Jimmie Moore of Bucktown

by Melvin E. Trotter

CHAPTER VIII

Bill's Pension

After Mr. and Mrs. Morton had listened to Jimmie's story of Mrs. Cook's prayer, Floe's "gittin' hurted" and Dave's talk, he went into detail as he described the wonderful breakfast he had eaten. "Gee, I was scart I'd bust when I straightened up. I don't feel like I wanted nothin' for a week."

"Tell me more about Floe," said Mrs. Morton, much interested.
"Do you think she would come to live with us while she is sick?
I would love to care for her and be her friend if she would
let me."

"Do yer mean she can board here?" asked Jimmie in surprise.

"No, I want her to come and live with us; I want her for my friend and companion. She can be our Floe and make this her home."

"Will her name be Floe Morton then?" asked Jimmie.

"Yes, you may call her that if you like, but I do want her to come and live with us. When you go to see her this morning, ask her if she will allow me to see her. If she will, you come right back for me and we will go down together."

After prayer Jimmie started for Bucktown, very happy, and confident that the day would be a day of victory for Jesus. His faith was wonderful. His prayers were so simple and childlike; he prayed to God and asked Him for things in the same language and tone of voice he used when he talked to any one else. He had not acquired the professional whine as yet, and for that reason he received answers to his prayers, because he prayed to God and did not whine to the people who might be around to hear him. Many godly people have been shocked in the Mission because some redeemed drunkard would use slang in his fervent prayer to the Almighty. He simply prayed in his own language. The language of the slums is just as much a language as German or French; it must be learned before it can be understood. The idea that these men must not pray until they have learned that professional, unnatural, painful whine, is as absurd as confining prayer to Latin. When a man or woman is occupied by the wording of a prayer and not with the prayer and with their God, it may be beautiful, but it never gets higher than the bald spot on their head.

Jimmie prayed as he ran along the railroad tracks, and asked
God to help him say the right thing at the right time.

"Hello, Bill, yer up, are yer? Yer must be feelin' better."

"Yes, he's up and he ain't had a drink ter-day nor las' night, have yer, Bill?" said Mrs. Cook proudly. "And what's more, yer ain't goin' ter have none, are yer, Bill?"

Bill was eating canned tomatoes from a can with a spoon. Tomatoes taste good to a man in Bill's condition and they will stay down when nothing else will. "He's got ter git out ter-day an' sign his pension papers, 'cause he won't git his money on the fifth if he don't," said Mrs. Cook. "I wish you'd go with him, Jim," she whispered. "He ain't very strong yet."

"I'll do it, yer bet," said Jimmie. "What time do yer want ter go, Bill?"

"About ten o'clock I'll be ready." Bill spoke with great difficulty; he was very weak and nervous.

"Dat'll gi' me time ter go and see Floe," said Jimmie. "I'll be back at jus' ten o'clock. Yer make him wait fer me, won't yer, Mrs. Cook?"

"Yep, I'll keep him if I can."

The colored cook let Jimmie into the Dolly resort through the kitchen, and he was shown to Floe's room by the nurse, who had been called in by Doctor Snyder the night before.

"Oh, Jimmie child, I'm so glad to see you. I've been thinking of what you said about asking Jesus to help me. He can't help me now; it's too late. Come here, Jimmie dear, I want to ask you to do something for me." Jimmie went to her bedside.

"Will you do what I want you to do?"

"I'll do der best I kin ter help yer," said Jimmie proudly. "Yer was good ter me and I want ter be good ter you. I'll never forgit the dollar yer sent ter Ma when Pa was sick, and the shoes yer——"

"Oh, never mind any of that, Jim; I want to ask you to do me this favor before you get started to talk and say something I don't want to hear," said Floe.

"For years the whole aim of my life has been to forget, forget, forget the past. I had succeeded to some extent and begun to believe that I was away from even the thought or desire for anything better than this kind of life. What you said last night has brought it all back to me and I have been living in the past all night, only to awake this morning to this awful reality. Now, Jimmie child, I don't want to hurt you, but I want you to promise me that you will never mention anything of that kind to me again. It can never do me any good and it only makes me miserable."

"Jesus never makes yer miserable, Floe. He makes yer glad yer livin'," said Jimmie, and before she could answer he went on in his enthusiastic way: "Say, Floe, you know Mrs. Morton at the Mission? Well, she's the best that ever happened. Talk 'bout der limit; what der yer tinks she wants now? I went up ter der house this mornin' and tol' 'em about yer gittin' hurted, den I tried ter tell 'em 'bout Dave Beach, but Mrs. Morton, she says, 'Tell me more about Floe.' 'Do yer know Floe?' I ast. 'No, I do not, Jimmie, but I want to know her.' And dis is what she said: She wants yer to come up ter her house while yer hurted and live with her. She says it ain't so bloomin' noisy, er somfin like dat. You'll git well quicker and she says she wants ter take care of yer, and yer can live dere all der time if yer wants ter, and be Floe Morton. Gee, dey got a swell house with carpets, an' pictures an' things jus' like yer got here, and grass and trees outside and a hummock ter swing in, an' I'll come ter see yer every day. Mrs. Morton tol' me ter come jus' any ol' time I wanted ter. Won't that be fine, me an' you both there?"

