Broken to the Plow

ent, with hardwood floors and a vacuum cleaner, was hardly a serious task for a full-grown woman, childless, and with a vigor that reacted perfectly to an ice-cold shower at 7 A.M. She used

ide, or a walk, or something equally exciting. The sparkle of environment had won these people away from tombstone reading and family prayers as a Sabbath diversion, but even California could not be expected to make over a bluestocking in an eye's twinkling. Mother, of course, stayed home on Sunday to "pick up" and get ready for supper in the absence of the servant girl. A later generation had the grace to elevate these slatternly drudges to the title of maid, but a sterner ancestry found it expedient to be more practical and less pretentious in its terms. On these drab Sundays Helen Somers had passionately envied the children of foreign breed, who seemed less hedged about by sabbatical restrictions. Not that she wished her family to be of the questionable sort that went to El Campo or Shell Mound Park for Sunday picnics and returned in quarrelsome state at a late hour smelling of bad whisky and worse gin. Nor did she aspire to have sprung from

go to one?... If yo

ed her waist. With curious intuition she realized the futility of struggling against him... She had to admit, in the end, that she found his physical nearness pleasurable... She often had wondered, looking back on that day, what might have happened if she had gone through with this truant indiscretion. But halfway on the journey her escort had deserted her momentarily to buy a cigar. Left alone upon the upper deck of a ferry

ing to Nellie's for yo

she regretted its termination-when she was stirred to a certai

intelligible and acquired significance. The Somerses took a cottage for three successive seasons in Belvedere-that is, they spoke of it as a cottage. In reality, it was the abandoned hulk of a ferryboat that had been converted into rather uncomfortable quarters and set up on the slimy beach. The effect of this unconventional habitation slowly undermined the pale ghost of the Somers' family tradition. They became bohemian. Instead of the lugubrious Sunday feast of thick joints and heavy puddings, they began to make the acquaintance

expected to land a job and you did. Sometimes it was a good one, and then again it wasn't. Looking back, she conceded that her choice had been fair. Fred Starratt didn't drink to excess, he didn't beat or swear at her, he didn't make sarcastic remarks about her relations, or do any of the things which anyone who reads the daily papers discovers so many men do under provocation or otherwise. But, on the other hand, he hadn't made a fortune or bought a car or given her any reason for feeling compensated for the lack of marital excitement. His friends call

folks identified with church wo

er in the activities of a local orphan asylum, had

for it, Helen-you've no ide

ought up the question of Red Cross e

ng, I suppose. And, besides,

Hilmer was wholesome and good hearted and a dear, and no doubt she was nice in a negative way, but one never thought about saying so. And Hilmer...? No, he was not what one would call a nice man, but he was tremend

ing Helen Starratt dawdled as her mind played with the fiction of what Hil

ublimated servant girl who wasn't always preparing to leave and demanding higher wages... No, most men fell too easily in the trap of their personal comforts. Even Fred had become self-satisfied. Beyond his dinner and paper and an occasional sober flight at the movies or bridge with old friends he didn't seem to have an

dinner party. She had to admit, after it was all over, that her husband had managed to make her thoroughly ashamed of him. It was better to have an outrageous husband than a ridiculous one. And she fancied that Hilmer could be outrageous if he chose... But she was sure of one thing ... if Hilmer came home and announced that he had given up his position and had decided to plunge in boldly for himself, his wife would scarcely give the matter a second thought. Hilmer would carry the thing th

business venture. It was all very well for him to snarl: "Don't worry...

