CHAPTER 3

I awoke the next morning vaguely conscious of something passing lightly and rapidly over my cot. When I had cleared my eyes of sleep I spied a rat trying to escape through the bars of my cell door! I had had company.

I washed and dressed. Going through my pockets, I was shocked to find my money and all my possessions missing. I sat down on my cot, utterly dejected and plainly frightened. Then an attendant came to my door carrying a tray with my breakfast. He said something I couldn’t understand, and opened the door. I greeted him as cheerfully as I could as he set my fare on a small table. He smiled, giving me a bit of comfort. The food was good, and it put me in better spirits. Half an hour later another officer opened my cell and led me before the desk sergeant. He was a large, handsome man whose uniform lent an air of distinction. He looked at me in bewilderment, then wrote: “ The arresting officer said you were unsteady on your feet, and smelled of liquor. Did you drink any whiskey? Where is your home? ”

My English accent must have puzzled him, as he knitted his brow and bent forward, saying, “ What? ”

“ I didn’t drink a thing. I’ve been sick in a hospital, and maybe my unsteady walk was due to weakness. I was shipwrecked. I’m English. I have no home over here. ”

There was an air of utter incredulity on all in the room.

“ Where were you going when you were picked up? ”

I then and there told him my story. He listened with downright amazement.

“ Which hospital? ” He asked, seeming to doubt my story.

I gave him the name of the hospital, and asked him to phone there and ask for a nurse named Miss Walton.

“ Miss Walton told me that if ever I needed a friend, to write her, and I’m sure I’m in need of a friend right now. Please phone. ”

He smiled, and consulted the telephone directory. It was promptly answered, and after a wait of five minutes the officer was again in conversation. I watched his face as it grew into a smile. He looked at me assuringly, paused a moment in the conversation, resumed, and then hung up. He turned to one of the attending officers and gave an order. That officer left the room and quickly returned with a heavy yellow envelope, handing it to me. It contained my money and other possessions. Then the police judge, as I then suspected he was, said to me:

“ Mickey, you have told us the truth, and I am very glad. Miss Walton has asked us to send you right back to the hospital, that she is leaving there tomorrow for her home, and will take you. You are far too young to do a thing like you have done, you might have met with serious trouble. An officer will take you back to the hospital now. ” He got up and came around to me, extending his hand. “ Good luck, my boy, and never do this again. ”

“ Thank you, thank you. ” I cried, tears filing my eyes. “ I’m awfully glad—I was frightened. ”

I put my money back in my purse from which it had been taken, and returned it and my other things to my pockets. Soon the officer and I were on a street car. I must have looked very sheepish as we mounted the hospital steps and went up to a desk in the waiting room. An elderly lady greeted us with a smile. She spoke briefly to the officer, and he left, shaking my hand.

Then Nell came. She caught both my hands, and with a face filled with changing emotions talked rapidly, I not understanding anything she said, only guessing. For a few minutes there was a consultation with the elderly lady, and then Nell led me to an unoccupied room, brought some magazines for me to read, and told me she would return at the noon lunch hour. She took my coat to be cleaned.

When she came back we had quite a talk, she writing all she said, at first scolding me good for what I had done. I put on my coat.

“ I’m awfully sorry, Nell, ” I said, very humbly.

“ I have telephoned long distance to my mother, Mickey, and she said for me to bring you home. I’m leaving tomorrow. Will you come along with me? ”

“ Yes, yes, and how will I ever thank you? Can I feel forgiven? ”

She laughed. “ You’re forgiven, Mickey, and I think you’re punished too. Spent a night in jail—were you scared? ”

“ Awfully, yes, awfully scared. ” Then, “ What made me stagger? ”

“ Your deafness—the changed condition in your ears. It will pass away, and you won’t be ‘ drunk ’ again. ” I laughed.

The next morning we took the train, and at noon we opened the gate of Nell’s home. An old Queen Anne house set back in an ample yard shaded with elms and maples. A collie, hearing us, came running up from behind the house, and recognizing his mistress, sprang joyfully up to her. We petted him and walked rapidly up to the porch, lugging suitcases. The front door was unlocked, and we entered. Dropping the luggage we went through the house, greeted the maid.

“ Sarah, this is Mickey Dunmore, he’s going to live with us. Where is Mother? ” I nodded to the maid.

“ Up in the garret, Nell, rummaging and fixing up for this boy. ”

“ What did Mother say when I told her about him, Mickey? ”

“ She thought it would be wonderful. Remarked what a help he would be. ”

“ That’s good, Sarah. ” Nell turned to me, and beckoned. We hurried to the stairs and went up, then up another flight. Mother and daughter rushed into each other’s arms as I stood by, silent, admiring that dear old lady, everything about her giving me a feeling of assurance and a loving welcome. The two broke apart, and Nell turned to me, introducing me, as I could see, and her mother beamed her welcome on me, taking my hands and saying something, a bit puzzled that I couldn’t understand her. Then, as I stood, the two engaged in a somewhat lengthy conversation, and Nell wrote to me, saying that this was to be my own room. Then we all went downstairs and Sarah soon brought us coffee and cookies. And after this Sarah brought me a lump of maple sugar, having been told, I guessed, that it had been promised me. As I munched the delicious confection, a treat new to me, Nell and her mother again fell to talking.

