The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 4, 1906, Page 8

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. YBBRA acher cheerf! owsky . aione le t ¢. savages g increased and to it were fretful ed e and a sleepily be A footstep cr &nd the stalwart Able Fish- into room 15, bearing the arms. From his dusty, his jungle of gleaming » Diamantstein was fnert, bedragg! Miss Blake what's € ter with you? This is Miss Balley, rew teacher ow do you do, Isidore?” said Miss y, @s she stooped and took his hand. she added quickly to Miss Blake: He seems feverish. Is he . Perhaps the other answered. “I never sew him so queer as he is this @ better let the doctor see devices, he had c ms upon his desk s ne arms. TFive min- ¢ Ten minutes. Isldore’s 1d still rested on his folded nd teache that she must es effort to comfort his word- iore,” she began, bending over vou won't have to stay here very You may go back to Miss Blake days if yo are good. So now, r up!” But us she patted the shoulder nearcst to her a long sigh vered through the little body. Now, t do thay” Miss Bailey ged sit up nicely and let and, slipping her hand she turned the face prepared for tear-drenched eyes and trembling lips, but she found : Isidore’s dark-lashed lids drooped heavily over his unseeing eyes, his head rolled loosely from side to side, and he began to slip, silently and unconsciously, to the floor. 1 wild alarm, bore him to dow and sent Patrick Bren- search of the principal, t is it?” she asked, miserably, the door was closed. “What is ter with that baby?” ,” said the principal kindly, “if you were more experienced you would be less shocked than I fear you are go- The child is simply and most abominably drunk.” ‘“Drunk!” gasped Miss Balley. “Drunk! and not seven years old!” “Drunk!” echoed the principal. “Poor little chap! Did Miss Blake tell you the history?—the mother dead, the father away all day, no woman's care. Of course, the end will be the reformatory, but I wonder if we can do anything be- fore that end is reached?” “Oh, it can’t be quite hopeless!” cried Miss Bailey. “Please give him to me. But I want to see that father.” “So you shall,” the principal assured her. “I shall send for him to-morrow to explain this. But he will be entirely et sea. 1 have him here every two or three weeks about one or other of his children—there are two boys In the up- per grades—and the poor devil never can explain. However, I shall let you know when he is her: The morrow proved the principal's sur- mise to have been correct.' Mr. Lazarus Diamanstein stood in helpless and hope- less misery before a court of inquiry comprising the principal, Miss Bailey, the physiclan of the Board of Health, a rep- when ing to be. PR LAZARUS D ILART resentative of the Gerry Society, the true ant officer, the indignant janitor and a policeman who had come to the school in reference to the florid lauguage of his own small son, and, for scenic effect, was pressed into service. Mr. Diamantstein turned from one to another of these stern-faced officials and to each iIn turn he mhde his unaltered plea: “Mine leetle Izzle was a goot leetle boy. He don’t never make like you says. Ach! never, never!” Again, for effect, scenic or moral, the principal indicated one of the hostile fig- ures of the court. “This gentleman,” sald he, “belongs to a soclety which will take charge of your son. Have you ever, Mr. Diamantsteln, heard of the Gerry Soclety?” Poor Mr. ‘Diamantstein cowered. In all the, terrifying world in which he groped so darkly the two forces against which he had been most often warned were the Board of Health, which might at any time and without notice wash out one's house and confiscate one’s provisions, and the Gerry Soclety, which washed one's children with soap made from the grease of pigs and fed them with all sorts of “traef” and unblessed meat. *“Ach, no!" he implored. ‘“‘Gott, no! You should not take and make so mit mine leetle boy. He ain't & bad boy. He sure ain't.” “Really, I don’t think he is,”” Miss Bai- ley's cool and quiet voice interposed, and in & moment the haragsed father was at her side, pleading, extenuating, fawning. “That young lady,” sald the principal, “4s your only hope. If Miss Bailey—~" Mr. Diamantstein interpreted this as an introduction and bowed most wonderfully —*if Miss Bailey will keep Isidore in her class he may stay In the school: If not this gentleman— By the way, Miss Bai- ley, is he at school to-day?” “Oh, yes, and behaving beautifully. Perhaps his father would care to see him. ‘Will you come with me, Mr. Dfamant- stein?” Yearnings to see the cause of all this trouble and sorrow were not very strong in the paternal bosom, but Mr. Diamant- stein welcomed the opportunity to escape from officialdom and injury. Miss Balley's new responsibility con- AR TSTEIN STOOD IR HELPLESS ARD { MOPELESS AMMISERY BEFOIRE \ COURT OF ITRQUIRTY. 