University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
HINTS AT THE SKELETON IN CAPTAIN SCHMINKY'S
HOUSE.

With the closing door vanished all that world of rich
furniture, and warmth and comfort, for the child. She
was again in the chill bleak street—one of the poor—
and face to face with poverty and hunger.

Hunger! How many are ignorant of the meaning of
the word!—how many are, alas! too well acquainted
with it! Hunger! the cry of the mean and ignoble
body—the material organization—the growl of the
sleeping animal ready to tear its Slave-Lord, the soul!
Hunger! The hand to hand struggle with the tendency

to faintness and death!—the despairing conviction that
a step only remains between life and the dark beyond,
which draws ever nearer—the thought that others are
revelling in plenty, while you are failing for want of the
crumbs which even the dogs may gather! This is what
it is to be poor and in want—this is what the sick ages
stagger under, drawing ever near to the day when the
awful question shall be asked, “Lord, when saw we
thee an hungered, or athrist, or a stranger, or naked, or
sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?”—and
when that terrible reply shall be returned, “Verily I say
unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of
these, ye did it not to me!”

Ellie returned thus to her struggle, and retracing her
way as quickly as her faintness would permit—for she
had tasted nothing for nearly twenty-four hours—reached
home.

Charley had had the good fortune to procure some fuel
from an old negro woman, who lived in the cellar opposite
—Aunt Phillis had more than once befriended Ellie—and
so the fire had not entirely died out. The doctor had
called for a moment, and written another prescription
in her absence; and this the child handed to his sister.

Her first thought, however, was for her uncle; and so,
assuming a cheerful and hopeful expression, which hid a
weary and anxious heart, Ellie went to his bedside.

“How do you feel now, uncle?” she asked; “I went
away before you were quite waked up.”

“Poorly, poorly,” said Joe in a faint voice; “the
fever's got me regular, daughter.”

“Oh, do not think it is very bad,” said Ellie, earnestly;
“you'll soon be well, and we shall get on very well.”

“That troubles me more than all, an' makes my head
hotter 'n the fever,” murmured Joe.

“Oh, don't be troubled, dear uncle. I went this morning
and got the pay for my collar—see how much—and
we're quite rich.”

He looked at the tender gentle face with great affection,
and murmuring “a good girl,” fell back faintly.

“Have you had some tea, uncle?” she asked cheerily.
“I'll make you some hot in a minute.

“Yes, I had some.”

“Well then, I'll go out and get something to make
you some nice soup, and call and get the medicine. I
called at the paper office, and told them you were sick,
and it is all right.”

“Good Ellie.”

“Oh, no, I 'm not good, and it is very little to do for
you—I mean anything would be—after all your love and
kindness to me and Charley.”

Ellie accompanied these soft words with a look which
made the poor sick man murmur a blessing, and then
hastened to get his draught. Having duly administered
it, she put on her bonnet again, and hurried off to get the
medicine.

This exhausted one-half, at least, of her store—but that
was nothing. She came back and placed it on the table,
and taking her basket repaired to market—poor little
housekeeper!—to get the material for a light soup. This
she soon accomplished, and turned again towards home.

She had just passed the famous sign of “Schminky,
Grocer,” when she recollected Uncle Joe's fondness for
pepper—black pepper—in his soup, and also that she had
not a spoonful of salt in the house. She therefore
turned back and went into the store.

The portly proprietor was visible behind the counter,
resplendent in his fine uniform of Captain of the “Yager”
company of German volunteers; and, indeed, so well
known was this office, that we have almost committed a
solecism in (American) good manners by speaking of him
in any other way than as Captain Schminky—which we
shall do in future. Captain Schminky, then, was behind
the counter tying up a pound of candles, and he delivered
them to his customer as Ellie entered.

“Well now, young one, vat is it?” asked Captain
Schminky, in a strong fatherland accent.

“I want a little pepper and salt, if you please, sir,”
said Ellie, “a very little, as little as you can sell, if you
please. Uncle Joe is sick, and—”

“Zalt—you want zalt, ch?” said Captain Schminky,
“you want pepper, eh?”

“A little if you please, sir.”

“For your uncle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He 's zick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goot.”

