lls, Professor," says he, and she executes
an awkward duck response.

While the three of us are talkin' over J. Bayard's proposition she sits
at one side, starin' blank and absentminded, as if this was somethin'
that don't concern her at all.

It ain't a long debate, either. Hackett Wells seems satisfied with most
any arrangement we want to make. He's a meek, broken old sport, grateful
for anything that comes his way. That's what led me to insist on
boostin' the ante up to twenty-five hundred, I guess; for it didn't look
like he could go on pullin' that down for many years more. And of course
J. Bayard is tickled to get my O.K. so easy.

"Then it's all settled," says Mr. Steele. "You will receive a check from
the attorney of Mr. Gordon's estate on the first of every month. You and
Mrs. Wells ought to start to-morrow to look for a place in some nice
little country town and--why, what's the matter with your wife?"

She has her face in her hands, and her dumpy shoulders are heavin' up
and down passionate. At first I couldn't make out whether it's woe, or
if she's swallowed a safety pin. Anyway, it's deep emotion of some kind.

"Why, Deary!" says Mr. Wells, steppin' over and pattin' her on the back.

But that don't have any effect. The heavin' motion goes right on, and no
answer comes from Deary.

"Mabel! Mabel, dear!" insists Hackett. "Tell me what is wrong. Come
now!"

Mabel just shakes off his hand and continues her chest gymnastics. Also
she begins kickin' her heels against the chair rungs. And as Hubby
stands there lookin' helpless, with J. Bayard starin' disturbed, but
makin' no move, it appears like it was up to me to take a hand.

"Don't mind the furniture, Ma'am," says I. "Take a whack at the desk
too, if you like; but after you're through throwin' the fit maybe you'll
let us know what it's all about."

At which she begins rockin' back and forth and moanin' doleful. A couple
of hairpins works loose and drops to the floor.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," says I, "but you're goin' to lose the inside of that
French roll if you keep on."

That fetched her out of it in a hurry. Grabbin' wild at her back hair,
she sat up and faced us, with no signs at all of real weeps in her
eyes.

"I won't live in the country, I won't!" she states explosive.

"Why, Mabel dear!" protests Mr. Wells.

"Ah, don't be an old bonehead!" comes back Mabel. "What's the idea,
wishin' this Rube stuff on us? You can just count me out, Hacky,