I want
to pound a couple of mattresses in the back yard, and eat a cold
dinner off the kitchen table. That's what I want to do."
"Well, go on and do it," said the fat man.
"Do it? I haven't any house to clean. I got my divorce ten years ago,
and I've been on the road ever since. I don't know why I stick. I'm
pulling down a good, fat salary and commissions, but it's no life for
a woman, and I know it, but I'm not big enough to quit. It's different
with a man on the road. He can spend his evenings taking in two or
three nickel shows, or he can stand on the drug-store corner and watch
the pretty girls go by, or he can have a game of billiards, or maybe
cards. Or he can have a nice, quiet time just going up to his room,
and smoking a cigar and writing to his wife or his girl. D'you know
what I do?"
"No," answered the fat man, interestedly. "What?"
"Evenings I go up to my room and sew or read. Sew! Every hook and eye
and button on my clothes is moored so tight that even the hand laundry
can't tear 'em off.
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