She nodded her head emphatically, and a look of comprehension spread
over her face. "Suppose," he continued, "suppose that I should
make over the real estate and farms to you--you are an excellent
manager. And suppose that I should put the personal estate, including
copyrights, into a trust, the income to be paid to you and the
children. You would take care of me while I became a primitive,
wouldn't you?"

"I would," she answered, "you know I would. But think how
uncomfortable it will be for you. While we are living in luxury,
you--"

"Don't worry about that," he interrupted with a laugh. "I shall
have all the luxury I want: flannel shirts, loose around the neck,
instead of these infernal stiff collars; velveteen trousers and
jacket instead of this waiter's uniform; and I shall go barefoot
when the weather is suitable--do you understand? Barefoot in the
summer grass--it will be immense."

"But your food," she asked, "how will you manage that on a primitive
basis?"

"You will manage it," he replied, "you know I have always preferred
beefsteak and onions to any French dish. Champagne does not agree
with me. I'd rather have a glass of the straight stuff, without
any gas in it."

"But your sleeping arrangements," she murmured, "are you going to
leave the house? Our bedroom is not exactly primitive."