Mrs. Eddie Collins née Haley gazed about her home on a late October day. Her housework was all done. Mrs. Harris, slim to the point of emaciation, had arrived a half hour before with a mop and broom and had done Mrs. Collins' housework. Mrs. Harris was Mrs. Collins' landlady. She had made the bed, mopped around the floor, and let the broom rest lightly for a moment in the middle of the rug. Then she had taken herself to other parts, murmuring vaguely about some one called Margaret who needed a real good lesson.
Mrs. Collins, left behind, surveyed her home. It was twelve by ten and had two windows. The bed hogged most of the space, but a few chairs, a table, a wardrobe, and a bureau did manage to squeeze in. There was a picture of a very nice young man necking a white horse, and another picture showed a bevy of cheerful Russians on the verge of sleigh-riding right into the middle of Eddie's new six-tube set.
A very nice home, no doubt. Mrs. Collins was well pleased with it. And her housework was done! The rest of the day belonged entirely to her to do with as she pleased. Strangely enough the thought gave Mrs. Collins a heavy feeling in the region of her heart. What did one do with unoccupied days that stretched along with tedious consistency? Business? No, Eddie had said that no wife of his was going to work while he had his health. Noble of him. Very.
He arose at eight every morning, and Dot went with him to the little dairy lunch room next to the bank. Breakfast. Then Dot walked with Eddie to the shop.
