ready to oppose anything she suggested. She read that on his face. Oh, well, she couldn't sit there looking at him.
"Edna has some furniture that she has no use for. She thought it would be cheaper and more comfortable for us if we took it and got an apartment somewhere. I'd like to do it."
Eddie tipped his chair back a little from the table and surveyed Dot with a stern eye.
"She's sorry for you, eh? Too bad. We can't take charity, Dot. We'll have a home when I can afford it, see? Marriages that go right have one mess of brains running them, not three nor even two. I'll tell you when we're ready for an apartment. Did you get that?"
Eddie's severe glance showed nothing of what he was thinking. The cutting blue of his eyes did not carry to Dot the thoughts that were running in his mind.
First fight now. This'll be good. I can still hear the old lady yelling, "You make me sick." Husband and wife fights. Dot'll say she's sorry she married me and that I begrudge her a little happiness and that I'm a God damn fool.
"So I'll tell Edna no?" Her voice was very low and small.
"Use your own judgment. I said we couldn't take the stuff, didn't I?"
Dot arose from the table. Her nose was a little pink, and her eyes were not accessible.
"You know best, Eddie," she said, tremulously.
Jesus Christ! Nothing but "You know best, Eddie." Just like that.
His hand reached out for hers. He didn't see the diners, only Dot with her little pink nose and her loyal eyelids protecting her tears from staring strangers.
"Are you mad, Dot?"
"No, only I'm—so—disappointed."
