Children of the TenementsRiis, Jacob A. (Jacob August)
General
Children of the Tenements
Riis, Jacob A. (Jacob August)
New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Short stories, American; Tenement houses -- Fiction
Joe drove his old gray mare along the stony road in deep thought. They
had been across the ferry to Newtown with a load of Christmas truck.
It had been a hard pull uphill for them both, for Joe had found it
necessary not a few times to get down and give old 'Liza a lift to
help her over the roughest spots; and now, going home, with the
twilight coming on and no other job a-waiting, he let her have her own
way. It was slow, but steady, and it suited Joe; for his head was full
of busy thoughts, and there were few enough of them that were
pleasant.
Business had been bad at the big stores, never worse, and what
trucking there was there were too many about. Storekeepers who never
used to look at a dollar, so long as they knew they could trust the
man who did their hauling, were counting the nickels these days. As
for chance jobs like this one, that was all over with the holidays,
and there had been little enough of it, too.
There would be less, a good deal, with the hard winter at the door,
and with 'Liza to keep and the many mouths to fill. Still, he
wouldn't have minded it so much but for mother fretting and worrying
herself sick at home, and all along o' Jim, the eldest boy, who had
gone away mad and never come back. Many were the dollars he had paid
the doctor and the druggist to fix her up, but it was no use. She was
worrying herself into a decline, it was clear to be seen.
Joe heaved a heavy sigh as he thought of the strapping lad who had
brought such sorrow to his mother. So strong and so handy on the
wagon. Old 'Liza loved him like a brother and minded him even better
than she did himself. If he only had him now, they could face the
winter and the bad times, and pull through. But things never had gone
right since he left. He didn't know, Joe thought humbly as he jogged
along over the rough road, but he had been a little hard on the lad.
Boys wanted a chance once in a while. All work and no play was not for
them. Likely he had forgotten he was a boy once himself. But Jim was
such a big lad, 'most like a man. He took after his mother more than
the rest. She had been proud, too, when she was a girl. He wished he
hadn't been hasty that time they had words about those boxes at the
store. Anyway, it turned out that it wasn't Jim's fault. But he was
gone that night, and try as they might to find him, they never had
word of him since. And Joe sighed again more heavily than before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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