<h2 id="c24">CHAPTER XXIV <br/><span class="small">A YOUNG REFORMER</span></h2>
<p>Close in the wake of Tommy’s father, now returning,
came Dorothy. A large automobile stood
before one of the rickety buildings, and Dorothy
just caught sight of a great fur coat and gray hair,
as the owner of the car came from the building.
It was Mr. Akerson! His chauffeur opened the
door of the car, touched his cap, and the auto
made its way slowly through the street.</p>
<p>“There’s the rent collector,” she heard a small
girl say, as she watched the automobile out of
sight. “Ain’t he grand!”</p>
<p>Dorothy wondered, with a shudder, how any
one could come among these people and take their
money from them, for housing them in such quarters!</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
<p>Tommy’s father turned off Rivington Street
into a narrow lane, little more than an alley, but
it contained tall buildings nevertheless, with the inevitable
fire escape decorating the fronts. He
paused in front of a pawnbroker’s shop, which
was some feet below the level of the sidewalk.
Dorothy, too, paused, leaning on the iron fence.
The man was smiling an irresponsible, foolish
smile as he descended the steps to the pawnshop.
Dorothy peered down into the badly-lighted shop,
and saw Tommy’s father lay an ancient watch
chain, the last remaining article of the glory of
his young manhood, on the counter.</p>
<p>The clerk behind the counter threw it back in
disgust. Again Tommy’s father offered it, but the
pawnbroker would not take it, for it was evidently
not worth space in his cases. The man stumbled
up the steps, and Dorothy met him face to face
on the top one.</p>
<p>“I need a watch chain,” she heard herself saying
in desperation, “I’ll buy it, please.”</p>
<p>“You’re the woman as was collecting the rent;
eh?” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” said Dorothy, smiling brightly, “I
came to see Tommy’s mother, and his father. I
wanted to know Tommy’s family.”</p>
<p>“You wanted to help the boy, maybe?” he
asked, his attention at last arrested.</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied Dorothy, eagerly, “I want to
do something. I have money with me now, and
I’ll buy the chain.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div>
<p>The man suddenly turned and went on ahead.
He wasn’t a really desperate man, but Dorothy
did not know just what state it could be called, he
simply seemed unable to think quite clearly, and
after walking one block, Dorothy decided he had
forgotten her entirely.</p>
<p>“I want to buy the groceries,” she said, stepping
close to his elbow, “but there will be so many,
you’ll have to help carry them home to your wife
and Tommy.”</p>
<p>He stared at her sullenly. “Who told you to
buy groceries?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Your wife said there was nothing to eat in the
house,” she answered, “and I would love to buy
everything you need, just for this once.”</p>
<p>“I was just goin’ to get ’em, but there was no
money. How’s a man goin’ to help his family,
when they takes his money right outer his pockets;
tell me that, will you?” he demanded of
Dorothy. She shrank as the huge form towered
over her, but she answered steadily:</p>
<p>“The children are at home, hungry, waiting for
something to eat—the cakes you promised them,
you know,” she said with a brave smile.</p>
<p>“Well, come along; what are you standin’ here
for wastin’ time when the children are hungry?”
