He had a box of matches under his arm, of which very few seemed to have been sold. He had a weary, spiritless air, and walked as if quite tired. He had been on his feet all day, and was faint with hunger, having eaten nothing but an apple to sustain his strength. The thought that he was near his journey's end did not seem to cheer him much. Why this should be so will speedily appear.
He crossed William Street, passed Gold Street, and turned down Vandewater Street, leading out of Frankfort's Street on the left. It is in the form of a short curve, connecting with that most crooked2 of all New York avenues, Pearl Street. He paused in front of a shabby house, and went upstairs. The door of a room on the third floor was standing3 ajar. He pushed it open, and entered, not without a kind of shrinking.
A coarse-looking woman was seated before a scanty4 fire. She had just thrust a bottle into her pocket after taking a copious5 draught6 therefrom, and her flushed face showed that this had long been a habit with her.
"Well, Mark, what luck to-night?" she said, in a husky voice.
"I didn't sell much," said the boy.
"Didn't sell much? Come here," said the woman, sharply.
Mark came up to her side, and she snatched the box from him, angrily.
"Only three boxes gone?" she repeated. "What have you been doing all day?"
"I tried to sell them, indeed I did, Mother Watson, indeed I did," said the boy, earnestly, "but everybody had bought them already."
"You didn't try," said the woman addressed as Mother Watson. "You're too lazy, that's what's the matter. You don't earn your salt. Now give me the money."
Mark drew from his pocket a few pennies, and handed to her.
She counted them over, and then, looking up sharply, said, with a frown,"There's a penny short. Where is it?"
"I was so hungry," pleaded Mark, "that I bought an apple,—only a little one."
"You bought an apple, did you?" said the woman, menacingly. "So that's the way you spend my money, you little thief?"
"I was so faint and hungry," again pleaded the boy.
"What business had you to be hungry? Didn't you have some breakfast this morning?"
"I had a piece of bread."
"That's more than you earned. You'll eat me out of house and home, you little thief! But I'll pay you off. I'll give you something to take away your appetite. You won't be hungry any more, I reckon."
She dove her flabby hand into her pocket, and produced a strap8, at which the boy gazed with frightened look.
"Don't beat me, Mother Watson," he said, imploringly9.
"I'll beat the laziness out of you," said the woman, vindictively10. "See if I don't."
She clutched Mark by the collar, and was about to bring the strap down forcibly upon his back, ill protected by his thin jacket, when a visitor entered the room.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Watson?" asked the intruder.
"Oh, it's you, Mrs. Flanagan?" said the woman, holding the strap suspended in the air. "I'll tell you what's the matter. This little thief has come home, after selling only three boxes of matches the whole day, and I find he's stole a penny to buy an apple with. It's for that I'm goin' to beat him."
"Oh, let him alone, the poor lad," said Mrs. Flanagan, who was a warm-hearted Irish woman. "Maybe he was hungry."
"Then why didn't he work? Them that work can eat."
"Maybe people didn't want to buy."
"Well, I can't afford to keep him in his idleness," said Mrs. Watson. "He may go to bed without his supper."
"If he can't sell his matches, maybe people would give him something."
Mrs. Watson evidently thought favorably of this suggestion, for, turning to Mark, she said, "Go out again, you little thief, and mind you don't come in again till you've got twenty-five cents to bring to me. Do you mind that?"
Mark listened, but stood irresolute11:
"I don't like to beg," he said.
"Don't like to beg!" screamed Mrs. Watson. "Do you mind that, now, Mrs. Flanagan? He's too proud to beg."
"Mother told me never to beg if I could help it," said Mark.
"Well, you can't help it," said the woman, flourishing the strap in a threatening manner. "Do you see this?"
"Yes."
"Well, you'll feel it too, if you don't do as I tell you. Go out now."
"I'm so hungry," said Mark; "won't you give me a piece of bread?"
"Not a mouthful till you bring back twenty-five cents. Start now, or you'll feel the strap."
The boy left the room with a slow step, and wearily descended12 the stairs. I hope my young readers will never know the hungry craving13 after food which tormented14 the poor little boy as he made his way towards the street. But he had hardly reached the foot of the first staircase when he heard a low voice behind him, and, turning, beheld15 Mrs. Flanagan, who had hastily followed after him.
