e said steadily, and in some quaint woman's
reasoning she was appeased.

At the end of three weeks the strain eased a little. He read a letter
from Webb with a grim smile, bought an American newspaper, and passed
an entire day away from the bank. His wife held her breath as she
watched him, but affected not to notice the change, and he blessed her
for it: his nerves were raw. Two days, three days went by. He sent
out for another newspaper and later in the day raised the tiny salary
of the page who had brought it to him. In the cool of the afternoon he
rode with his wife, the boy on a shaggy pony beside them, and kissed
her as she turned in the saddle in the shadow of the dusk.

"You are the best wife a man ever had," he said, looking deep into her
honest brown eyes, and she galloped away from him to hide her happy
tears.

The next day he told the servant to bring the parrot cage back to the
verandah, where the little daughter liked to have it, and grimaced
tolerantly at its strident cry:

"_Manana! manana!_"

Life is as it is, he thought, and can we hope to change it because we
change? Surely not. Everything had its price, and he had really never
paid the price of that ten-years-old bargain till now--he acknowledged
it. Out of that blue-stained air the messenger of fate had dropped and
taken his toll of youth and candour and elasticity, and departed again,
and now the weight was slackening from his chest and there were but
fourteen days to wait. The next day he found a second letter from Webb
on his desk. To relieve him from needless anxiety, said the great
financier, he wrote to inform Mr. Weldon that six weeks had proved too
wide a margin and he promised himself the pleasure of a complete
settlement six days from the date of writing. Weldon stared at the
letter head: it had been three days on the way--that meant in three
days--by the next boat! The letter was grave, but subtly jubilant.
The railroads were subdued. Blickenstern was dead, the country hailed
his successor. A foundation of millions lay firm beneath his feet.

The president left his bank early and went home on horseback to
luncheon. His wife saw the husband of many days ago and asked no more
of life, but sang among her flower jars.

"Will you come up to Government House this afternoon, dear? It's weeks
since you've been," she said, and he smiled and promised. "I've a new
frock," she confided shyly, like a girl, "and I think you'll