Somehow my meeting with Cecil made me a little discontented for the time being. It did seem that so long as I had not enough millions to be a really smart married man, I should do something to save the name of Mudison from social oblivion in the next generation, become a captain of industry and buy back what I had lost when I ceased to be a well-known bachelor and became just a well-to-do husband. My suggestion almost killed Gladys at luncheon that day. "But, my dear Muddy," she said kindly, when she had recovered her breath, "you are absolutely unqualified to earn a living in any way." "Are you sure?" I returned, a trifle put out. "Of course you are a Harvard man," she went on, "but I should not say that you were very well educated." "Simply because I had to play in the team," I snapped. "And Muddy," said she, as sweetly as only Gladys can, "while you have a certain peculiar kind of intelligence, I should hardly say that you had brains." "I know all that," said I. "And for that very reason I am thinking of becoming a stock broker." "Oh, you might do that," said she pensively. My wife was quite taken with the idea until she heard that I should have to be downtown at ten o'clock every morning and stand around on my feet till three, yelling continually. Down went her little foot, as only Gladys Mudison's can, and she declared that it was not a dignified business at all. "You would only be a respectable auctioneer," she declared. "But I should make a lot of money," I pleaded. "I would rather have you do without a few things," she retorted, "than send you down to that bear-garden every day." So my dreams of great wealth have fled me, and I cannot say that I am wholly sorry. I did suggest becoming a corporation lawyer, but Gladys has the European idea of being satisfied with what you have, and she does not realize that in this city you must keep on piling up more and more or you will become a Knickerbocker. She told me she would think it over a while, and she has been thinking ever since, very quietly.