r whole life ahead of you. You have
n't begun to live anywhere yet."

"And you?"

"It's the same with me," confessed Peter, with a quick breath.
"Only--well, I haven't been able to make even the beginning you 've
made."

Monte leaned forward with quickened interest.

"That's the thing you wanted so hard?" he asked.

"Yes."

"To marry and have children?"

Monte was silent a moment, and then he added:--

"I know a man who did that."

"A man who does n't is n't a man, is he?"

"I--I don't know," confessed Monte. "I 've visited this friend once or
twice. Did you ever see a kiddy with the croup?"

"No," admitted Peter.

"You're darned lucky. It's just as though--as though some one had the
little devil by the throat, trying to strangle him."

"There are things you can do."

"Things you can try to do. But mostly you stand around with your hands
tied, waiting to see what's going to happen."

"Well?" queried Peter, evidently puzzled.

"That's only one of a thousand things that can happen to 'em. There
are worse things. They are happening every day."

"Well?"

"When I think of Chic and his children I think of him pacing the hall
with his forehead all sweaty with the ache inside of him. Nothing
pleasant about that, is there?"

Peter did not answer for a moment, and then what he said seemed rather
pointless.

"What of it?" he asked.

"Only this," answered Monte uneasily. "When you speak of a wife and
children you have to remember those facts. You have to consider that
you 're going to be torn all to shoe-strings every so often. Maybe you
open the gates of heaven, but you throw open the gates of hell too.
There's no more jogging along in between on the good old earth."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Peter. "You consider such things?"

"I've always tried to stay normal," answered Monte uneasily.

"Yet you said you're married?"

"Even so, is n't it possible for a man to keep his head?" demanded
Monte.

"I don't understand," replied Peter.

"Look here--I don't want to intrude in your affairs, but I don't
suppose you are talking merely abstractedly. You have some one
definite in mind?"

"Yes."

"Then you ought to understand; you've kept steady."

"I wouldn't be like this if I had," answered Peter.

"You mean your eyes."

"I tried to forget her because she wasn't ready to listen. I turned to
my work, and put in twenty hours a day. It was a fool thing to do.
And yet--"

Monte held hi