Cowboy Kim

By Ida Stewart Peay

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 7.

Mr. McCree laughed softly. “I dare say I seem radical but so it appears to me,” he said. “A boy can be given every advantage possible yet no one but himself can make a man of him; and he can only do it by putting forth his best effort. Thus he actually needs a few difficulties.”

The man was convincing but Mrs. Sloane looked sorely puzzled. The McCrees had lived near her only a few months while she had been under the tutorship of Mrs. Carson for five years. Her old neighbor’s faith in the advantages to be had with money and the results to be obtained through force and severe punishment was absolute; and her new neighbor seemed almost to believe in the handicap of insufficient means and he was opposed to a great extent to force and punishment. Between these two influences Mabel Sloane, who had never yet had any serious disturbance in her life to make her grow, was beginning to feel uncertain. Her confidence in former convictions was perceptibly shaken. She sighed audibly now as she arose to leave.

“Well, I must go home and have it out with that Kim. If we don’t take him in hand now –” she began but broke off suddenly. There was honest doubt and trouble in her face. “Mr. McCree, you have had considerable experience with boys –a” she started over again and a new not eof humility had crept in to her voice – “tell me truly, what would you do with a boy like that Kim? I want to bring him up right.”

Neighbor McCree had been longing for this opportunity.

“A renowned educator once said something in effect like this:” – he began without delay – People plant seeds in the ground and then patiently wait for them to grow. They do not consider it necessary to pull a little each day on the tender, green sprouts when they appear. But those same people do not have the patience to watch their children grow. They think they must pull children up. Now, if you ask my advice I would say, just let Kim grow. He has enjoyed the best advantages a child can possibly have, that is, he has had thoroughly good and beautiful examples to follow all his life.”

“But shouldn’t we correct him?”

“Kim’s past will guide him nearly aright.”

“But how about an instance like this evening. I can’t be put out this way all the time. He may run away again if we don’t punish him.”

“Certainly, he may forget again and again and again; but if you thrashed him every day he would still be a child and act like one. If he is dishonest, impure or brutal, chastisement may be necessary or helpful, but for the trifling faults such as are common to childhood, a gentle reproof and a good example is the best correction. Kim will soon come to know the faults that annoy you most, and infinite patience will help him to overcome them. There is nothing in child culture as important as the right example. I often wonder why legislators make laws for juveniles instead of grown-ups. By laws they try to secure minors from certain evils which men are indulging in. It is practically useless. Prohibit the man, and the boy will not need prohibiting. He follows the example of his elders.”

Mabel Sloane began to see a glimmer – it was Kim himself who finally brought her into the full light. When she returned home she found Uncle Pete lost in the evening paper. He was sitting on the middle of his back in the rocker with his slippered feet hoisted to the seat of a nearby chair, his whole posture that of the tired business man at rest. Near the open fire, necessitated by the cool September night, Baby Belle and Kim were stretched out fast asleep. The little girl had a chubby arm thrown around Kim’s neck. Near them, spread wide open, lay Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary; studying the queer little pictures in the great book had been one of the boy’s babyhood pleasures back at the Deer Run.

The woman’s first impulse was to rescue her fine book and fling an irate reproach at her husband – so strong is habit. But the new mood, for which Neighbor McCree was responsible, impelled her to check the fretful words on the end of her tongue. She stood instead thoughtfully contemplating the vision before her. When her companion looked up and discovered the kindly tolerance in her face a pleased light came into his eyes.

“Pretty picture, isn’t it, Mabel?” he murmured, not trying to disguise the tenderness in his voice as he followed her look to the sleeping innocents. “Poor Clara, it’s too bad she could not live to raise her boy! Though her loss is our gain, dear; he’s a little thoroughbred – a chip off the old block. And my, how baby loves him! It will greatly enrich her life to have him with us.”

Mrs. Sloane made no reply. She merely suggested that Peter take care of the baby; she, herself, undertook to get Kim to bed. The boy was sleeping the sleep of carefree childhood and though Aunt Mabel shook him, talked to him, and even stood him upon his feet he would not rouse but slipped back to the floor dead to the world. Finally she was obliged to take off his clothes any way she could and almost carry him to his room. He stumbled along, mumbling and sighing, but not until she had lifted him into bed and brought the cover sup around his neck snugly did he wake sufficiently to speak; then he opened his large bright eyes and looked at his aunt.

“Mama, kiss me,” he murmured sleepily. A pang went through the woman. She leaned down and kissed him.

“This is Aunt Mabel, Kim,” she said, and her voice was strangely gentle.

“Oh.” The boy took a deep breath and blinked his eyes with more understanding; then he stole an arm around her neck and whispered, “I’m sorry I put you out tonight, Aunt Mabel. Dad and Buck and I always liked to please Mother and make her happy.” Almost before the last words were out his eyelids drooped down and he was off to the land of slumber again.

Aunt Mabel smiled. “Of course!” she murmured to herself, believing in the child’s words for the first time. Poor lady to have lived so long without discovering the good in the heart of a little child. The next day, however, she struck the counter influence. Her neighbor on the south was telling her about Wallie getting a thrashing.

