"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
