It’s all right.
I’m not complaining.
It seems as if all I was fit for is to cook and sew and get you ready to go off.”
She burst volubly into tears.
“It seems that that’s the only use you have for me.
I’ve hardly laid eyes on you all summer.”
“No,” he said bitterly, “you’ve been too busy looking after the boarders.
Don’t think, mama, that you can work on my feelings here at the last minute,” he cried, already deeply worked-on.
“It’s easy to cry.
But I was here all the time if you had had time for me.
Oh, for God’s sake!
Let’s make an end to this!
Aren’t things bad enough without it?
Why must you act this way whenever I go off?
Do you want to make me as miserable as you can?”
“Well, I tell you,” said Eliza hopefully, becoming dry-eyed at once, “if I make a couple of deals and everything goes well, you may find me waiting for you in a big fine house when you come back next Spring.
I’ve got the lot picked out. I was thinking about it the other day,” she went on, giving him a bright and knowing nod.
“Ah-h!” he made a strangling noise in his throat and tore at his collar.
“In God’s name!
Please!”
There was a silence.
“Well,” said Eliza gravely, plucking at her chin,
“I want you to be a good boy and study hard, son.
Take care of your money — I want you to have plenty of good food and warm clothes — but you mustn’t be extravagant, boy.
This sickness of your papa’s has cost a lot of money.
Everything is going out and nothing’s coming in.
Nobody knows where the next dollar’s coming from.
So you’ve got to watch out.”
Again silence fell.
She had said her say; she had come as close as she could, but suddenly she felt speechless, shut out, barred from the bitter and lonely secrecy of his life.
“I hate to see you go, son,” she said quietly, with a deep and indefinable sadness.
He cast his arms up suddenly in a tortured incomplete gesture.
“What does it matter!
Oh God, what does it matter!”
Eliza’s eyes filled with tears of real pain.
She grasped his hand and held it.
“Try to be happy, son,” she wept, “try to be a little more happy.
Poor child!
Poor child!
Nobody ever knew you.
Before you were born,” she shook her head slowly, speaking in a voice that was drowned and husky with her tears. Then, huskily, clearing her throat, she repeated, “Before you were born —”
32
When he returned to the university for his second year, he found the place adjusted soberly to war.
It seemed quieter, sadder — the number of students was smaller and they were younger.
The older ones had gone to war.
The others were in a state of wild, but subdued, restlessness.
They were careless of colleges, careers, successes — the war had thrilled them with its triumphing Now.
Of what use To-morrow!
Of what use all labor for To-morrow!
The big guns had blown all spun schemes to fragments: they hailed the end of all planned work with a fierce, a secret joy.