by Sewell Ford
XIX
AT HOME WITH THE DILLONS
I was expectin' to put in a couple of days doin' the sad and lonely,Sadie havin' made a date to run out to Rocky wold for the week end; butFriday night when I'm let off at the seventh floor of thePerzazzer--and say, no matter how many flights up home is, there's noplace like it--who should I see but Sadie, just takin' off her hat.Across by the window is one of the chamber maids, leanin' up againstthe casing and snifflin' into the expensive draperies.
"Well, well!" says I. "Is this a rehearsal for a Hank Ibsen sprinklerscene, or is it a case of missin' jewels?"
"It's nothing of the sort, Shorty," says Sadie, giving me the shut-offsignal. Then she turns to the girl with a "There, there, Nora!Everything will be all right. And I will be around Sunday afternoon.Run along now, and don't worry." With that she leads Nora out to thedoor and sends her away with a shoulder pat.
"Who's been getting friendly with the help now; eh, Sadie?" says I."And what's the woe about?"
Course she begins at the wrong end, and throws in a lot of details thatonly lumbers up the record; but after she's been talkin' for half anhour--and Sadie can separate herself from a lot of language in thattime--I gets a good workin' outline of this domestic tragedy that hasleft damp spots on our window curtains.
It ain't near so harrowin', though, as you might suspect. Seems thatNora has the weepin' habit. That's how Sadie come to remember havin'seen her before. Also it counts for Nora's shiftin' so often. Folkslike Mrs. Purdy Pell and the Twombley-Cranes can't keep a girl aroundthat's liable to weep into the soup or on the card tray. If it wa'n'tfor that, Nora'd been all right; for she's a neat lookin' girl, handyand willin',--one of these slim, rosy cheeked, black haired, North ofIreland kind, that can get big wages, when they have the sense, whichain't often.
Well, she'd changed around until she lands here in the fresh linendepartment, workin' reg'lar twelve-hour shifts, one afternoon off aweek, and a four-by-six room up under the copper roof, with all thechance in the world to weep and no one to pay any attention to her,until Sadie catches her at it. Trust Sadie!
When she finds Nora leakin' her troubles out over an armful of cleantowels, she drags her in here and asks for the awful facts. Then comesthe fam'ly history of the Dillons, beginnin' on the old rent atBallyshannon and endin' in a five-room flat on Double Fifth-ave. Whenshe comes to mentionin' Larry Dillon, I pricks up my ears.
"What! Not the old flannel mouth that's chopped tickets at the 33d-st.station ever since the L was built?" says I.
"He's been discharged," says Sadie. "Did you know him?"
Did I know Larry? Could anyone live in this burg as long as I have,without gettin' acquainted with that Old Country face, or learnin' byheart his "Ha-a-a-ar-lem thr-r-rain! Ha-a-a-ar-lem!"? There's otherold timers that has the brogue, but never a one could touch Larry. Apurple faced, grumpy old pirate, with a disposition as cheerful as aman waitin' his turn at the dentist's, and a heart as big as a ham, hecouldn't speak a civil word if he tried; but he was always ready tohand over half his lunch to any whimperin' newsy that came along, andhe's lent out more nickels that he'll ever see again.
But about the other Dillons, I got my first news from Sadie. There wasfour of 'em, besides Nora. One was Tom, who had a fine steady job,drivin' a coal cart for the Consolidated. A credit to the family, Tomwas; havin' a wife and six kids of his own, besides votin' the straightTammany ticket since he was nineteen. Next there was Maggie, whose manwas on the stage,--shiftin' scenery. Then there was Kate, the ladysales person, who lived with the old folks. And last there wasAloysius, the stray; and wherever he was, Heaven help him! for he wasno use whatever.
"I take it that 'Loyshy's the brunette Southdown of the Dillon flock,"says I. "What particular brand of cussedness does he make a specialtyof?"
Sadie says that Nora hadn't gone much into particulars, except thatwhen last heard of he'd joined the Salvationists, which had left oldLarry frothin' at the mouth. He'd threatened to break Aloysius intotwo pieces on sight, and he'd put the ban on speakin' his name aroundthe house.
"Followin' the tambourine!" says I. "That's a queer stunt for aDillon. The weeps was for him, then?"
They wa'n't. 'Loyshy's disappearin' act had been done two or threeyears back. The tears was all on account of the fortieth weddin'anniversary of the Dillons, fallin' as it did just a week after Larryhad the spell of rheumatism which got him laid off for good. It's anice little way the Inter-Met. people has of rewardin' the old vets.An inspector finds Larry, with his hand tied to the chopper handle,takes a look at his cramped up fingers, puts down his number, and nextpayday he gets the sack.
