“I’ve heard,” he remarked, “of sudden riches affecting the brain, but this is the first time I’ve actually come across such an instance.” He bent and started to unlace his boots. “We’ll talk the matter over again later on. By the by,” relacing his boots, “there’s no reason why you should go out on a wet night like this and catch your death of cold. I’ll trot along to the Post Office for you. I’m more used to handling money than what you are.” “That’s been the case hitherto,” she admitted, “but I must learn how to do it now. You stay here and enjoy your pipe, and when I come back I’ll tell you how you’ve got to behave to me in the future.” “I suppose,” he inquired with some bitterness, “I’ve got your precious sisters to thank for all this?” “No,” she answered, “poor Uncle Ernest.” Baynes, on the following morning, before proceeding to work, denied himself the luxury of issuing commands to his wife from the front gate in a tone of voice that could be heard by neighbours; instead he blew a kiss in her direction and walked off, whistling in a thoughtful way. Later in the day he brought home the proportion of his weekly wage and placed it on the mantelpiece, announcing no deductions and giving no warning to make it last out. He tried to assist his wife in the performance of domestic duties, persisting in this until she begged him to go out into the park and give her a chance of finishing the work. On the next day he accompanied her to chapel in the evening, and borrowed threepence from her to put into the plate. Meeting two or three friends on the way back, he declined their invitations and went home with his wife, discussing the sermon and the singing. In response to her appeal he agreed to abstain on future occasions from joining in the hymns. The Sunday paper was still on the hat-stand, and on entering the house he asked whether she would mind if he had a look at it during supper, his general habit being to secure the journal and keep it for his own use throughout the day. “This is very nice and comfortable,” he said, after the meal. “Somehow, that little legacy of yours, if you’ll pardon the expression, my dear, seems to me likely to prove a blessing in disguise.” “No disguise about it.” “You don’t quite follow me,” he remarked patiently. “What I mean is that it’s going to have bigger results than I at first anticipated. Of course, it’s a pity there isn’t more of it.” “Seeing that I never expected nothing—” “Quite so, quite so. Only that the Post Office pays such a trifling rate of interest.” “The money’s safe there,” she interrupted, “that’s the great thing.” “I should be the last to recommend anything that wasn’t perfectly and absolutely sound,” declared Baynes. “We’re on good terms with each other now, and your interests are my interests. We two are one, so to speak. Only that, getting about as I do, I keep my ears open—” “Listeners never hear any good of themselves.”