The Viola Brothers Shore Mystery

by Viola Brothers Shore

  “But I could play with her tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow they’ll bring her again. Won’t you, Mrs. Yittelman?”

  And Irving bore her, tearful and protesting, to bed. Bessie waited to see their guests off. Returning to the room later, she found him seated in an old rocker, rocking as though history depended on the number of oscillations he achieved, and singing in a voice which barely rose above the complaining monotone of the rocker a nameless croon unhampered by either words or melody.

  “Bzhummm,” it sounded like—“zhumm—zhumm.” And the tune was as free from meaning as the words. But Ruthie had doubtless found in it both significance and charm. For her eyes, still shadowed by recent tears, were closed in contented slumber, and her flushed little face, silhouetted against his dark vest, had relaxed, with the exception of occasional quivering half sobs, into serene repose. From the quilt which enfolded her a little bare pink foot had escaped, and a little bare tan arm had slid confidingly from his neck to his chest. Irving’s head was bent forward so that his droning “Bzhumm—zhumm—zhumm” came muffled through the filter of her curls.

  At the sound of Bessie’s footsteps he looked up and she caught before it vanished from his eyes the light that had been kindled there by the warm, relaxed little burden in his arms. Most mothers and some fathers have at some time been transfigured by that look of exalted happiness shadowed by the brooding ghost of some nameless, unreasoning, unfathomable dread.

  Closing the door softly, Bessie leaned for a moment against it, her own eyes luminous with something which welled over from a suffocating fullness in the region of her heart. The next morning when Irving, considerably worried, left for his office Ruthie had developed a fever, and he admonished Bessie she “should be sure and have the doctor in.”

  All day he kept thinking about her and he took an early train for Myrtle Arbor. Ruthie was in bed. At sight of him she brightened.

  “Where’s Tootsie?” she inquired when he bent to kiss her.

  Bessie signaled him into the next room. “She’s been calling for Tootsie all day,” she explained. “You know you told her Yittelmans would bring her back again today.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What can we do?”

  “What can we do?” demanded Bessie practically.

  “Did you have in the doctor?”

  “Yes. Doctor Brown. But he couldn’t seem to find anything the matter.”

  “Auch mir a doctor!”

  “He gave her something and said if that didn’t help we’d have to wait until something showed up.”

  “We need a doctor for that? If she ain’t better tomorrow we have Stone out.”

  “Will he leave all his other patients?”

  “If Ruthie’s sick?” Irving had to laugh at the idea that a doctor wouldn’t leave everything if his Ruthie was sick.

  “I think it’s just something she ate. You know how easily—”

  At that moment Ruthie called, and Irving dashed into her room.

  “Papa, why didn’t you bring Tootsie?” Her eyes were filmed with tears.

  “Papa didn’t know, darling—”

  “Mamma said you were going to bring Tootsie.” And the whole flock of tears spilled over and headed south. Irving was so distressed he had to leave the room.

  The next afternoon Irving sat at his desk chewing on the end of a cigar. He was in a vile humor. He had just phoned Bessie, who told him the fever was going up again and the child was crying incessantly for Tootsie. And Doctor Brown had advised that they get Tootsie. He had phoned Doctor Stone, whom he had always considered not alone a good doctor but a friend, too, but who had shown himself—well, Irving was through with him, that’s all. He couldn’t see his way clear to leave all his patients and go up to Myrtle Arbor today. However, if the child was no better in the morning Irving should phone him again. In the meanwhile, if she was grieving over the absence of a playmate it seemed to him a very simple matter to remove the cause of grief by procuring the playmate.

  Yeh. Very simple! Irving threw away the end of the cigar. Sure! A cinch! He should go to Yittelmans and loan their dog that was like a only child, when he wouldn’t even loan them his sweater, they shouldn’t catch a pneumonia.

  “Wenn lacht Gott?” he pondered bitterly. It had to be grad that dog, too, that he wouldn’t give a cup of milk to, one Sunday evening, he remembered. And he remembered, too, that the dog cried half the night till the milkman came. And now his child was crying for that dog.

