“Yes, it’s one of his principles to be particularly civil to newspaper people. I’ve often heard him say that. But she’s gone back on him. She throws him down as hard in this article as she does me. Oh, well,” Briggs added, stretching out his arms, “I sometimes think that these things, instead of hurting a man, really do him good.” “That’s pretty cynical, isn’t it?” said Farley, smiling. “It’s a little hard on the rest of us in the newspaper line, too.” Briggs rose and began to pace the room. “I’m out of sorts now, Farley. Don’t mind what I say. Have you fellows had anything to eat?” he asked, stopping suddenly. “We had something brought in,” said Guy, returning with the typewritten letter. “Didn’t have time to go out. Will you sign this?” “Don’t you think you’d better get something?” Farley asked. Douglas Briggs let the pen fall from his fingers. “No, I have no appetite.” Guy gave the messenger the letter and followed him out of the room. “We’re helter-skelter here now, aren’t we? Well, to-morrow will be our last day in this old place.” “You’re giving it up for good, then?” Farley asked. “Yes, if we can get rid of it. But we haven’t had an offer for it yet. Too bad!” he added, with a sigh. Farley looked surprised. “Then you don’t want to go?” Douglas Briggs hesitated. “Some of the happiest days of my life have been spent here,” he said at last, “and some of the unhappiest, too,” he added, turning his head away. “When I came into this house I felt I had reached success. What fools we all are! Here I’ve been working for years among big interests, and what thought do you suppose has been in my mind all the time? To please my wife, to get money to surround her with beautiful things, to place her in a beautiful house, to give her beautiful dresses to wear. Bah!” “Well, that isn’t altogether a bad ambition,” said Farley, cheerfully. Briggs looked up quickly. “When you’ve got a wife who’s above all these fripperies! Isn’t it?” “But I always think of you as one of the happiest married men I know,” said Farley. He began to glance over some papers he had taken from the desk. “I ought to be. I should be if I weren’t a fool.” He hesitated. “I went into my wife’s room the other day while the maids were packing her clothes and I saw a little sealskin coat that I gave her years ago. The sight of that coat brought tears to my eyes. Ever since we were married I’d been telling her that she must have a sealskin. That represented my idea of luxury. It seemed to us then like a romantic dream. Well, I made a little money and I blew it all on that coat. She’s kept it ever since.” Farley was sitting motionless. “That’s a very pretty story,” he said. Briggs raised his hand warningly. “But it marked my first step in the wrong direction. All those luxuries, instead of bringing me nearer my wife, have taken me away from her. Sometimes I----”