THAT BOY

New Zealand Tablet, 21 April 1910, Page 605

THAT BOY

Though the early winter twilight had fallen and it was almost supper time, Mr. Simpkins did not hurry on the contrary, as he neared Twenty-fifth street, he walked more and more slowly, and when a few hundred yards from home deliberately turned in another direction. The thinlyclad boy who clung confidingly to his hand shivered with cold, but trudged on smiling bravely, for, in spite of his discomfort, ho was happier than he had been for many a day. J There is only one word which describes Mr. Simpkins, but that one word tells the whole story. He was a kind man. Little children smiled into his gentle face when he tried to soothe those first sorrows that are so bitter, and laughed happily when he watched their boisterous play. Men and women looked at him and were cheered and comforted; knew him and loved him, feeling that he loved them. No one noticed the ungainliness of his tall, gaunt figure, nor the shabby disorder of his clothes no one remarked the homeliness of the face that smiled so constantly. «*. The boy who clung to him that bitter winter night grow more and more cold and tired. The wind penetrated his threadbare clothes, and pinched his pale little face and grimy hands until they were purple. An ill-favored dog, a mere bundle of bones, inconceivably dirty from the crown of his'drooping head to the tip of his stubby tail, hung at his heels. Occasionally he barked mournfully as if to protest, however dispiritedly, against the cruelty of the elements. •• For ten or fifteen minutes the man and boy walked on in unbroken silence. Mr. Simpkins seemed to have forgotten Tommy’s existence. ‘You never get tired, do you?’ the child said at last, not in complaint but admiration. Mr. Simpkins, lost in thought, did not hear the timid question. Five minutes later, so cold that he could not control the little quiver that crept into his high, boyish voice, Tommy ventured in a louder tone, * It’s pretty cold, isn’t it, sir ? ’ Mr. Simpkins started, then stopped short. ‘ Why, Tommy, I had forgotten you for the moment! I am so sorry! You see, my boy, I am troubled as to—well, about something. We can get home in no time and you will be as warm as toast in a jiffy.’ Tommy’s face brightened, and even the dog looked less forlorn as they quickly retraced their steps. Soon. they turned into the yard before a plain but substantial house, and Mr. Simpkins fumbled in various pockets in search of his latch key. Before he found it the door was jerked open by a thin little woman with sharp grey eyes and a stern, hard, inflexible line of a mouth. ‘Well, John, what has kept you so—’ Catching sight of Tommy, she interrupted her re-1 proaches to ask severely, indicating the boy with a motion of her hand, ‘ And pray, who’s this ? ’ , Hem— Why, my dear, he is a boy—’ Mr. Simpkins began his explanation in a hesitating and undeniably frightened way. His whole manner was so changed that Tommy looked at him in astonishment. W ‘You need not tell me that he is a boy; I can see that for myself what is he doing here? You know, John, I can’t stand boys! As for the cur— Opening the door’ she thrust the dog out into the cold night, ’

, : Tommy, shrank closer to his friend and tightened his > grip on. his protecting hand. V _ ' 'Mr. Simpkins saw the hurt look on the child’s face, " the plaintive quiver of his lips, and the fears that sprang into his eyes. He hesitated no longer. ‘ This is Tommy O’Keefe, Ann. His parents are dead. . He has no home, no friend except me, so I have brought him here to live,’ and he patted the frowsy head at his elbow with fatherly tenderness; then looking squarely at his angry and astonished wife, he concluded firmly, though quietly, ‘ And Ann, remember that this is my house.’ Mrs. Simpkins’ face flushed ominously, and without a word she turned on her heel and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Mr. Simpkins sank wearily into the nearest chair. He knew what was in store for him and the boy. . - ‘Put your cap on the rack, Tommy,’ he directed; and when the child returned to his side, he added, ‘My boy, you must . not mind if my wife does notwelldoes not seem cordial. It isn’t her way. We all have our little peculiarities, as you will understand when you are older and wiser. But Tommy ’ —and his voice was caressing in its gentleness‘ lam afraid we shall have to let the dog go—though, we’ll miss him, won’t we?’ Tommy made no answer, and Mr. Simpkins, seeing that the shadow did not lift from his face, started briskly. from his chair. ‘ Come, I want to show you the room you will have for your very own,’ he said enticingly. The child kept close to lift heels as they ascended the steep stairs and waited in breathless expectation when Mr. Simpkins paused a moment before he reverently opened the door of what had been his own, his only son’s room. Supper was an uncomfortable meal, the lukewarm, overdone food being eaten in almost absolute silence; and as ■ soon as they left the table Mr. Simpkins sent Tommy to’ bed. When the child was out of hearing lie explained to his wife that he had found Tommy on a street corner crying with cold and hunger and fear, and had taken him to his office to get warm. The boy’s story, as he had learned it piecemeal, was sad enough. He could not remember his mother; his father, who had been kind to him, but too shiftless to make a decent living, had been killed two weeks before. Tommy was penniless, homeless, and in rags, butthese _ afflictions were as nothing compared to his dread of being sent to an orphan asylum. Evidently some one had filled his little head with groundless stories of their hardships and , their sorrows. Mr. Simpkins paused a moment, then added very softly, looking appealingly at his wife’s inflexible face, ‘ I want him to take our Phil’s place to a certain extent. I would like to try to make some boy happy and comfortable and good for his sake. Tommy will go to school, so he will be out of your way the greater part of each day, and perhaps you can make him useful running errands and carrying messages for you.’ He was the personification of meekness as he concluded, apologetically, ‘I know, Ann, that this is another example of my “foolishness” as you call it, but — what else could any one have done ? ’ Mrs. Simpkins did not condescend to answer. She took up the evening paper and for half an hour seemed to be completely absorbed in its lurid contents. Mr. Simpkins made no attempt to read, but sat motionless, watching the fire with a far-away expression in his blue eyes. A small freckled face with a crown of ruddy hair filled his thoughts and plans as he lounged there, and even crept a little way into a great aching void in his heart, left empty when anther boy had said weakly, ‘ Good-bye, dear Daddy. Don’t forget me. I’ll be thinking of you all the time when I’m in heaven.’ At last Mrs. Simpkins folded her paper and laid it on . the table with sounding emphasis. Reluctantly, her husband tore himself from his dreams to go from door to window and window to door to make sure that all were securely fastened. Coming back into the library, he scanned his wife’s face anxiously, trying to read there some sign of relenting. ‘You don’t mind about Tommy, do you, Nan?’ he asked, calling her by her long unused pet name. ‘ Mind? What good would it do me to have an opinion in the matter? I am never consulted about anything in your house, am I? ’ And Mr. Simpkins sighed deeply. - Weeks passed and the man and boy grew to be fast friends. Though the hardships of Tommy’s life had made him thoughtful beyond his eleven years, he was content, and, :in a quiet, quaint way, even merry. What his love and companionship meant to Mr. Simpkins was evident when he drew near home each evening. His step became quicker ? and more elastic, his face brighter and brighter until he fairly irradiated joy when Tommy, spying’ him in the distance, would dash down the street to meet him. Mrs. Simpkins ignored the boy. At first he tried to win her goodwill; he made timid advances and tacit offers of friendship. In tune he learned to avoid her. But if she ignored Tommy, she showered "Attention on , her husband. Her vinegary temper, made more acid by constant neuralgic pain, was still further embittered by the bone of contention between them. She gave him no respite. His home life became the scene of covert, reproaches, of complaints w’th the air of an uncomplaining martyr, of cutting abuse varied by sullen silence. That she could not afford to keep the house comfortably warm nor the table well supplied with a big, hungry, greedy boy to feed