  A horrible sensation manifested itself inside his vest. And curious chills went sneaking down his spine.

  Such a luck he had! Why couldn’t his child be crying for something he could get without going to Yittelmans—something he could buy? He wouldn’t stand on a dollar, you bet, if it was only something he could buy. But a dog that you—

  A sudden golden ray of hope pierced the shroud of his thoughts. Why not? Why couldn’t you buy a dog?

  The more he thought of it the better it appealed to him. A dog of her own for Ruthie instead of a loaned one! Why, the child would be tickled to death! A real dog instead of a stück machshoufes like Tootsie. And he could be independent from them Yittelmans! I tell you, a chochem you had to be!

  He slapped on his hat and headed for Fifth Avenue. He had often passed an animal store there. It should cost him something. He should worry.

  In spite of his own indifference to the species he felt a real thrill at the prospect of the dog he was about to purchase. Tonight when he would come home and Ruthie would turn her big brown eyes to him and ask him: “Papa, did you bring along Tootsie?” he would answer her: “Yo! Tootsie! Do I want to insult my darling? Look what papa brought you—a real dog!”

  And tomorrow she would be better! And then they could give away the dog. Or maybe they wouldn’t need to give it away? Maybe they could sell it for a little less? Why not? Wouldn’t people be glad to buy such a dog for a little less? Though, on the other hand, why should he take less? What’s to get second-handed on such a dog if you use him a little? To tell the truth, you don’t even use him. The child plays with him and he has it good. Maybe if he has it good—fresh air and good food like by Danzigers—no dog store could give such food like by Danzigers—maybe he gets worth more. It’s like any other investment—such a animal. You got to figger original investment, depreciation and upkeep. How much could Danzigers charge for feeding such a dog? What does such a dog eat? A coupla bones and some garbage maybe? Maybe Danzigers wouldn’t charge nothing and the transaction would even show a profit. He had now reached Fifth Avenue and paused, uncertain whether to turn up or down. He tried to remember. It was a swell store—on a corner. Lord knows what they soak you in such a store on Fifth Avenue! They got to make their rent! But with dogs there’s no styles or no seasons or nothing. A dog is a dog. Downtown he could probably get one for half.

  But where should he go looking round downtown for such a dog? He could walk his feet off. Dog stores ain’t sitting on every corner waiting for once your child should begin hollering for a dog.

  He stopped and consulted a Red Book. He found no dog stores, but plenty of Dog Kennels and Breeders of Fancy Toy Dogs. A kennel he wouldn’t need. The dog could sleep in Danzigers’ barn. And such a fancy dog he didn’t need neither. A plain one would do. Guided by the Red Book he located a place near Third Avenue. Such a place near Third Avenue, he figgered, couldn’t be so gefährlich fancy.

  It was a small store with an assortment of fluffy white dogs in the window in varying stages of ambition, ranging from complete somnolence to the most exaggerated vivacity.

  Long after the last reverberations of the din precipitated by the opening of the door had died away, a leisurely, sandy-looking individual appeared from behind the partition marked Private.

  “I want such a dog,” announced Irving.

  “What kind of a dog?” inquired the man, just as if Irving was s
ome kind of a drummer or something instead of a customer.

  “It’s got to match one that belongs to some friends of ours. It’s such a white animal with black spots. A fox terrier!” he achieved by a terrific feat of memory. “Something cheap,” he hastened to add as the man disappeared behind the partition. “It’s only to play with.”

  The man reappeared with the kind of animal kind-hearted little boys are always bringing home on muddy days for mamma to adopt just when mamma has had the rugs cleaned for the holidays. His skin was a quasi-white with a few black and a few brown spots. Even Irving’s unskilled eye noted certain architectural defects. Tootsie, for instance, was built much closer to the ground. And the prospective purchase was very blunt as to nose and long as to ears.

  “Is that a fox terrier?” inquired Irving.

  The man scratched his head. “Well, he’s more a fox terrier than anything else.”

  “I bet,” suggested Irving ironically, “his name is Beauty.”

