Bishop's Shadow

by Joel Chandler Harris

  III. AN ACCIDENT

  Tode Bryan was sauntering down the street, his hands in his pockets,as usual, when he was not selling papers. He was whistling a livelytune, but he was on the lookout for anything interesting that mighthappen. As he passed a fruit stand kept by an old woman, he slylysnatched a handful of peanuts which he ate as he went on. He had soldout his papers more quickly than usual, for it was still early in theevening, and the streets were full of business-men on their way totheir homes.

  Suddenly the boy stopped short and listened, and the next moment therewas a general rush into doorways and side streets as a fire-enginecame dashing around the corner, while the police rushed from side toside clearing the way through the narrow street.

  As the engine passed, Tode, like every other boy within sight orhearing, raced madly after it, shouting and yelling "fire" with allthe power of his healthy lungs. Hearing somebody say where the firewas, he slipped through a narrow cross street and an alley, so comingout ahead of the engine which the next moment swung around the nearestcorner.

  An old man was just crossing the street, and as he heard the clang ofthe gong and the clatter of the engine, he looked about in a dazed,frightened way, and, instead of hurrying across, hesitated a momentand then turned uncertainly back. The driver did his best to avoidhim but when the engine had passed the old man lay motionless upon theground.

  Instantly a crowd gathered about him and Tode pressed forward to thefront rank. One policeman was raising the old man's head and anotherwas asking if anybody knew who the injured man was.

  It was Tode, who, peering curiously at the pale face, remarked,

  "I know him. He buys papers o' me."

  "What's his name? Where does he live?" questioned the officer.

  "Do' know. He keeps a bookstand down on School street."

  "Well, we'll have to send him to the hospital. Ring up the ambulance,Dick," said the officer to his companion.

  Tode was just dashing off after the engine when one of the policemencollared him.

  "Here you!" he exclaimed. "None o' your cuttin' off! If you know thisman you've got to go to the hospital an' 'dentify him."

  Tode looked uncomfortable and tried to squirm out of the man'sgrasp--a fruitless effort, for his strength availed nothing againstthat iron grip. The boy had no idea what "'dentify" might mean but hehad his reasons for preferring to keep at a distance from theguardians of the law. There was no help for it, however, so with manyinward misgivings, he submitted and waited for the ambulance. When itappeared the still insensible old man was lifted in and Tode wasordered to the front seat where he rode securely between the driverand the policeman. The boy had never before been in a hospital and hefelt very ill at ease when he found himself inside the building withits big rooms and long bare halls. He was left alone with thepoliceman for a while, and then both of them were called into anotherroom and questioned in regard to the accident. Finally Tode wasdismissed with strict orders to return the next day.

  "He'll be here. I know him, an' if he don't show up, you jest send meword an' I'll find him for ye," the officer said to the doctor, with athreatening glance at the boy.

  Tode said nothing, but in his heart he was determined not to returnthe next day. The officer, however, kept his eye on him, and the nextafternoon pounced upon him and put him on a street car with strictorders to the conductor not to let him off until he reached thehospital. So finding himself thus under watch and ward, Tode concludedthat he might as well obey orders, and he rang the bell at thehospital door. He was met by the doctor whom he had seen the nightbefore, and taken at once to the ward where the injured man was lying.

  As Tode gazed around the long room with its rows of white beds, afeeling of awe stole over him. He wanted to get away, for he did notknow what to do or say.

  The old man was lying as if asleep, but when the doctor spoke to himhe looked up and his dim eyes brightened at sight of the familiar faceof the boy.

  "Oh, bishop, it's you is it? Got a paper for me?" he said with afeeble smile.

  Tode wriggled uneasily as he answered gruffly, "Guess ye don't wantnone to-day, do ye?"

  "No, I don't believe I do. You can bring me one to-morrow, bishop,"and as he spoke the old man closed his eyes again, and turned his faceaway with a weary sigh.

  "Come away now," said the doctor, and once outside the door he added,"He hasn't said as much as that before. Seeing some one he knewaroused him as I hoped it would. Why does he call you bishop?"

