k was presently made clear to his friend, who
had hoped perhaps to enjoy a snug evening at Babcock's domestic hearth,
but who was not averse to playing a different part--that of cheering up
a father who had lost his baby, and whose wife had left him in the
lurch. He assured Babcock that a regular old time outing--a shaking
up--would do him good, and Babcock was ready to agree with him,
intending thereby a free-handed two days at the fair. As has been
intimated, his manner of life before marriage had not been
irreproachable, but he had been glad of an opportunity to put an end to
the mildly riotous and coarse bouts which disfigured his otherwise
commonplace existence. He had no intention now of misbehaving himself,
but he felt the need of being enlivened. His companion was a man who
delighted in what he called a lark, and whose only method of insuring a
lark was by starting in with whiskey and keeping it up. That had been
also Babcock's former conception of a good time, and though he had dimly
in mind that he was now a husband and church-member, he strove to
conduct himself in such a manner as to maintain his self-respect without
becoming a spoil sport.

During the first day at the fair Babcock managed to preserve this nice
distinction. On the second, he lost account of his conduct, and by the
late afternoon was sauntering with his friend among the booths in the
company of two suspicions looking women. With these same women the pair
of revellers drove off in top buggies just before dusk, and vanished in
the direction of the open country.

CHAPTER VII.

Babcock returned to his home twenty-four hours later like a whipped cur.
He was disgusted with himself. It seemed to him incredible that he
should have fallen so low. He had sinned against his wife and his own
self-respect without excuse; for it was no excuse that he had let
himself be led to drink too much. His heart ached and his cheek burned
at the recollection of his two days of debauchery. What was to be done?
If only he were able to cut this ugly sore in his soul out with a knife
and have done with it forever! But that was impossible. It stared him in
the face, a haunting reality. In his distress he asked himself whether
he would not go to Mr. Glynn and make a clean breast of it; but his
practical instincts answered him that he would none the less have made a
beast of himself. He held his head between his hands, and stared
dejectedly at his desk. Some relief