“I ordered her out,” said Eliza grimly, after a moment.
“I told her exactly what she was — a whore.”
She spoke with the old stern judiciousness, but in a moment her face began to work and she burst into tears.
“If it hadn’t been for that woman I believe he’d be well and strong today.
I’ll vow I do!”
“Mama, in heaven’s name!” Helen burst out furiously.
“How dare you say a thing like that?
She was the only friend he had: when he was taken sick she nursed him hand and foot.
Why, the idea!
The idea!” she panted in her indignation.
“If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Pert he’d have been dead by now.
Nobody else did anything for him.
You were willing enough, I notice, to keep her here and take her money until he got sick.
No, sir!” she declared with emphasis.
“Personally, I like her.
I’m not going to cut her now.”
“It’s a d-d-d-damn shame!” said Luke, staunch to his goddess.
“If it hadn’t been for Mrs. P-P-P-Pert and you, Ben would be S. O. L.
Nobody else around here gave a damn.
If he d-d-d-dies, it’s because he didn’t get the proper care when it would have done him some good.
There’s always been too d-d-damn much thought of saving a nickel, and too d-d-damn little about flesh and blood!”
“Well, forget about it!” said Helen wearily.
“There’s one thing sure: I’ve done everything I could.
I haven’t been to bed for two days.
Whatever happens, I’ll have no regrets on that score.”
Her voice was filled with a brooding ugly satisfaction.
“I know you haven’t!
I know that!”
The sailor turned to Eugene in his excitement, gesticulating.
“That g-g-girl’s worked her fingers to the bone.
If it hadn’t been for her —” His eyes got wet; he turned his head away and blew his nose.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Eugene yelled, springing up from the table.
“Stop it, won’t you!
Let’s wait till later.”
In this way, the terrible hours of the morning lengthened out, while they spent themselves trying to escape from the tragic net of frustration and loss in which they were caught.
Their spirits soared to brief moments of insane joy and exultancy, and plunged into black pits of despair and hysteria.
Eliza alone seemed consistently hopeful.
Trembling with exacerbated nerves, the sailor and Eugene paced the lower hall, smoking incessant cigarettes, bristling as they approached each other, ironically polite when their bodies touched.
Gant dozed in the parlor or in his own room, waking and sleeping by starts, moaning petulantly, detached, vaguely aware only of the meaning of events, and resentful because of the sudden indifference to him.
Helen went in and out of the sick-room constantly, dominating the dying boy by the power of her vitality, infusing him with moments of hope and confidence.
But when she came out, her hearty cheerfulness was supplanted by the strained blur of hysteria; she wept, laughed, brooded, loved, and hated by turns.
Eliza went only once into the room.
She intruded with a hotwater bag, timidly, awkwardly, like a child, devouring Ben’s face with her dull black eyes.
But when above the loud labor of his breath his bright eyes rested on her, his clawed white fingers tightened their grip in the sheets, and he gasped strongly, as if in terror:
“Get out!
Out!
Don’t want you.”
Eliza left the room.
As she walked she stumbled a little, as if her feet were numb and dead.
Her white face had an ashen tinge, and her dull eyes had grown bright and staring.