by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XV
THE CASE OF THE TISCOTTS
What I had on the slate for this part'cular afternoon was a brisk walk upBroadway as far as the gasoline district and a little soothin'conversation with Mr. Cecil Slattery about the new roadster he's tryin'to Paladino me into placin' my order for. I'd just washed up and was inthe gym. giving my coat a few licks with the whisk broom, when Swifty Joecomes tiptoein' in, taps me on the shoulder, and points solemn into thefront office.
"That's right," says I, "break it to me gentle."
"Get into it quick!" says he, grabbin' the coat.
"Eh?" says I. "Fire, police, or what?"
"S-s-sh!" says he. "Lady to see you."
"What kind," says I, "perfect, or just plain lady? And what's her name?"
"Ahr-r-r chee!" he whispers, hoarse and stagy. "Didn't I tell you it wasa lady? Get a move on!" and he lifts me into the sleeves and yanks awaythe whisk broom.
"See here, Swifty," says I, "if this is another of them hot airdemonstrators, or a book agent, there'll be trouble comin' your way inbunches! Remember, now!"
Here was once, though, when Swifty hadn't made any mistake. Not that heshows such wonderful intelligence in this case. With her wearin' all themexpensive furs, and the cute little English footman standin' up straightin his yellow topped boots over by the door, who wouldn't have known shewas a real lady?
She's got up all in black, not exactly a mournin' costume, but one ofthese real broadcloth regalias, plain but classy. She's a tall, slimparty, and from the three-quarters' view I gets against the light Ishould guess she was goin' on thirty or a little past it. All she's armedwith is a roll of paper, and as I steps in she's drummin' with it on thewindow sill.
Course, we has all kinds driftin' into the studio here, by mistake andotherwise, and I gen'rally makes a guess on 'em right; but this one don'tsuggest anything at all. Even that rat faced tiger of hers could havetold her this wa'n't any French millinery parlor, and she didn't looklike one who'd get off the trail anyway. So I plays a safety by coughin'polite behind my hand and lettin' her make the break. She ain't backwardabout it, either.
"Why, there you are, Professor McCabe!" says she, in that gushy, up anddown tone, like she was usin' language as some sort of throat gargle."How perfectly dear of you to be here, too!"
"Yes, ain't it?" says I. "I've kind of got into the habit of bein'here."
"Really, now!" says she, smilin' just as though we was carryin' on asensible conversation. And it's a swagger stunt too, this talkin' withoutsayin' anything. When you get so you can keep it up for an hour you'requalified either for the afternoon tea class or the batty ward. But thelady ain't here just to pay a social call. She makes a quick shift andannounces that she's Miss Colliver, also hoping that I remember her.
"Why, sure," says I. "Miss Ann, ain't it?"
As a matter of fact, the only time we was ever within speakin' distancewas once at the Purdy-Pells' when she blew in for a minute just at dinnertime, lifted a bunch of American Beauties off the table with the excusethat they was just what she wanted to send to the Blind Asylum, and blewout again.
But of course I couldn't help knowin' who she was and all about her.Ain't the papers always full of her charity doin's, her funds for thisand that, and her new discoveries of shockin' things about the poor?Ain't she built up a rep as a lady philanthropist that's too busy doinggood to ever get married? Maybe Mrs. Russell Sage and Helen Gould hasgained a few laps on her lately; but when it comes to startin' things forthe Tattered Tenth there ain't many others that's got much on her.
"Gee!" thinks I. "Wonder what she's going to do for me?"
I ain't left long in doubt. She backs me up against the desk and cutsloose with the straight talk. "I came in to tell you about my newenterprise, Piny Crest Court," says she.
"Apartment house, is it?" says I.
"No, no!" says she. "Haven't you read about it? It's to be a white plaguestation for working girls."
"A white--white----Oh! For lungers, eh?"
"We never speak of them in that way, you know," says she, handin' me thereprovin' look. "Piny Crest Court is the name I've given to the site.Rather sweet, is it not? Really there are no pines on it, you know; but Ishall have a few set out. The buildings are to be perfectly lovely. I'vejust seen the architect's plans,--four open front cottages grouped aroundan administration infirmary, the superintendent's office to be finishedin white mahogany and gold, and the directors' room in Circassian walnut,with a stucco frieze after della Robbia. Don't you simply love thoseRobbia bambinos?"
