Halsey gives him a swig of shine. Cora glides up, seats him, and then plumps herself down on his lap, squeezing his head into her breasts. Kabnis mutters. Tries to break loose. Curses. Cora almost stifles him. He goes limp and gives up. Cora toys with him. Ruffles his hair. Braids it. Parts it in the middle. Stella smiles contemptuously. And then a sudden anger sweeps her. She would like to lash Cora from the place. She’d like to take Kabnis to some distant pine grove and nurse and mother him. Her eyes flash. A quick tensioning throws her breasts and neck into a poised strain. She starts towards them. Halsey grabs her arm and pulls her to him. She struggles. Halsey pins her arms and kisses her. She settles, spurting like a pine-knot afire. Lewis finds himself completely cut out. The glowing within him subsides. It is followed by a dead chill. Kabnis, Carrie, Stella, Halsey, Cora, the old man, the cellar, and the work-shop, the southern town descend upon him. Their pain is too intense. He cannot stand it. He bolts from the table. Leaps up the stairs. Plunges through the work-shop and out into the night. 6 The cellar swims in a pale phosphorescence. The table, the chairs, the figure of the old man are amœba-like shadows which move about and float in it. In the corner under the steps, close to the floor, a solid blackness. A sound comes from it. A forcible yawn. Part of the blackness detaches itself so that it may be seen against the grayness of the wall. It moves forward and then seems to be clothing itself in odd dangling bits of shadow. The voice of Halsey, vibrant and deepened, calls. Halsey: Kabnis. Cora. Stella. He gets no response. He wants to get them up, to get on the job. He is intolerant of their sleepiness. Halsey: Kabnis! Stella! Cora! Gutturals, jerky and impeded, tell that he is shaking them. Halsey: Come now, up with you. Kabnis (sleepily and still more or less intoxicated): Whats th big idea? What in hell— Halsey: Work. But never you mind about that. Up with you. Cora: Oooooo! Look here, mister, I aint used t bein thrown int th street befo day. Stella: Any bunk whats worked is worth in wages moren this. But come on. Taint no use t arger. Kabnis: I’ll arger. Its preposterous— The girls interrupt him with none too pleasant laughs. Kabnis: Thats what I said. Know what it means, dont y? All right, then. I said its preposterous t root an artist out o bed at this ungodly hour, when there aint no use t it. You can start your damned old work. Nobody’s stoppin y. But what we got t get up for? Fraid somebody’ll see th girls leavin? Some sport, you are. I hand it t y. Halsey: Up you get, all th same. Kabnis: Oh, th hell you say. Halsey: Well, son, seeing that I’m th kind-hearted father, I’ll give y chance t open your eyes. But up y get when I come down.