TYKE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 5, 3 August 1907, Page 44

TYKE

By

GEORGE RANDOLPH CHESTER.

K OBERT WALSINGHAM SMITH paused thoughtfully just inside the gate. Half-a-doze.n important things called urgently upon him for attention: the funny gray bugs underneath the flat stone at the side of the front steps; the nice little puddle where the garden hydrant dripped; the hydrant itself, with the possibilities it offered of getting yourself nice and wet and cool all over; the broken outside cellar-door, with its wobbling springiness and the chance it offered of getting another scar on his eiiin. None of these urgent employments, however, seemed to fill his immediate need, because there was nothing very good to eat connected with them . It had been nearly- an hour since he had devoured that big red apple right after luncheon, and he was beginning to feel the pangs of starvation. Now, over at the Brainerds’, three houses away, were three young ladies and no children, and they never failed to give him all the delightful things that his own hardhearted mother denied him, ranging from candy and piekies to pastry. To the Brainerds’ he would go. It took three attempts before, standing on tiptoe, he could make one pink forefinger lift the gate-latch, but the feat was finally accomplished, and he toddled outside, happy and care-free now that the weight of decision was off his mind. He felt impelled to sing as he stamped down the sidewalk, and he did so. His song bore no resemblance to any melody that was ever set to notes, consisting of a series of tuneless “la-la's,” but it was sweet music to his own ears, and also to those of his mother, who sat at the window keeping a careful eye on him. At the gate of the Brainerds’ he turned promptly in, and Mrs. Smith settled down in her chair with a sigh of idief. He would be taken care of now for the afternoon, and when he went to sleep one of the Brainerd girts would bring him home, loving his pink, round cheeks, and his Cupid’s-bow mouth and his long, brown lashes, and his chestnut brown hair, all the way. Mrs. Smith smiled, her heart full of content, as she thought of him in that house, where he was an ever-welcome lord and master, and she was thankful that it was so, for it would allow her more time for the saleable fancy work that was being turned out by her deft fingers. They had need to be deft, those fingers; for since her husband had been squeezed out of his business by a “soulless corporation,” which, failing to buy him out at a ridiculous price, had calmly proceeded to break him, there had been a very serious scramble in the cheerful Smith household to pay rent and to still the clamour of the butcher and grocer. As for Robert Walsingham, however, worry never came his way. Even now he was merely nonplussed when, on arriving at the door of the Brainerds’, he found it closed and all the house still. He reached on tiptoe to the door-bell and gave it a whirl. He waited patiently for almost an entire second; then be whirled it again, again, and again. He pounded on the door; he invited in turn, and in very insistent, tones, Ooeezba and Mah’get and Caff’rin to open and let him in. There, are. perhaps, two-and-a-half-year-olds who would have ended up with screams and kicks an.l final sobs, but not this one. Diogenes himself was no more profound philosopher than the hope and pride of the house of Smith. Finding that the door would not open, he turned to emulate the (tenformance of that famous general who inarched his army up the hill and marched it down again. He started back home with great equanimity. It was barely possible that his mother might forget and give him

