# Kept Woman/Chapter 20

Hubert sat at the window and meditated on the malignancy of fate. As though things hadn't been bad enough he had had to catch a cold. In August, no less, with the sun hotter than hell and not a breeze stirring, he had caught a cold. His doleful sigh ended in a sneeze. Damn the luck. And colds were no joke either. God, how sick they made a fellow feel. He probably wouldn't be able to go out tomorrow, and he really ought to go out. He had to dig up some money somewhere. There was only two or three dollars left from Lillian's ring. They had been fools to go to the movies and eat thick lamb chops. They ought to have conserved a little. Funny how he couldn't get used to being poor. Some people were born to have money to throw about and he was one of them. Now, with a cold like this he ought to be in bed. Not in that bed inside. Oh, the bed wasn't so bad, but the room. He ought to be in a large, airy room, just resting. Every once in a while somebody could bring him some tea and toast. Even a poached egg or a very tender bit of steak. It was nice to lie on a soft bed between cool, crisp sheets. Especially if you were sick. Hubert sneezed again.
Lillian, lying on the couch, eyed him with ever-increasing dismay. That was a bad cold he had. Poor Hubert. She had heard that summer colds were very hard to cure and more dangerous than those contracted ​in cold weather. It never rains but what it don't pour. He was probably going to be real sick now. She turned her head away from him and gazed up into the light. It was only twenty watts; so it didn't hurt to look into it. She felt very low. The last lap is always the hardest, she told herself; that was why she felt so despondent. The trouble was nearly over now and instead of being cheerful she was fagged with the effort and low-spirited. Next month would be September. That was the month when people began to do things. Wasn't it fortunate that she hadn't been blue and melancholy earlier when there was so much yet to face? She tried to cheer herself up by planning her new apartment. It would probably be November first when she took it. There was no sense moving the minute Hubert got a job. They would save a bit first. She thought that this time she would furnish her bedroom in maple. She had seen a picture in a magazine of a bedroom furnished in maple and it had looked swell. It would be fun to walk right out of this place and leave everything behind. The new apartment would be waiting for her all freshly furnished and clean. Maybe she'd move in that new building that was going up at—
Hubert sneezed again and Lillian sighed and forgot her plans for the new apartment. A summer cold was serious. He ought to take something. She wanted to ask him how he felt. He probably would say that he felt all right and that would cheer her up. Only that might start a conversation, and it was too hot and she hadn't the energy for conversation. Maybe if she took a cold ​bath. But, Lord, what a nuisance, drawing the water and everything.
There was a far-away growl of thunder. Now they'd have rain. Maybe that would cool it off some. Her mother had always said that rain made it hotter. She would say something different from what everybody else said. Lillian wondered what the old lady would be doing tonight. Probably roasting like everybody else. Oh, well, the summer was a beautiful time if you could spend it like the rich people do. Just lying around all day in the sand at Long Beach.
There was a mosquito on the ceiling. He would fly around her head after the light was out and she was trying to sleep. Life was just chuckful of things like that. Hubert was blowing his nose now. Maybe they had something in the house that was good for a cold. What was good for a cold? A handkerchief. Gee, she'd made a joke. She thought of telling it to Hubert but decided it wasn't quite funny enough to justify the exertion.
Somebody's radio was blaring frightfully. Evidently somebody was in the mood for that sort of thing. God, how could they be on a night like this? The ice wouldn't last till morning and the butter would be all soft and nasty at breakfast.
Hubert thought his thoughts. Here he was sick and broke. Things couldn't go on this way. Only a fool let himself get so broke that he was in actual want. There was no use stalling around any longer. He'd have to pull himself together and stop chasing after fellows to ​lend him money. Now it was time to do something. Tomorrow morning he'd go ask Helen for money.
It would take courage all right, but, hell, he wasn't afraid of her. He needed the money. God, he couldn't just be left to starve to death or die of this cold. He'd have to see a doctor. Maybe he was getting pneumonia or flu or any one of those deadly things. A fellow had to look out for his health.
He'd ask Helen for a lot of money. Not because he really needed a lot—hell, there'd be a job along any minute now, providing he was well enough to take it—but because Helen would be snooty toward a person who asked for a hundred dollars and respectful toward one who asked for a thousand. He'd make her respect him good and plenty. He'd ask for five thousand dollars. He'd talk like Rockefeller. He'd tell her that he had a chance to make a good investment, only he was short five thousand dollars. That would make a hit with her. She was always in favor of investments. She'd probably ask him what he was going to invest in. He'd have to make something up. Well, that wouldn't be hard. What the hell, she might as well give the money to him as let it lie around idle or spend it on the kid. She was making a regular softie of the boy anyhow by spending too much on him and making life too easy for him. She had gotten rid of the Oakland and bought the kid a Studebaker. He was probably earning twenty bucks a week and there he was driving around in a swell new car. Helen was foolish about some things. Well, she could be a little foolish for him. It wouldn't hurt her. He'd pay the five thousand back to her with interest ​before long. He'd buy a great big box of candy and put the check inside the box. Then he'd hand her the candy and say, "Sorry, Helen, I can't pay you your money, but here's a box of candy for you." And just about the time she began to rave she'd find the check and feel like a plug nickel.
