Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/38

"Are there many working in the shop?" Gertrude went on. Morris understood that there was something she was trying to say. He put the paper aside and turned towards her with a smile. "Well, what is it, Gertrude?" he asked. "What's happened this time? Did our neighbor's husband run off ha wife?"

"Silly!" Gertrude said tenderly, and removed her hand from his shoulder. "Do you think I've got nothing but run around all day looking for something to gossip about? I've got my hands full with housework, my dear. I work like a slave all day and there's absolutely nothing t show for it. You clean up one minute and the next minute everything's filthy again."

While Gertrude was talking Morris concentrated on the paper again. His job was to put the world's house in order: the disorder in his own house was trivial by comparison. He was anxious to finish the political article he was reading before he went off to his meeting. But Gertrude had made up her mind she was going to have her talk with him now, today, while the children were downstairs playing.

Leaning over his shoulder she began again to shower him with questions. He continued reading and made no answer, until she asked him whether there were a lot of orders at the shop. Then he pushed the paper aside impatiently.

"How should I know?" he said. "Do you think that Renault takes me into his confidence? Does he ask my advice? Am I his bosom friend, or something?

When Gertrude failed to answer, he narrowed his eyes and looked at her searchingly. Under his direct gaze Gertrude smiled pathetically, like a child caught with a forbidden sweet. And, still afraid to get to the real point, she feebly persisted with her idle questioning.

"What do you mean they don't have to tell you? You can