Michael O\'Halloran by Gene Stratton Porter

G >> Gene Stratton Porter >> Michael O\'Halloran

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

Produced by Brendan Lane, Richard Prairie and PG Distributed Proofreaders

_MICHAEL_

_O'HALLORAN_

_Gene Stratton-Porter_

Copyright 1915, 1916

_Contents_

PAGE

I. Happy Home in Sunrise Alley
II. Moccasins and Lady Slippers
III. S.O.S.
IV. "Bearer of Morning"
V. Little Brother
VI. The Song of a Bird
VII. Peaches' Preference in Blessings
VIII. Big Brother
IX. James Jr. and Malcolm
X. The Wheel of Life
XI. The Advent of Nancy and Peter
XII. Feminine Reasoning
XIII. A Safe Proposition
XIV. An Orphans' Home
XV. A Particular Nix
XVI. The Fingers in the Pie
XVII. Initiations in an Ancient and Honourable Brotherhood
XVIII. Malcolm and the Hermit Thrush
XIX. Establishing Protectorates
XX. Mickey's Miracle

CHAPTER I

_Happy Home in Sunrise Alley_

"_Aw_ KID, _come on! Be square!_"

"_You look out what you say to me._"

"_But ain't you going to keep your word?_"

"_Mickey, do you want your head busted?_"

"_Naw! But I did your work so you could loaf; now I want the pay you
promised me._"

"_Let's see you get it! Better take it from me, hadn't you?_"

"_You're twice my size; you know I can't, Jimmy!_"

"_Then you know it too, don't you?_"

"_Now look here kid, it's 'cause you're getting so big that folks will be
buying quicker of a little fellow like me; so you've laid in the sun all
afternoon while I been running my legs about off to sell your papers; and
when the last one is gone, I come and pay you what they sold for; now it's
up to you to do what you promised._"

"_Why didn't you keep it when you had it?_"

"_'Cause that ain't business! I did what I promised fair and square; I was
giving you a chance to be square too._"

"_Oh! Well next time you won't be such a fool!_"

Jimmy turned to step from the gutter to the sidewalk. Two things happened
to him simultaneously: Mickey became a projectile. He smashed with the
force of a wiry fist on the larger boy's head, while above both, an
athletic arm gripped him by the collar.

Douglas Bruce was hurrying to see a client before he should leave his
office; but in passing a florist's window his eye was attracted by a sight
so beautiful he paused an instant, considering. It was spring; the Indians
were coming down to Multiopolis to teach people what the wood Gods had put
into their hearts about flower magic.

The watcher scarcely had realized the exquisite loveliness of a milk-white
birch basket filled with bog moss of silvery green, in which were set
maidenhair and three yellow lady slippers, until beside it was placed
another woven of osiers blood red, moss carpeted and bearing five pink
moccasin flowers, faintly fined with red lavender; between them rosemary
and white ladies' tresses. A flush crept over the lean face of the
Scotsman. He saw a vision. Over those baskets bent a girl, beautiful as
the flowers. Plainly as he visualized the glory of the swamp, Douglas
Bruce pictured the woman he loved above the orchids. While he lingered,
his heart warmed, glowing, his wonderful spring day made more wonderful by
a vision not adequately describable, on his ear fell Mickey's admonition:
"Be square!"

He sent one hasty glance toward the gutter. He saw a sullen-faced newsboy
of a size that precluded longer success at paper selling, because public
sympathy goes to the little fellows. Before him stood one of these same
little fellows, lean, tow-haired, and blue-eyed, clean of face, neat in
dress; with a peculiar modulation in his voice that caught Douglas
squarely in the heart. He turned again to the flowers, but as his eyes
revelled in beauty, his ears, despite the shuffle of passing feet, and the
clamour of cars, lost not one word of what was passing in the gutter,
while with each, slow anger surged higher. Mickey, well aware that his
first blow would be all the satisfaction coming to him, put the force of
his being into his punch. At the same instant Douglas thrust forth a hand
that had pulled for Oxford and was yet in condition.

"Aw, you big stiff!" gasped Jimmy, twisting an astonished neck to see what
was happening above and in his rear so surprisingly. Had that little
Mickey O'Halloran gone mad to hit _him?_ Mickey standing back, his face
upturned, was quite as surprised as Jimmy.

"What did he promise you for selling his papers?" demanded a deep voice.

"Twen--ty-_five_," answered Mickey, with all the force of inflection in
his power. "And if you heard us, Mister, you heard him own up he was owing
it."

"I did," answered Douglas Bruce tersely. Then to Jimmy: "Hand him over
twenty-five cents."

