Do you think, idiot, that any one cares if you kill yourself?”
He shook the boy.
“No.
No.
I don’t care what you do, you know.
I simply want to save the family the trouble and expense of burying you.”
With a great cry of rage and bafflement Eugene tried to free himself.
But the older brother held on as desperately as the Old Man of the Sea.
Then, with a great effort of his hands and shoulders, the boy lifted his captor off the ground, and dashed him back against the white brick wall of the cellar.
Ben collapsed, releasing him, with a fit of dry coughing, holding his hand against his thin breast.
“Don’t be a fool,” he gasped.
“Did I hurt you?” said Eugene dully.
“No.
Go into the house and wash yourself.
You ought to comb your hair once or twice a week, you know.
You can’t go around like a wild man.
Get something to eat.
Have you any money?”
“Yes — I have enough.”
“Are you all right now?”
“Yes — don’t talk about it, please.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, fool.
I want you to learn a little sense,” said Ben.
He straightened, brushing his whitened coat.
In a moment, he went on quietly: “To hell with them, ‘Gene.
To hell with them all.
Don’t let them worry you.
Get all that you can.
Don’t give a damn for anything.
Nothing gives a damn for you.
To hell with it all!
To hell with it!
There are a lot of bad days.
There are a lot of good ones.
You’ll forget.
There are a lot of days.
Let it go.”
“Yes,” said Eugene wearily, “let it go.
It’s all right now.
I’m too tired.
When you get tired you don’t care, do you?
I’m too tired to care.
I’ll never care any more.
I’m too tired.
The men in France get tired and don’t care.
If a man came and pointed a gun at me now, I wouldn’t be scared.
I’m too tired.”
He began to laugh, loosely, with a sense of delicious relief.
“I don’t care for any one or anything.
I’ve always been afraid of everything, but when I got tired I didn’t care.