merce. The
solid men of the community begin to avoid him. A famous university
silently changes its plans, and decides not to give Mr. Prometheus that
LL.D. degree. And finally one of his friends pays him a call, after
dark, and bluntly and worriedly warns him he's queering himself.

Prometheus goes upstairs, indignant, to talk to his wife. He doesn't
tell her anything about his friend, or the community's criticisms, but
he describes all over again what a boon fire would be to mankind. After
an hour of this he has reassured himself, and forgotten his friend. His
eyes shine. He looks almost handsome. His wife is quite thrilled. She
says he is wonderful, and no one ever had such a husband.

But she says it sounds awfully dangerous.

"Well," he owns, "there's _some_ risk, but we ought to look at it
impersonally."

She says: "Looking at it quite impersonally, I think you had better not
do it."

"_What?_" he shouts; "don't you realize what a tremendous help fire
would--"

"Oh _yes_, dear," she says: "the plan's _perfect_. But _you_ shouldn't
go. You have such important work to attend to, here at home, without
that. Some younger, less valuable person--"

"Ah, my dear," Prometheus laughs, "you're like every one else. You want
to see the world helped, and wars won, whatever the cost; but you don't
want either me or you to pay any part of the price. You think all
dangerous work should be done by some other woman's husband."

Mrs. Prometheus purses her lips and her face becomes obstinate. "I don't
think _any_ married man has a right to take such risks," she observes.

"Well, you ought to hear what the single men say about that," he
retorts. "It's pretty thick to expect _them_ to die, they say, for other
men's wives."

Mrs. Prometheus shrugs at the shallowness of those silly bachelors, and
doesn't bother even to comment on their point of view. Instead, she says
tactfully that she sees Prometheus has set his heart upon going, and she
wants him to feel perfectly free to do just what he likes. Only there
are certain practical matters that one must consider. There's the
mortgage, and the laundress--unless he'd like to have her do the washing
herself, which she'd be glad to do only he never took those stones out
of her way, in the brook--and there's the bill for that last set of
bear-skins that she got for the windows; and she doesn't see exactly how
she can keep the home up by herself, if he is to wander around
neglecting