There was a faint evidence that Tug was about to laugh at the thought of his divorced wife, and his cheeks puffed out as a preliminary, but he changed his mind at the last moment, and carefully sighted at Silas, as if intending to wing his reply, like a bird from a trap. "She is uncommonly well, for her," Silas said, looking meekly at his companion. "She is almost gay." "Oh, the young thing; _is_ she," Tug retorted. "Do you know what she reminds me of? An old man in a dress trying to imitate a girl." There was unutterable meanness in Mr. Whittle's last remark, and when he looked around the room with fierce dignity, he seemed to be wondering why any one should continue to live in the face of his displeasure. "I heard her say to-night, when I brought in a third lot of cakes, that you were the bane of her life," Silas said, timidly, and dodging his head to one side, as if expecting Tug Whittle to jump at him for repeating the scandalous story. "Although she says she is heart-broken, I notice she eats mighty well; for her." "And I suppose Reverend Good and Uncle Alfred encouraged her," Tug replied. "What good husbands bachelors imagine they would be, and what miserable old growlers they turn out. Before a man is married he takes a great deal of comfort to himself in thinking what a kind, indulgent husband and father he would be, and how different from other men, but they soon fall with a dull sickening thud to the level of the rest of us. It's easy enough to be a good husband in theory, and it's easy enough to be brave in theory, but when the theorists come down to actual business, they are like the rest of us. It's like an actor in a show. He wants to find a villain, and punish him, and the villain appears about that time, and makes no resistance, and is beaten to great applause, finally shrinking away while the other fellow looks ferociously at him, but it is not that way in real life. The villain fights in real life, and usually whips. If I knew that the men I dislike would stand it peaceable, like the villains in a show, I'd beat 'm all to death; but as it is, I am a coward, like Ponsonboy, and you, and Armsby, and all the rest of them; except Allan Dorris--there's a man who'd fight. When I read in books about brave men, it makes me feel ashamed, until I remember that the men in actual life are not like those in the books. What did Her Ladyship say about Hector?" Mrs. Whittle's first husband had been a certain Hector Harlam, with whose history Silas was very familiar from his association with Tug, so he answered,-- "She wiped away a tear, and regretted his death. She seemed greatly affected,--for her." "She can't possibly regret his death more than I do," Tug said. "He appreciated her; I never did, and I am sorry she does not join Hector in glory, or wherever he is, for she is no earthly good in Davy's Bend. She told me once that he always called her his baby."