"Well, good-bye for now--you better go to some hotel to-night," she gave him a dollar from the purse in her bosom, "and try and get work. It'll make your coming back easier." "Thanks, mother, I'll do that same. Er--I guess I'll go in and change my collar. That'll be all right, won't it?" "Yes, Georgia's in the dining room." Mrs. Talbot left him. He rubbed his knuckles slowly across his eye, his breath catching quickly. Then he spied Georgia's hand bag. There was the trouble-money--twenty dollars, a round, golden double eagle. He opened the handbag to--well, to look at it. He spun it; he palmed it; he tossed it in the air, calling heads. It came tails. He tried it again and it came heads. That settled it. He slipped the coin into his pocket, and went out of the room. At least there was salvage in leaving one's wife. After supper Georgia packed up his things, every stick and stitch of them, and with the aid of Al drew them out into the hallway. Later in the evening a politician, one of Ed Miles', knocked at the door. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm from the Fortieth Ward Club. I have a message for Mr. Connor. He's wanted at headquarters right away." "He doesn't live here any more." [Illustration: "He doesn't live here any more."] The politician was perplexed. "Where does he live?" "I don't know," answered Georgia, shutting the door. It was not until the next morning that she discovered the loss of her money. V FOR IDLE HANDS TO DO The old man had gone to Europe for his summer vacation, leaving Georgia secure in her place with nothing to worry about. She had no more than half work to do. Business had slackened and the whole office was in the doldrums. Life's fitful fever had abated to subnormal placidity. Even her mother's chronic indignation over trifles had been quieted by the summer's drowse. The only interesting moments in Georgia's day were nine o'clock when she came and five o'clock when she left--noon on Saturdays. The Sundays were amazingly dull. So was her home. Al stayed away from it from breakfast unto bedtime, with a brief interval for supper. He was engrossed in prairie league baseball for one thing. That occupied him all day Sunday and half of Saturday. Of course he couldn't play after dark, but whenever Georgia asked him where he was going as he bolted from the table with his cap, he answered, "Out to see some fellahs." If she hoped that he would stay at home to-night, for he was out last night and the one before, he would explain, with as much conviction as if he offered a clinching argument, that "the fellahs" were a-calling and he must go.