Short Stories
sitting on the stoop, he laughed aloud, several times, to the per-
turbation of his mother, who had not heard him laugh in years.
Next morning, in the early darkness, she came to his bed to
rouse him. He had had his fill of sleep all week, and awoke easi-
ly. He made no struggle, nor did he attempt to hold on to the
bedding when she stripped it from him. He lay quietly, and
spoke quietly.
"It ain't no use, ma."
"You'll be late," she said, under the impression that he was
still stupid with sleep.
"I'm awake, ma, an' I tell you it ain't no use. You might as
well lemme alone. I ain't goin' to git up."
"But you'll lose your job!" she cried.
"I ain't goin' to git up," he repeated in a strange, passionless
voice.
She did not go to work herself that morning. This was sick-
ness beyond any sickness she had ever known. Fever and deliri-
um she could understand; but this was insanity. She pulled the
bedding up over him and sent Jennie for the doctor.
When that person arrived, Johnny was sleeping gently, and
gently he awoke and allowed his pulse to be taken.
"Nothing the matter with him," the doctor reported. "Badly
debilitated, that's all. Not much meat on his bones."
"He's always been that way," his mother volunteered.
"Now go 'way, ma, an' let me finish my snooze."
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