'That's how that kid gets its cold--of course it is!--Ger out!'
The last remark was addressed to the elder child, who caught at his
legs as he strode past. Bob was not actively unkind to the little
wretches for whose being he was responsible; he simply occupied the
natural position of unsophisticated man to children of that age, one
of indifference, or impatience. The infants were a nuisance; no one
desired their coming, and the older they grew the more expensive
they were.
It was a cold evening of October; Pennyloaf had allowed the fire to
get very low (she knew not exactly where the next supply of coals
was to come from), and her husband growled as he made a vain
endeavour to warm his hands.
'Why haven't you got tea ready?' he asked,
'I couldn't be sure as you was comin', Bob; how could I? But I'll
soon get the kettle boilin'.'
'Couldn't be sure as I was coming? Why, I've been back every night
this week--except two or three.'
It was Thursday, but Bob meant nothing jocose.
'Look here!' he continued, fixing a surly eye upon her. 'What do you
mean by complaining about me to people? Just mind your own business.
When was that girl Jane Snowdon here last?'
'Yesterday, Bob.
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