Angrily she exclaimed:
"Won't you ever get it into your head that I'm running this flat on
eighteen dollars a week--thirteen from you and five from Virginia?
Lunch money! You're lucky even to get lunch!"
He made no reply, but lapsed into a sulky silence. Presently, with a
wry face, he growled:
"I'm getting tired of nothing but dry sandwiches and dill pickles."
"What do you expect for thirteen per?" she retorted, "terrapin or pate
de fois gras? Getting tired of--"
She stopped short. Her eyes had just lighted on the lunch box on the
table. Swooping down on it like an angry vulture she exclaimed
angrily: "What's that?"
Even in his bluest moments, Jimmie never lost his sense of humor.
Picking up the box and pretending to examine it, he said:
"I think it's a bunch of lilies of the valley."
He grinned, but got no response. Fanny was not in a mood to jest.
"Oh, don't get funny," she said crossly. "I know it's your lunch box
all right, but what's it doing on the table? Put it in the drawer
where it belongs." He hesitated, still grinning, and she went on
sternly: "Go on, now! I've got enough to do without putting things
away after you."
Rising, he took the offending box and placed it in a drawer of the
sideboard. When this was done Fanny pointed to his hat and coat:
"Now hang them up in the hall," she ordered.
Without another word he picked up the things and left the room.
Directly he was gone, Fanny took a key from under a vase, opened
another drawer in the sideboard and put the money in it.
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