Souvenir
Dusk, of a summer night.
And the tall walls of the commercial heart of the city of San FranciscoвБ†вАФtall and gray in the evening shade.
And up a broad street from the south of MarketвБ†вАФnow comparatively hushed after the din of the day, a little band of fiveвБ†вАФa man of about sixty, short, stout, yet cadaverous as to the flesh of his faceвБ†вАФand more especially about the pale, dim eyesвБ†вАФand with bushy white hair protruding from under a worn, round felt hatвБ†вАФa most unimportant and exhausted looking person, who carried a small, portable organ such as is customarily used by street preachers and singers. And by his side, a woman not more than five years his juniorвБ†вАФtaller, not so broad, but solid of frame and vigorousвБ†вАФwith snow white hair and wearing an unrelieved costume of blackвБ†вАФdress, bonnet, shoes. And her face broader and more characterful than her husbandвАЩs, but more definitely seamed with lines of misery and suffering. At her side, again, carrying a Bible and several hymn booksвБ†вАФa boy of not more than seven or eightвБ†вАФvery round-eyed and alert, who, because of some sympathetic understanding between him and his elderly companion, seemed to desire to walk close to herвБ†вАФa brisk and smart steppingвБ†вАФalthough none-too-well dressed boy. With these three, again, but walking independently behind, a faded and unattractive woman of twenty-seven or eight and another woman of about fiftyвБ†вАФapparently, because of their close resemblance, mother and daughter.
It was hot, with the sweet languor of a Pacific summer about it all. At Market, the great thoroughfare which they had reachedвБ†вАФand because of threading throngs of automobiles and various lines of cars passing in opposite directions, they awaited the signal of the traffic officer.
вАЬRussell, stay close now.вАЭ It was the wife speaking. вАЬBetter take hold of my hand.вАЭ
вАЬIt seems to me,вАЭ commented the husband, very feeble and yet serene, вАЬthat the traffic here grows worse all the time.вАЭ
The cars clanged their bells. The automobiles barked and snorted. But the little group seemed entirely unconscious of anything save a set purpose to make its way across the street.
вАЬStreet preachers,вАЭ observed a passing bank clerk to his cashier girl friend.
вАЬSureвБ†вАФI see them up here nearly every Wednesday.вАЭ
вАЬGee, itвАЩs pretty tough on the little kid, I should think. HeвАЩs pretty small to be dragged around on the streets, donвАЩt you think, Ella?вАЭ
вАЬWell, IвАЩll say so. IвАЩd hate to see a brother of mine in on any such game. What kind of a life is that for a kid anyhow?вАЭ commented Ella as they passed on.
Having crossed the street and reached the first intersection beyond, they paused and looked around as though they had reached their destinationвБ†вАФthe man putting down his organ which he proceeded to openвБ†вАФsetting up, as he did so, a small but adequate music rack. At the same time his wife, taking from her grandson the several hymnals and the Bible he carried, gave the Bible as well as a hymnal to her husband, put one on the organ and gave one to each of the remaining group including one for herself. The husband looked somewhat vacantly about himвБ†вАФyet, none-the-less with a seeming wide-eyed assurance, and began with:
вАЬWe will begin with 276 tonight. вАШHow firm a foundation.вАЩ All right, Miss Schoof.вАЭ
At this the younger of the two womenвБ†вАФvery parched and spareвБ†вАФangular and homelyвБ†вАФto whom life had denied quite allвБ†вАФseated herself upon the yellow camp chair and after arranging the stops and turning the leaves of the book, began playing the chosen hymn, to the tune of which they all joined in.
By this time various homeward bound individuals of diverse occupations and interests noticing this small group so advantageously disposed near the principal thoroughfare of the city, hesitated a momentвБ†вАФeither to eye them askance or to ascertain the character of their work. And as they sang, the nondescript and indifferent street audience gazed, held by the peculiarity of such an unimportant group publicly raising its voice against the vast skepticism and apathy of life. That gray and flabby and ineffectual old man, in his worn and baggy blue suit. This robust and yet uncouth and weary and white-haired woman; this fresh and unsoiled and unspoiled and uncomprehending boy. What was he doing here? And again that neglected and thin spinster and her equally thin and distrait looking mother. Of the group, the wife stood out in the eyes of the passersby as having the force and determination which, however blind or erroneous, makes for self-preservation, if not real success in life. She, more than any of the others, stood up with an ignorant, yet somehow respectable air of conviction. And as several of the many who chanced to pause, watched her, her hymnbook dropped to her side, her glance directed straight before her into space, each said on his way: вАЬWell, here is one, who, whatever her defects, probably does what she believes as nearly as possible.вАЭ A kind of hard, fighting faith in the wisdom and mercy of the definite overruling and watchful and merciful power which she proclaimed was written in her every feature and gesture.
The song was followed with a long prayer by the wife; then a sermon by the husband, testimonies by the othersвБ†вАФall that God had done for them. Then the return march to the hall, the hymnals having been gathered, the organ folded and lifted by a strap over the husbandвАЩs shoulder. And as they walkedвБ†вАФit was the husband that commented: вАЬA fine night. It seemed to me they were a little more attentive than usual.вАЭ
вАЬOh, yes,вАЭ returned the younger woman that had played the organ. вАЬAt least eleven took tracts. And one old gentleman asked me where the mission was and when we held services.вАЭ
вАЬPraise the Lord,вАЭ commented the man.
And then at last the mission itselfвБ†вАФвАЬThe Star of Hope. Bethel Independent Mission, Meetings every Wednesday and Saturday night, 8 to 10. Sundays at 11, 3, 8. Everybody welcome.вАЭ And under this legend in each windowвБ†вАФвАЬGod is Love.вАЭ And below that again in smaller type: вАЬHow long since you wrote to Mother.вАЭ
вАЬKinвАЩ I have a dime, grandma? I wanaвАЩ go up to the corner and git an ice-cream cone.вАЭ It was the boy asking.
вАЬYes, I guess so, Russell. But listen to me. You are to come right back.вАЭ
вАЬYes, I will, grandma, sure. You know me.вАЭ
He took the dime that his Grandmother had extracted from a deep pocket in her dress and ran with it to the ice-cream vendor.
Her darling boy. The light and color of her declining years. She must be kind to him, more liberal with him, not restrain him too much, as maybe, maybe, she hadвБ†вАФShe looked affectionately and yet a little vacantly after him as he ran. вАЬFor his sake.вАЭ
The small company, minus Russell, entered the yellow, unprepossessing door and disappeared.