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 Eddie's supper was ready when he got home. Dot ate two Uneeda biscuits and talked about Dr. Stewart.

Eddie listened without comment. Twice she almost gave herself away. It's hard to be depressed and gloomy sometimes, even to please one's husband.

Eddie ate his dinner with scarcely a word to Dot. He was thinking of an utterly stupid error he had made that day in repairing a radio set. He wondered how he had come to do that. Oh, well, a fellow's mind was apt to wander sometimes. Mr. Williams had ridden him hard about it. He'd have to see that it didn't happen again. Not that it wasn't excusable once in a blue moon, and not that Williams wasn't fully aware that Eddie did know radio; but still Eddie couldn't help but think that this would be a hell of a time to lose his job.

The incident made Eddie marvel a little at the trustfulness of a woman. Gosh, Dot didn't know that he was a crackajack radio repair man who could always get a job. She was figuring on him to see her through her confinement with the best of care. She depended on forty dollars a week. Suppose he wasn't so good at the job, suppose he was a guy Williams could can without missing, suppose he couldn't connect with another job fast. She'd have to have the kid brought by charity doctors. She wasn't even imagining that. She was trusting him, depending on him. Women were funny.

Since Dot's stomach had become so sensitive, Eddie had taken her place as official dishwasher. It had been his own suggestion, and he was so proud of having summoned the words that had brought about the arrangement that he sulked each night when Dot picked up a towel to do the drying. He wanted to do it all, and if she couldn't see for herself that he was willing, then she was too dumb to worry about; so Eddie sprinkled soap flakes in the dishpan and scowled.