Floyd pushed the boy away. He was making a spy of his innocent child. Why didn’t Julie tell him?
“Did Mamma meet Uncle Martin in the Park every day?”
“No, not every day; she’d stay away sometimes because Uncle Martin scolded her and she’d cry. He loved me and petted me and said he was going to steal me away.”
“But you wouldn’t leave me, would you, Joseph?”
The boy meditated, and then told the truth.
“Perhaps I would, Papa, if Mamma came along; but I don’t think she’d come because Uncle Martin scolded her too much. I was mad at him and said ‘Uncle Martin, you’ll have to beg Mother’s pardon; I always do when I’m bad.’ Then Uncle Martin laughed and gave me such a long kiss and said, ‘There, take that to Mamma and it will be all right.’”
Floyd sat motionless with the boy in his arms. The little fellow’s eyes drooped, he slid down, pillowed his head on the big fur animal; those glassy eyes brought Floyd back to Mrs. Gonzola—why did she always watch Julie? He had never asked any questions about the unexpected call on the telephone. He had been deliriously happy; there was no room in his thoughts for the past.
He bent over the child, noting the beautiful powerful body; neither he nor Julie had great physical strength. The boy would be a giant. Why did Mrs. Gonzola press such a quick marriage? Why did she keep him away so much during their short engagement? Why did she want Julie to get “used” to the idea? As a child Julie liked Martin better; they’d disappear and he’d wander about looking for them, then go home disappointed. In his mad desire to get her, he had really done Martin an injustice; he should have waited. He didn’t do the square thing, because—he knew Martin would have won out! He bent lower over the boy—trying to find some clue in that innocent face! The blood rushed to his head—he must have it out with Martin—he couldn’t go on with evil suspicions of his wife, his friend. Martin was no liar! He always told the brutal truth, even if it were against himself.
The night brought sanity, consolation. Julie was foolish, but not criminal. Her religion wouldn’t let her do anything wrong. She went to Confession the day before her marriage; then he wondered—what did she really believe? She was by creed a Catholic, but she taught her boy his prayers in Hebrew.
He went early to the club and waited for Martin, who was late as usual. He looked at his watch, and idly took up the morning paper.