The Rich Little Poor Boy Part 39

One-Eye came to stand over the chair. "Now, don't y' give the boy one of them dis-gustin', round, mush-bowl hair cuts!" he warned, addressing the small, dark man. "Nope. He wants the reg'lar old-fas.h.i.+oned kind, with a feather edge right down t' the neck."

When one travels about under the wing of a millionaire, all things happen right. This was Johnnie's pleased conclusion as, with a snip, snip, snip, the bright scissors did their quick work over his yellow head. He had a large white cloth pinned about his shoulders (no doubt the barber had noted the uniform, and was giving it fitting protection), and upon that cloth fell the severed bits of hair, flecking it with gold. In what One-Eye described afterward as "jig-time," the last snip was made. Then Johnnie had his neck dusted with a soft brush, the white cloth was removed, and he stood up, shorn and proud.

Outside, several boys were hanging against the window, peering in. As Johnnie settled his hat he recalled something Father Pat had once said about the desirability of putting one's self in another person's place.

Johnnie did that, and realized what a fortunate boy he was--with his wonderful friend at his side, his uniform on his back, and "a dandy hair cut." So as he went out in One-Eye's wake, "Hullo!" he called to the boys in the most cordial way.

"And I reckon we look some punkins?" the cowboy observed when they were back in the flat once more.

"Shure," replied Father Pat, "and what's more civilizin' than a barber shop!"

And now the question was, how could Cis view Johnnie in all his military magnificence without putting that new uniform in danger? One-Eye had the answer: he would be down in the area when Big Tom arrived from work, "And off we'll go for see-gars," he plotted, "so the field'll be clear."

However, as he waited for Cis, Johnnie could not bring himself to take too many chances with One-Eye's superb gift, and hid it, though he felt hot enough, beneath Barber's big clothes (and how fortunate it was that the longsh.o.r.eman's cast-offs were voluminous enough to go over everything). Thus doubly clad, he looked exceedingly plump and padded.

That was not the worst of it. The sleeves of the new coat showed. But all he had to do was draw up over them that pair of Cis's stockings which had kept his thin arms warm during the past winter. Of course his leggings and the shoes also showed, so he took these off. Then perspiring, but happy, he watched his two friends go, giving them a farewell salute.

Cis came in promptly. "Oh, all day I've hardly been able to wait!" she declared. Then with upraised hands, "Oh, Johnnie, how _beautiful_ you are! Oh, you're like a picture! Like a picture I once saw of a boy who sang in a church! Oh, Johnnie, you're the best-looking scout in all New York! Yes, you are! And I'm going to kiss you!"

He let her, salving his slight annoyance thereat with the thought that no one could see. "But don't say anythin' t' the Father 'r One-Eye about me bein' beautiful," he pleaded. "Will y'? Huh?"

She promised she would not. "Oh, Johnnie," she cried again, having taken a second view of him from still another angle, and in another light, "that khaki's almost the color of your hair!"--which partly took the joy out of things!

Yet, under the circ.u.mstances, no pang of any sort could endure very long. Particularly as--following the proper signal--Johnnie went to Mrs.

Kukor's, Cis at his brown heels. Arrived, he saluted an astonished lady who did not at first recognize him; then he took off the new hat to her.

She was quite stunned (naturally), and could only sink into a rocker, hands waving, round head wagging. But next, a very torrent of exclamations, all in Yiddish. After that, "Soch stylis.h.!.+" she gasped rapturously. "Pos-i-tivvle!"

Back in the flat again, Johnnie took off the uniform. That called for will power; but he dared not longer risk his prized possession. Late that night, when Big Tom had eaten to repletion of the watermelon, and smoked himself to sleep on one of One-Eye's cigars, Johnnie reached in around the jamb of Cis's door and cautiously drew that big suit box to him. In the morning it would have to join the books upstairs. However, for a happy, dark hour or two he could enjoy the outfit. How crisp and clean and strong it felt! Blus.h.i.+ng at his own foolishness, he lifted the cowboy's gift to his lips and kissed it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

ANOTHER STORY

THE first Sunday in September was a day that Johnnie was never to forget. Big Tom, Grandpa, Cis, and he--all were gathered about the kitchen table for the noon meal when Father Pat and One-Eye came in, the Father without his usual cheery greeting, though there was nothing downcast in his look or manner. On the contrary, something of pride was in his step, slow as that step was, and also in his glance, which instantly sought out Johnnie. The face of the cowboy, however, was stern, and that single eye, greener than either--or both--of the Father's, was iron-hard and coldly averted.

As the hall door shut at their backs, the priest raised his right hand in a gesture which was partly a salutation, partly a blessing. "Barber,"

he began solemnly (the longsh.o.r.eman, having given the visitors a swift and surly look, had gone on busily with his eating), "we've come this mornin' about the Blake matter."

