“Floyd, we must move away from here; the street is getting impossible.” A crash of falling timbers next door strengthened her position.
“Julie! This is our home; you know how I love it. How can you ask me such a thing?”
He was losing his temper; she was on the verge of tears, and last night when he held her in his arms, he swore—they all do at those times.
“I’ll do anything for you, anything, but my home is a part of me; you don’t realize how I love it.”
“More than me?” She was pouting now, like a child.
“Oh, no!—different—you won’t ask me to leave it, will you?” It was pathetic, the appeal in the man’s voice.
“But I also loved my home; I left it for you.”
He was about to say, “It’s not the same. The roots of my life are here; you are an alien.” He didn’t want to offend her; then he went down to see the Colonel, and mentioned with much embarrassment that the street was getting unbearable.
“Yes, it’s very unhealthy for your wife and child to inhale all that dust. We’ve secured a house.”
“Oh, have you? My wife didn’t tell me.”