Part 11

And I believe that this is so because the child life of the East Side is dwarfed and deprived of all that is dear to a child's natural desires. Every year brings improvements. Men and women with hearts of gold are working like Trojans among the children of the poor, and the harder they work the more are they appreciated by their charges. I cannot rid myself of the opinion that in the aiding of the children lies the only solution of our social troubles. Teach them to be natural--a difficult feat, to swing themselves above their level in intellect and not by imitating the modes and fashions of the idle rich in the shoddy fabrics offered to them by unscrupulous dealers, and we will have advanced miles nearer to the goal which is desired by all who love their fellow men, not with mushy sentiment, but with intelligence.

Still, in spite of all that is done, the yearning look in the eyes of the children is still there, and I would not care to have the heart of the man who can see the unspoken wish in the childish gaze when beholding a flower, no matter how scraggy, and then laugh at it as at a freak of humor.

My acquaintance with the denizens of the kingdom of flowers was exceedingly limited. My teacher had noticed this and forthwith set to work to remedy this other defect in my education.

As early as May did we begin our out-of-door course. We did it by means of excursions. I did not care to have this arrangement all one-sided and we agreed to change off in the management of our personally conducted tours. We both had to work during the week and could only indulge in our excursions on Sundays. So, on one outing she would be the supreme director and dictator; I, on the next.

Candor compels me to confess that my outings always led us dangerously near to Coney Island, if not quite to it, yet, people can enjoy themselves even there, for it is the same old ocean, and the same sea air there as elsewhere, and it only lies with the visitor how to spend the holiday.

On her Sundays I was always kept in the dark as to our destination until we reached it. It invariably proved to be some quiet country place, with nooks and brooks and all the charming props which set the stage of nature with tranquil loveliness. After depositing the luncheon in some shady spot, the professor would trip from flower to flower, from tree to tree, and deliver little sermons on birds, flowers and minerals. There is no schoolroom like God's own nature, and in a way which I cannot describe to you, I learned that there was a life abounding in purity, in the understanding of things, and based in the wisdom of a wise Father. Step by step my faithful teacher led me on, until there was no doubt travailing me, until I could stand in street, or field, or forest, and feel my soul, my own undying soul.

There never were other days like these and, surely, there never will be again.

We had then known one another for a long time. I had become capable of reasoning, and had grave cause for doing so. Was it all for the best? Will it surprise you to know that constant companionship with my mentor had awakened in me thoughts very foreign to grammar and arithmetic?

I loved her. I knew it, but I also felt that that love was doomed to be buried unsatisfied. A cat may look at a queen, but that is about all a cat may presume to do.

That is what my reason told me, but in my heart there echoed a stirring hymn of fondest hope. It would not let me rest, and I became a pestering nuisance to my teacher. Many times daily would I ask her the questions, "Why, why do you undergo this ceaseless labor--why do you set yourself this gigantic task of making of me a man?"

As in all other matters, I was rough and uncouth in my annoying questioning, and an answer to it was long refused. But my bulldog tenacity came to my aid and I would not let go. Determination will overcome a good many things, and surely a little school teacher. I need not tell you how it happened--you either know, or will know it yourself--but one day we understood the question and the answer.

Then life for us became a blessed thing indeed. For the first time in my life I was supremely happy. I cannot tell you how my little girl felt, but can give a very strong guess at it, for my sweetheart never wavered, never failed me, and was my very own until the very last.

My Mamie Rose, my bride, my dearest friend, my all.

It took me a long time to fully grasp that she had really said "Yes," to the ever-important question, but, as soon as I was quite sure of it, I assumed the grand airs of proprietorship new swains usually assume.

First of all I exerted my prerogative of calling her by her first name.

Although long under her tutelage and exposed to her refining influence, I was by no means, very polished, and still harbored many prejudices against customs and usages not common to the social shift from which I had sprung. The nomenclature of my people is very limited. Only a very small choice of male and female baptismal names is resorted to by tenement house folk. John, James, Michael, Patrick, Henry, George, Charles are the most used male names; Maggie, Sadie, Susie, Lizzie, Nellie and Mamie are the favorite female names, or, at least, the favorite abbreviations of the names.

The name, Marie R. Deering, sounded a trifle too fashionable, too "toney," to me, and I proceeded to acclimatize it.

"Mamie" is the abbreviation or substitute for "Marie," so my little girl was immediately dubbed "Mamie."

The "R."--the initial of her middle name, stood for Rosetta, and it was decidedly against the code of ethics of the Fourth Ward for any one to be burdened by such an enormity. Again I officiated at the imaginary baptismal font, and "Rosetta" became a plain "Rose," sweet to me as no other.

