CHAPTER VIII
MORE TREASURES
WHEN he had put half a dozen blocks behind him, he slackened his pace,took a quick look into several doorways, chose one that promisedseclusion, dove into it, got his breath back, made sure that theprecious book was safe, and then indulged himself in a grin that was allrelief.
The grin narrowed as he remembered that Grandpa was alone in the flat."Oh, but Big Tom or Mrs. Kukor'll be home soon," he reflected; andcomforted his conscience further by vowing that, given good luck, hewould in no time be in a position to return for the purpose of enticingaway both Cis and the old soldier (men are men, and in the stress of themoment he did not give a thought to that slim, little, dark-hairedgirl). He could not help but feel hopeful regarding his plans. Had notjust such adventuring as this accomplished wonderful results for his newfriend, Aladdin, a boy as poor as himself?
He did not stay long in the doorway. He felt sure that the moment Barberreturned a search of the neighborhood would be made, during which peoplewould be questioned. Discretion urged that more blocks be put betweenthe flat and that small back which so dreaded the strap. So off he wentonce more--at a lively trot.
Though during the last five years he had not once been so far away fromthe area as this, he was not frightened. A city-bred boy, he felt asmuch at ease, scuttling along, as a fish in its native waters, or arabbit in its own warren. He had taken a westward direction because heknew that the other way East River lay close, shutting off flight. Nowhe began to read the street signs. Cis had often talked of a greatthoroughfare which cut the city into two unequal parts--a one-time road,she said it was, and so long that it ran through other cities. This wasthe street Johnnie wanted--being the one he had heard most about. It wasa street called Broadway.
As he traveled, he passed other dirty, ragged, little boys. His head wasthe yellowest of them all, his clothes were the poorest. But he wasscarcely noticed. The occasional patrolman did not more than glance athim. And he was fully as indifferent. At his Aunt Sophie's, apoliceman--by name Mike Callaghan--had been a frequent visitor, when hewas wont to lay off not only his cap but his coat as well, and sitaround bareheaded in his shirt-sleeves, smoking. This glimpse of anofficer of the law, shorn, as it were, of his dignity, had made Johnnierealize, even as a babe, that policemen are but mortals after all, asready to be pleased with a wedge of pie as any youngster, and given tothe wearing of ordinary striped percale shirts under their majesticblue. So Johnnie was neither in awe of, nor feared, them.
What he did keep a fearsome eye out for was any man who might be anAfrican magician. That he would know such a man he felt sure, having afair idea from a picture in his book of the robe, headdress, sandals andbeard proper to magicians in general. But though he was alert enough ashe traveled, the only unusual-looking person he met up with was a manwith a peg leg and a tray of shoelaces.
That peg leg frightened him. For a moment he was inclined to take to hisheels, certain that this was the same wooden-legged man who gave Cisfruit. Then the tray reassured him. Shoelaces were one thing; fruit wasanother. And even if this one-legged man were full brother to theone-legged man of the fruitstand (Johnnie took for granted a wholeone-legged family), he himself would be far away before any member ofthat family could get in touch with Barber.
It was while he was boldly inspecting the shoe-lace man's peg leg thathe discovered he was in Broadway, this by reading the name of the streeton the front of a passing car. "Gee!" he exclaimed, taking a good lookup and down the thoroughfare.
Now he began really to enjoy himself. He pattered leisurely along,stopping at this window and that, or leaned against a convenient waterplug to watch the traffic stream by.
He was resting, and gazing about him, when the wagon driver came up. Thedriver was a colored youth in a khaki shirt and an overseas cap, and hiswagon was a horseless affair, huge and covered. The colored man, haltinghis truck to let a cross current of vehicles pass, dazzled Johnnie witha good-natured smile.
Johnnie grinned back. "You goin' up Broadway?" he asked, with a jerk ofhis head toward the north.
"All the way up t' Haa'lem," answered the black man, cordially. "Climbaboa'd!"
There was a loop of chain hanging down from the end-board of the truck.Johnnie guided a foot through it stirrup-wise and reared himself into anempty wagonbed. Then as the wheels began to turn, he faced round, kneltcomfortably, and let Broadway swiftly drop behind.
