CHAPTER III

THE ROBBERY ON THE TOP FLOOR

AFTER his mother had returned to the factory, and his brother to school, Doodles found himself somewhat weary from the small excitement, and shortly he fell asleep.

The kitchen was very still. Stairway and hall were empty; the occupants of the top floor worked outside, and would not be home until six o’clock. Only dull sounds came from the stories below. Even Caruso drowsed on his perch. Moments, hours, were ticked off by the little brown clock on the shelf; yet Doodles did not awake.

At last somebody crept stealthily up the steep stairs. A girl in a lace─collared coat peered round the comer of the doorway, and as she saw the sleeping boy her beady eyes gleamed with triumph. Noiselessly she crossed the room, and reached out a hand to snatch the bird cage; but her quick movement roused the little prisoner, and he began to flutter wildly. For an instant the girl hesitated, glancing at Doodles, and the lad came to himself with a sharp cry.

Quickly realizing that his pet was in danger, he grasped the cage as she seized it, clinging to it manfully; but with brutal force she wrested his frail fingers from their hold, and put herself and her booty beyond his reach.

“I’ll learn ye!” she snarled. “It’s my bird—’t ain’t yours! There’s yer old money!” She flung a quarter on the table. It rolled away, and off to the floor; but she did not stop to pick it up. ‘Blue Stick’ knew I was only in fun when I let him take it, and he’d oughter brought it right back; everybody says so. Ye kin tell him he needn’t sneak round tryin’ ter git th’ bird again, fer he _can’t have it_!”

She was disappearing in the doorway before the dazed boy burst into speech.

“Come back! come back!” he shrieked. “It’s mine! Bring it back! oh, bring it back!”

But his only answer was a little flouting laugh and the mad whir of wings against the wires.

“Oh, Birdie! Birdie!” piteously called the child, the familiar name coming to his lips in place of the new one, and as the fleeing footsteps on the stairs were lost he dropped back among his pillows with a great sob. “Dear Birdie!” he moaned, “my precious Birdie!”

In that moment despair seized his soul. If only he could have pursued to save his pet! But, ah! his feet had forgotten how to walk, and all at once realizing his utter helplessness he put his hands to his face and shed the first bitter tears of his joyous life.

Then, with a suddenness that caught away his breath, came the pain,—the ugly pain which for weeks had held itself so far off that he had almost forgotten how cruel it could be, and now he groaned with the torture of it.

So his brother found him, white and sobbing.

“What’s up, kiddie?” Blue knelt beside him, and took the cold little hands in his own. “Tell me, old feller! Is’t the big pain?”

The child nodded. For a moment he could do no more. Anguish held the words back.

“Birdie’s—gone!” he finally sobbed out.

“Gone?” Blue stared around. “Where is he?”

“She took him!—the girl!”

“The girl? That Dolly—”

“No, no!—a little—girl!—She left some money—there!” He pointed feebly in the direction of the coin.

A fierce light flamed in Blue’s puzzled face. “Did she have on a big lace collar?”

“Yes.”

“Marne Sweeney!—confounded little cuss!”

Doodles gazed at him with horrified eyes.

“Don’t care!—she is!—makin’ you feel like this! Tell me about it, kiddie! Or no, I’ll get some medicine first.”

Blue was accustomed to these sudden attacks, and brought a glass of the remedy which was always at hand. Bit by bit he gained the story, and he was swift at a decision.

“I’ll go straight down there, and get the bird!”

“She won’t let you have it!” wailed Doodles. “She said so!”

“Just a bluff, old feller! S’pose I’m goin’ to let Marne Sweeney down me? Not much!”

“If I’d only been—been like you!” mourned the child. “And Caruso won’t know why I didn’t jump up and run after him! I guess his heart is ’most broke, thinkin’ I don’t care.”

“No, ’t ain’t,” declared Blue. “Anyway you can tell him all about it when he comes—”

Doodles was gasping in another agonizing spasm, and the elder boy sprang to his side with words of courage and cheer.

Presently the pain passed, and the brave little sufferer again smiled.

