She came back laden. Tim’s face glowed to its utmost capacity, which was large, seeing that he had been out in the cold all the morning.
“There, I haven’t any table, but all these will help. You are sure your partner, as you call him, is a trusty fellow?”
“He’s good as gold, though he hain’t no legs worth speakin’ of. He used to sell papers on the cars, but he stumbled one day, ’nd had one cut off, and t’other hurt. His father used to keep him round beggin’, but he’s bound to have nice times now along o’ me. If you could hear him sing, Miss May—it’s like a bird hangin’ out a winder. When the weather comes warm he kin sell apples and flowers, and sich. I’ll have a little spare capital bimeby to start him with. An’ it’ll be next to havin’ folks of one’s very own. I never had any, you see. Not that I’d want a father like Jerry’s. Poor little chap, he’s had rough times, what with the beatin’ and the starvin’.”
Miss May winked a tear out of her blue eyes. How ready these street Arabs were to stand by one another! Would anybody in her “set” take in a poor brother unhesitatingly?
Tim was grateful from the very depths of his soul, and it was no mean one. He bundled the articles in a great pack, and shouldered them, chairs and all, and drew his rough sleeve across his eyes, while his good-bye had a very husky sound.
If Miss May could have heard the rejoicing!
And yet it was a miserable little room, up three flights of stairs, with only one window looking into a rear house. Their bedstead had been made of dry goods boxes, and when they covered it with her clean chintz comfortable, and arrayed their closet shelves with the dishes, leaving the door open so they could feast their eyes on their new possessions, they could not resist giving three cheers; and Tim was actually coaxed into dancing a breakdown, while Jerry clapped “Finnegan’s Wake” with his thin hands on the one good knee he had left. It was a blustering March day, but they two had a delightfully warm room and a feast. What amused them most of all was beautiful Miss May’s idea that Tim was going to be married.
“Tim,” said Jerry solemnly, when their laugh had ended, “I don’t know how girls feel about such poor cripples as you and me, but my opinion is that my mammy would have been glad enough to had a husband with the great, tender heart you’ve got. Poor mammy! I’m glad she’s in heaven along of the angels, and I’m glad she don’t know about my legs. God wouldn’t tell her when she was so happy—would He, Tim?”
“No, He wouldn’t,” said Tim over a great lump in his throat.
There never were such happy days in the life of either as those that followed. Jerry cooked, kept accounts, washed, ironed, and mended, and as the days grew warmer began to do quite a thriving business in button-hole bouquets, standing on the corner as the men went up town. Now and then he sold popular photographs on commission, or a lot of choice bananas.