ay that, Mabel?" he shouted, thrusting the offensive page
beneath her nose.

"What, Martin?" she exclaimed, lifting her hand to thrust it aside as
she stared up at her husband.

"Did you give out this scandalous interview criticising me and my
business?" he insisted.

"Why, Martin, how could you think such a thing! I never uttered a
critical word of my husband in my life!"

"Then you didn't say it?"

"Let me see what you are talking about," she said, craning her neck to
see the print. "Oh _that_! Yes, Mrs. Walton asked me to say something to
show how natural it is, and how right, you know, for women to keep a
store, do the sedentary things while men do the hard things--till the
ground, and all that. Did you read----"

"No, by Gad! I didn't read far enough to see that you wanted me to
become a day labourer!"

"Oh, I wasn't speaking of you, dear, I was just promulgating one of the
theories of our movement. I was so flattered when Mrs. Walton asked
me----"

"Your movement be damned, Mabel! Enough of a thing is enough. You will
resign to-morrow from this plagued movement which is carrying us all to
the devil!"

"But, Martin, I can't; I'm chairman of the Finance Committee. Mrs.
Walton----"

"Don't let me hear that old viper's name again in this house. She's the
serpent in this town tempting the last one of you to----"

"I can't have you speak disrespectfully of our chief, dear," said Mabel
with frigid dignity.

"And what's your husband, I'd like to know!"

"Why, you, you are just my husband, Martin, as I used to be just your
wife!"

"Good Lord, Mabel, you are crazy! Don't you know you are helping that
gang to drive me into bankruptcy!"

Mrs. Acres was the living feminine likeness of Pin Money. She was very
small, very fair, with faded blue eyes. Her clothes were always too
tight, and she wore narrow ruffles like the hope, the mere hope, of
feathers and wings to come.

She looked up now into her husband's face with a curious little white
smile.

"I know that I am all that stands between you and ruin, Martin. I've
been waiting to talk to you, to give you a hint, but our affairs are not
entirely in shape. We are not ready to show our hand."

"To show her hand! And this from my own wife!" groaned Acres, beginning
to stride up and down the room.

"Listen, dear," said Mabel, rising and following him. "I ought not to do
it, but I will give you just one little hint."

"All right, _hint_!" he sneered.