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Little Girl in Old New York

<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> <h3>A PLAY IN THE BACK YARD</h3> The pretty block in First Street that had been so clean and genteel, a word used very much at that time, was fast changing. The lower part on the south side was rilling up with undesirable people, some foreigners who crowded three families into a house. Houston Street was growing gaudy and common with Jew stores. And oh, the children! There was a large bakery where they sold cheap bread, and in the afternoon there really was a procession coming in and going out. Chris and Lily Ludlow had teased their mother to move. The place was comfortable and near their father's business, so why should they? But the girls Lily was intimate with had moved away, and she hated to go around Avenue A to school. There were changes at the upper end as well. The Weirs had gone from next door, and two families with small children had taken the house. The babies seemed so pudgy and untidy that the little girl did not fancy them much. Frank Whitney was married with quite a fine wedding-party, and had gone to Williamsburg to live. Mrs. Whitney had rented two rooms in the house to a dressmaker. Delia was almost grown up. She had shot into a tall girl, though she would have her dresses short; she despised young ladyhood. She was smart and capable. She helped with the meals; often, indeed, her mother did not come down until breakfast was ready, when she had had a "bad night." That was when she read novels in bed until two or three o'clock. Delia swept the house—she often did wash on Saturday, though her brother scolded when she did it. She was the same jolly, eager, careless girl, and delighted in a game of tag, but she could so easily outrun the smaller children. She and Jim sometimes raced round the block, one going in one direction, one in the other, and Jim didn't always beat, either. Then she would sit out on the stoop with a crowd of children and tell wonderful stories. She didn't explain that they were largely made up "out of her own head." Next door above the Deans two new little girls had come, very nice children, who played with dolls. There was quite an array when five little girls had their best dolls out. Nora generally brought Pussy Gray, and they were always entertained with her talking. Some boys had invaded the Reed's side of the block. Charles had strict injunctions not to parley with them. But one went in an office as errand boy, and the other quite disdained Jane Robertine Charlotte, as he called him. It did begin to annoy Mr. Reed to have his son made the butt of the street. He was a nice, obedient, upright, orderly boy. What was lacking? In some respects he was very manly. Mr. Reed suddenly concluded that a woman wasn't capable of bringing up boys, and he must take him in hand. For two weeks Mrs. Reed had been threatening to cut his hair. The boys said, "Sissy, why don't your mother put your hair up in curl papers?" It looked so dreadful when it was first cut that Charles always spent these weeks between Scylla and Charybdis. He knew all about the rock and the whirlpools. But something had been happening all the time, even to this Saturday afternoon, when all the silver had to be scoured. Mr. Reed inspected his son as he sat at the supper-table. He had a rather poetical appearance with his long hair curling at the ends, but it was no look for a boy. "Don't you want to take a walk down the street with me?" said his father. Charles started as if he had been struck. "I'm dead tired and I want him to wipe my dishes. I haven't been off my feet since five o'clock this morning only at meal-time. Then he must go to the store." "I'll wait until then." Mrs. Reed looked sharply at them. Had Charles done something that had escaped her all-sided vision and was his father going to take him to task? Or was there a conspiracy? "What do you want him for?" she inquired sharply. "Oh, I thought we'd walk down the street." "Smoking a cigar, of course," as Mr. Reed took one out of his case. "It certainly won't be your fault if the child hasn't every bad tendency under the sun. I've done my best. And you know smoking is a vile habit." Mr. Reed had long ago learned the wisdom of silence, which was even better than a soft answer. Charles put on a pinafore that hung in the kitchen closet. He could dry dishes beautifully. "You've been cutting behind on stages," said his mother. "Some one has told your father." "No, I haven't. Upon my word and honor." "That's next to swearing, John Robert Charles. How often have I told you these little things lead to confirmed bad habits." John Robert Charles was silent. "Well, you've done something. And if your father does once take you in hand——" The boy trembled. This awful threat had been held over him for years. Nothing had come of it, so it couldn't as yet be compared to Mrs. Joe Gargery's "rampage." Mr. Reed sat comfortably on the front stoop smoking and reading. The wind drove the smoke straight down the street, and not into the house. How it could get in with the windows shut down was a mystery, but it seemed to sometimes. Charles brushed his hair and washed his hands. "I must cut your hair. I ought to do it this very night, tired as I am. Now brush your clothes and go out to your father. I'll be thinking up what I want. Pepper is one thing. Go down to the old man's and get some horseradish. If there is anything else I'll come out and tell you." Charles went reluctantly out to the front stoop. "Hillo!" said his father cheerfully. "You through?" That did not sound very threatening. "We are to get pepper and horseradish." Mr. Reed nodded, folded his paper