cook and do housework, feeding him kosher dainties, and--forreasons better hinted at than made plain--keeping a sharp lookout in thematter of his bright hair.
In the beginning, when trouble had assailed him, her lap had receivedhim like the mother's lap he could not remember; her arms had cradledhim tenderly, her kisses had comforted, and he had often wept out hisrage and mortification on her bosom.
However, long since he had felt himself too big to be held or kissed.And as for his hair, she understood what a delicate subject it had cometo be with him. She would have liked to stroke it now; but she contentedherself with patting gently one thin arm. Behind her was old Grandpa,peering into the dim closet.
"Oy! oy! oy!" mourned Mrs. Kukor, wagging her round head. "Ev'rytinkgoes bat if some peoples lives by oder peoples w'ich did-ent belonk mit.Und how to do? I can't to say, except yust live alonk, und see ifsometink nice happens maype."
Johnnie moved, with a long, dry sob, and very tenderly she leaned downto turn his face toward her. "Ach, poor Chonnie!" she cried. "Come! Wewill wash him, und makes him all fresh und clean. Und next--how do yout'ink? Mrs. Kukor hass for you a big surprises!"
He sat up then, wearily, but forbore to seem curious, and she coaxed himinto the kitchen, to bathe the dust and tears from his countenance, andstitch up some rents in the big shirt, where Big Tom had torn it. Allthe while she talked to him comfortingly. "Ach, mine heart it bleetsover you!" she declared. "But nefer mind. Because, _oh_, such swellsurprises!"
Now Johnnie felt he could properly show interest in things outside themorning's trouble. "What, Mrs. Kukor?" he wanted to know. "Is it--is itnoodle soup?"
And now both burst out laughing, for it was always a great joke betweenthem, his liking for her noodle soup. Old Grandpa laughed loudest ofall, circling them, and pounding the floor with his cane. "What say?" hedemanded. "What say?" Altogether the restoration to the flat of peaceand happiness was made so evident that, to right, left, and below,windows now began to go down with a bang, as, the Barber row over, theneighbors went back to their own affairs.
"It wass not noodle soup," declared Mrs. Kukor. "It wass sometink at'ousand times so goot. But not for eatink. No. _Much_ better as. Und!Sooner your work wass finished, make a signals to me alonk of the sink,und see how it happens!"
More she would not say, but rocked out and up.
Johnnie went at his dishes hard. The table cleared, the sink empty, andthe cupboard full, he tied the clothesline out of the way, then withbroom and dustpan invaded Big Tom's bedroom, which Grandpa shared withhis hulking son. Here were two narrow, iron bedsteads. Between them wasbarely room for the wheel chair when it rolled the little old man in tohis night's rest. To right and left of the door, high up, several nailssupported a few dusty garments. That was all.
If Johnnie stooped in the doorway of this room, he could see everysquare foot of its floor, and every article in it. Yet from the veryfirst he had feared the place, into which no light and air
came direct.Whenever he swept it and made the beds, his heart beat fast, and he feltnervous concerning his ankles, as if Something were on the point ofseizing them! For this reason he always put off his bedroom work as longas he could; then finished it up quickly, keeping the door wide while heworked. At other times, he kept it tight shut. Often when old Grandpawas asleep by the stove, Johnnie would tiptoe to that door, leanagainst the jamb of it, and listen. And he told Cis that he couldplainly hear _creakings_!
But this morning he felt none of his usual nervousness, so taken up washis mind with Mrs. Kukor's mystery. Swiftly but carefully he made thetwo beds. As a rule, he contented himself with straightening each out,but so artfully that Barber would think the sheets had been turned.Sometimes Barber threw a bit of paper or a sock into one bed or theother, in order to trap Johnnie, who found it wise always to search forevidence.
Now he pulled each bed apart, turned the old mattresses with the loudestthumps, snapped the sheets professionally (Cis had taught him that!),whacked the pillows with might and main, and tucked in the worn blanketslike a trained nurse. Then with puffs and grunts he swept under as wellas around the beds, searching out the deep cracks with the cornstraw,and raising a prodigious cloud.
When he came out of the bedroom it was to empty his garnerings into thestove and repeat the dust-gathering process in Cis's room, thatcubby-hole, four-by-seven, which had no window, and doubtless had beenintended for a storage place, or a bathroom free from draughts. It heldno furniture at all--only a long, low shelf and a dry-goods box. Cisslept on a narrow mattress which upholstered the shelf, and used the boxboth as a dressing-table and a wardrobe. Johnnie was not expected tomake up the shelf; and was strictly forbidden to touch the box. Hescratched the floor successfully, not having attended to it for somedays.
By the time he was ready to do the kitchen, his face was streaked again,and glistening with perspiration. And he could not help but wish, as heplanted the wheel chair at the open window, that Barber, if he intendedto make another unexpected return, would come at such a time as this,when things that he liked were happening.
The kitchen floor lay in great splintering hummocks and hollows. Itswide cracks were solid with the accumulations of time, while lint andfrayings, and bits of cloth and string, were fairly woven into its roughsurface everywhere, and tenaciously held. It was lastingly greasy in theneighborhood of the table, as steadily wet in the region of the sink,and sooty in an ever-widening circle about the stove.
Sprinkling it thoroughly, he swept even the two squares on which wereset the fuel boxes; gave the stove what amounted to a feverish rubbing,then turned his attention to old Grandpa.
The morning routine of caring for the aged veteran included the bathingof the wizened face and hands and the brushing of the thin, stragglinghair. Johnnie hastened to collect the wash basin, the bar of soap (itwas of the laundry variety), and a square of once-white cloth, which itmust be confessed was used variously about the flat, serving at one timeto polish the lamp chimney, and again for any particular dusting.
