housekeeping, either, Billy could see. Her hand touched Kennedy's as they passed through the door, and it pressed and clung to his. Kennedy kept as close to her as the law allowed all the rest of the evening. Brander Kellogg had his arm around Lucy Kingston, the other girl of the party, all the way home in the automobile.. It was a rotten world. By the time he had shaken Evelyn's cold little hand in parting Billy was almost ready to forswear it for good. What did these fellows think they were doing, anyway? Trifling with the big things of life as if they were so many candy toys, playing at love-making as unconcernedly as if they were eating ice-cream. What did they mean by it?

His father's next letter closed with the poignant advice to "play the game." Whatever the game was, or however he happened to find himself sitting in, "play the game." That evening he went to see Evelyn.

He found her in the summer-house in the garden, framed in frilly vines and soft green leaves, her head buried in her hands, crying as if her heart would break; and when he saw her, he put out his arms without a word, and she put her head down on his shoulder, and finished her weeping there.

"Will you marry me, Evelyn?" That was what he ought to say. "Evelyn, will you marry me? I've got you into this. I started something, and now I 've got to see it through. Evelyn, will you marry. me?" It droned through his mind as he put his lips to her hair, as he pressed her tender little form closer to him, as he patted and comforted and soothed her, as he sought her lips, and made them yield to him; but he did not say it. Instead, he found himself beseeching her to tell him that she loved him, that she had been lonely without him, that she was glad he had come back to her; and she told him with adorable sweetness that she did, that she had, that she was, and then he gathered her in his arms again, and told her how lovely she was, and how much she meant to him-and that was all. If he

left her radiant with happiness, it was because she did n't yet understand what a pup he was, what a cur he was trying to be. He spent a sleepless night-comparatively sleepless, that is; it was at least an hour before he took more than a catnap.

In the morning he looked at Kennedy's pile of letters with a snarl of disgust. The only reason that he did n't tell Brander that he was a little yellow dog, and try to prove it to him scientifically, was that Brander was n't there at the time. He felt a great rage at Brander. He knew instinctively that Brander's affairs with the girls were conducted much like his own. Brander was dangerous; one could see that. Any woman that would fall for Kennedy deserved what she got, and no real girl could stand him. As a matter of fact, Kennedy was the one of the trio who did the most harm. He was a naturalborn philanderer, and he worked up all his affairs with instinctive artistry; but no virile youngster of Billy's kind understands this.

He went back to his room and waited till he heard Kennedy slam the front door before he began his own breakfast. He would be late to the office for once. Serve him right if he got fired. There was punishment coming to him. He might as well help it along from all directions at

once.

"Were you happily married, Mrs. G.?" he asked suddenly.

"I was." Mrs. Gregory folded her arms, two clean forks projecting from her hand. "I was, and thin ag'in I was n't."

"Is it so?" Billy murmured. "You were twice married?”

"No, it was the same one all the time. He was irregular in the habits he had. But I'm not finding fault with him; there 's bad in us all, to be sure."

""There's so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behooves the rest of us'-how the deuce does that thing go? Do you remember the er-occasion on which he proposed to you, Mrs. G.?" Billy was collecting data unscrupulously against his inmost

need. He wanted to know how these things happened.

"Sure, I do. He sang 'Kathleen Mavourneen' to me, and thin he said. would I be the pride of his heart forever, and I agreed to it."

"Do the young people in Ireland do much spooning, Mrs. G.? I mean regular sweethearting, before they 're engaged or anything."

"They do and thin ag'in they don't." "You surprise me," said Billy. "Whin do they, an' whin don't they?"

"The byes an' the gurrls has a bit of a flutter together till the time o' the mating, an' thin-"

"Oh, I know all about thin. It's before thin that I am collecting statistics." "Oh, they do the right thing by each other in Ireland," Mrs. Gregory said.

