I stopped a bit by the bedroom door to git up my courage, and then I
walked into the room.
Marthy had her eyes open, and they looked up at me with a smile in them,
and then looked down again at the bunch on her arm under the quilt.
“Come and see her,” she says, feeble but proud. “Come and see your
daughter, Edith L.”
She slid down the covers so I could see her, and I looked at that kid
with a sick grin.
“Ain't she lovely?” she says.
“Sure!” I says, lying bravely.
“Don't talk,” says Mrs. Murphy, speakin' to Marthy, “or the session is
ended.”
“Just one word,” I says. “Marthy, are you satisfied with her--with the
kid?”
“She's perfect!” she says, “perfect and lovely.”
“All right,” I says, “then I don't mind.”
Marthy smiled, sort of weak.
“You will joke,” she says.
“Joke!” says Mrs. Murphy, indignant; “insult, I call it. Did you ever
see a finer baby?”