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At six-forty-six Albert Penny came home to supper. There was nothing consciously premeditated about the astonishing speech Lilly made to her husband that evening. Yet it was as if the words had been in burning rehearsal, so scuttling hot they came off her lips.
Good strong beefsteak is my pace." She let him lift her face for a kiss. "I'll be home six-forty-six to the dot. That's what I've figured out it takes me if I leave the office at six-five." He kissed her again, pressing her head backward against the cove of his arm, pinching her cheeks together so that her mouth puckered. "Won't kiss my little wife on the lips this morning.
Only a light shower out there. No, the man had not brought the missing caster for the bedstead. Yes, six-forty-six, and she would put the steak on at six-twenty. Yes, the poultry netting had come. Fine. Bathtub stopper. Yes." For quite a while after this she sat in the hallway, her hand on the instrument, in the attitude of hanging up the receiver.
At five o'clock the lamps were already burning and a rash of little lights began to break out over the landscape. "Some day," she mused, "I'll look back upon all this and laugh. I'll tell it in a newspaper interview. Lillian Ploag. No, Luella Ploag. Ploag. No-o, Luella Luella Parlow! Not bad. Luella Parlow!" She asked a passing porter the time. "Six-forty-six!"
I'll be home at six-forty-six." "Good-by, Albert," she said into the crotch of her elbow. He kissed her again on the ear lobe and the nape of her neck. "Good-by, Lilly, and if I were you I'd have a little talk with mother if I found myself not feeling just right. I'm sending Joe up with a pair of granite scrub buckets and that stopper for the bathtub. All right?" "Yes."
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