The Northern Pacific farmer. [volume] (Wadena, Minn.) 1878-1885, 1881-03-03
@'CROOKED JIM. !"
A Tenement-HOure Saint.
Bv "a Country ParsOn."

By "a Country Parson."
CROOK
Bump! bumpity! bump! went the sound
down the grimey stairway, as If an unwiei-
dy packing case had been released from the
control of the holder and was awkwardly
illustrating the law of gravitation. Click!
click! on the sidewalk. and grotesque fig
ure crawled away, like some human instinct
which has its power of locomotion con-
cealed, illustrates its latent force in the
spasmodic working of every muscle.
Bless me, what hall" that was! if by
courtesy you call it such. The walls mud
dy hue, splashed with great flakes of STEM
ma tint, abraded in every direction, gouged
out in spots, the rough laths exposed, fres-
coed in unutterable filth, every step beneath
your tread followed out by the passage of
numberless feet, Shiny and black from ut
ter lack of cleaness, the air reeking with a
stencil which only tenement houses know,
where in two score rooms, two hundred
souls-what irony in that word where hud
died, simply to exist.
Here we go, Granny; take care. Daisy
bird, comes up a voice from below, and
that quaint apology for man turns about.
A child's treble answers from the window,
and the figure swings away; but the roice
penetrates your ear, SO hearty and jolly is it,
SO rollicking in it's suppressed humor brim-
ming with laughter, having an undertone
of-what? The news-boys had thought of
it, but could not tell. The apple woman had
remembered it, as she climbed YEARLY the
old rick she called home; and the blooming
miss, on her way to school. as she stopped
for the chocolate caramels, could not Danish
it as she tripped dainty away. Was it a
sympathetic voice? -.
Mrs. Col. De Lacy, President of the
Board of Managers of the Charitable
Society,"" said it was That settled it, I
think. There was help in it, if she meant
that; perhaps she intended nothing very
profound. but she locked exceedingly inter-
esting as she turned her aristocratic face
upon the Board, in solemn conclave at it's
last meeting And by the way what wide
social gulf between Mrs. Col. De Lacy,
artistic from the very arch of her raven eye
brows to the tip of her recherche boot; ele-
CANT in every thread of her being, dazzling
in the brilliant smile of her finely cut face,
and this misshape, distorted parody on a
human being. "Crooked Jim" some irrev-
erent boot black had named him, in fit of
Rerplexed wonder. and Crooked Jim" he
was called all over that great city. A rheu-
awful ugliness when NEAR child. The
brief care which mother with five children,
and supporting them all by washing, could
give him, had not softened his affection. A
broken limb never properly set was little
better than stick to assist his progress;
the other had cluh-foot which
must be dragged along with great
exertion. 1t was absolutely painful to see
him hop along with crutch and cane Some
malignant spirit must have lowered over
his cradle when child. But the head and
face was what startled you You had been
Mortified, now you were profoundly moved.
Below the neck the outline was contor-
ton; but the head, with it's blonde hair and
massive face, was an impressive study.
No weakness here; a keener chisel than that
of physical pain had struck that profile into
grace not the grace Of blushing girl, but
of full orbed, self mastered man. A pass
ing artist had once said it was st. John
beheaded and attached to curbstone hucks-
ter. He did preside at stall where papers
and peanuts and candy we're always ready
for customers, a few of the latest books land
even the great editor of certain Review
was not ashamed to ask his opinion of the
latest issues. That brilliant critique which
the literary guild had SO admired was born
one frosty morning at Crooked Jim's"
humble counter The thought of the one,
transfused throug III the quick genius of the
other, had become fuel for an active brain.
There are men who find their ammunition
in the lowliest places. Without such re-
source, their heaviest guns would be spiked.
Hop, skip and jump" as the boys say,
goes this little dumpy man, humming softly
the bar of a tune. What IS the matter,
Jake?" and he stops before a diminutive
mite crying bitterly, the tears having made
a muddy pathway down the face. Jim,
lave lost the five cints for the bread, bad
luck to it, and me mother will whak me. -
ooh, ye careless rascal; let me grapple ye;'
but Jake only opened his mouth and began
to grin: Crooked Jim's" reputation was
too we'll established. Here, Jake, take this
five cents and another one for yourself.
Begone, ye vagabond!' '"Tte holy saints
preserve ye," cried the boy, as he hurried
away.
Click! click! went the crutch and cane