The Oregon daily journal., October 21, 1917, Page 49, Image 49

Motei
1
Night
By RUTH SAWYER
Illustrated by M. D. Smith
One stone may change the coarse of a
stream ;
One word may break a nation's strife;
One day, with its sum of work and
dream,
May make or unmake a human life.
T
test
Mmm
Jill
HE Runt wriggled
himself farther Into
the A. D. T. bench
and blew on his fin
gers. For days he
had battled with
the cold wind, with
lonelinet. and with
fear; and now they
had turned upon
Mm like a triple-headed monster, before
hlc h his fighting spirit was as chaff.
The wind took him first. It shriveled
his already small body Into such small
ness that he was obliged to search for it.
w'th many wriggles. Inside his blue uni
form. His fingers and toes ached. He
Mopped blowing, drew his fingers insido
the sleeves of his coat and closed his
eyes. There was "old in Ireland aye.
plenty of It. but there was always the
plow of a peat fire, somewhere, to
soften it.
Odorous whiffs of cpffee and fried
rake from the Boston Lunch, next door,
unkindly reminded him that his stomach
was empty Then loneliness took him a
loneliness which seemed to tear at the
ver' heart of him.
There was hunger In Ireland, too bit
ter hunger - but it always had company.
Those that had stirabout shared with
thi iha had none: and there were
rridrflebread and tea to be had. some
where, for the asking. loneliness, some
time, snt on your donrslll. or vour neigh
but It never reached the hearth
Ki1: nd there was always room at
no'" benrthslde. even for a stranger.
Put In this promised land it was dif
ferent. There seemed to be no room for
stranger, save In bad company, and one
was denied the touch of a creature one
nuld h11 one's own. Why. In Trelnnd.
ver. the sorriest vagabond had a dog to
xhrre his dole of food and heap of sacks!
T"-ere was a strangely alien quality
p-hrMt tM country that still troubled the
Unit after two years of residence. He
v.-ondered if the Blessed Vlrgl'i ever saw
beyond the altar railing of the rhurches
here. In Ireland, he knew, she walked
the hills, guarding th cabins all
about'
The Hunt shuddered, for fear had
taken him, laying cold, tight fingers on
I. is heart. How could a lad keep from
the friendliness of bad company in a
lund where the respectable and the law
0 biding saw in him something undersized
ond ill conditioned, to be distrusted or
iirnored? Only that Father O'Donnelly
.ad known his peoplt in the home land.
unU stood sponsor for him, he never
would have been taken into the rigid
anus of "the service.'
Kvil had first'housed him and fed him. .
he slept under her rooftree now; and he
Knew that It would be but a matter of
weeks- of days, perhaps before she
would claim him and drag him on, on to
that bottomless gulf which he had been
told awaited all sinners. He could see
th gulf already, stretching black and
yawning before him. He could feel his
teet slipping over the crumb.'ing edge of
it; while Kvil. with her wheedling voice,
drove him relentlessly forwara.
Aye. he could feel her towering above
him her face like some horrible ghoul.
Her hands were on his shoulders bow,
pushing him down, down
No. 107, do you 'hear? Wake upl
Wake up!" .
The office clerk as bending over him
and shaking him back to consciousness
with no gentle hand.
"What do ye want?" he demanded
sleepily. . ,
"What do I want?" roared the clerk.
Take this call, and beat it!"
The Runt pulled himself out of the
A. D. T. bench and shuffled toward the
door. ,
"Look here!" called the clerk after
him. "You make good time on. that call,
understand? You haven't be6n Johriny
on -the-Job lately, and It won't take much
to fire you. Now hustle!"
The Runt scarcely heard; he was too
busy dreading the wind outride. As he
pulled the door open it rushed In between
the buttons of his coat, up his sleeves
and down his collar and set him shiver- ,
lug and shriveling anew. He beat his
chest with both flats, as if he were fight
ing a live thing.
"Even the wind is cruder hereabout!"
he muttered.
Then he et his steps toward the call.
His whole being rebelled against the
dullness of those calls. If only some
thing besides letters and packages, curt
admissions and curter dismissals, ever
greeted him! He was tired of being told
to hustle: no one ever hustled in Ireland.
But in this promised land you ran here
end you ran there all day long, and some
body always said 'Faster!"
For the last fortnight the Runt had
wished that each call had been his last.
Now suppose this call was the last: sup
pose he went back, threw' his uniform
into the face ot "the service" and' told
them all to go to thunder! Afterward he
would go and Join the gang. ,
There was much good In the gang.
