Oscar Schisgall

“ He fell upon a chair, buried his head in his hands, and sat moaning and swaying.
"It—was—terrible!" he told Agatha. "That sound when he hit the bottom—"
"Forget it! Drive that buggy away!"
She was scrubbing the floor as easily as though she were merely erasing blots of mud. Her angular figure bent to the work, moving back and forth rhythmically with each scratch of the brush. And presently Timothy regained sufficient strength to begin his journey through the storm. It was miserably chilly as he drove down the road, and he hunched his shoulders while the rain splashed against this face. ”

“ Agatha opened the door for the doctor, and he eyed her angular being with mingled pity and contempt. These poverty-stricken farmers who lacked energy to earn a living from a source other than the soil disgusted him. They were worse, he firmly believed, than Russian peasants.
He unwound the muffler from his throat, threw off his great, dripping coat. No longer was he looking at Agatha or at Timothy, standing in a dark corner. Now his attention was fixed on the flushed young face under the light of the oil lamp. ”

“ Tell him! . . . Hide the things in the closet, Mom, before the doctor comes. That's right—in the closet-on the third shelf. . . . There they are, out the shelf in the closet—a watch and something else and money. We're rich now, ain't we, Pop? Ain't we, Mom? . . ."
Gilbert subsided to an incoherent drool, chattering of money and jewels and the closet. He was squirming under the covers.
But no longer did Dr. Philemon listen to the boy. He had turned; he was staring queerly into the terrified eyes of Agatha Cruze. Behind the woman stood her husband, big and menacing and glowering furiously. ”

“ Astounded, he was gaping upon the sick Gilbert. The boy had raised himself on his elbow. He glared toward his father's corner, a wild, feverish light lending glittering brilliance to his small eyes. He coughed, gulped, then cried: "Pop, is this the doctor? Is this Dr. Philemon?"
He did not wait for a reply; he fell back upon the pillow, laughing deliriously, and his little lips began to prattle hysterically:
"Dr. Philemon—Philemon—the doctor! We're rich now, ain't we. Pop! Ain't we, Mom? . . . Oh, we're rich! You got the doctor's money, didn't you Pop? . . . Is it wrong to steal, Pop? ”

“ Agatha considered. She bent her head and frowned. That horse could not remain outside. That evidence, too, must be destroyed—all evidence must be destroyed. They must find a perfect alibi, a story that would convince the villagers. For a long time she remained motionless, gazing with listless eyes at the floor but not that part of the floor on which the dreadful thing lay. Timothy, quaking and baffled, stood by the window. ”

“ Quiet, boy. . . . Mrs. Cruze, can't I get better light? This flickering wick is bad for the eyes. Can't see—"
"I'm sorry," apologized Agatha. "We have no other lamp."
"Hum!"
Again Timothy's voice rumbled out of the darkness:
"Maybe I could hold a match over the watch, Dr. Philemon. The light might be better."
"Thanks, no."
The physician was frowning. So annoying a lack of household conveniences forced one to forget professional dignity. He was chilled, bad-humored; the prospect of the four-mile journey home, through the steady rain, deprived him of all cheer. ”

“ Leaning against the closed door, her husband stood panting. Water dripped from his uncouth clothes, from his face, from his hands. He drew the soaked cap from his head and tossed it to a chair.
And then she saw that he was smiling a strange, malicious smile-a smile of triumph-almost a leer. His huge head was lowered as he began to pull off the baggy coat. In the dim luminosity of the oil lamp he appeared menacing; about him hovered an air that seemed unreal, fiendish. "How's the kid?" he asked gruffly. "Very bad, Tim-worse than he was this morning. have you been?" He ignored the question. ”

“ It was an old shawl, gray and lifeless, conforming with her personality.
Though she eyed the food on the table rather wistfully, she determined to telephone for the physician of the neighboring town before she did anything else. The fantastic glow from the oil lamp fell upon her worn features; she blinked at the light, for her eyes smarted. But she had reached a decision, and she moved to carry it out; Timothy must be sacrificed for Gilbert! . . . Mother-love was the more powerful. ”

