Lean and Lank

Dedication

Dedicated to all Leans and Lanks the world over whom the author loves, admires and wishes the highest, fullest, rich¬ est life that this world can know. Such can be theirs for: “If any man lack wisdom let him ask God." “Before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear.”

Preface

This book is written in the best and highest commendatory praise of the many now ac¬ tive Judge Farrises and Daniel Fosters. So; and in hopes of reaching the many more,—and the peace that passes all under¬ standing, the peace that the world cannot know will be theirs.

Z. H. T.

Prattville, Alabama,

October, 1929.

i

“Shine your shoes, please, Mister? Good job,—quick work. Thank you, sir. Morning paper! You’ll have time to read the big head lines while I make them look like new.” And the pale, sweet face, pinched by poverty and hunger, looked so appealing, so demanding of sym¬ pathy, the man of affairs sat upon the shabby chair, placed his feet upon the crude rack and took the morning paper proffered by the boy.

“Thank you sonny,” as he took the paper, “give me an extra good shine now and I will give you extra good pay.”

“All right, sir,” and an appreciative grin wreathed the face as he gave a side-ways glance at his customer from brown eyes made abnormally large by the pale, drawn, wax-like skin, then began his work with business-like energy.

There was an indescribable something; an attractively alluring, a pathetically fascinating look upon the little boot-black’s face which caused passers-by to “take no¬ tice,” if they did not actually stop, take the chair, put their feet upon the rack and take the paper as it was gently but securely placed within the hand.

As the gentleman of affairs left the chair, he carefully folded the paper while he was being dusted and brushed, then, thrusting his hand in his pocket, he brought out a bright new fifty cent piece, handed it to the boy saying: “This money is new and you’ve made my shoes ‘look like new,’ so we are even, aren’t we?”

“But, sir, I haven’t the change.”

“There is no change. You gave the extra good job and you get the extra good pay according to our con¬ tract.”

As he handed the paper to the youngster, the man noted the shapely, but claw like hands as the little fel¬ low took it, and passed his bony fingers heavily over it to emphasize the creases so it would “lay flat,” then laid it upon the special place he had fixed for it (two pegs driven into the side of the chair seat) the paper to be used as many times that day as there were customers. The man also noted the grateful, appreciative curl of his mouth and side glance from the alluring eyes as the boy looked gratefully at him—then lovingly at the coin.

The man passed on. He had become interested.—“That little chap has something peculiarly attractive about him, —can’t define it,” he mused as he passed on. When he reached the corner he turned as if to go down the street, but instead he entered the haberdashery and walked to the side door where he could look out upon the boy.

He was just in time to see a tobacco sack taken from the pocket of the boy, the draw-string pulled to its full capacity; he heard the coin as it dropped in with a thud and joined the company of two nickels and a dime already earned that morning. After a peep into the sack the string was drawn tight, the sack given a shake or two up and down—close to the boy’s ear—the jingle made such pleasant music! The eyes said so. The top of the sack was then twisted tightly to make the money more secure and giving the bag a toss up, it was caught, given a pow¬ erful squeeze, a delighted smile, then crammed into the lowest corner of his pocket. He gave the pocket an af¬ fectionate, satisfied pat when the hand was withdrawn.

A graceful swing of the body carried him to the chair where, with his bare legs crossed, he whistled to himself and waited patiently for another customer.

The man of affairs walked slowly away, thoughtful. His interest and sympathies were aroused by the earnest, business-like, polite demeanor of the boy and several times a week thereafter, he came, sat upon the chair and had his shoes “made like new,” solely to see, chat with and help the little fellow, who never slackened in his ef¬ forts to please—to do the best job possible—and was so wholesomely pleasant about it.

