Rosiehad not long to wait, as George's run ended at nine o'clock.
"Sst! Jarge!" she called softly as he bounded up the steps and would have passed her in the dark.
"Is that you, Rosie?"
"Sit down a minute, Jarge. I want to ask you something."
George mopped his head with his handkerchief and drew a long breath. "Whew, but I'm tired, Rosie! I rang up over seventy-five fares three times tonight."
Rosie opened with no preliminary remarks. "Say, Jarge, can you lend me twenty-five cents until tomorrow night? You know I get paid tomorrow."
"Sure, Rosie. What for?"
"I want to go to the Dog Show matinée."
George paused a moment. "But, Rosie, you don't need twenty-five cents for that. You told me it was ten cents."
"I know, Jarge, but I want to take Jackie and Janet."
"Why, Rosie!"
"Well, if I don't, poor Janet'll never get there.She never gets anywhere. You know her father boozes every cent. And I just got to take Jackie if I go myself. Besides, he'll only cost me five cents and that will let me use the nickel Terry gave me for peanuts."
"But, Rosie,"—George cleared his throat—"I thought you were saving every penny. You know you can't save and spend at the same time."
"I'm not saving any more." Rosie spoke quietly, evenly.
"Not saving any more! What do you mean, Rosie? What's happened?"
She could feel his kind jolly eyes looking at her through the dark but she knew that he could not see the tears which suddenly filled her own.
"N-nothing," she quavered.
"Rosie! Tell me!" He put his arm about her shoulder and drew her to him. At the tenderness in his voice and touch, all the sense of outrage and loss in Rosie's heart welled up afresh and broke in sobs which she could not control.
"I wasn't going to tell you, Jarge, honest I wasn't, because you're dead gone on her and, besides, she's my own sister."
For a few seconds Rosie could say no more and George, with a sudden tightening of the arm that encircled her, waited in silence.
"I—I was going up to count my money, Jarge, and what do you think? Some one had smashed open the bank and taken every cent! I tell youthere wasn't even one cent left! And, Jarge, I've been saving so hard—you know I have!" She lay on his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs.
George spoke with an effort: "Why do you think it was Ellen?"
"Terry and me got it out o' ma. When we cornered her she told us.... And she's gone and spent it on a bunch of curls! Think of that, Jarge—curls for her hair! Just because Hattie Graydon's got false curls, Ellen's got to have them, too! Now do you call that fair? I saved awful hard for that money, you know I did, and it was my own!"
George sighed. "Poor kiddo! Of course it was your own! But Ellen'll pay you back, I—I'm sure she will."
"That's what ma says. But, Jarge, even if she does, it won't be the same thing. Just tell me how you'd feel yourself if all your savings were snatched away from you!"
George's answer was unexpected. "They have been, Rosie, a good many times."
"What!" Rosie sat up in fright and astonishment. "Has she dared to go and break into your trunk?"
George laughed weakly. "No, Rosie, it ain't Ellen this time." He paused a moment. "I've told you about my father's farm. It's a good farm and I'd rather live on it and work it than do anything else on earth. But it's got run down, Rosie.The old man's had a mighty long spell of unluck. A few years ago he got a little mortgage piled up on it and for nearly two years now he hasn't kept it up like he ought to. In the country you've got to have ready money to wipe out mortgages and to start things goin' right. That's why I'm here in town railroading and that's why I'm saving every cent until people think I'm a tightwad."
"But, Jarge, how did they get it away from you so many times?"
"Well, just to show you: Two years ago one of the barns burned down. That cost me two hundred dollars. Last summer we lost a couple of our best cows worth sixty dollars apiece. This winter the old man was laid up with rheumatiz a couple o' months and it cost me a dollar a day to get the chores done, let alone the doctor bill. And each time I was just about ready to blow my job here and hike for home. I thought sure I'd be doing my own plowing this spring."
Weariness and discouragement sounded in his voice and Rosie, forgetting her own troubles, slipped her arms about his neck.
"I'm awful sorry, Jarge. Maybe if nothing happens this summer you'll be able to go back in the fall."
George shook himself doggedly. "Oh, I'll get there some time! I cleaned up the mortgage the first year I was here and now I'm working to pile up five hundred in the bank before I go. I'm gettingthere, too, but I hope to God I won't have any more setbacks!"
"And if you do, Jarge?..."
The answer came sharp and quick: "I'll save all the harder!"
For a few moments both were silent. Then George spoke: "I'm sorry, Rosie, about this thing. I know how you feel. If you want to, after this you may hide your savings in my trunk. I've got two keys and I'll give you one."
"I—I didn't think I was going to save any more, Jarge."
"Not save? Of course you're going to save! You've got to save!"
"Why?"
"So's to have something to show for your work!"
"But it takes so awful long, Jarge, and even then maybe you lose it."
"I know, Rosie, but even so you got to do it. It's only muckers that never save."
"Why, Jarge!"
"Sure, Rosie. Only muckers. They blow in every cent they get as soon as they make it or before. That's why they can afford to go off on drunks and holler around and smash things up. They ain't got nuthin' to lose no matter what they do. Oh, I tell you, Rosie, just show me a loud-mouthed mucker and I'll show you a fellow that don't know the first thing about saving!"
"Really, Jarge?"
"Yes, really. And the same way, take decent hard-working people and what do you find? As sure as you're alive, you'll find them saving every cent to put the children through school, or pay for their home, or take care of the old folks. I tell you, Rosie, you got to save if ever you get anywhere in this world!"
"But, Jarge, I—I think I just got to go to that Dog Show now."
George laughed and gave her a little hug. "All right, kiddo. Here's the quarter. Have a good time and tell me about it afterwards. Next week, you know, you can begin saving in earnest. My trunk——"
"Please, Jarge," Rosie begged, "don't make me promise. Give me a week to think about it."
"Of course you can have a week to think about it." They were standing up now, ready to go into the house. "But I know all right what you'll decide."
"How do you know?"
George stooped and gave her a hearty country kiss, smack on the mouth. "Because I know there's nothing of the mucker about Rosie O'Brien!"
And Rosie, as she slipped upstairs, tying the quarter in the corner of her handkerchief, suddenly realized that she was no longer unhappy. How could any one be unhappy who had a friend as good and as kind as George Riley? And, in addition tohim, she had nice old Terry—hadn't he given her a nickel and been sorry it wasn't a quarter?—and dear little Jackie and the faithful Janet and poor old Danny Agin, too! Thank goodness, neither Ellen nor any one else could steal them away from her!
