government carried on on business principles, by the people, for the
people. I don't care what they say! I know I'm right, and I'm going
ahead on this line if it takes all--" The note of defiance died out of
his voice at the sight of Burnamy's pale face. "What's the matter with
you?"

"There's nothing the matter with me."

"Do you mean to tell me it is"--he could not bring himself to use the
word--"what they say?"

"I suppose," said Burnamy, with a dry mouth, "it's what you may call
municipal socialism."

Stoller jumped from his seat. "And you knew it when you let me do it?"

"I supposed you knew what you were about."

"It's a lie!" Stoller advanced upon him, wildly, and Burnamy took a step
backward.

"Look out!" shouted Burnamy. "You never asked me anything about it. You
told me what you wanted done, and I did it. How could I believe you were
such an ignoramus as not to know the a b c of the thing you were talking
about?" He added, in cynical contempt, "But you needn't worry. You can
make it right with the managers by spending a little more money than you
expected to spend."

Stoller started as if the word money reminded him of something. "I can
take care of myself, young man. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing!" said Burnamy, with an effort for grandeur which failed him.

The next morning as the Marches sat over their coffee at the Posthof,
he came dragging himself toward them with such a haggard air that Mrs.
March called, before he reached their table, "Why, Mr. Burnamy, what's
the matter?"

He smiled miserably. "Oh, I haven't slept very well. May I have my
coffee with you? I want to tell you something; I want you to make
me. But I can't speak till the coffee comes. Fraulein!" he besought a
waitress going off with a tray near them. "Tell Lili, please, to bring
me some coffee--only coffee."

He tried to make some talk about the weather, which was rainy, and
the Marches helped him, but the poor endeavor lagged wretchedly in the
interval between the ordering and the coming of the coffee. "Ah, thank
you, Lili," he said, with a humility which confirmed Mrs. March in her
instant belief that he had been offering himself to Miss Triscoe and
been rejected. After gulping his coffee, he turned to her: "I want to
say good-by. I'm going away."

"From Carlsbad?" asked Mrs. March with a keen distress.

The water came into his eyes. "Don't, don't be good to me, Mrs. March! I
can't stand it. But you won't, when yo