The memory of this kept them silent for a moment and then Nell asked, “Did you notice that living-room?”
“You bet your life I did,” said her husband with a lively professional interest. “The only living-room I’ve seen in this town that had any style to it. Did you see that sofa? And those curtains?”
“They say she’s a wonderful housekeeper. The kind who stays right at home and sticks to her job. You never see her out except at church.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ve ever laid eyes on her,” said Jerome.
“And people are always talking about how beautifully her children are brought up. With real manners, you know. And such perfect ways at table. How do you suppose she does it?”
“What did she ever see in Knapp?” Jerome cast out the age-old question with the invariable, ever-fresh accent of amazement which belongs with it.
“Oh, they married very young,” said thirty-year-old Mrs. Willing wisely. “I believe he hadn’t finished his course at the State University. He was specializing in English literature.”
“He would!” ejaculated Jerome, pregnantly.
His wife laughed. And then they both remembered again that the man was dying.
When they heard through Dr. Merritt that poor Lester Knapp would not die but would be a bed-ridden invalid, a dead-weight on his wife, the Willings along with everybody else in town were aghast at the fatal way in which bad luck seems to heap up on certain unfortunate beings.