Part 35 (1/2)

”Rosie's been here all night,” Janet announced.

”All night!” Dave looked around a little startled. ”Where's your mother?”

”My mother?” Janet spoke indifferently. ”Oh, she's at the hospital.

She's been there since yesterday morning. I tried to tell you about her last night.”

Dave put down his coffee cup heavily. ”What's the matter with her?”

”The doctor said it was overwork and worry.”

”Overwork and worry! What are you talking about? They don't put people in the hospital for overwork and worry!” Dave spoke with a rising irritation. ”Can't you tell me something that's got some sense to it?”

Janet answered casually as though relating an adventure that in no way touched herself. ”I can tell you the whole thing if you want to hear it.

We were on the street going to Mrs. Lamont's for the was.h.i.+ng when suddenly ma jumped and her hands went up and she shook, and I looked where she was looking because I thought there must be a snake or something on the sidewalk. Then, before I knew what was happening, she screamed and fell and her eyes began rolling and she bit with her mouth until her lips were all b.l.o.o.d.y and her head jerked around and--and--it was awful!” With a sob in which there was left no pretence of indifference, Janet put her hands before her face to shut out the horror of the scene.

The details were as new to Rosie as to Dave. Janet had not even hinted that it was _this_ which had happened to her mother.

Dave McFadden breathed heavily. ”Then what?”

Janet took her hands from her face and, with a fresh a.s.sumption of indifference, continued: ”Oh, a crowd gathered, of course, and after while a policeman came, and then the ambulance. And while we were in the ambulance she--had another. And when we got to the hospital--another. It was awful!” Janet dropped her head on the table and sobbed.

”Well?” demanded Dave gruffly.

Janet stifled her sobs. ”They undressed her and put her to bed and gave her something and she went to sleep. Then the doctor took me into another room and wrote down what he said was a history of ma's case and he asked me questions about everything.”

Dave McFadden's sombre gaze wandered off unhappily about the room. ”What did you tell him?”

Janet's answer came a little slowly: ”I told him everything.”

Dave looked at her sharply. ”Tell me what you told him!”

”All right. I'll tell you.” There was a hint of unsteadiness in Janet's voice but no sign of wavering in her manner. Her eyes stared across at her father as sombre almost as his own. ”He said from the looks of her he thought ma was all run down from overwork and worry. I told him she was. Then he asked me why and I told him why.... I told him my father made good money but boozed every cent. I told him my mother had to support herself and me and even had to feed my father. I told him that when my father was sober he was cross and grouchy but he didn't hurt us and that, when he came home drunk, he'd kick us or beat us or do anything he could to hurt us.”

With a roar like the roar of an angry animal, Dave McFadden reached across the table and clutched Janet roughly by the shoulder. ”You told him that, you--you little skunk!”

His fury, instead of cowing Janet, roused her to like fury.

”Yes!” she shouted shrilly. ”That's exactly what I told him and it's exactly what I'm going to tell everybody! I'm never going to tell another lie about you, Dave McFadden! Do you hear me? Never!”

At the unexpectedness of her attack, Dave's anger and strength seemed to flow from him like water. His clutch relaxed; he fell back weakly into his chair. For a moment confusion covered him utterly. Then he tried to speak and at last succeeded in voicing that ancient reproach with which unworthy parenthood has ever sought to beguile the just reproof of outraged offspring: ”And is this the way you talk to your own father?

Your--own--father!” Had he been a little drunk, he would have wept. As it was, even to himself, his words seemed not to ring very true.

Janet regarded him scornfully. ”Yes, that's exactly the way I talk to my own father!” She paused and her eyes blazed anew. ”And there's one thing, Dave McFadden, that I want to tell you.” She stood up from the table and walked around to her father's place. ”When you come in sober, as cross as a bear and without a word in your mouth for any one, ma and me hustle about to make you comfortable and don't even talk to each other for fear of riling you. Yes, we're so thankful you're not drunk that we crawl around like two little dogs just waiting to lick your hand and tell you how good you are. Then, when you come home drunk, wanting to kill some one, we do our best to coax you in here to keep you from getting mixed up with the neighbours. We're terribly careful to save the neighbours, and why? So's you won't get arrested. But do we ever save ourselves? There's never a time when I'm not black and blue all over with the bruises you give me--kicking me and pinching me and knocking me down.”

In his senses Dave McFadden was not an unkind man, but most of the time he was not in his senses. Janet's tirade now seemed to be affecting him much as cheap whiskey did. He staggered to his feet and raised threatening hands.

”You little s.l.u.t! If you don't shut up, I--I'll choke you!”

But Janet was far past any intimidation. She stood her ground calmly.