  “Nope; Prince,” replied the man. “But you can call him Beauty if you like. He’s, seven dollars.”

  “Do I pay you the seven dollars or do you pay me?”

  The man didn’t even know enough to laugh at a customer’s jokes! You wonder how such fellers could make a living. Such salesmanship! And such a stock! “He ain’t much to look at, but he’s got a nice disposition,” said the man. You’d never think he was trying to sell something.

  “He’s got to have more then that before I give you seven dollars,” said Irving.

  “That’s the only fox terrier I have just now.”

  He didn’t even think to show him something else! Irving had to think of that himself. It occurred to him suddenly. Wie heisst he must get a fox terrier? Was Tootsie such a picture and did he love her so much that he should lay out good money to have her misch-poche snapping round his feet? And such a misch-poche! He looked at the dog he might call Beauty. No! “I wouldn’t take him geschenkt,” he announced.

  The man stood there as though he should worry if he made a sale or not. It was Irving who had to ask, nodding in the direction of the window, “How much is such a little feller?”

  The man reached over and picked up a little ball of fluff and held him aloft. “Cute, ain’t he?”

  “Well,” responded Irving, who wasn’t such a fool as to praise goods he intended to buy, “there ain’t much to him. But how much you want for him? The big feller I wouldn’t take at no price.”

  “Two hundred dollars,” replied the man, just as if he was in his right mind.

  Irving walked out of the store leading by a string a quasi-white dog with brown and black spots, whom he might call Beauty. Aesthetically he was, perhaps, deficient, but he had a lovely disposition, and that was the main thing in a dog that you were only getting for a child to play with. They weren’t going to make style with him. And anybody that could go crazy over Tootsie, anything was good enough for.

  Irving never in his life had taken a dog out on a leash. He became suddenly aware of the extraordinarily large number of lamp posts with which the streets of New York are lighted. It occurred to him that his dog was taking advantage of his lack of experience.

  Angrily he pulled at the cord. The dog sat down and commenced to skid.

  Irving made another observation about New York. The people are terribly nosy! And the nosiest ones live round Third Avenue. Whoever knew there were such a lot of people round Third Avenue? A million people at least, and not one could mind their own business! They looked at him as if he had eppes a little rhinoceros on a string. What was so funny about a man taking out on a string a brand-new dog that he just laid out seven dollars for?

  He glanced down at the dog. The cord had tightened about his neck and he seemed in a fair way to end his earthly miseries. Irving had a momentary vicious hope that he would—then and there. If the hund rather choke than move his legs—but then he remembered his seven dollars, so he stopped tugging and permitted the dog to set the pace. For the sake of the passers-by who couldn’t mind their own business he made it appear that he was only out for the air and did not care how long he took to get it. But in his heart, if he wasn’t crazy about dogs before, you can imagine how he began now to get in love with them animals!

  And by the time he reached Myrtle Arbor! It is no pleasure to ride from New York to Myrtle Arbor in a baggage car, I can tell you! Especially before the warm weather sets in. And Irving, who had never even suspected the railroad regulations concerning dogs and passenger trains, could tell you too! But how could he leave the dog alone in the baggage car where them big loafers would liable drop a trunk on him? You know how gentle them fellers handle your baggage! So what would they do to a dog that he just paid seven dollars for and made a damn fool out of himself dragging for twenty blocks on a string because the conductor of a Third Avenue car wouldn’t let him get on with it and he wouldn’t give the hund the satisfaction to take a taxi.

  But after he laid out his good money and schlepped such a ki-yi all the way out to Myrtle Arbor, Ruthie wouldn’t even look at it.

  “I want Tootsie!” she insisted.

  It was as though she had been crying for her mother and somebody had offered her a nice new lady she had never seen before.

  And she seemed very sick. Irving stood beside her bed, and there were times when she did not know him. Her little cheeks were very red and her little arms flinging about restlessly tossed off the covers quicker than Bessie could put them on. The doctor had said not to worry. Some children ran up a very high fever on a slight attack of intestinal absorption. He could not find anything else the matter. When they got the poison out of her system she would be better.

