The doorbell rang. In a moment Lee came to the bedroom, followed by the nurse—a strong, broad woman with heavy black eyebrows. She opened breeziness as she opened her suitcase.

“Where’s my patient! There he is! Why, you look fine! What am I doing here? Maybe you better get up and take care of me, you look good. Would you like to take care of me, big handsome man?” She thrust a muscular arm under Adam’s shoulder and effortlessly hoisted him toward the head of the bed and held him up with her right arm while with her left she patted out the pillows and laid him back.

“Cool pillows,” she said. “Don’t you love cool pillows? Now, where’s the bathroom? Have you got a duck and a bedpan? Can you put a cot in here for me?”

“Make a list,” said Lee. “And if you need any help—with him—”

“Why would I need help? We’ll get along just fine, won’t we, sugar-sweetie?”

Lee and Cal retired to the kitchen. Lee said, “Before she came I was going to urge you to have some supper—you know, like the kind of person who uses food for any purpose good or bad? I bet she’s that way. You can eat or not eat, just as you wish.”

Cal grinned at him. “If you’d tried to make me, I’d have been sick. But since you put it that way, I think I’ll make a sandwich.”

“You can’t have a sandwich.”

“I want one.”

“It all works out,” said Lee, “true to outrageous form. It’s kind of insulting that everyone reacts about the same way.”

“I don’t want a sandwich,” Cal said. “Are there any tarts left?”

“Plenty—in the breadbox. They may be a little soaky.”

“I like them soaky,” Cal said. He brought the whole plate to the table and set it in front of him.

The nurse looked into the kitchen. “These look good,” she said and took one, bit into it, and talked among her chewings. “Can I phone Krough’s drugstore for the things I need? Where’s the phone? Where do you keep the linen? Where’s the cot you’re going to bring in? Are you through with this paper? Where did you say the phone is?” She took another tart and retired.

Lee asked softly, “Did he speak to you?”

Cal shook his head back and forth as though he couldn’t stop.

“It’s going to be dreadful. But the doctor is right. You can stand anything. We’re wonderful animals that way.”

“I am not.” Cal’s voice was flat and dull. “I can’t stand it. No, I can’t stand it. I won’t be able to. I’ll have to—I’ll have to—”

Lee gripped his wrist fiercely. “Why, you mouse—you nasty cur. With goodness all around you—don’t you dare suggest a thing like that! Why is your sorrow more refined than my sorrow?”

“It’s not sorrow. I told him what I did. I killed my brother. I’m a murderer. He knows it.”

“Did he say it? Tell the truth—did he say it?”

“He didn’t have to. It was in his eyes. He said it with his eyes. There’s nowhere I can go to get away—there’s no place.”

Lee sighed and released his wrist. “Cal”—he spoke patiently—“listen to me. Adam’s brain centers are affected. Anything you see in his eyes may be pressure on that part of his brain which governs his seeing. Don’t you remember?—he couldn’t read. That wasn’t his eyes—that was pressure. You don’t know he accused you. You don’t know that.”

“He accused me. I know it. He said I’m a murderer.”

“Then he will forgive you. I promise.”

The nurse stood in the doorway. “What are you promising, Charley? You promised me a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll make it now. How is he?”

“Sleeping like a baby. Have you got anything to read in this house?”

“What would you like?”

“Something to take my mind off my feet.”

“I’ll bring the coffee to you. I’ve got some dirty stories written by a French queen. They might be too—”

“You bring ’em with the coffee,” she said. “Why don’t you get some shuteye, sonny? Me and Charley’ll hold the fort. Don’t forget the book, Charley.”

Lee set the percolator on the gas jet. He came to the table and said, “Cal!”

“What do you want?”

“Go to Abra.”

2

Cal stood on the neat porch and kept his finger on the bell until the harsh overlight flashed on and the night bolt rasped and Mrs. Bacon looked out. “I want to see Abra,” Cal said.

Her mouth dropped open in amazement. “You want what?”

“I want to see Abra.”

“You can’t. Abra’s gone to her room. Go away.”

Cal shouted, “I tell you I want to see Abra.”

“You go away or I’ll call the police.”

Mr. Bacon called, “What is it? Who is it?”

“Never you mind—go back to bed. You aren’t well. I’ll handle this.”

She turned back to Cal. “Now you get off the porch. And if you ring the bell again I’ll phone the police. Now, get!” The door slammed, the bolt scraped, and the hard overlight went off.

Cal stood smiling in the dark for he thought of Tom Meek lumbering up, saying, “Hello, Cal. What you up to?”