Between Rounds

by O. Henry

　　

---

The May moon shone bright upon the private boarding-house of Mrs.Murphy. By reference to the almanac a large amount of territory willbe discovered upon which its rays also fell. Spring was in itsheydey, with hay fever soon to follow. The parks were green with newleaves and buyers for the Western and Southern trade. Flowers andsummer-resort agents were blowing; the air and answers to Lawson weregrowing milder; handorgans, fountains and pinochle were playingeverywhere. The windows of Mrs. Murphy's boarding-house were open. A group ofboarders were seated on the high stoop upon round, flat mats likeGerman pancakes. In one of the second-floor front windows Mrs. McCaskey awaited herhusband. Supper was cooling on the table. Its heat went into Mrs.McCaskey. At nine Mr. McCaskey came. He carried his coat on his arm and hispipe in his teeth; and he apologised for disturbing the boarders onthe steps as he selected spots of stone between them on which to sethis size 9, width Ds. As he opened the door of his room he received a surprise. Instead ofthe usual stove-lid or potato-masher for him to dodge, came onlywords. Mr. McCaskey reckoned that the benign May moon had softened thebreast of his spouse. "I heard ye," came the oral substitutes for kitchenware. "Ye canapollygise to riff-raff of the streets for settin' yer unhandy feeton the tails of their frocks, but ye'd walk on the neck of yer wifethe length of a clothes-line without so much as a 'Kiss me fut,' andI'm sure it's that long from rubberin' out the windy for ye and thevictuals cold such as there's money to buy after drinkin' up yerwages at Gallegher's every Saturday evenin', and the gas man heretwice to-day for his." "Woman!" said Mr. McCaskey, dashing his coat and hat upon a chair,"the noise of ye is an insult to me appetite. When ye run downpoliteness ye take the mortar from between the bricks of thefoundations of society. 'Tis no more than exercisin' the acrimonyof a gentleman when ye ask the dissent of ladies blockin' the wayfor steppin' between them. Will ye bring the pig's face of ye outof the windy and see to the food?" Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily and went to the stove. There wassomething in her manner that warned Mr. McCaskey. When the cornersof her mouth went down suddenly like a barometer it usually foretolda fall of crockery and tinware. "Pig's face, is it?" said Mrs. MeCaskey, and hurled a stewpan full ofbacon and turnips at her lord. Mr. McCaskey was no novice at repartee. He knew what should followthe entree. On the table was a roast sirloin of pork, garnished withshamrocks. He retorted with this, and drew the appropriate return ofa bread pudding in an earthen dish. A hunk of Swiss cheeseaccurately thrown by her husband struck Mrs. McCaskey below one eye.When she replied with a well-aimed coffee-pot full of a hot, black,semi-fragrant liquid the battle, according to courses, should haveended. But Mr. McCaskey was no 50-cent ~table d'hoter~. Let cheap Bohemiansconsider coffee the end, if they would. Let them make that ~fauxpas~. He was foxier still. Finger-bowls were not beyond the compassof his experience. They were not to be had in the Pension Murphy;but their equivalent was at hand. Triumphantly he sent the granite-ware wash basin at the head of his matrimonial adversary. Mrs.McCaskey dodged in time. She reached for a flatiron, with which, asa sort of cordial, she hoped to bring the gastronomical duel to aclose. But a loud, wailing scream downstairs caused both her and Mr.McCaskey to pause in a sort of involuntary armistice. On the sidewalk at the corner of the house Policeman Cleary wasstanding with one ear upturned, listening to the crash of householdutensils. "'Tis Jawn McCaskey and his missis at it again," meditated thepoliceman. "I wonder shall I go up and stop the row. I will not.Married folks they are; and few pleasures they have. 'Twill not lastlong. Sure, they'll have to borrow more dishes to keep it up with." And just then came the loud scream below-stairs, betokening fear ordire extremity. "'Tis probably the cat," said Policeman Cleary, andwalked hastily in the other direction. The boarders on the steps were fluttered. Mr. Toomey, an insurancesolicitor by birth and an investigator by profession, went inside toanalyse the scream. He returned with the news that Mrs. Murphy'slittle boy, Mike, was lost. Following the messenger, out bouncedMrs. Murphy--two hundred pounds in tears and hysterics, clutching theair and howling to the sky for the loss of thirty pounds of frecklesand mischief. Bathos, truly; but Mr. Toomey sat down at the side ofMiss Purdy, millinery, and their hands came together in sympathy.The two old maids, Misses Walsh, who complained every day about thenoise in the halls, inquired immediately if anybody had looked behindthe clock. Major Grigg, who sat by his fat wife on the top step, arose andbuttoned his coat. "The little one lost?" he exclaimed. "I willscour the city." His wife never allowed him out after dark. But nowshe said: "Go, Ludovic!" in a baritone voice. "Whoever can lookupon that mother's grief without springing to her relief has a heartof stone." "Give me some thirty or--sixty cents, my love," said theMajor. "Lost children sometimes stray far. I may need carfares." Old man Denny, hall room, fourth floor back, who sat on the loweststep, trying to read a paper by the street lamp, turned over a pageto follow up the article about the carpenters' strike. Mrs. Murphyshrieked to the moon: "Oh, ar-r-Mike, f'r Gawd's sake, where is melittle bit av a boy?" "When'd ye see him last?" asked old man Denny, with one eye on thereport of the Building Trades League. "Oh," wailed