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 After dinner they went back to the living-room. Eddie, sat down in his chair, and Dot took the sofa. He was smoking again.

"When did the doctor think the baby would be here?" he asked.

"Around the middle of July."

"Hm," said Eddie, and added: "Well, it's almost Christmas."

"Yeh, in ten or twelve days Christmas will be here. Say, you know, Eddie, it takes ten months for a baby."

"Go on. It's nine months."

"No, the doctor said ten months."

"He must be a horse-doctor."

"He said it took ten lunar months."

"Well, that's something different again. It means something about the moon."

"What's the moon got to do with me having a baby?"

Eddie smiled thinly. "They don't say nine months," he said, "because if they did you could understand it. They say ten lunar months to make it harder and to give you something to dope out. It's just like charging two hundred dollars. That's something to dope out, too. The whole damn thing is a puzzle. Why is having a baby so expensive? Why does it hurt so? Why is the only other way out so rotten? Ten lunar months explains it great. If they said nine months the poor saps who were going to have the kid would understand it."

"Well, look, Eddie, at all the calls the doctor's got to make on you, and he's got to deliver the baby and all. If you think it's too expensive I'll get another doctor."

Eddie leaped from his chair with an oath. "There you go," he said. "Always trying to start a fight."

"Didn't you say—"

"Yes, I said, but I'm not blaming your wonderful doctor. He's got to charge that much for what he's got to

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 do, I suppose. But why the hell isn't the whole thing different? You don't ask for a kid; it just gets wished on you, and then you have a whole hell of a lot of trouble. What I'm kicking about is that it is necessary for so much to be done about it. Why can't babies come like—like flowers?"

Dot giggled. Eddie gave her a look of disgust mingled with contempt.

"I mean it," he said. "God's supposed to be at the head of the whole system. Why the hell doesn't he think up a way for babies to come without driving people damn near crazy?"

"I don't know, Eddie," said Dot, gravely. "Perhaps if there was no trouble there'd be too many babies."

"That can't be the reason," said Eddie. "God doesn't seem to think that there can be too many kids."

"That's true, too," said Dot as though she had just recalled her last conversation with God and was remembering what he had said on the subject.

Eddie turned on the radio set. The voice of a soprano filled the room. Neither of the Collinses thought it extraordinary for the set to be put in use during a discussion. Half the dramatic scenes enacted uptown are done to the accompaniment of Victrolas or radio sets.

"Gee," said Dot, "I wonder what my father would say if he knew I was going to have a baby."

"What could he say?" asked Eddie with far more seriousness than Dot's idle remark deserved.

"Oh, I don't know. I bet he'd be surprised."

"Why should he be surprised? You're married, and there's nothing wrong with either of us."

"I think I'll write him a letter and tell him."

"What for?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"I don't care what you do about it. He's your father."

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

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 "Well, it's not because he's my father that I want to write. It's because I haven't anybody else to write to and I'd like to write to somebody."

"I didn't know you were so crazy about writing letters."

"I just feel like it."

Eddie shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want to say that he'd probably have to bust her brother in the nose some day if she went and stirred up sleeping dogs. No use in telling her that.

Dot got out her stationery. It was pink stationery, and so far only two envelopes had been used and none of the sheets. The envelopes had gone with money orders to the gas and electric companies. The ink was in the kitchen cupboard. There was a little difficulty in connecting with a pen, but finally Dot sat down to write.

Eddie found a man who was singing the much-derided, much-sung "Yes, We Have No Bananas."

"Crazy thing," he muttered.

"What?" asked Dot.

"That song. Say, haven't you started to write yet?"

"No."

"How come?"

"Well, I decided not to write to my father. I'm tryng to think of somebody to write to."

"Must you write?"

"I feel like it."

"What have you got to say?"

Dot looked at Eddie uncertainly. What had she to say? Was he kidding? There was no confirmation of her suspicion on his face. He meant it.

"Well, I just thought I'd try to think up some girl I used to know and tell her I was married and about my apartment and all."

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 possess ordinary explanations, while 28 percent of its caseload remained unresolved. None of these organizations have found evidence of extraterrestrial visitations to Earth.

Key Findings

None of these investigations (including USG, foreign, and U.S. academic efforts) reached the conclusion that any of the UAP reports indicated extraterrestrial origin.

All of these efforts and reviews concluded that the vast majority of UAP reports could be resolved as any number of ordinary objects, natural phenomena, optical illusions or misidentifications. Many of the cases, however, remain unresolved.

The lack of actionable, researchable data—specifically the lack of speed, altitude, and size of reported UAP—combined with resource constraints, high volumes of cases, and perceived differing levels of support from USG officials were factors in all investigative efforts. Even with the significant advancements in ground- and airbased sensors, the apparent inability to collect sufficient and high-quality data for scientific analysis continues to plague investigations.

Three efforts investigated reports of direct or indirect physical evidence of UFOs (from depressions on the ground to metallic debris) and found nothing of foreign or extraterrestrial origin.

There was at least one USG proposal—by the CIA-sponsored Robertson Panel—to engage in an active "training" and "debunking" effort using various public media tools to steer the public away from reporting UFOs. The proposal reasoned that it did not believe UFOs were foreign technological threats or of extraterrestrial origin; rather, it viewed the persistent flood of reports as cluttering and bogging down government processes, expressing the concern that such reports could create "mass hysteria" to the benefit of the Soviet Union.

At various points in history, individuals inside and outside of the USG, including Dr. J. Allen Hynek, claimed the USAF had a key goal of debunking or explaining away reports of UAP. AARO found no evidence to suggest that the USAF had a policy intended to cover up the evidence of extraterrestrial knowledge, material, or interactions. Rather, the USAF instead sought to focus on what it determined to be more important concerns, such as Soviet technology and U.S. defense readiness. Similarly, at least the first iteration of Project GRUDGE sought to resolve all cases and prohibited its staff from characterizing reports as unknown or unidentified.

AARO notes that there was possibly one unofficial estimate stating otherwise. Project SIGN staff allegedly drafted and signed a report that was circulated for review and approval. It was titled: "The Estimate of the Situation" and assessed that at least some UFOs were of "interplanetary" origin. The DoD leadership rejected this report on the basis that it lacked any proof, and it was never published. The first Director of


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 "Oh," said Eddie, "I see. You feel like smearing a little bunk about the gorgeous home you got."

Dot didn't think of any one who might be glad to hear from her. After an hour of deep thought, she replaced the pen and ink and slid her stationery back in its hallowed place between her lavender combination and her pink one. She returned to the living-room to listen to Don Roberts singing "Marcheta" for the four-thousandth time from Station WHN.

"I gotta get my hair cut," she remarked, "as soon as I think I can sit long enough in a barber's chair without getting sick."

"Why don't you wait till the day before Christmas Eve?" said Eddie. "Then you'll look good for Sue's party."

"I don't think I can go to Sue's party," said Dot. "Suppose I got sick?"

"Well, suppose you did?" asked Eddie. "I'd take you home. Say, you can't close yourself up in the house for nine months."

"Listen, Eddie, you go. I'll be all right here with a movie magazine—"

"Trying to make me out selfish, ain't you? I said that you couldn't close yourself up. You're always misunderstanding things."

"Well, it's no wonder—"

"You said it. No wonder you don't understand when you don't try to. I meant you ought to go for the kick you'd get out of it. I don't give a damn for Sue or for her party."

"Don't go then."

"I'll be damned if I will."

"All right. We'll both stay home unless you have some other place in mind you'd like to go."

"Yes, I'll go to the Ritz-Carlton for the evening."

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 "Well, don't be nasty."

"Who the hell is nasty?"

"You are."

"I am! I haven't said a word."

"Oh, no. You never say anything."

"I'll be afraid to hereafter. One word and you're down my throat."

"Oh, Eddie, don't let's fight."

"Who's fighting? I only said—"

"Let's drop it."

Eddie walked into the bedroom without answering her. Dot turned off the radio set and the light and followed him. They undressed in silence. Eddie's trousers were laid with no especial care on the smirking yellow chair. His shirt was carefully hung over the back of it. His underclothes were thrown from across the room, and he painstakingly avoided the sight of them missing their mark, which had been a somewhat difficult one; namely, the knob of the closet door. His shoes and socks were placed beneath the bed so they would be handy in the morning. He reached down and picked up his tie, which had been neglected in the excitement of placing the shirt correctly. He tossed it in the general direction of the chiffonier. Then Eddie was ready for bed. One wonders who buys the pajamas that are sold uptown.

Dot's disrobing was done in a more leisurely fashion, and it bore a slight tint of elegance. She cold-creamed her face before retiring. She wore a nightgown. There were bedroom slippers at her side of the bed. She turned out the light and climbed in beside him.

He moved close to her and put his arm around her. She kissed him.

They both knew that this in no way meant that hostilities had ceased, nor did it signify that they would be on speaking terms in the morning.

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the twentieth of December, Dot's perfidious stomach had settled down to a condition resembling normal. If she took no more than chicken broth, crackers, an occasional poached egg, gelatine, and food of that type, she had no difficulty at all. This new-found ability to eat though pregnant drove all interest in the approaching Yuletide right out of Dot's mind. She bought two pairs of black silk stockings for Edna. A tie with collegiate stripes of red and blue seemed just the thing for Eddie, and it was only a dollar. She worried for a whole day about Maude and Sue. Money was not too plentiful, what with the approaching confinement; besides, she didn't feel like shopping; but suppose they gave her something. Wouldn't that be terrible, if they gave her a present and she didn't have one to give them? She grew quite alarmed over the situation. A girl like Maude you'd have to give something kind of expensive to, and money had to be watched closely. Still, how would Dot feel if Maude gave her something? At length she decided that Maude and Sue would have no Christmas so far as she was concerned. If either of them gave her anything she would frankly tell them that they had to excuse her as she was saving money for her baby.

The stockings and the tie had been bought in the little department store whence Dot's pink curtains had come. She wouldn't have faced the downtown crowds this year for anything in the world. On a sudden impulse she

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 added a carton of cigarettes to Eddie's tie. It was their first Christmas together. Too bad it couldn't have been more festive.

