Silver, made his way after them and fell into the rear.
The people in front walked on for some time in silence, and then the
voice of the greatly impressed Mrs. Thompson was heard, to the effect
that if there were only more fortune-tellers in the world there would be
a lot more better men.
Mr. Boxer trotted up to his wife's side. "Look here, Mary," he began.
"Don't you speak to me," said his wife, drawing closer to her mother,
"because I won't answer you."
Mr. Boxer laughed, bitterly. "This is a nice home-coming," he remarked.
He fell to the rear again and walked along raging, his temper by no means
being improved by observing that Mrs. Thompson, doubtless with a firm
belief in the saying that "Evil communications corrupt good manners,"
kept a tight hold of her husband's arm. His position as an outcast was
clearly defined, and he ground his teeth with rage as he observed the
virtuous uprightness of Mrs. Gimpson's back. By the time they reached
home he was in a spirit of mad recklessness far in advance of the
character given him by the astrologer.
His wife gazed at him with a look of such strong interrogation as he was
about to follow her into the house that he paused with his foot on the
step and eyed her dumbly.
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