Under its thick coat of tan, Martin's face went white. “I've had enough of this,” he announced levelly. “You'll put him down and fry that meat.”
“Wait just a minute,” she coaxed; “he'll be off for the night and if you wake him, he'll cry and get all worked up.”
“You heard what I said.” His tone was vibrant with determination. “How am I going to keep hired men if you treat them like this? When they come in to eat, they want to find their food on the table.”
“This doesn't often happen any more and they know, good and well, I make it up to them in other ways,” returned Rose truthfully.
For answer, he crossed over to her quickly, reached down and took the baby from her.
“What are you going to do with him?” she demanded, a-tremble with rage and a sense of impotent helplessness, as, avoiding her quick movement, Martin went into the bedroom.
“Let him go to sleep as other children do, while you finish getting supper. Do you want to make a sissy of him?”
“A lot you care what he becomes!” she flashed, conflicting impulses contending for mastery, as Billy, now thoroughly awake and seeing his mother, began to cry, pleading to her with big blue eyes and out-stretched arms to take him. She started forward, but Martin stepped between herself and the crib.
“Martin Wade, let me pass. He's mine.”
“It isn't going to hurt him to cry. He does it often enough.”