Jimmy.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1008, 24 December 1910, Page 14

Jimmy.

A Christmas Episode.

By " Wi." J ia' ■ a

I was reclining comfortably in a lounge chair on the verandah, feeling at poaco with mankind, when I heard. tho gate click, and perceived Aunt Sophia coming up the path. I felt depressed. I am not particularly in love with my Aunt Sophia. Her . attitude towards me—and mine towards her—may be described as a condition of armed neutrality. My maiden aunt is one of those who believe in the. big stick kind of Christianity—some people call: it muscular Christianity—which relies for its effect upon a vigorous and aggressive philanthropy, and the inculcation of a Spartan philosophy, framed upon austere and arid rules which regard as venial sins such offences ,as "whustlin'. on the Sawbbath."" As an auld kirk minister in a previous incarnation, my Aunt Sophia would have scarified the souls of the ungodly aiid driven them into the straight and narrow way with a stockwhip. Sho is of a typo which is fast disappearing in this worldly age, but which has always commanded my respect for its unflinching regard for. the. obligations of its ideals, its relentless conscience—my Aunt Sophia has positively no bowels of compassion—and its adamantine morality. I am not Teally a bad man, although there are a few cerise splotches on the milestones of .my past life, but my Aunt Sophia always, leaves me with the feeling, that the gallows would be far too respectable a place for me to die in. • You will now understand why I felt depressed when I perceived my respected relative coming up the path. ■ Two minutes, before, I had been smoking tho pipe of peace, luxuriating in the solt. summer night wind, and watching a big intercolonial boat ablaze with lights, moving out from the wharves. And now—my Annt Sophia. I wondered what ' she wanted, for I knew perfectly well that she hadn't come merely for the purpose of wishing me the compliments of the season. Sho had a mission. I could seo that in her eye. . "Well,.young, man?" This is Aunt Sophia's conventional mode of address when we meet. : I object to. it, but I have never : mustered up sufficient courage to suggest a : variation of it. " "How d'ye do, Aunt—the-compliments of the season to you," I replied, and offered her my chair. Sho looked at it, and sniffed.

"Humph!" she observed. "That's a lazy man's chair. Ido dislike to see men, especially young men"—here she looked accusingly at me—"lounging about in easy chairs, and—Charles, do _ yon ever put your feet on the mantelpiece?" I coughed,'shook my.head, and blew my nose with 'much pomp and circumstance.. -The attack was so unexpected that I had almost confessed that I did. I was beginning to feel liko a convicted felon already.. However, . she sat down, very ereot, on tho edge 'of., the chair, and- gazed down at the oity below, while I sat on the rail of the verandah and. wondered whether it would be a safe thing to relight my nipe. A pipe in >6uch a situation is almost as good as that particular kind of liquid refreshment whioh is known as "Dutch courage." I gave "up the idea', and proceeded to make conversation. I selected tho view as .a safe topic. , . . .-"Tho,.-pity -looks .very beautiful . from"; hero," I begun, 1 "A whited sepulchre, full of rottenness, corruption, sin, and wickedness," she_ replied, with emphasis on each of the city's defects. This, I reflected, was rather rough on the city. There had been very little crime, and their worships at the Police Court. bad been having. very easy times of it for-some weeksj so, .deferentially, of cdnr9j^ rf .^''. ' J .'."Nonsense!""-she said, 'with .asjffritj; "The state of things down there"—she pointed severely at the great hive below— "'and all round 'here"—the swee'p of her denouncing fingei; took in -luy oivn i\bode — "is appalling—simply appalling. Poverty and sin, misery and wickedness. That is what brings me here to-night, -Charles." I rapidly reviewed in my inind my doings of the past few weeks—my aunt's definition of sin is a very comprehensive one— and felt eminently respectable. A limited exchequer had somewhat restricted my movements, and for tho time being I had ceased to be a patron of tho theatre and tho-vaudeville-show. . • :

. . "Anything do ,I- inquired.. : : "Yes—there is,":she replied. "I.want to see how'some of those poor' children over there"—she indicated the slum quarter— "spend their Christmas. You know your way aboiit, Charles." ' I (lid, but in a less restricted and • somewhat different sense than my Aunt Sophia was aware of. "Well, I want you to take me to a typicap place, where, poverty and. squalor exist; where.. Christmas stockings are never heard of. Do you know' of. such a place?" "T. daresay we could find one," I replied. This"was 'amice contract! "Well, wo will go now," -.said Aunt Sophia, with decision, girding up her loins, so to speak. My Aunt Sophia believes in "doing it now," unfortunately for those with whom she has dealings.

