When? asked Mrs. Bray.
At any time you desire.
Then you had better come to-morrow morning. I shall not go out.
I will be here at eleven oclock. Induce her if possible to leave the cityto go South, so that she may never come back.
The best I can shall be done, replied Mrs. Bray as she folded the bank-bills she had received from Mrs. Dinneford in a fond, tender sort of way and put them into her pocket.
Mrs. Dinneford retired, saying as she did so,
I will be here in the morning.
An instant change came over the shallow face of the wiry little woman as the form of Mrs. Dinneford vanished through the door. A veil seemed to fall away from it. All its virtuous sobriety was gone, and a smile of evil satisfaction curved about her lips and danced in her keen black eyes. She stood still, listening to the retiring steps of her visitor, until she heard the street door shut. Then, with a quick, cat-like step, she crossed to the opposite side of the room, and pushed open a door that led to an adjoining chamber. A woman came forward to meet her. This woman was taller and stouter than Mrs. Bray, and had a soft, sensual face, but a resolute mouth, the under jaw slightly protruding. Her eyes were small and close together, and had that peculiar wily and alert expression you sometimes see, making you think of a serpents eyes. She was dressed in common finery and adorned by cheap jewelry.
What do you think of that, Pinky Swett? exclaimed Mrs. Bray, in a voice of exultation. Got her all right, havent I?
Well, you have! answered the woman, shaking all over with unrestrained laughter. The fattest pigeon Ive happened to see for a month of Sundays. Is she very rich?
Her husband is, and thats all the same. And now, PinkyMrs. Bray assumed a mock gravity of tone and manneryou know your fateNew Orleans and the yellow fever. You must pack right off. Passage free and a hundred dollars for funeral expenses. Nice wet graves down therekeep off the fire; and she gave a low chuckle.
Oh yes; all settled. When does the next steamer sail? and Pinky almost screamed with merriment. She had been drinking.
H-u-s-h! h-u-s-h! None of that here, Pinky. The people down stairs are good Methodists, and think me a saint.
You a saint? Oh dear! and she shook with repressed enjoyment.
After this the two women grew serious, and put their heads together for business.
Who is this woman, Fan? Whats her name, and where does she live? asked Pinky Swett.
Thats my secret, Pinky, replied Mrs. Bray, and I cant let it go; it wouldnt be safe. You get a little off the handle sometimes, and dont know what you saymight let the cat out of the bag. Sally Long took the baby away, and she died two months ago; so Im the only one now in the secret. All I want of you is to keep track of the baby. Here is a five-dollar bill; I cant trust you with more at a time. I know your weakness, Pinky; and she touched her under the chin in a familiar, patronizing way.
Pinky wasnt satisfied with this, and growled a little, just showing her teeth like an unquiet dog.
Give me ten, she said; the woman gave you thirty. I heard her say so. And shes going to bring you seventy to-morrow.
Youll only waste it, Pinky, remonstrated Mrs. Bray. It will all be gone before morning.
Fan, said the woman, leaning toward Mrs. Bray and speaking in a low, confidential tone, I dreamed of a cow last night, and thats good luck, you know. Tom Oaks made a splendid hit last Saturdaydrew twenty dollarsand Sue Minty got ten. Theyre all buzzing about it down in our street, and going to Sam McFaddons office in a stream.
Do they have good luck at Sam McFaddons? asked Mrs. Bray, with considerable interest in her manner.
Its the luckiest place that I know. Never dreamed of a cow or a hen that I didnt make a hit, and I dreamed of a cow last night. She was giving such a splendid pail of milk, full to the brim, just as old Spot and Brindle used to give. You remember our Spot and Brindle, Fan?
Oh yes. There was a falling inflection in Mrs. Brays voice, as if the reference had sent her thoughts away back to other and more innocent days.
The two women sat silent for some moments after that; and when Pinky spoke, which she did first, it was in lower and softer tones:
I dont like to think much about them old times, Fan; do you? I might have done better. But its no use grizzling about it now. Whats dones done, and cant be helped. Water doesnt run up hill again after its once run down. Ive got going, and cant stop, you see. Theres nothing to catch at that wont break as soon as you touch it. So I mean to be jolly as I move along.
Laughing is better than crying at any time, returned Mrs. Bray; here are five more; and she handed Pinky Swett another bank-bill. Im going to try my luck. Put half a dollar on ten different rows, and well go shares on what is drawn. I dreamed the other night that I saw a flock of sheep, and thats good luck, isnt it?
