Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/310

300 the candle placed upon a chair by the door, hold it aloft a moment, and gaze down upon the double bed. Ed was still there, still harmless, breathing heavily, inert and consciousless.

There wasn't much furniture in the room besides the bed—a commode, a table, and three chairs. One of the chairs was an old Morris chair. It was worth all the rest of the furniture put together to Stella. It was Stella's bed. The back of it was let down so that it extended on the same level as the seat. There was a blanket folded over one arm, and Laurel's old worn-out, out-grown coon coat over the other. There was Ed's cheap suitcase and a pillow piled up on one of the remaining chairs, and this was shoved up close to the end of the makeshift bed to lengthen it. Surprising how well you can sleep on an old Morris chair if you work hard daytimes, or even on the floor if you get cramped. It's all a matter of getting used to it.

The candle spit and sputtered as if it objected to the scene it lighted. Stella didn't blame it. It wasn't especially beautiful. Stella would be busy in the room till midnight "redding it up," when she got back. She did like a neat room to sleep in. It looked like somebody's back yard just at present, with all Ed's clothes and a few of her own hanging up to dry on a cord she'd stretched back and forth from wall to wall. Ed's unwashed breakfast dishes were on the floor beside the bed. He'd roused enough to take the nourishment she'd left for him apparently.

She blew the candle out, put it back upon the chair, closed the door and locked it, descended four