“You came home drunk—very drunk,” Miss Greene informed him, “at two o'clock in the morning. The noise you made must have awakened half the street.”
A groan escaped from his parched lips.
“You insisted upon Aimee cooking you a hot supper.”
“I insisted!” Mr. Korner glanced down upon the table. “And—and she did it!”
“You were very violent,” explained Miss Greene; “we were terrified at you, all three of us.” Regarding the pathetic object in front of her, Miss Greene found it difficult to recollect that a few hours before she really had been frightened of it. Sense of duty alone restrained her present inclination to laugh.
“While you sat there, eating your supper,” continued Miss Greene remorselessly, “you made her bring you her books.”
Mr. Korner had passed the stage when anything could astonish him.
“You lectured her about her housekeeping.” There was a twinkle in the eye of Mrs. Korner's bosom friend. But lightning could have flashed before Mr. Korner's eyes without his noticing it just then.
“You told her that she could not add, and you made her say her tables.”
“I made her—” Mr. Korner spoke in the emotionless tones of one merely desiring information. “I made Aimee say her tables?”