“Weights and balances,” said Anderson, but his laugh was bitter.
He left Edgecomb at the corner, and, going up his own street, reflected again. He began to wonder if possibly he would not have done better to have stuck to his profession; if he could not have left Banbridge and tried elsewhere—in the City. He wondered if he had shown energy and manly ambition, if he had not been poor-spirited. When he reached home his mother eyed him anxiously and asked if he were ill.
“No,” he said, “but I met Henry, and he looks wretchedly.”
“He hasn't enough to eat,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Harriet does not give him enough to eat. It is a shame. If I were in his place I would get married.”
“He says he is tired out teaching. He talks about the friction of so many natures on his.”
“Of course there is a friction,” said Mrs. Anderson, “but he could stand it if he had more to eat. Let us have a dinner next Sunday night; let us have a roast turkey and a pudding. We will have lunch at noon. Henry is very fond of turkey, and it is late enough to get good ones.”
“Shall we ask Harriet?” inquired Anderson, with a lurking mischief.
His mother looked at him with quick suspicion. “You don't want her asked?” she said.
“Why should she be asked? She never is.”
“I don't know but with an extra dinner—”