“Well, we had dinner at the usual time, if he’d said he was hungry, I’d have hurried it.”
“He was not hungry—he was much more than that. Did you ever see a vessel whose fuel is well-nigh exhausted drag herself into port? What is the first thing to be done?”
“I don’t know—replenish her?”
“Yes, put coal on board. Now when I saw your husband walk up to his front door, I said to myself, he needs coaling. A good home should be a good coaling station; remember that.”
“But what of me?” she asked with some impatience, “I, too, have my worries and exertions—do I never need coaling?”
“Frequently,” I answered.
“Well, who is to coal me, I should like to know?”
“Yourself.”
“That’s rather one-sided, I think. Why shouldn’t my husband look to that?”
“My dear,” I said earnestly, “I never knew but one man who saw when his wife needed coaling, and attended to her wants. When he died (for the gods loved him), it was found that his shoulder-blades were abnormally large—at least so the doctors said, but I knew all the time that his wings had budded.”