And having uttered this somewhat ambiguous monosyllable,
Captain Schminky with one hand seized the salt,
with the other the pepper, and emptied a good large pile

of each into a sheet of brown paper. Then for fear they
would mix, he laid a slice of cheese and some crackers
between them, and bundling them up, rolled the package
to Ellie.

“Oh, sir,” she said “I 'm afraid that is too much. I
can't pay for—”

“Bay!—I don't want noting—ton't pother me.”

And bluff Captain Schminky emerged into the shop,
and turning his back on Ellie, abandoned the store to his
clerk.

Ellie picked up her bundle, and, full of thanks and
gratitude, went out. Captain Schminky was there, reconnoitring
the street—his hand upon his sword.

“I zay,” he said, “you know Zam Peau?”

“Sam? Oh, yes, sir.”

“Ough; you ze 'im when las'?”

“I saw him yesterday.”

“You ze 'im 'bout here to-day?”

“No, sir, not to-day.”

“Ough! tam Zam Peau!”

And having uttered this objurgation, Captain Schminky,
with his hand on his sword hilt, took his way proudly
down the street.

Ellie smiled and went towards home, not thinking of the
chill wind which cut through her thin dress—but full of
the subject of the soup

She soon prepared it, and was delighted to see that the
invalid enjoyed it—he declared, indeed, that he never
could have touched it without the pepper. The faculty
may differ upon the advisability of pepper, but we incline

to think that Ellie was in the right. She watched the
invalid as he eat, with a satisfaction which gave him a
new appetite; and when he was done, ran and took the
plate, and smoothed his pillow, and saw him turn his face
away looking much better. She and Charley then ate
some of the cheese and crackers.

Charley was slowly coming to the conviction—for Charley
was a good boy at bottom—that he ought to do something
to help his uncle and sister. He now introduced
the subject, forlornly munching his cheese, and talking in a
whisper.

“I say, sister, I kin sell some papers, I think,” he said.

“Papers, Charley?”

“Yes, newspapers.”

Ellie reflected.

“Littler boys 'an me kin,” continued Charley, munching,
“and I 'm goin' to try.”

“How will you get them, Charley—who will tell you
how?”

“I know. I ain't goin' to do like that ugly Jim, that
takes 'em from the doors and sells 'em.”

“Oh, Charley! I hope not! That would be stealing.”

Charley assented to this and continued:

“Sam will show me how;—must I ask him?”

Ellie pondered, and at last replied:

“Yes, Charley, if you think you can do it. Sam is
quite honest, I think, and I know he will not mislead a
child like you. Yes, Charley,” continued the child, “I
think you have smartness enough to do it very well; but

your feet will be terribly cold, and you can't wear my
shoes.”

But Charley had his pride thoroughly aroused, and
declared that he didn't care for the cold; and he was
going off to see Sam at once. Ellie buttoned up his coat
and kissed him, and the juvenile newsboy set forth upon
his search.

He returned in an hour with a bright look, and said he
had seen Sam on the wharf, and he had promised to take
him and “interduce” him on the next morning; and full
of his new ambition, Charley became dignified and
affectionate.

So the day drew on and night came, and passed pretty
much as before. Uncle Joe was still hot with fever, but
he seemed more composed, and Ellie poured out her
whole little heart in prayer for him.

Charley disappeared early, and came back two or
three hours afterwards somewhat down-hearted, but still
manful. He had made a few coppers, but evidently
doubted seriously about his new profession. He was to
go on the next morning, however, and meanwhile consoled
himself with counting his coppers—after which he
dutifully deposited them in his sister's lap.

During his absence Ellie had gone out and bargained
with a neighbour for a small portion of wood, and this
exhausted the whole of her money. But they now had
enough for two days at least, and the child began to cast
about her for ways and means again.

She recollected that Miss Incledon had said to the
gentleman with whom she held that singular conversation,

that she wished her, Ellie, to remain in order to see
about some collars; and now this occurred to her as an
opportunity to obtain some more work, if Mrs. Brown
should have none to give her.

She accordingly took her bonnet, and cautioning Charley
not to leave her uncle, who was dozing, set forth
toward Miss Incledon's. On the way she stopped and
explained what she had done to good Mrs. Brown, who
fully approved of it, and was sorry she had no more work
at the moment.

So Ellie thanked her for her kind words, and curtseying,
continued her way toward the house of the young
lady.