Some one was coming up the walk. It was Hubert. Mrs. Scott saw him and said to her son, "Here comes your father." Her tone was that of one who says, "Everybody has a cross to bear."
Young Hubert selected a magazine from the many upon the table. Mrs. Scott left her cozy chair at the fireplace and seated herself at the desk. She gave herself over to a deep and thorough examination of the telephone bill.
Hubert Scott let himself in with his latch-key and closed the door noisily behind him. He paused in the foyer and as he placed his coat and hat on the bannister rail listened expectantly for his family to greet him. Nobody spoke and after all he was neither surprised nor hurt. Every evening now for nine years he had stood expectantly in the foyer listening for his family to greet him. It was always he who spoke first.
"Hello," he said.
Young Hubert said hello without looking up from his magazine. Mrs. Scott said nothing. The telephone bill was holding her attention.
"It's like a morgue in here. What do you people do all day? Sit around and look wise?"
No answer. Hubert Scott took himself off to the kitchen. He was thirsty and wanted a glass of water.
