. They knew
him. He did the marketing, but the account was in Miss Duluth's name.
A livery stable, too, was on the line of progress. He occasionally
stopped in to engage a pony phaeton for a drive in the afternoon with
Phoebe.

To-day he passed these places by. Every one seemed to be busy. He
could see that at a glance. So there wasn't any use stopping. That was
what he got for coming home from town in the middle of the day. He
nodded to several acquaintances--passing acquaintances in both senses
of the word. They turned to look after him, half-smiles on their
lips.

One woman said to another, "I wonder if he's really married to her?"

"If he wasn't, he'd be living in the city with her," was the complete
rejoinder.

"He seems such a quiet little man, so utterly unlike what a husband of
hers ought to be. He's from the far West--near Chicago, I believe. I
never can remember his name. Can you?"

"I've never heard it."

"It's not an uncommon name."

"Why doesn't he call himself Mr. Duluth?"

"My husband says actresses are not supposed to have husbands. If they
have them, they keep them in the background."

"That's true. I know I am always surprised when I see that they're
trying to get divorces."

Harvey was never so far in the background as when he appeared in the
foreground. One seldom took notice of him unless he was out of sight,
or at least out of hearing.

He was not effeminate; he was not the puerile, shiftless creature the
foregoing sentences may have led you to suspect. He was simply a
weakling in the strong grasp of circumstance. He could not help
himself; to save his life, he could not be anything but Nellie
Duluth's husband.

Not a bad-looking chap, as men of his stamp go. Not much of a spine,
perhaps, and a little saggy about the shoulders; all in all, rather a
common type. He kept his thin moustache twisted, but inconsistently
neglected to shave for several days--that kind of a man. His trousers,
no matter how well made, were always in need of pressing and his coat
was wrinkled from too much sitting on the small of his back. His
shirts, collars, and neckties were clean and always "dressy." Nellie
saw to that. Besides he always had gone in for gay colours when it
came to ties and socks. His watch-fob was a thing of weight and
pre-eminence. It was of the bell-clapper type. In the summer time he
wore suspenders with his belt, and in the winter time he wore a belt
with his suspenders. Of late he