Books: Little Citizens
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Myra Kelly >> Little Citizens
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Three minutes later Morris's dark head reappeared. His air was deeply
confidential. "Teacher, Missis Bailey," he began, "I tells you 'scuse."
"Well, dear, what is it?" asked Miss Bailey with divided interest, as
she adjusted a very large hat with the guidance of a very small
looking-glass. "What do you want?"
Again Morris hesitated. "I guess," he faltered; "I guess you don't
know 'bout Isaac Borrachsohn."
"What has happened to him? Is he hurt?"
"It's his papa. Ain't I told you he's the King of Hester Street und
he's got dancing balls. My mamma und all the ladies on our block they
puts them on stylish und goes on the ball. Und ain't you see how he's
got a stylish mamma mit di'monds on the hair?"
"Yes," admitted Miss Bailey, "I saw the diamonds." Not to have seen
the paste buckle which menaced Mrs. Borrachsohn's left eye would have
been to be blind indeed.
"Und extra, you says you should wash out his mouth," Morris
remonstrated. "I guess, maybe, you fools."
"You'll see," said Miss Bailey blithely. "And now trot along, my dear.
Good afternoon."
Teacher hurried into her jacket and was buttoning her gloves when the
Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl looked timidly in.
"What now?" asked Teacher.
"Well," said Morris, and breathed hard,
"I guess you don't know 'bout Isaac Borrachsohn."
Miss Bailey fell away into helpless laughter. "That would not be your
fault, honey, even if it were true," she said. "But what has he been
doing since I saw you?"
"It's his papa," answered Morris. "His papa's got p'rades."
"He has what?"
"P'rades."
"And are they very bad? I never heard of them."
"You don't know what is p'rades?" cried Morris. "Won't your mamma leave
you see them?"
"What are they?" asked Teacher. "Did you ever see them?"
"Sure I seen p'rades. My papa he takes me in his hand und I stands by
the curb und looks on the p'rade. It goes by night. Comes mans und
comes cops und comes George Wash'ton und comes Ikey Borrachsohn's papa,
mit proud looks--he makes polite bows mit his head on all the peoples,
und comes Teddy Rosenfelt. Und comes cows und more cops und ladies und
el'fints, und comes Captain Dreyfus und Terry McGovern. Und comes mans,
und mans, und mans--a great big all of mans--und they says: 'What's
the matter with Ikey Borrachsohn's papa?'--he ain't got no sickness,
Miss Bailey, on'y it's polite you say like that on p'rades. Und more
mans they says: 'Nothings is mit him. He's all right!' That is what
is p'rades. Ikey's papa's got them, und so you _dassent_ to wash
out his mouth."
"One more bad word," was Teacher's ultimatum; "one more and then I'll
do it."
Miss Bailey's commands were not lightly disregarded, and Patrick Brennan
spent the ensuing week in vain endeavour to reconcile himself to a
condition of things in which he, the first born of the policeman on
the beat, and therefore by right of heredity a person of importance
in the realm, should tamely submit to usurpation and insult on the
part of this mushroom sprig of moneyed aristocracy, this sissy kid in
velvet pants, this long-haired dummy of an Isaac Borrachsohn. Teacher
could not have meant to cut him off from all hope of vengeance. If she
had--then she must be shown that the honour of the house of Brennan
was a thing beyond even her jurisdiction. A Brennan had been insulted
in his person and in his property. Of course, he must have satisfaction.
If Morris could have known that Patrick, of whom he was so fond, was
plotting evil against the heir-apparent to the throne of Hester Street,
he might have persuaded that scion of the royal house of Munster to
stay his hand. But the advice of Patrick pere had always been: "Lay
low until you see a good chanst, an' then sock it to 'em good and
plenty." So Patrick fils bided his time and continued to "make the
mission" with his pious mother.
After his initial speech in his English, so like Miss Bailey's, Isaac
Borrachsohn resumed his cloak of silence and spoke no more of the
language of the land. Even in his own tongue he was far from garrulous.
