Yanking off his shirt, he dropped it on the floor and snatched up a rag from under the chairs where Danny’s drying diapers were draped. Then he lit a candle and disappeared out the door. They could hear his shoes determinedly flap, flap, flapping down the hallway. A short while later, they flap, flap, flapped back again. Their owner, for lack of a towel, was dripping wet from the top of his head to the rope that held up his pants. After shaking his head like a dog just come in from a swim in a pond, he threw his shirt back on over his wet body.
“Brrr!” he said, shivering but still managing to look very pleased with himself. “Must o’ shed a pound o’ dirt. Yer turn, Spider.”
After that, Spider, Mouse, and Piggy made their trips down the hallway, returning looking just as pleased and proud of themselves as Duck had over the achievement. Robin went as well, choosing not to mention that he had had a good wash at his own kitchen sink a day earlier.
He really did want to be one of them, for he had come to have a very different idea about street boys. They had a code of honor. For all the rude names they called each other, and the teasing, they were loyal friends who stuck together and supported each other. And now he had even learned something else. Under their shirts they had the same chicken-skinny bodies as he did. Oh yes, Robin now had a very different idea about street boys.
At the moment, however, for four of them the only thing on their minds was the curious feeling of being clean. Well, half clean, anyway.
“Problem with havin’ a worsh,” said Duck, “is it makes wot we got on feel dirtier’n b’fore.”
“An’ all tore up,” said Spider. “Wish we knowed somethin’ bout’ sewin’.”
“Sewin’!” said Mouse. “You really do got butterflies in yer head, Spider.”
Robin took a moment to consider this situation. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “I … I can sew,” he said. “I … I used to help my mama, I mean my ma, with sewing she took in when we needed money.”
Duck’s eyes widened. “You mean you c’d sew some o’ these rags up fer us?”
“If I had a needle and some thread,” replied Robin.
Duck just shook his head and grinned. “Well I’ll be!” he said. “Sewin’! So I were right. I figgered as you got ter be good fer somethin’!”
Only one thing marred what had been an otherwise happy day for Robin. When Piggy had managed to sneak from the room to make a visit down the hallway, Robin had quickly pulled from his jacket the locket he had had no chance to look at from the time he had taken it from Hawker’s drawer. He snapped the locket open. And there were indeed pictures in it, one of a beautiful young woman, and one of a handsome young man. But they were not of his mama and papa. It was a bitter disappointment.
He hid the locket back inside his jacket where it would have to remain with the pin. After all, he could never show either locket or pin to the boys. “No stealin’, no cheatin’, no gamblin’,” Duck had said. Robin did not want to start his life with them as a known thief. Oh, how he wished he had never heard of Hawker Doak’s precious drawer!
Chapter X
A Startling Scene
Talking about being a shoe-shine boy turned out to be a lot easier than being one, Robin soon learned. It was, in truth, downright frightening, even though all he was doing was standing beside Duck and watching him do the work. Robin had not even brought his own box and brushes with him, as he certainly never expected to do any shoe shining that day.
What he found out was that not everyone simply came up to a shoe-shine boy and said, “Shine, please.” No, not at all. More often than not, the boy had to go up to a likely prospect, get his attention, and say, “Shine your shoes, mister?”
And though selling newspapers may have been a difficult business, at least all a boy did when he sold a paper was hand it over and take the money. If the paper had bad news in it, that was not the boy’s fault. It was the fault of the paper, and that was that. The newspaper boy was not blamed if the news was not to the customer’s liking.
The shoe-shine boy, on the other hand, was selling his services, and they had to be right or he would hear about it, and possibily not even be paid. Further, the services had to be performed under the very eyes of the owner of the shoes, eyes making certain that every penny’s worth of value was received, and no mistakes made. Robin had his first sad lesson in mistake making that very day.
Unsuspecting, he watched Duck persuade a man to have his shoes shined, only to have a brush thrust into his hands as Duck said under his breath, “Here! Yer ready ter have a go at it.”
