“Um-m!” she murmured; then, with sudden accession of courage: “Larry, when you went to South Bethlehem looking for a new foundry to buy castings, what did the old man say?” “The old man?” echoed Mr. Larry. “Yes, the man where you had been buying them before. Didn’t he want you to keep right on buying from him? Didn’t he say _anything_?” “Did he? Why, as soon as he heard we were dickering with new people, he had half a dozen of his best men camping on our trail, cutting prices. That’s the game--play one concern against the other.” “Thank you, dear,” murmured Mrs. Larry, with a far-away look in her eye. Mr. Larry caught the pink-tipped finger as it slipped from the mooring in his buttonhole. “What’s up, sweetheart? Been hearing a lecture on ‘Every Wife Her Husband’s Partner’? Going into business?” “That’s just it, Larry, I _am_ your partner, and I ought to make a business of it.” Mr. Larry drew her close, looking a trifle anxious. “I don’t want you any different. I love you just as you are.” “Yes, but you might love me better----” “I couldn’t.” “Yes, you could--if I were a better manager. Larry, we eat too much. I mean, I don’t market efficiently.” Her husband groaned. “I don’t want an efficient wife, the kind that counts her steps and moves, and has charts and signs hanging all over the house.” “I’m not going to do any of those things; but I do want to buy for our home as closely as you buy for your firm. I’m afraid that Mr. Dahlgren, my butcher, is overcharging me. I’ve bought meat there, and vegetables and fruit ever since we moved into this apartment; we’ve paid him hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and--well, I think I ought to talk to him.” Mr. Larry kissed the pink finger-tip, and several more, before he answered. “Before you make any statements about his overcharging, you must know the prices elsewhere.” “Oh, I do,” and she held up a sheet of paper covered with figures, some newspaper clippings and a _Housewives’ Marketing Guide_ of the current week. “I got these at the Housewives’ League meeting.” The clock in the living-room struck the half hour and Mr. Larry reached for his hat. “That’s right--you hand it to the old boy, straight--and tell me about it to-night.” When the door had closed on Mr. Larry, his wife tripped to the telephone and called up Claire. “I’m going to have it out with my butcher,” she announced very firmly. “If you’ve remembered anything that I’ve forgotten, now’s your chance to help me.” “I’ll be over in half an hour,” answered Claire briskly. “Mother wants me to answer some invitations for her, and then I’ll be free for the morning. It’s dear of you to take me on your adventures. By-by.”