And yet his prestige continued to increase, his costumes grew ever
more gorgeous, and his slaves--both male and female--daily more
numerous. In reading and in "Memory Gems" his progress was, under the
veil of speechlessness, imperceptible, but in writing and in all the
prescribed branches of Manual Training he acquired a proficiency which
made it impossible to return him to his royal sire. Gradually it was
borne in upon Miss Bailey that she had met her Waterloo--a child who
would have none of her. All her attempts at friendliness were met by
the same stolid silence, the same impersonal regard, until in
desperation, she essayed a small store of German phrases, relics of
her sophomore days. Six faulty sentences, with only the most remote
bearing upon the subject in hand, were more efficacious than volumes
of applied psychology, and the reserve of Isaac Borrachsohn vanished
before the rising conviction that Teacher belonged to his own race.
How otherwise, he demanded, could she speak such beautiful Hebrew?
When Morris translated this tribute to Patrick, a flame of anger and
of hope lit up that Celtic soul. Such an accusation brought against
Miss Bailey, whom he had heard his noble father describe as "one of
ourselves, God bless her!" was bitter to hear, but the Knight of Munster
comforted himself with the conviction that Teacher would no longer
shield the sissy from the retribution he now had doubly earned. But
it should be a retribution fitted to the offender and in proportion
to the offence. Long experience of Jewish playfellows had taught Patrick
a revenge more fiendish than a beating, a ducking, a persecution by
"de gang," or a confiscation of goods and treasures. All of these were
possible and hard to bear, but for Isaac's case something worse was
needed. He should be branded with a cross! Fortune, after weeks of
frowning, was with Patrick on that warm April afternoon. Isaac was
attired in a white linen costume so short of stocking and of
knickerbockers as to exhibit surprising area of fat leg, so fashionable
in its tout ensemble as to cause Isidore Belchatosky to weep aloud,
so spotless as to prompt Miss Bailey to shield it with her own "from
silk" apron when the painting lesson commenced. Patrick Brennan had
obeyed his father's injunction to "lay low" so carefully that Teacher
granted a smiling assent to his plea to be allowed to occupy the place,
which chanced to be empty, immediately behind Isaac's.
On each little desk Miss Bailey, assisted by her whole corps of
monitors, placed a sheet of drawing paper, a little pan containing
India ink dissolved in water, and a fat Japanese paint brush. The class
was delighted, for, with the possible exception of singing, there was
no more popular occupation. Briskly the First Reader Class fell to
work. Carefully they dipped brushes in ink. Bravely they commenced to
draw. Teacher passed from desk to desk encouraging the timid,
restraining the rash.
Patrick dug his brush deep down into his ink, lifted it all wet and
dripping, cast a furtive glance at Teacher's averted head, and set
stealthily to work at the bent and defenceless back of Isaac
Borrachsohn's spotless suit. From shoulder to shoulder he drew a thick
black mark. Then another from straight cropped hair to patent leather
belt. Mrs. Borrachsohn belonged to the school of mothers who believed
in winter underwear until the first of June, and Isaac felt nothing.
But Eva Gonorowsky saw and shuddered, hiding her eyes from the symbol
and the desecration. Patrick glowered at her, filled his brush again,
bent quickly down, and branded the bare and mottled legs of his enemy
with two neatly crossed strokes.
In an instant the room was in an uproar. Patrick, his face and hands
daubed with ink, was executing a triumphant war-dance around Isaac,
who, livid and inarticulate with rage, was alternately struggling for
words and making wondrous Delsartean attempts to see his outraged back.
"I socked it to you good and plenty!" chanted Patrick in shrill victory.
"Look at your back! Look at your leg! It's ink! It won't come off! It
will never come off! Look at your back!"