Indeclaring that Ellen would repay the money she had taken from Rosie's bank, Mrs. O'Brien had spoken in all sincerity. She was perfectly convinced in her own mind that every one of her children would always do exactly as he should do. She was willing to acknowledge that the poor dears might occasionally make mistakes, but such mistakes, she was certain, were mistakes of judgment, not of principle. Give them time, she begged, and in the end they would do the right thing. She'd stake her word on that!
Ellen's own attitude was one of annoyance, not to say resentment, that she had been forced to raise money for the curls in so troublesome a manner. Rosie's reproachful glances and Terry's revilings irritated but in no way touched her. In fact, she seemed to think that, in appropriating Rosie's savings, she had been acting entirely within her rights. She would never have been guilty of touching anything belonging to an outsider but, like many selfish people, she had as little respect for the property of the members of her own immediate family as she had for their feelings. It was quite as though sheconscientiously believed that the rest of the O'Briens had been placed in this world for the sole purpose of adding to her comfort and convenience. It always surprised her, often it bored her, sometimes it even grieved her that they did not share this view. It seemed to her nothing less than stupidity on their part not to.
So, despite her mother's promises, despite George Riley's hopes, Rosie knew perfectly well that her savings would never be refunded. They were gone and that was to be the end of them. Thanks to kind George Riley, Rosie had weathered the first storm of disappointment and had learned that, notwithstanding a selfish unscrupulous sister, life was still worth living. Neither then nor later did she definitely forgive Ellen the theft—how could she forgive when Ellen, apparently, was conscious of no guilt?—but she tried resolutely not to spend her time in vain regrets and useless complainings. The days passed and life, like the great river that it is, flowed over the little tragedy and soon covered it from sight.
The school year slowly drew to a close and at last Mrs. O'Brien felt free to make a request about which she had been throwing out vague hints for some time.
"Here, baby darlint, go to sister Rosie."
"Rosie dear," she began with an imploring smile, "now that vacation's come and you don't have to go back any more to school, won't you, like a good child, help your poor ma and take care of your little sister Geraldine? Here, baby darlint, go to sister Rosie."
Mrs. O'Brien held out the baby, but Rosie backed resolutely away.
"Now see here, Ma, you just needn't begin on that, because I won't. I guess I do enough in this house without taking care of Geraldine: I wash all the dishes, and that old Ellen O'Brien hardly ever even wipes them; and I do the outside scrubbing; and I go to the grocery for you six times a day; and I help with the cooking, too; and I always carry up Jarge's supper to the cars; and I take care of Jackie. Besides all that, I got my paper route. I guess that's enough for any one person."
Mrs. O'Brien conceded this readily enough. "Of course it is, Rosie dear, and I'm not sayin' it ain't. You're a great worker, and a fine little manager, too. I used to be a manager meself, but after ye've been the mother of eight, and three of them dead and gone—God rest their souls!—things kind o' slip away from you, do ye see? What was it I was sayin' now? Ah, yes, this: now that summer's come, if only ye'd help me out with Geraldine, p'rhaps I could catch up with me work. Like a darlint, now."
Mrs. O'Brien, shifting Geraldine from one warm arm to the other, smiled ingratiatingly; but Rosie only shook her head more doggedly than before.
"No, Ma. The rest of the people in this house don't do things they don't want to do, and for onceI'm not going to either. I tell you I'm not going to begin lugging Geraldine around!"
"You poor infant!" Mrs. O'Brien crooned tearfully, "and does nobody love you? Ah, now, don't cry! Your poor ma loves you even if your own sister Rosie don't!"
Responsive to the pity expressed in her mother's tones, Geraldine raised a fretful wail, but Rosie, though she felt something of a murderess, still held out.
"I tell you, Ma, Jackie's my baby. I've taken good care of him, and that's all you can ask."
Mrs. O'Brien sighed in patient exasperation. "But, Rosie dear, can't you see that Jackie's a big b'y now, well able to take care of himself?"
"Take care of himself! Why, Ma, how you talk! Don't I have to wash him and button his shoes and put him to bed?"
"Well, I must say, Rosie, it's high time he did such things for himself—a fine, healthy lad going on six! Why, yourself, Rosie, hadn't turned six when you began mothering Jackie!"
It was not a subject Rosie cared to argue, so she retired in dignified silence. But her mother's words troubled her. In her heart she knew that Jackie was a well-grown boy even if in many things he was still a baby. But why shouldn't he still be a baby? The truth was Rosie wanted him to be a baby; it delighted her to feel that he was dependent on her; it was her greatest pleasure in life to dothings for him. And if she was willing to serve him, why, pray, should other people object?
Unfortunately, though, certain disturbing changes were coming over Jackie himself. Within a few months he had burst, as it were, the chrysalis of his babyhood and come forth a full-fledged small boy with all a small boy's keenness to be exactly like all other small boys. Rosie's interest in his welfare he had begun to resent as interference; her supervision of him he was openly repudiating; and, worst of all, he was showing unmistakable signs of becoming fast friends with Joe Slattery, youngest member of the family and neighbourhood gang of the same name. Rosie had done her best to check the growing intimacy, but in vain. So long as school continued, Jack could meet Joe in the school-yard, and Rosie had been helpless to interfere. But now, for the coming of vacation, she had a project carefully thought out. In her own mind she had already arranged picnics at the zoo, excursions to the woods, jaunts to the park, that would so occupy and divert the attention of Jack that he would soon forget Joe and the lure of the Slattery gang.
What time, may one ask, would Rosie have for this work if she burdened herself with Geraldine? None whatever. No. Geraldine was her mother's baby, and if her mother didn't insist on Ellen's relieving her a little, why, then she would have to go on alone as best she could. With her everlasting excuse of business college, Ellen did little enoughabout the house anyway. Rosie hardened her heart and, as the family gathered for midday meal, was ready with a plan for that very afternoon.
She broached the subject at the table. "Say, Jackie, do you want to come with me this afternoon? I'm going somewheres."
"Oh, I dunno."
