Authors: James Gould Cozzens
"Well, I will. I don't feel very good, if Mrs. Jackson will excuse me."
"Yes, of course. I just wanted to—"
There was a rap on the door and May went to it.
"Oh," she said, much relieved, "Mrs. Bates. Do come in. Hello, Gerry."
Geraldine Bates carried the basket. "Want me to put the junk out in the kitchen, May?" she asked. She glanced briefly at Mrs. Jackson and nodded.
"Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Jackson," said Mrs. Bates, surprised. "Isn't the weather terrible! May, I'll just speak to Mrs. Talbot a moment and we'll go along." She lowered her voice. "Howard been over yet?"
"No, he hasn't, Mrs. Bates. We're still waiting for Doctor Bull."
"My goodness, hasn't he been here at all?"
"Not yet."
"I mean, wasn't he here when it happened?"
"No, he wasn't."
"Well, I do call that dreadful!"
"Oh, my," agreed Mrs. Jackson. "That is terrible, isn't it?"
"Didn't anybody call him, May?"
"He was out all afternoon, Mrs. Bates. I expect he was on another case, and Mrs. Cole had gone to Sansbury."
"Well, why didn't someone try to get Doctor Verney?"
"Doctor Verney won't take any calls up here, except for the Bannings, Mrs. Bates. He always says he simply can't do it."
"Well, it's really an outrage! Doctor Bull hasn't any right to go gadding about when he has a patient as sick as Mamie. It isn't as if it were the first time, either."
"Oh," said Geraldine wearily, "I guess everybody knows he's a bum doctor by now. Keep your hair on Ma."
"Now, you needn't be so impertinent," Mrs. Bates told her. "Honestly, May, I think something ought to be done to make George Bull realize his responsibilities."
"Yes, I do think you're right," said Mrs. Jackson, attempting to seize an opening. "Mrs. Ely was telling me about the case of that boy at Truro who had diphtheria —"
"There are plenty of cases," said Mrs. Bates flatly. "I suppose nothing can be done now, but there ought to be a law —"
"Sh!" whispered May, "I think he's coming."
"I declare, I wouldn't mind telling him to his face. It's his duty to take care of the sick in this town, and —"
The door opened, admitting Howard Upjohn, his long face very solemn, and Mr. Banning. Mr. Banning said at once: "How do you do, Mrs. Bates. Good morning, May. Ah, good morning, Mrs. Jackson. Good morning, Geraldine." Howard Upjohn said generally, "Morning. 'Lo, May. Doc Bull here yet?"
"Not yet," said May.
"Then we'll just have to wait, I guess. Hermann Vogel said he'd be over and lend me a hand in about twenty minutes. What's keeping the Doc?"
"May," said Mr. Banning, "will you ask Mrs. Talbot if she feels able to see me a moment?"
"Why, of course, Mr. Banning," May nodded. "I'll just ask her —"
The change in atmosphere had become instantly apparent. Every eye, every interest, had transferred to the person who had the means, and it now could be guessed, the intention to pay. After he had gone in, May, withdrawing beyond the door, could hear fragments of Mr. Banning's lowered voice: "Mrs. Talbot . . . our deepest sympathy. I hope you will . . ." He turned presently and said, "May, would you ask Howard to come here a moment?"
Mrs. Talbot had begun abruptly to sniffle, doubtless forgetting that last night her idea had been to revile and abuse the Bannings as the whole cause of her misfortune. Howard Upjohn, entering to stand by the bed, too, was nodding with reflective consideration. May couldn't blame him for being cheered to know that the expenses of burying Mamie would unquestionably be paid. Mrs. Talbot, in a teary unsteadiness of gratitude, got out a few high, very clearly carried phrases: ". . . don't know how to —" and ". . . never be able to —"
In the front room, Geraldine Bates was looking, with obvious amazement, at the contents of Mrs. Jackson's basket; but Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Bates were both tense, listening as hard as possible. Mr. Banning was going to pay, and in a reluctant, tortuous way, they both resented it, while both tried not to. To Heaven, the widow's mite perhaps had value; but-on this earth, you had to see that the widow was merely absurd. What weighed in the scale of mercy and human happiness were the rich men casting their gifts. Mr. Banning came and with his good, kind money, in one gesture swept away all common difficulties and pulled Mrs. Talbot from the pit. May saw Mrs. Bates looking at Mrs. Jackson, their slight constraint for the moment forgotten. Mrs. Jackson gave quick lip-service to Mr. Banning's virtue: "My, that's mighty nice of him —"
Mrs. Bates, living all her life in the shadow of the Bannings' prestige and high fortunes, said dryly: "Well, I think people ought to help according to their means and abilities."
