Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 205, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 August 1915 — THE PAWNED BABY [ARTICLE]

THE PAWNED BABY

By VANE MERRIMAN.

Rosa Horn Its moved heavily down the narrow aisle between the dusty glass cases of the pawnshop and peered up Into the storm-swept streets. "We got to light the lamps about now, papa,” she said over her shoulder. The little man huddled over a greasy ledger at a desk near the window looked up with hawk eyes. “You shouldn’t be cutting off all what light there is, Rosa,” he reproved his wife. "When I make a footing of this here yesterday’s page, then, maybe, we shall light lamps.” Rosa moved her bulky form so that it no longer obscured the window. From the basement doorway she could look up and see many feet passing along the sidewalk, the feet of men, women and little children, and if it had been light enough in the basement Papa Hornitz might have seen his wife’s face wet with tears. Suddenly a pair of large, masculine feet, shod in well-worn galoshes, hesitated at the top of the flight of stone steps and then passed on. Rosa turned toward her husband. "Cousin Lensky just went by;' I could to tell his galoshes.” “The feet of a meddler,” snarled Jacob Hornitz. “He dare not show his face to me.” “Papa, papa,” soothed Rosa, laying her hand on her husband’s trembling arm. “Did he not steal my boy—my Joey?” “Ah, papa!" wailed Rosa, “it was not Lensky who stole our son. It was his niece, that good for nothing Ray Nemuss, with her- fancy ways.” “It was Lensky who told Joey if he broke his engagement to Ray her heart would break. And even though our hearts break from his disobedience our son marries her, and we never see him.” Jacob’s voice cracked drearily. “You told him never to show face here again. And her; we hated her for her silly ways and because we were .jealous. Now they have moved to Chicago—so far away,” reminded Rosa. The door opened suddenly to admit a customer. Jacob retired to light a lamp over a distant counter and prepared to haggle over a gold watch. Mrs. Hornitz stood before the door watching the feet on the sidewalk. Suddenly a bulky object blotted! out the view; there was a commotion on the stone steps and something bumped against the door. Out of the storm and wet there was propelled into the shop A baby carriage pushed by a shawl-shrouded woman. - “For what —’’ Rosa was angrily beginning when the woman interrupted. “Please —please to let me have a dollar on it. It’s a fine carriage, almost new and —" “Wait,” Rosa interrupted in her turn and lighted a bracket lamp. She examined the carriage closely, poked its empty depths and then nodded assent. While she fumbled in the cash drawer the woman pushed the carriage into a dusky corner out of the way of a passing customer. The transaction concluded, the woman clutched the dollar bill and the pawn ticket and vanished into the night t Jacob was lighting the remaining lamps that shone like dim yellow oases in the desert gloom of the shop. “Times Is hard, papa,” observed Rosa. “Times is always hard for some folks,” retorted Jacob as he returned to his desk. “Times is very bad when a lady pawns her baby carriage. Look, papa a fine, handsome carriage, and only a dollar asked.” Jacob glanced toward the corner and nodded. Rosa usually made a good bargain. He sighed sharply. Ross Hornitz knew that he was thinking of their son Joey, gone almost a year. They had not seen Joey since his marriage. Now, he was in Chicago, where Cousin Lensky bad relatives, but he had never written. Perhaps Jacob’s denunciations still rang in his ears. At eleven o’clock Rosa, nodding over her knitting, lifted her head sharply. * Jacob locking up his books, stared at her curiously. “What is it?” he asked. “I thought you made a cry, papa,” she said meekly. “You should always hear things, Rosa,” he reproved. A queer little sound came from the darkest corner of the shop, a feeble, half strangled cry. Rosa and Jacob rushed from their place and met in the middle of the shop. Their eyes questioned each other. Jacob spoke first. Perspiration beaded his forehead; he essayed a careless laugh. “I am like a child — a crazy one,” he confessed. "I thought ’twas little Joey crying! And him —God knows where!” *'Ah, papa!” wailed Rosa. “I heard it too. It is a bad sign and —” She stopped and listened with a tense look on her round face. The cry again—louder—a distinct wa!L “A-—a—baby!” Jacob stamped his foot angrily. "Rosa, fool that you are! There is a baby in that carriage.” "Ah, no! The lady had no baby. The carriage was empty—l felt in it,” protested Rosa, waddling toward the -A, f

