"I was just ready to go out, down town shopping at that cut-rate market—it's beef bargain day—when the phone rang and some one at the office said papa wasn't well and would be coming home. Of course I thought he had been killed and the girl got so impatient and ugly with me. I don't believe now they were at the office at all, because in a few moments, I had scarcely time to take off my things, the bell rang and they had him in a taxi. Oh—Anne—he was all kind of purplish; papa, who's too pale if anything, and his eyes were twisted like, but he knew me, and—and—he didn't want me to do anything for him. It—it—seemed to make him nervous just to have me near him, and he kept trying to say something and I couldn't understand."
"Can't—he—speak?" Anne's lips were dry but she kept her tone level for Hilda's comfort.
"He can now—but it's not like it was—although it may come back almost as good as ever, in time, the doctor says. But—Anne—he can't—ever work again and what shall we do? There's the lodge and perhaps they'll take up a little collection in the office—papa seemed always donating to collections for families, but then maybe he was only fibbing—and there's some small pension scheme they've just put through. But—it's so—scrappy and he'll need so many things."
Behind the fact of her father's illness, towering over the misfortune of his never again being able to speak quite clearly, or to walk unaided, loomed this ghastly reality—never again to work; never to draw a monthly salary again. All her childhood this possibility had existed in the background of life, as it existed in the background of all the lives she knew—the cessation of income, the wage-earner's power suddenly cut off. Dependents on unearned money. Life continuing with the source of supply not in one's own hands, beyond one's control. Now this fact was no longer in the background. It had stalked to the very front of life and demanded all their thought. Two aging people, dependent on others! Anne shivered away from it.
"Don't think about that now, mamma. Perhaps it won't be so bad as the doctor says. They're often mistaken. You know how little faith Belle has in them."
"If only Belle were here."
"But she isn't, mamma. You'll have to do the best you can with me."
"Don't be sharp with me, Annie. You know I don't mean it that way. I don't know what I would do without you. I could scarcely get to the phone quick enough to call you. But I wish we knew where Belle was. I haven't had a card ever since that one when they were just starting for Jerusalem or some other heathenish spot. She—she'll help if she can, but she never has anything laid aside. And that was one thing papa always did try to impress on you children—to look out for a rainy day. I hope you and Roger will never do that, Anne, live right up to the last cent, not with Rogie and all. It's a temptation when everything's all right, but the minute sickness comes——If only papa hadn't thought that miserly little lodge and his life insurance would be enough—if anything happened—we might have had a snug bit aside."
"He still has the life insurance, has he? You remember you used to be afraid sometimes—he'd try to raise money on it. You——"
"Oh—Anne——" Hilda clutched her in sudden fear. "I—I—suppose so. I never dared ask papa things like that. You don't suppose—he couldn't have—oh, Anne——"