On more than one occasion she noticed fresh-broken skin on his knuckles.
At such times he was remarkably taciturn, and would sit in brooding
silence or go almost immediately to bed. She was afraid to have this
habit of reticence grow on him, and bravely she bid for his confidence.
She climbed into his lap and inside his arms, one of her arms around
his neck, and with the free hand she caressed his hair back from the
forehead and smoothed out the moody brows.

"Now listen to me, Billy Boy," she began lightly. "You haven't been
playing fair, and I won't have it. No!" She pressed his lips shut with
her fingers. "I'm doing the talking now, and because you haven't been
doing your share of the talking for some time. You remember we agreed
at the start to always talk things over. I was the first to break this,
when I sold my fancy work to Mrs. Higgins without speaking to you about
it. And I was very sorry. I am still sorry. And I've never done it
since. Now it's your turn. You're not talking things over with me. You
are doing things you don't tell me about.

"Billy, you're dearer to me than anything else in the world. You
know that. We're sharing each other's lives, only, just now, there's
something you're not sharing. Every time your knuckles are sore, there's
something you don't share. If you can't trust me, you can't trust
anybody. And, besides, I love you so that no matter what you do I'll go
on loving you just the same."

Billy gazed at her with fond incredulity.

"Don't be a pincher," she teased. "Remember, I stand for whatever you
do."

"And you won't buck against me?" he queried.

"How can I? I'm not your boss, Billy. I wouldn't boss you for anything
in the world. And if you'd let me boss you, I wouldn't love you half as
much."

He digested this slowly, and finally nodded.

"An' you won't be mad?"

"With you? You've never seen me mad yet. Now come on and be generous and
tell me how you hurt your knuckles. It's fresh to-day. Anybody can see
that."

"All right. I'll tell you how it happened." He stopped and giggled with
genuine boyish glee at some recollection. "It's like this. You won't be
mad, now? We gotta do these sort of things to hold our own. Well, here's
the show, a regular movin' picture except for file talkin'. Here's a big
rube comin' along, hayseed stickin' out all over, hands like hams an'
feet like Mississippi gunboats. He'd make half as much again as me in
size an' he's young, too. Only he ain