Humorous stories; Reporters and reporting -- Fiction; Women authors -- Fiction
In a corner of Frau Nirlanger’s bedroom, sheltered from draughts and
glaring light, is a little wooden bed, painted blue and ornamented with
stout red roses that are faded by time and much abuse. Every evening at
eight o’clock three anxious-browed women hold low-spoken conclave about
the quaint old bed, while its occupant sleeps and smiles as he sleeps,
and clasps to his breast a chewed-looking woolly dog. For a new joy has
come to the sad little Frau Nirlanger, and I, quite by accident, was
the cause of bringing it to her. The queer little blue bed, with its
faded roses, was brought down from the attic by Frau Knapf, for she is
one of the three foster mothers of the small occupant of the bed. The
occupant of the bed is named Bennie, and a corporation formed for the
purpose of bringing him up in the way he should go is composed of: Dawn
O’Hara Orme, President and Distracted Guardian; Mrs. Konrad Nirlanger,
Cuddler-in-chief and Authority on the Subject of Bennie’s Bed-time; Mr.
Blackie Griffith, Good Angel, General Cut-up and Monitor off’n Bennie’s
Neckties and Toys; Dr. Ernst von Gerhard, Chief Medical Adviser, and
Sweller of the Exchequer, with the Privilege of Selecting All Candies.
Members of the corporation meet with great frequency evenings and
Sundays, much to the detriment of a certain Book-in-the-making with
which Dawn O’Hara Orme was wont to struggle o’ evenings.
Bennie had been one of those little tragedies that find their way into
juvenile court. Bennie’s story was common enough, but Bennie himself
had been different. Ten minutes after his first appearance in the court
room everyone, from the big, bald judge to the newest probation
officer, had fallen in love with him. Somehow, you wanted to smooth the
hair from his forehead, tip his pale little face upward, and very
gently kiss his smooth, white brow. Which alone was enough to
distinguish Bennie, for Juvenile court children, as a rule, are
distinctly not kissable.
Bennie’s mother was accused of being unfit to care for her boy, and
Bennie was temporarily installed in the Detention Home. There the
superintendent and his plump and kindly wife had fallen head over heels
in love with him, and had dressed him in a smart little Norfolk suit
and a frivolous plaid silk tie. There were delays in the case, and
postponement after postponement, so that Bennie appeared in the court
room every Tuesday for four weeks. The reporters, and the probation
officers and policemen became very chummy with Bennie, and showered him
with bright new pennies and certain wonderful candies. Superintendent
Arnett of the Detention Home was as proud of the boy as though he were
his own. And when Bennie would look shyly and questioningly into his
face for permission to accept the proffered offerings, the big
superintendent would chuckle delightedly. Bennie had a strangely mobile
face for such a baby, and the whitest, smoothest brow I have ever seen.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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