The Waterbury Democrat., 1939-06-21
CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XII
 Iris rode down to the hospital ir Dr. Pitchers coupe, right behind the ambulance. It would do no good as the doctor pointed out. MT. Whit taker would not know anyone fol several days to come. He was a very sick man.
 "Business troubles?" he had asked Iris, in the little living room after examining Bart. After telling her bluntly her husband had pneu- monia.
 ''Yes," she said faintly.
 "Well you look like a sensible young lady. You go right down to your job and hold things to- gether. If worry got him into this state, then he'll recover a lot quicker, when he begins to gain if he knows you're keeping things running for him. You ah-work in Dean Somers' office, believef
 "Yes."
 It was cold and blustery and there was a raw, after-rain bite to the fall wind, but Iris walked all the way from the hospital to the office. And at noon, after she talked with Ellen Trent, she took the coat back.
 "This was what Bart worried about, Iris, you see. Budget pay ments are fine if everything runs smooth. If nobody is sick, and everyone keeps working. Or, ii you've reserve fund to fai , back on."
 That was what frightened her No reserve fund. No money saved no insurance, nothing to fall back on. And Bart sick. He'd have tc stay in the hospital six weeks al least. There'd be the hospital ano doctors to pay. She'd have to live Maybe she'd have to be the sole support of the family for long time. If Bart didn't recover from his illness fast.
 During the days that followed the serene order of Iris former existence vanished forever. Nc longer could she dawdle at break fast, or lunch when, how, and with wlsom she pleased. Or on what evBr she liked. Nor were her even- ings untouched by the calamity which befell them. -
 To begin with, she went to the hospital morning, noon and night And for five dreadful days, thSre wsss no change. For five days, she did not step foot in the room, or evsn get to the closed door with tho nurse sitting on guard at the ward desk, outside. Pleasant, effi- cient, firm, the nurse was.
 For those five days she lived in an awful nightmare of unreal ity. With worry, growing hydra headed, every time she stopped working long enough to remember Bart. Remember how i'll he was. Remember all that had happened, and all that was happening still to them.
 There was the shop. The speed with which creditors bounced upon the little shop, attaching everything that wasn't already being claimed by rightful owners who had not yet been paid for merchandise, was frightening. There was the Linwood Clarion, with a bill for S480 for ad- vertising. The Clarion had to be paid. The advertising manager in- sisted they must be paid.
 There was the landlord, talking loud and very angry about three months rent overdue. There were bills, bills, everywhere, all of them due, long past due. There were collectors and disagreeable, hard-faced men who spoke of in- functions, liens and claims, and waved long folded papers.
 There was young Howard Lang attorney at law, and boyhood friend of Bart's. And finally, there was no more shop, and peace. Ex- cept for the fact that Bart must be told. Sometime. When he was well again. when he was strong enough to bear knowing.
 Meanwhile, there were her own tangled budgets. There was the Vogue Gown Shop, and the Misses Budget Shop, and the Charlotte Shoppe.
 Seated at the little table Bart had enameled for her, the first week of their marriage, Iris slipped q cup of hot tea, and nibbled but tered toast and a boiled egg and a dish of baked apple. Eating mechanically, she began writing down every single bill, every ac- count. Hacking her mind lest she forget a single item. The milk bill, the drugstore, the jewellers, where Bart had purchased the diamond ring. She had a stagger- ing list when they were all set down. Enough to fairly kill her appetite. But she finished the last crlnnb of toast. poured out the remaining half cup of hot tea and