and, slipping it into his pocket, settled his hat. "Mother may think of something else." She positively couldn't. She considered that it saved time to do errands when you were going out, and she spent a great deal of time trying to think how to save it. They walked down First Avenue past Houston Street. Almost at the end of the next block there was a barber-pole with its stripes running round. The barber-pole and the Indian at the cigar shops were features of that day, as well. "Wouldn't you like to have your hair cut, Charles?" inquired his father. The world swam round so that Charles was minded to clutch the barber-pole, but he bethought himself in time that it was dusty. He looked at his father in amaze. "Oh, don't be a ninny! No one will take your head off. Come, you're big enough boy to go to the barber's." The palace of delight seemed opening before the boy. No one can rightly understand his satisfaction at this late day. The mothers, you see, used to cut hair as they thought was right, and nearly every mother had a different idea except those whose idea was simply to cut it off. They had to wait awhile. Charles sat down in a padded chair, had a large white towel pinned close up under his chin, his hair combed out with the softest touch imaginable. The barber's hands were silken soft; his mother's were hard and rough. Snip, snip, snip, comb, brush, sprinkle some fragrance out of a bottle with a pepper-sauce cork—bulbs and sprays had not been invented. Oh, how delightful it was! He really did not want to get down and go home. Mr. Reed had been talking to an acquaintance. The other chair being vacant, he had his beard trimmed. He was not sure whether he would have it taken off this summer, though he generally did. He turned his head a little and looked at his son. He wasn't as poetical looking, but really, he was a nice, clean, wholesome, and—yes—manly boy. But he blushed scarlet. "That looks something like," was his father's comment. What a nice broad forehead Charles had! "He's a nice boy," said the barber in a low tone. "Boy to be proud of. I wish there were more like him." Mr. Reed paid his bill and they went to the store. Then they strolled on down the street. But Charles was in distress lest the pungent berry and odoriferous root should take the barber's sweetness out of him. He was puzzled, too. It seemed to him he ought to say something grateful to his father. He was so very, very glad at heart. But it was so hard to talk to his father. He always envied Jim and Ben Underhill their father. He had found it easy to talk to him on several occasions. "I must say you are improved," his father began presently. "You mother has too much to do bothering about household affairs. And you're getting to be a big boy. Why don't you find some boys to go with? There are those Underhills. You're too big to play with girls." "But mother doesn't like boys," hesitatingly. "You should have been a girl!" declared his father testily. "But since you're not, do try to be a little more manly." The father hardly knew what to say himself. And yet he felt that he did love his son. They were just at the area gate. Charles caught his father's hand. "I'm so glad," breathlessly. "The boys have laughed at me, and you—you've been so good." Mr. Reed was really touched. They entered the basement. Mrs. Reed, like Mrs. Gargery, still had on her apron. Charles put the pepper in the canister, his mother took care of the horseradish. Then he sat down with his history. "For pity's sake, Abner Reed, what have you done to that child! He looks like a scarecrow! He's shaved thin in one place and great tufts left in another. I was going to cut his hair this very evening. And I'll trim it to some decency now." She sprang up for the shears. "You will let him alone," said Mr. Reed, in a firm, dignified tone. "He is quite old enough to look like other boys. When I want him to go to the barber's I'll take him. You will find enough to do. Charles, get a lamp and go up to your own room." "I don't allow him to have a lamp in his room. He will set something a-fire." "Then go up in the parlor." "The parlor!" his mother shrieked. "I'll go to bed," said Charles. "I know my lesson." There was a light in the upper hall. On the second floor were the sleeping-chambers. Charles' was the back hall room. He could see very well from the light up the stairway. What happened in the basement dining-room he could not even imagine. His father so seldom interfered in any matter, and his mother had a way of talking him down. But Charles was asleep when they came to bed. Still, he had a rather hard day on Sunday. His mother was coldly severe and captious. Once she said: "I can't bear to look at you, you are so disfigured! If that is what your father calls style——" and she shook her head disapprovingly. He went to church and Sunday-school, and then his father took him up to Tompkins Square for a walk. It seemed as if they had never been acquainted before. Why, his father was real jolly. And it was a nice week at school after the boys got done asking him "Who his Barber was?" He could see the big B they put to it. On Saturday afternoon Mrs. Reed had to go out shopping with a cousin. She was an excellent shopper. She could find flaws, and beat down, and get a spool of cotton or a piece of tape thrown in. When Charles came home from singing-school he was to go over to the Deans and play in the back yard. He was not to be out on the sidewalk at all. They were going to have a splendid time. Elsie and Florence Hay would bring their dolls. Even Josie envied the pretty names, though she confessed to Hanny that she didn't think Hay was nice, because it made you think of "hay, straw, oats" on the signs at the