"Everybody would recognize them, and I'd be the talk of the town." "You're that anyway, so what difference does it make?" "I'd rather die." "You'd save a lot of money and trouble if you did." "Just look at the list of presents I must give." She handed him a bundle of papers. He pushed up his spectacles and put on his reading glasses, and instantly snorted: "Say! What is this? the town directory?" He had not read far down the list when he missed one important name. "You've overlooked Mrs. Alsop." "Oh, her! I've quarreled with her. We don't speak, thank heaven." "It would be money In your pocket, if you didn't speak to anybody. Gosh!" he slapped his knee. "I have an idea. Stop speaking to everybody." "Don't he silly." "I mean it." VII FOILED Ulysses S. G. Budlong was a man fertile in ideas and unflinching in their execution. Otherwise he would never have attained his present unquestioned supremacy, as the leading hay and feed merchant in Carthage. "It's as easy as falling off a log," he urged. "You women are always spatting about something. Now's your chance to capitalize your spats." "Men are such im-boo-hoo-ciles!" was Mrs. Budlong's comment, as she began to weep. Her husband patted her with a timid awkwardness as if she were the nose of a strange horse. "There! there! we'll fix this up fine. What did you quarrel with Mrs. Alsop about?" "She told Sally Swezey and Sally Swezey told me--that I used my Carthage presents to send to relatives in other towns." "She flattered you at that," said Mr. Budlong unconsolingly. "But don't you dream of forgiving her till after Christmas." Mrs. Budlong was having such a good cry, and enjoying the optical hath so heartily, that her grief became very precious to her. It suggested what a beautiful thing grief is to those who make a fine art of it. She smiled wet-liddedly. "There is nothing in your idea, Ulie, but it has suggested a good one to me. I'll announce that I can't celebrate Christmas because of our great grief for Aunt Ida." "Great grief!" Mr. Budlong echoed. "Why, you couldn't have celebrated Aunt Ida's finish more joyous without you'd serenaded her in Woodlawn with a brass band." "Ulysses Budlong! you ought to be ashamed of yourself for saying such a thing!" But she suddenly heard, in fancy, the laugh that would go up if she sprung such an excuse. She gave in: "We'll have to quarrel with somebody then. But what excuse is there?" "Women don't need any real excuse. You simply telephone Sally Swezey that a certain person told you--and you won't name any names--that she had been making fun of you and you'd be much obliged if she never spoke to you again for you'd certainly never speak to her again." "But how do I know Sally Swezey has been making fun of me?" "Oh, there ain't any doubt but what everybody in town is doing that." "Ulysses Budlong! how can you talk so!"