He could not see all the new and engrossing sights that offeredthemselves in the wake of the truck and to both sides. His ears werepacked with strange noises. Yet entertained as he was, from time to timehe took note of the cross streets--Eighth, then Tenth, next, busyFourteenth.
From time to time the colored man took note of him. "You-all thay yit?"he would sing out over a shoulder; or, "Have Ah done los' you, kid?"Upon being reassured, he would return to his problem of nosing a wayalong with other vehicles, large and small, and Johnnie would once morebe left to his fascinating survey.
At Twentieth, he very nearly fell out on that shining head, this atcatching sight of a mounted patrolman. No figure in his beloved bookseemed more splendid to him than this one, so noble and martial andproud. Here was a guardian of the peace who was obviously no commonmortal. Then and there, as the mounted dropped gradually into thebackground, Johnnie determined that should he ever be rich enough, or ifhard work and study could accomplish it, he would be a mountedpoliceman.
At Twenty-third Street, Broadway suddenly took a sharp turn--toward theright. Also, it got wider, and noticeably cleaner. More: suddenlyconfronted with the gigantic, three-cornered building standing there, astructure with something of the height and beauty of his own dreamedifices, he realized that he was now entering the true New York. Thiswas more like it! Here was space and wealth and grandeur. Oh, howdifferent was this famous street from either of those which gave to thebuilding in the area!
Then he discovered that he was not traveling a street at all! He wasskimming along an avenue. And it was none other than Fifth Avenue, forthe signs at corners plainly said so. Fifth Avenue! The wonderful,stylish boulevard which Cis mentioned almost reverently. And he was init!
The next moment he was truly in it. For at sight of a window which thetruck was passing, and without even stopping to call to the driver,Johnnie dropped himself over the end-board to the smooth concrete. Thewindow was no larger than many a one he had glimpsed during the longdrive northward. What drew him toward it, as if it were a powerfulmagnet, was the fact that _it was full of books_.
"My!" he whispered as he gained the sidewalk in front of the window.There were books standing on end in curving rows. There were others ingreat piles. A few lay flat. It had never occurred to him, shut up solong in a flat without any book save the telephone directory, that therecould be so many books in the whole of New York. And all were so new!and had such fresh, untorn covers!
He had stood before the window quite some time, his eyes going from bookto book thoughtfully, while one hand tugged at his hair, and the other,thrust into his shirt front, caressed his own dear volume, when hebecame conscious of the near presence of two people, a man and a woman.The woman was the nearer of the two. On glancing up at her, he found herlooking down. That embarrassed him, and he stopped pulling at his hair.
She smiled. "Do you like books, little boy?" she asked.
He nodded. "More'n _anything_!" he declared fervently.
A pause; then, "Would you like to have a book?" she asked next.
At that, pride and covetousness struggled for first place in him. Pridewon. He straddled both feet a bit wider and thrust a thumb into hisbelt. "I've got a book," he answered.
So far as he was concerned, he thought his remark commonplace,ordinary--certainly not at all amusing. But there was never any tellinghow this thing or that would strike a grown-up. The man's mouth poppedopen and he exploded a loud laugh, followed by a second and louder.
"Sh! sh!" admonished the woman, glancing at Johnnie.
"It's old, but i
t's always good," protested the man, halfapologetically.
Along with his boasting, Johnnie had drawn Aladdin forward to theopening in his shirt. Evidently the man had caught a glimpse of thattorn cover. Now the boy hastily poked the book to a place under one arm."It _is_ old," he conceded. "But that don't hurt it--_I_ don't mind."
"Of course, you don't!" chimed in the woman, heartily. "A book's a bookas long as it holds together. Besides some books are more valuable asthey get older."
"Sure!" agreed Johnnie.
She left them and went inside. And Johnnie found himself being stared atby the man.
The man was a millionaire. Johnnie noted this with a start. He had a wayof recognizing millionaires. When he lived with his Aunt Sophie, hisUncle Albert was the chauffeur of one. On the two occasions when thatwealthy gentleman showed himself at his red-brick garage in Fifty-fifthStreet, he wore a plush hat, dark blue in color, and an overcoat with afur collar. This short, stout stranger before the window wore the same.
