THE STORY-TELLER "Brickie."

Evening Post, Volume LXVIII, Issue 98, 22 October 1904, Page 10

THE STORY-TELLER " Brickie."

♦ Born of a race of law breakers whose deeds are interwoven in crime's category, j-anging from the petty pilfering of a "wipe" to the murderous blow of a sandbag followed by a scurrying into the dark- . ness of the vile blind alleys, is it surprising that Brickie looks with eyes of acquisitiveness upon th» world from his gutter paradise, where he wallowe in infantile abandon and tries to crowd his dirty little toe into his mouth the same as other infants? But babes have no instincts as to crime and the results of it« evils? Perhaps not; but the little thief in whose blood runs riot the base influence of a race of degenerates learns early to acquire the inheritance of the past. When it steals a crust from its fellow guttersnipe, perhaps as bad as itself, it feels witnin its heart that it has performed a certain something that swells its pride as well as its stomach. The inheritance is at work within the tiny being, and sooner or later it will burst forth into the full rapacity of crime against which the strong arm of the law is the only preventive. The sun shone upon the dirty face of Brickie with the same warm and vivifying glow as it did upon the lily face of the delicate, satin clad and belaced scion of the rich aristocracy, trundled along the walk by the white-capped nurse. The ram fell upon the gntter baby and \ the creature enjoyed it, while the petted . patrician darling whined and wouid not *be comforted. The frost touched the toes and nipped the nose of the child of the degenerates, while the pampered baby in furs snuggled and whimpered as it slid deeper into its warm nest. It is a case of the survival of the fittest, or, if you ■vrill, a simple problem in the line of certain things neither you nor I will solve ; no, not if we strive until the day of doom. But the gutter baby loves what tlhe belaced one hates. And so this child of crime's inheritance later on felt a glow of pride suffuse its being when it came diving into the blind al.ey to dodge the faithful cop. Into one door and out of the other, doubling again and again, the quarry went. Scurrying around the pump in the dirty court, witi its rags in sight of the cop, the little chief finally eluded the other and disappeared "through . a. narrow doorway and glided up a pair -of dark stairs that led to a greater dark-.oess-above. The roof was reached, and -with one daring leap the creature cleared r e> narrow space and. slid down a water_pipe and landed safely in its cellar home ■far away from the puffing cop who had ■•long since lost the trail. ( Brickie is twelve years old, and has -made his first great theft of importance. >He has pilfered many a "wipe," it is "true, but here at last he has made the •'first starting step leading to grand re- ' suits, from which so many dark and depaths diverge. Hot and panting, he lies huddled under a miserable bed in "'Jus cellar home, holding to him the first ■'grand prize. It is a lady's purse. His '."weasel-like eyes peep from under the bed ;n.s he huga the- prize. His ears are alert, .and he hears the step of his mother the stone, steps leading to the ".mean home. She will be so glad to see /him horne — and not empty-handed. But ■why should he give up the proceeds of his •hard- won wealtih for — he knows what; .the black bottle in the cupboard, and ".alter that blows and curses. He tucked 'the pretty bead purse under His shirt, •where it rested warm but hard against 'his hearjfc... When his mother entered the di&mal room Brickie was seated on a box dangling his heels and whistling a. merry refrain. "Brickie, my lambie, back before jnarama, eh? Did my pretty little darling bring anything nice for his poor mamma this time?" "Nut'n' doin' ter-day ; not a tin," responded the boy, as he shook his red head. The purse against his heart felt hot as fire and hard as steel as the blood within his breast pounded fiercely. "Mamma is so sorry, lambie. Mamma is tired and hungry — and dry. Are you quite sure you did not bring something I nice for poor mamma?" "Not a tin; nut'n' doin 1 ter-day." "But the poor cop in the next alley was looking all around for a nice little boy who was bringing something good for his mamma. — his poor mamma, who is, so hungry and tired and dry, my lambie. Mary Ann, tihe little girl down jn the court, told the nice little boy's mamma that Brickie came near getting pinched again. Didn't