The Romance of a Plain Man

by Ellen Anderson Gholson Glasgow

  CHAPTER V

  IN WHICH I START IN LIFE

  With my mother's death all that was homelike and comfortable passed fromour little house. For three days after the funeral the neglected clothesstill hung on the line in the back yard, but on the fourth morning aslatternly girl, with red hair and arms, came from the grocery store atthe corner, and gathered them in. My little sister was put to nurse withMrs. Cudlip next door, and when, at the end of the week, President wentoff to work somewhere in a mining town in West Virginia, my father and Iwere left alone, except for the spasmodic appearances of the red-hairedslattern. Gradually the dust began to settle and thicken on the driedcat-tails in the china vases upon the mantel; the "prize" red geraniumdropped its blossoms and withered upon the sill; the soaking dish-clothslay in a sloppy pile on the kitchen floor; and the vegetable rinds wereleft carelessly to rot in the bucket beside the sink. The old neatnessand order had departed before the garments my mother had washed werereturned again to the tub, and day after day I saw my father shake hishead dismally over the soggy bread and the underdone beef. Whether ornot he ever realised that it was my mother's hand that had kept himabove the surface of life, I shall never know; but when that stronggrasp was relaxed, he went hopelessly, irretrievably, and unresistinglyunder. In the beginning there was merely a general wildness and disorderin his appearance,--first one button, then two, then three dropped fromhis coat. After that his linen was changed less often, his hair allowedto spread more stiffly above his forehead, and the old ashes from hispipe dislodged less frequently from the creases in his striped shirt. Atthe end of three months I noticed a new fact about him--a penetratingodour of alcohol which belonged to the very air he breathed. His mindgrew slower and seemed at last almost to stop; his blue eyes becameheavier and glazed at times; and presently he fell into the habit ofgoing out in the evenings, and not returning until I had cried myself tosleep, under my tattered quilt, with Samuel hugged close in my arms.Sometimes the red-haired girl would stop after her work for a fewfriendly words, proving that a slovenly exterior is by no meansincompatible with a kindly heart; but as a usual thing I was left alone,after the boys had gone home from their play in the street, to amusemyself and Samuel as I could through the long evening hours. Sometimes Ibrought in an apple or a handful of chestnuts given me by one of theneighbours and roasted them before the remnants of fire in the stove.Once or twice I opened my mother's closet and took down her clothes--herbest bombazine dress, her black cashmere mantle trimmed with bugles, herlong rustling crape veil, folded neatly beneath her bonnet in the tallbandbox--and half in grief, half in curiosity, I invaded those sacredprecincts where my hands had never dared penetrate while she was alive.My great loss, from which probably in more cheerful surroundings Ishould have recovered in a few weeks, was renewed in me every evening bymy loneliness and by the dumb sympathy of Samuel, who would standwagging his tail for an hour at the sight of the cloak or the bonnetthat she had worn. Like my father I grew more unkempt and ragged everyday I lived. I ceased to wash myself, because there was nobody to makeme. My buttons dropped off one by one and nobody scolded. I dared nolonger go near the gate of the enchanted garden, fearing that if thelittle girl were to catch sight of me, she would call me "dirty," andrun away in disgust. Occasionally my father would clap me upon theshoulder at breakfast, enquire how I was getting along, and give me arusty copper to spend. But for the greater part of the time, I believe,he was hardly aware of my existence; the vacant, flushed look was almostalways in his face when we met, and he stayed out so late in the eveningthat it was not often his stumbling footsteps aroused me when he cameupstairs to bed.

  So accustomed had I become to my lonely hours by the kitchen stove, withSamuel curled up at my feet, that when one night, about six months aftermy mother's death, I heard the unexpected sound of my father's tread onthe pavement outside, I turned almost with a feeling of terror, andwaited breathlessly for his unsteady hand on the door. It came after aminute, followed immediately by his entrance into the kitchen, and to myamazement I saw presently that he was accompanied by a strange woman,whom I recognised at a glance as one of those examples of her sex thatmy mother had been used to classify sweepingly as "females." She wasplump and jaunty, with yellow hair that hung in tight ringlets down toher neck, and pink cheeks that looked as if they might "come off" ifthey were thoroughly scrubbed. There was about her a spring, a bounce,an animation that impressed me, in spite of my inherited moral sense, asdecidedly elegant.

  My father's eyes looked more vacant and his face fuller than ever."Benjy," he began at once in a husky voice, while his companion releasedhis arm in order to put her ringlets to rights, "I've brought you a newmother."

  At this the female's hands fell from her hair, and she looked round inhorror. "What boy is that, Thomas?" she demanded, poised there in allher flashing brightness like a figure of polished brass.