and to send to ; ; the select academy,’ was her excuse for' the discomforts to which she subjected -the little household groaning under her tyrannous rule. We’ll all end our days in the poorhouse,’ was her favorite prediction. One evening she was unusually disagreeable, and at last Mr. Simpkins abruptly hurried from the dining-room leaving his supper almost untouched. Half-an-hour later, in passing through the hall, he discovered,, pinned to the sleeve of his spring overcoat, a tear-stained note in Tommy’s neat, childish writing. It was with trembling hands that he opened the tightly-folded paper, and with tear-dimmed eyes that he deciphered the lines: Dear Uncle (he had taught Tommy to call him so), I do not want you to go to the poorhouse because of me, so lam going away. I am sorry I could not make Aunt Ann like me. Tell her thanks for being good to me when I had the measles. When I am a man and have lots of money I will give it all to you, because I love you,—Tommy.’ ‘Read this,'Ann,’ said Mr. Simpkins, handing the note to his wife, and his voice was so sharp with pain that it frightened her. Somehow she was reminded of another evening, the evening on which-she had told him that tho doctor had lost all hope of saving their little Philip. Probably it was that memory , that made her burst into tears. - ‘We’ll find him, John,’ she said reassuringly, almost gently. - ' Weeks passed, and there was no trace of the missing boy. Mr, Simpkin’ kind face grew kinder but sad and lined. He no longer walked home from the office, but took the car and rode to the corner beyond the house to avoid passing a certain place where the boys of the neighborhood often congregatedfor one of them was missing. His wife became thinner and more silent. She never mentioned Tommy, except to remark, when Mr. Simpkins was even sadder than his wont, ‘ Of course, you blame me for all this trouble about that boy’; but somehow her voice had lost its keen edge, its heartfelt vim. The weeks dragged into a month, then two, and summer was at hand. Mrs. Simpkins’ sewing circle, which met every Tuesday afternoon during the winter, disbanded for the hot monthsr Just a week after the last meeting she was preparing to go down town, feeling a real relief at being free on a Tuesday, when she heard a strange sound at the front door. She listened intently; there was no mistaking the fact that someone was bobbing against it in a most unaccountable way. An instant later part of a large, bulky, soiled envelope appeared beneath it, pushed by an unseen hand. Quickly she advanced a step or two and quietly turned the knob. There was Tommy on his knees trying to thrust a thick letter through the small crack beneath the —Tommy, thinner and paler and much more shabby than when she had last seen him. ‘Why, Tommy I ’ she cried, in her old fault-finding tone, ‘What are you doing? Where have you been?’ Tommy shrank back appalled. ‘Oh I — thought you would be at your sewing to-day.’ It was with a pitiable touch of pride that he went on. ‘You need not be afraid; I am not going to stay—l’ve saved a dollar,’ and his big eyes fairly shone. ‘I want to tell Uncle about it, and I want to give it all to him, because I love him. He will be glad to know that I’m getting on.’ He glanced apprehensively into Mrs. Simpkins’ face but could read nothing there, and as she made no answer, he added pleadingly, ‘ You will give it to him with my—my regards, won’t you?’ ‘ You had better come in,’ she managed to say at last. ‘ Your Uncle will want to see you — Tommy—.’ She stopped short and her face grew very red. - It really seemed to Tommy that there were tears in her steely eyes, but he knew that could not be. He stood on the step ready to go, waiting only until she should finish her sentence. ‘ And,’ she began again, and paused abruptly, then burst out, ‘and I —l want you. Tommy!’ —Catholic Columbian.