Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 111: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 The old man sat down opposite the _ Jad at the table and began to munch the cakes. He ate greedily as though he were half starved. He was devouring a sixth cake when the boy spoke to him. “T ain't Had so many cakes, all at once that is, simce last Christmas. Seems kinder like Christmas any way, don’t it? ‘Specially to have so many . cakes all at once.” He looked up into the old peddler’s face as though expect- ing a reply. “ ’Tain’t though, is it?” he asked doubtfully; “ ’tain’t Christ- mas, | mean? Cause Aunty McGinn ain’t said nothin’ about it to me and she usually don’t forget Christmas fer us fellers as hasn’t any home much.” The old peddier started. It might have been that he had been dreaming and awoke suddenly, or that the cakes had made him sick. He leaned across the table and stared at the boy almost wildly. “What did you say?” he asked loudly, excitedly. "At Aunty McGinn usually remem- bered Christmas fer us fellers. “S’pose you know who Aunty McGinn is, don't you? Everybody knows her. Mostly we call her just “ Aunty ’ except when we wants to be werry polite and then we says Mrs. Jerry McGinn. Really don’t you know her, old man?” the boy asked again. But the old man shook his head and looked vacantly up into the flickering electric rays that came in at the broken window. “Well, you just ought to know her,” the boy went on, enlivened now with a spirit of loyalty to the “aunty ”’ who remembered all the “ fellers ” at Christ- mas; “ she’s just like a mother to us all that never had no mothers to speak of; and if you ever wanted any sewin’ done she’d do it for you in a minute, willin’. She sewed the patch under my arm to keep the crutch from wearin’ when I came from the hosprtal; and things to eat! Why, say, you just ought to take a real dinner with her THE ARGOSY. some time. I don’t know how much I owes her for cookies. She says ‘ Oh, you pays when you gets to be a million heir.” I think ’”’—and the lame boy hesitated as he said the words and a tremble came into his voice—“ she kind of likes me somehow, ‘cause she tole me once she used to have a little lame boy herself—and he died.” For a minute all was very still in the attic. The man and the boy both looked down and neither spoke. Grad- ually there crept into the stillness of the room the sound of sobbing and at it the lame boy looked up. The old man’s head had dropped over on his arms, spread out upon the table. He was crying. “ What’s the matter, old: man?” the bey whispered. - . ‘There was no answer. The lad got up and crept around the table and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. } ‘“What’s the matter, old man?” he asked again, tenderly. still there was no answer; only the sound of the old man’s sobbing. But pretty soon the old peddler commenced to mutter to himself. The boy stood by wondering what had come over him. “Jane, Jane, Jane,” he heard him say, “the cookies and the sewin’ and the lame boy; it’s Jane, it’s Jane; I know rt’s Jane; it’s like her—like her.” The boy tried to raise the old man’s head, but it fell back on his arm on the table. “Don’t you feel well?” the lad asked. “Il run fer Aunty McGinn; she'll fix you; she’ll come sure if you're sick; she always comes to sick peo- ples,” and catching up his crutch the boy hobbled down the stairway into the street. The old man was left alone. He was unconscious that the boy had gone. When he ceased to mutter he raised his head and looked about him. “} must have been dreaming again,” he said to himself; but no; for there was the paper bag belore aE n SS) eo