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 Dot earnestly doubted it. It probably meant Maude and Ted. She would be having a wonderful time at an expensive seaside resort despite any irregularities of conduct. When it was Maude, the gods laughed and accepted her sins as youthful pranks. Dot felt a little bitter. It was very hot on Post Avenue, and the gods didn't seem to care a hoot that Dot was perpetuating the race in a perfectly respectable way. Maude was probably wearing snowy-white sport clothes and soft, perfumed dance frocks. She was bathing, riding in wheel chairs, dancing, and in every way enjoying the summer.

She had dropped Dot a card and had sent the baby a gift; so apparently she bore Dot no ill will even though Dot had seen fit to do as she pleased in the little matter of her pregnancy. Dot was still a trifle angry at Maude. She had longed to return the carriage robe, but an insane lust to own many things for her baby had defeated her longing.

The night of July Fourth came down upon New York with a dark, throbbing heat. There was nothing of new interest being reported from Madison Square Garden. Dot and Eddie sat drinking cream soda, each gloomily thinking his own gloomy thoughts.

Dot got to her feet ponderously. "Eddie," she said, "I got to go up on the roof for a while. I'm getting crazy from just looking at this room."

Eddie turned off the radio. "I'll go with you," he said.

They ascended the one short flight of stairs to the roof in silence. Dot walked in front. Gee, from the back you'd never know she was pregnant! She wore a short dotted-swiss dress without sleeves and without belt or sash. It had only taken an hour to make and had cost but forty-nine cents. Her hair still held its noble, aloof wave which could be touched neither by pain nor by adversity, but it was ragged on her neck and far too long to fill any of the

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 accepted offices of the bob. Eddie looked at her ankles. They were slim and girlish. Perfectly normal. Some women acquired swollen ankles during pregnancy, Eddie knew. He remembered Dr. Stewart's concern lest her hands and feet swell. Oh, she was probably all right. He was just full of imagination.

The roof was dark and deserted. There were no stars, and a cloud, glumly silver, betrayed the moon's hiding-place. There was going to be rain in a few hours, and the air, heavy and sulky, resented the approaching storm.

Dot walked to the edge of the roof and peered over the low wall. The street lay alone suffering the heat. No one was strolling tonight toward the movies or the pool room. This was a holiday. People were at the beaches or at lavishly decorated dances. The older folks were probably listening to the Convention or permitting the threat of rain to keep them to their living-rooms.

The voice of Senator Walsh reached Dot and Eddie from a dozen loud speakers. Everybody in Inwood who owned a radio set listened to the Convention.

Some one didn't have a radio set. A girl with a frail, thrilling voice who had the apartment right under the front part of the roof was playing a piano and singing the wistful, haunting melody that had struck New York so short a time before.

A sudden chill hit Dot. Far away. Somebody was wondering what they would do when they were left alone. Far away. What did that mean? California? Hawaiian Territory? Perhaps farther. Perhaps a place from which there was no return.

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The voice of the singer was not a good voice, but there was a faint tragic sweetness tinting it that hurt Dot. It tore. It cut. Perhaps she was going far away and was going to leave Eddie wondering what to do.

She crept closer to him over the dead, black roof. His face was a blur of white in the darkness. She touched him, and his arms went around her with a gentle firmness that seemed for the moment as though they could keep her safe from Death itself.

They stood so for an age, it seemed. They were alone in the world, he and she standing alone in the hot, black dampness. There was a lump in Dot's throat. She wanted to cry, wanted to shriek that it wasn't fair. Why were you tortured with fear and grief when you were doing what, according to religion and science, was the right thing? Why was your body ill, your mind troubled, when you were saving and stinting just to bring another little life into the world? Oh, it wasn't fair. She hugged Eddie tightly. Perhaps very soon now his arms would be empty.

Over Interstate Park, a skyrocket cut through the fog and exploded, a torrent of hot red and dazzling green. The colors were dimmed slightly by the mist but you could guess that they were bright and very gay. To Dot, the thought of pleasure-seekers and excursionists at the Park did not occur. The skyrocket was just a mockingly cheerful salute from a world that was about to crumble and fall into the unknown.

"Oh, Eddie, I'm so blue."

He kissed her mouth gravely and held her close. He did

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 not question. He was Eddie, her husband. Solid, strong, and so very dear to her.

The black hush deepened. The piano was quiet. The Democratic Convention had lost its followers. They had gone to bed. No further signal came from Interstate Park. The world was empty. There were only Eddie and Dot, forgotten and solitary, left alone on top of a deserted building.

"Eddie, I love you so."

He kissed her again. "How do you feel, Kid?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm all right. Why? Why did you ask?"

"I just wanted to know."

A little wind came up. Dot's hair blew in his eyes as he bent above her. The fragrance of her powder rose from her warm, white neck. He turned away from her, lost in thoughts of the night he had first kissed her. She had been so gay, so fresh. Now, she was troubled, burdened, and about to face a crisis. He had done it. He had brought this on her.

"Eddie, I got to go see Simons again tomorrow."

"Yes, I know, Kid."

"I wouldn't go if it wasn't for Dr. Stewart. He'd probably be sore if I didn't, huh?"

"Yes, I guess he would. You'll have to go."

"Eddie, when are you going to get your suit?"

"Maybe tomorrow night if you feel well enough to be left alone. I don't want to drag you down there with me."

"What kind you gonna get?"

"Blue serge, I guess. It always looks nice."

"Yes, that's right."

They left the roof then, but Dot knew that the roof

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 and what it brought to mind would never leave her. It would linger forever embalmed in all its terrifying serenity.

Reluctantly, the next day she started again for the office of Dr. Simons. Eddie had thought it best to accompany her again. For though she now knew exactly where the office was, he thought it advisable for her to have a companion on such a long trip.

Dot hated the people in the subway who looked at her. She was conscious of the shabbiness of her cape, which was of cheap material and had not stood the gaff. She was quite unable to feel glorified by her approaching motherhood, for across the way from her sat a woman with a tiny infant in her arms, and the woman wore a frock that had never been purchased for less than thirty dollars. Dot fell to wondering how the woman could have managed such an expensive dress so shortly after her confinement. The puzzle kept Dot occupied all the way to Columbus Circle.

Dr. Simons had not yet returned from his calls when they arrived at the office. Miss Henderson assured Dot that he was due any minute. There were other patients in the reception room today—a white-faced girl with a bad cough, a small, natty man with no obvious disorder, and a woman who was going to have a baby around October.

Dot sighed and took a seat. This probably meant that the trip to Inwood would be made during the subway's rush hour. She discarded her hat and cape and picked up a magazine. It was the Atlantic Monthly. She didn't remember ever having seen a copy of the Atlantic Monthly before. It looked like a very nice magazine, but Judge had funny pictures. Eddie found Judge for her, and she settled down to wait.

Presently the main door of the hall slammed loudly.

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 There was the sound of quick, important steps and the doctor's voice rapidly putting questions to the nurse. There followed a delay in which the patients in the reception room heard Dr. Simons holding forth to Miss Henderson on the delivery he had just accomplished uptown somewhere. Miss Henderson's voice was not in evidence now, but you knew she was looking surprised, sympathetic, and admiring at proper intervals.

The doctor rushed impressively through the reception room and into his office. He did not look at any of the people who were awaiting him, but you felt that this was just a little game he played and that really he had noted the number and identities of the patients.

Miss Henderson gave him time to rest for ten minutes or so; then she nodded brightly to the natty, little man. "You may go in, Mr. Clifford."

Mr. Clifford went in jauntily. Mr. Clifford came out properly squelched. The two women were attended to with neatness and dispatch. Dot's turn was next, but it appeared, from the hesitation on Miss Henderson's part, that she was a delicate subject with the doctor and could not be broached without preparation. Miss Henderson went in the office. When she came out she smiled at Dot but gave no signal. A few minutes later the signal came from the nurse. It was as though she had been instructed to count up to five hundred and then usher Dot into the presence of his Royal Nervousness.

Dot went in with slow and reluctant steps. Eddie remained in the reception room, pretending to read from one of the humorous weeklies.

Dot smiled at Dr. Simons when he looked at her. He returned her greeting with a somewhat absent cordiality.

"Well, how are you?" he asked.

"I'm feeling fine," she said, trying to keep a ring of defiance out of her voice. "Though I'm kind of worried."

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 Dr. Simons appeared interested. He looked up from a sheaf of papers which he held in his hand and asked, "What are you worried about?"

Dot's defiance fled. She met Dr. Simon's eyes timorously. "You kind 'a' gave me the idea," she said, "that things weren't so awful good with me."

Dr. Simons laughed a little. His laugh would have deceived no one. It was hollow, false. Dissipating fear was evidently no part of his bedside manner.

"You want your own doctor back, eh?" His attempt to jeer pleasantly fell flat. His expression was too anxious, too intent on her answer, for his words to pass as mere persiflage.

"I've had Dr. Stewart for months," Dot said, gravely, "and I feel as though I had had him for years. I'd let him cut my head off, and I wouldn't doubt but what he could get it back on again."

"That's very flattering trust," said Dr. Simons.

Dot felt a little sorry for him now. Perhaps her dis= closure of how she felt toward Dr. Stewart had been unkind, and certainly unnecessary.

She laughed uncomfortably. "I'm used to him," she said. "That's it, I suppose. Have you heard from him lately?"

"Yes," said Dr. Simons. "I had a wire from him this morning."

Miss Henderson came and urged Dot into the other room, where she helped her prepare for the examination. Dr. Simons was, on this occasion, content with the most perfunctory of investigations.

"Well," he said, as Dot returned to the office, "I guess you'll have your doctor with you in three or four days."

"Oh, did he say so in the wire you got?"

Dr. Simons shook his head. "I'm going to send for him

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 at once," he said. "He asked to be called if you showed any signs of action. I don't feel justified in handling your delivery in the face of his request."

"Oh," said Dot, "that's fine."

She left Dr. Simons, with his dubious smile, standing in the middle of his office looking after her. The nurse was humming a melody from the new Elizabeth Hines show.

Dot said nothing to Eddie until they were on the car; then she told him that Dr. Stewart was coming right back. In her voice was the peace and joy Robert Browning must have visioned when he wrote his famous poem of the world's tranquillity.

"Gee, that's great," said Eddie.

"Ain't it? Everything will be all right now. That Simons guy put a jinx on me. He made me feel rotten."

