r you--and then running away and bringing
her just about to the verge of nervous prostration worrying over you!"

They had left the station, now, and were passing along Maple Avenue,
with its glory of trees and shining lawns, the new Presbyterian church
and the Carnegie Library. Mr. Hartwig of Saserkopee was getting far too
much satisfaction out of his role as sage and counselor to notice Maple
Avenue. He never had the chance to play that role when the wife of his
bosom was about.

"Another thing," Mr. Hartwig was booming, as they approached the row of
bungalows where the Applebys lived, "you ought to have understood the
hardship you were bringing on Mother by taking her away from our
care--and you always pretending to be so fond of her and all. I don't
want to rub it in or nothing, but I always did say that I was suspicious
of these fellows that are always petting and stewing over their wives in
public--you can be dead sure that in private they ain't got any more
real consideration 'n' thoughtfulness for 'em than--than anything. And
you can see for yourself now-- Here you are. Why, just one look at you
is enough to show you're a failure! Why, my garbage-man wears a
better-looking suit than that!"

Though Father felt an acute desire to climb upon a convenient
carriage-block and punch the noble Roman head of Mr. Harris Hartwig, he
kept silent and looked as meek as he could and encouraged his dear
son-in-law to go on.

"We'll try to find some decent, respectable work for you," said Mr.
Hartwig. "You'll be at liberty to be away from the Old People's Home for
several hours a day, perfect freedom, and perhaps now and then you can
help at a sale at a shoe-store. Saserkopee is, as you probably know, the
best town of its size in New York, and if you did feel you had to keep
in touch with business, I can't for the life of me see why you came
clear out here to the West--little dinky town with no prospects or
nothing. Why even you, at your age, could turn a few dollars in
Saserkopee. 'Course with my influence there I could throw things your
way." Then, bitterly, "Though of course I wouldn't expect any thanks!"

They turned a corner, came to a row of new bungalows.

The whole block was filled with motor-cars, small black village ones,
but very comfortable and dependable. In a bungalow at the end of the
block a phonograph was being loud and cheery.

"Somebody giving a party," Mr. Hartwig oracularly informed Father.

"Why! S