Short Stories
Johnny spoke sweetly and placidly, and sweetly and placidly
he rolled over on his side and went to sleep.
At ten o'clock he awoke and dressed himself. He walked out
into the kitchen, where he found his mother with a frightened
expression on her face.
"I'm goin' away, ma," he announced, "an' I jes' want to say
good-by." She threw her apron over her head and sat down sud-
denly and wept. He waited patiently.
"I might a-known it," she was sobbing.
"Where?" she finally asked, removing the apron from her
head and gazing up at him with a stricken face in which there
was little curiosity.
"I don't know—anywhere."
As he spoke, the tree across the street appeared with daz-
zling brightness on his inner vision. It seemed to lurk just under
his eyelids, and he could see it whenever he wished.
"An' your job?" she quavered.
"I ain't never goin' to work again."
"My God, Johnny!" she wailed, "don't say that!"
What he had said was blasphemy to her. As a mother who
hears her child deny God, was Johnny's mother shocked by his
words.
"What's got into you, anyway?" she demanded, with a lame
attempt at imperativeness.
"Figures," he answered. "Jes' figures. I've ben doin' a lot of
figurin' this week, an' it's most surprisin'."
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