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The Christmas Angel, a fiction by Abbie Farwell Brown |
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Chapter 8. Jack Again |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. JACK AGAIN The Christmas Angel gently waved his hand to and fro. Gradually, as Miss Terry sat back in her chair, the library grew dark; or rather, things faded into an indistinguishable blur. Then it seemed as if she were sitting at a theatre gazing at a great stage. But at this theatre there was nothing about her, nothing between her and the place where things were happening. * * * * * First she saw two little ragamuffins quarreling over something in the snow. She recognized them. They were the two Jewish boys who had picked up the Jack-in-the-box. An officer appeared, and they ran away, the bigger boy having possession of the toy; the smaller one with fists in his eyes, bawling with disappointment. Miss Terry's lips curled with the cynical disgust which she had felt when first witnessing this scene. But a sweet voice--and she knew it was the Angel's--whispered in her ear, "Wait and see!" She watched the two boys run through the streets until they came to a dark corner. There the little fellow caught up with the other, and once more the struggle began. It was a hard and bloody fight. But this time the victory was with the smaller lad, who used his fists and feet like an enraged animal, until the other howled for mercy and handed over the disputed toy. "Whatcher want it fer, Sam?" he blubbered as he saw it go into the little fellow's pocket. "Mind yer own business! I just want it," answered Sam surlily. "Betcher I know," taunted the bigger boy. "Betcher yer don't." "Do!" "Don't!" Another fight seemed imminent. But wisdom prevailed with Sammy. He would not challenge fate a third time. "Come on, then, and see," he grunted. And Ike followed. Off the two trudged, through the brilliantly lighted streets, until they came to a part of the city where the ways were narrower and dark. "Huh! Knowed you was comin' here," commented Ike as they turned into a grim, dirty alley. Little Sam growled, "Didn't!" apparently as a matter of habit. "Did!" reasserted Ike. "Just where I was comin' myself." Sam turned to him with a grin. "Was yer now? By--! Ain't that funny? I thought of it right off." "Sure. Same here!" They both burst into a guffaw and executed an impromptu double-shuffle of delight. They were at the door of a tenement house with steep stairs leading into darkness. Up three flights pounded the two pairs of heavy boots, till they reached a half-open door, whence issued the clatter of a sewing-machine and the voices of children. Sam stood on the threshold grinning debonairly, with hands thrust into his pockets. Ike peered over his shoulder, also grinning. It was a meagre room into which they gazed, a room the chief furniture of which seemed to be babies. Two little ones sprawled on the floor. A third tiny tot lay in a broken-down carriage beside the door. A pale, ill-looking woman was running the machine. On the cot bed was crumpled a fragile little fellow of about five, and a small pair of crutches lay across the foot of the bed. When the two boys appeared in the doorway, the woman stopped her machine and the children set up a howl of pleasure. "Sammy! Ikey!" cried the woman, smiling a wan welcome, as the babies crept and toddled toward the newcomers. "Where ye come from?" "Been to see the shops and the lights in the swell houses," answered Sammy with a grimace. "Gee! Ain't they wastin' candles to beat the cars!" "Enough to last a family a whole year," muttered Ike with disgust. The woman sighed. "Maybe they ain't wasted exactly," she said. "How I'd like to see 'em! But I got to finish this job. I told the chil'ren they mustn't expect anything this Christmas. But they are too little to know the difference anyway; all but Joe. I wish I had something for Joe." "I got something for Joe," said Sammy unexpectedly. The face of the pale little cripple lighted. "What is it?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, what is it? A real Christmas present for me?" "Naw! It ain't a Christmas present," said Sam. "We don't care anything about Christmas," volunteered Ikey with a grin. Sam looked at him with a frown of rebuke. "It's just a present," he said. "And it didn't cost a cent. I didn't buy it. I--we found it!" "Found it in the street?" Joe's eyes shone. "Yah!" the boys nodded. "Oh, it is a Christmas present!" cried Joe. "Santa Claus must have dropped it there for me, because he knew we hadn't any chimney in this house, and he sent you kind, kind boys to bring it to me." The two urchins looked sideways at each other, but said nothing. Presently Sam drew out the box from his pocket and tried to thrust it into Ike's hand. "You give it to 'um," he said. "You're the biggest." "Naw! You give it. You found it," protested Ike. "Ah, g'wan!" "Big fool!" There was a tussle, and it almost seemed as if the past unpleasantness was to be repeated from an opposite cause. But Joe's voice settled the dispute. "Oh, Sammy, please!" he cried. "I can't wait another minute. Do please give it to me now!" At these words Sam stepped forward without further argument and laid the box on the bed in front of the little cripple. The babies crowded about. The mother left her machine and stood smiling faintly at the foot of the bed. Joe pressed the spring. Ping! Out sprang the Jack-in-the-box, with the same red nose, the same leer, the same roguish eyes which had surprised the children of fifty years ago. Jack was always sure of his audience. My! How they screamed and begged Joe to "do it again." And as for Joe, he lay back on his pillow and laughed and laughed as though he would never stop. It was the first Jack any of them had seen. Tears stood in the mother's eyes. "Well," she said, "it's as good as a play to see him. Joe hasn't laughed like that for months. You boys have done him lots of good. I wouldn't wonder if it helped him get well! If you was Christians I'd say you showed the real Christmas spirit. But Lord--perhaps ye do, all the same! I dunno!" Sam and Ike were so busy playing with the children that they did not hear. * * * * * Gradually the tenement house faded and became a blur before Miss Terry's eyes. Once more she saw the mantel-shelf before her and the Christmas Angel with outstretched arms waving to and fro. "You see!" he said. "You did not guess all the pleasure that was shut up in that box with old Jack, did you?" Miss Terry shook her head. "And you see how different it all was from what you thought. Now let us see what became of the Canton-flannel dog." "The Flanton Dog." Miss Terry amended the phrase under her breath. It seemed so natural to use Tom's word. "Yes, the Flanton Dog," the Angel smiled. "What do you think became of him?" "I saw what became of him," said Miss Terry. "Bob Cooper threw him under an automobile, and he was crushed flatter than a pancake." "Then you left the window," said the Angel. "In your human way you assumed that this was the end. But wait and see." Once more the room darkened and blurred, and Miss Terry looked out upon past events as upon a busy, ever-shifting stage. _ |
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