shame connected with the coincidence that, at the age of sixty, he found himself planted down irrevocably in a household infested by women, five of his own and three servants, eight in all.
Even Rhoda, the dog, was fat, fawning, and female! He believed his wife's canary was of the same sex too. He had never asked, but he had heard that females never sang, and certainly the smutty, yellow bird, to which were administered, daily, seeds and fresh water and a lukewarm morning bath, had not to his knowledge warbled a note in pay for its board and keep.
Being the only provider in the household, Marcus felt that it was only just that the form of government within the brick walls of the four-storied, brown-stone-front city house, which he had bought cheap when its former residents had been pushed out by the rush up-town of shops and noisy railways, should be that of an autocracy. What if the girls didn't like the neighbors in the block? He was paying the taxes. He was the one to be pleased. Every morsel of food that those girls of his put between their cherry lips, every garment they hung on their soft bodies, he paid for. Why shouldn't his word be law? Naturally, his taste ought to determine the seasoning of the food, the heat of his blood gauge the temperature of the rooms in winter, the whims of
