the little objects in the room looked golden brown and curiously gentle. He was touched, without knowing why.
Home.
He snapped off the light.
She was a little slow coming down; seeing if they’re covered, he thought. He stood by the stove, idly watching the flexions of the dark and light squares in the linoleum. He was glad he’d gotten it down, at last. And Mary had been right. The plain black and white did look better than colors and fancy patterns.
He heard her on the stairs. Sure enough, first thing she said when she came in was, “You know, I was almost tempted to wake them. I suppose I’m silly but they’re so used to-I’m afraid they’re going to be very disappointed you didn’t tell them good-bye.”
“Good night! Really?” He hardly knew whether he was pleased or displeased. Were they getting spoilt maybe?
“I may be mistaken, of course.”
“Be silly to wake em up. You might not get to sleep rest of the night.”
He buttoned his vest.
“I wouldn’t think of it, except: well” (she was reluctant to remind him), “if worst comes to worst, Jay, you might be gone longer than we hope.”
“That’s perfectly true,” he said, gravely. This whole sudden errand was so uncertain, so ambiguous that it was hard for either of them to hold a focused state of mind about it. He thought again of his father.
“You think praps I should?”
“Let me think.”
“N-no,” he said slowly; “I don’t reckon. No. You see, even, well even at the worst I’d be coming back to take you-all up. Funeral I mean. And these heart things, they’re generally decided pretty fast. Chances are very good, either way, I’ll be back tomorrow night. That’s tonight, I mean.”
