Since Warren’s salary had been reduced from $3,000 to $2,984 a month Helen had watched every dollar, and the thought of paying a man 50 or 75 cents to paint the flag pole caused big tears to form in her eyes and run down her cheeks into the platter of fried mock turtle, which was her favorite breakfast dish. “There, there, little wife, don’t cry,” pleaded Warren, placing an arm on her shoulder and gently kicking her back of the right ear, “We’ll say no more about the matter today, but if I hear of you trying to climb that flag pole I’ll cave in half a dozen of your ribs” and flinging her a kiss he dashed blithely out of the house and hailing a passing whisky runner’s car, was soon out of sight on his way to work. Helen busied herself around the house and tried to keep her mind off of the painting job. Since they had dispensed with the services of three maids and there was no one to assist her with the house work except Bridget, the Japanese house girl, there was much for her to do. Getting Baby Winifred ready for school was the biggest task, and this morning the little girl was more unruly than ever. Only by giving her a large glass of potato whisky mixed with snuff, of which the child was intensely fond could Helen induce her to stop breaking the cut glass decanters on the sideboard, and allow herself to be dressed. Making out the order for the butcher shop occupied three hours, and when that was done it was time for her music lesson, for Helen never allowed anything to interfere with her musical education, and at ten o’clock she seated herself at the Victrola and under the skillful tutelage of her teacher she was soon able to play the overture from “Lily of the Alley.” From eleven until two was spent in eating a light lunch, and then Jacquiline Olson dropped in to complain about Mabel, Helen’s pet cobra, biting her little boy. The Olson woman was always distasteful to Helen and when she requested that the snake be kept tied up during the summer months, Helen arose majestically and with a deft uppercut knocked her over three chairs into the wood-box, where she lay moaning feebly and offered no resistance when Helen carried her over to the window and dropped her with a crash into the alley. Most women would have considered their day wrecked after such an incident, but Helen, after draining a dipperful of hemlock wine, dismissed the affair from her mind and started to repair one of the dining room chairs she had broken in a friendly argument with Warren the evening before. After several futile attempts to make the glue stick she gave it up as a bad job and flung the chair in the bath tub where she was certain Warren would not see it for months. Then the telephone rang and a deep bass voice informed her that Baby Winifred had been arrested for throwing rocks at the statue of Benedict Arnold in front of the city hall.