Ester Ried Yet Speaking Part 7

This was the truth, but not the whole truth. Instinct kept this veritable lady, in the truest sense of the word, from explaining that she knew nothing about the abject poor, when she was speaking to one of their number. Just at this moment occurred a diversion; they had been making swift progress through the alley, d.i.c.k's long strides requiring effort on his companion's part to keep by his side, but just ahead the way was obstructed.

CHAPTER VII.

"WHAT A LITTLE SCHEMER IT IS."

A riot! Not among men, which is sufficiently terrifying; nor yet among women, which is worse; but that most awful of all sights and sounds of sin,--a riot among the children. Swearing, spitting at one another, tearing one another's hair, scratching like tigers, growling like wild beasts, throwing garbage at one another! This was the sort of crowd upon which Mrs. Roberts, in her black silk walking-suit, with her velvet hat and seal furs, presently came. She grasped at d.i.c.k's arm in horror, but a feeling that was more than terror was taking her strength away.

"Oh!" she said, and the agony in her voice really suggested more than terror to the young fellow beside her. "And they are little children!

They cannot be more than seven or eight! Oh, what can I do?"

"You needn't be scared, mum!" There was a little hint of something like pity in d.i.c.k's voice. She clung to him so that he could not help feeling himself her protector. "It ain't an uncommon row at all; they mostly act like this; most likely one of 'em's found a bone and t' other one wants it, and then they're gone in for a row, and all the young ones crowd around and fight, on one side or t' other."

Did this fearful explanation make the situation less terrible?

There was a lull, however, in the quarrel. The elegantly-dressed lady was seen approaching,--an unusual sight in that alley,--and both parties paused to get a view. Paused in their attentions to each other, that is; but at Mrs. Roberts they hooted and jeered, and one threw a handful of mud.

Then did Nimble d.i.c.k rise to his position as protector.

"Shut up, there! Stand aside, Pluck, and let us pa.s.s! Look out there, you Smirchy! Don't you throw that over here unless you want your head broke for you when I get back!"

This threat was thrown at a wretched little girl, who had dived her hand deeply into a box or cask of garbage, and brought it forth reeking with rotten apples, pork fat, and any liquid horror which the name suggests to you. She had her hand uplifted ready to throw, and was evidently intending to give the strange lady the benefit of what she had prepared for one of the rioters.

The a.s.sured tone in which Nimble d.i.c.k spoke had its effect; the combatants were all small, and he was large, and was evidently recognized as a power. There were some defiant glances thrown at him, but the motley crowd gave way, and allowed him to pa.s.s uninjured. Still he kept an alert watch of them until quite out of reach, and was not sparing of his admonitions.

"Hold on there, Bill,--I see that! Look out, Sally! You'll be sorry if you throw anything,--mind you that!"

And at last they were through the crowd. Not out of danger, it seemed; for there, directly in their narrow path, was a drunken man, swaying from side to side in the way which is so terrible to one unused to such sights. d.i.c.k felt the hold on his arm tighten, and was astonished at the sound of his own voice as he said, soothingly:--

"You needn't be scared at him, mum; that's only old Jock; he's as ugly as old Nick himself, but he knows better than to be very ugly to me. I can throw him in the gutter as easy as I could them young ones, and he knows it. That's Dirk's father, that is! Ain't he a beauty?"

And again Mrs. Roberts uttered an exclamation of dismay, and part of her terror went out in sorrow over the wrongs of a boy who had such a home and such a father. What ought to be expected of him?

That interminable alley was conquered at last, and they emerged into respectability on the broad avenue. Mrs. Roberts released her hold of her protector's arm, and his new character vanished on the instant.

"You're here, mum," he said, with a saucy twinkle in his eye and a saucy leer on his face. "Can you get yourself home from this spot, or shall I borrow a wheelbarrow and tote you there?"

Much shaken with various emotions though she was, Mrs. Roberts forced herself to laugh. She would not frown on his fun when it was not positively sinful; he might not be aware that it was disrespectful; he might never have heard the word.

"I know the way now, thank you; at least I think I do. Can you tell me whether I take a green car or a yellow one to get to East Fifty-fifth Street?"

"You take a green one," he said, quietly, his character of protector having returned to him with the question, which still showed her dependence on him.

"Thank you," she said again, with great heartiness. "I shall never forget your care of me." Her hand was in her pocket, and a bright coin was between her fingers. She longed to give it to Nimble d.i.c.k; he had saved her from so much this morning. And he was so miserably clad, surely he needed help. A moment's reflection, and she resolutely withdrew her hand. He should be paid by a simple hearty, "Thank you!"

this morning, for kindness rendered. He might not consider it a current coin, but possibly it would be his first lesson in the courtesies of life.