“Mr. Carson caught Wallie trying to light one of his cigars,” explained the woman.

“But Mr. Carson could hardly expect the boy not to –”

“Indeed, we do expect him not to – he cannot do everything he sees his father do. His father is old enough to do as he likes but Wallie must do as he is told.”

“I fear it does not work out that way,” faltered Mrs. Sloane.

“Well, you can’t give a kid a lick a miss – they’re full of the dickens and you can’t trust them. Anyway, I don’t think Wallie will try that trick again in a hurry,” flung out the iron woman. However, she suspected from the puzzled expression on Mrs. Sloane’s face that her neighbor was not in exact harmony with her spirit and she went home all out of sorts, though, to be sure, she was seldom in any other mood.

Kim’s third week in school found him known to all the teachers and practically all the scholars. In his own room he was looked up to as “knowin’ everything” because of his rich fund of general information; and on the play ground he was forced to lead all the games among the children of his own age both because he was new and interesting and because he was acquainted with many exciting and fanciful games.

All the children were wild to play “cowboy” and hear Kim talk Buck’s language, and tlel about allasandro and several other horses that the boy made live in their receptive minds. He was obliged to invent all kinds of amusements in which horses and cattle and cowboys played the leading roles.

But while Kim gave out much he was also learning from his new playmates. Especially was he quick in picking up their slang and acquiring the glib use of their nicknames. Although he had a certain dignity and independence that made his playmates respectful to him, he was also a mixer, naturally, and was soon on familiar terms with Tub Brown, Headache Hardy, Speck Bailey, Silver Coombs, and many others.

One day during recess when all the children were playing wildly about the school grounds, Kim noticed a lad about his own age standing at the corner of the school house alone. The boy was thin, freckled, tow-headed and shabbily clad. He leaned listlessly against the building sometimes watching the children at their play, but oftener gazing with an absent stare at the ground or the sky as though lost in thought. As Kim took in the forlorn picture the child made drooping there, it began to dawn on him that he had seen the boy there many times before. In fact, thinking back, he felt sure he had seen him there every day for a week or more. It seemed rather odd. He stopped suddenly in his mad dash after Tub Brown whom he was pursuing to enquire of Wallie Carson who the boy was.

“That? Oh, that’s just Jorg,” scorned Wallie, and as though further information was unnecessary, he turned quickly away. Kim, however, was not satisfied.

“Jorg who?” he asked, detaining his friend.

“Oh, just Jorg!” Wallie tried to continue his play.

“What’s his other name?” pursued Kim, catching Wallie by the arm and holding him quiet.

“Oh, let’s see – Madison, I guess, Jorg Madison.”

“What make shim stand there alone all the time?”

“Don’t know.”

“Is he sick or something?”

“Naw.”

“Why don’t he play?”

“Cause.”

“Cause what?”

“Don’t know,” Wallie muttered. His answer did not seem honest to Kim.

“I’m going to ask him. Maybe his leg is hurt, or something, so he can’t run,” he decided quickly and started to find out.

“No, no, don’t,” cried Wallie in alarm, catching Kim by the arm and holding him back. “Don’t go near him!”

“Why?” Kim resented, his eyes showing a little fire as he tried to free himself.

“Oh, cause, et – cause nobody does,” Wallie faltered, uncertain as to what to say but determined to deter the new boy from his purpose.

“Nobody does! What do you mean?” marveled Kim, looking Wallie in the eye with his disconcerting stare.

“Well, I mean, er – nobody plays with him.”

“Why?” demanded the boy from the Deer Run.

“Well, cause he’s – er – I don’t know ’xactly, I forget. I believe it’s because he’s dirty,” whimpered Wallie, impatiently twisting about – it was not easy to stand still under Kim’s searching glance.

“Do you mean bad?”

“No, just dirty.”

“Face and hands not washed?” probed the investigator.

“Yep, somethin’ like that,” conceded Wallie.

“Pooh, your face and hands wouldn’t be much whiter than the ground if your mother didn’t hold you down and scrub you,” jeered Kim good-naturedly.

“Nether would yours if your aunt didn’t wash you,” Wallie came back quickly.

“Well, I know it,” owned the other. That was a point on which this unusual child resembled the youthful male of all ages – he had a horror of soap and water. Solomon would never have taken him for a girl if he had seen him at his ablutions. “So he’s no worse than we are – perhaps he hasn’t any mother to wash him. I’m going to get him to play with me,” he vowed, starting off energetically.

“No, you mustn’t – it isn’t jut that,” his friend held him back. “It’s somethin’ worse – ” Wallie pointed to his head – “in his hair,” he whispered, winking knowingly.

Kim gazed at him with uncomprehending eyes. The other boy was obliged to go into the most detailed and elaborate explanation to convey his meaning; even then Kim was impressed with no sense of danger.

Getting desperate, Wallie warned apprehensively, “You’ll get them in your head, too, if you go near him. That’s why nobody plays with him. He’s been goin’ to this school for two years and nobody has ever played with him yet.”

