Part 3 (1/2)

At last the words rushed forth, but his voice was husky, and those who knew him would have declared him more moved than they had ever seen him.

The boy understood. A slender brown hand stole out from the white coverlet and touched his. Its outline, long and supple and graceful, spoke of patrician origin. It was hard for the man of wealth and pride to realize that it was the hand of the child of the common people, the people who were his enemies.

”Is there anything you would like to have done for you, boy?” he asked at last because the depth of emotion was more than he could bear.

The boy looked troubled.

”I was thinkin', ef Buck an' them could see me, they'd know 'twas all right. I'd like 'em fine to know how 'tis in here.”

”You want me to bring them up to see you?”

Mikky nodded.

”Where can I find them, do you think?”

”Buck, he won't go fur, till he knows what's comed o' me,” said the boy with s.h.i.+ning confidence in his friend. ”He'd know I'd do that fur him.”

Then it seemed there was such a thing as honor and loyalty among the lower ranks of men--at least among the boys. The man of the world was learning a great many things. Meekly he descended the two flights of stairs and went out to his own front doorsteps.

There were no crowds any more. The police were still on duty, but curious pa.s.sersby dared not linger long. The workmen had finished the windows and gone. The man felt little hope of finding the boys, but somehow he had a strange desire to do so. He wanted to see that face light up once more.

Also, he had a curious desire to see these youngsters from the street who could provoke such loving anxiety from the hero upstairs.

Mikky was right, Buck would not go far away until he knew how it was with his comrade. He had indeed moved off at the officer's word when the doctor promised to bring him word later, but in his heart he did not intend to let a soul pa.s.s in or out of that house all day that he did not see, and so he set his young pickets here and there about the block, each with his bunch of papers, and arranged a judicious change occasionally, to avoid trouble with the officers.

Buck was standing across the street on the corner by the church steps, making a lively show of business now and then and keeping one eye on the house that had swallowed up his partner. He was not slow to perceive that he was being summoned by a man upon the steps, and ran eagerly up with his papers, expecting to receive his coin, and maybe a glimpse inside the door.

”All about der shootin' of der bank millionaire's baby!” he yelled in his most finished voice of trade, and the father, thinking of what might have been, felt a pang of horror at the careless words from the gruff little voice.

”Do you know a boy named Buck?” he questioned as he deliberately paid for the paper that was held up to him, and searched the unpromising little face before him. Then marvelled at the sullen, sly change upon the dirty face.

The black brows drew down forbodingly, the dark eyes reminded Mm of a caged lion ready to spring if an opportunity offered. The child had become a man with a criminal's face. There was something frightful about the defiant look with which the boy drew himself up.

”What if I does?”

”Only that there's a boy in here,” motioning toward the door, ”would like very much to see him for a few minutes. If you know where he is, I wish you'd tell him.”

Then there came a change more marvelous than before. It was as if the divine in the soul had suddenly been revealed through a rift in the sinful humanity. The whole defiant face became eager, the black eyes danced with question, the brows settled into straight pleasant lines, and the mouth sweetened as with pleasant thoughts.

”Is't Mikky?” He asked in earnest voice. ”Kin we get in? I'll call de kids.

He'll want 'em. He allus wants der kids.” He placed his fingers in his mouth, stretching it into a curious shape, and there issued forth a shriek that might have come from the mouth of an exulting fiend, so long and shrill and sharp it was. The man on the steps, his nerves already wrought to the snapping point, started angrily. Then suddenly around the corner at a swift trot emerged three ragged youngsters who came at their leader's command swiftly and eagerly.

”Mikky wants us!” explained Buck. ”Now youse foller me, 'n don't you say nothin' less I tell you.”

They fell in line, behind the bank president, and followed awed within the portal that unlocked a palace more wonderful than Aladdin's to their astonished gaze.

Up the stairs they slunk, single file, the bare feet and the illy-shod alike going silently and sleuth-like over the polished stairs. They skulked past open doors with frightened defiant glances, the defiance of the very poor for the very rich, the defiance that is born and bred in the soul from a face to face existence with hunger and cold and need of every kind. They were defiant but they took it all in, and for many a day gave details highly embellished of the palace where Mikky lay. It seemed to them that heaven itself could show no grander sights.

In a stricken row against the wall, with sudden consciousness of their own delinquencies of attire, ragged caps in hands, grimy hands behind them, they stood and gazed upon their fallen hero-comrade.