Startled, Big Tom threw down his knife and rose, instantly on the defensive; and Johnnie and Cis, watching, understood at once that "the Blake matter" was one known to the longsh.o.r.eman, not welcomed by him, though most important. "Oh, y' seen that guy, Davis, eh?" he demanded.

"Not one hour ago," answered the priest, quietly.

"Tuh!"--it was an angry sneer. "And I s'pose he whined 'bout me takin'

the kid?--though he could do nothin' for Johnnie. Sophie was dead, and the kid was too little t' be left alone."

"Ye took the lad the day Albert Davis was half crazed over his wife,"

charged the Father; "--hurried him off without a word or a line! A bad trick altogether! Oh, Davis guessed ye had the boy--the wee Johnnie he loved like a father. But he had small time t' hunt, what with his work.

And at last he had t' give up."

All that told Johnnie a great deal. He shot a look at Cis. Barber had taunted him often with his Uncle Albert's indifference--with the fact that not even a post card had ever come from the rich man's garage to the lonely little boy in the area building. But how _could_ Uncle Albert send a post card to some one if he did not know that some one's address?

Barber kicked the morris chair out of his way. "That's the thanks I git for supportin' a youngster who ain't no kin t' me!" he stormed.

Father Pat drew himself up. The red stubble on his bare head seemed stiff with righteous wrath. "Then I'll ask ye why ye kidnapped the lad?"

he cried. "No kin t' ye, eh? And ye knew it, didn't ye? Then! So why didn't ye leave the boy with Davis?--Because ye wanted his work!"

"Work!" repeated Barber, and broke into a shrill laugh. "Why, he wasn't worth his feed! I took him jus' t' be decent!"

"Barber," returned the Father, firmly, "the tellin' o' a lie against annybody is always a bad thing. But there's another kind o' lie that's even worse, and that's lying t' _yerself_--that ye was thinkin' o' _his_ good when ye rushed him away, and not o' yer own pocket!" Then, nodding wisely as he took the chair Big Tom booted aside, "_If_ ye wanted t' be so decent, why didn't ye take the lad when his father and mother died?

Ha-a-a! He was too tiny t' be useful then, wasn't he? So ye let Sophie Davis bring him up; ye let his uncle support him."

"Oh, all right," rejoined the longsh.o.r.eman, resentfully. "I guess when y've made up your mind about a man, there ain't no use talkin' t' y', is there?"

"No use, Mr. Barber," answered the other. "And this very mornin', while I've still got the breath and the strength t' do it, I mean t' tell the lad the truth!"

"I been intendin' t' tell him myself," a.s.serted Barber. "But up t' now, it wasn't no story t' be tellin' a little kid--leastways, not a kid that's got a loony way o' seein' things, and worryin' over 'em. And I warn y'! Y're likely as not t' make him sick!"

The priest chuckled. "Y' ought t' know about that," he agreed. "Seein'

that ye've made him sick yerself, often enough."

At that, with a backward tip of his head, so that the wide hat fell off, and with the strangest, rasping, strangling sound in his skinny throat (his great, hairy Adam's-apple leaping, now high, now low), One-Eye began to laugh, at the same time beginning a series of arm-wavings, slapping first one thigh and then the other. "Har! har! har!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed hoa.r.s.ely.

With a muttered curse, Big Tom walked to the door. "Go ahead!" he cried.

"But _I_ don't set 'round and listen t' the stuff!" Black, fuming, he slammed his way out.

One-Eye pointed out the kitchen chair to Cis; and when she was seated, got the wood box and set it on its side. "Come and roost along with me,"

he bade Johnnie, the single eye under the wet-combed, tawny bang smiling almost tenderly at the boy.

When they were all comfortably settled, "Our good friend here got most o' the information," informed Father Pat. "So, One-Eye, wouldn't ye like t'----"

"Oh, not me! Not me!" the Westerner answered quickly. "I ain't no hand for tellin' nothin'! No, Father! Please! I pa.s.s!"

"Johnnie," began the priest, "it's likely ye've guessed, after hearin'

all I said t' Mr. Barber, that ye was (what I'll be bold enough t' call) stolen from yer Uncle, who wasn't ever able t' locate ye again."

"Yes, sir,"--with a pleased smile. His Uncle Albert was not more than an hour away. That was the best of news!

"And ye noted me use the name o' Blake," continued the other. "Well, it happens t' be yer own name."

"Blake!" Cis was amazed.

"Y' mean--y' mean my name ain't Smith," faltered Johnnie, who had, for a moment, been too stunned by the news to speak.

"Smith was the first name Mr. Barber could think up," explained Father Pat, "when he made up his mind t' take ye, Mr. Davis bein' gone t' the hospital."

One-Eye burst out. "Never liked the name!" he declared. "Knowed a feller oncet--Jim Smith--a snake! a bald-haided buzzard! a pole-cat!"