“Nobody has ever played with him for two years!” cried Kim aghast, sensing, with that power of understanding and sympathy given only to natures of his type, what such cruel ostracism would mean to any child. “Oh, Wallie, how could you treat a poor school-mate that way?” Indignantly throwing off Wallie’s hold on him, Kim sprang away to the relief of the persecuted pupil, little knowing that he was making a brave beginning on what was destined to be the chief role of his life.

His chum watched him with awe as though expecting instant contamination. he even made one last feeble call of remonstrance, but his little friend with face alight sped on to carry out his friendly purpose.

“Got your tag,” sang Kim, as he lightly touched the neglected Jorg and then darted playfully away, flinging an encouraging smile back over his shoulder. I twas a brave, put-on smile for there was a deep hurt in his heart. Although not old enough to make any analysis of the intolerance or hard-heartedness of his school-mates, he knew instinctively that a wrong was being done.

Little Jorg gave a violent start at being touched. He straightened himself up alertly, his eyes brightening as they followed the new boy questioningly, hopefully for a brief moment; then his shoulders began to droop again. Before hope had died out of his face entirely, Kim sprang at him once more.

“Got your tag; got your tag,” he challenged, dodging back and forth as if to prevent a surprise attack. Poor little Jorg was uncertain how to take the new boy’s advances. he stood quite still, his eyes holding back a variety of emotions, while his sensitive face flushed in painful embarrassment.

Kim walked up to him again. “Say, I’ll get that you can run fast because you’re so slim,” he began in a friendly way. “I can beat any of the kids my size. Did you see me run in the races last Friday?”

“Yes, you’re some goer,” admitted Jorg, more at his ease.

“Well, if you can catch me before the bell rings you can run against me next Friday. There, I’ve got your tag again!” Tapping him on the arm Kim bounded away once more and this time the ostracized lad scudded after him – not playfully but with a determined look on his pensive face that almost hid its new joy.

Kim’s enthusiasm and energy of mind coupled with a lean suppleness of body afforded him some of the qualities required for speed and he had already made a reputation for himself as a runner. Now he went like the wind and his pursuer could only keep him in sight. In and out among the groups of children they sped, dodging this way and that and then running at top speed across the play grounds. After a time the children realized that Jorg Madison was actually playing with someone; and the teachers, too, became aware of it. Presently the whole school sensed the fact that a race was in progress between the despised Jorg and the new boy, and all were instantly interested in the outcome.

Meanwhile, Kim and Jorgan, oblivious of the many eyes following them, sped on. The ranch boy’s speed was a marvel to everybody, but, to be sure the race is not always to the swift, and as Kim’s strength began to fail Jorgan’s endurance became apparent. Just as the monitor came out to sound the gong Kim made his last dash for the steps. He was staggering a little now and Jorgan was close behind him. One more desperate lunge of the untrained lad and Kim was caught.

“He got me fair and square and I want him to run with me next Friday,” he called out to the teachers and pupils who gathered around him where he fell laughing and panting upon the steps. After a moment’s rest he stood up and putting his arm around Jorgan’s shoulders declared proudly, “He’s a great goer!”

Jorgan’s head dropped slightly while his small face quivered with pleasure and the pain of embarrassment. The teachers looked on with puzzled countenances. All were affected more or less by Kim’s purposeful attention to this neglected child. The little First Grade teacher smiled approvingly and nodded her head and openly wiped a tear from her eye.

“We will certainly put Jorgan on the track now we know how he can run,” the principal stated decisively, playing up to Kim’s move with his customary grace. Then the bell rang and closed the incident.

The best thing about it was that the incident and Kim’s continued patronage ended poor Jorgan’s long period of ostracism. If gratitude enlarges the soul – and there is no doubt but that it does – little Jorg’s was in danger of bursting its bounds. It was touching to see how genuinely thankful he was to Kim and what a true friend he proved ever after.

When the attitude of the school was entirely changed towards poor Jorgan, it was amusing to see the pupils go one after another to Kim declaring their innocence in the matte rof Jorgan’s persecution.

“You know, I always spoke to him and played with him, but I couldn’t get any of the other fellows to,” Wallie said one night as he and Kim walked home from school together. Young Carson did not know he was telling an untruth. He just sort of forgot his past thoughtlessness in the new feeling of tolerance and virtue he was harboring. So it was no doubt with the others – and mankind in general. Kim contradicted no one, while Jorgan, happy and grateful, was more than content to bury the bitter past.

Although Kim took no exceptions to these numerous explanations, when one came to him with an honest confession, it gave him a thrill of pleasure. It was little Pattie McCree of the dark curls and rosy cheeks.

“I’m awful ’shamed of the way I treated poor Jorg,” she said one Saturday when they were playing in the yard with the twins. “I have been very bad.”

“You bad! I should say not,” defended the boy, his eyes admiring the deepening color in her pretty face. “You couldn’t be bad,” he scoffed.

(To be continued)