At her words the strong young fellow gave way. He turned his face to the wall, sobbing, tortured by the thought that his bitter and savage assault and expressed resolve to leave her had been the cause of his mother's death. "What can I do?" he asked, when he was able to speak. "I must do something--she was so good to me."
The young woman, looking upon him with large tolerance and a certain measure of admiration, replied: "There's nothing to do now but wait for the doctor. You'd better come down with me and have some coffee."
He did not feel in the least like eating or drinking, but he needed human companionship. Therefore he followed his neighbor down the stairs and into her cluttered little living-room with submissive gratitude. The home was slovenly, but it was glorified by kindliness. A tousled baby of eighteen months was keeping the old man busy and a small boy of eight or nine was struggling into his knickerbockers, and Victor, thrust into the midst of this hearty, dirty, noisy household, remembered with increasing respect his mother's dainty housekeeping. "She was a lady," he said to himself, in definition of the difference between her apartment and this. "Her home was poor, but it was never ratty."
Mrs. Bowers was kindness and consideration itself. Her father, deaf and partly paralytic, was treated gently, although he was irritatingly slow of comprehension and insisted on knowing all about what had taken place up-stairs. It pained and disgusted Victor inexpressibly to have his mother's condition bawled into the old man's ears, but he could not reasonably interfere.
He thought of Mrs. Joyce, knowing that his mother would want to have her instantly informed. "I ought to telephone some friends," he said to Mrs. Bowers. "Where is the nearest 'phone?"
She told him, and he went out and down the steps in haste to let Mrs. Joyce know of his tragic bereavement, and when at the drug-store near by he finally succeeded in getting communication with the house he was deeply disappointed to be told by the butler that Mrs. Joyce was not down and could not be disturbed so early in the morning.
"But I _must_ see her," he insisted. "My mother, Mrs. Ollnee, her friend, is--is--very sick. I am Victor, her son, and I'm sure Mrs. Joyce would want to speak to me."