Eddie looked at her carefully. "How do you feel now?"

"All right. Tired, though. Gee, I'm glad Dr. Stewart is coming back."

She looked glad. For the first time in weeks there was a vividness about her, an air of having to face a job that would be unpleasant but inconsequential.

Eddie's spirits rose with each station that they passed on the Broadway express. At Dyckman Street, he bought half a banana cream pie in Hanscom's bakery, and Dot forgot her diet long enough to eat a slice of it.

She was cheerful, smiling, and brave through the following days. When Dr. Stewart's letter postmarked New York arrived, she felt almost as though the worst part of the confinement were over. The letter said that he was coming to see her on the following day.

Eddie had gone back to work. She had hated to part with him, but there was some consolation to be found in returning to a normal routine. She cleaned busily so that

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 the house should be bright and shining when Dr. Stewart came. She expected him around one o'clock, but it was after three when he arrived.

He didn't tell her that he had been talking to Dr. Simons. If he had, he probably would have kept Dr. Simons' greeting to himself: "My God, Stewart, I'm glad you're back. That Collins woman! I don't want to deliver her. If her baby's over two pounds it'll be a battle. God, Stewart, I'm glad to see you."

Dr. Stewart had scoffed at his colleague's excitement, had laid him a little bet, had advised him quite seriously not to worry so much over the people he saw and to have some confidence in himself. Dr. Simons reminded his friend very much of an exposed nerve. Everything that came within his range of feeling hurt him, made him throb with pain and anxiety.

"Don't worry over Mrs. Collins," Dr. Stewart had laughed.

"I shan't," Dr. Simons returned, "now that you're here; but if you hadn't come, I'd have probably been buried the same day they bury her."

On the whole, Dr. Stewart didn't consider it prudent to repeat this conversation to Dot.

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came every day. It was a wearisome, tiring wait. Dr. Simons had indeed anticipated trouble, for there was not the slightest sign of climax.

The hot spell held out with admirable strength. The little apartment, so close to the roof, discharged tiny points of heat. Eddie spoke of an electric fan, but Dot discouraged him. Though he could get a fan very cheap there was still the electric bill to consider.

These last days were raw torture—the heat, the tedium of waiting passively for something to happen, her body huge, uncomfortable, heavy.

She spent most of her time now on the bed. The sheet would grow burning hot beneath her. She would leave it and go to lie for a while in cool water. She would powder herself from head to foot with Mavis talcum and try the bed again.

Eddie brought in the dinner things, salads, usually, or sandwiches. Dr. Stewart had permitted Dot to forsake her diet. It was too late now for the baby to be influenced to any extent. She ate ravenously. Everything carried an aura of rarity about it. The tomatoes were lusciously scarlet; the crinkling, green leaves of lettuce seemed strange fairy fruit, perfect, desirable.

The evenings brought ice cream and Nabiscos. Dot allowed the ice cream to dissolve on her tongue. She counted the Nabiscos. A shortage made her glad that Eddie didn't like them. They went no more to the movies, nor did they walk in the evenings. There was nothing to do but wait. The ice cream made an exciting interlude, something to look forward to.

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 It was the end of July now. The baby was to have come in the middle of the month. A miscount. Well, how could a woman tell? What unfairness, not even to know positively when your baby was due. Mother Nature, indeed! A woman surely wouldn't have arranged things so. Nature was a man, a rather unpleasant old man who spat tobacco juice out of the corner of his mouth and said in a wheezy voice, "A little pain and worriment never hurt no woman."

No, there was nothing to do but wait. The money was all ready for distribution between the doctor and the sanitarium. It was lying in the Post Office waiting to be moved to the banks of Dr. Stewart and the sanitarium proprietor. It had been difficult to save so much, but it was well worth it. Dr. Stewart who came all the way from Long Island, who trudged up all those stairs, who gave his best efforts to her, was surely entitled to be paid in cash and not in small portions.

Eddie had his suit. It was blue serge and looked very nice on him. He hadn't worn it yet. He had tried it on for her, and it fitted so beautifully that she agreed with him that it was well worth walking up one flight to get a suit like that for twenty-four dollars and fifty cents. Surely none of the men who came to see their wives at the hospital would look any nicer than Eddie.

"Eddie"—Dot was lying on the bed holding Eddie's hand as he sat in a chair beside her—"there's a 'bus that runs about a quarter of a block from the sanitarium. It takes you to a Hundred and Eighty-first Street. Right to the subway entrance. You can get the subway there, and of course that takes you to Dyckman Street, and you know what a short walk it is to here from there. I want you to bring me home from the sanitarium like that. I'll be strong enough to stand it. Don't get a taxi. It'll cost too much. I'm telling you now because I don't know how soon I'll go."

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 Eddie squeezed her hand. "Got the saving habit, haven't you, Dot?" he asked.

"No kidding. I mean it."

"I'll walk you all the way home. How will that be?"

"I mean it, Eddie. I want to come home that way."

"How about the kid? Gonna stick him in a subway on a hot day?"

"Oh, he won't mind. He'll be asleep."

"Tell the truth, Dot, you forgot about the kid."

She hadn't. She had imagined him sleeping gamely through the uncomfortable ride which was the best his parents could afford. She had pictured him soft and pink in her arms, drawing astonished glances from the other passengers.

"You didn't forget about him," she challenged.

Eddie looked at her in amazement. Was she jealous that he had thought of the baby's discomfort and had treated hers lightly? Jealous of the baby? Good God! Well, this was no time to vex her.

"I can never forget about him," he said. "Never for a minute. How in hell can I?"

She sighed. If only Eddie wouldn't treat the baby like a dread something coming at them with slow certainty.

A dazzling bright shaft of moonlight fell across the shirtwaist box. Dot stared at it silently, admiring it. How pretty it was. Things like this could make her forget for the moment how great a trial this waiting was.

Edna came back from Asbury Park. Floyd had not been getting the proper food at their hotel. Soon afterward Sue and Pat returned from the beach. Pat had wearied of commuting from Far Rockaway to Washington Heights. Sue thought it very unkind of him and said so at every opportunity.

The Macys were amazed to find Dot still carrying her child. Their pleasant jeers at her delay angered her. She

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 longed to throw them out of the apartment. They could joke about it. What did they know of the suspense, the worry, the discomfort, all borne through blinding hot days and nights of close, stifling darkness?

Eddie was no ally. He did not seem particularly anxious to have it over with. Probably because he didn't want the baby. Edna, who had been delivered of Floyd in the dead of winter, couldn't be expected to know what the summer meant to a woman whose body was hot and heavy. Only Dr. Stewart seemed to understand the torment of waiting.

"The baby is all ready to be born," he said. "It's just a stubborn little donkey sitting there waiting."

"Can you see him, Doctor?"

"No, but I can feel him."

"Is it a him, positively?"

Dr. Stewart laughed. He had nice teeth and a pleasant laugh. "The heartbeats suggest as much. But frankly, Mrs. Collins, they can't always be depended upon."

Well, maybe it was a silly question, but who wouldn't ask silly questions after days of waiting and the heat, the heat, the heat!

"I guess we'll have to do something about his stubbornness," said Dr. Stewart, thoughtfully.

"Do something?" echoed Dot.

"Yes, we're tired of waiting for him. We'll hurry him up a bit."

Dot grew alarmed. Something had gone wrong. The baby wasn't going to come in the natural way. She had heard of the dread Caesarean operation from Sue, but she had not the vaguest idea of its use. Was it going to happen to her?

She got a grip on herself and tried to speak as unconcernedly as Miss Henderson might speak if she were standing near the vanity table re-packing Dr. Stewart's bag.

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 "Something wrong, Doctor?"

"Oh, no. Everything is quite right, but you're tired of waiting, and so am I. We'll give you a thumping big dose of castor oil and see if that doesn't hasten action."

Dot smiled. Not a Caesarean operation, but castor oil. Maude McLaughlin would have said, "Exactly. Five million petty, sordid trials make up this period known as ten lunar months." But Maude was not there, and Dot saw the castor oil as a homely old friend who had arrived just in time to prevent disaster.

Dr. Stewart prescribed two ounces of castor oil to be taken at a single dose. Elixir of lacto pepsin mixed with it would make it more pleasant, he said. Dot meekly agreed to follow directions. The possible result would indeed be worth the effort.

She waited until Sunday to take it. Eddie would be home then, and in case success was in store for her she wanted him near.

At nine in the morning she took the cupful of thick, bloodlike fluid. Lacto pepsin was a familiar shade of red, and it created a horrible illusion. At twelve Dot was a trifle sick at her stomach. At two the baby twitched and rolled, fluttered and shivered. At three she got a bad pain. At four the baby was reasonably quiet and the pain had subsided. At five Dot was ravenously hungry, and the castor oil had been a failure.

The nerves of both Eddie and Dot were worn to a frazzle. They bickered and quarreled over nothing.

"I'm hungry," she said.

"Well, I'll go to the delicatessen store and get something. What do you want?"

"Anything."

"That's no answer. What do you feel like eating?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Eddie, can't you pick something out? I don't feel like thinking about it."

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 "Yes, and I'll bring back something you don't like."

"You know I like everything."

"The hell you do."

"Must you swear at me?"

"That's not swearing at you. Come on, what do you want?"

"Well, can't you wait a minute? What's the hurry?"

"I thought you were hungry."

"It's enough to take the appetite away from anybody to have you get sore over nothing."

"Who's sore?"

"You are."

"I am not. You're the one that's sore."

"I am not."

But they both looked very peevish, and they walked about the apartment with sulky expressions on their faces and avoided each other's eyes.

Eddie got his hat, and Dot prepared the percolator for coffee. She was wearing a very short red-and-white checkered dress. There was nothing underneath it, and her stockings were rolled down to her ankles. She looked very tired and worn. Eddie's heart gave a throb of pity for the little, solemn face with its babyish pink mouth and its weary, bewildered eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and ask forgiveness for not being more pleasant, but he was clumsy at things like that. She might be going away to give herself up to the inevitable at any moment now, and here he was fighting with her. He stuck his hat on his head with a sudden, abrupt gesture and ran down the stairs.

Dot looked in the ice box. The butter was very low. Did he know it? Would he think to get butter? She walked quickly to the door and opened it. She would call down the stairs and tell him not to forget the butter.

