Joan of the Journal

by Helen Diehl Olds

  CHAPTER XI

  THE DAY NURSERY

  The _Journal_ staff was genuinely sorry to learn that Tommy had failedto soften old Mrs. McNulty’s heart. Miss Betty didn’t even smile whenJoan told her the tragic details of the visit. Joan had gone right overto the _Journal_ office as soon as they returned from Mrs. McNulty’s.Since it was Amy’s day to take care of Tommy, she remained at Joan’shome, helping the little fellow scatter his stone blocks over the grassin the side yard. The first few days they had taken Tommy over to callon the _Journal_ folks, but that soon proved too hectic. There were somany things for him to reach for over there, and the editor seemed tothink he interfered with the staff’s work. So Joan had gone alone totell the news.

  “It’s the McNulty pride,” stated Tim from his desk. He had rather hopedJoan might stumble upon a feature story for him in the old lady actingas fairy godmother to the little boy, and he was a bit disappointed.“She could have given up that space in the Historical Building and savedthe day. But she’s so proud of having those things in there.”

  “It was Tommy’s clothes,” decided the society editor. “The old lady’sprobably used to seeing kids Tommy’s age decked out in white dimity andsky-blue ribbon. I’ll tell you what. Let’s take up a collection andoutfit the youngster. It won’t change Mrs. McNulty’s heart—too late forthat. But if he looked better, perhaps some wealthy resident would takea liking to him and produce a place for a bigger day nursery. Here, I’llstart the finery fund.” She pulled open her desk drawer, took out herred pocketbook and gave Joan a shining quarter.

  “Here’s a twin to that one.” Cookie, who had heard it all, was reachinginto his pocket.

  The _Journal_ staff wasn’t rich, but it was generous. Every one in theeditorial and business offices gave something. Gertie could give only anickel.

  “Busted?” teased Tim. “When the ghost walked just yesterday?”

  That was the staff’s way of saying that yesterday had been pay day. ButGertie always spent the contents of her envelope on clothes as soon asshe got it, and was always in debt.

  When the printers and pressmen strolled through on their way home, theywere approached and most of them contributed. Dummy gave a quarter. Hedid like children. Joan remembered the day of the picnic. And Chub addedhis bit. Mack gave a whole dollar.

  The total was overwhelming—almost ten dollars and fifty cents! To-morrowmorning, Joan and Amy would take Tommy to Davis’ Department Store andoutfit him.

  They chose Davis’ for two reasons. It was Plainfield’s largeststore—four stories high, with an elevator. And Tommy’s mother wasworking there. They stopped for a brief chat with her at thehandkerchief section. Joan and Amy sat down on the round, twisty stoolsbefore the counter, while Tommy gurgled at seeing his mother in thisunexpected place.

  Her dark eyes shone with pride as they always did when she saw Tommy.She carried him over to show him to the floorwalker and other bosses.

  When she came back, she was beaming. “Mr. Dugan liked Tommy so well hesaid for you girls to tell whoever waits on you that the things are forme,” she told them. “And you’ll get the employee’s discount.”

  Then Tommy was perched upon the glass show case, where he swung hissandaled feet unconcernedly while the other salesgirls admired his blueeyes and sunny smile. Joan’s mother had mended the torn overalls with aneat patch so that they didn’t look too forlorn.

  Finally, good-bys were said, and they went on up in the elevator to thesecond floor, where the things Tommy’s size were sold.

  It was fun to select everything new for him. And with the discount theycould buy a lot. Little underwear suits of cross-barred material, shortsocks in a variety of colors, sturdy little slippers, two play suits,and a white suit with tiny trousers, for best. It had a yellow duckembroidered on the pocket.

  They decided to dress him up so his mother could see him when theypassed her counter again. The ducky suit was buttoned on the fat,squirming Tommy, Dutch-blue socks were pulled up around his plump, pinklegs, and the new slippers were put on. All the clerks in the children’ssection chimed in with the two girls in adoring the little boy. Helooked like a different child.

  Tommy himself staggered about, almost bursting with importance over hisnew possessions. Joan and Amy turned from him to hand his sodden littlegarments to the girl behind the desk to be wrapped with the new things.It didn’t make a very big package and they decided to take it along withthem instead of having it sent.

  “I’ll lug the package,” offered Joan, “if you’ll steer Tommy.”

  They looked around for the little boy—but he was gone!

  Why, he had been right there just a moment ago, while they were waitingfor the package. They hadn’t taken their eyes off him for more than asecond, really. Yet he was gone.

  They roamed about aimlessly, calling and peering behind counters andback of the life-sized dolls that stood about, stiffly displayingchildren’s frocks.

