“Ow! You great big fish, you! You oughtta be ashamed of yourself!”
It was hours after that that Cornelia finally fell asleep again, and during those hours she found herself praying involuntarily, praying and pleading: “O God, help me to help Carey. Don’t let Carey be a drunkard. Don’t let him be wild and bad! Help him to want to be good and right. Help him to be a man. O God, help me to do something about it!”
CHAPTER VII
The first thing of which Cornelia was conscious in the morning was a scuffle overhead. Louise was sitting up, rubbing her eyes and looking apprehensively toward the ceiling; and the sounds grew louder and more vigorous, with now and then a heavy thud, like a booted foot dropping inertly to the floor.
Cornelia sat up also, and listened.
“It’s Harry, trying to wake Carey up!” whispered Louise knowingly. “Harry’s mad. I guess Carey came in late again, and didn’t undress. He does that way sometimes when he’s tired.”
“Yes?” said Cornelia with a shiver of understanding. “Yes, I heard him come in.”
“Oh, did you?” Louise turned a searching glance on her sister, and then looked away with a sober little sigh. “Something ought to be done about that kid before mother gets home,” she said maturely. “It’ll kill mother.”
“Something shall be done. There! don’t look so sorrowful, dear. Carey is young, and I’m sure we can do something if we all try with all our souls. I’m so glad I came home. Mother ought not to have been bearing that alone. Come, let’s get up.” She snatched her blue kimono, and dashed to the foot of the stairs.
“Harry! Harry!” she called softly. “Never mind. Let him sleep.”