The Wanton Troopers by Alden Nowlan Page B

played. And that stranger kept that girl a-dancin’ until daybreak! After he left the people got up and looked at that girl and yuh know what they found, boy? Yuh know what they found?” Her voice became a high, quivering whisper. “Well, boy, they found two terrible big burns on her back where the stranger’s hands had touched her, and — listen tuh this, boy! — there was a smell of brimstone in the room!”
    Kevin thought of his mother dancing belly to belly with a gypsy-faced man in a coal black suit. The thought made him look over his shoulder and shiver.
    For Mary went to dances now. June Larlee would come for her, and as his mother led him to bed, Kevin would look back and see June slouching in the chair by the window, making a ribbon of her chewing gum and running it in and out of her mouth. Sometimes, she would pull up her dress and scratch at her legs where her tight rubber garters had made them itch.
    â€œâ€™Nighty-night, Scampi,” she would call. And his hatred for her would rise in his throat like gall.
    In putting him to bed before she left for a dance, Mary gave him even more caresses and endearments than usual. But he knew it was a sham.
    She was abandoning him. Every kiss was a swindle and a betrayal. A million kisses would not have assuaged his anger and hurt. Stroking his cheek as she sat in the chair by his pillow, she sang to him:
    I see a fireplace, a cosy room . . .
    A little nest that nestles where the roses bloom.
    Just Mollie and me, and baby makes three,
    Are hurried to my blue heaven . . .
    He wished he could contract a mortal illness — some horrible, incurable disease like the leprosy mentioned in the Bible. She would be sorry then! He saw himself on his deathbed. A doctor in a white smock stood at the foot of the bed. His parents knelt on the floor, gazing tearfully at his face; on his cheeks there was an angelic pallor like that on the cheeks of Eva St. Clair. It was dusk, and the room smelled of flowers.
    The doctor wiped a tear from his eye.
    â€œMrs. O’Brien, be brave; your son is dying.”
    Mary buried her face in his quilts and wailed.
    â€œOh, no, doctor! No! No! No! It isn’t true! Say it isn’t true, doctor! Please, say it isn’t true!”
    â€œAlas,” said the doctor, blowing his nose and again wiping his eyes. “Alas, it is too true.”
    â€œOh, Scampi,” she moaned. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Scampi! I’m so sorry for the terrible way I left you alone and went to dances. If you get better I promise I won’t ever do it again. I promise, Scampi!”
    Sobbing piteously, she pleaded with him.
    A gentle smile touched his death-white lips as he whispered — “What’s wrong, Scamper?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou were a million miles away.”
    â€œOh, I guess I’m just sleepy,” he said sulkily.
    â€œOh, my! You look fierce, Scamp. You aren’t mad at me are you, sweetikins?”
    â€œNo. I ain’t mad.”
    She was a fool. He wished she would go away.
    â€œThat’s my baby.” She bent down to kiss him.
    â€œUmmmmmmmmmmm-eh!” He turned away his head.
    Taking the lamp, she started toward the door.
    â€œGoodnight, sweetikins!”
    â€œâ€™Night.”
    Purposely, he closed his eyes before she left the room, spurning her.
    And she didn’t even notice that I didn’t want her to go! he reflected. The big fool! A fat lot she cares for me! Sweetikins — horse chestnuts. The big fool!
    He lay in the dark and listened, hearing first the small, comforting sounds of her moving about in the kitchen and, a little later, the harsh, conclusive sounds of her steps on the porch.
    She was singing again. Her voice came faintly from the dooryard, fading into silence as she and June walked away from the house:
    Put me in your pocket
    And I’ ll go along with you,
    No more will I be lonesome
    And no more will I be blue . . .
    â€œOh,