Rosie's heart sank. But a short time ago he would have jumped down from his chair and rushed over to her with an eager: "Oh, Rosie, where you going? Where you going?" Now all he had to say was an indifferent, "I dunno."
Rosie made one more effort to arouse his old enthusiasm. "Me and Janet are going up to Boulevard Place."
She waited expectantly, and Jack finally grunted out in bored politeness: "That so?"
A moment later his indifference vanished at a vigorous shout from outside: "Hi, there, Jack! Where are you?" It was Joe Slattery's voice.
"I'm th'u," Jack announced, gulping down a last bite. "I got to go."
"Where you going, Jackie?" Rosie tried not to show in her voice the anxiety she felt.
"Oh, nowheres. Don't you take hold o' me, Rosie, 'cause I'm in a hurry."
Rosie went with him to the door, still keeping her hand on his shoulder. "Please tell me where you're going."
"You just let go my arm! I'll kick if you don't!"
Jack struggled violently, broke away, and, escaping to a safe distance, scowled back at Rosie angrily. "'Tain't none o' your business where I'm going! Guess I can go where I want to!"
"Oh, Jackie, Jackie! Is that the way to talk to your poor Rosie?"
Joe Slattery, who had, of course, instantly espoused his friend's cause, now spoke: "He's goin' in swimmin'! That's where he's goin' if you want to know it!"
"Swimmin'! You mustn't, Jackie, you mustn't! You'll get drownd-ed! Sure he will, Joe! He don't know how to swim one bit!"
Joe grinned mockingly. "Guess he can learn, can't he?"
Rosie paused distractedly, then clutched at the only straw that floated by. "See here, Jackie, you can go with Joe and you can look on, but listen: if you promise me you won't go in, I'll give you a whole nickel!"
Jack looked at Joe and Joe looked at Jack. Then with the eye farthest away from Rosie, Rosie thought she saw Joe screw out a small wink. Thereupon Jack turned to Rosie with a frank, guileless smile.
"All right, Rosie. You give me a nickel and I won't—honest I won't."
"You promise me faithfully you won't go in?"
"Sure I won't, Rosie! Cross my heart!"
Rosie drew out one of her hard-earned nickelsand gave it to him. He and Joe promptly hurried off.
"Now, remember!" Rosie called after them, beseechingly; but they seemed not to hear, for they made her no answer.
Rosie went back to the table almost in tears. "Jackie's gone off with that Joe Slattery and they're goin' in swimmin' and I just know he'll get drownd-ed!"
"You don't say so!" ejaculated Mrs. O'Brien. "Why didn't you tell me, Rosie dear, before they got started?"
"Tell you!" Rosie's tears changed to scorn. "Why'd I tell you? You know very well how much you'd do! You always let every one do just what they want!"
Mrs. O'Brien blinked reproachful eyes. "Why, Rosie, how you talk! If you'd ha' told me that Jackie was goin' in swimmin' I'd ha' gone out to him and said: 'Now, Jackie dear, mind the water! Don't go in the deep places first!' I give you me word, Rosie, I'd ha' said it if it were me last breath!"
Rosie lost all patience. "I know very well that's exactly what you'd say! That's all the sense you got! That's all the sense that anybody in this house has got! And I suppose by this time Jackie's drownd-ed, and if he is I want to die, too!"
Mrs. O'Brien looked at her in amazement. "Why, Rosie dear, what a flutter ye do be puttin'yourself into! Ah, now I see. It's because Jackie's your first chick! Take me word for it, darlint, when ye're the mother of eight ye won't be carryin' on so. Come to think about it, I remember meself over Mickey—God rest his soul!—the first day he went swimmin'. Mickey was just turned seven, and Terry here was toddlin' about on the floor, and yourself was in me arms no bigger than poor wee Geraldine.
"'Where's Mickey?' says I to Mrs. Flaherty, who was livin' next door.
"'Mickey?' says she. 'Why, didn't I see Mickey start off with the b'ys? They be gone swimmin',' says she.
"'Swimmin'!' says I, and with that I lets out a yell. 'He'll be drownd-ed!' says I. 'Me poor Mickey'll be drownd-ed!'
"'Be aisy, Mrs. O'Brien,' says she; 'or ye'll be spoilin' yir milk and then what'll ye do?' And she was right, Rosie, was Mrs. Flaherty, for Mickey got back safe and sound, to be carried off two years later with scarlet fever!"
Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head complacently and poured herself another cup of tea.
Rosie, her face still tragic and woebegone, turned to her brother. "Will you do something for me, Terry?"
"What?"
"Follow Jackie out and see that he don't get into deep water."
Terry looked at her as if she were crazy. "Sorry, Rosie, but I got something more to do than trail Jack around. Besides, he's not going to get hurt. It'll be good for him."
Rosie washed the dinner dishes in silence, thinking to herself what a cold-blooded family she had. There was poor wee Jackie out there drowning, for all they knew, and not one of them willing to stretch forth a helping hand. She escaped as soon as she could to seek the sympathy of her friend, Janet McFadden.
Another blow was in store for her. Janet heard her out and then said: "But, Rosie, don't all boys go swimming?"
Rosie was ready to weep with vexation. "What do I care what all boys do? This is Jack!"
"Well," said Janet, with maddening logic, "even if it is Jack, I guess Jack's a boy."
Drawing herself up to her greatest height, Rosie looked her friend full in the face. "If that's all you got to say, Janet McFadden, I guess I had better be going. Good-bye."
"Don't you want me to help with your papers this afternoon?" Janet called after her.
"No!" Rosie spoke brusquely, then added lamely: "I'm in a hurry today."
"Oh, very well!" Janet lifted her head and tightened her lips. "I'm sure I don't want to go where I'm not wanted."
"So she's mad at me, too!" Rosie told herselfas she hurried off, feeling more miserable than before.
She got her papers and went about delivering them, nursing her grief in her heart, till she came to old Danny Agin's cottage. Then she talked and Danny, as usual, listened quietly and sympathetically.
At first he had nothing to say. He screwed his head about thoughtfully, squinted at his pipe, tapped it several times on the porch rail, blew through the stem, then finally cleared his throat.
"It's just this way, Rosie: I know exactly how ye feel. Jack's yir own baby, as it were; but, whist, darlint, he can't be always taggin' after ye, don't ye see? He's a pretty big lump of a b'y now, and if I was you I'd just let him run and play by himself when the mood takes him. Then, when he comes back, just talk to him like nuthin' was the matther, and upon me word, Rosie, he'll love ye all the more for it."
