Bass, who had returned promptly at a quarter-past six, was already busy in the back bedroom washing and dressing preparatory to going down-town.
“No,” said Mrs. Gerhardt. “Bass has worked hard all day. You must go.”
“I don’t want to,” pouted George.
“All right,” said Mrs. Gerhardt, “maybe to-morrow you’ll be without a fire, and then what?”
They went back to the house, but George’s conscience was too troubled to allow him to consider the case as closed.
“Bass, you come, too,” he called to his elder brother when he was inside.
“Go where?” said Bass.
“To get some coal.”
“No,” said the former, “I guess not. What do you take me for?”
“Well, then, I’ll not,” said George, with an obstinate jerk of his head.
“Why didn’t you get it up this afternoon?” questioned his brother sharply; “you’ve had all day to do it.”
“Aw, I did try,” said George. “We couldn’t find enough. I can’t get any when there ain’t any, can I?”
“I guess you didn’t try very hard,” said the dandy.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Jennie, who, coming in after having stopped at the grocer’s for her mother, saw George with a solemn pout on his face.
“Oh, Bass won’t go with me to get any coal?”
“Didn’t you get any this afternoon?”
“Yes,” said George, “but ma says I didn’t get enough.”
“I’ll go with you,” said his sister. “Bass, will you come along?”
“No,” said the young man, indifferently, “I won’t.” He was adjusting his necktie and felt irritated.
“There ain’t any,” said George, “unless we get it off the cars. There wasn’t any cars where I was.”
“There are, too,” exclaimed Bass.
“There ain’t,” said George.
“Oh, don’t quarrel,” said Jennie. “Get the baskets and let’s go right now before it gets too late.”
The other children, who had a fondness for their big sister, got out the implements of supply—Veronica a basket, Martha and William buckets, and George, a big clothes-basket, which he and Jennie were to fill and carry between them. Bass, moved by his sister’s willingness and the little regard he still maintained for her, now made a suggestion.
“I’ll tell you what you do, Jen,” he said. “You go over there with the kids to Eighth Street and wait around those cars. I’ll be along in a minute. When I come by don’t any of you pretend to know me. Just you say, ‘Mister, won’t you please throw us some coal down?’ and then I’ll get up on the cars and pitch off enough to fill the baskets. D’ye understand?”
“All right,” said Jennie, very much pleased.
Out into the snowy night they went, and made their way to the railroad tracks. At the intersection of the street and the broad railroad yard were many heavily laden cars of bituminous coal newly backed in. All of the children gathered within the shadow of one. While they were standing there, waiting the arrival of their brother, the Washington Special arrived, a long, fine train with several of the new style drawing-room cars, the big plate-glass windows shining and the passengers looking out from the depths of their comfortable chairs. The children instinctively drew back as it thundered past.
“Oh, wasn’t it long?” said George.
“Wouldn’t I like to be a brakeman, though,” sighed William.
Jennie, alone, kept silent, but to her particularly the suggestion of travel and comfort had appealed. How beautiful life must be for the rich!
Sebastian now appeared in the distance, a mannish spring in his stride, and with every evidence that he took himself seriously. He was of that peculiar stubbornness and determination that had the children failed to carry out his plan of procedure he would have gone deliberately by and refused to help them at all.
Martha, however, took the situation as it needed to be taken, and piped out childishly, “Mister, won’t you please throw us down some coal?”
Sebastian stopped abruptly, and looking sharply at them as though he were really a stranger, exclaimed, “Why, certainly,” and proceeded to climb up on the car, from whence he cast down with remarkable celerity more than enough chunks to fill their baskets. Then as though not caring to linger any longer amid such plebeian company, he hastened across the network of tracks and was lost to view.
On their way home they encountered another gentleman, this time a real one, with high hat and distinguished cape coat, whom Jennie immediately recognized. This was the honorable Senator himself, newly returned from Washington, and anticipating a very unprofitable Christmas. He had arrived upon the express which had enlisted the attention of the children, and was carrying his light grip for the pleasure of it to the hotel. As he passed he thought that he recognized Jennie.
“Is that you, Jennie?” he said, and paused to be more certain.
The latter, who had discovered him even more quickly than he had her, exclaimed, “Oh, there is Mr. Brander!” Then, dropping her end of the basket, with a caution to the children to take it right home, she hurried away in the opposite direction.
The Senator followed, vainly calling three or four times “Jennie! Jennie!” Losing hope of overtaking her, and suddenly recognizing, and thereupon respecting, her simple, girlish shame, he stopped, and turning back, decided to follow the children. Again he felt that same sensation which he seemed always to get from this girl—the far cry between her estate and his. It was something to be a Senator to-night, here where these children were picking coal. What could the joyous holiday of the morrow hold for them? He tramped along sympathetically, an honest lightness coming into his step, and soon he saw them enter the gateway of the low cottage. Crossing the street, he stood in the weak shade of the snow-laden trees. The light was burning with a yellow glow in a rear window. All about was the white snow. In the woodshed he could hear the voices of the children, and once he thought he detected the form of Mrs. Gerhardt. After a time another form came shadow-like through the side gate. He knew who it was. It touched him to the quick, and he bit his lip sharply to suppress any further show of emotion. Then he turned vigorously on his heel and walked away.
The chief grocery of the city was conducted by one Manning, a stanch adherent of Brander, and one who felt honored by the Senator’s acquaintance. To him at his busy desk came the Senator this same night.
“Manning,” he said, “could I get you to undertake a little work for me this evening?”
“Why, certainly, Senator, certainly,” said the grocery-man. “When did you get back? Glad to see you. Certainly.”
“I want you to get everything together that would make a nice Christmas for a family of eight—father and mother and six children—Christmas tree, groceries, toys—you know what I mean.”
“Certainly, certainly, Senator.”
“Never mind the cost now. Send plenty of everything. I’ll give you the address,” and he picked up a note-book to write it.
“Why, I’ll be delighted, Senator,” went on Mr. Manning, rather affected himself. “I’ll be delighted. You always were generous.”
“Here you are, Manning,” said the Senator, grimly, from the mere necessity of preserving his senatorial dignity. “Send everything at once, and the bill to me.”
“I’ll be delighted,” was all the astonished and approving grocery-man could say.
The Senator passed out, but remembering the old people, visited a clothier and shoe man, and, finding that he could only guess at what sizes might be required, ordered the several articles with the privilege of exchange. When his labors were over, he returned to his room.
“Carrying coal,” he thought, over and over. “Really, it was very thoughtless in me. I mustn’t forget them any more.”
CHAPTER IV
The desire to flee which Jennie experienced upon seeing the Senator again was attributable to what she considered the disgrace of her position. She was ashamed to think that he, who thought so well of her, should discover her doing so common a thing. Girl-like, she was inclined to imagine that his interest in her depended upon something else than her mere personality.
When she reached home Mrs. Gerhardt had heard of her flight from the other children.
“What was the matter with you, anyhow?” asked George, when she came in.
“Oh, nothing,” she answered, but immediately turned to her mother and said, “Mr. Brander came by and saw us.”
“Oh, did he?” softly exclaimed her mother. “He’s back then. What made you run, though, you foolish girl?”
“Well, I didn’t want him to see me.”
“Well, maybe he didn’t know you, anyhow,” she said, with a certain sympathy for her daughter’s predicament.
“Oh yes, he did, too,” whispered Jennie. “He called after me three or four times.”
Mrs. Gerhardt shook her head.
“What is it?” said Gerhardt, who had been hearing the conversation from the adjoining room, and now came out.