McClosky and the Cable

McClosky and the Cable* The Improvement Era Prize Story, January Contest

BY JOSEPHINE SPENCER

"I mind, Molly," said Mrs. Harrigan, snatching at her spool as itrolled from her lap into the zinc sauce-pan used as a coal- scuttle, "I mind Mag Geegan's man the time he run out of his door wid the print of Mag's mop betwixt his shoulders. "If yez iver come back," bawls Mag after him, "I'll make a picture-card of yer face— wid the mop done on it in scalthin' wather, like the !" sailor we seen at the play wid the tatchood arm "It's enough of the foine arts for me," rejoins Geegan, "the valentine ye've smocked on me shoulder wid the same utinsil!" and goes off, wid niver another word. The next Mag hears of him, he's over the Divide, at Mullett's, makin' love to a young — widdy, on the promise of divorcin' Mag for mintil dishtress, or some such dislocation. 'Twas his shoulder blade, I'm thinkin' put out by Mag's mop. When Mag hears of his perjurin' thricks, over the hill she goes wid a sheriff, and brings Geegan safe home on a charge of intinded bigamy." Molly McClosky lifted a pair of dripping arms from the tub, and made vain attempts to dry her streaming eyes. "Go for him, is it?" she asked, stooping to pick a nondescript article from the

floor, and mopping her face. "I'd niver go nor sind for Mc- Closky if me and the young wans saw him no more forever. 'Twas neither actual assault nor batthery I gave him., like Mag's, but 'twas the promise of it, like hers, if he ever came back. 'Tis the ind of everythin' I told him, and 'twill be a pail of suds in yer mouth if yez iver open it again in me presence. More than that, I tell him, 'twill be me and the childer walkin' out the door, if it's verself I iver see walkin' in.' Them are the words I spoke, Mrs. Harrigan, and I'd take the choice of a jump down Matt Crowther's ould shaft than the shame of McClosky's seein' me ate me own words. A fine fool I'd be, the next time he's in the liquor, wid no more to daunt him wid, than my last cock-crowin' threat, swal- leyed to the pin-feathers." — "Where'll he be stoppin' at think yez?" asked Mrs. Harri- gan. "At the company bunk-house for lodgin's, I'm guessin', and its

*This story won the $25 prize for January, in the Improvement Era six-months' contest, ending tune, 1915.

McCI-OSKY AND II IK CAI'.I.K 485

ristraunt for his meals. He'll mind neither, if the cot's comfort- able he slapes in, and the Chinaman cooks him hot waffles for breakfast ivry marnin' — as I've been tould." She whimpered a moment, resentfully, and then went on. "I said harder thing's to him maybe, than I should but would a — woman be spakin' poethry at him, I wonder, afther me hard day's work at the tubs, and him comin' home in the liquor, and a month's !" pay gone into the whiskey "It's a marvel the fool a man's mouth'll make of him," sym- pathized Mrs. Harrigan. "It's the first taste, and thin Noah's flood and all the animals. I nivver thought he'd hilt out so long, — though, away from his home and him so daft on the young wans !" Her remark brought a fresh flood of tears from Molly's eyes. "Jim McClosky had that good in him," she declared. "He'd a heart soft as dough for the childer. 'A fine bit of managin". Molly,' he'd say, when I went off wid my basket o' clean launthry atop me head. 'What's brought in by the tubs goes into the bank for the young wans — its meself that'll be lookin' out for the day's livin'. After all. maybe I'd better have kept a still tongue, than he left wid the intire burden on me own bone and brain. Niver a better man lives than McClosky — out of his cups." She stopped — again to dry her eyes then began over her plaint against the need- less evil which disturbed her happiness.

