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A BUXCH OF FLOWERS
31
ALWAYS HE APOLOGIZED FOR HIS I, ATE HOURS
dropped on a low stool beside the charring embers, resting her chin in her palm.
"Always, always the same excuse. I wonder if he never thinks that I want to be loved, or that Jackie needs to be ? How different he seemed when I married him — just like a king!" she mused, "and now, with his external reaching for success and popularity, how small, how small ! Why, love is the biggest thing, the most priceless thing in the world" — rising and moving to the window — "and I gave every shred I had to him, and yet he doesn't even remember this is our wedding-day ! But I am going to stick to him for Jackie's sake — and for his own, too — for, somehow, I am always so conscious of the eternal boy in him — the selfish boy that has never grown to the full stature of responsible manhood. The splendid man is there somewhere, somewhere, and it's for me, now that Jackie is here, to help Harry find himself.
"It may be that I'll have to do what I've often thought of doing — go away with Jackie for awhile, and see if being alone wont bring him face to face with himself."
Late in the afternoon, as Eleanor and Jackie sat before the nursery fire making wonderful "patty-cakes" between the boy's rosy palms, Colton hurried in, dressed for the evening.
"Jackie's Daddy come make cakes, too." And Jackie lifted adorable arms toward his father.
"Cant do it, my son — father's in a hurry. Say, Eleanor," as his wife rose and turned toward him, "I'm awfully sorry I couldn't make it this afternoon, but that Lord & Blackburn case held me tight, and I've only now had time to rush home and get into my clothes for the 'smoker' at the Valley Club. So I'm off," starting toward the door.
"But, Harry!" exclaimed Eleanor, turning questioning eyes full upon him — eyes in which something seemed to be struggling for its life — "are these things so all-important ? Are we never again to have an hour together?" And her voice broke in a stifled sob.
"And look at your boy," she cried, as Jackie rolled from his stool and ran on his sturdy legs to her, piping in high, infant treble : ' ' Muzzer cry ! Muzzer cry ! ' ' and buried his face, sobbing, in the folds of her gown.
"Look at your boy," she repeated, lifting the child. "You hardly know him. You haven 't spent a whole hour with him in all his life. You never even remembered that last Thursday
CELEBRATING THE FIFTH ANNIVERSARY
— ALONE