Jimmy glared upward, but what he saw and the tightening of the hand on his
collar were convincing. He drew from his pocket five nickels, dropping
them into the outstretched hand of Douglas, who passed them to Mickey, the
soiled fingers of whose left hand closed over them, while his right
snatched off his cap. Fear was on his face, excitement was in his eyes,
triumph was in his voice, while a grin of comradeship curved his lips.

"Many thanks, Boss," he said. "And would you add to them by keeping that
strangle hold 'til you give me just two seconds the start of him?" He
wheeled, darting through the crowd.

"Mickey!" cried Douglas Bruce. "Mickey, wait!"

But Mickey was half a block away turning into an alley. The man's grip
tightened a twist.

"You'll find Mickey's admonition good," he said. "I advise you to take it.
'Be square!' And two things: first, I've got an eye on the Mickeys of this
city. If I ever again find you imposing on him or any one else, I'll put
you where you can't. Understand? Second, who is he?"

"Mickey!" answered the boy.

"Mickey who?" asked Douglas.

"How'd I know?" queried Jimmy.

"You don't know his name?" pursued Douglas.

"Naw, I don't!" said the boy.

"Where does he live?" continued Douglas.

"I don't know," answered Jimmy.

"If you have a charge to prefer, I'll take that youngster in for you,"
offered a policeman passing on his beat.

"He was imposing on a smaller newsboy. I made him quit," Douglas
explained. "That's all."

"Oh!" said the officer, withdrawing his hand. Away sped Jimmy; with him
went all chance of identifying Mickey, but Bruce thought he would watch
for him. He was such an attractive little fellow.

Mickey raced through the first alley, down a street, then looked behind.
Jimmy was not in sight.

"Got _him_ to dodge now," he muttered. "If he ever gets a grip on me he'll
hammer me meller! I'm going to have a bulldog if I half starve to buy it.
Maybe the pound would give me one. I'll see to-morrow."

He looked long, then started homeward, which meant to jump on a car and
ride for miles, then follow streets and alleys again. Finally he entered a
last alley that faced due east. A compass could not have pointed more
directly toward the rising sun; while there was at least half an hour each
clear morning when rickety stairs, wavering fire-escapes, flapping washes,
and unkept children were submerged in golden light. Long ago it had been
named. By the time of Mickey's advent Sunrise Alley was as much a part of
the map of Multiopolis as Biddle Boulevard, and infinitely more pleasing
in name. He began climbing interminable stairs. At the top of the last
flight he unlocked his door to enter his happy home; for Mickey had a
home, and it was a happy one. No one else lived in it, while all it
contained was his.

Mickey knew three things about his father: he had had one, he was not
square, and he drank himself to death. He could not remember his father,
but he knew many men engaged in the occupation of his passing, so he well
understood why his mother never expressed any regrets.

Vivid in his mind was her face, anxious and pale, but twinkling; her body
frail and overtaxed, but hitting back at life uncomplainingly. Bad things
happened, but she explained how they might have been worse; so fed on this
sop, and watching her example, Mickey grew like her. The difficult time
was while she sat over a sewing machine to be with him. When he grew
stout-legged and self-reliant, he could be sent after the food, to carry
the rent, and to sell papers, then she could work by the day, earn more,
have better health, while what both brought home paid the rent of the top
room back, of as bad a shamble as a self-respecting city would allow; kept
them fed satisfyingly if not nourishingly, and allowed them to slip away
many a nickel for the rainy day that she always explained would come. And
it did.

One morning she could not get up; the following Mickey gave all their
savings to a man with a wagon to take her to a nice place to rest. The man
was sure about it being a nice place. She had told Mickey so often what to
do if this ever happened, that when it did, all that was necessary was to
remember what he had been told. After it was over and the nice place had
been paid for, with the nickels and the sewing machine, with enough left
for the first month's rent, Mickey faced life alone. But he knew exactly
what to do, because she had told him. She had even written it down lest he
forget. It was so simple that only a boy who did not mind his mother could
have failed. The formula worked perfectly.

_Morning: Get up early. Wash your face, brush your clothes. Eat what was
left from supper for breakfast. Put your bed to air, then go out with your
papers. Don't be afraid to offer them, or to do work of any sort you have
strength for; but be deathly afraid to beg, to lie, or to steal, while if
you starve, freeze, or die, never, never touch any kind of drink_.

Any fellow could do that; Mickey told dozens of them so.

He got along so well he could pay the rent each month, dress in whole
clothing, have enough to eat, often cooked food on the little gasoline
stove, if he were not too tired to cook it, and hide nickels in the old
place daily. He had a bed and enough cover; he could get water in the hall
at the foot of the flight of stairs leading to his room for his bath, to
scrub the floor, and wash the dishes. From two years on, he had helped his
mother with every detail of her housekeeping; he knew exactly what must be
done.