Later in the day, when Mrs. Roberts was somewhat rested from her morning's campaign, young Ried received a little note:--

Dear Mr. Ried,--I know the names of all the boys, and inclose you a list. It is possible that you may fall in with some one during the day who can impart knowledge concerning them. Anyway, I thought you would like to know their names. Keep me posted, please, as to your success in making their acquaintance. We are allies, remember.

Yours for the Master,

Mrs. E.L. Roberts.

Alfred Ried twisted the delicate note-paper thoughtfully in his hand, a look of perplexity on his face. He felt committed for labor; glad was he, very, yet perplexed. He did not in the least know where to commence.

Well, neither had this little lady; yet she had accomplished more in her one day's acquaintance than he after a lapse of weeks. Either she had found opportunities, or had made them. There must be chances; he would be sure to keep his eyes open after this.

In the handsome house on East Fifty-fifth Street, where Mr. Roberts had settled his bride, after a somewhat extended business tour, involving months of absence, matters were in train for a cosy evening in the library. That was the name of the beautiful room where the husband and wife sat down together; but it was quite unlike the conventional library. Books there were in lavish abundance, but there were also pictures and flowers and a singing-bird or two, and an utter absence of that severe attention to business details which characterizes most rooms so named. Little prettinesses, which Mr. Roberts smilingly admitted did not belong to a library, were yet established there, with an air of having come to stay. "We will call it the library for convenience,"

the master of the house said, "and then we will put into it whatever we please. It shall be a conservatory, and a sewing-room and a lounging-room and anything else that you and I choose to make it."

And Mrs. Roberts gleefully a.s.sented, and gave free rein to her pretty tastes. Flossy s.h.i.+pley had been wont to be much trammelled with the ways in which "they" did everything; but Mrs. Evan Roberts was learning that, in unimportant matters at least, they had a right to be a law unto themselves. Perhaps it helped her, to be aware that a large cla.s.s of people were all ready to quote "Mrs. Evan Roberts" as authority on almost any point of taste.

On the evening in question Mr. Roberts, in dressing-gown and slippers, had drawn his lounging-chair to the drop-light, preparatory to a half-hour of reading aloud. But it transpired that there was something preparatory to that, or at least that must take the precedence. Certain business telegrams followed him home, which required the writing of two or three business letters.

"It will not take me long," he explained to his wife, "and they are not complicated affairs, so I give you leave to talk right on while I dispatch them." She laughed at this hint about her fondness for talk, but presently made use of the privilege.

"Evan, what sort of a young man do you consider Mr. Ried?"

"Ried? Who? Oh, my clerk? The very best sort; a most estimable fellow,--one of a thousand. By the way, did you tell him how you became interested in that sister of his?"

"Not yet; I want to get better acquainted. But, Evan, do you know where he boards?"

"Hardly; on Third Avenue somewhere, I believe; or possibly Second. The store register would show. Do you want his address!"

"Oh, I know _where_ it is; but I mean what sort of a place is it?"

Mr. Roberts slightly elevated his shapely shoulders.

"It is a boarding-house, where many clerks board; that tells a doleful story to the initiated, I suspect. Poor fare and dismal surroundings; still, it is eminently respectable."

"Where does he spend his Sabbaths?"

The rapidly-moving pen executed nearly two lines of handsome writing before Mr. Roberts was ready to respond to this question.

"Why, at church, princ.i.p.ally, I fancy. He is very regular in his attendance at morning service, and the South End Mission absorbs his afternoons. I suppose he goes to church in the evening; but since we have been giving our attention to that evening mission I have not seen him."

"Ah, but, Evan, I mean the rest of the time; those little bits of Sabbath time that are sacred to home. The twilight, for instance, or for an hour in the morning. Do you know what sort of a place he has for those times?"

Nearly three more lines added to the paper; then Mr. Roberts raised his head:--

"No, my dear, I don't. Now that you bring me face to face with the question, it seems a surprising thing to say that I should not know where a young man who has been for more than a year in our employ spends his choice bits of time, but I don't."

"Then I want to tell you something about it. He has a dingy, fourth-story back room; small, I fancy, from the way in which he spoke of it, and not a speck of fire over! In such weather as this, how can a young man read his Bible, or even pray, under such circ.u.mstances?"

Mr. Roberts laid down his pen and sat erect, regarding his wife with a thoughtful, far-away air.