corner. Jacob carried a lamp and flashed it toward the carriage, "The carriage was empty," repeated Rosa, bending over it “Jacob, it is a baby—poor, forgotten one!" Herarms plunged into the carriage and brought from under the hood a bundle wrapped In an old shawl. The bundle wriggled and watHed lustily. “You will take it to the police,' commanded Jacob sourly. "What for should anyone wish us bad luck like this?” The baby suddenly stopped crying and, cradled in Rosa’s hungry, motherly arms, stared up at her with round, black eyes. “He should maybe two months old," remarked Rosa. “Such a beautiful boy —see, Jacob he smiles at you!” “I see nothing but bad luck," shrugged Jacob peevishly. “Where is my umbrella and my galoshes, Rosa?" “What for, papa?” “I go to the police.” “In the morning, Jacob —husband! Let me keep him tonight—l will take him tomorrow myself—poor little one —that a mother should pawn her babe for a dollar,” she crooned softly. Jacob stamped back to his desk and looked up his records. “Ticket 13482,” he mumbled. “Did you know the woman, Rosa?” "No. She looked like that Vetta Vogel what keeps boarders down by Hester street.” Rosa threw this information over her fat shoulder. ‘*l go to give baby some milk, papa.” The door into the living room slammed. Jacob sat and stared at the closed door. He could hear Rosa’s tender voice as she moved to and fro and again the baby’s cry ending in a gurgle of satisfaction. “But for the heavy years—it could be little Joey again,” he sighed. “He was a good son —it was his only disobedience.” He bowed his head upon his greasy ledger. * He did not hear Rosa when she came into the shop and dragged Joey’s cradle from a dusty corner, nor the heavy vibration of her tireless feet as she waited upon the waif. He was thinking'of Joey in all his delightful phases from infancy to upright young manhood. A week later Jacob Hornitz faced a shawl-wrapped woman. She pushed some money and a pawn ticket across the counter. “I came for it,” she said briefly. Jacob studied the ticket and nodded. He went to the corner and pulled out the baby carriage. “Here it is,” he said. The woman hesitated. She was old and wrinkled and her hair was grizzled. “I want the baby, too,” she said sharply. % “The ticket calls for baby carriage —no more,” said Jacob sternly. “I want the baby. I hear him crying now.” She started toward the back of the shop, but Jacob and the carriage blocked her path.- • “No lady would pawn her baby. You are crazy,” he said. “I tell yon I hear it.” “What you hear it our own babyone I shall adopt. Will you go or must I call police?" he asked politely. “I will go and bring police myself, old man!” she cried shrilly, and clattered up the steps. Rosa came into the shop, carrying the baby in her arms. Jacob poked a crooked finger under the baby’s dimpled chin. “Such a little rascal babee!” he chuckled. The shop door flew open and two people flung girl whose face was sharpened by illness and privation a young man gaunt and holloweyed, a ghost of dashing Joey Hornitz. “I want my baby,” said the girl tensely, holding out eager arms. “Give her the baby, mother,” said Joey gently. “She has pined for it.” Silently Rosa dropped the baby in Ray’s arms. She and Jacob stared at Joey with unbelieving eye. They scarcely listened to his tale of poverty and illness and how an avaricious and merciless landlady had caused baby and carriage to vanish one stormy night. They had just gained her confession that she had pawned the carriage and relieved her house of the nuisance of a baby guest. “I ain sorry for the trouble, papa,” said Joey, “but we will go now. Come, Ray. Good-by, mamma.” Jacob scurried down to the door and locked it. “You couldn’t take away our baby,” he defied them. “It’s got to stay here —and you, Joey—and Ray, your wife —we want you all. Eh, mamma?” Rosa’s eyes were full of tears. Joey’s arm was around her and Jacob was awkwardly hugging Ray and the baby. “Of course all our children must stay here by us,” she said decidedly. "Joey, you help papa. Ray, baby’s milk is warm —we must feed him now.” (Copyright, 1915. by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)