A fellow of like trade had installed his place of busi¬ ness on the next block down and frequently they would signal their business successes during the day by a pri¬ vate code know only to themselves. They would stand with legs at an angle almost forty-five degrees, arms raised and energetically waved in wind-mill fashion sev¬ eral revolutions—then they would hold up their arms alternately with fingers well apart so that each could know the dimes made within a given period of time. The one showing the fewest fingers, would double his energies so the profits would nearer tally the evening when upon reaching home their earnings for the day would be poured from the tobacco sacks upon either end of the pine table, carefully counted and deposited in savings banks—(baking-powder cans with a slit cut in the tops, a piece of paper having been pasted with flour around the edge of the lids so the temptation to use money from their savings account would be lessened). The “banks” were then placed in the wooden box which held their supply of wearing apparel and pushed under the head of their bed.

The companion of like trade was taller by a head, was angular both as to form and feature. The high cheek bones seemed to have a way of hiding the dark, greenish, grey eyes, already somewhat obscured by a tangled mass of hair—a tawny mane always awry by the constant pas¬ sage of long, dirty fingers through it, as he restlessly paced up and down, round and round while he waited for customers.

The two were as unlike in disposition as they were in general appearance. They had only two characteristics alike,—honesty to all, loyalty to each other. Their first introduction was quite a thrilling affair, came near being serious.

“Lean,” (as the smaller, younger fellow was called), was being unmercifully and unjustly thrashed by a bully of the streets, when “Lank” happened along. After a hurried conversation with one of the on-lookers, “Lank” immediately put aside his cap and coat and proceeded to have the tide of battle changed in “Lean's” favor. This intervention gave “Lean” undisputed victory. Picking up several marbles, a sling shot, two nails, a tap and sev¬ eral buttons and beads, he handed them to “Lean”; then turned and collected his own property from a boy here and there who had picked up the articles as they had fallen from time to time from the champion’s pockets as the battle raged. The affair was over in a few minutes —before a cop was made wise—and the two marched off together. The taller one walked wobbly as he leaned down—his swaying, swinging stride gave the appearance of wrapping his legs around the smaller boy’s (as it were). He put an arm across the small boy’s shoulder and began questioning him as to the extent of his in¬ juries; asked him concerning his home, his social stand¬ ing, church affiliations, etc.

As they thus walked away leaving the crowd gazing admiringly after them, the gang called out good naturedly: “Goodbye Lank; goodbye Lean.” Names promptly accepted by both boys, as well as the crowd, as being en¬ tirely appropriate and satisfactory.

This introduction, though all unexpected and violent, was lasting and exceedingly peaceful.

Chapter II

“Myer, what is the chap’s name who has that dilapi¬ dated ‘shoe shine’ just to the side of your place?”

“I do not know, Judge, everybody calls him ‘Lean.’ Quite an unusual, interesting looking little fellow, isn’t he?”

“Yes—. Unless his every shirt is exactly alike he wears the same one all the time, for they are identical, patches and all. Yet they are always clean, white and, though unstarched, are nicely pressed. I do not under¬ stand it. The jean trousers, too. The whole outfit looks and fits pretty well, somewhat distinguished looking, I’d say—certainly distinguishes him from those of his kind. His flesh is exceptionally fresh and clean for one in his position. The hungry, starved look he almost always wears annoys me,—haunts me at times.”

“He seems to be somewhat choice about his eating, he won’t eat hot-dogs and trash like that, as most of that class and clan do; I learned this by some of his crowd ragging him about it. He seems very fond of all fruits, especially apples and often I have an extra one for him. I had lunch sent over from a stand one day last week just to try him. I asked him to share it with me, but with his pleasant grin (grin is not the right word, it is a peculiar curve or an expression about his eyes, or mouth or both which makes his face very appealing)—he de¬ clined, saying he had eaten an apple and couldn’t enjoy anything else then; but he did drink a glass of the milk which he thought was in danger of being sent back,—and do you know he sipped that stuff as slowly and as man¬ nerly as if he had been always used to drinking in one of the fourhundred’s drawing rooms.

“But why the question, Judge, does he strike you too?”

