Part 22 (2/2)

”Why--”

”No, sir!” said Mr. Mix. ”Not exactly. I'm going to tell the truth about it at our next meeting, and I'm going to send a statement to the _Herald_.”

”Oh, it doesn't matter.”

”It matters to me. Maybe I'm too finicky, but that's the kind of man I am.”

”You're too generous,” she murmured.

Mr. Mix wiped away a stray bead of perspiration, and breathed more freely. With Mirabelle's money to back him, and the stigma of those two pamphlets removed, perhaps he had a fighting chance for the mayoralty yet.

It was a house-wedding, with very few guests, no decorations, and perfectly digestible refreshments. When the last of the party had gone down the steps, Mirabelle, in a travelling-suit which was new in comparison with the rest of her wardrobe, approached the bridegroom.

”Theodore, I want you to have your gift before we start. I don't want you to feel too dependent on me. Maybe after next month I'll make some kind of a settlement on you, but that's neither here nor there. So ...

take it, and I hope it's what you wanted.”

He took it, and his fingers trembled. A check? And for what generous amount?

”_Well_--aren't you going to thank me?”

Mr. Mix tried to speak, but the lump in his throat prevented him. She had given him what was the legal equivalent of five thousand dollars, but it wasn't in the form of a check. It was his own demand note, payable to John Starkweather and endorsed by him to Mirabelle. The word ”Cancelled” was written, in Mirabelle's angular hand, across the face of it.

CHAPTER XIV

As Henry and his wife went down the steps, they exchanged glances and smiled faintly. ”First time I've been in that house for seven months,”

said Henry, half to himself. ”It's a bully old shack, too. I lived in it ever since I was six.”

”Still, we're pretty comfortable right where we are, dear.”

Henry lagged a little. ”That _does_ hurt my feelings. Of course, I'm so busy I could live in a dog-kennel and hardly notice it, but when _you_ have to camp day in and day out in that measly little joint, and smell everybody else's corned beef and cabbage, and dig like a general-housework girl and cook, and manicure the stove, and peel the potatoes and dust off the what-not and so on--not that you haven't made it a mighty pretty place, because you _have_--without one day's vacation since last August--”

”But I've told you so often, dear, I'm _glad_ to do it if it helps you.”

”It helped a lot. If you hadn't done it in the first place, I wouldn't have had the cash on hand to tie up the rest of the picture houses.

But that time's gone by. I don't see why in thunder you won't hire some servants. And at least you could pike up into the country for a week. Why don't you?”

She hesitated, for temptation was strong, and she was really very tired. ”Maybe it's just because I want to play the game out, too. It's only two months more.”

”And after that,” he said firmly, ”we're going to move. I'll have enough to buy a young bungle-house up on the hill, even if I don't get anything from Archer. And then I'm going to make up to you for this year--see if I don't.”

”Would you sell the Orpheum?”

”Sell it!” he echoed. ”I'd sell it so quick you'd think it was a fake oil-well! I could, too. Bob Standish sends me a proposition from somebody about once a week.”

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