Floe tried to speak, but Jimmie talked so fast she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Dis here lady with a white doo-bob on her top-knot says I can't stay only fer a minute, so I wants ter tell yer what we're doin'. Me an' Mrs. Morton is comin' up ter see yer, and she's goin' ter tell yer what she wants, and if Doctor Snyder and dis lady says yer can be took, Mrs. Morton is goin' ter get a hearse wagon an' take yer home, an' I'm goin' along. I never rid in one of 'em tings yet. I must go now, but I'm comin' back with Mrs. Morton. So long."

"Wait a minute, Jimmie," cried Floe. "Don't bring that woman in here, Jimmie, do you hear?" But he was gone, or at least he did not give her a chance to talk back.

Jimmie went straight to the Cook home. Mrs. Cook said Bill had just left, but had promised not to take a drink. Jimmie hurried out of the house, and for some reason, unknown even to himself, started for Fagin's. He slipped in unnoticed and there stood Bill on one side of the bar and Fagin on the other. Bill had just got a drink to his mouth with great difficulty after Fagin had poured it out. When he set the glass down upon the bar, Fagin filled it up again and Bill "downed" it. As Fagin filled it for the third time, Jimmie rushed up with his canvas bag, in which he carried papers. Swinging it around his head with all his strength, he hit the glass and bottle and sent them across the room, breaking both on the floor. Bill thought it was his wife. As he ducked his head, he said, "I didn't drink no booze, that was for Fagin."

"Don't lie, Bill. I saw yer git two, but I don't blame yer fer it. Fagin knows how near yer come ter cashin' in and how weak yer are, and wants ter git yer goin' agin 'cause yer pension's 'bout due; he knows he'll git it if yer drunk."

Fagin was white with rage and started for Jimmie, but Jimmie straightened up and made himself as large as he could, and, with his big gray eyes fastened upon Fagin, said, "I'm not scart of yer bluff; yer coward 'nough ter hit me 'cause I'm little, but yer goin' ter listen while I tell yer somfin. Yer killed me Pa, an' yer know it. After yer got all his dough, yer put him out and he was left in Rice's wagon box ter freeze, while yer slept in yer good bed. When it come ter buryin' him yer didn't give nothin' but a lot of poor booze ter git der people drunk, and der funeral broke up in a free-for-all; now yer after Bill 'cause yer tinks yer can git his pension. His woman's got her second washin' out so fur dis mornin' an' when I ast her how she did it she said she washed all night long, 'cause rent was up and Bill was sick. Then she said she'd wash her finger nails off if she could help Bill git saved. She loves Bill and her kids jus' as much as your woman loves yer and yer kids, and I don't see what yer want ter kill him off fer. Dey never done nothin' ter you. Ah, go on! he wouldn't either git it nowhere else if he didn't git it here." A big tear stole down Jimmie's face as he stood looking first at Fagin and then at poor Bill.

"Der Bible say that God loves everybody, and I believe it 'cause it says so, but I can't see no show fer a dog like you, Fagin. You're worser than any guy I ever see'd. You go ter church every Sunday mornin', and Sunday afternoon and the rest of the week yer booze and steal and raise h——. Yer got ter——"

"Oh, shut up, you little fool; some one told you to say that; no kid your age got off such a temperance talk without some one helping him. That fresh guy from the Mission put you up to rubbing it into me; I'll fix him, and you, too, if I ever hear any more of it." Fagin was beaten by the boy and he felt the defeat keenly.

"I suppose you'll hit him in der back of der head wid a stone, like yer did der poor dago last spring. If yer lookin' fer a good square game I tink Morton could fix yer so you'd need one of yer fottygraffs on yer shirt front ter tell yer wife who was comin' home ter dinner. Come on, Bill, let's git out of here and go sign yer papers. Dis is no place fer gentlemen like me and you."

Jimmie took Bill by the hand and started for the door. Bill had not spoken during the "temperance lecture," and when Jimmie took him by the hand he allowed himself to be led away and seemed glad to have a chance to get out of the place. He did not want to drink, and yet he could not help it.

"So long, Fagin," said Jimmie when he had reached the door with Bill. "When yer confess next Sunday mornin' be sure ter tell 'em 'bout dis hold-up, and tell 'em dat all der money yer gits is money yer steals from der women and kids of Bucktown. An' say, Fagin," Jimmie yelled from the sidewalk, "tell 'em erbout Bill's pension yer didn't git. So long."

Jimmie got Bill back home after the papers were signed and Mrs. Cook put him to bed. Neither spoke of the two drinks to her and she was very happy as she thought of the wonderful things ahead of her. "Fer thirty years Bill's been havin' spells," she said to herself. "Now I believe it's goin' ter change. He can't help gittin' saved if he hears them people at der Mission tell how Jesus kin save 'em."