Part 7 (1/2)
Before many weeks of this intercourse, Peter could not stroll east from his office without being greeted with yells of recognition. The elders, too, gave him ”good-evening” pleasantly and smiled genially. The children had naturally told their parents about him of his wonderful presents, and great skill with knife and string.
”He can whittle anything you ask!”
”He knows how to make things you want!”
”He can tie a knot sixteen different kinds!”
”He can fold a newspaper into soldiers' and firemen's caps!”
”He's friends with the policeman!”
Such laudations, and a hundred more, the children sang of him to their elders.
”Oh,” cried one little four-year-old girl, voicing the unanimous feeling of the children, ”Mister Peter is just shplendid.”
So the elders nodded and smiled when they met him, and he was pretty well known to several hundred people whom he knew not.
But another year pa.s.sed, and still no client came.
CHAPTER XII.
HIS FIRST CLIENT.
Peter sat in his office, one hot July day, two years after his arrival, writing to his mother. He had but just returned to New York, after a visit to her, which had left him rather discouraged, because, for the first time, she had pleaded with him to abandon his attempt and return to his native town. He had only replied that he was not yet prepared to acknowledge himself beaten; but the request and his mother's disappointment had worried him. While he wrote came a knock at the door, and, in response to his ”come in,” a plain-looking laborer entered and stood awkwardly before him.
”What can I do for you?” asked Peter, seeing that he must a.s.sist the man to state his business.
”If you please, sir,” said the man, humbly, ”it's Missy. And I hope you'll pardon me for troubling you.”
”Certainly,” said Peter. ”What about Missy?”
”She's--the doctor says she's dying,” said the man, adding, with a slight suggestion of importance, blended with the evident grief he felt: ”Sally, and Bridget Milligan are dead already.”
”And what can I do?” said Peter, sympathetically, if very much at sea.
”Missy wants to see you before she goes. It's only a child's wish, sir, and you needn't trouble about it. But I had to promise her I'd come and ask you. I hope it's no offence?”
”No.” Peter rose, and, pa.s.sing to the next room, took his hat, and the two went into the street together.
”What is the trouble?” asked Peter, as they walked.
”We don't know, sir. They were all took yesterday, and two are dead already.” The man wiped the tears from his eyes with his s.h.i.+rtsleeve, smearing the red brick dust with which it was powdered, over his face.
”You've had a doctor?”
”Not till this morning. We didn't think it was bad at first.”
”What is your name?”