he said finally.</p>
<p>Dorothy laughed quietly, and went along at his
elbow. Such unreasonable sort of humanity! At
least, one thing was certain, he would not escape
from her now, since she was convinced that he
had really been trying to secure money enough to
buy food; if she had to call on the rough-looking
element on the street to come to her aid she would
help him.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div>
<p>In the grocer’s Dorothy found great delight in
ordering food for a family, and they left the shop,
loaded down with parcels. The grocer’s clock
chimed out the hour of seven as they left the store.</p>
<p>“Aunt Winnie,” thought Dorothy suddenly,
“she’ll be worried ill! I had almost forgotten I
had a family of my own to be anxious about. But
they’ll have to wait,” she decided, “they, at least,
aren’t hungry. They are only worried, and I know
I’m safe,” she ended, philosophically.</p>
<p>The yellow dog was in the hall, so were all the
evil odors, even some of the babies still played
about, evidently knowing no bedtime, until with
utter weariness their small limbs refused to move
another step. And the dog being there meant
that Tommy had gone ahead and was safe at
home.</p>
<p>The upper halls were noisy. The hours after
supper were being turned into the festive part of
the day. At Tommy’s door there were no loud
sounds of mirth, and, opening it quietly, Dorothy
entered, the man behind. A dim light burned in
the room, the mother sat asleep in the old velvet
chair, the smaller children curled up in her lap,
and she was holding the baby in her arms. Several
of the children were stretched crosswise on the
kitchen cot, and Dorothy decided the remainder
of the family were in the dark room just off the
kitchen, and later she discovered that the surplus
room of the three-room home was rented out,
to help pay the rent.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div>
<p>The children quickly scrambled from the cot
and from the mother’s lap, with wild haste to unwrap
the paper parcels. There was little use trying
judiciously to serve the eatables to such hungry
children. It mattered not to Tommy that
jelly and condensed milk and butter and cheese
were not all supposed to be eaten on one slice of
bread. Tommy never before saw these things all
at one time, and, as far as Tommy knew, he might
never again have the chance to put so many different
things on one slice. Oranges and bananas
were unknown luxuries in that family, and the
little boys eyed them suspiciously, but brave
Tommy sampling them first, they picked up courage,
and soon there were neither oranges nor
bananas, only messy little heaps of peeling.</p>
<p>Dorothy was busy instructing the mother how
to prepare beef broth, and a nourishing food for
the baby, when the clock struck eight.</p>
<p>“Tommy,” said Dorothy, as she busily stirred
the baby’s food, “do you know where there is a
telephone? I must send a message to Aunt Winnie.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
<p>“Sure,” said the confident Tommy, “I know
all about them things. I often seen people ‘telphoning,’”
thus Tommy called it.</p>
<p>Soon it was agreed that Tommy and his father
would go and inform Dorothy’s aunt of her whereabouts,
over the wire.</p>
<p>It was an anxious fifteen minutes waiting for
their return. The mother let the steak broil to a
crisp in her anxiety lest the father slip away from
Tommy’s grasp, and Dorothy, listening for the
returning footsteps, had visions of again running
after Tommy’s father to bring him back to the
bosom of his family, and allowed the oatmeal to
boil over. But all was serene when the man returned
safely with the information that: “some
old feller on the wire got excited, and a lot of
people all talked at once,” and the only thing he
was sure of was that they demanded the address
of his home, which he had given them, not being
ashamed, as he proudly bragged, for anyone to
know where he lived.</p>
<p>“That was father!” said Dorothy. “What
else did he say?”</p>
<p>“Nothin’,” replied the man, “but the old feller
was maddern a wet hen!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div>
<p>“Poor father!” thought Dorothy, as she
handed an apple to one of the small boys. “No
doubt I’m very foolish to have done this thing.
Father will never forgive me for running away
and staying until this late hour. I really didn’t
think about anything, though. It did seem so important
to bring home the things. I can’t bear to
think that to-morrow night and the next night and
the next, Tommy and his mother will be here,
worrying and cold and hungry.”</p>
<p>She served each of the children a steaming dish
of oatmeal, floating in milk, and was surprised to
find how hungry she was herself. She looked
critically at the messy table, the cracked bowls,
and tin spoons, and democratic as she knew herself
to be, she couldn’t—simply couldn’t—eat on
that kitchen-bedroom-living-room table.</p>
<p>The creaking of the steps and a heavy footfall
pausing before the door, caused a moment’s hush.
