Heimweh; The siren; The loaded gun; Liebereich; "Iupiter Tonans;" "Sis;" Thor's emerald; GuileLong, John Luther
General
Heimweh; The siren; The loaded gun; Liebereich; "Iupiter Tonans;" "Sis;" Thor's emerald; Guile
Long, John Luther
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
“That’s a good way to spoil ’em!”
Mrs. Krantz warned again:
“You got to keep the clock on him all the time, or it’s no use. At six
he’s got to eat his supper. You’ll have to push him right in his cheer,
and see that he gits things in his mouth. If you don’t, you’ll have to
clean ’em off the floor. Seven, to bed with him. Yisterday he says to
me, says he: ‘I ain’t no dog-gone baby! Lemme alone! I kin git to bed
myself.’ But I had him asleep by that time.”
Mrs. Schwalm sighed. It was plain that she was going to a house of
trouble. But it was her duty, and she would do it, as they all would.
I do not know at what point, precisely, along the pike, east and west
from old Liebereich, the “next-door neighbor” obligation ceased. It was
very far. Nevertheless, before the year which succeeded the death of his
wife had passed, its courtesies had been exhausted. Each neighbor had
served two turns, and each had murmured dismally at the prospect of a
third. Finally, they all joined in discussing out-and-out rebellion
against custom and Liebereich.
Indeed, one morning the doctor, whose business it was to keep the people
up to their duties, found an interregnum. He brought Mrs. Krantz from
her house to old Liebereich’s as one does a detected criminal.
“I’ve had three turns a’ready,” she defended.
“The man has had no breakfast,” said the doctor. “He must eat while he
lives!”
“Well, he’d be better off, and so would we, if he was—”
The doctor stopped her with a solemn up-lifted finger:
“‘Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’”
She thought it made no difference that she gave grudgingly. But old
Liebereich felt the touch of impatience. And he saw that she swept the
dirt into a corner, stood the broom where it did not belong, and left
the stale water in his pitcher.
“You git out!” he quavered senilely. “I kin housekeep for myself!”
“Git your other leg in your britches, or I’ll—”
He did it so suddenly, in his fright, that Mrs. Krantz’s humor returned,
and she laughed. She was dressing him. He broke out afresh at this
evidence of safety:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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