The scant furnishings of the little room, seen through a haze of steam rising from tub and clothes-boiler, were dim and grimy. The pine table spread with oil cloth, the unpainted cupboard with its tin utensils and cheap crockery, and rusted stove topped with its

boiler— all were veiled with steam, and the one little window with a haze of it, to the comparative exclusion of view and sunlight. Companionably housed in this smudge, Molly McClosky rubbed away at her laundry, and her neighbor, Mrs. Harrigan, wielded stiffly, but with wonderful swiftness, the task known to her inti- mates as "crochy-work," at the same time dropping a bit of Sympa- thy into Molly's monologue of domestic woe, delivered to her ac- companying rhythmic motion at the tub. This ceased, momentarily, as Molly, raising a dripping arm from the suds, pulled at a slackened length of rope tied to the tub- bench, until an invisible resistance from the other end outside the door, rewarded her experiment. "It's a fine scheme ye have there for keepin' the child safe," commented Mrs. Harrigan. "The inspiration of — me life that bit o' tether !" answered Mollv. "It's the same as havin' me eye on the young wan. widout the distraction of him underfut I've trouble enough, too, to make ;

me glad to be rid of any bit o' anxietv, comin' anither wav."

m IMPROVEMENT KRA Outside, on the slope which formed the front door yard of the McClosky's shanty, a small mite of humanity, crowned with a mop of red hair, resented Mrs. McClosky's test of his twine liga- ment with a backward tug which brought him suddenly to earth, the mishap eliciting a cry of enraged challenge from him to the unseen but guessed offender. Past experience having taught him, however, the futility of prolonged vocal rebellion against this ab- sent maternal care, he presently regained his feet, and re-com- menced his search for pebbles to fling at the near creek. One lay temptingly path just outside the limit of the in the little hillside Mite's hobble,; and as he struggled against its hold, the encircling belt attached to the tether, drawn taut by the Mite's tug, gave sud- denly, and lay, with the rope's length, an impotent link on the ground. Loosed from its coils, the Mite, in ecstasy of discovered lib- erty, sped, with joyful patter of steps up the sloping path, the vivi'' r^d of his small head detaching itself from dingv drabs of earth, boulders and somnolent pigs in McClosky's front yard, to make a wavering patch of color against the hillside. A train of coal-wagons, manned by swarthy drivers, the Mite's erstwhile awesome delight, rumbled along the road at foot of the slope. A yellow lizard ran dauntingly across his path ; black choke- cherries gleamed temptingly from the low bushes on either side a chipmunk whisked a tail luringly from a near boulder — but the Mite's steps pattered steadfastly on, pausing neither for suggestion of fear nor temptation. Against the c e, a tiny, subconscious self whispered memories of better things lying at end of the upward path. He had threaded it before on a rollicking shoulder, with a jovial, worshipful, red-

bearded face pressed close to his, and a springing, sure-footed tread bearing him into sudden view of a medley of splendid things — "too-toot" cars tram-cars ; wonderful, crashing sounds ;

and unwonted sights and then, afterward, to a glorious ride on a ;

whirling car into the very mountain itself, past whizzing lights and patches of inky darkness to a big pit where men with coal-black faces, and candle-crowned caps, struck and hammered at shiny black walls — with a splendid indifference to their instant destruc- tion. One scene came into view now from behind a little bunch of scrub-oaks at end of the path — the big platform, the coal-black men at work with the "jigger;" the train on the track below, into which big blocks of coal fell with a fine thunder of sound and ;

there, beyond all these —the great, yawning hole leading down to the very roots of the hills, and threaded by wonderful, gliding cars pulled bv a something which whizzed an hummed intoxicatingly 1

overhead. At Q(^;e of the platform the Mite paused, trying to single, from the group of busy men, a familiar bristle of red beard, merg-

McCLOSKY A XI) THE CABLE 487

ing into round blue eyes whose glance would spell access to the joys of this enchanted spot but no familiar face met his glance. ;

