p to him to pay
for the wine! Any man would know that! Ask any one of the crowd. He's a
boob, that's all, and I'm done with him!"

Martie rose, and went quietly into the kitchen. There was nothing to
say. She did not speak of the Drydens again for a long while. Her own
condition engrossed her; and she was not eager to take the initiative
in hospitality or anything else.

In April Wallace went on the road again for eleven weeks, and Martie
and Ted enjoyed a delicious spring together. They spent hours on the
omnibuses, hours in the parks. Spring in the West was cold, erratic;
spring here came with what a heavenly wash of fragrance and heat! It
was like a re-birth to abandon all the heavy clothing of the winter, to
send Teddy dancing into the sunshine in socks and galatea and straw hat
again!

Martie's son was almost painfully dear to her. Every hour of his life,
from the helpless days in the big hospital, through creeping and
stammering and stumbling, she had clung to his little phases with
hungry adoration, and that there was a deep sympathy between their two
natures she came to feel more strongly every day. They talked
confidentially together, his little body jolting against hers on the
jolting omnibus, or leaning against her knees as she sat in the Park.
She lingered in the lonely evening over the ceremony of his bath, his
undressing, his prayers, and the romping that was always the last
thing. For his sake, her love went out to meet the newcomer; another
soft little Teddy to watch and bathe and rock to sleep; the reign of
double-gowns and safety-pins and bottles again! Writing Wallace one of
the gossipy, detailed letters that acknowledged his irregular checks,
she said that they must move in the fall. They really, truly needed a
better neighbourhood, a better nursery for "the children."

One hot, heavy July morning she fell into serious musing over the news
of Grandma Curley's death. Her son, a spoiled idler of forty, inherited
the business. He wanted to know if Mrs. Bannister could come back. The
house had never prospered so well as under her management. She could
make her own terms.

The sun was pouring into East Twenty-sixth Street, flashing an ugly
glaring reflection against the awnings. At nine, the day was burning
hot. Teddy, promised a trip to the Zoo, was loitering on the shady
steps of the houses opposite, conscious of clean clothes, and of a
holiday mood. The street was empty; a hurdy-gurdy unseen pour