The Right Thing — Text and Context

The Telephone as a Dramatic Device

Cummings uses the telephone not just as a prop but as the story's central mechanism for conflict. Early in the excerpt, Beth glances at the phone 'as though reassured.' Later, when she accidentally overhears the sheriff's conversation, the phone becomes a conduit for devastating news: her stepfather is dead, and Tom is the prime suspect. The sheriff's voice is rendered in direct quotation, creating an eavesdropping effect that pulls the reader into Beth's shock. Cummings then has Beth speak into the phone while holding Tom at gunpoint, her voice 'almost casual' as she tells the sheriff Tom is there. The telephone thus bridges the private cabin and the outside world, forcing Beth to act publicly on a private crisis.

The Repeated Phrase 'The Right Thing'

The title phrase appears twice in the excerpt, both times in Beth's internal monologue. First, she recalls telling Tom: 'Not the thing that may look best for me, but the right thing in the eyes of God.' Later, as she aims the revolver, she says aloud: 'We’re going to do the right thing, Tom—the right thing in the eyes of God.' The repetition gives the phrase a ritualistic weight, but its meaning shifts. In the first instance it is an abstract creed; in the second it becomes a command backed by a weapon. Cummings does not resolve whether Beth's action is truly right—he leaves the reader to weigh her loyalty against the law's demand for justice.

Physical Details That Signal Character

Cummings builds character through small, concrete actions. Beth's revolver is introduced early as she 'gripped' it in her apron pocket, then withdrew her hand 'empty.' Later, when she points it at Tom, the narrator notes 'a bit of polished steel glistened in the lamplight.' Tom's injury is described with clinical precision: he stands 'wavering with a hand against the doorway,' and Beth kneels to 'unstrap one of his puttees.' The puttees—'neat, incongruous leather puttees'—mark him as an outsider in the mountain setting. These physical details ground the moral drama in tangible, sensory reality.

The Unfinished Ending and Reader Inference

The excerpt cuts off before the story's conclusion, leaving Beth's decision—and its consequences—unresolved. The last lines show her holding Tom at gunpoint while speaking to the sheriff, but we do not learn whether she follows through, nor what happens to Tom. This truncation forces the reader to infer the outcome from the story's title and the characters' established values. Cummings has set up a classic dilemma: love versus law, personal loyalty versus civic duty. The missing ending invites speculation about whether 'the right thing' can be achieved without sacrifice, and whether Beth's earlier faith that 'some law we don’t understand will make it work out all right' will be borne out.

Because the excerpts end mid-scene, a first-time reader should pay close attention to how Cummings balances Beth's internal conflict with the external pressure of the sheriff's arrival. The story's brevity—under 8,000 words—means every detail, from the wolf's howl to the telephone wire, may carry thematic weight. Readers may wish to consider whether the title refers to Beth's choice, Tom's motive, or a larger moral order the story tests but does not confirm.

Reading about Beth at that telephone, I remembered sitting alone at my grandmother’s kitchen table, turning a letter over and over. Night Court — Background and Themes once gave words to that same hollow quiet—how a single overheard truth can rearrange everything you thought was steady. I still feel that chill, the pause before choosing what you can live with.