She opened her mouth to call, but his name would not

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 come. She could not call. Too vividly upon her consciousness was blazed the memory of a woman who had called down the stairs and of a girl who had worn a white pleated skirt and had carried a ukulele. What the girl had said of the woman, Dot remembered well. She closed the door. She could spare Eddie that.

He came back from the store. He had remembered the butter. He had brought ham and cheese and pickles and coleslaw and a Ward's cake. They ate in silence. Still silent, they cleared up the few dishes. Eddie tuned in on WEAF, and the silence finally broke up in comments on the program.

Dot bathed and went to bed. Eddie lingered in the living-room tinkering with his set. He was not conscious of his reluctance to undress. The night so fraught with possibilities had made him restless, but he was not aware of it. Twice, after she had gone to sleep, he went quietly in to look at her. She was breathing deeply, and there was an expression on her face that asked a question. The blessed bulge beneath the sheet drew his attention. The baby. Surely three weeks from now he would be lying in his bassinet, crying perhaps, but still the baby he had dreamed of, despaired of, and longed for. Why didn't she want it? His own face wore a question as he looked at Dot's closed eyes. Why didn't she want it? Why did she speak so lightly of that little life that breathed and fed inside her? How could it live there and not win her love? She had sewed for the baby, had sewed tirelessly; but as she said herself, the baby couldn't go naked. She didn't want the baby. That much was evident in every word that she spoke on the subject. Well, he could love it secretly. No use in making her unhappy by going into ecstasies of delight over something that she didn't feel that way about.

He went back to the living-room and picked up a book he had borrowed from the boss. A book on radio. He lit a

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 cigarette and began to read. Dot stirred in her sleep, and he ran to her side; but she had not awakened, and her questioning expression had given way to one of peace—as though the question had been answered.

It was after one o'clock when Eddie's subconscious mind remarked that there was no use waiting around, as nothing was going to happen.

Eddie took himself off to bed. He tried not to disturb Dot, but as he settled himself under the sheet, she moved and said, "Four dozen diapers." He held his breath, and she went back to sleep.

Dr. Stewart came the next day. It was the thirtieth of July.

"Well," said he, "no luck yesterday, eh?"

"I had a pain," said Dot, "but it went away and didn't come back again."

Dr. Stewart examined her. "Hm," he remarked, "that pain was part baby. Suppose you repeat that dose tomorrow morning."

Dot shuddered, but it never occured to her that one might overlook Dr. Stewart's "suggestions."

She repeated the dose at breakfast time next morning. It proved impossible to retain. By noon she was feeling as she had grown accustomed to feeling—hot, heavy, and uncomfortable, but without sign of climax.

Eddie came home two hours earlier than usual. He expected to find almost anything, the home deserted, Dot writhing in agony with no one near, or perhaps Edna waiting to tell him that Dot was at the sanitarium.

Instead he found Dot sitting by the window drinking a glass of iced coffee.

"Hello, dear," she said. "Anything wrong?"

"No. Can't a fellow come home early without there being something wrong?"

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 She told him about her latest adventure with castor oil. He shook his head and tightened his lips disgustedly.

"Guess that kid's gonna be a Christmas present," he said.

"Anyhow he's lost his chance to be a July baby," Dot remarked.

"Hold your horses," Eddie said. "The day ain't over yet."

But Dot was right. The baby didn't take advantage of his last opportunity to be born in July.

August first, Dr. Stewart came into the little top-floor apartment looking like a man who has an ace in the hole and a bad poker face.

"We'll fool Mr. Baby this time," he said.

Dot watched interestedly as he unpacked his bag with unusual velocity. He drew out adhesive tape, a length of tubular rubber, a lubricant. He went swiftly to work.

"We'll fool Mr. Baby this time," he said again.

After he had gone, Dot sat for a long time in the yellow chair and waited for the baby to be born. Absurd, of course. If Dr. Stewart had expected immediate results he would have remained. Still, Dot sat very quiet and waited. Besides, it was nicer to stay quiet. What Dr. Stewart had done was probably the correct thing to do under the circumstances, but it certainly didn't add anything to her comfort.

The bell rang. Dot stood up and walked toward the door. Even that short walk was labor. Maude McLaughlin stood outside, Maude cool-looking, smiling, Maude dressed in pale orchid chiffon with a sheaf of roses in her arms, Maude with the perennial dewy eyelids and vermilion lips under a large, drooping hat. But primarily, Maude coming out of curiosity to see how things were going with Dot.

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 "Oh, come in," said Dot.

Maude came in. She took in the little apartment at a glance. "Oh, what a charming place you have."

"Yes, we like it," said Dot, sweetly.

She took the roses which Maude extended to her, and thanked her. She emptied the artificial cherry blossoms without ceremony into one of the chest's drawers and got water for the roses.

"Well, how are you feeling, Dot?"

"Fine."

"The baby is late in coming, isn't it? And it's so very warm this year."

"Oh, is it unusually warm? I haven't felt the heat at all this summer."

"But it does grow tiresome waiting, I'll bet."

Dot smiled. "No, I've been so busy, I haven't noticed the time at all." She sat down and continued to smile. "When did you get back from Atlantic City?"

"Yesterday. I saw Sue last night. Before I saw her I thought I'd be going to the sanitarium today to see you. What does your doctor think? Are you coming on all right?"

"Oh, fine. I have a very good doctor, you know. I wanted some one who was very good. My friend, Mrs. Driggs, lost her husband just before her baby was born, and she was so weak and ill from shock that she had to have a good doctor to see her through; so she got this Dr. Stewart, and I have him, too."

"That's nice," said Maude.

The muscles of Dot's face were beginning to ache from overwork, but she was afraid to let her face drop into repose. She knew that she looked tired, pained, and a good six years older than her right.

They talked for an hour. Dot prepared some lemonade for Maude. She showed her the other rooms of the apart-

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 information about the program. Some interviewees claimed "verbal" and written NDAs were administered in several instances.

Secondary Narrative

The other narrative is that a cluster of UAP sightings that occurred in close proximity to U.S. nuclear facilities have resulted in the malfunctioning and destruction of nuclear missiles and a test reentry vehicle. AARO interviewed five former USAF members who served in and around U.S. intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) silos at Malmstrom, Ellsworth, Vandenberg, and Minot USAF bases between 1966 and 1977. Some of these individuals claim UAP sightings near the silos, while others claim UAP disruptions to ICBM operations. Specifically, they said the ICBM launch control facilities went offline or experienced total power failure. Additionally, one interviewee and a USAF videographer claimed to have observed and recorded a UAP destroying an ICBM loaded with a "dummy" warhead, mid-flight. AARO is researching U.S. and adversarial activity related to these events, including any U.S. programs that tested defensive ballistic missile capabilities.

Findings

AARO investigated and reached conclusions on the majority of the claims made in these narratives. In most cases, AARO was able to locate the companies, people, and programs that were conveyed to AARO through interviews. AARO will report the results of the unresolved allegations in Volume II. AARO's findings to date are as follows:

No Official UAP Nondisclosure Agreements Discovered

In the conduct of this review, and to meet the direction of Section 1673 of the NDAA for FY 2023, AARO sent guidance and requests to DoD, IC elements, DOE, and DHS to review and provide any NDAs pertaining to UAP (or its previous names). To date, AARO personnel have not discovered or been notified of any NDAs that contain information related to UAP. Also, apart from the standard NDA language contained in Title 18, Section 794 describing the death penalty or jail time for illegally disclosing information relating to the national defense, AARO has not discovered any NDAs containing threats to interviewees for disclosing UAP-specific information. Historically, most if not all NDAs contained standard language stating that the death penalty can be applied for the crime of disclosing classified information. Title 18, Section 794, is referenced in typical NDAs in several places in relation to the transmission of classified information:

"Whoever, with intent or reason to believe that it is to be used to the injury of the United States or to the advantage of a foreign nation, communicates, delivers, or transmits… information relating to the national defense, shall be punished by death or by imprisonment for any term of years or for life…."


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 ment. She displayed the baby's wardrobe. She smiled.

Maude went, feeling that Dot was even dumber than she and Ted had ever dreamed. "A typical peasant," thought Maude. "Too damn simple to feel uncomfortable."

When Maude slammed the big door downstairs, Dot went to her room and with a tiny groan collapsed on the bed. If her baby hurt her, nobody should know about it. Not now when he was still unborn, or not later when he was a man who laughed at her advice. Nobody should ever know when her baby hurt her—least of all Maude. But it wasn't really the baby, it was the scheme to hasten his arrival which hurt. It hurt, and she had had to entertain Maude.

Isn't there anybody up there who looks after the comfort of pregnant women, God? Couldn't somebody give, say, an hour a day to mapping out a few hours of calm for them? They are so at the mercy of chance visitors, of climate, of financial conditions. Couldn't it be arranged, God, please?

Eddie came in carrying dinner. Ham, eggs, potato chips, baked beans, bread, and two cherry tarts. Dot felt too wretched to stand at the stove frying the ham and eggs. The sight of her warm, unhappy face and the dejection with which her eyes were filled, caused Eddie himself to doubt that he wanted dinner. But maybe she would eat something.

He prepared the dinner. He had never heard of parboiling; so the ham proved too salty to be enjoyed by the most ravenous of mortals. The yolk of each and every egg had scattered into a wide, jagged splotch of hot gold. The potato chips were soggy. The beans had scorched. Dot nibbled obligingly at everything. She consumed half a cherry tart and drank a glass of iced coffee.

A sudden flush of heat, not traceable to the temperature of the room, sent her to the sofa away from the

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 meal that had been prepared with so much love and so little skill. She felt that she must die of the heat that had not been content to fire at her from the roof and the windows but had crept inside of her. The blood pounded at her temples, sang in her ears. She laid her hands on her forehead, but they were hot. Hot and damp.

"What's the matter, Dot?"

"Oh, I'm sick. I'm sick. This heat! Oh, it's terrible!"

Eddie leaped from his chair. "Ought I get the doctor?"

"No, I'm all right. I'm just warm. Just awful warm."

Eddie stood looking down at her. He felt stupid, useless. Would she know if it were time to get the doctor? Ought he just send for him and not bother whether it was time or not?

"Eddie, will you crack some ice for my head?"

He rushed to the kitchen and rummaged in the draw'er for the ice pick. Too damn dumb to have thought of that himself. She had had to think of it. Poor kid, lying there sick, and she had to tell him when something was needed.