It would be the first year that Dot had ever passed without a Christmas tree. Well, they'd have one next year, and then there'd be somebody to enjoy it. Let's see, the baby would be five months old next Christmas. Sure, plenty old enough to enjoy a tree. He'd probably be able to eat one of those candy canes, too, but she wouldn't give it to him without asking Dr. Stewart. She made up her mind that she'd never give the baby anything without asking Dr. Stewart if he could have it.

The return of her stomach's self-possession led Dot and Eddie to accept the invitation to Sue's party. Neither of them remembered that an agreement had been reached by which Sue was to lose the Collinses as guests. In talking it over, Dot had reminded Eddie that Pat and Sue were to be married on the twenty-seventh of December. This was really Sue's last good party. Yes, Dot must make an effort to be present. So they went.

Sue lived on the top floor of a five-flight walk-up. The house was on Brook Avenue. The Cudahys had six rooms. It was very nice to give a party there, because the hall was very long and the kitchen was almost a block's walk from the parlor. This permitted Sue's mother to damn all the trouble to which the guests were putting her without the possibility of the guests hearing her. Also, there was a sort of alcove which opened out from the parlor. When renting the apartment, the agent had called it a music room, but he knew and the prospective tenant knew that it would be used for a bedroom. Tonight the bed in the so-called music room was used for wraps, and the first to arrive would perforce be the last to depart.

Off the hall were two other bedrooms and the bath. Mrs. Cudahy was all for putting lights in the bedrooms.

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 She was a broad-minded woman, and she knew there was no harm in these petting parties, but she was also a methodical woman. Everything in its place was her motto. A bedroom was no place for a petting party, and she darkly suspected that there were couples in there. With the couples who were leaning against the walls in the hall she had no argument. But it wasn't nice to go hide where nobody could see you at your deviltry. She took the matter up with Sue. Nothing came of it, however, except another quite unexpected marriage on the same day as Sue's.

There had been no attempt made to decorate the parlor. A piano and a framed photograph of Bill Cudahy, who was a traffic cop, was enough decoration for any room in the world, at least in Bill Cudahy's estimation. But the dining-room had been decorated. There was a huge red-and-green bell dangling from the chandelier. It was one of those bells that are only a flat half bell at the time of purchase but can be opened with a quick, deft gesture and transformed into a thing of beauty and frequently a joy forever to its owners. It is a splendid buy. There is no holiday for which a bell doesn't make a nice decoration.

Holly was scattered promiscuously about the room. Each picture had a clump of holly peeping out from behind it. There was mistletoe over the doorway. Mrs. Cudahy had misjudged her guests.

The table was resplendent with a paper table cover. Mrs. Cudahy had only at the last minute decided to be high-toned. By that time the stationery man had been out of covers bearing Santa Claus and his reindeers. There hadn't been anything appropriate for a wedding either. So Mrs. Cudahy took what he had. It was a crinkly white cover with the Father of his Country done in gold and white on two corners and red, white, and blue rosettes on the others.

In the center of the table was a large cake with oceans

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 of glossy white frosting. At an earlier hour there had been some writing on it in raised frosted letters, but Sue had a small brother. Mrs. Cudahy hadn't wanted the nuisance of serving a lot of people; so she arranged for them to help themselves when prompted by their own desires. There was a ham on the table with a sharp knife beside it. One supposed that she had no aversion to one's using the same knife on the boiled tongue. There were crackers, bread, pickles, and a bowl of innocuous punch that was made from adding water to fruit juices which were already half water. Some bananas and apples lay unconcernedly in a glass bowl on the sewing-machine. They were no part of the party. They had arrived long before the party and expected to witness Sue's wedding. Dot knew they were no part of the party because there was no lace doily under their bowl.

The noise in the parlor was something terrible. A great many girls have sharp voices. The trip down the hall blunted them somewhat; so Pat Macy stood in the dining-room eating a great many crackers. Mrs. Cudahy thought him a hog and said as much. Pat merely said, "All right, pardon me," and returned to the parlor. No hard feeling between him and Mrs. Cudahy.

In the parlor the party was in hysterics at the antics of the party clown. He was giving his own impression of a husky-voiced fellow trying to sell cough drops. He was awfully funny. And so willing. He recited ever and ever so many comic poems and sang a song. The song proved a foolish move on his part, for it reminded six or seven other guests of their own accomplishments. One, a chap named Bernstein, with a remarkable Jewish accent, thought of his customary contribution to things of this sort before anybody else did.

"Say, Brownie," he shouted across the room, "reminds you of my 'Fireman' song, don't it?"

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 The room promptly seethed with requests for Mr. Bernstein to sing his "Fireman" song. It seemed that Mr. Bernstein didn't want to. It seemed that he couldn't be coaxed or bribed to sing his "Fireman" song. It seemed that after all he would sing it.

Mr. Bernstein sang his "Fireman" song. Miss Eiden sang "The Sunshine of Your Smile." Mr. McDonald recited an Edgar Guest poem. Mr. Mont played Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G Minor.

Mr. Collins and Mr. Macy went up on the roof and talked about the coming baseball season as compared to the last.

The little variety program had not been completed when Maude McLaughlin dropped in for a minute or two. Ted was at her side and he caused a sensation with his tuxedo, derby and white scarf which showed just the correct amount of itself above the collar of his black overcoat. Maude was far less smart-looking than her escort. The gold net dress under her velvet wrap would have been several stains better for a cleaning, but this fact didn't make the girls in their plain, informal frocks feel any better.

She was quite cordial, however, despite her dressy clothes. She had a smile for everybody to whom Sue introduced her, and to some she even said a few words. Sue sent her most dependable messenger to the kitchen with an order for drinks.

"Maude McLaughlin just came in with her fellow," the messenger panted to Mrs. Cudahy. "Sue wants drinks right away."

"To hell with Maude McLaughlin and her fellow," said Mrs. Cudahy.

But the drinks arrived. Maude drank hers with a slow, unenthusiastic air. It seemed that she and Ted couldn't stay a minute. They were going on somewhere else. They

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 just wanted to wish Sue a Merry Christmas and congratulate Pat on the approaching wedding.

After five minutes of staring at Maude, Sue's guests picked up the party again and continued it. Under cover of the noise and crowd, Maude sought out Dot, whom she found on a camp stool close to the piano.

"Hello, Kid," she whispered. "How are you?"

Dot's eyes had seen the ham with its fat and sugary coat and had telegraphed a vivid description of it to Dot's stomach. Dot was miserably undecided about the matter. One ought to go home if one was going to be ill, but it was a terribly long ride, and subways and street cars are awful places to be ill in. Still, a party is no place for such things.

She looked up at Maude—Maude with her air of being superior to her surroundings, Maude who wore gold net and asked after a person's health. As though she really cared.

"I'm fine," she said and smiled whitely.

Maude leaned over her. "Did you see Griegman?" she whispered.

"Yes."

"Would he do it for you?"

"He'd do it for anybody, wouldn't he?" Dot asked. "I wouldn't let him, though. I've knocked all that craziness out of my head. I'm going to have my baby."

"Somebody told you about a woman's true mark of distinction and forgot to mention the pain." Maude was smiling humoringly down at Dot.

Dot looked across the room. It was hard for her to meet a person's gaze when she was going to say something nasty, and Dot had made up her mind to be nasty.

"Some women aren't yellow, Maude," she said.

"They're all brave six months before it starts to hurt," remarked Maude.

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 "And some are brave straight through. Take that soap box of yours somewhere else, Maude." Dot's young shoulders squared themselves under her pink silk scarf. "I'm not afraid of any pain that millions of other women have stood."

"I'll see you in the hospital," said Maude and walked away. She was vexed with Dot Collins. If Dot had behaved herself and let Maude tell her what to do, Maude might even have given her that red dress that Ted hated so. But there wasn't any sense in doing things for people whose lives you couldn't run. And Dot would be in a fine fix with a baby. Fancy not being able to afford a fur coat and being sap enough to have a kid.

She went over and spoke to Ted. They said good-by to Sue and scattered a smile around the room. Yes, it was too bad that Sue hadn't been able to find Pat, but she could give him their message. Sue took them to the door.

"I hear that Dot is going to have a baby," said Maude.

"Yes," said Sue.

"Isn't she a fool?" Maude demanded of Sue.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sue said. "People know their own business best."

Sue had already received a wedding present from Maude.

"Well," said Maude, "good-by."

Sue walked back to the noisy room and looked for Dot. But the camp stool was empty. Dot's moment of indecision was over. She was standing in the Cudahy's bathroom thanking God that nobody had noticed her sudden departure.

The door opened. There isn't a bathroom in the Bronx with a lock that really works. Mrs. Cudahy stood there looking at Dot wonderingly.

"Did you drink too much?"

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 Dot shook her head. "I haven't had anything," she gasped.

Mrs. Cudahy's mouth expressed her suspicions. Her eyes traveled over Dot's figure.

"You're the married one, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm going to have a baby."

"Poor child."

Dot's eyes, momentarily red and watery, turned on her. "Why 'poor child'?" she asked.

"Oh, you're so young and tiny. Come, lie down for a while."

Dot permitted herself to be led into one of the bedrooms. Mrs. Cudahy put a cover over her and sat down beside her.

"When's the baby coming?"

"Not till July."

"Oh, well, don't mind being sick. It'll be over soon, and then you'll be fine. You'll eat like an ox and get to be a big strapping girl."

"My doctor is going to put me on a diet."

It was too dark to see Mrs. Cudahy's expression when she said: "That's a lot of tomfoolery. I ate everything I wanted and had a regular baby to show for it. Sue weighed twelve pounds and was the envy of every woman on the street."

Dot shuddered. "Didn't it hurt terribly to have a baby that big?"

Mrs. Cudahy appeared to be thinking it over. "Well," she said after a time, "did you ever have a bad cramp?"

"Yes."

"It's like that."

"Sounds easy," said Dot.

"Well, it ain't like having your nails manicured, but I hope Sue will have one; so you see it can't be so bad, or I wouldn't be wishing it on her."

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 "Some women who have had babies," said Dot, "tell their friends not to have them."

"Sure," said Mrs. Cudahy. "My own sister didn't want me to have Sue, but I went ahead and had her, and I got to go get her friends a drink now. You stay here."

