Lapham,
with an inquiring look at him for what lay behind his words.
"Well, I think it's all tomfoolery, the way she's going on.
There ain't any rhyme nor reason to it." He stopped,
and his wife waited. "If she said the word, I could have
some help from them." He hung his head, and would not meet
his wife's eye.
"I guess you're in a pretty bad way, Si," she said pityingly,
"or you wouldn't have come to that."
"I'm in a hole," said Lapham, "and I don't know where to turn.
You won't let me do anything about those mills----"
"Yes, I'll let you," said his wife sadly.
He gave a miserable cry. "You know I can't do anything,
if you do. O my Lord!"
She had not seen him so low as that before. She did not
know what to say. She was frightened, and could only ask,
"Has it come to the worst?"
"The new house has got to go," he answered evasively.
She did not say anything. She knew that the work on the
house had been stopped since the beginning of the year.
Lapham had told the architect that he preferred to leave
it unfinished till the spring, as there was no prospect
of their being able to get into it that winter; and the
architect had agreed with him that it would not hurt
it to stand. Her heart was heavy for him, though she
could not say so. They sat together at the table,
where she had come to be with him at his belated meal.
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