“That one was pretty hard,” he said weakly, as his brother brought a second dose of the soothing medicine.

“Guess this’ll squelch it. Don’t b’lieve it’ll come again.” Blue set down the empty glass, and looked at the clock. In ten minutes the evening papers would be due; he ought to go after the bird at once; but how could he leave Doodles? He thought fast.

“Should you mind my going now, kiddie, if Granny will come up and stay with you? I’ve got to deliver my papers, you know, and I want to make sure of Caruso first.”

“You’ll bring him home?”

“Sure!”

“All right! I don’t mind being alone—much. I’d rather you’d go get Caruso. I feel better. Granny needn’t come.”

“Guess I’ll ask her,” Blue insisted, and bade his brother a cheery good─bye. Yet as he ran down the stairs his face darkened and he shut his lips tight. He was thinking of his errand round the corner.

“Ye don’t say!” exclaimed the old Irishwoman, when the boy told her briefly of the robbery and Doodles’s consequent illness. “Seem’s if I’d ’a’ heerd her—bold little sarpint!—go’n’ right by me dure with that a─angil bur─rd! Iv coorse, I’ll sthay with th’ blissid child!”

Dear Granny O’Donnell! From Christmas Day to Christmas Day she was at her neighbors’ disposal with her capable hands, her quick brain, and her rheumatic old legs. Whether it was mumps or pneumonia, an ailing kitten or a new baby, a drunken husband or a dying child,—whatever the need, Granny was always ready. Even now, before Blue was well out on the street she was limping up the stairs to Doodles.

Just below The Flatiron stood Joseph Sitnitsky.

“Hello!” hailed Blue. “You’re the man I want.”

Joseph smiled good─naturedly.

“Say,” Blue went on, in a confidential tone, “I’ve got some business on hand that can’t wait, and it’s ’most time for the paper to be out. Would yer mind runnin’ down to the Courant office an’ gittin’ mine? I’ll give yer the money,” drawing a small handful from his pocket.

“I will go,” agreed Joseph solemnly. “Will I to bring them here?”

“Oh, no!” cried Blue. “Just leave ’em at the office, and say I’ll call for ’em. I’ll be no end obliged.”

“A’ right,” assented the other, and trotted away.

You could always trust Joseph, and Blue at once centered his thoughts on the disagreeable duty at hand. What if they should see him coming and shouldn’t let him in? What if Mame’s big brother were at home! What if—but, pshaw! there was no need of what─if─ing in this way. It was going to be an easy job; all he had to do was to walk in quietly, grab the bird, and run. Once he had the cage in his hands there’d be nothing to fear,—no Sweeney could beat him in a race. And if there should be any real opposition, wasn’t he in good fighting order? Didn’t he whip a fellow of fifteen this very morning for teasing a little clubfooted boy! Recollecting that pleasant affair made him feel equal to any possible contest with Sweeneys big or little.

Up in the hallway of the new brick block he looked around questioningly. Then he risked the first bell at his right. A small girl opened the door.

“Does Mame Sweeney live here?” he asked in a soft tone.

The child pointed directly across the hall, and, thanking her, Blue walked over and pushed the button indicated.

Mame herself answered the summons; but with her first glimpse of the caller she attempted to shut the door. Blue, however, was ready, and throwing himself against it pushed into the room.

The girl, glowering, darted to the opposite side of the apartment.

“That’s yer manners, is it?” she jeered. “Yer needn’t think ye’re goin’ ter git that bird ag’in!”

“No, indade!” broke in Mrs. Sweeney. “If ye hain’t th’ cheek! Kapin’ Mame’s bur─rd all this time, an’ thin comin’ afther it! Out with ye! We don’t want ye round!”

The boy threw back his head defiantly, and pulled a quarter from his pocket.

“That’s your money,” he cried, laying it on the table; “but the bird’s mine! I bought it fair’ n’ square! Mame was mighty glad to git it off her hands then, an’ now just because you’ve heard that it sings yer want it back—”

“Want it?” sneered Mrs. Sweeney. “Yis, we want it an’ we’ve got it, an’ whin ye see it ag’in, jist pass me th’ wurrud! Now l’ave, will ye!”

