Elisha wandered about the empty kitchen, mentally summing up the situation.
He had a small deposit in the bank which, added to Marcia's larger fortune, would provide sumptuously for his old age. In addition, if she became his wife she would, of course, do the cooking and housework and he could dismiss May Ellen Howard, his housekeeper, thereby saving her salary.
As to a house, he could not quite decide whether it would be wiser to take up residence in the Homestead or continue to live in his own smaller abode in Wilton. The Homestead undoubtedly was finer and more pretentious, but it was large and probably expensive to heat. Furthermore, its location was breezy and draughts always aggravated his rheumatism. If it could be sold, it should net a neat sum.
Well, he need not decide these questions now. There would be time enough to smooth out all such trivial details after the wedding.
He strolled up to the stove and, standing on the hearth with his back to the fire, rocked back and forth on his heels reflectively.
As he did so, a brick beneath his feet rocked with him.
Elisha looked down.
He saw it was quite loose.
"That thing's goin' to trip up somebody some fine day," commented he. "It oughter be cemented."