Adventures of Prince Lazybones, and Other Stories Page 13

  CHAPTER II

  PHIL'S NEW FRIEND

  Old black Joe had not always been either a boot-black or fiddler. In hisyouthful days he had been a house-servant, and had prided himself on hismany accomplishments--his dexterity at dinners, his grace at eveningparties, the ease and unconcern with which he could meet embarrassingemergencies at either. But times had changed for him: his old employershad died, a scolding wife had made his home unhappy, he had lost thelittle money he had saved, and he was no longer the bright, cheerfulyoung fellow he had been. Age and rheumatism had made him crusty; butbeneath the outward manner, which sometimes was very cross, he had atender heart and a pitiful nature.

  Of late years he had picked up enough for his support in the many littleways incident to city life. He could whitewash, sweep chimneys, run onerrands--or rather walk on them, and that, too, very slowly. Heshovelled snow and carried coal, sawed wood and helped the servants atwhose homes he was employed.

  His occupations took him about to many houses, but he always irritatedthe people with whom he came in contact by invariably assuring them thattheir masters and mistresses were not of the real stuff that ladies andgentlemen of _his_ day were made of; that fine feathers did not makefine birds; that people nowadays were all alike, and had no manners.

  He made one exception only, in favor of a maiden lady whose parents hehad known, whose servants were kind to him, and whose retired anddignified way of living quite suited his fastidiousness.

  This was a Miss Schuyler; and nothing pleased Joe more than to have thisone person, whom he regarded with unqualified admiration, send for himto bestow the monthly allowance she was in the habit of giving him. Onthe day that he expected this summons he always gave an extra touch tohis toilet, exchanged his torn coat for a patched one, his slouch hatfor a very much worn beaver adorned with a band of rusty crape, and outof the pocket of his coat, but never upon his hands, was to be seen anold pair of yellow kid gloves.

  In the course of Joe's wanderings he had chanced to, hear of theinvalid boy Phil, who liked to listen to his fiddle, and it did not takelong to strike up an acquaintance between them.

  Often on a rainy day, or when work was dull, Joe would spend an hour ortwo with Phil, relieving his loneliness, soothing his pain, and cheeringhim with his music and his rambling talk about "old times" and thepeople he had seen.

  It was the latter part of May, and had been very warm; but Joe buttonedup his best coat and donned his beaver, for his pay was due at MissSchuyler's. She lived in a large house, rather imposing and handsome,and in the gayest part of the city; but she was by no means imposing orgay in her own person. A little figure, simply dressed, a kind facewithout beauty, a gentle manner, and a certain gracious kindliness andfamiliarity had endeared her to Joe. On this day she was not, as usual,sitting with her work in the library, where the sun poured in on thebronzes and richly bound volumes, on the old engravings and the frescoedceiling--for Miss Schuyler liked light and warmth and color--but she wasaway up in the top of the house, directing her maids in the packing ofblankets and woollens and furs, preparatory to leaving her house for thesummer. Joe had mounted stair after stair seeking her, and by the timehe reached her was quite out of breath; this, and the odor of camphorand cedar-wood, made him sneeze and cough until Miss Schuyler said toone of the maids in a whisper, "The poor old soul would have been blackin the face had he ever been white."

  To Joe himself she said, very kindly, "My good old friend, you need nothave taken so much trouble to see me; I could have come down to you."

  "Laws, Miss Rachel, I knew you was busy, and nuffin's ever a trouble todo for you; I go to the tops of houses often--just come from one wherepoor Phil's a-groanin' with pain. That chile'll die if somebody don't dosuthin' fur him soon."

  "What child?" asked Miss Schuyler, whose tender point was her love ofchildren. "You haven't any grandchildren, Joe, have you?"

  "No, Miss Rachel, de Lord nebber trusted me with any chil'en."

  "Well, who is Phil?" said Miss Schuyler, absently; adding, to one ofher maids, "Take care of that afghan; wrap it in an old linen sheet; itwas knitted by a very dear friend, and I do not want it moth-eaten; Ihad rather lose a camel's-hair shawl." Which evidence or regard seemedvery extravagant to the girl who was obeying instructions, but which Joethought he appreciated.

  "Haven't I tole ye about Phil, Miss Rachel?"

