He remained silent for a few minutes, with his hammer eased on his knee, and then, in a more heated strain, he continued—
"These are three things a man doesn't like—he doesn't like to be spied on, and he doesn't like to be ruled and regulated, and he doesn't like to be asked for a thing he wants himself. And, whether he lets himself be spied on or not, he'll be talked about, and in any case he'll be made out to be a queer man; and if he lets his wife rule him he'll be scorned and laughed at, and if he doesn't let her rule him he'll be called a rough man; and if he once gives to his brother he will have to keep on giving for ever, and if he doesn't give in at all he'll get the bad name and the sour look as he goes about his business."
"You have bad neighbours, indeed," said I.
"I'd call them that."
"And a brother that would ask you for a thing you wanted yourself wouldn't be a decent man."
"He would not."
"Tell me," said I, "what kind of a wife have you?"
"She's the same as any one else's wife to look at, but I fancy the other women must be different to live with."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you can hear men laughing and singing in every public-house that you'd go into, and they wouldn't do that if their wives were hard to live with, for nobody could stand a bad comrade. A good wife, a good brother, a good neighbour—these are three good things, but you don't find them lying in every ditch."