"What do you expect for thirteen per?" she retorted, "terrapin or pate de fois gras? Getting tired of--"

She stopped short. Her eyes had just lighted on the lunch box on the table. Swooping down on it like an angry vulture she exclaimed angrily: "What's that?"

Even in his bluest moments, Jimmie never lost his sense of humor.

Picking up the box and pretending to examine it, he said:

"I think it's a bunch of lilies of the valley."

He grinned, but got no response. f.a.n.n.y was not in a mood to jest.

"Oh, don't get funny," she said crossly. "I know it's your lunch box all right, but what's it doing on the table? Put it in the drawer where it belongs." He hesitated, still grinning, and she went on sternly: "Go on, now! I've got enough to do without putting things away after you."

Rising, he took the offending box and placed it in a drawer of the sideboard. When this was done f.a.n.n.y pointed to his hat and coat:

"Now hang them up in the hall," she ordered.

Without another word he picked up the things and left the room.

Directly he was gone, f.a.n.n.y took a key from under a vase, opened another drawer in the sideboard and put the money in it. Then she hastily locked the drawer and replaced the key. No sooner was this done than Jimmie reappeared. He was puffing a cheap cigar and judging by his expression the flavor was not all that it might be. After a few moments, and while f.a.n.n.y was laying the cloth, he threw it away with an exclamation of disgust:

"It's no good! I can't get used to these d.a.m.ned cheap things. I suppose I'd be satisfied with 'em if I'd never smoked _real_ cigars! But to be educated up to Villa de Villas and then drop to them--punkerinos--"

f.a.n.n.y looked round, saw the cigar on the floor and then looked at him:

"Jimmie," she said, "pick that up and let it die outside."

He obeyed her without a word. Opening the window he picked up the offending weed and threw it out.

"Ha! ha!" he laughed bitterly. "In three months to parachute from first-cla.s.s cafes to carrying home-made lunches; to go from threes for a half to twos for a nickel; instead of having plenty of money in pocket to be without even a cent! I tell you, f.a.n.n.y, the way we're living now is--h.e.l.l!"

Flopping down on a chair near the table, he presented an abject picture of utter despondency. If f.a.n.n.y had been in better humor she would have laughed at him, but in her present mood his complaints only irritated her the more. Stopping in her work, she turned on him. Her face was flushed; her eyes flashed fire. At last the moment had come to give it to him:

"Don't you think I know it better than you do?" she cried. "I used to be able to pay twenty-five or thirty dollars for a hat, now when I want one I'll have to trim it myself; I could have a taxi once in a while, now I'm lucky if I can take a car; a seat in the orchestra at the matinees was none too good for me, now I think it is great to go to the moving pictures; I used to have a nine-room apartment at a Hundred and Fortieth street, now I've got a five-room flat at a Hundred and Seventy-sixth! My 'friends' don't come to see me because it's too far uptown. I used to have a servant to do my work and a woman come in to do my washing, now I have to do the work and the cooking and the washing into the bargain. Don't talk to me about your cigars, and your lunches, and your pocket money! Only a woman can know what it means to come down in the world!"

He listened in silence to her tirade, carelessly rocking back and forth on the two rear legs of his tilted chair. When finally she stopped for sheer want of breath he said:

"I guess you're right, f.a.n.n.y, I'm sorry I spoke. The woman gets the worst of it every time."

"Yes--every time, Jimmie," she said emphatically as she proceeded to lay the table. "Whether she's right or wrong."

"If Virginia hadn't quit Stafford," he grumbled, "it would have been different."

"There's no use talking of that--she did leave him--"

Jimmie looked up, an injured expression on his face.

"Yes, and what day did she pick out?" he cried indignantly. "The very day Stafford raised me to a hundred and fifty!" Jumping up from his chair he began to pace the floor nervously. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed, "just think of it! I used to get a hundred and fifty! Of course I only got it for a day and a quarter--but I got it!"

His wife stopped in her work. Sharply she demanded:

"And whose fault was it that you only got it for a day and a quarter?"

"Mine, I suppose," he replied gloomily.

"You had no right to try to interfere between Mr. Stafford and Virginia--that was their business."

"So he told me! And when I said that anything that concerned my wife's sister was _my_ business and I wouldn't be a.s.sociated with a man who didn't treat her right, and walked out, I thought he'd send a messenger after me before I reached the corner. In fact, I waited at the corner."

"But the messenger didn't come," she said sarcastically.

"No. But even that didn't bother me much--then! I thought I'd soon get another job just as good."

f.a.n.n.y shrugged her shoulders. With a sigh she said:

"I wonder if you'll ever have one 'just as good.'"

"Of course, I will," he said confidently.

"When?"

"I'm likely to get a good job most any time."

"Well, till you do," she retorted, "hang on to the one you have. When rent day comes, thirteen dollars in real money is a heap sight better than a hundred and fifty in hopes."

Jim shifted about uneasily on his feet. Stupidly he said:

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I know so," she exclaimed.

"Besides," he said with some hesitation, "one of my ideas might turn out big."

His wife laughed scornfully.

"Might--yes," she exclaimed.

"Oh, I know you don't believe in 'em any more," he went on. "But let me tell you this--I've got one idea right now that would make me five hundred dollars just as easy as that--" He snapped his fingers at her as he continued: "Do you hear? As easy as that!" His wife, still skeptical, seemed to pay no heed, so petulantly he inquired: "Why don't you ask me about it?"

f.a.n.n.y again stopped in her work and looked up.

"What is it?" she demanded in a resigned tone.

Jimmie frowned. He did not like his wife's incredulous att.i.tude.

"That's a fine way to ask!" he exclaimed. Imitating her tone he went on: "What is it? You'd show more interest than that if I told you Mrs.

Brown's canary had died of the croup!"

In spite of herself f.a.n.n.y smiled. She was too good-natured to remain cross very long. After all, it was only natural that her husband should confide in her. In a more conciliatory tone, she said:

"I didn't mean anything, Jimmie. What _is_ the idea?"