ods of Lloyd's Neck, on Long Island, sleeping in an abandoned shack,
curled together like kittens. They swooped on a Dutch village in New
Jersey, spent the night with an old farmer, and attended the Dutch
Reformed church. They tramped from New Haven to Hartford, over Easter.
Carl was always ready for their gipsy journeys; he responded to Ruth's
visions of foaming South Sea isles; but he rarely sketched such
pictures himself. He had given all of himself to joy in Ruth. Like
many men called "adventurers," he was ready for anything but content
with anything.

It was Ruth who was finding new voyages. She kept up her settlement
work and progressed to an active interest in the Women's Trade Union
League and took part in picketing during a Panama Hat-Workers' strike.
She may have had more curiosity than principle, but she did badger
policemen pluckily. She was studying Italian, the Montessori method,
cooking. She taught new dishes to her maid. She adopted a careless
suggestion of Carl and voluntarily increased the maid's salary,
thereby shaking the rock-ribbed foundations of Upper West Side
society.

In nothing did she find greater satisfaction than in being neither
"the bride" nor "the little woman" nor any like degrading thing which
recently married girls are by their sentimental spinster friends
expected to be. She did not whisper the intimate details of her
honeymoon to other young married women; she did not run about quaintly
and tinily telling her difficulties with household work.

When a purring, baby-talking acquaintance gurgled: "How did the Ruthie
bride spend her morning? Did she cook some little dainty for her
husband? Nothing bourgeois, I'm _sure_!" in reply Ruth pleasantly
observed: "Not a chance. The Ruthie bride cussed out the janitor for
not shooting up a dainty cabbage on the dumb-waiter, and then counted
up her husband's cigarette coupons and skipped right down to the
premium parlors with 'em and got him a pair of pale-blue Boston
garters and a cunning granite-ware stew-pan, and then sponged lunch
off Olive Dunleavy. But nothing bourgeois!"

Such experiences, told to Carl, he found diverting. He seemed, in the
spring of 1914, to want no others.

CHAPTER XLI

The apparently satisfactory development of the Touricar in the late
spring of 1914 was the result of an uneconomical expenditure of energy
on the part of Carl. Personally he followed by letter the trail of
every amateur aviator, every moto