unsympathetically. "Leave 'em there--I'll take them all up in a
day or two!"

"But I was thinking," Nancy said, following him upstairs, "That
while you are about it, borrowing money for the new venture, you
know--why not borrow an extra thousand or two, and clear this all
up, and then we can really start fresh. You see interest on a
thousand is only fifty dollars a year, and that--"

"That's nonsense!" Bert answered, harshly, "Borrowing money for a
business is one thing, and borrowing money to pay for household
bills is another! I don't propose to shame myself before men like
Biggerstaff and Ingram by telling them that I can't pay my
butcher's bill!"

"I wish you wouldn't take that tone with me," Nancy said, sharply,
"I merely meant to make a suggestion that might be helpful--"

A bitter quarrel followed, the bitterest they had ever known. Bert
left the house without speaking to his wife the next morning, and
Nancy looked out into the still August sunshine with a heavy
weight on her heart, as, scowling, he wheeled the car under the
maples, and swept away. She went about all day long silent and
brooding, answering the children vaguely, and with occasional deep
sighs. She told Mrs. Smith that Mr. Bradley would let her know
about the hospital money right away, and planned a day at the
tennis tournament, and a dinner after it, between periods of
actual pain. It was all so stupid--it was all so sad and hopeless
and unnecessary!