Let no one think for a moment that my changing of names was accomplished without opposition. Besides other things, little people also possess the virtue of stubbornness, and many were the arguments pro and con. I was told with most charming emphasis that I could shout "Mamie Rose" to the winds, but that she, Marie R. Deering, would never--no, never--answer to that name. But, you know the old saying about many little drops of water penetrating the surface of the hardest stone, and the same was true in this case. Also, it should not be forgotten that she, my Mamie Rose, was of English descent, I was of Irish stock, and it is in Ireland where the Blarney stone is, which same instils a wonderful magic in the love-making of every descendant of good Erin's folk.

We had barely sealed the compact of our love when I received a fearful shock. My Mamie Rose wanted me to inform her mother concerning what had happened.

Mrs. Deering and myself had become very good friends. On several occasions she had even been my fellow-conspirator, by helping me to solve some weird puzzles in multiplication, imposed on me by her daughter. I had often sat at her table and had spent many hours, made pleasant by her, in the cosy home. However, all this did not seem sufficient to screw my courage up to the required pitch. Many particularly ticklish situations in my past life had been met by me without flinching, but I actually trembled when I was obliged to face this sweet lady with my portentous information and request.

If I had trembled with fear before telling her, I trembled with joy after it.

I could hardly believe my senses when I did not hear one word of regret or reproach from her lips. And when she said quietly, and, therefore, most impressively: "I have no fear for Marie's future," I became her bonded slave right on the spot, and hold myself in bondage to her to this very day.

Richard, my brave, crippled Dick--my "other" pal--was most effusive in his congratulations, but, he admitted to me his was a selfish reason, for now I was his big brother in "dead earnest."

Naturally, all this gave me an increased impetus to earn more money, and I put so much zeal into my work that my wages were several times increased. Nevertheless, I was still nothing more or less than a "baggage smasher." However, all of it, courtship and the rest, was so entirely out of the ordinary that a little thing like this did not cause us any worry. And if one happens to be a "baggage-smasher," it does not follow that one must always remain one. Besides, the queen did not mind it, and as to the cat, well--there is no use in talking to you if you cannot imagine what the cat thought about it.

*AMBASSADOR BILL.*

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*AMBASSADOR BILL.*

One who has been somewhat neglected in the few preceding pages is my old pal, my Bill. His soul, heart, instinct, call it what you will, was undergoing severe trials.

Mamie Rose was the cause of it.

With her coming into our lives, she sowed the seed of jealousy between me and Bill.

Bill found a new joy in trotting beside my teacher at times when he should have been at my side. He seemed the proudest dog in all the world and hardly deigned to notice me.

This I resented.

On the other hand, at times when Mamie Rose and I would sit close together, Bill could not rest until, with all his mighty prowess, he had squirmed himself between us.

For a long time he did not know whom of his two friends he should love the best. But, with coming weeks and months, he decided to share his affection evenly, and then we understood one another's feelings and respected our relative positions.

Would that I could take a peep into Bill's doggish brain and read the memory of those heavenly days!

A man who is born to coarseness and brutality will sometimes lose control of his acquired attainments. There came a day, long forgiven and forgotten by her, but not yet sufficiently atoned by me, when I permitted the subdued brute within me to assert itself for one brief moment. I saw immediately what I had done, and realized that my rowdyism could not be forgiven.

Then was a lapse in deepest shadows. Regrets, reproaches, self-accusations--what good were they? They could not lead me back to paradise. The room became a place of silent brooding, and not as regularly shared by Bill as formerly. Bill had taken no part in our estrangement. Emotional dog as he was, he never forgot to take care of the inner dog whenever an opportunity presented itself. From the very beginning he had industriously cultivated the acquaintance of my little girl's mother. First, becomingly modest, he had, in the course of time, insisted on being a regular guest at the dinner-table. I meant to break him of this habit, but the mother told me in confidence that Bill had whispered to her, quite plainly: "I think you are the very best cook in the world." Few women can resist such a compliment.

For two long days I had not seen her--had not heard her voice. She lived just around the corner, and, from the window of my tenement, I could see the walls that sheltered my treasure, that I thought forever lost. I sat and sat and stared at the cruel bricks that seemed to cry, "Halt!" Small wonder that the lesser things of life had lost their importance to me! Even Bill had, for the nonce, but little space in my thoughts; but he lost no time in bringing himself most forcibly to my notice.

I was at the window, and the door way slightly ajar. All was quiet, very quiet, until a slow patter on the stairs told of my partner's home-coming. My most casual glance was his share on entering the room. He was very anxious to avail himself of this, and made quickly for the sheltering shadows under the bed. But my careless glance had quickly changed to one of concern on beholding him, and, after much coaxing, he crawled out to face me.

