Apron-Strings | Page 9

she demanded.
There was no long term of orphanage life to quiet the young savage in
Ikey. And with his much-prized voice, he was even accustomed to
being listened to on more than musical occasions. Now he bolted
forward, disregarding Sue's hand, which caught at him as he passed.
"Missis," began the borrowed soloist, meeting Mrs. Milo's horrified
gaze with undaunted eye, "Clarence, he is jealousy dat I sing so fine."
To argue with Sue, or to subdue her, that was one thing; to come to
cases with Ikey was quite another. He had an unpleasant habit of
threatening to betake himself out and away to his aunt, or to go on
strike at such dramatic times as morning service. Therefore, it seemed

safer now to ignore the question of torn and muddied cottas, and seize
upon some other pretext for censure. "What kind of language is that?"
questioned Mrs. Milo, gently chiding. "'He is jealousy'!"
"Yes, quaint, isn't it, mother?" broke in Sue. "Really quaint." And to
Ikey, "Not jealousy--jealous."
Ikey bobbed. Before him, like a swathed candle, he upheld his sore
finger.
"Please, Susan!" begged Mrs. Milo, with a look which made her
daughter fall back apologetically. And to Ikey, "How did you come by
that wound?"
The truth would not do. And the truth was even now on the very tip of
Ikey's heedless tongue. Sue gave him a little sidewise push. "Mother
dear," she explained, "it was accidental."
Aghast at the very boldness of the statement, Ikey came about upon the
defender. "Ac-ci-den-tal!" he cried; "dat he smashes me in de hand? Oh,
Momsey!"
"Sh! Sh!" implored Sue.
But the worst had happened. Now, voice or no voice, aunt or no aunt,
Ikey must be disciplined. Mrs. Milo caught him by a white sleeve.
"Ikey Einstein!" she breathed, appalled.
"Yes, Missis?"
"Please don't 'Missis' me! What did you call my daughter?"
"I--I mean Miss Milo."
"What did you call my daughter?"
"Mother," pleaded Sue, "it slipped out."
"Do not interrupt me."

"No, mother."
"Answer me, Ikey."
"I says to her, Momsey."
Mrs. Milo glared at the boy, her breast heaving. There was more in her
hostile attitude toward him than the fact that he bore signs of a fracas,
or that he had dared in her hearing to let slip the "Momsey" he so loved
to use. To her, pious as she was (but pious through habit rather than
through any deep conviction), the mere sight of the child was enough to
rouse her anger. She resented his ever having been taken into the choir
of St. Giles, no matter how good his voice might be. She even resented
his having a voice. He was "that little Jew" always, and a living symbol
"in our Christian church" of a "race that had slain the Lord." And it was
all this which added to his sin in daring to look upon her daughter with
an affection that was filial.
"Ikey Einstein,"--she emphasized the name--"haven't you been told
never to address Miss Susan as 'Momsey'?"
"He forgot," urged Sue. "But he won't ever----"
"You're interrupting again----"
"Excuse me."
"How do you expect these boys to be obedient when you don't set them
a good example?" Her sorrowful smile was purely muscular in its
origin.
"I am to blame, mother----"
Mrs. Milo returned to the errant soloist. "And you were willfully
disobeying, you wicked little boy!"
A queer look came into Ikey's eyes. His angular face seemed to draw
up. His ears moved under their eaves of curling hair. "Ye-e-es, Missis,"
he drawled calmly.

Mrs. Milo was a judge of moods. She knew she had gone far enough.
She assumed a tone of deepest regret. "Ungrateful children!" she said,
distributing her censure. "Think of the little orphans who don't get the
care you get! Think----" And arraigning the sagging Clarence, "Don't
lean against Miss Milo."
Ikey grinned. Experience had taught him that when Mrs. Milo
permitted herself to halt a scolding, she would not resume it.
Furthermore, a loud, burring bell was ringing from somewhere beyond
the Church, and that summons meant the choirmaster, a personage who
was really formidable. Before Sue, he raised that candle-like finger.
"Practice," announced Mrs. Milo, pointing to the passage.
Three boys drew churchward on sluggish feet. But Sue held Ikey back.
"His finger hurts," she comforted. "Come! We'll get some liniment."
"Susan!"--gently reproving again. "There's liniment in the Dispensary."
Up, as before a teacher, came Ikey's well hand. "Please, Missis, de
Orphan medicine, she is not a speck of good."
Sue added her plea. "No, mother, she is not a speck."
Mrs. Milo shook her head sadly. "You're not going to help these
children by coddling them," she reminded. And to Ikey, "Let Nature
repair the bruise." She waved all four to go.
"Out of here,