Miss Bailey clanged the bell, caught Patrick by the waist-line, thrust
him under her desk, fenced him in with a chair, and turned to Isaac
who had only just realized the full horror of his plight. Isidore
Belchatosky and Eva Gonorowsky had torn off the white tunic--thereby
disclosing quantities of red flannel--and exhibited its desecrated
back. And speech, English speech returned to the Prince of Hester
Street. Haltingly at first, but with growing fluency he cursed and
swore and blasphemed; using words of whose existence Teacher had never
heard or known and at whose meaning she could but faintly guess. Eva
began to whimper; Nathan lifted shocked eyes to Teacher; Patrick kicked
away the barricading chair and, still armed with the inky brush, sprang
into the arena, and it was not until five minutes later that gentle
peace settled down on Room 18.
Miss Bailey had received full parental authority from the policeman
on the beat and she felt that the time for its exercise had come.
"Patrick," she commanded. "Position!" And the Leader of the Line stood
forth stripped of his rank and his followers, but not of his dauntless
bearing.
Teacher, with a heavy heart, selected the longest and lightest of her
rulers and the review continued.
"Hips firm!" was the next command, and Patrick's grimy hands sprang
to his hips.
"Trunk forward--bend!" Patrick doubled like a jack-knife and Miss
Bailey did her duty.
When it was over she was more distressed than was her victim. "Patrick,
I'm so sorry this happened," said she. "But you remember that I warned
you that I should whip you if you touched Isaac. Well, you did and I
did. You know--all the children know--that I always keep my word."
"Yiss ma'an," murmured the frightened First Reader Class.
"Always?" asked Patrick.
"Always," said Miss Bailey.
"Then wash out his mouth," said Patrick, pointing to the gloating
Isaac, who promptly ceased from gloating.
"Oh, that reminds me," cried Teacher, "of something I want you to do.
Will you tell Isaac you are sorry for spoiling his new suit?"
"Sure," answered Patrick readily. "Say, Isaac, I'm sorry. Come and git
your mouth washed."
"Well," Miss Bailey temporized, "his clothes are ruined. Don't you
think you could forgive him without the washing?"
"Sure," answered Patrick again. "Ain't it too bad that you can't, too!
But you said it and now you've got to do it. Like you did about me,
you know. Where's the basin? I'll fill it."
Teacher was fairly trapped, but, remembering that Isaac's provocation
had been great, she determined to make the ordeal as bearable as
possible. She sent for some water, selected a piece of appetizing rose
pink soap, a relic of her Christmas store, and called Isaac, who, when
he guessed the portent of all these preliminaries, suffered a shocking
relapse into English. Nerved by this latest exhibition, Miss Bailey
was deaf to the wails of Isaac and unyielding to the prayers and
warnings of Morris and to the frantic sympathy of Eva Gonorowsky.
"Soap ain't fer us," Morris cried. "It ain't fer us. We don't ever
make like you makes mit soap!"
"I noticed that," said Teacher dryly. "I really think you are afraid
of soap and water. When I finish with Isaac you will all see how good
it is for boys and girls to be washed."
"But not in the mouth! Oh, Missis Bailey, soap in the mouth ain't fer
us."
"Nonsense, honey," answered Teacher; "it will only clean his teeth and
help him to remember not to say nasty words." And, all unaware of the
laws of "kosher" and of "traef," the distinctions between clean and
unclean, quite as rigorous as, and much more complicated than, her
own, Constance Bailey washed out the mouth of her royal charge, and,
it being then three o'clock, dismissed her awed subjects and went
serenely home.
On his progress towards the palace of his sire, Isaac Borrachsohn,
with Christian symbols printed large upon his person, alienated nine
loyal Hebrew votes from his father's party and collected a following
of small boys which nearly blocked the narrow streets. The crosses
were bad enough, but when it was made clear that the contamination,
in the form of bright pink soap, had penetrated to the innermost
recesses of the heir of the Barrachsohns, the aunts, in frozen horror,
turned for succour and advice to the Rabbi. But he could only confirm
their worst fears. "Soap," said he, "is from the fat of pigs. Our boy
is defiled. To-morrow he must be purified at the synagogue. I told you
it was a Christian school."
