"No," said the doctor.
"What was the trouble about, dear?"
"Nothing much."
"Tell me, Henry. Please don't try and keep anything from me. What was the trouble about?"
"Well, Dick owes me a lot of money for pulling his squaw through pneumonia and I guess he wanted a row so he wouldn't have to take it out in work."
His wife was silent. The doctor wiped his gun carefully with a rag. He pushed the shells back in against the spring of the magazine. He sat with the gun on his knees. He was very fond of it. Then he heard his wife's voice from the darkened room.
"Dear, I don't think, I really don't think that anyone would really do a thing like that."
"No?" the doctor said.
"No. I can't really believe that anyone would do a thing of that sort intentionally."
The doctor stood up and put the shotgun in the corner behind the dresser.
"Are you going out, dear?" his wife said.
"I think I'll go for a walk," the doctor said.
"If you see Nick, dear, will you tell him his mother wants to see him?" his wife said.
The doctor went out on the porch. The screen
