Dawn Eleanor Porter (free novels to read txt) 📖

every time they lifted a hand tobrush away a hair that was ticklin' their nose?"

"Oh, Susan!"

"Well, it's so. Look a-here, listen!" Susan dropped all pretense ofwork now, and came close to the fence. She was obviously very much inearnest. "That boy hain't been dressed but twice since that woman camea week ago. She won't let him dress himself alone an' now he don'twant to be dressed. Says he's too tired. An' she says, 'Of course,you're too tired, Keithie, dear!' An' there he lies, day in an' dayout, with his poor sightless eyes turned to the wall. He won't eat athing hardly, except what I snuggle up when she's out airin' herself.He ain't keen on bein' fed with a spoon like a baby. No boy with anyspunk would be."

"But can he feed himself?"

"Of course he can—if he gets a chance! But that ain't all. He don'twant to be told all the time that he's different from other folks. Hecan't forget that he's blind, of course, but he wants you to act as ifyou forgot it. I know. I've seen him. But she don't forget it aminute—not a minute. She's always cryin' an' wringin' her hands, an'sighin', 'Oh, Keithie, Keithie, my poor boy, my poor blind boy!' tillit's enough to make a saint say, 'Gosh!'"

"Well, that's only showin' sympathy, Susan," defended Mrs. McGuire.

"I'm sure she ought not to be blamed for that."

"He don't want sympathy—or, if he does, he hadn't ought to have it."

"Why, Susan Betts, I'm ashamed of you—grudgin' that poor blind boythe comfort of a little sympathy! My John said yesterday—"

"'T ain't sympathy he needs. Sympathy's a nice, soft little paw thatpats him to sleep. What he needs is a good sharp scratch that willmake him get up an' do somethin'."

"Susan, how can you talk like that?"

"'Cause somebody's got to." Susan's voice was shaking now. Her handswere clenched so tightly on the fence pickets that the knuckles showedwhite with the strain. "Mis' McGuire, there's a chance, maybe, thatthat boy can see. There's somethin' they can do to his eyes, if hegets strong enough to have it done."

"Really? To see again?"

"Maybe. There's a chance. They ain't sure. But they can't even TRYtill he gets well an' strong. An' how's he goin' to get well an'strong lyin' on that bed, face to the wall? That's what I want toknow!"

"Hm-m, I see," nodded Mrs. McGuire soberly. Then, with a sidewiseglance into Susan's face, she added: "But ain't that likely to cost—some money?"

"Yes, 't is." Susan went back to her work abruptly. With sternefficiency she shook out a heavy sheet and hung it up. Stooping, shepicked up another one. But she did not shake out this. With the samecurious abruptness that had characterized her movements a few momentsbefore, she dropped the sheet back into the basket and came close tothe fence again. "Mis' McGuire, won't you please let me take a copy ofthem two women's magazines that you take? That is, they—they do printpoetry, don't they?"

"Why, y-yes, Susan, I guess they do. Thinkin' of sendin' 'em some ofyours?" The question was asked in a derision that was entirely lost onSusan.

"Yes, to get some money." It was the breathless, palpitating Susanthat Daniel Burton had seen a week ago, and like Daniel Burton on thatoccasion, Mrs. McGuire went down now in defeat before it.

"To—to get some money?" she stammered.

"Yes—for Keith's eyes, you know," panted Susan. "An' when I sellthese, I'm goin' to write more—lots more. Only I've got to find aplace, first, of course, to sell 'em. An' I did send 'em off lastweek. But they was jest cheap magazines; an' they sent a letter allprinted sayin' as how they regretted very much they couldn't accept'em. Like enough they didn't have money enough to pay much for 'em,anyway; but of course they didn't say that right out in so many words.But, as I said, they wasn't anything but cheap magazines, anyway.That's why I want yours, jest to get the addressin's of, I mean.THEY'RE first-class magazines, an' they'll pay me a good price, I'msure. They'll have to, to get 'em! Why, Mis' McGuire, I've got to havethe money. There ain't nobody but me TO get it. An' you don't s'posewe're goin' to let that boy stay blind all his life, do you, jest forthe want of a little money?"

'"A little money'! It'll cost a lot of money, an' you know it, SusanBetts," cried Mrs. McGuire, stirred into sudden speech. "An' the ideaof you tryin' to EARN it writin' poetry. For that matter, the idea ofyour earnin' it, anyway, even if you took your wages."

"Oh, I'd take my wages in a minute, if—" Susan stopped short. Herface had grown suddenly red. "That is, I—I think I'd rather take thepoetry money, anyway," she finished lamely.

But Mrs. McGuire was not to be so easily deceived.

"Poetry money, indeed!" she scoffed sternly. "Susan Betts, do you knowwhat I believe? I believe you don't GET any wages. I don't believethat man pays you a red cent from one week's end to the other. Nowdoes he? You don't dare to answer!"

Susan drew herself up haughtily. But her face was still very red.

"Certainly I dare to answer, Mis' McGuire, but I don't care to. WhatMr. Burton pays me discerns him an' me an' I don't care to discourseit in public. If you'll kindly lend me them magazines I asked you fora minute ago, I'll be very much obliged, an' I'll try to retaliate inthe same way for you some time, if I have anything you want."

"Oh, good lan', Susan Betts, if you ain't the beat of 'em!" ejaculatedMrs. McGuire. "I'd like to shake you—though you don't deserve ashakin', I'll admit. You deserve—well, never mind. I'll get themagazines right away. That's the most I CAN do for you, I s'pose," sheflung over her shoulder, as she hurried into the house.

CHAPTER X

AND NETTIE COLEBROOK SPEAKS HERS

Mrs. Colebrook had been a member of the Burton household a day lessthan two weeks when she confronted her brother in the studio with thisterse