Tom Grogan Part 10

In this emergency McGaw again sought Crimmins's a.s.sistance. He urged the importance of his getting the contract, and he promised to make Crimmins foreman on the street, and to give him a share in the profits, if he would help him in some way to get the work now. The first step, he argued, was the necessity of crushing Tom. Everything else would be easy after that. Such a task, he felt, would not be altogether uncongenial to Crimmins, still smarting under Tom's contemptuous treatment of him the day he called upon her in his capacity of walking delegate.

McGaw's tempting promise made a deep impression upon Crimmins. He determined then and there to inflict some blow on Tom Grogan from which she could never recover. He was equally determined on one other thing--not to be caught.

Early the next morning Crimmins stationed himself outside O'Leary's where he could get an uninterrupted view of two streets. He stood hunched up against the jamb of O'Leary's door in the att.i.tude of a corner loafer, with three parts of his body touching the wood--hip, shoulder, and cheek. For some time no one appeared in sight either useful or inimical to his plans, until Mr. James Finnegan, who was filling the morning air with one of his characteristic songs, brightened the horizon up the street to his left.

Cully's unexpected appearance at that moment produced so uncomfortable an effect upon Mr. Crimmins that that gentleman fell instantly back through the barroom door.

The boy's quick eye caught the movement, and it also caught a moment later, Mr. Crimmins's nose and watery eye peering out again when their owner had a.s.sured himself that his escape had been unseen. Cully slackened his pace to see what new move Crimmins would make--but without the slightest sign of recognition on his face--and again broke into song. He was on his way to get the mail, and had pa.s.sed McGaw's house but a few moments before, in the hope that that worthy Knight might be either leaning over the fence or seated on the broken-down porch. He was anxious McGaw should hear a few improvised stanzas of a new ballad he had composed to that delightful old negro melody, "Ma.s.sa's in de cold, cold ground," in which the much-beloved Southern planter and the thoroughly hated McGaw changed places in the cemetery.

That valiant Knight was still in bed, exhausted by the labors of the previous evening. Young Billy, however, was about the stables, and so Mr. James Finnegan took occasion to tarry long enough in the road for the eldest son of his enemy to get the stanza by heart, in the hope that he might retail it to his father when he appeared.

Billy dropped his manure-fork as soon as Cully had moved on again, and dodging behind the fence, followed him toward the post-office, hoping to hit the singer with a stone.

When the slinking body of McGaw's eldest son became visible to Mr.

Crimmins, his face broke into creases so nearly imitative of a smile that his best friend would not have known him. He slapped the patched knees of his overalls gayly, bent over in a subdued chuckle, and disported himself in a merry and much satisfied way. His rum-and-watery eyes gleamed with delight, and even his chin-whisker took on a new vibration. Next he laid one finger along his nose, looked about him cautiously, and said to himself, in an undertone:--

"The very boy! It'll fix McGaw dead to rights, an' ther' won't be no squealin' after it's done."

Here he peered around the edge of one of O'Leary's drawn window-shades, and waited until Cully had pa.s.sed the barroom, secured his mail, and started for home, his uninterrupted song filling the air. Then he opened the blind very cautiously, and beckoned to Billy.

Cully's eye caught the new movement as he turned the corner. His song ceased. When Mr. Finnegan had anything very serious on his mind he never sang.

When, some time after, Billy emerged from O'Leary's door, he had a two-dollar bill tightly squeezed in his right hand. Part of this he spent on his way home for a box of cigarettes; the balance he invested in a mysterious-looking tin can. The can was narrow and long and had a screw nozzle at one end. This can Cully saw him hide in a corner of his father's stable.

XII. CULLY'S NIGHT OUT

Ever since the night Cully, with the news of the hair-breadth escape of the bid, had dashed back to Tom, waiting around the corner, he had been the hero of the hour. As she listened to his description of McGaw when her bid dropped on the table--"Lookin' like he'd eat sumpin' he couldn't swaller--see?" her face was radiant, and her sides shook with laughter.

She had counted upon McGaw falling into her trap, and she was delighted over the success of her experiment. Tom had once before caught him raising a bid when he discovered that but one had been offered.

