Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 117, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 May 1911 — A Good Point [ARTICLE]

A Good Point

By V. H. FRIEDLANDER

We had had a good day on the links, and as 1 leaned back in Massinger's luxurious new car I yawned comfortably and thought of tea. "Wake up," said Massinger. "We’re near Victoria; home In five minutes." Be glanced at a dock. "By Jove, we’ve done the journey in less—'' A piercing scream cut him short, and he drew up with a Jerk. We both jumped out and peered through the dusk. A crowd sprang up from nowhere. "What the devil—!" began MaA singer. ' Something moved on the ground and Whimpered softly; it was the little battered figure of a boy. We leaned over him. "I say, l are you—are you hurt?" asked Massinger. The boy his sleeve across his eyes, stumbled to his feet, and touched his disreputable cap. ; "Hullo! You, Piper?" Massinger exclaimed. “Yes, sir; beg pardon, sir. I didn’t reckernize the car; Very sorry, sir.” He tried to shamble away In boots half a dozen sizes too large for him. "But, I say, Piper”—Massinger stopped him—"if you’re not hurt and we didn’t touch you, what did you—er —let off that yell for?” "Beg pardon, sir,” said the boy again, nervously. “Very sorry, sir.” "You hurted his Kitty,” interposed the shrill, reproachful voice of a little girl who was among the interested spectators. "Kitty?” echoed Massinger. “There, sir! Be’ind ’im, sir!” A dozen fingers pointed to a limp, yellowish object in the road, to which the word hurt was painfully inadequate. Piper’s cat was dead. Massinger cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I say, do you mean we —" "It ain’t of no consequence, sir,” murmured Piper. “Well, you know, I’m uncommonly sorry,” Massinger stammered, counfounded alike by Piper’s humble resignation and the eager attention of the crowd.

Piper touched his cap again, and as his hand descended something from Massinger’s hand passed into it. “Come along, ’’ -whispered Massinger to me, and we walked to the car. But before we could start we became aware with relief that we were no longer the center of interest. A big, loose limbered man had lurched out of an adjacent public house, at 'sight of whom Piper had suddenly put down his head and tried to butt his way out of the crowd. But that body, either resenting his abruptness or anticipating further excitement if they could keep him, stolidly opposed their weight to his. “That you, ye limb?" Inquired the big man, thickly. “Lemme go!" urged Piper, butting again. But it was too late. The big man had him by the coat collar. "What you bin up to, boy?” he demanded. “Nothin’,” said Piper,'sullenly. But the crowd was not to be defrauded thus. Details were amply forthcoming. “Gen’leman thought ’e was dead!” "Gen’leman ran over ’is cat ’n’ killed it!” “Ggn’leman give ’im ’alt a crown!” The drunken nytn looked thodghfully and with less amiability at his son. "Killed our cat. did ’e?” he inquired. "My cat," said Piper, defiantly. "None o’ that, saucebox,” recommended his father. “Cats what live in my house are my cats, and ’alf crowns what are paid for the funerals of my cats are my ’alf crowns. Out with "it.” There was a short struggle, and Piper’s spoil was transferred po his parent. Piper shuffled away with his sleeve across his eyes. “Poor little beggar!” I sfdd, as we started. “It’s no good interfering now, but one might make it up to him tomorrow. Where does he live?” Massinger chuckled. “Don’t waste too much of your pity, Longworth. And 1 don’t know where he lives, nor what his real name is. My wife calls him Piper because that’s the word oftenest on his lips. He-brings my evening papers round and we occasionally give him a meal or a pair of boots.” '• '■ -■ / , .' “What do you mean about wasting myjpltyr Massinger laughed—a tolerant, superior laugh. “Regular little street Arab, isn’t he? Good business, that fight.” “Good business?" “Yes; did you miss it, really r’ “Miss what?" I asked, coldly. Massinger’s air of being particularly in the know is apt to iritate one. “Ha, ha!” Massinger was in his element as he explained. “Why, the half crown business." “I saw his father take it, if that’s what you mean." "Yea, yes! His father took one, and is satisfied, too." “The other? -But how was I to know yon’d liven him two?” I was constrained to remonstrate. "NO, no! Of course not, of course not!” His air of smoothing me down was insufferable. "Still, still! ft talma time to understand these people. My experience on the bench, you know —well, weiM They’ll lie and they’ll cheat and they’ll steal, and without experience It’s highly dangerpus to have any dealings with thsta.

But with it—well, well, aa a rule they’ve a good point somewhere.” "Indeed?” I observed, with an irritation quite wasted on his pompous complacency. “As a rule —as a rule! Now this lad l —his fondness for his pet. Quite a good point, that—what? And he’s grateful, too. Because I’ve been able, to do one or two little things for him, he was quite upset that I should have been' troubled; you noticed that? Yes, yes, of course; quite obvious, as you say. Still, a good point—a good point.; Didn’t recognize the new car, you see, and when he saw me would have gone off without explaining If some one hadn’t pointed out the cat Very nice feeling—very. Well, well, here we are. But mind you”—he laid a hand impressively on my arm as we got out —“don’t mistake me. It doesn’t do for anyone without experience of these people to trust to their good points. No, no! You’d find them too sharp for you one day. Why, even I’ve been done more than once —more than once.” “You surprise me.” “In years gone by, of course,” he" hastened to explain, -v' “N6t lately—naturally not lately.”

We had reached the drawing room door, and Mrs. Massinger met us with a finger laid warningly on her lips. “I hope you don’t ifilnd, Mr. Longworth," she whispered, smilingly. “Audrey has dropped asleep at last, and the poor mite has had such a day.” We tiptoed across to the couch ■where the Massinger’s little girl lay curled up, “What’s been the matter?” Massinger asked below his breath. “She looks as if she’d been crying.” “Crying?” Mrs. Massinger made a little despairing gesture. "She’s been inconsolable. Poor Marigold was found dead in the garden this morning. I told Rogers to bury her, but unfortunately Audrey came upon him in the act, and then we had scenes. Finally nurse hit upon an idea. She suggested laying Marigold in the bicycle shed in the hope of an angel passing and flying off with her." “And did he?” I asked. "Well, he was rather a soiled one! The paper boy came round at last, and we gave him Marigold to bury.” My eyes caught Massinger’s, and their abject appeal softened my heart. But I kept him a moment in suspense —he deserved that. Then I said hypocritically, "Was Marigold a dog, Mrs. Maßsinger?” She was gently rearranging her little daughter’s cushions. “A cat,” she answered, absently; "a yellow cat.” —Throne and Country.