“What makes Billy let him work, then?”
“Let him!” sniffed Arkwright. “I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs. Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete is thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to death if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he has some grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the kitchen and dining-room the night she presided over them.”
“Poor Billy!” chuckled Calderwell. “I'd have gone down into the kitchen myself if I'd suspected what was going on.”
Arkwright raised his eyebrows.
“Perhaps it's well you didn't—if Bertram's picture of what he found there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that even the cat sought refuge under the stove.”
“As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from Billy!” scoffed Calderwell. “By the way, what's this Annex I hear of? Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what it was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't—not with Billy shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of Billy's pet charities?”
“She doesn't call it that.” Arkwright's face and voice softened. “It is Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home. She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a lame boy, and Aunt Hannah.”
“But how—extraordinary!”
“She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the extra happiness she can't use.”
There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet and walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned.