her go to the movies and see some life. She's got a long winter ahead."
Tom considered that on the way back to the ranch. After all, why not? He needed to earn, needed it desperately. Kay needed clothes; she must be warm that winter. He could manage food, with George's assistance, but cash was different. Under ordinary circumstances he could have taken in horses to break at ten dollars a head, but that avenue was closed to him.
And Kay needed a change. He thought of her, alone all day in the house. She had grown thinner lately, and she was very quiet. Her hands, when she mended by the fire in the evenings, were like small white claws. Not so very white, either. Poor little hands!
By the time he got up and put the car away he had it all planned. There was a new lift to his shoulders when, having scraped his boots outside, he went in.
"How'd you like to go to town for awhile, and live like a lady?"
"And leave you, Tom? I wouldn't think of it."
"I've bached before this. Anyhow, I won't be here."
"Where would you go?"
"The Newcomb company needs me. Says it can't get along without me! That's the kind I am!"
She was relieved. For a moment she had thought he had meant to go to Ursula too, and a sickening fear of Clare had taken her breath away. But she did not easily fall in with his plan, even then. She liked Mrs. Mallory, but to take a room there—that was different. Here she had her work, but there! What would she do with herself?
"You could go to the movies."
She laughed at that, but she had a small uneasy feeling of apprehension. Ursula meant nothing to her; she had been watched there, although she did not tell him so. But he was singularly determined to have her go. He picked up one of her hands and examined it. Then he kissed it.
"First thing you're going to do," he said, "is to get that healed up. Can't have them saying I work my wife to death!"
