ore exciting than the fireside armchair, the slippers and
smoking jacket, and the quiet game of cards. Visions of the old riotous
evenings with the boys ran through his mind; a billiard table and the
click of balls; the jolly conversation at the club, and glass after
glass of that cold amber beer. The large freedom of the city streets at
night, the warm saloons on every corner, the barrooms with their
pyramids of bottles flashing in the gaslight--these were the things that
made a man's life amusing. And here he was cooped up in a little cage in
the suburbs like a tame cat!

Thoughts of this kind had agitated Simmons for a long time, and at last
he said something to Ethel. He had keyed himself up to meet a sharp
retort, some sarcastic comment about his preferring a beer garden to
his own home, even an outburst of tears. But to his amazement Ethel took
it quite calmly.

"Why, yes, of course, dear," she said. "It'll do you good to have an
evening with your friends."

A little taken aback, he asked whether she would rather he didn't go.

"Why, no," she answered. "I shall have a lovely time. I won't be
lonely."

This was on Monday. Simmons planned to go out on Friday night, meeting
the boys for dinner at the club, and after that they would spend the
evening at Boelke's bowling alley. All the week he went about in a glow
of anticipation. At the office he spoke in an offhand way of the
pleasant evenings a man can have in town, and pitied the prosaic beggars
who never stir from the house at night.

On Friday evening he came home hurriedly, staying just long enough to
shave and change his collar. Ethel had on a pretty dress and seemed very
cheerful. A strange sinking came over him as he saw the familiar room
shining with firelight and the shabby armchair.

"Would you rather I stayed at home?" he asked.

"Not a bit," she said, quite as though she meant it. "Diana has a steak
in the oven, and I've got a new book to read. I won't wait up for you."

He kissed her and went off.

When he got on the trolley a sudden revulsion struck him. He was tired
and wanted to go home. Why on earth spend the evening with a lot of
drunken rowdies when he might be at his own hearth watching Ethel's face
bent over her sewing? He saw little enough of her anyway.

At the door of the club he halted. Inside, the crowd was laughing,
shouting jests, dicing for cocktails. Suddenly he turned and ran.

He cursed himself for a fool, but none the l