As he grew stronger she read the paper to him each morning, and they quarreled with keen relish over the news events of the day. And as at the start, so now, she kept giving him little shocks of surprise by her intimate glimpses into his views. On one of these occasions, after she had come out from his room and was sitting by me reading,
"You're a wonder, Eleanore," I said. "I don't see how you've done it."
"Done what, my love?" asked Eleanore.
"Wormed all his views out of poor old Joe."
"I haven't done anything of the sort. I've learned over half of it from Sue. She comes here often nowadays and we have long talks about him. Sue seems to know him rather well."
This did not interest me much, so I switched our talk to something that did.
"What bothers me," I said with a scowl, "is this infernal work of mine. What are you smiling at?" I asked.
"Nothing," she murmured, beginning to read. "But if I were you I'd stick at my work. You're good at that."
"Not now I'm not," I retorted. "This story about the opera man isn't coming on at all! The more I work the worse it gets!"
"It will get better soon," she said.