erested observer: Your wife is square, man, from the ground up.
Don't ever for an instant, because you were reared differently and have a
different point of view, fancy otherwise. Tote your end of the load
fair--I believe you see how now--and she'll tote hers. It'll be worth
your while."

"Roberts!" Randall was upon his feet, he could not do otherwise.
"Honestly I don't know how to thank you. Anything that I can say, can do
even--"

"Don't try, please. I'd rather you wouldn't." No pretence in that frank
aversion, no affectation. He arose as one whose labor is over. "Let it go
at that."

In sheer perplexity Randall frowned. His hands sought his pockets.

"But, confound it, I don't like to. It's so inhumanly ungrateful." The
frown deepened. "Besides, when this intoxication is off I'll realize what
a lot I'm accepting from you. That house, for instance. You didn't buy a
place of that kind for an investment or for yourself alone. I'm not an
absolute ass. You'll want it all some of these times, and then--"

Slowly Roberts faced about; equally slowly he smiled.

"Would it relieve your mind any," he finally asked, "if I were to promise
to tell you the moment I do want it--all?"

"Yes, a lot."

"I give you my word then."

"Thanks. I believe that too; but--"

For the second time Roberts smiled, the smile of finality
unquestionable.

"Must we return and go through it all again?" he asked. "It's after
midnight now, but if you wish--"

"No; not that either."

"All right. I'll send the office-boy around in the morning to help you
move. He has nothing else really to do." Roberts paused at a sudden
thought. "By the way, I'll not be back until a week from to-morrow.
Suppose we have a little housewarming, just we four--strangers, that
night?" and before the other could answer, before the complex suggestion
in its entirety took effect, he was gone.

CHAPTER IV

COMPREHENSION

It was three o'clock in the afternoon of a sultry July Sunday when a big
red roadster drew up all but noiselessly and, with an instinct common to
all motorists, a heritage from an equine age past, stopped at the nose of
the hitching-post in front of the Gleason cottage. In it the single
occupant throttled down the engine until it barely throbbed. Alighting,
goggles on forehead, he passed up the walk toward the house. Not until he
was fairly at the steps did he apparently notice his surroundings. Then,
unexpectedly, he bared his head.