Pinky thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out a worn and soiled dream-book.
A flock of sheep; let me see; and she commenced turning over the leaves. Sheep; here it is: To see them is a sign of sorrow11, 20, 40, 48. To be surrounded by many sheep denotes good luck2, 11, 55. Thats your row; put down 2, 11, 55. Well try that. Next put down 41 11, 44thats the lucky row when you dream of a cow.
As Pinky leaned toward her friend she dropped her parasol.
Thats for luck, maybe, she said, with a brightening face. Lets see what it says about a parasol; and she turned over her dream-book.
For a maiden to dream she loses her parasol shows that her sweetheart is false and will never marry her5, 51, 56.
But you didnt dream about a parasol, Pinky.
Thats no matter; its just as good as a dream. 5, 51, 56 is the row. Put that down for the second, Fan.
As Mrs. Bray was writing out these numbers the clock on the mantel struck five.
8, 12, 60, said Pinky, turning to the clock; thats the clock row.
And Mrs. Bray put down these figures also.
Thats three rows, said Pinky, and we want ten. She arose, as she spoke, and going to the front window, looked down upon the street.
Theres an organ-grinder; its the first thing I saw; and she came back fingering the leaves of her dream-book. Put down 40, 50, 26.
Mrs. Bray wrote the numbers on her slip of paper.
Its November; lets find the November row. Pinky consulted her book again. Signifies you will have trouble through life7, 9, 63. Thats true as preaching; I was born in November, and Ive had it all trouble. How many rows does that make?
Five.
Then we will cut cards for the rest; and Pinky drew a soiled pack from her pocket, shuffled the cards and let her friends cut them.
Ten of diamonds; she referred to the dream-book. 10, 13, 31; put that down.
The cards were shuffled and cut again.
Six of clubs6, 35, 39.
Again they were cut and shuffled. This time the knave of clubs was turned up.
Thats 17, 19, 28, said Pinky, reading from her book.
The next cut gave the ace of clubs, and the policy numbers were 18, 63, 75.
Once more, and the ten rows will be full; and the cards were cut again.
Five of hearts5, 12, 60; and the ten rows were complete.
Theres luck there, Fan; sure to make a hit, said Pinky, with almost childish confidence, as she gazed at the ten rows of figures. One of em cant help coming out right, and that would be fifty dollarstwenty-five for me and twenty-five for you; two rows would give a hundred dollars, and the whole ten a thousand. Think of that, Fan! five hundred dollars apiece.
Five of hearts5, 12, 60; and the ten rows were complete.
Theres luck there, Fan; sure to make a hit, said Pinky, with almost childish confidence, as she gazed at the ten rows of figures. One of em cant help coming out right, and that would be fifty dollarstwenty-five for me and twenty-five for you; two rows would give a hundred dollars, and the whole ten a thousand. Think of that, Fan! five hundred dollars apiece.
It would break Sam McFaddon, Im afraid, remarked Mrs. Bray.
Sams got nothing to do with it, returned Pinky.
He hasnt?
No.
Who has, then?
His backer.
Whats that?
Oh, I found it all outI know how its done. Sams got a backera man that puts up the money. Sam only sells for his backer. When theres a hit, the backer pays.
Whos Sams backer, as you call him?
Couldnt get him to tell; tried him hard, but he was close as an oyster. Drives in the Park and wears a two thousand dollar diamond pin; he let that out. So hes good for the hits. Sam always puts the money down, fair and square.
Very well; you get the policy, and do it right off, Pinky, or the moneyll slip through your fingers.
All right, answered Pinky as she folded the slip of paper containing the lucky rows. Never you fear. Ill be at Sam McFaddons in ten minutes after I leave here.
And be sure, said Mrs. Bray, to look after the baby to-night, and see that it doesnt perish with cold; the airs getting sharp.
It ought to have something warmer than cotton rags on its poor little body, returned Pinky. Cant you get it some flannel? It will die if you dont.
I sent it a warm petticoat last week, said Mrs. Bray.
You did?
Yes; I bought one at a Jew shop, and had it sent to the woman.
Was it a nice warm one?
Yes.
Pinky drew a sigh. I saw the poor baby last night; hadnt anything on but dirty cotton rags. It was lying asleep in a cold cellar on a little heap of straw. The woman had given it something, I guess, by the way it slept. The petticoat had gone, most likely, to Sam McFaddons. She spends everything she can lay her hands on in policies and whisky.