He returned with the ice wrapped in a towel and laid it on her head. She closed her eyes and lay very quiet and white for more than ten minutes. He thought she was asleep, but when he began to tiptoe away from her she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Eddie, I'm afraid I'm an awful nuisance," she said.

Holy smoke, a nuisance! A strange sensation swept over Eddie. His eyes stung, and it suddenly became very hard to swallow. She had said it in such a small, wistful voice, had said it so honestly, so simply. She had not been fishing for extravagant reassurance. She had meant it. She was afraid she was an awful nuisance. And he, big clumsy fool, couldn't say a God-damned word of comfort. He could only walk quickly to the ice box, slam the butter in, and reply, "Yeh? That's too bad."

Dot didn't bathe at bedtime. She was afraid of disturbing Dr. Stewart's elaborate plan. She leaned weakly

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 against the basin and sponged herself and got into bed.

Eddie read a story to her out of a magazine. But Dot preferred to read to herself. When Eddie read you couldn't tell whether the people in the story were saying things pleasantly or angrily. You could kind of judge for yourself if you were reading it.

Dr. Stewart's visit was made before noon next day. He passed no comment on any discovery he might have made, and Dot was afraid to question. He removed his work of the previous day and smiled at Dot pleasantly.

"Pretty warm today," he remarked.

"Don't speak of it," Dot said. "I'm nearly dead with it."

"Oh, Mrs. Collins, by the way," said Dr. Stewart as he was leaving, "how far does Mr. Collins have to go to get to a phone?"

"There's a drug store on the corner across the street," said Dot.

Dr. Stewart looked worried. "Suppose the store is closed?" he said. "Suppose it's three ?"

Dot smiled comfortingly. "Eddie will wake every family in this house till he finds one that has a phone," she answered.

Dr. Stewart laughed and picked up his bag. "Well, good-by, Mrs. Collins. Don't worry. You'll get there."

Edna missed the doctor by five minutes. She ran up the stairs and rang the bell like a person who is sure she has come too late.

She looked at Dot unbelievingly. "Oh," she laughed a little in her relief, "I had the funniest dream last night."

"What did you dream?" asked Dot.

"Why—I dreamed that—that you weren't pregnant at all; so I had to get here early to reassure myself."

Dot said nothing. She knew that this was not what Edna had dreamed.

Edna stayed all day and signified her intention of re-

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 maining for dinner. She seemed loath to leave Dot alone, and Dot said nothing to discourage her staying. For Edna was not Maude, and it was nice to have company.

"I left Floyd with Mrs. Turner," said Edna. "She'll feed him and let him play with her kids."

Dot looked thoughtfully out the window. "You know," she said, "I'd like to go for a little walk."

Edna was dismayed. "Oh, Dot, in this heat?"

"But, Edna, I haven't looked in any store windows or nothing for ages, and I feel so good in comparison to what I felt yesterday."

They locked the little apartment, and Dot began the arduous descent of the stairs. She still wore her cape, and beneath it a black crêpe dress which Edna had given her. She felt happy at being out in the street again, although the pavements steamed and the sun shone with cruel persistence.

They walked the half block to Dyckman Street. "Let's walk straight up to Broadway, then around Two Hundred and Seventh, and then back home," Dot suggested.

"You don't want to overdo it," said Edna.

Dot had her walk. She shopped for dinner things and telephoned Eddie not to make his usual purchases at the grocer's.

"What are you doing out?" he asked.

"Edna's with me. I feel fine."

Edna elected to prepare dinner. There were lamb chops, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, lettuce and tomato salad, jelly roll, and iced tea.

Dot ate a meal that would have satisfied two men. Edna had taken pains to have everything look dainty and appetizing. Eddie ate a meal that satisfied one man very thoroughly, and he thanked Edna for her trouble by not saying anything unpleasant to her.

Edna and Eddie cleared up the dishes. Dot sat on the

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 sofa reading the newspaper and looking happier than she had in days.

It was a little before seven that Sue and Pat ran in for their well-known few minutes' stay.

"We just dropped in," said Sue, laughing heartily at her own humor, "to see if you and Eddie wanted to go to Poppyland with us tonight."

"No, we can't go," said Dot. "But you folks run along before the crowd gets in."

Pat and Sue sat down. It seemed that that was only one of the jokes they had in mind to spring on Dot apropos of her condition.

It was after nine o'clock when Edna arose purposefully from her chair. "Dot's got to go to bed," she said. "Come on, Macys, let the child get her sleep."

Edna got her hat and stood near Sue, waiting for her. Sue had no choice in the matter. She grabbed Pat's arm and said, "Come on."

The three visitors went to the door. "I'll be up in the morning," said Edna. "Good night, dear."

She kissed Dot and circumvented Sue's usual lengthy leave-taking by pulling at her sash. It was one of those sashes that couldn't bear pulling, and Edna knew that Sue would take this into consideration.

They all went down the stairs. Eddie and Dot watched them from the window as they left the building. They rounded the left corner of the house and disappeared from sight.

Dot took herself away from the window, and as she did so, she uttered a little scream, not of pain but of excitement.

"Eddie, Eddie, it's starting!"

He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

"I'll phone," he said. But she didn't hear him, he was already down one flight of stairs.

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lay on her bed waiting for Eddie to return from the drug store. Why was it taking him so long? Surely the telephone booths all being in use would not have detained him. He would have no compunctions about jumping on somebody and hustling him out of the booth. Perhaps Dr. Stewart's line had been busy. Perhaps Eddie had forgotten the number he had so painfully memorized and had had to stop to search for it. Perhaps by some devilish chance Dr. Stewart's line had been out of order, and Eddie was trying to find a person close enough to the doctor's house to carry a message. Perhaps. . . Dot looked at the Big Ben on the chair beside her. Eddie had been gone less than three minutes.

Well, now it had started. Soon it would be over. She would have her baby. She did not think of death now. She was too excited. She did not even think of the pain ahead of her. She thought of Edna's amazement wdien the bell should receive no answer in the morning. She thought of Eddie's frightened face. She would try to reassure him, try to make him understand that she felt fine and very gay. It was a little like having taken too much to drink. Only that way could this wild, careless sense of excitement be equaled, and then just artificially.

There was no pain yet. No pain yet. But the baby was coming. The membrane had ruptured.

Eddie came back from the drug store. He was very pale, and his sandy hair stood up straight on his head.

"He says he'll be right up," Eddie gasped. "But, God, all the way from Long Island! How do you feel, Kid?"

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 Dot laughed into his terrified face. She felt lightheaded, giddy. "I feel fine," she said.

Eddie moved aimlessly about the room. All the way from Long Island, and nothing to do but wait. If only he had caught Edna—but, hell, what did he want Edna for? He needed Dr. Stewart, that's who he needed.

Presently Dot began to sing. Eddie looked at her in astonishment. Delirious? The expression on her face comforted him. She was smiling at him bravely.

"I expect you think I'm crazy, Eddie."

He shook his head, but he looked at her perplexedly. She couldn't explain why she sang. Not wholly. Partly a desire to hearten him. Partly the excitement that demanded an outlet. Partly sheer bravado.

His gaze did not leave her face. She looked so incongruously pretty as she lay there with her ordeal almost upon her. Her cheeks were so glowingly pink, her mouth so red and young. There was a healthy sparkle in her eyes as though it were none of their affair what went on in the rest of Dot's body. Singing in the face of danger, laughing because he looked afraid.

Dot marching to battle with her eyes a-sparkle and a song on her lips.

"Oh, Eddie, do you remember this?

Yes, Eddie remembered it. He remembered the girl who had worn a flame-colored sweater and who had sung in a

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 young and husky voice. He hated her to sing that song right now. It was a ghost come to haunt him, to torture him with questions. Does she still wear gay sweaters? Does she still worry over nothing but the pitch of her ukulele? Is she still happy? Does she—

Eddie went into the bathroom. He had to be alone for a minute. He walked over to the narrow frosted window and threw it open. He looked up at the warm, starsplashed sky. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but there was nothing that could be worded. How could you say something without putting it into words? Eddie slammed the window shut. He looked up at the ceiling and said, "God, don't let her die." It was the best he could do. And it wasn't a real prayer, he told himself, not a real prayer.

Dot was lying just as he had left her.

"Want anything?" he asked.

She shook her head and smiled. No, there was nothing she wanted now. Soon the baby would be here. She did not notice whether he was lively or still. She wondered about the sanitarium. How would she get there and when?

Eddie wandered around looking for a match. He passed three packages of matches without noticing them and finally went to light his cigarette on the gas-stove pilot.

Dot felt a little pain. It was so slight that she would not have noticed it under ordinary circumstances. But now—well, there it was. A little pain. It would gather force and frequency. It would grow harder to bear, still harder, and finally when it could be borne no longer, the baby would rush forth and it would be all over. But now the pain had gone.

The time passed slowly. Dot had another pain. It, too, was slight. She worried for the slightness of it. Was it

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 possible that after all she was not going to have her baby right away?

The bell rang. Dr. Stewart! He had hurried from Long Island to Inwood, breaking traffic rules without thought or care. To Eddie, it seemed the doctor had walked the distance, so endless had the wait been to him. Dot smiled at Dr. Stewart. Her mind was clearer than Eddie's, less worried. She knew how quickly the trip had been made.

Dr. Stewart took off his hat and coat and set his bag on a chair. He examined Dot briefly.

"Pain?"

"A little, very little."

"Got one now?"

"No. Just got rid of one."

Dr. Stewart pulled out his watch and seated himself in the yellow chair beside the bed.

"Tell me when you get another," he said.

Dot smiled and nodded. Eddie looked at Dr. Stewart, trying to learn something from his expression. He had met the doctor once before and had been impressed by his quiet, unexcited manner of going about things.

There was silence in the room for many minutes. Then Dot said, "I have a pain."

"Good," said Dr. Stewart, heartily. "Tell me when it goes away."

He kept his eyes fixed on his watch.

"It's gone," said Dot.

"Tell me when you get another."

An hour passed. Eddie calmed down. The doctor seemed to know his business. Dot had four pains, all of which Dr. Stewart timed.

"I have to get a new radio set," said Dr. Stewart. "Who's making the good ones now, Mr. Collins?"

Eddie looked at him uncertainly. Was he in earnest? Was this a time for shop talk?

