it not been for Zulime who did not
share my melancholy, or if she did she concealed it under that smiling
stoicism which she derived from her deeply philosophic father. She
pretended to be glad of the peace of our plain reality.

Life with her was not lacking in variety. From the splendors of Colorado
and the luxury of private cars and palatial chambers, she now dropped,
with a suddenness which should have been disconcerting, to the level of
scouring pots and cooking her own meals. It was several days before we
succeeded in finding a cook. "This is what it means to be the wife of an
unpopular novelist," I said to her.

"I'm not complaining. It's fun," she replied.

The house was soon in order and when my brother arrived later in the
week, she greeted him with the composure of a leisured hostess. In such
wise she met every demand upon her.

It was Franklin's first night at home since mother went away, and I
labored to cheer him with the fiction that she was "on a visit" to some
of her old friends and would soon return.

The Junior as I called him, was in a serious mood for another reason.
After more than twelve years of life as an actor, he had decided to quit
the stage, something the player is traditionally supposed to be
incapable of doing, and he had come to me for aid and encouragement. "I
have a good opportunity to go into the management of a rubber
plantation," he explained, "and I'd like to have you buy out my share in
the Homestead in order to give me a little money to work on."

To this I agreed, although I had grave doubts of the rubber business. To
have him give up the stage I considered a gain, for while he was a
capable player of middle-aged character parts, I saw no lasting success
ahead of him--on the contrary I imagined him getting into a more and
more precarious condition. Nothing is more hopeless than an elderly
actor out of a job and subject to the curt dismissals of contemptuous
managers. Frank had always been gayly unconcerned about the future and
he was not greatly troubled now; he was merely desirous of a fixed home
and a place to vote. With the promise of my cash for his share of the
Homestead, and my support in his Mexican venture, he cheered up markedly
and went away almost as carefree as a boy.

In the quiet of the days which followed I worked each morning, sometimes
on _The Steadfast Widow Delaney_, and sometimes on a revision of the
novel which I had variously and from time to time ca