“No.”
The physician passed on into the adjoining room, where the nurse sat watching a new-born baby in its brand new cradle.
Odell continued down the stairs, and seated himself in the dim sitting room....
Everything was coming at once—drouth, wind, bull-calves, girl babies—and Death.... All were coming at once.... But no sons had ever come. None would ever come now. So—wages must go on.... A woman to mind the baby.... And somebody to keep house for him.... Expense piling on expense. And no outlook—no longer any chance to break even.... Where was he to get more money? He could not carry the farm on his own shoulders all alone. The more work planned, the more men needed; and the more it all cost. Increased acreage, redoubled production, got him no further. Always it was, at best, merely an even break—every loss offsetting every gain....
One of the cats came in with a barn rat hanging from her mouth, looked furtively at Odell, then slunk out, tail twitching.
The man dropped his elbows on the centre table and took his unshaven face between both scarred fists....
The room had grown as still as death now. Which was fitting and proper.
After a long while Dr. Wand descended the stairs. Odell stood up in the semi-dusk of the sitting room.
“She didn’t ask for you again,” said the doctor.
“Is—is she—gone?”