“I can have you arrested!” dared Blue, growing furious. “I will, too, if yer don’t bring out that bird! You stole it! I’ll have you arrested sure as—”

“Arristid, is it? That’s a good wan! Arristid!” She laughed shrilly.

The boy’s face darkened with passion. If she had been a man he would have sprung like a tiger—but a woman! He clinched his fists fiercely and held himself straight.

“Well, arre ye go’n’, ye little—”

“No, not without my bird!” blazed the boy.

A sinister light flashed in the woman’s eyes.

“Mame dear,” she bade in oily tones, “fitch th’ bur─rd! fitch th’ bur’rd!”

The girl stared at her mother an instant, and then started towards a closed door.

Blue turned, and his gaze followed her eagerly.

In a moment it was over. The boy never knew just how it was done. But he had been caught in the back, and, his arms close pinioned, had been lifted and hurled into the hallway. As he sprang to his feet the lock clicked in the door, and there was coarse laughter. Realizing the trick, he set his teeth in helpless fury.

“I’ll make you pay for this!” he shouted. Then he shot down the stairs to the street.

On the sidewalk, passing the entrance, marched a big policeman. Blue’s face lighted in glad recognition.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick!” he called, “oh, Mr. Fitzpatrick!”

The tall man turned, and smiled cordially.

“Hello, Blue! What’s up?” For the boy’s face showed unusual excitement.

The story was jerkily told, but Thomas Fitzpatrick, with the aid of an occasional quiet question, soon had possession of the principal facts.

“Will yer go right up an’ arrest ’em?” The voice was eager.

They were walking slowly in the direction of the City Hall, and the officer glanced up at the clock in the tower.

“Can’t leave my beat now,” he answered. “I shall be off duty in half an hour; then we’ll attend to the case.”

“An’ you’ll arrest ’em, won’t yer?” Blue insisted.

A little smile flickered on Thomas Fitzpatrick’s broad face. “Don’t think ’t will be necessary,” he said in confident tone. “We’ll git the bird.”

“But they won’t let yer have it!” the boy hastened to assure him.

“You wait an’ see!” laughed the officer. “You wait an’ see! How’s the kid comin’ on?”

“This has done him all up. I found him in one of his dreadful turns when I came home from school. He thinks that bird is it, for sure!”

The big man grew grave. “A shame!” he muttered, with a slow shake of his head. “Poor little kid! But we’ll have him smilin’ again before long. You tell him Tom Fitzpatrick will git his bird for him, an’ not to worry another mite. I’ll meet you here in half an hour, and we’ll fix ’em!”

Blue bounded away to the top floor of The Flatiron, and found Doodles deep in Granny’s story of her girlhood days in one of old Ireland’s famous castles. Nothing short of Caruso himself could have brought the small boy so much joy as the message of his adored Thomas Fitzpatrick; for ever since the afternoon of The Flatiron fire, when Doodles was alone on the fourth floor and the gallant young Irishman—then a fireman—had bounded up the burning stairs through the thick smoke and had carried the helpless child down to fresh air and safety, the name of Fitzpatrick had been an honored one in the Stickney family.

Blue’s paper route was raced over. Although he was late in starting, the last house was reached on time. He was in front of the Tobin Block a whole minute ahead of Fitzpatrick.

The two mounted the stairs in silence. Mrs. Sweeney herself answered the ring. The door was opened a mere crack, and her head appeared beyond it.

“What ye want?” she asked in a surly voice.

The officer touched his cap. “I wish to see Mrs. Sweeney.”

“That’s me name. What ye want?”

“Perhaps we can talk better inside,” he suggested; but the crack was not widened, and with a little tolerant smile he went on. “I have come to get a bird that belongs to this young gentleman’s brother,” with a sidelong nod towards Blue. “I—”

“It’s our bur─rd!” she snapped. “’Tain’t theirs! He t’ased Mame out iv it be pertindin’ ’t warn’t no good, an’ so she—a little gur─rl—lit him take it. Look ut th’ cheek iv him, whin it’s not his ut all, kapin’ it an’ kapin’ it, till Mame had ter go an’ fitch it home!”