It was much more dreadful than he thought it would be to come home alone,
and eat supper by himself, but if he sold papers until he was almost
asleep where he stood, he found he went to sleep as soon as he reached
home and had supper. He did not awaken until morning; then he could hurry
his work and get ahead of the other boys, and maybe sell to their
customers. It might be bad to be alone, but always he could remember her,
and make her seem present by doing every day exactly what she told him.
Then, after all, being alone was a very wonderful thing compared with
having parents who might beat and starve him and take the last penny he
earned, not leaving enough to keep him from being hungry half the time.

When Mickey looked at some of the other boys, and heard many of them talk,
he almost forgot the hourly hunger for his mother, in thankfulness that he
did not have a father and that his mother had been herself. Mickey felt
sure that if she had been any one of the mothers of most other boys he
knew, he would not have gone home at all. He could endure cold, hunger,
and loneliness, but he felt that he had no talent for being robbed,
beaten, and starved; while lately he had fully decided upon a dog for
company, when he could find the right one.

Mickey unlocked his door, entering for his water bucket. Such was his
faith in his environment that he relocked the door while he went to the
water tap. Returning to the room he again turned the key, then washed his
face and hands. He looked at the slip nailed on the wall where she had put
it. He knew every word of it, but always it comforted him to see her
familiar writing, to read aloud what to do next as if it were her voice
speaking to him. Evening: "Make up your bed." Mickey made his. "Wash any
dirty dishes." He had a few so he washed them. "Sweep your floor." He
swept. "Always prepare at least one hot thing for supper." He shook the
gasoline tank to the little stove. It sounded full enough, so he went to
the cupboard his mother had made from a small packing case. There were
half a loaf of bread wrapped in its oiled paper, with two bananas
discarded by Joe of the fruit stand. He examined his pocket, although he
knew perfectly what it contained. Laying back enough to pay for his stock
the next day, then counting in his twenty-five cents, he had forty cents
left. He put thirty in the rent box, starting out with ten. Five paid for
a bottle of milk, three for cheese, two for an egg for breakfast.

Then he went home. At the foot of the fire-escape that he used in
preference to the stairs, he met a boy he knew tugging a heavy basket.

"Take an end for a nickel," said the boy.

"Thanks," said Mickey. "It's my time to dine. 'Sides, I been done once to-
day."

"If you'll take it, I'll pay first," he offered.

"How far?" questioned Mickey.

"Oh, right over here," said the boy indefinitely.

"Sure!" said Mickey. "Cross my palm with the silver."

The nickel changed hands. Mickey put the cheese and egg in his pocket, the
milk in the basket, then started. The place where they delivered the wash
made Mickey feel almost prosperous. He picked up his milk bottle and
stepped from the door, when a long, low wail that made him shudder,
reached his ear.

"What's that?" he asked the woman.

"A stiff was carried past to-day. Mebby they ain't took the kids yet."

Mickey went slowly down the stairs, his face sober. That was what his
mother had feared for him. That was why she had trained him to care for
himself, to save the pennies, so that when she was taken away, he still
would have a home. Sounded like a child! He was halfway up the long flight
of stairs before he realized that he was going. He found the door at last,
then, stood listening. He heard long-drawn, heart-breaking moaning.
Presently he knocked. A child's shriek was the answer. Mickey straightway
opened the door. The voice guided him to a heap of misery in a corner.

"What's the matter kid?" inquired Mickey huskily.

The bundle stirred, while a cry issued. He glanced around the room. What
he saw reassured him. He laid hold of the tatters, beginning to uncover
what was under them. He dropped his hands, stepping back, when a tangled
yellow mop and a weazened, bloated girl-child face peered at him, with
wildly frightened eyes.

"If you'd put the wind you're wastin' into words, we'd get something done
quicker," advised Mickey.

The tiny creature clutched the filthy covers, still staring.

"Did you come to '_get_' me?" she quavered.

"No," said Mickey. "I heard you from below so I came to see what hurt you.
Ain't you got folks?"

She shook her head: "They took granny in a box and they said they'd come
right back and '_get_' me. Oh, please, please don't let them!"

"Why they'd be good to you," said Mickey largely. "They'd give you"--he
glanced at all the things the room lacked, then enumerated--"a clean bed,
lots to eat, a window you could be seeing from, a doll, maybe."

"No! No!" she cried. "Granny always said some day she'd go and leave me;
then they'd '_get_' me. She's gone! The big man said they'd come right
back. Oh don't let them! Oh hide me quick!"

