Part 45 (1/2)
”N--n.o.body.”
”They're too small for Grandpa,” declared Cis, stoutly. ”Johnnie might as well wear them. If he didn't, I'd throw them away, or use them for dishcloths.”
Barber did not notice the girl. ”n.o.body,” he repeated. ”But y' go ahead and use the scissors on 'em!”
”Your s.h.i.+rts 're so big,” reminded Johnnie; ”and the pants, too. And if I didn't wear nothin', why, I'd dirty the new uniform, wearin' it next my skin, and so----”
”Fold that truck up!” came the next command.
Under Grandpa's old, torn unders.h.i.+rt, Johnnie's heart began to beat so hard that he could hear it. But quietly and dutifully he folded each dear article, and placed all, one upon another, neatly, the hat topping the pile. Finished, he stood waiting, and his whole body trembled with a chill that was not from cold or fear, but from apprehension. Oh, what was about to happen to his treasured uniform?
Cis was silent now, refraining from angering Big Tom at a time when it was possible for him to vent his rage on Johnnie's belongings. But she watched him breathlessly as he rose and went to the table, and reached to take the books.
”So y' keep 'em upstairs?” he said to Johnnie.
”Yes, sir,”--it was a whisper.
”She's accommodatin', ain't she, the old lady?”
”She--she--yes.”
”A-a-ah!” The longsh.o.r.eman placed the books atop the olive-drab hat, crus.h.i.+ng it flat with their weight.
”Oh! Oh, don't hurt 'em!” pleaded Johnnie. He put out a hand.
”Oh, I won't hurt 'em,” answered Big Tom. But his tone was far from rea.s.suring.
”I won't ever read 'em 'cept nights,” promised the boy. ”Honest, Mister Barber! And y' know y' like me t' read good. When--when Mister Maloney was here, why, y' liked it. And y' can lock 'em all away in the bedroom if y' don't b'lieve me!”
Big Tom leered down at him. ”Oh, I'll lock 'em up, all right,” he said.
”I'll do it up so brown that there won't be no more danger o' this scout business 'round the place, and no more readin'.” With that, he took up both the books and the suit and turned.
At the same moment Cis and Johnnie understood what was impending--the same terrible moment; and they cried out together, the one in renewed anger, the other in mortal pain:
”_NO!_”
For Barber had turned--_to the stove_.
Johnnie rushed to the longsh.o.r.eman and again clung to him, weeping, pleading, promising, asking to be whipped--oh, anything but that his treasures be destroyed. And at the table, Cis wept, too, and threatened, calling for help, striving to divert Big Tom from his purpose, trying to lash him into a rage against herself.
”Oh, Mister Barber, y' wouldn't!” Johnnie cried. ”They're ev'rything I got in the world! And I love 'em so! Oh, I'll stay forever with y' if y'
won't hurt 'em! I'll work so hard, and be so good----!”
Barber uncovered the fire--that fire which Johnnie had built for the baking of Big Tom's pudding.
”The medal!” Cis shouted, straining at the rope which bound her. ”Don't let him burn that! Johnnie! Johnnie!”
Johnnie caught at the coat. ”In a pocket!” he explained. ”My father's!
Look for it! Let me!”
”A--what?” inquired Big Tom, lifting books and uniform out of the boy's reach. ”What're y' talkin' about?”
”Don't you _dare_ burn it!” Cis stormed. ”They'll arrest you! See if they don't! You give it to Johnnie! If you don't, I'll tell the police!