“Yes, I have been patronizing him all summer or since he has had his chair by your place. The chair, though comfortable looks like a home-made affair. I find some¬ thing quite unusual about him — about the whole en¬ semble—he doesn’t seem to be of the class of ordinary street rats.”

“No, he doesn’t. The only connection between him and the others is: his constant association with an ungainly, almost wild looking chap he buddies with, whom he calls ‘Lank.’ They can’t be related for there is so absolutely nothing in common between them, yet a deep abiding, un¬ derstanding exists. They afford me quite a lot of amusement at odd times when I happen to see them exchanging motions and jestures of every conceivable kind—entirely out of my ken, but seemingly entirely understandable to them. ,,

'‘These gauntlets are all right, Meyer, now get me a dozen of those collars I like, those with the rounded corners, you know,—No. 15}4.”

“Yes, yes,;—here you are.”

“Thanks. Goodbye, Meyer.”

“Good day, Judge. Thanks to you. Call again.”

“Shoes shined, sir?”

“Yes, Lean. Instead of reading the paper, as I have already seen one, I am going to talk with you while you give me the shine. How about it?”

“All right, sir, go ahead,” agreed Lean well pleased.

“First, I want to know your name so I can feel close enough—intimate enough, you know, to ask some ques¬ tions. I am Judge Alston Farris and live on Riverside Drive, about a mile out.”

“Yes, Judge, I know you,, I know where you live. My name is Daniel Foster. I stay about a mile below you further out . . ”

“On Duncan Row?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you know my name and where I live, Daniel?”

“Lank, a friend of mine told me. He used to carry papers and knows that part of the town like a book. I didn’t forget your home, for I think it is the prettiest place in the city and you have the prettiest little girl and dog I ever saw.”

“I have no little girl, Daniel. I have only two chil¬ dren, two boys; they are grown; one is married, the other is way off somewhere prospecting. Both live away from here. The little girl you saw there is my neigh¬ bor’s. She is pretty—she is beautiful and just as sweet, cute and bright as she is beautiful. My wife and I are very fond of her, and she of us. She used to have a pretty Shetland pony—she called him Peek-a-boo and would bring him over often to graze on our lawn.

“Fve never seen the pony.”

“No, lightning struck and killed him during an electric storm one day; then I gave her the dog. He is a Great Dane, she calls him 'Judge’ honoring me.” The pleas¬ ant curve of the boy’s mouth, matched the pleasant chuckle of the man.

“Her curls look like shavings I’ve seen from old fur¬ niture, only they are lighter and shinier. I have won¬ dered why she wore curls when most all other little girls have short hair.”

A short silence followed during which the Judge was thinking, but not about the little girl’s curls.

“Daniel, do you live with your parents?”

“I have no parents, sir. No kin folk that I know of. I stay with Lank and Mrs. Bishop, his mother. She is a widow and Lank helps support her. I board with them.”

“How old are you, Daniel?”

“Nearly eleven.”

“Do you go to school?”

“Only at night. Lank and I go to the night school for boys out Riply way.”

“What grade are you in?”

“They don’t have grades there. We are taught to read,, write and spell; then we take up grammar, history, geography and other things.”

“What are you studying now?”

“I am in the fifth reader, speller, grammar, history, geography and arithmetic.”

“How much board do you pay?”

“Two dollars a week.”

“Is Mrs. Bishop good to you and Lank?”

“0, yes, sir, as good as she can be—but ...”

“But what—Daniel? Don’t be afraid or ashamed to tell me. I like you and I only wanted to know so that I could

“Yes, sir,, I know, but ...”

“Daniel, how would you like to be my little boy so you could go to school every day? You like school, don’t you?”

“0, yes, sir, I like school and I like you too, but I could not do that.”

“Why, Daniel? I would be good to you. I think I know how to treat little boys as I have reared two of my own; they are fine boys, men now. I have a good cook and you need some good food to make you a big, strong, fine man,—nourishing to help develop these muscles.

