Helen sat apart, almost with the detachment of a hostess receiving a casual acquaintance, as she recounted the incidents of the disastrous ride. Hilmer had been driving fairly carefully, but in swerving to avoid running down a cow that suddenly had made its appearance in the road the machine had skidded and gone over a steep bank. Mrs. Hilmer's condition was really quite serious. The doctor had intimated that even if she pulled through she might never walk again. They had a nurse, of course--two, in fact--but some one had to be there to look after things. The servant girl was just a raw Swede who did the heavy work--Mrs. Hilmer always had done most of the cooking herself. Fred inquired for Hilmer. He had a broken wrist and several bad sprains and bruises, but he was resting easily. "I didn't get that check for the premiums to-day," Fred said. Helen rose from her seat. "I'll speak to him about it to-morrow," she returned, lightly. Her movement implied dismissal. Fred left his seat and stood for a moment, awkwardly fingering his hat. "I suppose," he faltered, "you don't know just how long you'll be needed here." "That depends," she answered, shrugging. "Then I'd better get some one in temporarily at the office." She nodded. "Well, good night," he said. She kissed him perfunctorily and presently he found himself in the street again, bound for home. A low fog was whitening the air and the breeze blowing in fresh from the ocean was sharp of tooth. Fred shivered slightly and buttoned his overcoat. "I guess she's still kind of dazed," he muttered to himself. But above his perplexity soared a fresh determination. He would get a woman in his wife's place in the office and he would keep her there. It was time Helen stayed home where she belonged. The next morning he went early to Hilmer's office. The cashier took him aside. "Hilmer has authorized me to sign checks," he explained. "But I understand you're in wrong with the Exchange... I think I'll make out checks direct to the different companies. That's always the safest thing to do in a jam." Fred was too furious even to protest. "I don't quite get the idea," he returned. "But that's up to you. If you want to write thirty-odd checks instead of one, that's your business, I suppose." "Oh, that isn't any trouble," returned the man, complacently.