“Run, Loney,” said the distracted Dora, “run and get the doctor. Papa has gone crazy.”
“Neffer mind, Loney. I’m all right now. Dere vos a feller here py de name of ‘Cactus,’ and he haf stickers on, and he vanted me to peg dem in.”
“Worse and worse! Run, Loney, for the doctor. Run quick!”
“No, no, Dora. It is all right now. I vos nervous, dot’s all. Vere is de Bennie?”
“Waiting at Lyons’ for you. He insists that you shall come there and have supper with him.”
“All right, Dora, I vill go. I need a little air, und I vill drink von or a couple of glasses of beer. Keep de shop. Good-bye. I vill soon come back. Good-bye, childrens.”
Saying this, the nerve-shaken shoemaker put on his hat, and left his apron, and went up the steps to the street.
Dora was so happy that it seemed as though she could not contain her joy. To her simple heart, marriage and motherhood were the sum and substance of a woman’s earthly joy. No longings after a “career” troubled her heart. She had her dear father, her little Loney, and, above all, her Bennie. Was ever a girl so blessed before? Could human heart ask more? Her cup was full to overflowing. Dora seized Loney and began to dance about the dark, little shop.
“Oh, Loney! what a happy world this is, after all! This is only an old cellar, but I am just as happy as if it were a palace of gold.”
“I knew the happy days would come to the cellar,” said Loney, with a vague, far-away look in his blue eyes, “because I have prayed and prayed, because you and your father were so good to me.”