An empty tram-car, released from the "dump," whizzed away into the black hole, and the Mite, clambering hastily upon the platform, held out vainly imploring arms, then, wrathfully stum- bled after the vanishing joy into the tunnel's gloom. The steel tramway, bare just now in an interim of loading, stretched, a long sloping trail through the dim, black-walled vault, empty, too, of human traffic. Down its incline glided the car of potential delight and on, after it pattered the purposeful Mite, the ;

envied ride a possible, final spoil. Cool, subterranean airs gushed refreshingly against the small, hot face. On either side electric globes made patches of dazzling light into which the car flitted to his temptation, then dimmed again into the alternating black shades but ever with no hint of detriment to the Mite, trudging ;

after its lure. In the coal-chamber at end of the two-thousand foot tunnel a return tram-train loaded with its shining black freight, started up the incline and Jim McClosky, running from the near cross-cut, ;

iumped with a Hying leap to his place on the moving train, agile from long practice as an acrobat to his bar. The close-cropped walls of the tunnel narrowed before him into hazy gloom, a patch of near space, only, visible in the light of nearer lamps, whose rays struck onyx-like gleams from the blocks on his train. The whir of the cable sent mumbling echoes through the vault — a complaining murmur filling its arched length after the motion had ceased. Its tireless click measured the half-distance, a slow, steady rotation up the easy incline. McClosky, glimpsing a mo- tion on the over-arching beam ahead seized a lump of coal from the truck. Rat-killing for wagers assumed aspects of dizzy sport in all day shifts of travel through unchanging scenery of coal- cropped walls and propping pine-beams. Having landed his prey, McClosky slipped from his inner — pocket a large flask, and raised it to his lips another common diversion on the daily trips. But the indulgence was stayed. A sound, sharp as the report of a light-calibre gun broke the low, close silence, filling it with detonations. The cars jerked, reversed motion, and began to slip back. "It's the cable, clane busted, I'm guessin'," muttered Mc- Closky, peering ahead. The wheels began to click with ominous swiftness, and he jumped. from the tram — picking himself up in- stantlv. to run with muttering comment, after the flying cars. — "A bad smash it'll be at the foot, an' no help for it bad luck — A fast race I'll be makin', too, if I'm to see the ind of it wid the train flyin' past the speed o' comets. — It's luck if the engineer'll be gettin' the signal down to clear the boys out o' the cut He halted with a jerk. Behind him, far up the incline, sound-

488 IMPROVEMENT ERA ed a strange clamor, an intermittent whir, and clang and crash filling the long vault with a chaos of echoes. Peering back, Mc- Closky for a moment could distinguish nothing, though the mys- terious din seemed to come nearer. Running back, he gained a spot where the tunnel, widening a little, gave him a farther view, and the sietfit faintly visioned in the dim light, effaced the careless curiosity from McClosky's air and visage. — Far up the incline, the tail of the broken cable a big, lithe, python-twist of steel, whirling on its way with a velocity gained momentarily from the speeding cars in front, thrashed from side to side of the tunnel, its way marked by huge splinters struck from beams and coal-blocks banking the low walls. To McClosky's startled sense it seemed like nothing so much as a giant scimetar weilded by unseen, purposeful hands thrashing the narrow space for expected prey. Its strokes cut the parallel walls with the — timed precision of machinery and McCloskey, sensing its menace, turned, with wholesome caution, and took to his heels. A few paces ahead he stopped listening. The high, frightened scream of a child rang shrilly from the rear vault, and McClosky's cheeks under their coat of grime turned pale. "It's likely one o' Mike Riley's little wans, wandered from the shanty across the tracks," he gasped. "It's lost he is, I'm — fearin' the poor micky, wid that whirlin' cable-tail on his tracks." He turned away with a shudder, then suddenly set his teeth. "It's niver I'd stand to face .Mike if I lave the babe to be chopped down," he muttered. "There'll be nothing but shrids o' the craythur to pick up." His steps back through the dim vault were flying leaps, and he snatched at a tiny form hardly outlined in the gloom, his wary and fearful eye on the flying cable. "Stop the squallin !" he shouted to the Mite perched on his shoulders as he turned to run, "There's noise from the rampin' — thing behint to craze me and if yez put extras of yer own into the program, I'll be leavin' yez to the big chopper that's like to make mince o' yez !" The child, yielding both to the threat and the compelling wonder of the situation, snuggled to McClosky's shoulder and fell silent. Something like consciousness, too, of impending climax might have oozed through the small, tense mind. McClosky's steps, under the Mite's added weight seemed to his strained sense to crawl and the cross-cut promising its feeble ;

chance at safety many yards ahead, as vain a hope as Olympus or the stars. Once, too, the uneven path all but tripped him, and he staggered to his feet with oaths in his set teeth. The sound of the cable's whir, like a tremendous human respiration, goaded the man suddenly into a frenzy, in which selfish fear and resentment fought uppermost.

McCLOSKY AND THE CABLE 489

niver be makin' the cut wid the spalpeen !" he gasped "I'll thickly, half pausing. "I've a mind to drop him and take my chance." Then a wave of tenderness, the appeal of helplessness to his man instinct of protection swept out the impulse. His arms, tightened aggressively about the small form. "I'll maybe be savin' yez yet," he muttered, "if I can dodge the blazin' hellion that's prancin' to make mince o' us — " He lunged, and struck against — an unseen obstacle two great beams placed to support the roof- braces, jutting out from the side-wall. Stunned by the collision. McClosky faltered an instant, then sprang forward and wedged himself into the angle formed by the posts and the wall, while the coil of twisted steel whizzed at his ear, sparing the beams by a hand's breadth, and clanging onward into the gloom. — McClosky hugged his refuge a newly fledged imagination framing other unguessed perils lurking in the tunnel's dark. The child, pressed tight in the angle, stirred restlessly and McCloskv ;

let him out of his limp arms to toddle into the dim 1ieht on the track, where he stood, with fascinated eyes gazing after the clang-' ing "chopper." McClosky 's knees gave way. "Mother of all the saints," he gasped, and crawled dazedly, to clasp the Mite in weakly clinging arms. "It's mine" — — he whispered, "and I thought 'twas Rilev's.** — His voice broke then trailed -on, gaspingly. "Little 1 dremp of his wanderin' here unbeknownst —the brave little wan ! It's the fondness he has for follyin' me, in spite o' me threats. How kem yez in the tunnel, ye spalpeen? It'll be the lock an' kay for yez now, stead o' the tether. Afine fright ye'll be givin' yer mother — too, — and serve her right. I warned her more than wanst again' the rope. 'Couldn't the pigs chew it through,' I says, 'or some micheevious lad loose the knot of it?' Whativer freed yez, 'tis me — own prophecy come thrue and I'll maybe be gettin' a squint — of recognition as head o' me own house He stopped suddenly, staring into space for a long silence. Then he snatched at the flask in his pocket, to splinter it against the steel tracks. be deservin' of me —"Better before I'm demandin' rights, he muttered. "I've done nothin' worthy my —but 'em this " one thing — in life

A thunderous crash resounded from below, its echoes rolling in great waves up the vaulted incline. "The train's struck," muttered McClosky, "but if the en- gineer's signalled the boys out o' the cut, there'll be no worse mischief than the smashed trams and walls. I'll best be gettin' out before a crew's called for repairin' the timbers. I'm no use for the work till I've the young wan safe home, and I'll make it — if it's

a lost job — and Molly's pail o' suds in my face for the cost !"

490 IMI'Ki iVEMENT ERA

At the kitchen door, the valor of past moments declined. Screened by the Mite, nodding sleepily on his shoulder, McClosky peered stealthily across the sill, alert for impromptu ablutions. Defiance, however, swelled the loud tone in which he called out. — "I'm home again, Molly and the young wan safe wid me" the last a possible straw's dam against impending deluge. The expected liquid gauntlet failing to meet this challenge, McClosky stepped gingerly inside, and finding the kitchen empty, went into the front room, where, after an alert look around, he put down the Mite in a small crib in the corner. "It's not like her to lave the tubs wid the launthry soakin' in 'em," ruminated McClosky, striding restlessly about. "She'll be off after the young wan, I'm guessin' — and bad luck to her, let her look ! 'Twill give her the moral she nades for houlding out against me judgment o' the tether, to say nothin' o' the pledge o' the suds she flung on me thracks. Maybe I'd best be stoppin' for the noon bite, now I'm down, and have it out with the woman; and I'll just be kapin' whist o' the young wan, till she proves if it's war or — A distant sound of wailing that had been growing gradually on McClosky's ear, broke into nearer diapason and hastening to ;

