The Blanket

By Floyd Dell.

Petey hadn’t really believed that Dad would be doing it – sending Granddad away. “Away” was what they were calling it. Not until now could he believe it of Dad.

But here was the blanket that Dad had that day bought for him, and in the morning he’d be going away. And this was the last evening they’d be having together. Dad was off seeing that girl he was to marry. He’d not be back till late, and they could sit up and talk.

It was a fine September night, with a thin white moon riding high over the gully. When they’d washed up the supper dishes they went out on the shanty porch, the old man and the bit of a boy, taking their chairs. “I’ll get me fiddle,” said the old man, “and play ye some of the old tunes.” But instead of the fiddle he brought out the blanket. It was a big, double blanket, red, with black cross stripes.

“Now, isn’t that a fine blanket!” said the old man, smoothing it over his knees. “And isn’t your father a kind man to be giving the old fellow a blanket like that to go away with? It cost something, it did – look at the wool of it! And warm it will be these cold winter nights to come. There’ll be few blankets there the equal of this one!”

It was like Granddad to be saying that. He was trying to make it easier. He’d pretended all along it was he that was wanting to go away to the great brick building – the government place, where he’d be with so many other old fellows having the best of everything… But Petey hadn’t believed Dad would really do it, until this night when he brought home the blanket.

“Oh, yes, it’s a fine blanket,” said Petey, and go up and went into the shanty. He wasn’t the kind to cry, and besides, he was too old for that, being eleven. He’d just come in to fetch Granddad’s fiddle.

The blanket slid to the floor as the old man took the fiddle and stood up. It was the last night they’d be having together. There wasn’t any need to say, “Play all the old tunes.” Granddad tuned up for a minute, and then said, “This is one you’ll like to remember.”

The thin moon was high overhead, and there was a gentle breeze playing down the gully. He’d never be hearing Granddad play like this again. It was as well Dad was moving into that new house, away from here. He’d not want, Petey wouldn’t, to sit here on the old porch of fine evenings, with Granddad gone.

The tune changed. “Here’s something gayer.” Petey sat and stared out over the gully. Dad would marry that girl. Yes, that girl who’d kissed him and slobbered over him, saying she’d try to be a good mother to him, and all… His chair creaked as he involuntarily gave his body a painful twist.

The tune stopped suddenly, and Granddad said: “It’s a poor tune, except to be dancing to.” And then: “It’s a fine girl your father’s going to marry. He’ll be feeling young again, with a pretty wife like that. And what would an old fellow like me be doing around their house, getting in the way, an old nuisance, what with my talk of aches and pains! And then there’ll be babies coming, and I’d not want to be there to hear them crying at all hours. It’s best that I take myself off, like I’m doing. One more tune or two, and then we’ll be going to bed to get some sleep against the morning, when I’ll pack up my fine blanket and take my leave. Listen to this, will you? It’s a bit sad, but a fine tune for a night like this.”

They didn’t hear the two people coming down the gully path, Dad and the pretty girl with the hard, bright face like a china doll’s. But they heard her laugh, right by the porch, and the tune stopped on a wrong, high, startled note. Dad didn’t say anything, but the girl came forward and spoke to Granddad prettily: “I’ll not be seeing you leave in the morning, so I came over to say good-bye.”

“It’s kind of you,” said Granddad, with his eyes cast down; and then, seeing the blanket at his feet, he stooped to pick it up. “And will you look at this,” he said in embarrassment, “the fine blanket my son has given me to go away with!”

“Yes,” she said, “it’s a fine blanket.” She felt of the wool, and repeated in surprise, “A fine blanket – I’ll say it is!” She turned to Dad, and said to him coldly, “It cost something, that.”

He cleared his throat, and said defensively, “I wanted him to have the best…”

The girl stood there, still intent on the blanket. “It’s double, too,” she said reproachfully to Dad.

“Yes,” said Granddad, “it’s double – a fine blanket for an old fellow to be going away with.”

The boy went abruptly into the shanty. He was looking for something. He could hear that girl reproaching Dad, and Dad becoming angry in his slow way. And now she was suddenly going away in a huff… As Petey came out, she turned and called back, “All the same, he doesn’t need a double blanket!” And she ran up the gully path.

Dad was looking after her uncertainly.

“Oh, she’s right,” said the boy coldly. “Here, Dad” – and he held out a pair of scissors. “Cut the blanket in two.”

Both of them stared at the boy, startled. “Cut it in two, I tell you, Dad!” he cried out. “And keep the other half!”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Granddad gently. “I don’t need so much of a blanket.”

“Yes,” said the boy harshly, “a single blanket’s enough for an old man when he’s sent away. We’ll save the other half, Dad; it will come in handy later.”

“Now, what do you mean by that?” asked Dad.

“I mean,” said the boy slowly, “that I’ll give it to you, Dad – when you’re old and I’m sending you – away.”

There was a silence, and then Dad went over to Granddad and stood before him, not speaking. But Granddad understood, for he put out a hand and laid it on Dad’s shoulder. Petey was watching them. And he heard Granddad whisper, “It’s all right, son – I knew you didn’t mean it…” And then Petey cried.

But it didn’t matter – because they were all three crying together.