feed stores. But the girls were very sweet and pleasant. Nora had come in with the cat dressed in one of her own long baby frocks. Hanny ran in to get her doll. It was still her choice possession, and had been named and unnamed. Her mother began to think she was too big to play with dolls, but Margaret had made it such a pretty wardrobe. Ben sat at the front basement window reading. Mr. and Mrs. Underhill had gone up to see Miss Lois, who was far from well. Margaret was out on "professional rounds," which Ben thought quite a suggestive little phrase. Martha was scrubbing and of course he couldn't talk to her. He had cut the side of his foot with a splinter of glass, and his mother would not allow him to put on his shoe. Hanny brought down her doll. Ben looked rather wistfully at her. "I wish you'd come in too. We're going to have such a nice time," she said in a soft tone. "I'd look fine playing with dolls." "But you needn't really play with dolls. Mrs. Dean doesn't. She's the grandmother. We go to visit her, and she tells us about the old times, just as Aunt Nancy and Aunt Patience do. Of course she wasn't there really, she makes believe, you know. And you might be the—the——" "Grandfather who had lost his leg in the war." Ben laughed. He had half a mind to go. "Oh, that would be splendid. And you could be a prisoner when the British held New York. There'd be such lots to talk about. You could wear John's slipper, you see——" She smiled so persuasively. She would never be as handsome as Margaret, but she had such tender, coaxing eyes, and such a sweet mouth. "Well, I'll bring my book along." It was one of Cooper's novels that boys were going wild over just then. "Do you really think they'd like to have me?" "Oh, I know they would," eagerly. Ben had to walk rather one-sided. Joe said he must not bear any weight on the outside of his foot to press the wound open. "I've brought Ben," announced the little girl. "And he's going to be a Revolutionary soldier." "We are very glad to see him," and Mrs. Dean rose. She had a white kerchief crossed on her breast, and a pretty cap pinned up for the occasion. The yard was shady in the afternoon. There was a piece of carpet spread on the grass, and some chairs arranged on it, and two or three rugs laid around. On the space paved with brick stood the table, and two boxes were the dish closets. There were some cradles, and a bed arranged on another box. It really was a pretty picture. Josie and Charles were generally the mother and father of one household. Charles blushed up to the roots of his hair. He liked playing with the girls, when he was the only boy, with no one to laugh at him. "Now you mustn't mind me or I shall go back home and stay all alone," said Ben. That appealed to everybody's sympathy. "I'm coming over here to talk to grandmother about what we did when we were young." Grandmother had some knitting. People even then knit their husband's winter stockings because they wore so much better. "And Mrs. Pennypacker, you might come and call on us." Nora laughed. That was Ben's favorite name for her when she had the cat. The soft gray head and the gray paws looked rather queer out of the long white dress. Pussy Gray had a white nose and his eyes were fastened in with a black streak that looked like a ribbon. "How is your son to-day?" Ben inquired. "He is pretty well, except he's getting some teeth. Ain't you, darling?" and Nora hugged him up. "Wow," said Kitty softly. "Have you had the doctor?" "No-o," answered Kitty, looking up pathetically. "I'm afraid I've neglected him," explained Mrs. Pennypacker. "You poor darling! But your mother has been so busy." "Meaow," said Kitty resignedly. "Are you hungry, dear? Would you like a bit of cold chicken? He has to have something to keep up his strength. Teething is so hard on children." "Me-e-a-ow," returned Kitty, with plaintive affirmation. Mrs. Pennypacker went over to the table and gave him a mouthful of something. If it wasn't chicken it answered the purpose. Then she sat down to rock him to sleep and asked Ben in what battle he had lost his leg. Ben thought it was the battle of White Plains. He was very young at the time. "How hard it must be to have a wooden leg," sighed Nora. "And of course you can't dance a bit." "Oh, no, indeed!" "Did they treat you very badly when you were a prisoner?" "Dreadful," answered Ben. "They didn't give us half enough to eat." "That was terrible. I hope you'll be contented here, where everything is so nice and cheerful. I am going to see Mr. and Mrs. Brown now." "Please give them my compliments and tell them I should be very happy to have them call." Charles had been watching Ben furtively with an apprehension that the real enjoyment of the afternoon would be spoiled. And no doubt he would tell the Houston Street boys "all about it." He was hardly prepared to see Ben enter so into the spirit of the "make believe." Then Ben and Mrs. Dean had a little talk that might have been considered an anachronism, since it was about the foot still fast to his body. He had stepped on a piece of glass in the stable, and it had gone through the old shoe he had on for that kind of work. But Joe had seen it that morning and thought it would get along all right. They were talking very eagerly over the other side of the city. And presently quite a procession came to call on the old veteran. Ben and Charles fell into a discussion about some battles, and the misfortune it was to the country to lose New York so early in the contest. They compared their favorite generals and discussed the prospect of war with Mexico that was beginning to be talked about. And Mr. Brown said he had some cousins who were very anxious to see an old soldier of the Revolution. Could he bring them over? Then Elsie and Florence Hay came. