e's already sorry that he married me. What can he see in me to
love? Nothing! Nothing!"

When they clambered into the carriage Eddie said, "Well, Mrs. Pouch,
give your old husband a kiss!"

Ellaphine shrank away from him, however, crying again. He was hurt and
puzzled until he remembered that it is the business of brides to cry.
He held her hand and tried to console her for being his victim, and
imagined almost every reason for her tears but the true one.

The guests at the church straggled to Mrs. Govers's home, drawn by the
call of refreshments. Luella was the gayest of them all. People wondered
why Eddie had not married her instead of Ellaphine. Luella heard some
one say, "What on earth can he see in her?"

Luella answered, "What on earth can she see in him?" It was hardly
playing fair, but Luella was a poor loser. She even added, to clinch it,
"What on earth can they see in each other?"

That became the town comment on the couple when there was any comment at
all. Mainly they were ignored completely.

Eddie and Ellar were not even honored with the usual outburst of the
ignoblest of all sports--bride-baiting. Nobody tied a white ribbon to
the wheel of the hack that took them to the depot. Old shoes had not
been provided and rice had been forgotten. They were not pelted or
subjected to immemorial jokes. They were not chased to the train, and
their elaborate schemes for deceiving the neighbors as to the place of
their honeymoon were wasted. Nobody cared where they went or how long
they stayed.

They returned sheepishly, expecting to run a gantlet of humor; but
people seemed unaware that they had been away. They settled down into
the quiet pool of Carthage without a splash, like a pair of mud-turtles
slipping off a log into the water. Even the interest in Eddie's
inheritance did not last long, for Uncle Loren's fortune did not last
long--not that they were spendthrift, for they spent next to nothing;
but money must be fed or it starves to death. Money must grow or wither.

V

Eddie found that his uncle's reputation for hard dealing had been a
condition of his success. He soon learned that the feather-duster
factory could be run at a profit only by the most microscopic care.
Wages must be kept down; hours kept up; the workers driven every minute,
fined if they were late, nagged if they dawdled. Profit could be wrung
from the trade only by ugly battles with dealers and purchasers. Raw
material had to be fough