While he was playfully feeling Lean’s muscles he was eyeing him generally and thinking—Lean was eyeing him and thinking too.

“How about it, Daniel?”

Lean felt he was on the verge of breaking his record of, —never shedding a tear—but instead of crying he looked harder upon the ground and kept flipping his big toe up and down on the pavement and pushing his hands almost through his pockets.

“How about it, Daniel?” repeated the Judge.

“I thank you, sir, but . . ”

“But what?”

“I am afraid you wouldn’t want me if you knew how I lived ’till I went to Lank’s—and—and besides I can’t leave Lank.”

“Have you saved up any money?”

“I have a little, most enough for a pair of pants and shoes. Lank has a coat that’s too little for him. I am going to take that and go 50-50 with him in buying him a new one.”

“I see,” said the Judge much pleased as well as amused. “Do you two smoke?”

“Lank used to, but he’s quit?”

“Why did he quit?”

“We decided that we’d take that money to buy our pencils, tablets, and a book to read occasionally.”

“You use the money he saves that way—to buy your own books?

“0, no sir, I match his—if he saves a dime, I match it with a dime.”

“0, I see. And you won’t leave Lank for me? You like him better than you do me?”

“0, no sir. Yes, sir—I—I, you see I knew him first and ...”

“And what else?”

“He’s helped me out lots.”

“Could I come to see you sometimes; say next Friday night—or will you be in school?”

“We don’t go to school until eight.”

“Well, let’s say six o’clock; will that suit?”

“I will ask Lank and Mrs. Bishop.”

“All right. This is Tuesday, is it not? I’ll come by to see you Thursday and see what they say.”

“Very well, sir.”

“I’ll have to double up on fees today for I have kept you from several shines I know, so here’s a dollar which will square things, won’t it?”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir, Judge, I thank you, but I do not want pay for work I have not done.”

“Certainly I know that, but I took your time—the time you would have been at work for others, see? Time is money, and it’s but fair that I should pay for what I have used of yours.”

“But I couldn’t have made that much, for you haven’t been here thirty minutes,”—as he glanced at the huge clock inside the haberdasher’s door, “and besides you’ve been so kind to always overpay me ... ”

“Not if you get paid for the extra good shines and the newspapers you always have for your customers to read. Goodbye, Daniel. I will see you Thursday.”

“Goodbye, Judge, I thank you,” and the fascinating curl again came around his mouth and a smile over¬ spread his face making old the pinched features.

The Judge walked away musing to himself—“there’s the making of a diplomat, a general, or financier in that boy—sure as life.”

Chapter III

“Mary, I know the brightest, most exclusive looking little fellow. I want you to see him, he’s a darling (as you would say). You would like him. I asked him how he would like to live with us and be our boy. He thanked me very kindly, and said he preferred Lank, his street partner.”

“Street partner! What do you mean then by saying he is exclusive? Who is he? What is he?”

“He’s a bootblack. Has a chair, a home-made affair, on the street next Meyer’s corner. He is very striking looking,—he is intelligent, interesting, straight, and honest. I would like to have him make his home with us if you and he would consent.”

“But, Al„ we don’t want a street urchin. Do you know who and what he is?”

“No, I know nothing of his parentage. In fact, I know nothing about him specially—except my common sense and reason tell me he is all right; and I do know he is a very striking looking little fellow,—I say this advisedly.

“He is undernourished either from lack of food or from improper feeding—both I suspect. He seems to disdain common food—common is not the right word; coarse would be better, for he does like common food the plain meat and bread variety, but he does not like the ‘hotdog’ kind. Do not pass judgment until you see and talk with him. I want you to see him in his everyday en¬ vironment. I want you to talk with him, notice what good language he uses, and how his face brightens and expresses so well his every mood. I am going to see him at his lodging place one day before long—to be exact, Friday, if his landlady approves. I want you to go with me there, too, sometimes. ,,

“Al, I love little boys, you know that, but we must be very careful now whom we take into our home. When the grandbaby comes home, he must have good associates. Little Al is a genuine boy, you know, and needs as good, surely no worse associates than he is.”

