Jimmie Moore of Bucktown Part 4

"I know the Bible says it's wrong ter put away yer wife an'

take another, but no one believes that old book nowadays. Why, I heard one of dem preachers from a dominie shop in Chicago say, when he was preaching down at the Bull Pen, dat the Bible wasn't der word of G.o.d at all, and he oughter know 'cause they got der very latest th'ology out. They discover things over there in Chicago. If the kid here don't like der way thin's is doin' he kin duck. I'm runnin' dis house now. Tell Bill ter come over ter der celebration, Mrs. Cook. So long." With this he fished a cigar stub out of his pocket, bit off a portion of it, expectorated freely into the stove hearth, and turning his back to them walked into the front room.

Mrs. Moore was about to follow him, when Jimmie plucked at her dress. When she turned around and their eyes met, the mother love had vanished.

"Ma," he said, his voice faltering, "which one goes, me or that?"

pointing to the door where Hathnit had disappeared.

She turned and disengaged his hand, replying, "Ask him, Jimmie; he's runnin' the place now."

Jimmie went out into the world with a heavy heart. He did not mind the fact that he had no home so much as he did that his mother was doing wrong. "I guess I can't keep der promise I made Pa when he died; but I believe he knows that I'm doin'

der best I kin."

CHAPTER V

_Mrs. Cook's "Opery"_

Bill Cook continued to drink day and night until it was plain to all that he would have another one of his "spells," as his wife always called an attack of delirium tremens. There was no hope for Bill when he once got started. He never stopped until he was arrested or went into the tremens. He could not borrow a five-cent piece, but could always get all the liquor he wanted. It is a fact well known to all drinking men that men will buy them fifty cents' worth of drink rather than give them five cents in money. If they wanted the money for bread for the children they could not get it; but drinks go any time.

Dave Beach had found Bill in the street, and taken him to his barn to sleep off a little of his "jag," as Dave said. Dave and Mrs. Cook never agreed as to the cause of Bill's trouble, so Dave was very careful not to get near her when Bill was coming down with one of his "spells." "He was shot in the army and has bad spells. 'Tain't drinkin' at all 'at ails Bill; he's sick," she would say. Dave found it was better to let her have her way about it; so he put Bill into a box stall, until he could send him home with Jimmie.

Every one in the neighborhood knew that Jimmie could be trusted.

He was never known to tell a thing he should not, and had a way of knowing nothing when some one was looking for information.

Mrs. Cook knew that he had left home and was staying in Dave's barn at night and eating anywhere and anything he could get.

When Bill failed to come home, she called Jimmie into the house as he came from up-town. "Had yer supper, Jim?" she asked.

"Yep, I'm eatin' up-town now," answered Jim.

"Better have a cup o' tea," she said as Jimmie closed the door.

He had lived that day on three dry buns and a drop cookie, and tea, warm tea, sounded good to him. He pulled off his cap and jammed it into his coat pocket as he sat down at the table.

"Jim, I was yer friend when yer was in trouble, now I want yer to help me. Bill's been gone all day and I'm scart fer him.

Dr. Snyder told me that the next time he had a "spell" he'd die. No better man ever lived than Bill Cook, and I've been thinkin' ter-day 'at somethin's got ter be did. Last night he cried out in his sleep, jus' like he did las' time he had 'em, and at three o'clock this morning he got up an' left the house.

I ain't seen nothin' of him since; the younguns think he's workin', and I don't want 'em ter know no different. Bill loves his younguns, and they think there's no one like their Pa. There never was a kinder man than Bill Cook; no siree, not a kinder man nowheres. He's been gittin' worser an' worser since yer Pa's funeral, an' honest, Jim, I'm scart."

"Well," said Jimmie, as he finished his third cup of tea, "I know jus' what he needs, but you'll have ter help."

"I'll do anyting yer say, Jim," said Mrs. Cook.

"Say, 'Hope ter die,' and cross yer heart," said Jimmie.

"I'll do it, yer bet."

"All right," said Jimmie. "Der first thing I want yer ter do is ter go ter der Mission wid me ter-night."

"Me? I can't go, Jim; I ain't got no clothes ter go there; 'sides, it's Bill yer want ter help an' not me," she said.

