So they did. She came in rather late and pretty tired. Her feet ached a good deal by nighttime, now it was warm weather, and Helen usually had a good hot bath waiting for her when she came. Mother kissed her and said what a comfort she was before shutting the door of the bathroom. Helen jumped happily downstairs, two steps at a time, to help Father get the supper on.
It was steaming on the table when Mother came down in the pretty, loose, red-silk house-dress which she’d bought at the store at such a bargain—for nothing, as she said. She looked relaxed and quiet and said she was starved and so glad they had veal cutlets. It was a joy to watch Mother eat after her day’s work.
They never washed the dishes in the evenings now, because, Mother getting her breakfast downtown, it was no matter how the kitchen looked in the morning. Henry and Helen piled them on the new wheeled tray which Mr. Willing had so kindly sent up, pushed that into the kitchen and put them to soak, while Father and Mother got Stevie to bed and lighted the little bedside candle, at which Stephen loved to stare himself to sleep.
Then they hurried into the living-room for the evening rubber of whist. Mother’s luck was especially good that evening, a fact in which they all took an innocent satisfaction. Mother liked it when her luck was good.
Then, all of a sudden, the opening was there, and Father was taking advantage of it in a masterful way. Mother said something about the two little Willing girls who had been down at the store that day with their dog, and Father put in at once, “By the way, Eva, old Mrs. Hennessy wants to give Henry one of a litter of puppies her dog has. What would you say? It’s springtime. It could be out of doors mostly.” (How they admired him for being able to speak so casually. “By the way, Eva. …” He was wonderful. Under the table Helen’s hand squeezed Henry’s hard.)
Mrs. Knapp still had before her eyes the picture of the two fashionably dressed children and their fashionably accoutred dog with his studded collar and harness and the bright tan braided leather of his leash. She had never thought of dogs in terms of smartness before. “He’d make a lot of trouble for you,” she said, looking over at her husband.
“Oh, I’d manage all right. I like dogs,” said Lester carelessly.
“You’d have to promise, Henry, to keep him out of this room. I don’t want dog-hairs all over everything.” (It was the old formula, but not pronounced with the old conviction. After all she would not be there to see. She was often surprised that she worried so little about the looks of the house nowadays.)
“Oh, I’d never let him in here,” promised Henry in a strangled voice.
“Well …” said his mother. She looked down at the cards in her hand.
There was a silence.
“Who took that last trick?” she asked.
“You did,” said her husband (although he had).
They began to play again.
It had been as easy as that.
Lester had quite forgotten about the dog that evening as he pottered around the kitchen over some last tasks. He heard the bathroom door shut and knew that Eva had gone in for her evening toilet. At once afterwards his ear caught the stealthy sound of bare feet on the stairway. He turned his head towards the door and saw Henry come hurrying in on tiptoe.
He opened his lips to make some joking inquiry about whatever it could be that kept Henry up so late, but the expression on the child’s face silenced him. Good heavens! Had he cared so much as that about owning a dog!
Henry came up to him without a word and leaning over the wheel of the invalid-chair, put his arms around his father’s neck, leaning his cheek against his father’s shoulder.
“Oh, Father!” he said in a whisper, with a long, tremulous breath. He tightened his arms closer and closer, as though he could never stop.
Lester patted the little boy’s back silently. He was thinking, “I hope he’ll come like this to tell me when he’s in love and has been accepted. I don’t believe he’ll be any more stirred up.” The child’s body quivered against his breast.
After a time Lester said quietly, “Better get to bed, old man. You’ll take cold, with your bare feet.”
Docilely and silently Henry went back upstairs to bed.
XVII
Old Mrs. Anderson, having borne seven children and raised three to maturity (not to speak of having made a business of guiding Mrs. Knapp by neighborly advice through the raising of her three), knew what was brewing with Stephen the moment she stepped into the kitchen. She had been expecting Stephen to have one of his awful tantrums again any day. The only reason he hadn’t so far was because poor crippled Mr. Knapp was so weak and so indifferent to what the children did that Stephen was allowed to have his own way about everything. But foolish indulgence wore out after a while and only made things worse in the end. All the regulation signs of an advancing storm were there. She noted them with a kindling eye. Stephen’s face was clouded; he gave her a black look and did not answer her “How do, Stevie dear?” And as she took a chair, he flung down his top with all his might. A moment later, as he lounged about the kitchen with that insolent swagger of his that always made her blood boil, he gave a savage kick at his blocks.
Now was the time to give Mr. Knapp some good advice that would save him trouble in the end. She never could stand hunchbacks and cripples and had not liked Mr. Knapp very well even before he was so dreadfully paralyzed; but she felt it her duty to help out