  "That boy," replied my father, as if at a loss exactly how to accountfor me, "that boy is Ben Starr--otherwise Benjy--otherwise--"

  He would have gone on forever, I think, in his eagerness to explain meaway, if the woman had not jerked him up with a peremptory question:"How did he come here?" she enquired.

  Since nothing but the naked truth would avail him now, he uttered it atlast in an eloquent monosyllable--"Born."

  "But you told me there was not a chick or a child," she exclaimed in arage.

  For a moment he hesitated; then opening his mouth slowly, he gave voiceto the single witticism of his life.

  "That was befo' I married you, dearie," he said.

  "Well, how am I to know," demanded the female, "that you haven't got aparcel of others hidden away?"

  "Thar's one, the littlest, put out to nurse next do', an' another, thebiggest, gone to work in the West," he returned in his amiable, childishmanner.

  After my unfortunate introduction, however, the addition of a greaterand a lesser appeared to impress her but little. She looked scornfullyabout the disorderly room, took off her big, florid bonnet, and beganarranging her hair before the three-cornered mottled mirror on the wall.Then wheeling round in a temper, her eyes fell on Samuel, sittingdejectedly on his tail by my mother's old blue and white gingham apron.

  "What is that?" she fired straight into my father's face.

  "That," he responded, offering his unnecessary information as if it werea piece of flattery, "air the dawg, Sukey."

  "Whose dawg?"

  Goaded into defiance by this attack on my only friend, I spoke in ashrill voice from the corner into which I had retreated. "Mine," I said.

  "Wall, I'll tell you what!" exclaimed the female, charging suddenly uponme, "if I've got to put up with a chance o' kids, I don't reckon I'vegot to be plagued with critters, too. Shoo, suh! get out!"

  Seizing my mother's broom, she advanced resolutely to the attack, and aninstant later, to my loud distress and to Samuel's unspeakable horror,she had whisked him across the kitchen and through the back door outinto the yard.

  "Steady, Sukey, steady," remarked my father caressingly, much as hemight have spoken to a favourite but unruly heifer. For an instant helooked a little crestfallen, I saw with pleasure, but as soon as Samuelwas outside and the door had closed, he resumed immediately his usualexpression of foolish good humour. It was impossible, I think, for himto retain an idea in his mind after the object of it had been removedfrom his sight. While I was still drying my eyes on my frayed coatsleeve, I watched him with resentment begin a series of playful lungesat the neck of the female, which she received with a sulky andforbidding air. Stealing away the next minute, I softly opened the backdoor and joined the outcast Samuel, where he sat whining upon the step.

  The night was very dark, but beyond the looming chimneys a lonely starwinked at me through the thick covering of clouds. I was a sturdy boyfor my age, sound in body, and inwardly not given to sentiment orsoftness of any kind; but as I sat there on the doorstep, I felt a lumprise in my throat at the thought that Samuel and I were two smalloutcast animals in the midst
of a shivering world. I remembered thatwhen my mother was alive I had never let her kiss me except when shepaid me by a copper or a slice of bread laid thickly with blackberryjam; and I told myself desperately that if she could only come back now,I would let her do it for nothing! She might even whip me because I'dtorn my trousers on the back fence, and I thought I should hardly feelit. I recalled her last birthday, when I had gone down to the marketwith five cents of my own to buy her some green gage plums, of which shewas very fond, and how on the way up the hill, being tempted, I hadeaten them all myself. At the time I had stifled my remorse with theassurance that she would far rather I should have the plums than eatthem herself, but this was cold comfort to me to-night while I regrettedmy selfishness. If I had only saved her half, as I had meant to do ifthe hill had not been quite so long and so steep.

  Samuel snuggled closer to me and we both shivered, for the night wasfresh. The house had grown quiet inside; my father and his new wife hadevidently left the kitchen and gone upstairs. As I sat there I realisedsuddenly, with a pang, that I could never go inside the door again; andrising to my feet, I struck a match and fumbled for a piece of chalk inmy pocket. Then standing before the door I wrote in large letters acrossthe panel:--

  "DEAR PA. I have gone to work. Your Aff. son, BEN STARR."

  The blue flame of the match flickered an instant along the words; thenit went out, and with Samuel at my heels, I crept through the back gateand down the alley to the next street, which led to the ragged brow ofthe hill. Ahead of me, as I turned off into Main Street, the scatteredlights of the city showed like blurred patches upon the darkness.Gradually, while I went rapidly downhill, I saw the patches change intoa nebulous cloud, and the cloud resolve itself presently into straightrows of lamps. Few people were in the streets at that hour, and when Ireached the dim building of the Old Market, I found it cold anddeserted, except for a stray cur or two that snarled at Samuel from aheap of trodden straw under a covered wagon. Despite the fact that I wasfor all immediate purposes as homeless as the snarling curs, I was notwithout the quickened pulses which attend any situation that a boy mayturn to an adventure. A high heart for desperate circumstances has neverfailed me, and it bore me company that night when I came back again withaching feet to the Old Market, and lay down, holding Samuel tight, on apile of straw.

