ast twenty-four hours?"

"No. What's the matter? He and Ellen can't possibly have had
any--misunderstanding? And if they had, they wouldn't tell you about it."

"Well, they may not have had a misunderstanding, but if Ellen succeeds in
understanding him through the present crisis she'll prove herself a
remarkable woman. As near as I can make it out, Red is mad, fighting mad,
clear through, with somebody or something, and he can no more disguise
it than he ever could. I don't suppose it's with anybody at home, of
course, but it makes him anything but an angel, there or anywhere else."

"Where did you see him? Hush--Mary's coming!"

Macauley waited obediently till the maid had left the room again. Then he
proceeded. He had not begun upon the present subject until the children
had gone away, leaving the father and mother alone together.

"I ran into his office last night, after those throat-tablets he gives
me, and heard him at the telephone in the private office. Couldn't help
hearing him. He was giving the everlasting quietus to somebody, and I
thought he'd burn out the transmitter."

"Jim! Red doesn't swear any more. He surely hasn't taken it up again?"

"He didn't do any technical swearing, perhaps, but he might as well. He
can put more giant-powder into the English language without actually
breaking any commandments than anybody I ever heard. When he came out he
had that look of his--you know it of old--so that if I'd been a timid
chap I'd have backed out. He gave me my throat-tablets without so much as
answering my explanation of how I came to be out of them so soon. Then I
got away, I assure you. He had no use for me."

"He's probably all right this morning. Ellen could quiet him down."

"She didn't get the chance. The light in his old room burned all
night,--and you know he's not sleeping there now."

"Well, I'm sorry for her." Martha rose, her brow clouded. "But I'd never
dare to ask her what the trouble was, and she'll never tell, so there it
is."

"It certainly is--right there. Oh, well, he'll get over it, if you give
him time. Queer, what a combination of big heart and red head he is."

At the moment of this discussion the red head was still in the
ascendency. R.P. Burns, M.D., had come out of his old quarters downstairs
that morning with lips set grimly together, heavy gloom upon his brow. He
met his wife at the breakfast-table with an effort at a smile in response
to her bright look, and kissed her