Pippin; A Wandering Flame

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

  CHAPTER XI

  THE CHAPLAIN READS HIS MAIL

  The chaplain was sorting his morning mail. He did it deftly and quickly,opening (with a thin-bladed paper knife; no ripping or tearing withhasty fingers), glancing over, destroying, filing, or laying in the"Answer immediately" pile. All this with his swift, careful fingers andhalf of his careful mind; the other half was busy over problems.Problems of Tom, of Dick, of Harry; problems mental, moral, physical. Ifhe could only keep them apart, how much simpler it would be! But thethree _would_ run together, act and react one upon the other. One of histrusties was "wobbling," the guard told him; growing surly, careless,shirking his work here and there, getting up steam, Wilson the guardopined; liable to turn ugly any minute. What had happened? Well, hethought his egg had been smaller than the rest, last egg day; he'd beenchewing the rag ever since. The chaplain sighed. What children theywere!

  He ran his eyes over a letter. It was from a prisoner's wife, begging toknow how Nate was. She had been sick; would chaplain please tell Natethat was why she couldn't come last Tuesday? (Tuesday was visitors'day.) The children was smart. Joe and Susy was at school, but Benny hadno shoes till she got her pay from the factory; she was working extratime to try and have something left over from the rent. They would getalong all right till he, Nate, was out, and he could get a place rightoff in the mill, she guessed.

  The chaplain sighed again, and laid the note on the growing pile of"Answer immediately." Poor Susan! She worked so hard, and was sohopeful! She always thought the last spree would remain the last; betterso! He shook his head, seeing Nate's weak, comely face, sodden withdrink. Poor Susan! Poor women! God help them all!

  He opened another letter, and learned that "yrs. respect'ly, Wm.Billiam," hadn't got no work yet; no wun appeared to want him though heshow them the note, sir and sum sed when they was a plaice he shood haveit and a Nother man sed there wos not work enuf for strate men and hegessed crooks wood haf to wate till the pigs begin to fly "but Iramember wot you sed chapple In and i will keep strate sir you betcherlife excusin bad writin'." This letter, written all downhill with nosign of punctuation, smudged and smeared by a not too clean shirtsleeve,might have brought a smile to some faces, but the chaplain's face wasgrave enough. The endless problem, the riddle without an answer. Notwork enough for the honest men; yet if the discharged criminal cannotget work, how to prevent him from relapsing into crime? Who can blamehim? He goes out with his little newborn resolve, a feeble, totteringthing, and tries for honest work. He has learned a trade behind thebars, perhaps; he can make brooms and mats, weave rough baskets, cobbleshoes. He finds a dozen applicants before him. Questions are asked:Where has he worked? What references can he give? If he tells the truth,seven employers out of ten shake their heads. If he lies, he is foundout after a time and the result is the same; he is "bounced." Who canblame the boss? Who can blame the man if--Round and round, over andover! No royal road anywhere. Nothing to do but keep on trying.

  The chaplain raised his head, and the fighting look came into his eyes.Keep on! Never say die! The scroll--his eyes fell on the letter with itsforlorn smudges; that one looked as if a tear had fallen and been wipedoff with a grimy hand--the scroll was growing clearer; slowly, yes, butsteadily. You had only to look back twenty years, ten years, five! Lineupon line, precept upon precept; here a little and there a little--

  "Aha!" The word was spoken aloud, in a tone of pleased surprise."Pippin, I verily believe!" said the chaplain. He studied thesuperscription a moment. How he had labored over those upstrokes! It wasa good hand now, though the scamp would never be a professor ofcalligraphy. Then he opened the envelope and read as follows:

  DEAR FRIEND ELDER HADLEY RESPECTED SIR,

  This is to state that I am first rate and hoping the same in regard to yourself and all friends there. Well Elder I am having a bully time right straight along. I am still to Kingdom in the bakery and grindin same as I last wrote but dont think I shall stop much longer, though I like first-rate and if I felt the Lord intended bakin for mine there's no dandier place, no sir nor one where I'd feel more at home. If they was my own folks they couldn't be kinder to me than what Mr. and Mrs. Baxter is. But I have fixed them all right with a nice boy will step right along and make an A 1 baker if he has his health which appears rugged up to the present and he likes real well and so do they.

