Ben and I, here by the City Hall, the Bank, the grocery-store (he thought).
Why here?
In Gath or Ispahan.
In Corinth or Byzantium.
Not here.
It is not real.
A moment later, the big car sloped to a halt at the curb, in front of Dixieland.
A light burned dimly in the hall, evoking for him chill memories of damp and gloom.
A warmer light burned in the parlor, painting the lowered shade of the tall window a warm and mellow orange.
“Ben’s in that room upstairs,” Luke whispered, “where the light is.”
Eugene looked up with cold dry lips to the bleak front room upstairs, with its ugly Victorian bay-window.
It was next to the sleeping-porch where, but three weeks before, Ben had hurled into the darkness his savage curse at life.
The light in the sickroom burned grayly, bringing to him its grim vision of struggle and naked terror.
The three men went softly up the walk and entered the house.
There was a faint clatter from the kitchen, and voices.
“Papa’s in here,” said Luke.
Eugene entered the parlor and found Gant seated alone before a bright coal-fire.
He looked up dully and vaguely as his son entered.
“Hello, papa,” said Eugene, going to him.
“Hello, son,” said Gant.
He kissed the boy with his bristling cropped mustache.
His thin lip began to tremble petulantly.
“Have you heard about your brother?” he snuffled.
“To think that this should be put upon me, old and sick as I am.
O Jesus, it’s fearful —”
Helen came in from the kitchen.
“Hello, Slats,” she said, heartily embracing him.
“How are you, honey?
He’s grown four inches more since he went away,” she jeered, sniggering.
“Well, ‘Gene, cheer up!
Don’t look so blue.
While there’s life there’s hope.
He’s not gone yet, you know.”
She burst into tears, hoarse, unstrung, hysterical.
“To think that this must come upon me,” Gant sniffled, responding mechanically to her grief, as he rocked back and forth on his cane and stared into the fire.
“O boo-hoo-hoo!
What have I done that God should —”
“You shut up!” she cried, turning upon him in a blaze of fury.
“Shut your mouth this minute.
I don’t want to hear any more from you!
I’ve given my life to you!
Everything’s been done for you, and you’ll be here when we’re all gone.
You’re not the one who’s sick.”
Her feeling toward him had, for the moment, gone rancorous and bitter.
“Where’s mama?” Eugene asked.
“She’s back in the kitchen,” Helen said.
“I’d go back and say hello before you see Ben if I were you.”
In a low brooding tone, she continued: “Well, forget about it.
It can’t be helped now.”
He found Eliza busy over several bright bubbling pots of water on the gas-stove.