That brought to his mind what his mother had said. They did need him now! More than ever before! How could he have started on his rampage of revenge had his mother not held him? Where and on whom would he have begun?
But wasn’t this cowardice not to exact some kind of revenge? He hated himself at the mere thought of cowardice at this time. Good God, he had had enough of that all along! Wouldn’t Bob in death curse him if he failed now to play the man? Or wouldn’t it take more courage to live? The thought comforted him.
As though the sounds were worlds away, he heard his mother moving in the room above as she ministered to Mamie’s wants. He heard the noises of the street. Miles away a dog barked. Nearer a rooster crowed. He thought of a sermon Reverend Wilson had preached the Sunday before. Of the Christ in his hour of betrayal. Of Peter denying his Lord. And the cock crowing thrice. Wasn’t he denying his duty—his family—his conscience—his all? Back again over the same ground he had already travelled so thoroughly, his mind went. …
For hours he lay there. The noises of the street ceased. He heard no more his mother above. Exhausted with the ordeal through which she had passed, she had probably fallen asleep. … And yet he did not move. He heard the clock in the hall strike eleven. … He counted the strokes, marvelling the while that time was yet measured in hours and minutes and days. … His soul was even as the body of a woman in travail. …
XXI
Kenneth lay on the floor he knew not how long. At last he awakened to the realization that his telephone was ringing furiously.
Subconsciously he was aware of the fact that it had been ringing for some time. He lay there and let it ring. Telephone—office—house—profession—life itself—all seemed vague and nebulous phenomena remote from his existence far from him and as uninteresting to him as life on Mars.
The raucous dissonance continued. “R-r-r-r-r,” the bell seemed to scream in its existence. It was like a mosquito in a darkened room when one wanted to get to sleep. “Damn the telephone!” he cried aloud. “Let the fool thing ring its head off!” …
He thought of Jane. He wondered if she would be content to remain in Central City after the disasters to Mamie and Bob. If she didn’t, then they’d part. He was going to stay there if all hell froze over until he found who had composed the mob that had killed Bob. Until he had wreaked the utmost in vengeance upon them. … But Jane would feel just as he did. She was no coward! Hadn’t she been the one to awaken him to the asininity of his own course in trying to keep away from the race problem? No, she’d stick! She wasn’t the quitting kind! …
The telephone bell shrilled as though it were human—it sounded like a vinegar-dispositioned virago berating her spouse. It paused only, apparently, to catch enough breath to break forth again. Its shrieking reverberations beat upon his eardrums in wave after wave of sound until it seemed as though he would go mad. “Why doesn’t the fool get it through his head that there’s nobody here to answer?” he exclaimed in vexation that bordered on hysteria. He pressed the heels of his palms against his ears as tightly as he could. That was better! He could hear himself think now. …
Mamie and her mother couldn’t stay in Central City, though. Too terrible for them—especially for Mamie to stay here where she couldn’t help but see, every day, things that’d remind her of her awful experience. And where fool people would come in with long faces to sympathize with her and drive her mad. People were such asses! Why didn’t they have sense enough to show their sympathy by staying away? Instead of coming in and sitting around, talking empty nothings by the hour? Old Mrs. Amos would be that way. And Mrs. Bradley. They were such nuisances. Wonder if he hadn’t better send Mamie and mamma to Philadelphia to his Uncle Will? Or would it be best to send them to Virginia to his Uncle Jim? No, that wouldn’t do. Best for them to leave the South entirely. Where they could get away from everything that’d remind them of Georgia. No, they’d go to Philadelphia. Suppose Mrs. Tucker’s about able to take some slight nourishment now. Good Lord, had he performed the operation only yesterday morning?
That couldn’t be possible! Too much has come in between then and now. Must have operated on her in a previous existence. And died since. Reincarnation? Yes, that’s the word. Never thought he’d actually experience it himself. …
His arms and hands became tired from pressing on his ears. His ears ached. He loosened the pressure on them a bit. The telephone was yet ringing. Lord, he moaned, the thing will drive me crazy! Won’t be able to live long enough to get those damned scoundrels who murdered Bob. He decided to answer it, curse the voice
