"Extraordinary."
The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching
Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one
another--with a certain ill ease.
A COMEDY FOR WIVES
At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself
into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer.
"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did
Mrs. Lightbody go out?"
"About an hour ago, sir."
"That's odd. Did she leave any message?"
"No, sir."
"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened."
At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions,
overshadowing a thin table in the living-room.
"When did that come?"
"About four o'clock, sir."
He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and
understanding.
"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a
half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't
get my winter suit; but I get a little peace.
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