“Then you must find the money for it yourself. My system requires something to eat, and, ef I take a boarder, he's got to have something to eat, too.”
“Mrs. B., I didn't think your heart was so hard,” said Barton, in a maudlin tone.
“Look here, Joel Barton; you might as well stop such foolish talk. It won't do no good. I can't stay here all day. I must go and be gettin' dinner.”
Had Barton succeeded in raising money from his wife, he would probably have returned at once to the tavern, and his place would have been vacant at the dinner table. Failing in this, he lay back and fell asleep, and was not roused till dinner time.
Mrs. Barton was a fair cook, and Herbert ate with an unexpected relish. It is needless to say that Abner also did full justice to the meal.
“I say, Sam,” he said, “I'm glad you've come.”
Herbert was hardly prepared to agree with him.
“Now we'll have to live better,” Abner explained. “Mam and I gen'ally have to skirmish round for vittles. We don't often get meat.”
This frank confession rather alarmed Herbert. He was not over self-indulgent, but he had never lacked for nourishing food, and the prospect of an uncertain supply was not encouraging.
When dinner was over—there was no second course—they left the table. Joel Barton made a fresh attempt to extort a small sum from his wife, but was met with an inflexible refusal. Mrs. Barton proved deaf alike to entreaties and threats. She was a strong, resolute woman, and not one to be intimidated.