And the wonder was that Louis Latz in his grief was so proud.
"To think," he kept saying over and over again and unabashed at the way
his face twisted, "to think they should have happened to me. Two such
women in one lifetime, as my little mother--and her. Fat little old
Louis to have had those two. Why just the memory of my Carrie--is almost
enough--to think old me should have a memory like that--it is almost
enough--isn't isn't it, Alma?"
She kissed his hand.
That very same, that dreadful night, almost without her knowing it, her
throat-tearing sobs broke loose, her face to the waistcoat of Leo
Friedlander.
He held her close. Very, very close.
"Why sweetheart," he said, "I could cut out my heart to help you. Why,
sweetheart. Shh-h-h, remember what Louis says. Just the beautiful
memory--of--her--is--wonderful--"
"Just--the b-beautiful--memory--you'll always have it too--of her--my
mama--won't you, Leo? Won't you?"
"Always," he said, when the tight grip in his throat had eased enough.
"Say--it again--Leo."
"Always."
She could not know how dear she became to him then, because not ten
minutes before, from the very lapel against which her cheek lay pressed,
he had unpinned a white carnation.
THE LITTLE MASTER OF THE SKY[15]
By MANUEL KOMROFF
(From _The Dial_)
Even idiots it seems have their place and purpose in society, or as a
chess player would say tapping his fingers on the board--"That pawn may
cost you your queen.
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