Mrs. Pett returned to the present. The past could look after
itself. The present demanded surgery.
"One would have thought it would have been obvious even to
Eugenia that a boy of twenty-one needed regular work."
Mr. Pett was glad to come out of his shell here. He was the
Apostle of Work, and this sentiment pleased him.
"That's right," he said. "Every boy ought to have work."
"Look at this young Crocker's record since he went to live in
London. He is always doing something to make himself notorious.
There was that breach-of-promise case, and that fight at the
political meeting, and his escapades at Monte Carlo, and--and
everything. And he must be drinking himself to death. I think
Eugenia's insane. She seems to have no influence over him at
all."
Mr. Pett moaned sympathetically.
"And now the papers have found out that I am his aunt, and I
suppose they will print my photograph whenever they publish an
article about him."
She ceased and sat rigid with just wrath. Mr. Pett, who always
felt his responsibilities as chorus keenly during these wifely
monologues, surmised that a remark from him was indicated.
"It's tough," he said.
Mrs. Pett turned on him like a wounded tigress.
"What is the use of saying that? It's no use saying anything."
"No, no," said Mr. Pett, prudently refraining from pointing out
that she had already said a good deal.
"You must do something.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29