"Well--well--! If you're so afraid, why don't you cut and hide yourself
then?" he asked.

"My back's bad. I can't walk," the child answered.

"Oh Lord!" said Mickey. "When did you get hurt?"

"It's always been bad. I ain't ever walked," she said.

"Well!" breathed Mickey, aghast. "And knowing she'd have to leave you some
day, your granny went and scared you stiff about the Home folks taking
you, when it's the only place for you to be going? Talk about women having
the sense to vote!"

"I won't go! I won't! I'll scratch them! I'll bite them!" Then in swift
change: "Oh boy, don't. Please, please don't let them '_get_' me."

Mickey took both the small bony hands reaching for him. He was so
frightened with their hot, tremulous clutch, that he tried to pull away,
dragging the tiny figure half to light and bringing from it moans of pain.

"Oh my back! Oh you're hurting me! Oh don't leave me! Oh boy, oh _dear_
boy, please don't leave me!"

When she said "Oh dear boy," Mickey heard the voice of his mother in an
hourly phrase. He crept closer, enduring the touch of the grimy claws.

"My name's Mickey," he said. "What's your?"

"Peaches," she answered. "Peaches, when I'm good. Crippled brat, when I'm
bad."

"B'lieve if you had your chance you could look the peaches," said Mickey,
"but what were you bad for?"

"So's she'd hit me," answered Peaches.

"But if me just pulling a little hurt you so, what happened when she hit
you?" asked Mickey.

"Like knives stuck into me," said Peaches.

"Then what did you be bad for?" marvelled Mickey.

"Didn't you ever get so tired of one thing you'd take something that hurt,
jus' for a change?"

"My eye!" said Mickey. "I don't know one fellow who'd do that, Peaches."

"Mickey, hide me. Oh hide me! Don't let them '_get_' me!" she begged.

"Why kid, you're crazy," said Mickey. "Now lemme tell you. Where they'll
take you _looks_ like a nice place. Honest it does. I've seen lots of
them. You get a clean soft bed all by yourself, three big hot meals a day,
things to read, and to play with. Honest Peaches, you do! I wouldn't tell
you if it wasn't so. If I'll stay with you 'til they come, then go with
you to the place 'til you see how nice it is, will you be good and go?"

She burrowed in the covers, screeching again.

"You're scared past all reason," said Mickey. "You don't know anything.
But maybe the Orphings' Homes ain't so good as they look. If they are, why
was mother frightened silly about them getting _me?_ Always she said she
just _had_ to live until I got so big they wouldn't 'get' me. And I kept
them from getting me by doing what she told me. Wonder if I could keep
them from getting you? There's nothing of you. If I could move you there,
I bet I could feed you more than your granny did, while I know I could
keep you cleaner. You could have my bed, a window to look from, and clean
covers." Mickey was thinking aloud. "Having you to come home to would be
lots nicer than nothing. You'd beat a dog all hollow, 'cause you can talk.
If I could get you there, I believe I could be making it. Yes, I believe I
could do a lot better than this, and I believe I'd like you, Peaches, you
are such a game little kid."

"She could lift me with one hand," she panted. "Oh Mickey, take me!
Hurry!"

"Lemme see if I can manage you," said Mickey. "Have you got to be took any
particular way?"

"Mickey, ain't you got folks that beat you?" she asked.

"I ain't got folks now," said Mickey, "and they didn't beat me when I had
them. I'm all for myself--and if you say so, I guess from now on, I'm for
you. Want to go?"

Her arms wound tightly around his neck. Her hot little face pressed
against it.

"Put one arm 'cross my shoulders, an' the other round my legs," she said.

"But I got to go down a lot of stairs; it's miles and miles," said Mickey,
"and I ain't got but five cents. I spent it all for grub. Peaches, are you
hungry?"

"No!" she said stoutly. "Mickey, hurry!"

"But honest, I can't carry you all that way. I would if I could, Peaches,
honest I would."

"Oh Mickey, dear Mickey, hurry!" she begged.

"Get down and cover up 'til I think," he ordered. "Say you look here! If I
tackle this job do you want a change bad enough to be mean for me?"

"Just a little bit, maybe," said Peaches.

"But I won't hit you," explained Mickey.

"You can if you want to," she said. "I won't cry. Give me a good crack
now, an' see if I do."

"You make me sick at my stummick," said Mickey. "Lord, kid! Snuggle down
'til I see. I'm going to get you there some way."

Mickey went back to the room where he helped deliver the clothes basket.
"How much can you earn the rest of the night?" he asked the woman.

