“Yes,” said Eliza, nodding slowly. “I want the best one that money will buy. I’ll make arrangements with John Hines when I talk to him. You children go on to bed now.”
“Poor old’Gene,” said Helen, laughing. “He looks like the last rose of summer. He’s worn out. You pile in and get some sleep, honey.”
“No,” he said, “I’m hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat since I left the university.”
“Well, for G-G-G-God’s sake!” Luke stuttered. “Why didn’t you speak, idiot? I’d have got you something. Come on,” he said, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind a bite myself. Let’s go uptown and eat.”
“Yes,” said Eugene. “I’d like to get out for a while from the bosom of the family circle.”
They laughed crazily. He poked around the stove for a moment, peering into the oven.
“Huh? Hah? What are you after, boy?” said Eliza suspiciously.
“What you got good to eat, Miss Eliza?” he said, leering crazily at her. He looked at the sailor: they burst into loud idiot laughter, pronging each other in the ribs. Eugene picked up a coffee-pot half-filled with a cold weak wash, and sniffed at it.
“By God!” he said. “That’s one thing Ben’s out of. He won’t have to drink mama’s coffee any more.”
“Whah-whah-whah!” said the sailor.
Gant grinned, wetting a thumb.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Helen, with a hoarse snigger. “Poor old Ben!”
“Why, what’s wrong with that coffee?” said Eliza, vexed. “It’s GOOD coffee.”
They howled. Eliza pursed her lips for a moment.
“I don’t like that way of talking, boy,” she said. Her eyes blurred suddenly. Eugene seized her rough hand and kissed it.
“It’s all right, mama!” he said. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean it!” He put his arms around her. She wept, suddenly and bitterly.
“Nobody ever knew him. He never told us about himself. He was
