Chapter VII: Games and Entertainments

ALL this had occurred long before our first introduction to the young lady. She still continued to give lessons in music at Madame La Vergne's school, but received no compensation except in the case of three wealthy pupils. The amount received from these three just defrayed the expense for tuition, etc., for two misses she was educating. One of these, Annie Leman, gave promise of great proficiency in music.

Marion had speedy occasion to remember her resolution with regard to Mr. Lambert. She was making some visits in a street crowded with tenement houses, and had for the moment become separated from Hepsey. With a basket on her arm she was trying to make her way up a crazy flight of stairs when she heard a quick step behind her.

"You have caused me a pretty race," shouted a man's voice, which she instantly recalled as belonging to her irascible friend. "Good for heart complaint, very!" putting his hand upon his breast and breathing quickly. Possessing himself of her basket, he lifted the cover, and said with a sneer, "Just as I supposed; tea and sugared dainties—ought to be arrested—idiotic—pests to society—humbug —sentiment and nonsense!" He was muttering away, when he caught her look of pity, which rendered him furious.

"How dare you come here?" he shouted. "You, who claim to belong to decent society. You, a chit of a girl, alone and unprotected in such a region of filth and pollution."

Marion's cheeks flushed with anger, and she was going to retort in a like strain, but something in his appearance checked her.

He looked so thin and wan and friendless. Suddenly the anger faded away and with a smile she held out her hand for the basket, saying playfully,—

"If you had waited a minute, you would have seen that I am not alone here; and I have good company while you are near to protect me."

"Nonsense!" His mouth twitched and she was sure his eyes twinkled at this unexpected retort. When finding herself mistress of the situation, she asked,—

"How dare you come here? It is very dangerous," pointing to the staircase, which Hepsey at this moment was trying to climb.

"Saw you—thought you—danger—better send police—not fit for one of your sex."

He turned off into one of the filthy rooms, and they heard him scolding the inmates as though he enjoyed it.

"What a brute!" muttered Hepsey; but Marion Only laughed, adding, "I'm not a bit afraid of him."

As they were leaving the court he came up out of a cellar and joined them.

"Delightful vicinity; very healthy, too!" pointing to a stagnant pool of filth in which a pig was wallowing. He shrugged his shoulders, chuckling with mirth.

"I see you enjoy it as much as we do, Mr. Lambert. It's so good for the spirits to see people enjoying themselves." A group of boys were playing marbles on the uneven pavement, and scarcely moved for them to pass.

"Get out of the path," he shouted, striking his cane right and left. "Don't you see you're in the way of your betters?"

"Oh, Mr. Lambert!" exclaimed Marion, "you have hurt that boy," as one of the lads put his hand to his head, sending after them a terrible oath.

"Pshaw! they're not tender—good for them—business to get out of the way." But when they were about to turn out of the street and parted company, they saw him hurrying back to the group, shaking his cane and shouting, "Wait! Wait!"

Curious to know what he would do, Marion went back to the head of the street, and saw the eccentric old man throw a handful of coins to the boys, as he could not get them to wait for another beating.

"What a disappointed life he must have had," she said to Hepsey, after walking in silence for some minutes. "I wonder whether he has any heart left."

"Not likely, miss," was the brief reply.

A few weeks later Marion was having quite a jubilee in her parlors. She had invited all the older classes in the mission school, and was entertaining them with a play called "Shadows." At the end of the back parlor was a wide door across which a white curtain was stretched, and the children sitting in the darkened rooms saw behind the curtain scenes which made them open both eyes and mouth in astonishment. A man was sitting in a chair in a doctor's office and the physician was examining him. First the outside of his head, then the inside, taking out with pincers, one tooth after another and putting them in again, taking from the patient's throat tumblers, plates, long-handled kitchen spoons, a hammer, and at last an umbrella, which had to be pulled and jerked, till the patient shrieked.

They were in the midst of all this when Marion heard a familiar voice muttering,—

"Fool's play,—miserable waste—time,—money,—better send them to the penitentiary at once."

Since their late interview Marion had thought much of the strange, lonely old man, and had nearly made up her mind that he only tried to disguise his real feelings by his outlandish manner. She gave him her hand cordially, as she said,—

"I did not invite you to my party, Mr. Lambert, but I am very glad you came. I was just needing some help. My doctor in there needs a new patient: come, I will introduce you to him."

"Patient, eh! Well, I need a doctor badly enough. What do you want me to do?"

"Only to have your head cut off, sir."

"Hem! modest request,—very civil, must say. My head is as 'valuable to me as—yours, for instance."

But he followed her to the hall, from which they could pass to the room in the rear.

"Your head will be restored in as good a condition as it is now," she explained, with an arch smile.

Presently the children saw the old gentleman take his seat in the chair, his long beard distinctly visible through the curtain.

"What do you complain of?" they heard the doctor ask.

