Tom Slade : Boy Scout of the Moving Pictures Part 3

One man would have been enough, goodness knows, to do the job in hand, for there were only six or seven pieces of furniture. They got in each other's way a good deal and spat tobacco juice, while poor helpless, inefficient Bill Slade stood by watching them.

From various windows and doors the neighbors watched them too, and some congratulated themselves that their own rents were paid, while others wondered what would become of poor Tom now.

This was the scene which greeted Tom as he came down Barrel Alley from school.

"Wot are they doin'?" he asked.

"Can't you see wot they're a-doin'?" roared his father. "'Tain't them that's doin' it neither, it's _you--you done it!!_ It's _you_ took the roof from over my head, you and old John Temple!" Advancing menacingly, he poured forth a torrent of abuse at his wretched son.

"The two o' yez done it! You wid yer rocks and him wid his dirty marshals and judges! I'll get the both o' yez yet! Ye sneakin' rat!"

He would have struck Tom to the ground if Mrs. O'Connor, a mournful figure in shoddy black, had not crossed the street and forced her way between them.

"'Twas _you_ done it, Bill Slade, and not him, and don't you lay yer hand on him--mind that! 'Twas you an' your whiskey bottle done it, you lazy loafer, an' the street is well rid o' you. Don't you raise your hand agin me, Bill Slade--I'm not afraid o' the likes o' you. I tell you 'twas _you_ sent the poor boy's mother to her grave--you and your whiskey bottle!"

"I--I--ain't scared uv him!" said Tom.

"You stay right here now and don't be foolish, and me an' you'll go over an' have a cup o' coffee."

Just then one of the men emerged bearing in one arm the portrait of the late Mrs. Slade and in the other hand Bill Slade's battered but trusty beer can. The portrait he laid face up on the table and set the can on it.

Perhaps it is expecting too much to a.s.sume that a city marshal would have any sense of the fitness of things, but it was an unfortunate moment to make such a mistake. As Mrs. O'Connor lifted the pail a dirty ring remained on the face of the portrait.

"D'yer see wot yer done?" shrieked Tom, rushing at the marshal. "D'yer see wot yer done?"

There was no stopping him. With a stream of profanity he rushed at the offending marshal, grabbing him by the neck, and the man's head shook and swayed as if it were in the grip of a mad dog.

It was in vain that poor Mrs. O'Connor attempted to intercede, catching hold of the infuriated boy and calling,

"Oh, Tommy, for the dear Lord's sake, stop and listen to me!"

Tom did not even hear.

The marshal, his face red and his eyes staring, went down into the mud of Barrel Alley and the savage, merciless pounding of his face could be heard across the way.

While the other marshals pulled Tom off his half-conscious victim, the younger contingent came down the street escorting a sauntering blue-coat, who swung his club leisurely and seemed quite master of the situation.

"He kilt him, he kilt him!" called little Sadie McCarren.

Tom, his scraggly hair matted, his face streaming, his chest heaving, and his ragged clothing bespattered, stood hoisting up his suspender, safe in the custody of the other two marshals.

"Take this here young devil around to the station," said one of the men, "for a.s.sault and battery and interferin' with an officer of the law in the performance of his dooty."

"Come along, Tom," said the policeman; "in trouble again, eh?"

"Can't yer leave him go just this time?" pleaded Mrs. O'Connor. "He ain't himself at all--yer kin see it."

"Take him in," said the rising victim, "for interferin' with an officer of the law in the performance of dooty."

"Where's his folks?" the policeman asked, not unkindly.

It was then the crowd discovered that Bill Slade had disappeared.

"I'll have to take you along," said the officer.

Tom said never a word. He had played his part in the proceedings, and he was through.

"Couldn't yer leave him come over jist till I make him a cup o'

coffee?" Mrs. O'Connor begged.

"They'll give him his dinner at the station, ma'am," the policeman answered.

Mrs. O'Connor stood there choking as Tom was led up the street, the full juvenile force of Barrel Alley thronging after him.

"Wouldn' yer leave me pull my strap up?" he asked the policeman.

The officer released his arm, taking him by the neck instead, and the last that Mrs. O'Connor saw Tom was hauling his one rebellious strand of suspender up into place.

"Poor lad, I don't know what'll become uv him now," said Mrs. O'Connor, pausing on her doorstep to speak with a neighbor.

"And them things over there an' night comin' on," said her companion.

"I wisht that alarm clock was took away--seems as if 'twas laughin' at the whole thing--like."

"'Tain't only his bein' arrested," said Mrs. O'Connor, "but ther' ain't no hope for him at all, as I kin see. Ther's no one can in_floo_ence him."

In Court, the next morning, the judge ruled out all reference to the disfigurement of Mrs. Slade's portrait as being "incompetent and irrelevant," and when the "a.s.sault and battery" could not be made to seem "an act done in self-defense and by reason of the imminent peril of the accused," Tom was taken to the "jug" to spend the balance of the day and to ponder on the discovery that a "guy" has no right to "slam"

a marshal just because he sets a dirty beer can on his mother's picture.

His first enterprise after his liberation was a flank move on Schmitt's Grocery where he stole a couple of apples and a banana, which latter he ate going along the street. These were his only luncheon. The banana skin he threw on the pave-ment.

In a few moments he heard footsteps behind him and, turning, saw a small boy coming along dangling the peel he had dropped. The boy was a jaunty little fellow, wearing a natty spring suit. It was, in fact, "Pee-wee" Harris, Tenderfoot, who was just starting out to cover Provision 5 of the Second Cla.s.s Scout requirements, for he was going to be a Second Cla.s.s Scout before camping-time, or know the reason why.

"You drop that?" he asked pleasantly.

"Ye-re, you kin have it," said Tom cynically.

"Thanks," said Pee-wee, and the banana peel went sailing over the fence into Temple's lot.

"First thing you know somebody'd get a free ride on that thing," said Pee-wee.

"Ye-re?" said Tom sneeringly.

"And if anybody got anything free near John Temple's property----"

"Dere's where yer said it, kiddo," said Tom, approvingly.

"So long," said Pee-wee, and went gaily on, walking a little, then running a little, then walk-ing again, until Tom thought he must be crazy. Happening just at that minute to finish one of his apples (or rather one of Schmitt's apples) he let fly the core straight for the back of Pee-wee's head.