mamma's lambie and pet bring—why, he did not forget bis poor mamma after all, sweet, precious i dearie!" She shook him like a rat and cuffed and bundled him about like a bale of rags. The purse slipped from its hidingplace and fell to the floor with a clink, and the coins rolled out. She smote him across the face with her clinched fist, and he fell in a heap in the corner, where he crouched down, with blood pouring from his nose. And there he stoops, his tears mingling with his blood, and ■wibh set teeth and grippled fists while the woman gathers up the coins. ''Mamma's dearie did not forget her, did he? Stay here, pet, and poor mtAnma will go for bread and something nice to drink. Mamma is so dry. We will have a very pice time to-night, lambie." But Brickie knew the meaning of a nice time. His hide bears now the traces of ma-ny a mad orgie of drunkenness there in the damp, dark cellar. He uttered nothing while he watched her from beneath the tangled locks of red hair. After she departed with the black bottle he hurriedly washed the blood from his face and went out. No one was in sight ; the alley waa_.. deserted. Gliding along the wall he reached the street and tuined down toward the wharf. And as he proceeded his heart was boiling with hatred toward Higgins the cop. If there is one human behing Brickie loathes with a loathing that almost borders upon insane ferocity, it is Higgins. Higgins is his enemy, the one who has harried him and warned him ever since he can remember. Higgins is his fate, his foe. Once when Higgins made him carry back to the wharf a great big melon, Brickie sidled up to the cop ana said : — "I'll git evin wid youse fur dat!" "G'wan, ye little rat! Yell git aven wid the divil ay ye don't moind and quit yer monkoy bizness." "But I will git even wid youse." "Ay yo do ye're a daisy, Brickie, G'wan now and don't be gettin' in any more scrapes to-day or I'll run ye in." Higgins shook his club after the boy, who slouched away muttering and with lowering brows. AH the mad bad blood boiled within him. What did one melon more or less matter to that big pile of emerald green on the wharf? Why had he been deprived of his feast, and why should he not gratify his taste for good, things as well as others? Why was Higgings the cop always looming up between Mm and the things he wanted, reached out for and almost secured? Higgins was more of an object of bitter hatred than ever after the melon affair. Over and over again while he lay on the rags of his bed in his dismal cellar borne Brickie muttered :— "I'll git even wid youae fur dat. The next evening Higgins was obliged to arrest Brickie for lifting a watch from •* man's pocketj

"This is the toime ye go, me bye," muttered Higgins as he took a firm" hold of the Doy's jacket and marched him to tho station. It was Brickie's first night behind the bars; hitherto he had escaped that, the chill stone cell and iron bars. And Higgins, his hated enemy, is the one who is to blame for it. What business ,had Higgins about just as he lifted the fine ticker? What a mad, overwhelming, passionate hatred surges through his every fibre as he lies there on the hard cot in the dark cell muttering again and again :—: — "I'll git even wid youse fur dat!" The next morning it was a very bedraggled little street Arab, with weasel eyes and a shock of red hair, that confronted the Judge, who leaned over to look at him as he enquired : — "What is the charge, officer?" "Stealing a watch, yer Honour," answered Higgings. "Who appears against the- boy?" "I. Your Honour, I caught him in the act,' uttered a stranger, stepping forward. "Boy, have you ever been arrested before?" "No," sullenly replied Brickie. "Do you wish to press the charge against this boy?" asked the Judge, turning toward the stranger. "I do. There are too many of his kind at large. He attempted to steal my watch. I certainly naust press the charge against him." The Judge sighed as he passed his hand weaTily over his face and leaned back. How many times has he heard the same response ! This lad is a bad one who must be put away for the good of the public. " What is the boy's record, officer?" "Well — purty bad, barrin' Biimtoimes fair. Ginerally bad, though." "Have you anything to say, boy?" The Judge leaned over and looked down at the upturned face. "Nnfn." "And you have nothing to say about going to the Reformatory" In an instant the little figure grew stiti as steel ; a look of horror came over his face and he cried : — "Oh, don't