And then there was another period of quiet, behind which tumbled the waters of Mr. Anderson’s voice in the taproom. His words all ran together, like rivulets joining a stream. It was pleasant against the malty odor of beer.
And Pat turned to look at Cart; and, oddly, she was smiling. But it was the wispiest, lightest ghost of a smile.
“No,” said Cart. ”Don’t say it. I won’t hear it.”
“But Cart, you don’t know what I was going to say¯”
“I do! And it’s a damned insult!”
“Here¯” began Mr. Queen.
“If you think,” snarled Cart, “that I’m the kind of heel who would drag a story like this out for the edification of the Emmy DuPres of Wrightsville, merely to satisfy my sense of ‘duty,’ then you’re not the kind of woman I want to marry, Pat!”
“I couldn’t marry you, Cart,” said Pat in a stifled voice. ”Not with Nora¯not with my own sister¯a . . . a . . . ”
“She wasn’t responsible! She was sick! Look here, Queen, drive some sense into¯Pat, if you’re going to take that stupid attitude, I’m through¯I’ll be damned if I’m not!” Cart pulled her off the sofa and held her to him tightly. ”Oh, darling, it isn’t Nora, it isn’t Jim, it isn’t your father or mother or Lola or even you I’m really thinking of . . . Don’t think I haven’t visited the hospital. I¯I have. I saw her just after they took her out of the incubator. She glubbed at me, and then she started to bawl, and¯Damn it, Pat, we’re going to be married as soon as it’s decent, and we’re going to carry this damn secret to the grave with us, and we’re going to adopt little Nora and make the whole damn thing sound like some impossible business out of a damn book¯that’s what we’re going to do! Understand?”
“Yes, Cart,” whispered Pat. And she closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
When Mr. Ellery Queen strolled out of the back room, he was smiling, although a little sadly.
He slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the bar before Gus Olesen and said: “See what the folks in the back room will have, and don’t neglect Mr. Anderson. Also, keep the change. Goodbye, Gus. I’ve got to catch the train for New York.”
Gus stared at the bill. ”I ain’t dreaming, am I? You ain’t Santa Claus?”
“Not exactly, although I just presented two people with the gift of several pounds of baby, complete down to the last pearly toenail.”
“What is this?” demanded Gus. ”Some kind of celebration?”
Mr. Queen winked at Mr. Anderson, who gawped back. ”Of course! Hadn’t you heard, Gus? Today is Mother’s Day!”
The End