  “The little boy?” questioned one salesgirl who looked no older than Amy.“Maybe he wandered over into the Misses and Small Women.”

  They went over into that department, shouting “Tommy!” at every fewsteps and glancing behind all the figures. They even peeped into thefitting rooms—little curtained-off places. In one, a stout mother, whowas watching her young lady daughter try on a dress, screamed as Joansuddenly popped her head in. She murmured an apology, explaining thatshe was hunting for a little boy.

  “Well, we haven’t got him,” came the cross answer.

  “That woman almost had a _fit_, as well as a _fitting_, the way youscared her!” giggled the salesgirl.

  She could joke. Tommy hadn’t been in her charge. She hadn’t lost him.Why, it was a terrible thing that had happened, Joan slowly began torealize. They had searched the entire floor, and Tommy simply wasn’tthere. They had lost him—and he was a ward of the city. Mrs. Hollis hadimpressed that fact upon her when they were making their arrangements totake Tommy by the day. What would happen to them? Would they be sent tojail themselves? And his poor mother! How would she stand the shock?

  “He looked like he was a millionaire baby in those clothes,” reflectedJoan. “Maybe he’s been kidnaped, and we’ll have to pay a ransom.”

  All the store employees on that floor had joined in the search by thistime. Finally, the young salesgirl suggested that they ask the elevatorman whether any one had left the floor with Tommy. Maybe he had noticedhim and would remember.

  “Well, all right,” agreed Joan, half-heartedly. “Though I hardly believeit will do any good.”

  They strolled over to the elevator. The man who ran it was old and worea black skullcap. He sat on a tall-legged stool while he operated thecar.

  “Why, yes,” he answered to their question. “There was a little boy—aboutthree years old, I should judge—in a white suit. He came off of thisfloor awhile ago, with a bunch of women, and I just naturally supposedhe was with them.”

  Of course, Tommy was only two, but he did look more grown-up in the newclothes.

  “Did he go up or down?” Joan demanded.

  “Up, I think.” He jerked his black-capped head in answer.

  The two girls dashed into the little car and got off at the next floor.It was the women’s wear department. Again they hunted through all thefitting rooms, behind the counters and show cases and everywhere. But noTommy.

  There was still the fourth floor. The last one. Would he be there? Joanwas weak with fear. They squeezed into the elevator again. “Furniture,Victrolas, Radios,” thundered the elevator man, as the iron gates openedout.

  So many suites of highly polished furniture, so many big, shadowy bedsand high bureaus, behind which a little boy could be hidden. Suddenly,the blare of a radio going full blast told them that the musicdepartment was just beyond. They went on there. A radio was pealing out“The Stars and Stripes Forever” to a rapt audience of two.

  A wizened old lady, in stylish clothes that looked out of place on her,was sitting in one of the wick
er chairs provided in the radiodepartment. On her lap was a little boy in a white suit that still hadthe price tag on one trouser leg, Joan noticed. He was clapping hishands to the music. It was Tommy. The woman was old Mrs. McNulty, Joanrecognized at a glance.

  The girls breathed audible sighs. However, relief at finding Tommy wasdrowned out by other mixed emotions when Joan remembered about Mrs.McNulty.

  “Come away, Tommy.” She held out her hands. “I don’t believe that ladylikes boys.”

  But this cunning, clean little Tommy had captured the old witch. Herefused to move, and snuggled closer against Mrs. McNulty’s flat oldchest.

  “But I do!” contradicted the old lady. “I never saw this child before,but I know that he has a soul for music.”

  “He’s the same one that we brought to see you yesterday,” Joan told her.

  “Yesterday!” repeated Mrs. McNulty. “I don’t recall. Oh, yes, when I hadthat terrific headache. Are you the girls who called? And is thisprecious child that nasty little boy?”

  The girls nodded.

  “I never would have believed it.” Every line of the old face lookedsurprise.

  “How did he get here?” they both asked, then.

  “He just came walking into this department,” was the answer. “And wentright up to the radio and stood there and listened. Bless his heart.”She actually hugged him and kissed the top of his head.

  Joan knew she should say something, but she didn’t know just what.“Clothes do make the man,” she began, remembering that quotation fromher English class. “The _Journal_ staff all contributed and we pickedout his things this morning before he got lost.”

  “Is he a relative of yours?”

  “Oh, no!” It was evident that Mrs. McNulty hadn’t half listened to themyesterday, so Joan told the whole story over again, beginning with hervisit to the Juvenile Court, then telling about the crowded Day Nursery,and how the Judge had permitted her and Amy to take Tommy by the day.“Couldn’t you reconsider about the Historical Building?” she finishedup.

