JAP HERRON
CHAPTER I
As every well-bred story has a hero, and as there seems better material in Jap than any other party to this story, we will dignify him. Mary Herron feebly asserted her rights in the children by naming them respectively, Fanny Maud, Jasper James and Agnesia. Jasper deteriorated. He became Jap, and Jap he remained, despite the fact that Fanny Maud developed into Fannye Maude and Agnesia changed her cognomen, without recourse to law, to Mabelle. The folks in Happy Hollow continued to say "Magnesia" long after she left its fragrant depths.
The father of the little Herrons was a kingfisher. He spent his hours of toil on the river bank and his hours of ease in Mike's place. One Friday, good luck peered through the dingy windows of the little shanty where the Herrons starved, froze or sweltered. It was Friday, as I remarked before. Mary was washing, against difficulties. It had rained for a week. The clothes had to dry before Mary could cash her labor, and it fretted Jacky Herron sorely. His credit had lost caste with Mike, and Mike had the grip on the town. He had the only thirst parlor in Happy Hollow. So Jacky smashed the only remaining window, broke the family cup, and set forth defiantly in the rain. And in the fog and slashing rain he lost his footing, and fell into the river. As it was Friday, Mary had hopefully declared that luck would change—and it did!
The town buried Jacky and moved his family into decent lodgings, because the Town Fathers did not want to contract typhoid in ministering to them. Loosed of the incubus of a father, the little family grew in grace. Jappie, as his baby sister called him, was the problem. Agnesia was pretty, and the Mayor's wife adopted her. Fanny Maud went west to live with her aunt, and Jap remained with his mother until she, after the manner of womankind, who never know when they have had luck, married another bum and began supporting him. Jap ran away.
He was twelve years old, red-headed, freckled and lanky, when he trailed into Bloomtown. He loafed along the main street until he reached the printing office, and there he stopped. An aphorism of his late lamented dad occurred to him.
"Ef I had a grain of gumption," said dad, during an enforced session of his family's society, "I would 'a' went to work in my daddy's printin' office, instid of runnin' away when I was ten year old. I might 'a' had money, aplenty, 'stid of bein' cumbered and helt down by you and these brats."
Jap straggled irregularly inside and heard the old Washington hand press groan and grunt its weary way through the weekly edition of the Herald. After the last damp sheet had been detached from the press, and the papers were being folded by the weary-eyed, inky demon who had manipulated the handle, he slouched forward.
"Say, Mister," he asked confidently, "do you do that every day?" indicating the press, "'cause I'm goin' to work for you."
The editor, pressman and janitor looked upon him in surprise and pity.