"Why, Georgia," continued the mother, reading the inscription from the envelope in her hand, "how's this, they call you 'Miss,' Miss Georgia Connor--weekly--twenty dollars." "Oh--ho," exclaimed Jim roughly, for now he felt that it was his turn. "Passing yourself off as unmarried, eh? A little fly work--hey? If I am easy, I draw the line somewhere." "I was ashamed to let them know I was married and still had to work out," she responded evenly. That was just the way it always happened. Georgia invariably ended up with the best of it. "Well, well, let it pass, though it's not right. But you ought to let me have a dollar or two, considering. Why, I've got a right to some of your money. You've had plenty of mine in your time." "For value received." "You talk of marriage as if it was bargain and sale." Georgia's voice, which had been thin and colorless, grew suddenly thick with the bitter memories of seven years. "It is oftentimes," she said. "Bad bargain and cheap sale." "And now and then it's a damned high buy, too, when a man gives up his liberty for a daily panning from his wife, and his mother-in-law, and kid brother." "If I am a kid," the boy interrupted passionately, "I've brought in more and taken out less than you the last year." Blood called to blood, and the clan of Talbot closed around the lone Connor. "When he had to come out of school and go to work because you couldn't keep a job!" screamed the elder lady. "You big stiff," Al brought up the reënforcement half-crying with rage. "You shut up or I'll--" Jim answered hoarsely, drawing back his fist in menace. Al jumped for a light chair and swung it just off the ground, meeting the challenge. So standing, the two glowered at each other--Jim wishing that he was twenty years younger, Al that he was three years older. As Georgia stood back from them hoping that she would not have to interpose physically between the two, as had happened once or twice in the past year, she felt more intensely than she ever had before that her home life was very sordid and degrading to her. This eternal jangling which seemed to run on just the same whether she took part in it or not, was the life for snarling hyenas, not for a young woman with an ambition for "getting on," for rising in the social scale. The two males, finally impelled by a common doubt of the outcome, tacitly agreed upon verbal rather than physical violence. The raucous quarrel broke out anew. Mrs. Talbot--but you, gentle reader, undoubtedly can surmise substantially what followed. You must have friends who have family quarrels. Finally there was a lull, after all three had had their says several times over, and were trying to think up new ones. "Jim," said Georgia slowly and deliberately, for she felt that the hour had come, "why not make this our last quarrel?" "That's up to you," he returned belligerently. "By making it permanent." "What do you mean!" answered Jim, now a trifle alarmed.