Erna’s days were still more monotonous. She sewed quite a little, attended to details of house work, which were few, and otherwise, took long walks or went to an afternoon vaudeville or moving picture show. As she was accustomed to a day of constant labor and occupation, she had never known much idleness; her evenings were spent in resting or in the search of a little excitement. Moreover, Erna’s was purely an emotional nature; she did not possess the intellect or imagination so requisite toward making idleness useful. Unfortunately, she had no friends to visit.
At first, Jimmy gave her money in regular installments. Their house expenses paid, she would have a sufficient balance with which to indulge herself—with a new hat, a new dress, a few odds and ends, or her afternoon amusements. The installments, however, were more and more irregular and smaller in amount; last week, none had materialized. The reason was this: Jimmy had returned to drinking. And the climax was impending. One night, he came home late, pretty well drunk.
Erna opened the door. He swayed and then staggered into the room, a broad leer on his face. “Howsh—the—girl?” he demanded stupidly.
He tried to embrace her, but Erna stepped back, and he nearly fell. With an effort, he straightened himself and laughed. “Wha—whash—a—matter?”
Erna’s resentment poured over. “You beast!” she said in low tones.
“You—what?” He leaned forward to hear better.
“Beast, I said,” and she pelted him with epithets and reproaches.
Jimmy made several ludicrous attempts to apologize, and protested: “I—I’m not—d-drunk; I—I’m just—ossified.” And he laughed more stupidly and tried to approach.
“Keep away!”
“Wha—whash—a—matter?”