“Oh ... can’t be helped.—God, I did want him to see the Walling! Won’t be any funeral. Body goes straight to Sweden.... He’s left Gurdy and Margot some money.... Awful kindhearted.... Lot of old down and out actors’d come here. Gave ’em money. Awful kind to me.... No reason.” His husky speech made a chant for his old friend. Olive’s eyes filled. He was childish in his woe, charming. She wished that he’d weep so she could fondle the red hair on her shoulder. This would hurt his pleasure in the new theatre and the splendid play. The butler came in after the heavy, descending motion of men on the stairs was over and the dull wheels had rolled off from the curb. He brought a small, gold capped bottle and two glasses on his tray.
“Doctor Lundquist said to bring this up, sir.”
The champagne whispered delicately in the glasses and washed down the muffling, dry taste from Mark’s tongue. He smiled at Olive and said, “Dunno what I’d have done without you bein’ here.” What a brave woman! Her daughter had died swiftly of pneumonia before Olive could reach her. Her son had been blown to pieces.
“I’m glad Gurdy didn’t get here,” she said, “He’s seen quite enough of death and he was fond of Mr. Carlson.”
“Of course. Fonder than Margot was. Bein’ a man, though, he never showed it so much.”
Olive hoped that Margot would never tell him how she disliked the old man’s coarseness, his manifold derisions. She said, “But go to bed, Mark. You really should. These things strain one.”
“Awful. They packed me off to Aunt Edith’s when mamma died. First time I ever saw any one I liked.... Frohman was drowned. Clyde Fitch died in France. Good night, Olive.”
He wished she would kiss him again and watched her pass up to her rooms. Then he went to bed, without thinking, and slept. He slept soundly and woke slowly into warm, luxurious sun that mottled the blue quilt. He said, “Hello, brother,” to Gurdy who leaned on the dresser between the windows, solemn and grieved in a dark suit, his pale hair ruffled and gay with light. Gurdy must be cheered up. “Well, you missed it. He didn’t have a pain. When did you get here?”
“A while ago. I—dad’s here.”
“Eddie? Well, that’s good of him.”