Grandpa had all of a small boy's dislike for water. The moment he spiedJohnnie's preparations, he began to protest. "No! no!" he objected."It's cold! It's cold!" He whirled his chair in an attempt to escape.
But Johnnie had a fine device for just this problem. "Oh, Grandpa!" hereminded coaxingly as he filled the wash basin with warm water out ofthe teakettle, "don't you remember that you jus' was in a big battle?And there's _mud_ on your face!"
Grandpa capitulated at once, and allowed himself to be washed andcombed. The old man clean, Johnnie gave him a glass of warm milk,wheeled him as far away from the window as possible, then trundled himgently back and forth, as if he were a baby in a carriage. And all thewhile the boy sang softly, improvising a lullaby:
"Oh, Grandpa, now go to s'eepy-s'eep, 'Cause you're awful tired. And Johnnie wants t' see what Mrs. Kukor Is goin' to s'prise him about----"
Grandpa dozing, Johnnie did not pause to eat the cold potato and breadspread with the grease of bacon trimmings which made his usual noonmeal. Curiosity dulled his hunger. Gently he tapped upon that convenientpipe--once, then twice, then once again.
As he leaned at the window to wait, his small nose curled in a grin.There was no movement up above. He half suspected a joke. But he had gotoff easy with Big Tom. Also, the housework was done, and in fine style.Except for a little violet-making--not too much--more than a wholehalf-day still lay ahead of him. And what an automobile trip he couldtake with Mr. Astor! Idly he followed the changing contours of a cloudin an otherwise empty sky.
Then of a sudden something came dropping between him and the cloud. Hestarted back. It was a shallow basket, suspended from each of its fourcorners by a string. As it lowered inch by inch, he stood up in the ropecoils; and what he saw in it fairly took his breath. For there on thebottom of the basket was--a book!
"Gee!" he gasped.
He brought the basket to a safe landing. Then, forgetting that some onewas at the other end of the four strings, he slipped to the floor,turned on the water in the sink, and, like a Moslem holy man who isabout to touch his Koran, washed both grimy hands.
To look at, it was not much of a book. In the first place, it had notthe length, width or thickness of the telephone directory, while itscorners were fully as dog-eared. Yet he took it from the basket withsomething like reverence. It had one cloth cover--the back. This waswine-red, and shiny. The front one had been torn out of its binding.However, this seemed to him no flaw. Also, there were severalpictures--in colors! And as he looked the volume over still moreclosely, he made a wonderful discovery: on the front page was written aname--_J. J. Hunter_.
It was a man's book!
"Oh, my goodness!" he whispered. "Oh, Mrs. Kukor!"
The basket danced inquiringly, tipped, and began to heave upward. Avoice began to whisper to him, coming down along those four strings: "Ifinds him by a secont-hant store-mans. I gets him almost for notink. Hewass olt, und very fine. Haf you open him? Reat, Chonnie!"
He opened the book at the first page; and knew how different this onewas from the directory, with its solid lines of names; from the speller,printed in columns of words, or the arithmetic, which was allhit-or-miss. Here was a page divided into paragraphs, as in thenewspapers which Cis sometimes smuggled in. Before and after many of theparagraphs were those strange little marks, larger at one end than atthe other, which showed that some one was speaking.
"It's a story!" he whispered back.
Indeed, as he read that first page, it so informed him. Across its top,in capital letters, ran those words: _THE STORY OF ALADDIN; OR, THEWONDERFUL LAMP_. All his life he had had to make up his own stories, getacquainted with the people in them, dress them, and even give themspeech. But here was a story belonging to some one else--a story asimportant as that one about his friends David and Goliath, this provenby the fact that it had been written down, letter for letter.
He began it: _In the capital of one of the large and rich provinces ofthe Kingdom of China, the name of which I do not recollect, there liveda tailor, named Mustapha, who was so poor, that he could hardly, by hisdaily labor, maintain himself and his family, which consisted of a wifeand son._
_His son, who was called Aladdin_----
Something came into Johnnie's throat when he got that far. He gulped.And he could not read any further just then because something had comeinto his eyes. He laid the book against his breast, and crossed botharms upon it. He did not know how to pray. Mrs. Kukor had never daredteach him, fearing the wrath of Big Tom. As for Cis, she knew how fromher mother; but she had all of a child's natural shyness regardingsacred subjects.
To Johnnie, Sunday was not a day set apart for sacred matters. It was aday to be dreaded. And not only because on that day Barber was likely tobe about at any hour, but because for Johnnie it meant uninterruptedwork. The noon meal had to be put on the table instead of into lunchpails. And when dinner was cleared away there was always bead-stringingor v
iolet-making to do--Cis helping when she returned from church. Onaccount of his clothes, Johnnie never went to church himself. What heknew about churches, therefore, was only what Cis told him; and of herinformation the most striking bit was this: red carpets led into themunder gay awnings whenever people were getting married.
But as he stood with the book clasped to his breast, what he felt wasthanksgiving--to his very toes. "Aladdin,"--he spoke aloud to that otherboy, who was so poor; "you're goin' t' be a dandy friend of mine! Yes,and your Pa and Ma, too! And I'll introduce you to Buckle, and Mr.Rockefeller, and a lot of nice folks!"
Presently he brought the book up to where, by lowering his head, hecould lay a thin cheek against that front page. Then, "Oh, Mister J. J.Hunter," he added huskily, "I hope you ain't never goin' to want thisback!"