Part 3 (2/2)
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 pa.s.sed; 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.
Jimmie, realizing that there was stern business at hand, and ashamed of his momentary emotion, replied:
”Jus' dis: I got somethin' ter ast yer; what are yer doin' in our house anyhow?”
”Hush, Jimmie,” interposed Mrs. Moore. ”Yer mind yer business.”
”That's jus' what I'm doin', Ma. I seen Morton, an' he says it's all wrong fer yer ter keep this piker here, and yer know I promised Pa der night Jesus took him up dare----”
A curse followed from Hathnit which was so awful that it would have shaken anything but Jimmie's determination. ”Go an' tell dis Bible-banging Morton to keep his d---- advice to himself.
I'm a peaceable man, but if I mix with this Mission galoot he'll cut out givin' his advice to you kids. As fer you, you better duck till you git this nonsense out of yer head.” Hathnit strolled to the door and opened it, and Jimmie was compelled for the time being to leave the house.
”It's no more than I expected,” said Mrs. Cook to Jimmie as he related the events of the morning. ”When I heard Hathnit was a-livin' ter yer house, I jus' told Bill that no good would come from it. Poor Jimmie, you jus' wait till I git these here clothes out of this here bluing water; I'll go over wid yer to see what can be did.”
Soon the last towel was through the wringer, and Mrs. Cook, hastily drying her hands on her ap.r.o.n, accompanied Jimmie to his home. The conference that ensued was not productive of any good. Hathnit was a man devoid of all manly principles, lazy to the limit, ill-bred, ill-kept, illiterate, but still possessing one noticeable characteristic--a keenness which cannot be overlooked in men of his ilk.
Mrs. Cook came to the point at once. ”Mis Moore,” she said, ”yer boy Jim tells me you've took Hathnit here for yer man.”
”Right yer be,” replied Hathnit. ”Yer needn't guess again.”
”But yer ain't married yet,” said Mrs. Cook.
”Well, yer see it's dis way,” proceeded Hathnit. ”She said she wanted me and I said I wanted her, so that's ernough. It used ter be the style ter go before the Justice with your dollar and a quarter paper and git tied, but that's a dead one now.”
”Well, where's Mollie? She's yer wife, ain't she?” asked Mrs.
Cook.
”Naw, Tom Ellen's got her now; he took her while I was doing a two-year contract fer the State.”
”But it's wrong,” burst out Jimmie. ”Mr. Morton says so.”
”To h--l with Morton!” said Hathnit. ”Now look here, the high-tone guys do that right along, only they spends their good money fer lawyer's licenses and divorce cases. I found this mornin's Herald at the depot, and it says there was six marriage licenses and eight divorces granted in this town yisterday. Fer every five marriages in dis whole State last year there was one divorce.
Der people gits married ter-day with the understanding that if they don't like each other they can get a divorce. If that's all marriage amounts to--and it is--I think a man's a blooming sucker ter blow his good money to der lawyers. In dis town a dozen lawyers lives on divorce money alone. Society, so-called, says it's right, and when they gits up deir dancin' parties they have ter git an expert to keep from invitin' hubbie number one, two and three at the same time. If the bloods kin have two or three wives by payin' some cheap lawyer their good dough, I can have two or three an' save my money fer weddin' celebrations.
The women all over the country went wild about Smoot and Polly Gamy.”
”Yer means Pollie Gainey, that lived over f.a.gin's last year, don't yer?” asked Mrs. Cook.
”Naw, I means jus' what I said; Polly Gamy means yer can have all kinds of wives,” said Hathnit. ”Now, ter my way of thinkin', Smoot has as much right ter his wives as these women has ter their husbands. If he would send his money ter some cheap lawyer he'd be O.K. ter their way of thinkin'. Smoot takes care of his kids, anyhow, but these society guys sends theirs ter the Children's Home fer the city ter care fer. There's sixty-six kids there now, and fifty-two of them are from divorced families.
Dis Morton that yer crackin' up ter me is kickin' about us livin'
tergether without marryin'. He says it's wrong; why don't he say somethin' ter the church members? That big guy, where Bob Evans is coachman, got a divorce from his Missus and gave her the home ter live in. He built a new house on der next block and took another woman, and she took another man. Bob says that Ralph, the kid, calls one Papa and the other Daddie. They all goes ter the same church Sunday mornin' and nothin's said. Why?
'Cause they pay der lawyer. If they're all right, I'm all right; the church stands fer it, the law stands fer it, and society stands fer it. That cheap Mission guy with his old Bible don't cut much ice against that bunch.
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