Chapter 7
7. Clearing Up a Mistake. That evening when some of the Custom House officials and some of the guests of the hotel were sitting tipped back in chairs in the smoking room. The assistant inspector said to the inspector, who had just come in, I couldn't make anything
of your deaf and dumb kid, Jack. What deaf and dumb kid? asked Jack, seating himself and drawing out his cigar case. That young one with the bundle. She ain't deaf and dumb.
Her tongues hung as limber as yours. Well, I swan, said the assistant inspector. Blankly, as he spoke, he brought his chair down on its four legs and gazed around the room with an expression of such utter helplessness that the other men broke into a roar of laughter. Don't cry, Blakeman, said Jack soothingly.
It's only once in a coon's age you're fooled. Do you suppose the sly boots has gone to bed? asked Blakeman. Again tipping back his chair and returning to his professional manner, Uncle Sam hasn't got any spare cash to waste on such like.
Just open the door, Rufus, and see if you can see any of the girls about. A dining room girl good-naturedly consented to go in search of Tilda Jane, and upon entering the room found her on her knees, thoughtfully looking down at the railway tracks running close to the hotel. Stepping forward and gently touching her shoulder, the girl pointed downstairs.
Tilda Jane nodded, smiled, and taking her hand, went out into the hall and down the staircases with her. Tilda Jane stared at the ring of men sitting in the smoking room. When she caught sight of her friend of the morning, she smiled and bobbed her head at him.
Then letting her dog slip from her arm to the floor, she stood in silence waiting to be questioned. She had no doubt that this was some special tribunal call together to deliberate upon her case. She was not afraid of these men, they had kindly faces.
What made you pretend you were deaf and dumb? asked the inspector at last. She opened her mouth once or twice, tried to speak, failed, and at last, articulated difficulty and with an air of genuine surprise. Why ain't I deaf and dumb?
I ain't spoke ever since he made me think so till now. She nodded toward the assistant inspector. I made you think so? ejaculated Blakeman irritably. Yes, sir, she said dreamily and lingering over her syllables as if she found a new pleasure
in the exercise of speech. You had so much to say and the other people had so much to say that the room seemed chock full of words. They was flying round ever so thick, but I couldn't catch one of them. Well now you've got to quit lying and tell us where you come from, said the assistant
inspector roughly. You've got to be sent home tomorrow. Sent home? she repeated wonderingly. Yes, to Canada. Now tell us the name of the place you belong to or we'll ship you to some poorhouse.
Do I come from Canada? she asked with a mystified air. Blake jogged his assistant's elbow. Seemed to me there was the smell of a ship about her. Not so, responded Blakeman, who prided himself on distinguishing nationalities. She hasn't any European accent.
She's from right over the border here somewhere. Do you know my mother? Tilda Jane was eagerly asking the assistant inspector. Yes, know her well. If you don't speak up, I'll telegraph her.
Oh, I'll never speak then, said Tilda Jane, taking a step forward and clasping her hands painfully. Oh, sir, do telegraph to my mother. I've cried and cried at nights about her. Other girls has mothers that loves them and strokes their hair.
And nobody ever done that to me. They just think I'm ugly. Oh, sir, oh, sir, won't you telegraph my mother? Blakeman had gone too far. The sentiment of the meeting was against him and a low murmur warned him to retract what
he had said. I don't mean your mother, he said sulkily. I mean your guardians. The lady boards? asked Tilda Jane eagerly. He did not know what lady boards meant, but his silence seemed to give assent to her question.
And losing the bright flush that had come to her face, she relapsed into painful and profound silence. He would never know how he had hurt her. Oh, what hopes he had raised and in an instant dashed to the ground and checking the convulsion In her throat, she stealthily wiped away the two tears of distress coursing down her thin
cheeks. Don't cry, said Jack kindly. I expect you're tired from your trip in the train yesterday. You had a pretty long one, hadn't you? Yes, Mr. Jack, she said humbly.
