A Child of the Rain

by Elia W. Peattie

　　

---

IT was the night that Mona Meeks,the dressmaker, told him shedidn't love him. He couldn'tbelieve it at first, because he hadso long been accustomed to the idea that shedid, and no matter how rough the weather orhow irascible the passengers, he felt a songin his heart as he punched transfers, and ranghis bell punch, and signalled the driver whento let people off and on.Now, suddenly, with no reason except awoman's, she had changed her mind. Hedropped in to see her at five o'clock, justbefore time for the night shift, and to giveher two red apples he had been saving for her.She looked at the apples as if they were invisibleand she could not see them, and standingin her disorderly little dressmaking parlor,with its cuttings and scraps and litter of fabrics,she said:"It is no use, John. I shall have to workhere like this all my life -- work here alone.For I don't love you, John. No, I don't. Ithought I did, but it is a mistake.""You mean it?" asked John, bringing upthe words in a great gasp."Yes," she said, white and trembling andputting out her hands as if to beg for hismercy. And then -- big, lumbering fool --he turned around and strode down the stairsand stood at the corner in the beating rainwaiting for his car. It came along at length,spluttering on the wet rails and spitting outblue fire, and he took his shift after agruff "Good night" to Johnson, the man herelieved.He was glad the rain was bitter cold anddrove in his face fiercely. He rejoiced atthe cruelty of the wind, and when it hustledpedestrians before it, lashing them, twistingtheir clothes, and threatening their equilibrium,he felt amused. He was pleased atthe chill in his bones and at the hunger thattortured him. At least, at first he thought itwas hunger till he remembered that he hadjust eaten. The hours passed confusedly.He had no consciousness of time. But itmust have been late, -- near midnight, --judging by the fact that there were few personsvisible anywhere in the black storm,when he noticed a little figure sitting at thefar end of the car. He had not seen thechild when she got on, but all was so curiousand wild to him that evening -- he himselfseemed to himself the most curious and thewildest of all things -- that it was not surprisingthat he should not have observed the littlecreature.She was wrapped in a coat so much toolarge that it had become frayed at the bottomfrom dragging on the pavement. Her hairhung in unkempt stringiness about her bentshoulders, and her feet were covered withold arctics, many sizes too big, from whichthe soles hung loose.Beside the little figure was a chest of darkwood, with curiously wrought hasps. Fromthis depended a stout strap by which it couldbe carried over the shoulders. John Billingsstared in, fascinated by the poor little thingwith its head sadly drooping upon its breast,its thin blue hands relaxed upon its lap, andits whole attitude so suggestive of hunger,loneliness, and fatigue, that he made up hismind he would collect no fare from it."It will need its nickel for breakfast," hesaid to himself. "The company can standthis for once. Or, come to think of it, Imight celebrate my hard luck. Here's to thebrotherhood of failures!" And he took anickel from one pocket of his great-coat anddropped it in another, ringing his bell punchto record the transfer.The car plunged along in the darkness, andthe rain beat more viciously than ever in hisface. The night was full of the rushing soundof the storm. Owing to some change of temperaturethe glass of the car became obscuredso that the young conductor could no longersee the little figure distinctly, and he grewanxious about the child."I wonder if it's all right," he said to himself.I never saw living creature sit so still."He opened the car door, intending to speakwith the child, but just then something wentwrong with the lights. There was a blue andgreen flickering, then darkness, a sudden haltingof the car, and a great sweep of wind andrain in at the door. When, after a moment,light and motion reasserted themselves, andBillings had got the door together, he turnedto look at the little passenger. But the carwas empty.It was a fact. There was no child there --not even moisture on the seat where she hadbeen sitting."Bill," said he, going to the front door andaddressing the driver, "what became of thatlittle kid in the old cloak?""I didn't see no kid," said Bill, crossly."For Gawd's sake, close the door, John, andgit that draught off my back.""Draught!" said John, indignantly, "where'sthe draught?""You've left the hind door open," growledBill, and John saw him shivering as a blaststruck him and ruffled the fur on his bear-skincoat. But the door was not open, and yetJohn had to admit to himself that the carseemed filled with wind and a strangecoldness.However, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered!Still, it was as well no doubt to lookunder the seats just to make sure no littlecrouching figure was there, and so he did.But there was nothing. In fact, John said tohimself, he seemed to be getting expert infinding nothing where there ought to be something.He might have stayed in the car, for therewas no likelihood of more passengers thatevening, but somehow he preferred going outwhere the rain could drench him and thewind pommel him. How horribly tired hewas! If there were only some still place awayfrom the blare of the city where a man couldlie down and listen to the sound of the seaor the storm -- or if one could grow suddenlyold and get through with the bother of living-- or if --The car gave a sudden lurch as it roundeda curve, and for a moment it seemed to bea mere chance whether Conductor Billingswould stay on his platform or go off underthose fire-spitting wheels. He caught instinctivelyat his brake, saved himself, andstood still for a moment, panting."I must have dozed," he said to himself.Just then, dimly, through the blurred window,he saw again the little figure of thechild, its head on its breast as before, itsblue hands lying in its lap and the curiousbox beside it. John Billings felt a coldnessbeyond the coldness of the night run throughhis blood. Then, with a half-stifled cry, hethrew back the door, and made a desperatespring at the corner where the eerie thingsat.And he touched the green carpeting on theseat, which was quite dry and warm, as if nodripping, miserable little wretch had evercrouched there.He rushed to the front door."Bill," he roared, "I want to know aboutthat kid.""What kid?""The same kid! The wet one with the oldcoat and the box with iron hasps! The onethat's been sitting here in the car!"Bill turned his surly face to confront theyoung conductor."You've been drinking, you fool," said he."Fust thing you know you'll be reported."The conductor said not a word. He wentslowly and weakly back to his post and stoodthere the rest of the way leaning against theend of the car for support. Once or twicehe muttered:"The poor little brat!" And again hesaid, "So you didn't love me after all!"He never knew how he reached home, buthe sank to sleep as dying men sink to death.All the same, being a hearty young man, hewas on duty again next day but one, andagain the night was rainy and cold.It was the last run, and the car was spinningalong at its limit, when there came asudden soft shock. John Billings knew whatthat meant. He had felt something of thekind once before. He turned sick for amoment, and held on to the brake. Thenhe summoned his courage and went aroundto the side of the car, which had stopped.Bill, the driver, was before him, and had alimp little figure in his arms, and was carryingit to the gaslight. John gave one lookand cried:"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I toldyou of!"True as truth were the ragged coat danglingfrom the pitiful body, the little blue hands,the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the bigarctics on the feet. And in the road not faroff was the curious chest of dark wood withiron hasps."She ran under the car deliberate!" criedBill. "I yelled to her, but she looked at meand ran straight on!"He was white in spite of his weather-beatenskin."I guess you wasn't drunk last night afterall, John," said he."You -- you are sure the kid is -- is there?"gasped John."Not so damned sure!" said Bill.But a few minutes later it was taken awayin a patrol wagon, and with it the little boxwith iron hasps.

---

---