Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/131

 Wheat? Paul purred interrogatively.

O, I don't mean he mowed, Vera explained, but he took off his coat in the pit. . . and did—she waved a chubby arm as if an understanding of such matters was beyond the scope of a young and pretty woman—what men do, she concluded limpingly.

And where, she demanded, would I be if it hadn't been for Bristol fiercely tramping up and down in the pit with his coat off? Where would you be, for that matter? We're enjoying the fruits of his struggles, and Paul—her husband noted that she had assumed her most endearing manner, the manner he most feared—at first I didn't see why we shouldn't, and that's why I cried so hard when you went down there too. O! I said to myself, isn't it enough that one man has done it? Isn't one martyr enough for one cause? Why has my beloved Paul got to go down and suffer and sweat and take off his coat and die when Mr. Whittaker has already done it and left us enough to feed an army with? I thought it would be just dreadful to have you away too, Paul, until the other day I remembered that you're away so much anyway, with your friends, that it is an actual relief to know approximately where you are, and you've done so splendidly now, and it gives me so much to talk about when I go out. Paul, she concluded, offering him the glance of an amorous and dying swan, I tell everybody that you are supporting me now!

It must surprise them.