In recognition of these valuable services Tom had given Cully two tickets for a circus which was then charming the inhabitants of New Brighton, a mile or more away, and he and Carl were going the following night. Mr. Finnegan was to wear a black sack-coat, a derby hat, and a white shirt which Jennie, in the goodness of her heart, had ironed for him herself. She had also ironed a scarf of Carl's, and had laid it on the window-sill of the outer kitchen, where Cully might find it as he pa.s.sed by.

The walks home from church were now about the only chance the lovers had of being together. Almost every day Carl was off with the teams. When he did come home in working hours he would take his dinner with the men and boys in the outer kitchen. Jennie sometimes waited on them, but he rarely spoke to her as she pa.s.sed in and out, except with his eyes.

When Cully handed him the scarf, Carl had already dressed himself in his best clothes, producing so marked a change in the outward appearance of the young Swede that Cully in his admiration p.r.o.nounced him "out o'

sight."

Cully's metamorphosis was even more complete than Carl's. Now that the warm spring days were approaching, Mr. Finnegan had decided that his superabundant locks were unseasonable, and had therefore had his hair cropped close to his scalp, showing here and there a white scar, the record of some former scrimmage. Reaching to the edge of each ear was a collar as stiff as pasteboard. His derby was tilted over his left eyebrow, shading a face br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with fun and expectancy. Below this was a vermilion-colored necktie and a black coat and trousers. His shoes sported three coats of blacking, which only partly concealed the dust-marks of his profession.

"Hully gee, Carl! but de circus's a-goin' ter be a dandy," he called out in delight, as he patted a double shuffle with his feet. "I see de picters on de fence when I come from de ferry. Dere's a chariot-race out o' sight, an' a' elephant what stands on 'is head. Hold on till I see ef de Big Gray 's got enough beddin' under him. He wuz awful stiff dis mornin' when I helped him up." Cully never went to bed without seeing the Gray first made comfortable for the night.

The two young fellows saw all the sights, and after filling their pockets with peanuts and themselves with pink lemonade, took their seats at last under the canvas roof, where they waited impatiently for the performance to begin.

The only departure from the ordinary routine was Cully's instant acceptance of the clown's challenge to ride the trick mule, and his winning the wager amid the plaudits of the audience, after a rough-and-tumble scramble in the sawdust, sticking so tight to his back that a bystander remarked that the only way to get the boy off would be to "peel the mule."

When they returned it was nearly midnight. Cully had taken off his "choker," as he called it, and had curled it outside his hat, They had walked over from the show, and the tight clutch of the collar greatly interfered with Cully's discussion of the wonderful things he had seen.

Besides, the mule had ruined it completely for a second use.

It was a warm night for early spring, and Carl had his coat over his arm. When they reached the outer stable fence--the one nearest the village--Cully's keen nose scented a peculiar odor. "Who's been a breakin' de lamp round here, Carl?" he asked, sniffing close to the ground. "Holy smoke! Look at de light in de stable--sumpin' mus' be de matter wid de Big Gray, or de ole woman wouldn't be out dis time o' night wid a lamp. What would she be a-doin' out here, anyway?" he exclaimed in a sudden anxious tone. "Dis ain't de road from de house.

Hully gee! Look out for yer coat! De rails is a-soakin' wid ker'sene!"

At this moment a little flame shot out of the window over the Big Gray's head and licked its way up the siding, followed by a column of smoke which burst through the door in the hay-loft above the stalls of the three horses next the bedroom of Carl and Cully. A window was hastily opened in Tom's house and a frightened shriek broke the stillness of the night. It was Jennie's voice, and it had a tone of something besides alarm.

What the sight of the fire had paralyzed in Carl, the voice awoke.

"No, no! I here--I safe, Jan!" he cried, clearing the fence with a bound.

Cully did not hear Jennie. He saw only the curling flames over the Big Gray's head. As he dashed down the slope he kept muttering the old horse's pet names, catching his breath, and calling to Carl, "Save de Gray--save Ole Blowhard!"

Cully reached the stable first, smashed the padlock with a shovel, and rushed into the Gray's stall. Carl seized a horse-bucket, and began sousing the window-sills of the harness-room, where the fire was hottest.

