Tom caught a glimpse of the elderly gentleman. He was in his slippers and a dressing gown, and his arms were so full of books that he could not have carried another one.
“They are books from Mr. Townsend,” said Tom.
“Oh, yes. Come right in,” invited the doctor. “I was wondering why they didn’t arrive. Come right in with them, my boy. I want to look up something about a certain rare plant——”
“He’ll do nothing of the kind!” interrupted the woman. “I guess I’m not going to have snow tracked into my house! Besides, you know you started to go to supper, and there you are puttering over those books. Oh, Lemuel, you’re so forgetful!”
“So I am! So I am,” admitted the doctor in a queer sort of voice. “I remember now, I did start to go to supper. I knew it was something I ought to do. I’m glad you reminded me. I’ll eat at once,” and, placing the books he was holding on a chair in the hall, the old gentleman turned back.
“Leave the books here,” said the woman to Tom. “Are there any charges?”
“No; everything is paid.”
“All right,” and she abruptly shut the door.
“Rather a cool reception,” murmured Tom. “My, but she’s cross! I shouldn’t like to live with her. I wonder how the doctor stands it, he’s so quiet and studious? I wonder if she’s his wife? No, she can’t be. The clerk said he wasn’t married. She must be a housekeeper, or some relation. My, but she seems to be able to make him do just as she likes! The idea of not letting him take his own books that he bought and paid for. I guess he’s so easy that she has him under her thumb.”
The time came when this was demonstrated to Tom, even more forcibly than it was on this occasion.