It seemed kind of long, but I'm not used to being drug along so mighty quick. I didn't notice her till we passed McAdam Junction, whispered Jack to his assistant. She came down from some place in New Brunswick. Telegraph McAdam. They'll not know, growled Blakeman.
Robinson on yesterday's Montreal Express is the man. He'll be back tonight. He'll know where she got on. If he'd reported, it would have saved this. I guess he didn't think we'd struck such an obstacle, remarked Jack with a chuckle.
Then he said aloud. Don't you suppose they'll be worrying about you, Sissy? No, sir, she said meekly. They'll be more mad than worried. You haven't lost that paper with the address, have you?
Said Jack kindly. No, sir. And she put her hand to her breast. He got up and walked toward her. Let me see if I can read it.
There's no occasion for that, she said with dignity. You'll have to let me see it, he said firmly, so firmly that, it being no part of her plan to dare the undareable, she quietly handed Hank's card to him. Hobart Dillson. Ciscassid Main, he read, that he gave it back to her.
Thank you, Sissy. I guess you can go to bed now. In a minute, said Tilda Jane submissively, while she made a queer bob of a curtsy to all present. Gentlemen all, before I go I must say something.
Upstairs just now I was pondering on my wickedness. I guess you think I don't know that all liars has their portion in the lake o' fire and brimstone. I knows it and feels it. Gentlemen, I ain't told no more lies nor I could help.
That bout being deep and dumb I can't call a lie cause I felt it. And I'm surprised now to hear myself talk, but I have told lies and I know it. Today I had a boss dinner. I went to sleep and on my bed I dreamed. Something roared and shook the house and I woke in a sweat.
Did I think the devil had come after me? Yes, sirs, gentlemen. I've been awful bad. I don't suppose any of you knows what such badness is. I'm a feared I've got to go on lying till I like lies better in truth.
That's what the, what ladies I has known said would happen to little girls as stepped aside from the paths of righteousness. The men were all staring at her, the assistant inspector most intently for this flow of language for the supposedly deaf and dumb child surprised even him. A man used to surprises.
I'm going to repent some day, continued Tilde Jane sadly, just as soon as I get out of this and enjoy family life. I'm going to repent of all set one thing and I can't repent about that cause. I don't know if it's wrong. Do you like dogs?
She abruptly addressed the assistant inspector. No, he said bruskly. What do you like? She went on wistfully. Cats, birds, children.
Do you like girls, sir? Nice little girls with blue eyes and curly hair. The assistant inspector was a remarkably fine blonde specimen of a man and he was popular among the young women of the neighborhood. Tilde Jane's artless question produced a burst of laughter from his companions and a furious
flaming of color in his own face. Her question had gone home and she proceeded. Suppose you had a nice little girl and someone wanted to take her away and frightened her and tied jingling things to her and make her run and you'd catch her up and run off to the woods.
Would that be awful wicked? Do you suppose? And would you have to repent? The assistant inspector preserved a discreet and resentful silence but two or three of his companions murmured between their pipe stems and their lips.
Not much he wouldn't. Now that's what troubles me. Tilde Jane continued. The rest is bad. But is that bad?
I guess I'll have to ask some minister and gentlemen all. I guess you'd better let me go on to Ciscasset. You've got a nice place here and plenty of things to eat and I think you're very fair but I feel like moving on and pausing. She anxiously scanned the row of faces about her.
Run away to bed now said Jack. We'll tell you tomorrow what you're to do. And as Tilde Jane picked up her pet and disappeared he sauntered across the room, took up a telegraph form and addressed a message to the creamery shark's father. Hobart Dillson Ciscasset.
Girl age 12. Dark hair eyes. Run away from place unknown. Going to your address. Held as emigrant without means.
Refuses to give name. Can you supply any information? Answer paid for. End of chapter 7. Recording by John Brandon.
