Dot lay on her bed waiting for Eddie to return from the drug store. Why was it taking him so long? Surely the telephone booths all being in use would not have detained him. He would have no compunctions about jumping on somebody and hustling him out of the booth. Perhaps Dr. Stewart's line had been busy. Perhaps Eddie had forgotten the number he had so painfully memorized and had had to stop to search for it. Perhaps by some devilish chance Dr. Stewart's line had been out of order, and Eddie was trying to find a person close enough to the doctor's house to carry a message. Perhaps . . . Dot looked at the Big Ben on the chair beside her. Eddie had been gone less than three minutes.
Well, now it had started. Soon it would be over. She would have her baby. She did not think of death now. She was too excited. She did not even think of the pain ahead of her. She thought of Edna's amazement wdien the bell should receive no answer in the morning. She thought of Eddie's frightened face. She would try to reassure him, try to make him understand that she felt fine and very gay. It was a little like having taken too much to drink. Only that way could this wild, careless sense of excitement be equaled, and then just artificially.
There was no pain yet. No pain yet. But the baby was coming. The membrane had ruptured.
Eddie came back from the drug store. He was very pale, and his sandy hair stood up straight on his head.
"He says he'll be right up," Eddie gasped. "But, God, all the way from Long Island! How do you feel, Kid?"
