Jasper, the reporter on the Press, knew a good story when he had found one. A quiet visit to the Moore domicile the next afternoon, a brief call at Bill Cook's, and a few liberal potations at Fagin's, were responsible for the write-up which appeared in the evening Press. The pathetic story of sickness, death and privation appealed in a powerful manner to the community. Many well-meaning people flooded the place with provisions and a miscellaneous assortment of wearing apparel, running from silk dresses and opera cloaks to cotton jumpers and soleless patent leathers. As is the case generally, this kind of charity did much more harm than good. For a week they had provision enough to feed every man, woman and child in Bucktown. Mrs. Moore thought it would always be so. She gave up her work and said "she would do nothin' fer nobody."
Five days after the funeral Jimmie rushed into Morton's office at the Mission and said, "Say, I got er new Pa at my house."
"A new what?" asked Morton in surprise.
"A new Pa," said Jimmie. "Me Ma says that Charlie Hathnit would be me Pa from now on; he's been livin' with us fer two days now."
Morton was dumfounded. He sat looking at Jimmie a moment; then he said, "Jimmie, this is all wrong. God cannot bless your home with that man there." Morton, reaching out, drew Jimmie to his side and continued, "You promised your father you would run the house and help your mother to care for the family."
The diminutive figure of Jimmie suddenly straightened and seemed to increase an inch in height as he answered, looking Morton straight in the eyes, "So I did, and I meant it, too."
Then said Morton, "You must not allow that loafer there at all."
A moment later Jimmie was at the door. "Where are you going?" inquired Morton.
"I'm going home ter clean house," said Jimmie, as he dashed down Brady Street. As he entered the house a few minutes later he was not the little Jimmie of an hour before. Almost unconsciously there had been born within him a stern resolve to right wrong; an invisible line had been passed; dependent childhood seemed to fade away and in its place came manhood; he stood there another recruit to the great army of child heroes, the great army of those who are forced to face the stern realities of life. As he looked up into his mother's face the little tempest which had gathered within him for a moment was calmed; he caught her hand in both of his, pressing it against his cheek, an old habit of his when he had sought to comfort his mother or to express some emotion when lips would fail.
"What the h—l ails the kid?" snarled Hathnit.