  In a little while I awoke because Samuel was barking, and sitting up inthe straw I saw a dim shape huddled beside me, which I made out, after afew startled blinks, to be the bent figure of a woman wrapped in a blackshawl with fringed ends, which were pulled over her head and knottedunder her chin. From the penetrating odour I had learned to associatewith my father, I judged that she had been lately drinking, and thetumbled state of my coat convinced me that she had been frustrated bySamuel in a base design to rifle my pockets. Yet she appeared somiserable as she sat there rocking from side to side and crying toherself, that I began all at once to feel very sorry. It seemed to hurther to cry and yet I saw that the more it hurt her the more she cried.

  "If I were you," I suggested politely, "I'd go home right away."

  "Home?" repeated the woman, with a hiccough, "what's home?"

  "The place you live in."

  "Lor, honey, I don't live in no place. I jest walks."

  "But what do you do when you get tired?"

  "I walks some mo'."

  "An' don't you ever leave off?"

  "Only when it's dark like this an' thar's no folks about."

  "But what do folks say to you when they see you walkin'?"

  "Say to me," she threw back her head and broke into a drunken laugh,"why, they say to me: 'Step lively!'"

  She crawled closer, peering at me greedily under the pale glimmer of thestreet lamp.

  "Why, you're a darlin' of a boy," she said, "an' such pretty blue eyes!"Then she rose to her feet and stood swaying unsteadily above me, whileSamuel broke out into angry barks. "Shall I tell you a secret because ofyo' blue eyes?" she asked. "It's this--whatever you do in this world,you step lively about it. I've done a heap of lookin' an' I've seen theones who get on are the ones who step the liveliest. It ain't no matterwhere you're goin', it ain't no matter who's befo' you, if you want toget there first, step lively!"

  She went out, taking her awful secret with her, and turning over I fellasleep again on my pile of straw. "If ever I have a dollar I'll give itto her so she may stop walkin'," was my last conscious thought.

  My next awakening was a very different one, for the light was streaminginto the market, and a cheerful red face was shining down, like a risingsun, over a wheelbarrow of vegetables.

  "Don't you think it's about time all honest folk were out of bed,sonny?" enquired a voice.

  "I ain't been here mo'n an hour," I retorted, resenting the imputationof slothfulness with a spirit that was not unworthy of my mother.

  The open length of the market, I saw now, was beginning to present abusy, almost a festive, air. Stalls were already laden with fruit andvegetables, and farmers' wagons covered with canvas, and driven bysunburnt countrymen, had drawn up to the sidewalk. Rising hurriedly tomy feet, I began rubbing my eyes, for I had been dreaming of thefragrance of bacon in our little kitchen.

  "Now I'd be up an' off to home, if I were you, sonny," observed themarketman, planting his wheelbarrow of vegetables on the brick floor,and beginning to wipe off the stall. "The sooner you take yo' whippin',the sooner you'll set easy again."

  "There ain't anybody to whip me," I replied dolefully, staring at thesign over his head, on which was painted in large letters--"JohnChitling. Fish, Oysters (in season). Vegetables. Fruits."

  Stopping midway in his preparations, he turned on me his great beamingface, so like the rising sun that looked over his shoulder, while Iwatched his big jean apron swell with the panting breaths that drew fromhis stomach.

  "Here's a boy that says he ain't got nobody to whip him!" he exclaimedto his neighbours in the surrounding stalls,--a poultryman, covered withfeathers, a fish vender, bearing a string of mackerel in either hand,and a butcher, with his sleeves rolled up and a blood-stained apronabout his waist.

  "I al'ays knew you were thick-headed, John Chitling," remarked the fishdealer, with contempt, "but I never believed you were such a plum foolas not to know a tramp when you seed him."

  "You ain't got but eleven of yo' own," observed the butcher, with asnicker; "I reckon you'd better take him along to round out the fulldozen."

  "If I've got eleven there ain't one of 'em that wa'nt welcome,"responded John, his slow temper rising, "an' I reckon what the Lordsends he's willing to provide for."

  "Oh, I reckon he is," sneered the fish dealer, who appeared to be of anunpleasant disposition, "so long as you ain't over-particular about thequality of the provision."