  “No. I think the county needs that building. It’s educational. I willnot give up an inch on that.” The old head wobbled positively. “But Iwill help out about the Day Nursery. In a city the size of Plainfield,there ought to be some place else we could get.”

  Suddenly a half-memory stirred Joan’s brain. “There is!” she assuredher. “I’ve thought of the dandiest place.” She bent her lips to Mrs.McNulty’s ear.

  The old witchlike face was frozen with horror at Joan’s whispered words,but after a minute she smiled, and when she smiled, she was uglier thanever. “I never would have thought of it, but I believe it _would_ do. Iknow the mayor personally, and I know he’ll fix it so we can have it.”

  “Have what?” Amy wanted to know.

  When they told her, she shuddered. But Joan was sure it would make awonderful day nursery.

  In less than two weeks, everything was ready. Aunt Effie hadn’t had tohave the operation after all, so Tommy stayed on with them until thelast minute. Joan and Amy, each hugging a package under her arm, hurriedalong north on Market Street. They’d been raiding the Ten Cent Store forsomething for Tommy. Something for Tommy meant that all the other babiesin the new, bigger and better Day Nursery would enjoy the newplaythings, too.

  The old sign was gone from the city jail, and a freshly painted onesparkled at them in the sunshine. “DAY NURSERY,” it said.

  The girls turned in through the big double doors, with the ease offamiliarity, went up the broad, winding stairs, and opened the firstdoor.

  The two large front rooms opened out together. In the first one wereabout a dozen snowy white cribs, holding sleeping babies—all sorts andages. Tiny, wrinkled ones with tight fists. Big, roly-poly ones withroguish faces. Some with dark eyes and skin. The barred windows caststriped shadows across the counterpanes.

  There were gay rag rugs upon the floor, scores of Jessie Wilcox Smithpictures around the walls, boxes of scarlet geraniums in the windowsbefore the ruffled dotted curtains. Low white shelves in one corner heldtoys. All about were small tables and chairs. Along one wall were hooksholding the daytime clothes, with a pair of shoes, slipped off for thenap, on the floor underneath each hook. On another wall was a row oftiny toothbrushes, all colors, and a row of shiny tin cups. The wholeplace had a clean baby smell.

  “You’d never think the jail could be so nice,” Amy declared as shealways did when they came into the rooms. “How _did_ you ever think ofit, Jo?”

  Mrs. Barnes was over in a far corner beside a crib where she wassettling a rosy one-year-old for a nap. They could see her assistant inthe other room, sitting in a low chair with a basket of mending on herlap.

  “Oh, hello, Joan and Amy.” Mrs. Barnes looked up as they came in.“Here’s a new one. Her name is Mary, and she just came this morning.Isn’t she a darling?”

  The girls went over to view the newcomer.

  “Tommy’ll be so glad to see you, when he wakes up,” went on Mrs. Barnes.“He jabbers about you all the time. Come and take a peep at him. He’s inthe other room, now.”

  More bars, more curtains, more geraniums, more cheerful rugs. More cribswith sleeping babies.

  “I have twenty now,” she said, like a proud mother. “Look here!”

  Tommy, one chubby hand thrust under a flushed cheek was peacefullysleeping, clad only in his new underwear. The girls were surprised tosee that he was in a low, wooden bed, instead of an iron crib like therest. The bed was of dark wood and the headpiece had a carved bird onit.

  “Is this bed a new donation?” asked Joan.

  “Yes, indeed,” the matron nodded. “Master Tommy’s sleeping in the bed ofMrs. McNulty’s father’s father. She had it sent over from the HistoricalBuilding this morning. Said it might as well be somewhere where it wouldbe used.”

  Oh! That’d make a great feature story for Tim! Maybe Lefty would comeand take a picture of Tommy in the antique bed. Joan’s thoughts ran on.

  “And look at this,” the matron pointed to a tiny Victrola on the floorbeside Tommy—a child’s toy that really played little records. “Mrs.McNulty is convinced that he is to be a musician.”

  “It’ll be a scoop for Tim,” she told Amy, as they walked home.

  Amy looked blank.

  “Don’t you know what a scoop is?” Joan asked.

  “Of course I do.” Amy tossed her head. “It’s a coal basket.”

  Joan told her that a scoop was the _Star’s_ having a story that the_Journal_ should have had and did not. She explained it absent-mindedly.She was busy thinking what a fine story this bit of semi-civic newswould be for Tim. So appropriate, too, for he could bring in Mr.Hutton’s name. Yes, Tim would be glad. The paper wasn’t doing so welllately, he had confided to her. Uncle John was worrying about how toboost the circulation. Maybe this would help.