Their ways might be evil, but their
hearts were Wind; and they had spoken
truly there was no chance for the small
and the vagabond In this country. Didn't
he the Runt know?
If everything prospered, as Red Dave
had sworn it would, he would make Ms
rile and go back to Ireland. He would
buy a bit of land on the side of Binn Ban
antl build the grandest thatched" cottage
in the whole countryside. He would have
geese and ganders a plenty, sheep in the
pastures and pigs in the byre. And foi
company there would be a dog.
He ran up the steps of the house
whence the call had come and rang the
bell.
Aye, it would be a dog like the one
Peter, the tailor, had a terrier.
The door opened. In the hall stood a
man, evidently waiting Tor the messen
ger; and in a near corner1 shivered a
small, wire-haired Irish terrier. The
rran picked the terrier up.
"You are to take him to the address
on his collar. He's a. valuable dog, so
look after him. The doctor who has
bought him pays the charges at the other
end. Now hustle!"
II.
A S ONE in a dream, who sees what
his heart most desires at last within
reach, and fears he may awaken before
he gets it. the Runt jumped over the
doormat and gathered the .terrier hun
grily in his arms. The man misunder
stood; and the inevitable distrust that,
followed the Runt like his very shadow
fell again across his path.
"look here!" The man eyed him with '
kindling suspicion. "Don't you try steal
ing that dog! I am going to call up the
doctor the minute you leave, and if you
don't get that dog down to him in half an
hour he will have the whole New York
police force after you!"
"I'm no thief yet!" retorted the Runt
angrily; and he ran down the steps.
At the comer of the street he-stopped
to read the address on the collar. The
clog still shivered. ?
"Ye poor wee wan. ye've got the feel
in', too! An' ye look about as thin in
your coat and pants as I'm feelin' in
mine!" A sudden idea brought a laugh
t his lips. "Faith. ye'll fit in where I've
shrunk an 'twill keep ye warmer!"
Th. Runt unhuttr-ned his blue coat
and tucked the dog insidef It might have
been the touch of the warm little body
apainst his own. or it might have been
the friendly lick that the dog gnve his
cold fingers: hilt something wrought the
bond of comradeship on the spot and
welded it. strong, between these two.
The next moment the Runt was claspl
ing his arms closely about the buttoned
in terrier, while his eyes were shining
with the first'.ioy he had known since his
feet had trod the ways of the. stronger.
"He'd be n friend worth havin'," he
muttered. "Say. would ye like to be a
pal o' mine?"
The terrier reached out from between
the button? and gave the lad's hand an
other lick.
"Sure;, I'm gettin' me dawg nfore T'-e
built me cabin! Ye'd like Ireland first
Faith, if I close me eyes I could put me
hand down this minute cm the patch of
cotton-grass where Dan Hegarty an' me
used for to be studyin'. our books of an
afthernoon, afther school!"
The terrier believed him; but the po-v
liceman op the last street bounding the
wharves evidently did not, for he jerked
the Runt back from the patch of cotton
grass with a heavy hand.
"What are you doing with that dog?"
For a second the Runt was fright
ened; then he laughed.
"Say, ye needn't get hot on your job
till ye catch mew1th a dawg that's got a
pedigree furninst. Anywan to look at
him would know that he hadn t any bet
ther blood in him than I've got meself.
Him an' me is pals, that's what!"
"You're not much on looks, either of
you, that's sure," agreed the policeman;
and the Runt passed safely from under
the eye of the law.
"I might have lost ye." he whispered
into the terrier's one visible ear. "I'm
thinkin' we'd be safer undther cover."
It was while the two were climbing
the rickety stairs to the "garret where the
Runt had one of five bundles of sacks un
der an uncertain roof that the realization
' came to him with bewildering force of
whither his boldness was leading him.
The shock fastened his feet to the land
ing and left him clutching .t the banis
ters. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" he gasped, over and
over again. "The gang has got a hold of
me now, I'm thinkin', for the service'll
fire me, sure!"
It might not be too late to go back.
He might somehow explain the delay and
ward off the doctor's complaint and the
wrath of "the service." But the dull
monotony of it all came rushing in on
him, along with the loneliness, and it
only made him hug the terrier closer and
say fiercely:
"No, no, I'll not be givin' ye up for the
service nor nothin else not till the day's
gone!"
Once in the garret, he tossed his hat
to a corner, unbuttoned his coat for the
terrier's exit; and together they curled
up on th Runt's particular heap of
sacks. They drew an old quilt over
them. It was biting cold; the one bleary
eyed window was thick with frost, and
the Runt's breath showed visibly against
the light that straggled through.