A knock on the portal and Tommy flew to open
it. On the threshold stood Major Dale, very
soldierly and dignified, and he stared into the
room through the dim light until he discovered
Dorothy. She ran to him and threw her arms
about his neck before he could utter a word.</p>
<p>“Dear daddy!” she murmured, so glad to see
one of her own people, and she realized in that
instant a sense of comfort and ease to know she
was well cared for, and had a dear, old dignified
father.</p>
<p>“I forgot,” she said, repentantly, “I should
have been home hours ago, I know, but you must
hear the whole story, before you scold me.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
<p>For Major Dale to ever scold Dorothy was
among the impossible things, and to have scolded
her in this instance, the furthest thing from his
mind. The children stood about gazing at Major
Dale in awed silence.</p>
<p>“There are so many, father,” said Dorothy,
“to have to live in these close quarters. If they
could just be transported to a farm, or some place
out in the open!”</p>
<p>“Perhaps they could be,” answered Major
Dale, “but first, I must take you home. We’ll
discuss the future of Tommy and his family, after
you are safely back with Aunt Winnie.”</p>
<p>“Couldn’t James be placed somewhere in the
country? I want to know now, before I leave
them, perhaps never to see them again,” pleaded
Dorothy to her father. “Say that you know some
place for James to work that will take the family
away from this awful city.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see, daughter,” said the major kindly.
“I guess there is some place for him and the
little ones.”</p>
<p>“He’s so willin’ to work for us,” explained the
mother, “and we’d love to be in the country. We
both grew up in a country town, and I’ll go back
to-morrow morning. It’s nothin’ but struggling
here from one year’s end to the other, and we
grow poorer each year.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div>
<p>“Many a hard day’s work I’ve done on the
farm,” said the six-feet-four-husband, “and I’m
good for many more. I’ll work at anything that’s
steady, and that’ll help me keep a roof over the
family.”</p>
<p>“I’m so glad to hear you say so!” cried Dorothy,
in delight. “I’m sure we will find some work
in the country for you, and before many weeks
you can leave this place, and find happiness in a
busy, country life.”</p>
<p>On the trip uptown, Dorothy asked about the
family at home, feeling very much as though she
had been away on a long trip and anxious to see
them all once again.</p>
<p>“We began to grow worried about an hour before
the telephone message came,” her father said,
“Aunt Winnie had callers, and the arrangements
were to have them all for dinner and we, of course,
waited dinner for Dorothy.” He smiled at his
daughter fondly. “When you did not appear, the
anxiety became intense, and the callers are still at
the apartment anxiously awaiting the return of
the wanderer.”</p>
<p>“Who are the callers,” queried Dorothy; “do
I know them?”</p>
<p>“No, just Aunt Winnie’s friends, but they are
waiting to meet you,” said Major Dale.</p>
<p>“Won’t I be glad to get home!” exclaimed
Dorothy, clinging to her father’s arm as they left
the subway.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div>
<p>“Daughter,” said Major Dale, sternly, “have
you really forgotten?”</p>
<p>“Forgotten what, father?” asked Dorothy in
surprise.</p>
<p>“Forgotten the dinner and dance that is to be
given in your honor this evening?” Major Dale
could just suppress a smile as he tried to ask the
question with great severity.</p>
<p>“Oh, my dear!” cried Dorothy, “I forgot it
completely!”</p>
<p>“Well,” he said, “you’ll be late for the dinner,
but they are waiting for you to start the dance.”</p>
<p>“You see, father,” exclaimed Dorothy, desperately,
“I am not a girl for society! To think I
could have forgotten the most important event of
our whole holiday! But tell me now, daddy, don’t
you think big James and his family would do nicely
for old Mr. Hill’s Summer home—they could
care for it in the Winter, and take charge of the
farm in the Summer?”</p>
<p>“That is just what I thought, but said nothing,
because I did not care to raise false hopes in
the breast of such a pathetic little woman as
Tommy’s mother.”</p>
<p>“Then, before I join the dancers, I can rest
easily in my thoughts, that you will take care of
Tommy’s future, daddy?” Dorothy asked.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div>
<p>“My daughter can join the party, and cease
thinking of little Tommy and the others, because
I’ll take entire charge of them just as soon as we
return to North Birchland.”</p>
<p>“I knew it, dear,” said Dorothy, as they entered
the apartment, and she hugged her father
closely. “You’d rather be down on Rivington
Street at this moment, seeing the other side of the
world, just as I would; wouldn’t you, father?”</p>
<p>But her father just pinched her pink cheeks and
told her to run along and be a giddy, charming
debutante.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
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