“I’d better ’a’ taken your advice an’ gone t’ th’ high school,” he said, extending his calloused hand to shake. “Only I wouldn’t ’a’ been workin’ fur you.”
He laughed his great hearty guffaw, partly in embarrassment and partly because he really enjoyed the joke of the possibility of him being an educated man. It was a cheap country pleasantry, and said with genuine good-fellowship, but Mrs. Hunter, who heard it as she turned to the dining room with the coffee pot in her hand, disapproved of the familiarity of it. Mrs. Hunter had disapproved of the plate laid for Jake at the family table and was out of sorts with the country life into which she had been plunged.
After Jake had gone to bed upstairs—and that was another grievance of Mrs. Hunter’s, this having the hired man in the room next to her own—she took up the matter of his position in her son’s house seriously.
“All the hired help in the country eat at the table and are accorded the privileges of any member of the family, mother,” John replied to her objections.
“You don’t mean that You’ll have to have them at your table day after day—always?” his mother exclaimed. “You’ll never have any home life at all.”
“As long as we farm, mother, we’ll be in exactly that position,” John said, stirring the fire in the sitting-room stove, about which they were gathered for the evening.
“But they eat so awfully much,” Mrs. Hunter continued, “and they drink out of their saucers, and suck their teeth till it makes one sick!” Then happening to look across at Elizabeth she caught the flush on her young face and stopped so short that all were embarrassed.
John got up suddenly and left the room and the house. The two women sat in an uncomfortable silence for some minutes, and then the elder of them went upstairs to bed, leaving the younger to her mortifying thoughts. Elizabeth remembered the scorn of the young teacher in her own childhood for the same offence and reflected that she had been unable to break her family of similar habits. As far as she was concerned, however, the presence of the hired man at her table was far less disturbing than that of her husband’s mother. Part of the time she was happy to learn from Mrs. Hunter, but more of the time she was restless under her supervision.
The week had been an uncomfortable one in both tangible and intangible ways. Elizabeth had often found John and his mother talking and have them drop the conversation when she appeared. She had had many humiliating hours over the disgrace she knew they were discussing. The fact had come out that Mr. Farnshaw had returned to his home, but nothing beyond that.
Another week passed, and again John refused to take Elizabeth to see Aunt Susan. This time he said that the team had worked all week, and that he felt that the horses needed rest. A new team was added to the farm assets and the next Sunday John said he was too tired himself to go away from home. Never once did he say that he had any motive which extended beyond the time at hand. Each Sunday the excuse fitted the circumstances of that particular day, and he talked of going in a general way as if it were a matter of course that they would go soon. It was clearly the duty of the young couple to make the first visit, and as clearly Nathan Hornby and his wife were waiting for them to do so. Elizabeth was puzzled by her husband’s refusal. At the end of a month she became alarmed for fear their neglect would give offence to the dear couple who had sheltered her when she was in need. It had not occurred to her to discredit John’s reasons, though she began to suspect that she had married the sort of man she had heard much about—the husband who never wanted to go anywhere.