Mrs. Cudahy disappeared in the darkness of the hall. There was a faint light in the room which came from the bedroom of the neighbor across the court. Dot could make out the bulk of a bureau and the back of a chair. She lay there thinking. Maude and Mrs. Cudahy and Edna and herself. What advice would she have to pass on to other women? Would she be able to tell some one she liked that having a baby wasn't so bad? Why did Maude make it hard to remember that one night of pain was after all only one night? Of course some women were in pain much longer, but that wasn't frequent. Mrs. Cudahy seemed to think that a big baby was an accomplishment. Dot smiled. Dr. Stewart and she could have a beautiful argument. Mrs. Cudahy probably thought it was silly to bother a lot about doctors. Dot couldn't see where it was silly. If anything went wrong you didn't have to reproach yourself for stinting on expenses. No, she was right, right in having her baby and right in having engaged Dr. Stewart.

The noise in the other room had quieted down some. Mr. McDonald was reciting again. Something about bells this time. Lots of bells. Edgar Allan Poe had written it, Dot heard Mr. McDonald announce. Dot knew about Edgar Allan Poe. He had lived in a little white house in Fordham with a black bird painted on the door. Dot had often wondered if his wife had had many children. If so, the park around the house must have certainly been a convenience to her.

Hm. Nice and quiet now. Wonder where Eddie is? Presently Dot fell asleep. When she awakened, Mr. McDonald and his unusual talent had departed. The house

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 was very still. She jumped up, cold with a sudden unreasoning terror. What had happened? She staggered, stupid with sleep, down the hall to the front room. Every one had gone home save Eddie and Pat Macy. Mr. Cudahy was there now, huge and pleasant-faced, with a wallet full of Christmas greetings from his pet motorists. Mrs. Cudahy was telling about the house they use to live in, and Sue in a low voice was trying to wheedle a ten-dollar bill out of her father.

They all looked up as Dot appeared in the doorway.

"There she is," cried Mrs. Cudahy. "I wouldn't let Eddie wake you up, dear."

Dot smiled with sleepy embarrassment. Funny how people treat you after you've been asleep for a while. A sort of combination of indulgence and harmless contempt.

"It's after two o'clock," said Eddie.

"It's Christmas," said Pat.

Then everybody said Merry Christmas to everybody else, and Sue kissed everybody but Eddie.

"I've been trying to convince your husband that you ought to stay all night," said Mr. Cudahy. "We have an extra bed, and a pair of my pajamas would fit the pair of you."

"No," said Eddie. "We can't stay. Thanks."

He got up and walked over to Dot. "Get your things, Kid, we have to go."

"You're very foolish," said Mrs. Cudahy. "We have that bed—"

Dot walked to the window. It didn't look at all like the Christmas of holiday cards. There was no fleecy white snow sparkling like blue-white diamonds. There was no jolly silver moon beaming on the world. The windows of the surrounding houses were dark, hollow squares. No golden shafts of light came from them, warming the cheerless morning. The streets were deserted. A cold wind

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 came singing a harsh song from around the corner.

This was Brook Avenue. She and Eddie would have to walk one block to Willis Avenue and then wait for a car. They ran irregularly at best, and this was two o'clock in the morning. When one came, they'd ride to the subway entrance at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street and Broadway. It was elevated there. They would wait again for a train which would take them to Dyckman Street. All this time Dot would be sleepy and very cold. Her coat had a fur collar, of course, but it was really a thin coat.

Mr. Cudahy had begun to unlace his shoes. "You ought to stay," he said.

"It's a shame to drag her out tonight," said Mrs. Cudahy.

"Gee, nobody cares about poor me," said Pat.

Mrs. Cudahy laughed. "Are you going to have a baby?" she asked.

Mr. Cudahy jumped from his chair and looked at Dot. "What!" he cried. "Have you been holding such news back from me? Never will you two kids get out of this house now. What! On Christmas morning I shouldn't have a bed for you, and you should go out in the cold with your poor little body uncomfortable and all? On Christmas morning of all times. By God, Mother, give them my bed."

His explosion, half mockery, half something else, brought a sudden silly moisture to Dot's eyes. There were people who respected the rights of the little fellow yet to be.

She looked at Eddie. He was smiling at Mr. Cudahy, but his smile was that of one who still must refuse to accept a favor.

"Oh, Eddie, please let's stay," Dot cried. "I don't know whether Mr. Cudahy's joking or not, and I don't care, but I'm terribly uncomfortable."

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 "Up to you," said Eddie.

"What about me?" asked Pat. "I'm damned if I'll brave the cold. Put me out, and I won't let Sue come in my house."

Mrs. Cudahy's brow registered deep thought. "Papa and I will sleep in the music room," she said, "and Dot and Sue can sleep in the big bedroom, and Eddie and Pat can have the small one, and I'll get Jimmie up, and he can sleep on the cot in the music room with us."

Everybody seemed satisfied except Eddie. He looked very much disturbed. Mrs. Cudahy suggested coffee for all before retiring, and as they moved toward the kitchen, Eddie got close to Dot and whispered, "I have something to tell you."

After Dot had nibbled a Uneeda biscuit and gone to bed and while Sue was saying good night to Pat in the dining-room, Eddie came in to see Dot.

"Listen," he said, "I was talking to Pat. He knows a fellow in the furniture business, and he can get a crib wholesale. As long as we're going to have this kid, it's gotta have a place to sleep, don't it? Good night."

He kissed her and sped down the hall to the other room. Dot cuddled further into Sue's nightgown and sighed contentedly.

"Oh, yes, and Merry Christmas," she called in answer to Mr. Cudahy's good night.

Maude McLaughlin seemed an awful damn fool.

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that wasn't bad for a day's expenses. Dot added the little column of figures again to make sure it wasn't a dollar ninety. Every penny counted now. Two hundred dollars for Dr. Stewart had seemed an Herculean undertaking, but now upon that task hardly well begun had fallen another.

Dot had pictured herself lying pale but happy on the bird's-eye maple bed with her baby joyously partaking of his first breakfast.

Dr. Stewart had looked doubtful when she had revealed this vision. "You see, Mrs. Collins," he said, "practically everybody goes to a sanitarium nowadays. Women have learned that it's best that way. You'd have to have a nurse, and while an ordinary maternity nurse is sufficient for your purpose, that would be fifty dollars for the two weeks you need her. You'd have to have a laundress in, and there's a great deal of drugs and sick-room things you'd need, and that would run into money. You're foolish not to go to a sanitarium."

Dot had thought of Edna dropping in to fix broth, of Eddie giving her a sponge bath. Nurses, laundresses, drugs! The bottom dropped out of her simple calculations.

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 "But where could I go? Wouldn't it cost a lot?"

Dr. Stewart shook his head. "Lots of places do charge a lot," he said. "But there's one place on One Hundred and Thirty-sixth Street that's reasonable. The food is good, and the care is all that you need. You can get a small room there for a hundred and twenty-five dollars."

"For how long?"

"Two weeks. We'll get you home after that."

Dot's face betrayed her dismay. A hundred and twenty-five dollars for the sanitarium and two hundred for the doctor. Could they manage? She and Eddie with their food and gas and electricity and rent, and clothes for the baby.

"It's very nice," said Dr. Stewart. "A lot of my patients have been there. I'll have them send you some pamphlets if you like, and you can go down and take a look at the place."

Dot told Eddie when he came home that night. He took the news coolly.

"Well," he said, "I hope that you didn't think that you could lie in bed here all day with a new baby and nobod) to do anything for either of you."

"No. I thought that Edna could help."

"Gee, you're a ," said Eddie. "Honest to God, I wonder why they don't lock you up."

"I don't see how we can manage, Eddie."

"Well, I didn't see how we were going to pull two hundred fish out for Doc. If you can do that you're smart enough to manage the rest."

"But, Eddie, three hundred and twenty-five dollars! Almost enough to buy a Ford car."

"Sooner have the Ford, heh?"

"No, I didn't mean that exactly, but it's so much money. Golly!"

They hadn't talked about the money since but Dot was

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 keeping a budget, walking to Two Hundred and Seventh Street to get things cheaper, reading newspapers instead of magazines, and trying to cut her own hair.

It was February now. The days of sleet and cold, icy winds were separated by vagrant, sweet-smelling hours that came mysteriously and fled back to Never-Never Land. When they were gone you didn't believe that they had happened, but then again there was the strange breath of dewy violets and woodlands, and you felt somehow happier even if you had been fooled.

Dot was doing a lot of sewing. She had heard somewhere that it was bad luck to prepare very lavishly for a baby. She worried a little but could not resist the temptation of buying unbelievably narrow lace and phantomfragile muslin despite the extravagance.

Eddie watched her sew. What was she doing that for? She didn't want the kid. He was curious. "What are you doing that for?" he asked.

She looked up at him in amazement. "What am I doing it for? The kid can't go naked, can he? You can't bring him home from the hospital naked. And so long as he's got to have clothes, this is the cheapest way to do it. It don't cost me over a dollar apiece to make the dresses myself."

The next time he had a few minutes to himself, Eddie looked in an infants' furnishing store. He saw dresses for forty-nine cents which certainly must be good enough for some people's babies or they wouldn't be selling them. Guess Dot didn't know that kid's dresses could be bought so cheap. Eddie chuckled. He wouldn't tell her. Why the devil shouldn't Dot make his clothes? Wasn't he, Eddie, going to make the kid a high chair all by hand? A good joke on Dot, that. He wouldn't tell her.

Funny how many things he was keeping to himself. He couldn't tell her this and he couldn't tell her that, because

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 she didn't want the poor kid, and it seemed heartless of him to be happy over it. Sometimes he would get an idea that she was warming up to the little fellow, but then she'd say something and he'd know she didn't want it.

The vision of Dot dying to give life to the baby had receded to the back of Eddie's mind. He never thought of it any more. He was thinking now how hard he would try to make her love the baby once it was here. But probably that wouldn't be much of a job. Kids are so damn cute. Only it would tie them down. Dot liked to dance and go to parties. Maybe she'd want to leave the kid alone and go running around with Sue and Pat. Then maybe, if he ever caught her doing it, he'd have to wallop her. You can't leave kids alone. They pull the blankets up over their faces sometimes and smother.

Eddie looked in the window of the infants' furnishing shop a little while longer. Then he went in. When he came out again he had a bundle.

