She stitched on briskly and watched her husband from the corner of her eye. He smoked on for some time, and rising at last with a sigh, sent her out for the materials, and spent the day whitewashing.
He was so fatigued with the unwonted exertion that he was almost content to stay in that evening and smoke; but the following morning was so bright and inviting that his confinement appeared more galling than ever. Hoping for some miracle that should rescue him from these sordid tasks, he sent out for another paper.
“It don’t say much about it,” said his wife.
The baby was crying, the breakfast things were not washed, and there were several other hindrances to journalistic work.
“Read it,” said the fireman, sternly.
“The injured constable,” read Mrs. Pinner, glibly, “is still going on satisfactory, and the public-houses are still being watched.”
“They do seem fond o’ them public-houses,” remarked Mr. Pinner, impatiently. “I’m glad the chap’s getting on all right, but I ’ope ’e won’t be about afore I get to sea again.”
“I shouldn’t think he would,” said his wife. “I’d better go out and get the wall-paper, ’adn’t I? What colour would you like?”
Mr. Pinner said that all wall-papers were alike to him, and indulged in dreary speculations as to where the money was to come from. Mrs. Pinner, who knew that they were saving fast owing to his enforced seclusion, smiled at his misgivings.
He papered the room that day, after a few choice observations on the price of wall-paper, and expressed his opinion that in a properly governed country the birth of red-whiskered policemen would be rendered an impossibility. To the compliments on his workmanship bestowed by the gratified Mrs. Pinner he turned a deaf ear.