ing I ever
touched in my life."

Johnson had been finding it chilly a short time ago but he took off his
hat now and mopped his forehead.

"Haven't been home lately, have you?" he remarked.

"To tell you the truth," Mr. Burton explained, puffing at his cigar,
"this little affair has been taking up every minute of my time. I had
to take chambers in town to keep up with my work. Well, so long,
Johnson! See you later at the band-stand. Don't forget we shall be
expecting you this evening. May run you up to the west-end, perhaps, if
the missis feels like it."

He nodded and proceeded on his way to the front door of his domicile.
Mr. Johnson, narrowly escaping an impulse to take off his hat,
proceeded on his homeward way.

"Any one at home?" Mr. Burton inquired, letting himself in.

There was no reply. Mr. Burton knocked with his gold-headed cane upon
the side of the wall. The door at the end of the passage opened
abruptly. Ellen appeared.

"What are you doing there, knocking all the plaster down?" she demanded,
sharply. "If you want to come in, why can't you ring the bell?
Standing there with your hat on as though the place belonged to you!"

Burton was a little taken aback. He recovered himself, however, secure
in the splendid consciousness of his irreproachable clothes and the
waiting motor-car. He threw open the door of the parlor.

"Step this way a moment, Ellen," he said. She followed him reluctantly
into the room. He put his hand upon her shoulder to lead her to the
window. She shook herself free at once.

"Hands off!" she ordered. "What is it you want?"

He pointed out of the window to the magnificent memorial of his success.
She looked at it disparagingly.

"What's that? Your taxicab?" she asked. "What did you keep him for?
You can get another one at the corner."

Burton gasped.

"Taxicab!" he exclaimed. "Taxicab, indeed! Look at it again. That's a
motor-car--my own motor-car. Do you hear that? Bought and paid for!"

"Well, run away and play with it, then!" she retorted, turning as though
to leave the room. "I don't want you fooling about here. I'm just
getting Alfred's supper." Burton dropped his cigar upon the carpet.
Even when he had picked it up, he stood looking at her with his mouth a
little open.

"You don't seem to understand, Ellen," he said. "Listen. I've come
back home. A share of that motor-car is yours."

"Come back home," Ellen repeated slowly.

"Exactly," he admitted, complacent