The angel rescues Mr. Tomlin

It was on the afternoon that Mary carried back her week’s completed work that Norma, receiving an unexpected summons to the Opera House, was obliged, though with many misgivings, to leave the Angel in the charge of Joey. “But what else could I do,” she reasoned afterward, “with Mrs. O’Malligan out and Mrs. Tomlin sick, and nobody else willing, it appeared, to see to her?”

True, she had cautioned Joey, over and over again about keeping the child away from the window, and about staying right in the room until her return; but, notwithstanding, Norma could hardly have gotten to the corner before Joey, promptly forgetting his promise, and finding the room a dull playground, was enticing his charge into the hall and straightway down the stairs.

At the bottom of the second flight, the two children came upon Mr. Tomlin entertaining two gentlemen callers. Only the week before, the Tenement had been called upon to mourn with the Tomlins, whose baby had been carried away in a little coffin after the fashion of tenement babies when the thermometer climbs up the scale near to one hundred. And since then, Mrs. Tomlin, refusing to be comforted, had taken to her bed, thus making it necessary for her husband to receive his company in the hall.

The callers, who, together with their host, were sitting on the steps, moved aside to allow the children to pass. The larger of the gentlemen was unpleasantly dirty, with a ragged beard and a shock of red hair. The other was a little man with quick black eyes and a pleasant smile. Passing these by, the Angel paused on the step above Mr. Tomlin and slipped her arms around his neck.

“Pick a back, my Tomlin,” she sweetly commanded in the especially imperious tones she reserved for Mr. Tomlin’s sex, “get up, horsey.”

The good-natured giant, for such her Tomlin was, shouldered her as one would some precious burden liable to break, grinned, stood up and obediently trotted the length of the hall and back.

Joey, meanwhile, legs apart, stood eyeing the visitors attentively. “Keep up that kind of talk,” the dirty gentleman was urging, “and we’ve got him. He’s worth any three of ordinary strength, and he’s a favorite with the men, too.”

Here the horse and his rider returned. “What a got in a pocket for Angel?” the young autocrat proceeded to demand when lifted down. Of all her masculine subjects in the Tenement, Mr. Tomlin was her veriest slave.

He produced a soiled but gay advertising picture. Her ladyship put out her hand. “But you must give us a dance fer it,” coaxed Mr. Tomlin, anxious to display the talent of the Tenement. “She’s the young ’un as dances at the Op’ry House, the kid is,” he explained to his visitors, “they’ve had her pictoor in the papers, too. Miss Bonkowski, the chorus-lady upstairs, she’s got one of them, came out in a Sunday supplement, though I can’t say I see the likeness myself.”

At this, the two gentlemen, who had seemed decidedly bored than otherwise at the interruption, deigned to bestow a moment of their attention upon the beautiful child in the faded gingham dress.

“She got skeered to the theyater the other day,” put in Joey, “an’ most cried when they clapped so, an’ they promised her anything she wanted if she wouldn’t next time

“And her didn’t cwy,” declared the baby, turning a pair of indignantly reproachful eyes upon Joey, “her danced, her didn’t cwy.”

“Ain’t yer goin’ to dance fer us now?” coaxed Mr. Tomlin.

“No,” said the Angel naughtily, then relenting at sight of her Tomlin’s face, “her’ll sing, her won’t dance.”

The pleasant gentleman, thinking, perhaps to please Mr. Tomlin, or maybe to get rid of them the sooner, produced a red ribbon badge. “Ef ze will sing,” he said, showing his white teeth as he smiled, “ze shall hav it.”

Turning to view this new party, her ladyship treated him to a brief examination, but evidently approving of him, began to sing with no more ado:

“Je suis si l’enfant gate
Tra la la la, tra la la,
Car je les aime les petits pâtes.
Et les confitures,
Si vous voulez me les donner
Je suis très bien oblige,
Tra la la la, tra la la,
Tra la la la, tra la la.”

Only a word here and there could have been intelligible, but their effect upon the pleasant gentleman was instantaneous. He broke into a torrent of foreign exclamations and verbosity, showing his teeth and gesticulating with his hands.

A strange light came into the baby’s face and she held out her arms to the little man entreatingly. “Oui, oui,” she cried, a spot of red burning on each cheek, “you take Angel to her mamma, take Angel to her mamma!”

But here the door of the Tomlin’s room opened hastily, and the neighbor who was sitting with the sick woman thrust out her head. “She’s talkin’ mighty wild an’ out her head,” she said, “you’d better come to her.”

Mr. Tomlin rose hastily, while the dark little man, yielding to the child’s entreaties, took her in his arms.

But the red-headed gentleman laid a dirty hand on Mr. Tomlin’s arm. “Just as I was saying,” he said, as if resuming a broken-off conversation, “no doctor, no medicine. Why? No work, no wages. Why? The heel of the rich man grinding the poor to the earth.”

Mr. Tomlin hesitated.

“It’s entirely a meeting of Union men. No violence advocated. A mass-meeting to discuss appointing committees to demand work.”