"But, Danny," Rosie wailed, "what if he was to get drownd-ed?"
Danny reached over and patted her on the arm confidentially. "Ah, now, Rosie, what if we was all to get drownd-ed? You know it happened wance. Noah was the gintleman's name. From all accounts 'twas a fearful experience. But 'twas a long time ago, and since then any number of us have escaped. Why, Rosie dear, I've never yet been drownd-ed meself, and in me young days Iwas mighty fond of the wather. So cheer up, darlint, for the chances are that Jackie'll come out all right."
Rosie dried her eyes listlessly. It seemed to her they were all in conspiracy against her. Yes, she was sure of it.
Jackwas home in good time for supper.
"Ah, now, do you see, Rosie?" Her mother pointed to him in triumph. "It's just as I told you. Here he is safe and sound. But, Jackie dear, mind now: the next time don't ye go into the deep water until ye know how to swim."
Ellen glanced at him amusedly. "Been in swimmin', kid?"
To Rosie the question seemed both stupid and inane, for Jack's face had a clean, varnished look that was unmistakable, and his hair had dried in stiff, shiny streaks close to his head.
He was hungry and ate with zest, but he said little and carefully avoided Rosie's eye. Very soon after supper he slipped off quietly to bed. Rosie did not pursue him. She was waiting for George Riley, upon whom she was pinning her last hope.
Presently he came but, before she had time to get his advice, she was hurried upstairs by Jackie himself, who called down in urgent, tearful tones:
"Rosie! Oh, Rosie! Come here! Please come! Come quick!"
The little front bedroom with its sloping wallsand one dormer window was Ellen's room, theoretically. Actually, Rosie shared Ellen's bed, and Jack's little cot stood at the bottom of the bed between the door and the bureau.
Rosie felt hurriedly for matches and candle. "Now, Jackie dear, what's the matter? You're not sick, are you? Tell Rosie."
"It hurts! It hurts!" Jack was sitting up, wailing dolefully. He reached toward Rosie in a helpless, appealing way that warmed her heart. Whatever was the matter, it was bringing him back to her.
"What is it hurts, Jackie?"
"My back! It burns! I tell you it's just burnin' up!"
Rosie gently lifted off his nightshirt and held the candle close.
"Jackie! What's happened to your back and shoulders? They're all red and swollen! What did those Slattery boys do to you?"
"They didn't do nuthin', Rosie, honest they didn't. Ouch! Ouch! Can't you do something to make it stop hurting?"
"Wait a minute, Jackie, and I'll call Jarge Riley. Jarge'll know what to do."
George came at once and as quickly recognized Jack's ailment. "Ha, ha, Jack, old boy, how's your sunburn? Jiminy, you've got a good one this time!... Say, how's the water?"
Rosie gently lifted off his nightshirt and held the candle close.
"Ugh-h-h!" moaned Jack. "It hurts!" Then with a change of voice he answered George enthusiastically: "Dandy! Just as warm and nice as anything!"
George sighed. "Golly! Wisht I was a kid again! There sure is no place like the old swimmin'-hole in the good old summer-time!"
Rosie glared indignantly. "Jarge Riley, ain't you ashamed of yourself! It's dangerous to go in swimming and you know it is! Jackie's never going in again, are you, Jackie?"
Jack snuffled tearfully: "My back hurts! Can't some o' you do something for it?"
Rosie turned stiffly to George. "What I called you up here for was to ask you what's good for a sunburnt back."
"Excuse me," murmured George meekly. "Let's see now: We ought to put on some oil or grease, then some powder or flour."
"Will lard do?" Rosie still spoke coldly.
"Yes, but vaseline would be better. There's a bottle of vaseline on my bureau. Do you want to get it, Rosie?"
Rosie hurried off and returned just in time to hear George say: "Oh, you can go in again in two or three days."
Rosie blazed on him furiously. "Jarge Riley, what are you telling Jackie?"
"I?" He spoke with an assumption of innocence and that look of guilelessness which Rosie was fast learning to associate with male deceit. "Iwas just telling him it would take a couple o' days for his back to peel. Then he'll be all right again."
Rosie looked at him in scorn, but made no comment. She resolved one thing: George Riley should have no more moments alone with Jack. When the time came, she made him go downstairs for the flour-shaker, then curtly dismissed him.
"I guess you can go now, Jarge. Jackie wants to go to sleep. Now, Jackie dear, just lie on your stummick and you'll be asleep in two minutes."
George hesitated a moment. "Didn't you say you wanted to see me about something, Rosie?"
Rosie looked at him steadily. "If ever I said that it was before I knew you as well as I know you now. Now they isn't anything I want to say to you."
George gasped helplessly and departed, and Rosie, after settling Jack comfortably, blew out the candle.... So even George Riley had joined the conspiracy against her! Well, she was not done fighting yet.
She insisted upon making an invalid of Jack the next morning, keeping him in bed and carrying up his breakfast to him. All day long, she waited on him, hand and foot, loved, amused, coaxed, threatened, bribed him, until by evening she had him weak and helpless, ready to agree to anything she might suggest.
At supper Mrs. O'Brien beamed on him sympathetically and remarked to Ellen, who was justhome from business college: "Ellen dear, do you know the awful back o' sunburn poor wee Jack's got on him? Rosie's been nursing him all day."
Ellen glanced at Terry and laughed. "Do you remember, Terry, how you used to come home after your first swim every summer?"
Jack looked up eagerly. "Oh, Terry, did you used to get sunburned, too?"
Terry nodded. "Sure I did. Every fella does."
Jack's face took on an expression of heavenly content.
"Is it peeling yet?" Terry asked.
"No, but it's cracking." Jack's tone was hopeful.
Rosie moved uneasily. "Terence O'Brien, I just wish you'd look out what you're saying, and you too, Ellen! It's dangerous to go in swimming, and Jackie's never going again, are you, Jackie?"
Jack hesitated a moment, then murmured a weak little "No."
Mrs. O'Brien nodded approvingly. "Ah, now, ain't Jack the good b'y to promise sister Rosie never to go in swimmin' again!"
Ellen chuckled. "At least until his back's well!"
