"But why," interrupted Peter, with a very uneasy mind, "why shouldn't women have something to say?"
"Are you married?" demanded his host.
"No, not yet," said Peter blushing.
"Well, when you're married—will you let your wife decide where you will live? How you earn your living—and all that? No sir, I'll bet you won't—you'll be boss, won't you? I guess so. Well, every man has that right, absolutely. Here am I—I'm goin' to sell out here and buy a hotel—there's good money in it, easy livin'. She—" there was an unutterable scorn in his voice, "says she won't go—says it ain't right to sell liquor. I say she'll come with me or get out. She might be able to earn her own livin', but she can't take the kids. Accordin' to law, children belong to the father—ain't that right? There's a man comin' to buy the farm—I guess he would have been out today, only for the storm. We have the bargain made—all but the signin' up."
Mrs. Paine stood still in the middle of the floor, and listened in terror. "A man coming to buy the farm!" Every trace of color left her face! Maybe it was not true.
He saw the terror in her face, and followed up his advantage.
"People have to learn to do as they're told when I'm round. No one can defy me—I'll tell you that. Every one knows me—I can be led, but I cant be driven."
Peter Neelands had the most uncomfortable feeling he had ever known. He was not sure whether it was his utter aversion to the man who sat in front of the stove, boasting of his sharp dealing, or a physical illness which affected him, but a horrible nausea came over him. His head swam—his eardrums seemed like to burst—every bone began to ache.
The three days that followed were like a nightmare, which even time could never efface or rob of its horror. The fight with the storm had proven such a shock to him that for three days a burning fever, alternating with chills, held him in its clutches, and even when the storm subsided kept him a prisoner sorely against his will.
In these three days, at close range, he saw something of a phase of life he had never even guessed at. He did not know that human beings could live in such crude conditions, without comforts, without even necessities. It was like a bad dream—confused, humiliating, horrible—and when on the third day he was able to get into his clothes his one desire was to get away—and yet, to leave his kind hostess who had so gently nursed him and cared for him, seemed like an act of desertion.