"I didn't say 'drunk.'"

"But you meant it," interrupted Mr. Korner. "We were talking about
drunken men. The man in the play was drunk. You thought him
amusing."

"He was amusing," persisted Mrs. Korner, now in tears. "I meant that
sort of drunk."

"His wife," Mr. Korner reminded her, "didn't find him amusing. In the
third act she was threatening to return home to her mother, which, if
I may judge from finding you here with all your clothes on, is also
the idea that has occurred to you."

"But you--you were so awful," whimpered Mrs. Korner.

"What did I do?" questioned Mr. Korner.

"You came hammering at the door--"

"Yes, yes, I remember that. I wanted my supper, and you poached me a
couple of eggs. What happened after that?"

The recollection of that crowning indignity lent to her voice the true
note of tragedy.

"You made me say my tables--my nine times!"

Mr. Korner looked at Mrs. Korner, and Mrs. Korner looked at Mr.