  "I do' know," replied Tode, indifferently.

  "Well, you must come again to-morrow. Here's a car ticket and aquarter. I'll give you the same when you come to-morrow. Be here aboutthis time, will you?"

  "All right--I'll come," answered the boy to whom the quarter was aninducement.

  The old man remained at the hospital for several weeks and Todecontinued to visit him there at first for the sake of the money andbecause he dared not disobey the doctor's orders, but after a while hebecame rather proud of the old man's evident liking for him, and hewould often sit and talk with him for half an hour at a time.

  One day Tode inquired curiously, "What d' ye call me bishop for?'Tain't my name."

  And the old man answered dreamily, "You remind me of a boy I knew whenI was about your age. He used to say that he was going to be a bishopwhen he grew up and so we boys always called him 'bishop.'"

  "An' did he?" questioned Tode.

  "Become a bishop? No, he entered the army and died in his firstbattle."

  "W'at's a bishop, anyhow?" asked Tode, after a moment's silence.

  "You know what a minister is, Tode?"

  "A preacher, ye mean?"

  "Yes, a minister is a preacher. A bishop is a sort of headpreacher--ranking higher, you know."

  Tode nodded. "I'd rather be a soldier like that feller you knew," heremarked.

  A day came when the old man was pronounced well enough to leave thehospital and the doctor ordered Tode to be on hand to take him home.The boy did not object. He was rather curious to see the little placein the rear of the bookstand where the old man lived alone. Since theaccident the stand had been closed and Tode helped to open and air theroom and then made a fire in the stove. When this was done the old mangave him money to buy materials for supper which of course the boyshared.

  After this he came daily to the place to run errands or do anythingthat was wanted, and by degrees the old man came to depend more andmore upon him until the business of the little stand fell almostwholly into the boy's hands, for the owner's head still troubled himand he could not think clearly. It was a great relief to him to havesome one to look after everything for him. Tode liked it and thebusiness prospered in his hands. If he lacked experience, he wasquicker and sharper than the old man. The two took their mealstogether, and at night Tode slept on a blanket on the floor, and wasmore comfortable and prosperous than he had ever been in his lifebefore. He had money to spend too, for old Mr. Carey never asked forany account of the sums that passed through the boy's hands. So hehimself was undisturbed by troublesome questions and figures, the oldman was content now, and each day found him a little weaker andfeebler. Tode noticed this but he gave no thought to the matter. Whyborrow trouble when things were so much to his mind? Tode lived in thepresent.

  He still sold the evening papers, considering it wise to keeppossession of his route against future need, and never a week passedthat he did not see Little Brother at least twice. He would have likedto see the child every day, but he knew instinctively that he was nota favorite with the Hunts, and that knowledge made him ill at easewith them. But it could not keep him away altogether. He found toomuch satisfaction in Little Brother's love for him.

  More than once Mrs. Hunt had remarked to Nan that she didn't "see whatin the world made the baby so fond of that rough, dirty boy." Nanherself wondered at it though she kept always a grateful remembranceof Tode's kindness when she first met him.

  Tode often brought little gifts to the child, and would have given him
much more, but Nan would not allow it. The two had a long argumentover the matter one day. It was a bright, sunny morning and Mrs. Hunthad said that the baby ought to be out in the fresh air, so Nan hadtaken him to the Common, and sat there keeping ever a watchful eye fortheir enemy, Mary Leary. Tode going down Beacon street espied the twoand forgetting all about the errand on which he was bound, promptlyjoined them.

  "He's gettin' fat--he is," the boy remarked, poking his finger at thedimple in the baby's cheek, then drawing it quickly away again with anuncomfortable expression. Tode never cared how dirty his hands wereexcept when he saw them in contrast with Little Brother's pure face.

  "Yes, he's getting well and strong," assented Nan, with a happy smile.

  "I say, Nan, w'at's the reason you won't let me pay for his milk?"asked Tode, after a little.

