Eris

The baby was born at Whitewater Farms about nine in the morning, April 19, 1900. Two pure-breed calves,--one a heifer, the other a bull,--were dropped the same day at nearly the same hour.

Odell came in toward noon, heard these farm items from his foreman, Ed Lister.

For twenty years Odell’s marriage had been childless. He had waited in vain for a son,--for several sons,--and now, after twenty sterile years of hardship, drudgery, and domestic discord, Fanny had given him a girl.

He stood in silence, chewing the bitter news.

“Awright,” he said, “that’s that! Is Queen doin’ good?”

Whitewater Queen was doing as well as could be expected and her fourth heifer-calf was a miracle of Guernsey beauty.

“Awright! Veal that danged bull-caaf. That’s White Chief’s second bull outa White Rose. I’m done. We’ll take her to Hilltop Acres next time. And that’s that!”

He dusted the fertiliser and land plaster from his patched canvas jacket:

“It blowed some,” he said. “I oughta waited. Cost me five dollars, mebbe. I thought it might rain; that’s why. It’s one dum thing after another. It allus comes like that.”

He scraped the bottom of his crusted boots against the concrete rim of the manure pit.

A bitter winter with practically no snow; dry swamps; an April drouth; a disastrous run of bull-calves with no market,--and now, after twenty years, a girl baby!

How was a man going to get ahead? How was he to break even? Twenty years Odell had waited for sons to help him. He should have had three or four at work by this time. Instead he was paying wages.

“I guess Fanny’s kinda bad,” remarked the foreman.

Odell looked up from his brooding study of the manure.

“I dunno,” continued the foreman; “another Doc is here, too. He come with a train nurse n’hour ago. Looks kinda bad to me, Elmer.”

Odell gazed stupidly at Lister.

“What other Doc?” he demanded.

“Old Doc Benson. Doc Wand sent Mazie for him.”

Odell said nothing. After a moment or two he walked slowly toward the house.

In the kitchen a neighbour, one Susan Hagan, a gross widow, was waddling around getting dinner, perspiring and garrulous. Two or three farm hands, in bantering conversation, stood washing or drying their faces at the sink.

Mazie, the big, buxom daughter of Ed Lister, moved leisurely about, setting the table. She was laughing, as usual, at the men’s repartee.

But when Odell appeared the clatter of the roller-towel ceased. So did Mazie’s laughter and the hired men’s banter.

Mrs. Hagan was the first to recover her tongue:

“Now, Elmer,” she began in unctuous tones, “you set right down here and eat a mite o’ ham----” She already had him by the sleeve of his canvas jacket. She grasped a smoking fry-pan in the other hand. The smoke from it blew into Odell’s face.

“Leggo,” he grunted, jerking his arm free.

Mrs. Hagan encountered Mazie’s slanting black eyes, narrow with derision:

“Elmer don’t want to eat; he wants to see Fanny,” said Mazie Lister. And added: “Your ham’s burning, Mrs. Hagan.”

“Where’s Doc Wand?” demanded Odell heavily.

Mrs. Hagan savagely snatched the answer from Mazie’s red lips:

“Oh, Elmer,” she burst out, “he’s went and called in old Doc Benson; and Benson he fetched a train nurse from Summit----” Smoke from the burning ham strangled her. Odell left her coughing, and strode toward the sitting room.

“Dang it!” he muttered, “what next!”

It was cool and dusky in the sitting room. He halted in the golden gloom, sullenly apprehensive, listening for any sound from the bed-room overhead.

After a little while Dr. Wand came downstairs. He was haggard and white, but when he caught sight of Odell he went to him with a smile. The village folk feared and trusted Dr. Wand. They feared his sarcasm and trusted his skill. But, with the self-assertion of inferiority, they all called him “Fred” or “Doc.”

“Well, Elmer,” he said, “the baby’s doing nicely.... I thought I’d like to have Dr. Benson look at Fanny.... A fine baby, Elmer.... Fanny asked me to think up some uncommon and pretty name for your little girl----”

“Name her anything,” said Odell thickly.... “Dang it, I waited twenty years for a boy. And now look what I get! It all comes to once. White Rose drops me a bull-caaf, too. But I can veal that!”

“Better luck next time----”

“No,” he interrupted fiercely, “I’m done!” He turned and stared at the sun-bars on the lowered shade, his tanned features working.

“It’s like the herd,” he said. “Either the cow or the herd-bull’s to blame for every dinged bull-caaf. And I can’t afford to breed ’em together more’n twice.... Twenty years I been lookin’ for a boy, Doc. No, I’m done. And that’s that!”

“You’d better go and eat,” suggested the doctor.

Odell nodded: “Fanny awright?”