Apron-Strings | Page 9

you come by that wound?"
The truth would not do. And the truth was even now on the very tip of Ikey's heedless tongue. Sue gave him a little sidewise push. "Mother dear," she explained, "it was accidental."
Aghast at the very boldness of the statement, Ikey came about upon the defender. "Ac-ci-den-tal!" he cried; "dat he smashes me in de hand? Oh, Momsey!"
"Sh! Sh!" implored Sue.
But the worst had happened. Now, voice or no voice, aunt or no aunt, Ikey must be disciplined. Mrs. Milo caught him by a white sleeve. "Ikey Einstein!" she breathed, appalled.
"Yes, Missis?"
"Please don't 'Missis' me! What did you call my daughter?"
"I--I mean Miss Milo."
"What did you call my daughter?"
"Mother," pleaded Sue, "it slipped out."
"Do not interrupt me."
"No, mother."
"Answer me, Ikey."
"I says to her, Momsey."
Mrs. Milo glared at the boy, her breast heaving. There was more in her hostile attitude toward him than the fact that he bore signs of a fracas, or that he had dared in her hearing to let slip the "Momsey" he so loved to use. To her, pious as she was (but pious through habit rather than through any deep conviction), the mere sight of the child was enough to rouse her anger. She resented his ever having been taken into the choir of St. Giles, no matter how good his voice might be. She even resented his having a voice. He was "that little Jew" always, and a living symbol "in our Christian church" of a "race that had slain the Lord." And it was all this which added to his sin in daring to look upon her daughter with an affection that was filial.
"Ikey Einstein,"--she emphasized the name--"haven't you been told never to address Miss Susan as 'Momsey'?"
"He forgot," urged Sue. "But he won't ever----"
"You're interrupting again----"
"Excuse me."
"How do you expect these boys to be obedient when you don't set them a good example?" Her sorrowful smile was purely muscular in its origin.
"I am to blame, mother----"
Mrs. Milo returned to the errant soloist. "And you were willfully disobeying, you wicked little boy!"
A queer look came into Ikey's eyes. His angular face seemed to draw up. His ears moved under their eaves of curling hair. "Ye-e-es, Missis," he drawled calmly.
Mrs. Milo was a judge of moods. She knew she had gone far enough. She assumed a tone of deepest regret. "Ungrateful children!" she said, distributing her censure. "Think of the little orphans who don't get the care you get! Think----" And arraigning the sagging Clarence, "Don't lean against Miss Milo."
Ikey grinned. Experience had taught him that when Mrs. Milo permitted herself to halt a scolding, she would not resume it. Furthermore, a loud, burring bell was ringing from somewhere beyond the Church, and that summons meant the choirmaster, a personage who was really formidable. Before Sue, he raised that candle-like finger.
"Practice," announced Mrs. Milo, pointing to the passage.
Three boys drew churchward on sluggish feet. But Sue held Ikey back. "His finger hurts," she comforted. "Come! We'll get some liniment."
"Susan!"--gently reproving again. "There's liniment in the Dispensary."
Up, as before a teacher, came Ikey's well hand. "Please, Missis, de Orphan medicine, she is not a speck of good."
Sue added her plea. "No, mother, she is not a speck."
Mrs. Milo shook her head sadly. "You're not going to help these children by coddling them," she reminded. And to Ikey, "Let Nature repair the bruise." She waved all four to go.
"Out of here, you little rascals!" Sue covered her chagrin by a laugh. "Oh, you go that way,"--this to Ikey, who was treading too close upon the heels of the still mourning Clarence. She guided the wounded chorister toward the Close.
Ikey took his banishment with a sulky look at Mrs. Milo. "Nature," she had recommended to him. He did not know any such person, and resented being turned over to a stranger.
Mrs. Milo saw the look. "Wait!" And as he halted, "Is that your handkerchief, Sue?"
"Why--why--er--I think so."
"Kindly take it."
Gently as this was said, it was for Ikey the last straw. As Sue unwound the square of linen, he emitted a heart-rending "Ow!" and fell to weeping stormily. "Oh, boo-hoo! Oh! Oh! Oh, dis is wat I gets for singin' in a Christian choir!" With which stinging rebuke, he fled the drawing-room.
"Now, Susan." Mrs. Milo folded her hands and regarded her daughter sorrowfully.
"Yes, mother?"
"Haven't I asked you not to allow those boys to call you Momsey?"
"Yes, mother, but----"
The white-clad figure in the bay-window stirred, rose, and came forward, and Hattie ranged herself at Sue's side, the whole movement plainly one of defense.
Her bridal raiment afforded Sue an excuse for changing the subject. "Oh, mother, look! How lovely!"
"Don't evade my question," chided the elder woman.
Sue reached for her mother's hand. "Ah, poor little hungry hearts," she pleaded. "Those boys just long to call somebody mother."
Mrs. Milo