"Very well, Aunt," t I ■ agreed, "we'll go and see my friend Jimmy. He'll probably satisfy, you." Jimmy was an acquaintance of mine, a newsrunner, who had been kicked from pillar to post, starved and ill.-clothed, all the thirteen years of his wretched little life. . His parents were dead, and ho lived with an old hag of a woman in a blind alloy off one of' the most, squalid streets in the town. Jimmy's schooldays had been few and far between, and he was hopelessly illiterate. But his native wit helped to push the sale of his papers, and anyone who desired to "work a point" on Jimmy had to get up very early in the morning indeed,. and then tho bird was usually wide awake. ' ,

So we. went to Jimmy's. . Aunt Sophia, en route, grasped her skirts as if slio feared some mysterious. contagi'on when passing through the narrow, congested thoroughfares which led to Jimmy's, and, beyond an occasional sniff, which gave eloquent expression to her. disapproval of the neighbourhood, made no remark. I, permitted to smoke, fell, to wondering what Jimmy would say to the lady, and what she would say to him, for T was not without the hope that the evening would, not be wholly devoid ,of entertainment. As we turned the corner into Jimmy's alley, I espied that.individual crouching in a. recess, lighting . a cigarette. 1 stopped, while my Aunt Sophia walked on for a few paces. "That you', Jimmy?"-I called._ He came forth, blowing the cigarette' smoko through his nostrils. .'"Ullo," he said, briefly,, then glanced over his shouMer. " 'Oo's, yer fren' ?" I smiled. "The lady's, come to see you, Jimmy." "Garn! kidstakes!" he . replied, without emotion. I dropped my voice. "It's this way, Jimmy," I explained, diplomatically, "the lady wants to talk to some of tho children in this part of the town, just to find out : how, they live, and so on. I thought I'd bring her to your placer-you know a good bit about the people here." Jimmy's face twitched. "Nothin' crook?" he asked, suspiciously. "Oh, no," I said. ' "It's, all right, Jimmy. She just wants to toll, you about —er—Christmas, and all that sort ' of thing, you know." said Jimmy, cheerfully, and was duly introduced. - "Well, my little man, and how are you?" inquired Aunt Sophia, .in her grandest manner. • "Jes' like this," responded Jimmy, laconically, and turned to lead tho .way. I grinned in the darkness. "Dear me," murmured Aunt Sophia, "how very peculiar." "Just his way," I explained. "Environment, illiteracy, and all that sort of thing. He doesn't know, what we think of it. You musn't bo scandalised at tho things hp says, Aunt, -or you'll spoil the. study—he'll shut: up like an oyster." With a repetition of her previous observation, to. tho effect that it was all "very peculiar," my aunt lapsed into silence. ; Presently Jimmy stopped in front of a dark passage which served as the entrance to two houses. "In 'ere," he said, briefly, and wo followed him to' the door of his abode.' He turned the handle, but tho door was locked. Then he .'applied bis .ear to tho keyhole, and after listening intently remarked, more to.himself than to us, that tho "ol' tart" must. be "on it. again." ..,. . . . '

"What does he say ?" inquired my aunt, to whom this observation was, of course, quite unintelligible. Once more 1 grinned to myself in the dark. "His esteemed guardian," I replied, with a discreet coudi, "has apparently gone out to—er—exchange the compliments of the season \vith some* of her friends—ha—hnumn!" —I caught ray aunt's eye upon ine —"that is—er —what he meant to convey, Aunt." , "H'm—how very . peculiar," said _Aunt Sophia. I began to perceive that the role of interpreter was going to be a somewhat difficult and delicate one. I had by this timo decided that whatever impressions my Aunt Sophia could gather from the evidence of her own senses, she was welcome to. For myself, I conceived thatmy obligations rested merely with the exercise of my duties as conductor. Jimmy's little soul was not .going to be trampled upon by Aunt Sophia or anyone else, i! I knew .it," for lie was straight all through., with a man's heart, though he did look like an embryo felon, smoked cigarettes, and swore most horribly. These were n<Jt his personal attributes— merely the mud of his environment. Meanwhile, Jimmy had effected an entry through the scullery" window at the rear of the house, and, pulling , back the latch lock of the door, invited us to enter. The house was dark, and smelt of squalor, stale tobacco, and the brewery. My aunt involuntarily recoiled. "Pah!" she said, "what a dreadful place." Presently the host located the candle-bottle, struck a match, and such portions of 'the dingy interior as were in the immediate vicinity of the solitary illumin'ant were disclosed to the view. In one corner of the room was a dilapidated stretcher. Two packing cases, covered with a bedraggled piece of American oilcloth, served as a table, and on this reposed! an undisciplined array of decrepit looking crockery, and the remains of the last meal. Shreds of wallpaper and scrim hung in disreputable festoons from the walls, and two . empty beer bottles reposed in _ the fireplace. . Three chairs, each lacking in some essential of its construction, stood apologetically about the floor, and upon these the company—Aunt Sophia, Jimmy, and myself—seated itself with extreme care, two of. its members proceeding from a lack of confidence, and the other from practical experience, I- in the resources of the furniture. '

The whole .aspect of the place betrayed the indescribable poverty of the lives of its occupants—a poverty the pernicious wretchedness of which only a boy -of Jimmy's calibre could survive. He coultl endure it till his wits found for him a means of escape. Others, less plucky in spirit, w.ould have sunk under its oppression and wallowed in the lower depths. Having grasped as-, much of her surroundings as the spluttering candle chose' to reveal to'her, my Aunt Sophia turned to Jimmy, r who was regarding her with an expressionless . stare. "What is your-, name, little boy?" she inquired, :after the "manner of a Spanishinquisitor. ' .' Jimmy," replied the boy, stolidly. "Jimmy what?" pursued the "Inquisitor."