"Come on, Ma," said Geraldine. "Let's go." On the outer door a heavy hand fell. The door opened then, showing them Doctor Bull's bold red face and massive figure. "Good morning," he said, glancing down at Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Jackson. He put his bag on the table, shrugged off his raincoat and laid it on a chair with his wet hat. "Well, this is too bad, isn't it? Where's Mrs. Talbot?"
"She's in there, talking to Mr. Banning and Mr. Upjohn," Mrs. Bates said.
"Right," nodded Doctor Bull. "Well, May! Tell your husband I'll try to step in and see him this afternoon." He stood in the bedroom door. His voice boomed. "Hello, Banning. Hellow, Howard. Very sorry to hear about this, Mrs. Talbot. I'll just look at her, please. All right, Howard, come along." Carrying his bag, he went to the closed door of the back bedroom. "Why didn't you tell him that stuff you were going to, Ma?" whispered Geraldine.
"Geraldine, you just keep still —"
They all stood waiting, and now Doctor Bull came out again tucking a stethoscope carelessly into his pocket, proceeding to the table, where he pushed things aside. Sitting down, he took his fountain pen and spread out a printed form. Mrs. Bates, reddening, said rather weakly: "Pity you couldn't get here yesterday afternoon. I suppose you might have saved her."
"Not likely," said Doctor Bull, continuing to write. "It's really a self-limiting infection. There are a good many types of the pneumococcus. If it happens to be type one, there's a serum some think helps. I don't believe it. Seventy per cent, of the cases recover anyway, so how can you prove the serum did it? Probably you either have the stamina to hang on while you develop resistance, or else you haven't. Mamie hadn't. Too puny. Girl like Geraldine would probably pull through fine. Got some meat on her. Well, that's all I guess. When's the funeral going to be?"
"Why, I don't know —" said Mrs. Bates, worse confused now that George Bull turned his bright, cheerfully contemptuous blue eyes on her.
May came across the room. "Doctor Bull," she said, "do you think you could do anything for Mrs. Talbot? She's so upset, I mean; and —"
"Did she sleep last night?"
"Why, yes."
"How do you know?"
"I was over here."
"Well, then there's nothing to be done now. She'll be all right. She might be better if some of you cleared out. It keeps her worked up. Probably she doesn't feel like doing much, so if you want to help, take her over to your place and give her lunch, Mrs. Bates. You have a car out there.".
Mrs. Bates, taken by surprise, hesitated, reddening again with embarrassment, for it was one thing to look in at Mrs. Talbot's, and another to have that dirty creature at your table. With accounts thus so well squared, Doctor Bull grinned cordially. "Or don't, if you don't like the idea. Just trying to suggest some way you could help. Get the body out as soon as you can, Howard. Not a very cheerful thing to have around."
Mr. Banning had come out now. He stood erect and precise, pulling his gloves on. Doctor Bull thrust his big hands into the sleeves of his raincoat, humped his shoulders into it, clapped his hat on. "Decided when the funeral's going to be, Banning?"
"Mrs. Talbot wishes to have it Tuesday, Doctor. We'll have to consult the Rector about the time."
"Oh! That's right. Mamie was an Episcopalian, wasn't she? I forgot. The Talbots were always Congregationalists in the old days. I'd have probably gone to the wrong church." He opened the door, stepping out into the rain. Mr. Banning nodded to the women, following him. On the path, he said: "If you'll send your bill to me, Doctor, I'll be glad to settle it."
"All right, Banning," said Doctor Bull with relish. "I'll be glad to have it settled."
Upstairs in Upjohn's Hall three rooms looked out, one long window apiece, on the open triangle behind the New Winton station. Each corner room had an extra window, one north, one south. The three shabby, varnished doors on the little hall had been lettered in black paint:
Town Clerk; Auditor; Collector of Taxes.
Clarence Upjohn, who had been Town Clerk, no matter what other officials changed around him, for seventeen years, donated the rooms, rent free. A meagre sarcasm, living on from the time of Clarence's first offer of them and the lettering of the doors, described the arrangement as City Hall.