more than one occasion when she was especially busy. But outside the Brainerd gate a new and wonderful diversion offered itself. A white dog, young enough to be playful and old enough to be a confirmed tramp, bounced up and poked his cold muzzle into young Mr. Smith’s hand. Young Mr. Smith jerked his hand away and stumbled back two steps, where he stood at rigid attention, his stomach drawn back as far from danger as possible. His acquaintance with white dogs was very limited, and had always been conducted at a distance prescribed by decent caution. In the present exciting juncture he opened Ids mouth very wide and round. He had not yet decided what was coming out of his mouth. By way of compromise, he emitted a series of “ha-ha-ha’s” that strained his face and made it quite red, holding his middle, meanwhile, with both hands. He believed that he was laughing, hut it was a very, very nervous glee, and could be thrown into either channel by the merest trifle. The junior Smith could cry, if necessary, understand—quite lustily, too. The dog, with wise understanding, helped him out. It crouched on the ground before him, its muzzle between its front paws, its beady eyes upturned to him, and wagged its tails most invitingly. Still the audience leaned forward, his mouth wide open, his face red, and his hands on his stomach, making sounds of very dubious classification. The dog sprang up and turned a funny little half-somersault on the side of his head and one shoulder. The sole spectator felt relieved. The dog rolled over on his back and let his four paws wave. The strain was over. Robert Walsingham Smith laughed, a shade too boisterously, it is true, but still a real laugh. The dog rolled to his feet and capered. He gave two short, mild barks, carefully repressed so as not to frighten anyone, but calculated, on the other hand, to inspire great confidence. “Bow-wow!” replied Sir Robert promptly. “Nice doggie. Doggie won’t bite Wobbit; doggie like Wobbit. Ya-a~a-s.” Gratified by the sound of the voice, the dog licked young Mr. Smith on the hand, and young Mr. Smith patted the dog on the head. Emboldened, the dog licked the youngster’s face. Resenting the familiarity and feeling his confidence wholly restored, the youngster “biffed” the dog on the ear. That settled it. They were friends, and had no further suspicions of each other. n. He was a fine dog, that fellow. He was better than a doll, because you didn’t have to move his legs and arms for him, or pinch him to make him squeak. He was better than a two-and-a-half-year-old human playmate, because he did not always want to shriek for the identical thing that you wanted. For instance, he would grab up a stick and run a few steps with it, then lay it dewi:. When you went to pick it up, he would grab it and run a bit farther and lay it down again; but maybe that tinv? he would let you get it and let you run on ahead, and would try to grab it out of your hands, ami by-and-by you would let him have it. because it was only a stick, anyhow, and you didn’t ■want it—that is, till the dog got it; then you wanted it. Moreover, if you tugged and tugged and tugged, and pulled his ears and his tail and the scruff of his neck, and pounded him in the eye, and finally took the stick away from him, he never cried—not he. He simply wagged, his tail and barked, and was ready to do it all over again.

That was a fine game, and it took them several blocks away from the house where Mrs. Smith sat calmly content in her work, secure in the knowledge that the Brainerd girls were petting and coddling the youngster and spoiling him, and getting his stomach out of whack, and teaching him bits of choice new slang for them to laugh at when he repeated it, and loving him half to death. The grab-the-stick-and-run game lost its novelty after a while, but no inquiring person of two and a half years of age is ever at a real loss for entertainment. Young Mr Smith, the white dog barking eagerly affectionate circles around him, was enjoying to the full his first independent trip into the world.

And such a pleasant world this was! There were cool little side-streets and broad, shady avenues to wander down, and at last, after nearly two hours of trudging, there opened up before the two travellers a most delightful big park, where birds were singing in the waving branches of the trees and whera the black shadows of the leaves wove in and out, on green patches of sunny grass. As they turned into the park a squirrel scampered away and sprang from the ground, half-way up a tree trunk, with the dog harking like mad below it. A butterfly flitted just ahead of them, and there were others farther on, while the drone of bees filled the sleepy air. There were beds of bright flowers; there were inviting benches, there were playing fountains and a cool, sweet breeze that made Robert Walsingham. Smith suddenly conscious that he was very tired, an annoying condition, because he knew that now in a short time he would have to begin to fight off sleep —hateful sleep that made one miss any, number of things that might be going on. In one of the smooth, white driveways stood a quiet automobile, and a man wearing a leather cap and a very black face was doing something or other with delightfully dirty-looking tools. The junior Smith would have liked very much to play with some of those tools, but the outlook did not seem promising. Though he stood quite close, the man paid no attention to him, except once when he scowled. He seemed angry, and the explorer had little use for angry people. A little way off, up near the fountain, another man sat on a bench. He, too, had on a leather cap, but his face was clean and his clothes were clean, and, what was more fascinating, than all, he was feeding peanuts to the squirrels. Robert could smell those peanuts from afar. The squirrels were Very tame, and came quite close, but when they caught sight of young Mr Smith’s travelling companion they disappeared as if by magic. The man turned to see what had whisked them into thin air, and his eyes fell upon wee, small Robert Walsingham Smith. “Hello, Tyke!” said the man. “Hello, man!” replied young Mr Smith with equally hearty cordiality. Notwithstanding his prompt response, young Mr Smith stood off and |made a thorough inspection .of the stranger. He was a very large man with twinkles in and around his eyes, and his heart was in the right place. Robert could see clear to his heart without the least bit of trouble, and there ■was nothing whatever the matter with it. After one gets a little way past two and a-half years old, one lose* that wonderful faculty, but the junior Smith had it In a marked degree. He immediately liked and trusted the big man very much. Moreover, the big man itad peannts, and the pangs of starvation that aud-

