CHAPTER VII
Floe
Jimmie was very happy as he gave Bill and Mrs. Cook "Good-night." "Don't yer worry erbout nothin'," he said to Mrs. Cook. "Yer got Jesus ter help yer, an' he'll take care of yer all. I'll see yer in der mornin'. So long."
He started for Dave's barn, where he "roomed." His nerves were all unstrung, he was much too excited to go to bed. He sat down upon the curb in front of the barn and went over the whole evening in his mind. The best he knew how, he prayed and thanked God for answering his prayer. As he sat with his head in his hands, he heard a piercing scream which came from the direction of the Dolly resort. There was nothing unusual about a scream in Bucktown any time of the day or night; but Jimmie jumped to his feet and started on a run to the direction from which it came.
"Dat sounded like Floe's voice," he said to himself. "I hope she ain't hurted."
Floe had been very kind to Jimmie, many times giving him something to eat, and she had given him the pair of shoes he was wearing when Morton first saw him. She always put herself out to speak to him, and when he was "stuck" with his evening papers she would persuade the other inmates of the house to help him out by buying them.
Let it be understood now that Jimmie's ideals of morality were based entirely upon the Bucktown standard. Floe was the best dressed woman in Bucktown; she lived in the best house in Bucktown; she was the handsomest woman in Bucktown; and these facts, to Jimmie's child mind, put Floe and the Dolly resort far in the lead of anything in Bucktown. He knew nothing of their business, and the question of their being wrong had never entered his head. Had any one asked Jimmie a question about the character of this black-eyed woman, his answer would have been, "She's an angel, sure."
The little girls in the neighborhood would say, "When I git big I'm goin' ter have clothes like them girls, an' go ridin' in hacks with white horses. Gee, won't I shine!" The highest ideals of womanhood to these little girls were the women of the Dolly resort. Is it any wonder that Jimmie was interested when he heard Floe scream? When he reached the house he saw her lying at the foot of the stairs; he rushed to her side as others were trying to get her upon her feet. They put her upon a couch and sent for a doctor.
"Did yer fall downstairs?" asked Jimmie.
"Oh, Jimmie, what are you doing in this awful place?" she said. "This is worse than hell itself; do go out, child; I can't stand to see your pure face in a place like this."
"If it ain't er good place fer me, it ain't fer you, Floe. Yer better 'n I am, er ever could be. Are yer hurted much?"
Just then Doctor Snyder came in, and after a brief examination said he found a broken arm and three broken ribs. Floe would not tell how she happened to fall; but several who saw it said that a girl by the name of Maud, in a fit of jealousy, had pushed her downstairs.
"Hello, kid! What are you doing here?" said Doctor Snyder to
Jimmie. "You should be in bed at this time of night. How's Bill
Cook getting on?"
"Bill's better," said Jimmie, "an' Mrs. Cook got converted at der Mission ter-night, and she's happy all over. When I left there she was prayin' at Bill's bed and he was cryin'. I'll bet he gits saved next."
"You better go home and go to bed, Jimmie; you're excited to-night. You'll feel better in the morning," said the doctor, with a knowing wink at the people standing around. "We must get this girl to her room now."
"Can I come ter see yer to-morrow, Floe?" asked Jimmie.
"If the doctor will let you come; but I don't like to have you come into this awful house."
"I'll be here jus' the same; I'm goin' ter ast Jesus ter help yer," he whispered to her, and slipped quietly out into the street and started for the barn. When he reached there, Dave sat in his old office chair smoking and trying to look unconcerned; but it was plain to Jimmie that he had something on his mind besides his hat.
"Where have you been so late?" he said to Jimmie. "Sit down and tell me about it."
"Mrs. Cook got saved ter-night and Bill's comin' next, I'll bet," said Jimmie in one breath. "Yer see, we's prayin' fer him at der Mission, an' he's got ter come. Say, Dave, Floe jus' got hurted, an' I went ter see her when I heard her holler, an' she said she didn't like ter see me in such a bad house. Is that nice house bad, an' what's Floe doin' dere if it is?"