7 § tinued to behave beautifully. e wad peacefully dlsposed toward the other boys, who feared and venerated him as 2 member of the “Clinton-street gang.” He fell promptly captive to the dark and gentle charms of Eva Gonorowsky and. to the calm dominion of Teacher. To the latter he showed a loving con- fidence which she met with a broad- minded tolerance, very wonderful to his eyes in a lesson of authority. She seemed really to understand the sweet reasonableness of the reminiscences with which he entertained her. And if she sometimes deplored the necessity of 80 much lying, stealing, fighting and late hours, well so, of late, did he. Shoe asked him quite calmly one day what he had had for breakfast on the morn- ing of his first day in room 18, and how he had chanced to be so drunk, and he, with true economy, answered two ques- tions with one word: “Beer.” “And where,” asked Teacher, still carefully unimpressed, “did you get it? From your father?" “Naw,” said Isidore, whoss manners were yet unformed. “He don't never get no beer. He ain’t got & can even.” “Then where?” “To the s'loon.” “And which saloon?’ Miss Bailey's quiet eyes betrayed no trace of her d termination that the proprietor should suffer the full penalty of the law. “I thought little boys were not allowed in saloons.” “Well,” Isidore admitted, “J ain’t gone in the s'loon. I tells the lady on our floor that my papa likes that she should lend her can und she says, ‘He' weloome, all right’ Und I gives the can on & man what stands by the s'loon und I says: ‘My papa he has a sickness, und beer is healthy for him. On'y he couldn’t to come for buy none. You could to take a drink for yourself.’ Und the man says, ‘Sure” Und he gets the beer und takes the drink—a awful big drink—und I sets by the curb and drinks what is in the can. It's awful nice for me.” Miss Bailey’s hope for any real or lasting moral change in Isidore was gadly shaken by this revelation. Six and a half years old and deliberately olotting and really enjoying a drunken debauch! Burely, wmas reformatory school seemed inevitable. Suddenly she became conscious that the chain of cir- cumstance In Isldore’s recital was not complete. “But the money,” she asked; “where did you get that?” Isidore’s eyes were wells of candor as he answered: “Off a lady.” “And why aid she give it to you? Cause I tells her my mamma lays on the hospital und I like I should buy her a orange on'y I ain’t got no money for buy none.” “‘Oh, Isidorel” crled Teacher, in a voice in which horror, pity, reproach and won- der mingled. *“And you have no mother!” And Isidore's answer was his professional whine, most heartrending and insincere. Gradually and carefully Teacher became slightly censorious and mildly didactic, and slowly Isidore Diamantstein came to forsake the paths of evil and to spend long afternaons in the serene and admir- ing companionship of Morris Mogilewsky, Patrick Brennan and Nathan Spiderwitz. But when, early in December, he found a stranded comic valentine and presented it, blushingly, to Eva Gonorowsky, Miss Bailey found that success was Indeed most sweet. Shortly after the incident of the valen- tine Mr. Diamantstein came to room 18 in radiant array. His frock coat was new and of a wondrous fashion, his tan shoes ‘were of superlative length and sharpness of toe, both his coat and vest were open to the lowest button and turned:back to she will marry mit me und I'm a ’o-fer cn a beautiful yonge uptown lady.' give due prominence to the bright blue shirt beneath. His hair shone in luxuri- ous and oiled profusion, and in the col- larless band of his shirt a chaste dlamond stud, not much larger than a butter plate, flashed and shimmered through his curled black beard. It was luncheon time, and Teacher was at liberty. “Say, Missis Pailey,” he began, “what you think? I'm a loafer.” “Did you give up your position?” asked Miss