The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 1, 1905, Page 6

week, was- also a prize winner two ‘ weeks ago. Mrs. Patton is“a Califor- nian by birth and residence, living :at present in San Francisco. “Driftwood” is-a San Francisco New Year's story, an intensely human study’ of child: life, told with simple pathos and. with- out. affectation. HE ‘heayy fog spread wraith-like abont: the ‘Golden ".Gate.” anil &Wept.softly by. the'slopes of the Twin Peaks, - standing = guard over the ‘old Mission Doloresy. - -Bently; as: with the wand of a maglcian, “:these ‘twin sentirels parted-‘the heavy eurtain; “one.” portion . foldirig “in .over lower San: Francisco, the other spread- ifig. out about the hills and :flats: along the.coast ‘of San'Mateo.” In the Mis- " slon ;itself ‘the sunlight &till lingered; ““this :fayored warm belt. knowing fow of ‘the. discoriforts: 6f 'less . favored .. _neighborhioods: * .'The- last rays-of - the. bléod-red stiuggled - bravely. But vainly, to. dissi: pate. the Bathering gloom. : “Over the gra a Hush Seemed stealing; the tiny wave- lets: murmured. in ‘undertones, as -the night fell "darkling. down; -‘the world seemed ‘blotted -out. Here and thers, staritke ;points sprang up as the lamp-, . lghtérs.-went ".th Neéw Year's . pers: drew - overcoats and furs ‘about rounds. It was numbed’ egrs”and- slipped: through ‘the " : fog -like ghosts, or pavements weré damp and sloppy, the _dripped :upon ‘the’ unsuspectirig he tog condensed like fine i jeemed. to spring suddenly coverts i1pon each other, avert col- with djificulty, mumble excuses or.¢irses, as.suited their differing per- sonallties, and drift again into oblivion, Swaliowed up In a chaos ‘of" cloud, 'Women werit tripping: by, with ‘uplift- ‘€ skirts and -umbrellas held closely : r lowered heads, a constant menace "'to a’long suffering publi¢, calling forth arathéma ‘from their more irritable fel- low_creatures. P | 2 Wagons rattled by, the sound of théir wheels * upon .the - cobbles “dulled ‘and deadened;’ the horsecars jangled up and down, missing the walting passenger . who, standing beside the track, risked lité ‘and limb In an effort to attract the. ‘conduGtor’s attention. Drivers of wagons and cars beat their hands together, 6r with' the backs of soaked mittens. wiped the gathering moisture from face and beard. i Far out near the CIiff House the rest- less ocean beat, and the spume fled far up -the beach, pursued by each succes- sive wave, S 5 2 The sand dunes spread their soft, = gray, rounded knolls through the sea of fog, lonely, desolate, shifting, chang-~ ing ever their shape, to suit the humor of the winds, : SR As night drew on; the fog horns, bells and whistles clanged, answered and clanged again. From off the blotted- out waters of the bay, huge monsters with glaring eyes emerged, signaled to other ‘monsters, bumped against the rotting piles and with clanging of bells and clanking of chains submitted to be made captive-and to lie breathing and puffing heavily, while shades fled in ‘and out unloading and reloading their freight. 3 Voices called to other answering voices, muffled in the thick gray pall. Oceasionally some jolly, invisible gnome shouted New Year’'s greeting to a pass- ing friend and laughed with hearty ex- ultation as the friend took mere sub- stantial shape and proved to be the veriest stranger. Along the broken, wooden sidewalks a thinly clad little figure stole, a tiny violin beneath one arm, each grimy, claw-like hand thrust into the wrist of the opposite sleeve, seeking warmth. The purple knees peeped out from holes in baggy trousers, which had evidentiy seen long and good service upon the nether limbs of some man of Goliah- like proportions. Turned up in many folds at the bottom, they flapped about his feet. His shoes broken and evident- 1y rescued originally from some ash } heap, let the water filter through at every movement; each step fell with a soaked, squelching sound. He had quit playing at the street cor- ners some time before; people were too hurried, too busy making holiday to listen; the thin 'itle tunes had floated unheeded on the chill air; the little fig- ure etood unnoticed beside the lamp post in the raw mist. He shivered and a racking cough tore at his vitals as he leaned for support against a wall. By degrees he made « his weary way, a sad little walf, adrift on a sea, the shores of-which had long gince faded from view. Amid the slums of Barbary Coast he halted before a dwelling where the un- curtained windows stared like dull, bleared, unseeing eyes, and sooty streaks ran down its front as if these same eyes had wept untold grimy tears. From the sidewalk a broken stairway led to a basement lair, where, in the s -~ Martha Tustin Patton, author of’ “Driftwood,” -the prize story for this- g waters-of the bay. ve; chilied,” belated shop- | Years' long past. The - @im light of a candle, an- amphibious . monster could be heard rumbling. Timidly the claw-like hand stole