Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 42: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

36 everybody else, having been the first set- tlers. 3 Ernest Sproul had found matrimony all he had hoped for, and more. If Ellen was disappointed, she did not for a long time admit it, even to herself. But gradually she came to see that she had merely taken in a non-paying boarder. Not a stroke of work would Sproul do. Why should he? Jake Lummis, the hired man, looked after the farm; though, to be sure, he could not begin to do it properly: help was harder and harder to get, and little by little the Miller farm was given over to hay. Inside, the hired girl, Jennie, looked after things: Sproul read, and smoked, and ate through the days. When the notion took him, he hitched up horse to buggy, and rode about the countryside. Now and then he made a trip to Boston; never taking his wife with him. He did nothing whatever out of the way there, merely nosed around, window-shopped, per- haps went to a movie. He was an extreme- ly pious man, a regular church attendant, unfailing in his custom of asking a blessing at meals and reading a chapter from the Scriptures at bedtime. Incidentally, it may be said that he was thoroughly sincere in all this. He believed himself to be a truly religious man, with eternal felicity as his portion. And so, jogging along in the comfortable old Concord buggy, the target of good natured gibes tossed back at him from swiftly speeding roadsters and sedans and touring cars as they shot past, Ernest was as happy as it was possible for one of his disposition to be. It would have been possible to get a very good meal back in Derry, at the cattle show, or in the hotel; but this would cost him his own money. He would be late home to supper, but Ellen would keep something warm for him. He paid the grocery and _ provision bills, and was entitled to his re- ward. That was practically all he did pay, save what little he spent on his clothes. The taxes and upkeep of the house and farm were borne by his wife, which was just and reasonable, since they belonged to her. She also paid the wages of the hired ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. man and girl, but they ate at his expense. ‘Not wholly, for the farm produced a large proportion of their food, and in addition brought in quite an income from vegetables, hay, wood, maple sirup, eggs, butter, milk, apples. That Ellen refused to share this surplus with him wounded him deeply. He felt that she ought to have done so. Were they twain not one flesh? Indeed, could he have managed to get his hands on any part of what she took in, he would not have scrupled to do so. But she was shrewd, almost as shrewd as he. And of late there had been many unpleasant scenes between them. Good man as he was, a model husband as he saw himself, Ellen actually wanted to get rid of him! To turn him adrift, at his age, to shift for himself! Not that he hadn’t plenty laid by to take care of himself. But wherever he might go, it would not be home. He knew when he was well enough off. And if Ellen was as sensible as she looked, she would see things eye to eye with him. Woman her age needed a man around the house! Some man beside pottering old Jake Lummis. It was dark when he drove around the house and into the stable, calling out for Jake to come and unhitch and feed his horse. The kitchen was brightly lighted, and his ears caught the clatter of dishes and of talk. Supper was not yet over. They ate in the kitchen, save on rare occasions, as when they had the minister and his wife to din- ner, or Ellen entertained her sewing circle once a year, Ernest Sproul speeded up. The pleas- antly exhilarating day, the long drive home in the wintry air, had given him an even better appetite than usual. His nostrils were already quivering with anticipation as he flung the door wide and strode in. A wide step inside, the door closed, but his hand still on the iron latch, Ernest paused as abruptly as if hit with a sand- bag. As he had surmised, supper was on. Furthermore, it was such a supper as his imagination had painted, or even better, Fried pork scraps ~