“Ze outcry of ze oppressed,” put in the pleasant gentleman, looking out from behind the Angel’s fair little head, and showing his white teeth in his smile, “in zer union ees zere only strength.”

Mr. Tomlin’s door opened still more violently. “She’s a-beggin’ as you’ll get her some ice,” announced the neighbor, “she says she’s burnin’ up.”

“God A’mighty!” burst forth the giant, “I ain’t got a cent on earth to get her nothin’,” and he turned toward the two men fiercely, his great brows meeting over his sullen eyes, “yes, I’ll come, you can count on me,” and he went in the door.

“Liberty Square by the statue, four o’clock,” called the dirty gentleman after him, while the pleasant gentleman put the Angel hastily down. “Adieu, mon enfant,” he cried, showing his teeth as he smiled back over his shoulder, and followed his companion down the stairs.

In time Joey and his weeping charge also reached the bottom. Not a word of the conversation had escaped the sharp ears of the Major. “It’s past two, now,” he soliloquized, “an’ he said Liberty Square, four o’clock. I know where the statoo is. Yer follows the cars from front of th’ arm’ry an’ they goes right there, ’cause that’s where the Cap’n’s office is. Don’tcher cry no more, Angel,” with insinuating coaxing in his tones, “I’ll take yer there if yer wanter go.”

The Angel slipped her hand in his obediently, and the two forthwith proceeded to leave the neighborhood of the Tenement behind them, undeterred by the friendly overtures of Petey O’Malligan and his colleagues to join in with their pastimes.

“We ain’t got no time fer foolin’,” confided Joey, hurrying her along, “there’ll be flags an’ hollerin’, an’ we wanter get there in time.”

On reaching the car line the small Major was obliged to slacken his speed, for, while, in a measure, the Angel had caught the spirit of his enthusiasm, yet her legs refused to keep pace with his haste.

“Ef yer was still ter heaven, Angel,” the Major pondered, as they stood on the street corner getting breath, “yerz wouldn’t need ter use yer legs at all, would yer? Yer’d jus’ take out an’ fly across this yere street, waggins an’ trucks an’ all, wouldn’t yer?”

The Angel cast her eyes upon him doubtfully.

“That’s what my mammy tol’ me about Angels,” Joey declared stoutly.

“Angel didn’t a never fly,” nevertheless the baby stated with conviction.

Joey looked disappointed, and even unconvinced. Then his face brightened. “That’s ‘cause you was too little, like that canary at th’ Res’t’rant what ain’t got its feathers yet. You was too little fer yer wings to have growed afore you come away,” and his lively imagination having thus settled the problem, the two continued their way.

“Yer see how it is,” he observed presently, evidently having been revolving the subject in his busy brain, “ef Mis’ Tomlin had th’ doctor an’ some ice, she’d get well, she would, an’ Mr. Tomlin, he’s goin’ to this yere meetin’ to see about work, so’s he can get ’em fer her. But ‘tain’t no use fer workin’ men to beg for work these yere days,” he added with a comical air of wisdom. “I heerd Old G. A. R. say, I did, to a man what comes ter talk politics wid him, that beggin’ th’ rich people to help yer was jus’ like buttin’ yer head agin a brick wall, so what good’s it goin’ ter do if he does go?”

The Angel nodded amiably, and slipped her hand in Joey’s that she might the better keep up. They had passed the region of small shops and were passing through a better portion of the city. Before a tall stone house, one of a long row, a girl stood singing, while a boy played an accompaniment on a harp. As Joey and his charge reached them, a lady, with a group of children clustered about her, threw some pennies out the window to the young musicians.

“Did yer see that, Angel,” demanded Joey, “did yer ketch onter that little game? We c’n do that. I c’n whis’le an’ you c’n sing, an’ we’ll make ‘nough to get Mis’ Tomlin th’ ice ourselves. If yer do,” continued the wily Joey, “I tell yer what, we’ll go home on the cable cars, we will.” And he hurried his small companion along the sunny sidewalks, still following the line of the cable cars, until they came to a business street again, this time of large and handsome stores. Here, before the most imposing, Joey paused, and cast a calculating eye upon the stream of shoppers passing in and out. “Now, Angel, sing,” he commanded.

The footsore, tired Angel, hot and cross, declined to do it. “Her wants to sit down an’ west,” she declared.

“We’ll sit down out there on ther curbstone an’ rest soon as yer sing some,” promised the Major. So, taking up their stand on the flagging outside the entrance of the big store, the bare-headed Angel, in her worn gingham frock, highbred and beautiful as a little princess, despite it, struck up with as much effect as a bird’s twitter might make. Finding that his whistle in no way corresponded to the song, Joey wisely contented himself with holding out his soldier’s cap.

Two such babies, one with so innocent, and the other with so comically knowing a smile, could not but attract attention. Some laughed, some sighed, some stopped to question, many dropped pennies and some put nickels, and even a dime or two into Joey’s cap, while one stout and good-humored woman opened the paper bag she carried and put a sponge cake in each hand. But at this point, seeing that the policeman in charge of the crossing had more than once cast a questioning eye upon them, Joey decided to move on. “We’ll have ter hurry anyhow,” he observed, “ter get to ther speakin’ in time. If you’ll come on, Angel, ‘thout restin’, I’ll tell yer what, I’ll buy yer a banana, I will, first ones we see.” And the weary Angel, thus beguiled, dragged her tired feet along in Joey’s wake.

