style="font-size:15px;"> He winked at Eunice across the table, and she smiled back appreciatively. Aunt Abby gave him what was meant to be a scathing glance, but which turned to a nod of admiration.
“That’s so, Sanford,” she admitted. “Al Hendricks is a nice man, but he falls down on some things. Hasn’t he been a good president?”
“Until lately, Aunt Abby. Now, he’s all mixed up with a crowd of intractables—sporty chaps, who want a lot of innovations that the more conservative element won’t stand for.”
“Why, they want prize-fights and a movie theatre-right in the club!” informed Eunice. “And it means too much expense, besides being a horrid, low-down—”
“There, there, Tiger,” and Sanford shook his head at her. “Let us say those things are unpalatable to a lot of us old fogies—”
“Stop! I won’t have you call yourself old—or fogyish, either! You’re the farthest possible removed from that! Why, you’re no older than Al Hendricks.”
“You were all children together,” said Aunt Abby, as if imparting a bit of new information; “you three, and Mason Elliott. Why, when you were ten or eleven, Eunice, those three boys were eternally camping out in the front yard, waiting for you to get your hair curled and go out to play. And later, they all hung around to take you to parties, and then, later still—not so much later, either—they all wanted to marry you.”
“Why, Auntie, you’re telling the ‘whole story of my life and what’s my real name!’—Sanford knows all this, and knows that he cut out the other two—though I’m not saying they wanted to marry me.”
“It goes without saying,” and her husband gave her a gallant bow. “But, great heavens, Eunice, if you’d married those other two—I mean one of ‘em—either one—you’d have been decidedly out of your element. Hendricks, though a bully chap, is a man of impossible tastes, and Elliott is a prig—pure and simple! I, you see, strike a happy medium. And, speaking of such things, are your mediums always happy, Aunt Abby?”
“How you do rattle on, Sanford! A true medium is so absorbed in her endeavors, so wrapped up in her work, she is, of course, happy—I suppose. I never thought about it.”
“Well, don’t go out of your way to find out. It isn’t of vital importance that I should know. May I be excused, Madam Wife? I’m called to the busy marts—and all that sort of thing.” Embury rose from the table, a big, tall man, graceful in his every motion, as only a trained athlete can be. Devoted to athletics, he kept himself in the pink of condition physically, and this was no small aid to his vigorous mentality and splendid business acumen.
“Wait a minute, San,” and for the first time that morning there was a note of timidity in Eunice’s soft voice. “Please give me a little money, won’t you?”
“Money, you grasping young person! What do you want it for?”
“Why—I’m going to Newark, you know—”
“Going to Newark! Yes, but you’re going in Hendricks’ car—that doesn’t require a ticket, does it?”
“No—but I—I might want to give the chauffeur something when I get out—”
“Nonsense! Not Hendricks’ chauffeur. That’s all right when you’re with formal friends or Comparative strangers—but it would be ridiculous to tip Hendricks’ Gus!”
Embury swung into the light topcoat held by the faithful Ferdinand.
“But, dear,” and Eunice rose, and stood by her husband, “I do want a little money,” she fingered nervously the breakfast napkin she was still holding.
“What for?” was the repeated inquiry.
“Oh, you see—I might want to do a little shopping in Newark.”
“Shop in Newark! That’s a good one! Why, girlie, you never want to shop outside of little old New York, and you know it. Shop in Newark!”
Embury laughed at the very idea.
“But—I might see something in a window that’s just what I want.”
“Then make a note of it, and buy it in New York. You have an account at all the desirable shops here, and I never kick at the bills, do I, now?”
“No; but a woman does want a little cash with her—”
“Oh, that, of course! I quite subscribe to that. But I gave you a couple of dollars yesterday.”
“Yes, but I gave one to a Red Cross collector, and the other I had to pay out for a C.O.D. charge.”
“Why buy things C.O.D. when you have accounts everywhere?”
“Oh, this was something I saw advertised in the evening paper—”
“And you bought it because it was cheap! Oh, you women! Now, Eunice, that’s just a case in point. I want my wife to have everything she wants—everything in reason, but there’s no sense in throwing money away. Now, kiss me, sweetheart, for I’m due at a directors’ meeting in two shakes—or thereabouts.”
Embury snapped the fastening of his second glove, and, hat in hand, held out his arms to his wife.
She made one more appeal.
“You’re quite right, San, maybe I didn’t need that C.O.D. thing. But I do want a little chickenfeed in my purse when I go out to-day. Maybe they’ll take up a collection.”
“A silver offering for the Old Ladies’ Home,—eh? Well, tell ‘em to come to me and I’ll sign their subscription paper! Now, good-by, Dolly Gray! I’m off!”
With a hearty kiss on Eunice’s red lips, and a gay wave of his hand to Aunt Abby, Embury went away and Ferdinand closed the door behind him.
“I can’t stand it, Aunt Abby,” Eunice exclaimed, as the butler disappeared into the pantry; “if Sanford were a poor man it would be different. But he’s made more money this year than ever before, and yet, he won’t give me an allowance or even a little bit of ready money.”
“But you have accounts,” Aunt Abby said, absently, for she-was scanning the paper now.
“Accounts! Of course, I have! But there are a thousand things one wants cash for! You know that perfectly well. Why, when our car was out of commission last week and I had to use a taxicab, Sanford would give me just enough for the fare and not a cent over to fee the driver. And lots of times I need a few dollars for charities, or some odds and ends, and I can’t have a cent to call my own! Al Hendricks may be of coarser clay than Sanford Embury, but he wouldn’ treat a wife like that!”
“It is annoying, Eunice, but Sanford is so good to you—”
“Good to me! Why shouldn’t he be? It isn’t a question of goodness or of generosity—it’s just a fool whim of his, that I mustn’t ask for actual cash! I can have all the parties I want, buy all the clothes I want, get expensive hats or knick-knacks of any sort, and have them all charged. He’s never even questioned my bills—but has his secretary pay them. And I must have some money in my purse! And I will! I know ways to get it, without begging it from Sanford Embury!”
Eunice’s