Rosie flew at her sister like an angry little clucking hen. "Ellen O'Brien, you just mind your own business! Come on, Jackie, we're through. We're going out in front by ourselves, aren't we?"
Jack, apparently, wanted to remain where he was; but when Rosie whispered, "And I've gotanother penny for you," he slipped quietly down from his chair.
When you know that this was Jack's fifth penny for that day, you have some idea of what the struggle was costing Rosie. A week's wages seemed in a fair way of being eaten up in a few days. It was a fearful drain on her resources, but anything, Rosie told herself, to keep him out of the clutches of the Slattery gang!
By the third day his back was dry and peeling. After dinner, as Rosie was coming home from the grocery, she found him at the front gate boasting about it to Joe Slattery.
Rosie interrupted politely: "Jackie, will you come into the house a minute? I got something to ask you."
Jack looked at her kindly. "All right, Rosie. You go on in and I'll be in in a minute."
The dismissal was so friendly that Rosie could not gainsay it. She hurried around to the back door and then rushed through the house to the front door, which she slipped open wide enough to see and to hear what was going on at the gate. Joe Slattery's voice carried distinctly.
"Say, Jack, what do you say to goin' down now? Aw, come on! Let's."
Rosie did not have to ask herself what Joe Slattery was proposing; she knew only too well. Breathless, she awaited Jack's answer. It came with scarcely an instant's hesitation.
"All right. Let's."
Jack was out of the gate and off before Rosie could push open the front door.
"Jackie! Jackie! Where you going? Wait for Rosie!"
"Me and Joe got to go down and see a fella. We'll be back soon, won't we, Joe?"
"Sure we will, Rosie. We'll be back in ten minutes."
Rosie shook her head reproachfully. "Jackie, Jackie, you're telling Rosie a story, you know you are! You're going swimming and you promised me you wouldn't! Oh, Jackie, how can you, after the nickel I gave you this morning, and the seven cents yesterday, and the nickel the day before, and the nickel of the first day you went with Joe? Oh, Jackie, how can you take poor Rosie's money and then act that way?"
Jack had nothing to say, but Joe Slattery was able to answer for him.
"Aw, go on, Rosie O'Brien—Jack's goin' in swimmin' if he wants to! I guess you ain't his boss! Come on, Jack!"
Joe threw his arm about Jack's shoulder and together they marched off.
Rosie put forth one last effort: "Jackie O'Brien, you listen here: If you go swimming with Joe Slattery, I——" She searched about frantically for some threat sufficiently terrifying. She paused a moment, then hit upon something which, a fewmonths earlier, would have worked like magic. "If you do,I'll never button your shoes again! Never again!"
Jack glanced back insolently over Joe's shoulder. "Aw, go on! What do I care? Anyway, it's summer-time and I'm goin' barefoot!"
ForRosie this was the end. This was defeat and she accepted it as such. Slowly and tearfully she dragged herself into the house.
"Ma, Ma, after all I've done, there he's gone!"
Mrs. O'Brien looked up in concern. "Who did you say was gone, Rosie?"
"Jackie! He's gone off swimming again with that old Joe Slattery!"
"Is that all it is, Rosie?" Mrs. O'Brien seemed much relieved. "You gave me quite a turn."
"But, Ma, what am I going to do?"
"Well, Rosie dear, what do you want to do?"
"I want to save Jackie from those old Slatterys."
Mrs. O'Brien sighed sympathetically. "Ah, I'm afeared you can't do that, Rosie. Jack's a b'y and you know how it is: b'ys do like to run around with other b'ys."
"But what if he gets all sunburnt again and maybe drownd-ed?"
"Ah, now, but maybe he won't."
There were times when, to Rosie, her mother's easy-going optimism was maddening. Today it seemed to her the very sort of thing you might expectto find in a hot, untidy kitchen cluttered up with clothes-horses and steaming with fresh ironing. The rickety old baby-carriage, draped in mosquito-netting, stood near the ironing board, and Mrs. O'Brien, as she changed irons, would give it a push or two. Geraldine was whimpering miserably, and little wonder, Rosie felt.
Mrs. O'Brien, on the other hand, seemed surprised and grieved that she was not cooing herself comfortably to sleep. "Ah, now, baby, what can be ailin' ye? Can't you see your poor ma is working herself to death to get your nice clean clothes all ready for you? Now stop your cryin', darlint, or your poor ma won't be able to iron right, and then what'll sister Ellen say when she comes in? Ho, ho, Ellen's a Tartar, dear, she is that! Now you wouldn't want your poor ma to be scolded by Ellen, would you? Indeed and you wouldn't! So hush now like a good baby, and don't be always cryin'...."
Rosie stood it as long as she could, then her heart overflowed in indignant speech: "Of course she's crying in this horrible hot kitchen! Why wouldn't she? And they's flies in her mosquito-netting, too!"
Mrs. O'Brien paused in her ironing to shake her head in mournful reproach. "Why, Rosie, how you talk! Where else can I put the poor child but right here? Upstairs in Ellen's room and in my room it's just like an oven. Jarge's room, downstairshere, is cool enough, but I can't use that, for Jarge pays good money for it and besides lets Terry sleep with him. No, no, Rosie, I can't impose on Jarge."
Rosie's blue eyes snapped. "Well, why can't you put her in the front room? That's cool."
"Why, Rosie! You know very well why I can't. Ellen won't let me. When a girl's a young lady like Ellen, she's got to have a place for gintlemin callers, and how would she feel, she says, if her gintlemin friends was to smell Geraldine!"
"Smell Geraldine! Maggie O'Brien, I'd think you'd be ashamed o' yourself! Geraldine'd be all right if you changed her and washed her often enough! You can bet nobody ever smelled Jackie! It's just your own fault about Geraldine, and you know it is!"
"Rosie dear, why do you be so hard on your poor ma? I'm sure I wash her whenever I get the chance. I'm always washin' and ironin' somethin'!"
"Yes. You're always washing and ironing Ellen's things!"
"Why, Rosie, how you do be talkin'! When a girl's a young lady she's got to have a good supply of fresh skirts and clean shirt-waists. Men like to see their stenogs dressed clean and pretty."
"Aw, what do I care how men like their stenogs? All I want to say is this: If you got a baby, you ought to wash it!"
"Yes, Rosie dear, but what'd you do if you'dbeen like your poor ma and had had eight babies? Ah, you don't know how wearyin' it is, Rosie!"