Bailey, *“‘or did you lose it? You can easily get another, I hope.” “You not understand,” cried the guest eagerly. “I was one great big loafer,” and he laid outstretched hands upon the blue bosom of his gala shi.t, “one great big loafer man.” “No, I'm afrald I don’t understand,” confessed Miss Bailey, “Tell me about ;i Ao “Vell, I was a vidder man,” Mr. Dia- mantstein explained. ‘“Mine vife she die. From long she dle, und I'm a vidder man. But now I marry, maybe, again, I ain’t o more vidder man. I was a loafer on a beautiful yonge lady.” “Oh, you're a lover, Mr. \Dtamuutcl n. ‘Why, that’s the best news I've heard for ages! And your new wife will take care of the boys. I'm so glad!" “She’s a beautiful yonge lady,” the Lo- thario continued, “but easy scared! Oh, awful easy scared! So I don’t tell her nothings over those devil boys.” “‘Now, Mr. Diamantstein—" Teacher be- gan, admonishingly, but he interrupted. “I tells her like this: ‘Say, ain't it nice? I got three leetle poys—awful nice leetle poys—no one aln't never seen no better leetle poys." Und she says she won’t marry mit me. Ain't I tell you how she's easy scared? But I tells her all times how my leetle poys is goot, how they makes’ for her the work, und the dinner, und the beds. Und now she says “Mr. Diamantstein,” she said heartily, “I wish you joy. I'm sure you deserve it, and I hope the young lady will be as 800d as she is beautiful. Bring her to see me some day, won't you?” ‘“‘Sure,” said Mr. Diamantstein, politely. But, ah, for the plans of mice and men! and, oh, for the slip and the lip! Within that very week the airy castle of Mr. Dia- mantstein’s hopes was shaken to its foundations. The cause was, of course, “them devil poys.” Julius and Nathan Diamantstein wers convicted of having stolen and offered for sale books, penclls and paper the property of the Board of Education. Isidore had acted as agent and was condemned as an accomplice. The father was sent for and the trio were expelled. On an afternon in the firs. week of Feb- ruary Miss Bailey, Nathan Spiderwitz and Morris Mogilewsky were busily putting room 13 to rights when a small boy, in an elaborate sailor costume, appeared befors them. He was spotlessiy clean and the handkerchief in the pocket of his blouse was dazzling in its whits abundapce. Upon his brow, soap-polished u shone, there iay two smooth'and curves of auburn hair, and on there played a smile of happy recognition and repressed pride. Miss Bailey and ers stood at a glad ery threw surpris® er min of “Teacher, oh, himself upon th: gave place to j mine ¢ lady, and then “Isidore, m: I'm so glad to see you! And utiful you look!™ eried Teacher. “Beautiful and stylish,” said Morris generously. “Sinkers on neck and sleeves is sty..sh for boys,” and he gazed longingly at the neatly embroid- ered anchors which adorned the sailor suit. Oh, yes, suits mit sinkers is awful stylish. They could to cost three dol- lars. I seen 'em on Grand street,” sald Nathan, and Isidore’s heart beat high beneath the * ker” on his breast. “My mamma,” he began proudly, “she sets by the principal’s side und he says, like that, you should come for see my mamma. She’s new.” Teacher deftly patted her hair and stock Into place, and set out in great interest and excitement to ses the “beautiful yonge uptown lady.” ‘Come, Isidore,” she called. “Mine name ain't Isidore,” he an- nounced. “I'nd it ain't Issie neither, but 1t's awful Stylish. I gets it off my new mamma. It's a new name, too.” “Dear me,” cried Miss Balley. “What is it, then?” “I don’t know,” answered Isidore. couldn’t to say It even.” “Dear me!” cried Miss Bailey again, and hurried on. At the door of the principal's office Teacher halted in puzzled surprise, for the first glance at the glowing face of the new mamma, and the first sound of her pleasant voice, proclalmed, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Mrs. Laza- rus Diamantstein the second was a buxom daughter of the Island of Saints. The little satlor climbed upon her lap, and the principal introduced the mat- ron to the maid. Miss Bailey sald all that etiquette demanded and that in- terest prompted and Mrs. Diamantstein blushed prettily. “Thank you, kindly “You're very good, b g 4 * she answered t I knew that be- fore. Larry—me husband, you know—— often told me how good you were to the child.” “Ah, but you see,” said Teacher, “I was very fond of Isidore.” - “That’s not his name at all, mis: said Mrs. Dia eifi decidedly. “That's a haythen name, and so I'm go- ing to have him christened. Tell your name to the lady, allannah.”™ Thus encourage Isidore toyed- with ond stud, not much larger than r-plate, glittéred in the ch new shirtwaist ¢ uttered a perfect of sounds. new mamma, and unintelligible string “See how well knows it,” said the parent proudl his name I3 Ignatius’ Aloy n. Think of him kno and him not christened until them all inday! once by tius Aloysius “Really, Mrs. Diamantstein, you are too good. I have to take care of—ot—" \ “Ignatius Aloysius,” rmjired principal. “Ye gods, and with. that.fac “Otf Ignatius,” continued Misd ‘Bailey, stifing a wild inclination toward uUnseem- Iy laughter, “and I should be delighted to be his godmother, buf—but—* “Well, then, that's settled, and thank you, miss. And now the other thing: Will you take Igna back into your class? Larry hew them three children wouldn't go to sghool for the longest time back, before I was mar ried. Gettin’ the little place ready for me, he says they were, and stayin’ at home to do it. The darlin’s! And lately I was too busy with one thing and another to bring them back. But now I've got Dents and Michael, me other two boys. cntered over at the Christian Brothers’ School. 1 was goin’ to send little fellow there, too, but he cried to come to you. Won't you take him?" - Miss Bailey appealed o .tis peihcipal “Please,” said she, “may I have my godson, Ignatius Aloysius, in my ¢lass?” “I shall try to arrange it.” _$ Mrs. Diamantstein fixed grateftl eyes on Teacher. “You'rs a good youngilady,” she repeated with deep conviction. “And if one of them was a girl I'd call him after you. May I make 5o bold as to ask your name . “Constance.™ ““Well, now, that's grand. That's & beau~ tiful name. Himself has two little girls in the orphans’ home, and I think T'll get one out and call it that. But, maybe, I won't. But, anyway, the first one I get T'll call Constance, after you." When Mrs. Diamantstein had taken her decorous leave of the principal, Miss Bailey and she walked to the great front door. As they reached it Mrs, Diamant- stein reiterated her gratitude and aaded: “You'll be there at 3 o'clock, won't you, miss? For we're to have a grand time at the party after the christening. Father Burke promised to come home to the Httle place with us, and Larry is goin® round now askin’ his friends. And it's the queer owld friends he has, miss, the queerest ever I seen, and with the queer- est owld talk out of them. But, sure, “e little man will enjoy himself more it has some of his own at the party.” “And do you mean to tell me that th. man is asking his Jewish friends to a Catholic christening?” remonstrated Miss Bailey, who had seen something of the racial antagonism which was rending all that district. “Sure, not at all, miss,” answered Mrs. Larry reassuringly. “Do you think I'd tell him what the party was for? What does the poor man know about christen- ings? and him, God help him, a haythen of a Jew. Make your mind easy, miss; 'l just be a party to him., No more than that.” “But he—all of them—will Burke,” Miss Bailey urged, “And whe could they see that would do them more good?" demanded Mrs. Dia- mantstein belligerently. “Cock them up then. It's mot often they'd be let into the one room with a saint of & man like that They'll likely be the better of it for all the rest of their poor dark days.” Teacher made one more effgrt toward fair play. “I think,” she persisted, “that you ought to tell your husband what you intend to do. It would be dreadful if, after all your trouble, he should not let you change the boys’ religion.” Let, indeed!” cried the bride warmly. “He can wait to do that until he’s asked. I'd be long sorry to have a man ke that with no bringing up of his own, as you might say, comin’ between me and me duty in the sight of God. ‘Let’ is it? And the brpad shoulders of Bridget Dia- mantstein stiffened while her clear eyes see Father flashed. “Well, I'm fond enough of that lttle man, “but I'd break his sewin” machine and dance on his derby before I'd see him bring up the darlin’s for black Protestant Jews like himsel And across the space of many weeks Mr. Dlamantstein's volce rang again in Teacher’s ears: “She's a beautiful yonge uptown lady, but easy scared. Oh, awful easy scared!” Well, love was ever bliad