Well, a fellow couldn't act excited over a kid's arriving when his wife was pulling a long face over the idea. Besides, what kind of crazy thoughts were these? When the hell was he the kind of fellow to ever get excited over anything?

His dinner was on the table when he reached home. Dot was flushed and tired. The wet wash had come that day, and she had been ironing. She always ironed sheets, though Edna told her that she was crazy. You ought to just see that they're well dried, fold them up nice, and put them away. When you take 'em out they look ironed. The same with the towels and pillow cases. Tablecloths you had to iron. Dot ironed everything. If she hadn't, she would have felt that she was being unfaithful to the little apartment.

Dot kissed him when he came in. He handed her the bundle.

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  Project BLUE BOOK, Capt Edward Ruppelt, said that all but a couple copies of this estimate were destroyed. AARO has been unable to verify his claim or locate the document.

SECTION V: Assessment of Interviewee Claims of USG Involvement in Hidden UAP Programs

Summary

As of September 17, 2023, AARO interviewed approximately 30 individuals. AARO categorized these individuals into three tiers: Tier 1 interviewees are those who have spoken with congressional staff or Members of Congress and have been subsequently referred to AARO; Tier 2 interviewees are those who have been referred to AARO by Tier 1 interviewees; Tier 3 interviewees are AARO-generated interviewees that have a corroborating touchpoint to the principal integrated narrative of reports from Tier 1 and Tier 2 interviewees. Priority is given to those interviewees who claimed firsthand knowledge of government programs, events, or details about any resulting material. Interviewees relaying second or thirdhand knowledge are lower in priority, but AARO has and will continue to schedule interviews with them, nonetheless.

AARO generated random numbers and assigned one to each interviewee. AARO maintains the key, which is stored and handled in a secure manner to protect each interviewee's privacy. In some instances, AARO assigned a random number to a person who has not interviewed with AARO but was referenced by interviewees as a key individual. AARO also assigned numbers to organizations mentioned by interviewees.

AARO assesses that two main narratives have emerged, with various and potentially unrelated offshoots:

Primary Narrative

The primary narrative alleges that the USG and industry partners are in possession of and are testing off-world technology that has been concealed from congressional oversight and the world since approximately 1964, and possibly since 1947, if the Roswell events are included. The narrative asserts that this UAP program possesses as many as 12 extraterrestrial spacecraft.

An AARO interviewee claimed in a thirdhand account that an organization was in possession of 12 spacecraft recovered from different crash events prior to 1970. Some of the craft allegedly were "intact." The interviewee also stated that the CIA had a partnership with the company that ended in 1989 and wanted all material returned to the CIA. AARO discovered no empirical evidence supporting these claims.

An interviewee claimed that an organization was in possession of off-world material in 2009 and 2010. A separate interviewee stated they participated in negotiations to return the material to the USG. The same interviewee stated that a


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 "What's this?" she asked.

"I don't know what you call it," he said carelessly.

She opened it. A tiny crocheted sacque lay within carefully wrapped in tissue paper. A large blue bow of very stiff, aggressive ribbon was at the neck of it. Dot smiled. The ribbon was so ridiculous. The sacque was so pleadingly tiny.

"Did you buy this?" she asked.

"Me? Can you picture me buying stuff like that?"

"No," said Dot, honestly. "But where—"

"Mrs. Williams sent it."

"Mrs. Williams! Did you tell them I'm going to have a baby?"

Eddie sat down at the table and reached for a piece of bread. "No, I didn't," he said. "I go down there to fix radio sets every day, not to gab. Besides, I'm not any more excited about this whole business than you are. I don't run up to people in the street and tell them about it. Mrs. Williams looked you over that day last week, and she hasn't got bad eyes."

Dot walked to the mirror in the bedroom. She stood before it for almost five minutes examining the proportions of her figure from every angle. She was convinced that Eddie was lying.

"I don't show," she said to him as she pulled out her chair and sat down.

"I'll bet every woman thinks that," said Eddie.

Her convictions melted away. Perhaps he was right. Maybe this was one of those things that other people knew and you didn't. The thought depressed her. She had so wanted to watch her body changing gradually to accommodate its little occupant.

"Do I look bad, Eddie?" she asked.

"No, you look great."

"I mean my figure."

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 "No, that's all right, only it shows that you're going to have a baby."

"Well, I guess I'd better stop going to dance halls and places then. People are probably making fun of me."

Eddie hadn't bargained for this. He swallowed a very hot piece of potato hastily.

"Don't be crazy," he said. "You're all right. I guess Mrs. Williams has been watching for it, and that's why she saw it. If a person didn't know—"

But Dot didn't answer. She was thinking of something else now. Something that she'd have to ask Dr. Stewart about. She'd been dancing quite a lot. So far there had been no sign of life in her baby. Were the two facts connected? Icy fingers of terror clutched at her heart. Why hadn't she told the doctor sooner about the many excursions to the Poppyland Dance Hall? Had she thought to put something over on him? Funny how all of a sudden a fear can come at you out of the darkness and shake you till you're cold and limp. She hadn't thought of it before, and now she was panicky and ill with the awfulness of it.

Darkness came over the room. The are light in the street streamed wanly through the window. Voices of neighbors calling to each other. A baby crying. Somebody's dishes being hastily despatched with many protesting rattles and clinks. In the purple-gray twilight the little sacque with its absurd blue bow was a narrow white streak, a shooting star. Was anybody ever going to have that silly little bow under his chin? In that minute, Dot knew that she couldn't bear it if her baby. . . if anything went wrong.

Eddie got up and lit the light. He looked at her carelessly. She was crying, but he preferred to say nothing about it. She cried a lot recently. It was because she didn't like what was going to happen, he thought. Yeh, it was

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 best not to notice her. Maybe he'd get mad sometime and tell her what he thought of her for not wanting a kid. But he knew that he couldn't. After all, it was her pain. No wonder she cried and didn't want the baby.

Dot looked up at him as he carried the butter to the ice box. Suppose she had danced her baby to death. Could she ever forgive Eddie for not taking the news as hard as she would? He wouldn't mind. He'd be able to say that everything happens for the best.

She dried her eyes and rushed to help clear the table.

"Sit down," he said.

"No, I'll help."

"Go on. Sit down."

She went and sat down. He was good to her. Lie loved her. If only he would love the baby. Oh, well, a person can't have everything, and maybe after it was here and he saw it, he would get to care about it. She wondered if he knew that there'd be no more dancing and parties then. Better not tell him for a while.

Dr. Stewart came two days later. His coat was not yet off when Dot asked her question timidly, quaveringly. "I have danced an awful lot recently. Do you think that it will hurt—hurt the baby? I haven't felt any life yet."

He looked at her seriously. He was one to laugh only at what he knew a patient knew in her heart to be foolish. When she had a deadly fear, he read it in her eyes, in her voice, and he respected her fear.

"I don't think so," he replied. "We'll have a look. Just what do you call an awful lot of dancing?"

The sheet was produced, the examination made.

"You're quite all right," he said. "But I wouldn't overdo anything if I were you. On the whole I think a daily walk would be much better exercise than dancing. And don't hang curtains. I've found a lot of women who hang curtains at the wrong time."

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 "But you think it's all right?"

"Yes, I should say so. You'll feel life soon now, I think."

"How soon?"

Dr. Stewart smiled. "Couldn't say exactly, but don't be surprised if your baby gives you a kick all of a sudden."

Dot looked rapt and ecstatic. Fancy her baby giving her a kick!

"Dancing in poorly-aired, crowded rooms isn't going to do you any real harm for another few weeks," he went on, "but it won't help any. Get your walk, and you'll feel much better."

It was that very night that Sue and Pat dropped in. Sue and Pat were now known as the Macys. They had been living with Sue's mother since the marriage but were busily searching for an apartment that would meet their needs. Nobody was quite certain what their needs were, but Dot suspected that it was an apartment close enough to Sue's maiden home for the Macys to eat there.

There was quite a smug, satisfied air about Sue lately. You felt that she would never again make jokes about women being unfaithful to their husbands. Marriage was something very sacred now. One felt that she would, without a moment's hesitation, cast the first stone. Dot wasn't quite certain that she liked her any more.

Sue wore a large straw hat with a rhinestone dagger stuck through it with careless grace. Her coat had a huge imitation fur collar. The coat fitted closely at the waist and flared generously at the bottom. There was more fur at the bottom and fur at the cuffs. Her slippers were black satin with large, bright tin buckles. The stockings above were very sheer. Dot fancied that she might photograph very well in her finery but when seen right smack up close in the hard, white light of a seventy-five-watt bulb—well, after all, the fur was imitation, the buckles were tin,

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 and the stockings weren't four-dollar sheer, they were seventy-nine-cent sheer.

Pat was quiet and unobtrusive. There was about him, since his marriage, the air of a menial who has delivered an important message and is undecided whether or not to wait.

He engaged Eddie in conversation. He wanted to buy a radio set for his father-in-law. What would Eddie advise?

Dot took Sue's things, and they sat down together on the sofa.

"We were looking around this section for an apartment," Sue said. "We didn't see anything we liked, though. I got hungry and we stopped in at that what-doyou-call-it place where they roast chickens."

Sue settled the folds of her champagne-colored dress importantly. Dot had seen that dress on Maude and had heard what Maude had said about passing it on. Silly, the way Sue was trying to show off the embroidery on it. Dot felt a little sorry for her.

"You didn't like any of the apartments around here?"

"No, we'll be having a lot of parties most likely, and the rooms are so small."

"This is quite a big room," said Dot.

"Well, you two don't have much company," said Sue.

Dot thought this was a bit pointed. "I'm pregnant," she said, "and I wouldn't have a party now for Gloria Swanson. It's too much trouble."

"You're quite right," said Sue. "That one I gave Christmas Eve was certainly a bother, and you have no idea what it cost."

Dot had a fairly good idea what it had cost. Christmas morning Mrs. Cudahy had told Eddie how the liquor which had been consumed had been given to Mr. Cudahy

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 bottle by bottle from people who had expected tickets and hadn't got them.

Funny the way a girl will put on airs after her marriage, particularly if she has been the pursuer and has finally felled her prey.

