g their husbands praise 'em for being
saving that they make those little mistakes. You just tell her that
you'd rather spend a little more money, if it came to that, and see her
look her prettiest."

"Mrs. Thompson is not--" began the young husband and broke off
uncertainly. His troubled eyes went to the kind resolute face
opposite, and the little roll of greenbacks dropped to the floor
unheeded. "Fact is," said the young fellow, carried away by that
impulse toward confidence which the sight of Persis was likely to
inspire in the least communicative, "fact is we're having the deuce of
a time."

Persis nodded understandingly. "That ain't strange the first year or
so. After the honeymoon's over, then comes the getting acquainted. I
don't care how well folks have known each other beforehand, they've got
to start all over again after they're married. But don't worry; it
don't take long as a rule."

"You don't quite get my idea." Young Mr. Thompson scowled at the
floor. "It's worse than you think. I'm in a fix, a devil of a fix.
Part of it I'm to blame for. I'm one of those guys with a sense of
humor, you know. I'm the regular George Cohan kind, and between my
practical jokes and some interfering old maids--I--I beg your pardon."

"I'm not partial to 'em myself," smiled Persis reassuringly.

There was an instant of understanding silence. "Well, anyway," groaned
the young man, "with a little outside help, I've queered myself for
good. And that's tough on a chap not a year married, believe me."

He stared at the floor gloomily and when he lifted his eyes, she saw
the whole story on its way. "You wouldn't call Thompson an unusual
name, would you?"

"One of the commonest, I should say."

"And there's nothing so strange about 'W. Thompson' that you'd strain
your neck getting another look at it on a sign. Half the men you meet
are named William, to say nothing of the Walters and the Warrens, and
the new crop of Woodrow Wilsons."

Persis' murmur of agreement was admirably calculated to encourage the
flow of confidence, not to check it.

"Look at that." Young Mr. Thompson pulled a letter from his pocket and
slammed it down on the table. "There's the proof that I'm a hound and
a blackguard and that hanging would be too good for me. At least
that's what all the women tell my wife. And take it from me, they
know."

Persis picked up the envelope and studied the superscription. It had
originally been a