Part 3 (1/2)

”If Bill said that Bob Moore's dead, he's dead, er soon will be,” she said. ”He knows a dead one when he sees it. It's a sure thing anyhow, and what difference does an hour or two make?

The doctor says he's done fer anyhow.”

As Mr. Morton left the house after Moore's death, he led Jimmie by the hand. The little fellow had made some big promises for one so small and frail, but he said G.o.d could and would help him. He knew that he could do no more window work for Jewey and his gang, neither could he work the depot crowds on Sunday excursion trains with Fred Hood. As he pa.s.sed Mrs. Cook he simply said, ”He's dead.” Before leaving the house Morton had promised Mrs. Moore to help her hold her family together and not allow them to be sent to the Children's Home. Perhaps the promise was not a wise one, but it is hard to refuse a mother such a request in the presence of her dead husband. To raise girls in Bucktown and have them turn out right would be the eighth wonder of the world. The Children's Home would be much the best place for them; but the mother heart revolts at separation.

”We must pray for money to pay your father's funeral expenses, Jimmie,” said Morton. Not knowing whence any of it was coming, but believing that He would provide, they went to the undertaker and made arrangements for the funeral. The next day being Sunday, Morton spoke in one of the big down-town churches, and at the close of his talk on ”City Missions” he stated to that fas.h.i.+onable audience just what was needed in the Moore household. After the meeting enough money was placed in his hand to pay for one-half of the entire expense. The next day was a busy one at the Mission.

To get clothes for all the children and to keep them clean enough to go to the funeral at two o'clock was no easy matter. The clothes room in the City Rescue Mission is a room where old clothes sent in by well-to-do people are kept for the poor, and hundreds of the less fortunate are cared for every year.

Three nurses from the hospital helped Mrs. Morton with the work.

With a tub of hot water, ivory soap and sapolio the scrubbing started. They polished their faces until Jimmie said, ”They s.h.i.+ne like a n.i.g.g.e.r's heel.” The dressing was the hard part.

A blue skirt to fit the oldest girl could only be matched in size by a bright green waist, and by her own choice a red ribbon for a belt, with yellow ribbons for her stiff ”pig-tails.” Mrs.

Cook said ”she looked like the pattern in a false-face factory.”

Cast-off shoes were secured for all but Jimmie, and Mr. Morton was compelled to take him to a shoe store and buy him his first pair of new shoes. He had always worn shoes that some one else had discarded. He could not keep his eyes off them as he walked along the street. His warm underclothing and suit from some rich boy's wardrobe, with new shoes, all in one day, was more than he could stand. He was spotted by one of his friends who was yelling, ”Extra Press; read all about it!” Mr. Morton and Jimmie came along and to them he said, ”Paper, Mister?”

Jimmie raised his eyes from his shoes long enough to say, ”h.e.l.lo, Swipsey! How'd yer like 'em?”

”Where'd yer git 'em?” asked Swipsey.

”Git 'em? I got 'em, ain't I? How'd yer like 'em?”

”Dead swell. Do I git yer old ones?”

”Ain't got no old ones; I give 'em ter the shoe store man. We got a funeral at our house ter-day. Me Pa's died.”

As Morton and a quartet reached the house with the children a wonderful gathering was there to greet them. The old bed had been taken down; the casket had been placed between the two windows. Folding chairs, furnished by the undertaker, were placed in rows before the casket. They were nearly filled by the friends and mourners. Bill Cook sat close by the door, so that he might be free to spit without getting up. ”Big Liz” sat next to him, smoking her pipe, but at the sight of Morton she put it under her old ap.r.o.n. Several of the girls from the Dolly resort were there to pay their respects. All the neighbors were there, either in person or by proxy. As the quartet started to sing the old song, ”Jesus, Lover of My Soul,” every one seemed to take it as a signal to cry. No one seemed to know why they cried; but all did their part in making the funeral a ”howling success,”

as Mrs. Rose said. Before the song was ended ”Big Liz” was weeping louder than all the four singers could sing. Morton knew that he must have a brief service, and after a short prayer and Scripture reading he spoke words of comfort to the family and told of Moore's wonderful conversion. As he pictured the glories of heaven that await the redeemed and contrasted them with the awful condition of the unrepentant in sin and h.e.l.l, every one trembled. Morton was very anxious to bring the people to a decision, and felt that the time had come for a final invitation.

Bill Cook's eyes were fastened on Morton and, as he spoke of h.e.l.l and judgment, he was sure it was all intended for him.

”Big Liz” had forgotten the pipe in her lap. It had fallen over and the contents had set her dress on fire. The smell of smoke caused by the burning of cotton, wool, and dirt together did not make a pleasing accompaniment for Morton's words. When the smell reached Bill, he leaped into the middle of the room and shouted, ”h.e.l.l's here now!” Just at that moment ”Big Liz” felt the heat from the fire, and she jumped to Bill's side and said, ”Yer right, honey, and I'm sure in it.” Morton saw what was causing the trouble, and with the help of the undertaker succeeded in getting Liz out upon the street. He called Bill and told him to help her put out the fire. Bill was very much excited, and he took Liz by the hand and started for the big watering trough at the corner of the market. When he reached it he pushed her into the water backward. ”That busted up der funeral,” as Jimmie said. Such screaming had never been heard in Bucktown.

When she at last managed to get out of the icy water she started for Bill, determined to kill him. Dave Beach headed him away from Moore's funeral and gave Morton a chance to close with a feeble prayer. The chance that he had prayed for so long, to reach the people of Bucktown with the gospel, had come and he had lost. He was heart-broken and felt the disappointment keenly. Jimmie was quick to see it and, as the people viewed the remains, he slipped up to Morton, and, pressing his hand, said, ”Don't yer care, we'll git 'em all yet.”

CHAPTER IV

_Jimmie's New Pa_

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 f.a.gin'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 a.s.sortment 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 n.o.body.”

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. G.o.d 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.”