Both conversations perished. Eddie had told Pat all that the layman could understand about neutrodynes. Dot was sulking quietly at Sue's attitude.

Presently Sue said: "It's about as lively as a funeral here. What's the matter with you two?"

"Nothing," said Dot.

"What do you say we all go to Poppyland?" Sue jumped to her feet and looked at Eddie.

"No," said Dot.

Eddie was ready to follow her lead, but her emphatic refusal stirred his curiosity. "Why not?" he asked.

Dot hadn't considered that there would be questions. "Oh," she said, "I don't know."

"Come on." Sue was now impatient of delay.

"What's the matter, Kid?" Eddie's conscience wras troubling him. He felt that he knew what had caused her refusal. Had he dished the poor kid out of her fun?

"I don't want to go, Eddie. If you want to go, go ahead. Sue will dance with you."

"Is it because I said that the other night about how you look?"

Dot might have consoled him, but Sue spoke before she had the chance. "Oh, come on, Dot. Nobody would know you were pregnant. You look fine. Come on."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, let me alone, the two of you," cried Dot. "I'm pregnant, and I'm nervous, and I'm cranky, and it costs money to dance, and I'm saving for my baby, and shut up!"

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 "Well," said Sue, sweetly, "don't you mind, honey, this is Pat's treat. It won't cost you a nickel. Come on."

Dot got quickly from her chair and ran to the bedroom. She carried with her the memory of the expression on Pat Macy's face. He had been looking at Sue, and there had been embarrassment and shock in his gaze. She threw herself on the bed and cried. Nobody cared about her baby. Eddie had wanted to go. Had she told him that it was bad for the baby, he would probably still have wanted to go. Nobody cared. It don't pay to go against what your husband wants. He didn't want the baby.

Dot cried until she heard the door close behind Sue and Pat. Then she dried her eyes and returned to the living-room. Eddie had turned on the radio set.

"Gee, you were nasty to them," he said.

"I don't care. She makes me sick."

"Well," said Eddie, "I don't care either. Only soon you won't have any friends."

"I'll have my baby," said Dot.

Eddie turned abruptly from the radio set. "Will he take the place of your friends and the Poppyland?" he asked.

Hm, here he was worrying about the damn old dance hall. No use fighting with him. Give him the answer he wants, and have peace in the family.

"I only meant," she replied, "that he'll sop up so darn much of my time that I won't have many nights for people anyhow."

"Oh," said Eddie.

Nothing more was said about the Macys, nor of the time when Dot would be held captive in the little three-room home. The days passed uneventfully. Dot sewed—dresses, diapers, petticoats, bellybands. Eddie worked. The weeks slipped by.

One day she went down to see the sanitarium of which the doctor had spoken. She took twenty-five dollars with

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 her for a deposit. Dr. Stewart had told her that this was the correct mode of procedure.

It was April now, and to Dot's young, slim figure there had come a change, a sudden impressive maturity, a simple, sweet promise that soon she too would be ready to give. A tree in blossom. A bush in bloom.

She wore a cape drawn tightly about her. If there's a fur collar lying around, all one has to do is get two yards of material and sew it at the neck, line it with some bright shade of silk, put the fur collar on, and there's a cape.

The sanitarium was on One Hundred and Thirty-sixth Street, as Dr. Stewart had said. It was in a row of brick houses. Two of them had been used in the creating of the sanitarium. Ivy covered the front of the house, and a nurse in stiff white linen sat on the stoop, anxiously assuring herself that it was spring.

Behind, in front, and to one side was New York's Congo. The rows of houses with their signs "For Colored Tenants" drew Dot's attention. She was pregnant. She was going to buy a bed upon which she might lie for the duration of her pain.

"Gee," thought Dot. "Niggers. But I guess you don't care who your neighbors are once the pain starts."

Inside the sanitarium it was hard to remember the ivy which climbed so green and inviting outside. There was a strong odor of ether and disinfectant. Dot felt small and frightened, defenseless. But what could she do? She had to have a place to have her baby. She felt that she would die with her pain in the strange, unfriendly, chemical atmosphere.

The nurse who had sat so idly on the stoop became a brisk, swift-footed messenger. In the time that it took Dot to be waved into a small, rather dingy office and to find a chair, the nurse had summoned the proprietor.

He was not a doctor. He was merely a man who for

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 some strange unknown reason had decided on a sanitarium for his career. Had he not decided on a sanitarium, he might have been a bond salesman or a confidence man. He was over six feet tall and of great bulk. He had a red, jolly face and a quick, convincing smile. He put Dot at her ease. He wore his personality as a woman wears an orchid. He told amusing stories of women who had been his guests. He made Dot feel that of course her confinement would be a bit more important than any he had ever housed before. She had an idea that he would be running in and out of her room to admire her baby, to raise her spirits, to ask if there were anything else he might do. He stated his prices in a careless, offhand manner, as though if she didn't have the money it wouldn't make a particle of difference.

Dot liked him at once. She felt now that she had a friend in the place, some one who'd sort of look after her. Of course, she couldn't possibly know that never again after receiving her receipt for twenty-five dollars (balance to be paid upon admission of patient) would she see the jolly, big-brotherly sanitarium barker.

A nurse showed her over the place. It was an old house. There was no elevator. Women were brought from the delivery room on stretchers by nurse-power. One flight up was the delivery room. Too bad Mrs. Collins couldn't take a look at it, but there was a patient on the table just now. Yes, they had another delivery room, but the men were cleaning it. Now here was a nice front room Mrs. Collins could have. Two hundred and twenty-five dollars. Well, it was a very large room. They had others. For instance, behind this door was a lovely, comfortable room for only a hundred and seventy-five. Unfortunately there was a patient in it at the present time, and Mrs. Collins wouldn't be able to see it. Over here was a room that got the sun all day long. Only a hundred and fifty.

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 "Have you got anything for a hundred and twenty-five?" asked Dot, timidly.

"Yes, we have a couple," said the nurse. "But they're very small, and you have to remember that you're going to be here in the middle of summer. For twenty-five dollars more you might as well be comfortable."

"May I see the ones that are a hundred and twenty-five?" asked Dot.

"Certainly."

They walked up another flight of steps. On the way they passed a pretty, brown-eyed nurse carrying a tray. She looked at Dot and smiled faintly. Dot smiled back at her.

"Has Mrs. King gone yet?" asked Dot's guide.

"No," said the brown-eyed nurse. "Her doctor's making her stay another day."

Dot's guide shook her head as though Mrs. King's doctor were a person of inexplicable actions.

"We can only see one of the rooms," she said. "We only have two at that price, and one of them is taken."

Dot saw the room. It was Number Nine. It was as wide as Dot's bathroom and but a trifle longer. A snow-white bed, a less snow-white bureau, and a little stiff-backed chair had been squeezed in somehow. A table stood by the bed, a small table. There was a telephone on the shelf above the bed.

"This is a hundred and twenty-five," the nurse announced in the tone of one who says: "That's what you get for being cheap."

"Oh," said Dot. "It's so tiny."

The nurse read in her voice the hopelessness of one who cannot spend another cent, and a feeling of pity prompted her to make a suggestion.

"You could go in the ward," she said, brightly.

"The ward," echoed Dot.

"Yes. Of course, it isn't the kind of ward that perhaps

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 you're thinking of. There's only four beds in it—and it's only a hundred dollars."

As she spoke she led the way next door. A large room jumped at Dot out of the dim hallway. It was the largest room Dot had ever seen. Two beds stood at the east wall and two at the west. The southern end of the room was all windows. Air and light were here in abundance. Two of the beds were vacant at the moment. The other two held women that were nursing their infants and were not at all concerned with the sightseer. Dot realized that it was because these women had paid the sanitarium's lowest price that intrusion upon them was permissible.

A hundred dollars and the same care that you got for more money, the nurse assured her. Of course, you didn't have the privacy, but some people preferred the ward because you never got lonely. There was one other difference. The blankets in the private rooms were blue-striped and pink-striped, while the ward blankets were all gray. Dot felt that she could bear up under this.

She decided in favor of the ward. Then she was shown the nursery and the bathroom and was permitted to depart.

"We'll mail you a list of the things you'll need while you're here," promised the nurse.

Dot went home. She was not in a remarkably pleasant frame of mind, but she was pleased that she had cheated the tiny room and that she had gained twenty-five dollars by so doing. She consulted the card from her Postal Savings account which told how close she was to her goal. She had done well. She had managed to save thirty-five dollars a month. She had a hundred and fifty now that the twenty-five had been paid to the sanitarium.

The twenty-five saved on the room was not a bit of casual luck but actually a godsend, she realized in looking over her account. For, though he had said nothing

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 about it, Dot had observed that the suit which Eddie wore for "good" was rapidly going from bad to worse. He would probably visit her every evening at the sanitarium, and she would feel so bad for him if he didn't look as decent as the other women's husbands. Yes, he could get a suit with that twenty-five.

Dot stretched herself out on the bed. She was tired. She had walked a great deal. Her idea of reaching the sanitarium had been wrong. She had had to walk all over the City College grounds to find the place. Hills, steps. Why wasn't a city perfectly flat? Why wasn't—

Suddenly Dot sat bolt upright on the bed and her expression suggested that she was listening to something. One of her hands moved tenderly and rested on her abdomen. She closed her eyes, and two tears, hot and glistening, appeared on her lashes. Grateful tears.

The baby had moved.

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now. May in Inwood. Trees green and laughing, shaking their branches with queer little rustling noises. Fort George Hill, Riverside Drive, the Mohawk Trail, Isham Park all green and inviting. Sometimes Dot looked up Fort George Hill, and a desire to climb would almost overpower her. Adventure seemed to lurk behind the bushes, to loll on the wild, green grass. She knew it was a delusion. On top was merely the matter-of-fact, workaday world. Washington Heights was there. There was no adventure, and besides in two months' time she would have her baby, and she couldn't climb very well. The Drive was better. She could walk along, dreaming down at the sun-speckled water. It was hot in the sunshine. She could not go without her cape, and she felt the heat so intensely this year. There were benches on the Drive. She could sit down and slip out of her cape for a few minutes. While she was sitting down it wasn't so noticeable that she was pregnant. The Mohawk Trail was hilly. She couldn't go there any more. Isham Park was pleasant and cool, but it was quite a long walk.

