"
"And the kiddies?"
"Oh, yes! I daresay you'll miss them when you are away, for all your
scolding when you are with them. No, no, I don't mean that you are
unkind to them, but you do grumble a lot! All the same I won't be
unjust, and I know that you love them."
At supper he was very tired and depressed. He didn't read the evening
paper, he wanted to talk to his wife. But she was too busy to pay much
attention to him; she had no time to waste; moreover, her ten years'
campaign in kitchen and nursery had taught her self-control.
He felt more sentimental than he cared to show, and the topsy-turvydom
of the room made him fidgety. Scraps of his daily life lay scattered
all over chairs and chests of drawers; his black portmanteau yawned
wide-open like a coffin; his white linen was carefully laid on the top
of his black suit, which showed slight traces of wear and tear at the
knees and elbows. It seemed to him that he himself was lying there,
wearing a white shirt with a starched front. Presently they would
close the coffin and carry it away.
On the following morning--it was in August--he rose early and dressed
hurriedly. His nerves were unstrung. He went into the nursery and
kissed the children who stared at him with sleepy eyes.
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