"Well, the house is anything but good, Jimmie, and I wish Floe lived somewhere else. If you can go to see her I wish you would talk to her just like you did to Mrs. Cook. Tell her about, well, tell her about yer Friend, you know."
"Who do yer mean? Morton?" asked Jimmie.
"No, I mean the Friend you say Morton works for."
"Oh, yer means Jesus," said Jimmie.
"Yes, that's who I mean; she has heard of Him before, and maybe you can do her good. The poor girl has had lots of trouble and has lost heart in life. Tell her that—that Je—er—that yer Friend loves her and will fergive her all her past and—well, you can tell it better than I can."
"I'll do it, yer bet," said Jimmie, "'cause Jesus loves every one of us, don't he, Dave?"
"Most every one, but not all of us," said Dave.
Jimmie made a dive for his Testament and turned to John 3:16; the page was so dirty and soiled from handling that it could scarcely be seen.
"Der yer see that word marked wid red ink?" asked Jimmie.
"Yes, I see it."
"Well, what is she?"
"It's 'whosoever.'"
"Well, who does that mean?"
"I guess it means just what it says; but you see, with me it is different. I was raised to do right; my father was a Methodist minister, and he taught me to pray and read the Bible when I was a child. I knew what was right, but with my eyes wide open I went into the most awful sin, and God can never forgive one who sins against the light."
"Say, read der whole verse," said Jimmie.
"I know it without reading it; I learned it at my mother's knee before I could talk plain."
"Well, git busy and say it then."
"God so loved the world——"
"Loved der what?" asked Jimmie.
"The world," said Dave.
"Go on," as Dave hesitated.
"That He gave His only begotten Son——"
"Dat's Jesus, ain't it?"
"Yes, that is who it means."
"Go on," said Jimmie.
"God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever——"
"Who?" asked Jimmie.
"Whosoever," said Dave.
"Don't that mean you?" asked Jimmie.
"I'm afraid not," said Dave.
"Den dis is der way ter read it," said Jimmie, "'Dat whosoever, 'cept Dave Beach, kin have everlastin' life.' Not on your fottygraff; it ain't writ dat way."
"Well, in another place it says that if you know to do right and do it not it's sin," said Dave.
"And dat makes yer a sinner, don't it?" said Jimmie.
"Yes, it does, and a bad one, too," said Dave.
Jimmie put his thumb into his mouth to wet it and turned leaf after leaf. At last he said, "Read dat."
Dave took the book and looked hard and long in silence.
"Read her," said Jimmie.
Dave read very slowly: "This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners."
"Save what?" asked Jimmie.
"Sinners," said Dave.
"Are yer a sinner, Dave?"
"Yes, I am a bad one."
"Worser dan dis guy? Read der rest of 'er."
"Of whom I am chief," David read.
"All right," said Jimmie, "if He kin save der chief of sinners, can't He save Dave Beach?"
Before he could answer, Jewey, Oily Ike and Fred Hood came in.
"Send the kid home," said Jewey.
"He's at home now," said Dave; "he sleeps here. You can do all the business you have with me in a minute er two. I'm tired of this crooked business; and for my part, I'm going to cut it out. Whatever your haul is to-night you can keep it or let Ike there handle it; I'm done.
"No, don't get leery; I won't turn you. But I don't want no more of it here."
"You'll be havin' Sunday school here every day if that kid hangs around much longer," said Jewey.
"Well, he'll be here just as long as he wants to," said Dave. "It's two o'clock, Jimmie; you had better turn in and I'll call you at three-thirty. Good-night."
Jimmie lay down upon a horse blanket without taking off his shoes or clothes and was soon fast asleep. His day had been a long one and he was very tired, but happy.
After Dave's callers had gone, he stood looking down into Jimmie's tired face. "Poor little Jimmie," he said, "if I knew your paper route, I'd carry it myself rather than wake you up this morning. There's no use talking, that kid don't get enough to eat. I saw him give his little sister his supper money last night, and I know he went to sleep hungry; I never saw his beat. He preaches to every one in his sweet child way and he makes me feel as though I was the biggest devil on earth. By thunder, it breaks me all up." Dave was talking to himself, or thinking out loud.