  Then it was Nan's turn to look uncomfortable, and the color rose inher cheeks as she answered, "I can pay now for all he needs. You knowMrs. Hunt gets a double quantity of bags and I work on them everyday."

  But this answer did not satisfy Tode. "That don't make no diff'runce,"he growled. "Don't see why you won't let me do nothin' for him," andhe cast a gloomy glance at the baby, but Little Brother laughed up athim and the gloom speedily melted away. After a moment's silence headded, slowly, "It's comin' cold weather. He'll want a jacket orsomethin', won't he?"

  "He'll have to have some warm clothes," replied Nan, thoughtfully,"but I can get them--I guess."

  Tode turned upon her fiercely. "I s'pose you'd let him freeze to death'fore you'd let me buy him any clothes," he burst out, angrily. "Ish'd like ter know w'at's the matter with ye, anyhow. Has that measlyDick Hunt ben stuffin' ye 'bout me?"

  Nan coloured again and dropped her eyes.

  "Say--has he? I'll give it ter him next time I catch him out!" andTode ground his heel suggestively into the gravel walk.

  "Oh, Tode, don't! Please don't fight Dick," pleaded Nan. "How can youwhen his mother's so good to Little Brother?"

  "Don't care 'f she is. _He_ ain't," was Tode's surly reply. "Hedon't want you'n him to stay there."

  Nan's eyes were full of uneasiness.

  "Did he say so?" she questioned, for she had noticed Dick's coldnessand been vaguely disturbed by it.

  The boy nodded. "Yes," he said, "he tol' me so. Said there's 'noughfer his father ter feed 'thout you'n him," and he pointed to the baby.

  "But I work," pleaded Nan. "I pay for all we eat."

  "But ye don't pay fer the rent an' the fire, an'--an' everything,"Tode replied, with a note of triumph in his voice, "so now, ye betterlet me pay fer Little Brother an' then you c'n pay the rest."

  Nan hesitated and her face was troubled. Finally she lifted her darkeyes to his and said bravely, "Tode, I guess I ought to tell you justwhy I couldn't anyway let you do for Little Brother as you wantto. It's because--because you don't get your money the right way."

  "Who says I don't? Did that Dick Hunt say so? I'll"--began Tode,fiercely, but Nan laid her hand on his arm and looked steadily intohis face.

  "Tode," she said, earnestly, "if you will look straight into LittleBrother's eyes and tell me that you never steal--I'll believe you."

  "I never"--began the boy, boldly; then he met a grave, sweet glancefrom the baby's big blue eyes, and he hesitated. The lying words diedon his tongue, and turning his eyes away from the little face that heloved, he said gloomily, "What's that got to do with it anyhow?S'posin' I do hook a han'ful of peanuts sometimes. That ain'tnothin'."

  "Tode, do you want Little Brother to hook a handful of peanutssometimes when he gets big?" asked Nan, quietly.

  The boy turned his eyes again to the baby face and the hot bloodburned in his own as he answered, quickly, "'Course I don't. He won'tbe that sort."

  "No, he won't, if I can help it," replied Nan, gravely.

  Tode dug his toe into the dirt in silence. Nan added, "Tode, by andby, when he gets bigger, would you want him to know that you were athief?"

  When Tode looked up there was a strange gravity in his eyes, and hislips were set in an expression of stern resolve.

  "I've got ter quit it," he said, solemnly, "an' I will. Say, Nan," headded, wistfully, "if I quit now, ye wont ever let him know I used terbe--what you said, will ye?"

  "No, Tode, never," answered Nan, quickly and earnestly. "And Tode, ifyou'll stick to it, and not steal or lie or swear, I shan't mind yourhelping me get things for Little Brother."

  The boy's face brightened, and he drew himself up proudly. "It's abargain, then," he said.

  Nan looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't believe you know how hard itwill be, Tode. I find it's awful hard to break myself of bad habits,and I don't s'pose you've ever tried to before, have you?"

  Tode considered the question. "Guess not," he said, slowly, after apause.

