process was nearly completed she did come down in time for the last of
the scene. She perched at the foot of the stairs and watched the two
men, overalled, sooty, tobacco-wreathed, and happy. When, finally, Hosea
Brewster knocked the ashes out of his stubby black pipe, dusted his
sooty hands together briskly, and began to peel his overalls, Pinky came
forward.

She put her hand on his arm. "Dad, I want to talk to you."

"Careful there. Better not touch me. I'm all dirt. G'night, Fred."

"Listen, dad. Mother isn't well."

He stopped then, with one overall leg off and the other on, and looked
at her. "Huh? What d'you mean--isn't well? Mother." His mouth was open.
His eyes looked suddenly strained.

"This house--it's killing her. She could hardly keep her eyes open at
supper. It's too much for her. She ought to be enjoying herself--like
other women. She's a slave to the attic and all those huge rooms. And
you're another."

"Me?" feebly.

"Yes. A slave to this furnace. You said yourself to Fred, just now, that
it was all worn out, and needed new pipes or something--I don't know
what. And that coal was so high it would be cheaper using dollar bills
for fuel. Oh, I know you were just being funny. But it was partly true.
Wasn't it? Wasn't it?"