"Mebby ten cents," she said.

"Well, if you will loan me that basket and ten cents, and come with me an
hour, there's that back and just a dollar in it for you, lady," he
offered.

She turned from him with a sneering laugh.

"Honest, lady!" said Mickey. "This is how it is: that crying got me so I
went Anthony Comstockin'. There's a kid with a lame back all alone up
there, half starved and scared fighting wild. We could put her in that
basket, she's just a handful, and take her to a place she wants to go. We
could ride most of the way on the cars and then a little walk, and get her
to a cleaner, better room, where she'd be taken care of, and in an hour
you'd be back with enough nickels in your pocket to make a great, big,
round, shining, full-moon cartwheel. Dearest lady, doesn't the prospect
please you?"

"It would," she said, "if I had the cartwheel now."

"In which case you wouldn't go," said Mickey. "Dearest lady, it isn't
business to pay for undone work."

"And it isn't business to pay your employer's fare to get to your job
either," she retorted.

"No, that beats business a mile," said Mickey. "That's an _investment_.
You invest ten cents and an hour's time on a gamble. Now look what you
get, lady. A nice restful ride on the cars. Your ten cents back, a whole,
big, shining, round, lady-liberty bird, if you trust in God, as the coin
says the bird does, and more'n that, dearest lady, you go to bed feeling
your pinfeathers sprouting, 'cause you've done a kind deed to a poor
crippled orphing."

"If I thought you really had the money--" she said.

"Honest, lady, I got the money," said Mickey, "and 'sides, I got a
surprise party for you. When you get back you may go to that room and take
every scrap that's in it. Now come on; you're going to be enough of a
sporting lady to try a chance like that, ain't you? May be a gold mine up
there, for all I know. Put something soft in the bottom of the basket
while I fetch the kid."

Mickey ran up the stairs.

"Now Peaches," he said, "I guess I got it fixed. I'm going to carry you
down; a nice lady is going to put you in a big basket, then we'll take you
to the cars and so get you to my house; but you got to promise, 'cross
your heart, you won't squeal, nor say a word, 'cause the police will 'get'
you sure, if you do. They'll think the woman is your ma, so it will be all
right. See?"

Peaches nodded. Mickey wrapped her in the remnants of a blanket, carried
her downstairs and laid her in the basket. By turning on her side and
drawing up her feet, she had more room than she needed.

"They won't let us on the cars," said the woman.

"Dearest lady, wait and see," said Mickey. "Now Peaches, shut your eyes,
also your mouth. Don't you take a chance at saying a word. If they won't
stand the basket, we'll carry you, but it would hurt you less, while it
would come in handy when we run out of cars. You needn't take coin only
for going, dearest lady; you'll be silver plated coming back."

"You little fool," said the woman, but she stooped to her end of the
basket.

"Ready, Peaches," said Mickey, "and if it hurts, 'member it will soon be
over, and you'll be where nobody will ever hurt you again."

"Hurry!" begged the child.

Down the long stairs they went and to the car line. Crowded car after car
whirled past; finally one came not so full, it stopped to let off
passengers. Mickey was at the conductor's elbow.

"Please mister, a lame kid," he pleaded. "We want to move her. Please,
please help us on."

"Can't!" said the conductor. "Take a taxi."

"Broke my limousine," said Mickey. "Aw come on mister; ain't you got kids
of your own?"

"Get out of the way!" shouted the conductor.

"Hang on de back wid the basket," cried the woman.

With Peaches laid over her shoulder, she swung to the platform, and found
a seat, while Mickey grabbed the basket and ran to the back screaming
after her: "I got my fare; only pay for yourself." Mickey told the
conductor to tell the lady where to leave the car. When she stepped down
he was ready with the basket. Peaches, panting and in cold perspiration
with pain, was laid in it.

"Lovely part of the village, ain't it, lady?" said Mickey. "See the
castles of the millyingaires piercing the sky; see their automobiles at
the curb; see the lovely ladies and gents promenading the streets enjoying
the spring?"

Every minute Mickey talked to keep the woman from noticing how far she was
going; but soon she growled: "How many miles furder is it?"

"Just around a corner, up an alley, and down a side street a step. Nothing
at all! Nice promenade for a spry, lovely young lady like you. Evening
walk, smell spring in the air. 'Most there now, Peaches."

"Where are ye takin' this kid? How'll I ever get back to the car line?"
asked the woman.

Mickey ignored the first question. "Why, I'll be eschorting you of course,
dearest lady," he said.

At the point of rebellion, Mickey spoke. "Now set the basket down right
here," he ordered. "I'll be back in no time with the lady-bird."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32