Family -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Social conditions -- Fiction
"Lungs," said the young woman harshly. "You needn't bother to speak so low.
He can't hear you anyhow. He's dying. He's been dying weeks."
"Why didn't you let me know of this?" Deborah asked gently.
"Because I knew what you'd want to do--take him off to a hospital! And I
ain't going to have it! I promised him he could die at home!"
"I'm sorry," Deborah answered. There was a moment's silence, and the baby
whimpered in its sleep. One child had gone to his father's bed and was
frowning at his agony as though it were a tiresome sight.
"Are any of them coughing?" Deborah inquired.
"No," said the woman sharply.
"Yes, they are, two of 'em," John cheerfully corrected her.
"You shut up!" she said to him, and she turned back to Deborah. "It's my
home, I guess, and my family, too. So what do you think that _you_ can do?"
Deborah looked at her steadily.
"Yes, it's your family," she agreed. "And it's none of my business, I
know--except that John is one of my boys--and if things are to go on like
this I can't let him board here any more. If he had let me know before I'd
have taken him from you sooner. You'll miss the four dollars a week he
pays."
The woman swallowed fiercely. The flush on her face had deepened. She
scowled to keep back the tears.
"We can all die for all I care! I've about got to the end of my rope!"
"I see you have." Deborah's voice was low. "You've made a hard plucky
fight, Mrs. Berry. Are there any empty rooms left in this building?"
"Yes, two upstairs. What do you want to know for?"
"I'm going to rent them for you. I'll arrange it to-night with the janitor,
on condition that you promise to move your children to-morrow upstairs and
keep them there until this is over. Will you?"
"Yes."
"That's sensible. And I'll have one of the visiting nurses here within an
hour."
"Thanks."
"And later on we'll have a talk."
"All right--"
"Good-night, Mrs. Berry."
"Good-night, Miss Gale, I'm much obliged.... Say, wait a minute! Will you?"
The wife had followed them out on the landing and she was clutching
Deborah's arm. "Why can't the nurse give him something," she whispered, "to
put him to sleep for good and all? It ain't right to let a man suffer like
that! I can't stand it! I'm--I'm--" she broke off with a sob. Deborah put
one arm around her and held her steadily for a moment.
"The nurse will see that he sleeps," she said. "Now, John," she added,
presently, when the woman had gone into the room, "I want you to get your
things together. I'll have the janitor move them upstairs. You sleep there
to-night, and to-morrow morning come to see me at the school."
"All right, Miss Deborah, much obliged. I'll be all right. Good-night,
sir--"
"Good-night, my boy," said Roger, and suddenly he cleared his throat. He
followed his daughter down the stairs. A few minutes she talked with the
janitor, then joined her father in the court.
"I'm sorry I took you up there," she said. "I didn't know the man was
sick."
"Who are they?" he asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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