"Liver!" shouted the patient. "Haven't slept a wink for ten years."

"Not liver, but conscience,—diseased conscience." This was Miss Howard's voice. "It needs reorganizing, sir. It affects the whole body, sir. I shall begin with the head and cut away all the diseased part until we come to soundness, sir."

"Is this the way you treat your patients? I'll not stand it. Cut off my head, indeed!"

"Absolute necessity, sir. If you wish to be cured, there must be no delay."

"Pretty sight for the public,—man minus head."

"My salve, sir, my famous Royal Recuperative Salve, known throughout the world, sir, will make your head grow again in a few hours, sir."

"Don't believe a word of such humbug; but cut away; something must be done."

The spectators held their breath as they saw the knife cut deep into the flesh, then heard the saw cracking the bone, and, presently, after a terrible groan, the head was severed from the body and thrown to the floor.

"Just in time, sir," exclaimed the doctor, cheerfully. "Disease checked in time; heart and lungs, and liver too, all right. Now for the salve!" They saw him rub the neck thoroughly with ointment from a box, and then the patient was carefully moved from the chair.

The children remained in their seats awestruck, but the gas was relit and Miss Howard came into the parlor looking particularly smiling. Wonder of wonders. It was scarcely fifteen minutes before the patient appeared, leaning on the arm of the doctor, his head erect and firm as ever.

"Miraculous cure," he muttered. "Yes, I'll write an account for your advertising paper. Head all right; little tenderness here, that's all," pointing to his throat.

"Then," said Dr. James, laughing heartily, as he took off his false mustache, "I will bid you good day, sir, and wish you joy of your new head."

Mr. Lambert threw himself into a chair and went off into convulsions of laughter.

"Outdoes the theatre by all odds. Hurrah for the Royal Recuperative Salve to cure diseased consciences! I'll take twenty bottles! Hurrah!"

In the mean time Marion took the children behind the curtain and explained to them the method by which these wonders were accomplished. She recalled James, to show them that he only passed his hand down by the side of the throat, when Hepsey, concealed from view, passed to him tumblers, umbrella, etc., all of which, in the shadow, seemed to come from the throat.

The decapitated head was made of pasteboard, cut to resemble an old man with a beard.

The apartments occupied by Marion were situated in a fashionable part of the city. Wishing to be entirely independent, and yet desirous of avoiding the publicity of a hotel, she had persuaded Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, friends of her parents, to hire this house next to a hotel and allow her the entire use of the second floor. Her meals being sent in from the table d'hôte, she could indulge her hospitality without burdening her friends, who were advanced in age. Besides Hepsey, she had a boy of sixteen years, whom she employed in various ways, accompanying her in stormy weather in her visits to the poor, going errands, etc. This boy, Jim, or, as she called him, James Kelly, was one of the first-fruits of her mission work, and, being an orphan like herself, she was deeply interested in his welfare.

At the death of her parents, their home in the country was rented, the furniture, with the exception of certain costly articles, pictures, etc., being allowed to remain in the house. These had been brought to the city, and now beautified her pleasant home. Marion had a passion for flowers, and at her own expense had built out from her parlor a small conservatory, which was filled with her favorite plants. One seldom saw her without a bud of some kind doing service for a brooch at her throat; and in her calls upon the sick, a few fresh-cut violets or a sweet rose-bud proved a great help in gaining the confidence she so earnestly sought.

Believing, as she did, that our social qualities were given us to be cultivated, our young friend gave frequent entertainments, always supported by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell. To further her own plans she selected games, encouraged charades, improvised characters, occasionally taking part herself, on which occasions she abandoned herself to the enjoyment with the freshness of a child.

"I believe," she responded to a Christian friend, who was taking her to task for encouraging a taste for the theatrical,—"I believe that I have done more good by my charades than I could have hoped for in any other way. In one instance I have in mind, at a critical period for a young favorite, I persuaded her to come to a charade I got up especially for her; and I am satisfied the result was happy. She was in danger of giving way to evil influences; her conscience troubled her; she became very irritable. I had a little talk with her, took her with me to visit a poor family, who were indeed rich in faith, and then invited her to my entertainment. She came to me the second day after and, with a burst of joyful tears, threw herself into my arms, exclaiming,—

"'I'm so happy: the struggle is over. Oh, I can never tell you how I thank you!' She had given up the acquaintance of one who was leading her astray, who would have made her a wretched husband, who had denounced Christians as gloomy fanatics, who considered laughing a sin, etc. My party, mirthful and gay as it was, commended itself to her conscience; even the play itself conveyed to her excited mind a high moral sentiment, as I had intended. She went home, passed the night pacing the floor, while she asked help of God to decide aright. She is now an earnest, cheerful, Christian worker. Unsolicited, she left the fashionable church which she had been attending, and is my powerful alto singer at our mission."