as waiting for him. He looked at the little chap with a
feeling of doubt.

"I'm to bring an answer," said the boy.

Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open and read
without a show of feeling. It began in the most formal manner and was
sharply and coldly worded throughout.

"I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to carry
out my plans. You can stay away if you want to. It doesn't matter in the
least. But I must have some money. So don't delay, but send it by the
boy."

When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The audacity
of the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also--the deepest
element of revolt in him. His first impulse was to write but four words
in reply--"Go to the devil!"--but he compromised by telling the boy that
there would be no reply. Then he sat down in his chair and gazed without
seeing, contemplating the result of his work. What would she do about
that? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him into
submission? He would go up there and have it out with her, that's what
he would do. She was carrying things with too high a hand. These were
his first thoughts.

Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something had to
be done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle. He knew her well
enough to know that when she had decided upon a plan she would follow it
up. Possibly matters would go into a lawyer's hands at once.

"Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll make it
hot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll make her change her tone if I
have to use force to do it!"

He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street. The
long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars, and trousers
at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of the umbrellaless;
umbrellas were up. The street looked like a sea of round black cloth
roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving. Trucks and vans were rattling in a
noisy line and everywhere men were shielding themselves as best they
could. He scarcely noticed the picture. He was forever confronting
his wife, demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before he
worked her bodily harm.

At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if the
money was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laid before
Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be taken to get
it.

Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at t