Hubert was so delighted with the whole idea that he smiled over at Lillian, but she had her eyes closed.
He said, "Lil."
She opened her eyes and waited for him to state what was on his mind.
"Say, Lil, don't lie around as though a calamity had happened. Let's be a little cheerful. Make some coffee, will you?"
"Coffee! In this heat?"
"Well, we could ice it."
"With what we have in the ice-box you couldn't ice a thimbleful of coffee. This has been a hot day, you know."
"Well, let's do something a little cheerful."
"Like what?"
"Get dressed and we'll take a walk."
"Go on! You ought to go to bed. You're a sick fellow. I've been listening to you sneezing and everything. Come on, we'll turn in."
"It isn't ten o'clock yet."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Nothing, I suppose, only all of a sudden I feel like doing something to cheer us up a little."
"You must be feverish," said Lillian.
He laughed. "Well, if I'm feverish, I'd better stay ​feverish all the rest of my life, because I get some swell ideas."
"Like what, for instance?"
"Like the one I just got."
"What one?"
"That we should be cheerful."
"Oh."
He laughed again. "Come on, Lil, brighten up a little bit."
"I'm all right," she said irritably.
"No, you're not. You got a face a mile long."
"Well, I'm warm."
"So am I, but I'm not crying about it, am I?"
"Come on, we'd better go to sleep before I start to get mad."
"At what?"
"At you. For God's sake, it's too hot to be nagged about being cheerful. Cheerfulness is something you don't get from somebody nagging you into smiling. You're as silly as those God-damned greeting-cards that come to you about dear mother, blue skies, loving friends, and kind words."
"What's the matter with you, Lil?"
"I'm warm!" she shouted.
"Well, I'm sick and I'm trying to be cheerful."
"Keep smiling, little blue bird. Though skies are gray, be bright, for they will soon be much grayer."
"Gee, you're a fine one."
"Oh, Hubert, I'm sorry. Honest I am, but I'm so warm and uncomfortable and blue."
He looked at her in surprise. "Blue? What are you ​blue about? Nothing terrible has happened, has it? We've kept fed and housed. There isn't anything to be blue about. Maybe, for all you know, we'll be on Easy Street tomorrow night this time. Gee, if we'd been hungry and without our rent I could understand you being that way."
She said nothing because there was so much to say. He wouldn't understand how a woman needs bright sweaters and pleated silk skirts and red slippers and soft little hats with which to face the summer. The heat is oppressive only when you must live through it without the crisp materials and tropical colors that bloom in every shop. Gee, last summer she'd had a sweater she'd paid eight dollars and fifty cents for. It was a bright green and had—
"Besides," Hubert added, "I feel so rotten I should think you could act a little alive to make me feel better."
Lillian sat up and leaned over to get her shoes. They slipped on easily. They were old and stretched completely out of shape.
"There's some milk in the ice-box," she said. "I got it for the creamed beef but I didn't use it all. Want a drink of that?"
"Is there a glassful there?"
"Sure. Probably more. A pint would have been enough for the creamed beef, but the damn grocer only has quart bottles; so I had to take a quart."
"All right. Give me a glass of milk."
Lillian poured the milk out and handed it to him. It was very cold and he drank it in a single gulp. "Gee," he said, "that was fine."
​"Want some more?"
"No, that'll do."
"I think you should have drank that warm," Lillian said.
"Now's a good time to say so."
"Well, there's some more here. Want me to heat it for you?"
"No."
"It would help your cold."
"Yeh, probably help the cold all right, but it wouldn't do me any good."
"Gee, you're stubborn. Here I am trying to do something for you."
"I'll be all right. Don't worry about me."
"How can I help it? I can see you're awfully sick."
"Well, I'll be all right. I guess I can bear it as long as it doesn't get any worse."
"You should see a doctor."
"Maybe I will."
"I should think you'd borrow a little money, Hubert, from one of the men you know. You really need to see a doctor, and those friends of yours never hesitated to borrow from you."
"Well, maybe I will. I hate to, though. My father always taught me that borrowing was shameful. 'If you haven't got the money, my boy, do without,' he always used to say."
"Yes, but this is different. Gee, if you're sick you got to let up a little on being independent."
