Drusilla with a Million Part 27

"Yes; he's cold. Sometimes I look to see him drip like an icicle brought into a warm room, but I guess he's not so bad as he acts sometimes. But who's the little Jew girl?"

"She is that little Jew kid's mother."

"The baby with the black eyes and the big nose? Well, he ain't pretty, but he's clever."

"The girl couldn't make but five dollars a week and she couldn't pay any one to keep the baby, and she had no people, so she gave it to you. But she's a nice little thing, and willing to work and be with her boy."

"That makes four nurses, and perhaps there'll be more answer. Now you figger what I ought to pay 'em. I want to be just, but I ain't goin' to be extravagant. And send them up to-morrow. And, Doctor, I been a thinkin'. These mothers ought to be learnt somethin' so's they can make a livin' when they leave here. They can't live here forever, perhaps. Mis' Fearn was over here the other day and said somethin'

about tryin' to get a good sewin' woman--some one who could make dresses in the house for the children and make over her old ones, and do odds and ends that she can't get the big dressmakers to do. She says she pays three dollars a day but that it's hard to get good ones. Why can't we get some one to teach our mothers to be dressmakers--real good ones--then they can always make a livin'."

"That's an idea, Miss Doane, and a good one. We'll think it over."

"Well, you figger it out; but we got enough to think about jest now.

We've got a good start--twelve babies and four mothers. I think I'll stop with that. Twelve is a good number."

Just then James came to the door with a disgusted look on his face.

He glanced from one to the other in perplexity. Drusilla looked up.

"What is it, James?"

James was plainly embarra.s.sed.

"I'd--I'd--like to speak to Dr. Eaton. I think I'd better speak to him first."

"What do you want to say to him you can't say to me? Has some one sent for him?"

"No--no--"

"Well, is it private? What you so nervous about, James? You look foolish."

"Well--well--"

"Say it! What is it?"

"Well, ma'am--there's another baby come."

"_What!"_ cried Drusilla, sitting erect in her chair.

"What!" exclaimed Dr. Eaton. "Where's the watchman?"

"I don't know, sir. The baby was found at the laundry door, and no one was in sight, though we all searched the grounds and the roads."

"Well, I swan! I thought we'd stopped. What'll we do with it?"

James said impressively: "We'd better send this one to the police station."

"James," said Drusilla severely, "I've told you I won't send a baby to the police station. Bring it up and let me see it!"

"But, ma'am, this is different--"

Drusilla sniffed.

"It can't be much different. A baby is a baby--"

"But, ma'am--Dr. Eaton--I--"

"James, I said bring it up. Now bring it up at once, I say!"

James turned desperately and left the room. Soon he returned with a clothes-basket and put it on the library table. Drusilla, Dr. Eaton and John rose and went to the table and looked down in silence at the basket's contents, with consternation plainly written on their faces.

There was a moment's silence, then Dr. Eaton burst into a roar of laughter. He put back his head and laughed until the tears ran down his face, and soon he was joined by John; but Drusilla was too amazed to laugh. She looked down at the baby in the big clothes-basket, at the round, black, wondering eyes that stared up at her from the coal-black face of a negro baby. There it lay, the little woolly head on a clean white pillow, a white blanket covering its little body. The baby looked at the laughing faces above it, as if wondering why the sight of him should cause such merriment; then, as if seeing the joke, opened his little mouth, showing the tip of a red tongue and dazzling baby teeth. It was too much for Drusilla. She sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

"Well, I swan--I _swan!_ A n.i.g.g.e.r baby!"

Drusilla went again to the basket, from which the squirming infant was evidently trying to get out. She looked at him for a moment and then turned to Dr. Eaton.

"Take him out. I ain't never seen a colored baby close."

The baby was found to be a boy about a year and a half old. He was not at all frightened, and stood up on his st.u.r.dy legs and tried to make friends in his baby fas.h.i.+on, showing his white teeth and rolling his round black eyes in a way that started Dr. Eaton and John off into another paroxysm of laughter.

Drusilla looked at the baby; then at the two men. Then, as she did not know what to do, she became exasperated.

"What's the matter with you two? Ain't you never seen a n.i.g.g.e.r baby before? What you laughing at?"

The baby was trying to toddle across the floor. His toes struck a rug and he fell, showing above his white socks a pair of little fat legs that seemed to be made in ebony, so clearly were they in contrast to his white clothing. Even Drusilla sat back and joined the men in their merriment. The baby looked at them solemnly; then put his chubby fist into his mouth and his face puckered up and great tears came to his eyes. Drusilla was all kindness in an instant.

"You poor little mite! They shan't laugh at you--no, they shan't!

Come right here to Grandma--No, I can't be Grandma to a colored baby, can I? Well, never mind, come here to me."

She held out her arms to the weeping baby, and he came toddling to her. She lifted him to her lap and cuddled him down against her breast.

"There, there!" she soothed. "Now you're all right. Well," turning to the men, "he feels just like any other baby, black or white."

Dr. Eaton looked at the white head bent over the black one and again he started to laugh, but Drusilla looked up with a slight flush on her face and a sparkle in her eyes that plainly said that she had had enough of laughter, and he stopped.

"What are you going to do with this one? _Now_ we'd better send for Mr. Thornton."

Drusilla looked at him severely.

"Don't you be a fool, Dr. Eaton. I don't want Mr. Thornton to know nothin' about this one. I'd never hear the last of it."

"Well, then you'd better let me take him to the police station."

"Yes--" hesitatingly; "I suppose so. But--" and she looked down at the baby who was contentedly playing with the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on her dress--

"I jest hate to send a baby there."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Dr. Eaton. "There's a big colored orphan asylum out on the Elpham Road. Let's telephone up there, and I'll take it over myself."