  Well Elder you said to tell you when I found a Leadin; well sir I have, and it seems to squint like the Lord was showin me His hand. I found a dandy place sir, the dandyest you ever see and folks ekally so, and plenty of room; and savin this boy like, or the Lord savin him through me is what I would say, made me feel Elder I wanted to do _sompin for the boys_. Yes sir when I see that dandy place and only a few old folks that pooty soon their time would be up I thought fill that nice big house up with boys and learn em farmin and gardenin and like that, why twould be _great_ elder. Take kids like I was with no folks of their own or bum ones which is worse; what I mean take em away from the city and give em hens to take care of and feed the pigs and learn ploughin and sowin and like that and live out doors with a good house to come in nights and good food and some person that knows boys and _feels for_ em and knows what some of em has ben through, I think it would be great sir dont you. I tell you Elder there's guys in there, and lifers some of 'em, if they'd ben handled different when they was kids they'd _stayed_ different yes sir they would and you said the same often. Now what I mean is when I've got this present job done and found that kid Im going to follow this lead, because I feel Elder the Lord is leadin me yes sir He sure is. I opened the lids of the Testament you give me and looked and first thing I see was "This should ye have done and not to leave the other undone." Now wouldn't that give you a pain and so it did me and I said lo here was I like Samuel and I am Elder so help me. Mr. Bailey would like it firstrate but he thinks twould take time I tell him I want to start right in soon as I have this job done. I am leavin tomorrow so no more from yours in the Lord and thanking you kindly Elder I am sure for all you done.

  Yours resp'y. PIPPIN.

  The chaplain read this effusion through twice, a thoughtful frownknitting his brow, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

  He tilted his chair back against the wall, and looked out of the window.Pippin had been much in his mind since their parting two months before.This was the second letter he had received from him. The first had beenwritten within a week of Pippin's leaving Shoreham, and told of hisfinding Nipper Crewe dying by the roadside, and of the wheel that heconsidered rightly his. That was a singular meeting, the chaplainthought. The old sinner, full of evil deeds and memories, suspected ofmany crimes large and small, yet so crafty withal and so passionatelybent on keeping out of prison that for the most part he had succeeded.The chaplain shook his head, recalling one inmate and another, who,shaking an impotent fist, choking with rage, had told how after the"deal" for which he was "pinched," Nipper, the instigator of it, hadslipped quietly off under the very noses of the police. While his mateand dupe was there, raging and choking, Nipper would be roaming thecountry at large with his wheel, grinding more or less, observing agreat deal, planning the next neat little job. Yes, Nipper was a badone! And strange to think of Pippin's being chosen to comfort the oldsinner in his last hour and inherit the wheel that had been an innocent_particeps criminis_ in so many "deals"! Well, Pippin could comfort himif anyone could, thought the chaplain.

  Still looking out of the window, he let his thoughts run back to theday--could it be two years ago? It seemed hardly more than as manymonths--when he first saw Pippin. His first Sunday as prison chaplain!He had accepted the call because it seemed right; a new hand seemedneeded--his thoughts ran off the track, as other visions came crowdingin; he brought them back with an effort.

  He felt anew, with almost the same shock o
f strangeness, the firstimpression of seeing his new flock in chapel that day. The rows on rowsof faces, sharp or lowering, weak or silly or vacant, degenerate orsodden, a few that were actually vicious--they were seldom _really_vicious, his poor boys. Suddenly a head lifted, and he saw the face asof a strayed seraph; then presently heard the voice, as of the sameseraph at home, singing. The chaplain broke into a little laugh.

  Let the bright seraphim in burning row--

  That line came insistently to his mind whenever he heard Pippin sing;yet he knew perfectly well that Milton's seraphim were not singing, butblowing their loud uplifted angel trumpets. Perhaps--perhaps voices andtrumpets were more alike there?--Anyhow, Pippin's voice had a trumpetnote in certain hymns that he specially loved.

  The process of Pippin's conversion--to call it that; the chaplain soughtfor a better word, rejecting in turn a dozen or more--had been thehappiest episode of the two years. Plenty of good and cheerful andhopeful things, but that--what _had_ it been like? Chipping off thebaked ashes--in Herculaneum, say--and coming upon the lucid marble ofsome perfect statue? No! A statue was after all a statue, and could giveback no warmth. Mining, then, in dark and cold and foul air--poor boys!there was so much good in the worst of them, though!--and finding a veinof virgin gold--No! Gold was nothing but gold, after all. What--Ah! Hereit was! Fumbling with the keys of an organ in the dark, feeling about,waking here a mutter, there a discord, there again a shriek--tillsuddenly one struck the true chord and the music broke out likesunlight--Or wasn't it after all just that, just sunlight, breaking froma cloud--

  "Come in!" the chair was brought hastily to its normal position. A guardtouched his cap in the doorway. "Beg pardon, sir, but French Bill hasbroke loose. Keeper said you was to be told--"

  The chaplain was on his feet in an instant. "What has happened? Tell meas we go along!"