"Great!" says I, lyin' as easy and genteel as if I had lots of practice.
"I am simply crazy to have the work started," she goes on; "so I amspending three afternoons a week in filling up my lists. Everyoneresponds so heartily, too. Now, let me see, I believe I have put you downfor a life membership."
"Eh?" says I, gaspin' some; for it ain't often I'm elected to things.
"You will have the privilege of voting for board members and ofrecommending two applicants a year. A life membership is two hundred andfifty dollars."
"You mean I get two-fifty," says I, "for--for just----"
Then I came to. And, say, did you ever know such a bonehead? Honest,though, from all I'd heard of the way she spreads her money around, andthe patronizin' style she has of puttin' this proposition up to me, Icouldn't tell for a minute how she meant it. And when I suddenlysurrounds the idea that it's me gives up the two-fifty, I'm so fussedthat I drops back into the chair and begins to hunt through the desk formy checkbook. And then I feels myself growin' a little warm behind theears.
"So you just put me down offhand for two hundred and fifty, did you?"says I.
"If you wish," says she, "you may take out a life certificate for eachmember of your family. Several have done that. Let me show you my list ofsubscribers. See, here are some of the prominent merchants andmanufacturing firms. I haven't begun on the brokers and bankers yet; butyou will be in good company."
"Ye-e-es?" says I, runnin' my eye over the firm names. "But I don't knowmuch about this scheme of yours, Miss Colliver."
"Why, it is for working girls," says she, "who are victims of the whiteplague. We take them up to Piny Crest and cure them."
"Of working?" says I.
"Of the plague," says she. "It is going to be the grandest thing I'vedone yet. And I have the names of such a lot of the most interestingcases; poor creatures, you know, who are suffering in the most wretchedquarters. I do hope they will last until the station is finished. Itmeans finding a new lot, if they don't, and the public organizations arebecoming so active in that sort of thing, don't you see?"
Somehow, I don't catch it all, she puts over her ideas so fast; but Igather that she'd like to have me come up prompt with my little oldtwo-fifty so she can get busy givin' out the contracts. Seein' me stillhangin' back, though, she's willin' to spend a few minutes more indescribin' some of the worst cases, which she proceeds to do.
"We estimate," says Miss Ann as a final clincher, "that the average costis about fifty dollars per patient. Now," and she sticks the subscriptionlist into my fist, "here is an opportunity! Do you wish to save fivehuman lives?"
Ever had it thrown into you like that? The sensation is a good deal likebein' tied to a post and havin' your pockets frisked by a holdup gang.Anyway, that's the way I felt, and then the next minute I'm ashamed ofhavin' any such feelings at all; for there's no denyin' that dozens ofcases like she mentions can be dug up in any crowded block. Seems kind ofinhuman, too, not to want chip in and help save 'em. And yet there I wasgettin' grouchy over it, without knowin' why!
"Well," says I, squirmin' in the chair, "I'd like to save five hundred,if I could. How many do you say you're going to take care of up at thisnew place?"
"Sixty," says she. "I select the most pitiful cases. I am taking somethings to one of them now. I wish you could see the awful misery in thathome! I could take you down there, you know, and show you what a squalidexistence they lead, th
ese Tiscotts."
"Tiscotts!" says I, prickin' up my ears. "What Tiscotts? What's his firstname?"
"I never heard the husband mentioned," says Miss Ann. "I doubt if thereis one. The woman's name, I think, is Mrs. Anthony Tiscott. Of course,unless you are really interested----"
"I am," says I. "I'm ready to go when you are."
That seems to jar Miss Colliver some, and she tries a little shiftysidestepping; but I puts it up to her as flat as she had handed it to meabout savin' the five lives. It was either make good or welsh, and shecomes to the scratch cheerful.
"Very well, then," says she, "we will drive down there at once."
So it's me into the Victoria alongside of Miss Ann, with the fat coachmanpilotin' us down Fifth-ave. to 14th, then across to Third-ave., and againdown and over to the far East Side.
I forget the exact block; but it's one of the old style double-deckers,with rusty fire escapes decorated with beddin' hung out to air, darkhallways that has a perfume a garbage cart would be ashamed of, ricketystairs, plasterin' all gone off the halls, and other usual signs of realestate that the agents squeeze fifteen per cent. out of. You know howit's done, by fixin' the Buildin' and Board of Health inspectors, jammin'from six to ten fam'lies in on a floor, never makin' any repairs, andcollectin' weekly rents or servin' dispossess notices prompt when theydon't pay up.