Except when the Board of Relief met; or ballots, cast downstairs, were counted; or Clarence was moved to bring over a week or two's work as Clerk—he did the work in the office of Upjohn Brothers' store across the street—to file in the fireproof record cabinets with which the south room was lined, no one bothered about City Hall, or had any reason to come up there. Henry Harris, Collector of Taxes, used the north room designated for him in such merely private affairs as sitting and thinking or to hold confidential interviews and discussions.
The furniture of this room had arrived there only after it had been thrown out somewhere else. There was a tumbledown easy chair, variously ruptured, with bulges of strangulated stuffing, where Henry Harris sat to think. An unsteady table stood under the electric light, a bare bulb hanging on a wire in the centre. Two straight-backed wooden chairs had legs of slightly different lengths. In
a shabby open book-case thirteen or fourteen worn volumes of the Connecticut Code sprawled along the top shelf. Below were a few old issues of the State Register and Manual, a couple of reprints of novels ten years past their popularity, an obsolete, unabridged dictionary with the binding torn off and a large collection of pulp-paper magazines, mostly without covers. Over the case, not quite in the centre, hung a large colour print. Obviously it had been turned out, frame and all, in quantity and distributed without charge. A brass plate screwed to the frame bore the words:
Armorial Bearings of State of Connecticut
—the white rococo shield; the three supported grape vines, each dangling four leaves and three purple clusters; the contorted, gold-edge streamer:
Qui Transtulit Sustinet.
While Henry Harris had been making sure that no one was in any of the other rooms, Lester Dunn, everything else profitlessly examined, stood studying the streamer. "What the hell does that mean?" he inquired.
"Means: who set us up here will take care of us," said Henry Harris, unhurried.
"Oh," agreed Lester Dunn, "I always wondered. There must have been a nice little graft about handing out all those free pictures." Unhurried, too, he transferred his attention to the fly-specked campaign poster on the other wall; the Republican eagles and two large oval photographs with the legend:
Absolute and Unqualified Loyalty to Our Country: Hoover and Curtis.
"Apple-sauce!" said Lester Dunn, reflectively.
Henry Harris had lighted the little round oil-heater, but he was still busy adjusting the wick, trying to minimize the inevitable stink. Lester moved to the north window, looking out at the rain over the long low roof of the building which housed the New Winton Volunteer Fire Department's truck; over soggy backyards, to the little street beyond and the small houses scattered along it. "Having quite a show at the Talbots'," he remarked. "There's Bates' car, and Banning's, and Doc Bull's. Say, I'll bet it's some wake, if Mrs. Banning is in there with the Doc."
"Don't worry. She wouldn't come out on a day like this. She sent her Herbert."
"What for?"
"Fix it up to bury Mamie. He was over talking to Howard and they picked out a nice medium-priced coffin. Howard's going to do a snappy cut-rate embalming job. Going to order a stone, too. Something in simple good taste."
"There comes Doc Bull now, and Banning right with him. Look just like old pals. When do they bury her?"
"If this weather keeps up, it ought to be thawed out enough to get her in Monday."
"Maybe they could borrow, one of those thawing machines from the construction camp."
"The camp's leaving us this coming Friday. I guess they're getting kind of sick of it. I saw Harry Weems slipping one of their men a little something yesterday."
"You see a lot, don't you?"
"Try to keep my eyes open, Lester. Good deal goes on around here when you know where to look."
Lester dropped into the armchair. "Come on," he said. "Let's hear it."
"Listen, don't wreck that! I want it a while yet."
"It was wrecked ten years ago. Come on. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing much. What did you get from Doc Bull for finding out about where Larry dumped the Bannings' junk?"
"Five dollars."
Henry Harris whistled. "With all that in your pants, you probably wouldn't be interested in picking up small change." He sat down and filled his pipe carefully.
"Come on!" said Lester.
"Well, it would only amount to about a hundred dollars for you."
"I could use it."
"So could Hermann Vogel or Grant Williams. Maybe Harry Weems would just as soon have it."
"And now I'll tell you. Hermann and Grant are so dumb you don't want them. Harry makes all the money he wants selling liquor. So if you need a constable, I guess it'll have to be me."
"I don't know. I might be able to influence Harry a little. How would he like a couple of Federal agents in town, do you think?"
"Let's see you get one! All those boys who aren't bought and paid for, if there are any, are running around Bridgeport and Hartford and New Haven with their tongues hanging out. Every time they raid one place two more open up. Think they're going to come way up here to catch the village bootlegger?"