ould interest Hilmer... Perhaps she could help things along in some way ... with a chance remark to Mrs. Hilmer. Would it be better to cast the seed more directly?... If she could

liberal beyond his means or profusely apologetic. Not by any chance would he give a prompt and emphatic refusal... The more she thought about it the more enticing the prospect became. She felt sure that if Hilmer didn't approve of her charity he would say so frankly, perhaps disagreeably. And if he didn't think much of

n smothered in the plump content of Mrs. Hilmer. Helen Starratt's slenderness had still a virginal quality and she knew every artifice that heightened this effect. To-day she was a trifle startled at quite the lengths she had gone to strike a note of sophisticated youth. She had long since ceased dressing consciously for her husband, and dressing for other women was more a matter

hundred dollars into a wisp of veiling that didn't reach much below the knees and would look like a weather-beaten cobweb after the second wearing. With all this talk about profiteering and economy and the high cost of living, even Helen Starratt had to admit that one could go without an evening gown at two hundred dollars. But, judging from the shoppers on the street, there didn't seem to be many who intended to do without them. She began to wonder what her chances were for at least a spring tailor-made. She supposed now, with Fred going into business, she would be expected to make her old one do. Well, she decided she wouldn't make it do if she had to beg on the street corner. She'd had it a year and a half, and during war times that was quite all right. The best people had played frumpish parts then. But now everybody was perking up. As for an evening gown ... well, she simply couldn't con

strain had flooded her with such dark beauty. She stopped before a millinery shop and peered critically at her reflection in a window mirror. Yes, the yellow note was a good one, but she was still a trifle cold. If her lips had been a little fuller... Strange she had never thought about that before. Well, next time she would touch them ever so deftly into a suggestion of ripe opulence. She sauntered slowly down Post Street, turned into Mo

feminine swiftness. A barometer, a map, two stiffly painted pictures exhibiting as many sailing vessels in full flight, a calendar bearing the advertisement of a ship-chandlery firm-this was the extent of the wall decoration. The office furniture was golden oak, the rugs of indifferent neutrality. On his desk he had a picture of Mrs. Hilmer, taken in a bygone day, very plump and blond and youthful in a soft, tranquil way. And by its side, in a little ridiculously-

ndering why I'm here

and sat down. "Yes, naturally," he

etend at first... Women never like to come directly to the point. I thought up a silly excuse-begging for an orphan asy

I be?" he as

him, so she ignored the challenge. "You see, my husband has decided to go into business ... and ... well, I thought perhaps i

esture. Against the blond freshness of his

r husband come t

hat, but he is a little bit reserved about some things... It would be so much easier for him to ask a favor for some one else... Of course, he'd

d, but he sat silent. It was plain that he didn

. he hasn't any capital to work on. And until the premiums begin to come in there'll be office rent and a stenographer's salary piling up ... and our living expenses in the barga

he intended to hurl another

to help him, why do

fit for anything, really,

ere pretty efficien

that was

hy

ain, but it's easy to do

e to," he finished

"What do you want me to

s what you're doi

e rose majestica

ious that his eyes were sweeping her f

o get by with almost anything she s

tip of his shoe was jammed squarely against her t

y nice of you to attempt to be so gallant, but, after all, talk is pretty cheap, isn't

nd's stenographer?" he aske

don't know anything about sh

e who takes my letters direct on the machine as I dictate them. She's as good as, if not better

er what she could or could not do? The impudence of him! But she didn't want to appear absurd. Sh

the office be a bid

lm

said, looking

dy gaze cut her composure like a

, as she took a step near his desk and p

They reminded me of the early spring blossoms in the old country ... the sort that shoot up almost at th

timent was unexpected. It had come, as he had described his native spring blooms, almost at the snow bank's ed

e asked, lifting

not a

their sunlit brilliance, resting a gloved hand upon the chair she had deserted. She was conscious that another hand was

ame in. She move

med Starratt waiting to

ck her head

aid, as he opened a

presently she gained the sun-flooded street. The b

red her to almost adolescent self-revelations, yet when she reached

Fred Starratt said to his wife, w

e insurance on Hil

n enigmatical smil

ffee with preeni

k handles all his business, so I've sort of got the street guessing. They can't figure how I could even get a look in... Of course I'm convinced that Kendrick shares his commissions with

you already," she

ho

ow length of the table and t

to do it mysel

incredulous stare escap

s. "Don't laugh, sonny," she drawled, almost disagreeabl