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 "Well," he said at length, "there's the five-tube—"

"I have another pain," said Dot.

The doctor held a respectful silence until the pain had winged its inconsequential way out of the scene.

"Yes, I want five tubes," he said. "Which is the best buy?"

At eleven-thirty, Dr. Stewart put his watch away and got to his feet. "Well," he said, "I guess we'll all take a little ride down to the sanitarium."

Dot scrambled off the bed and ran to her closet. Her cape, her hat. There was her bag in the little alley between the vanity table and the wall. Eddie must take that. It was all packed. She was ready now. Dr. Stewart went downstairs ahead of Eddie and Dot. Eddie got his hat and took Dot's hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

Then all of a sudden she wasn't ready any more. A moment ago she had been, but now she was not ready to leave the little apartment where she had dreamed and suffered and worked. It was not easy now to walk, but she went to the little kitchen and looked at it as it lay in the dark with its little gas stove shining blackly, its canisters glimmering in the moonlight and the precious oilcloth which had been shellacked. She shut the swinging door that had so delighted her. It was hard to look at the little kitchen now. It was wholesome and sweet and innocent. It was not fair to burden it with the knowledge that there was pain and suffering in the world.

She stood for one sad, despairing minute in the living-room. There were the curtains she had made, the radio set that had brought her the Democratic Convention. These things knew her, and she had to leave them. She had to go away.

"Ready, Kid?"

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 Eddie came into the living-room and put his arm around her.

"Yes, I'm ready."

They walked down the stairs very slowly. Eddie's arm remained about her shoulders. He helped her into Dr. Stewart's car and took the seat beside her.

The ride began. It was not a silent ride. The mad impulse that had prompted Dot to sing now made her talkative, and Dr. Stewart was ready to keep conversation alive.

"Mrs. Driggs told me about the time you took her to the hospital, Doctor. She said she thought she was going to have a broken skull by the time she got there."

Dr. Stewart laughed. "There was certainly cause for rush that time," he remarked.

Dot had many comments to make on the car, the weather, the sanitarium, her pains, though the pains were still slight.

"How soon do you think the baby will be born?" she asked.

"Tonight when I went home for dinner," replied Dr. Stewart, "I met a friend of mine—a doctor who lives next door to me—who had been sitting with a woman nine hours waiting for the baby. That's the best answer I can give you."

"Oh," said Dot.

As the car passed into the Black Belt she remarked about the colored women who stood outside a store where a bargain sale was in progress.

Eddie looked at her curiously. Was this wonderful courage, or was she so uninterested in the baby that even his arrival didn't excite her? He failed to notice the sly glances she gave him, searching his face for a sign that her detachment was making him brave.

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 At the sanitarium, Dr. Stewart led the way. An aged gray-haired individual with a sad, drooping mustache sat at the switchboard.

"This is Mrs. Collins," said Dr. Stewart. "She has a reservation."

"Oh, yes, we expected her sooner," said the old man. "Her name has been coming up every night for weeks."

Dr. Stewart walked over to Dot. "Go right on upstairs," he said. "The nurse is there."

Dot turned to the stairs and then stopped. This would be different from her bedroom at home. She and Eddie and Dr. Stewart were not going to loll about and exchange pleasantries. She fled back to Eddie and threw her arms around him.

"I guess I won't see you again," she said.

She had meant not till after the ordeal was over, but her words struck a chilling note. Eddie held her tightly and kissed her. Dr. Stewart thoughtfully examined the band on his hat.

Eddie watched Dot climb the stairs, holding tightly to the rail. A nurse had come down to meet her. He saw her disappear with the nurse around the bend on the landing. She was gone now. When he saw her again she would have been delivered of the baby, she would be past her crisis, or she would be—

"There's a little room back there," said the old man, "where you can sit down if you're going to wait."

"Thanks," said Eddie. For the first time he noticed that Dr. Stewart was not with him any more, and he remembered that the doctor had followed Dot. He walked to the little room designated and began his wait downstairs.

Dr. Stewart followed Dot and the nurse into the large room with its four beds. Only two of them were occupied, and the women were soundly sleeping.

"Which bed do you want?" whispered the nurse.

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 "The one near the window or the one near the door?"

"The one near the window," answered Dot.

The nurse took her cape and her hat. Dot recognized her now as the pretty, brown-eyed nurse who had smiled at her the day she had made her reservation. She began to help Dot out of her dress, and Dr. Stewart withdrew. Another nurse appeared with a basin of water and a glass jar holding a green liquid. The two nurses made the bed with rapid quietness. Dot's bag was unpacked. She was helped into a nightgown and kimono.

Dr. Stewart returned. In his hand he held a string of tiny blue beads that would have made a bracelet for Dot.

"This goes around the baby's neck," he explained. "It is clamped on, you see, and not unfastened until you reach home. It is so that the babies have no possible way of getting mixed."

For the first time Dot noticed that seven of the beads were white and that each bore in black print a letter of the name "Collins."

"That's very nice," she said, absently. The pains were beginning to make her thoughtful.

Dr. Stewart disappeared. The nurses loomed whitely out of the darkness. It reminded Dot rather of a moving-picture where a certain character fades out and another appears. Noiselessly they erected a little white screen around her bed. A little brass lamp was switched on. The light fell on the bed and did not spread beyond the screen.

"Will you lie down?" The brown-eyed nurse was Miss Harris. She had a soft, soothing voice.

There were apparently a great many things they had to do to her. They moved about busily, preparing her for the operating table. There was enmity between the two nurses, obvious even to Dot, who was not in a particularly observant mood. Miss Brown was a coarse, heavy-handed girl with a rough voice, whose manner, acquired in a

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 charity ward, grated on Miss Harris. She could not even prepare an enema to satisfy Miss Harris, and Dot lay quietly waiting for them to reach a decision on how much water was necessary.

At last they had finished with her. She lay on the bed waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did.

Miss Harris removed the screen, and Dot asked, "Where's my doctor?"

"He's gone to bed," replied Miss Harris.

"To bed!"

"Yes. He's asleep in a room down the hall. We'll call him when you need him. Shall I turn out your light?"

"Oh, no," said Dot, fearfully.

"Have you any pain?"

"Yes—I have."

"Is it very severe?"

"No, not terribly. It hurts though."

Miss Harris unstrapped her watch and handed it to Dot. "Here," she said, "you can time your pains. I'll put the bell close to you, and you must ring for me when the pains get five minutes apart."

Dot took the watch and thanked her. Miss Harris disappeared, and Dot sighed. It occurred to her that now again there was nothing to do but wait. She lifted herself on one elbow and looked out the window. The house directly behind the sanitarium was occupied by negroes. Festive negroes. There was a party in progress. A piano, a cornet, and drums were making the "St. Louis Blues" very blue indeed. The shades of their windows were drawn. Dot could only see the silhouette of two figures melted into one as a couple, in beautiful rhythm to the music, wiggled by.

A pain caught Dot unawares. The worst pain she had had so far. She fell back on the pillow and waited for it to pass. The "St. Louis Blues" beat and throbbed upon

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 her brain. The music stopped. The pain stopped. A sudden burst of applause made Dot laugh. It was as though an audience were approving her successful effort not to let an eager groan pass her lips.

She looked at the watch. There was probably lots of time before the next seizure. She raised herself again and looked across the yard to the house where the negroes laughed and danced and "took the cash and let the credit go."

The orchestra had been plentifully encouraged. They took up their instruments again. They played "That Red-Haired Gal." It hadn't mattered so much with the blues that the cornet was out of tune. But it sounded terrible now. The flat, tinny notes jangled against the hot, breathless night and irritated Dot.

And there was another pain. Fifteen minutes apart. No excuse to call for Miss Harris, but she would have liked company.

Time passed with a strange, incredible swiftness. The pains grew stronger. It became impossible to lie still. Impossible to sit up. The figures on Miss Harris' watch were white, and the face was black. The figures misbehaved. They congregated in the center of the watch and danced around in wild abandon. She couldn't time her pains nor tell how late it was. She thought she was crying, she wasn't quite certain. A cramp, Mrs. Cudahy had said. A cramp! Had Mrs. Cudahy ever really borne a child? Perhaps Sue was adopted. Pain that made you writhe, made you run your fingers through your hair, made you drip with perspiration, and finally made you ring the bell for Miss Harris.

She came, cool and faithful. "What is it, dear?"

"Oh, I'm in such awful pain," Dot gasped.

Miss Harris pulled Dot's nightgown up and made a brief examination. She captured one of Dot's wildly

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 waving hands and held it till Dot drew it away with a sudden frenzied tug.

"You've been a dear little girl," she said. "You haven't uttered a sound. Now, go on being brave, for it's going to be a long while yet."

Her eyes were soft and sympathetic, but Dot hated her that minute. Couldn't she do anything? Did she have to stand there being so professionally kind?

Miss Harris took herself back into the shadows. Dot heard her talking in a low voice outside the door.

"Oh, hello, Bill. Did they get you up?"

A young man's voice answered her. It was less considerate of the sleeping patients than Miss Harris'. "Yes," it boomed. "The operating-room needed a polishing, so I got woke. What's it gonna be, Miss Harris, boy or girl?"

Miss Harris' whispered laughter came through the darkness to Dot. "I don't think I'll bet with you this time, Bill. You're too lucky."

"Aw, go ahead."

"All right. Three dollars it's a girl."

"Fine. I'll say a boy. And what time will it be born?"

"Another two dollars that it doesn't come before dawn," said Miss Harris.

Dot looked at the sky. The stars and the moon seemed to be permanently fixed. There was not the slightest sign of their rushing away from the rosy streaks of morning. It was two o'clock, perhaps. Maybe only one. Dawn. Dawn. Oh, she couldn't wait. She rolled on her side and sank her teeth into her forearm. This was childbirth.

She rang the bell for Miss Harris. "I can't stand it," she cried. "I can't stand it."

Miss Harris smiled slowly. "You must, Mrs. Collins. You can't stand it, but you must."

"I can't." Dot rolled on her bed. There was not the

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 slightest degree of comfort any way she might turn. The pain had slowly spread to her back. Indeed it was most intense there.

"I'll look at you again," said Miss Harris.

Dot could barely lie still long enough for the glance Miss Harris took.

Miss Harris departed and returned with Miss Brown. Together they examined Dot.