Everything was very quiet. This par
ticular rooftree sheltered souls with
questionable occupations, whose business
it was to be quiet; and, though people
came and went continuously, not a foot
fall was heard on the rickety stairs. The
gang that rented the garret was away ov
of his hands together with great unction
and chuckled:
"Veil, you shall see leetle filings vill
vare avay ze t'ickest bar; und he vaa
bending!"
It wifs a marvel to them that the
breaking had not come sooner; but they
enly liked him the better for it.
Perhaps they would have marveled
more had they known that the strength
of his resistance lay in a string of old
brown beads hid in one of the myriad
creases of the sacking bed. After the
gang was especially successful, or more
than usually kind, and the Runt felt his
feet turning from the lonely straight road
to the broad and pleasant way of the sin
ner, then would his fingers steal into the
creases until they "found the beads.
Stealthily, under cover of the quilt, he
would tell the rosary over and over, un
til he fell asleep to dream himself back
on the hills tot Ireland, where the Virgin
walked.
The terrier pawed his coat for atten
tion, and the Runt reached over with a
cold finger and scratched his ear.
"I'd never have dared bring ye here if
the gang had been layin' off. No know
jn' what they might take the notion to do
seein' ye are a valuable dawg." A look
of sharp regret swept into his face. "If
ye could only have been a vagabone
dawg, now, I might have kept ye; but
keepm's stealin', an I couldn't be "
The Runt broke off abruptly. Aye, he
could that was just what he was going
to do. He was going to take the road
that held no loneliness and steal as much
and as fast as he could, to bring the day
nearer when the land could be bought
and the cabin built, with ganders and
pigs to furnish it.
For a single moment the Runt's mind
balanced the morals of it; and then, with
a masterly hand, as one who is fully ca
pable of molding his own fate against all
odds, he swept -morala aside and buried
himself in his dream. He drew the wrig-
see! We's sorry, but we needs your
shakedown for de kid, and youse got ter
squeal now. Is it stay or quit?"
The Runt swallowed hard, once twice
three times. It seemed as if straws
and stones stuck in his throat.
"Ye couldn't wait till the pain left me,
could ye? .A lad thinks muddylike when
he's sick-. I'll squeal the night."
Another upheaval shook the quilt. '
"Took bad, ain'tcher?"
Red Dave was sympathetic. The Runt"
turned over and groaned.
i $m SwJ3 Mr 4 iff
' til s i tv i?tV
4
JPfe fr " fI itff "
lw---' -;v ft-Sfe- wi'r:W lit! I I !
WJ&&&8$& Mat" ' ' v-fF Wiim 'M li M1 J J
WMm yiM" tit! - r Sftlitfl
"Irish doctor Irish dog it ought
to be an Irish lad! Will you come?"
rate, wee wan," he assured the terrier.
The terrier blinked his approval, and
the two hurried on. Cold, loneliness and
fiar crossed the street and passed from
sight, while boldness and viilainy took
their places. On the street where the
doctor lived they mastered the Runt;
and, showing how strong was the bond
between these two, he let the terrier
know of it it ance.
"Ye are not goin' to where ye are
sent, at all," he whispered breathlessly.
"I'm keepin' ye for the day."
To confirm it he turned about and
started forthe East Side wharves. The
Runt had forgotten the yawning gulf and
the ghoulish face" of Evil as well. In
stead, he looked down into the friendly
eyes of a small. Irish terrier.
Suddenly the day grew warmer: the
1 sun shone brightly overhead, and the
Runt, looking up. spied a welcome strip
of blue in the sky.
"Do ye see that?" he asked, tilting the'
terrier's head up. "Well, if ye think
that's blue, what "will Jye say to the sky
back o' Binn Ban?"
It was too, muc'i for the terrier. He
gave it up and snuggled his nose into the
Runt's hand.
"Ye wee bit of a creathure' 111 be let
tin' ye chase the gandthers over yond
ther if ye'll not gc at' them too hearty.
Now. would ye be buyin' the land that's
south o' the slope, or the bit furninst the
be gland, lyin toward the sea?"
The two years' of strangerdom had
slipped from him: he was back in his
home land, tramping the hills again. The
freshness of the memories surprised even
himself. ' " '
"I mind It all do ye hear, wee wan?
I mind it all as if it were yestherday.
an outrOf-town "spiel," and the Runt
knew that the place would be his until
the next day.
