Fletcher meditated. "I can't tell her; 'twould kill her, and not do any good either. No, one good streak of luck will set me up where I can defy him. I'll grin and bear it."
"What is it, John? Tell your poor little wife!"
"Oh, nothing, my dear. I do some business for Sandford, who is apt to be domineering,—that's all. To-day he provoked me, and when I am mad it does me good to swear; it's as natural as lightning out of a black cloud."
"It may do you good to swear, John; but it makes the cold chills run over me. Why do you have anything to do with anybody that treats you so? You are so changed from what you were! Oh, John, something is wrong, I know. Your face looks sharp and inquiring. You are thin and uneasy. There's a wrinkle in your cheek, that used to be as smooth as a girl's."
She patted his face softly, as it rested on her shoulder; but he made no reply save by an absent, half-audible whistle.
"You don't answer me, John, dear!"
"I've nothing especial to say, doxy,—only that I will wind up with
Sandford as soon as we finish the business in hand."
"The business in hand? Has he anything to do with Foggarty, Danforth, and Dot?"
Fletcher was not skilful under cross-examination. So he simply answered, "No," and then stopping her mouth with kisses, promised to explain the matter another day.
"Well, John, I am tired; I think I'll take baby and go to bed. Don't sit up and get blue over your troubles!"