By this time the whole house was aroused. Tom, dazed by the sudden awakening, with her ulster thrown about her shoulders, stood barefooted on the porch. Jennie was still at the window, sobbing as if her heart would break, now that Carl was safe. Patsy had crawled out of his low crib by his mother's bed, and was stumbling downstairs, one foot at a time. Twice had Cully tried to drag the old horse clear of his stall, and twice had he fallen back for fresh air. Then came a smothered cry from inside the blinding smoke, a burst of flame lighting up the stable, and the Big Gray was pushed out, his head wrapped in Carl's coat, the Swede pressing behind, Cully coaxing him on, his arms around the horse's neck.

Hardly had the Big Gray cleared the stable when the roof of the small extension fell, and a great burst of flame shot up into the night air.

All hope of rescuing the other two horses was now gone.

Tom did not stand long dazed and bewildered. In a twinkling she had drawn on a pair of men's boots over her bare feet, buckled her ulster over her night-dress, and rushed back upstairs to drag the blankets from the beds. Laden with these she sprang down the steps, called to Jennie to follow, soaked the bedding in the water-trough, and, picking up the dripping ma.s.s, carried it to Carl and Cully, who, now that the Gray was safely tied to the kitchen porch, were on the roof of the tool-house, fighting the sparks that fell on the shingles.

By this time the neighbors began to arrive from the tenements. Tom took charge of every man as soon as he got his breath, stationed two at the pump-handle, and formed a line of bucket-pa.s.sers from the water-trough to Carl and Cully, who were spreading the blankets on the roof. The heat now was terrific; Carl had to shield his face with his sleeve as he threw the water. Cully lay flat on the shingles, holding to the steaming blankets, and directing Carl's buckets with his outstretched finger when some greater spark lodged and gained headway. If they could keep these burning brands under until the heat had spent itself, they could perhaps save the tool-house and the larger stable.

All this time Patsy had stood on the porch where Tom had left him hanging over the railing wrapped in Jennie's shawl. He was not to move until she came for him: she wanted him out of the way of trampling feet.

Now and then she would turn anxiously, catch sight of his wizened face dazed with fright, wave her hand to him encouragingly, and work on.

Suddenly the little fellow gave a cry of terror and slid from the porch, trailing the shawl after him, his crutch jerking over the ground, his sobs almost choking him.

"Mammy! Cully! Stumpy's tied in the loft! Oh, somebody help me! He's in the loft! Oh, please, please!"

In the roar of the flames n.o.body heard him. The noise of axes beating down the burning fences drowned all other sounds. At this moment Tom was standing on a cart, pa.s.sing up the buckets to Carl. Cully had crawled to the ridge-pole of the tool-house to watch both sides of the threatened roof.

The little cripple made his way slowly into the crowd nearest the sheltered side of the tool-house, pulling at the men's coats, pleading with them to save his goat, his Stumpy.

On this side was a door opening into a room where the chains were kept.

From it rose a short flight of six or seven steps leading to the loft.

This loft had two big doors--one closed, nearest the fire, and the other wide open, fronting the house. When the roof of the burning stable fell, the wisps of straw in the cracks of the closed door burst into flame.

Within three feet of this blazing ma.s.s, shivering with fear, tugging at his rope, his eyes bursting from his head, stood Stumpy, his piteous bleatings unheard in the surrounding roar. A child's head appeared above the floor, followed by a cry of joy as the boy flung himself upon the straining rope. The next instant a half-frenzied goat sprang through the open door and landed in the yard below in the midst of the startled men and women.

Tom was on the cart when she saw this streak of light flash out of the darkness of the loft door and disappear. Her eyes instinctively turned to look at Patsy in his place on the porch. Then a cry of horror burst from the crowd, silenced instantly as a piercing shriek filled the air.

"My G.o.d! It's me Patsy!"

Bareheaded in the open doorway of the now blazing loft, a silhouette against the flame, his little white gown reaching to his knees, his crutch gone, the stifling smoke rolling out in great whirls above his head, stood the cripple!

Tom hurled herself into the crowd, knocking the men out of her way, and ran towards the chain room door. At this instant a man in his shirt-sleeves dropped from the smoking roof, sprang in front of her, and caught her in his arms.

"No, not you go; Carl go!" he said in a firm voice, holding her fast.