Lovely place to hang up one of the "Home, Sweet Home" mottoes! There's awater tap in every hall, so all the tenants can have as much as theywant, stove holes in most of the rooms, and you buy your coal by thebucket at the rate of about fourteen dollars a ton. Only three a week fora room, twelve dollars a month. Course, that's more per room than you'dpay on the upper West Side with steam heat, elevator service, and aTennessee marble entrance hall thrown in; but the luxury of stowin' awhole fam'ly into one room comes high. Or maybe the landlords are doin'it to discourage poverty.
"This is where the Tiscotts hang out, is it?" says I. "Shall I lug thebasket for you, Miss Colliver?"
"Dear no!" says she. "I never go into such places. I always send thethings in by Hutchins. He will bring Mrs. Tiscott down and she will tellus about her troubles."
"Let Hutchins sit on the box this time," says I, grabbin' up the basket."Besides, I don't want any second hand report."
"But surely," puts in Miss Ann, "you are not going into such a----"
"Why not?" says I. "I begun livin' in one just like it."
At that Miss Ann settles back under the robe, shrugs her shoulders intoher furs, and waves for me to go ahead.
Half a dozen kids on the doorstep told me in chorus where I'd find theTiscotts, and after I've climbed up through four layers of stale cabbageand fried onion smells and felt my way along to the third door left fromthe top of the stairs, I makes my entrance as the special messenger ofthe ministerin' angel.
It's the usual fam'ly-room tenement scene, such as the slum writers areso fond of describin' with the agony pedal down hard, only there ain'tquite so much dirt and rags in evidence as they'd like. There's plenty,though. Also there's a lot of industry on view. Over by the light shaftwindow is Mrs. Tiscott, pumpin' a sewin' machine like she was entered ina twenty-four-hour endurance race, with a big bundle of raw materials atone side. In front of her is the oldest girl, sewin' buttons onto whitegoods; while the three younger kids, includin' the four-year-old boy, arespread out around the table in the middle of the room, pickin' nut meatinto the dishpan.
What's the use of tellin' how Mrs. Tiscott's stringy hair was bobbed up,or the kind of wrapper she had on? You wouldn't expect her to be sportin'a Sixth-ave. built pompadour, or a lingerie reception gown, would you?And where they don't have Swedish nursery governesses and porcelain tubs,the youngsters are apt not to be so----But maybe you'll relish your nutcandy and walnut cake better if we skip some details about the state ofthe kids' hands. What's the odds where the contractors gets such workdone, so long as they can shave their estimates?
The really int'restin' exhibit in this fam'ly group, of course, is thebent shouldered, peaked faced girl who has humped herself almost doubleand is slappin' little pearl buttons on white goods at the rate of twentya minute. And there's no deception about her being a fine case for PinyCrest. You don't even have to hear that bark of hers to know it.
I stands there lookin' 'em over for a whole minute before anybody paysany attention to me. Then Mrs. Tiscott glances up and stops her machine.
"Who's that?" she sings out. "What do you----Why! Well, of all things,Shorty McCabe, what brings you here?"
"I'm playin' errand boy for the kind Miss Colliver," says I, holdin' upthe basket.
Is there a grand rush my way, and glad cries, and tears of joy? Nothingdoing in the thankful hysterics line.
"Oh!" says Mrs. Tiscott. "Well, let's see what it is this time." And sheproceeds to dump out Miss Ann's contribution. There's a glass ofgooseb'ry bar le duc, another of guava jelly, a little can of pate defoie gras, and half a dozen lady fingers.
"Huh!" says she, shovin' the truck over on the window sill. As she'sexpressed my sentiments too, I lets it go at that.
"Looks like one of your busy days," says I.
"One of 'em!" says she with a snort, yankin' some more pieces out of thebundle and slippin' a fresh spool of cotton onto the machine.
"What's the job?" says I.
"Baby dresses," says she.
"Good money in it?" says I.
"Oh, sure!" says she. "Forty cents a dozen is good, ain't it?"
"What noble merchant prince is so generous to you as all that?" says I.
Mrs. Tiscott, she shoves over the sweater's shop tag so I can read formyself. Curious,--wa'n't it?--but it's the same firm whose name heads thePiny Crest subscription list. It's time to change the subject.