Then did the Assemblyman quail before the reproach of his women. Then
did he bite his nails in indecision and remorse and swear to be revenged
upon the woman who had dared so to pollute his son. Then did Isaac
weep continuously, noisily, but ineffectually for, on the morrow, to
the synagogue he went.
Miss Bailey, when she saw that he was absent, was mildly
self-reproachful and uneasy. If she could have known of the long and
complicated rites and services which she had brought upon the boy who
had been entrusted to her to be kept happy and out of mischief, she
might not have listened so serenely to the janitor's announcement two
days later.
"Borrachsohn and a whole push of women, and an old bird with a beard,
are waitin' for you in the boys' yard," he whispered with great
_empressement_. "I sent them there," he explained, "because they
wouldn't fit anywhere else. There's about a hundred of them."
Mr. Borrachsohn's opening remark showed that the force of Isaac's speech
was hereditary. "Are you the --- --- young woman who's been playing
such fool tricks with my son? You'll wish you minded your own ---
business before I get through with you."
The belligerent attitude was reflected by the phalanx of female
relatives, whose red roses waved in defiance now, as they had nodded
in amity a few short weeks before. For an instant Teacher did not grasp
the full meaning of Mr. Borrachsohn's greeting. Then suddenly she
realized that this man, this trafficker in the blood and the honour
of his people, had dared to swear at her, Constance Bailey. When her
eyes met those of the Assemblyman he started slightly, and placed Isaac
between him and this alarming young person who seemed not at all to
realize that he could "break her" with a word.
"Is this your child?" she demanded. And he found himself answering
meekly:
"Yes ma'an."
"Then take him away," she commanded. "He is not fit to be with decent
children. I refuse to teach him."
"You can't refuse," said Mr. Borrachsohn. "It is the law--"
[Illustration: "YOU'LL WISH YOU MINDED YOUR OWN --- BUSINESS BEFORE
I GET THROUGH WITH YOU"]
[Illustration: Morris Mogilewsky]
"Law!" repeated Teacher. "What is the law to you?" She was an open-eyed
young person; she had spent some months in Mr. Borrachsohn's district;
she had a nasty energy of phrase; and the King of Hester Street has
never translated the ensuing remarks to the wife of his bosom nor to
the gentle-eyed old Rabbi who watched, greatly puzzled by his ideal
of a Christian persecutor and this very different reality. Gradually
the relatives saw that the accuser had become the accused, but they
were hardly prepared to see him supplicating and even unsuccessfully.
"No, I won't take him. I tell you his language is awful. I can't let
the other children hear him."
"But I shall see that he swears no more. We taught him for a joke.
I'll stop him."
"I'm afraid you can't."
"Well, you try him. Try him for two weeks. He is a good boy; he will
swear no more."
"Very well," was Teacher's ungracious acquiescence; "I shall try him
again. And if he should swear--"
"You will not wash out his mouth--"
"I shall, and this time I shall use hot water and sapolio and washing
soda."
Mr. Borrachsohn smiled blandly and turned to explain this dictum to
his clan. And the dazed Miss Bailey saw the anger and antagonism die
out of the faces before her and the roses above them, heard Mr.
Borrachsohn's gentle, "We would be much obliged if you will so much
accommodate us," saw the Rabbi lift grateful eyes to the ceiling and
clasp his hands, saw Mrs. Borrachsohn brush away a tear of joy, and
felt Isaac's soft and damp little palm placed within her own by the
hand of his royal sire, saw the jetted capes, the flounced skirts, and
befeathered hats follow the blue and brass buttons of the janitor, the
broadcloth of the Assemblyman and the alpaca of the Rabbi, heard the
door close with a triumphant bang, saw the beaming face of the returning
janitor, and heard his speech of congratulation:
"I heard it all; I was afraid to leave you alone with them. Will you
excuse me, Miss Bailey, if I just pass the remark that you're a living
wonder?"
