He did not know it was prayer; it was just a cry: "Do something—oh, do something! Do you hear me? She tried so hard to save Jacky. Make her get well!" So it was that, in his selfless cry for happiness for Eleanor, Maurice found all those differing realizations—Joy, and Law, and Life, and Love—and lo! they were one—a personality! God. In his frantic words he established a relationship with Him—not It, any longer! "Please, please make her get well," he begged, humbly.
At that moment, at the door of the dining room, appeared an immaculate Jacky in his new suit, his face shining with bliss and soap. He came and stood beside Maurice, waiting his monarch's orders, and listening, without comprehension, to the conversation:
"Nothing will be said to him that will ... give anything away. She just wants to see him. His presence in the room—"
Jacky gave a little leap. "Did you say presents!"
"—his merely being there will please her. She loves him, Lily. You see, she's always wanted children, and—we've never had any."
Jacky's mother said, in a muffled voice, "My land!" Then she caught Jacky in her arms and kissed him all over his face.
"Aw, stop," said Jacky, greatly embarrassed; to have Mr. Curtis see him being kissed, "like a kid!" was a cruel mortification. "Aw, let up," said Jacky.
When he and Mr. Curtis started in to town his eyes seemed to grow bluer, and his face more beaming, and his voice, asking endless questions, more joyous every minute. In the car he shoved up very close to Maurice, and tried to think of something wonderful to tell him. By and by, breathing loudly, he achieved: "Say, Mr. Curtis, our ash sifter got broke." Then he shoved a little closer. Just before they reached Mrs. Newbolt's house the haggard, unhappy father gave his son orders:
"There is a lady who wants to see you, Jacky. She's my wife. Mrs. Curtis. You are to be very polite to her, and kiss her—"
"Kiss a lady!"