•enly came over the email man were pßtftively painful. He walked right Xand held out his right hand. The ite dog, at the same time, walked up to the man and sniffed, but it was only • perfunctory sniff. He, too, possessed the clairvoyance that could see through clothes and countenances and fair speech to the hearts of men. “Howdy do!” observed young Mr Smith. big man took the extended hand very gravely. “How do you do, sir?” he inquired, In turn. “Pleasant weather, isn’t it?” “Ya-a-a-s,” drawled the younger man; then training asserted itself, and he added, “Yes, sir,” nodding his head with decision. He did not quite understand the drift of the big man’s remarks, but he was •nite willing to say “Yes, sir,” to anything he might observe. Besides, there were the peanuts, and a little extra courtesy might not come amiss. The big man slapped his hands on his knees •nd laughed heartily. "You’re all right!” he exclaimed. "I’ll bet I can tell you a remarkable fact •bout yourself Tyke. You like peanuts!” and he picked up the sack from the bench where it had held the famished gaze of the young Mr Smith. “Ya-a-a-s!” was the eager response, •nd this time the young Mr Smith forgot to add any additional courtesy. He was too bnsy. “I am not surprised.” said the elder man. “Not by any means. Help yourself.” 111. The young man promptly proceeded to fill both chubby hands. Peanuts stuck out from them in every direction, and one fell upon the ground. In trying to pick it up he dropped six. As has been heretofore remarked, Robert Walsingham Smith was a profound philoecpher. He surveyed the six fallen peanuts in deep thought for a brief space.

The big man, profoundly interested, watched the process of intellect in the

clear-blue eyes and the puckered brow. Suddenly deciding, young Mr Smith placed the peanuts he still held in the* man’s broad palm; then he picked up those on the ground and put them in the same place. “Fix the peanuts,” he ordered confidently, and deep delight broke out all over the man's face. Being a childless man, he had not reflected that those pink fingers were not capable of cracking peanuts, nor the sharp little white teeth capable of separating hull from nut; but the pleasure that this discovery awoke in him was nothing compared to the exquisite joy of shelling those peanuts and popping the kernels, one at a time, into that little red mouth, the lips of which were deliciously soft and warm, like the kiss of a sun-bathed rose. “What is your name?” asked the big man in one of the intervals of shelling and feeding. Robert Walsingham Smith waited until he had swallowed what was in his mouth, as he had been carefully taught to do, and then he replied clearly and concisely. “Name, Wobbawassinmiss.” “Exactly,” agreed the man. "1 thought it must be something like that. If you don’t mind, however, I’ll just call you Tyke. It comes handier. Will that do—Tyke?” “Ya-a-a-s,” replied Tyke, and opened his mouth for another peanut. The man marvelled at Tyke’s capacity. It had been a large sack of peanuts and the squirrels had not eaten so very many of them, but the sack was nearly empty before the youngster drew a satisfied sigh and observed: “I tired.”