He had been kept awake most of the
night before listening to their wrangles
over the plans. In fact, he could have
given a fairly accurate account of the'
whole deal had he wished. It was strange
that, whereas the world, as he met it
through "the service" and the law, dis
trusted him these crooks trusted him im
plicitly. They talked as openly before
him as if he had been one of them.
The only time a leash was ever on
their tongues was when a "spiel" took an
unsavory turn and one of them got
pinched. This had happened twice'; and
they had had to tell a story of the form
ing of a new gang, with a prospect of
bigger- game, so that the Runt would
never know that "Mealy" and "J. P." had.
gone to serve their time in Sing Sing.
They wanted him to join them, and they
wished to dazzle his eyes with only the
glittering side "of each- adventure. No
wonder tales of his own country were
more enthralling than, the ones Red Dave
told him as he sat cross-legged, night
after night, on his pile of sacks, listen
ing. And as ;he drank in each thrilling
detail the gang would observe, and nod
their heads with approval.
"That'll fetch him see ' if it don't!"
Red Dave had said a hundred-times. But
the Runt had rolled oft to sleep without
even voicing a desire to join and in the
morning he had vakened to turn his face
resolutely toward the A. D. T. bench and
the drudgery of the calls.
Still the gang trusted and hoped.
. "He'll make a peach of a stall, with
that way of his, once we get bim!
And Little Jake had rubhed the palms
gling terrier closer and raised himself on
one elbow.
"We'll have a red rosebush twinin'
-outside they never be havin' anythin
growin' on the houses in this hurryin"
counthry an' there'll be a fuchsia as
high as a lamp post -furninst the front
door. We'll have praties and stirabout
for yer dinner, wee wan. and a bone
twicet the week. There'll be corn for the
gandthers, an' scrapin's for the pigs, an'
a meadow full o' sheep. Wait till ye see
wan market day in Donegal, an ye'll be
proud ye was born an Irish terrier!"
IIL
THE door slid noiselessly open and a
man slouched m. With a jerk the
Kunt pulled the quilt over hi taee, but
no was not quick enough. Red Dave had
seen him.
"Whatcher doin'?" .
"Faith, I'm wriin'" poetry can't ye
see?" '
The Runt laughed, while fear gripped
at his heart. He waSj praying with all
his might that the terrier would only lie
. quiet.
"Sick?" "
"Aye, a slipiel In me midst ' , .
Red Dave walked over to him and
stood . locking down at the squirming
quilt.
"Youse must have it bad' Won't do
pain letcher be?"
"No, it's heavio me. Just. What
fetched ye back?" .
"Dago Pete's ganc took a place up de
river las' night, and.it queered de job fer
us. Coppers round thicker'n thieves.
Say, Runt, we've got ter have a kid in"d
gang, an if youse won't pull, it's qtaits
"The pain's . took me furninst m
shirt," he wailed, "an' it's mortial bad!
If ye'll let me be, I'll squeal the night."
"Sure!"
Red Dave opened the door and went
out. The Runt waited until he had given
him time to reach the street: then he
threw back the quilt and buttoned the
squirming terrier back io his coat again.
"Faith, ye are the liveliest pain a lad
ever had! We'll have to thramp out o'
here quick, wee wan, or the whole gangll
be down on us!"
lie picked up his hat then stopped.
Aye. it would be better to leave his an
swer to Red Dave behind him. Taking a
call-book and a stub of a. pencil from his
pocket, he wrote laboriously by the light
of the bleary-eyed window:
Its a pull so dont get no kid the runt.
This he folded and fastened to the
window sash.
"It's no use thryin to keep your feet
dthry or clean if ye've got fer to cross a
bog." he muttered to the terrier as they
went down the rickety stairs.
Back in the streets, the Rant vshook
his flt nt the huddled houses, the towers
of.r off, and the elevated trains as they
roared by him. -j '
"I hate ye I hate all of ye!f The ac
cumulated fierceness of two years spoke,
"I'm wantin' Vhe green hiUs-th green
hills an' the moorlan's back aain!" He
htTgged the terrier clo-er. "If 1 could
only be keejxrT ye. wee wan, Just ye!"
They rfed an eatine-house, and
again the smelt of hot coffeoj reminded
him that he had not eaten since the night
before. He had saved what remained of
his small wages for a noon tneal; and
Veil, what
ttl4 these
then, in the rapture of comradeship, he
had forgotten.
'I'll have a sup now," he said; and
then he remembered the terrier. "The
divil take me for keepin' ye by me all
day an' feedin' ye on nothin' but blar
ney!" He dug deep into his trousers
pocket and brought lit a dime and three .
coppers. . "A nickel for fare; that leaves
8 cents for scraps for ye, wee wan.