"So you've found another candidate for your private pension list, haveyou, Sadie?" says I.
But that's another wrong guess. The Dillons ain't takin' charity, notfrom anyone. It's the Dillon sisters to the rescue. They rustlesaround until they find Larry a job as night watch, in where it's warm.Then they all chips in for the new Tenth-ave. flat. Maggie brings herman and the two kids, the lady Kate sends around her trunks with thefurniture, and Nora promises to give up half of her twenty to keepthings going.
And then the Bradys, who lives opposite, has to spring their blow out.They'd been married forty years too; but just because one of their boyswas in the Fire Department, and 'Lizzie Brady was workin' in aSixth-ave. hair dressin' parlour, they'd no call to flash such abluff,--frosted cake from the baker, with the date done in pink candy,candles burnin' on the mantelpiece, a whole case of St. Louis on thefront fire escape, and the district boss drivin' around in one ofConnely's funeral hacks. Who was the Bradys, that they should haveweddin' celebrations when the Dillons had none?
Kate, the lady sales person, handed out that conundrum. She suppliesthe answer too. She allows that what a Brady can make a try at, aDillon can do like it ought to be done. So they've no sooner had thegas and water turned on at the new flat than she draws up plans for aweddin' anniversary that'll make the Brady performance look like a panof beans beside a standing rib roast.
She knows what's what, the lady Kate does. She's been to the realthings, and they calls 'em "at homes" in Harlem. The Dillons will beat home Sunday the nineteenth, from half after four until eight, andthe Bradys can wag their tongues off, for all she cares. It'll be inhonour of the fortieth wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. LawrenceDillon, and all the family connections, and all friends of the same, isto have a bid.
"Well, that's the limit!" says I. "Did you tell the girl they'd betterbe layin' in groceries, instead of givin' an imitation tea?"
"Certainly not!" says Sadie. "Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves intheir own way?"
"Eh?" says I. "Oh, I take it all back. But what was the eye swabbin'for, then?"
By degrees I gets the enacting clause. The arrangements for the partywas goin' on lovely,--Larry was havin' the buttons sewed onto the longtailed coat he was married in, the scene shifter had got the loan ofsome stage props to decorate the front room, there was to be ice creamand fancy cakes and ladies' punch. Father Kelley had promised to dropin, and all was runnin' smooth,--when Mother Dillon breaks loose.
And what do you guess is the matter with her? She wants her 'Loyshy.If there was to be any fam'ly convention and weddin' celebration, whycouldn't she have her little Aloysius to it? She didn't care a splitspud how he'd behaved, or if him and his father had had words; he washer youngest b'y, and she thought more of him than all the rest puttogether, and she wouldn't have a hand in any doin's that 'Loyshy wasbarred from comin' to.
As Nora put it, "When the old lady speaks her mind, you got to listenor go mad from her." She don't talk of anything else, and when sheain't talkin' she's cryin' her eyes out. Old Larry swore himself outof breath, the lady Kate argued, and Maggie had done her best; butthere was nothin' doin'. They'd got to find Aloysius and ask him tothe party, or call it off.
But findin' 'Loyshy wa'n't any cinch. He'd left the Army long ago. Hewa'n't in any of the fifteen-cent
lodgin' houses. The police didn'thave any record of him. He didn't figure in the hospital lists. Thenearest anyone came to locatin' him was a handbook man the sceneshifter knew, who said he'd heard of 'Loyshy hangin' around theGravesend track summer before last; but there was no use lookin' forhim there at this time of year. It wa'n't until they'd promised toadvertise for Aloysius in the papers that Mother Dillon quit takin' onand agreed to wear the green silk she'd had made for Nora's chistenin'.
"Yes, and what then?" says I.
"Why," says Sadie, "Nora's afraid that if Aloysius doesn't turn up, hermother will spoil the party with another crying spell; and she knows ifhe does come, her father will throw him out."
"She has a happy way of lookin' at things," says I. "Was it for thisyou cut out going to Rockywold?"
"Of course," says Sadie. "I am to pour tea at the Dillons' on Sundayafternoon. You are to come at five, and bring Pinckney."
"Ah, pickles, Sadie!" says I. "This is----"
"Please, Shorty!" says she. "I've told Nora you would."
"I'll put it up to Pinckney," says I, "and if he's chump enough to lethimself loose in Tenth-ave. society, just to help the Dillons put itover the Bradys, I expect I'll be a mark too. But it's a dippy move."
Course, I mistrusted how Pinckney would take it. He thinks he's got meon the rollers, and proceeds to shove. He hasn't heard more'n half thetale before he begins handin' me the josh about it's bein' my duty tospread sunshine wherever I can.
