Get your hat--and my cane."
In a minute I had both, and we went down the stoop together. At the foot
of the steps Fee stopped, and taking off his hat, began pushing his hair
back off his forehead. I could see he was nervous. "Suppose this
_shouldn't_ be the right thing that I'm going to do; suppose it should
make matters worse," he said undecidedly, almost irritably. "Now, if
Nannie were here--I haven't a creature to advise me!"
"_I_ think you're doing right, Fee," I began. I didn't remember until
afterward that I really didn't know what his plan was; but I don't think
he heard what I said, for he went on in a low tone, as if he were
talking to himself: "Suppose he gets furiously angry, and pitches into
me before those low fellows,--you never know what Phil's going to say
when he gets mad,--and _will not_ come home with me, what'll I do
_then_? It's a risk. And if this plan fails, I don't know what else to
do. Had I better just let things drift along as they are until we get in
the country, and then speak to him? I _dread_ a row before that crowd;
they'd just set him up against me. And yet--a week more of nights to
come home as he did last night, and the night before that--_ought_ I to
let that go on? What would _she_ say to do?"
He stood with his head bent, thinking,--his hat and cane in one hand,
and holding on to the stone newel-post with the other.
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