"How's Annie?" says I, lookin' over at her.
"Her cough don't seem to get any better," says Mrs. Tiscott. "She's hadit since she had to quit work in the gas mantle shop. That's where shegot it. The dust, you know."
Yes, I knew. "How about Tony?" says I.
"Tony!" says she, hard and bitter. "How do I know? He ain't been near usfor a month past."
"Sends in something of a Saturday, don't he?" says I.
"Would I be lettin' the likes of her--that Miss Colliver--come here if hedid," says she, "or workin' my eyes out like this?"
"I thought Lizzie was in a store?" says I, noddin' towards thetwelve-year-old girl at the nut pickin' table.
"They always lays off half the bundle girls after Christmas," says Mrs.Tiscott. "That's why we don't see Tony regular every payday any more. Hehad the nerve to claim most of Lizzie's envelope."
Then it was my turn to say "Huh!"
"Why don't you have him up?" says I.
"I'm a-scared," says she. "He's promised to break my head."
"Think he would?" says I.
"Yes," says she. "He's changed for the worse lately. He'd do it, allright, if I took him to court."
"What if I stood ready to break his, eh?" says I. "Would that hold him?"
Say, it wa'n't an elevatin' or cheerful conversation me and Mrs. Tiscottindulged in; but it was more or less to the point. She's some int'restedin the last proposition of mine, and when I adds a few frills aboutgivin' a butcher's order and standin' for a sack of potatoes, she agreesto swear out the summons for Tony, providin' I'll hand it to him and bein court to scare the liver out of him when she talks to the Justice.
"I hate to do it too," says she.
"I know," says I; "but no meat or potatoes from me unless you do!"
Sounds kind of harsh, don't it? You'd think I had a special grudgeagainst Tony Tiscott too. But say, it's only because I know him and hiskind so well. Nothing so peculiar about his case. Lots of them swellcoachmen go that way, and in his day Tony has driven for some big people.Him and me got acquainted when he was wearin' the Twombley-Crane liveryand drawin' down his sixty-five a month. That wa'n't so long ago,either.
But it's hard waitin' hours on the box in cold weather, and the
y get toboozin'. When they hit it up too free they lose their places. Afterthey've lost too many places they don't get any more. Meantime they'veaccumulated rheumatism and a fam'ly of kids. They've got lazy habits too,and new jobs don't come easy at forty. The next degree is loafin' aroundhome permanent; but they ain't apt to find that so pleasant unless thewife is a good hustler. Most likely she rows it. So they chuck the fam'lyand drift off by themselves.
That's the sort of chaps you'll find on the bread lines. But Tony hadn'tquite got to that yet. I knew the corner beer joint where he did odd jobsas free lunch carver and window cleaner. Also I knew the line of talk Imeant to hand out to him when I got my fingers on his collar.
"Well?" says Miss Ann, when I comes back with the empty basket. "Did youfind it an interesting case?"
"Maybe that's the word," says I.
"You saw the young woman, did you?" says she, "the one who----"
"Sure," says I. "She's got it--bad."
"Ah!" says Miss Ann, brightenin' up. "And now about that lifemembership!"
"Well," says I, "the Piny Crest proposition is all right, and I'd like tosee it started; but the fact is, Miss Colliver, if I should put my namedown with all them big people I'd be runnin' out of my class."
"You would be--er----Beg pardon," says she, "but I don't think I quiteget you?"
I'd suspected she wouldn't. But how was I going to dope out to her clearand straight what's so muddled up in my own head? You know, all about howAnnie got her cough, and my feelin's towards the firms that's sweatin'the Tiscotts, from the baby up, and a lot of other things that I can'tstate.
"As I said," goes on Miss Colliver, "I hardly think I understand."
"Me either," says I. "My head's just a merry go round of whys andwhatfors. But, as far as that fund of yours goes, I don't come in."
"Humph!" says she. "That, at least, is quite definite. Home, Hutchins!"
And there I am left on the curb lookin' foolish. Me, I don't ride back tothe studio on any broadcloth cushions! Serves me right too, I expect. Ifeels mean and low down all the rest of the day, until I gets somesatisfaction by huntin' up Tony and throwin' such a scare into him thathe goes out and finds a porter's job and swears by all that's holy he'lltake up with the fam'ly again.
But think of the chance I passed up of breakin' into the high tonedphilanthropy class!