"The Giants win, three to two, and believe me there was a rank decision at the plate against Johnny Evers. He beefed on it proper and got chased. That's what smeared us." "Johnny ought to learn to control himself," said Al pathetically. "Yep. He's got too much pep--that's what's the matter with that lad." "And all the umpires in the league have banded together against him. I heard it straight to-day. And believe me"--there was an element of mystery in the boy's voice, "there's something in it." Jim clenched his fist and brought it down hard. "If the Cubs win out against the empires this year," he stated his proposition with a vehement brandish of his fist, "they'll be going some," but his peroration rather flattened out--"believe me." "Yes, sir, Jim. That's no damn lie." "Say, Al, loan me a quarter?" Unhappy pause. All sportsmen, from polo players and tarpon fishers to Kaffirs in their kraals, like to talk it over afterwards. Al didn't want to interrupt his baseball palaver with Jim. It might last right through supper and until bedtime, as it often did when Jim stayed home. He had a vast fund of hypotheses to tell Jim again, and some new ones. If he refused Jim the loan their interesting talk would stop. But if he granted it he would be a boob. It was certainly one dilemma. Jim smiled and repeated his thought. "I'll do as much for you some time. Go on now." Georgia came in quickly and angrily. "I should think you'd be ashamed, Jim Connor, trying to do a boy." "Oh, so you've been rubbering, eh?" Jim sneered. She had; but this, her weakness, was one she shared with many other women--likewise men. In petty lives are petty deeds. Downtown she did not listen, or tattle, or read other people's letters. There were more important matters to attend to. "I got to have a little loan," said Jim--now was his time for boldness--"to tide me over till Monday." She was obstinately mute. "Let me have a two-dollar bill till then?" "No." "One?" "No." "What then?" "Nothing." "You didn't use to be such a tightwad." "You taught me that, too, Jim. I'll never give you another cent to drink. It isn't fair to the rest of us." Mrs. Talbot, Georgia's mother, the homebody of the household, came in from the kitchen to say that supper was now ready and she was sick and tired of the irregularity of the family meals, which she had never been accustomed to as a girl. "Oh, cheer up, mother. I've good news to-day--a raise." Georgia took her pay envelope from her handbag. "See!" Mrs. Talbot flattened out the creases in it and read it aloud. "Georgia Connor--weekly--twenty dollars." And drew forth a wonderful, round, golden double eagle. Whereupon Jim let his angry passions rise. His wife--this cold-blooded, high-and-mighty creature, with her chin in the air, refused him a loan on the very same day she was raised. It was plain viciousness. It was almost a form of perversion. Forbearance, even his, had its limits.