Mrs. Walton was an old fashioned soul who had lost her husband a year before, and was living comfortably in her own home on the income left to her. She was small, sweet-faced, a tinge of gray.

I did not suspect that my first month with the Waltons was really a period of probation, feeling me out, of getting fully acquainted and adjusted. I was not subjected to undue questioning; they were getting to know me by my own behavior, and seemed quite pleased. Then one day Mrs. Walton asked me if I liked my new home, and if I had grown to love her and Nell, and would I like to stay there and call the place “ home ”? As I looked up into that dear face my blood rushed to my head, and I burst into tears. With quivering lips I threw my arms around her, and she kissed me. And then Nell kissed me, and told me to call her sister, and her mother, “ Mother, ” and they called me Mickey, and adopted me, but on the legal papers my name was Michael Dunmore Walton.

My deafness was steadily increasing, and the doctors who examined me gave little hope of eventual improvement. Mother, Nell and I learned to “ talk on our fingers ” and I would try to understand them by lipreading. Between the two we managed to get along, and we made progress both ways, but speechreading came slowly. So long as I could hear just a little, Mother decided to put me in the public school. To my dismay I found myself at once a mark for the school bullies and a new interest for the girls. Then there was my accent and ways not like those of American boys and girls. However, as time passed, and with the help of Nell and Mother these differences and oddities were corrected.

The town had this one school, and there were eight rooms, each room had two classes, except the eighth, which had three. My tests placed me in the lowest class of the highest room, the eighth. Just turned thirteen, I was the youngest boy in that room of distinction, and this added another reason, as the bullies had it, for their plaguing me. These boys were from fourteen to seventeen, and they resented the appearance of a “ kid ” in their room. I soon learned that Billy Mason was the leader of Room 8. Billy was fifteen.

Now, Billy had a girl, the prettiest girl in that school. Her name was Florence Lillian Worthington, and she signed it in full. She was thirteen years old, and was in the Seventh. I met Florence one day after school, late in the fall. One by one the boys and girls who made up our little homeward party fell off until only Florence and I were left. I continued walking home with her. Then we met Billy Mason.

Reader, were you ever so fortunate as to see a fighting cock fly over a fence and into another yard where another pugnacious fowl lorded it over his flock? Well, what followed that meeting was very much like the proceedings you probably witnessed in that barnyard. No words first passed. Billy looked at Florence in a way that made her shudder, then he sailed into me, delivering such a stinging blow on my left cheek that I reeled back, half dazed, and almost fell.

I had had a few scraps back in England, but there was some formality about them. Ugly words, bluffs, passes, and fist shaking; but here there was a new kind of fighter, and he possessed a bull-like temper.

Florence gave a cry and tried to intercede. But my blood was up as soon as I recovered from that blow, and I went for that bully like a demon, landing a crushing blow on his nose. Stepping back, I yelled with derision as I beheld the carnadine flow. He staggered about trying to keep the stain from his clothes. As he was on his feet I followed up my advantage, landing two more blows, Billy getting one on the back of my head as he tried to move behind me—a cowardly act. Then we clinched and both went down. We must have shuffled this way two or three minutes, first one, then the other, on top when we felt like quitting, and got upon our feet. Florence was gone. Billy broke forth in vehement speech, and I knew he wanted to get close to my ear and send home his opinion of me, both in words and with his fists, but he dared not come so close. Then he made a horrible face, shook his fist, and brushing his clothes, walked away. I yelled at him until he was beyond earshot, but he never looked back—he knew he was beaten.

While there had been no witnesses to this affair after Florence left, I never heard that Billy boasted about it, or claimed that he had licked me. I had drawn first blood, and I later learned that no other boy had ever made Billy Mason’s nose bleed. Of course, the whole school knew about the fight the next day. The girls discussed it, and to my surprise and satisfaction Florence took my side. I had become a school hero over night, the surprise of the year, and the idol of the small boys. I made new friends, and also I made new enemies—Billy’s chums, and out of this grew a general desire to learn to talk to me “ on their fingers, ” as I was growing more and more deaf.

Mrs. Walton, or “ Mother, ” was both hurt and amused. She was very religious and disapproved of boys fighting, which is only an inherent trait; but she had heard of Billy Mason and was tickled to learn that I had held my own against him.

