He suddenly had in her eyes the
heroism of a wireless operator on a ship in a collision; of an explorer,
fever-clawed, deserted by his bearers, but going on--jungle--going----
At six, when the light faltered in as through ground glass and bleakly
identified the chairs as gray rectangles, she heard his step on the
porch; heard him at the furnace: the rattle of shaking the grate, the
slow grinding removal of ashes, the shovel thrust into the coal-bin,
the abrupt clatter of the coal as it flew into the fire-box, the fussy
regulation of drafts--the daily sounds of a Gopher Prairie life, now
first appealing to her as something brave and enduring, many-colored
and free. She visioned the fire-box: flames turned to lemon and metallic
gold as the coal-dust sifted over them; thin twisty flutters of purple,
ghost flames which gave no light, slipping up between the dark banked
coals.
It was luxurious in bed, and the house would be warm for her when
she rose, she reflected. What a worthless cat she was! What were her
aspirations beside his capability?
She awoke again as he dropped into bed.
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