"It's calcium the Dillons want," says I. "But I hadn't got to tellin'you about Aloysius."
"What's that?" says he. "Aloysius Dillon, did you say?"
"He's the one that's playin' the part of the missing prod.," says I.
"What is he like?" says Pinckney, gettin' interested.
"Accordin' to descriptions," says I, "he's a useless little runt, aboutfour feet nothin' high and as wide as a match, with the temper of astriped hornet and the instincts of a yellow kyoodle. But he's hismother's pet, just the same, and if he ain't found she threatens tothrow fits. Don't happen to know him, do you?"
"Why," says Pinckney, "I'm not sure but I do."
It looks like a jolly; but then again, you never can tell aboutPinckney. He mixes around in so many sets that he's like to know 'mostanybody.
"Well," says I, "if you run across Aloysius at the club, tell himwhat's on for Sunday afternoon."
"I will," says Pinckney, lettin' out a chuckle and climbin' into hiscab.
I was hoping that maybe Sadie would renige before the time come; butright after dinner Sunday she makes up in her second best afternoonregalia, calls a hansom, and starts for Tenth-ave., leavin'instructions how I was to show up in about an hour with Pinckney, andnot to forget about handin' out our cards just as if this was a swellaffair. I finds Pinckney got up in his frock coat and primrose pants,and lookin' mighty pleased about something or other.
"Huh!" says I. "You seem to take this as a reg'lar cut-up act. I callit blamed nonsense, encouragin' folks like the Dillons to----"
But there ain't any use arguin' with Pinckney when he's feelin' thatway. He only grins and looks mysterious. We don't have to hunt forthe number of the Dillons' flat house, for there's a gang of kids onthe front steps and more out in the street gawpin' up at the lightedwindows. We makes a dive through them and tackles the four flights,passin' inspection of the tenants on the way up, every door bein' open.
"Who's comin' now?" sings out a women from the Second floor back.
"Only a couple of Willies from the store," says a gent in his shirtsleeves, givin' us the stare.
From other remarks we heard passed, it was clear the Dillons had beentootin' this party as something fine and classy, and that they wa'n'tmaking good. The signs of frost grows plainer as we gets nearer thescene of the festivities. All the Dillon family was there, rightenough, from the youngest kid up. Old Larry has had his face scrapedtill it shines like a copper stewpan, and him and Mother Dillon isstandin' under a green paper bell hung from a hook in the ceiling. Icould spot Tom, the coal cart driver, by the ring of dust under hiseyelashes; and there was no mistakin' lady Kate, the sales person, withthe double row of coronet hair rolls pinned to the top of her head.Over in the corner, too, was Sadie, talkin' to Father Kelley. Butthere wa'n't any great signs of joy.
The whole party sizes up me and Pinckney as if they was disappointed.I can't say what they was lookin' for from us; but whatever it was, wedidn't seem to fill the bill. And just when the gloom is settlin' downthickest, Mother Dillon begins to sniffle.
"Now, mother," says Nora, soothin' like, "remember there's company."
"Ah, bad scran to the lot of yez!" says the old lady. "Where's myAloysius? Where is he, will ye tell me that?"
"Divvul take such a woman!" says old Larry.
"Tut, tut!" says Father Kelley.
"Will you look at the Bradys now!" whispers Maggie, hoarselike.
It wa'n't easy guessin' which windows in the block was theirs, forevery ledge has a pillow on it, and a couple of pairs of elbows onevery pillow, but I took it that the Bradys was where they was grinnin'widest. You could tell, though, that the merry laugh was bein' passedup and down, and it was on the Dillons.
And then, as I was tryin' to give Sadie the get-away sign, we hears adeep honk outside, and I sees the folks across the way stretchin' theirnecks out. In a minute there's a scamperin' in the halls like astampede at a synagogue, and we hears the "Ah-h-hs!" coming up frombelow. We all makes a rush for the front and rubbers out to see what'shappenin'. By climbin' on a chair and peekin' over the top of the ladyKate's hair puffs, I catches a glimpse of a big yellow and black bodiedcar, with a footman in a bearskin coat holdin' open the door.
"Oh-o-o-oh! look what's here?" squeals eight little Dillons in chorus.
You couldn't blame 'em, either, for the hat that was bein' squeezed outthrough the door of the car was one of these Broadway thrillers, fourfeet across, and covered with as many green ostrich feathers as youcould carry in a clothes basket. What was under the feather lid wecouldn't see. Followin' it out of the machine comes somethin' cute ina butter colored overcoat and a brown derby. In a minute more we getsthe report that the procession is headed up the stairs, and by the timewe've grouped ourselves around the room with our mouths open, in theyfloats.
