you're a shipping clerk
getting thirteen per! Not even fourteen--thirteen!"

Her husband squirmed. Shifting his feet uneasily he muttered

"You needn't rub it in."

Fanny held out her hand.

"Hand it over," she commanded.

"What?"

"The thirteen," she said determinedly. "This is pay day. Come
on!--come on!--come on!" she ordered, going up to him threateningly.

With a grimace, he thrust his hand in his trousers' pocket and
bringing out a small roll of bills, handed it to his wife. She counted
the money carefully, and then stuffed it inside her dress. He watched
her, a comic expression of resignation on his face.

"Don't I get any?" he grumbled.

"Yes," she answered quickly, "you get carfare and cigar money--twenty
cents a day and you get it each day--"

Saying this, she turned her back and fastening on her apron, made a
move towards the kitchen. Jimmie, with a gesture of disgust, threw his
lunch box on the table and dropped into a chair.

"Can't I even have lunch money" he growled.

Fanny turned on him like a tigress. For some time he had been getting
on her nerves and to-day she was in just the humor to let out what she
felt. Angrily she exclaimed:

"Won't you ever get it into your head that I'm running this flat on
eighteen dollars a week--thirteen from you and five from Virginia?
Lunch money! You're lucky even to get lunch!"

He made no reply, but lapsed into a sulky silence. Presently, with a
wry face, he growled:

"I'm getting tired of nothing but dry sandwiches and dill pickles."

"What do you expect for thirteen per?" she retorted, "terrapin or pate
de fois gras? Getting tired of--"

She stopped short. Her eyes had just lighted on the lunch box on the
table. Swooping down on it like an angry vulture she exclaimed
angrily: "What's that?"

Even in his bluest moments, Jimmie never lost his sense of humor.
Picking up the box and pretending to examine it, he said:

"I think it's a bunch of lilies of the valley."

He grinned, but got no response. Fanny was not in a mood to jest.

"Oh, don't get funny," she said crossly. "I know it's your lunch box
all right, but what's it doing on the table? Put it in the drawer
where it belongs." He hesitated, still grinning, and she went on
sternly: "Go on, now! I've got enough to do without putting things
away after you."

Rising, he took the offending box and placed it in a drawer of the
sideboard. When this was done Fanny pointed to his hat and coat: