close the door, in order to conceal his defection from his family, but he had lost the power of speech. After looking and grinning at him for a moment, they went out without closing the door.
When they had gone he lay upon the bed, unable to move. He had no sense of time, but his mind worked very clearly. He knew that he should rise, fasten the door, and undress. But he was paralyzed.
Presently the Gants came home. Eliza alone was still in town, pondering over gifts. It was after eleven o’clock. Gant, his daughter, and his two sons came into the room and stared at him. When they spoke to him, he burned helplessly.
“Speak! Speak!” yelled Luke, rushing at him and choking him vigorously. “Are you dumb, idiot?”
I shall remember that, he thought.
“Have you no pride? Have you no honor? Has it come to this?” the sailor roared dramatically, striding around the room.
Doesn’t he think he’s hell, though? Eugene thought. He could not fashion words, but he could make sounds, ironically, in the rhythm of his brother’s moralizing. “Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh! Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh! Tuh-tuh-tuh-tuh!” he said, with accurate mimicry. Helen, loosening his collar, bent over him laughing. Ben grinned swiftly under a cleft scowl.
Have you no this? Have you no that? Have you no this? Have you no that?—he was cradled in their rhythm. No, ma’am. We’ve run out of honor to-day, but we have a nice fresh lot of self-respect.
“Ah, be quiet,” Ben muttered. “No one’s dead, you know.”
“Go heat some water,” said Gant professionally, “he’s got to get it off his stomach.” He no longer seemed old. His life in a marvellous instant came from its wasting shadow; it took on a hale sinew of health and action.
“Save the fireworks,” said Helen to Luke, as she left the room. “Close the door. For heaven’s sake, try to keep it from mama, if you can.”
This is a great moral issue, thought Eugene. He began to feel sick.