Winter and spring came and passed, and I was kept busy farming our big yard or working for neighbors. But my hearing was now almost gone, and I knew that Mother and Nell were greatly sorrowed. When fall came around and I was again in school, the teacher could no longer instruct me as she had done, by talking in a raised voice close to my ear. She had to resort to writing, and I grew more and more sensitive to this. As was to be expected, Billy and his gang took up their old quarrel with me, not openly, but in one way or another antagonized me. It was generally Billy or one of his friends who would get up the games, and of course leave me out. This would force me to join the younger set, or stand about idle, a thing that bit deep into my sensitive nature. Several times during the winter I was left out of parties. Angrily I resented it, and secretly grieved over my lot. I could no longer turn to the songbirds, and I had always taken delight in their song. They seemed now like dumb spirits. The church bells no longer roused me from my sleep, and there was silence, unearthly silence, everywhere. Were it not for Nell and Mother I should have been a very miserable boy.

During all these months that lengthened into years, the New York bank had faithfully sent my check. I had all along insisted that this money be used for my support, but Mother would not accept it, so it was deposited in a local bank, at my disposal.

Deafness was now causing me greater and greater isolation. Company I must have, or go mad, and to get it I must seek the boys—seldom would they seek me. But they were good friends and company when I would join them, and many of them had learned the fingerspelling. I could read the lips to some advantage, and this helped. Florence, however, stood loyal, and I would spend occasional Sunday afternoons at her home. She had become quite adept in the use of the one-hand alphabet, and I knew it was she who had won many friends for me. I had a good home. Nell and Mother were wonderfully good to me, and I had their whole library at my disposal. There was plenty to do about the house, so, after all, life was not so very hard. It was my undue sensitiveness that made it seem so, I fear. There were times when I would grow despondent and seek solitude, and in such moods a latent talent found its chance to take root and burgeon forth. I found that I had a bent for writing, and one day the town paper printed a poem I had written and sent in. Mother and Nell saw it, and were pleased. Thus encouraged, I soon found myself indulging in this new-found talent with admirable industry. There was a new sense of joy in this thing, and I grew less and less desirous of companionship with others. Nature was giving where she had taken.

But Billy Mason was my nemesis. It was upon a day when Mother and Nell had gone to New York City overnight and I took my lunch to school that something happened which resulted in a new order for me, changing my whole career.

It was the noon hour and the boys were eating lunch. Some were scattered over the school yard, under the trees, or by the well, and others, including myself, sitting upon the back steps of the school building. I was at the bottom; Billy was at the top with some of his chums, they having come shortly after I had taken my place. Soon a crust of bread struck my cheek, and taking it as unintentional on the part of the thrower, I laughed and went on eating. But soon another piece, smeared with jam, struck me likewise, and I resented it. A roar of laughter burst from the boys above as my jam-smeared face turned to them.

“ Who did that? ” I demanded, rising in anger. Another roar of glee came from them, and losing my temper, I flung my tin lunch box into their midst. It struck Sam Prichard, and the next moment he and Billy were upon me. I backed away from the unequal attack. A crowd of boys gathered about us. In a twinkling, fists were flying, Billy in front of me and Sam behind, I turning first on one, then on the other. I was being worsted when Jim Neil rushed up and engaged Billy, leaving me free to handle Sam. Things were going hard for Sam when one of his friends came to his rescue. This was a signal for a general rallying of forces, and soon the larger boys were all engaged. Many of the smaller boys rushed in and took sides, and then the girls came streaming around from their side of the yard. Teachers rushed out, and finally the principal, excited and stern-faced, came upon the scene. But the battle waged hot and furious. Noses were bleeding. Boys were strewn about the grounds nursing their hurts, clothes were torn, and the air was filled with uproar. Soon the fighting was en masse, the sides rushing each other backward and forward, as in a game of football.

Finally, our side rushed the enemy toward the school fence, a high board structure, none too strong, and when the combined weight and momentum struck it, it went down, carrying thirty or forty astonished boys! There was a great pile of yelling and struggling youngsters. The girls screamed and tried to pull off the boys; teachers lent a hand, and the principal, red with anger, jerked out one boy after another, hurling him violently aside. But the boys, now all in a rage, re-engaged one another. However, the fighting soon wore down until only Billy and I were left, and we fought it out in sheer desperation. A blow, aimed at me, missed, and to our horror, landed on Florence, who had been trying to disengage us! That was the limit. I tore away from the grip of the principal and went into the bully with all my remaining strength and fury, landing blows that completely knocked him out. As he fell, I felt a hand steal into mine, and facing about, confronted Florence. I read her lips—her excited speech, “ Fly, Mickey, fly! ” We started across the grounds at full speed amid the shouts of the school, and clearing the gate, went on and on over a field, up a hill and down into a vale, panting, half crying. Then, at the bottom of the slope, we fell, out of breath, exhausted.