Rex Stout

“ Then he sighed, thrust his hands deep in his trousers pockets, and descended to the kitchen.
“Have you removed that coal?” demanded the red-faced woman, as he entered.
“What coal?” inquired Mr. Chidden.
“Lord save us!” grunted the lady. “The coal! Are you without brains, Robert Chidden? If ever woman were hangin' on the neck of a worthless brother, you're it. Go and move that coal!”
“You ain't hangin' on my neck,” protested Mr. Chidden, with some energy. “You ain't hangin' on my neck, Maria Chidden.” ”

“ He pulled the hat over his head, sighed heavily, and turned down the street to the right.
He walked slowly, aimlessly, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his shoulders stooped in dejection.
“Domineerin' despot!” he muttered aloud. “A man as is a man wouldn't stand it. Bob Chidden, you're a sexual disgrace.” ”

“ Chidden had been sitting down in the tailor shop, whether to wait for a suit of clothes or merely to chat, he had never chosen any other chair than the one by the outer door. It would appear that Mrs. Sturcke appreciated the significance of his action, for she colored visibly and bent a little closer over her sewing. Mr. Chidden himself appeared to be somewhat embarrassed. He took off his hat and put it on again, then removed it once more and dropped it on the floor. ”

“ Then, with the expression of one who has suddenly remembered something not unpleasant, he threw down the shovel, turned out the gas jet, mounted the stairs to the kitchen, crossed to the sink, and began washing his hands.
“Now what's the matter?” demanded Miss Chidden, entering from the dining room.
“I've got to go to the tailor for Mr. Stubbs' suit,” replied Mr. Chidden calmly, feeling himself in a safe position.
“Humph!” grunted the lady. “It's a pity he don't go himself.”
“Couldn't,” said Mr. Chidden. “Sartorial wretchedness. He ain't got but one.” ”

“ Chidden, glancing knowingly at the row of coats and trousers hanging on the rail in the rear. “You've done admirable here, Mrs. Sturcke.”
“As well as could be expected,” agreed the lady.
“Yes, you have indeed. It's really surprising. As I said to Maria when your husband died two years ago, 'Women ain't tailors. She'll cavort.' But you haven't.”
“No, I aind't.” Mrs. Sturcke smiled. “But, of course, Miss Chidden—your sister—knew better yet. Not but what it's been hard. It's hard, anyway, being a widow.”
Mr. Chidden shook his head sympathetically. “I know. Lonesome memories. ”

“ Chidden agreed that it was a good thing to have work to do, but hastened to add that it was a great pity that ladies should have no time for recreation.
“Walking,” he declared, “is one of the great pleasures of life. It takes you away from things.”
At this the widow smiled again, and invited Mr. Chidden to be seated. There were two empty chairs in the shop—one near the outer door, two paces from where he stood, and the other behind the counter, near that occupied by Mrs. ”

“ Leo, is the gray suit done?”
“In a minute,” replied the pale-faced young man, and began to pound with the iron harder than ever.
“I'll wait,” said Mr. Chidden, leaning himself gracefully against the counter.
Mrs. Sturcke resumed her chair and took up her work. The pale-faced young man glanced twice at the pair, and each time the iron came down with a fearful thud.
“How's business?” asked Mr. At Chidden, with a professional air.
“Business is good,” replied Mrs. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1975, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 48 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”