e real, they could bear witness to their happiness only by
spooning and being a little bit silly. But--it was part of their
happiness--they did not know they were silly.

The beginning of the second year was like unto the first. But the
witch was biding her time. Toward the end of that year the sky
darkened and the winds howled roughly around the house of love.
Sometimes the designer of this pretty abode--if he was the
designer--bethought him to look to its foundations. But they seemed
strong and safe.

In the first place, there was a sudden falling-off of new business. It
was so with others than David. Only a temporary slump, said the wise
statesmen and newspapers, due to trivial causes and not long to
interrupt the era of prosperity. Jim Blaisdell shook his head and
advised his friends to prepare for heavy weather. The reception of his
counsel made him growl, "Asses!"--a sweeping epithet that included
David, who was not so deeply troubled as he should have been.
Unfinished commissions kept him reasonably busy, and when they were
concluded others would come to meet his needs. They always had;
therefore, they always would. David was content with this logic.

In the second place, a baby was coming. And many and elaborate were
the preparations for this momentous event. Countless stitches must be
taken, a serious number of dollars spent, that the prettiest layette
possible might await the coming mite. But Shirley, in one of her soft
house dresses, head bent over her dainty stitching or laying out before
him for the hundredth time the tiny articles she had collected or her
friends donated, made too pretty a picture; he had not the heart to
ruffle it with discussions of economy. And when, her time drawing
near, she complained of the work in the flat, a maid was installed. He
was glad summer was coming; his overcoat was getting shabby and he felt
he could not afford a new one.

For despite his optimism David was beginning to take thought of the
morrow. And this leads to our tertium.

Sometimes he had moments of restiveness, so vague and fleeting that he
could not define them, under what he did not know. There were times
when little criticisms of Shirley would pop maliciously into his mind,
never worded, hastily banished and always followed by a reaction of
shame that he should have become critical even in thought at such a
time. To correct this disquieting tendency he took medicine for his
liver.