Rosie rushed out of the kitchen, unable longer to endure the discussion. But she was back in a few moments, carrying towels and a large white basin.
"Why, Rosie dear, are you really goin' to give poor little Geraldine a nice——"
"Maggie O'Brien, if you say a single word to me I won't do a thing!" Rosie glared at her mother threateningly.
"Mercy on us, Rosie, how you talk! I won't say a word! I promise you on me oath I'll be as quiet as a mouse! You won't hear a sound out o' me, will she, baby darlint? I'll be like the deaf and dumb man at the Museum. He talks with his fingers, Rosie. You'd die laughin' to see him...."
At the cooling touch of water, little Geraldine quieted her whimpering and began to smile wanly. The sight of her neglected body made Rosie's anger blaze anew.
"Maggie O'Brien, I don't believe you've touched this baby for a week! You ought to be ashamed o' yourself! Just look at how chafed she is, and her body all over prickly heat, too!... Where's the corn-starch?"
"Rosie dear, I'm awful sorry, but we're out o' corn-starch. I've been meanin' this two days to have you get some."
"Well, I'd like to know what I'm going to put on Geraldine!"
"Couldn't you run over to the grocery now?"
"No, I can't! It's almost time for my papers. I know what I'll do: I'll borrow Ellen's talcum."
"Oh, Rosie, Ellen wouldn't like that!"
"I don't care if she wouldn't! I guess she helps herself to other people's things. Besides, if she's so particular about her gentlemen friends, she ought to be glad to have Geraldine all powdered up with violet talc."
"Don't tell me, Rosie, that you mean to be puttin' Geraldine in the front room! Ellen'll be awful mad!"
"Let her be! When she begins to ramp around, you justsickher on to me! I'll be ready for her! Besides, I guess Geraldine's got some rights in this house!"
On the floor of the front room, between two chairs, Rosie made a cool little nest, protected with mosquito-netting. The tired baby sighed and turned and was asleep in two minutes.
"You poor little thing!" Rosie murmured as she stood a moment looking down at the dark circles under Geraldine's closed eyes and at the cruel prickly heat that was creeping up her neck. "You poor little thing!"
She went back slowly and thoughtfully to the kitchen. Before her mother she paused a moment, then looked up defiantly. "Ma, has Geraldine a clean dress to go out this afternoon in the baby-buggy?"
Mrs. O'Brien's face began to beam with delight. "Ah, now, do you mean to say——"
Rosie cut her off shortly. "Maggie O'Brien, if you say one word to me I'll drop the whole thing!"
Mrs. O'Brien stopped her ironing to stretch out a timid, conciliatory hand. "Rosie dear, why do you always be so sharp to your poor ma? I won't say a word, I promise I won't. Geraldine's things is at the bottom of the basket, and the moment I finish this waist of Ellen's I'll get at them."
Rosie felt a sudden pang of shame, but a foolish little pride made her keep on scolding.
"Well, I got my papers to attend to now, but see that you have those things ready by the time I get back."
"Indeed and I will!" Mrs. O'Brien declared with head-shaken emphasis.
All afternoon on her paper route Rosie thought of poor, neglected little Geraldine with her chafed body and sad, tired eyes. It wasn't her fault, poor baby, that she had come eighth in a family when every one was too busy and hard-worked to pay attention to her.... But it was a shame—that's what it was! I just tell you when there's a baby around, some one ought to take proper care of it!... Rosie wanted dreadfully to fasten blame somewhere, and the person naturally responsible would seem to be her mother.
For some reason, though, she couldn't work up much of a case against Mrs. O'Brien. That poorsoul had enough to do, and more than enough, without ever touching Geraldine. She was not, it is true, the best manager in the world, and she was dreadfully helpless in the hands of unscrupulous people like, say, her own daughter Ellen; but when all was said and done, she was fearfully hard driven, early and late, and never a day off. And yet how cheerful and uncomplaining she was! How loving and kind, too, never remembering the cross words you gave her nor the short, ill-natured answers. No matter how you had been acting, she would call you "dear" again, the moment you let her....
Moreover, even if she did not wash Geraldine as often as she should, Heaven knows it was not to save herself. Maggie O'Brien would have gone through fire and flood for the benefit of any of her children, living or dead, and Rosie knew this. No, no. The things slighted were not slighted because she was lazy and selfish, but because there were not hours in the day for her one pair of hands, willing but not very skilled, to do all there was to do in the crowded little household.
But if it was once granted that her mother was unable to give Geraldine proper care, was the child, Rosie asked herself, never to receive such care? In her heart Rosie knew the one way possible and at last forced herself to consider it. Could she take this baby and raise it as she had Jackie?... To have Geraldine for a morning or an afternoon would be a pleasure; but all day and every day—thatwas another matter. Rosie knew how time-consuming it was to be a mother. She knew what it meant to look after a baby's food and its naps and its baths and its clothes. And such things were worse now than in Jackie's time. It would never do to raise another baby in the haphazard fashion Jackie had been raised. The care of babies was an exact science now. Out of curiosity Rosie and Janet had once attended a few meetings of the Little Mothers' Class at the Settlement, so Rosie knew. She sighed. Among other things, she supposed she would have to become a regular member of that class.... Dear, dear, what time would be left for all those lovely vacation picnics which she had been planning for herself and Janet and Jackie?... Jackie!... She had forgotten:there wasn't any Jackie now.
Rosie stopped, expecting again to be swallowed up in that ancient grief. But it scarcely touched her. Instead, she found herself looking at Jackie with the critical eyes of an outsider. He was pretty big. Perhaps he did not need her any longer. George Riley and Danny Agin and Janet McFadden and Terry and her mother—hadn't each of them said the same thing? Rosie had wanted to make herself believe that they were all in league against her, but deep down in her heart she knew they were not and had always known it. Now at last she was ready to confess the truth: Jack did not need her any longer.... And poor little Geraldine did.
Of course, though, she would never love Geraldine. All the love in her heart she had poured out upon Jackie, and there simply wasn't any left. How could there be? It was merely that, in any case, she must fill up the barren days remaining with something. Why not with Geraldine?
It would, however, be rather pleasant to see Geraldine grow plump and happy under her wise care. Ever since hot weather the poor birdie had not had half enough sleep. Rosie would not be long in remedying that. And it would surprise her much if she did not have the little chafed body well within a week....
