Chapter II: A Man Has Some Rights

MRS. CZERMAK’S address was on the North side, not far away.... He really couldn’t afford a taxi. But this was a special occasion--and Gilbert was waiting. He hailed one.

One in a row of dingy three-story brick houses. He rang the bell. A young woman came to the door.

“I want to see Mrs. Czermak.”

“I’m Mrs. Czermak. Did you want a room?”

She was younger than he had expected Mrs. Czermak to be--not a responsible-looking middle-aged matron, but a girl in her middle twenties--not at all what he had pictured as a child’s nurse.... And her speech did not have the foreign accent that her name suggested.

“No--I--here’s a letter from Dr. Zerneke,” he said.

She stood there, leaving him waiting on the doorstep, while she opened and read it. Then she looked up quickly.

“Oh--so you’re my baby’s father?” and she opened the door wider to admit him. “Do you want to see him now? He’s asleep. You can look at him, though.”

“I’d like to,” said Norman.

She led him upstairs, through a bedroom, very clean and orderly, into a small room which was the nursery. There was the crib. They went up to it, and she drew back a coverlet.

Norman felt no particular emotion at the sight of the sleeping child. He wondered why. He was moving heaven and earth to have that child for his own. He had broken Madge’s heart. It would make his family terribly unhappy. He had thrown away a career. And here was what it was all about--a baby with soft fair hair, and a queer-shaped head. No--the head wasn’t so queer-shaped to-day. And the face was pinker.... He was a little disappointed at his lack of any deep feeling....

The baby stirred in its sleep, and flung up a tiny fist.

Mrs. Czermak put back the coverlet, and Norman turned away. As they went back into the larger room, the picture of that small fist lingered in his mind.

He realized that Mrs. Czermak was expecting him to say something. He felt embarrassed--as if it were somebody else’s baby he were being called upon to praise.

“It’s awfully little, isn’t it!” he said awkwardly.

“He’s a fine baby!” said Mrs. Czermak defensively.

Norman was conscious of having said “it” instead of “he.” Was she offended by that? Did she think he didn’t appreciate the baby?

“If you come just before six, you can see him awake,” she said. “That’s his feeding time. Or on Sundays you could come at a little before two.”

Well, that was all. What had he expected? He had come to see his son. And he had seen him. Now he would go.

Gilbert was waiting for him....

Somehow, he had expected something more--something to fortify him against Gilbert’s reproaches--Gilbert’s news of the havoc he had left behind him in Vickley. He had run away from Vickley. He hadn’t permitted himself to think about what he had done to Madge--to his family. He’d hear about it all. And Gilbert would have some new, slick, plausible scheme.

“Sundays at two, you say?” he asked.

“Yes. That’s when he gets his bottle. You might come a little before then--fifteen minutes before.”

He’d never get acquainted with his son, at that rate.... It was more of a job than he had realized. First he had to get reconciled to his family--and then, apparently, get married! Good Lord! And meanwhile the baby would stay here....

As he started to leave, an idea came brilliantly. Yes, why not? He turned to Mrs. Czermak.

“You say you have rooms for rent here?”

She hesitated, and then answered reluctantly:

“Sometimes.”

He vaguely sensed some opposition to his plan. But he asked in a determined way:

“Have you any vacant now?”

Again she hesitated. “Not any suitable for two.”

“I don’t want a room for two. I want a room for one.” He had the feeling of putting something over on Dr. Zerneke. Wait until he was married, to be with the baby? He would show her!

“Oh!” said Mrs. Czermak. “Well, I have a hall bedroom on the next floor.”

“May I see it?”

“Is it for yourself or your wife?” asked Mrs. Czermak.

He remembered abruptly what Dr. Zerneke had told him to say.

“My wife has been ordered to Colorado for her health. She started to-day.”

“Oh--and without the baby!”

“It will be quite out of the question for her to have the baby with her for another six months--possibly more,” said Norman solemnly. “She’s going to Dr. Rublee’s sanitarium.”

“Where is that--in Denver?”

“Yes,” he said. He was anxious to get off a subject on which further questions would be embarrassing. “May I see the room?”

Her manner, which had become hostile for a minute or two, had changed to friendliness again. “Now that I come to think of it,” she said, “there’s the large front room downstairs. It was promised, but the people haven’t come. I’ll show it to you.” She took him there.

He looked around. It was much larger, lighter, cleaner, than the one he had been living in.

“How much is it?” he asked.

She thought a moment. “We could let you have it for eight dollars, I guess.”

Remarkably cheap! He had been paying eight for the hole he had been living in.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

Yes, if a baby couldn’t live with a bachelor father, there was nothing to keep a bachelor father from coming to live with his baby! Norman smiled, with a sense of triumphing over a hostile universe.

Then he looked about the room again, with a practical glance. He went to the center-table. It was rickety under his touch, like the one upon which during his evenings for two weeks he had been computing and recomputing the statistics of illegitimate parenthood--a peculiar consolation which he had learned from Isabel. With the figures he had found at the Crerar library, and the further assistance of the population tables in the World Almanac, all sorts of interesting things could be worked out....

“Could I have a small, solid table to write on? An unpainted kitchen table would do.”

“Why, yes,” said Mrs. Czermak. “When do you want to move in?”

“I’ll move to-night.” There wasn’t, as a matter of fact, anything to move, except his overcoat and his alarm clock. And the two weeks for which he had paid in advance were about up. He might as well make the change without delay, and get settled. He took out some bills.

“By the way,” he said, “how much has Dr. Zerneke been paying you for taking care of the baby?”

“Ten dollars a week. With Grade A milk, and clothes, it comes to about twelve dollars, not counting extras.”

Norman calculated silently. Twelve dollars for the baby; eight for his room; nine, say, for his meals; a dollar for laundry; that was exactly thirty dollars, and left him nothing for carfare or cigarettes. But he would manage somehow--and it would be only a few weeks until he got a raise.

“I’ll take care of that from now on,” he said.

“Suppose I pay a week in advance for the room, and a week for the baby,” he said. “Will that be all right?”

He handed her the money.

She looked at it. “There’s supposed to be a deposit for the keys,” she said, “but we won’t bother about that.”

“Why not?” he said, and offered her another dollar.

“No,” she shook her head. “You’ll need every dollar you can save. With a sick wife in Colorado.”

He somewhat guiltily put the dollar back in his pocket.

“I’ll get you your keys,” she said, turning to go.

“Never mind,” he said, “give them to me to-night. I’m in a hurry now.” He looked at his watch.

“I’m afraid I can’t promise the table till Monday,” she said.

“That’s all right.”

“We’ll try to make you comfortable.”

Well, that was settled! And now for old Gilbert....