dp dat ! Don't do dat ! I'll jump in the river — I'll — I won't go; 1 wont! Don't send me dere, don't send me dare! 1 " Ttie cry came like a wail of, despair, and it startled all who heard it. "Send me ter der prison an' keep me dere. Kill me — but doji't put me in der 'formertory! I—l'llI — I'll kill some one when I git out, I will!" "But that is where bad boys are sent." "Dey git worser an' worser after dey come out," cried Brickie. The Judge leaned back again. He had heard of such things as this before. The youngsters disliked the Reformatory. But why f He leaned over and asked :—: — "How do you know that the Reformatory makes boys worse?" " 'Cause Mickey de Skate was dere. Mickey only lifted a few 'wipes' 'fore he went dere. When he got out he — killed a man!" The words came hissing from the boy's lips as he stood there trembling with mingled fear and rage, with his weaselliKe eyes fixed upon the face of his hated enemy, Higgins, the cop. The little orbs fairly emitted sparks that struck Higgins' heart strangely, startlingly brave as he was. "Does any one in this room know of any good about this boy, who seems to have not one friend in the worFd? Has he a friend in the world? Is this lad so utterly bad that there is no one to say a word for him?" The Judge's eyes roved from face to face as he 'spoke. A hush fell that was almost painful, and it was only broken by the sobs of boy who was in such mortal fear of the Reformatory. The Judge sighed again. The boy had not a friend in the world. Only a child and friendless! But stay! A man stepped nearer the Bench and began to speak in a low tone, gradually raising his yoige^ 'until it reached every" corner ot the room. And when the sound of that voice fell upon Brickie's ears a strange look came upon his face, and he stood there spell-bound, with his 'eyes fixed upon the speaker. It is Higgins — Higgins, the cop, his enemy — the only one who has a kind word to speak on his' behalf. In a lew words the cop told about Brickie s deeds that were good and brave. He told the story of the other side of the poor little unfortunate's life, the brighter part, the better, the grander ; the cleaner page of the guttersnipe's life was revealea by Higgins, the cop, who had so often stood with a club over the lad's head and 'a word of warning. "That bye, yer Honour, has done sumthin now an' thin that men would be bothered to do. He saved the loives ay two little gurls last week from the wheels ay the street cars. I seen him wid me own eyes dive in front ay them cars an' pull them gurls away frum the wheels. But for little Brickie them little wans would be angels now, yer Honour." The stranger who had been eager to appear against the boy, was silenced by the Judge when he attempted to speak. And Higgins continued :—: — "The Dye,- Yer Honour, is a brave lad — but bad, maybe. Last mqnth at a big fire he crawled loike a monkey up a tollygraf pole an 1 aha. over a wire an' into a room. When he come out he had a baby in his arms, an' niver a fireman dared try the same. Because ay them things, Yer Houour, I've been a little aisy wid him, a, little aisy. He's had many a good dive off the dock after a sinkin' man or bye to his credit, Brickie has. He's a tough little felly, but he's had bad bringin' up ; an' I don't think no wan ever took the trouble to tell him what was bad or what was good. I've said what I have because there is no wan else to speak a word ,fur him. The great, Dig world is Brickie's only friend, God help him!" When Higgins ceased a little figure was leaning close to him, and a pair of small, dirty hands were gripping his closely. And, looking down through eyes that were moist, he saw a face upturned, and something in the depths of the boy's eyes seemed to send a warm glow into every fibre of the cop's heart. The Judge turned to the stranger, who quickly said :—: — v "The boy is a hero. I withdraw all charges"— — "Discharged." The next day "Brickie" came to Higgins and said : — "I won't git even wid youse. Youse been good, youse has." It was years ago that all this happened. Higgins is now on the retired list. The old policeman's heart warmed and his face glows when his adopted son, Brickie, steps briskly up the stairs, looking smart and handsome in his new uniform. Ah ! No one would recognise the little guttersnipe in the fine redh eaded officer who graces his position, ' ia alert after the evildoer — but is sometimes easy with the boys.— Howard Seymour Keller, in New York Herald.