"I think you ought to wake her doctor," said Miss Brown.

"Well," said Miss Harris, "you know she's an awful lot more comfortable here than she'll be if she has to lie an hour on the delivery table."

"She won't lie an hour," said Miss Brown.

"I don't know," said Miss Harris. "The doctors get mad if you wake them too soon."

"They get mad if they haven't time to prepare properly, too," the other nurse reminded her.

In the end Miss Harris went to call Dr. Stewart, and Dot was glad. It seemed important to her that she get to the operating-table. Surely it would be over soon if they would take her to the delivery room.

Miss Brown got her out of bed. She put the bedroom slippers on Dot's feet and fastened a strong arm under her. The descent to the delivery room had to be made between pains. It was impossible to move in the middle of one. On the sixth step, Dot stuck the back of her hand in her mouth and bit till Miss Brown ordered her sharply to stop. She wanted to sit down, but the nurse wouldn't let her.

"You aren't noisy," said Miss Brown, "but you think of lots of other ways to be a nuisance." She was smiling when she said it and meant no harm, but it would have made no difference to Dot had she scowled and sworn.

In the operating-room, Dot's kimono, slippers, and

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 nightgown were taken from her. She was bundled into a shroudlike garment of linen or canvas. Stockings of the same material were drawn over her legs, and she was hoisted to the table.

There was another nurse in the operating-room, a new one presumably, for the Misses Harris and Brown hustled her about ruthlessly.

A small brown-haired girl without a cap on her head abruptly rushed into the room. She was buttoning her uniform. "What is it?" she said to Miss Brown.

"Nothing. What are you doing here? Just a straight delivery. We don't need you."

"Heavens! The old man rang my phone and got me out of bed. I thought you were having two Caesarians and quadruplets up here."

"Might as well stay as long as you're here," remarked Miss Harris.

The girl with the brown hair walked over to Dot and smiled. "How are you?"

"In pain," Dot responded and managed to smile.

"A brave little girl, Miss Lambert," said Miss Harris. "There hasn't been a whimper out of her."

"Now you have something to live up to," Miss Lambert said.

Dr. Stewart came into the operating-room. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and he wore a rubber apron. His face was white and pasty-looking. Perhaps he wasn't well, Dot thought, or maybe it was because he had been awakened in the middle of the night.

With his entrance, the nurses were galvanized into action. Miss Brown ran to the sterilizer with a handful of glittering instruments. Miss Harris fussed with a huge, hot light that threw a burning white glare on the table. The new nurse hurried in feverish dismay about the room, looking for something important to do. Miss Lambert

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 talked to Dr. Stewart in low, swift tones. Dot caught the word "anesthetic." She hadn't wanted anesthetic, had vowed she wouldn't take it. Now she longed for it, prayed for it.

"How are your pains now?" asked Dr. Stewart, gazing gravely down at her. "Are you hardly getting rid of one when another comes?"

Dot nodded miserably. Miss Brown raised Dot's feet and placed them in little stirrups that hung above the table. The position was a torture. She could no longer roll about in her pains, she could only wriggle and squirm and slip off the padded place in the center of the table where she was supposed to lie.

Miss Lambert and Miss Harris took places on either side of her. Miss Lambert gave her hand to Dot. It was a small hand. A hand that had gone again and again into the bottomless pit of agony to offer comfort. Dot clutched it with insane strength. She dug her nails into it, scratched it, squeezed it, and tugged at it until it seemed that the little hand must leave its wrist. It was a fighting hand. It, too, tugged, and Dot drew solace from its strength. I'll was warm and sympathetic.

She looked at Miss Lambert's face. It was a young face, a face surrounded with a gay little flare of silky hair.

"Oh, you don't know— You don't know what I'm going through," Dot breathed.

Miss Lambert made no answer. Her eyes were soft and looked as though they could weep for Dot's pain.

"Yes, you know, I guess," said Dot. "But it's terrible—oh, it's terrible."

The great light beat down on her ceaslessly. A white laugh.

"Oh, the heat, the heat," Dot cried. She was weltering in perspiration. She tossed her head in her torture, clutched

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 Miss Harris' white collar, and sought to tear it from its moorings.

"You must lie quiet," Miss Harris whispered.

"Oh, I can't—I can't." A pain sharp as a blade caught her in the back. It was like a sudden burst of flame that illuminates what it destroys. The room did not blur before Dot's vision. Instead there was a sharp clarity in her gaze. She noticed a stain on Miss Lambert's sleeve, the sunburn on Dr. Stewart's forehead. A cabinet with glass shelves upon which lay a chilling glitter of instruments was for the first time noticed. The cabinet seemed to cover the whole wall. A monster with sharp, silver teeth. The pain bore down upon her, pressed the breath out of her. Her body trembled with agony.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!"

She gazed timidly at Dr. Stewart and Miss Lambert. It had not been a prayer. It had been profanity.

"Pardon me," she said.

But still they did not notice.

"When you get another pain," said Dr. Stewart, "you must bear down upon it. Push."

Dot nodded. She had to do it, had to obey, but it doubled the pain, trebled it.

"I can't—I can't."

"You must, dear," Miss Lambert said. "You will have it over sooner if you do."

Dot bore down upon the pains. With tears and perspiration running down her cheeks, she pressed against the enemy. Knives which she must again and again hurl herself upon. The nurses were not with her any more. They had scattered to other parts of the room. They seemed now to be devils heightening her torture. They ran about fussing over instruments, nickel cauldrons, basins, and lights. Boiling, scraping, sharpening, burning, whispering between themselves.

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 Only Dr. Stewart was near, bending over her. Strong, silent, and patient. Once he smiled at her. A pain had closed in blackly upon her. She had to smile back at him. It would be failing him if she did not smile.

He knew she was in pain. He knew. He understood.

The nurses returned. The pains increased. Dot closed her eyes and prayed for ether or for a merciful, obliterating fainting spell. Dr. Stewart turned and rapped out an order for anesthetic. Miss Lambert leaped forward.

Dr. Stewart's eyes returned to Dot, and a loud cry escaped her lips. At the same moment Dr. Stewart said, "Here's your baby!"

She saw it arrive. Imagination perhaps. Fantastic certainly. The baby jumped into Dr. Stewart's hands, its little arms and legs crooked, its head erect and certain of direction. An easy jump. The jump of a frog. Light, fast, and accurate. A frog. The baby had jumped like a frog.

"What is it, Dr. Stewart?" This from Miss Harris, who had three dollars at stake.

"It's a little boy," said Dr. Stewart and he held it upside down as he handed it to the aimless young nurse who had at last something to do.

"Is it whole?" asked Dot. "Is my baby whole, Doctor?"

"He's a fine young man, Mrs. Collins. Now, get ready for another pain."

It came. The pain of afterbirth.

"She'll need two stitches, I guess."

"Here, drink this."

"He weighs six pounds."

"You were a brave one all right."

"You helped fine."

"Get Bill."

"I lost three dollars."

"A fine boy, Mrs. Collins."

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 Dot turned her face to Miss Lambert and whimpered weakly, "Do I have to walk upstairs?"

Miss Lambert smiled. "No, honey, the boy is getting the stretcher ready."

Eddie walked into the room. The nurses stared at him.

"The man at the switchboard sent me up," he explained, rapidly. "He asked me to carry his half of the stretcher. He says his rheumatism is too bad tonight."

He rushed to Dot, but the nurses surrounded him, and he and Dot simply exchanged a smile.

It was cold now. Freezing cold. They bundled her in blankets. Her teeth chattered. Her head ached. It was cold, cold.

The darkness. Her bed. Eddie's kiss.

"What time is it?" she said, weakly.

"A little after four. Good night, Dot."

"Good night, sweetheart."

Sleep.

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eight o'clock Dot was awake. She reached over to the table where her pocketbook lay. Powder, rouge, and lipstick in quick succession. You couldn't tell, she might get a visitor even at this hour. She ran the comb through her hair swiftly. Pretty good now. Let the world come!

The woman on the next bed stared at her. "Have a bad time?" she asked.

"Dot'sDot's [sic] brows wrinkled thoughtfully. "Not bad," she said. "Of course it hurts, but it ain't what it's supposed to be. Gee, I thought it'd be hell. No, it ain't bad. It's kind of—kind of like a cramp!"

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was very nice in the sanitarium. The day nurse was Miss Parsons. She had hair that was like straw, both in color and texture. She pretended to be greatly annoyed by requests and scolded with mock severity when extra trouble was made for her. She was really very obliging. Her father had a comfortable amount of money; so she did not need her position and often flouted rules to make a patient she fancied more comfortable.

It was Miss Parsons who came over to Dot's bed on that first morning and said, "How would you like to get your face washed?"

"I'd like to," said Dot. "I only put this make-up on in case my husband came."

"If he did," said Miss Parsons, "he'd cool his heels downstairs until you were properly fixed. How do you feel?"

"Fine," said Dot. Her head was splitting with a sickening ache that reached from her eyebrows to the back of her neck, but it was scarcely noticed in the excitement of being in a strange place and of having had a baby.

Miss Parsons brought a basin of water. She rummaged among Dot's effects and found the toilet articles. Dot wanted to wash her own face, but Miss Parsons was a strong-willed woman. Dot wondered how Miss Parsons could brush another person's teeth. She couldn't, it appeared. Dot was permitted to do that for herself. Miss Parsons attended to a few other matters of pressing import and turned to the patient in the next bed.

"That's only a once-over," she said to Dot. "You'll get your real cleaning later."

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 Bill came in with Dot's breakfast tray. A spoonful of Wheatena, a cup of weak coffee, and a slice of toast.

"Gee," said Dot, "what's the matter? Food scarce?"

"Wait till you see what the other ladies get," said Bill. "You're being treated mean just because you have the youngest baby."

Dot ate her breakfast, finding it difficult to manage in the reclining position upon which Miss Parsons insisted.

The two other patients had boards in back of them to bolster them up. But they had not been delivered of their children as recently as Dot.

The woman in the next bed was going to be allowed to sit in a chair that afternoon. The other woman had a baby six days old. Dot looked at the woman interestedly. The one to whom the privilege of sitting up was about to be given was a Jewess of nineteen or twenty. She had very black, very curly hair and shining brown eyes. Her nightgown sagged from the weight of lace upon it.

