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. She bustled awkwardly about, and looked surprised and confused when she saw him.
“Why, what on earth, boy! When’d you get in?”
He embraced her. But beneath her matter-of-factness, he saw the terror in her heart: her dull black eyes glinted with bright knives of fear.
“How’s Ben, mama?” he asked quietly.
“Why-y,” she pursed her lips reflectively, “I was just saying to Doctor Coker before you came in.’Look here,’I said.’I tell you what, I don’t believe he’s half as bad off as he looks. Now, if only we can hold on till morning. I believe there’s going to be a change for the better.’”
“Mama, in heaven’s name!” Helen burst out furiously. “How can you bear to talk like that? Don’t you know that Ben’s condition is critical? Are you never going to wake up?”
Her voice had its old cracked note of hysteria.
“Now, I tell you, son,” said Eliza, with a white tremulous smile, “when you go in there to see him, don’t make out as if you knew he was sick. If I were you, I’d make a big joke of it all. I’d laugh just as big as you please and say,’See here, I thought
