red he looked as he sauntered with the
confident air of a man who had only to entertain a whim to gratify it.

Such is the psychology of clothes and the effect of environment upon
some temperaments that that was the way Mr. Toomey felt about it. Prouty
and importunate creditors did not exist for him. This condition of
mental intoxication continued when the play was over and, fearful, Mrs.
Toomey spoke hastily of going home immediately.

"I'm hungry," he asserted. "We'll go somewhere first and eat something."

"Let's have sandwiches sent up to the room," she pleaded.

"Why not a bow-wow from the night-lunch cart I noticed in the alley? I
like the feeling of the mustard running between my fingers," derisively.

"Oh, Jap, we oughtn't to--we really ought not!"

But he might have been deaf, for all the attention he paid to her
earnest protests as he turned into one of the brilliantly lighted
restaurants which he had previously patronized and that he liked
particularly. There was a glitter in his eyes which increased her
uneasiness, and a recklessness in his manner that was not reassuring.

"I may go to my grave without ever seeing another lobster," he said as
he ordered shellfish. "What will you have to drink?" while the waiter
hovered.

"Nothing to-night," she replied, startled.

"Different here, Old Dear, I'm thirsty. The wine list, waiter."

That was the beginning. From the time the champagne and oysters arrived
until long past midnight Mrs. Toomey experienced all the sensations that
come to the woman who must sit passive and watch her husband pass
through the several stages of intoxication. And in addition, she had the
knowledge that he could less afford the money he was spending than the
waiter who served him.

In high spirits at first, with his natural drollness, stimulated to
brilliancy, his sallies brought smiles from those at adjoining tables.
Then he became in turn boastful, arrogant, argumentative, thick of
speech, finally, and slow of comprehension, but obstinate always.

"Goin' back jail 'morra, Ol' Dear--goin' finish out my life sentence,"
when she reminded him of the lateness of the hour and her weariness, and
he resented her interference so fiercely when she countermanded an order
that she dared not repeat it.

"You lis'en me, waiter, thish my party. Might think I was town
drunkard--village sot way my wife tryin' flag me." Mrs. Toomey colored
painfully at the attention he attracted.

He turned