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ness to the top floor of the tenement above. As he opened the door his mother turned from the stove with an iron pot in her hands. She stopped, holding the pot close, and looked quickly back and forth between Michele and the table. For a moment they went on eating, sucking the spaghetti noisily, their faces close to their plates. When they had swallowed the mouthful he had interrupted, they looked up. There was faint curiosity in the eyes of the two boarders, eating a little apart. Carmela moved over to make room for him. Teresa giggled, Beppo laughed outright. The three younger children wriggled. The dark, hairy man at the head of the table sat half turned, breathing heavily, his eyes hard with contempt.

"Ecco," he said at last, "Michelena has come home to eat."

The two boarders roared with laughter. At the feminizing of his name anger broke Michele's nervous fear.

"Am I a stone," he screamed, " to see a finger-go-dripping-" His voice broke. He trembled from head to foot.

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"Bah! Thou art a fool, a woman! finger? Is it thy finger? A fine thing for a father to hear!" He rose. His strong hands, palms up, appealed to the men at the end of the table. "Thy son faints like a girl to see a finger cut. I have seen hands, twice an arm, and once a man was caught in a belt—”

The boy put his hands before his face. The gesture angered the man. He strode across and gripped Michele by the shoulder. "Husband!" The woman put down the

pot.

"Silence! To-morrow I will take this baby to Paolo, who makes the fine business to carry dirt in a shovel. Perhaps he is not afraid of a shovel."

Without warning the boy suddenly wrenched himself free. Beside himself with anger, he screamed, beating the air with his thin hands, a ridiculous duplicate of the man before him. "I will not! I will not!"

For a moment the man listened. Then he shook the boy. "Silence!" he roared. "I do not understand? I cannot read? I cannot write? At sixteen thou speakest to the father like to a dog." His rage choked him. He pushed the boy away. "Go. Eat the food thy old father earns. To-morrow we talk again." He took his hat and went out to his night's work.

The boy ate his supper alone. The three

children ran down to play in the hot dust of the street. The two boarders went out. When the dishes were done, Maria Soracco brought a great bundle of coats from the corner. They sewed in swift silence, broken only by the screaming of children in the street below, the loud, hoarse voices of men in endless argument, the whir of machines from near tenements. When it was late, the three children crawled up sleepily and went to bed. Teresa and Beppo nodded over the black

coats.

"Go. We can finish." Maria Soracco smiled approvingly at the finished pile.

She and Michele and Carmela sewed on until the coats were done. As she smoothed the last coat she touched Michele's hand lightly.

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Forget the angry words of thy father, little one. He loves thee, and would be proud of thee, and always that pig of a Santucci tells, My Giuseppe is not yet fifteen, and he makes five dollars a week!' And the fatner thought to see thee growing to be a great man also. In the old country, when thou wert yet a baby, he said always, He is smarter than other boys, my Michele.' And now before others he must have shame for thee."

"I will not make that stupidness with a shovel. Such is work for a dog."

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Bee. Then thou must go out before he returns in the morning, for he has the heart sore because of thee and will do as he says."

Michele went into the kitchen and threw his mattress down beside the two men already asleep. In a few moments he heard the heavy breathing of his mother from the next room. One of the men began to snore, making choking noises and turning heavily from side to side. Michele felt a wall closing in upon him, sealing him forever in the hot, breathless kitchen. It was a long time before he slept, tossing restlessly on the warm

mattress.

He was up early and out before old Ettore had taken the shutters from his shop. He walked along aimlessly through the dirty streets littered with scraps of garbage and half-dressed babies with old pale faces sitting solemnly in dark hallways. Soon the streets began to fill, heavy wagons rumbled by. More people poured out from the houses. Whistles blew. The hurrying stream gath ered him in and bore him along. The whole world was working up to its tremendous daily speed. He walked more slowly. From

time to time he stopped before a factory and went in Sometimes he went in response to scrawled placards hanging in doorways. He turned from each refusal with a little sigh of relief, which was lost in anxiety before he reached the next place.

Late in the afternoon he came back. He had found nothing. As he passed the shop old Ettore rose quickly from his bench and made violent motions for him to enter. His eyes twinkling, his whole face radiant, the old man led the boy mysteriously into the little room behind the shop.

“Whist!" With his horny finger along the bridge of his nose, he winked solemnly. "Signor Dottore, at your service."

He bowed Clumsily, chuckling with happiness. The boy laughed in response. Suddenly the old man's eyes grew serious. He put both hands on Michele's shoulders. Caro, dost remember the Protestant House on Houston Street where the children make classes for many things? And Miss Mildred, who always said, I want Michele Soracco to do this, to do that?"

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Surely. I remember. I went sometimes to the class for little soldiers."

“Ecco! They are good people. They think to make the world better with songs and little gifts to children, but the hearts are good. Often they come here to have the shoes fixed, but most often comes Miss Mildred. And always she stays a little to talk. I tell her of the old Italy and of Garibaldi. She listens with both ears. And she never goes without to ask, Michele Soracco, is he well? A fine boy, Michele. He has a good head. It is a misfortune he cannot go to school. He would be a great man.' And 'There are many children and

I say always,

6

the father is a poor man. Michele must

work."