My valiant knight had met his conqueror. The hero of many a battle sat wounded and bandaged before me. His left eye was swathed in linen. He tried to pass over the matter lightly; he wagged his tail, but only once, for that, too, was bandaged. Then he threw himself on my mercy.

It behooved me, as his partner, to investigate the extent of the damage, and I carefully untied the bandage that covered his eye. It was only a trifling scratch, suspiciously like one made by a cat. I also noticed that his badge of honor--his collar--was missing. On the point of throwing aside the bandage, a handkerchief, my eye fell on a well-known monogram in its corner, and--I cannot exactly recall how it happened--but, in the very next minute, my Bill and I were descending the rickety stairs, two steps at a time.

Just as we turned the corner, a belligerent-looking tabby made herself exceedingly conspicuous. Somehow, Bill found the other side of the street preferable. At her door he joined me again, and my queen's ambassador led the way upstairs.

There I stood before her, and stammered uncouth phrases of apology. I mentioned Bill's collar. A dainty hand took it from the mantel and handed it to me; our fingers met and--all the world was singing again the sweet refrain which for days had been silent. The impudence of that dog beggars all description. He had the unblushing nerve to claim all the credit for having brought love's jangle into tune again, and, in his excitement, rapped his damaged caudal appendage three times on the floor before he tried to bite it.

Then our happiness began once more.

*MY DEBUT IN SOCIETY.*

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*MY DEBUT IN SOCIETY.*

Had our future plans depended on my inclinations, or rather my impulses, our wedding would have taken place very soon after our engagement. All I deemed necessary to insure our future happiness was our love. All else was of no importance. Now I know that her judgment was the better.

I had sense enough to admit her wisdom. I was still very much entangled in the forest of ignorance. It could not have been right for me to force myself on her, refined and cultured as she was--until, at least approximately I was on the same level. I had still much, very much, to learn before considering myself capable to class myself with the non-illiterate. There were years of study before me, yet, with such a prize dancing before me, I threw myself into my task with true enthusiasm.

So, though I often grumbled at my fate, I fully understood that it would be many moons before I could justly say to my Mamie Rose: "Now I am ready."

We were both human. Sometimes, perhaps, in the hour when the homing of the sun had come and when the golden wings were folded for the rest of one more night, we, Mamie Rose and I, in field or rural quiet, felt the intoned, unison song of our hearts, which sung to us that we were one, a unit, and not two different personalities, and then we often came very near to throwing aside all previous sagacious resolves and felt ourselves fired by the desire to end to-morrow this two-fold existence. These periods never lasted long. The morrow came and whispered: "Fools," and we forgot the swerving from our intentions, in hard work.

Since that time I have had many days of very hard labor, but I never worked as I did then. Corporations are not in the habit of paying liberal salaries unless every cent of them is earned by the sweat of your brow. For one in my humble position I was receiving exceedingly high wages--and, to be candid, I had to earn them by my sweat. Often I was given an opportunity to work "over time" at extra pay. It was always welcome, because it meant so much more added to my deposit in the Savings Bank, but it simply "played me out."

From the pier I would hurry to Mamie Rose's house to report or to receive a lesson, although, sometimes, besides the lessons, other things were discussed. Then home and to other work.

I had left the attic and had taken a room, from where I could see Mamie Rose's roof. Arrived in the room, Bill would be given his walk and dinner, and then would be permitted to watch his master "making himself educated." The Standard Oil Company really ought to give me a discount. I was a good customer, yet received not all the benefit possible from the oil. My midnight oil often burned away into morning to no better purpose than to throw shadows of the sleeping student and his dog.

I blush with deep shame while making this confession; I invariably fell asleep over Ralph Waldo Emerson, while I had no trouble in keeping awake with Alexandre Dumas. It is not intended as a criticism of Emerson, although he could well afford to be criticised by me, but, generally speaking, it seems to one as unformed as myself, as if the truths of life, of thought, of science come to us always on stilts. I have not been able to learn very much from present day novels, and am, and always will be, compelled to fall back on old friends to supply me with the scaffolding for the rather meagre structure of my education. But, in spite of loving them dearly, I often wish they were better adapted to my understanding.

So, with books and work and sweet intercourse with her whom I loved, time marched along with never-halting step and was recorded by me with most exact care. My calendars were model chronicles of time, and often did I wish they were practical statesmen, so that, by the usual means, they could be speeded.

With one exception nothing occurred to change the even tenor of our lives. That one exception has, to this very day left a peculiarly bitter taste in my mouth. I admit I am biased in the matter, still, I can be truthful, and so, that I may be better understood, the episode will be related here.

