on the stand at the head of her bed. Yes; she said that
was the way the man was firing it off in the advertisement--hitting it on
a certain spot with a hammer. She was a reckless little scoundrel. She
told me all about how to shoot a revolver while I was thinking up what
to say about Clyde.

I finally said if he had ended it all she must cheer up, because it
might be for the best. She considered this sadly and said she didn't
believe dear Clyde had been prepared to die. I could see she was
remembering old things that had been taught her in Sabbath school about
God and wickedness and the bad place, so I cheered her on that point. I
told her they hadn't been burning people for about thirty years now, the
same not being considered smart any longer in the best religious circles.
I also tried in a delicate manner to convince her that her boy would
never end it all by any free act of his. I offered to bet her a large sum
of money on this at any odds she wanted--she could write her own ticket.
I said I knew men well enough to be certain that with this one it would
be a long life but a merry one. Gee! The idea of this four-carder hurting
himself!

And I had to cheer her up on another point. This was that she didn't
have about three babies, all the image of their father. Yes, sir; she
was grieving sorely about that. It give me a new line on her. I saw
all at once she was mostly mother--a born one. Couldn't ever be anything
else and hadn't ever really felt anything but mothersome to this here
wandering treasure of hers. It give me kind of a shock. It made me
feel so queer I wanted to swear.

Well, I wrastled with that mulish female seven straight days to make
her leave that twelve-hour job of hers and come out here with me. I tried
everything. I even told her what with long hours and bum food she was
making herself so old that her boy wouldn't give her a second look when
he got back. That rattled her. She took hold of her face and said that
massage cream would take all those silly lines out when she got time
to rub it in properly; and as for the gray in her hair, she could never
bring herself to use a dye, but if Clyde come back she might apply a
little of the magic remedy that restores the natural colour. She also
said in plain words that to come out here with me would look like
deserting her boy. Do you get that?

"Dear Clyde is so sensitive," she says. "I couldn't bear the thought of
his coming back and finding that I had