Robin, of course, was no such thing, and soon proved it by trembling so hard he got blacking on the man’s trouser cuff. The man swore at him and walked off in a rage, saying he ought to charge him for a new pair of trousers. Quite naturally, neither Duck nor Robin earned any money for this job.
“Sorry fer that,” said Duck. “Guess you wasn’t ready like I thought. Never you mind. I messed up the firs’ time I ever done shoes. You’ll git it soon.”
“I’ll pay you back for this one,” said Robin, totally miserable.
“Nah, fergit it,” said Duck. “Whyn’t you go on back. I’ll be followin’ soon. You had ’nough lessons fer terday. An’ ain’t goin’ ter be long fer it ter be gittin’ dark.”
Robin, feeling as if he had had all the lessons he ever wanted in the art of shoe shining, trailed dejectedly back to the church. It would be the greatest miracle the church had ever witnessed if he ever learned to shine a pair of shoes. The only problem was, what else was there that he could do? The worry occupied his mind all the way, and was only driven out, when he arrived at the church, by what for a while seemed an even greater worry.
The old man always left the cellar door unlocked during the day. The door had to be opened very carefully, however, because he might be close behind it at any time. So Robin slowly inched the door open. The old man was nowhere to be seen in the hallway, but something was wrong. Light was coming through the doorway of their room! Worse than that, so were voices!
One of the other boys must have returned and was talking to Piggy. But why were they being so careless as to leave the door open? They all knew they could lose their home in the church cellar if they were found out. Or had they already been found out? Were the voices coming from the room those of Piggy—and the old man? Robin crept closer to the doorway. The terrors of learning to shine shoes were now replaced by something far worse. For if they had been found out, where would he and Danny go? Follow the boys back to the pier? Return to Hawker Doak? Slowly, slowly, Robin crept closer to the open doorway, until he was able to peek in. And there he saw the old man in there with Piggy—and Danny!
But beyond finding the old man, what a startling scene it was that greeted Robin’s eyes! For Piggy was seated cross-legged on the floor. Across from him the old man sat on an upturned bucket. Both were sipping a drink from the chipped, broken-handled cups. And between them, lying on a faded blue blanket, full of holes but otherwise spotlessly clean, lay Danny. He was on his back, gurgling happily as he waved his little arms in the air, reaching for a bit of red rag the old man was dangling over him with his free hand.
“There we are! There’s my little man!” he was saying as Robin, his jaw hanging open, came walking in.
“We got found out!” said Piggy happily, seeing Robin. “This here’s Mr. Gribbins.”
“Mr. Gribbins,” said he, “wot ain’t as deef as not ter be hearin’ cryin’ in his cellar, nor not so dim-witted’s not ter know it come from a babby. An’ even wiv my one eye, I ain’t so blind s not ter know a babby when I sees one. Wot d’you think o’ that?”
“This here’s Robin,” said Piggy.
“All right then,” said Mr. Gribbins. “Wot d’you think o’ that, Master Robin?”
Robin, needless to say, was so stunned he could hardly think at all. It was all he could to remember to close his jaw.
“Are … are … are you going to make us leave, Mr. Gribbins?” he was able to ask a
t last, his voice shaking.
“Wot?” exclaimed the old man. “And take this here sweet babby with you? You’ll stay, but not jist ’cause o’ the babby. I like the comp’ny, and I allus said as how there’s all this room down here jist goin’ ter waste. B’sides, I were in the streets when I were a lad. Sometimes someone were kind ter me. I’m jist passin’ it on, you see. But mind, like I been tellin’ yer Piggy, there’s rules wot got to be follered. It’s mostly jist this cellar wot’s mine ter take care o’, but I ain’t goin’ ter let no one go messin’ with wot’s upstairs neither.”
“I told Mr. Gribbins ’bout wot we promised the Landlord,” Piggy broke in. “No stealin’, no cheatin’, no gamblin’.”
“It’s the ’no stealin” bit wot I got ter be consarned wiv,” said Mr. Gribbins. “You ain’t been upstairs, so you don’t know wot I’m talkin’ ’bout.”
