CHAPTER X
TOMMY-BY-THE-DAY
Joan met Tommy in the Juvenile Court. She had hesitated outside the bigdouble doors that Saturday morning, listening to the low hum of voices.It was distressing how shy she was at times. She must get over it, ifshe were to be a real reporter. Talking to people didn’t bother her, butwalking into that room full of strange, staring people did.
However, Judge Grayson merely turned his head for a second and Mrs.Hollis, the matron of the Detention Home, flashed her a smile ofrecognition as she stole in, tiptoeing over the creaky boards. Tim wasin the back of the room, of course. The sight of reporters up in frontsometimes worried the timid mothers who had come to plead for theirwayward sons. “Oh, all this ain’t going to be in the papers, is it?”they would wail to the judge.
Joan disregarded her brother’s frown, and slipping into the seat next tohim, whispered her message. She had been sent to tell him to come backto the _Journal_—a story had broken and he was needed. She had happenedto be over there, and had volunteered to go for him, after the editorhad looked around for the red-headed office boy and found him missing asusual, when wanted. Joan was glad she happened to have on a fresh middy.
Tim hadn’t been sent to “cover” the Juvenile Court, for the _Journal_had its own court reporter, but Editor Nixon had wanted to see what Timcould do in the feature-story line. Miss Betty, who sometimes attendedcourt, was busy with brides this Saturday morning and couldn’t bespared.
Now he shoved his note paper into his pocket and slipped out of thecourt room, at Joan’s whisper. He seemed a bit provoked at being calledaway. The half-dozen young boys who were up before Judge Grayson forsome deviltry or other, eyed him as he went out. Joan herself, now thatshe had braved the ordeal of entering the room while the court was insession, decided to stay awhile, and that’s how she met Tommy! Court wasalways interesting. She hoped that none of these cases would be the kindwhen every one under sixteen was asked to leave.
She knew all the officials in the Juvenile Court. It was held in a roomin the county courthouse. Juvenile Court was an informal proceeding,with Judge Grayson talking more like a father than a judge.
It wasn’t the usual playing hooky from school case that the judge wastaking up now. It wasn’t a boy at all, but a young mother, hugging achubby little boy. He wore blue overalls and looked about two years old.The morning sun slanting in through the long windows made his curls asyellow as the _Journal_ copy paper.
“I didn’t think Tommy would cry so long and hard, Judge! He’s not reallya baby,” the young mother was saying. “Or I never would have left himalone in the room. But I had to go to work to earn some money.”
Judge Grayson’s tired-looking face was kind but stern. “Don’t you knowthere’s a Day Nursery on Grove Street for just such mothers as you?”
The young woman nodded. “I did take him over there when I first came toPlainfield two weeks ago and got this job at Davis’. But the lady theresaid the nursery was full—the babies were taking naps two and three in acrib, and she couldn’t possibly take Tommy. I couldn’t take him to workwith me, and I didn’t dare ask the landlady to keep him so I left himalone.”
Joan knew where the Day Nursery was—just the front room in Mrs. Barnes’own home. She and Amy had visited it when it first opened with twobabies, not long ago—and now it was filled to overflowing.
“If you have no one to care for the boy,” said Judge Grayson in hisslow, even tones, “I’m afraid he will have to go to the Home till thereis room in the Day Nursery.”
Tommy’s mother raised eyes dark with fright. “Oh, don’t take him away,Judge.” She hugged the little fellow harder than ever.
“I’ll keep him till I find some family to board him by the day,” spokeup Mrs. Hollis, briskly. “But what Plainfield needs is a bigger DayNursery.”
The next case was called. A big boy of sixteen was up for pettythieving. He was sent to “Boyville,” the truant school, and then thecourt adjourned for lunch.
Joan could not get the thought of the too full Day Nursery out of hermind, and of poor Tommy locked in a furnished room and howling for hismother while she was out at work. Maybe Mother would keep Tommy tillthere was a vacancy at the Day Nursery. That would be better than havinghim at the Detention Home with Mrs. Hollis. It would be fun, too. On theway out, she edged over toward Mrs. Hollis and spoke to her about it.Tommy gave her a wobbly smile.
At lunch, Joan was too absorbed in the problem of Tommy to take herusual interest in Tim’s account of the morning. He had been sent towrite up a butcher shop that had been flooded from a broken water main.That was what the story had been. “Nothing at the Juvenile Court,either,” he grumbled.
“Oh, yes, there was,” she corrected, as she spread her bread with peanutbutter to make a sandwich. Lunch in summer was always a picnicky meal.“That part about the Day Nursery ought to make a dandy feature.”
“Who’s interested in babies?” Tim always took her suggestionsdoubtfully. Besides he seemed to be getting all the baby assignmentslately.
“Why, everybody! Except _you_, maybe. Everybody’s been a baby, you see,”she told him.
“Well, I’d like to hand in something from the Court so Nixon will sendme again, for listening to cases isn’t a bad way to spend a morning.”
After Tim had hurried off, Joan approached her mother. “Couldn’t we takeTommy by the day? I asked Mrs. Hollis and she says it’d be much betterfor him to be here with us, and she says the mother’s willing to paysomething for his care.”