She liked to walk to the end of Dyckman Street. It was fun sitting on the dock, watching the ferryboats cross the river. Sometimes fish were caught, and sometimes motor launches passed with gay-looking girls in them. She was interested in gay-looking girls this year. It seemed funny that such a short time before she was one of them. Only last summer she had worried what style of bob to get, what shade of lipstick, what color sweater. She had worn flip little shoes, too, with frightfully high heels on them and perky little bows. She had had a hat

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 that pulled down tight on her head over her eyes and nose and showed only a very red, very provocative mouth to the boys on the street corners. There were still boys on the street corners, but they didn't notice her now. They didn't dream that a few short months before they would have shouted "Hello, girlie" to her as she passed. Yes, she with her feet in flat-heeled, broad-toed shoes, her cape wrapped protectingly around the precious lump, her slow, labored walk. She didn't use any rouge now; she just powdered. Rouge was foolish under the circumstances.

But she watched the other girls. She saw them in bright spring hats and boyish suits making for the subway. She saw them hopping in and out of cars, trailing an extra wrap carelessly upon their arms. She saw them in dazzling white, strolling beside smiling men carrying tennis rackets. She had never played tennis, but she felt now that she would like to. There were other girls. Millions of girls. The girl she always saw at the movies who was so terribly pretty. The girl next door who wore tight-fitting dresses and whose figure was so delightfully slim.

She noticed everybody now. She knew that she was a mess to look at. She couldn't sew well enough to make dresses that would artfully conceal her condition. She doubted that any one could. But what difference did it make after all? She was going to have her baby, only now that the appointed time was near, she was impatient. So painfully impatient.

Edna brought Dot a letter one night. It had come to Dot in careof "Mrs. Driggs." Inside there had been another sealed envelope addressed to "Dorothy." There had been no message for Edna. The letter was in the handwriting of Jim Haley.

"Guess he wants to make up with you," Edna remarked as she handed the letter to Dot. "Perhaps somebody told him about the baby."

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 Eddie, sitting on the floor feeding water to his "A" batteries, grunted.

Dot opened the letter.

"Your father died this morning," she read. "I thought I ought to let you know. Don't come over as I will not let you in. Jim Haley."

"Oh, my father's dead," said Dot.

"No kidding?" said Edna.

Eddie came away from the batteries and took the letter out of Dot's limp hand. He read it slowly and let it fall back on the table. He glanced at Dot's white face.

"Dirty louse," he said. It was thoroughly understood that he was referring to Jim Haley. "Do you want to go over and take a look at your old man?"

"Jim wouldn't let me in," said Dot, dully.

"Like hell he wouldn't." Eddie reached for his coat. "You want to see your father?"

Dot smiled affectionately up at Eddie. He was ready to do battle so that she might pay her last respects to the meek old man who would never again call: "Is that you, Dottie?" She sighed regretfully. That part of her life had been finished months before. What was the use of mourning or fighting over it now?

She shook her head. "No, Eddie, honest. I don't want to go."

Once again he was being cheated out of the chance to baste Jim Haley. He looked at Dot, searching her face for a sign that she was concealing her real desire.

"He'll let you in," he assured her. "You might have two relatives to cry over by the time you get inside, but you'd see your old man. Want to go?"

"No, Eddie. It isn't worth it. The old man was all right. He couldn't have done no different than he did at the end. Jim was his bread and butter, and he didn't dare go against him. The old man was all right, but I guess I'll

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 remember him like he was the night I got back from that ride on the Burma. "

All this while Eddie had been holding his coat. Now he put it back on the chair reluctantly.

"Are you going, Edna?" asked Dot.

Edna smiled. "What! With that polite invitation you got? Not me. After all, you got some right there, and you wouldn't be let in, he says. Imagine me going up. I always did like the old man, though."

Once again Eddie grabbed his coat hopefully. "Let's go, Edna," he said.

"Thanks a lot, Eddie, but I don't think I will. You see, I haven't any real right there."

"You were a friend of the old man's," Eddie reminded her, as though this fact had been well known for some time.

"No, thanks, Eddie. I was kidding. I wouldn't really go. Jim and I had a difference of opinion."

Eddie shook his head at the utter vacancy of women.

Dot got up slowly and made for the bedroom. "You know, I don't feel very good," she said as she passed Eddie.

She lay down on the bed and pulled the blankets, that always lay in virginal, undisturbed pinkness at the foot of the bed, up over her shoulders. Eddie and Edna came in and stood near her looking sympathetic and puzzled.

"I feel as cold as ice," said Dot. "I've got to work to keep my teeth from chattering."

"Hm," said Edna.

"Think I ought to call the doctor?" asked Eddie.

Dot shook her head. Her hair, dark and wavy, made a fascinating design on the white austerity of the pillow.

"I'll get a hot-water bottle," said Edna. "She'll be all right soon. It is just the shock of that letter that upset her."

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 Quite unconsciously Edna addressed Eddie. He seemed to be the one that needed reassurance.

Edna fetched the hot-water bottle, and Dot took it under the covers with her. She lay very quietly for an hour while the others sat and talked to her. Gradually the chill passed. Dot felt quite all right again. She got up and began to hem diapers. The baby moved about with swift little flail-like motions of what Dr. Stewart had assured her was his arms and legs.

Everything was all right again, but there had been a pain that had come with the chill, a strange pain that had felt to Dot as though the baby were breaking away from her. She knew now that it had probably been half imagination and half plain, ordinary cramp. It had been a terrible moment.

And now as the days passed there came talk of vacations, Eddie's vacation that filled her with joy, and Dr. Stewart's that filled her with horror. Eddie was to have his the last week in June and the first in July. Dr. Stewart's happened to be at the same time, only his extended another week into July. It seemed that he hadn't had a rest in three years and was now able to take one. He had been arranging his cases for six months in a manner that would make the trip possible. Dot wouldn't need him before the end of July, he felt sure. He was going to Denver to see his mother. Dot mustn't worry. She was going to be fine. In the meanwhile, she was to go twice to see Dr. Simons, a colleague of Dr. Stewart's. Dr. Simons would examine her and telegraph to Denver in case there were unexpected developments. Dot took Dr. Simons' address and telephone number. She realized that Dr. Simons was doing a favor for her doctor and that was why she had to go to his office. Dr. Simons had to be saved the tiresome trip uptown.

Dr. Stewart would be in to see her once more before

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 his departure. There was nothing more to do now till the actual delivery. She had been dieting for ages. She had been walking. She was in perfect condition, and it looked very much as though she were going to have an easy time. Dr. Stewart was very cheerful and congratulatory, but Dot's heart was in her boots. A new doctor at this stage of the game! He would probably have to deliver the baby, too. If her child showed signs of getting ready to arrive, Dot didn't believe that a telegram to Denver was going to persuade him to postpone activities until Dr. Stewart's return.

Thoughts of Eddie's vacation, however, made her happy. What would it be like to have him around every day? He had tried to make it later in the month, in hopes of being off while Dot was in the sanitarium, but he had been unable to arrange it that way.

Of course, there wasn't anything they could do for amusement during these precious two weeks. Money was scarce, and Dot's condition prevented excursions of even the mildest nature. There would only be the movies and the radio set. But just having him around for two blessed weeks would be enough.

A new happiness came over her. She cleaned vigorously but with caution. She wanted everything to be perfect for his vacation. She got Eddie to take the curtains down. She washed them carefully, and Eddie rehung them.

She had received from the sanitarium a list of things she would need there. She borrowed a Boston bag from Pat Macy and packed it so that it should be ready in case of a hasty journey to the sanitarium. Six nightgowns were the smallest possible number with which you could do, it seemed, and that only in the event of being able to send them home, having them laundered and returned. Well, Dot had four voile nighties and a silk one which

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 Edna had given her for Christmas. She could buy another voile nightie, and that would make six; only there was no one at home to launder them for her. She couldn't possibly buy enough to do her for the entire stay, and obviously they expected you to have a clean nightie at least once a day. She worried over that. What could she do? To send them to a regular laundry was impossible. They wouldn't be ready in time. Eddie would wash them, she knew, but he wouldn't be able to iron them. The other items included a kimono, bedroom slippers, brush, soap, washcloth, toothbrush, tooth paste, talcum powder, and two towels.

She decided to ask Edna's advice in the matter of the nightgowns.

"Honey," said Edna, "people don't take voile nighties to a sanitarium. Sorry to tell you so, but it's true. You'd think you was looking at Ziegfeld's chorus in bed to take a look at the things the women wear."

Dot's worry pucker appeared suddenly on her brow. It was always like this. Even at the movies, she was the worst dressed girl in the place. God, she couldn't go to bear a child without being conscious of the inferior grade of her nightgowns.

Edna saw that Dot was going to cry. She spoke rapidly, keeping an eye on the worry pucker. "You know, Dot, I was going to marry Jim. I thought about it a long time. Even a person as old and decrepit as I am loves to have nice things; so I bought a lot of underwear and things for the honeymoon that I'll never have. I have two dozen crêpe-de-Chine nighties and God knows how many chemises and step-ins and things like that. Let me give you six of the nighties, and Eddie can bring them back to me as they get soiled, and I'll do 'em up and return them to you. All right?"

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 "Oh, Edna, I couldn't."

But in the end Dot took five of them—not six, because of the one Edna had given her for Christmas.

So her bag stood ready with all the beautiful nighties within. A manicuring set, a bottle of Ed Pinaud's Lilac, and a box of Three Flowers face powder were added to the list of necessities. Irrelevant is mention of the fact that the lilac spilled in the bag, and Dot, who had looked forward to enjoying its cool fragrance through long, hot days in the sanitarium, was unable to replace it. She cried a little over the tragic end of the lilac. It was so easy to cry nowadays. Everything made her feel like crying. It would have been nice to have toilet water. Probably everybody else would have it. But the first bottle had been an extravagance; so the second was an impossibility.

The days grew hotter. Dr. Stewart came on the last call he would pay her before his trip. Dot felt that it was the last visit he would ever pay her. Surely it would be the unknown Dr. Simons who would share that strange, burning session of pain with her. She almost wept as she said good-by to Dr. Stewart. He had been so kind, so understanding.