In the lead, wearin' the oleo coat with yellow silk facin's, was asquizzled up little squirt with rat eyes and a mean little face aboutas thick as a slice of toast, and the same colour. His clothes,though, is a pome in browns and yellows, from the champagne tinted No.3 shoes to the tobacco coloured No. 5 hat, leavin' out the necktie,which was a shade somewhere between a blue store front and a bottle ofpurple ink.
Even if I hadn't seen the face, I could have guessed who it was, justby the get-up. Course, there's been a good many noisy dressersfloatin' around the grill room district this winter, but there alwayshas to be one real scream in every crowd; and this was it.
"If it ain't Shrimp!" says I.
"Hello, Shorty!" says he, in that little squeak of his.
And at that some one swoops past me. There's a flapping of green silkskirt, and Mother Dillon has given him the high tackle.
"Aloysius! My little 'Loyshy!" she squeals.
And say, you could have pushed me over with one finger. Here I'd beenhearin' for the last two seasons about this jock that had come up fromstable helper in a night, and how he'd been winning on nine out ofevery ten mounts, and how all the big racing men was overbiddin' eachother to get him signed for their stables. Some of Pinckney's sportin'friends had towed Shrimp into the Studio once or twice, and besidesthat I'd read in the papers all about his giddy wardrobe, and his bigSwede valet, and the English chorus girl that had married him. But inall this talk of Sadie's about the Dillon fam'ly, I'd never so much asguessed that Aloysius, the stray, was one and the same as Shrimp Dillon.
Here he was, though, in the Dillon flat, with Mother Dillon almostknockin' his breath out pattin' him on the back, an
d all the littleDillons jumpin' around and yellin', "Uncle 'Loyshy, Uncle 'Loyshy!" andKate and Maggie and Nora waitin' their turns; and the rest of us,includin' old Larry and me and Sadie, lookin' foolish. The only onethat acts like he wa'n't surprised is Pinckney.
Well, as soon as Shrimp can wiggle himself clear, and shake the littleDillons off his legs, he hauls Mrs. Shrimp to the front and does thehonours. And say, they make a pair that would draw a crowd anywhere!You know the style of chorus ladies the Lieblers bring over,--thelengthy, high chested, golden haired kind? Well, she's one of thedizziest that ever stood up to make a background for the pony ballet.And she has on a costume--well, it goes with the hat, which it puttin'it strong.
If the sight of her and the circus coloured car wa'n't enough to stunthe neighbours and send the Bradys under the bed, they had only to waittill the Swede valet and the footman began luggin' up the sheaf oftwo-dollar roses and the basket of champagne.
I was watchin' old Larry to see how he was takin' it. First he looksShrimp up and down, from the brown hat to the yellow shoes, and then hegazes at Mrs. Shrimp. Then his stiff lower jaw begins saggin' down,and his knobby old fingers unloosens from the grip they'd got into atfirst sight of 'Loyshy. It's plain that he was some in doubt aboutthat chuckin' out programme he'd had all framed up. What Larry hadbeen expectin' should the boy turn up at all, was something that lookedlike it had been picked out of the bread line. And here was a specimenof free spender that had "Keep the change!" pasted all over him. Then,before he has it half figured out, they're lined up in front of eachother. But old Larry ain't one to do the sidestep.
"Aloysius," says he, scowlin' down at him, "where do ye be afthergettin' ut?"
"Out of the ponies, old stuff. Where else?" says Shrimp.
"Bettin'?" says Larry.
"Bettin' nothin'!" says Shrimp. "Mud ridin'."
"Allow me," says Pinckney, pushin' in, "to introduce to you all, ladiesand gentlemen, Mr. Shrimp Dillon, one of the best paid jockeys inAmerica."
"And what might they be payin' the likes of him for bein' a jockey?"says old Larry.
"Why," says Pinckney, "it was something like twenty thousand thisseason, wasn't it, Shrimp?"
"Countin' bonuses and all," says Shrimp, "it was nearer thirty-two."
"Thirty-two thou----" But Larry's mouth is open so wide he can't getthe rest out. He just catches his breath, and then, "'Loyshy, me lad,give us your hand on it."
"Ahem!" says Father Kelley, pickin' up his hat, "this seems to be acase where the prodigal has returned--and brought his veal with him."
"That's a thrue word," says Larry. "'Tis a proud day for the Dillons."
Did they put it over the Bradys? Well, say! All the Bradys has to donow, to remember who the Dillons are, is to look across the way and seethe two geranium plants growin' out of solid silver pots. Course, theywa'n't meant for flower pots. They're champagne coolers; but MotherDillon don't know the difference, so what's the odds? Anyway, they'rewhat 'Loyshy brought for presents, and I'll bet they're the only pairwest of Sixth-avenue.