ss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie,
doesn't she let you out--_any_?"

"Nonsense, Seaver!" flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.

"Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins
you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow."

For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned
squarely about with an air of finality.

"Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will," he said. "I'd hate to miss Jenkins
entirely."

"Good!" exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. "Have a cigar?"

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do."

If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided
than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts.

Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed,
it was really almost imperative--due to Billy, as it were--after that
disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when
and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure
in the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her
husband's passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this
particular case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she
would not mind this once--and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the
attraction, not Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now.
He was a man, presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again,
had not Billy herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without
her, as she had to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of
course, that he had met some old friends, and that he might be late;
then she would not worry.

And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his
complete satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver,
who had already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he
had attended in Paris.

CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM

October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month,
Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a
friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an
angry, lugubrious face--and a broken arm.

"Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too--the same one you broke before!"
mourned Billy, tearfully.

"Of course," retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of
jauntiness to his reply. "Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!"

"But how did you do it,