"Yer promised me," said Jimmie, "an' yer mustn't ast no questions.

Yer get yer duds on an' I'll be back fer yer in five minutes."

Jimmie went over to Dave's barn, told him what was on and Dave promised to get Bill into the house while they were gone.

Mrs. Cook took the children over to Hardy's to play while she made a "call." When Jimmie returned to the house for Mrs. Cook, she was all ready to go.

"Gee, where yer git der lid?" said Jimmie.

"Never you mind, sonny; that hat's some more of yer business."

As Jimmie stood and looked her over, he almost wished he had not suggested the trip. Her hat was an old straw derby with two chicken feathers stuck in it. She had put an old wine-colored skirt over her blue wrapper.

"I'm ready," she said, "but yer mustn't sit up front."

"Yer needn't worry," answered Jimmie as he looked once more at her hat.

She was very nervous at first; but after she discovered that no one was looking at her she soon felt at ease. The singing seemed to carry her out of herself. She forgot her trouble and settled down into the chair to enjoy the very best hour she had had in years.

"It's better 'n a opery," she whispered to Jimmie.

No place in the world do people sing as they do in a Rescue Mission. Every one sings there, and the one who can make the most noise is considered the best singer. Each one tries to outdo his neighbor. They sing the old gospel songs with a vim and never seem to tire of them.

The sermon that followed the singing was listened to by Mrs.

Cook; but the testimonies almost drove her to say things. She hardly breathed as one after another got up and told what Jesus had done for them.

"I believe my soul, that's Lousy Kate," she whispered to Jimmie when one woman arose and told how G.o.d had found her at a jail meeting.

"Sure 'nough, it's her; I knew her when she did that very thing,"

she said as she followed her in her testimony. "Why, that woman was so crooked she couldn't lay down in a round-house."

When Superintendent Morton gave an invitation for all who wished the prayers of the Christians to come forward, she started for the door. When she had reached it she turned and watched the people as they went forward. She watched one poor drunken man as some of the workers helped him up the aisle. Big tears were in her eyes when she turned to Jimmie. "If that man kin be saved, drunk as he is, there's hope fer Bill, 'cause Bill's no drunkard, he's sick."

"There's hope fer you, too," said Jimmie, when they had reached the sidewalk.

"Me!" she almost shouted. "I ain't no drunkard, ner I never killed anybody, and 'sides, it's Bill yer want ter help, not me."

"The Bible says yer a sinner an' yer need fixin' jus' as bad as Bill," said Jimmie. He knew he was on dangerous ground, but he was determined to push the case as far as he dared. Without giving her a chance to answer, he continued, "Jesus says we're all sinners, an' whosever kin be saved, and that means you."

"I ain't no whoserever, I'm German, and my name's Annabella Cook, and I don't want you nor none of yer friends ter fergit it, sonny."

Jimmie was stumped for a minute. He had asked Morton what to say, but he could not remember the Scripture, so he simply said, "Yer swear, and yer drink, and yer don't pray, and if that ain't sin I don't want a cent. If yer was to die ter-night, you'd want somethin' more than 'em cuss words ter take ter Jesus.

Yer Freddie is in heaven and me Pa is there, and yer got too much sense ter miss seein' 'em over there, and 'sides that yer can't never help Bill till yer helped first."

Jimmie had touched a tender chord in Mrs. Cook, and he knew it. She loved her family, and Bill was the apple of her eye.

She did not get angry, as Jimmie had feared, but walked along in silence, thinking of what she had heard and how Jimmie had brought it all home to her very door. At last she said, as though speaking to herself, "Yes, I do swear when I git mad, but I don't mean it ten minutes after. No, I guess I ain't ready ter die, but, oh, Jimmie, what made yer mention Freddie? It near kills me." And she began to cry. Freddie had died a few months ago of membranous croup, and his death had caused a great sorrow in the Cook family.

Jimmie slipped his hand into hers, and said, "I'm sorry; but I'm so bloomin' anxious ter see yer both Christians, 'cause yer so good ter me. I guess I'll never have no more Ma but you.

Say, how'd yer like der meetin'?"