“Cheating on the budget?” Morey was startled. “Cheating how?”
“Oh, lots of ways. Making your portions bigger than hers. Sneaking extra shirts for you on her clothing ration. You know.”
“Damn it, I do not know!” cried Morey. “Cherry wouldn’t do anything like that!”
Howland looked at him opaquely for a long second. “Of course not,” he said at last. “Let’s have another drink.”
Ruffled, Morey held out his glass. Cherry wasn’t the type of girl to cheat. Of course she wasn’t. A fine, loving girl like her—a pretty girl, of a good family; she wouldn’t know how to begin.
Howland was saying, in a sort of chant, “No more budget. No more fights. No more ‘Daddy never treated me like this.’ No more nagging. No more extra rations for household allowance. No more—Morey, what do you say we go out and have a few drinks? I know a place where—”
“Sorry, Howland,” Morey said. “I’ve got to get back to the office, you know.”
Howland guffawed. He held out his wristwatch. As Morey, a little unsteadily, bent over it, it tinkled out the hour. It was a matter of minutes before the office closed for the day.
“Oh,” said Morey. “I didn’t realize—Well, anyway, Howland, thanks, but I can’t. My wife will be expecting me.”
“She certainly will,” Howland sniggered. “Won’t catch her eating up your rations and hers tonight.”