  "Then I'm afraid you'll find you can't stop doing those bad things allat once. But you'll keep on trying, Tode. You won't give up 'causeit's hard work," Nan pleaded, anxiously.

  "Nope," answered the boy, briefly, with a glance at the soft littlefingers that were clasped about one of his.

  When Nan went home he went with her to the door, loth to lose sight ofthe only creature in the world for whom he cared. As the door closedbehind the two, he walked on thinking over what Nan had said. Much ofit seemed to him "girls' stuff an' nonsense." "As if a fella couldn'tstop swipin' things if he wanted to!" he said to himself.

  As he went on he passed a fruit stand where a man was buying somebananas. In putting his change into his pocket he dropped a nickel,which rolled toward Tode who promptly set his foot on it, and thenpretending to pull a rag off his torn trousers, he picked up the coinand went on chuckling over his "luck." But suddenly he stopped shortand the hot color rose in his cheeks as he exclaimed with an oath,

  "Done it again!"

  He looked around for the man, but he had disappeared, and with anangry grunt Tode flung the nickel into the gutter and went on,beginning so soon to realise that evil habits are not overcome bysimply resolving to conquer them. Tode never had made any suchattempt before, and the discovery had rather a depressing effect onhim. It made him cross, too, but to his credit be it said, the thoughtof giving up the struggle never once occurred to him.

  He found old Mr. Carey asleep in his chair, and he awoke him roughly.

  "See here!" he exclaimed, sharply. "Is this the way you 'tend tobusiness when I'm gone? Some cove might a stole every book an' paperon the stand, and cleaned out the cash, too." He pulled open thedrawer as he spoke. "No thanks to you that 'tain't empty," hegrumbled. He had never spoken so sharply before, and the old man wasvaguely disturbed by it. He got up and walked feebly across the room,rubbing his trembling fingers through his grey hair in a troubledfashion, as he answered slowly,

  "Yes, yes, bishop--you're right. It was very careless of me to go tosleep so. I don't see how I came to do it. I'm afraid I'm breakingdown, my boy--breaking down," he added, sadly.

  As Tode looked at the old man's dim eyes and shaking hands a feelingof sympathy and compassion stole into his heart, and his voicesoftened as he said, "Oh, well, it's all right this time. Reckon I'llhave to run the business altogether till you get better."

  "I'm afraid you will, bishop. I'm not much good anyhow, nowadays," andthe old man dropped again into his chair with a heavy sigh.

  The weeks that followed were the most miserable weeks of Tode Byran'sshort life. He found out some things about himself that he had neverbefore suspected. It was wholesome knowledge, but it was not pleasantto find that in spite of his strongest resolutions, those nimblefingers of his _would_ pick up nuts and apples from street standsand his quick tongue would rattle off lies and evil words before hecould remember to stop it. The other boys found him a most unpleasantcompanion in these days, for his continual failures made him cross andmoody. He would speedily have given up the struggle but for LittleBrother. Several times he did give it up for a week or two, but thenhe staid away from the Hunts' rooms until he grew so hungry for asight
of the baby face that he could stay away no longer. Nan came tounderstand what these absences meant, and always when he reappearedshe would speak a word of encouragement and faith in his finalvictory. Tode had not cared at all for Nan at first, but in these daysof struggle and failure he began to value her steadfast faith in him,and again and again he renewed his vow to make himself "fit to helpbring up Little Brother," as he expressed it.

  It was one day toward the close of winter that Tode noticed thatMr. Carey seemed more than usually dull and listless, dropping into adoze even while the boy was speaking to him, and he went to beddirectly after supper. When the boy awoke the next morning the old manlay just as he had fallen asleep. He did not answer when Tode spoke tohim, and his hands were cold as ice to the boy's touch.

  Tode did not know what to do, but he finally hunted up the policeman,who knew him, and the two went back together and found the old mandead. As no relatives appeared, the city authorities took charge ofthe funeral, the books and the few pieces of furniture were sold topay the expenses, and Tode found himself once more a homeless waif. Hehad not minded it before, but his brief experience of even this poorhome had unfitted him for living and sleeping in the streets. He foundit unpleasant too, to have no money except the little he could earnselling papers. He set himself to face his future in earnest, and cameto the conclusion that it was time for him to get into some betterpaying business. After thinking over the matter for several days hewent to Nan.

