"He's only tired, Joe, and don't mean nothin' he says."
"Naw; I'm only tryin' my voice out for grand opery!"
"You're a regular sorehead with me, ain't you, old man?"
"Aw!"
"He ain't easy at makin' up with strangers, Joe; but he's a smart one. See that on the table? That's his self-chargin' dynamo; it's a great invention, Joe, the janitor says. You tell him about it, Jimmie."
"There ain't nothin' to tell."
"Don't believe it, Joe; the janitor's a electrician, and he says--"
"Aw!"
"See! There it is, Joe."
"Aw, I don't want everybody pokin' and nosin'!"
"Lemme have a look at it, old man. I know something about dynamos myself. Say, that looks like a neat little idea. How does she work?"
"See--you generate right down in here. See? She worked that time, ma."
"Jimminycracks! Where'd you get your juice and--Well, well! Whatta you know about that? Don't even have to reverse. I guess that storage down there ain't some stunt!"
"See, Jimmie, my boy! I told you it was a grand invention. Hear what Joe says?"
"Say, kid, you bring that--take that over to the Institute to-morrow. I know a fellow over there'll protect your rights and work that out with you swell."
"See, Jimmie, your--your old ma was right!"
"Aw, the generator don't always work like that--only about four times out of six. I'm kinda stuck on the--"
"Say, kid, what you wanna do is protect your rights on that, and--and bring it over--take it over to the Institute. You'll give 'em the jolt of their lives over there. I know a fellow's been chasin' this idea ten years, and you're fifty per cent. closer to the bull's-eye than he is."
"Hear, Jimmie! Hear, Essie! Just like I been sayin'. I been beggin' and beggin' him, Joe, but he--he's so stubborn; and--"
"Aw, ma, cut it, can't you?"
"He's so stubborn about it, Joe."
"There's no use tryin' to force him, ma; but he's gotta good idea there if he handles it right."
"Aw, she ain't finished yet--she don't spark right."
"That what I'm telling you, kid. What you need is a laboratory, where you've got the stuff to work with and men who can give you a steer where you need it, and--"
"Aw!"
"I'll go over with you. I know a fellow over there--he's the guy that helped Kinney win his transmitter prize. You'll give him the jolt of his life, old man. Huh, kid? Wanna go over?" He placed his hand on the gold-braided shoulder and smiled down. "Huh? You on, old man?"
"Aw, I ain't much for buttin' in places."
"Are you on, Jimmie? It's your chance, old man."
"Aw!"
"Jimmie! Jimmie, my boy, I--"
"Aw, I said I was on, didn't I, ma?"
"Sure, he said he was on, ma dearie. Shake on it, old man!"
"Jimmie! Jimmie, my boy--honest!--it's just like your papa was talkin'! Don't leggo my hand, Joe. Layin' here with my eyes shut, it's just like he was talkin' hisself. He's--he's like your papa was, Essie, big and strong."
"Yes, darlin'."
"Is that the doctor? Is Lizzie Marks come back? Is that--"
"No; not yet, ma."
"You're all tired out, Essie baby. Look at your little face! Go wash it, baby, and cool it off before old man Gibbs comes."
"It ain't hot, ma."
"He brought you into the world, Essie baby, and I don't want him to see it--to see it all--all--"
"I'm all right, ma. Lemme stay by you."
"Go wash your face, Ess. Ma says go wash your face."
"You shut up, Jimmie Birdsong--it ain't your face!"
"You know all righty, missy, why she wants you to wash it--you know--"
"Ma, he keeps fussin' with me! Jimmie, please don't."
"Aw, I ain't, neither, ma. She's always peckin' at me. I--I ain't mad at her; but I want her to wash that--that stuff off her face."
"Jimmie!"
Her lips quivered, and she glanced toward the stranger, with her lips drooping over her eyes like curtains to her shame; and he smiled at her with eyes as soft as spring rain, his voice a caress.
"Go, little lady. You're all tired out and too pretty and too sweet not to wash your face and--cool it off."
"She's gotta go, or I'll get her in a corner and rub--"
"I'm goin', ain't I, Jimmie? Honest, the minute we make up you begin pickin' a fuss again."
"Oh, my children!"
"Oh, Gawd, there she goes off again! Why don't old man Gibbs come? Lay her down, Joe; she can't breathe that way. Look! Her hands are all blue-like. Hold her up, Joe! Oh, Gawd, why don't old man Gibbs come? She's all shakin'--all shakin'!"
"No, I ain't. What you cryin' there at the foot of the bed for, Essie? It ain't no time to cry now, darlin'. It's like it says on the crocheted lamp-mat your papa's aunt did for us--'God is Good!' Where is that mat, Essie? I--I ain't seen it round for--so--long. God is good! God--is--good! Where is that mat, Essie?"
