Crawford lay back and laughed.

"Well," said his wife, with an amused smile, "why don't you say it?"

"Say what?"

"'So would I!'"

"Men are quite hopeless," sighed Mrs. Killigrew, when the laughter had
subsided.

"You oughtn't object to a good shindy, Molly," slyly observed her
husband. "You'll never forgive me that black eye."

"I'll never forgive the country you got it in,"--grimly. "But what's
the harm in a good scrap between two husky fellows, trained to a hair
to slam-bang each other?"

"It isn't refined, dad," said Kitty.

He sent a searching glance at her; he never was sure when that girl was
laughing. "Fiddle-sticks! For four months now I've been shopping
every day with you women, and you can't tell me prize-fights are
brutal."

Crawford applauded gently.

"By the way, Crawford, you know something about direct charity."
Killigrew threw back his rug and sat up. "I've got an idea. What's