Then my gaze turned out of the window. It was still raining. The woman in the apartment up above had left some washing hanging on the line-some suits of men’s underwear. The lights from the back windows shone upon them. They flopped about weakly in the drizzling storm. Somehow they brought back to my mind the picture of the old chap standing that morning in the downtown doorway, his newspapers tucked under his arm, a helpless victim of the storm. It stirred, too, a vague, uneasy sense of affinity in me.
The clock struck. I roused from my thoughts and began to feel a little anxious about my wife. It was most unusual for her to be as late as this. I decided to telephone over to George’s and learn if she had started. I was just taking down the receiver, when I heard her key scrape in the lock. I went quickly and opened the door for her. She came in breathless from having hurried. I followed her into the dining-room, and saw that she was looking white and anxious. George was sick. Had pneumonia. He had been sitting up nights with his sick children, was all worn out, and had taken cold. George, who is the younger, has always been the less robust of our two boys.
“I should have gone over and relieved him of the care of the children,” my wife said, with the pain of self-censure in her face. “But I’m going back now to take care of him. I’ve come home to get some things that I need.”
“Why didn’t you telephone,” I reprimanded, “and have me bring over what you wanted, instead of making this long trip in the rain?”
But she had thought that I wouldn’t know where to find the things. And she wanted to see, too, that I was fixed all right, as she might be gone for several days.
“You must have something to eat,” I said, “then I’ll go back with you.”
I carried her wet umbrella into the kitchen, and she went into the bedroom to gather up her things.
I decided not to add to her worry by telling her now about my day’s experience. But she herself made the discovery. I have never been able to conceal anything from her for long. She went into the front room, and saw my wet clothes hanging on the chair by the radiator. Then she came out to the kitchen, where I was making a clumsy effort to brew her a cup of tea.
“How did you happen to get so wet to-day?” she asked.
The question took me unawares, and I hesitated before making the excuse that I had had no umbrella. She did not speak again, but stood there watching me. My hands trembled so that I spilled the hot water when I tried to pour it into the teapot.