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many words?"

Michele looked up, smiling.

have a

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"Little peacock! So. Be not too proud. Others also have heads, and the worst is not

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something not foolish. I will go and talk with Miss Mildred."

The old man tapped his gray Listen. Last night I sat alone, sad heart because of thee. And I said, there is much money in the world and it takes only a little for my Michele to go to school. In an hour many rich men spend enough; and then, sudden, like thunder-the idea came. At the Protestant House they do much for the poor often foolish things. Here is

close.

true.

The boy began to tremble. "Master-" The old man bent and gathered the boy Michele," he whispered, it is true, This morning she came. She talked to the father. He listened like one to a crazy woman, but he said yes. Each week they will pay to him five dollars for a year that he will let thee go to school. After that-there are other ways. She came afterwards to the shop and the eyes were bright like stars. Why, baby, crying! Psh! A man-to-cry-because-" The old man and the boy cried together. At last the cobbler dried his eyes. Come, come!" He bustled about importantly. "All day I wait for thee to return to make a feast." He brought a small bottle of wine, sausage, crisp Roman bread, and little cakes of nuts from a shelf. When he had spread the table, he went chuckling into the shop. "For two hours the shop is closed. cobbler celebrates the birth of his son."

The

While they ate old Ettore talked, planning the future, prophesying many things. Michele listened. He felt that he had died and was

in a strange world. He scarcely heard what old Ettore was saying. Like frightened rabbits, his thoughts scurried about in the future. His brain whirled. He was too good to be wasted. Men saw his value. When the last crumb was eaten, the cobbler pushed back his chair.

"And now I must return to my shoes. But there will be many nights so, for thou wilt study down here, where it is quiet, and read the books to me, the English books, telling me the meaning."

He kissed the boy on both cheeks, and for a moment Michele clung to him.

As the boy opened the door Carmela and her mother looked up from the coats. Michele sat down. He felt awkward and self-conscious, as if he did not "belong." He watched and waited for them to speak. When his mother reached the end of the seam, she took the pins from her mouth and passed the coat to the boy.

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He drew out a square white envelope, opened it in the same mechanical way, and laid six narrow pieces of cardboard on the arm of the chair.

He saw them so clearly: the dark, hairy man with a ragged black mustache and broken nails; the fat, shapeless woman with tired eyes and patient, beastlike shoulders; shy, awkward Carmela; Amadeo, with the green plaid suit, oily hair, and creaking patent leather shoes. Teresa, with her mountain of puffs, her tight skirt, and low-cut lace waist. And Ettore-old mumbling Ettore, with his piercing eyes. Michele took the cards in his trembling hands and tore them to bits. white scraps dropped to the floor.

The

Cold sweat broke out on Michele's face. His slim brown hands clenched.

"There's no credit to them. nothing by my years here. enough to support myself and scholarship money over to them. can they ask?”

They've lost I've tutored turned my What more

The scraps of paper on the floor stared at him with accusing eyes. He turned to the window again. All about him lights from huge apartment-houses glowed through the dusk. The deserted streets were clean and still. He could feel the smooth, well-ordered mechanism of comfortable homes; could feel it sharply, the reality of the new life into which he had grown so easily. It seemed to close about him, touching his flesh like his own clothes. Between this and the tenement where once a month he spent an agonizing Sunday afternoon there lay a million miles of thought and space. And he had climbed the million miles alone.

"Maybe they've forgotten the day," he said. If not, it will only be a festa more or less. What can graduation exercises mean to them? When I do not come, they will wait a while, but not for long. Some day I will explain."

Michele felt his face flush. The room was dark now; he could barely see the scattered papers on the floor. Slowly he undressed and groped his way to bed. It was morning before he slept.

In his shop old Ettore sat stitching in the flickering gaslight. From time to time he stopped, bent his gray head, and listened. Twice he went to the door. At eleven he put away his work, swept the floor, and put up the shutters. But he did not lock the door. He came back to his bench and sat

with his eyes on the clock, his hands idle in his leather apron.

At twelve he turned the big key in the lock, then he went slowly, as if very, very tired, into the little room behind the shop. In the center of the table lay two plates, cakes, and a bottle of wine. He opened the window and threw the cakes out into the darkness of the alleyway.

Early the next morning he was at his bench. He worked steadily without looking at the clock, nor did he go once to the door. From time to time through the long hot forenoon little Pietro came down from the top floor to report the progress of his mother's baking.

"Most surely it will be a fine feast, a very fine feast." The old man nodded without stopping his work.

