Mrs. Larry stood like a statue, staring down an this wonderful creature who, confronted by the task of reducing expenses by ten thousand a year, could fall off asleep in a few seconds. That’s what came of being a man, she decided--a man, privileged to deal in big figures, hundreds, thousands, instead of dollars, quarters and dimes! Her glance traveled back to the hated sheets of papers and the accusing envelopes, labeled: “Rent,” “Operating Expenses,” “Food,” “Clothing,” “Savings,” “Care and Education,” “Luxuries.” Something very like hysterical laughter rose in her throat. Larry could sleep with a weight of ten thousand on his mind, and she would lie awake nights figuring how to save ten dollars a month. She looked down at her husband. How strong and capable, even in his sleep, this man who worked day after day, year in and year out, for her and the babies, who turned over to her all that he earned. The beauty of his unquestioning trust brought a different sort of choke to her throat. Of course, she would find a way to save that extra ten each month--for Larry’s use or pleasure. Then she tiptoed out of the living-room, closing the door behind her, lest the children, coming in from their walk, should fall upon their father like the Philistines they were. But as she packed his bag and laid out his clean linen, her mind turned over and over the troublesome question, and the lines reappeared in her broad white forehead. She was tabulating the luxuries which they denied themselves. First, there was Larry’s love for music. From the day of their engagement they had subscribed annually to a certain series of orchestral concerts. When it had come time this year to renew the subscription, she had had to tell Larry that the family budget would not admit of the expenditure. Larry, Junior’s, measles, her dentist’s bill, and the filling out of their dinner set from open stock, had overdrawn the envelopes marked “Care and Education” and “Operating Expenses,” leaving a vacuum in the one labeled “Luxuries.” She did not care so much for herself--twice during the last season she had been too tired really to appreciate the symphonies, but Larry rested and recuperated through music. He had pretended not to care, and had suggested that they might buy an occasional ticket for the very best concerts; but she knew that giving up the subscription tickets had marked the biggest sacrifice of Larry’s married life. Then for herself there was the day when Belle Saunders had told her that, being in mourning, she would sell her blue fox set for fifteen dollars. And Mrs. Larry, looking into the envelope marked “Clothing” had realized that one must go without furs--as well as subscription tickets, but a fox set at fifteen dollars was an opportunity.