"Well, how in the name of Jehoshaphat is anybody ever going to find out what the right thing is?" Billy cried from the depths of his being. Then he rose, stretched himself, and chucked the housekeeper under her triple chin. "Oh, wisha, wurra!" he cried. "God be with me, a lone old creature on a stick! And likewise damn! I am now going to the office and explain that you set the house afire, and I was detained putting it out for you."

He knew now that he must n't stay away from Evelyn. He must take her out, do things with her, not seem to be avoiding her. He must play the game, and not shirk. If he got in too deep, he must marry her. He must do the honorable thing; but how deep was too deep, and how did you know when you got there? What did the other fellows do in such circumstances? He worked through the office routine, dictating letters, attending conferences, making estimates, with his eye on his associates. How did these men live their lives? What was the code they had evolved, and how in the deuce had they evolved it? Not every man married every girl he kissed. There must be a large proportion of men among the men he knew that had made love to a good many girls, and yet they all seemed, or

they seemed in the main, self-respecting; he knew they were respected.

The heat increased, and the apartment got rather stuffy as the season advanced. He had a revulsion of feeling about the boys as his soul worked on through its new-found torture. Mrs. Gregory and the dear old flat, the boys and their evenings together, meant more to him; even his breakfasts with Kennedy were lingered over feverishly, though the whole atmosphere was less comfortable in midsummer. He had money enough to support a wife "gingerly." They could live out in the "young married people's quarter and have a maid." If women's clothes did n't cost too darn much they could have a runabout.

He managed to see Evelyn mostly in public. He took her about a good deal, and when they were alone together he kissed her and held her hand. He figured it out that if they could get it on a "spooning basis" he might taper it off until they were nicely Platonic, though he had n't. much hopes of this. "Play the game," was his motto. He was going to play it carefully if he could; but, anyhow, he was going to stay in. That much he had decided. Evelyn was a puzzle to him. She was n't as demonstrative as she had been at first, but she was very, very sweet and very docile. She seemed to have lost weight and color. That was his fault,he was making her unhappy,-but, maybe -he hoped against hope that she would get over it.

It was after two months of this backing and filling on his part that the climax was precipitated. Edith telephoned him that Evelyn had typhoid fever, and was going to be taken to the hospital. She wanted to see him before she went.

He was alone in the dining-room-the telephone was there-when he got this message. Mrs. Gregory found him there, his elbows on the table, and his hands buried in them.

"What is it, m' darlint?" she said, with a motherly arm on his shoulder. "Is it trouble you 're in? Is it trouble?"

"It's trouble I 'm in, and it 's joy, too,"

he said. "I'm goin' to be married. That 's joy, of course, but the girl I 'm going to marry is going to be taken to the hospital this afternoon."

"An' that sure is trouble. The gurrl you 're going to marry now; she 'll get better all right, she 'll get better. And sure and I hope she 's a sweet one, and worthy of a nice boy like you."

"I'm sure I hope so, too," said Billy, earnestly and rather forlornly. He was still thinking of himself, he noted, and a man who could think of himself at such a crisis was certainly not fit to live. Still, he hoped she was worthy of him, just as Mrs. Gregory had said.

He found Evelyn in a pale-blue housedress, all ruffles and lacework. At sight of her his heart swelled. Poor baby! poor darling! poor little girl! How she had suffered! Of course you could n't actually get typhoid from neglect or even from heartbreak, but there was such a thing as getting run down, and getting yourself in a susceptible condition. Play the game. That meant, accept your responsibilities as they came. This was his responsibility; he had n't been sure of that before, but now he was sure.

"Evelyn," he said as he held her hand in his "Evelyn, will you marry me?"

"Billy," she said, "that was what I sent for you for. I've been nearly crazy. You will have to forgive me. The doctor says I've got a very light case, but you never can tell. If I died, and you did n't know how I felt, it would be cheating you terribly. I'm not really in love with you, Billy, in the way that makes marriage. I thought I was at first, it was all so new and so beautiful; but we aren't close enough to each other. If we have any of the same thoughts, we don't have them together. It's all been a mistake and a failure. If you had been one of the other boys, I would n't have been so sure that you meant it; but I knew that you were n't like the rest, that you meant it, that all this while you 've been expecting me to marry you. I can't, Billy; I can't." "Why did n't you tell me before?" he asked her.

