Page:To-morrow Morning (1927).pdf/80

 times of pain. Gray days and nights when he floated weakly, flowing this way, flowing that way, like a water plant in the tides, only rooted firmly in the knowledge that, after all, he was a good business man, that everything was coming out all right. Who else in town was going to take his family to Italy next winter, for the whole winter? He thought dimly of a peasant nurse in full flowered skirts and streamered cap holding Jodie's hand. "Buon giorno, Maria!" "Buon giorno, Signor!" The bright skirts billowed away and Jodie's bare brown legs twinkled beside them, fading into the dark bureau, the mirror gleaming faintly in the snowy twilight, the dark oblong of the doorway suddenly glowing dusky gold as the downstairs lamps were lit.

"Joe?"

"Yes."

"Are you asleep?"

"Not now."

"Would you like a little beef tea?"

"No, thank you."

"Some hot milk?"

He moved his head weakly from side to side.

"Please try just a little beef tea!"

"All right. Kate—you don't have to whisper just because I do."

"I know; it's silly of me. I don't mean to. Or would you rather have chicken broth? It's every bit as easy."