Divided Skates Part 8

Towsley's eyes opened with a snap. He was sure that they had not been closed a second, but the nurse laughed when he so declared; he always afterward believed that some sort of magic had been used to change things about in that little hospital bedroom.

For there on the tiny dresser was lightly tossed a rich fur robe that looked as if it had just slipped off somebody's slender shoulders. It was an old-fas.h.i.+oned robe, Towsley saw that, and the bonnet which had fallen to the floor beside it was quite out of style, also.

"Regular old timer, ain't it! And she's an old timer, too, but--the tears! Shucks! He wished n.o.body would ever cry. He hated tears!" again thought Towsley. And then he stole his hand around the neck of the little old lady who was kneeling beside his cot, and remarked, generously:

"Oh! I say, Miss Lucy, please don't. It's all right. I didn't behave very--very gentlemanly, I guess, but if you like I'm willing to try it over again. I'll be your little boy if you want me, and if I have to be 'Lionel,' just make it Towsley, too, can't you?"

"Oh! you darling! I didn't know that it could be possible; that in so short a time a stranger child could creep so closely into my affection. I've been hearing such a lot about you, from Molly, you know. Oh! my dear, I am so thankful that you did not perish. So thankful that my eyes have been opened to see how lonely and selfish a life I've led. Just to think, to think, that I have at last a dear little human boy to love and to love me! All day I've thought about you and seemed to feel that it was Lionel, our own Lionel, who had wandered out into the storm to suffer so; and--and----"

This was too much for the gamin. He was still that. He had not yet been transformed into the gentleman he aspired to become, and in a way that was more honest than courteous he forestalled another hysterical outburst on the part of his overwrought benefactress.

"Hold on, Miss Lucy. It's all right. I ain't dead nor dyin'. It's the wandering melody of the kindness, as the doctor said. Don't you know?

He was good to me, and I'll be good to you, and you'll be good to somebody else; and that's the way it goes. I can tell you of a lot of fellows to be kind to. Whistling Jerry, and Battles, and s.h.i.+ner. Oh!

there are a plenty to fill the house full, but there won't any of them stand being cried over. It would scare the life out of 'em. A kick or a blow--that they wouldn't mind, being used to it, you see, but tears--they'd scat! like kittens with a dog after them. They would, indeed."

"Oh!" gasped Miss Lucy, rising from her knees--"Oh! but I've nothing to do with these--these boys with the objectionable names. It is yourself only, my child, whom I want to live with me. Just you; to be my one, only, little precious boy."

"Then, I guess we'd better drop it. I was only trying to be good to you."

CHAPTER V.

LIONEL TOWSLEY GOES HOME.

"Towsley, boy! you're quite well enough to go home. Especially as there is, just outside the hospital gate, a red-plumed sleigh waiting, with great fox robes big enough to wrap a dozen newsboys in; with horses in a tinkling harness, and more red plumes at their heads; and a coachman named Jefferson sitting up front with a mighty fur collar on and a Christmas favor in his hat, and--I've lost my breath, telling the wonders! For you, my snow-bank youngster!"

The genial doctor entered the room just in time to witness the little scene between Miss Armacost and her protege; and knowing both parties fairly well, he judged that the best way out of a difficulty was to get rid of the difficulty. Which he did in the manner above.

For there was never a newsboy on Newspaper Square, not even the independent Master Towsley, who could resist the charm of a sleigh ride; especially in a city where sleighing was a rare occurrence, and where enormous prices were asked and obtained for any sort of vehicle that would glide over the snow.

Towsley forgot everything but the prospect before him. Even the objectionable velvet suit and girlish hat would be endurable under the circ.u.mstances. What if some fellow of his own craft did see and laugh at him? He laughs best who laughs last, and in this case that would be the boy in the sleigh. So he clapped his hands and cried out, excitedly:

"Oh! may I? And will Miss Lucy please go away, and somebody send me back my clothes?"

"Certainly. Everybody shall clear out except you and me," said the physician, pulling a brown paper parcel from beneath his arm and tossing it upon the foot of the cot.

So Miss Armacost and nurse Brady went away and the doctor closed the door behind them. Then he unfastened the mysterious parcel and spread before Towsley's wondering gaze a complete suit for a boy of Towsley's size. Everything was there, down to the shoes and stockings, though all were of coa.r.s.e material.

"Oh, ginger! Ain't that prime? For me? Are they for me, doctor?"

"If they fit."

"Oh! they'll fit. Anything fits me."

"Velvet knickers and plumed hats?"

The lad, who had tried to spring out of bed, and had succeeded only in climbing out rather slowly and shakily, looked up with a twinkle in his eye; then he answered very seriously:

"Yes, sir; even them. I'd hate 'em. I'd hate to have the fellows see me in 'em; but I'd wear them forever, rather than make her cry again.

