Читать книгу Tattered Tom - Alger Horatio Jr., Thomas Chandler Haliburton - Страница 4

It was Tom’s ill luck that brought granny upon the scene, contrary to every reasonable expectation. After smoking out her pipe, she made up her mind to try another smoke, when she found that her stock of tobacco was exhausted. Being constitutionally lazy, it was some minutes before she made up her mind to go out and lay in a fresh supply. Finally she decided, and made her way downstairs to the court, and thence to the street.

Tim saw her, and volunteered the information, “Tom gave me some bread.”

“When?” demanded granny.

“When she come out just now.”

“What did she do that for?”

“She said she wasn’t hungry.”

The old woman was puzzled. Tom’s appetite was usually quite equal to the supply of food which she got. Could Tom have secreted some money to buy apples? This was hardly likely, since she had carefully searched her. Besides, Tom had returned the usual amount. Still, granny’s suspicions were awakened, and she determined to question Tom when she returned at the close of the afternoon.

The tobacco shop where granny obtained her tobacco was two doors beyond the restaurant where Tom was then enjoying her cheap dinner with a zest which the guests at Delmonico’s do not often bring to the discussion of their more aristocratic viands. It was only a chance that led granny, as she passed, to look in; but that glance took in all who were seated at the tables, including Tom.

Had granny received an invitation to preside at a meeting in the Cooper Institute, she would hardly have been more surprised than at the sight of Tom, perfidiously enjoying a meal out of money from which she had doubtless been defrauded.

“The owdacious young reprobate!” muttered the old woman, glaring fiercely at her unconscious victim.

But Tom just then happened to look up, as we have seen. Her heart gave a sudden thump, and she said to herself, “I’m in for a lickin’, that’s so. Granny’s mad as blazes.”

The old woman did not long leave her in doubt as to the state of her feelings.

She strode into the eating-house, and, advancing to the table, seized Tom by the arm.

“What are you here for?” she growled, in a hoarse voice.

“To get some dinner,” said Tom.

By this time she had recovered from her temporary panic. She had courage and pluck, and was toughened by the hard life she had led into a stoical endurance of the evils from which she could not escape.

“What business had you to come?”

“I was hungry.”

“Didn’t I give you a piece of bread?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“What did you buy?”

“A plate of beef, a cup o’ coffee, and some pie. Better buy some, granny. They’re bully.”

“You’re a reg’lar bad un. You’ll fetch up on the gallus,” said granny, provoked at Tom’s coolness.

So saying, she seized Tom by the shoulder roughly. But by this time the keeper of the restaurant thought fit to interfere.

“We can’t have any disturbance here, ma’am,” he said. “You must leave the room.”

“She had no right to get dinner here,” said granny. “I won’t let her pay for it.”

“She has paid for it already.”

“Is that so?” demanded the old woman, disappointed.

Tom nodded, glad to have outwitted her guardian.

“It was my money. You stole it.”

“No it wa’n’t. A gentleman give it to me for callin’ me names.”

“Come out of here!” said granny, jerking Tom from her chair. “Don’t you let her have no more to eat here,” she added, turning to the keeper of the restaurant.

“She can eat here whenever she’s got money to pay for it.”

Rather disgusted at her failure to impress the keeper of the restaurant with her views in the matter, granny emerged into the street with Tom in her clutches.

She gave her a vigorous shaking up on the sidewalk.

“How do you like that?” she demanded.

“I wish I was as big as you!” said Tom, indignantly.

“Well, what if you was?” demanded the old woman, pausing in her punishment, and glaring at Tom.

“I’d make your nose bleed,” said Tom, doubling up her fist.

“You would, would you?” said granny, fiercely. “Then it’s lucky you aint;” and she gave her another shake.

“Where are you going to take me?” asked Tom.

“Home. I’ll lock you up for a week, and give you nothin’ to eat but bread once a day.”

“All right!” said Tom. “If I’m locked up at home, I can’t bring you any money.”

This consideration had not at first suggested itself to the vindictive old woman. It would cut off all her revenue to punish Tom as she proposed; and this would be far from convenient. But anger was more powerful just then than policy; and she determined at all events to convey Tom home, and give her a flogging, before sending her out into the street to resume her labors.

She strode along, dragging Tom by the arm; and not another word was spoken till they reached the rear tenement house.

“What’s the matter with the child?” asked Mrs. Murphy, who had just come down into the court after one of her own children.

“She stole my money,” said granny; “and was eatin’ a mighty fine dinner out of it.”

“It was my money, Mrs. Murphy,” said Tom. “I gave granny twenty-two cents when I came home.”

“I hope you won’t go to hurt the child,” said kind-hearted Mrs. Murphy.

“I’ll be much obliged to you, Mrs. Murphy, if you’ll mind your own business,” said granny, loftily. “When I want your advice, mum, I’ll come and ask it; begging your pardon, mum.”

“She’s a tough craythur,” said Mrs. Murphy to herself. “She beats that poor child too bad entirely.”

Granny drew Tom into the room with no gentle hand.

“Now you’re goin’ to catch it,” said she, grimly.

Tom was of the same opinion, and meant to defend herself as well as she knew how. She had all her wits about her, and had already planned out her campaign.

On the chair was a stout stick which granny was accustomed to use on such occasions as the present. When wielded by a vigorous arm, it was capable of inflicting considerable pain, as Tom very well knew. That stick she determined to have.

Accordingly when granny temporarily released her hold of her, as she entered the room, Tom sprang for the chair, seized the stick, and sent it flying out of the window.

“What did you do that for?” said granny, fiercely.

“I don’t want to be licked,” said Tom, briefly.

“You’re going to be, then.”

“Not with the stick.”

“We’ll see.”

Granny poked her head out of the window, and saw Tim down in the court.

“Bring up that stick,” she said; “that’s a good boy.”

Tim picked up the stick, and was about to obey the old woman’s request, when he heard another voice—Tom’s—from the other window.

“Don’t you do it, Tim. Granny wants to lick me.”

That was enough. Tim didn’t like the old woman,—no one in the building did,—and he did like Tom, who, in spite of being a tough customer, was good-natured and obliging, unless her temper was aroused by the old woman’s oppression. So Tim dropped the stick.

“Bring it right up,” said granny, angrily.

“Are you goin’ to lick Tom?”

“None of your business! Bring it up, or I’ll lick you too.”

“No, you don’t!” answered Tim. “You must come for it yourself if you want it.”

Granny began to find that she must do her own errands. It was an undertaking to go down three flights of stairs to the court and return again, especially for one so indolent as herself; but there seemed to be no other way. She inwardly resolved to wreak additional vengeance upon Tom, and so get what satisfaction she could in this way. Muttering imprecations which I do not care to repeat, she started downstairs, determined to try the stick first upon Tim. But when she reached the court Tim had disappeared. He had divined her benevolent intentions, and thought it would be altogether wiser for him to be out of the way.

Granny picked up the stick, and, after a sharp glance around the court, commenced the ascent. She did not stop to rest, being spurred on by the anticipated pleasure of flogging Tom. So, in a briefer space of time than could have been expected, she once more arrived at her own door.

But Tom had not been idle.

No sooner was the door closed than Tom turned the key in the lock, making herself a voluntary prisoner, but having in the key the means of deliverance.

Granny tried the door, and, to her inexpressible wrath, discovered Tom’s new audacity.

“Open the door, you trollop!” she screamed.

“You’ll lick me,” said Tom.

“I’ll give you the wust lickin’ you ever had.”

“Then I shan’t let you in,” said Tom, defiantly.