In the morning even Bella admitted that Flavilla might be sick and a doctor necessary. He took one look at his daughter's burning face, heard the shrill labor of her breathing, and hurried downstairs with a set face. He was standing with Bella in the hall when June Bowman descended.
“Flavilla ain't right,” she told him.
The latter promptly exhibited the wad of money. “Whatever you need,” he said.
“Put it away,” Lemuel replied shortly. “I don't want any of that for Flavilla.”
Bowman studied him. Doret made no effort to mask his bitterness, and the other whistled faintly. Bella laughed, turning from her husband.
“He's cracked,” she declared; “you'll get no decency off him. A body would think I had been in jail and him looking out for her all those ten years and more. I can say thank you, though; we'll need your help, and glad.”
“Put it away,” Lemuel Doret repeated. He was more than ever catlike, alert, bent slightly forward with tense fingers.
Bowman was unperturbed. “I told you about this flash stuff,” he observed. “Nobody's forcing money on you. Get the bend out of you and give me a shave. That'll start you on the pills.”
Lemuel Doret mechanically followed him into the rude barber shop; he was fascinated by the idea of laying the razor across Bowman's throat. The latter extended himself in the chair and Doret slowly, thoroughly, covered his lower face with lather, through which the blade drew with a clean smooth rip. A fever burned in the standing man's brain, he fought constantly against a stiffening of his employed fingers—a swift turn, a cutting twist. Subconsciously he called noiselessly upon the God that had sustained him and, divided between apprehension and the increasing lust to kill, his lips held the form in which they had pronounced that impressive name. He had the sensation of battling against a terrific wind, a remorseless force beating him to submission. His body ached from the violence of the struggle to keep his hand steadily, evenly, busied, following in a delicate sweep the cords of June Bowman's neck, the jugulars.
The other looked up at him and grinned confidently. “Little children,” he said, “love one another.”