Mrs. Murphy, "'twas yisterday, or maybe four hours ago!I dunno. But it's lost he is, me little boy Mike. He was playin' onthe sidewalk only this mornin'--or was it Wednesday? I'm that busywith work, 'tis hard to keep up with dates. But I've looked thehouse over from top to cellar, and it's gone he is. Oh, for the loveav Hiven--" Silent, grim, colossal, the big city has ever stood against itsrevilers. They call it hard as iron; they say that no pulse of pitybeats in its bosom; they compare its streets with lonely forests anddeserts of lava. But beneath the hard crust of the lobster is founda delectable and luscious food. Perhaps a different simile wouldhave been wiser. Still, nobody should take offence. We would callno one a lobster without good and sufficient claws. No calamity so touches the common heart of humanity as does thestraying of a little child. Their feet are so uncertain and feeble;the ways are so steep and strange. Major Griggs hurried down to the corner, and up the avenue intoBilly's place. "Gimme a rye-high," he said to the servitor."Haven't seen a bow-legged, dirty-faced little devil of a six-year-old loot kid around here anywhere, have you?" Mr. Toomey retained Miss Purdy's hand on the steps. "Think of thatdear little babe," said Miss Purdy, "lost from his mother's side--perhaps already fallen beneath the iron hoofs of galloping steeds--oh, isn't it dreadful?" "Ain't that right?" agreed Mr. Toomey, squeezing her hand. "Say Istart out and help look for um!" "Perhaps," said Miss Purdy, "you should. But, oh, Mr. Toomey, youare so dashing--so reckless--suppose in your enthusiasm some accidentshould befall you, then what--" Old man Denny read on about the arbitration agreement, with onefinger on the lines. In the second floor front Mr. and Mrs. McCaskey came to the window torecover their second wind. Mr. McCaskey was scooping turnips out ofhis vest with a crooked forefinger, and his lady was wiping an eyethat the salt of the roast pork had not benefited. They heard theoutcry below, and thrust their heads out of the window. "'Tis little Mike is lost," said Mrs. McCaskey, in a hushed voice,"the beautiful, little, trouble-making angel of a gossoon!" "The bit of a boy mislaid?" said Mr. McCaskey, leaning out of thewindow. "Why, now, that's bad enough, entirely. The childer, theybe different. If 'twas a woman I'd be willin', for they leave peacebehind 'em when they go." Disregarding the thrust, Mrs. McCaskey caught her husband's arm. "Jawn," she said, sentimentally, "Missis Murphy's little bye is lost.'Tis a great city for losing little boys. Six years old he was.Jawn, 'tis the same age our little bye would have been if we had hadone six years ago." "We never did," said Mr. McCaskey, lingering with the fact. "But if we had, Jawn, think what sorrow would be in our hearts thisnight, with our little Phelan run away and stolen in the citynowheres at all." "Ye talk foolishness," said Mr. McCaskey. "'Tis Pat he would benamed, after me old father in Cantrim." "Ye lie!" said Mrs. McCaskey, without anger. "Me brother was worthtin dozen bog-trotting McCaskeys. After him would the bye be named."She leaned over the window-sill and looked down at the hurrying andbustle below. "Jawn," said Mrs. McCaskey, softly, "I'm sorry I was hasty wid ye." "'Twas hasty puddin', as ye say," said her husband, "and hurry-upturnips and get-a-move-on-ye coffee. 'Twas what ye could call aquick lunch, all right, and tell no lie." Mrs. McCaskey slipped her arm inside her husband's and took his roughhand in hers. "Listen at the cryin' of poor Mrs. Murphy," she said. "'Tis an awfulthing for a bit of a bye to be lost in this great big city. If 'twasour little Phelan, Jawn, I'd be breakin' me heart." Awkwardly Mr. McCaskey withdrew his hand. But he laid it around thenearing shoulders of his wife. "'Tis foolishness, of course," said he, roughly, "but I'd be cut upsome meself if our little Pat was kidnapped or anything. But therenever was any childer for us. Sometimes I've been ugly and hard withye, Judy. Forget it." They leaned together, and looked down at the heart-drama being actedbelow. Long they sat thus. People surged along the sidewalk, crowding,questioning, filling the air with rumours, and inconsequent surmises.Mrs. Murphy ploughed back and forth in their midst, like a softmountain down which plunged an audible cataract of tears. Courierscame and went. Loud voices and a renewed uproar were raised in front of theboarding-house. "What's up now, Judy?" asked Mr. McCaskey. "'Tis Missis Murphy's voice," said Mrs. McCaskey, harking. "Shesays she's after finding little Mike asleep behind the roll of oldlinoleum under the bed in her room." Mr. McCaskey laughed loudly. "That's yer Phelan," he shouted, sardonically. "Divil a bit would aPat have done that trick. If the bye we never had is strayed andstole, by the powers, call him Phelan, and see him hide out under thebed like a mangy pup." Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily, and went toward the dish closet, withthe corners of her mouth drawn down. Policeman Cleary came back around the corner as the crowd dispersed.Surprised, he upturned an ear toward the McCaskey apartment, wherethe crash of irons and chinaware and the ring of hurled kitchenutensils seemed as loud as before. Policeman Cleary took out histimepiece. "By the deported snakes!" he exclaimed, "Jawn McCaskey and his ladyhave been fightin' for an hour and a quarter by the watch. Themissis could give him forty pounds weight. Strength to his arm." Policeman Cleary strolled back around the corner. Old man Denny folded his paper and hurried up the steps just as Mrs.Murphy was about to lock the door for the night.

---

---