When you take a baby to raise, it's a satisfaction to get a pretty one. Geraldine promised to be very pretty. Her hair was growing out in loose little ringlets like Rosie's own, and her eyes, too, were like Rosie's, only bluer. Perhaps, when Rosie fattened her, she would have a dimple. Rosie herself had a lovely dimple that was much admired. Let's see: was it in the right cheek or the left? Rosie made sure by smiling and feeling for it. Yes, she really hoped that Geraldine would develop a dimple. Was there anything on earth sweeter than a dimpled baby?... The baby-buggy was a rickety old affair that had done service for Jackie and for little Tim that was gone. Rosie did wish they could afford a nice new up-to-date go-cart. No matter, though. Having any sort of thing to push about, would give her and Janet all the excuse theyneeded to promenade for hours up and down Boulevard Place.
Not that Rosie was looking forward with any pleasure to her new undertaking. Heavens, no! She shook her head emphatically. Henceforth it was duty, not pleasure, to which she would devote her life. You know how it is in this world: though our hearts, alas, are breaking, we must all do our duty.
She found Geraldine refreshed and happy after her long nap. She dressed her carefully in the clean clothes that were waiting and settled her comfortably in the old carriage. Then, when they were ready to start, she turned to her mother.
"I want to tell you something, Ma: I'm going to take care of Geraldine this summer. Then maybe you won't have to work so hard."
Mrs. O'Brien laughed and cried and hugged Rosie to her bosom.
"Oh, you darlint, you darlint! What's this ye're tellin' me!... Ah, Rosie, if I do say it, ye're the best child that ever stood in shoes! Geraldine darlint, do ye hear what sister Rosie says?"
Mrs. O'Brien paused a moment, then spoke more quietly: "And, Rosie dear, I've been sorry about this Jackie business—I have that. It's a turrible thing when a little mother hen has only one chick, to have that chick turn out a goslin'! But take me word for it, Rosie, Geraldine'll niver disapp'int ye so. Ye'll niver take to water, will ye, baby dear?"
Rosie choked a little. "I—I guess we better be going. We got to stop for Janet."
They started off, and Mrs. O'Brien, in a fresh ecstasy of delight, called after them: "Ah, look at the blissed infant, as happy as a lamb with two mothers!"
Janet McFadden, after one searching look in Rosie's face, rushed forward eagerly.
"I'm so glad to see you! Where have you been all this time?"
Rosie dimpled with pleasure. Wasn't it sweet of Janet not to refer to the coldness of their last meeting? That was Janet right straight through: always ready to be insulted on the first provocation, but just as ready, once she knew you still loved her, to let bygones be bygones.
"Well, you see, Janet, Jackie's been sick. No, not really sick, but sore. His back was all sunburnt. He'd been in swimming for the first time. You know boys always go in swimming and get sunburnt the first day. But he's all right now and I don't have to bother about him any more."
Janet blinked in surprise and started to say something when the expression on Rosie's face checked her. She paused, then exclaimed, rather fatuously: "How sweet Geraldine looks!"
"Doesn't she!" Rosie spoke enthusiastically. "Say, Janet, don't you think she's a nice baby?"
"I do indeed!" Janet wagged her head impressively."You know yourself I always did think she was a nice baby and I never could make out why you didn't like her more."
"Janet McFadden, how you talk! Of course I like Geraldine! I love her!" Rosie bounced the baby-carriage vigorously and made direct appeal to Geraldine herself: "Doesn't sister Rosie love her own baby? Of course she does! And she's going to take care of her all summer, isn't she? because ma's too busy."
"Why, Rosie!" Janet began.
Rosie faced square about and with one look challenged Janet to show further surprise.
"Why—why, isn't that nice!" Janet murmured meekly.
"Of course it's nice and we're going to Boulevard Place every afternoon, aren't we, Geraldine? We're going there now and Janet can come with us if she wants to."
Janet wanted to, but she had to refuse. "I can't today, Rosie. I've got to help my mother. But tomorrow afternoon—will you stop for me then? I'll expect you."
In this way friendship was restored. Not having to bear the strain of an insistent questioning from Janet, its restoration was simple. Something had occurred to change Rosie's attitude in regard to her small brother and sister and upon this something she was not disposed, evidently, to be communicative. Well, Janet was not inquisitive. Besides, evenif this subject of conversation was taboo, conversation was not in any danger of early extinction. When together, Janet and Rosie always talked—not perfunctorily, either, but with much emphasis and many headshakings. Goodness me, they never stopped talking! After only a few hours' separation, each had a hundred things to tell the other. By the very next day Janet had a bit of news, that was to furnish them an exciting topic for weeks to come.
When Rosie called for Janet the following afternoon, her knock was answered by Tom Sullivan, who instantly blushed a glowing crimson and with difficulty stammered: "Yes, Janet's home. Come on in."
Rosie found Janet and her mother entertaining Mrs. Sullivan, who was Dave McFadden's sister and therefore Janet's aunt.
At sight of Rosie, Mrs. Sullivan exclaimed gushingly: "If there ain't Rosie O'Brien! You sweet thing! Come right here and kiss me!"
Rosie had to submit to the caress although she knew it was intended as a slight to Janet. That was one of Aunt Kitty Sullivan's little ways. Aunt Kitty was a fat, smiling, middle-aged woman who was going through life under the delusion that her face still retained the empty prettiness of its youth.
"I was just a-saying to Janet," Aunt Kitty began, "that she ought to be making herself more attractive. As long as she goes about looking like ascarecrow, she never will have a beau! Ain't that right, Rosie?"
Aunt Kitty smiled upon Rosie that meaning smile with which one conscious beauty appeals to another. Rosie did not respond to it. From the bottom of her heart she despised Aunt Kitty for the persistence with which she tormented Janet. When Rosie came in her tirade must have been going on for some time, for Janet looked tense and angry and her mother badly flustered.
Mrs. McFadden, hard-worked and worn and shabby, could not openly resent her sister-in-law's little pleasantries, for Kitty Sullivan was the prosperous member of the family. The chance that had given her a sober, frugal, industrious husband had also given her a certain moral superiority over all women whose husbands were not sober or frugal or industrious. Mrs. McFadden did not question this superiority; she accepted it humbly. Far be it from her, poor drudge that she was, to dispute the words of a woman who could afford good clothes and a weekly ticket to the matinée. So all she said now in Janet's defence was:
"Kitty, I wish you wouldn't be putting such notions into Janet's head. She's too young to have beaux."