Mrs. Martin considered. “Well, if you want to,” she decided. “It’s thelesser of two evils, I guess. Maybe having Tommy here will keep you fromrunning over to the _Journal_ so much. But you and Amy will have to takecharge of him. I’ve planned to put up preserves this week.”
“We will,” promised Joan. Amy would adore to help. Amy didn’t know muchabout newspapers, but she knew a lot about babies. She had played dollstill she was a big girl. Joan had seldom played with dolls even when shewas small. Playing about under the desks in the _Journal_ office, usingthe discarded bits of lead plate for blocks had been more fun than dollsto young Joan. But now—a real baby! She’d like that!
Tommy was installed that very afternoon.
Tommy-by-the-Day, Chub named him when Joan explained to the _Journal_staff through the open windows that Tommy was to be at her house by theday, and that his mother would bring him early in the morning and callfor him after work.
“Me, Tommy-by-the-Day” the baby echoed, patting his chest with one pudgyhand.
While he took his nap, Joan stole off to the _Journal_, and found Timhard at work over the Day Nursery story. When he was called into one ofthe phone booths, she read what he had written. His story covered thefacts, but it was stiff and journalistic, somehow. It did not give halfan idea how cute Tommy really was. As she stared at the yellow page,Joan was seized with such an amazing inspiration that she trembled, justthinking of it. Oh, she wouldn’t _dare_ do it!
She would. Tim couldn’t do much but scold. She rolled his story out ofthe machine, inserted another sheet and began to type. She was not usedto composing on the typewriter and in her worry and hurry, her fingersstruck the wrong keys, but the result was readable. She used all ofTim’s facts in the story, but by merely changing a phrase of his now andthen and sticking in a few of her own, she managed to capture all theadorable neediness of that little scamp of a Tommy.
Tim came and shooed her off when she was writing in the middle of it,writing in the heat of creation. Would he be mad?
“What’s the big idea?” he sputtered, but not very loudly, for he wasreading her story. “Oh, I see, well—I may use some of your ideas, kid.They’re not half bad.” But Joan suddenly turned shy and fled. Would hekill her?
When Tim came home after work, Tommy was sitting up on the big, reddictionary eating his early supper of rice, milk, and applesauce.
“Cute kid.” Tim pretended to punch him in the stomach by way of welcome.Then he t
old her, “Nixon said my Day Nursery story was good.” Not a wordabout her suggestions. But, being Tim, he wouldn’t say anything. “Heeven said he was going to write his to-morrow’s editorial on thesituation, just to see what’ll happen.”
What happened was that the _Journal’s_ readers immediately wrote in onthe subject. Some even enclosed checks, but it would take a lot ofchecks to enlarge the present nursery. New and larger quarters wereneeded. Since there was no money with which to build, a place would haveto be found among the present buildings in Plainfield. At the end of aweek one letter suggested that the county offer part of the oldHistorical Building for use as a day nursery.
The Historical Building was a landmark and was right across the streetfrom the _Journal_ office, on the corner. It contained relics from thetime when Plainfield was first settled.
“Why wouldn’t that be a wonderful place?” asked Miss Betty of the restof the staff later, when Joan was in the _Journal_ office. Every one onthe _Journal_ was interested in Tommy, now, and in the nursery problem.
“It would. But they can’t get it,” drawled Cookie. “It’s because of oldMrs. McNulty. She gave a whole room full of junk to the HistoricalBuilding, and she wants the place used for that and nothing else. Theyapproached her on the subject once before, soon as folks saw the DayNursery wasn’t going to be big enough. But she put her foot down. Thecounty doesn’t want to get in bad with her because she’s Hutton’smother-in-law. The county wouldn’t care—hardly any one but country hicksor school kids go through the building any more, anyway. But the oldlady won’t give in....”
“Maybe if she saw Tommy and realized how much the nursery would mean tohim,” proposed Miss Betty. “A concrete case might make all thedifference to a person like that, and Tommy’s an appealing kid.”
Yes, Tommy was a darling and he was thriving under the girls’ care. Thatwasn’t vanity. Every one said so. Tommy’s mother told them so everyevening when she came to “collect” him. She always looked tired, but assoon as her eyes lighted on her small son, she looked like a differentperson. “You girls are giving him wonderful care,” she had told themmore than once in the short time they had had him. He was gettingplumper and healthier every day.
“I believe I will take him round to Mrs. McNulty’s,” Joan determinednow. “And let him plead his own case.” She turned and started home.Maybe Mrs. McNulty wasn’t really mean. She was glad, however, that thewoman would not know she was a sister to the cub reporter who had lefther name off the list of patronesses that time.
She found that “minding” a baby and holding down a job were difficultthings to combine. Of course, she hadn’t really a job, but she felt asthough Tim’s were her own, somehow—and now she couldn’t keep up with it.Anyway, Tommy was so interesting that she didn’t miss the _Journal_excitement so much. The tricks that a two-year-old could think up! Hehad a passion for stealing sugar—all the door knobs were smeary andsticky where his sugary hands had reached to open the doors. You simplyhad to watch him every single minute, she had discovered. He was at therun-about, reaching age. Nothing was safe from him.
