His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. “There have been other times,” he said a little sadly. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Mr. She was nestled under his bedspread. Her lips were dry and cracked. Besides," he added cynically, "it is said that God watches over fools and drunken men. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. It's so stuffy—and all that tobacco smoke!" He inspected his watch.
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