n to the hospital with me? Could you come see me this
evening--if everything's all right? You won't have to go out this
evening, will you?"

He was on his knees by the bed. While she feebly ruffled his hair, he
sobbed, he kissed the lawn of her sleeve, and swore, "Old honey, I
love you more than anything in the world! I've kind of been worried by
business and everything, but that's all over now, and I'm back again."

"Are you really? George, I was thinking, lying here, maybe it would be a
good thing if I just WENT. I was wondering if anybody really needed me.
Or wanted me. I was wondering what was the use of my living. I've been
getting so stupid and ugly--"

"Why, you old humbug! Fishing for compliments when I ought to be packing
your bag! Me, sure, I'm young and handsome and a regular village
cut-up and--" He could not go on. He sobbed again; and in muttered
incoherencies they found each other.

As he packed, his brain was curiously clear and swift. He'd have no more
wild evenings, he realized. He admitted that he would regret them. A
little grimly he perceived that this had been his last despairing fling
before the paralyzed contentment of middle-age. Well, and he grinned
impishly, "it was one doggone good party while it lasted!" And--how much
was the operation going to cost? "I ought to have fought that out with
Dilling. But no, damn it, I don't care how much it costs!"

The motor ambulance was at the door. Even in his grief the Babbitt who
admired all technical excellences was interested in the kindly skill
with which the attendants slid Mrs. Babbitt upon a stretcher and carried
her down-stairs. The ambulance was a huge, suave, varnished, white
thing. Mrs. Babbitt moaned, "It frightens me. It's just like a hearse,
just like being put in a hearse. I want you to stay with me."

"I'll be right up front with the driver," Babbitt promised.

"No, I want you to stay inside with me." To the attendants: "Can't he be
inside?"

"Sure, ma'am, you bet. There's a fine little camp-stool in there," the
older attendant said, with professional pride.

He sat beside her in that traveling cabin with its cot, its stool, its
active little electric radiator, and its quite unexplained calendar,
displaying a girl eating cherries, and the name of an enterprising
grocer. But as he flung out his hand in hopeless cheerfulness it touched
the radiator, and he squealed:

"Ouch! Jesus!"

"Why, George Babbitt, I won't have you cursing