Brecky wheeled about, for some one had entered the room. It was the
rebellious Kathleen herself. She seemed to him to have grown
miraculously prettier overnight, and he was still less angry.
“Well, Johnny?” she demanded.
He resented that tone very much.
“Well!” he said affably.
There was a long silence.
“I’m taking the nine forty train home,” said Brecky. “Coming?”
“No,” said she.
Without another word, he picked up his cap and made for the door; but he
was met by Charley Sands.
“Here! Here!” said he. “Stay and have some breakfast first, old son!”
“All right!” said Brecky.
He wanted breakfast badly. He also wanted to show Kathleen how
unconcerned he was, that he was not hurt and bewildered and angry. He
stood in the hall, talking to Charley. He was aware of Kathleen’s voice
in a near-by room, talking to that vixenish young woman.
“Married life’s a great thing!” said Charley dismally.
“Sure is!” said Brecky.
He couldn’t imagine how any man could marry if he couldn’t marry
Kathleen. He despised and hated Kathleen, but in common justice he had
to acknowledge to himself that she was the prettiest and sweetest girl
in the world, and utterly superior to all other women. She was--
Just then he heard her speaking. She had a clear voice that carried
well.
“No,” she was saying. “I think I’ll make some pancakes for Johnny’s
breakfast. But see here--you needn’t tell him I made ’em, Grace. I don’t
want him to think--but he looks dead tired, and he does love pancakes!”
That did for Brecky. He ran down the hall and pushed open a door. It
opened into the kitchen, and Kathleen, in an apron, stood at the table,
before a large bowl. He paid no attention to the second cousin. He
darted around the table and took Kathleen in his arms.
“Oh, come on home!” he said.
She began to cry at once, very comfortably, with her head buried in his
coat.
“Don’t be silly!” he said anxiously. “See here, Kathleen! Listen! We’ll
get a cook. We’ll go to the theater, and--”
His wife raised her head and kissed him vehemently.
“Oh, Johnny!” she began, but stopped short, dried her eyes, and went on
with great dignity. “Johnny,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind cooking and all
that, for you, if you didn’t--kind of expect it. _That’s_ what made me
mad last night. You just expect--”
“Well, I won’t any more,” he assured her. “You come home, and I’ll be
darned surprised every time I get a meal!”
* * * * *
A few minutes later they all sat down to enjoy Kathleen’s matchless
pancakes. Eating them, Brecky also partook of the fruit of knowledge.
“You’re one grand little cook, Kathleen,” he thought; “but this time I
won’t say it!”
EDITORIAL NOTE--The short story entitled “The Strong Man,”
published in the September number of this magazine, was the work of
Robert T. Shannon, but by an unfortunate error the name of John D.
Swain was given as the author. We apologize to both these popular
writers for the accidental confusion of their names.
MUNSEY’S
MAGAZINE
MARCH, 1923
Vol. LXXVIII NUMBER 2