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Updated: June 16, 2025
Buying some menfolk stuff. Wool socks, I think she said, for your father, was it, who is subject to colds in the head " "No, those weren't for papa. Oh, Mrs. Schum, it's so good to hear of her first hand like this! What what did she say about me?" "Told me about you off here studying opera, and your husband was making his home with them.
You mean your mother father none of them know?" "It isn't for you to understand, dear. The mere telling of it has somehow eased things. We are bits of seaweed, dear Mrs. Schum, tossed up on the same shores. You and your fugitive from environment. Me and mine. If your secret is to be mine, mine must be yours." "God have mercy on you, Lilly, wherever it is your ways are leading you."
A long cooking fork in her hand, and a puff of steam hissing out after her, Mrs. Schum peered into the hallway. She was strangely smaller, Lilly thought, as if the flesh were beginning to wither off the rack of her bones. "Mrs. Schum! Dear Mrs. Schum!" "Who's that?" "Come out, gramaw. It's no one to be afraid of." "Harry!" Her voice came cracking out like a shot. "Harry, are you in trouble?"
Schum so for granted, cried herself bitterly into a state that threatened to take the form of a fever, and then to the strophe and antistrophe of her young grief, becoming self-conscious, burst, with not particularly precocious rhyme, reason, or meter, into the following, which was printed in her school paper: "Teach me to live, O God, If sorrow be to live, Then let me know All pain that it can give."
"He has had, Mrs. Schum." "I don't know. I don't know. You know best, I guess, what is in your heart." "I do. It's this. Why can't you take us?" "Who?" "I want her with me. She is getting big enough for the kind of training I have all mapped out for her. And now you it's nothing short of destiny led me to you. I could put her in day school.
Schum, with her spotted bombazine bosom and her loosely anchored knob of gray hair! She was the color of cold dish water at that horrid moment when the grease begins to float, her hands were corroded with it, and her smile somehow could catch you by the heartstrings, which smiles have no right to do. How patiently and how drearily she padded through these early years of Lilly's existence.
"No no " "Who is hounding you? If you are here about my grandson, madam, they are all the time trying to get the best of my boy. He hasn't broken parole since old Judge Delahanty down in the Twenty-third Street Court " "Mrs. Schum! Dear Mrs. Schum! Don't you know me? Please! Think, dearie, the little girl out in St. Louis who used to plague you for bread and butter "
"Looks more like her father, if she looks like either of them," Mrs. Schum was fond of saying, "and she has his easy disposition. But there is a child who runs deep. If she was mine I'd educate her to be something. Ah me, if only my Annie hadn't lost her head and married, she had the makings, too." As a matter of fact, Lilly's resemblance to her parents stopped abruptly.
Schum, without regaining consciousness, was rushed to the Saint Genevieve Hospital in East Seventy-eighth Street, for an emergency operation that had to do with a growth in her side. It was Lilly's first contact with the casualty of sudden illness. In the little anteroom of the hospital, her hand in Harry's, she sat the remainder of the night through.
Towels. Towels. Towels. And how saucily after school would Lilly plant herself down in the subterranean depths of the kitchen. "Mrs. Schum, mamma says to give me a piece of bread and butter." With her worried eyes Mrs. Schum would smile and invariably hand out a thick slice, thinly buttered. "More butter, mamma said." "That's plenty, dearie; too much isn't good for little girls' complexions."
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