Still densely puzzled and pondering as to whether she could hope ever
to understand these people, she sought the Principal and told him the
whole story. "And now why," she asked, "did he make such a fuss about
the washing only to yield without a struggle at the end?"
The Principal laughed. "You are mistaken," said he. "Mr. Borrachsohn
gained his point and you most gracefully capitulated."
"I," cried Teacher; "I yield to that horrid man! Never! I said I should
use soda and sapolio--"
"Precisely," the Principal acquiesced. "And both soda and sapolio are
kosher--lawful, clean. Miss Bailey, oh, Miss Bailey, you can never
be haughty and lofty again, for you met 'that horrid man' in open battle
and went weakly down before him."
THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE
Isaac Borrachsohn, that son of potentates and of Assemblymen, had been
taken to Central Park by a proud uncle. For weeks thereafter he was
the favourite bard of the First Reader Class and an exceeding great
trouble to its sovereign, Miss Bailey, who found him now as garrulous
as he had once been silent. There was no subject in the Course of Study
to which he could not correlate the wonders of his journey, and Teacher
asked herself daily and in vain whether it were more pedagogically
correct to encourage "spontaneous self-expression" or to insist upon
"logically essential sequence."
But the other members of the class suffered no such uncertainty. They
voted solidly for spontaneity in a self which found expression thus:
"Und in the Central Park stands a water-lake, und in the water-lake
stands birds--a big all of birds--und fishes. Und sooner you likes you
should come over the water-lake you calls a bird, und you sets on the
bird, und the bird makes go his legs, und you comes over the
water-lake."
"They could to be awful polite birds," Eva Gonorowsky was beginning
when Morris interrupted with:
"I had once a auntie und she had a bird, a awful polite bird; on'y
sooner somebody calls him he _couldn't_ to come the while he sets
in a cage."
"Did he have a rubber neck?" Isaac inquired, and Morris reluctantly
admitted that he had not been so blessed.
"In the Central Park," Isaac went on, "all the birds is got rubber
necks."
"What colour from birds be they?" asked Eva.
"All colours. Blue und white und red und yellow."
"Und green," Patrick Brennan interjected determinedly. "The green ones
is the best."
"Did you go once?" asked Isaac, slightly disconcerted.
"Naw, but I know. Me big brother told me."
"They could to be stylish birds, too," said Eva wistfully. "Stylish
und polite. From red und green birds is awful stylish for hats."
"But these birds is big. Awful big! Mans could to ride on 'em und
ladies und boys."
"Und little girls, Ikey? Ain't they fer little girls?" asked the only
little girl in the group. And a very small girl she was, with a softly
gentle voice and darkly gentle eyes fixed pleadingly now upon the bard.
"Yes," answered Isaac grudgingly; "sooner they sets by somebody's side
little girls could to go. But sooner nobody holds them by the hand
they could to have fraids over the rubber-neck-boat-birds und the
water-lake, und the fishes."
"What kind from fishes?" demanded Morris Mogilewsky, Monitor of Miss
Bailey's Gold-Fish Bowl, with professional interest.
"From gold fishes und red fishes und black fishes"--Patrick stirred
uneasily and Isaac remembered--"und green fishes; the green ones is
the biggest; und blue fishes und _all_ kinds from fishes. They lives way
down in the water the while they have fraids over the rubber-neck-boat-
birds. Say, what you think? Sooner a rubber-neck-boat-bird needs he
should eat he longs down his neck und eats a from gold fish."
"'Out fryin'?" asks Eva, with an incredulous shudder.
"Yes, 'out fryin'. Ain't I told you little girls could to have fraids
over 'em? Boys could to have fraids too," cried Isaac; and then spurred
on by the calm of his rival, he added: "The rubber-neck-boat-birds
they hollers somethin' fierce."
"I wouldn't be afraid of them. Me pop's a cop," cried Patrick stoutly.
"I'd just as lief set on 'em. I'd like to."
"Ah, but you ain't seen 'em, und you ain't heard 'em holler," Isaac
retorted.