  "Well, he don't provide us with yo' fish, anyway," retorted John; and Iwas watching excitedly for the coming blows when the butcher, who hadbeen looking over me as reflectively as if I had been a spring lambbrought to slaughter, intervened with a peaceable suggestion that heshould take me into his service.

  "I'm on the lookout for a bright boy in my business," he observed.

  But the sight of blood on his rolled-up shirt sleeves produced in methat strange sickness I had inherited from my mother, who used to pay anold coloured market man to come up and wring the necks of her chickens;and when the question was put to me if I'd like to be trained up for abutcher, I drew back and stood ready for instant flight in case theyshould attempt' to decide my future by present force.

  "I'd rather work for you," I said, looking straight at John Chitling,for it occurred to me that if I were made to murder anything I'd ratherit would be oysters.

  "Ha! ha! he knows by the look of you, you're needin' one to make up thedozen," exclaimed the butcher.

  "Well, I declar he does seem to have taken a regular fancy,"acknowledged John, flattered by my decision. "I don't want any realhands now, sonny, but if you'd like to tote the marketing around withSolomon, I reckon I can let
you have a square meal or so along with theothers."

  "What'll yo' old woman say to it, John?" enquired the poultryman, with aloud guffaw, "when you send her a new one of yo' own providin'?"

  John Chitling was busily arranging a pile of turnips with what hedoubtless thought was an artistic eye for colour, and the facetiousnessof the poultryman reacted harmlessly from his thick head.

  "You needn't worry about my wife, for she ain't worryin'," he rejoined,and the shine seemed to gather like moisture on his round red face underhis shock of curling red hair. "She takes what comes an' leaves the Lordto do the tendin'."

  At this a shout went up which I did not understand, until I came to knowlater that an impression existed in the neighbourhood that the Chitlingshad left entirely too much of the bringing up of their eleven childrenin the hands of Providence, who in turn had left them quite ascomplacently to the care of the gutter.

  "I don't know but what too much trust in the Lord don't work as badly astoo little," observed the fish dealer, while John went on placidlyarranging his turnips and carrots. "What appears to me to be bestreligion for a working-man is to hold a kind of middle strip betweenfaith and downright disbelievin'. Let yo' soul trust to the Lord'slookin' arter you, but never let yo' hands get so much as an inklin'that you're a-trustin'. Yes, the safest way is to believe in the Lord onSunday, an' on Monday to go to work as if you wa'nt quite sosartain-sure."

  A long finger of sunshine stretched from beyond the chimneys across thestreet, and pointed straight to the vegetables on John Chitling'scounter, until the onions glistened like silver balls, and the turnipsand carrots sent out flashes of dull red and bright orange.

  "I'll let you overhaul a barrel of apples, sonny," said the big man tome; "have you got a sharp eye for specks?"

  When I replied that I thought I had, he pointed to a barrel from whichthe top had been recently knocked. "They're to be sorted in piles,according to size," he explained, and added, "For such is thecontrariness of human nature that there are some folks as can't see theapple for the speck, an' others that would a long ways rather have thespeck than the apple. I've one old gentleman for a customer who can'tenjoy eatin' a pippin unless he can find one with a spot that won't keeptill to-morrow."

  Kneeling down on the bricks, as he directed, I sorted the yellow applesuntil, growing presently faint from hunger, I began to gaze longingly, Isuppose, at the string of fish hanging above my head.

  "Maybe you'd like to run across an' get a bite of somethin' befo' you goon," suggested John, reading my glances.

  But I only shook my head, in spite of my gnawing stomach, and went ondoggedly with my sorting, impelled by an inherent determination to dowith the best of me whatever I undertook to do at all. To the possessionof this trait, I can see now in looking back, I have owed any success orachievement that has been mine--neither to brains nor to chance, butsimply to that instinct to hold fast which was bred in my bone andstructure. For the lack of this quality I have seen men with greaterintellects, with far quicker wits than mine, go down in the struggle.Brilliancy I have not, nor any particular outward advantage, except thatof size and muscle; but when I was once in the race, I could never seeto right or to left of me, only straight ahead to the goal.

  Overhead the sun had risen slowly higher, until the open spaces and thebrick arches were flooded with light. If I had turned I should have seenthe gay vegetable stalls blooming like garden beds down the dim lengthof the building. The voices of the market men floated toward me, nowquarrelling, now laughing, now raised to shout at a careless negro or aprowling dog. I heard the sounds, and I smelt the strong smell of fishfrom the gleaming strings of perch and mackerel hanging across the way.But through it all I did not look up and I did not turn. My first pieceof work was done with the high determination to do it well, and it hasbeen my conviction from that morning that if I had slighted that barrelof apples, I should have failed inevitably in my career.