  "You know them doughnuts you made th' other day?" he began.

  "Yes," replied Nan, wonderingly. Mrs. Hunt had taught her to makevarious simple dishes, and as Tode had happened in the day she madeher first doughnuts, she had given him a couple, which he hadpronounced "prime!"

  Now he went on, "I don't want to sleep 'round the streets anymore. I'm sick of it, but I can't make money 'nough off papers to doanything else. I'm thinkin' of settin' up a stand."

  "A bookstand, Tode?" questioned Nan, interestedly.

  "No--a eatin' stand--fer the fellers ye know--newsboys an' such. 'Fyou'll make doughnuts an' gingerbread an' san'wiches fer me, I bet allthe fellers'll come fer 'em."

  "Now that ain't a bad idea, Tode," said Mrs. Hunt, looking up fromher work. "Of course the boys would buy good homemade food instead ofthe trash they get from the cheap eatin' houses, an' Nan, I shouldn'twonder if you could earn more that way than by workin' at these bags."

  Nan considered the matter thoughtfully, and finally agreed to give ita trial, and Tode went off highly pleased.

  It took him two weeks to save enough to start his stand even in thesimplest fashion, but when he did open it, he at first did aflourishing business. In the beginning the boys patronised him partlyfrom curiosity and partly from good fellowship, but Nan's cookeryfound favour with them at once, and "Tode's Corner" soon became thefavorite lunch counter for the city newsboys, and Tode's pockets werebetter filled than they had been since Mr. Carey's death.

  For several weeks all went well, and the boy began to consider himselfon the high road to fortune, but then came a setback.

  One day his stand was surrounded by a crowd of boys all clamoring tobe served at once, when the big fellow who had taken possession ofTode's newspaper route, months before, came along. He had neverforgotten or forgiven the boy for getting the better of him on thatoccasion, and now he thought he saw a chance for revenge.

  Creeping up behind the group of hungry boys, he suddenly hit one ofthem a stinging blow on the face, and as this one turned and struckback angrily at him, the big fellow flung him back with all hisstrength against Tode's stand. The stand was an old one andrickety--Tode had bought it secondhand--and it went down with a crash,carrying cookies, doughnuts, gingerbread, coffee, sandwiches, cups,plates and boys in one promiscuous mixture. Before the boys couldstruggle to their feet, Carrots, with his hands full of gingerbread,had disappeared around the nearest corner. There was a wild rush anda scramble, and when two minutes later, Tode stood gazing mournfullyat the wreck, not an eatable bit remained. The boys had considered thewreckage as their lawful spoils, and every one of them had snatched asmuch as he could.

  Later, however, their sense of justice led some of them to express,after their rough fashion, sympathy for Tode, and disapproval of hisenemy's revengeful act. Besides, a few of them had enough conscienceto acknowledge to themselves that they had not been entirelyblameless. The result was that half a dozen of them went to Tode thenext day and offered to "chip in" and set him up again.

  Tode appreciated the spirit that prompted the offer, but he was alsoshrewd enough to foresee that should he accept it, these boys wouldexpect favours in the way of prices and quantities when they dealtwith him in the future, and so he declined.

  "Reckin I can stan' on my own feet, boys," he answered. "I've beena-tinkerin' up the ol' stand, an' I'm a-goin' to start in againto-morrow. You fellers come here an' get yer breakfast, an' that'sall the help I'll ask, 'cept that ev'ry last one o' ye'll give thatCarrots a kick fer me."

  "We will that!" shouted the boys. "We'll make him sorry fer himself!"

  And the next day their sympathy took the practical form that Tode hadsuggested, for every one of them that had any money to spend, spent itat "Tode's Corner," so that his stand was cleared again, but in a verysatisfactory fashion--a fashion that filled his pockets with dimes andnickels.