“His wife was ... hurriedly undressing
the child.”
“Now you come, too, Dad.”
“Evelyn! What does this mean?”
She had risen hastily when little Oscar called out to his father. Her eyes were red with tears, and her hands shook with nervousness.
“I thought it would be all done, all over, before you came,” she murmured. “But he would not come with me unless I took off his clothes. I tried to take him in my arms, but he broke away.”
The man shuddered as he gradually comprehended what it meant. Little Oscar ran back to his mother and put his face close to hers.
“Mamma is sick,” he said gently. “You must take her home and put her to bed and have Dora sing to her.”
His lithe little body danced up and down. The hot wind waved his black curls around his neck. His mother pushed him away.
“Take him,” she groaned. “It kills me to look at him.”
Simmons gathered up the child’s clothes and began to put them on the dancing figure.