"What's He got to do with it?" Bill asked, quickly. Mrs. Jones smiled. For the time being her manner was mollified. She followed him to the desk behind which he had returned to the mail-rack. "You know," she explained, "it's 'way past dinner-time, and if you won't work, the least you can do is to be on time for your meals." "I been workin'," Bill chirped, as he placed the last letter in its box and went toward the dining-room door. Mrs. Jones placed herself in the middle of the room and in such a way that Bill could not reach his goal without passing her. "What work have you been doin'?" The sarcasm in the glance which pierced Bill's shifting gaze did not pierce his good humor. He continued to chirp. "I got the mail." "The mail?" There was contempt in his wife's question and in the answer she gave to it. "The mail came at ten o'clock." "I got it, didn't I?" Bill registered another cheerful quip. Suddenly Mrs. Jones's mind recurred to the day of the month. Her contempt gave place to anxiety and she stepped close to her husband and looked into his face again. "Bill, was there a letter for you?" she asked. Bill did not answer her with words. Instead he looked away from her and shook his head slowly. "Bill Jones," his wife persisted, her tones reverting to their former clear coldness, "didn't your pension come to-day?" "To-day?" Bill smiled a self-congratulatory smile for the word which gave him the loophole of escape. Had his wife omitted that one word he would have, for his honor's sake, been forced to admit that he had it. For it was a part of his peculiar code that under no circumstances was "mother" ever to be lied to. Prevarications, yes, but downright, indisputable lies, no. And that with vigorous emphasis. But now she had mentioned the day. The pension had not come to-day. It had reposed in his pocket since yesterday, where, true to his promise to John Marvin, it should remain until he had made up his mind to hand it over to his family. So he felt the coins in his pocket and looked up at her with a half-guilty grin, drawing out his words one by one, in halting tones. "Not--to--day." "Well, when it does come," she said, pleasantly, "Millie's going to go to Truckee with you and buy you some clothes. You gotta have some new ones for when we goes to the city." It was on the tip of Bill's tongue to reaffirm, as he had countless times, that he was never going to the city as long as he lived; but he had begun to realize in the last few days that tact must enter into his negotiations with his dissatisfied spouse. So he responded, mildly, "I got clothes enough." Mrs. Jones made an impatient gesture and tossed her head in dismay. "I don't know what's got into you, Bill Jones. When you came courtin' me you had good clothes." "This is the same suit." Bill's jest might have brought further nagging upon his shoulders, but Millie's entrance from the dining-room turned Mrs. Jones's attention to her.