* * * *

And underneath Ranny's rooms, between the bedroom at the back and the
back parlor, between the parlor and the shop, between the shop and the
dispensing-room, Fulleymore Ransome dragged himself to and fro, more
than ever weedy, more than ever morose, more than ever sublime in his
appearance of integrity; and with it all so irritable that Ranny's
children had to be kept out of his way. He would snarl when he heard
them overhead; he would scowl horribly when he came across the "pram,"
pushed by the little girl, in its necessary progress through the shop
into the street and back again.

But at Ranny he neither snarled nor scowled, nor had he spoken any word
to him on the subject of the great calamity. No reproach, no reminder of
warnings given, none of that reiterated, "I told you so," in which,
Ranny reflected, he might have taken it out of him. He also seemed to
regard his son Randall as one smitten by God and afflicted, to whose
high and sacred suffering silence was the appropriate tribute. His very
moroseness provided the sanctuary of silence.

And all the time he drank; he drank worse than ever; furtively,
continuously he drank. Nobody could stop him, for nobody ever saw him
doing it. He did it, they could only suppose, behind Mr. Ponting's back
in the dispensing-room.

They were free to suppose anything now; for, since Ranny's great
delivering outburst, they could discuss it; and in discussion they
found relief. Ranny's mother owned as much. She had suffered (that also
she owned) from the strain of keeping it up. Ranny's outburst had saved
her, vicariously. It was as if she had burst out herself.

There were, of course, lengths to which she would never go, admissions
which she could not bring herself to make. There had to be some
subterfuge, some poor last shelter for her pride. And so, of the
depression in Fulleymore's business she would say before Mr. Ponting,
"It's those Drug Stores that are ruining him," and Mr. Ponting would
reply, gravely, "They'd ruin anybody."

Mr. Ponting was a fresh-colored young man and good-looking, with his
blue eyes and his yellow hair sleeked backward like folded wings, so
different from Mercier. Mr. Ponting had conceived an affection for Ranny
and the children. He would find excuses to go up to the storeroom, where
he would pretend to be looking for things while he was really playing
with Dossie. He would sit on Ranny's bed while Ranny was undres