Eddie, sitting on the floor feeding water to his "A" batteries, grunted.
Dot opened the letter.
"Your father died this morning," she read. "I thought I ought to let you know. Don't come over as I will not let you in. Jim Haley."
"Oh, my father's dead," said Dot.
"No kidding?" said Edna.
Eddie came away from the batteries and took the letter out of Dot's limp hand. He read it slowly and let it fall back on the table. He glanced at Dot's white face.
"Dirty louse," he said. It was thoroughly understood that he was referring to Jim Haley. "Do you want to go over and take a look at your old man?"
"Jim wouldn't let me in," said Dot, dully.
"Like hell he wouldn't." Eddie reached for his coat. "You want to see your father?"
Dot smiled affectionately up at Eddie. He was ready to do battle so that she might pay her last respects to the meek old man who would never again call: "Is that you, Dottie?" She sighed regretfully. That part of her life had been finished months before. What was the use of mourning or fighting over it now?
She shook her head. "No, Eddie, honest. I don't want to go."
Once again he was being cheated out of the chance to baste Jim Haley. He looked at Dot, searching her face for a sign that she was concealing her real desire.
"He'll let you in," he assured her. "You might have two relatives to cry over by the time you get inside, but you'd see your old man. Want to go?"
"No, Eddie. It isn't worth it. The old man was all right. He couldn't have done no different than he did at the end. Jim was his bread and butter, and he didn't dare go against him. The old man was all right, but I guess I'll