"Too young!" scoffed Mrs. Sullivan. "I guess I begun havin' beaux when I was a good deal younger than Janet is now! Why, nowadays a girl can't begin too young havin' beaux, or the firstthing she knows she's an old maid! Ain't that right, Rosie?"
Rosie turned her head away, mumbling some unintelligible answer. Tom, blushing until his freckles were all hidden, came to her rescue.
"Aw, now, Ma, why can't you let up on Janet? She ain't done nuthin' to you!"
Mrs. Sullivan looked at her son reprovingly. "Tom Sullivan, you just mind your own business! What I'm saying is for Janet's own good. And I must say, Mary McFadden, it's your fault, too. You ought to be dressing Janet better now that she's getting big."
Mrs. McFadden sighed apologetically. "I'm sure I dress her as well as I can, Kitty."
"Well, then, all I got to say is you must be a mighty poor manager, with Dave making good money and you yourself working every day!" As she finished, Mrs. Sullivan smiled and dimpled with all the malicious triumph of a precocious child.
Rosie felt shamed and troubled. To Mrs. Sullivan's taunt there was one answer that everybody present knew, but that neither Mary McFadden nor Janet would ever give, and that Rosie, as an outsider, could not give. But even so, Mrs. Sullivan was not to go unanswered. Tom, blushing with mortification, jumped to his feet.
"Ma, you're the limit! You ought to be ashamed o' yourself! Uncle Dave makes good money, does he? Yes, and he boozes every cent of it, and AuntMary here has got to work like a nigger to pay the rent and keep herself and Janet, and you know it, too."
"Tom Sullivan, you shut up!" Mrs. Sullivan's voice rose to an angry scream. "How dare you interrupt me! You deserve a good thrashing, you do, and you're goin' to get it, too, as soon as your father comes home!... Dave boozes, does he? Well, all I got to say is this: he never boozed before he got married, and if he boozes now it's a mighty queer thing!"
Rosie stood up to go. "Say, Janet, you promised to come with me this afternoon. Get your hat."
"Yes," advised Mrs. Sullivan; "put on that old black sailor hat that makes you look like a guy. Mary McFadden, if I had a girl I wouldn't let her out on the street in a hat like that!"
Rosie and Janet started off and Tom called after them: "Wait a minute! I'll come, too!"
"No, you don't!" his mother ordered. "You stay right where you are! You don't get out o' my sight till I hand you over to your dad!"
Once safe on the street, Rosie put a sympathetic arm about Janet's shoulder. "Even if she is your aunt, Janet, I think she's low-down and I hate her!"
"Pooh!" Janet tossed her head in fine scorn. "In my opinion she ain't worth hating! She ain't nuthin'! I consider her beneath my contemp'! The truth is, Rosie, I don't mind her buzzin' around any more than I do a fly! She'd die if she didn'ttalk; so I say let her talk. If she couldn't she'd probably do something worse. My mother feels the same way. We get tired of her sometimes, but we stand her because she's my dad's own sister.... Of course, though, some of the things she says is perfectly true. I ain't pretty. You are, Rosie, but I ain't and I know it, and that's all there is about it."
Janet spread out her hands in simple candour and glanced at her friend. Then, involuntarily, she gave a little sigh. It was not a sigh of envy. She really did accept as a matter of fact that she herself was not pretty and that Rosie was. Where Rosie was plump and rounded and graceful, Janet knew that she was flat and long and lanky. Her arms were long, her fingers were long, her face was long. Her dark hair, too, was long, but with nothing in texture or colour to recommend it. She wore it pulled straight from her forehead and hanging behind in two stiff plaits.
With her old black hat, her colourless face, her faded clothes, she gave the impression of a very shabby, serious little person. And she was both. Rosie, on the other hand, though as poorly dressed, seemed anything but shabby and serious, for she was all life and colour, like some little roadside flower, which, in spite of dusty leaves, raises aloft a bright, fresh bloom.
Janet might bravely dismiss her aunt with a wave of the hand, but Rosie insisted upon repeating herself.
"I don't care what you say, Janet, I think she's low-down the way she talks to you and your mother! Now Tom's nice. That was fine the way he spoke up. You don't think his father'll lick him, do you?"
"Uncle Matt?" Janet laughed. "Nev-er! Uncle Matt's just crazy about Tom. They're like two kids when they're together. And that reminds me, Rosie—goodness me, I was forgetting all about it!" Janet paused to give full flavour to her bit of news. "What Tom came over for this afternoon was to tell me that Uncle Matt has promised to give him and me tickets for the Traction Boys' Picnic—you know it's coming in two weeks now—and Tom says he's going to try to beg another ticket for you!"
"Is he really, Janet? Now isn't he just too kind!"
"Kind? I should say he is! He's bashful, of course, and people laugh at him because he's got red hair, but he's just as generous as he can be. You remember last year I went with him, too. Why, do you know, last year his father had six customers who bought their tickets and then turned right around and said: 'But we can't go, so you just give these tickets to some one who can.' Uncle Matt had enough tickets for the whole family and two more besides. He sold those two and give us all ice-cream sodas on them."
"Did he really, Janet! That just proves what I always say: in some ways I'd much rather havemy father be a conductor than a motorman. A motorman never gets a chance at a ticket. I'm glad Jarge Riley's a conductor. I bet he sells a good many, don't you?"
"Of course he will, Rosie! I hadn't thought of Jarge. If a customer gives Jarge back a ticket, of course he'll pass it on to you—I know he will. Gee, Rosie, you're lucky to have a fella like Jarge Riley boarding with you. He sure is a dandy."
To this last Rosie agreed readily enough but on the priority of her claim to any tickets she set Janet right. "If he gets only a couple, he'll give Ellen first chance."
Janet sighed. "Say, Rosie, is he still dead gone on Ellen?"
Rosie sighed, too, and nodded. "Ain't it funny with a fella that's got so much sense about other things?"
Janet sighed again. "I don't like to say anything against Ellen, because she's your sister, but, as you say yourself, it certainly is funny."