“Ugh! Lucy, I must say your Chicago climate is awful,” remarked Mrs. Merwent. “I wouldn’t live here for any consideration on earth. I don’t see how you stand it. I can’t understand why so many people stay here when there are other places fit to live in.”
“Lots of them can’t help themselves.”
“Well, at least I should think that you’d want to live in a little more accessible part of town. It’s practically impossible to get down to the shopping district unless the weather happens to be good.”
“We can’t afford to live anywhere closer in.”
“Maybe we can some time,” interposed John. “I’ve often thought we ought to try to get a place that was nearer to where respectable people live. Jim Sprague is the one who wished this proposition on us.”
“We were as much in for it as he was,” Lucy stated coldly.
“Maybe you were,” retorted John sharply.
“And I certainly think, Lucy, that you have the most unfriendly and unattractive set of neighbors. That Mrs. Hamilton that you think so much of, for instance. She has absolutely no taste at all. I wouldn’t be seen on the street with her. Miss Powell is the only one I have met here who is at all congenial.”
“Mrs. Hamilton is a good woman and a beautiful mother.” Lucy defended her friend warmly.
“A contrast to me,” Nannie suggested bitterly.
“I wasn’t comparing her to anybody,” retorted Lucy. “I only meant I wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with her any place.”
“Well, anyway it was meant as a rebuke for what I said. You can’t get out of that, Lucy.”
“I wasn’t rebuking anybody,” contested Lucy wearily.
“Then you shouldn’t make that kind of speeches,” John argued indignantly.
“I didn’t start this,” said Lucy rebelliously.
“No, but you never miss a chance to give me a dig, no matter what the conversation is about,” Nannie persisted accusingly.
“It’s not true!” Lucy flushed angrily.
“It is true,” declared John remorselessly.
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. She rose from the table and went into the hall.
“Now what’s the matter?” Nannie called after her.
Without replying, Lucy mounted the stairs.
“Let her go, Nannie, if she wants to lose her temper and pout about nothing again. I might as well get used to this sort of thing now that you’re leaving.” John drummed on the table with his knuckles.
Nannie took his hand.
“Dear John,” she whispered.
“Don’t Mamma want Nannie to go?” asked Dimmie, who was staring curiously at the interchange of glances in which his elders were indulging.
“Oh, hell, Dimmie! You go to bed!” John exclaimed nervously, rising and moving to the window where he remained with his back turned.
“You are sorry, aren’t you, Jimmie?” Nannie’s voice was full of emotion.
“Uh huh, but you’re goin’ to take me with you,” Dimmie replied, with his mouth full. He swallowed hastily.
“Yes, of course,” agreed Mrs. Merwent. Then, to John, “He’s so much like you, John. Oh, John, won’t it be awful if Lucy—” She stopped, looking unspeakable things. “A morbid atmosphere reacts so on a child,” she explained.
“Uncle Jim says I’m like Mamma,” observed Dimmie, taking another bite of bread and butter.
“Of course he would say so.” Nannie nodded and raised her brows significantly.
John glowered out the window a moment, then came back to his place at the table in silence.
When dinner was over, Dimmie followed John and Nannie into the living room.
“Go upstairs to bed as I told you,” reiterated John to the child.
“But I want to stay,” Dimmie parleyed.
“Do as I say,” commanded his father.
The little boy left the room, his chin quivering and the tears in his eyes about to fall. Mrs. Merwent ran after him.
“Here, kiss Nannie,” she whispered. “I’m going to get you some more candy when I go down town in the morning.”
Dimmie, after allowing himself to be kissed, ascended the stairs reluctantly. Nannie went back to John, sighing as she seated herself near him.
“Oh, John,” she sighed regretfully, “there are so few hours left!”
He smoked in moody silence.
“John.” She laid a hand on his knee.
“Yes?” He turned his head away and tried vainly to control his shaking voice.
“You will think of me, John?”
“My God, Nannie, don’t talk rot!” He tossed his cigarette into the empty fireplace.
“And, John—I’m afraid Lucy wouldn’t understand it—but we might—might write to each other now and then.” She spoke softly. Her hand continued to rest on his knee, but her face was averted. John did not reply at once and she added, “I might send the letters to the office.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, “If it wasn’t for Mr. Sprague.”
“Damn Mr. Sprague!” John rose and ran his fingers through his hair. “I could arrange that, Nannie. People are so confoundedly evil minded! But you could write to a box number.”
“Oh, John, can you bear it without me? My thoughts will be with you all the time, John.”
Nannie rose too, and they confronted one another.
“Yes, Nannie, I suppose I can bear it,” he answered at last. He placed one hand over his eyes. “I wish there wasn’t so confounded much light!” he supplemented with agitated irrelevance.
Nannie’s response was to go to the switch and press the button. The only light which now remained in the living room was the faint glow that came through the dining room transom. The summer rain beat against the window panes.
“Sit here, John,” Nannie suggested softly, and the two seated themselves on the sofa.
They remained silent for a long time. Katy, on her way to bed, knocked on the door discreetly. Mrs. Merwent made a little exclamation.
“What do you care what Katy thinks? She’s not the first person who has seen evil in innocent things,” growled John, at the same time rising.
“I’se locked up all de back. You all wants breakfas’ pow’ful soon, don’ you, Miss Nannie?” the negress inquired in the doorway, not accepting Mrs. Merwent’s hasty invitation to enter.
“Yes, Katy, I want early breakfast,” Nannie informed her.
“Good night, Miss Nannie. Good night, Mr. Winter.”
“Good night,” responded
