And then he was left to the expectant silence that oppresses a household when it awaits the coming of one of its members before it can settle down for the night. It was after midnight when Garwood came. He threw the reeking end of his cigar into the yard and toiled up the stairs breathing heavily.
“Where have you been?” Emily asked when he entered their rooms.
“Down town; where’d you suppose?” he answered.
“Is there any news?”
“News? What of?”
“Why, of politics.”
“Well, I’ve got a fight on my hands, that’s the news.” He spoke as if she were responsible for the fact, and she felt it.
“You know how interested the baby and I are, Jerome. We’ve been waiting here to hear.”
He softened at the mention of his child, and bent over his cradle.
“Don’t waken him,” the mother said, as he put forth his big hand. And then she resumed her questioning.