"I have a few cents left, dear—I could have sent with you for a few little extras for tonight, too. I wish I had; it would be so jolly, wouldn't it?"
"I haven't had a cent for so long that I—I don't know how it would feel. Keep your money, Kate; I'll have some tomorrow. I have made arrangements to draw my pay every day." He felt like a murderer as he sat there with that fortune in his trousers pocket. Then he danced and romped with Helen as only he could romp. In the midst of one of the wildest figures Kate suddenly seized his arm and cried.
"Digby Trotter! Stoop over, this instant! Why, what kind of a wife am I? Good gracious, but you need a patch there—it's positively disgraceful. How long have you been going around with that hole there?"
"I don't know—in fact, I had not observed it," he answered, like a shame-faced boy.
"And your coat is so short, too. Take them off at once and I'll put a patch there before I do another thing."
"I'll have to go to bed, my dear. Can't you patch 'em with 'em on me?"
"Of course not! I'd certainly sew them fast to your person. Go to bed, if you please, then. I'll promise not to be long."
And so the head of the house had to go to bed while its mistress repaired the garment.
"Say, Kate," called out Digby from the bed, where he was playing with the baby, "that's a positive proof that I've been compelled to sit around a good deal this year, isn't it?"
"The evidence is certainly damaging," she replied, laughingly, her fingers busy with the repairs.