They'll keep yer stomach trom tumblin'
in entirely afore ye get there "
- In they went, bought the scraps, and
brought them away in a greasy paper
bag hot and savory.
"I could eat them meself," said the
Runt hungrily.
Halfway up the street an alley caught
his eye. It was dark, sheltered f- n the
wind, and passers-by would tmt " .Hturb
them. The Runt made for It. inding
an empty ash can, he turned it over and
sat down. It was their last hour togeth
er; the Runt realised It and fed the
scraps slowly to the terrier that the
time might be lengthened.
"Have manners, and don't y. be grab
bin'! Faith, they'll think ye've been
keepin' bad company this day!"
A great lump rose In his throat; his
eyes smarted. Was it always so? Did
one look Into heaven only by glimpses,
and then from afar off? For want of
something better to say, he repeated the
eld cry:
"If I could oniy be keepin' ye?"
An hour later a shriveled messenger
boy, with a small Irish terrier, stood on,
the hearth rug of the doctor's office,
while -thefdoctor. large and angry, glow
ered down on them hoth.
"You have been exactly nino hours
and thirty-eight minutes delivering that
4cg! What do you mean by it?"
What he did mean was uncertain In
the Runt's own mind, so he held his
tongue and watched with hungry eyes
the burning coals in the grate.
"You prrrtmbly meant to steal that
- dog, but your Kj-it failed you at the last
by Jove!" The uoctor reached over
quickly for the terri!i and taking him
to the light looked him carefully over.
"H-m that's the dog, all right;" and he
dropped him upon the rug. "Well
are you waiting for? I act'
charges with the company direct. You
don't suppose they would trust you now,
do you 7"
The Runt did not stir; somehow he
could not.
"Why don't you go?" The doctor was
impatient. "Of course you know you will
be fired for this?"
"Aye, I know." The Runt spoke
dully. He tried to go. but the warmth
and the glow of the fire held him.- He
smiled foolishly at the doctor. "It's
warm," he tried to explain "It's the
first I've seeij o' burnin' peat since I come
over." . f
Something1 about the Runt called out
to the doctor and stopped him from giv
ing the rad a forcible dismissal.
"Irish?" he queried, instead.
"Aye Donegal."
"People?"
"Dead."
"Who are ye living with?"
"Meself, sure." Was the doctor trying
to find out about the gang, tha Runt
wondered? -
"How did you get Into this country
alone? Who signed the papers for you
w'hen you went into the service?"
"Father O'Donnelly him that died '
last year."
"Got any friends?"
The' Runt did not hear; the terrier was
acratchlng at him with an urgent, insis
tent call. He must go the doctor bad
told him twice.
"Ye stay here an' mind the hearth?"
he said, patting the dog by way of con
solationjp "Maybe maybe he'll be givin'
ye praties and stirabout for dinner. 1
I'm leavin' ye, just." -
He turned on his heel, byt the doctor's
hand stopped him. '
"Got any friends?"
In spite of his resolution the Runt
turned back and his eyes sought the ter
rier's black ones. The foolish smile came
again. '
"Ayci wan."
"Irish, too?" The doctor was known
by his friends as one of the best diagnos
ticians in the country.'
"Ye bet!" The Runt looked up and
chuckled.
"Want another?"
This time the Runt did not under
stand, and the doctor came closer.
""See here, lad, was bom In Ireland
n:yself. Pretty lonely when you first
came over?" s
"Mortial!" agreed the Runt. .
"Makes you think long for the moor
land, sometimes and the free winds
sweeping the hills, doesn't it?"
"Aye, the green hills an' the rose
bushes climbin' the cabin I've been tell
In' him about it." And forgetful of
everything else, the Runt stooped and
gathered the terrier In his arms again.
"Do you know," said the doctor. "I
need a lad to look after mo and the dog.
Irish doctorIrish dog it ought to be an
Irish lad! Will you come?"
tv.
THAT, night the Runt lay flat on his
stomach by the bleary-eyed window,
writing-' another note. This one ran:
ye' can get the other kid im havin
a steady lob with a dog-- yours,
p macgarvy.
p. a.ye was kind to me nay the
luck rise with ye. .
This was also put in the window sash.
Then the Hunt went over and searched in
the creases erf the sacking-bed until his
fingers clo.ed over a string, of old brown
beads. With these In hii pocket ho went
whistling down the rickety stairs.
Very close did the hills seem, where
the Virgin walked, guarding the cabin
all about. ' " -