The last diaper was hemmed, the last bellyband stitched, the last tiny dress edged with delicate lace. Sue Macy had presented Dot with a white wicker wardrobe that had four layers upon which to lay the baby's clothes. On top there had been a large satin bow of pink ribbon. Dot had ripped it off with a hot anger that was all out of proportion to the affront. Didn't Sue know that Dot's child was going to be a boy? Tenderly Dot replaced the offensive pink bow with the blue ribbon that had been on the sacque which Eddie had brought. A bow under the child's chin would annoy him anyhow, and it looked pretty on the basket.

So all the baby's clothes reposed whitely in their proper

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 places. There were bootees from Mrs. Cudahy and bootees from Miss Eiden who had sung "The Sunshine of Your Smile" on that far-distant Christmas Eve. There was a billowing, luxuriant carriage cover of blue silk from Maude McLaughlin. There were a dozen tiny, efficient-looking shirties from Edna. The rest of the wicker was full to overflowing with Dot's contributions to her son's wardrobe. There was a rattle hidden away down in the bottom under his nightgowns. Dot knew that it had been a silly purchase, but it had been such a cunning rattle. And after all it wasn't half so silly as the duck who was made of Turkish toweling and squeaked.

A deposit had been paid on the crib. The balance would be due upon delivery. It was ivory-white as Dot had always imagined it, and Pat Macy's friend had wanted to give them a carriage at wholesale price, too. Dot hadn't been able to manage the carriage. She would have to get that on the installment plan. Much as Eddie loathed the great American habit, it would have to be acquired for the sake of the baby carriage. Dot wanted a gray wicker carriage.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and waiting was hard. Not only was she impatient and nervous, but her body had become a strange, unfamiliar mass of discomfort. The baby moved restlessly with almost continuous kicking and rocking about. Sitting could be merely tolerated; walking was a labor. One could not lie on one's bed continually and dream of brisk autumn days when one would light-footedly tread the Drive, pushing one's sleeping baby in his carriage.

"Eddie?" asked Dot, "what was your father's first name?"

Eddie looked up from his evening paper. "Why?" he asked.

"The kid's gotta have a name," Dot pointed out.

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 "Well," said Eddie, "don't name him after that bum."

Dot didn't answer. She was thinking of the five dollars Ted Monroe had sent for her to buy a gift for the baby. She was wondering what she ought to get.

New York was feverishly playing Mah Jong. Chicago was aghast at the crime of Loeb and Leopold. The East, South, North, and West were sending their delegates to the Democratic Convention. The bobbed-haired bandit had been caught. There was talk of Dempsey fighting Gibbons. A man named Wilson had died. But to Dot there was only one thing that had ever happened—she had become pregnant.

"You know," said Eddie, "there's something good going to be on the radio the first week of my vacation."

"What?"

"The Democratic Convention. They're going to broadcast it."

"What is it?"

"Oh, a lot of Democrats get together and pick out a fellow that they want to run against Coolidge."

"That don't sound good," said Dot.

"Well, I think it ought to be. Graham McNamee is gonna report it from WEAF and Major Andrew White from WJZ."

"It may be good then," Dot admitted at length.

"New York is gonna try to put Al Smith over," said Eddie, "but they won't do it, because he's a Catholic."

"I thought this was politics," said Dot.

Eddie looked doubtful. "Don't know much about it," he said, "but that's what the boss said. We'll listen though."

The Democratic Convention came with a waving of nags and a beating of drums. It came with its men and women from Texas, Maine, and the Dakotas. It came with its orators, charlatans, and idiots. It came with its

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 planks, platforms, and balloting, William Jennings Bryan, Senator Walsh, and Izetta Jewel Brown. Alabama casts twenty-four votes for Underwood. . . . Missouri will be polled. . . . Alaska votes under the unit rule. . . . Speeches about Salisbury, Glass, McAdoo, and Underwood. Jonathan Davis, John W. Davis, Governor Silzer of New Jersey, Governor Smith of New York. The Ku Klux Klan. We will adjourn for the evening out of respect to President and Mrs. Calvin Coolidge, whose son died this morning. . . . "East Side, West Side." Governor Al Smith. Good old Al. Mad, insane demonstration. Noise. Singing. Screams. "California, Here I Come." William Gibbs McAdoo. We want McAdoo. Mac'll do. Another demonstration. More noise. Bryan speaks. Texas provokes a raucous, scornful query: "Is that Sam Houston's state?" Will Rogers gets a vote. Kansas decides to caucus.

It came to Dot through Graham McNamee. His smooth, clear voice brought Madison Square Garden into her living-room. She saw the states hurrying with their banners to join the latest demonstration. She saw Alabama, proud and pompous, casting her inevitable twenty-four votes for the inevitable Mr. Underwood.

The Democratic Convention proved to be the only thing that could make Dot forget her unhappy body, the suit that Eddie must buy, the carriage that had to be managed. Even the pangs of indigestion, her latest burden, could be lulled by listening to Senator Walsh taking the ballots.

It wasn't all quite clear to Dot. The people down at the Convention seemed so terribly excited over the whole thing, and Eddie had it direct from Mr. Williams that Coolidge was going to do another term. What did it matter, then, who they decided on? Ritchie was a nice name. Why didn't they take Ritchie? If Coolidge was

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 going to continue to be President, why did they bother so much about who was going to be defeated? It was quite inexplicable, but there was an odd fascination in listening to the states changing their opinions, in hearing the sudden noise of a spontaneous, unexplainable stampede. Then, too, there was a glamour about the people who came from far places. Fancy hearing the voice of a man who was actually an inhabitant of Arizona.

Dot and Eddie sat before the loud speaker listening spellbound to the never-ending balloting.

Once Al Smith had so many votes that Dot grew quite excited. "I thought you said they wouldn't put him over?"

"Well, you see, Dot," Eddie explained, "even if he gets the most votes here, it don't mean that he will be President."

"Why not?"

"Because he's got the Republican candidate to run against," said Eddie.

"Then I don't see what the use of the whole thing is," Dot replied.

But she liked it and she listened.

By the third day she and Eddie were quite alarmed. They had thought that a day and a night would probably complete the convention. The continuing of it meant that they would have to miss a session, for on the next day Dot had to see Dr. Simons. It had been agreed that Eddie must accompany her on the long trip.

"You can get your suit while you're downtown," said Dot. "Don't you think it would be nice to buy a suit downtown?"

"What am I gonna do with you? I can't drag you all over downtown."

"I'll wait in the doctor's office."

"It's best not to make arrangements like that. You don't

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 know how you'll feel after the trip or nothing. I'll get my suit where I've always got my things. In Benny's. We'll go to the doctor's and come straight home."

"All right," said Dot. "Say, Eddie, I hope I don't have the baby before the convention is over, don't you?"

Eddie's pale blue eyes rolled slowly. They fixed themselves on Dot's face with a cold, accusing look. "Don't be saying things like that," he said hardly. "You take that kid when you can get it." He made a movement that was something between a shrug and a shudder. "What the hell, do you think I want you hanging around pregnant till next Christmas?"

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 former named senior CIA official quashed the proposal to remove the material from the corporation.

A separate interviewee claimed that circa 1999, a former, senior U.S. military officer told the interviewee that that he touched the surface of an extraterrestrial spacecraft. The interviewee stated that the senior officer gave a detailed description of a craft floating in a building. The officer told the interviewee that approximately 150 individuals were working on the program and that the program was kept "outside of government" so the technology could remain proprietary.

Two interviewees said they participated in an alleged White House-tasked UAP study in Northern Virginia sometime between 2004 and 2007. The study evaluated the impacts to society should the United States, Russia, or China disclose they had evidence of extraterrestrial beings or craft. One interviewee assumed these governments possessed such evidence. The study was conducted by approximately 12 participants who evaluated 64 different aspects of society, such as religion and financial markets, which could be impacted by such a disclosure. The study lasted one day, and the interviewee was not aware of any final report or to whom any report may have been delivered.

Another interviewee claimed that in the 1990s he overhead electronic communication of a conversation between two military bases where scientists claimed "aliens" were present during specialized materials testing. The interviewee also reported that on another occasion in the 1990s he observed an "unidentified flying object" at a U.S. military facility. The interviewee described the object as exhibiting a peculiar flight pattern.

An interviewee who is a former U.S. service member said that in 2009, while participating in a humanitarian and security mission in a foreign country, he encountered "U.S. Special Forces" loading containers onto a large extraterrestrial spacecraft.

A separate interviewee said that a family member was part of an effort to reverse-engineer an object assumed to be off-world technology in the 1980s. The engineers failed to reverse-engineer the object and it was sent to a different facility for further evaluation.

An interviewee pointed out to AARO the existence of an alleged leaked Special National Intelligence Estimate from 1961 as proof of the existence of UAP crashes. AARO obtained a copy of the document through open-source research and evaluated its authenticity.

Some interviewees and public accounts underpin this storyline by claiming through second and thirdhand accounts that some NDAs may have been used to protect a "reverse-engineering program of off-world technology." These accounts describe the NDAs as including "punishment by death" provisions should the signatory disclose


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lived in an apartment house on Madison Avenue, a very different Madison Avenue from the one which spread itself above the park. The Collinses went down to Columbus Circle in the subway, then took the Fifty-ninth Street car crosstown to Madison Avenue, then the Madison Avenue car to Sixty-eighth Street. Dot was very tired when she got to Dr. Simons' house, almost too tired to be impressed by the beautiful apartment building.

A very blond, very stagey-looking nurse took Dot's name. Oh, yes, Dr. Stewart had spoken of Mrs. Collins. She and Eddie were admitted to the waiting-room. They Sat very quietly and looked the place over. There was no sign of the doctor, but they could hear an occasional movement behind the closed door which betrayed the doctor's presence.

There was a thick, soft rug on the floor, and a few Japanese prints hung on the wall. The furniture was French gray wicker, and the window had been draped by a professional draper. A very charming waiting-room, and a most disgusting wait.

The thing that baffled Dot completely was the stairs which rose out of the little foyer. Stairs! This was just an apartment, wasn't it? What were the stairs for and to what did they lead? She had decided that they were just make-believe stairs when a child came down carrying a doll. She placed the doll in a chair and solemnly climbed the stairs again. When she returned she had a picture book. So! There was actually something upstairs. Well, doctors were funny people.

