Free The Collected Stories of William Humphrey by William Humphrey Page B

day?” “No, sir, I’m going to get right up now and support my family.”
    He rolled over and groaned and opened his eyes. He could see the team a little ways off and was thankful for that bell hanging there. It cheered him so he got to his elbows and once he had he took a look at himself and laughed. If he could do that then he damned sure wasn’t going to ring that bell. It would just be giving the old man too much to crow about. He looked again and wondered if he could have reached the bell anyhow, for there it went dancing all over the field.
    Then Dan watched himself get up, get the bell and begin swinging it with all his might, pointing at the body on the ground as though he wanted everybody to come see what he had gone and done with himself now.

Sister
    S ISTER CAME down to the kitchen very early to attend Queenie through her labor. She found the other cats squatting in the shadows, solemn and stiff, while Queenie held the center of the room. Each of Sister’s cats was temperamental; Queenie, the oldest, was the most difficult. Sister was touched by her moans and stricken looks, but she reminded herself that Queenie did like to have an audience. What a fuss she made!
    â€œQueenie, Queenie,” Sister chided. But her voice was soft as a purr. In each of her cats what she loved was just the weakness in its character.
    The other cats drifted to the door where some sat and some paced up and down, waiting to be let out. Sister comforted each in turn. “No, no. There is nothing you can do to help. But don’t worry—Queenie is going to be all right.”
    She offered her warm milk, ground beef, a raw egg. But Queenie wanted only to lie in the sunroom, wrapped around herself, down behind the potted oleander.
    Yet Sister felt she wanted company. She regretted scolding her yesterday for stealing Zee-Zee’s bone.
    The whole house seemed to draw near to wait for Queenie’s pains to begin. Without the rest of her cats, Sister grew lonely and fretful. But she reminded herself of her responsibility. Queenie depended on her. Sister was always grateful for one more way in which she might be useful. It was gratitude—not pride—she felt in knowing that she could do more things than most girls of fourteen. She thought of her cousins Enid and Evaline and felt sorry for them; they missed so much enjoyment, being useless.
    Queenie’s labor soon began. Sister knew to keep away from her. The old cat clawed the floor; she grunted; she drew herself into a knot and rolled over and over on her back. With each of her spasms the fur stood up along her spine. Though Sister tried to sit still, before long she was biting her nails.
    The first two kittens were each dark gray with darker stripes. But Sister soon found the ways to tell them apart. The third, which cried loudest, was paler. That one, like its mother, had a black ring around one eye.
    â€œWell, that makes how many now?” asked Father as soon as he was told. His egg was boiling too long on the range, his toast burning, his coffee percolating too fast, and his corn flakes getting soggy, while in the guest bathroom off the kitchen he was nicking himself right and left with the razor. Busy with Queenie, Sister had forgotten his breakfast until he was already downstairs. Now, hurrying to make it, she also had to mix food for the mob of impatient cats gathered under the kitchen window.
    The food for her cats had to be just so, neither too hot nor too cold. It made a heavy panful, which she balanced on one hand while opening the door with the other, trying at the same time to keep the cats back with her foot. But, as usual, two or three slipped in, and unable to find their food, went scampering around the kitchen.
    Sister divided the food fairly among six plates, gently holding off the cats.
    Father smelled the toast burning and rushed from the bathroom, his face covered with lather which here and there was stained pink with