"I'll see, Lil. It's hard, though, to put your pride in your pocket and ask for money. I'm a funny duck, al​ways was. I hate to ask favors of people. I'll think it over, though. If I'm worse tomorrow I suppose I'll have to ask somebody for a loan."
Hubert felt very much worse in the morning. He said that every bone in his body ached, that the top of his head felt as though it was going to fly off, that he couldn't breathe, and that his chest felt congested.
Lillian put her hand on his forehead. "You aren't feverish," she said encouragingly.
He smiled humoringly at her. "No?" he asked.
"Your forehead is cool."
"So was-my brother's with a temperature of one hundred and six," said Hubert, complacently.
"I think you'd better stay in."
"Now, that's dumb, just plain dumb. What am I supposed to do? Sit here and die without money for a doctor?"
"Oh, Hubert, you're not as sick as that. I can get something from the drug store and give it to you. And if the worst comes to worst we can call a doctor and tell him that we're broke. He can send a bill when we're on our feet."
"Swell chance of him doing that."
"Now you're talking dumb. You know a doctor wouldn't refuse to treat you."
"Well, I wouldn't have the crust to ask him to send the bill later."
"I would."
"Yeh, you would. You've got lots of nerve, haven't you?"
​"I walked into a hock shop and hocked my ring. Believe it or not, that took nerve."
"What are you going to do? Tell me you hocked your ring every three minutes for the next ten years? I know you hocked it. You don't have to keep talking about it."
"Oh, Hubert, don't be so nasty."
"Well, let me alone. I have to go out today; so there's no use telling me I ought to stay in."
Lillian said no more. She gave him his breakfast and he departed. He saw her looking down at him from the window, and his conscience smiting him, he waved to her and smiled. She was a good kid but annoying at times, like all women. She'd probably worry about him all day. But after all a cold was something to worry about, forerunner of a dozen illnesses, and he really did have a bad one. His nose was completely stopped up. He couldn't smell the nice fresh air, but he could see that it was a beautiful day. Not so hot as yesterday. Maybe if things came out all right with Helen he'd take in the ball game that afternoon.
He got the car and started toward his official home. It was nice and early. He'd probably catch Helen while she was breakfasting or dressing for golf or something.
She was not breakfasting. Had she gone already? He strode to the kitchen and found Nellie polishing silver in the pantry.
"Good morning, Mr. Scott."
"Good morning, Nellie. Has Mrs. Scott gone out?"
"No, sir. She ain't up yet."
​"Could you—er—do you think you could call her? This is about her regular breakfast time, isn't it?"
Nellie bent lower over her work. "I couldn't call her," she said. "She gets up when she's ready unless the night before she's told me to call her. I wouldn't call her for nobody."
This was a distinct and offensive challenge to his importance. Hubert couldn't let it pass unnoticed.
"I suppose because my work keeps me away you've forgotten me. I'm your employer."
"No, sir, you ain't. My employer is asleep upstairs."
"You'll be out of a job this afternoon."
Nellie laughed with a loud, free recklessness. "You so big around here, you go wake Mrs. Scott up," she said.
Hubert walked out of the kitchen. Fresh, damn dinge. Many a time he'd handed her extra dollars. Well, anyhow he remembered one time distinctly. He hated to see the poor girl put out of a position she'd had over two years, but he didn't know how else to answer her impudence. She couldn't be permitted to talk to him like that. He'd have to tell Helen. He remembered Nellie's last words to him. Well, no, he'd better let Helen sleep.
It was an hour and a half later that she came downstairs. She was wearing a kimono of printed silk. Always something different. Gee, she probably spent a barrel of jack on clothes.
She looked at him and said, "Good morning. Did you want to speak to me?"
"Yes."
​"Well, wait till I've had my breakfast, will you?"
"Sure."
"Would you like something?"
"No, I've eaten."
"All right. I won't be long."
She sailed into the dining-room and took her place at the head of the table. Nellie came to her at once and they smiled at each other with strangely intimate and understanding smiles. Hubert thought that it was no wonder that Nellie was fresh. Helen treated her as though she was an equal.
"Fried eggs, Mrs. Scott?"
"No, poached, please."
"Yes, Mrs. Scott."
All through Helen's breakfast Hubert bit his nails and kept repeating to himself the points which must be driven home when he made his request. Five thousand dollars. Great investment. Why, one of the Wall Street men told me— Helen would fall for that Wall Street business. Well, it wasn't any of her affair if he didn't invest in anything. He'd give her her five thousand dollars back some day soon. Great investment. Five thousand dollars. Why, one of the Wall Street men told me— Cripes, the way she did things was sickening. Colored table linen and glass breakfast dishes. Who did she think she was, to throw money around like that? Probably had those fool colored sheets on her bed, too. White sheets had been good enough for his mother. Five thousand dollars. Great investment. Why, one of the Wall Street men told me—