Alone once more, Bill walked slowly, going to the desk and looking at the register. Then he went back of the desk, examining familiar objects. Suddenly his eyes rested on the electric-light switchboard. He played with the lights for several seconds, turning them out finally. With a start he grunted, "Now I broke 'em." Pushing the button again, the lights came on, revealing Mrs. Jones, who had tiptoed in from the dining-room when Millie told her Bill was there. When he saw her he came out from behind the desk and she hurried toward him with outstretched arms.
"Are you all right, Bill?" she asked, tenderly. And Bill, smiling, leaned over her and breathed so that she could see that he was all right. But she had been through so much lately and where Bill was concerned there was more tenderness than humor in her attitude.
"Aren't you all tired out, dear?" she asked.
Bill grinned sheepishly. It was a long time since his wife had shown such affection for him. "No," was his quick reply.
But her conscience bade her make sure that he was comfortable. She drew a big arm-chair from the corner and placed it in the center of the room, taking a pillow from the sofa and putting it on the back of the chair. Gently she sat Bill down in it.
He didn't know what to make of it all and he looked up at her, asking, with a chuckle:
"What's the matter, mother, you sick?"
She laughed. "No, Bill, I ain't sick. I'm just thinkin'."
Bill looked straight ahead of him.
She took her rocking-chair and placed it next to him. Clasping one of his hands, she leaned forward.