“Madam,” said the officer quietly, “there’s no use putt’n’ up a bluff. I understand the case from beginnin’ to end. Blue Stickney bought the bird of your girl, it was a right up and down sale, and she has no claim on it. If you’ll hand it over at once, you’ll save yourself trouble.”

“I guess not much!” she bristled,—“our own bur─rd! He’s lied to ye!”

“Mrs. Sweeney,”—a heavy hand was laid on the door,—“I’ve no time to waste in talk. I will thank you to bring me that bird, or I shall be obliged to take unpleasant measures.”

The woman hesitated, muttering. “I guess I may’s well lit ye have it,” she at last wavered aloud, “though it’s ours, sure! Homely ol’ thing!” she went on scornfully. “Mame was a fool fer buyin’ it!” She still stood there, behind the crack, sullen, unwilling to yield.

Thomas Fitzpatrick was patient, but his supper hour was going. “I suppose you know the penalty for resisting an officer of the law,” he finally insinuated.

She darted away, and the man swung the door wide, stepping to the sill. His big form nearly filled the open space, and Blue shifted about for a view of the apartment beyond.

When the cage was actually in the boy’s hand his heart bounded with joy. His faith in Tom Fitzpatrick had been all but overbalanced by Mrs. Sweeney’s determination to keep the bird, and he had doubted ever seeing Caruso again.

Her duty performed, the woman grew bold. “Ye kin take it,” she patronized, “if ’t will pacify ye; but Sweeney’ll prob’ly bring suit. He ain’t wan ter stan’ no humbuggin’, Sweeney ain’t!”

“You can, of course, do as you choose,” replied the officer; “but I should advise you to drop the matter. You see, the law’s all on our side; there ain’t enough your side o’ the fence for you to git a big toe on, let alone a whole foot. Good─day, ma’am!”

Down on the sidewalk Fitzpatrick cast a look into the cage. Caruso, huddled up on his lowest perch, was a forlorn bunch of feathers.

“What kind of bird is it?”

“Do’ know what he is; nobody seems to know.”

“Looks some like a mockin’─bird.”

“That’s what Dolly Rose said,” agreed Blue.

“What ails his wing?—broke?”

“I do’ know. It’s always been bad; but it hangs down worse ’n ever.” The boy scowled anxiously at it, thinking of Doodles.

“You ought to have it fixed,” counseled the big man, “and I know who can do it for you—that’s Sandy Gillespie. If ther’ ’s anything ’bout birds ’at he don’t know, ’t ain’t worth knowin’. Why, he’s got a house full of em—all kinds! He had more ’n fifty, one time. He could tell you, quick as wink, what this one is. I’d take it up there, if I was you. He lives ’way out on the Temple Hill Road. Know where the old Hayward place is?”

Blue nodded.

“Well, he lives just a little piece beyond there, a big, old─fashioned house, with a piazza on the side.”

“How much’ll he charge?” ventured the boy.

“Oh, that’ll be all right! You just tell him Tom Fitzpatrick sent you. I declare, wish I could go with you! Sandy Gillespie is a mighty nice man—good’s they make ’em.”

They had reached The Flatiron, and Blue expressed his thanks in no uncertain way. “I was awful afraid she wasn’t goin’ ter let yer have it,” he confessed.

The officer laughed. “I wasn’t, a bit,” he said. “I took a little more time than I might have with some folks; but I didn’t want a row. It’s better to get along quietly when you can. Now you take that bird up to Sandy to─morrow! And tell the kid I’m coming in to call on him some day. Good─night.”

At sight of Caruso Doodles held out both arms, with a little cry. His brother set the cage on his knees, and the bird sprang up to the top perch to cuddle against his master’s soft cheek.

Doodles and Caruso went to sleep that night side by side. “I want him right where I can put my hand on the cage when I wake up,” said the boy. “Then I shall know his coming back wasn’t a dream.”

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