the front window, he saw, emerging from a screening bulge in the hillside at foot of the slope, Molly McClosky — followed by Mrs. Harrigan, beating the creek-banks with hasty steps, whilst the voice of each uttered its doleful note of terror and grief. In Molly's stout grasp was the household mop, and with it she was churning the stream, leaping by means of its boulders from bank to bank, and prodding its bed with her homely plum- met, whilst Mrs. Harrigan, armed similarly with a broom, essayed vainly to keep pace with her hostess' frantic gyrations. McClosky watched them through the window, his wide eyes glazed with a dull wonderment. "Is it lunicy — — or the drink that's took them," he muttered. Then, presently, dawning comprehension brought a wide grin to his face. "It's the young wan they're after, I'll be bound!" he beamed. "She'll be thinkin' him drowned in some deep hole o' the creek." He stepped glibly to the front door, and opening it, stood, pipe in hand, at the sill. "Molly !" he bawled. "It's the task o' no woman to kape the outside the platter clane whilst the inside's littered with tubs o' and soaked launthry. When yer through moppin' the creek-bed, I'd like me bite o' food before I'm back to the job." Going into the kitchen, he sat down, pulling with pretended nonchalance at his cold pipe and here Mollv McClosky faced him. ;

panting, disheveled, wide-eyed, her face a composite mask of relief, resentment and dire distress. Behind her trailed Mrs. Harrio-an

McCLOSKEY AND THE CABLE 491

with her dripping broom, a faint physical and vocal echo of Molly's blatant woe. "You're back, then, is it — wid yer home and family deserted for a wake past," cried Molly. '"Twill be longer than that, too, before you're seein' them all again. The young wan's drowned slipped from his tither whilst I tinded Mis' Harrigan's hand, scalt — by wather spilt from me wash-boiler " her voice broke into wail- ing, and Mrs. Harrigan whimperingly took up the story. "It's thrue, Jim McClosky. I was snug in my corner there, — me wits glued to the crochy when the boiler slipped from her hand—" "Are yez lost to the grief o' common parenthood, Jim — McClosky," screamed Molly "sittin' there wid yer pipe, like an Injun totem, and yer youngest dead in the strame!" McClosky, tilted back against the wall with effective indif- ference, brought his chair legs to the floor with a resounding thump. "Is it to be tea — or suds — that'll be washin' down the bite, Molly?" he demanded. "I'll not speak till I know your choice." Her wail, high, raucous, hopeless, broke forth anew. "He's in the liquor again," she screamed, "and with his youngest choked in the strame!" Shrieking, she ran to the door, but McClosky, .big, eased, masterful, stood in her way. "It's what I've long told yez woman, would come from the tither— and if the moral has scared yez into a reasonable recogni- tion o' me judgmint, as it should, then I'll ease your mind. The spalpeen's asleep in the cot — saved by me own hand from the fate flung on him by yer woman's stubbornness." Whilst Molly, rushing tumultuously, buried her face in the Mite's red hair, on the cot, Mrs. Harrigan gazed at McClosky with solemn, and even awed regard. "After this day, McClosky," she said presently, "yez might do the tricks of a performin' mule in yer cups, and niver know the sting o' a reproachful word." She went back to her bench in the corner, and McClosky raised a voice that was both gentle and husky. "If ye'll be layin' a bite, Molly, I'll be gettin' back to the job. The whistle'll be pipin' in a jiffy — " McClosky stopped and snatched the tub from Molly's fingers to set it down outside the door, then, with quick strides, intercepted her at the wash-boiler. "It's no woman's task liftin' the heavy things when the man's about, Molly," he said and then, with the room cleared "set ; — up for the bite, Mrs. Harrigan. There's no more than a snack, but such as it is you're welcome as any of us." With an extreme of gallantry he drew her bench from the corner to the table, and pushed the old woman with kindly hands into her seat. Mollv,