"Are you very hungry?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm faint with hunger."
"Poor boy!" she said, compassionately16; "come in here a minute."
She opened the door of her own room which was just at the foot of the staircase, and gently pushed him in.
It was a room of the same general appearance as the one above, but was much neater looking.
"Biddy Flanagan isn't the woman to let a poor motherless child go hungry when she's a bit of bread or meat by her. Here, Mark, lad, sit down, and I'll soon bring you something that'll warm up your poor stomach."
She opened a cupboard, and brought out a plate containing a small quantity of cold beef, and two slices of bread.
"There's some better mate than you'll get of Mother Watson. It's cold, but it's good."
"She never gives me any meat at all," said Mark, gazing with a look of eager anticipation17 at the plate which to his famished18 eye looked so inviting19.
"I'll be bound she don't," said Mrs. Flanagan. "Talk of you being lazy! What does she do herself but sit all day doing nothin' except drink whiskey from the black bottle! She might get washin' to do, as I do, if she wanted to, but she won't work. She expects you to get money enough for both of you."
Meanwhile Mrs. Flanagan had poured out a cup of tea from an old tin teapot that stood on the stove.
"There, drink that, Mark dear," she said. "It'll warm you up, and you'll need it this cold night, I'm thinkin'."
The tea was not of the best quality, and the cup was cracked and discolored; but to Mark it was grateful and refreshing20, and he eagerly drank it.
"Is it good?" asked the sympathizing woman, observing with satisfaction the eagerness with which it was drunk.
"Yes, it makes me feel warm," said Mark.
"It's better nor the whiskey Mother Watson drinks," said Mrs. Flanagan. "It won't make your nose red like hers. It would be a sight better for her if she'd throw away the whiskey, and take to the tea."
"You are very kind, Mrs. Flanagan," said Mark, rising from the table, feeling fifty per cent. better than when he sat down.
"Oh bother now, don't say a word about it! Shure you're welcome to the bit you've eaten, and the little sup of tea. Come in again when you feel hungry and Bridget Flanagan won't be the woman to send you off hungry if she's got anything in the cupboard."
"I wish Mother Watson was as good as you are," said Mark.
"I aint so good as I might be," said Mrs. Flanagan; "but I wouldn't be guilty of tratin' a poor boy as that woman trates you, more shame to her! How came you with her any way? She aint your mother, is she."
"No," said Mark, shuddering21 at the bare idea. "My mother was a good woman, and worked hard. She didn't drink whiskey. Mother was always kind to me. I wish she was alive now."
"When did she die, Mark dear?"
"It's going on a year since she died. I didn't know what to do, but Mother Watson told me to come and live with her, and she'd take care of me."
"Sorra a bit of kindness there was in that," commented Mrs. Flanagan. "She wanted you to take care of her. Well, and what did she make you do?"
"She sent me out to earn what I could. Sometimes I would run on errands, but lately I have sold matches."
"Is it hard work sellin' them?"
"Sometimes I do pretty well, but some days it seems as if nobody wanted any. To-day I went round to a great many offices, but they all had as many as they wanted, and I didn't sell but three boxes. I tried to sell more, indeed I did, but I couldn't."
"No doubt you did, Mark, dear. It's cold you must be in that thin jacket of yours this cold weather. I've got a shawl you may wear if you like. You'll not lose it, I know."
But Mark had a boy's natural dislike to being dressed as a girl, knowing, moreover, that his appearance in the street with Mrs. Flanagan's shawl would subject him to the jeers22 of the street boys. So he declined the offer with thanks, and, buttoning up his thin jacket, descended the remaining staircase, and went out again into the chilling and uninviting street. A chilly23, drizzling24 rain had just set in, and this made it even more dreary25 than it had been during the day.
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1
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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2
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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3
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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4
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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5
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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6
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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7
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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8
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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9
imploringly
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| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
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10
vindictively
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| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
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11
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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12
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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13
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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14
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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15
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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16
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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17
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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18
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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19
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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20
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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21
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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22
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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23
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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24
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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