“Why, bless my soul, so you must he!” replied the man, becoming suddenly aware that the small morsel of humanity had been standing all this time on two amazingly small feet. He glanced down at the dust-grimed little shoes and gathered the youngster compassionately in his big arms. Tyke rested his head contentedly back in the comfortable angle he found waiting for it. The dog inspected the group earn-

estly and then, satisfied, be curled up on the gravel close in front of them. Tlie big man started to talk about the birds and the squirrels and the other things that he judged might interest Tyke in general, glancing down every now and then and watching for the monosyllabled replies that nine more and more slowly. In one of these glances he observed that the blue eyes were glazing and that the lids were drooping. Having had no experience, (he was astounded at the suddenness with which the sandman was overtaking and claiming for his own this delightful new acquaintance of his, and it rather scared him. “Here, Tyke,” said he, hastily, “this won’t do! Somebody will be looking for you.” But the sleep of tykehood knows no logic. It comes when it wills, as irresistible as doom itself, and the man suddenly found himself the possessor of a strange baby that was sound asleep. He ventured to shake his burden a little, but he might just as well have been rocking it gently into deeper sleep, and he had not the heart to use more vigorous measures. “Here’s a nice muddle,” he speculated. “Now, what am I going to do with this?” It was a puzzling question, and quite naturally he looked down at the cause of the puzzle as if to seek an answer there. In all his life the man had never before held a sleeping baby in his arms. He gazed in awe upon the thin eyelids with their delicate blue veinings. How large the eyes beneath them were! What wonderful curving lashes were those that spread down their delicate arcs! What a marvellous complexion was this upon the rounded cheeks! How like fine-spun gold was that waving hair! What a beautiful thing, more wondrously beautiful than any other created object, was the curve of those little lips! What a wajrm, chubby, sturdy body was this that lay in his arms and against his breast!

The perspiration of summer sleep began to bead out upon the child’s forehead, and, moving as gently as if lie

feared that even a breath might disturb the harmony of this exquisite picture, the man drew his handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away the moisture. The moment was a revelation to this man who bad fought all his life. Really, there seemed, after all, something in the world besides business and competitors, besides money and stocks and bonds, besides the struggle for place and fame and riches. He was a man who, haying attained his pinnacle, could look brick upon the course over which" he had come, and view now, with a trace of compassion. some of the rounds of the ladder that he had broken in his ascent. These things had never bothered him much, but just now they recurred to him and made him feel just a little bit as if he were almost unworthy to be the bearer of this beautiful little burden that seemed suddenly a holy and a sacred thing. IV. A sharp, clicking sound broke in upon his reverie, and then a rapid chugging. He looked around. His chauffeur had succeeded at last in fixing his automobile. and there it stood, whirring and trembling, eager to dash away. He arose and walked over to the machine. The dog had been asleep, but only in that light slumber that is permitted to those weighted with the sense of duty, and at the man's lightest movement he was on his feet. Now he followed at the man’s heels. “Huh!” said the man to his chauffeur. “I seem to ’ave picked up a responsibility here, Williams. I’ll be hanged if 1 know what to do with it!” Williams surveyed the youngster with a judicial eye. He had the antipathy of his profession against dogs, and he had never been elose enough to a baby to have one appeal to him. "I don’t know, I’m sure, sir.” he replied. “You might lay it on the bench where you found it. No doubt it lives around here somewhere, and its mother will doubtless come looking lor it by and by.”

“This is a he, not an it, Williams,” observed his master.

“Beg pardon, sir, 1 thought you said 'it* yourself.”

“1 referred then to the responsibility, not to tile tyke.” retorted the man. ‘‘But of one tiling I am certain, I shall not lay him on the bench. He pleases me better where lie is; besides, I judge that he must have trudged a long way, and I have no doubt that he is a lost baby.”

“Then, sir,' stated Williams, relieved, “the only thing is the police-station.”

The man looked at him, shocked. That might be the proper course to pursue with other bailies, but with this particular one it seemed impossible. He recoiled at the thought of taking this wayside blossom to the same haven where the wicked and the unkempt were lodged.

‘‘You sec, Williams,” he elaborated, “this doesn't look like that kind of a baby.” He smiled, and added: “We might go parading up one street and down another, crying him out like a huckster with his potatoes.”