  "Fell foul of Tom Packard with his bucket, and mauled him consid'able.I've been lookin' for it these two days. Tom was waitin' at his table,and Bill thought he give him a small egg o' purpose."

  "Dear me, sirs! Who is with him now?"

  The guard chuckled. "There's no one _with_ him! Anybody wouldn't be verycomf'table there just now. Jones is handy by, lookin' after him. You canhear him now!"

  They could. A muffled roar, rising now and then into a bellow. As theydrew nearer, the roar became articulate, and resolved itself into asustained and passionate request for the blood, liver, and other vitaladjuncts of Thomas Packard. "Lemmegetaholdofhim--lemmegetaholdofhim!"Coming down B corridor the clamor was deafening, echoed back from sideto side of the narrow passage; accompanied moreover by banging of fists,kicking of feet against iron bars. The chaplain sighed and longed forPippin. Nobody could manage Bill like Pippin. He usually knocked himdown and sat on his chest singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers!" till thefit was over. There wasn't a mite of harm in Bill, Pippin alwaysmaintained, only he was nervous, and come to get worked up, he b'iledright over.

  The other inmates of B corridor were listening to the uproar, somelaughing, others sympathizing with Bill or Tom, as the case might be.Opposite the grated door of the cell a turnkey leaned against the wall,a stolid, unmoved figure. "Here comes chaplain!" the murmur ran fromcell to cell; and every face was pressed eagerly against the grating."Here's chaplain! Chaplain'll sort him!"

  Bill himself seemed wholly unconscious of Mr. Hadley's approach. He wasa French Canadian, a slender, active fellow. In repose, his face wasgentle and rather pensive; now it was the face of a mad wildcat. Shakingthe bars with all his strength, he continued to pour out in a monotonousroar his request for the vital organs, amply detailed and characterized,of "Tompack_ard_!"

  The chaplain surveyed him quietly for a few minutes in silence; thendrew a small square phial from his pocket, and unscrewing the metal top,held it between the bars to the man's nose. With a howl oftwenty-wildcat power the fellow let go the bars and staggered backward.Instantly Hadley unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing itquickly after him.

  "Now then, Bill," he said quietly, "what's all this row?"

  Shaking and glaring, the man cowered in the farthest corner, rubbing hisnose, clutching his throat.

  "W'at you kill me for?" he muttered hoarsely. "W'at you kill me for,_mon pere_? I do you no harm!"

  "I haven't killed you. Sit down, Bill. You've been making a horrid row,do you know it? And you've kicked the toe right out of your boot. Nowlook at that! Those boots were new last month. You'll have to put a newtoe cap over that, or the Warden will have you up for untidiness." Hebent to examine the toe. "That's too bad! those new boots!"

  "I mend heem!" Bill bent eagerly beside him. "I mend heem good, _monpere_! Warden nevaire see; I mak heem better as new."

  "Well, see you do! And while you're about it, I wish you would look overmy shoes, the pair you resoled for me, and see if you can't take thesqueak out of them. It doesn't do for the chaplain to go round withsqueaking boots, you know; he might disturb quiet fellows like you. Bythe way, what was your row about, Bill? I heard you had been pitchinginto Tom Packard."

  They had sat down on the bed, the better to examine the injured toe cap.Bill looked up with a shrug, half ashamed, half sulky, wholly Gallic."He been treatin' me mean, long time, two t'ree days. He geeve me desmalles' egg he can find for my breakfast; leetle, leetle, like pigeon'segg."

  "Well, I got a bad egg the other day; halfway to a chicken it was; but Ididn't break the cook's head, as I understand you broke poor Tom's."

  "Yes! yes! I break hees head; I kill heem if I could. Yes, sir!"

  "And now you're ashamed, eh? You know you are, Bill, you may as well ownup." After some argument, Bill owned that he was ashamed and promisedamendment. "Then that's all right!" The chaplain rose with an air ofrelief. "I'll speak a word to Father O'Neill, and he'll give you a nicelittle penance, and you'll make it up with Tom. I'm going to see himnow, and I shall tell him you are sorry--yes, I shall, because you are,you know, sorry and ashamed. But remember!" He drew out the squaregreen phial and held it up. "The next time you'll get it stronger!"

  The man recoiled in terror, clasping his hands over his nose. "_Non!non, mon pere!_ Not kill me again! W'at ees eet? W'at you call eet?"

  "Aromatic spirits of ammonia." The chaplain eyed the bottle gravely,shook his head, and put it back into his pocket. "No joke, is it, Bill!Well, good-by, old sport. Remember!"