"In pity's name, woman," he growled, "talk about something else. Give
me one night of peace. Let me enjoy my dinner and this visit."

"I can't help it," Mrs. P. retorted with asperity. She pointed to
Shirley Sumner's car parked under the porte-cochere. "If I had a
sedan like that, I could die happy. And it only cost thirty-two
hundred and fifty dollars."

"I paid six hundred and fifty for the rattletrap, and I couldn't
afford that," he almost whimpered. "You were happy with it until I
was elected mayor."

"You forget our social position, my dear," she purred sweetly.

He could have struck her. "Hang your social position," he gritted
savagely. "Shut up, will you? Social position in a sawmill town!
Rats!"

"Sh--sh! Control yourself, Henry!" She plucked gently at his arm;
with her other hand she lifted the huge knocker on the front door.

"Dammit, you'll drive me crazy yet," Poundstone gurgled, and
subsided.

The Pennington butler, a very superior person, opened the door and
swept them with a faintly disapproving glance. It is possible that he
found Mayor Poundstone, who was adorned with a white string tie, a
soft slouch hat, a Prince Albert coat, and horseshoe cut vest, mildly
amusing.