  Meanwhile Irving tied the dog to a post outside the farmhouse, where he bawled until about three A.M. Then he ceased suddenly, for a reason which Irving discovered later in the morning. For a fragment of frayed rope tied to a post outside the farmhouse was all that remained to Irving Apfel of the dog that he might have called Beauty!

  * * * *

  All day Irving couldn’t put his mind on his work. His head throbbed from loss of sleep and worry.

  He could think of nothing but Ruthie, tossing on a bed of fever, and calling “Tootsie! Tootsie!”

  Again he got Doctor Stone on the wire. He could not get away that day either. But tomorrow, if there was no improvement—Tomorrow! What couldn’t happen till tomorrow?

  And in the meanwhile she was lying there—his baby—his little Ruthie—and calling—calling.

  And he, her own father, who pretended to love her more than a piece of his own heart—he wouldn’t raise a finger to get for her the one thing in the world she wanted; maybe the one thing in the world that would make her better!

  He didn’t deserve to have such a rose—such a goldfish—such a angel! He was a dog—a spite-face—a slaughterer!

  In an agony of self-loathing he called up Yittelman.

  “What do you know! Such an attachment the child has for our Tootsie! Sure you could have a loan of her! I’ll go home and bring her in to your office.”

  Almost there were tears in Irving’s eyes. “How could I put you to so much trouble, Mr. Yittelman!”

  “Don’t say a word about it, Apfel. For a friend nothing is too much trouble. Like what they say—to give is more a blessing then to get. I’ll bring her in.”

  Not only did he bring her in to Irving but he drove all the way up to Myrtle Arbor in his car. Which is better than sitting in a baggage car, with Tootsie trying to make a meal off your ankles—I tell you!

  Later when Ruthie, who that afternoon had taken a decided turn for the better, had fallen asleep with Tootsie in her arms and a happy smile on her face, Irving saw Yittelman to the garage where he had left his car.

  “Say, Yittelman,” said Irving, “I don’t how to begin to thank you for what you done today.”

  “Tush!” said Yittelman. �
��It’s nothing.”

  “It was such a favor—”

  “I’m glad you think so, Apfel. I like to do somebody a favor. It’s like what they say—throwing a piece bread on the water. You don’t know what day it comes back to you when you’re hungry. Maybe you couldn’t see it at the time how it’s going to do you good—but my motto is ‘Bread casted in water turns around again and comes back.’”

  Irving shifted to the other foot uncomfortably.

  “You never know,” continued Mr. Yittelman, getting into his car, “when you could need people. Even such a dog.”

  “Ain’t it the truth?” said Irving humbly. “By the way, Yittelman, wouldn’t you be cold going home? Couldn’t I loan you something—a sweater maybe?”

  “Oh—I’m glad you reminded me. You should talk to me about thanks yet! If not for you I maybe, God forbid, had pneumonia by now. I was only saying to Mrs. Yittelman on the way home Sunday, ‘Mamma,’ I was saying, ‘there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that Mrs. Apfel!’ Of course you too, Apfel. But your wife, she should keep in good health; in the whole neighborhood there’s nobody like her. I couldn’t get over her, with all she had on her mind Sunday and how she was nervous with Ruthie and all, she thinks about me yet, I shouldn’t get, God forbid, a pneumonia!

  “Put your hand please in the sidepocket there in the back. I’m really ashamed I forgot to return it after I promised I’ll send it right away back, possels post. But, so long you didn’t miss it, no harm done. A thousand thanks for the loan, Apfel. If not for that sweater I maybe wouldn’t be driving out here today with Tootseleh, heh, Apfel?”

  Irving, deep in thought, regarded his new gray sweater. Mr. Yittelman threw in his clutch.

  “Well, so long, Apfel. I got a long ride home.”

  “So long, and again thanks for the dog.”

  “Don’t mention it I’m only sorry she ain’t more friends with you, Apfel—our Tootseleh. I know you ain’t on such good terms with her teeth! But you know how they say, ‘A gifted dog you shouldn’t look in the mouth!’ Heh, Apfel? So long!”