So Dot told him about it without Edna to back her up. It was after dinner in the Perfect Snack Lunch Room and Restaurant. Eddie was smoking thoughtfully. He was wondering why the hell the boss had put eight volts of grid bias in that neutrodyne. Grid bias was the works, all right, but why the hell eight—
"Eddie, wouldn't you just love a home of your own with home-cooked meals and all?"
Eddie's expression was one of supreme indifference. "Less trouble in a restaurant," he answered discouragingly.
"Yes, but you don't get the proper stuff in a place like this."
He forgot grid bias and brought his eyes to rest on Dot's face. "Sorry I can't afford the Astor," he said.
"Oh, I didn't mean that, Eddie. I mean you don't order right. You don't balance your diet. You don't eat spinach, for instance. Now in a home of your own you'd get spinach, for instance. Nice, well-cooked spinach with a hard-boiled egg on it."
"I hate spinach, for instance," said Eddie, hardly.
"Oh, well, not just spinach. In a home of your own—"
Eddie stuck the light of his cigarette in the coffee. There was no hint of indulgence in his invitation. He sounded like Eddie in still, white anger confronting an enemy. "Got something on your mind? Out with it."
Dot was frightened. Oh, he was going to be mad! If it was only Sue who had offered them furniture, or even Maude McLaughlin; but Edna— The first fight was coming. Maybe the last fight. Perhaps Eddie would leave her when he found that she was not satisfied with the home that he had been able to give her. She wanted to say, "No, honest, Eddie, I was only thinking," but she wanted those three little fifty-dollar rooms so badly, and maybe he Would say yes. He was waiting for her to speak. He was
