She ventured timidly:
“I thought you might take it until something worth while turned up.”
“Maybe,” he sneered, “I could get a job swamping in ‘Tinhorn’s’ place—washing fly specks off the windows and sweeping out.”
“Of course, you’re right, Jap,” conciliatingly, but she sighed unconsciously as she went back to her work.
Toomey paced the floor for a time, then sank into his usual place on the sofa. Mrs. Toomey permitted herself to observe sarcastically:
“It’s a wonder to me you don’t get bed sores—the amount of time you spend on the flat of your back.”
“What do you mean by that?” suspiciously. “Do you mean I’m lazy because I didn’t take that job?”
Since she made no denial, conversation ceased, and the silence was broken only by the sound of her scissors upon the table and the howling of the gale.
He smoked cigarette after cigarette in gloomy thought, finally getting up and going to a closet off the kitchen.
“What are you looking for, Jap?” she called as she heard him rummaging.