“Oh, we been upstairs. Went prowlin’ the’ first night we was here,” said Piggy. “An’ we never took nothin’.”
“Wot ’bout the box up front wiv the hole up top?” asked Mr. Gribbins.
“Oh, we figgered as how them kind o’ boxes is wot’s put there ter collect fer the poor,” Piggy said earnestly. “Even if we never maked a promise ter the Landlord, we’d never touch wot’s meant fer the poor.”
Mr. Gribbins took a long, hard look at Piggy with his one eye. “I think I got ter b’lieve you, Master Piggy,” he said. “But I got ter git goin’. Hannah … her who is Missus Gribbins … she’s ailin’ an’ can’t go noplace. So she sits front o’ the window watchin’ fer me ter come home. When’s the rest o’ yer friends comin’?”
Mr. Gribbins had no sooner finished speaking than Mouse appeared with his shoe-shine box, standing slack-jawed at the doorway just as Robin had done. It was a minor church miracle that he was actually able to hang on to his box without letting it go crashing to the floor, for his face had gone as white as his shoe blacking was black.
“Mr. Gribbins, this here’s Mouse. Mouse, this here’s Mr. Gribbins,” said Piggy who, without doubt noting Mouse’s condition, hastened to add, “An’ he says we c’n stay.”
“Mr. Gribbins, wot ain’t so deef as not ter be hearin’ cryin’ in his cellar,” he said, then repeating exactly all that had been said to Robin. He was clearly taking the greatest delight in making this speech. In truth, he repeated the same words for Duck and Spider when they finally appeared. That they all repeated the promises made to the Landlord, each without knowing what the others had said, gave him even more pleasure.
“Yer all good lads,” he said as he was leaving. Then his one eye crinkled up as he smiled broadly. “Wait ’til Hannah hears ’bout the babby helpin’ keep me comp’ny. She ain’t goin’ ter b’lieve it!” There was little doubt that Mr. Gribbins went home as happy a man as could be found in the city that night.
As for the boys, they could not stop talking about their good luck. Imagine it! Actually being allowed to live down there without having to sneak in and out and worry about being caught. Well, there was still some worry. For Mr. Gribbins had warned them that permission to live there should by all rights come from someone higher up the ladder than he was, he being at the very bottom.
“But it probable wouldn’ be ’lowed,” he had said. “Don’t seem right. Rats move in without no permission from no one. But boys an’ a babby ain’t ’lowed. Ain’t right’s all I c’n say.”
So care still had to be taken, but life would be easier than before. They could not believe their good luck, and talked about it all through their supper of the bits and pieces left over from the night before.
Duck had brought home with him a packet of needles and a spool of thread. Robin’s promise to sew up their ragged clothes had not been forgotten. And as Duck was the one who had provided the needles and thread, it was fair that his shirt should be the first one repaired.
“I’ll sew for an hour,” Robin said, as Duck was peeling off his shirt. “I’d like to play with Danny a while before he goes to sleep.”
“How’d you know wots a hour?” asked Spider.
In for a penny, in for a pound! “I … I have a watch,” Robin said, and went to pull it from his jacket.
“Is it a watch wot runs?” asked Mouse.
Robin nodded.
“You c’n tell time actual?” asked Piggy.
Robin nodded again.
“C’n we have a look?” Duck asked.
“Where’d you git it?” asked Mouse.
“It belonged to my papa,” replied Robin. “But … but it’s not real nickel or anything like that. It’s … it’s only plate.” He could not, of course, forget what Mr. Slyke had said.
“Don’t care if it’s a cup an’saucer,” Duck said. “None o’ us ever had no watch. Never hope ter have one nice as this.”
“Wot’s the use o’ one, Duck,” said Mouse. “None o’ us is able ter tell wot it says.”
“Would you like to learn?” Robin asked. And from the looks on their faces, there was hardly any need for an answer.