Across from her was the mother of the six-day-old son. She had a jagged mop of blazing, red-gold hair and very full red lips that curved in a pleasing smile. Dot did not know why, but the woman with the red-gold hair reminded her of the girl in the bright blue slicker who had admitted her to Eddie's rooming-house on that rainy night ten months before. Silly, of course, but the impression persisted.

The nurse came in with a baby in her arms. She walked to Dot's bed with it. "Isn't this a cute one?" she asked.

"Awfully cute," said Dot.

The Jewess smiled graciously at the applause and lifted her arms for the baby.

Miss Parsons left the baby with the mother and went out to fetch another.

"This one has dimples," said Miss Parsons, returning.

Dot admired it until it was claimed by the bright-haired woman.

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 "This one's a lamb." Miss Parsons had another baby now.

"Yes," said Dot, gazing at it obligingly.

"He has such tiny hands," said Miss Parsons.

She made no move to take the baby away, and it suddenly dawned upon Dot that this was her baby. She put up her hands to take him, but Miss Parsons waved them away and laid the baby gently at Dot's side.

Dot looked at him. Oh, such a red little face, such a tiny, tiny little mouth, such a perky little nose, and the golden down on his little pink scalp. His eyelids opened just the tiniest bit, and she saw how blue his eyes were. He had tiny hands indeed, and beautifully shaped little nails. Alas, she could see no more of him, for he was blanketed and pinned beyond hope of even the smallest glimpse. She was almost afraid to touch him; he seemed so fragile and breakable.

"Say," Miss Parsons' voice cut in on the exploration, "what are you going to do? Play with the baby all morning? Aren't you going to feed him?"

"Feed him!" echoed Dot.

"Certainly. Do you think he lives on air?"

Dot looked around. The other babies were placidly nursing at their mothers' breasts.

Dot quickly untied the ribbon on her nightgown. Miss Parsons hurried over and applied boric acid to the breast for the baby's safety. It was by this that Dot knew that Miss Parsons had been teasing her. She would have been made to wait for the boric acid had she attempted to feed her baby any sooner.

He wouldn't nurse. Blindly his little hands groped against her breast and pushed. His head wobbled and rocked with objections.

"He won't eat," said Dot.

"That's all right," said Miss Parsons. "You haven't

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 anything to feed him. We're just trying to get you two used to each other."

The babies were collected again after twenty minutes. There was nothing to do now but lie blissfully still and think about the baby. It was cool in the room. Cool and very white and clean. No flies got through the careful screening, and the dark neighbors of the sanitarium were very quiet.

Dot cast an interested glance along the lines of her figure. Her stomach was flat! They had bound her tightly, and her hand roved lovingly over the place where had been the precious but uncomfortable lump. It didn't feel perfectly normal, of course; there was a little pain now and again, and her body protested if she tried to move, but that was nothing. Nothing. She had her baby.

She wondered what Eddie was doing. He would probably not be able to see her till evening. What would he think of the baby? It was so sweet, so pathetically tiny and defenseless. How could he help but love it? The best thing, however, was to go slow, see how he felt about it first before going into any ecstasies. If he still didn't like the baby, any enthusiasm she showed would probably alienate him still further.

No visitors came all morning. Dot and the other women held a desultory conversation. The topic was, of course, childbirth. The Jewess was the main speaker. The other woman preferred a book to conversation, but Dot regretted that she wasn't permitted more opportunity to air her experience.

The Jewess had a sister-in-law who had had eleven abortions. Dot was promised a glimpse of her; she was coming to visit that very evening. Dot would know her by the big diamond she wore. Her husband, the brother of Dot's informant, was very good to her. They had an apartment on Riverside Drive. How much was Dot's

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 doctor charging? What was she going to name her baby? The Jewess, who had now revealed herself as Mrs. Lensky, was going to name her daughter Shirley out of respect to the departed mother-in-law whose name had been Sarah.

Around eleven o'clock the phone rang. There was a telephone outlet on either side of the room into which the instrument could be plugged.

Miss Parsons now attached it on Dot's side and handed her the phone.

It was Eddie.

"Hello, Kid, how are you?"

"Fine. Are you at work?"

"Yes. I was dead for sleep, Dot, and I got up late and had to rush right to the shop."

"That's all right. There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."

"Listen, I'm going to get off an hour early and come right up."

"What about your supper?"

"Oh, I can get that any time. I'll be there as soon as I can make it. 'Bye."

Dot hung up the receiver. Not a word about the baby! Oh, but he'd have to care for it when he saw those blue eyes and tiny hands. Dot thought the baby looked like Eddie already.

The next time the phone rang it was for Dot again.

Edna this time.

"Hello, there. How are you?"

"Fine."

"Have you had the baby yet?"

"Sure. A little boy."

"That's wonderful. I just came from your house. I figured that since you weren't there, you must have made a trip to the sanitarium. What time did it happen?"

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 Dot gave Edna all the details. After twenty minutes of conversation, Edna announced her intention of coming up and straightway did so.

She came, bringing a little wicker cradle full of blue flowers. She kissed Dot and asked, "Well, how was it, Kid? Not bad, eh?"

"No," replied Dot, "not bad." And she believed it.

Luncheon arrived via Bill. There was soup for Dot and crackers.

The babies would be fed again at one o'clock. Edna simply had to wait to see the baby.

Edna waited. The babies were brought in.

"Oh, Dot, he's grand," Edna said. "He has a beautifully shaped head."

Dot hadn't thought of it that way before. Now she took to delighting in the shape of his head.

"Look at his hands, Edna. Aren't his hands too cute?"

Edna kissed his hands. "Just see his eyes, Dot. Blue as anything."

"Yes, aren't they blue? I love his little mouth best, I think."

"Wait till you see his feet, Dot. There's nothing in the world cuter than babies' toes."

"His fingers have such tiny nails."

"They look as though they'd been manicured."

The baby punched at Dot's breast for twenty minutes and was then whisked away nurseryward by Miss Parsons.

Then Edna had to go. It was time for the patients to be sponged, powdered, and changed into clean nighties.

"I'll come tomorrow," she said.

It was pleasant to lie on the bed and be bathed with cool water, rubbed briskly with alcohol, and powdered with soft, scented talcum. The nightgown Miss Parsons picked was a pale orchid with filet lace. Edna's favorite.

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 Now was a moment that fairly screamed for a few drops of Ed Pinaud's Lilac. Still, Dot was happy enough. She combed her hair and rouged and powdered her face.

Dr. Stewart found her cool and cheerful.

"Well, we had a lot of fun last night, didn't we?" he smiled. "What do you think of your baby?"

"I think he's wonderful. Do you know what? I saw him get born."

"Did you?" asked Dr. Stewart.

"I saw and heard everything that went on," Dot said.

Dr. Stewart's smile grew into a light laugh. "Everything?"

"Yep."

"Sure of that?"

"Well, I think so."

"Maybe we put over one or two things you didn't notice, Mrs. Collins. But don't worry about it. You have a fine boy."

The little white screen was called into service, and Miss Parsons assisted Dr. Stewart in his examination. He found everything in correct order.

"You're a perfect textbook case, Mrs. Collins," was Dr. Stewart's comment. He smiled at her and made Dot very glad that she was a perfect textbook case.

Dr. Stewart went to the nursery to have a look at the infant.

He came back to say good-by to Dot. "The boy is fine," he said. "Of course he's lost a few ounces, but they always do the first day. Don't think about him, he's all right. I'll see you tomorrow."

So her baby had lost a few ounces. If they always did, as the doctor had so confidently assured her, then there could be no harm in it, but still it would have been nice if her child had acted a little bit differently and had gained. Dot wished she could take a little nap. It would

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 be another hour before the baby was brought in again. She closed her eyes and tried very hard to attract a little doze, but failed.

Mrs. Lensky was reading a newspaper which Bill had brought for her. She was sitting in a chair beside her bed, elaborately kimonoed and bored-looking. She was going home in a few days, and the sanitarium had become dreadfully tiresome.

The girl who was so puzzlingly reminiscent of a bright blue slicker was also reading. She had a feathered negligée thrown carelessly over her shoulders, and Dot thought her prettier than any real woman she had ever seen before. Her table had several books and magazines piled upon it, and Dot thought that perhaps she, too, could read if she had one.

"Could I borrow one of your books or something?" she asked timidly.

The girl looked up at her and smiled. "Certainly. What would you like?"

"What have you got?"

"Well." The girl looked at her books thoughtfully and passed on to the magazines; then her eyes returned to the books again. "Do you like poetry?" she asked.

"Yes," said Dot. She really had no opinion at all about poetry, but the other girl had given her the impression that she just couldn't stand it if Dot didn't like poetry.

"Well, here's something nice. A rather delightful anthology."

Dot held out her hands to catch it, but the owner of the book apparently wasn't in the habit of hurling it about.

"Ring for the nurse," she said to Dot.

Mrs. Lensky essayed the office of messenger, and Miss Parsons caught her in the act and scolded her.

"Who told you to walk around? Sit down and don't move till you're told."

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 Mrs. Lensky sat down and sulked. Miss Parsons had no right to talk to her that way. Mrs. Lensky guessed that Miss Parsons didn't know what the name Lensky meant in the cloak-and-suit world. Hm! She could have had the best private room in the house and a special nurse if she'd wanted it, but she had preferred the company of other mothers and had taken this instead. Mrs. Lensky guessed that there were a lot of things Miss Parsons didn't know.

Dot looked the anthology over. She looked it over twice. She decided she might just as well pick one poem out and begin. She picked "Portrait of a Lady" by T. S. Eliot.

When Miss Parsons brought Dot's baby in at four o'clock, she found the baby's mother deep in gentle sleep and thought it rather a shame that she had to awaken her.

Eddie walked in a few minutes after five. He had gone home first and had shaved and changed into his new blue suit. To Dot's anxious question he answered that he had had sandwiches and coffee.

"You look wonderful, Kid," he said in honest amazement.

Miss Parsons brought him a chair and got a vase foi the bouquet of which Eddie had gratefully relieved himself upon first glance at Dot's table.

He sat down on the edge of the chair and tried to keep his eyes fixed on Dot. The two other women, so much at ease in their nightgowns, so unaffected by the presence of a male stranger, confused him. Surely he ought not to look at them, but he couldn't keep his back turned when Mrs. Lensky, who was once again in bed, thought it only courteous to inform him that he had a wonderful son. There had been no introductions made, but Mrs. Lensky was at heart a sociable woman.

