Tom Grogan Part 16

"When I got to Bellevue, over by the river, it was near ten o'clock at night. n.o.body stopped me or iver looked into me bundle of straw where me poor boy lay; an' I rung the bell, an' they came out, an' got him up into the ward, an' laid him on the bed. Dr. Mason was on night duty, an'

come an' looked at him, an' said I must come over the next day; an' I kissed me poor Tom an' left him tucked in, promisin' to be back early in the mornin'. I had got only as far as the gate on the street whin one of the men came a-runnin' after me. I thought he had fainted, and ran back as fast as I could, but when I got me arms under him again--he was dead."

"And all this seven years ago, Tom?" said Babc.o.c.k in astonishment, sinking back in his chair.

Tom bowed her head. The tears were trickling through her fingers and falling on the coa.r.s.e shawl.

"Yis; seven years ago this June." She paused for a moment, as if the scene was pa.s.sing before her in every detail, and then went on: "Whin I come home I niver said a word to anybody but Jennie. I've niver told Pop yit. n.o.body else would have cared; we was strangers here. The next mornin' I took Jennie,--she was a child then,--an' we wint over to the city, an' I got what money I had, an' the doctors helped, an' we buried him; n.o.body but just us two, Jennie an' me, walkin' behint the wagon, his poor body in the box. Whin I come home I wanted to die, but I said nothin'. I was afraid Schwartz would take the work away if he knew it was only a woman who was a-doin' it wid no man round, an so I kep' on; an' whin the neighbors asked about him bein' in a 'sylum an' out of his head, an' a cripple an' all that, G.o.d forgive me, I was afraid to tell, and I kept still and let it go at that; an' whin they asked me how he was I'd say he was better, or more comfortable, or easier; an' so he was, thank G.o.d! bein' in heaven."

She roused herself wearily, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Babc.o.c.k sat motionless.

"Since that I've kep' the promise to me Tom that I made on me knees beside his bed the night I lifted him in me arms to take him downstairs--that I 'd keep his name clean, and do by it as he would hev done himself, an' bring up the children, an' hold the roof over their heads. An' now they say I dar'n't be called by Tom's name, nor sign it neither, an' they're a-goin' to take me contract away for puttin' his name at the bottom of it, just as I've put it on ivery other bit o'

paper I've touched ink to these seven years since he left me."

"Why, Tom, this is nonsense. Who says so?" said Babc.o.c.k earnestly, glad of any change of feeling to break the current of her thoughts.

"Dan McGaw an' Rowan says so."

"What's McGaw got to do with it? He's out of the fight."

"Oh, ye don't know some men, Mr. Babc.o.c.k. McGaw'll never stop fightin'

while I live. Maybe I oughtn't tell ye,--I've niver told anybody,--but whin my Tom lay sick upstairs, McGaw come in one night, an' his own wife half dead with a blow he had given her, an' sat down in this very room,--it was our kitchen then,--an' he says,' If your man don't git well, ye'll be broke.' An' I says to him, 'Dan McGaw, if I live twelve months, Tom Grogan'll be a richer man than he is now.' I was a-sittin'

right here when I said it, wid a rag carpet on this floor, an' hardly any furniture in the room. He said more things, an' tried to make love to me, and I let drive and threw him out of me kitchen. Then all me trouble wid him began; he's done everything to beat me since, and now maybe, after all, he'll down me. It all come up yisterday through McGaw meetin' Dr. Mason an' askin' him about me Tom; an' whin the doctor told him Tom was dead seven years, McGaw runs to Justice Rowan wid the story, an' now they say I can't sign a dead man's name. Judge Bowker has the papers, an' it's all to be settled to-morrow."

"But they can't take your contract away," said Babc.o.c.k indignantly, "no matter what Rowan says."

"Oh, it's not that--it's not that. That's not what hurts me. I can git another contract. That's not what breaks me heart. But if they take me Tom's NAME from me, an' say I can't be Tom Grogan any more; it's like robbin' me of my life. When I work on the docks I allus brace myself an' say' I'm doing just what Tom did many a day for me.' When I sign his name to me checks an' papers,--the name I've loved an' that I've worked for, the name I've kep' clean for him--me Tom that loved me, an' never lied or was mean--me Tom that I promised, an'--an'"--

All the woman in her overcame her now. Sinking to her knees, she threw her arms and head on the lounge, and burst into tears.

Babc.o.c.k rested his head on his hand, and looked on in silence. Here was something, it seemed to him, too sacred for him to touch even with his sympathy.