“ She wondered, of a sudden, why she was taking all these precautions on behalf of the man who had neglected her so cruelly during the entire nine years of their married life. But she brushed aside the hesitancy. He was her husband! Gilbert was her son! For their sakes she must fight the law. She could not afford to lose Timothy; and she could not bring disgrace upon the boy. She must fight. ”

“ Agatha watched. There was nothing she could do-she, a woman. Nothing? Yes, there was something. On the floor she saw the brooch and the wrist-watch and the money. She picked them up and dropped them into the pocket of her skirt.
She had no doubt about the outcome of the fight. Her Tim would win. He always won in physical contests.
The doctor was gasping, staggering unsteadily; and still his fists answered the blows of Timothy. ”

“ Her lips parted in an ugly sneer, hideous on her sallow features.
"You're a coward, Tim! You ain't a man—you're a dog!"
"Don't care what you say," he rasped back. "I ain't going to hang 'cause you think the kid needs a doctor. He don't!"
"He—he'll die if I don't get one."
Timothy gulped, glanced away in fear. But immediately his bravado reasserted itself.
"He won't die—that's just your talk. You're going to stay right here. No doctor—nobody comes into this house till the kid stops blabbering about the well." ”

“ He had expected his wife to preach a sermon on the evils of theft. Instead, she was still thinking of summoning the physician for Gilbert.
"Then—then as long as nobody knows, why don't you want to call the doctor?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "The boy needs him. He—he'll get worse; maybe, if we don't call—"
"But, Agatha; do you want me to tempt the fates and everything by calling the doctor right after I—I've robbed him? He'll be so excited over finding his safe open that he won't want to come, anyway. Call him!"
"A doctor always comes, Tim." ”

“ The realization that his wife was not condemning his theft, that she was actually making of herself an accomplice, stirred a peculiar emotion in Timothy Cruze. It is soothing to have one's sins shared by others. He experienced a surge of courage. He moved forward hesitantly.
"You don't mean, Agatha—"
"I don't mean anything except that we need the doctor. And if you ain't going right now to 'phone him, I'll go myself!"
"And the brooch and the money and the watch—what—"
"Hide 'em in the closet. He'll never guess you got 'em here, will he? He ain't a mind reader. ”

“ No one will find him. After they go away—or, better, after a couple of days, we'll fill it as we were going to do. No one will be the wiser."
Had he found the courage to do such a thing, Timothy would have hugged his wife. Her plan was beyond reproach. The old well in the yard, long since dry, offered an ideal tomb, an ideal place of concealment. ”

“ And as he held them under the radi- ance of the oil lamp, he continued to laugh softly. "Look at 'em," he said, exulting, "look at 'em, Agatha! Worth a couple of hundred dollars, sure!" The woman's eyes were round as she gaped upon the jewels. Her bony hand rose to suppress a gasp. Never before had she gazed upon such glistening, such alluring wealth. A brooch-a wrist- watch-and money.. "Wh-where'd you get that, Tim?" she whispered in awe. "I just told you, didn't I, that I came from the doctor's?" "The doctor's!" She glanced up in terror to encounter his triumphant leer. ”

“ And one of his associates mumbled:
"Come on—guess we'd better be getting back, men. We ought to tell Mrs. Philemon about the buggy—and get some police on the job. Come on. Let's go. Mrs. Cruze has the boy inside—"
Readily the spokesman acquiesced. He rubbed a hand over his great moustache and said:
"Well, guess we ought to, at that. So you ain't got any information to give us, Cruze?"
"None except what I told you. The doctor left here about half past two, after seeing our Gil. Said he'd send a Board of Health sign up to put on our door. We put this one up meanwhile—to keep folks out. ”

“ Contemptuously he flung the jewels and the money to the table. His brows sank so that he glowered at her. "I'll tell you how. You needn't stand there like an angel looking into hell. Use your head and you'll see. ”

“ We—we—"
She stopped, pondering. But she had trained her mind to overcome obstacles in the path of their safety, and it was not long before she decided on a means of guarding themselves from Gilbert's delirium.
"We'll put the boy upstairs," she said curtly. "It'll be harder to hear him there. And—and we'll say he's got something contagious—scarlet fever. We can even put a sign on the door—you'll make a sign, Tim. Scarlet fever. We'll tell 'em the doctor said no one was to go into the house. That'll keep 'em away from Gil. ”