“True, Mary, no one appreciates that fact more than I, I judge. But I reiterate,—reserve your verdict until you see, hear, and talk with and know this little fellow.”

CHAPTER IV “Good morning, Daniel, how goes it?”

“All right, Judge Farris, how are you, sir?”

“Fine, fine. I’ve seen the paper—thank you. How about our date for Friday night?”

“Mrs. Bishop won't be at home, sir, she sews out Mon¬ day, Wednesday and Friday nights until ten; but Lank and I will be there and will be glad to have you. She has to sew out some nights, you know,, to help Lank out. She gets back about the same time Lank and I get home from school.”

“That is all right about Mrs. Bishop, Daniel, I can see her some other time. I will see you and Lank Fri¬ day evening not later than 6:30; that will give us an hour's visit and will get you to school by eight.

“All right. Lank and I will be looking for you.”

Friday evening at six, Lean and Lank were ready for their visitor; — however, at the last minute Lank dis¬ covered they had no matches and rushed to get them.

“Come in, Judge, Lank has gone to the store at the corner for some matches, he did not know they were out until he went to lay the fire for his 'mar' to fix break¬ fast in the morning, he’ll be back in less than five min¬ utes.”

“That’s all right, Daniel, where shall I put my hat and cane?”

“Right here, Judge, excuse me I wasn’t thinking. I will take them. Have this chair, it will be more com¬ fortable for a large man like you—the one you have will best suit me.”

“I believe it will. This one is better for me, thank you.” Turning as Lank came in the door he offered his hand saying: “This is Lank, I believe,, how are you?”

“Splendid, thank you, how are you, Judge Farris? I’ve heard Lean talk of you so much I feel like I know you.”

“So you’ve been talking about me, Daniel?”

“Daniel! Is your name Daniel ?”

“Sure, didn’t you know that, Lank?”

“Sure I did not. Bet you can’t guess my name. I never once thought about you not knowing my name be¬ fore. Mar calls me 'son’ or 'my man’ all the time, so how could you know ?”

“Robert. I saw it in one of your old books.”

“Yes, Robert Russell Bishop for Grandpa Russell who is dead and for Uncle Rob who lives in California.”

All this information was given and received without the slightest attention being given their guest. The Judge sat as a judge; arms lain out straight upon the arms of the chair, feet flat upon the floor, knees together, head erect. 'How innocent, how entirely free from curiosities some natures are. Think of these two boys, living un¬ der the same roof for years and not even curious as to the names of each, simply taking each other for their real values regardless of labels,’ thought the Judge.

As the boys turned to address him, he crossed his arms and legs, and sat well back in his chair.

“Yes, Judge, Lean does talk about you lots. He thinks you are IT.”

“I have a right to talk about you, Judge,” stammered Lean, blushing violently, “haven’t I? I love to talk about my friends, those whom I like,—don’t you?”

“Yes, I do, Daniel, and I am glad you consider me your friend. That brings us to a nice starting point. How long have you been with Lank and his mother ?’’

“Nearly three years,—isn't it Lank?" Lank nodded in thoughtful affirmation.

“Where did you live before coming here?"

Lean blushed scarlet, hung his head, but the fascinat¬ ing curl played around his mouth. Finally he said, as he threw himself in a heap upon the floor in front of the Judge and near Lank’s chair upon which he rested an elbow, laid his face against his hand and looked straight into the man’s face.

