His wife regarded him with steady gloom.
"If you took the smallest interest in your home," said she, "and were less set on gallivanting about the country, going to the Lord knows where, with the Lord knows who, you'd know that the children were away in school at this hour. Nice indeed the places you visit and the company you keep, if the truth were known—walk across it, man, and wipe your feet on the kitchen mat."
So he walked into the kitchen, and sat down, and, as he sat, the last remnants of his courage trembled down into his boots and evaporated.
His wife came in after him—she drooped a speculative eye on her lord—
"You didn't say what brought you home so early," said she.
When a hard thing has to be done the quickest way is generally the best way. It is like the morning bath—don't ruminate, jump in, for the longer you wait the more dubious you get, and the tub begins to look arctic and repellent.
Some such philosophy as this dictated his attitude. He lugged out his week's wages, slapped it on the table, and said—
"I've got the sack."
Then he stretched his legs out, pushed his fists deep into his trouser pockets, and waited.
His wife sat down too, slowly and with great care, and she stared in silence at her husband—