SCENE I.
_Number Three, Minerva Court. First floor front._
FLOSSY MORRISON LEARNS THE SECRET OF DEATH WITHOUT EVER HAVING LEARNEDTHE SECRET OF LIFE.
Minerva Court! Veil thy face, O Goddess of Wisdom, for never, surely,was thy fair name so ill bestowed as when it was applied to this mostdreary place!
It was a little less than street, a little more than alley, and its onlypossible claim to decency came from comparison with the busierthoroughfare out of which it opened. This was so much fouler, with itsdirt and noise, its stands of refuse fruit and vegetables, its dingyshops and all the miserable traffic that the place engendered, itsrickety doorways blocked with lounging men, its Blowsabellas leaning onthe window-sills, that the Court seemed by contrast a most desirable andretired place of residence.
But it was a dismal spot, nevertheless, with not even an air of fadedgentility to recommend it. It seemed to have no better days behind it,nor to hold within itself the possibility of any future improvement. Itwas narrow, and extended only the length of a city block, yet it was byno means wanting in many of those luxuries which mark this era of moderncivilization. There were groceries, with commodious sample-roomsattached, at each corner, and a small saloon, called "The Dearest Spot"(which it undoubtedly was in more senses than one), in the basement of ahouse at the farther end. It was necessary, however, for the bibulousnative who dwelt in the middle of the block to waste some valuableminutes in dragging himself to one of these fountains of bliss at eitherend; but at the time my story opens a wide-awake philanthropist wasfitting up a neat and attractive little bar-room, called "The Oasis," ata point equally distant between the other two springs of human joy.
This benefactor of humanity had a vaulting ambition. He desired to slakethe thirst of every man in Christendom; but this being impossible fromthe very nature of things, he determined to settle in some arid spotlike Minerva Court, and irrigate it so sweetly and copiously that allmen's noses would blossom as the roses. To supply his brothers' wants,and create new ones at the same time, was his purpose in establishingthis Oasis in the Desert of Minerva Court; and it might as well bestated here that he was prospered in his undertaking, as any man is sureto be who cherishes lofty ideals and attends to his businessindustriously.
The Minerva Courtier thus had good reason to hope that the supply ofliquid refreshment would bear some relation to the demand; and that themarch of modern progress would continue to diminish the distance betweenhis own mouth and that of the bottle, which, as he took it, was thebe-all and end-all of existence.
At present, however, as the Oasis was not open to the public, childrencarrying pitchers of beer were often to be seen hurrying to and fro ontheir miserable errands. But there were very few children in MinervaCourt, thank God!--they were not popular there. There were frowzy,sleepy-looking women hanging out of their windows, gossiping with theirequally unkempt and haggard neighbors; apathetic men sitting on thedoorsteps, in their shirt-sleeves, smoking; a dull, dirty baby or twosporting itself in the gutter; while the sound of a melancholy accordion(the chosen instrument of poverty and misery) floated from an upperchamber, and added its discordant mite to the general desolation.
The sidewalks had apparently never known the touch of a broom, and themiddle of the street looked more like an elongated junk-heap thananything else. Every smell known to the nostrils of man was abroad inthe air, and several were floating about waiting modestly to beclassified, after which they intended to come to the front and outdo theothers if they could.
That was Minerva Court! A little piece of your world, my world, God'sworld (and the Devil's), lying peacefully fallow, awaiting the servicesof some inspired Home Missionary Society.
In a front room of Number Three, a dilapidated house next the corner,there lay a still, white shape, with two women watching by it.
A sheet covered it. Candles burned at the head, striving to throw agleam of light on a dead face that for many a year had never beenilluminated from within by the brightness of self-forgetting love orkindly sympathy. If you had raised the sheet, you would have seen nohappy smile as of a half-remembered, innocent childhood; the smile--isit of peaceful memory or serene anticipation?--that sometimes shines onthe faces of the dead.
Such life-secrets as were exposed by Death, and written on that stillcountenance in characters that all might read, were painful ones. FlossyMorrison was dead. The name "Flossy" was a relic of what she termed herbetter days (Heaven save the mark!), for she had been called Mrs.Morrison of late years,--"Mrs. F. Morrison," who took "children toboard, and no questions asked"--nor answered. She had lived forty-fiveyears, as men reckon summers and winters; but she had never learned, inall that time, to know her Mother, Nature, her Father, God, nor herbrothers and sisters, the children of the world. She had livedfriendless and unfriendly, keeping none of the ten commandments, nor yetthe eleventh, which is the greatest of all; and now there was no humanbeing to slip a flower into the still hand, to kiss the clay-cold lipsat the remembrance of some sweet word that had fallen from them, or dropa tear and say, "I loved her!"