out, and grasped the rusty railing, thé little feet trod softly down; there in the dim light.a bristling, hairy mar sat. nod- ding,. cursing when awakened by an unbalancing lurch. At one: morg des- ‘" perate recovery his bleared eyes fell upon the child, slipping noiselessly in. With an oath and a wavering plunge e’ had the boy. -Unheeding cries_for mercy or excuses the ready blows fell, although delivered unsteadily and at random upon his .wretched body. ““Oh, Ligo! There is this—there is no ‘more—but the 20 cents I have brovght—" “Pig! Brat of the gutter!” “Yet—but 5 cents more—believe—" _“Peace! Son of a pig!” “Ligo! 1 did but buy a loaf—you gave me no bread! It was the hunger! ©Oh, good Ligo, have mercy!” “Dog! Beast! You stay the long day through and bring-but 20 cents! You steal my money and stuff your glutton belly! Could you not steal the bread? Why should you pay my money? Have' I not told you oft to steal or starve? Brat!” Again the blows fell relentlessly. “Mercy! It is the cough! I cannot make the music when I cough! Ligo! Oh, good Ligo! Believe—!" “Get from my sight, scum of the streets!” With a final blow and an added un- steady kick at the writhing form, which fell short owing to the condition of the deliverer, the man released the child. Taking up the silver he secured a hot- ‘tle and staggered up the stairway, lurching away in the gloom toward some rendezvous of crime. ‘The little bruised body crept to an old mattress, lay down and between sobs’ and cough-racking paroxysms, with cheek pressed to his beloved vio- lin, slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. ‘When the night was far spent then came Ligé staggering and stumbling home with filled bottle, uttering inco- herent and iIndiscriminate curses upon -the uneven sidewalk and the body of his unconscious slave, sleeping below. But the derisive imps of the ‘vine took sudden toll, his clumsy feet tang- ling in a broken board, he fell head- long down the stairway, his bloated face striking full upon the shattered bottle; there the drunken coward lay and slowly bled to death, unconscious of his own predicament. Early on New Year’s day the boy awoke from cough-racked slumber; taking yp his little violin he stole fear- fully pdst that awful horror lying so quietly in the clotted, crimson pool. ‘With the remnants of that dearly bought loaf in his pockets he fled from the place he had called home ever since, as a tiny child he had been sold, as veritable a slave as ever dwelt be- low the Mason and Dixon line, The early morning air was raw, the fog still held, and spread its cold gray pall over the awakening city. There ‘were few abroad; a holiday gave ex- cuse for a renewed snuggling under warm blankets, a lingering at late breakfasts, a few extra naps to make up for hours of revelry on the preced- ing night, a petting and comforting of aching heads and disordered stomachs, consequent upon those same hours of revelry. ‘The lonely waif made his way to a tavorite corner, his claw-like fingers clutched, while the little bow drew out the lilting air of a popular melody; he shivered, his pinched face grew gray ‘with suffering, as the elfin, old-young eyes turned from face to face with cal- culating intensity. One toil-grimed hand thrust a nickel into his palm, as its owner growled, “Hers, sonny, run home to your mam- “Thank, kind sir, of immediately I go!"” But the shivering form still stood, the ragtime tune still jigged. A tiny, stray dog, starving about the streets, sniffed at his broken shoes, but when he stooped gently to stroke it, crouchéd as if expecting blows. “Nay, little one!’2 he murmured, “fear not, I will not beat; you and me—to- e Following “The Brethren” will appear, in the Sunday Call, in from two o four installments eack: “MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE” ~ “A'WHIRL ASUNDER” By Gertrude Atherton. “THE CASTAWAY” By Halle Erminie Rives. By Booth Tarkington. gether we—brats of the gutte! Seating himself upon the curb he fed the crumbs from his pockets to the dog, then rising wearily, walked on down Kearny street, followed by the tottering animal; perceiving this, he took the little thing in his arms and made for a shelter he sometimes used when bad luck and fear of Ligo’s wrath made diplomatic observances neces- sary. ¢ 3 Wirst, he knew there 'must.be food, both for himself and his helpless pen- sioner. He realized to the full there was no possibility of return to where It lay. 1 He turned into a butcher shop and tendering his nickel with a lordly air, said: “Five cents of the meat, please.” For an instant the butcher regarded his customer intently, also the burden that he bore so carefully, then placing a slice of beef and a generous cut of bologna in a paper Landed it, remark- ing: “Here Mounseer Macaroni, never mind the pay; when you get to be a millionaire you shall pay me back with interest.” - “Thank, you shall be repay,” serious- ly replied the boy. He entered a bakery next and.from