k, "Two more," he
explained briskly. After a few moments' silence, broken by the tinkle of
ice in thin glassware, Gatewood leaned forward, menacing his friend with
an impressive forefinger:

"Did you or didn't you once tell me that a decent citizen ought to
marry?"

"I did, dear friend."

"Did I or didn't I do it?"

"In the words of the classic, you _done_ it," admitted Kerns.

"Was I or wasn't I going to the devil before I had the sense to marry?"
persisted Gatewood.

"You was! You _was_, dear friend!" said Kerns with enthusiasm. "You had
almost went there ere I appeared and saved you."

"Then why shouldn't you marry and let me save you?"

"But I'm not going to the bowwows. _I'm_ all right. I'm a decent
citizen. I awake in the rosy dawn with a song on my lips; I softly
whistle rag time as I button my collar; I warble a few delicious vagrant
notes as I part my sparse hair; I'm not murderous before breakfast; I go
down town, singing, to my daily toil; I fish for fat contracts in
Georgia marble; I return uptown immersed in a holy calm and the evening
paper. I offer myself a cocktail; I bow and accept; I dress for dinner
with the aid of a rascally valet, but--_do_ I swear at him? No, dear
friend; I say, 'Henry, I have known far, far worse scoundrels than you.
Thank you for filling up my bay rum with water. Bless you for wearing
my imported hosiery! I deeply regret that my new shirts do not fit you,
Henry!' And my smile is a benediction upon that wayward scullion. Then,
dear friend, why, why do you desire to offer me up upon the altar of
unrest? What is a little wifey to me or I to any wifey?"

"Because," said Gatewood irritated, "you offered me up. I'm happy and I
want you to be--you great, hulking, self-satisfied symbol of supreme
self-centered selfishness--"

"Oh, splash!" said Kerns feebly.

"Yes, you are. What do you do all day? Grub for money and study how to
make life agreeable to yourself! Every minute of the day you are
occupied in having a good time! You've admitted it! You wake up singing
like a fool canary; you wear imported hosiery; you've made a soft, warm
wallow for yourself at this club, and here you bask your life away,
waddling downtown to nail contracts and cut coupons, and uptown to
dinners and theaters, only to return and sprawl here in luxury without
one single thought for posterity. _Your_ crime is race suicide!"

"I--my--_what_!"

"Certainly. Some shirk taxes, some jury duty. _You_ s