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 The wait continued. The blond nurse smiled encouragingly now and again. It grew warm in the pretty room. Dot took off her hat and later threw back her cape. Eddie sighed heavily and shifted his position. No other patients came into the room, but that was scant comfort, as a dozen people might well have been examined while Dot waited.

Dot leaned over and whispered to Eddie: "I wonder how Al Smith's doing?"

Eddie smiled. "It'll probably be Election Day before we get home," he said.

A woman came down the stairs, a dark, brainy-looking woman with a pleasant face. The doctor's wife. Dot had never before seen a doctor's wife. She stared at Mrs. Simons, wondering what it must feel like to be the wife of a clever doctor. Gee, Mrs. Simons must be proud. It wasn't long after that Dot learned that Dr. Simons was very proud of his wife. Dr. Stewart hadn't told Dot that Mrs. Simons was better known as Dr. Martin and that under that name she was recognized as an obstetrician of note.

Dot gazed at her interestedly and back at the child who was busily tearing pages out of her book. Having a child couldn't be bad, or all the doctors wouldn't be letting their wives have them, she thought.

Mrs. Simons exchanged a few words with the nurse and looked at Dot. She smiled and Dot smiled back at her. Did doctors deliver their wives' babies? she wondered. She would have liked to ask Mrs. Simons that and what was upstairs.

Suddenly the door to the doctor's office flew open. Nobody came out. The doctor had apparently been lost in his own thoughts for an hour and a quarter or had perhaps been deep in a mystery novel.

"You may go in, Mrs. Collins," said the nurse.

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 Dot turned and whispered to Eddie: "I guess you'll have to stay out here."

Dr. Simons was apparently a person who couldn't stand waiting. Mrs. Collins' delay was too much for him. He appeared on the threshold and gestured impatiently to both of them. They arose and followed him.

The inner office basked in a cool golden glow. The sun streamed unrebuked in all the four windows and busy little electric fans whirred gleefully and dared it to make a nuisance of itself. Everything was terribly modern-looking and terribly oiled, polished, and clean.

In the center of the room stood Dr. Simons, waiting with a peevish expression on his face for Dot to take a seat. He was a tall, dark Jew, still under forty. He was slender, sharp-eyed, and rather brilliant-looking. His fingers were long and slim and nervous. He was good-looking. The sort of Jew who, one expects, will speak with an Oxford accent and who will say blisteringly sarcastic things.

Dot took a seat. So did Dr. Simons. So did Eddie. Dr. Simons asked Dot if her name was Kenny. She said it wasn't, and Dr. Simons seemed greatly upset over the turn affairs had taken. He pulled out a file-drawer and began whispering "Collins" over and over to himself. Finally he slammed the drawer and shouted: "Miss Henderson."

The nurse appeared.

"Find this woman's card," he said. "It's with the batch Dr. Stewart brought over. Her name is Kenny."

Dot's mouth opened, but she could see by the smile on Miss Henderson's face that the doctor's mistake had been noticed.

Miss Henderson found the card. The doctor regarded it critically. "Oh, you're the woman who is to come to term in a few weeks, aren't you?"

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 "I hope not before Dr. Stewart comes back," said Dot timidly.

Dr. Simons favored her with a quick, sharp glance. In the end he decided she was merely stupid. "So do I," he said.

He read the card over six or seven times. When he finally laid it down, Dot had the impression that he still had not absorbed a single idea in connection with it. Miss Henderson could have told her something about that strange, restless, clever mind that never knew a peaceful moment. Could have told her something about this peevish young doctor who crucified and tortured himself for his patients, who respected but disliked him.

"We'll look at her, Miss Henderson," said Dr. Simons.

Miss Henderson led Dot through a narrow white door into a narrow white room. She helped Dot off with her dress and assisted her to the table.

"She's ready, Doctor," said Miss Henderson, opening the door.

The doctor's voice startled Dot. He was of course speaking to Eddie, but who would have guessed that he could speak like a human being and on such short acquaintance? "I listen to Roxy," he was saying, "when I have the time."

"Mrs. Collins is waiting," said Miss Henderson.

The doctor came in. He examined Dot thoroughly. He was as conscientious and as purely professional as Dr. Stewart, but there the similarity stopped. Dr. Stewart's manner was that of a saviour ministering to the needs of some one he pitied and cared for. Dr. Simons' attitude was one of extreme annoyance. "That there should be women!" said his cold eyes. "And that they should get pregnant!"

The examination finished, he left Dot abruptly, presumably to continue his conversation with Eddie. It was

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 only by Miss Henderson's cool hand extended to her that Dot knew that it was time to get off the table.

She dressed and joined Eddie and the doctor. Eddie was chatting easily with Dr. Simons. Dr. Simons looked at Dot as she came in. His eyes were still cold, but they held something else, a look of apprehension, of worry.

"She's fine, isn't she, Doctor?" asked Miss Henderson.

You felt that her words were not at all meant to reassure the patient, but rather to soothe and compose the doctor.

"Yes, ah, yes," he said absently. "Quite all right. When are you to come again, Mrs. Collins?"

"The week after next," said Dot.

"You'd better make it next week," said Dr. Simons. "A week from today."

They left him then. Dot went, feeling that she had put a blight on that cool and sunny room. The doctor was worrying his hair with his long, slim fingers and staring thoughtfully after her. Miss Henderson was tiptoeing about as though not to disturb his reflections, unpleasant though they might be.

Outside, Dot found that Mrs. Simons and the child had disappeared. Together she and Eddie left the strange apartment that had stairs.

"I hate that man," said Dot passionately.

"Oh, he's all right," said Eddie. "Nervous, that's all. Clever fellows are always two steps away from the bughouse."

"Dr. Stewart isn't like that."

"This fellow's a Jew," Eddie reminded her. "When they ain't the common, money-grabbing kind, they're kind of erratic."

"You know why I hate him?" asked Dot.

"No. Why?"

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 "He scared me. He looked at me funny. He thinks something's wrong with me."

"How do you mean?"

"With my insides, I guess. He thinks I'm gonna kick off, having this baby."

"You're crazy."

"You didn't see the way he looked at me. Maybe he's right," she said, gloomily.

"Ain't you got faith no more in Stewart?"

"Yes, but he ain't seen me lately. Maybe something has happened."

"Oh, go on," said Eddie. "Nothing just happens. You'd 'a' felt it, I'll bet, if anything bad had happened."

There was no car in sight; so they walked slowly down Madison Avenue. Dot was preoccupied and dreary. She gazed without interest into the windows of the shops that lined the street. Crazy shops. Many of them had nothing but books in the windows. Others were full of junk, funny-looking vases and plates and things. One shop had nothing at all on display except a great big cabinet with Chinese designs. "Give me Two Hundred and Seventh Street any time," thought Dot. "Or Willis Avenue."

She undressed and lay down when she got home. It had been a horrible trip. She was dead tired and depressed. Her body was a smoldering expanse of quivering flesh. That doctor! Did he know something that kindly, good-natured Dr. Stewart didn't know? Had she seen her future truthfully foretold in the panicked gaze that he had cast upon her?

Some women did die in childbirth. Everybody knew that. The rate was low nowadays. But still, some women did die. Would she be one of them?

Funny she hadn't thought about dying before. And funny that somehow she didn't care for herself. But to

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 leave a tiny, defenseless baby all alone in the big world! There was Eddie, of course, but he would be bewildered, frightened, helpless as the baby. What would he do? He had no relatives. He would not give the baby to Edna even if she would take it. What would he do? He would probably put it in a "home."

She tore her mind to pieces with conjectures. She tossed her head about in an agony of worry. She saw her baby's identity forgotten, Eddie far from New York, herself cold and useless in her grave. Sleep released her at last, but she cried in her sleep, and Eddie, standing quietly by, wondered what she was dreaming.

When she awakened, he had dinner all ready. The corn had boiled too long, and the steak was too rare; but she appreciated his effort. Not that she was hungry. It was hard to eat when visions of the baby—whose mother had made him a dozen web-fine dresses all by hand—growing up in an institution were so close.

"Ain't supper all right?" asked Eddie.

"Sure. It's fine."

She wasn't eating even as well as her diet permitted. Eddie wondered what that meant. Was something wrong with her, after all? Suppose something happened to her?

Now, for the first time in months, he pictured her lying white and dead. He couldn't bear the thought of it. He moved restlessly and uttered an oath.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Honest, Eddie, dinner is fine. Don't be sore that I ain't eating. It's only because that trip kinda tired me out."

"I ain't sore."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"There is, too, something the matter. Do you get the blues when you think how close we are to having a kid?"

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 "Yes," said Eddie.

The pall with which Dr. Simons had enshrouded Dot did not lift. The days of Eddie's vacation rode each other into eternity, hot, dry days above which the sua hung with a tawdry brassiness. Its sumptuous golden radiance seemed to have deserted it. It was merely a huge and ugly gilt bauble suspended in space. At night when it fell behind the Palisades with the crass obviousness of an electrical effect, it left behind a stifling, black night.

The Democratic Convention continued. The inability of the Democrats to reach an agreement had become a joke around town. Dot still listened. She had come to respect steadfast Alabama and to enjoy, if not to share, California's excitement over William Gibbs McAdoo. She was a New Yorker. She wanted to see Al Smith get the nomination. Of course Coolidge was going to be President again, but since these people set so much store by picking a loser, she felt that Al Smith certainly ought to be the guy. Listening to the arguments and discussions, even, dispelled the gloom which Dr. Simons had provoked. But after the delegates, the alternates, the visitors, and everybody else had gone for the night to their hotels, rooming-houses, and homes, there were still Dr. Simons' worried eyes staring at her from the darkness. He thought she was going to die. She had seen it in his face.

She had stayed in the house during the terrible heat wave. Eddie had shopped for the meat and groceries. Nobody had come to see them. Edna had taken Floyd to Asbury Park. Sue and Pat were vacationing at Far Rockaway. She had had a card from Maude McLaughlin. Maude was in Atlantic City. Her card had said: "We are having a wonderful time. Wish you were here."

"We" are having a wonderful time. That didn't mean Maude and her mother, for they never went any place together. Did it mean Maude and the golden-haired child?

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