sin' the sidewise
dip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!]

"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for a
minute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you?
He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too."

"Looks so," says Nick. "Can't I cut in?"

"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now."

"Just one dance!" pleads Nick.

"Oh, afterward, perhaps," says she. "There! Just look at those silly
orchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tosses
the wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now," she adds,
"I must dress for dinner."

"You've nearly two hours, Pet," protests Nick. "Come to the outlook
with me and watch the sunset."

"It's too lonesome," says Robbie, and off she goes.

It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' for
him to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a little
hair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' after
her kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs,
drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for it
was real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with it
man fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a few
soothin' remarks.

"Sorry I butted in," says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with the
flowers."

"Oh, that's all right," says he. "Glad you came. I--I suppose she
needed someone else to--to talk to."

"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon,
eh?" I suggests.

"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She--she mentioned
it, did she?"

"Just casual," says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smooth
gen'rally?"

He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it," says he. "Anyone
would. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she's
been used to having so much going on around her that this must seem
rather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married--well,
she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take her
anywhere,--to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring.
Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and then
she's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, to
her mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It would
be absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It--it's awful!"

I leaves him with his ch