“No, no, no. Just leave me alone to try to get a moment’s peace, I beg of you, I ask you, for Jesus’sake.”
“Wy-wy-wy-wy, all right, P-p-p-papa,” Luke stammered with earnest cheerfulness. “Wy-wy-wy, you’re the d-d-d-doctor. Wy-wy, I’ll just wheel the chair up on the porch and then I’ll c-c-come back to your room and f-f-f-fix you up in a j-j-j-j-jiffy.”
“Oh, Jesus, I don’t care what you do…. Do what you like,” Gant moaned. “I’m in agony…. O Jesus!” he wept. “It’s fearful, it’s awful, it’s cruel—just leave me alone, I beg of you,” he sniffled.
“Wy-wy-wy, yes, sir, P-p-p-papa—wy, you’re the doctor,” Luke said. “Can you make it by yourself all right?” he said anxiously, as his father, leaning heavily upon his cane, started up the stone steps toward the walk that led up to the house.
“Why, yes, now, son,” Eliza, who had heard their voices and come out on the porch, now said diplomatically, seeing that Luke’s well-meant but stammering solicitude had begun to irritate his father. “Mr. Gant doesn’t want any help—you put the car up, son, and leave him alone, he’s able to manage all right by himself.”
And Luke, muttering respectfully, “Wy-wy-wy, yes, sir, P-p-p-papa, you’re the d-d-doctor,” stopped then, lifted the chair up to the walk, and began to push it toward the house, not, however, without a troubled glance at the old man who was walking slowly and feebly toward the porch steps. And for a moment, Eliza stood surveying them and then turned, to stand looking at her house reflectively before she entered it again, her hands clasped loosely at her waist, her lips pursed in a strong reflective expression in which the whole pride of possession, her living and inseparable unity with this gaunt old house, was powerfully evident.
It was at this moment, while she stood planted there upon the sidewalk looking at the house, that the thing happened. Gant, still moaning feebly to himself, had almost reached the bottom of the steps when suddenly he staggered, a scream of pain and horror was torn from him; in that instant, the walking cane fell with a clatter to the concrete walk, his two great hands went down to his groin in a pitiable clutching gesture and crying out loudly: “O Jesus! Save me! Save me!” he fell to his knees, still clutching at his entrails with his mighty hands.
Even before Eliza got to him her flesh turned goosey at the sight. Blood was pouring from him; the bright arterial blood was already running out upon the concrete walk, the heavy black cloth of Gant’s trousers was already sodden, turning purplish with the blood; the blood streamed through his
