“Two hund—” began Mr. Gribble, forgetting himself. “Two hun——Go and get my tea! If you think you're going to give yourself airs because your uncle's left you money, you won't do it in my house.”
He took a chair by the window, and, while his wife busied herself in the kitchen, sat gazing in blank delight at the little street. Two hundred a year! It was all he could do to resume his wonted expression as his wife re-entered the room and began to lay the table. His manner, however, when she let a cup and saucer slip from her trembling fingers to smash on the floor left nothing to be desired.
“It's nice to have money come to us in our old age,” said Mrs. Gribble, timidly, as they sat at tea. “It takes a load off my mind.”
“Old age!” said her husband, disagreeably. “What d'ye mean by old age? I'm fifty-two, and feel as young as ever I did.”
“You look as young as ever you did,” said the docile Mrs. Gribble. “I can't see no change in you. At least, not to speak of.”
“Not so much talk,” said her husband. “When I want your opinion of my looks I'll ask you for it. When do you start getting this money?”
“Tuesday week; first of May,” replied his wife. “The lawyers are going to send it by registered letter.”
Mr. Gribble grunted.
“I shall be sorry to leave the house for some things,” said his wife, looking round. “We've been here a good many years now, Henry.”
“Leave the house!” repeated Mr. Gribble, putting down his tea-cup and staring at her.