It’ll be fun to see what my wife will do when she sees me in a fur coat, said Dr. Henck to himself.
The hall was quite dark; the lamp was never lighted unless visitors were expected.
I hear her in the parlor now, thought Dr. Henck. She walks as lightly as a little bird. It’s remarkable that I still get warm around the heart every time I hear her step in the next room.
Dr. Henck was right in his supposition that his wife would give him a more loving reception when he had on a fur coat than she was otherwise wont to do. She stole up close to him in the darkest corner of the hall, twined her arms about his neck, and kissed him warmly and intensively. Then she burrowed her head into the collar of his fur coat and whispered: “Gustav isn’t home yet.”
“Yes,” answered Dr. Henck in a voice that trembled slightly, while he caressed her hair with both hands, “yes, he’s home.”
A big fire flamed in Dr. Henck’s work-room. Whisky and water stood on the table.
Judge Richardt lay stretched out in a large leather easy-chair and smoked a cigar. Dr. Henck sat huddled in a corner of the sofa. The door was open on the hall, where Mrs. Henck and the children were busy lighting the Christmas tree.
Dinner had been very quiet. Only the children had twittered and prattled to one another and been happy.
“You’re not saying anything, old fellow,” said Richardt. “Is it that you’re sitting worrying over your torn overcoat?”
“No,” answered Henck, “it’s rather over the fur coat.”