"Tom," he said, when she grew more quiet, his whole heart going out to her, "what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know that ye can do anything," she said in a quivering voice, lifting her head, her eyes still wet. "Perhaps n.o.body can. But I thought maybe ye'd go wid me to Judge Bowker in the mornin'. Rowan an' all of 'em 'll be there, an' I'm no match for these lawyers. Perhaps ye'd speak to the judge for me."

Babc.o.c.k held out his hand.

"I knew ye would, an' I thank ye," she said, drying her eyes. "Now unlock the door, an' let 'em in. They worry so. Gran'pop hasn't slep'

a night since I was hurted, an' Jennie goes round cryin' all the time, sayin' they 'll be a-killin' me next."

Then, rising to her feet, she called out in a cheery voice, as Babc.o.c.k opened the door, "Come in, Jennie; come in Gran'pop. It's all over, child. Mr. Babc.o.c.k's a-going wid me in the mornin'. Niver fear; we'll down 'em all yit."

XVII. A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT

When Judge Bowker entered his office adjoining the village bank, Justice Rowan had already arrived. So had McGaw, Dempsey, Crimmins, Quigg, the president of the board, and one or two of the trustees. The judge had sent for McGaw and the president, and they had notified the others.

McGaw sat next to Dempsey. His extreme nervousness of a few days ago--starting almost at the sound of his own footstep--had given place to a certain air of bravado, now that everybody in the village believed the horse had kicked Tom.

Babc.o.c.k and Tom were by the window, she listless and weary, he alert and watchful for the slightest point in her favor. She had on her brown dress, washed clean of the blood-stains, and the silk hood, which better concealed the bruises. All her old fire and energy were gone. It was not from the shock of her wound,--her splendid const.i.tution was fast healing that,--but from this deeper hurt, this last thrust of McGaw's which seemed to have broken her indomitable spirit.

Babc.o.c.k, although he did not betray his misgivings, was greatly worried over the outcome of McGaw's latest scheme. He wished in his secret heart that Tom had signed her own name to the contract. He was afraid so punctilious a man as the judge might decide against her. He had never seen him; he only knew that no other judge in his district had so great a reputation for technical rulings.

When the judge entered--a small, gray-haired, keen-eyed man in a black suit, with gold spectacles, spotless linen, and clean-shaven face--Babc.o.c.k's fears were confirmed. This man, he felt, would be legally exact, no matter who suffered by his decision.

Rowan opened the case, the judge listening attentively, looking over his gla.s.ses. Rowan recounted the details of the advertis.e.m.e.nt, the opening of the bids, the award of the contract, the signing of "Thomas Grogan"

in the presence of the full board, and the discovery by his "honored client that no such man existed, had not existed for years, and did not now exist."

"Dead, your Honor"--throwing out his chest impressively, his voice swelling--"dead in his grave these siven years, this Mr. Thomas Grogan; and yet this woman has the bald and impudent effrontery to"--

"That will do, Mr. Rowan."

Police justices--justices like Rowan--did not count much with Judge Bowker, and then he never permitted any one to abuse a woman in his presence.

"The point you make is that Mrs. Grogan had no right to sign her name to a contract made out in the name of her dead husband."

"I do, your Honor," said Rowan, resuming his seat.

"Why did you sign it?" asked Judge Bowker, turning to Tom.

She looked at Babc.o.c.k. He nodded a.s.sent, and then she answered:--

"I allus signed it so since he left me."

There was a pleading, tender pathos in her words that startled Babc.o.c.k.

He could hardly believe the voice to be Tom's.

The judge looked at her with a quick, penetrating glance, which broadened into an expression of kindly interest when he read her entire honesty in her face. Then he turned to the president of the board.

"When you awarded this contract, whom did you expect to do the work, Mrs. Grogan or her husband.'"

"Mrs. Grogan, of course. She has done her own work for years," answered the president.

The judge tapped the arm of his chair with his pencil. The taps could be heard all over the room. Most men kept quiet in Bowker's presence, even men like Rowan. For some moments his Honor bent over the desk and carefully examined the signed contract spread out before him; then he pushed it back, and glanced about the room.

"Is Mr. Crane, the bondsman, present?"

"Mr. Crane has gone West, sir," said Babc.o.c.k, rising. "I represent Mrs.

Grogan in this matter."

"Did Mr. Crane sign this bond knowing that Mrs. Grogan would haul the stone?"

"He did; and I can add that all her checks, receipts, and correspondence are signed in the same way, and have been for years. She is known everywhere as Tom Grogan. She has never had any other name--in her business."

"Who else objects to this award?" said the judge calmly.