  "I don't know. I don't think you have. But come down to my room, Joe,and then I can listen to your story."

  Giving a few more directions, Miss Rachel led the way to a lovely sunnyroom, with flower-baskets in the windows, soft blue draperies, anddelicate appointments. Seating herself at a desk and pointing Joe to achair, upon which the old man carefully spread a silk handkerchief lesthis clothes should soil the blue cushions, she counted out the money duehim, and placed it in an envelope, saying as she did so, "Now tell meabout that child."

  "It's a white chile, Miss Rachel."

  "Well, I like white children, Joe, though I must confess the littlecolored ones are much more interesting," said Miss Rachel, smiling.

  "I thought you liked my people, Miss Rachel; but this poor Phil's agentleman's son, very much come down far's money goes. He is too youngto know much about it, but the girl who takes care of him was brought upin his family, and she says they was well off once."

  "But what about the boy?" asked Miss Schuyler, a little impatiently.

  "He's a great sufferer, but he's a wonderful chile. He loves to have meplay for him, and then he tells me the thoughts that come to him fromthe music. I's no great player, Miss Rachel," said Joe, modestly, "butyou'd think I was, to hear him talk. He sees fairies and he dreamsbeautiful things, and his big brown eyes look as if he could a'most see'way up into heaven. Oh, he's a strange chile; but he'll die if he staysup in that garret room and nebber sees the green fields he's so hungryfor."

  Miss Rachel's eyes were moist, but she took a card and pencil from herdesk. "Where does he live--in what street and what number?"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Rachel--You jess go up the Avenue, and turn down thefourth or fifth street, and up a block or two, and it's the fust housewith a high stoop and green shutters. I allers go in the alleyway, so Iforgit numbers."

  Miss Schuyler bit her lip to keep from smiling, thought a moment,scribbled a memorandum, rang the bell, and gave some more directions;left the room, and came back with her bonnet on. "Can you show me theway to Phil's house, Joe?"

  "Course I can, Miss Rachel," replied the old man, delighted that hiswords had aroused his listener's sympathies.

  "It's not very far; he's all alone, 'cause Lisa has to be away all day.And I shouldn't wonder"--here he dropped his voice to a whisper--"ifsometimes he was hungry; but he'd nebber say so."

  This latter remark made Miss Schuyler bid Joe wait for her in the hall,while she went to a closet, found a basket, in which she placed a snowynapkin, some biscuit, some cold chicken, and a few delicious littlecakes. In her pocket she put a little flask of some strong cordial shehad found of service on her many errands of charity.

  How proud Joe was to be her escort! but how meekly he walked behind thelady whose footsteps he thought were those of a real gentlewoman, theonly one to whom he would accord this compliment, although he passedmany elegant dames in gay attire.

  The little gray figure, with its neat, quiet simplicity, was hisembodiment of elegance, for somehow Joe had detected the delicateperfume of a sweet nature and a loving heart--a heart full of Christiancharity and unselfishness.

  They walked for some distance, and the day was so warm that MissSchuyler moderated her usual rapid pace to suit the old man's feeblersteps. Off the Avenue a long way, up another, down a side street, until,amid a crowded, disagreeable neighborhood, Joe stopped.

  "You had better lead me still, Joe. The boy might be frightened orannoyed at seeing a stranger: I dare say he's nervous. Go up, and I willwait outside the door while you ask him if I may come and see him. Wait,there's a flower-stall a little way from here; I will get
a bunch. Takemy basket, and I will be back in a few moments. I am glad I thought ofthe flowers; children always like them."

  She hastened off, while Joe leaned on his cane and muttered blessingsupon her; but some rude boys beginning to chaff him, he turned on themwith his usual crustiness, and quite forgot his beatitudes.

  Miss Schuyler came back in a few minutes with a lovely bunch of brightblossoms embosomed in geranium leaves.

  "Now, then, Joe, this shall be my card; take it in, and tell Phil I amcoming."

  "God bless you, Miss Rachel!" was all Joe could reply.

  Miss Rachel had her own way of doing things. It was nothing new for herto carry flowers and dainties to the sick poor. She had been much withsick people, and she knew that those who have no luxuries and fewnecessaries care for the things which do not really sustain life quiteas much as do those who can command both.