"What's amiss wi' thee then? Art upset because there's somebody else here? Tha'rt a female, tha art! Go an' eat thy supper."
He put his hand on her head, and the bitch leaned her head sideways against him. He slowly, softly pulled the long silky ear.
"There!" he said. "There! Go an' eat thy supper! Go!"
He tilted his chair towards the pot on the mat, and the dog meekly went, and fell to eating.
"Do you like dogs?" Connie asked him.
"No, not really. They're too tame and clinging."
He had taken off his leggings and was unlacing his heavy boots. Connie had turned from the fire. How bare the little room was! Yet over his head on the wall hung a hideous enlarged photograph of a young married couple, apparently him and a bold-faced young woman, no doubt his wife.
"Is that you?" Connie asked him.
He twisted and looked at the enlargement above his head.
"Ay! Taken just afore we was married, when I was twenty-one." He looked at it impassively.
"Do you like it?" Connie asked him.
"Like it? No! I never liked the thing. But she fixed it all up to have it done, like."
He returned to pulling off his boots.
"If you don't like it, why do you keep it hanging there? Perhaps your wife would like to have it," she said.
He looked up at her with a sudden grin.
"She carted off ivrything as was worth taking from th'ouse," he said. "But she left that!"
"Then why do you keep it? For sentimental reasons?"
"Nay, I niver look at it. I hardly knowed it wor theer. It's bin theer sin' we come to this place."
"Why don't you burn it?" she said.
He twisted round again and looked at the enlarged photograph. It was framed in a brown-and-gilt frame, hideous. It showed a clean-shaven, alert, very young looking man in a rather high collar, and a somewhat plump, bold young woman with hair fluffed out and crimped, and wearing a dark satin blouse.
"It wouldn't be a bad idea, would it?" he said.
He had pulled off his boots, and put on a pair of slippers. He
