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Updated: June 16, 2025
At dawn milk wagons began to clatter through streets no grayer than Harry's face. But at six o'clock Mrs. Schum was reported "as well as could be expected" and the operation apparently a success. They rode home through the early morning, Lilly insisting upon a taxicab and Harry lying back, quite frankly spent, against her arm. Her vitality was unquenchable, mounted, in fact, under stress.
"Lilly, is Mrs. Schum going to get well?" "I don't know. It frightens me. I cannot bear to look ahead for her, poor dear." "If she gets well she'll have to know, won't she, that Harry didn't go to war?" "Yes, and somehow I couldn't stand her knowing that." "She'll know it some day, anyhow." "Yes, but then maybe where it will be easier for her to understand."
I saw the piece you brought Mr. Kemble." "Now, Carrie ..." "What have we to-night, George?" "Fried steak, lamb, or corn'-beef hash." "Bring us steak, and if it isn't tender, tell Mrs. Schum for me that right back downstairs it goes! A little piece of lamb on the side in case Miss Lilly don't like the steak, and bring up a dish of those sweet pickles. You know, under the tray the way you always do.
Schum would set out with him to combat, by the decency of her presence, some of the difficulties of seeking a new position with only one or two time-and thumb-worn references. His grandmother's and Lilly's possessions were sacred to him, but every morning, after the two roomers had departed, Mrs. Schum would tiptoe after, locking their doors and inserting the keys in her petticoat pocket.
One evening, while Harry was performing his willing chore of carrying out for his grandmother the little dinner prepared by Mrs. Schum and partaken of by Lilly and Zoe at a small card table opened up beside the window of their room, Zoe announced, with a certain high-handedness with which Lilly was more and more hard pressed to cope: "I want my dresses longer.
A boy like that cannot be all bad, can he, Lilly?" Her eyes magnified with the glaze of tears so that one blink would have overflowed them, Lilly laid her lips to the veiny old hand, her voice down into the lap of blue-checkered apron. "We mothers Mrs. Schum God, how we love to suffer to them!" "We!"
I'll buy some pastries on the way and we will make a party of it. Does she still keep boarders?" "Roomers." "Poor, dear Mrs. Schum, fancy her living here!" They rode out on a surface car, changing twice and jammed face to face on a rear platform, a brilliant pink out in her face. "Harry, I just cannot realize it. You a full-fledged man!" "I'm twenty-four." "What is that yellow on your fingers?
"Teach me to live, O God, To know the gold from dross, To live, dear God, to live. I care not what it cost." And Lilly, the dear mother dust in her eyes, had the page framed beneath a faded photograph of Mrs. Schum, taken when her lips and breast were young. To attune Zoe to the coming of her family was no small matter.
Confronted with her emergency, Lilly stood before that closed door, beating all over with her silent little prayer: "O God, help me! Help me, help her!" Mrs. Schum was quite conscious. "Lilly," she said, reaching out a thin old hand that was covered with veins as round as cables, "I've been waiting." "Here I am, dear." "I think I'm done, Lilly. I dream so much of God." "Why, you're better, dear!"
On her own responsibility Lilly had employed this subterfuge with Mrs. Schum. Slowly as she came clutching back at consciousness, the name of her grandson more and more on her twisted lips, Lilly whispered it down to her, closing her hand over the tired old bony one. "Listen, dear Mrs. Schum, I've news for you." "They're all against him " "No, no, dear.
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