David Lannarck, Midget / An Adventure Story

by George S. Harney

"Well, this Loron lout finally got me," said Davy, resuming the thread of his life story. "I was on my way back to the orphanage for a book and as I passed the alley he swept me down. They were good sidewalks out there, else he would have broken them in bits as he pounded my head on 'em. He kicked when he could and struck as often as he cared. His exultant cries must have attracted attention, for I was past even an outcry. Finally a lady rushed out of the nearby house and came to the rescue. The lout ran, of course. I stayed put. I couldn't do anything else. The lady gathered me up, carried me into the house, laid me on a couch as I passed out entirely.

"When I came to, a doctor had been there to patch me up and pass judgment on my chances. He had washed off a lot of blood, plastered my cheek, clipped my hair to plaster some more places, eased some body welts, and announced that no bones had been broken. I was in a bed, most of my clothing had been removed, and the lady was offering me a drink of water. I took it.

"Mrs. Gillis," here Davy gave his voice its lowest pitch, "Mrs. Gillis, that woman was Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Lannarck, and I know you won't condemn me or be jealous when I say that she was the kindest, most considerate woman that ever drew the breath of life. There have been a lot of noble women on this troubled earth, doing what they could to ease pain, to keep down strife, and to make the world a better place in which to live. They are all worthy of our praise, but to me, Mrs. Lannarck is sainted, and apart from the rest. Well, the rest of the story is in happier settings and more readable chapters," said Davy, as he noted that Mrs. Gillis was somewhat affected by the recital. "I really suspect that you would know more about these conditions than I. Personally, I think all women want to manage a home, want to boss the inmates. If there are no children, then they manage the men-folk, or the household pets. And I was Mrs. Lannarck's pet. She used me as a substitute for the children that never came into her life. I was little; I was injured; I was a fit object of her suppressed affections.

"She telephoned Mrs. Philpott, matron at the orphanage, and when she called to see me, Mrs. Lannarck arranged to care for me until I was well. She explained the whole affair to Mr. Lannarck, when he came home to luncheon and that big, grave, silent man accepted her statements without comment. Sick as I was, I heard all this and I too, made some resolutions. I was not going to miss this chance of having a home, and a mother. The very next morning I offered to get up and help her do the dishes. She laughed like a girl, and vetoed my offer. In a day or two I limbered up enough to get into my clothes and I puttered around, offering to do things. My help was declined, but I could see that it had the right effect.

"I didn't go to school for a few days. My face and head were still in bandages. The story of the attack was in the newspaper and the civil authorities committed the moron to an institution for the feeble-minded. Some of the orphan kids visited me and I got them to bring my little set of drawing tools. I was tinkering with these when Mister Lannarck came in. He looked at some of my sketches and asked if I could draft a plan in true proportions. I told him I thought I could, if I had the correct measurements. He put on his coat and left.

"Now Mr. Lannarck was a carpenter-contractor. Not a big one, with an office and a draftsman, bookkeeper and such; just a carpenter with a desk in the front room where he kept his papers. He had little education but his figures were correct. He had built good buildings, but he specialized in repairs—in the upkeep of property—and he had many clients. He was honest and fair; he made money and saved it. He could read blueprints but he couldn't make 'em. His fingers were all thumbs when it came to outlining.

"Presently he came back with some figures, and about the worst outline I had ever seen. He explained it was a church. It was to have an addition. There was a memorial window to be taken out and placed at the right place in the new part. He had the correct figures and he wanted a rough draft to show 'em. He gave me some big sheets to work on.

"That night, Mrs. Lannarck had to order me to bed, I was that interested. The next morning I was up early. That evening I showed him my outline. He didn't say much. He took the drawings and his own figures to a meeting that night. When he came home he said he had closed the deal, that my outline was what had helped, said it would make money. My, oh, my, but there was a proud boy in a big bed at the Lannarck home that night. That was the first dollar I have ever earned. Of course, I didn't get the dollar, but I got much more.

"It sounds sorta mushy, doesn't it, Mrs. Gillis," said Davy, interrupting the recital. "Kind of a Pollyanna tale with a Horatio Alger finish. But in none of his stories did Alger ever portray a tougher background or give it a bigger skyrocket finish. Just think of it, Mrs. Gillis! Here was a kid with the black thought that he was never to be a man; was never to do a man's work, never to win in any manly contest. Worse yet, he had never seen his father or felt a mother's caress. He never had had a place called home. Do you blame him for horning in?

"Well, it worked out better than I hoped. The next day Mrs. Lannarck began moving the furniture in one of the bedrooms. She emptied dresser drawers, cleared out the closet and brought in other things. Then she invited me up there; told me that she had arranged every thing and this was to be my room, where I could put my things.