THE KING WHO LOST HIS
CROWN
An' th' lydies cooed, "O th' ayngel things!
An' 'ow 'andsome in their cl'oes!"
But 'Arry, my eye, you knows 'ow far
In us th' ayngel goes!
THE KING WHO LOST HIS CROWN
IIT was certainly the wonder of the neighbourhood. Its first appearance had been the one event of the year, and a flutter of excitement ran through the Street as its glories were dilated on from doorway to doorway down the little colony. Never, since the police had raided Ching Lung's laundry, had such excitement been known.
It was nothing but a shop sign, made up of white, or almost white, lettering, on a sky-blue background, and announced in characters of fitting size that Mrs. Doyle was a dealer in candies, home-made taffies, confectionery, tobacco, cigarettes, and sundries. The "sundries" was a mystery to most of the admirers of the sign, but they assumed it stood for something no less delicious than caramels.
For months the dingy little shop had stood empty. When Mrs. Doyle was found mysteriously occupying it one morning, its doors and windows were watched as only these things should be watched at such a time. A person can't be too careful about these new-comers.
The watchers saw a transformation take place. Boxes of highly coloured candies appeared in the show window, together with bags of molasses pop-corn, and square tins of brown taffy, and rows of chocolate mice with elastic tails. There also appeared a box of pink and green marbles, and a wire basket with seven wizened lemons in it.
The inhabitants of the Street viewed all these things with wonder and delight. At times during the day at least a dozen admiring noses were flattened inquisitively against the little panes of the candy shop window.
Naturally, then, when Master Thomas Doyle made his first appearance on the Street with the other children he was at once surrounded by an admiring and solicitous crowd, who, he was astonished to find, took a most kindly and unexpected interest in him.
In fact many sly advances were made toward Tommie. He was given a broken top and a handful of marbles, and Jimmie Birkins asked if Tommie wanted to see their cat when it was being poisoned. It was felt to be a good thing to know a boy who lived in a candy shop. All of their advances Tommie Doyle received with fitting reserve and dignity.
When he was subtly questioned about the amount of candy and taffy he was allowed to devour each day, he curled his lip with careless contempt.
"Candy? Ugh! I'm sick and tired of candy, I am!"
Never in all time had such a thing been known before. A chorus of wondering "Oh's" went up from the astonished circle.
"All I've got to do," said Tommie, with a proper sense of his own importance, "is to pick up a pan and sit down and eat it. But I like chocolate mice the best. They're great, ain't they? I just had four or five of 'em before I came out!" he added with a fine nonchalance.
The circle of listeners nudged one another knowingly, and shook their heads.
Their wondering admiration seemed to encourage the boy who lived in the candy shop. The glory of his position had never before dawned upon him.
"Why," he went on, "my ma says kind of cross, 'Tommie,you ain't had your 'lasses taffy to-day! You set right down and eat that pan before you go out and play!' And she gets real mad if she sees me tryin' to go out without eatin' a pan, or what's left, so 's she can wash it up again."
The circle gasped. "When're yer goin' to bring us out a pan?" a small boy at the back of the crowd piped up. They all pretended to be justly shocked at such forwardness.
"Why, any time at all, I guess, if you want some real bad. And some chocolate mice, too, eh?" said Tommie, pointing out the box of rodent delicacies.
A dozen mouths watered at the thought. They fawned over him, and showed him how to play craps, though not for keeps. And as for Tommie, he was drunk with the consciousness of his strange new power. He walked with a sort of lordly independence among the children of the Street, for he saw he was already established in the position he felt he ought to occupy. He blushingly remembered that he had bawled for a day when the moving was first begun, but now he was a king. And he had not had to fight one single fight!
In fact, little gifts were urged upon Tommie, which he took with assumed reluctance, and tiny girls made hungry and melting eyes at him after feasting, in fancy, before that ever-alluring window. This was especially so in the case of Maggie Reilly, whose affairs of the heart had been both numerous and noted.
Often Tommie would come out of the shop smacking his lips with great relish, and say that he could still taste that last chocolate mouse. Day by day, too, he recounted the amount of taffy and chocolate mice his mother made him consume, and told how she felt hurt if he did n't seem to enjoy his allowance. And week by week hope and hunger increased among the ranks of his army of worshippers. But neither candy nor taffy nor mice were forthcoming, and at last sounds of doubt and dissension arose. All day long a hungry-eyed group of children hung about the shop window and gazed upon the delicacies within, but never were they invited inside by the obdurate Tommie. Two glass jars, one of peppermints and one of red wintergreen drops, appeared in the window and added to the seductiveness of the forbidden paradise, and one week later these were followed by a pasteboard box filled with all-day-suckers.
Two days after the appearance of the box of all-day-suckers Maggie Reilly came into the possession of two pennies. It was believed by some that such wealth was not come by honestly, but this statement was frowned down, not for any faith in Maggie Reilly's honesty, but simply because curiosity conquered all other feelings.
With these two pennies she invaded the sacred realms of Tommie Doyle's candy shop. After much debate it had been decided that she should be accompanied by Lou Birkins, her bosom friend. The little bell rang with an awe-inspiring clatter as the two fortunate ones entered the sacred portal. Once inside they gazed with wide eyes and open mouth on the strange treasures that lay before them.
In a way, the sight was disappointing. Mrs. Doyle was scrubbing the floor when they stumbled and shuffled in, but she wiped her hands and arms on her mat apron, and got up from her knees when she saw they were customers. She was a thin, gaunt woman with a shrill voice, and she frightened Maggie Reilly so much that that startled young lady did n't know whether she wanted wintergreen drops or chocolate mice. She finally solved the problem by taking conversation lozenges, six for a penny.
While these were being counted out the voice of Tommie Doyle came from the little room at the back of the shop.
"Ma, why can't I scrape out the big pot?" The voice was tremulous with tearful entreaty.
"Because you can't, that's why, Tommie Doyle!" shrilly, sternly, called back his mother from the shop.
"But I ain't had a taste of taffy since we've come in this new shop!" wailed back the boy.
"And you ain't likely to get none, neither!" said his mother impassively, as she put the two pennies in an empty cigar-box placed on the shelf for that purpose.
The two visitors looked at each other with significant glances. The revelation had come! Tommie Doyle was a sham and an impostor. Conversation lozenges were forgotten, and the little bell over the shop door had not ceased ringing before the news was spreading like wildfire down the Street.
When Tommie Doyle stepped out of the shop that afternoon, smacking his lips and rubbing his stomach, a jeer of laughter sounded through the crowded street.
"Ma, why can't I scrape out the big pot?" mimicked Maggie Reilly with fiendish delight, for she felt that her feelings had been outraged by Tommie in days gone by. A score of voices took up the cry, "Ma, why can't I scrape out the big pot?" and the taunt went echoing down the Street.
The boy who lived in the candy shop learned that day, in the deepest depths of his heart, that the way of the transgressor is hard!