It was kind of hard to tell Eddie because it was all such a new idea. They had never discussed the possibility, or rather the certainty, of Dot's becoming pregnant. He didn't know that it had finally happened, and she hated to tell him. He got mad so easy.
His ignorance of the result of their young and irresponsible carelessness was not due to the fact that they lived like a moving-picture couple, who one would imagine consummated their amours through an ambassador, but rather because Eddie was only vaguely conscious that the dates on the calendar had anything to do with Dot's physical condition.
She wondered if she couldn't get Edna to tell him. No, Sue Cudahy would be a more acceptable message-bearer, or even Maude McLaughlin. Dot knew that she was only playing with the thought to relieve her feelings. She knew she would have to tell him herself.
Gee, this was worse than asking him if they might take Edna's furniture. Babies were cunning things, sort of gay and friendly. They didn't cost much either, and it would sleep in a crib beside their bed. There's something sort of valuable about them. She couldn't afford a nurse; so she'd have to stay home and mind it. No leaving them alone. Some people did, of course, but occasionally a baby pulled the blanket up and smothered, or the house caught fire. No, she'd have to cut out parties and stay home and probably sit close to the crib and watch the baby while it slept. Tied down. No dances, no movies, no window-shopping of an evening. Tied down. But the baby would be in his
