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That day, when she and Henry entered the sitting-room, she said, so calmly that he had not the courage to contradict her: "Here is your uncle Henry home from Mr. Meeks's, and he was as wet as a drowned rat. I suppose Mr. Meeks didn't have any umbrella to lend. Old bachelors never do have anything." Henry sat down quietly in his allotted chair. He said nothing.
"Of course I can; but there'll be lots of time when there won't be any work to be done then what? To tell you the truth of it, Sylvia, I've had my nose held to the grindstone so long I don't know as it's in me to keep away from it and live, now." Henry had not been at work since Abrahama White's death. He had been often in Sidney Meeks's office; only Sidney Meeks saw through Henry Whitman.
The widow carried on a dress-making establishment at her residence on the corner opposite Meeks's drug-store, and kept a wary eye on all the young ladies from Miss Dorothy Gibbs's Female Institute who patronized the shop for soda-water, acid-drops, and slate-pencils.
The influence of Sidney Meeks's wine had not yet departed from him. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes brilliant. Then Sylvia roused herself. "Nothing is the matter," she replied, irritably, and immediately she became so gay that had Henry himself been in his usual mood he would have been as much astonished as by her depression.
He was too proud or too shy to seek the companionship which he might have found at Meeks's drug-store. Moreover, the society there was not of a kind that pleased him; it had not pleased him in the old days, and now he saw how narrow and poor it was, having had a glimpse of the broad world.
"Most folks would say you were an uncommon fool," said he. "I suppose you know that." "I can't help it," said Henry, happily. Along with the savory pie in his mouth came a subtler relish to his very soul. The hunger of the honest worker who returns to his work was being appeased. While Henry was at Sidney Meeks's, Horace sat alone smoking and reading the evening paper.
He was bound for Sidney Meeks's. He found the lawyer in his office in an arm-chair, which whirled like a top at the slightest motion of its occupant. Around him were strewn Sunday papers, all that could be bought. On the desk before him stood a bottle of clear yellow wine, half-emptied. Sidney looked up and smiled as Henry entered.
The stuff wouldn't hurt a babe in arms, unless it gave it indigestion. Your boarder hasn't insanity in his family, has he?" "Not that I know of," replied Henry. Then he repeated Meeks's comment. "It beats me," he said. When Henry re-entered the house Sylvia looked at him. "What were you and Mr. Meeks talking about out in the street?" she asked.
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