She went stealthily to the bureau, picked up an article that lay there, and turning out all the lights stood quietly until her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Softly she pushed open the door to Marjories room. She heard the quiet, even breathing of an untroubled conscience asleep.
She was by the bedside now, very deliberate and calm. She acted swiftly. Bending over she found one of the braids of Marjories hair, followed it up with her hand to the point nearest the head, and then holding it a little slack so that the sleeper would feel no pull, she reached down with the shears and severed it. With the pigtail in her hand she held her breath. Marjorie had muttered something in her sleep. Bernice deftly amputated the other braid, paused for an instant, and then flitted swiftly and silently back to her own room.
Down-stairs she opened the big front door, closed it carefully behind her, and feeling oddly happy and exuberant stepped off the porch into the moonlight, swinging her heavy grip like a shopping-bag. After a minutes brisk walk she discovered that her left hand still held the two blond braids. She laughed unexpectedly had to shut her mouth hard to keep from emitting an absolute peal. She was passing Warrens house now, and on the impulse she set down her baggage, and swinging the braids like piece of rope flung them at the wooden porch, where they landed with a slight thud. She laughed again, no longer restraining herself.
Huh, she giggled wildly. Scalp the selfish thing!
Then picking up her staircase she set off at a half-run down the moonlit street.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
1
As long ago as 1860 it was the proper thing to be born at home. At present, so I am told, the high gods of medicine have decreed that the first cries of the young shall be uttered upon the anesthetic air of a hospital, preferably a fashionable one. So young Mr. and Mrs. Roger Button were fifty years ahead of style when they decided, one day in the summer of 1860, that their first baby should be born in a hospital. Whether this anachronism[66] had any bearing upon the astonishing history I am about to set down will never be known.
I shall tell you what occurred, and let you judge for yourself.
The Roger Buttons held an enviable position, both social and financial, in ante-bellum Baltimore[67]. They were related to the This Family and the That Family, which, as every Southerner knew, entitled them to membership in that enormous peerage which largely populated the Confederacy[68]. This was their first experience with the charming old custom of having babies Mr. Button was naturally nervous. He hoped it would be a boy so that he could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut, at which institution Mr. Button himself had been known for four years by the somewhat obvious nickname of Cuff.
On the September morning consecrated to the enormous event he arose nervously at six oclock, dressed himself, adjusted an impeccable stock, and hurried forth through the streets of Baltimore to the hospital, to determine whether the darkness of the night had borne in new life upon its bosom.
When he was approximately a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, descending the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement as all doctors are required to do by the unwritten ethics of their profession.
Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware, began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman of that picturesque period. Doctor Keene! he called. Oh, Doctor Keene!
The doctor heard him, faced around, and stood waiting, a curious expression settling on his harsh, medicinal face as Mr. Button drew near.
What happened? demanded Mr. Button, as he came up in a gasping rush. What was it? How is she? A boy? Who is it? What
Talk sense! said Doctor Keene sharply. He appeared somewhat irritated.
Is the child born? begged Mr. Button.
Doctor Keene frowned. Why, yes, I suppose so after a fashion. Again he threw a curious glance at Mr. Button.
Is my wife all right?
Yes.
Is it a boy or a girl?
Here now! cried Doctor Keene in a perfect passion of irritation, Ill ask you to go and see for yourself. Outrageous! He snapped the last word out in almost one syllable, then he turned away muttering: Do you imagine a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me ruin anybody.
Whats the matter? demanded Mr. Button appalled. Triplets?
No, not triplets! answered the doctor cuttingly. Whats more, you can go and see for yourself. And get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and Ive been physician to your family for forty years, but Im through with you! I dont want to see you or any of your relatives ever again! Good-bye!
Then he turned sharply, and without another word climbed into his phaeton, which was waiting at the curbstone, and drove severely away.
Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, stupefied and trembling from head to foot. What horrible mishap had occurred? He had suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen it was with the greatest difficulty that, a moment later, he forced himself to mount the steps and enter the front door.