“The maid tossed her head and left the room. She hadn’t any desire to remain with a baby, especially if it was wheezing and beginning to cough. So she may have exaggerated the reply somewhat. However, that did not excuse Mrs. Dalken from her next act. She was furious and sent the butler to the nursery to pay off the nurse and see that she left the house at once!
“Then she sent the parlor-maid to sit in the nursery with the child. That dinner was a great success, but just before the card-party began, the maid sent down word that Mrs. Dalken was to come up to the nursery at once, and see what ailed the baby—he was so red in the face and had a fever, she said.
“Mrs. Dalken whispered a reply: ‘I’ll be up as soon as I can get the tables started.’ Then she never gave it another thought.
“Three times during that evening the frightened parlor-maid sent down for the mother to come up. And three times the hostess smiled and nodded and then forgot all about the call. Before midnight, the boy began choking and gagging and the hysterical maid ran back and forth hoping to find the butler, or someone, who would help in this extremity.
“Every servant in the house was busy serving drinks, cards, or cigarettes, and none had time to call up a doctor. Then the daring maid telephoned for a doctor she knew. But he lived so far uptown that it took half an hour to arrive at the house.
“Before he got there, little Billie Dalken was sleeping in the last long rest. No one was with him but the parlor-maid when he strangled to death; but the awful contortions of his face and body showed the suffering he endured during the convulsions.
“Mr. Dalken came home early in the morning, the Washington business having been successfully consummated without any loss of time. It was not yet seven o’clock, but everyone in the house seemed astir. The heavy fumes of smoke and the aftermath of a riotous night’s play were evident throughout the first floor rooms. He smiled sardonically at it all, then rushed upstairs two steps at a time to peep at his beloved children.
“Elizabeth was weeping fearfully in her little crib that stood in the room connecting with the nursery. The moment she saw her father she screamed with relief.
“‘Oh, Daddy! Billie’s so twisted and queer—and he won’t answer when I call him.’
“Poor Dalken had a sudden premonition of catastrophe and rushed into the nursery. He almost collapsed at what he saw there. A strange woman was about to take up the stiff little form and do for it what a loving mother should reverently insist upon doing.