"But--people take trips when they get married."

"That is different. Are you--in a position to take me away to-
night?"

With an eloquent gesture Bob turned his trousers pockets wrong
side out. "Not to-night, perhaps, but to-morrow."

"I can't quit the show without two weeks' notice."

"Two weeks?" He was aghast. "Two minutes. Two seconds. I won't
have you dodging around stage-doors. To-morrow you'll breeze in
and tell my old friend Regan you've quit. Just say, 'I quit'--
that's notice enough."

"Bergman won't let me go; it wouldn't be right to ask him."

But Bob was insistent. "It pains me to pull the props out from
under the 'profession' and leave the drama flat, but matrimony was
a successful institution before the Circuit Theater was built, and
a husband has rights. I intend to cure you of the work habit. You
must learn to scorn it. Look at me. I'm an example of the unearned
increment. We'll kiss this dinky flat a fond farewell--it's
impossible, really--I refuse to share such a dark secret with you.
To-morrow we leave it for the third and last time. What d'you say
to the sunny side of the Ritz until we decide where we want to
travel?"

"You don't want to leave New York, you know," she told him,
soberly. "You're offering to go because you think it's the proper