“To be fair with you, Judge, I don’t know just who or what I am or where I came from—it’s this way." Again scarlet suffused his face and neck, but the pleasant quivers around his mouth prevailed and he looked up straight into the face of his questioner. “When I was about three and one-half years old I was taken to an orphan’s home where I stayed until I was about seven; then I ran away." The head dropped. Not a word for some mo¬ ments. Again looking at his interrogator the amused grin playing about his mouth, he continued:

“I didn’t like to be treated like a sick baby, so I left. I thought it all out the night before and had gotten all my clothes together. I put a potato and all the bread I had left from dinner in my blouse. I didn’t have any¬ thing but two suits—one I had on, the other I wrapped up in the jacket, tied it with the sleeves and left. It was early in the afternoon. I went in the opposite direction from the town to which we were sometimes taken, for fear I would be found and brought back.

“That first night I was very scared, but I had walked all the afternoon and was so hungry and so tired I couldn’t go any farther. I shall never forget how I felt when it grew dark and I had nowhere to go, not a place to sleep. I finally crawled under a lady’s front door steps. I had seen her come out and close the front door and lock it. I got a good look at her face. She looked kind and I knew she wouldn’t hurt me or let any one else hurt me if she found me under her steps, after I told her why I was there. It was very warm weather, the sand was soft; I used my bundle for a pillow and being so tired I slept well all night long. The next morning I left before she was up. For my breakfast I ate the last piece of bread I had brought.

“I didn't think any one had seen me, but as I was slowly walking up the street and had just about finished my bread, the roughest looking, biggest man I had ever seen grabbed me by my shoulders from behind, shook me hard and said: ‘What yer doin' sneakin' from out er Mrs. Dawes' yard this time of the mornin',, yer little devil? What yer got in that bundle—? Don’t say a word. Yer needn’t try to fool me nor deny it. I saw yer through my winder as I was gettin’ up, and I watched yer as I dressed—what yer been up to? A little sneak thief I bet my last dollar. Come with me, I'll turn yer over to Jackson, the night watchman—he’ll fix yer.'

“At first I was scarced, he looked so big and strong, but when he said night policeman I knew I had nothing that would make a policeman think I had been up to any¬ thing wrong, so I got alright again.

“When we got to the place where the night watchman was supposed to be, he had just left on the street car for his home and the cop that was to take his place hadn’t come, so the fellow said: ‘Open that bag.' I untied the blouse sleeves, he looked at everything, searched my pockets, tore the lining partly out of my cap enough to get his big hand through and said: “Well, I don’t see nothin' yer got this time, but yer beat it, skin out from here quick for if I catch yer on this street or in this neighborhood again I'll make it hot for yer.'

“I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I didn't want to make trouble so I left that neighborhood.

“I knew I had to make some money some way and got mad with myself because I thought that everyone would know I had run away from some one because I was too young, too little to work. I went on, though, making out like I lived around somewhere in the neighborhood. One block I came to, a lady came running out of a house, looked up and down the street. When she saw me, she said: ‘Little boy, I’ll give you twenty-five cents if you will run to the corner store there and tell Mr. Burk to call the doctor for Mrs. Wilson,—my phone won’t work.’ She put the quarter in my hand and I ran as hard as I could saying, Mr. Burk, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Wil¬ son, Mr. Burk every jump for fear I would forget the names or get them all mixed up. I will never forget those names. When I told Mr. Burk and he had ’phoned the doctor, I asked him the price of his apples. I bought a dime’s worth (they were five cents a piece, three for a dime), a nickel’s worth of cheese and crackers and asked for a drink of water. He looked at me sorter funny and said: ‘Buddy, whose boy are you, I don’t remember

having seen you around here before?’

“No, sir, I just happened to be passing the lady’s house when she called me and asked if I would ask you to call the doctor for her,, as her ’phone was out of order.

“I was going out the door when he asked again: ‘Whose boy did you say you are?’ ‘Mr. Foster’s’ I called back and went on. He seemed satisfied and I was, for I had my dinner and supper for that day and breakfast for the next morning bought and paid for and had a dime left.

“The town was much larger than I had expected but I could not get one thing to do. I ate part of the cheese and crackers and one apple for dinner, an apple for sup¬ per, keeping the rest for the morning. That night I slept in a wagon body by an old shed.