I can't get over that. To s'pose that she, a rich lady living on the Avenue, should cry over an Alley kid! It ain't nice to think about, her saying I've got to be her only, 'one precious.' I'll about die of lonesomeness; but--it's the wandering kindness, you know, sir. I'll pa.s.s it on, and maybe it'll all come right. Do you s'pose she'll make me sit in front of a window and be dressed up, and make myself a show for the fellows to come and gibe at?"

"Those shoes all right, eh? Look here, Towsley. I'm not a 'supposing'

sort of a man. I've no time to speculate over things. I have to take them as they come and keep hustling. That's pretty much the way it is in the newspaper business, isn't it?"

"Yes. You just believe it."

"I do. Well, though I rarely give away advice--that being a luxury I dare not afford, in general--I'm going to present you with a bit now, as a kind of keepsake: Don't you stop to worry or 's'pose' anything.

Life's too short. Just keep hustling. Do right, as near as you can, straight along and all the time, and let results take care of themselves or leave them to the Lord who will do it for us. And remember one other thing: If you do a kindness to anybody you have to like them. Fact; you can't help it. You will like them, whether or no.

Now I didn't care a nickel about you till I tumbled over you in the snow-drift. Never heard of you, indeed. But then I had a chance to help you, and right away I liked you. So I've been down-town, this afternoon, and bought you this outfit. Between you and me, Towsley, I shouldn't care for the velvets, either. But they must have been all that Miss Armacost had on hand and so she gave them to you. These I'm not giving; I'm simply advancing. Men like us don't care to accept what we can't pay for, you know. Anything that Miss Lucy will offer you, you'll have a chance to repay: by love, and attention, and the deference that a son of her own house would render a gentlewoman who befriended him. But you'll have no further use for me, and so I'm merely lending you this suit. If you should ever be able, as you may, to collect what I've spent on it--about five dollars--you just remember the wandering kindness and send it along. I'd get a sc.r.a.p of paper, if I were you, and write it down: 'Five dollars received of Dr.

Frank Winthrop'; and when you use something for some needy person, consider that it is so much toward the liquidation of the debt and write it opposite: 'Paid Dr. Frank Winthrop, so and so.' Understand?"

"Yes. I will repay, too. Though I'd rather do it to you, yourself."

"Doubtless. Yet that doesn't matter. The real thing is to be systematic and exact in our charities. Slovenliness or carelessness in such things is worse than a bad habit--it's a sin. Now, how are you? A trifle queer in the legs, eh? Things in the room look a bit hazy?

That's all right. Effect of an active boy lying in bed. The air will set you straight. My! but you are a dandy in that suit! Fits you like a duck's bill in the mud, doesn't it?"

Towsley laughed, so gayly and loudly that anxious Miss Lucy tiptoed to the outside of the closed door and asked, eagerly:

"Can't I come in yet?"

The jolly doctor gave a nod of his head and Towsley opened to admit his friend. In all his little life he had never been so well, so completely clothed as he was at that moment; and the consciousness of being suitably dressed went far toward giving him the ease of manner which belonged to the "gentleman" whom he aspired to become.

The alteration in his appearance was so great and his bow so correctly made that Miss Lucy cried out in delight and surprise, and was about to throw her arms about the child and caress him before them all.

But the wise doctor prevented that, by saying in his quick way:

"All ready, Miss Armacost; and I fancy your horses and coachman won't be sorry. If this young fellow gives you any trouble just let me know.

I'll attend to his case, short order; with a dose of picra or some other disagreeable stuff! But I wish you both the compliments of the season and--this way out, please. Say good-by to nurse Brady, Towsley Lionel Armacost, and don't forget that but for her care you might not be starting on a sleigh-ride now."

Then he was gone, and they had to hurry along the halls and down the stairs to follow him toward that outer door, before which stood the chestnuts, jingling their bells and pawing b.a.l.l.s of the light snow, in their impatience to be trotting over the white roads and up to the park where other horses were flying about, as merry, apparently, as the people whom they carried.

So with a mere nod of his head, old Jefferson whisked the newsboy into a corner of the cus.h.i.+oned seat and Miss Armacost followed without a.s.sistance; but her doing so made Towsley remember something and sent a blush to his pale cheek. That was, the manner in which real gentlemen helped their women folk on any similar occasion.

"To Druid Hill!" said Miss Lucy, briefly; and Jefferson drove briskly away.

For some time neither of the occupants of that warm back seat said a word. Each was too thoroughly engrossed by his and her own thoughts; but finally Miss Lucy stole a glance toward her small companion and inquired:

"Do you like sleighing, Lionel?"

"Yes, Miss Armacost. Only--it all seems like--like make-believe. I keep wondering when I'll wake up. And I wish--I wish Battles and s.h.i.+ner were here. I don't believe that s.h.i.+ner ever had a sleigh-ride in his life--Never; not once."

"Indeed?" asked the lady, coldly.

"No, ma'am. I mean, no, Miss Lucy. And he ain't much more'n a baby, s.h.i.+ner ain't. Not near as old as I am."

"How old are you, my dear?"