"It certainly is--right there. Oh, well, he'll get over it, if you give
him time. Queer, what a combination of big heart and red head he is."

At the moment of this discussion the red head was still in the
ascendency. R.P. Burns, M.D., had come out of his old quarters downstairs
that morning with lips set grimly together, heavy gloom upon his brow. He
met his wife at the breakfast-table with an effort at a smile in response
to her bright look, and kissed her as tenderly as usual, but it was an
automatic tenderness, as she was quick to recognize. He replied
monosyllabically to her observations concerning matters usually of
interest to him, but he evidently had no words to spare, and after a
little she gave over all effort to draw him out. Instead, she and Bob
held an animated discussion on certain kindergarten matters, while Red
Pepper swallowed his breakfast in silence, gulped down two cups of strong
coffee, and left the table with only a murmured word of apology.

"Red,--" His wife's voice followed him.

He turned, without speaking.

"Do you mind if I drive into town with you this morning?"

He nodded, and turned again, striding on into his office and closing the
door with a bang. She understood that his nod meant acquiescence with her
request, rather than affirmation as to his objecting to her company. She
kept close watch over the movements of the Green Imp, suspecting that in
his present mood Burns might forget to call her, and when the car came
down the driveway she was waiting on the office steps.