His wife laid down her fountain pen, turned around in her chair and smiled at him.
“That’s good,” she said. “What’s the news?” Although she saw that he looked haggard with fatigue, she made no comment on it.
“The news is, Mrs. Willing,” he said, bending over her for a kiss, “that I’ve got it just about all worked out.”
“Everything?” she said skeptically. “Even the bonus for the—”
“Pretty much! The store is surely tuning up! Give her a month to work the bearings in, and then watch our dust!”
They looked at each other happily, as he sat down in an armchair and leaned back with a long breath almost of exhaustion.
“Just like a dream, isn’t it, all of it?” said Nell.
“You’ve said it! When I remember how I used to hope that perhaps if we scrimped and saved we might be able to buy a part interest somewhere, after I’d put in the best years of my life working for other men! Doesn’t it make you afraid the alarm-clock will ring and wake you up any minute?”
“But did you really settle the bonus question for the non-selling force?” asked Mrs. Willing, returning relentlessly to the most difficult point.
“I worked it out by giving it up for the present,” he answered promptly.