"'I don't know what's the matter,' Bill went on. 'She's had everything that her heart could wish. But, of course, she has had only one husband, and most of her friends have had two or three.

They've outmarried her. It may be that, secretly, she's just a little annoyed about that. Many of her old friends are consumed with envy; their bones are rotten with it. They smile upon her; they accept her hospitality; they declare their love, and they long for her downfall. Now, my wife has a certain pride and joy in all this, but, naturally, it breeds a sense of loneliness--the bitter loneliness that one may find only in a crowd. She turns more and more to me, and, between ourselves, she seems to have made up her mind that I don't love her, and I can't convince her that I do.'

"'Well, Bill, I should guess that you have always been fond of your wife--and--true to her.'

"'And you are right,' said Bill. 'I've loved with all my heart and with a conscience. It's my only pride, for, of course, I might have been gay. In society I enjoy a reputation for firmness. It is no idle boast.'

"'Well, Bill, you can't do anything more for her in the matter of food, raiment, beasts, or birds, an' as to jewelry she carries a pretty heavy stock. I often feel the need of smoked gla.s.ses when I look at her. You'll have to make up your mind as to whether she needs more or less. I'll study the situation myself. It may be that I can suggest something by-and-by--just as a matter of friendship.'

"'Your common sense may discern what is needed,' said Bill. 'I wish you'd come at least once a week to dinner. My wife would be delighted, to have you, Soc. You are one of the few men who interest her.'

"She was a pretty woman, distinguished for a look of weariness and a mortal fear of fat. She had done nothing so hard an' so long, that, to her, nothing was all there was in the world--save fat.

She was so busy about it that she couldn't sit still an' rest. She wandered from one chair to another, smokin' a cigarette, an' now and then glancin' at her image in a mirror an' slyly feelin' her ribs to see if she had gained flesh that day. She liked me because I was unlike any other man she had met. I poked fun at her folly an' all the grandeur of the place. I amused her as much as she amused me, perhaps. Anyhow, we got to be good friends, an' the next Sunday we all drove out in a motor-car to see Lizzie. Mrs.

Bill wanted to meet her. Lizzie had become famous. She was walkin' up an' down the lawn with the infant in a perambulator, an'

the small boy toddling along behind her. We left Mrs. Bill with Lizzie an' the kids, an' set out for a tramp over the big farm.

When we returned we found the ladies talkin' earnestly in the house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: We set out for a tramp over the big farm.]

"Before we left I called Lizzie aside for a minute.

"'How do you get along with these babies?' I asked.

"'They're the life of our home. My father and mother think they couldn't live without them.'

"'An' they're good practice for you,' I suggested. 'It's time you were plannin' for yourself, Lizzie.'

"'I've no prospects,' said she.

"'How is that?'

"'Why, there's only one boy that I care for, an' he has had enough of me.'

"'You don't mean Dan?'

"'Yes,' she whispered with trembling lips, an' turned away.

"'What's the matter?'

"She pulled herself together an' answered in half a moment: 'Oh, I don't know! He doesn't come often. He goes around with other girls.'

"'Well,' I said, 'it's the same ol' story. He's only tryin' to keep up with Lizzie. You've done some goin' around yourself.'

"'I know, but I couldn't help it.'

"'He knows, an' he couldn't help it,' I says. 'The boys have flocked around you, an' the girls have flocked around Dan. They were afraid he'd get lonesome. If I were you I'd put a mortgage on him an' foreclose it as soon as possible.'

"'It's too late,' says she. 'I hear he's mortgaged.'

"'You'd better search the records,' I says, 'an' if it ain't so, stop bein' careless. You've put yer father on his feet. Now look out for yerself.'

"'I think he's angry on account of the ham war,' says she.

"'Why do you think that?'

"She told me the facts, an' I laughed 'til the tears came to my eyes.

"'Nonsense,' I says, 'Dan will like that. You wait 'til I tell him, an' he'll be up here with his throttle wide open.'

"'Do you suppose he'd spend Christmas with us?' she asked, with a very sober look. 'You know, his mother an' father have gone South, an' he'll be all alone.'

"'Ask him at once--call him on the 'phone,' I advised, an' bade her good-bye.

"The happiness o' Lizzie an' the charm o' those kids had suggested an idea. I made up my mind that I'd try to put Mr. an' Mrs. Bill on the job o' keepin' up with Lizzie.

"'That's a wonderful woman,' said Mrs. Bill, as we drove away. 'I envy her--she's so strong and well and happy. She loves those babies, and is in the saddle every afternoon, helping with the work o' the farm.'

"'Why don't you get into the saddle and be as well and strong as she is?' Bill asked.

"'Because I've no object--it's only a way of doing nothing,' said Mrs. Bill. 'I'm weary of riding for exercise. There never was a human being who could keep it up long. It's like you and your dumb-bells. To my knowledge you haven't set a foot in your gymnasium for a month. As a matter of fact, you're as tired of play as I am, every bit. Why don't you go into Wall Street an' get poor?'

"'Tired of play!' Bill exclaimed. 'Why, Grace, night before last you were playing bridge until three o'clock in the morning.'

"'Well, it's a way of doing nothing skilfully and on the compet.i.tive plan,' said she. 'It gives me a chance to measure my capacity. When I get through I am so weary that often I can go to sleep without thinking. It seems to me that brains are a great nuisance to one who has no need of them. Of course, by-and-by, they'll atrophy and disappear like the tails of our ancestors.

Meanwhile, I suppose they are bound to get sore. Mine is such a fierce, ill-bred, impudent sort of a brain, and it's as busy as a bat in a belfry. I often wish that I had one of those soft, flexible, paralytic, c.o.c.ker-spaniel brains, like that of our friend Mrs. Seavey. She is so happy with it--so unterrified. She is equally at home in bed or on horseback, reading the last best seller or pouring tea and compliments. Now just hear how this brain of mine is going on about that poor, inoffensive creature!

But that's the way it treats me. It's a perfect heathen of a brain.'

"Bill an' I looked at each other an' laughed. Her talk convinced me of one thing--that her trouble was not the lack of a brain.

"'You're always making fun of me,' she said. 'Why don't you give me something to do?'

"'Suppose you wash the dishes?' said Bill.

"'Would it please you?'

"'Anything that pleases you pleases me.'

"'I saw that she, too, was goin' to try to keep up with Lizzie, an'

I decided that I'd help her. When we arrived at the villa we made our way to its front door through a pack of collie dogs out for an airing.

"'By-the-way,' I said, when we sat down to luncheon at Bill's house, 'congratulate me. I'm a candidate for new honors.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: I'm a candidate for new honors.]

"'Those of a husband? I've been hoping for that--you stubborn old bachelor.' said Mrs. Bill, expectantly.

"'No,' I answered, 'I'm to be a father.'

"Bill put down his fork an' turned an' stared at me. Mrs. Bill leaned back in her chair with a red look of surprise.