The Rosie World Part 21

"Is he beating Janet?"

"No, I don't think so. Janet knows pretty well how to take care of herself. Gee, you ought to see her dodge him! She's a wonder! He wouldn't ha' caught her last time if she hadn't slipped."

Rosie started on, and the woman called after her: "I tell you, you better not go up! Dave sure is out lookin' for trouble!"

The warning was a kindly one, but Rosie saw no reason for accepting it.

The truth was that, in her present mood of resentment against the Danny Agins and Jamie O'Briens of life, she felt that it would be a relief to see a man who was confessedly out looking for trouble.

The McFaddens lived on the fourth floor back. Their door was open, so Rosie could hear that something was going on as she climbed the third flight of stairs. When she reached the top, her courage faltered. Had the McFadden door been closed, very probably she could not have forced herself to knock; but, as it was open, if she slipped along the dark hall quietly, she could take a peep inside before announcing herself.

"Daddy!" she heard cried out suddenly. It was Janet's voice. "My arm!

You're hurting me! Please let go! I'll be good!"

"Arguin' with your own father, eh?" Dave's thick voice boomed and rumbled. "Well, I'll learn you a lesson!"

"But, Daddy," Janet coaxed; "wait a minute! The door's open! Please let me shut it! Some one will hear us! Please let go of me just a minute!"

Then, just as Rosie reached the door, there was a scuffle inside, and Janet must have escaped her father's clutches, for instantly the door slammed. It slammed so nearly into Rosie's face that, with a gasp, she turned and fled. Down the three flights of stairs she ran, past the woman on the front steps without a word, and on to the safety of home as fast as her panting heart could carry her. There, spent and breathless, she murmured to herself:

"Well, anyhow, I'm mighty glad it ain't me, 'cause I can't dodge worth a cent!"

That night after supper, while Rosie was washing dishes, when Jamie O'Brien called: "Rosie dear, like a good child, will ye bring me me pipe and a few matches?" Rosie sang out in tones positively vibrating with feeling: "Yes, Daddy darling, I will! I'll bring them this very minute!"

Later she perched herself on the side of her father's chair, and put an arm about his neck.

"Good old Daddy! Did you have a good run today, dearie?"

Jamie sucked his pipe hard and, after thinking a while, answered: "Pretty good."

"And, Daddy dear, did they take off that car that had a flat wheel?"

This was a question that required considerable deliberation. Rosie waited, and at last had her reward.

"Sure they did."

"Oh, Daddy!" Rosie hugged him suddenly, and kissed his thin, leathery cheek. "I just love you so much! I wouldn't change you for any other father in the world!"

After getting the full purport of this declaration, Jamie remarked: "That's good!"

Rosie slipped impulsively from the arm of the chair into Jamie's lap. It was not a comfortable arrangement for Jamie, but he was a patient soul, and made no outcry.

Rosie snuggled up to him affectionately. "Say, Daddy," she whispered, "if I was awful bad, what would you do to me? Wouldn't you just beat me?"

Jamie relit his pipe, took one puff, examined the sky line, then shook his head knowingly: "I would that! But, Rosie dear, you mustn't be bad, you know."

Rosie took a long, shivery breath. "Oh, Daddy, please don't beat me!

I'll be good, honest I will!"

CHAPTER XVIII

ON THE CULTURE OF BABIES

Midsummer came and with it a great suffocating blanket of heat which brought prostration to the world at large and to little Rosie O'Brien a new care and a great anxiety.

"I don't mind about myself," she murmured one breathless sultry morning as she served George Riley his late breakfast. Even George, who paid scant attention to weather, looked worn and pale.

Rosie sat down opposite him as he began eating and stared at him out of eyes that were very sad and very serious.

"It's Geraldine, Jarge. I don't know what I'm going to do. The poor birdie was awake nearly all night. I hope you didn't hear us. I don't want to disturb you, too."

George shook his head. "Oh, I slept all right. I always do. But it was so blamed hot that when I got up I felt weak as a cat." He bolted a knifeful of fried potatoes, then asked: "What's ailing Geraldine? Ain't her food agreeing with her?"

Rosie sighed. It was the sigh of a little mother who had been asking herself that same question over and over. "It's partly that; but I think the food would be all right if only other things were all right.

You're a man, Jarge, so you don't understand about babies. It's Geraldine's second summer and she's teething. Her poor little mouth's all swollen and feverish. It would be bad enough in cold weather, but in this heat she hardly gets a wink of sleep.... I tell you, Jarge, if we don't do something for her real quick, she's just going to die!" Rosie dropped her head on the table and wept.

"Aw, now, 'tain't that bad, is it, Rosie?"

"Yes." The answer came m.u.f.fled in tears. "It's just awful, Jarge, the way they go down. They'll be perfectly well, and then before you know what's happening they just wilt, and you can't do anything for them. And if Geraldine dies, I--I want to die too!"

"Aw, Rosie, cheer up! She ain't going to die!" George's words were brave but his face was troubled. "I suppose, now, if she was only in the country, she'd be all right, wouldn't she?"

Rosie wiped her eyes and sighed. "Is it cool in the country, Jarge?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Rosie stared at him out of eyes that were very sad and very serious.]

"You bet it is--just as cool and nice! The gra.s.s is green and wind's always a-blowin' in the trees and you can hear the gurgle of the creek down at the bottom of the meadow. And at night you can sleep on the big upstairs porch, if you want to, and you always get a breeze up there.

And you needn't be afraid of mosquitoes and flies, either, 'cause mother always has things screened in with black mosquito-netting. Oh, I tell you it's just fine in the country!"

George paused a moment, then laughed a little apologetically.

"Leastways, Rosie, that's how I always think of the country now. Of course we do have sizzling weather out there just as much as we do here; but it's different, somehow. Out there you get a chance to cool off.

They ain't them ever-lasting paved streets all around you, sending out heat like a furnace night and day just the same.... Do you know, I ain't felt like myself for three weeks! If I was back home now I tell you what I'd do: I'd go down to the creek and take a dip and then I'd come in and, by gosh, maybe I wouldn't sleep!"

Rosie sighed again. "Well, no use talking about the country. It's the city for ours, even if Geraldine does die."

Tears again threatened and George hastened to give the comforting a.s.surance: "Aw, now, Rosie, it ain't that bad, I know it ain't. Besides, this weather can't keep up forever. We'll be having a thunderstorm any time now, and that'll cool things off." Then, to change the subject: "What does your mother say about Geraldine?"

"Pooh!" Rosie tossed her head in fine scorn. "I'd like to know what my mother knows about babies!"

George protested. "She ought to know something. She's had a few herself."

"Jarge Riley, you listen to me." Rosie looked at him fixedly. "With some women, having babies don't mean one blessed thing! They just have 'em and have 'em and have 'em, and that's all they know about them. Take me, now, and I'm twelve, and take ma, and I don't know how old she is, but she has had eight children, so you can judge for yourself, and right now she's so ignur'nt about the proper care and feeding of babies that I wouldn't dare trust Geraldine to her alone for twenty-four hours!"