"Very well. Just remember that you've saved her life, and you'll have no trouble."
Light-Hearted
When Roger went up the street, he was whistling, from sheer light-heartedness. Eloise had made so many plans for his future that he saw fame and fortune already within his reach.
When he knocked, never having been allowed the freedom of a latch key, he noted that all the blinds in the house were closed and wondered whether his mother had gone to sleep again. After a suitable interval, she opened the door, clad in her best black silk, and portentously solemn.
"Why, Mother, what's the matter?"
"Come in," she whispered. "Doctor Conrad has just been tellin' me how near I come to death. Oh, my son," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, "you have saved my life."
Two Greetings
It seemed to Roger like a paragraph torn from The Metropolitan Weekly, but he patted her back soothingly as she clung to him. Maternal outbursts of this sort were extremely rare. He remembered only one other greeting like this—the day he had been swimming in the river with three other small boys and had been brought home in a blanket, half drowned.
"I suppose I shouldn't regret takin' dog-pizen, if it cured my back and give me the sleep I needed, but it was a dreadful narrow escape. And your takin' the medicine away from me and feedin' it to Fido was certainly clever, Roger. Every day you remind me more and more of your pa."
"Thank you," answered Roger. He was struggling with various emotions and found speech almost impossible.