The third mate, whose name was Harry, stood before the mirror combing
his hair. He had been combing his hair for the last fifteen minutes.
"I suppose the crew is celebrating?" his wife said.
"I suppose."
She stood up and walked over to the dresser. Absently she began to
finger the articles on it.
"You really shouldn't have told them about little Glenn tonight."
"Pish-tush."
"No, Harry. I mean it. Helen looked at me strangely all through dinner.
She has three children, you know."
"You're imagining things."
"But she _does_ have three children."
"I mean about her looking at you."
"Oh."
Harry fiddled with his tie without speaking.
"I mean, as much as to say: 'Well, I raised all of mine.'"
"But honey, about little Glenn. That was an accident, almost. You
didn't really mean to choke him that hard."
"But still ... it ... I mean, there was Helen, looking at me like I
wasn't doing my duty. You know."
"No," he said. "That's nonsense, Jane. Sheer nonsense. You know what
the priest said."
He polished one of his brass buttons with the sleeve of his coat.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I don't think all that is necessary just to go on duty."
"Probably not."