Late in the afternoon Maria Soracco came. Her eyes were troubled. "It is almost five o'clock," she said. "Soon the husband will be home, and Michele has not come. Last night I had a bed ready for him with clean sheets, a bed for him alone. Perhaps he was busy, but to-day we know not how to go to the school. I am afraid. Too much study is bad for the head. By the hope of Paradise, if my Michele is sick-"

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The

Holy Mary, have pity on an old fool! I have a head like a broken sieve." cobbler dropped his work and began searching his pockets, shrugging his shoulders, mumbling angrily at his mumbling angrily at his own stupidity. "Macche!" he growled. "No matter. I remember the words. This morning I had from our own Michele a little letter. Last night he was busy. He told me the way to the school. I am to show the way."

"Thanks be to the Holy Mother!" Maria Soracco breathed a deep sigh of relief. "The husband said I was foolish, but-the heart of a mother. It makes me afraid, this working with the head. What if my Michele were sick among those strangers-Americans with hearts of ice?"

The old man's hands made a soothing gesture, but he did not look at Maria. Michele is well," he said, gruffly. "At seven I come. Yes?"

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Maria Soracco bustled happily from the shop. The cobbler looked at the leather he held. Ecco," he smiled crookedly, "the danger is not always to the head from those books; no-it-is not-always to the head."

Tomasso Soracco went first, elbowing his way slowly through the crowd that packed

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the vestibule of the auditorium. His women followed. Old Ettore brought up the rear. Maria, a little frightened, held fast to Tomasso's coat. Carmela and Teresa, their eyes bright with wonder, stared happily about. Through the wide doors ahead they caught glimpses of a great hall, with gay pennants hanging from the high ceiling and hundreds of lights. Above the low hum about them they could hear the steady shuffle of many people moving to their seats.

At last Tomasso reached the door. They were almost the last of the line.

"Tickets!" a young man dressed like the bridegroom in the window of Giuseppe, the tailor, held out his hand. 'Tickets, please !"

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Tomasso Soracco smiled and nodded to the hall beyond.

"Tickets!" Tomasso shook his head, spread both empty hands to witness, and nodded violently.

"No one admitted without tickets. Step aside, please."

Tomasso Soracco's good humor vanished. He turned angrily to Teresa. "Come here. Tell this donkey in his barbarous tongue that we come to see Michele. We are the family of Michele, and have nothing to pay."

"Tell

Those who were waiting to be seated turned quickly. Some one laughed. as I say," roared Tomasso. Then the throng at the door parted. Through an opening Maria suddenly saw Michele. The red roses on her hat danced madly as she waved to him.

"Figlio, figlio," she cried, "come quick! Explain to this crazy one." Tomasso shrugged his contempt of the young man and waited with folded arms for Michele.

For a moment Michele stood just as he was when the crowd opened and the shrill voice of his mother came to his ears. Then

he moved slowly forward. His face was white and set. He turned to the boy at the door. These are my people." he said, distinctly; "I think they must-have forgotten their tickets."

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In the stillness of dawn as before the birth of a new world he moved down the hall towards the front seats reserved for relatives. He saw the suppressed smiles in the women's eyes at the bobbing red roses on his mother's hat. He heard people sniff as they passed, scenting the strong, cheap perfume Teresa used. As they clattered noisily into their seats his mother whispered: He is getting

old, that Ettore. Through his stupidness with the tickets the trouble came."

Michele moved off toward the platform. His place was with the honor men of his class. Somehow he found his seat. He sat down, staring blankly before him. He applauded mechanically when the others did. Vaguely he knew that one number of the programme after another was gone through, checked off as done forever. He heard nothing. From time to time he glanced towards the seats where his people sat. They were all sitting forward, interested, curious, a little awed. Once he caught old Ettore's eyes full on him. But the cobbler might have been dead, so rigid was the mask of his face. Michele trembled as if from cold. Then the blood rushed in a boiling stream to his head. He heard his name called. Michele stood up and stepped forward to take his degree. He saw the President's lips moving. He saw the paper in the President's outstretched hand. In the stillness, like two quick cracks of a pistol, he heard his mother's tense whisper, Che fa? che fa?” and his father's quivering, "Silence! They make him a gift." He looked about like a criminal trying to escape. In the smooth flat level of faces before him something caught and held his eye. Old Ettore sat forward, his great gray head erect, his twisted brown hands clasped tightly against his gray beard. Carmela's shy eyes glowed with excitement. Teresa's pretty, assertive face claimed him defiantly. But Tomasso Soracco and Maria, his wife, sat quietly hand in hand and the big tears ran unheeded down their cheeks.

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It was over. He had slipped away with his people and they had brought him in triumph to the "feast." There was Pepe, the fat "boss ;" and Luigi, whose finger had gone "zip" in the machine; and the Santuccis, who had once brought the news of his fainting to Tomasso. Every one was redfaced from eating, and very happy. They laughed and talked, shouting one above the other. Tomasso Soracco kept bringing fresh bottles of wine. Maria filled and refilled the plates of little cakes. It seemed to Michele that he had been sitting for years at the table and had eaten mountains of small cakes. Every now and then Maria Soracco stopped to pat him on the shoulder.

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He loves yet the little cakes of his mother, my fine son!" And every time Michele an

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