"I wanted to be sure."

"Bless you for telling me now," Billy said, "for your courage and your strength and your sweetness!"

"It does n't hurt you too much?"

"It hurts a good deal," he said truthfully. "I thought that you cared."

"I tried to care, and then I found that I could n't. I tried to-to play the game out, you know, as you 're always. saying one ought to."

"Am I?" said Billy. Then he smiled. "There are some games," he said, “where a show-down is really quite a shock to one. There are lots of things," he went on after a moment, "that I should like to give myself the luxury of saying to you. I'd like to explain at great length and in detail what a compound, seven-ringed, prize-worm kind of two-spot I feel like, and what a beauty I think you are, and how I respect and admire you from the depths of my moth-eaten soul; but time is pressing, and you 've got to go and have your typhoid fever, and I 've got to go and possess my soul in patience while you 're having it, and pray to whatever gods there be for your quick recovery and my ultimate regeneration. I must n't tire you any longer. Would you kiss me once before you go, dear?"

She kissed him.

"And there's a question I want to ask you, the time-honored question that always comes along about now in the magazine stories-is there anybody else?"

"Oh, no, Billy dear! No, there is n't." "That's all right, then. Now, don't you worry; you 'll never have to think of all this truck again-unless, you know, sometime—”

"I'd thought of that," she said. “Of Course we might come to care; but I don't have to think about it now, Billy, do I?"

"You certainly don't," Billy said; "but I do, and God knows I consider myself lucky to have the chance. Good-by, dear."

It was two days later before Mrs. Gregory found him alone again. He was spending his Saturday half-holiday in the

house, smoking and reading, but mostly doing accounts, or figuring on something that evidently interested him deeply.

"I hope that your swateheart is after getting better, Mr. Billy," she said.

"She is that," said Billy. "In fact, they don't think she has typhoid at all. They'll be able to tell in a day or so, but now she 's merely under suspicion, and resting up. If she 's got it, why, it 's so light they can't tell it."

"Will you be after being married when she 's out, Mr. Billy?"

"Well, not as soon as that, Mrs. G. There are several little formalities to be gone through with before that eventmere technicalities, you know."

"But you think it 'll be soon?” "It'll be soon, Mrs. G., or my name is n't Yours Hectically."

"You 're that terrible in love?" "Your diagnosis is a credit to you." "Sure, you 're the nice steady young fellow, with his heart in the right place, not like thim other two. Sure, did n't you think I saw them, on the night o' the party, sparking them girls that was here, and Hiven only knowing their intentions."

"Well, if Heaven does, it 's all right," Billy said; "besides, you can trust 'em. Almost any man will play the game decently whether he intends to or not. It just depends on the way things turn, and whether you 're a skunk or not-and

well, several things. I guess almost everybody is pretty decent about those things when you come right down to it. There is probably only one real worm in this apartment, and I sha'n't tell you his name, because from now on he 's going to be a genuine caterpillar butterfly. Besides, I need your good opinion to carry me through, so I shall not undeceive you in your estimate of my character; but there is one thing I should like to put myself on record as conveying to you. You asked me if the young lady of my choice was worthy of me. I 've discovered she is. Now, is n't that gratifying?"

"It sure is, Mr. Billy." She hesitated at the door, the miniature feather-duster that she had been brandishing tickling her triple chin unheedingly. "I'll be after losing you, thin, from the flat here. I'll be missing you with your jokes and your goings-on. I'll be missing you."

"Mrs. G."-Billy looked up from his figuring solemnly-"did you imagine for one little minute that I 'd leave you here alone with two unscrupulous characters like Mr. Kennedy and Mr. Kellogg? I would n't think of such a thing. When I'm married, you go with me. There's only one little drawback to that plan, but that will, I think, be easily overcome-" "And what is that, sor?"

"The girl does n't realize yet that we 're going to be married."