Apparently, the two watchers did not regard Flossy Morrison even in thelight of "the dear remains," as they are sometimes called at countryfunerals. They were in the best of spirits (there was an abundance ofbeer), and their gruesome task would be over in a few hours; for it wasnearly four o'clock in the morning, and the body was to be taken away atten.
"I tell you one thing, Ettie, Flossy hasn't left any bother for herfriends," remarked Mrs. Nancy Simmons, settling herself back in herrocking-chair. "As she didn't own anything but the clothes on her back,there won't be any quarreling over the property!" and she chuckled ather delicate humor.
"No," answered her companion, who, whatever her sponsors in baptism hadchristened her, called herself Ethel Montmorency. "I s'pose thefurniture, poor as it is, will pay the funeral expenses; and if she'sgot any debts, why, folks will have to whistle for their money, that'sall."
"The only thing that worries me is the children," said Mrs. Simmons.
"You must be hard up for something to worry about, to take those youngones on your mind. They ain't yours nor mine, and what's more, nobodyknows who they do belong to, and nobody cares. Soon as breakfast's overwe'll pack 'em off to some institution or other, and that'll be the endof it. What did Flossy say about 'em, when you spoke to her yesterday?"
"I asked her what she wanted done with the young ones, and she said, 'Dowhat you like with 'em, drat 'em,--it don't make no odds to me!' andthen she turned over and died. Those was the last words she spoke, dearsoul; but, Lor', she wasn't more'n half sober, and hadn't been for aweek."
"She was sober enough to keep her own counsel, I can tell you that,"said the gentle Ethel. "I don't believe there's a living soul that knowswhere those children came from;--not that anybody cares, now that thereain't any money in 'em."
"Well, as for that, I only know that when Flossy was seeing better daysand lived in the upper part of the city, she used to have money comeevery month for taking care of the boy. Where it come from I don'tknow; but I kind of surmise it was a long distance off. Then she took todrinking, and got lower and lower down until she came here, six monthsago. I don't suppose the boy's folks, or whoever it was sent the money,knew the way she was living, though they couldn't have cared much, forthey never came to see how things were; and he was in an asylum beforeFlossy took him, I found that out; but, anyhow, the money stopped comingthree months ago. Flossy wrote twice to the folks, whoever they were,but didn't get no answer to her letters; and she told me that she shouldturn the boy out in a week or two if some cash didn't turn up in thattime. She wouldn't have kept him so long as this if he hadn't been sohandy taking care of the baby."
"Well, who does the baby belong to?"
"You ask me too much," replied Nancy, taking another deep draught fromthe pitcher. "Help yourself, Ettie; there's plenty more where that camefrom. Flossy never liked the boy, and always wanted to get rid of him,but couldn't afford to. He's a dre
adful queer, old-fashioned little kid,and so smart that he's gettin' to be a reg'lar nuisance round thehouse. But you see he and the baby,--Gabrielle's her name, but they callher Lady Gay, or some such trash, after that actress that comes here somuch,--well, they are so in love with one another that wild horsescouldn't drag 'em apart; and I think Flossy had a kind of a likin' forGay, as much as she ever had for anything. I guess she never abusedeither of 'em; she was too careless for that. And so what was I talkin'about? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know who the baby is, nor who paid for herkeep; but she's goin' to be one o' your high-steppers, and no mistake.She might be Queen Victory's daughter by the airs she puts on; I'd liketo keep her myself if she was a little older, and I wasn't goin' awayfrom here."
"I s'pose they'll make an awful row at being separated, won't they?"asked the younger woman.
"Oh, like as not; but they'll have to have their row and get over it,"said Mrs. Simmons easily. "You can take Timothy to the Orphan Asylumfirst, and then come back, and I'll carry the baby to the Home of theLadies' Relief and Protection Society; and if they yell they can yell,and take it out in yellin'; they won't get the best of Nancy Simmons."
"Don't talk so loud, Nancy, for mercy's sake. If the boy hears you,he'll begin to take on, and we sha'n't get a wink of sleep. Don't let'em know what you're goin' to do with 'em till the last minute, oryou'll have trouble as sure as we sit here."
"Oh, they are sound asleep," responded Mrs. Simmons, with an uneasy lookat the half-open door. "I went in and dragged a pillow out from underTimothy's head, and he never budged. He was sleepin' like a log, and sowas Gay. Now, shut up, Et, and let me get three winks myself. You takethe lounge, and I'll stretch out in two chairs. Wake me up at eighto'clock, if I don't wake myself; for I'm clean tired out with all thisfussin' and plannin', and I feel stupid enough to sleep till kingdomcome."