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"My God!" she cried, "if I'd known this, I'd sooner have starved than have my poor boy's life tormented out of him in such a place. He never complained. My poor, brave-hearted child! He never complained! Poor little Arvie! Poor little Arvie!" "He never told yer?" "No never a word." "My oath! You don't say so!
They treated him bad at Grinder Brothers: they didn't give him a show to learn nothing; kept him at the same work all the time, and he didn't have cheek enough to arsk the boss for a rise, lest he'd be sacked. He couldn't fight, an' the boys used to tease him; they'd wait outside the shop to have a lark with Arvie. I'd like to see 'em do it to me.
My father looked right enough at first just as if he was restin' but after they'd had him opened he looked as if he'd been hurt. No one else could see it, but I could. How old was Arvie?" "Eleven." "I'm twelve goin' on for thirteen. Arvie's father's dead, ain't he?" "Yes." "So's mine. Died at his work, didn't he?" "Yes." "So'd mine. Arvie told me his father died of something with his heart!"
She rose gently and put the alarm on two hours. "He can rest now," she whispered to herself. Presently Arvie sat bolt upright, and said quickly, "Mother! I thought the alarm went off!" Then, without waiting for an answer, he lay down as suddenly and slept.
"It's no use frettin' over what's done." He wiped some tobacco-juice off his lips with the back of his hand, and regarded the stains reflectively for a minute or so. Then he looked at Arvie again. "You should ha' tried cod liver oil," said Bill. "No. He needed rest and plenty of good food." "He wasn't very strong." "No, he was not, poor boy." "I thought he wasn't.
Arvie commenced to mutter in his sleep. "Can't you get to sleep, Arvie?" she asked. "Is your throat sore? Can I get anything for you?" "I'd like to sleep," he muttered, dreamily, "but it won't seem more'n a moment before before " "Before what, Arvie?" she asked, quickly, fearing that he was becoming delirious. "Before the alarm goes off!" He was talking in his sleep.
Arvie never answered. "Oh! my God!" she moaned. She rose and stood by the sofa. Arvie lay on his back with his arms folded a favourite sleeping position of his; but his eyes were wide open and staring upwards as though they would stare through ceiling and roof to the place where God ought to be.
It was about nine o'clock, and the business of Jones's Alley was in full swing. "That's better, mother, I'm far better," said Arvie, "the sugar and vinegar cuts the phlegm, and the both'rin' cough gits out. It got out to such an extent for the next few minutes that he could not speak. When he recovered his breath, he said: "Better or worse, I'll have to go to work to-morrow.
He amused himself by lazily tossing chips at Arvie, who made no protest for a while. "It would be better for this country," said the young terror, reflectively and abstractedly, cocking his eye at the whitewashed roof beams and feeling behind him on the bench for a heavier chip "it would be better for this country if young fellers didn't think so much about about racin' AND fightin'."
He rubbed round uneasily on the bench, fidgeted with the vise, drummed his fingers, whistled, and finally thrust his hands in his pockets and dropped on his feet. "Look here, Arvie!" he said in low, hurried tones. "Keep close to me goin' out to-night, 'n' if any of the other chaps touches yer or says anything to yer I'll hit 'em!"
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