It was Williams's turn to look shocked. Williams had no sense of humour. The man's whimsical suggestion, however. provoked an idea. “Tell you what you do, Williams,” lie suggested. “You just drive very slowly around the streets bordering the park. I have no doubt that ifThis baby is lost and belongs in the neighbourhood, we shall find someone, if not several people, out looking for him.” “Very well, sir,” replied Williams. “Shall 1 lay it on the baelF'seat?” “No!” replied the'man decisively. “X shall hold him!” He resented very much the idea of having Williams touch this baby, much less take, it out of his arms. Williams would not appreciate the honour .that was being conferred upon him; Williams did not understand babies; Williams had no soul. He had often contemplated discharging Williams. Tlie programme that he suggested was carried out. He got in, holding Tyke. The machine had just started when something white came hurling ove» the side-door and landed in the tonneau with them. It was the dog. Slowly Williams drove around the edge of the park, but there were no signs of the commotion that would be occasioned by somebody and. ail her neighbours looking for a lost baby. Having made the eircirit of the park, Williams stopped for further orders. “Just drive up the street ahead of you for about ten blocks,” the man suggested. “One street will do as well as another. I should juuge. We have still an hour to spare before it will be necessary to go —to leave it any place.” He was reluctant even to say “policestation." V. For nearly the full hour they had chugged about the streets radiating from the park, when suddenly the big man saw a former friend—one with whom he had not been on speaking terms for nearly a year—come frantically- along the sidewalk. The former friend was peering from right to left as he strode on, and nothing escaped his eye. Suddenly lie left the sidewalk and came running toward the automobile. He had not seen the man in it nor the chauffeur who drove it. He had, however, seen Tyke. “Stop!” he cried. “That’s my baby!” The automobile stopped very promptly, but the big man in it never moved, except to fold Tyke a little more closely in his arms by way of a reluctant good"Hello. Smith!” he calmly cried. Mr. Smith looked up at the sound of the voice and recognised the big man. "Oh!" hi’ said in amazement, and for an instant the two looked at each other as men do who have cause each to wonder wiiat is in the mind of the other. Both were reluctant to breaT the ensuing embarras-ed silence. The big man, as became him. was the first to give in. He was the "soulless corporation,” practically. "By George! Smith, I don't envy yon your l.i-t hour, or so," he said in the tone of old. “I was fortunate enough to pick up your little one in the park, and having been driving around the neighbouring streets for the past hour, hunting the centre of the fuss that I knew- must exist somewhere. Jump in and I'll rnn you both home.” cry kind of you, Davidaon, I am •ure,” replied Mr. Smith. “I live only tfew blocks froju here, but since the y is asleep 1 shall take advantage of your offer with pleasure.”

Mr. Davidson, considering the comfort of Tyke, made no move to open the door of the tonneau. Mr. Smith opened it himself and clambered in. Mr. Davidson moved over carefully to give him room, but he made no start toward relieving himself of his burden.

The machine turned to a side street at the direction of Mr. Smith, who then turned his attention to Robert Walsingham. The paternal arms had a peculiar ache in them, but be stood it as long as he could—for the apace of possibly two or three blocks —and then he suddenly held out his arms with a gesture so imperative that Mr. Davidson drew a long breath. He was compelled to recognise Mr. Smith’s rights in the case. Slowly, reluctantly, gently, he laid Robert Waisingham. Smith in his father’s embrace.

Another silence of more or less embarrassment ensued. Mr. Davidson looked curiously down at his own left arm which he held, even yet, in the position that it had retained for the past hour or so. He could still seem to feel that warm little body cradled within it. He looked over at Fife baby hungrily, then Jie cleared his throat.

“I say, Smith,” he observed, “I have been thinking about you quite a bit here lately. I have got a splendid berth for a man of your ability, that I think will be better in the long run than the business we—er —induced you to relinquish some time ago. Plenty of room for advancement, old man. And say, we haven’t seen you for many a long day over at our place. Suppose you and Mrs. Smith drop over and call on us —and, by the way, bring that tyke along with you, will you?”