Shes paid a dollar a week for taking care of the baby at night and on Sundays, said Mrs. Bray.
It wouldnt help the baby any if she got ten dollars, returned Pinky. It ought to be taken away from her.
But whos to do that? Sally Long sold it to the two beggar women, and they board it out. I have no right to interfere; they own the baby, and can do as they please with it.
It could be got to the almshouse, said Pinky; it would be a thousand times better off.
It mustnt go to the almshouse, replied Mrs. Bray; I might lose track of it, and that would never do.
Youll lose track of it for good and all before long, if you dont get it out of them womens bands. No baby can hold out being begged with long; its too hard on the little things. For you know how it is, Fan; they must keep em half starved and as sick as they will bear without dying right off, so as to make em look pitiful. You cant do much at begging with a fat, hearty-looking baby.
Whats to be done about it? asked Mrs. Bray. I dont want that baby to die.
Would its mother know it if she saw it? asked Pinky.
No; for she never set eyes on it.
Then, if it dies, get another baby, and keep track of that. You can steal one from a drunken mother any night in the week. Ill do it for you. One baby is as good as another.
It will be safer to have the real one, replied Mrs. Bray. And now, Pinky that you have put this thing into my head, I guess Ill commission you to get the baby away from that woman.
All right!
But what are we to do with it? I cant have it here.
Of course you cant. But thats easily managed, if yourre willing to pay for it.
Pay for it?
Yes; if it isnt begged with, and made to pay its way and earn something into the bargain, its got to be a dead weight on somebody. So you see how it is, Fan. Now, if youll take a fools advice, youll let it go to the almshouse, or let it alone to die and get out of its misery as soon as possible. You can find another baby that will do just as well, if you should ever need one.
How much would it cost, do you think, to have it boarded with some one who wouldnt abuse it? She might beg with it herself, or hire it out two or three times a week. I guess it would stand that.
Beggars dont belong to the merciful kind, answered Pinky; theres no trusting any of them. A baby in their hands is never safe. Ive seen em brought in at night more dead than alive, and tossed on a dirty rag-heap to die before morning. Im always glad when theyre out of their misery, poor things! The fact is, Fan, if you expect that baby to live, youve got to take it clean out of the hands of beggars.
What could I get it boarded for outright? asked Mrs. Bray.
For most anything, cording to how its done. But why not, while youre about it, bleed the old lady, its grandmother, a little deeper, and take a few drops for the baby?
Guess youre kind o right about that, Fan; anyhow, well make a start on it. You find another place for the brat.
Greed; when shall I do it?
The sooner, the better. It might die of cold any night in that horrible den. Ugh!
Ive been in worse places. Bedlow street is full of them, and so is Briar street and Dirty alley. You dont know anything about it.
Maybe not, and maybe I dont care to know. At present I want to settle about this baby. Youll find another place for it?
Yes.
And then steal it from the woman who has it now?
Yes; no trouble in the world. Shes drunk every night, answered Pinky Swett, rising to go.
Youll see me to-morrow? said Mrs. Bray.
Oh yes.
And you wont forget about the policies?
Not I. We shall make a grand hit, or Im a fool. Day-day! Pinky waved her hand gayly, and then retired.
CHAPTER VI
A COLD wet drizzling rain was beginning to fall when Pinky Swett emerged from the house. Twilight was gathering drearily. She drew her thin shawl closely, and shivered as the east wind struck her with a chill.
At hurried walk of five or ten minutes brought her to a part of the town as little known to its citizens generally as if it were in the centre of Africaa part of the town where vice, crime, drunkenness and beggary herd together in the closest and most shameless contact; where men and women, living in all foulness, and more like wild beasts than human beings, prey greedily upon each other, hurting, depraving and marring Gods image in all over whom they can get power or influenceda very hell upon the earth!at part of the town where theft and robbery and murder are plotted, and from which prisons and almshouses draw their chief population.
That such a herding together, almost in the centre of a great Christian city, of the utterly vicious and degraded, should be permitted, when every days police and criminal records give warning of its cost and danger, is a marvel and a reproach. Almost every other house, in portions of this locality, is a dram-shop, where the vilest liquors are sold. Policy-offices, doing business in direct violation of law, are in every street and block, their work of plunder and demoralization going on with open doors and under the very eyes of the police. Every one of them is known to these officers. But arrest is useless. A hidden and malign influence, more potent than justice, has power to protect the traffic and hold the guilty offenders harmless. Conviction is rarely, if ever, reached.