"It's round somewheres, ma. It's old and worn out--in the rag-bag, maybe."
"Well get it out, Essie."
"Yes, ma."
"Promise, Essie!"
"Sure, ma; we'll get it out and keep it out."
"Oh, Joe, why did you keep us waitin' and waitin'? She's so little and pretty. Look at her dimples, Joe, even when she's cryin'. The prettiest girl in the notions, she was; and I--I been so scared for her, Joe. Why did you keep us waitin' and waitin'?"
"Me and the little girl was slow in getting here, ma; but we--we're here for good now--ain't we, little lady? Little lady with the hair just like ma's!"
"She gets it from me, Joe. Her papa used to say her hair was like the copper trimmings of his machines. Such machines he kept, Joe! His boss told me hisself they were just like looking-glasses, Essie, come closer, darlin'. You won't forget the lamp-mat, will you, darlin'--the lamp-mat?"
"Oh no, ma. Oh, Gawd! Ma, you ain't mad at me? Please--please! Honest, ma, your little Essie didn't know."
"Ma knows we didn't know, little lady. She ain't mad at us. She's glad that everything's going to be all right now; and you and her and Jimmie and me are--"
"Oh, my children!"
She smiled and slipped her fingers between her daughter's face and the coverlet.
"Look up, Essie! I feel so light! I feel so light! It's like it says on the lamp-mat--just like it says, Essie."
"Ma! Ma darlin', open your eyes!"
"Ma!"
"Here, Jimmie, lend a hand! Lemme hold her up--so! No; don't give her any more of that black stuff, Jimmie, old man. Wait till the doctor comes. Let her lie quiet on my arm--just like that; and hand me that ammonia-bottle there, Essie, like a sweet little lady. See there! She's coming round all right. Who says she ain't coming to? Now, ma--now!"
"Joe, don't leggo me!"
"Sure I won't, ma dearie."
She warmed to life slightly, and the tears seeped through her closed eyes, and she felt of his supporting arm down the length of his sleeve.
"Joe! Essie, that you?"
"Ma darlin', we're all here."
"Don't cry, little lady. See, she's coming out of it all right. Here, gimme a lift, Jimmie. See there! She's got her breath all right again."
They laid her back on the pillow, and she folded her hands lightly, ever so lightly, like lilies, one atop the other.
"Children! Children, I'm ready."
"Ready for what, ma? Some more black medicine?"
"Just _ready_, Jimmie, my boy! Here, Joe; hold my hand. It's like his was, children--big and strong."
"Aw, ma! Come on! Perk up!"
"I am, Jimmie, my boy."
"Perk up for sure, I mean. Gee, ain't there enough to perk about? Look at Joe and Ess--enough to give a fellow the Willies, pipin' at each other like sugar'd melt in their mouths!"
"My Jimmie's a great one for teasin' his sister, Joe."
"And look at me, ma--ain't I going to take my dynamo over to the Institute? And ain't the whole bunch of us right here next to your bed? And just look, ma--look at the two of 'em turning to sugar right this minute from lovin' each other! Ain't it the limit? Look at us, ma--all here and fine as silkworms."
"Yes, yes, Jimmie; that's why I feel so light. I never felt so light before. It's like it says on the lamp-mat, Jimmie--just like it says. I'm ready for sure, my darlin's."
"Oh, Gawd, ma--ready for what? Look at us, ma dearie--all three of us standing here--ready for what, dearie?"
"You tell 'em, Joe; you--you're big and strong."
"I--I don't know, ma. I don't think I--I know for sure, dearie."
"Ready for what, ma? Tell us, darlin'."
She turned her face toward them, a smile printed on her lips.
"Just ready, children."
THE PARADISE TRAIL
At five o'clock the Broadway store braced itself for the last lap of a nine-hour day. Girls with soul-and-body weariness writ across their faces in the sure chirography of hair-line wrinkles stood pelican-fashion, first on one leg and then on the other, to alternate the strain.
Floor-walkers directed shoppers with less of the well-oiled suavity of the morning; a black-and-white-haired woman behind the corset-counter whitened, sickened, and was revived in the emergency-room; the jewelry department covered its trays with a tan canvas sheeting; the stream of shoppers thinned to a trickle.
Across from the notions and buttons the umbrella department suddenly bloomed forth with a sale of near-silk, wooden-handled umbrellas; farther down, a special table of three-ninety-eight rubberette mackintoshes was pushed out into mid-aisle.
Miss Tillie Prokes glanced up at the patch of daylight over the silk-counters--a light rain was driving against the window.