Roger caught him by the shoulder. “Man, if I find you there to-night, I’ll shoot you.”
“I’m going,” said Tom, and he backed into his insurance office, leaving Roger wildly waving his market-basket at him from the street.
A few hours later, Roger looked up at his wife as he sat at the lunch-table, and said, “Don’t you want to go to Grandma’s this evening?”
“Yes, dear, if you do,” she replied, holding out his cup of bouillon for him.
At luncheon they were obliged to wait on themselves, and Roger vowed that he liked it.
“All right, dear,” he said, as he carefully took the hot bouillon from her, “we’ll go.”
“After dinner, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Any one else going?” asked Margaretta.