He was very much moved by Jimmie's life and words; he pulled his old office chair beside Jimmie's pallet and began to weep. Big, strong Dave had broken down and was once more a boy. He was ashamed of his tears and tried to brace up and stop them; but when he would look at Jimmie's little pinched face on the old horse blanket, the tears would start afresh and creep through his dirty fingers and fall to the floor in spite of all he could do. Dave Beach was a strong, big fellow; he had drunk and fought his way through the world and for many years had suppressed his emotional nature. Tears to him were a sign of weakness and he would rather have lost his barn and horses by fire than that any one should see him cry. He jumped to his feet and started to pace up and down the office. "D—— fool that I am! I'm bawling worse than a yearling heifer. It's time to call Jimmie and he must not see me this way." He went to the hydrant out in the barn and washed and pulled himself together as best he could, and then went back to call Jimmie.
"It's time to get up, Jimmie," he said as he kicked the bottom of the boy's foot. Jimmie rose and rubbed his eyes, but was so tired and sleepy he fell back again upon the blankets.
"Come, my boy, I want you to go to the lunch counter with me and have a cup of coffee." He reached down and picked the boy up bodily and held him in his great, strong arms a moment, but had to drop him for safety; he would be weeping again if he did not get busy at something else.
"Go out and wash your face, Jim, and you'll feel better."
The cold water did its work.
"Guess I's hard to wake up, wasn't I, Dave?" said Jimmie, as he wiped his face on the lining of his cap—a trick of the newsboys.
"You're all right, Jimmie; but you need more sleep. After you get your papers carried, come back and go up into the haymow and sleep all morning."
"I can't do 'er, Dave. I got ter see Bill and call on Floe and take me first lesson from Mrs. Price and go ter Morton's house, all dis mornin'."
"Well, come, we'll go over and get something to eat," said Dave.
"I don't feel very hungry," said Jimmie, "and I guess I won't go over jus' now. I'll git somfin later."
Dave knew what the trouble was and took Jimmie by the hand and started for the all-night lunch counter.
"You're going to eat with me this time, Jimmie; I have enough money for both of us. No, you'll never pay me a cent of it back. Just a little treat, you know."
Jimmie never wanted something for nothing, but he grew so hungry as he thought of the good things at the counter that he could not say No. Dave ordered their meal, and when it came upon the table Jimmie's big gray eyes stuck out. "Is dis all fer us, Dave? Der meat, an' eggs, an' taters, too, an' coffee 'sides! Gee! it must of cost a quarter, didn't it, Dave?" As he grabbed his knife and fork to start his meal, he looked up at Dave with such love in his eyes that Dave lost his appetite for food and wanted to finish the "bawl" he had started in the barn.
"Go on and eat, Jimmie. You'll be late for your papers," he said.
"I mus' pray 'fore I eat, Dave," he said as he jammed his cap into his coat pocket. "Now, Jesus, I'm glad yer give us all this here good stuff ter eat. It's more'n we got comin'; but yer always givin' us more'n we could ast er tink. Dave's a good man fer payin' fer it, and he's feedin' you when he's feedin' me, 'cause I'm your'n. Make Dave gooder and gooder fer Jesus' sake. Amen."
Dave jumped to his feet and started for the door. "You eat, Jimmie; I'll be back in a minute." He was overcome and the "bawl" had got the best of him. He stood outside the door in the dark and cried as if his heart would break.
"D—— fool that I am! I wish some one would come along and call me names so I could lick him within an inch of his life. I'd feel better anyhow."
After several unsuccessful attempts to control himself, he went to the door and told Jimmie to eat both meals, as he had to go.
"I'll pay you, Mose, when I come over." Before Jimmie could answer he was gone.
He went to Fagin's, got several drinks, tried his best to pick a fight with Mike, then went home and went to bed.
Jimmie ate all there was in sight, and with a full stomach became very cheerful and talked to Mose, the colored waiter.
"Gee, I guess me belly t'ought me t'roat was cut. I bet if it could talk it would ast me what I was doin' up dere."