"you know what we ought to have done? We ought to have gotten a cheap dinner tonight and gone to the shore tomorrow."
"Gee, yeh," said Hubert. He stopped chewing as though it were not too late to conserve. "Oh, well, what the hell." He resumed his chewing as he spoke. "There'll be many more days to go to the shore."
After dinner Lillian went to the couch and Hubert to his big chair. It was too warm for checkers or the movies. They were silent for more than an hour, listening to the cry of a baby, the shouts of children in the street, and women talking to each other down at the door. Lillian thought Hubert had fallen asleep. She glanced over at him. He was watching the street interestedly, as though something of importance were transpiring.
"What are you looking at?" she asked languidly.
"Nothing."
"Oh, I thought you were looking at something."
"No."
"Oh."
"There's nothing to look at."
"No. I suppose not. Well, I guess I might as well get at those dishes."
"I'll help you."
"Never mind. There aren't many."
They were in bed by ten o'clock.