So the evening ended up with the boys poring over his watch, arguing over what the big hand said and what the small hand did not say, as instructed by Robin. And Robin sat sewing on Duck’s shirt with Danny by his knees on the blanket left by Mr. Gribbins. What with the candles flickering merrily away and lighting up the room, it was as cozy a scene as could be imagined.
If only, Robin thought, he did not have to worry ever again about shining shoes!
Chapter XI
A Chilling Customer
The following day, Robin trudged off to spend the day with Mouse. Mouse, having been apprised of Robin’s unfortunate attempt at shoe shining while apprenticed to Duck, did not shove any brushes at him unexpectedly. Or, for that matter, shove them at him in any manner at all.
The morning after that, Robin went off with Spider. And although a great deal of instructing was done, by the end of the day, Robin still had not shined a single shoe. Greatly to his relief.
But on the fourth day, his luck ran out.
“You can’t go on learnin’ the rest o’ yer days,” said Duck. “None o’ us did. None o’ us even got friends wot showed us how ter shine. We jist hung ’round someone wot were doin’ it, ’til we got arsked ter move on. So time you took a try doin’ it on yer own.”
There was no escaping it any longer. Armed with his box, brushes, and blacking, and with a fainting heart inside his patched jacket, Robin marched off beside Duck, who was only to help him find a good corner to set up his box. That done, Duck informed him he “were goin’ ter do jist fine,” then with a wink and a big grin of encouragement, went whistling off to his own place of business.
Unfortunately, he had no sooner disappeared than another shoeshine boy appeared, older, much bigger, and with tiny pig eyes that looked accusingly at Robin from a red face round as a pie pan.
“Wot does you think yer doin’ in my spot?” this individual snarled at Robin.
The terrified Robin, who actually wondered what he was doing in any spot at all, picked up his box and scurried away without a word. It was probable that this spot did not belong to the boy, but the last thing on Robin’s mind was to stay and argue about it.
He found another corner two blocks away unoccupied by another shoe-shine boy. But he almost hoped someone would come along and chase him out of this corner as well. Not to mention any other corner he might try. He could then return to the church, probably early, and spend the rest of the day playing with Danny. No one could blame him if he could not find a free corner, now could they? Tomorrow he would try again. Perhaps he would wake up bolder and braver.
But no one came to claim his corner, which must have been a poor choice, because there were no customers either. At least, no one came up to him and said, “Shine, please.” Whether any man passing his stand might have been a customer would never be known, for he could never bring himself to chase after one with the words, “Shine your shoes, mister?” He grew paralyzed at even the thought of doing i
t.
Finally, in the late afternoon, a few drops of rain fell. As Robin stood huddled against a wall, they fell faster. Surely no one would be wanting to stand there in the rain having his shoes shined. As soon as the rain let up, Robin determined he would hurry back to the church. The rain lasted only a very short time, but he had already made up his mind to leave. What was the point of standing there damp and miserable when it was clear that he was going to shine no shoes that day? He picked up his box and set off.
All the way he kept telling himself what a failure he was. Visions of the great amounts of money he was going to make had long since vanished. If he continued being a failure, what was he going to do about buying milk for Danny, and the other things he was going to need one day soon? It was hopeless. Just hopeless!
“Blast!”
Robin had just crossed the street to the church corner when he heard this. In front of the church stood a handsome carriage drawn by two sleek horses. The polished brass door handle and the coach lights gleamed in the street lamp near it. A tall, somewhat heavy-set man in a glistening top hat and a black coat richly trimmed in a fur collar, was standing by the carriage and looking down at his feet.
“Blast!” he said again.
Robin started hurrying down the sidewalk toward the back of the building.
“Boy! Boy!” the man called out.
As there was no one else around but the uniformed driver of the carriage up on the driver’s seat holding the reins of the horses, Robin stopped and turned around.
“Boy,” the man said, “I see that you carry a box. Are you by any chance a shoe-shine boy?”
No stealin’, no cheatin’, no lyin’. Robin, his heart nearly at a standstill, was ready to forget these promises. But before he could stop himself, he found himself nodding.
“Y-yes,” he stammered.
Secret in St. Something Page 7