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Pennypacker asked him to tea and he said he should be glad to accept. Mrs. Dean thought they had better have their tea in the dining-room, but Josie said let them spread the cloth on the coping of the area, and bring the chairs and benches just inside. Charles said that would be a sort of Roman feast and the guests would make believe there were couches. They put down papers and then a cloth, and Josie brought out her dishes. Grandmother held the Pennypacker baby, who certainly was the best cat in the world and settled himself down, white dress and all. Ben asked Charles if he was studying Roman history, and found he was reading the Orations of Cicero in Latin, and knew a great deal about Greece and Rome. He had read most of Sir Walter Scott's novels, and liked "Marmion" beyond everything. "What was he going to do—enter college?" "Mother wants me to. Father says I may if I like." He colored a little, but did not say his mother had set her heart on his being a minister because his Uncle Robert, who died, had intended to enter that profession. Ben said the boys, John and the doctor, wanted him to go, but he wished he could be a newspaper man like Nora's father. His mother thought it a kind of shiftless business. They talked over their likes and dislikes in boy fashion, and Charles enjoyed it immensely. He thought it would be just royal to have a big brother who was a doctor, and a little sister like Hanny. Meanwhile the little women had been very much engrossed with their children and their tea party, and the prospect of a grandmother and an old soldier coming to visit them. "And Mr. Brown is so heedless," said Mrs. Brown. "He ought to be here to go to the store, but he's off talking and men are so absent-minded." Elsie said she'd go to the store, which was the closet in the basement. Then the company came, and the old soldier limped dreadfully. Mrs. Brown scolded her husband a little, and then excused him, and everybody was seated in a row. There was a plate of thin bread-and-butter, some smoked beef cut in small pieces, some sugar crackers, quite a fad of that day, and a real cake. Mrs. Dean had given them half of a newly baked one. It was quite a tea. Mr. Dean came home in the midst of it and sympathized warmly with the hero of 1776, and was extremely courteous to grandmother. The little girls cleared away the dishes, put their children to bed, had a fine swing and played "Puss in the Corner" with two sets. Mr. Reed came in for Charles. "I wish you'd come over and see my boy," he said to Ben. "He's a rather lonely chap, having no brothers or sisters." "Let him come over to our house," returned Ben cordially. "We have a good supply." Then everybody dispersed. They'd had such a good time, and were eager in their acknowledgments. "Why, I quite like John Robert Charles," said Ben. "He's a real smart fellow." "If you would please not call him all those names," entreated Hanny. "He doesn't like them." "Well, I should say not. I'd like just plain Bob. He wants the girlishness shaken out of him." "But he's so nice. And if he should come over please don't let Jim plague him." "Oh, I'll look out." It was a week before Ben could put on his shoe, and of course it was not wisdom for him to go to school. He went down-town in the wagon and did some writing and accounts for Steve, and read a great deal. Mr. Reed and Charles sauntered over one evening. Hanny was sitting out on the stoop with "father and the boys," and gave Charles a soft, welcoming smile. Margaret was playing twilight tunes in a gentle manner, and the dulcet measures fascinated the boy, who could hardly pay attention to what Ben was saying. "Do you want to go in and hear her?" Hanny asked, with quick insight as she caught his divided attention. "Oh, if I could!" eagerly. "Yes." Hanny rose and held out her hand, saying: "We are going in to Margaret." The elder sister greeted them cordially. After playing a little she asked them if they would not like to sing. They chose "Mary to the Saviour's Tomb" first. It was a great favorite in those days. The little girl liked it because she could play and sing it for her father. She was taking music lessons of Margaret's teacher now, and practised her scales and exercises with such assiduity that she had been allowed to play this piece. She did sometimes pick out tunes, but it was after the real work was done. "Your boy has a fine voice," said John to Mr. Reed. The father was not quite sure singing was manly. He had roused to the fact that Charles was rather "girly," and he wanted him like other boys. "He is a good scholar," his father returned in half protest. "Stands highest in his class." "Going to send him to college?" "I don't just know," hesitatingly. "Has he any fancy for a profession? He'd make an attractive minister." "I don't know as I have much of a fancy for that." Mr. Reed knew it was his wife's hope and ambition, but it had never appealed to him. "The boys want Ben to go to college," said John, the "boys" standing for the two older brothers. "I don't want to be a lawyer nor a doctor," subjoined Ben decisively. "And I shouldn't be good enough for a minister. There ought to be some other professions." "Why, there are. Professorships, civil engineering, and so on." While the men discussed future chances, the children were singing, and their sweet young voices moved both fathers curiously. Mr. Reed decided that he would cultivate his neighbor, even if Charles had not made much headway with Ben and Jim. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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