The slanting rays from the setting sun were falling across Liberty Square, on the statue of that great American who declared all men to be created equal, on the sullen faces of hundreds of idle men who stood beneath its shadow, listening to speech after speech from various speakers, speeches of a nature best calculated to coax the smouldering resentment in their hearts into a blaze.

On the outskirts of the park-like square a small boy was urging a smaller girl to hurry. “Angel’s legs won’t go no more,” the diminutive female was wailing as her companion dragged her along.

Meanwhile the impassioned words of the last oration were being echoed and emphasized by mutterings and imprecations. The mob, in fact, was beginning to respond, just as its promoters had intended that it should, and as their dangerous eloquence continued to pour forth, the emotions of the crowd accordingly grew fiercer, louder, until from sullen mutterings, the applauding echoes grew to clamor and uproar. And following the impassioned harangue of the last speaker upon the program a red-haired gentleman, unpleasantly dirty the cheers gave place to groans, the groans grew to threats, to curses, and the confusion spread like the roar of a coming storm.

Suddenly above the noise, came the measured tramp of feet. In the momentary lull succeeding, “The police, the police,” a voice rang out on the silence, and the single cry swelled to a roar from hundreds of throats, and as suddenly died away to an expectant silence. At that a voice, loud with authority, rang out upon the stillness, “In the name of the Commonwealth,” the measured words declared, “I command you to immediately and peaceably disperse!”

The answer came in a chorus of jeers, hoots, yells of derision, and the howling mob began to seize whatever promised to be a weapon of defense or attack. Growing in numbers as dusk fell, the crowd now was spreading back into the surrounding streets. Merchants who had not already done so, were hurriedly closing their stores. The cars were blocked, and foot travellers fleeing in all directions. From the thickest of the crowd, a mighty creature of bone and muscle, a giant in height and breadth, grasping an iron support twisted from a bench, had forced his way out to the street, and now was using it to pry up the bricks from the sidewalk, which in turn were seized by his companions.

Above the uproar and confusion the voice of authority, ringing out its words of command, was heard again.

Head and shoulders above the crowd, the giant stood erect, waving his iron bar above his head. “At ’em, men,” he cried, “at ’em before they fire!”

But as he paused, another cry arose, a frightened, childish wail, that came from a very diminutive female clinging to his knees. “My Tomlin,” it cried.

The giant’s arm dropped, and as the crowd swept on and left him standing, Mr. Tomlin looked down to behold the Angel, and holding fast to her, the badly frightened but defiant personage of Joey.

The giant caught the Angel up in his arms. “Hold on to my coat,” he cried to Joey, and speedily, such of the crowd as had not swept by in their charge against the police, fell back on either side before Mr. Tomlin’s mighty fist. Fighting desperately, he reached the edge, and seizing Joey, dragged him across the car tracks as the crash of stones, the breaking of glass, the sharp crack of firearms, told of the meeting of the forces behind him.

Howls of rage, of pain, of defiance answered, followed by further crashing of stones and splintering of glass in street lights and car windows, and not until they were several squares removed from the scene of action did Mr. Tomlin pause. He then laid a heavy hand on Joey. “By all that’s ” he began.

But Joey was ready for him, and hastily began to pour his earnings from his jacket pocket in a pile upon the flagging. “Me an’ Angel made it a-singin’ on the street fer to get ice fer Mis’ Tomlin,” the wily one explained. And the tender-hearted giant, gazing from one small figure to the other, forthwith began to sob like a child.

And, oh, the rejoicings of the distracted Tenement when the lost Angel was returned! And how Joey was seized and violently threatened to be as violently forgiven. Mrs. Tomlin, given ice to her heart’s content, fell asleep, blessing the Angel for having rescued her husband from the almost certain hands of the law. And when, next day, it was learned that various and sundry of Mr. Tomlin’s friends, among them the red-haired gentleman and his dark companion, had been arrested, while Mr. Tomlin was safe at home, the Angel became more than ever the pride and idol of the Tenement.

“There’s some’n’ mighty wrong,” Mr. Tomlin was heard arguing soon after, “for a man with the bone and muscle to ’em as I’ve got, wantin’ work an’ willin’ to do anything, yet havin’ to starve but whatever it is as is wrong, I’m thinkin’ mobs ain’t the way to right it.”

“An’ if he’d only hed th’ sinse to make the furrin’ gintleman as could talk the gibberish to question th’ Angel choild,” said Mrs. O’Malligan indignantly, “sure an’ we moight have larned all about her by this toime, entoirely, for there’s mony a thing she’s tried to tell us an’ can’t for the want of a worrud. But foind me a man of yer as does any thinkin’ ’thout his woman there to prompt him,” she quoth contemptuously, “an’ I’ll foind ye a polaceman as isn’t a meddler in other folks’ affairs, as this yere mob is jist anither provin’ of.”