He got no further. Conover was upon him, his tough, knotty hands gripping the youngster’s shoulders and shaking him to and fro with a force that set Gerald’s teeth clicking. “Now then!” bellowed the Railroader, mighty, masterful, terrible as he let the breathless lad slide to the floor and towered wrathful above him. “Are you going to tell me about this thing, or have I got to shake it out of you? Speak up!” Gulping, panting, all the spirit momentarily buffeted out of him, Gerald Conover lay staring stupidly up at the angry man. “I’m—I’m married!” he bleated. “I—I meant to tell you when——” “Who to?” demanded Caleb in an agony of self-control. “Miss Enid Montmorency. She——” “Who is she?” “She is—she’s my wife. Two months ago we——” “Who is she? Is she in society?” “Her family were very famous before the war. She——” “Is she in good New York society?” “She—she had to earn her own living and——” “And what?” “She—I met her at Rector’s first. Her company——” “Great Lord!” The words came like a thunderclap. Caleb Conover stepped back to the wall, his florid face gray. “_You MARRIED a chorus girl?_” “She—her family before the war——” Caleb had himself in hand. “Get up!” he ordered. “You haven’t money enough nor earning power enough to buy those boards you’re sprawling on. Yet you saddle yourself with a wife—a wife you can’t support. A woman who will down all your social hopes. And mine. You let a designing doll with a painted face dupe you into——” “You shan’t speak that way of Enid!” flared up the boy, tearfully. “She is as good and pure as——” “As _you_ are. And with a damned sight more sense. For she knows a legal way of grabbing onto a livelihood; and _you_ don’t. Shut up! If you try any novel-hero airs on me, you young skunk, I’ll break you over my knee. Now you’ll stand still and you’ll listen to what I have to say.” Gerald, cowed, but snarling under his breath, obeyed.