me down with an infuriating jolt. Before he could
drop the skees she struggled up and said, dryly:

"Yes, it did hurt, and I know you're sorry, and there's nothing you
can do."

Carl grinned and kept silence, though with one hand, as soon as he
could get it free from the elusive skees, he lightly patted her
shoulder.

She was almost staggering, so cold was she and so tired, and so heavy
was the snow caked on her boots, when they came to a sharp rise, down
which shone the radiance of an incandescent light.

"Road's right up there, blessed," he cried, cheerily.

"Oh, I can't----Yes, I will----"

He dropped the skees, put one arm about her shoulders and one about
her knees, and almost before she had finished crying, "Oh no, _please_
don't carry me!" he was half-way up the slope. He set her down safe by
the road.

They caught the 8.09 train with two minutes to spare. Its warmth and
the dingy softness of the plush seats seemed palatial.

Ruth rubbed her cold hands with a smile deprecating, intimate; and her
shoulder drooped toward him. Her whole being seemed turned toward him.
He cuddled her right hand within his, murmuring: "See, my hand's a
house where yours can keep warm." Her fingers curled tight and rested
there contentedly. Like a drowsy kitten she looked down at their two
hands. "A little brown house!" she said.

CHAPTER XXXIV

While scientists seek germs that shall change the world, while war
comes or winter takes earth captive, even while love visibly flowers,
a power, mighty as any of these, lashes its human pack-train on the
dusty road to futility. The Day's Work is the name of that power.

All these days of first love Carl had the office for lowering
background. The warm trust of Ruth's hand on a Saturday did not make
plans for the Touricar any the less pressing on a Monday. The tyranny
of nine to five is stronger, more insistent, in every department of
life, than the most officious oligarchy. Inspectors can be bribed,
judges softened, and recruiting sergeants evaded, but only the grace
of God will turn 3.30 into 5.30. And Mr. Ericson of the Touricar
Company, a not vastly important employee of the mothering VanZile
Corporation, was not entitled to go home at 3.30, as a really rational
man would have done when the sun gold-misted the windows and suggested
skating.

No longer was business essentially an adventure to Carl. Doubtless he
would have given it up and have gone to Palm Beach to fly