The races in question were soon to open at Washington Park, on the South Side, and were considered quite society affairs among those who did not affect religious rectitude and conservatism. Mrs. Hurstwood had never asked for a whole season ticket before, but this year certain considerations decided her to get a box. For one thing, one of her neighbours, a certain Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, who were possessors of money, made out of the coal business, had done so. In the next place, her favourite physician, Dr. Beale, a gentleman inclined to horses and betting, had talked with her concerning his intention to enter a two-year-old in the Derby. In the third place, she wished to exhibit Jessica, who was gaining in maturity and beauty, and whom she hoped to marry to a man of means. Her own desire to be about in such things and parade among her acquaintances and common throng was as much an incentive as anything. Hurstwood thought over the proposition a few moments without answering. They were in the sitting room on the second floor, waiting for supper. It was the evening of his engagement with Carrie and Drouet to see “The Covenant,” which had brought him home to make some alterations in his dress. “You’re sure separate tickets wouldn’t do as well?” he asked, hesitating to say anything more rugged. “No,” she replied impatiently. “Well,” he said, taking offence at her manner, “you needn’t get mad about it. I’m just asking you.” “I’m not mad,” she snapped. “I’m merely asking you for a season ticket.” “And I’m telling you,” he returned, fixing a clear, steady eye on her, “that it’s no easy thing to get. I’m not sure whether the manager will give it to me.” He had been thinking all the time of his “pull” with the race-track magnates. “We can buy it then,” she exclaimed sharply. “You talk easy,” he said. “A season family ticket costs one hundred and fifty dollars.” “I’ll not argue with you,” she replied with determination. “I want the ticket and that’s all there is to it.” She had risen, and now walked angrily out of the room. “Well, you get it then,” he said grimly, though in a modified tone of voice. As usual, the table was one short that evening. The next morning he had cooled down considerably, and later the ticket was duly secured, though it did not heal matters. He did not mind giving his family a fair share of all that he earned, but he did not like to be forced to provide against his will. “Did you know, mother,” said Jessica another day, “the Spencers are getting ready to go away?” “No. Where, I wonder?” “Europe,” said Jessica. “I met Georgine yesterday and she told me. She just put on more airs about it.” “Did she say when?” “Monday, I think. They’ll get a notice in the papers again—they always do.” “Never mind,” said Mrs. Hurstwood consolingly, “we’ll go one of these days.” Hurstwood moved his eyes over the paper slowly, but said nothing.