She found Amy waiting for her on the steps of the Martins’ porch, herface tragic. Had something happened to Tommy?
“Joan! Your mother’s got a telegram from your Aunt Effie to come andkeep house for her while she’s at a hospital having her appendix takenout. She’s going next week, and that means we can’t keep Tommy, for shesays you can’t manage the house and Tim and Tommy both.”
It did look hopeless until Joan remembered about Mrs. McNulty and theHistorical Building. Amy fell right in with the plan of taking Tommy tosee the old lady. She always welcomed any kind of adventure, and herimagination, fed by the romantic books she read, pounced immediatelyupon the idea that Mrs. McNulty would take a great fancy to the littleboy.
“Maybe she’ll give him a fortune,” she mused. “Probably she’ll get him anurse with a long veil like you see in the New York papers.”
As soon as Tommy woke up from his nap, they got him ready. They scrubbedhis cheeks till they shone like candy apples and brushed his yellowhair, matted from his nap, till it looked like taffy. “Good enough toeat!” thought Joan. No one could resist him.
His diminutive overalls were brushed spic and span and a missing buttonreplaced—with green thread since that was all they could find in ahurry. His worn sandals were polished so thoroughly that some of theshine was brushed on to his pink toes showing through the cut-work.
Mrs. McNulty lived on the North Side, just across the bridge over theglorified creek that divided the main part of Plainfield from theresidential section. Amy had borrowed a rickety, cast-off baby cart forTommy some days ago, and it came in handy now, for it would be too farfor his short legs to trudge.
Down Market Street they went, proudly pushing their charge, past theSoldiers’ Monument, without which no Ohio town is complete.
Just before they came to the bridge, they passed a big, yellow brickbuilding with a huge sign across it. “DEPARTMENT of CORRECTION, City ofPlainfield,” it read.
“I always hate to pass the jail.” Amy quickened her step.
“You needn’t worry. There’s no robbers or thugs in there, now,”comforted Joan. “Don’t you read the _Journal_? Cookie had a peachy storyabout its being empty. It seems our fair city is getting so well-behavedthat the few city arrests that are made don’t fill up this jail at all,so they’re taken to the county one. This place isn’t needed, so it’sempty.”
They had hardly crossed the bridge when Master Tommy was tired of thecart and decided to get out. He began to howl his loudest, and sincethey did not want to present a roaring boy to Mrs. McNulty, they wereforced to let him out. Then he insisted upon pushing the buggy himself.
The McNulty homestead had been converted into apartments a few yearsbefore. There were a few apartments in Plainfield, and the McNulty one,because of its central location and history, was considered the best.Just as they approached the steps leading up, Tommy banged the buggyinto a tree. As he had pushed with all his might he tumbled smack downon the sidewalk. He shed real tears, which mingled with the dirt hisface had collected from the sidewalk. One fat knee had gone through thefaded overalls, and was stained with blood. The girls picked him up,soothed him and repaired the damages as best they could.
They parked the cart at the steps, hauled Tommy up and rang the McNultybell. The colored maid eyed them curiously, and answered indifferentlythat Mrs. McNulty was in. They followed her through a hall that smelledof incense and into a crowded living room, where on a chaise longue, oldMrs. McNulty was reclining. She was so ugly that Joan thought she lookedlike a witch, in spite of the gray, marceled hair and the trailinglavender robe she had on. She was holding a green bottle to her nose.“Yes?” she lifted her eyebrows. “What is it?”
Both girls started to speak at once, then halted, and ended by beingembarrassed. Amy was seized with an uncontrollable desire to giggle.Finally, Joan, giving Amy a withering glance, managed to explain thatthe Day Nursery needed larger quarters and that the Historical Buildinghad been suggested. She ended her plea by pushing Tommy forward andsaying that there was no room for him in the present Day Nursery.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring him along. He was not veryappealing, with the tear in his overalls, and his dusty sandals on thepurple velvet of the rug. He reached for the green bottle, and when itwas lifted out of his grasp, he opened his mouth to yell.
“A nasty boy.” Mrs. McNulty continued to sniff at the bottle. “Doesn’tlook clean.”
Joan swooped him up before he let out the yell entirely, and tickled himto make him laugh instead. It was too bad, after they had worked so hardto make him presentable.
“And you’ve come to see whether I’ll change my mind about the relics inthe building?” went on the old lady. “Of course, I can’t keep the countyfrom giving up part of the building if they decide to, but in thatevent, I shall most certainly withdraw the things I have there.”
Joan faced the woman
over Tommy’s mop of yellow hair. “But what are oldrelics compared to live babies?” she demanded.
“The relics mean a great deal to me and—to the county, too,” she said,quietly. “Why, the little bed that my father’s father slept in when hewas a baby is in that building. I’ll not change my mind.”
She was dismissing them, and there was nothing to do but take the hintand depart.
Tommy, perfectly subdued, smiled up at them when they put him in hiscart. Both girls were silent as they started down toward the bridge.What was going to happen to Tommy now?
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