"
"It's the best thing you could do with it," snapped his wife. She took
up her iron again, and turning an obstinate back to his remarks resumed
her work.
Mr. Porter lay long next morning, and, dressing with comfortable
slowness, noticed with pleasure that the sun was shining. Visions of a
good breakfast and a digestive pipe, followed by a walk in the fresh air,
passed before his eyes as he laced his boots. Whistling cheerfully he
went briskly downstairs.
It was an October morning, but despite the invigorating chill in the air
the kitchen-grate was cold and dull. Herring-bones and a disorderly
collection of dirty cups and platters graced the table. Perplexed and
angry, he looked around for his wife, and then, opening the back-door,
stood gaping with astonishment. The wife of his bosom, who should have
had a bright fire and a good breakfast waiting for him, was sitting on a
box in the sunshine, elbows on knees and puffing laboriously at a
cigarette.
"Susan!" he exclaimed.
Mrs. Porter turned, and, puffing out her lips, blew an immense volume of
smoke.
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