She looked up at him with a tired, a burned-out, an ashamed smile. "The first time in my life, Sammy, such a thing ever happened to me." He pressed a chain of close kisses to the back of her hand, his voice far from firm. "It was me, ma. I'll never forgive myself. My little mamma, my little mamma sweetheart!" "I feel fine, son; only, with you sitting here all night, you don't let me sleep for worry that you ain't in bed." "I love it. I love to sit here by you and watch you sleep. You're sure you've no fever? Sure?" "I'm well, Sammy. It was nothing but what you call a fainting-fit. For some women it's nothing that they should faint every time they get a little bit excited. It's nothing. Feel my hands--how cool! That's always a sign--coolness." He pressed them both to his lips, blowing his warm breath against them. "There now--go to sleep." The night-light burning weakly, the great black-walnut bedstead ponderous in the gloom, she lay there mostly smiling and always shamefaced. "Such a thing should happen to me at my age!" "Try to sleep, ma." "Go in your room to bed, and then I get sleep. Do you want your own clerks should beat you to business to-morrow?" "A little whisky?" "Go away; you got me dosed up enough with such _Schnapps_." "The light lower?" "No. If you don't go in your room, I lay here all night with my eyes open, so help me!" He rose, stiff and sore-kneed, hair awry, and his eyes with the red rims of fatigue. "You'll sure ring the little bell if you want anything, ma?" "Sure." "You promise you won't get up to fix breakfast." "If I don't feel good, I let you fix mine." "Good night, little sweetheart mamma." "You ain't--mad at me, Sam?" "Mad! Why, ma, you mustn't ask me a--a thing like that; it just kills me to hear you. Me that's not even fit to black your shoes! Mad at you? Why, I--I--Good night--good--night--ma." * * * * * At just fifteen minutes before seven, to the pungency of coffee and the harsh sing of water across the hall, Mrs. Lipkind in a fuzzy wrapper the color of her eyes and hair, kissed her son awake. "Sam! Sammy! Get up! _Thu, thu_! I can't get him up in the morning!" The snuggle away and into the crotch of his elbow. "Sam-my--quarter to seven!" He sprang up then, haggard, but in a flood of recollection and remorse. "Ma, I must 'a' dropped off at the last minute. You all right? What are you doing up? Go right back! Didn't I tell you not to get up?" "I been up an hour already; that's how fine I feel. Get up, Sammy; it's late." He flung on his robe, trying to withdraw her from the business of looping back the bed-clothing over the footboard and pounding into the pillows. "I tell you I won't have it! You got to lay in bed this morning." "I'm all right, Sammy. Wouldn't I say so if I wasn't?" But she sat down rather weakly on the edge of the bed, holding the right side of her, breathing too hard.