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By Root 5057 0

she would not be disappointed in her pregnancy. Her mind seemed to strike an attitude of prayer, as involuntary as the impulse with which she swore when she slammed her finger in a window. Dear God, she thought briefly, make me a mother. She wanted children. She wanted five or six. She smiled suddenly, as if her wish had filled the kitchen with the love, disorder and vitality of a family. She was braiding the hair of her daughter, Sandra, a beautiful girl. The other four or five were in the room. They were happy and dirty and one of them, a little boy with Coverly’s long neck, was holding in his hands the halves of a broken dish, but Betsey had not scolded him, Betsey had not even frowned when he broke the dish, for the secret of his clear, resilient personality was that his growth had never been impeded by niggardly considerations. Betsy felt that she had a latent talent for raising children. She would put the development of personality above everything. The phantom children that played around her knees had never received from their parents anything but love and trust.

When the housework was done it was time for Betsey to take the iron out and have the cord repaired. She walked out of Circle K and down 325th Street to the shopping center and went into the super market, not because she needed anything but because the atmosphere of the place pleased her. It was vast and brightly lighted and music came down from the high blue walls. She bought a giant jar of peanut butter to the strains of the “Blue Danube” and then a pecan pie. The cashier seemed to be a pleasant young man. “I’m a stranger here,” Betsey said. “We’ve just moved from New York. My husband’s been out in the Pacific. We have one of those houses in Circle K and I just wondered if you could give me some advice. My ironing cord is frayed, it just gave out the day before yesterday when I was doing my husband’s shirts, and I just wondered if you happened to know of an electrical-appliance or repair store in the vicinity that might fix it for me so that I could have it tomorrow because tomorrow’s the day when I do my big shopping and I thought I could come in here and buy my groceries and then pick up the iron on my way home.”

“Well, there’s a store four, no five doors down the street,” the young man said, “and I guess they can fix it for you. They fixed my radio for me once and they’re not highway robbers like some of the people’s come in here.” Betsey thanked him kindly and went out into the street and wandered along to the electrical store. “Good morning,” Betsey said cheerfully, putting her iron on the counter. “I’m a stranger here and when my ironing cord went yesterday while I was doing my husband’s shirts I said to myself that I just didn’t know where to take it and have it repaired but this morning I stopped in at the Grand Food Mart and that cashier, the nice one with the pretty, wavy hair and those dark eyes, told me that he recommended your store and so I came right over here. Now what I’d like to do is to come downtown and do my shopping tomorrow afternoon and pick up my iron on my way home because I have to get some shirts ironed for my husband by tomorrow night and I wondered if you could have it ready for me by then. It’s a good iron and I gave a lot of money for it in New York where we’ve been living although my husband was out in the Pacific. My husband’s a Taper. Of course I don’t understand why the cord on such an expensive iron should wear out in such a short time and I wondered if you could put on an extra-special cord for me because I get a great deal of use out of my iron. I do all my husband’s shirts, you know, and he’s high up in the Taping Department and has to wear a clean shirt every day and then I do my own personal things as well.” The man promised to give Betsey a durable cord and then she wandered back to Circle K.

But her steps slowed as she approached the house. Her family of phantom children was scattered and she could not call them back again. Her period was only seven days late and her pregnancy might not be a fact. She ate a