“For why?” he ask out.
“Because,” she snagger, “Wednesday are Irish stew night, and we are scarce on this economical vegetable. Sifficient for three are less than enough.”
“Oh, then!” he report. “Charlie and me shall dine together at the Runabout Club where hasty food can be obtained abundantly day and night.”
“Don’t!” besearch Mrs. Fillups. Too late for reply.
That evening by late P. M. that dinner plate for Mr. Fillups set lonesome. Mrs. Fillups remain by table weeping into bill-of-fare.
“Why do you weep?” I require at lengthly.
“He will not return home for meals when I do everything for his comfort!” she sub.
“Mrs. Madam, excuse my chivalry, but I must speak a lecture,” I say forth. “If you would be less careful of his comfort, maybe he would be more comfortable. Many husbands quit home because it is too beautiful. I realise that they do not know what is best for them. They are cross-eyed in their intelligence. Yet are it not better to permit them to be miserable in their own way, if this makes them happy? You must remember: Husbands should not be furniture for the home—Home should be furniture for the Husband. I speak this because I saw it.”
“Elsewhere is best place for such a wise servant!” snib Mrs. Fillups leaping to her feets. So I project myself away feeling quite absorbed like a sponge.