Page:To-morrow Morning (1927).pdf/172



"Clara! Can I have the scrub bucket?"

"Hol' on till ah dumps the potatoes out of it."

"You have an engagement this afternoon, haven't you, ma darling?" Evelyn shouted through the roaring water as she filled the bucket for her flowers.

"Oh, Evelyn, have I? Again? Is it Ralph? Well, it ought to be. Oh, all right, I suppose so."

So at half past three she put on a small close hat and glossy furs, hand-me-downs from Mrs. Prather, and went out, chic and expensive-looking, with a hole in one shoe that the chill of the pavement struck through.

Evelyn shook out the filet-lace tea-cloth and brought in the coffee ring. Happy! Happy! But her hands shook so that she broke one of the best teacups. Damn!

Four silver drops from the clock. Her insides plunged. Was she going to be sick? The gas log made a popping sound—phluff!—as she lit it. The clock hand moved slowly on. She was quivering, listening for the bell. The gas fire went fff-fff; motor cars blew their horns below. Of course he wasn't coming.

And now she felt that she couldn't bear it if he did come; she couldn't bear ever to see him again.

The telephone rang, and the blood leaped to her heart, thundered in her ears; her legs shook so she