"
"Lord! what a relief! I breathe again."
Jim fired off his secret without further delay. "I've been married,
though."
"Married? Already? Married to what? Anybody I ever heard of?"
His mother was gasping in a dangerous approach to heart failure.
Jim protested.
"You never saw her, but she's a very nice girl. You'll love her
when you meet her."
Jim's father sputtered as he pulled himself out of his chair:
"Wha-what's this? You--you damned young cub! You--why--what--who--oh,
you jackass! You big, lumbering, brainless, heartless bonehead!
Oh--whew! Look at your poor mother!"
Jim was frightened. She was pounding at her huge breast with one
hand and clutching her big throat with another. Her husband whirled
to a siphon, filled a glass with vichy, and gave it to Jim to hold
to her lips while he ran to throw open a window.
Jim knelt by his mother and felt like Cain bringing home the news
of the first crime. Her son's remorse was the first thing that
Eve felt, no doubt; at least, it was the first that Mrs. Dyckman
understood when the paroxysm left her. She felt so sorry for her
lad that she could not blame him. She blamed the woman, of course.
She cried awhile before she spoke; then she caressed Jim's cheeks
and blubbered:
"But we mustn't make too much of a fuss about a little thing like
a wedding. It's his first offense of the kind. I suppose he fell
into the trap of some little devil with a pretty face. Poor innocent
child, with no mother to protect him!"
"Poor innocent scoundrel!" old Dyckman snarled.
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