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Frank went into the house and threw himself on the sofa, his face
to the wall, his clenched fist on his hip. Marie, having seen her
guests off, came in and put her hand coaxingly on his shoulder.
"Poor Frank! You've run until you've made your head ache, now
haven't you? Let me make you some coffee."
"What else am I to do?" he cried hotly in Bohemian. "Am I to let
any old woman's hogs root up my wheat? Is that what I work myself
to death for?"
"Don't worry about it, Frank. I'll speak to Mrs. Hiller again.
But, really, she almost cried last time they got out, she was so
sorry."
Frank bounced over on his other side. "That's it; you always side
with them against me. They all know it. Anybody here feels free
to borrow the mower and break it, or turn their hogs in on me.
They know you won't care!"
Marie hurried away to make his coffee. When she came back, he was
fast asleep. She sat down and looked at him for a long while, very
thoughtfully. When the kitchen clock struck six she went out to
get supper, closing the door gently behind her.


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