"Dunno." "Where.is your father?" "Passed out." - My aunt turned to me. "What does he say?" ■ ( "His father's; dead," I explained. Don t pursue the subject, he knows nothing, about .his parents." ~ "Dear- me," said Aunt Sophia. Then she turned to Jimmy again. - "Whom do you live, with?" -. "The ol':tart," replied Jimmy.' ' With whom?" "He lives, with van old lady," I interpreted, hastily.."I see," said-Aunt Sophia. "What is her name?" '"Allelujah-Ann," .said the boy, with a look at me. ' . • , "What?" Again I interpreted. "."The old ladv is known as Hallelujah-Ann," I said. "She is—or—somewhat, eccentric, Aunt." Aunt Sophia'continued; "What is her proper name?",,, , "Dunno," said Jimmy • ; "Tut—tut'!',' exclaimed Aunt Sophia impatiently. "Surely. the v boy— "Ho doesn't, know—its no use asking him,' I interposed. ~ • "Dear mel'SiWd Aiint Sophia. "How' very peculiai'-H'i _ f ; 'Tcs—it isjirather," I agreed, extremely, thankful tliat'-:further inquiry concerning" "Ann" seomejl: unlikely. She had a reputation. "Is —is this—or—pereon kind to you, Jamos ?' asked Aunt Sophiai ■ apparently unwilling to let Jimmy's, guardian go with such a superficial- investigation of her character >. Jimmy grinned. "She's 'ot stuff," he said. v "Ho means, Aunt," I interpreted, "that his guardian is sometimes—er—unduly severe."

"I see. What does .she do to you?" pursued my aunt. ; "Oh—gits on .the; shikar, comes 'ome full "as a 'tic, and gives me a 'idin'." Jimmy's recital'was: quite dispassionate. These things were matters of course, and ho had long ago .ceased to worry about them. "She ain't so bad now," he added. "Ah—l'm' glad to know that she is growing, kinder to you, James," eaid my aunt. ,•. . "James-'.grumed: -.': "All me . eye," he said. "It's Hie. wots: gittin' bigger:*' I was not called upon to interpret Jimmy's last remark. . My aunt then turned to the main subject. "Do you: know, what to-morrow is, James?" The boy nodded. "Are you going to hang up your stocking to-night?" Jimmy stared. '"Ang up me Wot?" he asked: V "Your stocking." "Ain't got none," replied Jimmy. My aunt began over again. "Have you ever heard, of -Father .Christmas?" she asked. . . : "Oos 'e ?" asked the boy. "Dear me," said Aunt Sophia, "the boy is hopelessly , ignorant." .. "Don't :you know—" she continued, "don't you know about the kind old gentleman who comes doivn the chimney with nice presents for good little boys and girls?". Jimmy looked at the fireplace', but the : beer. bottles were not inspiring, so he turned to Aunt Sophia. "Pull me other leg, lidj'," ho said disdainfully. "Tryin' t' kid I'm up the polef—git oil the ice." ■ I. interposed hastily. "He means to convey that j-ou are having a joke . with him,". I explained.-. . "Dear me! How very " Just then Jimmy winked at me.','"Heel. Hee! -Ha'!—Hmmm!" I hurriedly' produced my handkerchief and stifled my unseemly merriment in its folds, cough--ing 'desperately. 1 My aunt eyed mo severely, quite undeceived. "I see nothing whatever to laugh at," she said, with asperity. "All this is most pitiful. . Have you no feelings?" . -I wiped my eyes. "I bej your pardon, aunt/' I said.with a show of sincerity which I hoped would pass muster in.Uie candle-light.. "I—the fact is, I was thinking of something' else at the. time." . My aunt said nothing, but produced a parcel,'and addressed herself to Jimmy. "Now, listen to me, James," she said. "I am going to give yon a Christmas present —a book—which I hope you'will proht by." Jimmy couldn't read, but I said nothing, being under a cloud. Aunt Sophia proceeded. • "I want you. to be a very, good hov, to love'the kind person who looks- after you"—Jimmy looked furtively in my, direction—"and stop smoking and swearing." . ■ Again a furtive look from Jimmy—the strain was beginning to tell on me, and I resolved to end it. , "I think Jimmy quite understands, aunt. He'll be all right— won't you, Jimmy?" -• "Sure," said Jimmy, accepting a wink from me in the spirit in which it... was Then we left. I lingered behind for a few seconds. "Look here, Jimmy," I said, slipping a coin into his hand, "hide this somewhere and clear out of this.. You've got sand. Get up country—they want your sort ill the back-blocks. The book the lady gave you is no good to .you, but never mind, you're straight. -Is it a go?' , "Sure," said Jimmy, simply. . "Ri«ht—play tho game, Jimmy. Then I went after Aunt Sophia. Five venrs later I met Jimmy one Saturday afternoon in a* back-country township. He had played the game and made good. And when I told ill} Aunt Sophia about it she took all. the credit. Which was just like Aunt Sophia. /