Late one Saturday night, I had occasion to call on one of my former pals, who was lying ill on a cot in a lodging house near Chinatown. On my way home, I passed the entrance to Chinatown--Pell street, beginning at the Bowery. I had just greeted a few of the men loafing about the front of Barney Flynn's place--the palace of the King of the Bowery--when I was hailed by some one.

I looked around and saw a party of sightseers coming in my direction. I had no more to do with that sort of business and intended to proceed on my way without paying any attention to them, but was called by name by one of them, whose voice was familiar to me.

"What do you want?" I asked, and halted.

"What's the matter, Kil? Don't you remember your friends any more?"

I looked at the speaker and knew him again as one of my former pupils in the physical culture line. To mention his name will do no good and I will only say that he had been my favorite pupil and that I had believed a mutual liking existed between us. To prevent error, let me say that he had not been my patient, being neither too fat nor too lean, but had only taken a course in boxing to learn the manly art of self-defense. I had never seen him since the closing of my physical culture system and was overjoyed at this unexpected meeting.

He insisted that, for this one time only, and to oblige him, I should take him and the party of his friends through Chinatown and show them the most interesting sight-places. His friends were all from out of town, seemed to be more serious than the average sightseer, and were so strong in their persuasion that I could not refuse to act as their guide.

During our journey along the old scenes of my former days, my ex-pupil inquired into my present welfare and was very glad to hear I was getting along by other ways than those formerly employed by me. Shortly before I parted from him, he told me that he had taken very little exercise of late and wanted me to box with him occasionally. I laughed at his proposition, told him that I considered myself retired for good, but did not think it advisable to tell him the true reason for my refusal. He kept on increasing the terms he was willing to pay me. I could not help thinking how the additional income would increase my deposit; thereby bringing me closer to the realization of my fondest dream, and, after some reflection, I agreed to call on him twice a week in the evening to "don the mitts" with him.

I had called on him several times before I told him how completely my life had been changed. In this Mamie Rose was not left out, and, you can rest assured, my accounts of her sweetness, devotion and beauty were given in the most glowing colors. My regard for this man was sincere and I supposed that all I told him was received in the proper spirit. I am not garrulous, but when it came to talking about my Mamie Rose, I knew no limits. My heart simply glowed with love, and I never grew tired to praise her, who was the truest and best.

My man never omitted to inquire after her and even sent her a few presents through me. Mamie Rose warned me against this, but the things were beyond my means and added to her charm, and I would not listen to her.

At the end of one of our sessions, my ex-pupil extended an invitation to me. He had told his mother about me and she was very anxious to know me. At a certain date I was expected to call at his mother's residence--he, himself, lived in bachelor quarters--to meet a few friends there.

In this invitation Mamie Rose was also included. I was bubbling over with excitement when telling her about the honor fallen to us. The quiet way in which she received my news disappointed me.

"Aren't you glad?" I asked. "Doesn't this prove that my friend is of the right calibre and wishes to honor both you and me by this invitation to his mother's house?"

"I wish I could feel quite sure on that point," said my little adviser, "but I am afraid that this invitation instead of bringing us pleasure, will bring just the opposite."

"Oh, girl o' mine," I coaxed, "I know this fellow and you don't. He is as good as gold and you may believe me that the invitation was extended in good faith."

I prevailed, and, on the appointed day, we invaded the most fashionable quarters of the city to enjoy the hospitality of our friends, the swells.

After we had passed the scrutiny of the man at the door, who had evidently been told of our coming, we were ushered into a drawing room. The only one I knew among the people was my ex-pupil, who quickly came forward to greet us and, then, to introduce us.

In spite of my lack of familiarity with the customs of the upper classes, I saw at a glance that the crowd had been expectant and was now disappointed.

To explain this disappointment, I should mention that my wearing apparel consisted of a black suit of good material and workmanship. My necktie was not colored in imitation of the rainbow and I had no occasion to look for a convenient spot for my expectorations. To carry the disappointment further, I acted contrarily to expectations at the dinner table. I neglected to carry the food to my mouth at the point of my knife and forgot to dip my finger into the salt-cellar.

My Mamie Rose was, as always, becomingly and properly gowned, and carried herself with a tact which fortified me against giving full reins to my temper.

Before entering the dining-room, the two freaks from the Bowery were made the centre of much curiosity. The men got around me, expecting to hear choice stories of a certain kind, which contrary to accepted ideas, are not original in the Bowery, but are brought there by these pioneers of refined civilization. Their faces fell when I proved a decided failure at that sort of story-telling.

While in their midst, I did not forget Mamie Rose, who was the centre of the female freak-hunters. I compared her poise, her naturalness, to the artificial sprightliness of the society ladies, and found it so admirable and sufficient, that I could well afford to laugh at the winks and sneers exchanged behind her back.