Cherry's little bedroom under the roof was bright with the confusion of
cheap finery scattered everywhere and swept aside at the sudden
entrance of the death angel. A neighbor had done her best to push away
the crude implements of complexion that were littering the cheap oak
bureau top, and the doctor's case and bottles and glasses crowded out
the giddy little accessories of beauty that Cherry had collected. Two
chairs piled high with draggled finery, soiled work aprons and dresses
made a forlorn and miscellaneous disorder in one corner, and the closet
door sagged open with visions of more clothing hung many deep upon the
few hooks.
Mrs. Fenner stood at the head of the bed wringing her hands and moaning
uncontrolledly, and Cherry, little Cherry, lay whitely against the
pillow, the color all gone from her ghastly pretty little face, that
had lately hid its ravished health and beauty behind a camouflage of
paint. There were deep dark circles under the limpid eyes that now were
full of mortal pain, and pitiful lines around the cherry mouth that had
been wont to laugh so saucily.
The doctor stood by the window with the attitude of grave waiting. The
helpful neighbor lingered in the doorway, holding her elbows and taking
minute note of Marilyn's dress. This might be a sad time, but one had
to live afterward, and it wasn't every day you got to see a simple
little frock with an air like the one the minister's daughter wore. She
studied it from neck to hem and couldn't see what in the world there
was about it anyway to make her look so dressed up. Not a scratch of
trimming, not even a collar, and yet she could look like that!
Mercy! Was that what education and going to college did for folks?
The light of a single unshaded electric bulb shone startlingly down to
the bed, making plain the shadow of death even to an inexperienced eye.
Marilyn knelt beside the bed and took Cherry's cold little hand in her
own warm one. The waxen eyelids fluttered open, and a dart of something
between fright and pain went over her weird little face.
"Can I do anything for you Cherry?" Marilyn's voice was tender,
pitiful.
"It's too late," whispered the girl in a fierce little whisper,
"Send 'em out--I--wantta--tell--you--someth--!" The voice trailed away
weakly. The doctor stepped over and gave her a spoonful of something,
motioned her mother and the neighbor away, tiptoeing out himself and
closing the door. The mother was sobbing wildly. The doctor's voice
could be heard quieting her coldly: The girl on the bed frowned and gathered effort to speak: "Mark Carter--didn't mean no harm--goin'--with me--!" she broke out,
her breath coming in gasps, "He was tryin'--to stop me--goin'--with--
Dolph--!" The eyes closed wearily. The lips were white as chalk.
She seemed to have stopped breathing!