But he was as friendly as possible, for he continued the conversation."Nice looking lot of books," he observed. "Don't you think so?"
Johnnie nodded again. "What kind of a place would y' call this?" heinquired.
"A store," informed the other. Now he stared harder than ever, so thatJohnnie grew uneasy under the scrutiny, and began to consider roundingthe nearest corner to get away. "Never seen a bookstore before, eh?"
Johnnie shook his head. "Don't have 'em where I live," he explained.
"No? And where do you live?"
Johnnie felt more uneasy than ever. He determined to be vague. "Me? Oh,just over that way," he answered, with a swing of the arm that took in afull quarter of the horizon--including all territory from Beekman Placeto the Aquarium.
The woman rejoined them. In one hand she carried a book. It was a bluebook, not quite so large as the story of Aladdin, but in every wayhandsomer. She held it out to Johnnie. "Here's another book for you,"she said. "You'll love it. All boys do. It's called _Robinson Crusoe_."
Afterwards he liked to remember that he had said "Thank you" when sheplaced the book in his hands. He was too overcome to look up at her,however, or smile, or exclaim over the gift. He stood there, thrilledand gaping, and holding his breath, while the ends of his red fingerswent white with holding the new book so tight, and his pale face turnedred with emotions of several kinds, all of them pleasant. At last, whenhe raised his eyes from the book to her face, that face was gone. Themillionaire was gone, too.
Johnnie opened the book. It did not open easily, being so new. But howgood it smelled! And, oh, what a lot of it there was, even though it wassmaller than the other! For the letters were tiny, and set closetogether on every page. Twenty to thirty pages Johnnie turned at a time,and found that there were six hundred in all. Also, there was onepicture--of a man wearing a curious, peaked cap, funny shoes that tied,and knee trousers that seemed to be made of skins.
It was while he was turning the pages for a second time that he chancedupon the dollar bill. It was between two pages toward the back of thebook, and he thought for a moment that it was not there, really, butthat he was just thinking so. But it was there, and looked as crisplynew as the book. He ran to the corner and stared in every direction,searching for the millionaire and the woman.
Then he felt sure that she had not known the money was in the book.Instead, it belonged to the store, and had somehow got tucked betweenthe leaves by mistake. A revolving door gave to the bookshop. He enteredone section of it and half circled his way in.
Never in his boldest imaginings had he thought of such a place as he sawnow. It was lofty and long, with glistening counters of glass to oneside. But elsewhere there were just books! books! books!--greatpartitions of them, walls solidly faced with them, the floor piled withthem man-high. He forgot why he had come in, forgot his big clothes, hisbare feet, his girl's hair, the new blue book, and the dollar.
"Yes? Well? What d' you want?"
It was a man speaking, and rather sharply. He was a red-headed man, andhe wore spectacles. He came to stand in front of Johnnie, as if to keepthe latter from going farther into the shop.
Johnnie held up the new book. "A lady bought me this," he explained;"and when I opened it I found all this money." Now he held out thedollar.
There were many people in the store. Some of them had on their hats,others were bareheaded, as if they belonged there. A number quietlygathered about Johnnie and the red-haired man, looking and listening.Johnnie gave each a swift examination. They were all so well-dressed, sodifferent from the tenants in the area building.
"The lady slipped the dollar into the book for you," declared thered-headed man. "Wasn't that mighty nice of her?"
Johnnie silently agreed. A dozen pairs of eyes were watching him, and somany strange people were embarrassing. He began slowly to back towardthe revolving door.
"What're you going to buy with your dollar, little boy?" asked a man inthe group--a tall man whose smile disclosed a large, gold tooth.
The question halted Johnnie. Such a wonderful idea occurred to him. Thedollar was his own, to do with as he liked. And what he wanted most----
"I'm goin' to buy some more books with it," he answered. And turnedaside to one of the great piles.