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 Miss Parsons returned with the flowers properly arranged in the vase. They were roses.

"Oh, Eddie, they're beautiful."

"I wanted to bring you the first flowers," he said, "but I see somebody beat me to it."

"Edna."

"Oh. Who in hell wouldn't know that she'd get here first?"

Dot laughed. Her laugh wasn't quite under control. It was nervous, shaky. He hadn't asked about the baby yet.

"Did you get a nap today?" he asked.

"Yes. I was asleep a little while ago."

"Isn't it hard to sleep with the kids crying?"

"No. They don't cry much."

"Where do they keep them?"

"Right down the hall."

"Do they bring the kids in and wish 'em on you much?"

"No, they're only brought in at feeding time."

"When's that?"

"Every three hours. The last one was at four o'clock."

"Oh."

"Dr. Stewart says I'm fine."

"Gee, I'm glad."

Silence fell between them. Eddie wasn't permitted to smoke in the ward, and he tore at his nails nervously. Dot looked out the window. The house in back was just beginning to show signs of life. The negroes had slept the day away.

"Did you have a hard day?" asked Dot.

"Not very," said Eddie.

Silence again. A stifling restraint clamped down upon them.

Eddie hitched his chair close to Dot and spread his legs comfortably under the bed. He was glad of the silence.

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 He wanted to figure out something. Could he ask about the baby now without making her think he was more interested in him than in her? He didn't want to arouse that little jealousy which on a former occasion she had certainly felt. Could he declare his intentions of remaining to see the baby? She might think he had only come to see the kid. She hadn't mentioned it at all. Was it well? How could she be so uninterested, so unexcited!

"Would you like me to get you something?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Some ice cream?"

"I don't think they'd let me have it."

"How about some fruit?"

"No, Eddie, honest."

"Well, listen, Dot, I think I'll go down in front of the door and get a smoke. All right?"

"Sure."

"I'll be right back," he promised.

He grabbed his hat and hurried from the room.

Dot heard his quick step descending the stairs. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She had not expected questions. Mrs. Lensky had fallen asleep. Dot was shocked by the voice of her other roommate.

"What's the matter, honey?"

Dot faced about and pecked at her eyes with a handkerchief. "My husband don't love the baby," she sobbed.

"Has he seen it?"

"He just caught a glimpse of it last night, but it isn't that. He hates the idea of it and always has."

"Well, don't cry. Watch him fall for it when it grabs his hand and smiles at him."

Dot shook her head. "My husband isn't the soft kind," she said.

"Then just let him alone. If he doesn't love the baby,

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 you'll get no interference in the raising of it, and that't something."

Dot returned to her crying. There wasn't any consolation in the red-haired girl's words. What kind of woman wants to raise her baby without her husband's comments and advice on the matter? What kind of woman can devote her life to two mortals who care nothing about each other? The book of poems which the girl had called an "anthology" floated before Dot's misty vision.

"That kind," Dot answered herself. "That kind."

Eddie came back. He had smoked and had mapped out his campaign. He wouldn't say a thing to Dot about the baby. He'd just stick around till feeding time and get a good look at the kid. Maybe he could tell by looking at it if it was well or not.

He found Dot lying idly on her pillow. She was freshly powdered and rouged, and she had combed her hair again. That was all the poor kid could do to pass the time. He'd go out again and get her a movie magazine. But no, if he did he might miss seeing the baby. He was pleased to observe that the talkative woman had fallen asleep, but the other one had given him a funny look as he passed her bed. What was that for?

"Did you have your smoke?" asked Dot.

"Yes."

"Say, Eddie, while you were waiting last night, did you hear the music coming from the niggers' house?"

"Yeh, wasn't it awful?"

"It nearly drove me nutty. Gee, it's bad enough to be in pain without having to listen to rotten music."

"Was the pain terrible, Dot?"

"Not so terrible, no. It was bad, but it was worth it."

"What do you mean, worth it?"

"Well, I mean to have it over. You know, the waiting and the worry and all."

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 "Oh."

"Was you terribly worried about me?"

"And then some."

"You poor darling. It must have been awful, waiting."

"It must have been awful having the pain."

The atmosphere was less strained now. They could look at each other. They could smile. So long as neither of them thought of the little one who lay sleeping in the nursery, all was well. Eddie asked many questions about the delivery. It was from his questions that Dot learned how much she had really missed, how blinded by pain she had been. No wonder Dr. Stewart laughed at her proud boast that she had seen and heard everything.

"It's a very nice delivery room," said Dot. "Of course I never saw any other, but I think this is a nice one. They have a cabinet full of instruments down there, and the cabinet is so big it covers one whole wall."

"Is that so?" said Eddie. "That's some cabinet."

Conversation perished. But it was a more pleasant silence that followed than on the occasion before Eddie had had his smoke.

A trio of black-haired women with heavily rouged mouths swooped down on Mrs. Lensky's bed. They all wore large diamonds. Dot could not find the one who had eleven abortions to her credit. They talked loud and laughed frequently. The red-haired girl scowled into her book.

"What time is it, Eddie?"

"It's six o'clock," said Eddie. And as he spoke, Bill came in with Dot's dinner tray. There was a poached egg, toast, tea, and some sliced peaches.

The other trays carried chops and vegetables and a very inviting dessert. In a few days she, too, would be getting a regular meal. The thought inspired her to do the best she could for the poached egg.

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 After the tray had been carried away, Dot began to grow restless. She wanted the baby. More visitors had arrived at Mrs. Lensky's bed. Her husband, a small young Jew already bald, was peeling an orange for her and bragging to the company about his Shirley.

The number of guests permitted in a ward at one time was restricted to twelve. But one bed was empty, only one visitor was with Dot, and the red-haired girl had none; so Mrs. Lensky was within the law.

Miss Parsons came into the room, and Mr. Lensky coaxed for Shirley to be brought in.

Miss Parsons looked at her watch. "Well," she said, "it's quarter to seven. I'll change her and bring her in a few minutes early."

Shirley came. So did the two other babies.

Dot grabbed hers with eager hands and laid it beside her. She exposed her breast, and Miss Parsons sponged it with boric, and together they pleaded with the baby to go after some dinner.

Dot had forgotten to watch Eddie's expression. She was busy with the baby. She didn't see him rise and bend over for a better look at the tiny red face and the squinty blue eyes. Gee whiz, that was his kid! Actually his kid. He wanted to hold it, wanted to look at its hands and feet, and wanted to talk to it. He wanted to hear it cry, wanted to see its head turn. He wanted to feel the hair that lay so soft and silky on its head. He wanted to hold its hand. Gee, it was a little beauty, too.

"He won't eat," Dot said.

Miss Parsons said, "He will tomorrow. You'll have milk then."

"How does he get along without eating?" asked Eddie, but Miss Parsons had joined the group around Shirley.

"Well, that's the baby," said Dot.

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 "No kidding," Eddie smiled. "I thought it was a battleship."

"Red, ain't he?"

"Yeh, he's red."

"That fades, though."

"Does it?"

"Sure."

"That's good."

"It's time for him to go back," said Dot.

"Don't you want me to take him back?" Eddie's hands reached out for the baby.

"No, you might drop him," said Dot, "and then Miss Parsons would holler at you."

"I wouldn't drop him."

"Well, we'll wait for her to take him."

"All right."

Miss Parsons came and took the baby.

"That's what we saved all the money for, Eddie."

"Yeh, that's it."

Why the hell didn't she say something that a fellow could judge whether or not she liked the kid?

Why the devil didn't he say something that a woman could judge whether or not he liked the kid?

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days passed languidly in the clean, cool house of many births. Dot's trays came to her bedside generously laden and returned empty. Her visitors brought flowers and fruit. Maude came with Ted. Edna spent an hour a day with her. Sue and Pat came twice, and Eddie spent every possible minute with her.

The girl with the red-gold hair now sat in a chair and was permitted to walk about the room. She had had no visitors, and Dot wondered about her. Her name was Vernon. That much Dot had learned, and no more.

Mrs. Lensky had departed in a whirl of good wishes, Quelques Fleurs, and Jews. Another woman now had her bed, a woman who had trod the corridors wringing her hands in agony for seven hours. Dot's heart had bled for her. She had even prayed for the strange woman and had sighed with relief when the fearful cries from the delivery room were silenced and the baby had been born. She made Eddie speak very low so that the woman might sleep all evening.

Miss Harris tiptoed about. "She had a bad time," she remarked, nodding toward the sleeping woman.

"I know," Dot replied. "Did she have a boy or a girl?"

"She had a boy," said Miss Harris, "but he's dead."

The eyes of Eddie and Dot came together for one swift second and parted abruptly.

Pain and grief after months of hoping and dreaming! What was it for? Why did women suffer pain? Yes, to continue the race. All very well. But why this? God, why? For education? Did the poor soul, sleeping so gently after

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 her battle with torture, have to know what it felt like to lose the life she had carried, had suffered for?

Dot looked at the woman in the other bed. She was perhaps twenty and had a sweet, patient face. There were gray shadows under her eyes, and her mouth drooped wistfully at the corners. Dot turned her face away, and burning tears gathered in her eyes. That this woman had to awaken to hear that dreadful news! Dot wished that she might never awaken but might dream forever that she held her wee one close to her breast and fondled his little hands.

Dot's heart was heavy with her own troubles. Her baby was not thriving. He took scarcely enough sustenance to keep him alive. The nurses were very patient and gentle with him. They left him an hour with Dot, and every known method of forcing a baby to nurse was used. Dot's breasts ached with the milk that continued to gather within them. Her breasts were pumped, and the milk was offered to the baby from a bottle. He would not take it. He slept and lost weight and clung to Eddie's finger, and more than that he would not do.

Dr. Stewart was not perturbed at the baby's actions. "He'll take his food," he assured Dot.

But days passed, and the baby took no more than half an ounce of milk in twelve hours' time.

Dot would hand him back to the nurse and turn her face into the pillow and weep. Poor little baby! He didn't know that he would die if he went on being so stubborn. Poor, innocent little mite in a big, strange world with huge people towering above him begging him to nurse. He didn't know how to do it. He was frightened, perhaps. And he would die. Those tiny fingers with the tiny pink nails wouldn't clutch Eddie's finger any more. That little, well-shaped head with its cap of sunny hair wouldn't lie

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