"Well, I'm goin' to. An' I'm goin' to see the lions an' the tigers an'
the el'phants, an' I'm goin' to ride on the water-lake."
"Oh, how I likes I should go too!" Eva broke out. O-o-oh, _how_ I likes
I should look on them things! On'y I don't know do I need a ride on
somethings what hollers. I don't know be they fer me."
"Well, I'll take ye with me if your mother leaves you go," said Patrick
grandly. "An' ye can hold me hand if ye're scared."
"Me too?" implored Morris. "Oh, Patrick, c'n I go too?"
"I guess so," answered the Leader of the Line graciously. But he turned
a deaf ear to Isaac Borrachsohn's implorings to be allowed to join the
party. Full well did Patrick know of the grandeur of Isaac's holiday
attire and the impressionable nature of Eva's soul, and gravely did
he fear that his own Sunday finery, albeit fashioned from the blue
cloth and brass buttons of his sire, might be outshone.
At Eva's earnest request, Sadie, her cousin, was invited, and Morris
suggested that the Monitor of the Window Boxes should not be slighted
by his colleagues of the goldfish and the line. So Nathan Spiderwitz
was raised to Alpine heights of anticipation by visions of a window
box "as big as blocks and streets," where every plant, in contrast to
his lanky charges, bore innumerable blossoms. Ignatius Aloysius
Diamantstein was unanimously nominated a member of the expedition; by
Patrick, because they were neighbours at St. Mary's Sunday-school; by
Morris, because they were classmates under the same Rabbi at the
synagogue; by Nathan, because Ignatius Aloysius was a member of the
"Clinton Street gang"; by Sadie, because he had "long pants sailor
suit"; by Eva, because the others wanted him.
Eva reached home that afternoon tingling with anticipation and
uncertainty. What if her mother, with one short word, should close
forever the gates of joy and boat-birds? But Mrs. Gonorowsky met her
small daughter's elaborate plea with the simple question:
"Who pays you the car-fare?"
"Does it need car-fare to go?" faltered Eva.
"Sure does it," answered her mother. "I don't know how much, but some
it needs. Who pays it?"
"Patrick ain't said."
"Well, you should better ask him," Mrs. Gonorowsky advised, and, on
the next morning, Eva did. She thereby buried the leader under the
ruins of his fallen castle of clouds, but he struggled through them
with the suggestion that each of his guests should be her, or his, own
banker.
"But ain't you got _no_ money 't all?" asked the guest of honour.
"Not a cent," responded the host. "But I'll get it. How much have you?"
"A penny. How much do I need?"
"I don't know. Let's ask Miss Bailey."
School had not yet formally begun and Teacher was reading. She was
hardly disturbed when the children drove sharp elbows into her shoulder
and her lap, and she answered Eva's--"Missis Bailey--oh, Missis Bailey,"
with an abstracted--"Well dear?"
"Missis Bailey, how much money takes car-fare to the Central Park?"
Still with divided attention, Teacher replied--"Five cents, honey,"
and read on, while Patrick called a meeting of his forces and made
embarrassing explanations with admirable tact.
There ensued weeks of struggle and economy for the exploring party,
to which had been added a chaperon in the large and reassuring person
of Becky Zalmonowsky, the class idiot. Sadie Gonorowsky's careful
mother had considered Patrick too immature to bear the whole
responsibility, and he, with a guile which promised well for his future,
had complied with her desires and preserved his own authority unshaken.
For Becky, poor child, though twelve years old and of an aspect
eminently calculated to inspire trust in those who had never heldspeech
with her, was a member of the First Reader Class only until
such time as room could be found for her in some of the institutions
where such unfortunates are bestowed.
Slowly and in diverse ways each of the children acquired the essential
nickel. Some begged, some stole, some gambled, some bartered, some
earned, but their greatest source of income, Miss Bailey, was denied
to them. For Patrick knew that she would have insisted upon some really
efficient guardian from a higher class, and he announced with much
heat that he would not go at all under those circumstances.
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