He went to bed at eleven o'clock, and at a quarter past, clad all too
lightly for the job, sped rapidly downstairs to admit his wife.
"Some 'usbands would 'ave let you sleep on the doorstep all night," he
said, crisply.
"I know they would," returned his wife, cheerfully. "That's why I
married you. I remember the first time I let you come 'ome with me,
mother ses: 'There ain't much of 'im, Susan,' she ses; 'still, arf a loaf
is better than--'"
The bedroom-door slammed behind the indignant Mr. Porter, and the three
lumps and a depression which had once been a bed received his quivering
frame again. With the sheet obstinately drawn over his head he turned a
deaf ear to his wife's panegyrics on striking and her heartfelt tribute
to the end of a perfect day. Even when standing on the cold floor while
she remade the bed he maintained an attitude of unbending dignity, only
relaxing when she smote him light-heartedly with the bolster. In a few
ill-chosen words he expressed his opinion of her mother and her
deplorable methods of bringing up her daughters.
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