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A tarpaulin was spread upon the snow and upon it he laid his burden, while the silent crowd made room and word went over to the hospital for the doctor to come quickly. Very gently they lifted poor little Nibsy for it was he, caught in his berth by a worse enemy than the "cop" or the watchman of the hay-barge into the ambulance that bore him off to the hospital cot, too late.
There was the baby now poor baby and mother and then a great blank, and it was all a mystery to poor Nibsy no longer. For, just as a wild-eyed woman pushed her way through the crowd of nurses and doctors to his bedside, crying for her boy, Nibsy gave up his soul to God. It was very quiet in the alley. Christmas had come and gone.
Conscious only of a vague discomfort that had succeeded terror and pain, Nibsy wondered uneasily why they were all so kind. Nobody had taken the trouble to as much as notice him before. When he had thrust his papers into their very faces they had pushed him roughly aside. Nibsy, unhurt and able to fight his way, never had a show.
The children from the tenements in the alley and across the way were having a game of blind-man's-buff, groping blindly about in the crowd to catch each other. They hailed Nibsy with shouts of laughter, calling to him to join in. "We're having Christmas!" they yelled. Nibsy did not hear them. He was thinking, thinking, the while turning over his four pennies at the bottom of his pocket.
Down the three flights in as many jumps Nibsy went, and through the alley, over barrels and barriers, never stopping once till he reached the street, and curses and shouts were left behind. In his flight he had lost his unsold papers, and he felt ruefully in his pocket as he went down the street, pulling his rags about him as much from shame as to keep out the cold.
His company was not such as he considered an adaptable one; it was not such as he had when he made the descent on Newport. The dwarf was not there; neither was Nibsy both valuable people from a strolling player's standpoint. It is true he had his loyal friend Smith, and Smith could be relied upon for any emergency.
There was the baby now poor baby and mother and then a great blank, and it was all a mystery to poor Nibsy no longer. For, just as a wild-eyed woman pushed her way through the crowd of nurses and doctors to his bedside, crying for her boy, Nibsy gave up his soul to God. It was very quiet in the alley. Christmas had come and gone.
The children from the tenements in the alley and across the way were having a game of blindman's-buff, groping blindly about in the crowd to catch each other. They hailed Nibsy with shouts of laughter, calling to him to join in. "We're having Christmas!" they yelled. Nibsy did not hear them. He was thinking, thinking, the while turning over his four pennies at the bottom of his pocket.
Nibsy had remained just inside the door, edging slowly toward his mother, but with a watchful eye on the man at the stove. At the first movement of his hand toward the woodpile he sprang for the stairway with the agility of a cat, and just dodged the missile. It struck the door, as he slammed it behind him, with force enough to smash the panel.
Down by the printing-offices there were the steam gratings, and a chance corner in the cellars, stories and stories underground, where the big presses keep up such a clatter from midnight till far into the day. As he passed them in review, Nibsy made up his mind with sudden determination, and, setting his face toward the south, made off down town.
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