straining at the studs. A bit redder and stouter, too, he was constantly
rearing his chin away from the chafing edge of his collar.

"O Lord!" he said. "I guess I'm let in for some cutting-up again! Well,
fire away and have it over with! What's eating you this time?"

She was quivering so against sobs that her lips were drawn in against her
teeth by the great draught of her breathing.

"I can't stand it, Harry. I'm going crazy. I got to get relief. It's
killing me--the lonesomeness--the waiting. I can't stand no more."

He sat looking at a wreath of roses in the light carpet, lips compressed,
beating with fist into palm.

"Gad! I dunno! I give up. You're too much for me, woman."

"I can't go on this way--the suspense--can't--can't."

"I don't know what you want. God knows I give up!
Thirty-eight-hundred-dollar-a-year apartment--more spending-money in a
week than you can spend in a month. Clothes. Jewelry. Your son one of the
high-fliers at college--his automobile--your automobile. Passes to every
show in town. Gad! I can't help it if you turn it all down and sit up here
moping and making it hot for me every time I put my foot in the place. I
don't know what you want; you're one too many for me."

"I can't stand--"

"All of a sudden, out of a clear sky, she sends for me to come home. Second