the hurried saleswoman purchased bread, then turned intent upon his refuge. Outside upon the curbing squatted some half-dozen newsboys, bundles of papers neglected for the moment, as the owners vigorously squabbled in the intricacies of some mysterious game. An instant’s pause of the waif drew attention. “Hi, Dago! Drop that pup!” shouted one. ] Ll “Here! Gimme that fiddle! Where'd ye steal it?” The band rose as ose boy in pursuit of legitimate game. Followed by shouts, catcalls, shrieks of derision and doubt- ful missiles the child fled down an al- ley; with grunts of mutual approba- tlon the young savages returned to their game; they felt they could safely leave the routing of the Philistine to some future occasion. In an angle of this alley stood a tum- bledown, deserted blacksmith shop, awaiting the magic touch of Midas for transformation into a ten-story brick. Creeping past a broken board, the boy deposited his burdens upen a bed of coal sacks and discarded horse blan- kets. Here was the one spot in all the world for him, where the wicked ceased from troubling and the weary could find rest. Near by lay several battered tomato cans and a broken dish or two, rescued from heaven alone knew what ash bin, and representing the sole housekeeping stock. One tin contained water; from this the starved dog lapped eagerly; the boy offered the raw meat, which the animal licked but could not eat; turn- ing away It nestled down. The child rubbed the fog-wet hair as dry as pos- sible, covered the shivering thing in the blanket, then ate his own portion of bread and sausage. As he finisiied his meal, “ping” went the violin, and a snapped string flew. 4 «Why this?” apostrophized the boy, “know you mot if I have ‘not the mu- sic there is no bread for the little one, or me?” Then after long, sorrowful gazing at the tiny dog, hé whispered: “Sleep, little one=the meat, -it is tco much; it must be milk; this I will gei; fear not, I will. return.” Repairig the violin as well as possi- ble, ‘although it was now raining stead- ily, he went out into the - downpour, walked & few blocks, ‘and stood play- ing; ome from the dozens passing pressed a dime upon him, as with the ghost of a smile he said: “Thank, it is enough.” Hurrying home he ‘secured a tomato can and intercepted a milkmian. “Five cents of the milK, please.” “Hello, Dago! Sick?" Want it fur yourself?” . 2 “No, me not sick~for my dog it is!” he replied, drawing himezlf 1:p with the consclous pride of possessior, he, who never in all this hard world had owned a thing before. The battered tin filled without charge, he tottéred away, the man gazed wonderingly after him, then whipped up his horses and drove away, his conscience at peace. ‘Why should he trouble? It was none of ‘his business. There was some one surely to look after the child; no use ‘getting mixed up in other people’s af- fairs, 2 5 The boy offered the milk, rejoicing to see .the. animal lap; a little sufficed, then the twoc bits of flotsam curled down together and slept, the rain beat- ing a lullaby on the broken shingles above their heads. All that day the wild ‘rain poured \n‘ torrents, such a deluge as only San Francisco can pro- duce. 5 Late in the afternoon the child-awoke and tried to induce his companion to eat; feebly the tiny tail wagged, while the soft brown eyes gazed adoringly into eyes as brown, that pleaded; then with a lick of his benefactor's grimy hand, the little bunch of draggled hair and bones, looking so like a remnant of door mat, stretched wearily out, shiv- ered once or twice—and dled. ‘The child continued to stroke the lit- tle head for some -time, hoping for some sign of recognition, but the affec- tionate brown eyes were dull and glazed. He gazed sorrowfully at the ean of milk, the scattered remnants of food, then realizing his pet would never need them more, the heart that had made such a brave fight suddenly broke; throwing himself down with an inar- ticulate, gasping cry, he moaned him- self into insensibility: . Rousing later, he felt for his wviolin. The rain had swollen and warped it, the strings lay broken, never again could it pulsate to the jigging ragtime or the soft melodies of his own forgotten land. He laid it tenderly aside, as some- thing irrevocably sacrificed upon an altar of necessity, where all else in his short life had come to lie; them he carefully wrapped the blanket mechan- jcally about the little stiffened dog, cud. dled down beside it, drew it snugly into his arms, and between paroxysms of coughing, stroked its head. ‘When the dawn of the new day broke over the city by the Golden Gate the fog had sped, the bay sparkled, in the sunshine, the glad New Year was fairly ushered in; the workaday world once more took up its burdens. The sunshine struggled through the grimy windows of the shop, where the bruised and tortured forms lay at peace behind the crumbling forge. The fragments of driftwood had floated in with the tide, | | | @ Mo crdamE0NTRYM®S el T ¥