"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