There was more laughter at that, and a burst of low conversation.Johnnie paid no attention to it, but appealed to the red-headed man."What's the best book y' got?" he inquired, with quite the air of aseasoned shopper.
Again there was laughter. But it seemed to be not only kind butcomplimentary--as if once more he had said something clever or amusing.However, Johnnie kept his attention on the red-headed man.
"Well, I'm afraid no two people would ever agree as to which is our bestbook," said the latter. "But if you'll tell me what you like, I'll do mybest to find something that'll suit you."
Johnnie, glancing about, reflected that, without question, Cis's spellerhad come from this very room! The arithmetic, too!
"Got any spellers to-day?" he inquired casually--just to show them allthat he knew a thing or two about books.
"In several languages," returned the man, quite calmly.
"I like Aladdin better," announced Johnnie. Then trying not to sound tooproud, "I got it here with me right now." Whereupon he reached into thebaggy shirt and drew forth Mrs. Kukor's gift.
"Bless his heart!" cried a woman. "He _does_ love them!"
To Johnnie this seemed a foolish remark. Love them? Who did not? "Ifyou got another as good as this one," he went on, "I'd like t' buy it."
The red-headed man took _Aladdin_. Then he shook his head. The group wasmoving away now, and he and Johnnie were to themselves. "I'm afraid thisbook would be hard to equal," he said earnestly. "They aren't writingany more just like it--which is a pity. But you stay here and I'll seewhat I can find." He gave _Aladdin_ back, and hurried off.
There was a chair behind Johnnie. He sat down, his two precious booksand the dollar on his knees. Then once more he looked up and around,marveling.
He was aware that several of those who had been in the group were nowtalking together at a little distance. They seemed a trifle excited. Thered-headed man joined them for a moment, listened to what they had tosay, and took some money from each of them (Johnnie concluded that allwere bookbuyers like himself) before hurrying on between two high wallsof books. In anticipation of more literary possessions, Johnnie nowslipped his two volumes inside the shirt, one to the right, one to theleft, so that they would not meet and mar each other.
When the red-headed man came back, he brought three books, all new andhandsome. "I think you'll like these," he declared. "See--this one'scalled _The Legends of King Arthur and his Knights_, and this one is_The Last of the Mohicans_, and here's _Treasure Island_."
"Much obliged," said Johnnie, heartily. His eyes shone as he gatheredthe books to him. His one thought now was to get away and read, read,read. Quickly he proffered the dollar bill.
"Oh, you keep the money," said the red-headed man "
You'll need it forsomething else. Take the books--compliments of the house!"
"No!" Johnnie was aghast. He was used to paying for what he got--hisfood, his bed, his rent. "Oh, gee! I want to pay, Mister. I want 'em tobe all mine.--But is there any change comin' back t' me?"
Once more he heard laughter--from behind the pile of books nearest him;then that woman's voice again: "Oh, the darling! The darling!" Even asshe spoke, she moved into sight.
Johnnie had heard ladies speak about him in just that way before. Heknew that if they came near to him it was to lay hands on his yellowmop. He wanted none of that sort of thing here, in this glorious housefull of books, before all these men.
"Your books came out just a dollar even," replied the red-headed man.
"Thank y', Mister!" Johnnie, his new purchases clasped tight, sidledquickly toward the street.
"Sha'n't I wrap 'em up for you?" called the other.
Johnnie was already revolving in his quarter-section of the remarkabledoor. He shook his head. Going sidewise, he could see that quite a fewof those inside were still watching him. He flashed at them one of hisradiant smiles. Then the door disgorged him upon a step, the greatAvenue received him, and he trotted off, dropping his books into hisshirt, one by one, as he went, precisely as Aladdin had stuffed hisclothes with amethysts, sapphires and rubies.
Before he reached the next block he was fairly belted with books; he wasarmored with them, and looked as if he were wearing a life preserverunder his folds and pleats.
The sun was still high, the air warm enough for him--if not for afur-collared millionaire. And Johnnie did not feel too hungry. His onewish was to absorb those five books. He began to keep an eye out for avacant building.
"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "Think of me runnin' into the place whereall the books come from!"